If Wishes Were Ponies, Book II

Chapters

Ch. 02. Party Time!
Ch. 03. Changelings Abroad!
Ch. 04. Digging In
Ch. 05. Surprise!
Ch. 07. What?
The Moon Rocks – Sidestory
Ch. 08. Starting with Nothing
Ch. 09. More Surprises
Royal Visits, Part One – Side-story
Ch. 11. Exceeding Expectations
Ch. 12. UN-popular?
Ch. 13. Nobody Expects . . .
Ch. 14. Behind the Scenes
Ch. 15. Unexpected Negotiations
Ch. 16. Demented Funhouse?
Ch. 17. Realizations and Negotiations
Ch. 18. Unexpected Incidents
Ch. 19. Hidden
Royal Visits, Part Two – Side-story
Ch. 20. Not so Subtle Changes
Ch. 21. Expected and Unexpected
Ch. 22. Anything But That!
Ch. 23. Who Wants to Meet Who?
Ch. 24. Who’s Watching Me?
Ch. 25. Burning Pink
Ch. 26. The Known and Unknown
Ad Astra – Sidestory
Ch. 28. Scheming, Again
Ch. 29. Queen’s Gambit
Ch. 30. Subversions and Preparations
Ch. 31. Upending Things
Ch. 32. Laying the Groundwork
Ch. 33. Another Boring Lecture
Ch. 34. Slip-sliding Away
Ch. 35. Interrogation and Contemplation
Ch. 36. Confounding the Enemy
Ch. 37. There’s Always Something to Ruin the Day
Ch. 38. As If Things Weren’t Bad Enough
Ch. 39. Masquerading
Ch. 40. Gathering Intelligence
Ch. 41. Preparations
Ch. 43. Meet the Relatives
Ch. 44 Welcome to Hogwarts
Ch. 45 Hidden Frenemies
Ch. 46. Friends With Secrets
Ch. 01. Summer Hols
Ch. 06. Once More, Into the Breach . . .
Ch. 10. They Should Have Expected It
Ch. 27. Change is on the Horizon
Ch. 42 Opportunity in Adversity

Ch. 02. Party Time!

“Ehh . . . hello?” Harry said cautiously to the strange creature before him.

“Harry Potter!” the being cried in a high-pitched voice. “Long, so long, has Dobby wanted to meet you, sir . . . Such an honour it is . . ..”

Harry narrowed his eyes. Another rabid fan? “And you are?” he prompted warily, his wand sliding into his hand from its holster. Weren’t the spells on the Weasley homestead set to only allow friends to pop in?

“Dobby, sir,” said the house-elf.

Harry nodded. “And what can I do for you?” he asked cautiously.

The creature stared at him, stunned. “Do for . . . me!?” he cried. “Never . . . never ever . . . has . . . anyone . . ..” The elf burst into tears, bawling loudly.

Harry sighed. Dobby was worse than any of the fangirls, or fanboys, he had met at Hogwarts. They usually just blushed bright-red and ran away. This was going to take a while. Unfortunately, the tree-leaves hid him from the sky, so Ginny wouldn’t be able to spot and rescue him. He sighed and dropped down to sit cross-legged on the ground.

“Please, sit down,” said Harry politely.

The elf choked and sobbed even more. “Never . . . never has a wizard asked Dobby, lowly Dobby, to sit down . . . like an equal . . ..”

Harry sighed. Knowing wizards and witches, he could easily believe that was true. He patiently waited. With a twist of his wrist and a flex of his fingers, the wand shot back into the holster.

Dobby managed to calm himself as he slowly lowered himself to the ground. He sat hiccoughing, with his great eyes fixed on Harry in an expression of watery adoration. He took a deep breath. “Dobby must tell you, sir . . . it is hard, sir . . . Dobby doesn’t know where to begin . . ..”

“The beginning is always best, my mum tells me,” Harry said dryly.

Dobby shook his head slowly. Suddenly, he jumped up and started banging his head furiously on a nearby tree, shouting, “Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!”

“Stop! Stop that! What are you doing?” Harry hissed, springing up and pulling Dobby back.

The elf was slightly cross-eyed, and staggered a bit. “Dobby has to punish himself, sir. Dobby almost spoke ill of his family, sir . . ..”

“Your family?” Harry said suspiciously, scowling, not liking how the elf seemed to regard his “family.” Or his duty to that family.

“Dobby serves a family, sir. . . . Dobby is a house-elf . . . bound to serve that family forever . . ..”

“Do they know you’re here?” asked Harry carefully.

The house-elf shuddered and looked at him, horrified. “No, sir, oh, no . . . Dobby will punish himself most grievously, most grievously, indeed, for being here, sir. Dobby will have to slam the oven door on his ears for this. If they knew, sir . . ..” He shuddered again.

Harry frowned, puzzled, “But . . . won’t they notice if you do that?”

He shook his head sadly. “Dobby doubts it, sir,” the house-elf responded frankly. “Dobby always has to punish himself for something, sir. They lets Dobby get on with it, sir. Sometimes they reminds me . . ..”

Harry shook his head angrily. He knew that house-elves were trapped in a symbiotic relationship with their families. The only way a house-elf could leave would be if the family wanted him or her to leave. Fortunately, only the family-head could dismiss an elf by giving them clothes, so an angry child couldn’t dismiss the family elf in a fit of pique. Unfortunately, though, a few families took advantage of that fact to mistreat the small servants.

His mum and the Princesses took great care that their elves were well-treated, as they should be. The only disagreements were in preventing the little housekeepers from going overboard and tackling too much work.

For a house-elf to disobey his family was almost impossible. Dobby’s family’s treatment of him must be extremely severe if he was willing to suffer more abuse from them by going against their desires. Only a very mentally unstable elf would act against his own family.

Eyeing the weeping elf, Harry knew this elf had to be severely unstable. It would be best to treat him as carefully as possible.

After living with the Dursleys, Harry could sympathize with the house-elf. Sometimes, Harry wasn’t so sure of his own mental health. Sometimes . . . sometimes he had difficulty remembering he was a good pony! Today’s venture into the Ministry had been a bit too stressful, he admitted to himself.

He sighed. “So, why are you here?” he asked rubbing his forehead.

Once more sitting, Dobby leaned forward, his eyes almost as big as lorry’s headlights.

“Dobby heard,” he whispered hoarsely, “that Harry Potter met the . . . the Dark Lord a second time . . . just weeks ago . . . that Harry Potter escaped, again.”

Harry nodded. “But my mum and Headmaster Dumbledore were also there,” he said. He shuddered as he remembered what had happened. “I almost didn’t survive,” he whispered reluctantly.

The house elf’s eyes shone with tears.

“Ah, sir,” he gasped. He wiped his face on the grimy pillowcase he wore. “Brave is Harry Potter! So many dangers has he already defied! But Dobby has come to Harry Potter, to protect him, and warn him! Even if Dobby shuts his ears in the oven door, later . . ..” He sat up straight and stared at Harry. “Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts,” he ordered.

Harry sat still for a moment as what the elf had said soaked into his mind. Then he laughed sardonically. “Not gonna happen,” he said, shaking his head. “The Princesses want me to go to Hogwarts, to Hogwarts I will go!” he said dutifully. He shrugged. “Besides, if Dumbledore let anything happen to me, mum would toss him in Tartarus!” He paused a second. “Or Celestia would banish him to the moon for a thousand years.” He grinned wryly. “Or mum would toss him into the dungeons and then Celestia would banish him to the moon.”

“No, no, no,” Dobby squeaked emphatically. His ears flapped like an elephant’s as he violently shook his head. “Harry Potter is too good, too great, to risk. Harry Potter must stay home! He will be in mortal danger at Hogwarts!” Dobby said in a dire tone.

“Mortal danger?” repeated Harry. Even with Voldemort at Hogwarts last year, it had been the safest Harry had ever been! Something had only tried to kill him two times in ten months. That would have been a record for Equestria. It couldn’t begin to compare to the regular beatings the Dursleys gave him.

“A plot, Harry Potter, there is a most deadly plot,” the house elf whispered conspiratorially. “Terrible things will happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year!” Dobby was trembling so greatly he almost fell over. “For months, sir, Dobby has known. Harry Potter is too important, sir. He must not go to Hogwarts!”

Immediately attentive, Harry asked, “What things? Who’s plotting them?” He stared at the house-elf angrily.

Dobby jumped up and ran headfirst into a tree, backed up, and did it again.

“Right! Right!” Harry cried, lunging forward as he once more grabbed the elf. “I get it, you can’t tell me. But why are you warning me?” Almost as soon as he said it, he knew. He slyly smiled. “This has to do with You-Know-Who, doesn’t it?”

Dobby turned to look at the tree, again.

“Wait! Just nod or shake your head,” he quickly said.

Slowly, Dobby nodded his head.

“Well, it can’t be too serious, then, can it? Just this morning I tossed the wraith that was Tom Riddle, You-Know-Who, Voldemort, through the Veil of Death in the Ministry,” Harry said confidently. “He’s all sorted!”

Dobby stared at him, wide-eyed, and whispered, “Harry Potter is truly great!”

Then he shuddered. “But, danger still bees at Hogwarts!”

Harry looked away for a moment and sighed deeply. “Dobby, I have to go the Hogwarts. Everyone wants me to go to Hogwarts . . . the Princesses, my mum, Headmaster Dumbledore, Minister Fudge. Even if I didn’t want to go to Hogwarts, they would make sure I did.” He shook his head. “No pony, or house-elf, can fight an entire world by himself.” He took a deep breath. “Besides, my herdmates will be there. I can’t . . . won’t . . . let them get hurt! Not to mention my friends. What kind of friend would I be if I left them to face the danger and never did anything to help them?” he asked reasonably.

“But, Harry Potter, sir,” Dobby’s voice was barely above a whisper. “There be powers that no decent wizard knows . . ..”

Dobby bounded up again, and dashed, head-first, into the tree.

Harry again tackled the crazed elf. “Sorry, Dobby, but I can’t abandon my herdmates and friends. I promise, promise, I’ll be extra careful. And I’ll tell both Dumbledore and my mum what you said.”

He held the elf at arms-length. “You’ve done what you set out to do, warned me! Now let me do what I have to do. Please?”

Dobby stared at him.

“Now, go back to your home. Don’t punish yourself over this, you haven’t done anything requiring punishment,” Harry said firmly. He let go of the house-elf.

Dobby looked at him uncertainly, then disappeared.

Harry sighed and stood up. He brushed his hand across the bottom of his trousers and started towards the Quidditch pitch. He would have to think carefully about what he would tell his herdmates. If he wasn’t careful, they would be all over this, trying to solve the mystery.

He carefully set it aside in his mind and waved at the pegasus practicing flying through the Quidditch hoops without touching them, snapping her wings closed at the last possible instant.

Ginny thoroughly enjoyed having Harry’s attention the rest of the afternoon and evening, even if Ron did insist that they play several of games of chess after dinner. Ginny sat beside him and held his hand. Between the two of them, they made Ron work for his victories.

Harry was slowly coming to terms with the concept that all five of his herd mates wanted to be herdmates. It still boggled his mind. Unfortunately, he had no idea of how to be a herdmate back. And he certainly didn’t want to do anything that they might misinterpret as meaning he didn’t like them.

However, holding hands seemed to be something they liked. And hugging.

But ponies always hugged each other, anyway, so how was that different between herdmates and others? Kissing — snogging they said here — seemed lots more complicated. Kissing on the cheek, like he did with his mum, was one thing. The full-on snogging he had seen in the Gryffindor common room, on the other hoof, made him uncomfortable.

What did they expect him to do? Or not to do?

۸-_-۸

Neville Longbottom’s birthday party on Thursday was the day before his, and was scheduled to last from just after lunch until just before dinner. Cake and ice cream would be in the middle of the afternoon so that the children could work off that extra sugar energy before dinner.

Unfortunately, the afternoon party at the Longbottom estate was awkward. Harry made his normal, humiliating floo entrance by sliding across the marble floor as a unicorn, and barely missed knocking Neville down. Why he had turned into a unicorn, he wasn’t sure. His four hooves weren’t any more effective at slowing him down than sliding on his trousers would have been.

Neville, who had never seen Harry use the floo, stared wide-eye and incredulous, then burst out laughing. His grandmother, Madam Longbottom, kept her amusement to a smile as he changed back to a person, blushing deeply. She welcomed Harry warmly as his herdmates arrived in a more dignified manner. Neville escorted them to the ballroom hosting the party, where they dropped off their presents at the table reserved for that.

It was supposed to be Neville’s twelfth birthday party. Regrettably, he spent most of the time in the beginning just introducing Harry to his guests’ parents. From Ginny’s and Hermione’s reactions, Harry got the impression that parents didn’t usually stay during children’s parties. Poor Neville. Side-lined on his own birthday for politics.

On top of yesterday, Harry had to struggle to keep his temper in check and present the happy-child appearance they all craved to see.

The kids, of course, all knew Harry, but for most parents this was the first chance they had ever had to meet the famous boy. And they were making the most of the opportunity to say a few words to the little wizard. And to check out the five — five! — girls shadowing him and alternating holding his hands.

Every parent’s attention drawn to the fact that Harry was here, enjoying a party with his wizard and witch friends, and not squirreled away in Equestria. Ginny and Hermione were quick to point out that Harry planned his birthday party for tomorrow at the Weasleys. It was, however, restricted to just close friends.

The parents understood that that party would be for Harry and Neville, to make up for the political nature of this one.

His mum had convinced him that this would be the perfect semi-public manner in which to broadcast the message that Harry Potter was not available. It was only thing that made the party bearable to Harry. His herdmates were more than happy to fulfil her request to be extra demonstrative, and Harry wasn’t about to discourage them. Plus, it was fun.

The adults’ fleeting disappointed looks whenever one or two of the girls hugged or kissed him, and he hugged and kissed back, showed that the strategy was working. Maybe it would keep some of the upper-year girls from making a nuisance of themselves, at their parents’ requests.

That wasn’t the only goal, of course. This affair had been painstakingly orchestrated by the Equestrian Princesses and Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore — who was the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, and Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Every detail had been thoroughly planned ahead of time. It was all a demonstration to the wizards and witches that Harry was very involved with the United Kingdom’s magical world. They didn’t even want to hint that Harry considered Equestria his home and that he would be glad to be shot of the magical world once he left Hogwarts.

That his mum, Princess Sparkle, also attended the party, drew a great deal of the adults’ attention, and there was a constant knot of wizards and witches around her, hanging on every word and asking questions about Equestria, or Atlantis, as they insisted on calling it.

There was even a photographer at the party, allegedly to take photographs of the Longbottom Heir enjoying his friends and the games they played at his party. The photographer, though, focused more on Harry and his mum than Neville. His Equestrian girlfriends, Scootaloo, Sweetie Belle, and Apple Bloom, with their outrageous hair, by witchery standards, were always just outside the framed shots. Harry, Ginny Weasley, the pure-blood witch, and Hermione Granger, the muggle-born new witch, on the other hand, were almost always in the shot. If nothing else, the two girls were in the background interacting with another student — usually the son or daughter of the adult Harry was meeting.

The party had almost every student from the first year, including Draco and his bunch. Fortunately, they were all on their best behaviour — their parents made sure of that. Still, Draco managed to let slip a few disgusted looks at the way the herd was fawning over Harry. He couldn’t hide the envy in his eyes at seeing them become ponies.

Naturally, none of the adults had had a chance, yet, to actually see the herd as their pony selves. As a result, the herd made a point of spending some of the party as ponies, to the non-students’ delight.

Harry had managed to talk his mum into inviting the Gryffindor Quidditch team, which served as a bit of a distraction.

The parents watched, almost as gobsmacked as the students had been in Hogwarts on the first day, last year. Their calculating expressions, when they thought none of the herd were watching, made them shiver — and not pleasantly. That some of those calculating looks were directed at Oliver Wood, the team Captain, Alicia Spinnet and Angelina Johnson, the two Chasers, who were all happy to show off their Pegasus forms, was a relief. That Fred and George Weasley weren’t shy to show off the unicorn forms also helped.

Oliver even had the team members present put on a brief Pegasus Quidditch scramble for the crowd’s entertainment. More than a few adults would be pressing their children to approach the gifted witches and wizards.

Ron, while not as spectacular as a unicorn or Pegasus in his pony form, was happy to show off his “growing” skills on a vase of flowers. He, too, would find himself the target of a few admirers, Harry knew. From what his mum had told him, the non-herd member’s animagus abilities made them into hot commodities. Daphne Greengrass seemed especially interested.

Ron looked lost when surrounded by girls, and perpetually red-faced — sometimes almost matching his hair in shade.

Harry’s mum and the Princesses had thought the adults might not get the message that the herd were a unit and couldn’t be split up. They had planned accordingly. So it was that she casually let drop that the incoming class for this year at Hogwarts was going to have more than a few Equestrian students. She didn’t mention a number, but said it would be a dozen or two. She added, as an after-thought, that the Princesses were planning on doing that for the foreseeable future. This new magic, and what the witches had done with it, was just soo interesting.

The adults that heard, quickly spread the news. Groups of adults quickly formed and the calculating looks seemed friendlier, now, somehow.

The fillies and girls were just as disgusted with the way the adults were acting as Harry and Neville. Of course, there wasn’t anything they could actually do about it, though, except grin and bear it. Hermione managed to ignore it the best with by disappearing into the Longbottom Library for an hour before the herd noticed her absence, hunted her down, and dragged her out again.

It was far worse than the Grand Galloping Galas for all the attention Harry garnered, and at the expense of his friend. Harry had no doubt that if he had been older, he would have been in for a Grand Ball reception, just like the ones in Equestria. Fortunately, the witches and wizards seemed to think a birthday party would be more appropriate for the ages of the kids. If Neville had been in Equestria, he would have been at a Grand Ball for introduction to society. Here, that was put off for another three years.

Neville didn’t seem to mind not being in the limelight. In fact, he seemed quite relieved at not being the centre of attention.

During one quiet moment as they were setting up for the opening of the presents — Harry had to be sitting beside Neville for this, his mum had insisted the day before — Neville whispered, “I don’t know how you do it. I’d be terrified of tripping or making a mistake.”

“You think I’m not?” Harry whispered back, looking at him with wide-eyes.

Neville gave him a look, then whispered, “Better you than me.” Then he looked around and sighed. Noblesse oblige.

After the presents, and cake, came more games.

Eventually, Harry was relieved to see, people started collecting their children and leaving. Naturally, every parent had to say their farewells to Harry as well as Neville. Which meant he and the girls were the last to leave.

Before they left, however, Harry made a quick trip to one of the bathrooms. He just knew that floo trip on full, or even just half-full, bladder could only end in an embarrassing disaster for him.

He was just washing his hands when someone else came in. He was tall, but otherwise rather non-descript. “Did you have a fun time?” he asked.

Harry gave the standard, “It was great!”

The stranger nodded, and looked into the mirror as he twirled his long, thin, moustache. “Right,” he said sceptically, and smirked.

Harry glanced back into the mirror and froze. Standing beside him was Discord. He was afraid to look directly.

Mirror-Discord gave him a very wide grin. “Sometimes,” he said in Pinkie Pie’s voice, “Subtlety can lead to far more entertainment than an outright prank.” His grin grew wider. “Can you imagine a cuter couple than Diamond Tiara and Draco Malfoy?”

Harry frantically tried to remember if he had seen that tall stranger talking to any of the adult wizards or witches at the party. As Harry stared at him in horror, he slowly dissolved into a white mist and disappeared.

His mum was not pleased when he whispered his encounter to her. She told him to tell the Weasleys that something had come up and she had an important emergency meeting in Canterlot.

He was exhausted by the time he made it back to The Burrow. After dinner, they made their way outside. Ron took great pride in showing Apple Bloom what he had managed in the orchard so far that summer while the others took to the pond for swimming.

After a late dinner, to compensate for all the cake and ice-cream at the party, the girls retired to their trunk-room while Harry bunked with Ron. It was an early bedtime.

^·_·^

This year, for the first time, ever, Harry James Sparkle-Potter had a birthday party on Earth — excepting that his parents had probably given him one when he was only a year old. Unfortunately, the Dark Lord Voldemort had killed them before his parents could give him a second birthday party.

Unhappily, his remaining relatives had always said, “freaks like you don’t deserve birthday parties.” So, he had only watched enviously as his cousin was outrageously feted to the excess on his birthday — and his cousin wasn’t shy about demonstrating to Harry how much better he had it than the orphan.

Which meant Harry’s party in Equestria when he turned ten, two years ago, had been the first in his memory. It was too bad that he had been far too insecure at the time to enjoy the party. He had kept expecting the “gotcha” that the Dursleys had taught him to expect. He had been hesitant to accept a good occasion as anything but a trap to hurt him, whether physically or psychologically. Plus, everything about Equestria was still new to him.

His second had been much more enjoyable, even if it had been overshadowed by his mum’s disappointment over him concealing the existence of the Portal to Earth. The letter from Hogwarts had also confused the occasion.

This year, his birthday party in Equestria was a full-blown Pinkie Pie party celebration. It took place around lunch time. Half the town, it seemed, had shown up, including everypony from the Ponyville primary school. Or, rather, everypony he had known before all the new ponies had moved into town. The Portal, and its implications and realities, had swelled the population, doubling in the time he had spent at Hogwarts. The town was still quickly growing, becoming an important centre for commerce, technology, and magic.

Trains were no longer twice a day, but once an hour.

The floo-technology ameliorated that growth, somewhat. It allowed instant transportation across the entire continent of Equestria. Otherwise, the town would have been ten-times as big. However, the floo system, while growing by leaps and bounds, was still far too limited in scope to reach everywhere it was needed. As a result, many important ponies felt that their companies, educational facilities, or research firms required a physical presence, as well. Plus, floo-powder was still in short supply and sharply rationed.

At the party, the fillies and colts, and a quite a few mares and stallions, were all agog at the rings the five fillies wore — although on this side of the portal they were bracelets. Harry’s constant proclamations that the magical bracelets were to keep his filly friends safe merely enhanced the looks of awe. Usually, it was the fillies getting gifts for their colts when things were serious. That they were magical, too, simply increased their importance as gifts. Harry, wisely, did not mention he had given other rings to his Gryffindor roommates and a few select other individuals at school.

Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon were almost green with envy — literally. He wondered if next year they both might show up at Hogwarts. He shuddered, remembering Discord’s remark. Even being two years behind Harry and the CMC, the rewards of being versed in this new magic were just too great.

Most of the older fillies were sad that Harry had a herd. On the other hoof, that he had removed so many fillies from the stallion competition was a pleasant thought to them. They were quite interested to hear that the ratio of mares-to-stallions on the other side of the portal was one-to-one. He had to wonder, though, how many humans would be willing to move to Equestria and live as ponies. Or vice versa for the fillies and mares.

He had to admit, he was perfectly willing to stay a pony or a person if his herd wanted. But the average person or pony? He couldn’t see Malfoy, Zabini, Parkinson, or Greengrass being anything but disgusted at the idea. And the same was true in reverse for Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon. Just from how his herdmates had reacted to the food and attitudes in the wizarding world, few ponies would be willing to abandon Equestria. But . . . Discord.

Although, now that he thought about it, the plenitude of magical gems in Equestria meant any such herds would have the financial ability to split their time between both worlds without too much strain.

The Weasley children, with Arthur and Molly making a brief appearance, all attended the Equestrian party. As did a few close friends from Hogwarts. The boys were more than a little bit overwhelmed by the attention they received from the fillies at the party. That the fillies and young mares here were so forward left them more than a bit skittish. Watching their reactions gave Harry quite a few laughs — even as he realized he had reacted almost the same in his first year here.

The girls from the Gryffindor Quidditch team were wide-eyed at the competition that lined up for the older boys on the team. Oliver was in second heaven for the attention he received from the Pegasi and spent almost the entire party discussing quidditch. Which was rapidly becoming a major topic among the pegasi.

Harry thought that if Wood wasn’t careful, he might have a Quidditch team of herdmates.

Everyone was interested in what he and the cutie mark crusaders had been up to. His confirming the rumours of an entire herd of centaurs beside the school had every colt and filly shuddering, as well as a few adults — the Flower sisters fainted. His mum’s assurances that the centaurs on the other side of the portal were friendly and eschewed the use of magic only partly calmed them down.

Hopefully, the Cutie Mark Crusaders, now that they had cutie marks, wouldn’t cause too much destruction trying to see if they could get a witch a cutie mark when they returned to Hogwarts.

Finally having cutie marks had made for an oddly quiet summer for the herd, and Ponyville. On the other hoof, long-time Ponyville residents still headed for cover when they saw them coming, to the bewilderment of the newest residents.

Still, he had great fun at the party as did everypony else. Of course, that depended on your definition of fun. Hermione spent most of the party interrogating the older unicorns on what interesting spells they might know. She was amazed to learn that most used magic on an instinctual level and actually knew fewer specific spells than she did.

Meanwhile, the ponies spent most of their time interrogating Harry’s herd and the visitors from Earth what they knew about magic. Seeing pegasi and earth ponies casting spells was, well, spell-binding. Next year’s crop of volunteer’s for Hogwarts might be quite a bit bigger.

Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon were inordinately interested, Harry realized.

Then it was back through the portal. It was time for more of the “let’s show the witches and wizards that Harry Potter hasn’t left England for Equestria” tour, Harry sourly thought.

^·_·^

Ch. 03. Changelings Abroad!

After the party in Equestria, Harry headed for the Portal Station. He would be staying with the Weasleys. Twilight and the Element Bearers had business in Canterlot, and so wouldn’t be around to chaperone him at the house in Little Whinging.

To his surprise, his herdmates went with him. He had thought it was only going to be him. It wouldn’t be a problem, though, they still had their apartment trunks at both the Embassy and Weasley Orchard locations. He was sure the five would end up split between Ginny’s improved room at The Burrow and the trunk left there.

Harry was more than a little startled by the surprise party Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had put together for him when they arrived late that afternoon at the Weasley farmhouse. The party included his friends from Hogwarts; Neville was much more relaxed than he had been at his own party. So was Harry. No surprises there! The Gryffindor Quidditch team, all the Firsties from Gryffindor, plus a few from the other Houses, including Elly de Rippe, were in attendance.

Elly, Harry noted, seemed especially shy about being at the party. It was as if she had no idea what to expect at a party. Hadn’t her family given her birthday parties? Even at his first birthday party in Equestria he sort of knew what to expect. He had, after all, had to listen to Dudley’s parties while he was locked in his cupboard under the stairs. She acted like it was all foreign to her.

How the Weasleys had convinced her to attend, he wasn’t sure. He was glad they did, however, he still owed her for indirectly saving him last term.

She still puzzled Harry. She had declined all his invitations to visit Equestria, saying she didn’t want to impose. As wonderful as it sounded on the other side of the Portal, she had written, he had invited a lot of people. She didn’t want to distract him from his friends. Moreover, she had her family estate to learn to run, and most of her holiday time was taken with tutors and her Aunt for that. “Perhaps next summer?” she suggested at the party when he again invited her.

He was just glad she didn’t expect to be another of his herdmates! Keeping the five he had happy would be hard enough.

Still, she never strayed that far from Harry, or the fillies, while at the party. In fact, she seemed to spend more of her time around the Equestrian fillies than Harry, Ginny, or Hermione.

The party lasted until shortly after an early dinner, with swimming, a low-speed Quidditch, and several other games. A few of the finished prank candies from the twins were demonstrated, to great laughter. That a good time was had by all seemed to be the popular opinion as they left via the floo that evening.

Elly seemed both grateful to have been at the party, but oddly relieved, when she finally went home. Perhaps the party had been a bit too much? She seemed especially drowsy as she flooed out.

After two parties that day, one in Equestria and the other at the Weasleys, the younger kids were all exhausted and off to an early bed. Harry again bunked with Ron while the girls all retired to the trunk in Ginny’s room.

At loose ends until their letters for the coming year arrived, the seven of them planned to spend the following weeks exploring Ottery St Catchpole. Which, Harry had been told that morning, was in Devon, England. It had a small church, grocery, paper shop, garage, guest house, house-and-garden supply shop, school, and, of course, several pubs. The twins apparently quite liked the girl in the paper shop.

Besides the Weasleys, there were three other witching families in the village. There was the soon to be Fifth-year, Cedric Diggory and his parents, the soon to be Fifth-year, Sally Fawcett and her parents, and the soon to be First-year Luna Lovegood and her father, Xenophilius. Xenophilius published The Quibbler, a newsparchment.

The Lovegood’s, and their residence, were just as bizarre as the newsparchment the family printed. The house resembled a giant chess-piece, a rook. Mr. Lovegood himself dressed in robes almost as outrageous and eye-watering as those presented by Headmaster Dumbledore. His robes, though, seemed themed on chess-pieces and mystery symbols.

Luna appeared as odd as her father, and talked about creatures that no one else seemed to know anything about in a dreamy, not-quite-there voice. But she was a fun person to be around, Harry discovered.

^·_·^

In mid-August, the seven werewolf volunteers Remus had managed to convince went through the portal at one-hour intervals starting at noon. All seven collapsed and went into convulsions moments after crossing the Portal, as expected. The waiting medical teams immediately rushed them to quarantine and made them as comfortable as possible.

Remus, after checking with the hospital ponies and wizards, reported to the Ministry, where he planned to spend the night in one of the Auror holding-cells — he brought along a book and playing cards. The cards were in the hope he could convince the guards into playing a game of poker. He ended up losing about ten galleons, but he considered it money well-spent to have them so eagerly recount how they had taken the former werewolf’s money during a full moon.

As Remus had done the previous month, the werewolf volunteers convulsed as soon as Luna’s moon crested the horizon. Then, after leaving the moon up for an hour, Luna retired it for the night. The moon had been up that long for Remus because it had taken them time to get the message to her about what was happening at the Portal Hospital. They might experiment with the exposure time at a later date, but they didn’t want to take any chances this time.

The next morning, when they checked, they discovered the process had worked. Transiting the portal as much as eight hours before experiencing a full-moon-rise that night was a cure for the werewolf curse. The volunteers, all long-time veterans of the curse, were in tears of happiness at seeing the results of the werewolf-curse testing spells. Two of the women promised to have his children, if he wanted.

The ponies wanted to be sure, and insisted that the former were-wolves wait until the next day to return home to spread the good news.

The Ministry reluctantly gave Remus an official letter declaring that, because they had watched him all night on a full-moon night and performed numerous magical checks, he was not a werewolf.

The party that night at Grimmauld Place almost took the walls down. No one under that age or eighteen was allowed in the doors. Headache cures were required by all the next morning. Several new couples emerged, as well.

An overnight stay in a Ministry holding cell, with periodic magical checks would be the procedure for all wizards and witches who wanted to prove they weren’t werewolves the Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement decided. If they didn’t transform or show any other symptoms, they would receive a certification letter declaring them as having proved they weren’t a werewolf. There would be a fee, of course, the Ministry had to pay for the overtime for the aurors, right?

Fortunately, for the normally destitute werewolves, Sirius was more than happy to setup a fund with the goblins to make sure no one was denied the opportunity. He even awarded the cured werewolves a hundred galleon present to help them get established. And a party in Grimmauld Place to celebrate their new status.

Only a few in the Ministry objected to the situation. They were miserable diehard conservatives who felt the werewolves should be eliminated instead of cured. Fortunately, pointing out to the Minister that every cured werewolf meant additional income to the Ministry in fees and taxes helped push through the certification process.

For the first time, there was a complete cure available. It was painful, but no more so than the transformation itself, all the subjects had reported.

Word of that had raced through the hidden community of werewolves. Many still didn’t believe it, but many more were willing to try. The Portal Hospital ended up booked up for the next several months on the nights of the full-moon. Rather than just one night, as it was on Earth, Luna had consented to making a full-moon rise on three consecutive nights. That way the newly cured could see for themselves it had worked for them before they went home. And it gave the hospital an additional day to process patients.

Many of the “cured” opted to remain in Equestria for a time.

To Harry’s amusement, all of the cured werewolves now had a unicorn as their animagus form. They had gone from pure predator to very dangerous prey! Such irony.

۸-_-۸

It was a quiet night — or very early morning, take your pick — at the Ponyville Sweet Apple Acres Portal Station. The unicorn sergeant looked up from her paperwork as the three changelings walked into the check-in office. The Station, at the edge of the Everfree forest, rarely received any visitors, official or otherwise, this late at night. The last time had been a full-blown Princess-declared emergency, and hundreds of Guard ponies had trooped through at near gallops — with a truly impressive array of new equipment, some not out of the experimental stage.

She raised an eyebrow inquisitively at them as she almost unobtrusively slid a report, the latest update about traffic through the portal, over her copy of Playfilly.

Preoccupied at the sudden appearance of visitors, and hiding her magazine, she didn’t notice the almost invisible flash from the stolen wand as it cast a slight confundus on the sergeant. Of course, that it came from under one of the three unicorns instead of one of their horns, as a pony would normally expect, helped to hide it. In any event, she would now be inclined believe whatever they said to her.

After staring at them dully for a moment, she blinked once and asked, “What can I do for you?” as she pressed the button on the floor for assistance.

The lead unicorn, a light green with a light blue mane and tail lifted a paper out of her saddlebags and sent it to the sergeant. It was a short note, just a request that the Doctors Pony, Bones, and Balls travel through the Portal to the Little Whinging Embassy as soon as possible.

The soldier frowned as she glanced at the clock. It was nearly two, one-forty-seven to be exact. Both the portal and the Embassy were usually almost deserted at this time, although attendants were always present at the entrances to both.

The door to the left of the three ponies opened and a unicorn Guard came through. He stepped to the side to watch the three visitors, keeping the sergeant out of his line of fire, as he closed the door. He wore one of the new saddle-mounted rifle systems with barrels on both sides and automatic ammunition feeds. A spark shot from his horn to the sergeant, who didn’t even look at the newcomer as she sent a spark back.

“The letter arrived while I was having dinner,” said the light-green unicorn. “I gathered Doctors Balls,” she nodded at the amber stallion, with a dark-blue mane and crossed bones as a cutie mark, “and Pony,” a pale-blue unicorn with two-tone red mane, “and came here as fast as we could. Even with that new floo travel, it took a bit of time,” she finished.

Hidden by the other two unicorns, the wand underneath the stallion flashed a second time, and the second unicorn was hit with a confundus.

The sergeant sighed and pursed her lips. Without warning, a spark shot from her horn to each of the three ponies. They had expected that — the spark was a spell to reveal a disguised changeling. Even though they knew the spell would pass them, they couldn’t stop their reflexive stiffening.

The Guard pony smiled ruefully at their reactions. “Sorry about that, but it’s what we have to do now.”

Doctor Bones nodded genially. “Yes, we know. We get those every day. Still a surprise, though. I imagine it will be a few more months before that becomes an ignored feature of conversation for unicorns.

“I assure you,” the stallion said, firmly, lifting his muzzle arrogantly, “that we are not illusioned, either! So, you don’t need to do that.”

The sergeant blinked at the unusual declaration, paused, and nodded sagely. The unicorn with saddle-mounted rifles blinked, frowned bemusedly, then returned to his attentive stare.

Three sheets flew out of a basket on sergeant’s desk, and she quickly noted their names, descriptions, and cutie marks on them. Doctor Bones’ cutie mark was two crossed bones. Thigh bones from the look. From the sergeant’s expression, Doctor Balls’ cutie mark clearly left him mystified — how did a trio of a foal’s multi-coloured balls lead to becoming a doctor? Doctor Pony’s cutie mark was scary, a patchwork pony doll with a scalpel over it. She kept looking from it to the Doctor’s face. The three could see her trying to figure out how a filly got that as a cutie mark! And if she should be worried about it.

After she finished writing, she took pictures of the cutie marks. She attached the Polaroids to the papers while grinning at the three doctors, “Gotta love those new cameras from Earth! Instant pictures without magic,” she declared, and shook her head wonderingly. She lifted three green badges from a drawer, carefully wrote their names on the badges, attached them to lanyards, and held them out in her magic to the three doctors. They each put on their lanyard.

Then she stared at their letter a moment. Without a sound, a copy appeared, which she then clipped to the pictures and the other documents. She dropped them all into a basket on her desk.

The stallion stifled his desire to sigh in relief. It had taken them three months to acquire the right paper, discover the right letterhead, the right seal, and the proper written mannerisms of the purported sender. Their forgery had passed the first, and most important, inspection.

“We have to check for contraband,” the sergeant explained as she floated the letter back to Doctor Pony. “Please step into the next room.” The unicorn standing beside the open door to the interior of the building, smiled pleasantly as the two mares and stallion walked into the next room. He closed the door behind them, leaving the sergeant alone, once more, on a dull night.

Inside the room were two more ponies, a pegasus and an earth pony. They also were wearing rifle saddles. The earth pony stood in front of the closed exit from the room where he had all three unicorns in clear sight. The pegasus hovered near the ceiling beside the entrance and above the end of the long table that divided the room. The door behind the table was closed.

The three Guards were positioned so that none were in the others’ line of fire.

“Please place your saddlebags on the table and empty them,” the unicorn said as he walked behind the counter, closing the hinged counter door.

The changelings had expected this. It was still more than a bit terrifying, knowing that they had little to no way of escaping if things went wrong.

The doctors were quick to respond. All three had a tied bundle of instruments specific to their profession. As professionals, they were expected to carry such, as well as a few appropriate medicines and bandages in their bags. Doctor Bones even had a small bottle of the new Skele-Grow. In addition, they each had a bag of about a hundred bits and several gem stones varying from tiny to hoof-size. There were no clothes, of course. Nothing they owned would fit on the other side of the portal.

The Guard behind the table sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said regretfully, “but we can’t let you take bits or loose gems with you through the portal. We will credit your bits to the Embassy. You may withdraw their equivalent value, as you need, in the local currency. The gems will be kept in a safe-deposit box until you return.” He noted their names from the lanyards and wrote them on six small boxes he pulled from below the counter. For each doctor, the gems went into one box and the coins into the other.

He cast a targeted finite spell inside the bags, then felt around inside each to make sure it was empty, and that there were no hidden Undetectable Expansion Charms or notice-me-nots in use.

Doctor Balls hid his smile. They had known this was the procedure. By providing the ponies with obvious “contraband,” the ponies wouldn’t expect any more. Not wearing clothes also made it “obvious” they weren’t trying to hide gems. The normal body-scan for contraband wouldn’t detect the gems they had taped inside the holes in their legs, as, technically, they weren’t inside their bodies. That was the problem with tailored spells, they were rather restricted in what they could do.

It took only a few more minutes before the three illusion-hidden changelings trotted out of the portal entrance building and down the path that led to the portal.

“I can’t believe that actually worked,” said Fifty-six Emmie, formerly known as Worker Infiltrator Cadet 370,456ME, via their mind-link.

“Why wouldn’t it have?” said Earl, the one posing as the unicorn stallion, “You two worked hard enough for it.” Unlike the other two, he was a male. His designation was Drone URL370,456. “And I practiced that spell until I was dreaming of it!”

“Yeah, we know, we saw the dreams,” Emmie said dryly.

At the crèche in the hive, the entire group had been honoured to be one of the few with a drone in their crèche. That he, and the other permanent hive inhabitants, had accompanied the infiltrators and soldiers in the attack had been astonishing, to say the least. Queen-Mother had committed the entire ling population into the assault. There would be no returning to the hive.

No ling had been left in the hive, and the reservoirs of food had been emptied. The entire invasion was a do-or-die effort. Failure meant the likely extinction of the hive.

The rumour mill, whispered from ling-to-ling instead of in the mind-link, was that the hive was in crisis. The reservoirs were draining at a rate much faster than the infiltrators could replenish. A rate that had accelerated as the hive had grown larger in the years building up to the invasion. Soon, they would run out of food — and they were already on limited rations for non-essential lings. That was probably the reason why crèche 370,456 had been the last set of eggs laid. There would have been no ling left behind to take care of the eggs or nymphs.

Usually, as one crèche reached cadet-age, the next set of eggs were laid and incubated. This time, however, there hadn’t been any eggs laid even when the cadets reached the end of their hive training and were ready for field-training. As a result, their crèche hadn’t been large enough to replace the lings lost through accidents, age, and protecting the hive over the last year.

Unfortunately, for Fifty-six Essie — Worker Infiltrator Cadet 370,456SE — and Fifty-six Emmie, drones like Earl were . . . well . . . useless outside the hive, as he well knew. He wasn’t even as mature, physically or mentally, as the workers despite being the same age, and he knew it. It would be several more years before he would be old enough to be presented to the queen as an adult, for her to trade to another hive. He hadn’t been trained for the warrior class, infiltrator class, harvester class, gatherer class, or any class, really. Why waste training resources on a ling that was just going to be given in trade to another hive, anyway?

He had had access to the hive mind, of course, but little to no reason to internalize any of it. Not to mention that there is a big difference between knowing something and being able to do it! Without training or regular use, knowledge is useless.

He was, by the infiltrators’ standards, simple and a bit slow.

And yet, he was the one who had come up with this idea when they realized their original plan was fatally flawed.

They had wanted to protect Earl until he reached maturity. Once he was an adult, they would have taken him to one of the other hives and offered to trade him to them in exchange for the other two to join the hive. If he were a mature drone, alone, the new hive would have eagerly accepted him at what amounted to no cost for them. The problem was with Emmie and Essie. Usually, workers were never traded between hives. Captured workers, if they hadn’t fought to the death, were quickly worked to that state.

With any luck, offering Earl would get them accepted as his personal slaves at the least, if the new hive wouldn’t accept them as second-tier workers. They wouldn’t have good jobs, but they would be alive. Which they all agreed was a better fate than trying to live by themselves without a hive behind them. Starvation and predation were very possible outcomes, otherwise.

Earl was happy to agree to this, as the two infiltrators had the skills to keep him alive for the years it would take for him reach that level. Skills he didn’t have, and only vaguely understood.

Fortunately, during the year and a half that they had wandered the fringes of Equestria, they had discovered that using him to negotiate a place in a new hive wouldn’t work. Queen-Mother’s attempt to conquer Canterlot, and Equestria, had not only failed, but had revealed the existence of changelings to the unsuspecting ponies. The drones and workers from their hive, they discovered, were considered contaminated with a defective decision-making process. How could a new hive have faith that any of the decisions made by former members of the Chrysalis hive were well-reasoned? As a result, the other hives had decided that any benefits a drone might bring were offset by being from a defective hive. There was the distinct possibility that their own decision making might be contaminated, if they accepted the drone.

Not to mention their reluctance to add to their hive’s population. The newly alerted ponies made gathering food much more difficult. In fact, the hives would have to reduce their populations over the next few decades, and going on short rations to weather the temporary difficulties of too many lings.

Sneaking past the new ling-detection spell was impossible! It worked by first detecting the active use of the disguise magic, then by forcing them back to their normal form. And the ponies had quickly deployed that spell everywhere! They had even started putting the spell on entrances to buildings, so even if there weren’t any unicorns around, say in an earth-pony farming village, a ling could still be caught.

They had despaired surviving.

Then, one night, Earl had said, “If it detects the disguise magic, then don’t use that. Use an illusion.”

To the other two’s amazement, their trial had worked!

But that came with its own drawbacks — they had to avoid touch at all costs. And with the ponies wanting to hug at a moment’s notice . . . it became quite a chore to acquire the love they needed, but not impossible. But at least they could travel in safety among the ponies.

Still, that was not a permanent solution. Someday, somewhere, they would be found out. Until then, though, they could haunt the parks, fairs, nightclubs, and other locations where ponies tended to crowd, and survive by remaining on the outskirts. Now, at least, they had a chance to come up with another solution.

It was at a foal’s party that they had heard the rumour of a portal to another world. Months passed as they reconnoitred the situation, leading them to this desperate bid at escape. If the numbers they had heard were accurate, they could safely disappear into a new world where none suspected their presence. A bit of careful shadowing of the few humans that made the trip to Ponyville had shown that there was a possibility of finding enough emotional food to survive.

“We’re not through yet, so pay attention!” ordered Essie.

While they were walking up the path, they were surreptitiously transferring the gems hidden in their leg holes into their saddlebags. They didn’t want to take a chance that going through the portal with those still in their legs might cause severe problems on the other side. They shouldn’t, but who knew for sure? The illusions on themselves, and the gems, helped mask what they were doing from the ponies they knew were watching them.

The second checkpoint was a bit easier to navigate. They were subjected, again, to the ling-detection spell. The third checkpoint was just as simple, and then they were trotting around the tree-portal on the spiral path. They took off their saddlebags and slipped on the simple robes at the portal, itself.

Then, it was on to a new world. And surviving in their new, bipedal forms.

The unicorn on duty on the other side had been warned to expect three doctors. When three very short people walked out of the portal, he was a little startled.

They had planned for this. They hadn’t known what they would look like on going through. Ponies became humans, but what happened with Changelings? They practiced for weeks being minotaurs, trolls, and gargoyles to familiarize themselves with different forms of bipedal locomotion. The body shapes were different, and each exerted its own influence on movement. They hoped that such practice wouldn’t leave them slow and clumsy when whatever they became, they became.

The unicorn immediately started to use his magic to help the three that had just come through stay upright. “Please remain calm, I’ll help you stand up.”

All three were playacting at being clumsier than they really were. They had told the Portal minders on the other side that they had been practicing bipedalism. They knew that that information would have been passed on to the minders on this side.

The unicorn was distracted and annoyed that they appeared to have lied about practicing walking. That their forms were also unexpected, merely added to his confusion.

Partially hidden by his sisters, Earl grabbed his wand from where it was stuck on his stomach. The moment he had it in hand, he cast a confundus at the unicorn, and took a quick look around.

They were lucky, there weren’t any other ponies in sight.

“Thank you for your help,” Earl said loudly, casting an illusion on himself, as did the other two, that he was an adult. There had been plenty of pictures on the Equestrian side of what humans looked like for him to cast something accurate. He used an illusion as they were unsure if the ponies on this side of the portal would use the ling-spell, and ruin their escape.

“As you can see, we’re fine,” he continued firmly. “Everything is the way it should be.” They were no longer pretending clumsiness. Slightly awkward, yes. Clumsy? No. “We can handle the dressing rooms by ourselves, no need to worry yourself about us.”

The unicorn nodded absent-mindedly, his magic stopping.

The lings quickly ducked into their respective dressing-rooms on either side of the central hall.

Fortunately, both rooms had several large posters demonstrating proper apparel for their respective sexes. Apparel which was stocked in the dressing-rooms. The posters changed with the seasons, obviously.

In short order, the three exited the rooms. They nodded to the unicorn Guard, who nodded back and smiled, then made a note on the paper on his desk. They made their way past him to the next, main room, where another unicorn gave them a look-over before nodding approvingly. He hit them with the ling-spell, of course, and asked to see their lanyards. He verified what they had said on the other side, examined their letter, then waved them onward.

The walk to the dome exit, and the walk to the embassy were much shorter than in Equestria. They did notice the heavily armed guards watching them closely.

They were hit with the ling-spell twice more before they entered the Embassy, itself.

Exiting the Embassy was easy. Once they passed the Guard Portal side entrance at the back, they headed for main entrance in the front. On one side of the door was a large map of Little Whinging, on the other was a map of London. They studied both carefully, taking their time. This close to the door, they could feel the presence of a ling-spell. Apparently, the doors were both the first and last defence of the Embassy, depending on which way you were going.

Then they merely went straight out the front doors! No fuss, no bother. Everyone assumed they knew what they were doing. The door’s ling-detection spell disturbed them no more than any of the others they had experienced. They didn’t even slow down.

They had made it.

They luxuriated in the feeling for a moment, then started down the street. They would find a dark alley and transform to birds. That would let them cover far more distance than any pony would expect.

Now, to see if they could survive on what love the humans provided — and if the magicals could supply more than the non-magicals. Fortunately, they had enough reserves for several weeks, at least.

۸-_-۸

Ch. 04. Digging In

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, was quite looking forward to the coming school year. His scheme to get Harry Potter — the Boy-Who-Lived, Vanquisher of Voldemort, adopted child of Princess Sparkle of Equestria — to return to Hogwarts for a second year had worked like a charm. Pun intended. He grinned happily.

That he would be accompanied by thirty-nine additional students, not including his three “herd-mates,” was like having his cake and eating it, too! That there were only nine boys in the bunch was just icing layered on the proverbial cake. The additional ten unicorns, six pegasi, six earth-ponies, and a Zebrican who would accompany them to be teaching aides to the staff was like getting ice cream with hot fudge on top of the cake!

He wouldn’t have believed it possible to get that many new students and aides if not for the squibs he had contacted. All were acquaintances of Argus Filch, the school caretaker, or Arabella Figg, the squib woman he had had watching Harry at Privet Drive. He had relayed to them the Princesses’ offer of a job in a land where they could do magic. He had actually been surprised at the number of squibs who had enthusiastically responded! Apparently, those unfortunates kept a loose connection with each other via owl-post, or even muggle-post! It must be due to shared tragedy, he decided, the desire for someone who understood what they were going through.

Mr. Filch had taken his suggestion of a summer working-holiday there. That had worked a bit too well, however. He had had to convince the man to return! Emphasizing that he only had two more years before he could take a complete retirement after twenty-five years of service hadn’t completely persuaded the man. It had taken three letters — plus the promise of two assistants — before Argus had finally agreed.

The squib quite enjoyed flying under his own power, never having been able to get a broom to accommodate him. Not being singled out as the “different” one in a crowd was a unique experience for him, too, after his treatment by the students in Hogwarts.

The ponies had accepted and welcomed him as one of their own — someone lost who had finally returned to the herd. He was no longer an outsider. Even Mrs. Norris seemed to like it better; the two of them, he had said, had an even better rapport than before.

He had also mentioned being astonished at the number of mares who seemed interested in meeting him! Him! He had never had any girl or woman interested in him because of his squib status. In Equestria, they simply hadn’t cared.

But, in the end, he had been persuaded to return to Hogwarts for the next two school years until his full retirement. He would definitely be spending his summer hols in Equestria, though.

The Headmaster knew many of the old families had tried to track down their cast-out squibs, with varying degrees of success. Several of the neutral and light families had been successful in “re-establishing” those connections. He suspected that they hadn’t “lost” the connection as much as they had pretended to do so to their fellow wizards — to escape censure by other wizards.

The dark families had had the least success. Their tradition of killing the squibs or obliviating them had come back to hurt them. While a sad situation for the squibs, it did make it easier for Albus to act as a gateway to Equestria for their families. All the families wanted that family connection to Atlantis.

In any event, for the galleons the Headmaster had provided, the squib had returned a remarkable number of books about the place and its recorded history. Those were galleons well spent, in Dumbledore’s opinion, and a decent exchange for the future loss of his caretaker. Unhappily, though, there were many duties in the castle that required non-magical solutions — solutions that wizards tended to use magic for instead. Which led to problems as the assorted, layered magics conflicted with each other.

Should he consider hiring two muggle-borns’ parents as a replacement? Or, perhaps, a brother or sister? That way, he needn’t worry about his squib workers being poached by Equestria’s friendlier magical environment. Or their families offering them inducements to move there.

He would need to consult at length with Severus and Minerva, he decided.

۸-_-۸

He was most surprised to discover, on returning to his office from lunch, that there was a new door beside the gargoyle guarding his door. A quick look inside revealed the school map that had been on one wall of his office was now on an entire wall here — floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall. Opposite it were a table and four chairs facing the map. The wall behind the chairs was filled with filing cabinets that he recognized used to be in Filch’s office — they were used to hold reports and banned items.

Going to his office, he saw that the escalator steps were unchanged, and a smaller version of the school map still resided on one wall as it had been previously, he was relieved to see.

No longer would the prefects and professors have to use his office to watch for out-of-bound students at night — and he could still track people from his office.

How convenient.

He would have to reward the house-elves for their unusual initiative.

۸-_-۸

The three changelings were astounded at this new world they found themselves. They had managed to learn a lot about this new world by “casually” meeting pony workers in the local bars and restaurants in Ponyville. They even had acquired a few of the imported books, which had provided more information.

Still, there was always the bit of doubt about what they had heard. Surely, the ponies and books were exaggerating, right? The humans they had cautiously approached had to have been exaggerating a little bit, too. Who didn’t exaggerate the good things about their homes?

The sheer size of everything in London left them silent. London, alone, dwarfed the population of Equestria. Never mind how small that made the lings’ hive appear.

That size, however, worked in their favour. If it was difficult to find one ling in a hundred ponies, it became much more difficult to find one hiding among a thousand!

It was apparent that they could probably hide among the humans without too much of a struggle. The emotional food they could collect from locations like parks and restaurants, or replacing someone for a night, would barely suffice for their needs. Without the presence of a hive to back them, it would be a long slog before they were comfortable.

Which was why they had originally decided to explore the magical world.

Finding The Leaky Cauldron took a day — London was huge! But once they found it, they studied it for another day. There no signs that it was under surveillance, but their few contacts with the humans in Equestria led them to believe it probably was. They could feel the changeling detection spell on the street door to the pub when they walked close enough under illusions.

It was with some anxiety that they entered the pub on the fourth day. Earl went first while the other two followed at a greater distance. If he fell, they planned on seizing him with their magic and fleeing. When he came back out a moment later, they hurried in after him.

They closely watched the patrons arriving by floo as they stood to the side of the street door and pretended to discuss something. They soon established what they needed to do. They slowly headed for the back door by bar, and timed it so that they followed a witch into the small, walled space just in time to go through the gateway to the Alley.

It was a stunning dichotomy to the London they had just spent three days exploring. It was like a totally different society from a completely different time.

They barely managed to keep their faces straight as they slowly made their way down the street towards their objective. A giant white building that looked . . . off. Lines weren’t parallel to either each other, or the buildings around them. Watching the magic casually being wielded with wands was another shock.

But they had a mission. While they had gems that were valuable, they had no money for either this weird magical world or the more pedestrian world of London outside the pub. Hence, Gringotts.

The goblins in Gringotts were a surprise to the three changelings. The goblins their instructors had taught them about were not this advanced. Equestrian goblins were still in the tribal stage, in small and hidden enclaves. On the other hoof, nothing from the Equestrian side of the portal came close to degree of sophistication of human technology. The three refugees would have to be very careful.

But it was puzzling that the witches and wizards ignored so much of that technology. Didn’t they realize how much better everything would be if they blended magic and technology? Ignoring that technology almost put their society behind the Equestrians. Plus, while the witches here seemed to have a far, far, greater selection of spells, they didn’t seem to accomplish that much more than what the Equestrian unicorns had mastered.

But those few that did excel, were in areas the Equestrians had never dreamed existed! The floo and the expansion spells were incredible in their societal impact. Instant transport to almost anywhere! Storage space no longer a problem.

The impact of the non-magical devices was just as far reaching — telephones, television, and gunnery were going to revolutionize the Equestrians. With their new industrial base, no single other race on Equestria would dare to annoy the princesses! The lings had gotten out just barely in time. They shuddered to think how the other Hives would survive with those improvements in place among the ponies.

Plus, the three could not begin to imagine how deeply the introduction of those concepts and items would affect their old world.

After briefly examining the bank’s lobby, they headed for a goblin teller.

Essie started off. “Excuse me, we would like to exchange some gems for . . . galleons? And pounds?” She waited patiently for the goblin to respond.

After slowly finishing whatever it was he was doing, he looked up at her and said, “Well?”

She shrugged and started pulling the gems she had out of her clothes’ pockets and piling them on the desk. The other two quickly followed her lead.

The goblin watched expressionlessly until they finished. He picked up the largest gem and studied it closely with a magnifying loupe. He licked it once, studied it under the loupe again, and then stared at them. He sighed in disappointment, then pulled out a bag and swept all the gems into it.

“Snaggle-tooth,” he called out. A goblin hurried over from a line of waiting goblins. He handed the bag to the goblin.

In short order, the three were led to a Master Knifethrower’s office.

He studied the gems they had given the clerk in the front lobby carefully, separating them into two piles. Then he leaned back in his chair and studied them. None of them had taken the three chairs offered and stood in a loose line in front of his desk. Earl was staring around the room, bored. The infiltrators would handle everything for him. Emmie and Essie, however, stood in a warrior’s stance, slightly angled so they could keep an eye on the four guards in his office as well as the goblin behind the desk. They were prepared to fight, if they had to.

“You will remove the glamours,” he snarled at Earl, getting his surprised attention. “Or leave.”

After a moment’s hesitation, as they debated the demand, Earl lifted his wand and quickly cancelled the first layer of illusions on himself and his sisters.

Not that they knew it at the time, but even if the gems hadn’t given them away, their attitudes did. They reacted differently from the British that the goblins routinely engaged. They were not gawking, hesitant, or afraid as most muggles — and they couldn’t be wizards wearing those clothes. They were wary, but not intimidated. They seemed to know little of the bank, like muggles, yet they were not awed by magic as muggles were. They had no accents, but acted as if they didn’t know goblins. There was only one group that fit those parameters — Equestrians.

They didn’t have the outrageous hair colours that the other Equestrians all sported, but they looked to be brother and sisters — and they bore a more than passing resemblance to someone that Knifethrower knew. A certain Equestrian witch. The four were close enough in appearance for the three in the room to be siblings, and her, their older aunt.

“You have recently arrived from Equestria,” he stated. His gaze flickered to the gems. “These are distinctive to that locale.”

Earl gave the goblin an alarmed look, but before he could do more, Emmie ordered, via their mind link, “Don’t move!” There was a good helping of fury at his nymphish failure to maintain his composure.

Until then, the four guards had been radiating only an alert boredom.

He slumped a little bit, “Sorry.” Then he added defensively, “I don’t have your training.”

But the damage was done. The guards were no longer bored.

She relayed to him exactly what she wanted him to do if everything went to tartarus.

This took place in a mere instant. Essie, like Emmie, hadn’t reacted by moving so much as a muscle.

Knifethrower was radiating amusement at successfully surprising them.

“We know Equestrians have another form. Before we continue, you must show us your true forms.”

They were silent a brief moment as they furiously debated what to do. Above all, they were not going to reveal Changelings to this world! One by one, they changed into disguises of ponies they had seen — a unicorn, pegasus, and earth pony.

No colour was repeated between the three of them. While the colours were fairly ordinary by Equestrian standards, the combinations on each pony would give the goblins headaches for several days as they remembered them. Certain colours just should not be placed side-by-side, even if they are pastels.

That they no longer looked like siblings merely mirrored what the goblins had seen of the Equestrians so far.

They held their pony forms long enough for the goblin to note them down. He didn’t remark on the green-fire that accompanied their changes to and from their pony forms.

He again gave them an evaluating look.

“What is your relationship with the other Equestrians?”

They stared at him, unsure of what he meant.

He gave an exasperated sigh. “You arrived without the escort that the Equestrian Princesses usually send, one who is familiar with the bank’s procedures — as your use of the glamours and method of delivering the gems shows. Therefore, you don’t wish them to know of this. Why?”

After another frantic exchange, Emmie said, speaking carefully, “Our relationship with the Equestrians is complicated. Suffice to say, if they knew we were here, they would be extremely upset and begin hunting us. That said, they don’t know what we look like, so we can easily evade them.”

He sat thinking, regarding them with narrowed eyes and furrowed brow. Finally, he said, “The bank will pay twenty-five thousand galleons for these nine gems, and a thousand for the others, total. You will need a vault for the funds as you will be incapable of carrying the galleons. Do you wish one vault for the three of you, or one each?” He opened a drawer and tossed three folded items onto his desk. Earl wrinkled his nose at the leather, but said nothing.

“One vault will do,” Emmie said.

“What name do you want on the vault?”

The three didn’t know exactly what to do. They hadn’t expected the goblins to recognize the gems’ origin, or to offer so much for them. Certainly not so much that they couldn’t carry it with them.

“The name on the vault will not be disclosed to anyone in Gringotts who doesn’t need to know. Most transactions are done by vault number.”

Those were reassuring statements, but what name could they use that wouldn’t tip off the Equestrians that lings were here, and also conceal them from the humans? After all, only lings would be named 370,456ME, 370,456SE, or URL370,456.

Annoyed at their silence, the goblin Knifethrower said, “Do you want Gringotts to reactivate a name from a deceased lineage? There will be a small fee if you do.” He gave them a smile that showed many teeth.

Emmie, still consulting with her companions, asked, “How much?”

The goblin leaned forward intently. “I will waive that charge if you will tell me about the political situation in Equestria. We have already had this discussion with another and wish to verify a few facts.”

Emmie could feel that the goblin was taking advantage of their ignorance. “What other fees are we charged?”

It was a quick discussion before Emmie agreed to the goblin’s trade. As long as they didn’t betray anything about the lings in Equestria, the three didn’t see a problem. In the meantime, they were not charged for their wallets or vault fees for a year.

Knifethrower brusquely explained that the wizards and witches organized by family, like the equestrians. However, unlike the equestrians, human families shared a last name, a surname. Thus, it was that Emmie, Essie, and Earl became the Pauncefoots, a family only recently returned from overseas. The goblin was uninterested in their relationship, whether as siblings, a couple with a sister, or a husband with two wives.

“The wallets will be linked to your vault, number seven thirteen.” he said as pulled out a small stack of parchments and started scribbling. “When you are down to a hundred galleons in your vault, the wallets turn green inside; at fifty galleons, they turn orange; at ten, black. At zero, they don’t open. A drop of blood on each wallet will seal it to you. You may each blood all three wallets. You must do that now.” He paused, then added, “There is a fee for their replacement.”

He stopped his scribbling to pull out a silver knife and set it beside the wallets.

“Your disputes with others stop at the steps of Gringotts,” he said, resuming filling out the forms. “In Gringotts, only Goblin laws matters. Breaking a Goblin law is usually fatal. Attacking a Goblin is rarely not fatal. Attacking anyone in Gringotts is against our laws. Using wands inside Gringotts without permission is against our laws.” He finished writing and dropped the papers in a drawer.

He glared at them as he folded his hands together on his desk and leaned forward on his elbows. “Other infractions have punishments from fines, seizure of your vault, to death. Is that clear?”

They nodded in unison.

There was a thump from the desk. He opened a drawer and took out a pamphlet and three keys. “These are the keys to your vault. Do not misplace them, there is a fee for replacements. Blood them as you do the wallets.” He slid the wallets, keys, and pamphlet to the edge of the desk, and then clearly waited for them to do what he had told them.

It did not take long. As soon as Essie placed the knife back on his desk, the goblin grinned nastily — at least, to them, the display of teeth was nasty — and started asking questions. He carefully noted down the answers Emmie supplied.

It was several hours before they finished and left the bank. Knifethrower allowed them to renew their “adult” illusions before they left his office.

They sat outside at Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour drinking some sort of fizzy drinks, and tried to determine what to do next. This society was vastly more complex than they had anticipated. Without the resources of the hive to back them, they felt even more exposed than they had been in Equestria.

“We desperately need information,” stated Emmie via the mind-link as she looked out into the Alley. It was mid-afternoon.

“And a place to stay,” put in Earl, staring off in a different direction. He was curious about the world they were in, and didn’t share his sisters’ wariness — he expected them to take care of what needed to be done.

Emmie glared at him, then looked off in a third direction. No one would sneak up on them.

“And to get our stories straight,” added Essie.

Emmie sighed and rubbed her face with a hand. How weird that felt.

Essie was staring, squinting at the bank. Her brow was furrowed. Suddenly she rose, “Wait here. I saw something.” They could feel her surprise, suspicion, and a bit of hope.

The other two watched as she walked to right-side of the steps that led up to the entrance to Gringotts, which was to their left. She crouched a moment, looking at the ground by the first step. Her surprise peaked, then hope jumped, and suspicions shot up. She glanced around the Alley sceptically. Then she went to wall on the right-side of Gringotts where it met the next shop. She stared at the shop’s window, then leaned closer while resting her hand on the bricks beside it.

Next, she walked past that shop and Madam Malkin’s, but stopped at the edge of the robes’ shop’s window and apparently looked inside for a moment. The she moved to the window of the next shop, Flourish and Blott’s.

She abruptly hurried back to them, excited, happy, and apprehensive.

“There are lings, here!” she practically shouted in their minds. “I thought I saw a sign as we went in! She’s a Chrysalis worker, too. The next sign should be between . . . ,” she glanced down the alley past the bank.

“Gambol and Jakes, and Magical Menagerie!” finished Emmie. “The third window on the other side of the bank.”

They nodded, finished their drinks, and fanned out. Emmie went to the one between the animal and joke shops, Essie headed for the gap by the Quidditch shop, and Earl headed for the magical instruments shop. They would comb the Alley carefully.

Fifteen minutes later they met back up and put together the clues the other ling had left them. “It seems we need to send an owl to el ee rip,” said Essie, and looked down the Alley towards where the message had said there was an owl-post station.

Later, as they watched the owl wing off towards the west, Earl thought out, “Do you think she’s the Elly from our crèche?”

“I wonder what the ‘rip’ means?”

“Perhaps an address. It doesn’t matter. We’ll just wait.”

“The Leaky Cauldron?”

“That’s where we said we’d be. No reason to hurry, though. I doubt she’ll be able to get here faster than an hour, anyway. We can learn a little more looking around the Alley, and then we can people-watch from a nice and dark corner in the pub.”

It would be boring. They knew that buying books to read would be a waste of time — they weren’t sure what would be useful, yet. As soon as they linked up with “Elly,” they would know whatever she knew. The fact that she had been here long enough, and felt secure enough, to leave infiltrator messages beyond, “I was here,” meant she knew far more than they did.

They began a slow stroll around Diagon Alley.

It was a relief that the owl had taken their message at the Owl Post Shop. There had been the tiny worry that maybe she wasn’t here anymore, that she was dead, now, having failed to survive longer. A risk every infiltrator took. It greatly simplified their lives that owl-post provided instant feedback on whether the recipient was available or not.

They had no idea how far away she was, so they didn’t expect a quick response. At worst, they would take a room for the night.

۸-_-۸

“That was a pleasant dinner, wasn’t it?” Princess Celestia said as she looked around the table at her family.

“Yes, indeed, ’twas a delightful repast,” her sister Princess Luna agreed.

Princess Twilight sighed and patted her stomach, nodding her agreement.

Prince Blueblood looked up from his plate with a smile. “Most assuredly, auntie. While the food at the Embassy is quite excellent, considering its sources on the other side of the portal, the food at the palace, here, simply cannot be surpassed in its excellence of appearance, execution, and taste.” He turned his head slightly to the maître d’. “Please pass to the chefs my appreciation and compliments on a well-prepared supper.”

The mare curtsied, smiling broadly. “With pleasure, Prince Blueblood,” she replied as the other wait-staff cleared the table.

“Blue,” Celestia said, “Your reports on the other side of the portal make for very interesting reading, but what brings us the pleasure of your company this evening?”

“Ah. Yes,” he said quietly. He didn’t quite smirk as his diplomatic pouch, which he had brought with him, opened, and a crate was lifted out. The sight of the crate unshrinking to its normal size as it left the expanded space inside the pouch still made the mares shaking their heads. It would take a bit longer to get used to that aspect of the new magic.

The wooden crate was almost as tall as he was at his withers, with the same dimensions in width and length, when he set it on the floor. There was a fancy festive bow on top.

“I have a present for the Royal Family, but especially for Luna,” he said.

They all quirked their heads at him, then looked at the nondescript crate.

“It seems rather . . . plain,” Celesta ventured.

He snorted lightly. “Weighty objects tend to come in small packages. This one, without a featherweight charm probably weighs as much as you do, auntie,” he said, gleam in his eyes.

She raised an eyebrow. “Is that a poke at my weight, Blue?” she said sardonically.

He leaned away from her slightly, dramatically lifting a hoof to his chest, “Not in the least,” he said in an exaggerated aggrieved tone, “merely a statement of fact.”

He cleared his throat, clearly enjoying their mystification. “To commemorate the one-year anniversary of the meeting of our two worlds, the Queen of England, and the British government, wish to present to you a piece of a third world — their moon.”

The three others looked at him, astonished.

“The scientists who delivered this to me said that it is a sealed, hinged, steel case containing one-hundred-and-one pounds of dirt and rock from their moon. They thought that you, Luna,” he nodded at her, “might like some samples to compare to your moon.”

He smiled smugly. “They purchased an unused space shuttle from . . . I believe it was Russia? A few dozen reparo spells, expansion spells on the fuel tanks, and a bunch of feather-weight and impervius spells had it ready for service. The whole mission was only a day. Getting the shuttle ready took four months. They left it parked in orbit under a muggle-aversion charm with an illusion of being a small satellite, and used port-keys to get home.”

Luna reared back in surprise. All three had their eyes wide in surprise.

“They suggested that you open the crate in a sterile room where the air has been filtered. It is currently a vacuum-sealed container, and you might want to prevent any sources of contamination when you open it.”

He looked at her as she hurried around the table for a closer look, the other two quickly joining her. Twilight almost beat Luna to it, despite being closer.

“They do request that any differences you find between this set of samples and your own moon, to please advise them. They are quite curious if their theories on how their moon formed might possibly match your moon. They are also quite interested in how closely the makeup of your moon matches Equus itself, and by extensions, their own planet. There is no hurry on getting that information. It is entirely at your own discretion, of course. They are just pleased that they can provide you with this gift.”

Luna shouldered Twilight out of the way as she examined the crate from all sides.

She looked up with a sparkle in her eye. “And it’s for me?”

Blueblood nodded. “The lead scientist said he couldn’t imagine not sharing this with you, knowing your affinity for the moon. And that the timing with the anniversary of our first meeting with them was too good of an opportunity to not use it to convince his superiors to send the crate.”

There was a slight manic look in her eyes as she gazed at the crate. Abruptly, both disappeared. Twilight jolted back in surprise, then a look of concentration crossed her face. There was no way she was going to miss out on this! She disappeared a moment later.

Blueblood grinned at Celestia as she looked at where the crate had been. “Well, auntie, do you think Lulu will remember to raise the moon tonight without you nudging her?”

Tia grinned back at him. “Possibly, possibly,” she murmured.

“This calls for a celebration,” she said. She turned to the maître d’. “Another slice of cake for each of us, please. Extra-large.” She turned back to Blueblood. “And not a word to Lulu or Twilight that I’m breaking my diet.” She lifted her nose imperiously. “I am celebrating the one-year anniversary, after all.”

“I wonder what I should get the Queen,” she mused to herself as a maid hurried off to collect the extra desserts. Blueblood hid his smile at being able to surprise his aunts.

^-~-^

Author's Note

The going rate for gold in the U.K. in 1992 was about £200 an ounce. In this story, Galleons are one-ounce gold coins, about the size of a one-ounce gold Britannia or a gold American dollar coin. The average wage for a non-menial worker in the U.K. was £20,000, meaning the average wage for a non-menial worker in the Wizarding U.K. would be 100 galleons a year, or one (1) galleon, fifteen (15) sickles, and twenty (20) knuts a week — and a knut is worth ~ £0.40. Which would make the price of a wand a rather significant expenditure of funds for the average wage earner, wouldn’t it?

Supporting this is that Mr. Weasley is a Department Head, an important professional government position. Based on what we see, he is paid only slightly more than his subordinates, probably no more than one-hundred-fifty (150) to two-hundred galleons (200) a year. If he were paid significantly more, his home wouldn’t appear so shabby, and Molly wouldn’t be searching the corners of their family vault looking for a possibly missed galleon.

Ch. 05. Surprise!

The moment Elly stepped out of the floo, she recognized that the three that had sent her the owl were from her crèche. They immediately recognized her, too. None of them reacted overtly. The drone and two workers continued to sip their fizzy drinks, calmly, even as the four rejoiced in their link. In seconds, they had the answers to all their questions. Elly, meanwhile, used her wand to clean off the soot from the floo as she looked around the room and moved to the side so she wouldn’t block other patrons using that method to enter the Leaky Cauldron.

Elly was in her older disguise, the one she used when she wanted to appear as an adult. The one that she had shown the goblins.

She pretended to spot the three for the first time, and made her way to their table. As she approached, she studied and critiqued the forms the other three had taken. Her minor comments would be ignored this time, but incorporated for their next form. These forms would never be used again.

The other three greeted her warmly. “Elly, how good to see you!” Essie said, standing to embrace the other. Emmie had also stood, and likewise embraced her as the other worker released her. Earl stood and leaned over the table to shake her hand.

“I hope I’m not late,” Elly said.

“No,” said Emmie, smiling back and holding Elly’s hands in hers. “Not at all. You’re right on time. We’ve just been sitting here relaxing, waiting until you arrived.”

When the waitress came up, Elly politely declined. “No, thank you. They’ve been waiting for me. We’ll be late for a surprise party if we don’t leave now.”

All of that was for the benefit of the few people seated around them, of course. Meanwhile they were carrying on a fast and furious mind-link conversation of how to handle the situation.

Elly smiled at her siblings and nodded towards the floo. Moments later, the four exited into the de Rippe mansion. “It’s safe here,” Elly explained. There were things they needed to discuss — and to see if her suspicions were correct. She pulled her robe over her head, and pulled her wand from its pocket. She dropped her disguise for her human default form. There was a brief hesitation, then the other three dropped their disguises, as well. They were holding their wallets with the keys, and Emmie held the second-hand wand.

Elly shook her head. “Follow me,” she said, and led the upstairs to her official bedroom. The door to her walk-in closet was a mirror.

“You’re different,” Emmie said, looking at Elly critically, glancing between herself, Essie, and Earl.

Whatever Elly had intended to show them in bringing them upstairs, that wasn’t it, based on her reaction.

Elly, too, was going from staring at them and then herself in the mirror. While the four of them were exactly the same ages, Elly looked . . . more mature. A bit taller, not much, but noticeable. Her facial features were . . . straighter, less rounded. Her figure was not as childish — her waist was better defined and her chest not as flat.

Anyone seeing them together would see that they were related, but while the three newcomers were clearly siblings, twins with a slightly younger brother, she wasn’t. She might be a year-older cousin, perhaps.

There was also an . . . air about her, for lack of a better word. Her voice had a bit of a command to it. When she had said to follow her, they had immediately complied, no questions and no comments. She had said it, they had obeyed. They didn’t have to obey, but something said to do so. Like a trainee responding to her instructor.

Had being alone for so long give her an air of command, like a senior in the hive? She certainly held herself with more confidence than they did.

Elly frowned at the mirror image, shook herself, and sighed. “We’ll worry about that later. What I wanted you to see is that we are all human nymphs, children. We are not lings when we relax our disguises, but children indistinguishable from other human children.”

She turned and gave the three a critical look. “Humans, as you have noticed, always wear clothes. This extends to almost every moment in their lives except when bathing and procreating. And some don’t even disrobe for the procreation.”

As she spoke, images from the hive mind they now shared rose up with examples, illustrating her points. She had been in the human world for almost a year, now, and had not wasted her time. Observing Hogwarts’ students, Madam Puddifoot’s customers, and then her own tenants had been quite informative.

“In the mansion, and the hive I’ve started below, we could dispense with that. But I’m not sure we should. Being too casual about our state of dress could cause closer scrutiny by others and reveal us. Plus, skin,” she tapped her left arm with her fingers, “is rather sensitive to damage, quite unlike our chitin. Humans are even more fragile than ponies!”

The others’ surprise was clear.

“The smallest of bumps leaves bruises,” she continued. “Scraping against something can even break or cut the skin and cause you to bleed like a pony! It is one of the reasons why they are so insistent on wearing clothes at all times.”

She nodded at their surprised expressions. “I have extra clothes you can wear temporarily, so tomorrow we’ll go back to Diagon Alley and get you appropriate clothes.” She waved a hand to forestall any objections. “Illusions work for the normal humans as long as you never allow any of them to touch you and fail to feel clothes. Unfortunately, you can’t foresee when such accidental touches will occur, and reveal your secret. Even worse, there are wizards and witches who can see through illusions. They will want to know, first, how you as a child can cast an illusion, and second, why you aren’t wearing clothes. So, clothes are a requirement any time you leave your sleeping berths . . . bedrooms.”

She heaved a heavy sigh. “You were lucky. I discovered, quite by accident, that there are certain magical and muggle areas where there are spells that cancel our disguises and stun you — just like a unicorn can cast a ling-spell and then stun you. The ponies have been quite proactive in sharing it with the humans, so it is best to stay in our natural forms as much as possible. Fortunately, I haven’t run across many, but that there are even a few is extremely inconvenient. We just don’t know when or where we’ll run into another. It could even be a place we’ve frequently been before, as I’ve noticed.”

She grinned. “Actually, there’s almost no reason to resort to disguises, anyway!” She began to feed them examples of how she had managed to gather love without changing her form. “Although,” she added, “we should probably do it regularly in private just to keep in practice.”

She grinned. “On the other hoof, minor alterations, such as hair or eye colour,” she demonstrated, “don’t trigger the spell. It appears that only a full change to another form is capable of setting it off. So, this,” in a quick crawl of green flame she changed to a tall boy with red hair, “will get you stunned and found out.”

They nodded their understanding.

“Now that there are more of us . . .,”

They could sense her delight.

“. . . we can experiment with how far we can go before triggering the spell, and escape before anyone finds us.”

They nodded again. They had to practice physical responses to questions and statements in this new world. Some of them were quite different from what they had been taught to expect when intermingling with ponies.

“We also need to get you wands.”

They nodded, assimilating her experience in Ollivanders.

“Given your apparent ages, I expect we’ll soon see owls bringing you your Hogwarts’ letters.” She frowned and studied them again. “They will probably put you in as first years, but with access to my experiences, you’ll be monumentally bored until you get to practice. We’ll have to think about that. Should we try to get them to place you as second years? Say that you already took lessons from tutors?”

She shook her head. “Well, I should give you a tour, first.” She turned and headed out of the bed-room. “Oh!” she said as they followed her, “Are you hungry? I have plenty of jars of love stored.” She began sharing with them her experiences in gathering emotional food at Hogwarts.

She could tell they were relieved that the food supply at Hogwarts would easily support the group. They would spend the time between now and starting Hogwarts reviewing everything she knew about this new world. Having access to the hive mind was one thing, personally learning the details and muscle memory so that you didn’t have to take a moment to search for the relevant information was important. That extra second it took to retrieve something, combined with not having the practice to smoothly use what they had retrieved, could mean the difference between surviving and not.

An owl arrived with their letters three days later.

They picked up their wands and school-supplies the next day.

۸-_-۸

The string of Equestrians that descended on The Leaky Cauldron that August nineteenth left everyone gaping. Thirty-nine students with outrageous hair colours, and parents with equally astonishing colours, trooped into the pub. Their hair colours revealed to everyone that they were foreigners — Atlanteans as everyone was calling them. That they were seven unicorns, thirteen pegasi, and nineteen earth wasn’t possible for the magicals to discern, but that’s what they were. None realized, at first, that only nine of the group were boys.

With their parents and escorts, there were almost a hundred adults with the students. All with the same incredibly long, brightly coloured hair.

Seeing them all together at the Embassy as humans was shocking, Harry had thought. While used to seeing the brightly coloured ponies, seeing the same hair colours on humans was . . . startling. He couldn’t help but wonder if it would soon become a fad among the wizards and witches to use a colour charm on their hair.

He knew from what his uncle had said about teenagers that it wouldn’t be long before he saw such things in the non-magical world. Teenagers would do most anything to “show” their rebellion against their staid parents, he had said. And give Harry a beating to ensure he never harboured such unruly thoughts.

The new students were also the best, brightest, and bravest colts and fillies that Equestria had to offer. Out of forty thousand students who were the right age, a thousand had volunteered.

The normal incoming class size for Hogwarts, for the last few years, had fallen to forty, his mum had told him. A severe drop as the Death Eaters had killed parents they thought weren’t “worthy” of living — and their children. The parents were either muggle or half-bloods — blood-traitors as the Death Eaters derisively called the latter.

During the Blood War, as some called it, spies in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes had been a great source of leads for the Death Eaters. They viewed killing the young muggle-borns, and their families, as culling the herd of undesirables, the Princesses deduced.

So, the number of Equestrian students selected should bring the number of students in the First-year class up to what it used to be before the terrorists started. However, that was almost double the expected first-year attendance for the coming term. The Princesses knew there was no way that Hogwarts, or any school, really, could handle an incoming class that did that.

Next year, it would be worse, but not because of the ponies.

The Princesses knew from the witchery history books they had read, that when Lord Voldemort had died, people had celebrated. St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries had reported a “baby-boom” a year later as parents dared to have children, again. Fortunately, by the time the “baby-boomers” started to hit the school next year, the teaching-aides the Princesses had provided would be well-trained to handle the further increases.

From what Harry had learned of witches and wizards, so far, they hadn’t noticed that baby-boom arrival. The professors would be caught by surprise at the sudden increase in class sizes.

Unfortunately, the Princesses suspected, many Death Eaters who had escaped capture or Azkaban, had continued their attacks with the help of Ministry sympathizers. After the magical accidents were reversed, the aurors and Ministry ignored the underage muggle-borns until the next incident. If there were no more accidents, the Ministry officials assumed the muggle parents had moved. There were no welfare checks to notice that the families had perished in suspicious accidents weeks or months later. As long as the accident didn’t require an official obliviator, it was ignored as a muggle problem.

Which would keep the muggle-born Hogwarts’ numbers artificially low for the foreseeable future. At least until the Ministry caught the Death Eaters responsible for the attacks. In the meantime, the increase in pure-blood and half-blood children would still be a shock to the system.

The selection process for the Equestrian students to attend Hogwarts had been a lottery. Harry was sure that a large number of the “losers” were relieved at “missing” the opportunity to attend Hogwarts. Although they would deny it if asked.

The witches and wizards in the Leaky Cauldron could only stare in stunned disbelief as the newcomers trooped out of the floo in a nearly steady stream. Yes, the patrons had heard about the three foreigners at Hogwarts last year, and they had even seen a few photographs. That didn’t match the reality of watching almost two hundred Equestrians trooping through the tiny pub, non-stop. They quickly formed up into groups of fifteen to twenty — four or five students, their parents, and their guides. Then they moved into the little walled-off area behind the Pub that led to the Alley as the next group started forming up.

The students and their parents had been living at the Embassy housing in Little Whinging since June. They had been learning bipedal movement, and about the witching culture and its expectations. Their Hogwarts letters had started to arrive only days after the ones who were already eleven had moved into their new homes. The ponies with birthdays in July and August had received their letters by the last week of July.

Tom, the owner of the Pub, greeted many of the incoming adult Equestrian witches and wizards warmly. He had met the parents and escorts when they had visited and introduced themselves to him over the last few weeks. They had wanted to familiarize themselves with the Alley so they could conduct their charges properly. Knowing the shopkeepers was an important step to making things proceed smoothly, the Equestrians knew. Especially with their precocious and skittish young charges.

Each group entering the Alley headed off for a different store to prevent overwhelming the merchants.

The last group to exit the floo brought an almost palpable feeling of relief from the pub’s patrons — the red-headed family with Harry was well-known to everyone. They barely noticed Hermione and Myrtle. At thirteen, their group was smaller than the others, but at least they were familiar. Even Scootaloo, Sweetie Belle, and Apple Bloom, the three foreigners in the group, were recognizable to most of the witches and wizards present. That was mostly due to the Daily Prophet, naturally.

Today would be no exception. A photographer and reporter from that newsparchment had arrived at The Leaky Cauldron in time to watch the third group of prospective students go through. Which put them in a prime position to catch sight of Harry Potter and his friends.

The Daily Prophet had mentioned that the incoming class to Hogwarts was going to be hosting a number of “Atlanteans.” It also said that they preferred to be called “Equestrians,” for some unknown reason. The foreigners, according to the newsparchment, wanted to explore this new magic that involved wands. Where else would they go but the best school in England and Europe, Hogwarts, the paper concluded smugly.

The paper had never suggested, though, that so many would be attending, Harry knew. They would make up almost half the incoming class. Harry knew that there had been rumours that the number of Atlanteans was greater than those of United Kingdom witches and wizards. However, in a show of their overweening arrogance, the witches and wizards had pooh-poohed that thought. Considering the number of students they were seeing today, he could see that they were beginning to think that maybe those rumours were true. At the very least, there was as many Atlanteans as British wizards and witches, or they wouldn’t have had so many Firsties!

That meant the stores, and economy in general, were about to get a big boost as the demand for goods and services shot up, he knew. What they didn’t know was that the Princesses were funding the students out of the Royal Treasury. They considered it an investment in Equestria’s future. These students would be the core of their new society.

The Princesses knew their enemies at home would quickly discover the advantages of wands. They intended their ponies to be well ahead of any who might want to take advantage of the new skill-set to harm them. They would keep the method of making wands a secret for as long as possible. Wand-making facilities would be restricted to inside heavily fortified locations, only, for quite a few years. Individual wands would be closely tracked for as long as it was feasible.

Unfortunately, that wouldn’t stop theft. That was balanced, however, in that stolen wands never worked as well as they did for the original owner. The wand chooses the witch, after all.

As soon as the Weasleys started to appear, the Prophet’s photographer started taking photos in earnest. The next issue would document Harry Potter’s, and his friends’, trip through Diagon Alley, Harry had no doubt. That their arrival was timed to coincide with the mass of Equestrian students going through the pub was no accident, Harry knew. Coverage of Harry’s shopping trip today would no longer be the exclusive focus of the newsparchment.

Meanwhile, the pub’s patrons gave a sigh of relief that no more people with brightly coloured hair came out of the floo, only normal wizards and witches. Who all groused about the floo being unavailable for so long, and asking Tom, “Was there a problem?”

Harry had to chuckle when the twins took off on their own as their mother, Mrs. Weasley, ordered them to behave just before they disappeared into the crowded market. As if that would make any difference in what they did! He knew they planned to examine the Alley thoroughly for likely locations for their new business. Mail-order was fine up to a point, then only a store would suffice. They were already brewing potions almost non-stop during the day, making over a dozen different products based on Sweetie Belle’s “discoveries.” They were actually having difficulty getting enough owls to handle their orders!

And that was despite Mr. Malfoy handling all their business for their Gender Gingers!

It was only the requirement that they had to pass their OWLS to use wands that made them stay in Hogwarts.

Despite the Equestrian Embassy warning the Alley merchants that they planned for their students to come in that day, and the numbers to expect, Harry anticipated long lines. Sadly, he wasn’t disappointed. It was still early morning and already the proprietor of Slug and Jiggers looked stressed as one group of students left his store and their group walked in. The photographer and reporter following them did nothing to make him relax. Still, he did his best to make each and every one of them received the times they needed for the coming year.

Unlike the other students coming in his door, the Equestrians were ignoring the standard “Hogwarts Kit” that most students purchased — which was a problem. He had stocked up on those in anticipation of the increased sales. The problem was that the “Atlanteans” were following the recommendations of Harry and the Cutie Mark Crusaders, as well as Rarity. The Princesses had instructed the parents to buy the better quality, and more expensive kits. Not the most expensive ones, though. Those tended to be padded out with supplies and instruments the students would never use.

The poor shopkeeper definitely didn’t have thirty-nine of those! He usually only kept a dozen and a half of those on-hand for the pure-blood students.

The wizard could see he would run out well before noon. He’d have to resort to telling the purchasers he would have to owl them their kits. Which wasn’t a hardship for the students, or their parents, in their opinions, by any means. It just meant less for them to carry around today.

Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions was mobbed, as well, Harry saw. He was so happy that Rarity had adjusted their robes back in Ponyville. She had complained, however, that acromantula silk was getting more difficult to acquire. It seemed that its extreme rarity in Equestria made it a much sought-after product. Given the much, much larger market of customers in Equestria as opposed to Earth, she had substantially depleted the stockpiles of the product on this side of the portal.

“If somepony can come up with a reliable source, they will get rich selling it here!” she had groused during his, thankfully, short fitting. Harry knew there was an acromantula colony near Hogwarts. Maybe he could get Hagrid to make a deal with them? A certain number of pounds of silk for a cow? A cow from Earth, that is. He shuddered. There was no way he would consider an animal from Equestria in trade!

Still, it would be hilarious for the wizards to discover, in few months, that the lowly half-giant was a major depositor in Gringotts. All he had to do was talk Aragog into cooperating.

However, it was the line out of the store at Flourish & Blotts Bookshop that took him by surprise. Especially because it seemed to be primarily witches who should have graduated from Hogwarts years, even decades, earlier.

It was only when their group pushed their way closer that he realized that crowd was because of a famous author being present to sign his books. Gilderoy Lockhart — Harry had never heard of him — had apparently written a series of bestsellers, Break with a Banshee, Gadding with Ghouls, Holidays with Hags, Marauding with Monsters Travels with Trolls, Voyages with Vampires, Wanderings with Werewolves, Gilderoy Lockhart’s Guide to Household Pests, and One Hundred and One Practical Uses for Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. His latest was Magical Me, the one he was signing in the bookshop.

They lost Mrs. Weasley to the line to have her copies of the required DADA books autographed. Harry did a double-take when he saw Hermione join her. Then again, he knew from Rainbow Dash, and her obsession with the Daring Do books by A.K. Yearling, how rabid a fan could get over the thrill of having an author sign their book.

The crowd turned out to be a life-saver for Harry, he discovered. It made it impossible for Gilderoy to reach him when he realized that Harry Potter had actually walked into the store. One look at the wizard in his baby-blue robes, and wizard’s hat set at a jaunty angle on his wavy blonde hair, was enough to tell Harry he wanted nothing to do with that man. Harry pretended not to hear him waving and calling Harry’s name.

Unfortunately, the crowded store made it nearly impossible to browse, so they quickly acquired their books and regrouped out in front of the store. It would be a while before Mrs. Weasley and Hermione escaped the line that snaked out the door — the two hadn’t even gotten inside yet!

Percy had wandered off after getting his books, so Ron and Harry, and his herd-mates, decided to do a bit of wandering themselves. They told the other two that they would meet with them at the Leaky Cauldron. Mr. Weasley thought that was a wonderful idea. He decided to drag Hermione’s parents off with him to the pub to have a bit of a drink, and talk about muggle things.

Harry and the CMC had to do a double-take when they saw Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon and their parents pass them on their way to one of the other shops with another group. Neither had mentioned being part of the incoming Hogwarts class at Harry’s party. Had their fathers pulled some strings at the last minute?

Still, it would be nice having a couple of new familiar faces at Hogwarts.

They managed to run into the twins and Lee Jordan in Gambol and Japes, the joke and prank shop. However, they soon separated — only after picking up a few choice products to send home to Pinkie Pie. And a few for use at Hogwarts, of course.

Livening things up a bit, the three pegasi groups switched to their pony forms and flew overhead to decrease the congestion below. Several flew too high and discovered that if you flew too high, and left the Alley and its environs below, they could no longer see the Alley. The only way to return was to go through the Alley entrance beside the Leaky Cauldron. The height-limit seemed to be about five or ten feet above the rooftops of the Alley’s buildings.

The Guard had already mapped out the boundaries of the magic field covering Diagon Alley. They knew somepony would see if he or she could fly out of the Alley and back. As a result, several pegasi Guards were posted on the rooftops of the surrounding muggle buildings to help guide the errant ponies back to where they belonged.

Harry did notice the Guards standing — attempting to be casual — at the intersection to Knockturn Alley. They were clearly there to prevent any curious ponies from taking a look at the disreputable businesses that lurked down that way. Every once in a while, he saw a student escape her minders, only to be dragged back — complaining, saying they only wanted to take a look — moments later. A few adults had to redirected, as well.

Harry noticed at least two pegasi lurking at roof level looking down at the intersection. He was sure they were there to make sure none of the regular residents of that dubious locale managed to entice one of their charges into leaving the safety of the main Alley.

Eventually, after exploring a few of the smaller shops that the vast horde of students and their parents weren’t visiting — yet — the group headed for the pub. They had an excellent fish-and-chips lunch, then went back to The Burrow.

۸-_-۸

Author's Note

A.N. Because of some confusion as to where the moon rocks came from, I edited Chapter four to include:

He smiled smugly. “They purchased an unused space shuttle from . . . I believe it was Russia? A few dozen reparo spells, expansion spells on the fuel tanks, and a bunch of feather-weight and impervius spells had it ready for service. The whole mission was only a day. Getting the shuttle ready took four months. They left it parked in orbit under a non-magical aversion charm with an illusion of being a small satellite, and used port-keys to get home.”

Luna reared back in surprise. All three had their eyes wide in surprise.

“They suggested that you open the crate in a sterile room where the air has been filtered. It is currently a vacuum-sealed container, and you might want to prevent any sources of contamination when you open it.”

My Ko-fi account is available if you would like to show any physical appreciation for this story.
And a heartfelt thank you to those that have already done so.

Ch. 07. What?

Shortly after the trolley lady had moved on, and they had had a bite to eat, there was another knock on their door. Harry was disinclined to open the door until he realized he could see an oddly-coloured wing stretch up on the other side of the cabin’s window.

Had someone dared to prank one of the new ponies?

He yanked the door open, saying, worriedly, “Are you okay?”

And then stared, stunned, at the pony before him. He heard the others behind him gasp as they, too, spotted the pony.

It was beautiful, quite possibly the most beautiful pony he had ever seen. He wasn’t the only one who thought so; he could see that more than a few other students had piled into the passageway to have a look. It had a blue coat with bronze-blonde mane and tail. Those weren’t that unusual, but the slightly protuberant silvery hexagonal eyes drew your attention. Or, they would have if not for the crystalline appearance of the pony’s coat and mane. The pony gleamed and glittered, and was almost too bright to look at.

It was a Crystal Pony.

But he had never heard of or seen a Crystal Pony with wings like the ones this pony had. Unlike pegasi wings, these were not feathers, crystalized like ponies in the Crystal Empire or otherwise. Instead, the wings appeared to be almost translucent skin — the arteries and veins were plain to see. It was a dark-blue crystalized membrane to be precise. He could see the train’s blurry wall through it.

“I believe I’m unharmed,” she said softly, in a dreamy and somewhat distracted tone as she looked back at herself. One wing was stretched upwards, and she tilted her head, slightly smiling, as she admired it, flexing it open and closed.

Harry stared at her, speechless and gobsmacked.

There hadn’t been any Crystal ponies at the Embassy, the last he had heard. There certainly hadn’t been any crystal ponies on the bus this morning! In fact, he hadn’t heard of any crystal ponies being in the volunteer list!

She turned back to look at him. “Are you Harry Potter?” After a brief pause, she continued, “He told me that you were in the middle cabin of the second carriage.” She looked up and down the carriage passageway. “And this is the middle cabin of the second carriage.”

“He?” said Harry distractedly, still staring, bemused, at the pony in the passageway.

“Yes,” she said, nodding. “A Mr. Cord told me to come to this cabin, that you would have the answers to my questions.”

That redirected everyone’s attention.

“Cord?” Harry said, frowning and a bit worried where this was going. He was no longer admiring her appearance, but staring intently at her expression.

“Oh yes,” she said. “Mr. Dis Cord.”

Two of the girls behind him gasped in shock.

“He was very nice . . . a little odd, though.” She tilted her head, thinking. “He had one blue eye and the other was orange. But his robes reminded me of Daddy, so I knew I could trust him.”

Harry had a sinking sensation in his stomach.

“He helped me carry my trunk to a cabin and put it on the rack. He wanted to know if I had seen the Equestrians running around on the platform.” She giggled. “I told him I thought they were cute and funny.”

Harry and the others exchanged worried looks.

“He told me that he thought it was very unfair that there wasn’t a single Night pony or Crystal pony in the group of Equestrians that the Princesses had selected.” She nodded to herself. “Then he asked if I’d like to help him fix that.”

She looked down at the floor of the train. “I asked him what a crystal pony was, and he said crystal ponies were very, very pretty, in a shiny sort of way, and that only very happy ponies could be crystal ponies because when they are sad, they look like regular ponies.” She looked back at them. “Then I asked what night ponies were, and he said, ‘They’re like winged-ponies, only night.’”

Harry closed his eyes and sighed. It didn’t take a genius to see where this was going. He could hear the CMC also sighing.

“Then I said I’d help him, and he said, ‘Have fun flying.’ And the next thing I knew, everything was bigger and I was smaller and I had wings and was very shiny.” She lifted her left front hoof and examined it, smiling. “And then he disappeared, but he said to ask you my questions.”

“Come on inside,” Harry said resignedly as he stepped back. Yeah, that was Discord, alright. Two ponies in one would be just his shtick.

Ginny transformed into her pegasus form and flew up to balance on the luggage rack.

Hesitantly, the witch walked in.

Harry closed the door and turned to face her. It was funny watching her narrow her eyes, crouch, wriggle her butt and then jump onto the seat where Ginny had sat. Despite never having been in a four-legged form, she was quite comfortable with herself. Again, Discord.

It was odd that he hadn’t caught any of the wizards or witches out with not letting them instinctively know how to move in their new forms.

Hermione gave a big sigh and pulled out her wand. She pointed it at the door to the compartment.

Harry glanced behind himself and saw that the windows were completely blocked, bottom to top and side-to-side, with wizards, witches, and ponies trying to see inside.

The spell she cast blacked out the windows. Then she cast a second spell to lock the door and then a third to hide it. “There now,” she said dryly, “I think we can get a few minutes peace with that.” She turned to the crystal pony. “I’m Hermione Granger . . . ,” and she proceeded to name everyone while pointing them out. She ended with “Ginny Weasley,” and pointing at the pegasus with the Weasley-red mane and tail on the luggage rack.

The crystal pony looked up at Ginny and chirped a “Hi, Ginny!” as if she were greeting a long-time friend, to everyone’s perplexity.

After a moment’s silence in which they all stared at her and she stared back, Hermione prompted, “And you are?” raising an eyebrow inquisitively.

“Oh,” the other said, “I’m Luna Lovegood!”

Ginny gasped, “Luna?” She quickly jumped to the floor and turned to face the girl, twisting her head side-to-side to examine her closely.

Luna nodded and said, “Hi! I heard you could change into a pony.” She stopped and looked down at her hooves. “Daddy is going to be so surprised!”

“When did this happen?” Harry leaned forward slightly.

“Just after the train left the station.”

“But that was hours ago!” objected Scootaloo.

“Oh,” Luna said. “There was this lovely mirror in the toilet. I wanted to see what I looked like.”

“Are you wearing earrings?” asked Sweetie Belle, incredulously.

“Yes!” said Luna, obviously pleased that someone had noticed. “They’re dirigible plum earrings that my mother made for me before she died.”

Ginny sighed sadly while the rest exchanged uncomfortable glances.

“How did you get them?” Apple Bloom finally ventured, glancing down at her hooves.

Luna gave her a puzzled look. “Well, first my mother searched through our dirigible plum tree to find a perfect matching set . . ..”

Apple Bloom rolled her eyes, “No, I mean, did you get them from your trunk after Discord changed you?”

Luna ducked her head slightly as she tried to shrug. “No. I was wearing them when he changed me, and I still was afterwards.” She looked down at her chest. “My butterbeer cork necklace disappeared, though,” she said sadly.

“But, how?” said Apple Bloom. “Anything you’re wearing when you transform stays with the other form until you return to it.”

“Oh, goody,” Luna said, “I was worried I had lost my wand.”

Apple Bloom and Luna looked at each other a moment, before Harry sighed and said, “Discord,” by way of explanation.

Apple Bloom huffed and sat back. “Right.”

Luna had an aura of “distinct dottiness” about her, Harry soon discovered. On the other hoof, her genuine cheerfulness and odd way of looking at things — even odder, now, he supposed — was endearing. She also kept mentioning creatures none of them had every heard of — such as Moon Frogs, Blibbering Humdingers, Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, Nargles, Wrackspurts, Gulping Plimpies, and Dabberblimps.

Her puzzling explanations of those creatures, and a frustrated Hermione’s countless questions, was quite entertaining. Ginny and Scootaloo spent part of the trip to Hogwarts telling the new pony everything they had learned that a new pegasus pony needed to know. Usually when Hermione buried herself in Fantastic Beasts trying to find some of the creatures mentioned by Luna

They were not, however, able to answer all Luna’s questions. One that brought the entire compartment to conversational stop was when she asked if pegasi mated while flying, and how did that work? Did they have to hurry so they wouldn’t crash? Or did one fly while carrying the other? Or did they have to synchronize their wing-beats? And how hard was that to do if one of them was upside down?

Scootaloo went cross-eyed after a moment, and ended up crashing to the floor.

It took several minutes before everypony stopped blushing and could look at each other without blushing, again.

For the rest of the trip, Scootaloo would occasionally glance at Harry, and then mumble and blush while staring at the floor.

When the announcement to prepare to arrive in Hogsmeade was made, it took a bit of work to convince Luna that she had to attend the Arrival Feast in her robes as a person. She reluctantly agreed, but only after they promised to teach her how to switch back and forth to her animagus form, tomorrow.

When she turned back to a witch, after a bit of coaching by the others, Harry was startled to see that she had tucked her wand over her ear and in her hair. She was quite pleased to find she hadn’t lost it. Nor her odd necklace made from butterbeer corks.

Harry and the CMC half-expected it, so they weren’t nearly as surprised as everypony else that Luna’s earrings carried across when she returned to being a human. Discord, of course. Harry was afraid to ask what wand she had.

They didn’t realize until after they got to the train station that Malfoy and his cronies had wasted a good deal of time looking for them.

Harry was startled to hear a familiar and disliked voice yell, “Potter! A moment of your time, please.” He had barely stepped off the train following Apple Bloom and Scootaloo, and assisting his other herd mates behind him. Neville took the hint and quickly turned to help Luna to the platform — she was still pouting at having been changed back to a witch.

He turned to face the Slytherin as he walked down the platform from further back down the train. His two colt-friends were a step behind him. A second-year, like Harry, Draco had a pale, pointed face and cold, grey eyes. He wore expensive tailored robes and tilted his head back slightly, so that he could look down his nose at everyone, as if they were his social inferiors. He was always sneering at anyone he felt wasn’t his equal — and he didn’t consider anyone in school his equal — not even the professors. Except, maybe, the Potions Professor, Severus Snape.

“Potter,” Draco repeated as he came close enough to talk — without a sneer this time, Harry was surprised to see. “I fear,” he continued in a conciliatory tone, “that we may have gotten off on the wrong-foot when we first met last year.” He stopped and took a breath. “I’d like to start over.”

He held out his hand. “Hello. I’m Draco Malfoy. I believe that I, and my family, could be of great help to you,” his eyes flickered to Harry’s herd mates who were listening with varying expression of disbelief and hostility, “and your family, at Hogwarts and after. My family has considerable influence in Wizarding society, and the Wizengamot. My father told me that Hogwarts is a great opportunity to meet those who will be shaping the future of our world, and to form the bonds and links that will lead to a successful and profitable career afterwards.”

Harry tried to keep a blank expression, but could feel his eyebrows arch up. He was not stupid, merely caught off-guard. Blueblood had been very particular about the responses one should make to potential offers of friendship, even if one came from an unexpected source.

He slowly raised his hand and took Draco’s in his, giving him a hesitant shake.

Draco grinned broadly. “We will never agree on some things,” he again glanced at the small crowd that had gathered around them. “However, such disagreements will always be in the spirit of competition, without malice. With other differences, I am sure we will come to reasonable solutions. I look forward to the opportunities we will encounter with each other in the future.”

He let go of Harry’s hand. “Well, I’ll leave you to your . . . friends,” he said jovially. He looked around. “Do you know where Pansy went, Goyle? I thought she was right here.”

They watched, bemused, as he headed off towards the carriages. Harry shook his head. Friends with Draco? What had happened here over the summer?

They slowly started off to the end of the platform, and the carriages to Hogwarts.

As he watched Luna wander off, after hearing Hagrid call for the first years, Harry wondered if they had enough boats. Would they require two trips?

This time he took a longer look at the thestrals that pulled the carriages. At first glance, they looked as if they had no flesh, that they were living skeletons. However, on a second, more thorough look, they had a thin black coat that clung to their bones, making them appear starved. Their heads were more draconish than pony or horse, with pupliless, staring white eyes. Their wings were massive leathery things — much bigger, proportionally, than the wings on either pegasi or the night-ponies of Equestria. They stood eerily still and quiet in the dark. Harry could see how others might think them sinister.

And ponies at home were scared of Luna’s Night ponies — they’d faint at the sight of these horses! The Night ponies at least looked like normal ponies, but with leathery wings and slitted eyes. Pretty normal compared to the thestrals.

Hermione had looked up the information about the gaunt horses last year, so he knew that they weren’t really as starved as they looked. Still, they were a bit creepy at first glance. He wondered what one would look like if it went through the portal. Which also made him wonder about the unicorns in the forest.

The sorting in the castle went much faster than last year. Instead of standing in a line at the side of the room, the new students stood in a line beside the stool with the old, dingy Sorting Hat. The person being sorted simply handed the hat to the next person before they left for their new House. Even with eighty new students, it took under an hour to sort the group — for most students the hat was in place for less than fifteen seconds.

It was easily as fast as last year’s sorting.

The expression on everyone’s face when the first Equestrian went to Slytherin House was hilarious, in his opinion. That another followed only a few moments later left the entire room staring in disbelief. By the time the sorting was over, and twelve Equestrians had been sorted into the House of Ambition, everyone was looking pretty shell-shocked and confused.

Not even the three Pauncefoot siblings going into Hufflepuff made much of an impact, although two girls and boy being Irish triplets should have attracted attention.

Luna Lovegood ended up in Gryffindor.

The final numbers for the four Houses in Hogwarts were surprisingly uneven. There were twenty-two in Slytherin, the House of the Ambitious (or sneaky, slimy, deceitful snakes, to some). There were twenty in Gryffindor, the House of the Brave (some called them the stupid cannon-fodder who always charged forward without thinking). There were eighteen in Ravenclaw, the House of the Studious and Smart (condescending swots, more interested in books than people, according to their critics). Finally, there were twenty-two in Hufflepuff, the House of hard work, loyalty, and fair play (their detractors called them the house of misfits or duffers, going into that House because they weren’t good enough to fit in any of the other three).

But, in any case, they were easily the largest incoming class in twelve years!

That evening, on the way up to his dorm, Harry spared a quick look into the First-year’s dorm. He shouldn’t have been, but he was amazed at what he saw. Despite the rooms above and below theirs having just enough room for five and six beds, the new students’ room managed to fit seven beds without any sign of crowding. He would have to ask the fillies if the girls’ first-year room similarly accommodated twelve beds.

^·_·^

Second Lieutenant Castor James Searle knew something was up when he walked into the conference room at the Number Ten Downing to find Princess Twilight Sparkle already seated, with Ambassador Blueblood beside her. The last two monthly meeting had been only with the Ambassador as he brought them up to date on their progress with the commercial aspects of the portal and their plans in general.

Searle had been the initial contact between the Equestrians and the British government when he had stumbled upon their trans-dimensional (or was it merely trans-space?) portal into Little Whinging, England, last summer. He had been a lowly Sergeant in the Surrey constabulary, at the time. Retired from the SAS, he had quickly been reactivated and assigned to Military Intelligence Department Five to smooth the way between the two species as they dealt with a First Contact situation — a first for the human race, but not the Equestrians.

After a few initial bumps in the relationship, such as the discovery that magic was real, and the accidental intrusion into Britain of a species at war with the Equestrians, they were now working on making a permanent presence in both worlds for both sides. The only spanner in the works was dealing with the wizards and witches that they had discovered living in their own world. Having seen some of what magic could do, the British were attempting to play the wizards and witches against the Equestrians, hoping to prevent themselves from becoming the equivalent of serfs to the two more powerful groups. A precarious balancing act in every way.

Fortunately for the British, the Equestrians were very interested in trade and cultural exchanges. They had no apparent interest in interfering with the status quo regarding governance. Distinctly unlike the Wizards who felt they had every right to treat the non-magical humans as fourth-class citizens, lower than slaves, to do with as they pleased. Unfortunately, magic let them get away with a lot.

If push came to shove, however, the British government much preferred the laid-back Equestrians to the antagonistic wizards. The Equestrians had been more than willing to bring medical miracles to the bargaining table. They had provided a cure for cancer and several other diseases, as well as a way to regrow lost limbs! All things the wizards knew how to do, but had chosen not to share. Instead, they hid themselves away and removed the memories of anyone who found out about them.

He quietly took his place and waited for the Prime Minister, John Major, the Foreign Secretary, the Rt. Hon. Douglas Hurd, and the Home Secretary, the Rt Hon. Kenneth Wilfred Baker, Baron Baker of Dorking.

Those gentlemen arrived a few moments after he sat down.

After the regular pleasantries had been exchanged, Ambassador Blueblood announced, “We’ve considered the locations carefully, and we’ve decided that the best site for the second portal is in Blackpool. There is a nearby international airport, Blackpool Squires Gate Airport. With the central location of the site in Britain, the railway and bus transports systems won’t require upgrading. The population has been steady for several decades, and was larger in the past. Currently, unemployment is high, and will provide an extensive labour pool without requiring additional investment in expanding the current infrastructure.” He smiled at the others.

“By paying a reasonable wage, we’ll reduce crime while decreasing poverty. A win-win situation, I believe you call it. Just purchasing the land for the area around the portal will have an impact, not to mention the clearing and construction.

“We’ll use local labour for that, with unicorns and earth ponies doing the final check to make sure everything is set at each stage.”

He watched the others’ reactions for a moment.

There had been three other contenders, Castor knew; Southhampton, Felixstowe, and Port of Milford Haven. Of the four, Blackpool was the only city with a sizeable unemployment problem and underutilized infrastructure.

“This portal will be for the handling of freight, only. What passenger traffic there may be will all still go through the Embassy Portal in Little Whinging,” he continued. “This will help prevent any individuals who might want to sneak through, either way. Cargo will undergo an intensive scrutiny by teams of Humans and Equestrians, including killing and sterilization spells, to prevent the transmission of insects, bacterial, and other types of small life. We envision a conveyor-belt type arrangement so that no personnel will even come close to the sealed-in portal.”

He paused and waited a moment.

“That sounds . . . workable,” the Prime Minister said, nodding slightly and giving his two intelligence officers a surprised look at the rather paranoid measures the Equestrians wanted to place.

“Excellent.” Blueblood pulled up a thick folder. “Here are the advance architectural plans we have. We’d like you to go over them and approve them before we contact the firm that handled the Embassy plans.” He smiled smugly. “Although, I think you’ll see we’ve done everything possible to keep the portal isolated and safe from interference of any kind.” He pushed the folder to the Prime Minister with his magic. “Our side of the portal will be located in Manehattan, which is our commercial and financial hub. It will have similar protections against contaminations.”

The Prime Minister gave him a broad smile. “I don’t think we’ll find anything, either. Your . . . ponies seem quite efficient and detail-oriented in their work.” He pushed the folder over to Baron Baker.

“Moving on,” the Equestrian said, “Regarding your embassy personnel. It appears that non-magical humans staying in Equestria for a year do not suffer any side-effects that we can detect, going right down to the cellular levels. We would suggest that you open an embassy with the intention of rotating the personnel on an eleven-month basis until the trials for the longer term are completed.”

John Major nodded. “That’s what our doctors tell us, they can’t find anything different from their baselines, except they appear a bit healthier.” He smirked. “The doctors attribute that to the mostly vegetarian diet the volunteers encountered on the other side.”

Blueblood gazed at the Prime Minister. “Have you decided on where you would like this embassy built? Space can be made in Canterlot that should give you a rather nice presence. However, you might also want to put a larger building in Ponyville to be close to the portal, with a third in Manehattan to handle any issues that might arise there with that portal. Use of a restricted floo-connection would make the three buildings almost seamless in your people’s ability to move from one to either of the other two nearly instantly.

“Of course, you can continue to use the current buildings you’re using, if you prefer.”

The Prime Minister looked a bit surprised.

“I’ve used the floo-travel, sir,” Castor interrupted. “It’s a bit disorienting the first few times, after that it becomes just another method of travel that one must endure.”

At the Foreign Secretary’s raised eyebrow, the Ambassador interrupted with a brief explanation, “Unfortunately, if you were to use that with any sort of regularity on this side of the portal, the magicals here would quickly discover you doing so. Especially if you travelled outside the country. They have spells to alert them of ‘unsanctioned’ international floo-connections.” He gave a wry grin and shook his head. “They trust their neighbours as little as you do.”

He looked back at the Prime Minister. “I don’t have to tell you the trouble that would cause with their Statute of Secrecy. Plus, unfortunately, the wizarding world is currently the only source of floo-powder, the activating agent. We are importing quite a lot of it to Equestria.” He sighed and shook his head. “Until we have our own supply arranged on our side of the portal, we couldn’t supply you any. Meaning you’d leave a paper trail for them to follow and discover that ‘muggles are using our magic!’ And then we’d have a problem.”

The Prime Minister nodded. Until the non-magicals could figure out a way to initiate portkeys without needing magic, they would just have to deal with the delays inherent in normal, mundane travel methods.

“How are the air pollution tech-spells working?”

All three politicians smiled broadly. “We’ve replaced all the mufflers on all the government vehicles and busses with your advanced-tech mufflers that render the carbon and sulphur into solid form for simple retrieval. The remaining oxygen and hydrogen molecules are released as either water or O-two. All new vehicles are being equipped with the tech-mufflers. In a few years, the older cars will be a minority and air pollution will be a thing of the past!

“We’ve already forced the industrial polluters to install tech scrubbers that do the same, releasing only oxygen and water vapour into the air,” Baron Baker added. “The coal plants have discovered that the selling the sulphur, chromium, manganese, copper, zinc, lead and cadmium waste will more than make up the cost of installing the scrubbers in a few years — which were all interest-free government loans, anyway.”

“Just doing the buses has made a marked improvement on the air quality,” Major remarked. “People are very happy with the results we’ve given them this last year. They are quite impressed that we’ve been able to clean up polluters without disadvantaging the economy.”

“Not to mention that we’re doing a brisk trade in after-market vehicle muffler retrofits to other countries!” the Home Secretary said with much satisfaction.

“Hmm, yes,” murmured Prime Minister Major. He looked at the Princess as he said, “The cancer cures, limb replacement technology, and pollution solutions you’ve given us has won you quite a few kudos, you know!” He gave a self-satisfied smile. “The yanks and ruskies are practically frothing at the mouth to get hold of those. It’s doing wonders for our balance of trade.”

Castor knew that every other nation in the world was hurriedly trying to puzzle out how these various ‘advanced technology’ devices worked. It would be a futile effort. They would never realize that while the electronics — mostly unidentifiable — did do a minuscule part of the job, the runes designed into the stamped logos, and others hidden by welds, did the real heavy-lifting.

The meeting continued for another hour as they went over various projects that were in the works. Such as the finding, retrieving, and recycling rubbish tip plastic and rubber, and turning it into raw plastic for their manufacturers. That was an astonishingly simple series of spells they were trying to turn into an ‘advanced tech’ machine. The recovered metals were just another by-product! Which was another game-changer in terms of pollution and industry.

About the only thing that the Equestrians or wizards hadn’t delivered a game-changer on was energy generation. Britain was still stuck with crude oil, natural gas (both gas and liquids), coal, nuclear, wind, solar, hydro-electric, and bioenergy and waste burning. While the Equestrians helped with the pollution end of things, they had nothing to decrease the use of limited resources.

Finally, just as the meeting was wrapping up, Princess Sparkle started to look nervous. Ambassador Blueblood sighed and just looked at her.

Castor knew the reason she had made an unscheduled appearance was about to be revealed. Normally, she didn’t bother. Just as the Queen wouldn’t bother attending a regular Ministry meeting.

“We think there’s been another incursion from our side of the portal,” she finally said.

^-~-^

Author's Note

A.N. Discord transforming Luna into a pony . . . blame Sir Chaos Omega

The Moon Rocks – Sidestory

Author's Note

If Wishes Were Ponies . . . Book II

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The Moon Rocks – Sidestory

The Moon Rocks -- Sidestory

March 30th, 1992, 10:00 AM

Administrator David Williams and Director General Arthur Pryor, of the British National Space Centre, BNSC, were both hopeful and dreading their meeting with the Prime Minister.

The sudden appearance the previous summer of the Equestrians, intelligent aliens from another world, had shaken their agency to the core. Proof positive that life existed elsewhere in the universe. That they appeared as normal people, albeit with unusual hair colours, threw everyone into a tizzy, at first.

The religious authorities were at a loss as to how to proceed. Some viewed the aliens as an afront — god had made humans the top of the heap, how dare these interlopers show up? Some viewed them as demons out to tempt humans from God’s true salvation. Others saw an opportunity to proselytize and save the souls of the aliens.

Many saw their human-like appearance as proof that the human form was the epitome of perfection as designed by their God.

There was a rumour that the aliens had their own gods, which, as scientists, the two men knew was to be expected. What was not expected was that the aliens claimed they could meet with and discuss things with their gods! Confusingly, they also said that their gods didn’t want to be called gods, or worshipped, and could get quite pissy about it if crossed on the matter.

Then it was discovered that they had the ability to become miniature horses, ponies, they styled themselves. That that was their normal form had cheesed off the fanatics — how dare they abandon the perfect human-form designed by the Human God? Obviously, they were mere farm animals and should be subjugated as such! Adding salt to the wound for those religious extremists was that the ponies had three tribes — normal, winged, and horned — and were so cute that prolonged exposure had to lead to diabetes.

Their technology quite clearly proved they were anything but farm animals.

That these aliens had used a “portal” to directly arrive had been a shock, as had been the revelations of their technology. That something without hands could produce railroads, tall buildings, and air ships had been stunning, and thrown-out all the theories about how intelligence developed — and that you had to have hands to do it.

That they were a prey species with bright colours that would easily attract the attention of predators was just plain confusing. According to most evolutionary theories, prey animals should be dull-coloured and capable of hiding in plain sight.

There were those who insisted the aliens were here to enslave mankind. Those proponents claimed that the aliens’ peaceful attitude was a sham to fool humans. When they had sufficient forces on hand, they would take over the world.

That the aliens only seemed interested in Britain’s deep culture and were freely sharing life-saving techniques — such as a cure for cancer — were merely facades in front of their ruthless drive to conquer Earth, according to those detractors.

Which brought them to today’s meeting. Was the entire BNSC a waste of time, effort, and money? Why bother with rockets when you can simply step through a door? Were they about to be informed of the dissolution of their agency?

Or, was this a meeting that would set off a new age of space exploration? After all, only a few months ago, incredible devices began to appear from five of the eleven partners in their consortium. The Department for Business, Innovation and Skills unveiled a machine that could scan for and cure cancer, the Department for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs, with the Technology Strategy Board and the Natural Environment Research Council, had produced air-scrubbers for both heavy industry and road vehicles, reducing air pollution by over fifty percent.

Rumours abounded about other devices in development to recover raw materials from waste in rubbish tips, both reducing waste and decreasing the need for imported material. The dead silence from the military indicated that they had a few new toys, too, or they would have been front and centre demanding access to the technology these aliens had developed. There was a rumour that they even had a portal-like system for instant transport between two locations thousands of kilometres apart.

When the other participants began to show up, the twos’ confusion increased. They silently watched as Sir Patrick Walker, Director General of Military Intelligence five, and Sir Colin McColl, Director General of Military Intelligence Six came it, with their secretaries. Next through the door were the Foreign Secretary, the Rt Hon. Douglas Hurd, and the Home Secretary, the Rt Hon. Kenneth Wilfred Baker, with their secretaries. With them was a military officer, a Major.

Last, of course, was The Prime Minister, John Major, with his secretary. He looked a bit harried, which was probably only natural with the upheaval the aliens had thrown at the government and their society.

John looked around as he sat down. “Good, everyone’s here.” He nodded and glanced at the two BNSC officials. “It has been brought to my attention that Britain has an unparalleled opportunity to jump to the forefront in the world’s efforts to explore space.”

The two officials exchanged quick looks. They weren’t sure if this would be good news or not.

“As well as keep an eye on our enemies.”

David and Arthur maintained attitudes of polite interest.

“As you know,” the Prime Minister continued, “The Equestrians have been generous with their . . . technology.” He sighed, “I’m sure you’re both familiar with Dr. Who and his ‘it’s bigger on the inside’ Tardis?”

They broth frowned and gave hesitant nods.

“The Equestrians have developed that technology.”

They gave him incredulous looks. The others in the room were all nodding.

“Another technology they have developed is a method to reduce the apparent weight . . . mass . . . of an object.”

Arthur leaned back in his chair with his eyebrows raised while David gave the Prime Minister a bug-eyed stare.

“Major Thomas, if you’d show them the demonstration modules?”

The military officer nodded and picked up his briefcase to set on the table.

“The Major is part of our new Special Technology division in the Army,” the Prime Minister explained, “who are attempting to learn and integrate the Equestrian technology to what we know and have.”

The Major opened his briefcase, then reached in far deeper than should have been possible, all the way to elbow in a case that couldn’t have been more than a hands-length deep — and that would have been with the case closed!

Both BNSC officials stood and leaned forward to look into the briefcase, astounded. They could see that it was deeper than the table.

Grinning at their gobsmacked expressions, the man lifted one side of the briefcase with his other hand so they could see underneath eh entire bottom of the case. There wasn’t a hole in the table, nor could they see his other arm, still buried in the briefcase. He set the briefcase back, flat, on the table.

Thomas lifted up a steel box and set it on the table, then lightly pushed it with one finger across to the two men.

“Pick it up,” he said smirking.

Mystified, Arthur picked up the box. It was about the size of a book, three or four fingers thick. It was much lighter than it appeared, so much so that he began to doubt it was steel, and that it had to be empty. There was a small latch on one side and a hinge on the opposite side.

He handed it to David and looked back at the Major, and the others, puzzled.

David handed it back to Thomas after inspecting it.

Still grinning, the military man walked around the table to stand beside the two. He set the box on the table, opened it, twisted a dial, then closed it. “Now try to pick up,” he said with a bit of a challenge.

Shrugging Arthur casually went to lift the box, but it didn’t budge to his loose grip. He tried lifting one edge to get a better grip and found it took a surprising amount of effort. It easily weighed four or five pounds. He put it back on the table with a thud that made David look at him with surprise.

He could only stare, glancing between the inexplicably heavy box and the others in the room, all of whom were hiding smile . . . or not.

Thomas reached into his briefcase and started taking out a pole, a pole that was longer than any of the dimensions of the briefcase it came out of. Ginning, he handed one end to Arthur. From its weight, Arthur guessed it was aluminium. Holding the other end, Thomas must have done something because the pole suddenly, and drastically, increased its weight, pulling itself out of his hand. His end crashed to floor with a heavy thud.

“Please be seated,” the Prime Minister prompted, knocking them both out of their daze.

“Can you imagine what we could do with an entire launch-vehicle’s worth of propellant in a tin that weighed less than your briefcase?” he said.

The two just sat there, stunned.

John’s secretary opened her briefcase, took out two folders, walked around their positions, and placed them in front of the two men.

“We’ve kicked around a few ideas,” the Home Secretary said. “We considered the idea of building something ourselves, but it would take years and take a sum ten times your budget, at the minimum.”

Kenneth gave the Foreign Secretary a sidelong look. “However, Douglas suggested we buy the Russian Buran Space Plane. Colin,” he glanced at the Director of MI6, “tells us that the Russian space program is pretty much dead in the water. Depending on who you talk to, it is either still in progress, or cancelled. In either case, all future flights have been cancelled and funds are rapidly drying up. He says that for the right amount, the Ruskies will be happy to unload their space plane and recoup some of their investment.”

Douglas, the Foreign Secretary, said, “I believe that if we were to offer them fifty million pounds, plus a half a million to rent the Antonov Mriya to get it here, they might settle for seventy or eighty million. With a bit of dickering, we might be able to get the Buran and the Ptichka for a hundred. The Ptichka isn’t complete, though.” He grinned at his colleague. “Still, a steal, since it’s estimated to have cost them close to four billion rubles for each plane, with inflation currently at a seventy-five-to-one and the rouble falling fast.”

Arthur looked at the Prime Minister. “And the launch vehicle? The Energia?” he asked, mouth dry.

“No need. From what my experts tell me, we can take off from ground.”

“But we don’t have room in our budget for such expenditures,” David tentatively ventured.

“The funds will come from some of the earnings produced by the medical devices we’ve developed and started selling. The yanks, alone, have put in orders for over a thousand of the machines. They’ve ordered double that of the industrial pollution scrubbers. Plus, there are other devices in development,” Kenneth put in.

In the room, only the Major, the Administrator, and the Director didn’t know that the government had traded a hundred tonnes of aluminium to Equestria in exchange for a hundred tonnes of gold. The Prime Minister had a rather large slush fund to back any Equestrian proposals on this side of the portal. Or projects he deemed necessary for the needs of the United Kingdom — without raising taxes!

“Major Thomas has been assigned to the BNSC to facilitate the integration of this new technology. One of the first tests will be the effectiveness of this technology with a decommissioned Bristol Bloodhound.”

There was silence for several seconds as the two officials looked at each other and the Prime Minister.

“Right, then,” John said, placing his hands on the table and standing. “That’s sorted.” He looked down at the two. “I expect weekly reports.” He nodded to them, then swept out of the room followed by everyone except Major Thomas.

“I think I need to have a bit of a lie-down,” Arthur said.

“You might be right,” said David, faintly.

Thomas grinned and pulled a bottle of something amber out of his briefcase, with three glasses. He poured the glasses and handed them to the two stunned officials.

“Gentlemen,” he said bracingly, “You’re about to become a part of history as presiding over Britain’s first space plane, and possibly putting Britain’s first astronauts on the moon.”

They stared at him, wide-eyed, then downed their glasses.

April 24th, 8:45 PM

Williams, Pryor, and Thomas slowly walked around the modified Bristol Bloodhound Mark II missile and its mount. The technicians were giving it one final check-over before launch in just fifteen minutes. They were at the Otterburn Army Training Estate, Britain’s largest live-fire military training estate. It was in northern England, about eleven hours from London by car, and covered 60,000 acres — two hundred and forty-two square kilometres of vacant land.

No worries about hitting anything important should things go pear-shaped.

Thomas was impressed at the speed with which the BNSC had acquired the decommissioned system and modified it. The ramjets that powered the anti-aircraft missile in flight had been discarded. The ramjets’ fuel tanks in the core missile had been replaced with kerosene and liquid-oxygen thrusters, and its fuel tank. It could operate without a problem in the airless environment it would soon occupy.

The Major had been the one to “install” the “special technology” fuel tanks that allowed the missile to carry far more fuel than should have been possible. He had actually just brought in a shortened, newly-painted tank from another Bloodhound, supplied by his superiors, of course. It was shorter to make room for the new-engine placement. The non-magical technicians had then installed it. After the pressure test for leaks, he had cast a notice-me-not later that night, then cast the expansion spell on the inside of the new tank. It wasn’t permanent — a week, at most —they only needed the expanded capacity to last until an hour after launch when the tank would again be empty.

Fuelling the missile earlier in the day had required his constant vigilance in preventing the other technicians from noticing that they were putting in far more than would normally fit in the space occupied by the tanks.

The confundus was both a blessing and a curse.

While it made it easy to get the technicians doing the fuelling from noticing that the kerosene and LOX trucks were far too large, it also meant the technicians weren't paying as much attention to their jobs as needed when handling dangerous, explosive materials!

The other two were giving the missile and its launch rig a more critical eye. BNSC was using the original mount — no need, really, to change that. It made things much simpler. For the mount, the missile weighed just the right amount for a fully fuelled missile.

They moved over to the launch control vehicle.

The head technician looked up.

“Everything is green. We couldn’t ask for better weather conditions, and the airspace is clear.”

David and Arthur just nodded. The launch schedule wouldn’t be changed unless something went wrong. So far, nothing had.

The four solid-propellant boosters were unchanged from the original. They would fire for only three seconds, but in those three seconds they would push the missile to Mach 2.5, or eight-hundred and fifty-seven meters per second. It was an acceleration that would pulp a human, nearly twenty-nine times the Earth’s gravity.

The launch was spectacular. One moment the missile was on its mount, the next it wasn’t. Even knowing where to look, Thomas lost sight of the missile almost instantly.

“One point two kilometres down-range, three-quarters of a kilometre altitude, climbing at eighty-eight degrees. Boosters off. Main engine in nominal range. Boosters have dropped,” a flight technician said. “Everything is green.”

Thomas knew the missile would now proceed at a more sedate acceleration of eighty-seven metres per second, or 8.8 gravities. The guidance system would make sure the missile maintained that near-vertical attitude until the engines shut down for good.

Compared to the earth’s orbital plane around the sun, the missile was spot-on at perpendicular. That reduced the odds that they might hit anything — while the plane the planets orbited in was filled with comets, asteroids, pebbles, dust, and other junk, vertically had a substantial reduction of such objects.

It also dramatically reduced the odds of interacting with any of the junk put in orbit in the last fifty years. The space might technically be nearly empty, but that nearly was still very crowded compared to the space between planets.

As expected, the modified Bloodhound out-ran their on-site radar installation and they switched to a feed from the UK Air Surveillance and Control System in Fylingdales.

Then came the steady chant of altitude readings as the missile climbed. Ten kilometres, twenty, thirty, fifty, seventy, a hundred.

“Time mark, coming on sixty seconds . . . mark! Altitude, one hundred and fifty-seven kilometres. Velocity, 5.2 kilometres per second. Course within one percent of projected.”

Soon, Thomas knew, the missile would outrun their radar capabilities. Fylingdales, after all, was oriented more towards watching known launches of hostile aircraft and missiles from over the horizon, not staring straight up into space.

“Switching to SPACECOM for continued tracking . . . established.”

It was an unfortunate fact that launching any missile that went high enough might be construed as a military ballistic launch strike. As such they had to notify the Yanks, Russians, and Chinese — didn’t want any misunderstanding, right?

Britain had never launched a potential ballistic missile from the island. As a result, he knew that all three would be closely watching this launch, the yanks, especially. BNSC had had to confide in them that they were testing some new technology and needed assistance in tracking it. Hence, the standby feed from America once the missile cleared their horizon.

“All systems green, engine nominal,” called out one of the technicians.

“Coming on two-minute mark . . . mark! Altitude 626 kilometres. Velocity, ten point four kilometres per second. Course on track.”

The yanks’ shuttle lost its solid-fuel boosters at two minutes, approximately, but they only carried the shuttle to forty-five kilometres. There would be some intense interest from them, the Russians, and the Chinese on seeing this performance.

At nine minutes after launch, Thomas’ cellphone vibrated twice, then stopped. His wide grin at the success, so far, of the rocket launch grew a bit wider.

While the other scientists considered this merely a proof-of-concept test, Thomas knew the results could dramatically change the scope of the BNSC plans for a space plane, and the program they would build on top of this test.

How far did magic extend in space? Would the spells fail in Earth low orbit? How about middle? Or high orbit? Was geostationary the limit? What about farther away from the planet, like the moon?

The scientists were very unhappy at being unable to put any experiments on board — there hadn’t been sufficient time to create any. There were two, however, Thomas knew, in what used to be the warhead. They shared that space with the radio transmitter that would help the scientists track how far the missile actually travelled. The scientists weren’t allowed to know that, though. The notice-me-not had prevented any questions during installation and any subsequent inspections.

The first magical experiment had six components. It would test how far a port-key could reach. They knew the minimum had to be 12,756 kilometres, the Earth’s diameter at the equator, its widest distance, because wizards had used portkeys to cross from one side of the world to the other. But those were always based on being close to the ground. What about much higher? Or even beyond that?

The experiment used a mechanical timer and six portkeys. The first portkey, triggered by a plunger at nine minutes after launch, would be at an altitude of about thirteen thousand kilometres, to verify the minimum distance a portkey would work in space, and if it would work that far away from the ground.

That was what the phone call was about. Receiving it notified him that the first portkey had, indeed, arrived at its destination back on Earth. That confirmed that portkeys could be used to transfer back and forth between the earth and a space ship or station in medium orbit.

“Coming up on ten minutes and engine shutdown, on mark! . . . Mark!” A second technician announced, “Engine had shut down. Altitude verified as fifteen thousand kilometres, velocity according to doppler is fifty-two kilometres per second.” The engine had exhausted the twelve tonnes of fuel in its expanded fuel tank, and was now ballistic. There would be no problems when that spell failed some time tomorrow.

This was when the second experiment came into play. It was more important than the first. There was a bomb on board that was held from exploding by a small spell. Should the ambient magic fall to the point where it couldn’t maintain the spell . . . BOOM!

The abrupt cessation of the radio transmission would give them an exact distance to that failure.

Which would put a real damper on deep space exploration.

That it hadn’t failed, yet, meant there was hope.

David went to his car and pulled out a big bottle of champagne and a basket with a dozen glasses. As far as the scientists knew, the launch was a complete success and they could go home — after a suitable celebration, of course. The celebration would be brief for David, Arthur, and Thomas, then they would return to their headquarters via helicopter.

Thomas knew from their calculations that in two hours, while they were still in transport, the coasting missile would pass the moon’s orbit. That would activate the third portkey set for the Moon’s orbit. Before that, though, the second portkey would initiate at an hour and four minutes, a distance of two hundred thousand kilometres — halfway to the moon. That would clear all near-Earth space for the use of magic.

Twelve days later, it would pass Mars’ orbit relative to Earth, the distance at which Mars is closest to Earth, and trigger the fourth portkey. The fifth would activate in ninety days, at a distance of four hundred and two million kilometres, the maximum range between Earth and Mars. That would open up all of the inner solar system to easy and cheap exploration. Five months and twenty-three days after lift-off it would pass Jupiter’s orbit and the final portkey would activate. The entire asteroid belt would be open to safe exploration. Jupiter, itself, would be within portkey reach for almost six months at a time.

The portkeys would also provide important data, as the port-keyed devices used mechanical gauges to measure both pressure and temperature. Making everyone wear a spacesuit might be aggravating, but it would be better than having the first passenger arrive at their destination frozen solid because no one had checked for that danger. The included stop watches would also give them an exact measure on how long portkey travel took. Thomas was very interested in seeing how long a portkey to Mars would take.

Portkeys would make mining the asteroids a simple nine-to-five job! Resource limitations would become a thing of the past.

He was not disappointed to receive two more calls on his phone that he didn’t need to answer on his way home.

April 30th, 9:08 AM

Yuri Koptev, the new Director for the Russian Space Agency, stared at the British Ambassador, Sir Rodric Braithwaite, almost speechless.

“You . . . are making a joke? Yes?” he said raising his eyebrows in consternation.

Rodric shook his head and smiled genially. “Not at all Director Koptev, my government wishes to buy your Storm shuttle for fifty million pounds. At the current exchange rate, that would be about four billion roubles. Which, if our information is correct, is the approximate cost of the space plane.”

Both were speaking fluent Russian.

“No,” Yuri said, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, but no.”

Rodric sighed dramatically. “Director Koptev, for the last three years the Storm space plane has been drastically underfunded. The second flight was supposed to take place in 1989, but was scratched to provide funding for other satellites. The second ship, the Little Bird, despite being delivered in 1989, is still sitting in its hanger only ninety-percent complete.”

He leaned forward. “The likelihood that the Kremlin will release sufficient funds to launch the Storm are nearly zero. As Director, you must know that. You might get the funds for finishing Little Bird, but that money would be better spent building and launching a weather satellite or for unmanned scientific exploration. Which is where I would expect such funds to go, regardless of them being released for the shuttle. Plus, the Storm is just not cost-effective to use as a truck to the MIR space station. The Proton rocket is a cheaper alternative, giving you three trips for the cost of the one it would take for the Storm.”

He shook his head sadly, just thinking about it, and leaned back in his chair.

“Based on the political climate of the last few years, I highly doubt the Storm will ever fly again.” He shook his head again. “It’s a shame, too. It is clearly superior to the Yanks’ shuttles. Your unmanned flight in 1988 proved that. If you were to sell it to us, it would still proudly proclaim Russian engineering while giving you a major cash infusion for your other, more important, projects.”

He looked out the window. “Don’t tell anyone I told you, but you might be able to secure an agreement to have one or two of your cosmonauts participate on all the flights.” He glanced back at the Director. “And to carry out some maintenance on some of your satellites at no charge.”

They stared at each other.

“At the very least,” he said, “you’ll recoup nearly half of your investment in the program and pay for quite a few of the others without having to bother the Kremlin for additional funding.” He paused a moment. “Having it all in pounds instead of roubles would insulate your budget from the vagaries of inflation, too.”

Yuri stared at him silently. “We saw your launch last week. Something so small should have been run out of fuel long before leaving the atmosphere.”

Rodric nodded. “It was a proof-of-concept test,” he said amiably. “Now we want to put it to serious use.” He gave the other a level look. “We could build our own space plane, but we don’t have the infrastructure in place, yet. It would probably take months or years before we had something ready to fly. It would be much cheaper, safer, and faster to purchase the Storm.” He leaned forward slightly. “If we can get the Storm for a reasonable price, we’ll be on the Moon before the fall.” He paused. “And so could your cosmonauts.”

Yuri frowned in thought and studied the Ambassador.

“This is new technology from the Equestrians, isn’t it?”

Rodric smiled.

“And you aren’t going to share it, are you?”

“If you were in our shoes, would you?” Rodric replied.

“The Equestrians, they are happy with you hoarding what you have learned from them?” came the incredulous answer.

Rodric shook his head, “It was their idea, actually. One of the first items they acquired were several dozen histories books. They fear that if everything they knew was freely distributed; the planet would descend into a series of bitter wars. They much prefer that the United Kingdom act as a gatekeeper.”

He sighed. “Their political climate is somewhat similar to the United Kingdom’s. We have a parliamentary democracy under a constitutional monarch, they have a constrained nobility with a duarchy.”

“Duarchy?”

“Yes, they are ruled by sister princesses instead of a monarchy, and their nobility operates much like our House of Lords.” He smothered a grin. “Apparently, the Princesses were quite taken with the concept of a House of Commons and are in the process of trying to duplicate it.

“Just as you would feel more comfortable dealing with a communist country, so they are more comfortable with us, than say, the American Republic or Iraq. The current turmoil in the former Soviet Union states has them uncomfortable at the prospects of keeping the more violent aspects of their technology out of the hands of terrorists or violent states such as Iran and Afghanistan.

“Apparently, they’re using England’s response to the introduction of some of their technology as a guideline for what they . . . release in the future.” There was a short silence.

He signed and stood. “I’ve taken enough of your time, Director. Please give it some thought, and discuss it with your superiors. I’ll check back in a week to see if you want to negotiate a fair price.”

May 14th, 4:12 PM

Watching as the Antonov Mriya cargo plane, with the Buran shuttle on its back, bank for its final approach at London Heathrow was awe inspiring, Thomas thought. The Antonov was a massive plane, easily the biggest airplane currently in use. It was accompanied by two Harrier escort jets.

Only the Hughes Hercules H4 “Spruce Goose” was larger, and that was only by a meter or two. However, the Spruce Goose — made of birchwood, despite its name — had only flown once. That was an impromptu decision of the pilot, Hughes, during a taxi-test. It never went higher than seventy feet, and lasted only a minute before landing, but it did prove it could fly.

Which made the eight-hour flight of the Antonov carrying the twenty-two-ton Buran even more impressive as an accomplishment.

The airport authorities had suspended all other landings and take-offs for a fifteen-minute window. They didn’t want any distractions for the pilots of the plane during its approach and taxi off the main runway. A bay in one of the airport’s maintenance hangers was prepped and waiting for the shuttle’s refurbishing and upgrading. Despite being a “civilian” project, the military was in sharp evidence, providing security and keeping the curious at a distance.

After landing, it took three cranes to lift the Buran so the Antonov could be towed from underneath it. It was another three hours before the shuttle was safely ensconced in its bay.

The day after tomorrow, the Antonov would return home to pick up the cockpit training module for transport to the European Astronaut Centre near Cologne, Germany. The EAC was, of course, the European version of NASA for astronaut selection, training, and support.

In the meantime, the Antonov would take the limelight as its technicians and engineers checked the plane for problems this evening. Tomorrow, they would be more than happy to give tours of the inside to the enthusiastic crowd. The Soviet political system might be in disarray, but the engineering on display was world-class. And they wanted to brag.

As for the Buran?

Thomas almost pitied the poor technician tasked with relabelling the Buran’s instruments in both Russian and English. A simple, but tedious job, requiring the dismantling of the entire cockpit.

Not so tedious would be upgrading the eight downward thrusters on the space plane to match the rear engines’ 8800kgf power. With those in place, vertical landing and take-off on the moon would be child’s play for a Harrier pilot. Unfortunately, that would require some major modifications to the nose and back-plane assembly. Assisting with that, however, would be the use of impervius charms to allow much lighter and smaller nozzles on the engines.

With the use of feather-weight charms to cut the shuttle’s weight to a quarter of normal when fully loaded, they could even manage vertical landings and take-offs on Earth, if they had to do so. But they wanted to keep that particular possibility a secret, for a while. Just pretending the engines had the lift capacity for a lunar landing was pushing the believability point for many people.

Also, the number of rear engines would be increased to six.

The rest of the forty-six Reaction Control System engines would be left alone. Simplifying things, however, was that unlike the yanks’ shuttle, all of the Buran’s engines fed off the same fuel tanks.

With luck, the first trial earth-to-orbit-and-back would be in July. Then the mission to the moon in late August.

The Space Race was about to get a kick in the pants.

And Britain would lead the way.

Thomas was elated to have been the one selected to assist in this project. His first love had been space and rocketry — until his Hogwarts letter had arrived. Being summarily frozen out of the wizarding world after graduation by pure-blood bigots had left a sour taste in his mouth. Doubly so when he realized he was drastically under-qualified, education-wise, for anything but the most menial of jobs with only a record of his primary years. Two years of hard study had gotten him his secondary years covered, and his necessary General Certificates of Secondary Education with excellent grades.

While he didn’t have a Uni degree to make it into a more direct role in the BNSC, even being peripherally associated with it as a low-level repair technician in the Royal Air Force had been nice. Not surprisingly, he had an outstanding record of always being able to repair something in record time.

When word had creeped over to him that the government was looking for a few people with “special” talents, he had waited a few months before stepping forward. He had been more than a little surprised to discover that his “special” knowledge brought an instant transfer and promotion. His unique knowledge of airplanes had brought him to this project.

Later that night, close to one in the morning, he slowly walked around the shuttle’s bay. It was one of two bays in the building. Currently, he was outside, and casting a light notice-me-not every few feet on the walls, and every visible window and door, surrounding the Buran’s bay. Only specially authorized personnel would not be affected — they had to wear a special, barcoded badge for entry. He added an alert spell to the windows and doors. He would know if anyone tried to sneak in.

Once he completed that chore, he entered the other bay and did the same to the temporary wall, and doors, it shared with the Buran’s bay.

It would keep the curious from trying to evade the guards patrolling the building, and sneaking in to see the shuttle. The journalists were being especially nosy. His superiors didn’t want anyone not read into the project to notice things they shouldn’t.

The rest of his night, until nine and with a break for dinner, he spent examining the shuttle under the watchful eyes of the soldiers guarding it. A light confundus prevented them from noticing the reparos he cast to bring the shuttle’s exterior into near-new condition. Tomorrow, He would repeat the magical repairs on the inside. The following day, the Russian engineers coming as passengers in the Antonov, would tackle the chore of refurbishing and retrofitting space plane with the British technicians.

One chore would be lowering the height of the wings’ landing gear to barely above the pavement while increasing the length of the nose’s gear. At the moment, the shuttle had a distinct downward slant from its tail to its nose, not a good attitude for taking off from a runway.

It was his job for the next few months to make sure the Russian engineers didn’t “notice” the magical items that were being installed. It wasn’t that terrible a problem, in truth. The British engineers could do enough hand-waving and fast-talking to cover the reduced-in-size heavy-duty engines that would replace the original RSCs, and the impervious spells on the smaller nozzles that would prevent their degradation in use. The big problem would be concealing that the tanks that formerly held 7.5 tonnes of propellant that now could hold over 2,000 tonnes. Hopefully, they wouldn’t notice that until the shuttle was actually fuelled.

And even then, it should be simple to keep them distracted.

The trickiest part would be the feather-weight spell. Normally that was an on-or-off spell, unless the wizard was constantly monitoring it. Thomas had heard that they were building a “special technology” box that would be adjustable on-the-fly, so to say. It would take a team of wizards to overlay the actual spell on the shuttle, but the box would make it variable from no-change all the way to reducing the shuttle to only a tonne. There was no need to worry about accidentally making the plane lighter than air, though. The spell would only counter to a set lower-percentage of whatever the space plane massed.

The tentative plan for that was to do it two days before the engines were tested.

Portkeys worked to the moon; they now knew.

A special habitat was being built for the shuttle to carry that they would leave on the moon. With an airlock and indoor portkey target, to and from the moon would be just an afternoon’s jaunt. A target would be placed outside for larger deliveries that didn’t need to worry about being in a vacuum.

The eggheads were arguing over whether the small moon-base should be placed at the north or south pole. Lunar axial precession was small enough that a solar panel on the highest peak in either location would give them non-stop power. It would only cost a few million pounds sterling instead of the hundreds of millions it would cost to cart everything to the moon. Not even a small nuclear reactor would be cheaper.

Both locations would give access to the “dark” side of the moon, away from the radio interference of the Earth.

June 15th, Monday 7:48PM

Thirty-eight thousand tiles. Thirty. Eight. Thousand. Tiles.

He was soo sick of this.

Thomas stared at the side of the shuttle in front of him. They had thought that applying an impervius charm would be simple. It meant they wouldn’t have to worry about damaged tiles due to impacts, heat, friction, or any other force of nature or man. The spell made something repel substances and outside forces. The tiles, for all intents and purposes, would be indestructible.

Ha!

It might have been simple if the tiles weren’t designed to be easily replaced.

Set an impervius on wall? Easy! It has a window? Apply a second impervius to that! Oh, a door? Another impervius. Why separate charms? Because they were separate items! They were designed to be separate.

Otherwise, if you set an impervius on a wall with a door, the door wouldn’t open. You needed to use force to push or pull the door in regards to the wall. The wall was impervius and the door was included in that!

So, here he was, assigned with nine other Special Technology officers going over the shuttle, charming each individual tile. And it was exhausting. None of them could do more than a hundred of the charms without nearly reaching magical exhaustion — which only took about two hours for each of them. Then they needed a night’s sleep to recharge their magic.

Thirty-nine days. Eight weeks, with the weekends off. They’d been at it for two weeks, and had six weeks to go

On the other hand, he did notice on Friday he had managed a hundred and five tiles before he had had to quit. Exercising your magic to the limit was beneficial. Tedious, but beneficial in the long run.

For the other nine wizards, it was easy. Officially, they were performing an in-depth maintenance check on the tiles. They came in at the end of a normal six-hour shift at their other duties, then spent the last two here in the hanger casting the impervius charm. They disguised their wands by slipping them inside a “probe” with a meter on it, and wore special googles that let them see which tiles had already been charmed.

For Thomas it was more complicated.

He had been assigned to fly on the shuttle for both the test flight and the moon flight. His superiors wanted a wizard on the crew as backup in case something went wrong. The crew would have emergency portkeys if something went disastrously wrong, but if it was something that could easily be handled by a wizard, why abandon the ship for a minor issue?

Which meant he spent eight hours a day in Cologne, Germany, in the EAC undergoing the same training the other astronauts were going through. At the end of the day, he apparated to Calais, France, took the Ferry to Dover, then portkeyed to the shuttle hanger. As soon as he arrived, he went to work on the shuttle for his two-hour shift. Then collapsed into bed by nine.

At six the next morning, he returned to Cologne and had breakfast with the other astronauts.

A gruelling day, to say the least. However, he would end up knowing the shuttle better than anyone else going on the shuttle. Which wasn’t a bad thing, now was it? After all, he was now a Flight Specialist Engineer.

He grinned.

He was going to space!

He was going to the Moon!

A life-long fantasy, one he had abandoned when he got his Hogwarts letter for another fantasy — magic.

And now he had both!

He realized he was giggling madly when he noticed the soldiers patrolling inside the hanger giving him odd glances. It probably didn’t help that he was here so late in the evening, instead of during the day.

July 29th, 11:00 AM

Major Thomas stood with Administrator David Williams and Director General Arthur Pryor as they watched the Buran being towed out of its hanger — they were keeping the name unchanged as part of the seventy-million pound-sterling deal with the Russians.

Today was the first big test of their modifications to the engines on the space plane. The avionics had been tested inside the hanger the previous week. The plane’s remote controls appeared to be perfectly integrated with the plane’s new capabilities. At least, as far as responsiveness. How it would perform under power was to be tested today in the U-shaped engine-test-run pen opposite the hangers.

The press was in heavy attendance, with several reporters almost run over by the various other pieces of equipment being manoeuvred around at the same time.

Under each of the wheels of the craft were special wheeled “platforms” that supported hydraulics group-programmed to lift five-sixths of the shuttle’s weight, to a maximum height of one meter. The concept, as the information specialist had explained to the reporters, was that they could test the effectiveness of the new “vertical flight” engines this way. If the engines could lift the shuttle’s effective weight of one-sixth normal, then they would be sufficient to handle landing on the moon.

What they were actually testing was the effectiveness of the feather-weight spell on the craft when used with its control module. They would then test the various new RCS nozzles for their effectiveness in “flying” the shuttle around inside the “pen.” Flight Commander Oscar Baker and his co-pilot, Pilot-Cosmonaut Vicktor Mikhailovich Afanasyev, formerly a Soviet Air Force Major, would be testing their abilities in “flying” the craft while it “hovered.”

No one was worried about that last part. Being both being former Air Force pilots, with Baker being a former Harrier pilot, this was more of a familiarization routine.

In truth, the avionics computer would be doing the “hard” work. The two pilots’ contribution would be more in the line of deciding general directions to move the plane in the test-run area, not manually adjusting the fuel flows to each nozzle.

The test was . . . loud.

And very successful.

Not a single non-magical twigged to the fact that the shuttle had had its weight magically reduced.

August 5th, 1:00PM

It hadn’t really sunk in that he was going into space until Flight Commander Baker released the brakes and space plane began to move down the runway.

Up until that moment, he had been too involved in watching the instruments in his dashboard, and his magical spells, to notice them being pushed-back from the hanger, firing up the rear rockets, and taxiing to their take-off position. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a window beside his Flight Engineer’s seat on the right side of the cockpit. His seat was behind and to the right of the co-pilot, Pilot-Cosmonaut Vicktor, and his seat hid the front windshield quite well. It was also a step lower. The only windows he could see out of were the overheads, which provided him only a sight of the clear sky.

He sank back into his seat as the shuttle accelerated, and decided he would be adding a camera-like charm to the hull, with the display beside him. There was certainly the clear wall space. It would be easy to write the addition off as some of the “special technology” from the Equestrians — a tiny camera and lightweight paper-thin screen. Then place another beside the chair behind and to the left of the pilot, in which was seated the Mission Specialist, Cosmonaut Yelena Vladimirovna Kondakova. She was a brown-eyed brunette with a wicked sense of humour.

In fact, perhaps he should put in a score of them, giving views from every angle out of the space plane? It would be a simple matter to have a tile echo the view from its position, much like a magical mirror could do.

He didn’t need a window, though, to know that practically the entire runway was lined with journalists. This would be the first joint British-Russian flight of a space plane, taking off from the ground, going to orbit, and returning.

Once again, Heathrow’s normal operations had been placed on a fifteen-minute hold while the Buran used runway 09L/27R. At three thousand and nine hundred metres, it was the longest runway in Britain. They didn’t need that much room for their take-off, as the Antonov had. They needed only one thousand metres in their current configuration — that is, an empty payload bay. When they carried the Lunar Base Module, they would need more, about two thousand metres.

He could feel the surge as first the nose gear, then the wings’ gear left the tarmac. The Buran lifted off the runway and he slid deeper into his seat as the plane angled up to gain altitude faster. A few moments later, he felt the craft tilt slightly to his right to correct their flight path to a more southernly direction from east to put them in an equatorial orientation when they left the atmosphere.

The Buran was now under remote control, just as it had been in 1989. Commander Baker was keeping an eagle eye on instruments, and hands and feet on the controls, just in case there was an emergency. For this trip into space, they were all passengers.

Their course temporarily put them over the channel and away from populated areas. The landing-gear indicators went from green-locked-down to yellow for in-transit. A few moments later, there was clunk and the green landing-gear locked-up lights came on in his dashboard as the other indicator shut off. Following that was another thud, more felt than heard, as the light for the landing-doors-closed changed from red to green.

So far, so good. Everything that was supposed to green was green and everything that was supposed to red was red.

The engines throttled back to keep their air-speed below Mach One — they didn’t want a sonic boom to disturb Britain’s French neighbours. Once they were high enough, the engines would once more be pushed to maximum thrust. They would remain there until the Buran reached its assigned altitude and orbit.

If it weren’t for the knowledge that they were headed for space, Thomas would almost have been bored. It was only that they didn’t level off at 10,500 metres, as most planes did, that was different from commercial air travel. It was a smooth and steady climb.

Twenty-eight minutes after take-off, they were in orbit.

It. Was. Glorious.

“This is not possible,” Vicktor said disbelievingly. “The fuel tanks are not big enough.”

Thomas could see Yelena nodding her head. He was prepared for this, though. His wand was taped to his arm, with the tip coming through a special valve in his spacesuit at the wrist. He cast two quick confundus charms. Thank Merlin, the space suits they all wore were no more an impediment to the charm than a heavy coat was.

“Don’t forget,” Thomas said, “We’ve adapted some of the Equestrian technology to get better performance out of our engines.”

He couldn’t see the Russian co-pilot, but Yelena had a slightly confused expression as she nodded.

Then it was on to the minor tasks they need to perform — primarily taking pictures and putting the various capabilities of the shuttle to the test. Opening and closing the cargo doors, checking the airlocks to both the cargo bay and for EVA, testing the performance of the cargo bay manipulator arm, putting the different RCS engines through their paces, using the microwave for a quick hot coffee, and, in general, making sure everything on-board worked the way it should. Every cabinet was opened and closed, every access port opened and checked, even the on-board toilet was given a test by the crew.

Too soon, it seemed to Thomas, they had to make ready to return to Earth.

After buckling back into his chair, Thomas jokingly said, “If they had loaded the Lunar Base Module, I’d suggest we make a side-trip to the moon.”

There were several sighs, and a murmured “Da!”

Then the RCS engines went into action and they were on their way home.

As the Buran rolled onto Heathrow’s taxiway, Thomas heaved a heavy sigh, sad the mission had been so short.

Tomorrow and the next day, the technicians would give the space plane a thorough examination. With such a flawless flight, and the perfect score he knew the technicians would give the plane, the moon mission would be scheduled as soon as the Lunar Base Module was completed.

August 20th, 5:00AM

It was Thursday, one day before the last quarter of the moon, but the sun wasn’t up yet. Not for another forty-five minutes

The Buran had just been towed out of its hanger, and Thomas was nearly beside himself in excitement and anxiety. This was it, their mission to the moon. The addition of the four viewscreens was much appreciated by the crew. They now had the ability to look anywhere around the craft, fourteen cameras, at the twist of a knob. Linking them in sets of two would even give recordings stereo views in all six directions. Five cameras at the tip of each wing, three at the nose — one forward and one to each side — and one at the back.

His and Yelena’s viewscreens were permanently on, but the Oscar’s and Vicktor’s viewscreens were more akin to a heads-up display that could overlay their windshields if needed.

The take-off was simple, a duplicate of the original, as soon as they cleared the runway, the ship barely had to change its eastward heading, just its attack angle. Unlike the yanks had done in the seventies, this was a direct shot to the moon, no orbiting the earth first.

He got to watch the ground steadily drop away, and the sky slowly change from blue to purple to black. This time, though, they had the cameras running, giving them a complete recording of their take-off and journey to space. They were actually recording from the tips of both wings and the tail-fin. The wing-tip cameras would provide a unique three-dimensional view of their take-off from both directions.

It was more than passingly strange, and fascinating, to watch the Earth slowly dwindle in the wing camera he was viewing from. They were moving fast enough, already, to see the Earth getting smaller by the second.

When they returned home, the space shuttle would be examined, and upgraded with what they had learned. The next time the Buran flew, it would be to deliver some new Russian satellites, and recover a few of the old ones that were now defunct. With unlimited fuel, there was basically no reason not to start removing some of the junk remaining in space. That was especially true of the satellites in high geosynchronous orbits, there were at least half-a-dozen he had heard about. Then there were the satellites that were in elliptical orbits, going from low-to-high and back.

The advantage to that was they would be clearing up orbital positions for new satellites. Not to mention salvaging rare materials for recycling.

But that was the future.

It was a boring flight. Monitoring his instruments took very little effort. He almost wished he could play a movie to alleviate the boredom. The only tasks for Yelena and himself were to monitor the recorders and make sure there were no issues — and to switch the feeds when appropriate.

Their flight path was almost ruler straight once they left the atmosphere. The main engines fired non-stop, accelerating them for just shy of one-hundred-and-five minutes, one-and-three-quarters of an hour. That put them halfway to the moon, 200,000 kilometres from Earth.

This was the turnover point, where the ship rotated to point the main engines towards the moon. Although it was fun to get out of his seat and stretch in zero-gravity, it didn’t provide much excitement. The pre-programmed computer took care of everything, perfectly.

Then came hundred and five minutes of deceleration that left them almost stationary compared to the moon, only a few kilometres above the south-pole surface. From there, they began a slow drift downwards to touchdown — a vertical landing, of course.

The anticipation as they closed in on the moon made him almost giddy. He was pleased to note that he wasn’t he only one, although the other three did a better job of hiding their excitement. The suppressed excitement echoed from the communications systems at BNSC and ESA.

The landing was as smooth as silk. Like clockwork, the RCS thrusters fired in the proper sequence as the main engines severely cut back and the space plane began to drop to the surface. At three hundred metres, the shuttle transitioned from a vertical, on-its-tail, position to horizontal. The RCS down motors fired up and gently began lowering them as the wheels came out of their respective housings.

At the same time, the bottom facing cameras came on to present the pilot and co-pilot with a view of the ground below them. The lights in the wheel-wells were more than adequate in providing the illumination needed to eliminate any shadows.

Fortunately, unlike the first yank landing on the moon, the Baker didn’t have to take last-second control to prevent landing on a boulder and crashing to the surface. Instead, they settled gently to the ground and the engines shutdown.

The silence after so many hours of the thrusters left his ears ringing.

“Yes!” he loudly exclaimed, pumping his right arm.

Almost immediately, Oscar said, “Lady and gentlemen, welcome to the Moon!”

Now came the fun parts of the mission. Fun, but tedious, once they got over the excitement of being on the moon and jumping around a bit.

The next sixteen hours were carefully choreographed.

Soil samples were taken from many different locations, a seismometer was set up, a surface magnetometer, a solar wind spectrometer, an atmospheric composition detector, a lunar interior heat-flow detector, and finally, a radioisotope thermoelectric generator. These were similar to experiments that had been deployed by the yanks’ Apollo missions decades ago, and most were no longer operational. The data from these new, and more sensitive, experiments would be compared to the previous sets for discrepancies and new data. The scientists hoped for a deeper understanding of the physical processes on the Moon.

They also took extensive photographs, and gathered and tagged any rocks or soil samples that looked interesting. The definition for both was rather nebulous. Their goal was to bring back approximately hundred and eighty-two kilos of material, or four hundred and one pounds. One hundred pounds each for the ESA, U.K., and Russia. Equestria would get one hundred and one pounds, because this couldn’t have happened without their contacting the British government last summer.

The soil and rock samples would tell them how different the Lunar pole sections were from the equatorial sections explored by the yanks. Whether they were different or not would answer many questions about the formation of the moon and how it had changed over the billions of years it had existed. Naturally, as in most experiments, the results would probably raise more questions that they answered.

It didn’t sound like a lot when listed, but placing each experiment took time, and several required pieces to be buried in the soil. While they were placing these various items, they were scouting for a good spot for Lunar Habitat Module.

Their final decision for the Modules placement, with help from the ESA, was about two kilometres away, at the base of a tall peak in a crater wall. The peak would be the mount for their solar panels. Moving the Buran the short distance, no more than a brief hop, was easy.

By the time final lift-off arrived, they were all looking forward to the nap they could take on the way back.

The space plane inserted itself into a twelve-hour elliptical orbit around the Earth. It went from a low of five hundred kilometres to a high of forty thousand — a Molniya orbit. Once a day, the low was over England and gave any trained wizard a short window of about ten minutes to apparate to the craft. Portkeys, of course, would work at any time.

“Does everyone have their translocator ready?” Thomas asked, as he looked at the other three. The ship was on stand-by now, a low-power mode that kept the ship barely about five degrees above Centigrade zero. This would be a test of the how well the ship would perform over an extended time in space, and how long it would take to make it habitable when it returned to service.

The translocators were, of course, actually portkeys with an activation knob. It had to be opened, the knob inside twisted, and then firmly pressed. An awkward procedure when wearing spacesuit gloves. Deliberately so, in fact, to prevent accidental activation.

Their hoard of Lunar soil and rocks in its sealed steel box had already been sent down with a separate “translocator.” It had used a mechanical timer to trigger it.

All four were suit-sealed at this point, and on the lower deck under the command deck.

“Just like the tests at the EAC, this’ll drop us into a pool. Oscar goes first, Yelena goes second in thirty seconds, Vicktor third, and I’ll go last. Right?” They nodded. As the expert on the Special Technology, Thomas was in command.

“Buran to Ground Control,” Thomas said, hitting the ship’s transmit toggle on the wall. “First translocation in five seconds. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.”

Oscar twisted and pushed the portkey control on his waistbelt, and disappeared.

“Ground Control to Buran, Flight Commander Baker has arrived.”

The other two disappeared on schedule.

While he was waiting for his “translocation,” Thomas quickly cast a notice-me-not on the shuttle. They didn’t want any spy satellites getting a closer look, not just yet, at least. Nor did they want a satellite to drop off a tracking package of any kind.

Later, after the performance test, they would cancel the spell, and then remotely fly the shuttle home and prepare it for its next mission.

Next year summer, the Buran would land on Mars.

If things continued at the current pace, it wasn’t impossible that in ten years the Buran would arrive in the Alpha Centauri system.

End

Ch. 08. Starting with Nothing

The five humans in the meeting room stiffened. The Prime Minister and the Home and Foreign secretaries looked alarmed.

Princess Sparkle and Prince Blueblood looked glum and worried. She took a breath and sighed. “Several weeks ago . . .”

The humans exchanged alarmed looks.

“. . . three ponies pretending to be doctors went through the portal. They had a forged letter stating they were wanted at the Embassy. They passed through no fewer than five points where they were checked for being Changelings, and they passed easily. However, reviewing the memories of the event from the guards who saw them, we now know they somehow managed to cast a spell that prevented them from being checked for illusions. Illusions not cast with Changeling magic.” She stopped, pulled out her wand, and tapped the table. On top of the table appeared the exit side of the portal — a corridor with a door to either side.

There was a brief flash of light as three people fell to the floor. Wearing the robes for transition, it was difficult to get a detailed look at them, especially as they fell to the floor in a pile. They heard a voice say, “Please remain calm, I’ll help you stand up.” Simultaneously, the group appeared to . . . ripple. A second later, three men stood up, without a trace of clumsiness.

“Thank you for your help,” one said loudly as he stood. “As you can see, we’re fine,” he continued firmly. “Everything is the way it should be. We can handle the dressing rooms by ourselves, no need to worry yourself about us.”

The three separated, two were women, they now saw, and the other, the one who had spoken, was a man.

The Princess tapped the table again, then things started going backwards very slowly. She stopped it at the moment they had looked up. “Take a good look at their faces,” she said dryly. The replay slowly started forward.

He could only see two clearly, and his first impression was of children. The faces weren’t as . . . mature . . . as they should be for men or women. Then the ripple swept over them . . . and they were two women and a man.

“I think that flash of light was a spell being cast, a confundus as the unicorn on duty failed to cast the two spells he was supposed to cast at this point. The confundus as its name implies makes one confused. Someone hit with that spell becomes confused, overly forgetful, and prone to follow simple orders without thinking about them.” She glanced at them to make sure they understood the implications.

“Notice how almost immediately after this, the appearances of the three change.”

It was true, Castor saw, the three suddenly looked older.

“Listen carefully,” she said, and sped up the replay to normal speed for a few moments. “The first statement, causes the one confunded to look to the caster for clues on what is happening and what to do. Note the words ‘we’re fine,’ with emphasis on the word fine. Similarly, the sentence, ‘Everything is the way it should be.’ Those, together with the ending that he shouldn’t worry about them, were all that was need to completely derail any suspicions the unicorn had, and prevented him from noticing the illusions just cast.”

She shook her head as the replay sped up for a few moments as the three dressed in the dressing rooms. She stopped when they exited, to give the men in the room a chance to study the two women and man revealed.

She took another deep breath. “They maintained this appearance all through the Embassy, and passed five more changeling checkpoints. No one thought to check for illusions, as the three were exiting the portal, not entering. If they had been using Changeling magic for the illusions, they would have immediately been detected.” She shook her head. “That, in conjunction with the confundus, leads me to conclude that they used a wand.

“They never showed their letter again, and simply walked out the front door. It’s clear they did extensive research, because they simply went into the night at that point. They knew what to expect, and acted accordingly. I’m sure the illusions we saw were discarded as soon as they were out of sight of the Embassy.

“I have a folder of the prominent points of what happened for you to examine in detail, as well as a video.” She levitated two folders and two video cartridges out of her briefcase. She slid one set to each of the Secretaries.

“I never expected someone on the Equestrian side of the portal to be using wanded-magic to elude the protections. I’ve written up my conclusions and what we intend to do to prevent this in the future.

“In short, we will be installing spells on all the doors and passages that perform the same as the changeling detection spells but also detect wanded illusions, then dispel them and stun the user. We will, of course, supply you with the new spells for your use in your own buildings.”

“As to those three? The only conclusion I can make it that they aren’t changelings. Because we don’t know what any of the other species on Equestria look like when they transit the portal, I can’t make a determination, at this point, that would exclude any of them. However, based on how well they knew our protection systems, they must know this was a one-way trip for them.”

She sighed and looked down dejectedly.

“Especially, as they must have known, someone eventually would have noticed that the three didn’t register at the Embassy and didn’t come back through. And we would close those loopholes.” She looked back up at the Prime Minister. “As we have.”

She floated a second set of fist-thick folders out of her briefcase. “Here are summaries of all the other species in Equestria that might have been able to steal a wand and might be able to use it well enough to cast an effective illusion — if they knew how.”

^-~-^

The next morning, Harry abruptly woke as Ginny, Hermione, and his herd-mates hopped onto his bed. They dragged him into his trunk and insisted on waiting in his sitting-room as he showered and dressed for the day. As they again exited the trunk, the sounds of pandemonium reached them from the common room. A quick dash down the stairs to see what was wrong showed him just what he should have expected to find wrong.

He finally had managed to train the Cutie Mark Crusaders, last year, to get dressed before they left their rooms. He was sure that Hermione and Ginny had been a big part of that. Unfortunately, the other Equestrians had not had anyone as adamant about that subject while they stayed at their houses on the Embassy grounds. As a result, the common room had several of the firsties wandering around without any clothes, and not understanding what the fuss from the other students was all about.

It didn’t help that the Equestrian girls had builds that put to shame many of the fourth-year girls. The wizards were awestruck. So were many of the witches, except they were also intensely jealous.

Harry could only put his face in his hands. He could just imagine the same scene playing out in the other three Houses. He knew, he knew, that there would be yet another rule added to the list by the Gryffindor entrance. No, a whole set of rules.

Many of the other rules that had, heretofore, only needed to be applied to Gryffindor, would soon be imposed on the other Houses, he realized. If they already hadn’t been, already.

Harry chewed his lower lip for a moment as he ran his hand through his hair. On second thought, he should probably advise them to add another rule, just to forestall any extreme reactions from the Equestrians if they happened to take a really good look into the Forbidden Forest.

With the help of his herd-mates, he managed to convince the other Equestrians to get back up the stairs, and to get dressed in their school robes for the rest of the day.

No sooner did the last grumbling girl hit the stairs, then a pegasus came gliding down the boy’s’ staircase with a gleeful, “squeeee!” Behind him came a running unicorn, complaining loudly, “No fair! You’re cheating!” The unicorn skidded to halt at the foot of the stairs as he realized everyone was staring at him. The pegasus shot up to the ceiling, hoping to evade attention. Harry studied them with narrowed eyes. “I hope you two are wearing your robes,” he said scowling. “If not, you’re going to have to go up and get them!”

Almost as fast as they had descended, the two went back up the stairs.

Harry sighed, and plopped down onto a couch. “Breakfast is going to be just smashing,” he said sarcastically. The girls settled around him, with Hermione and Ginny both agreeing. They remembered the difficulties of getting the fillies to cooperate last year. Only, this year, the Equestrians outnumbered the witches for the firsties.

Unfortunately, to everyone’s dismay — and especially the Gryffindor second-years — the portraits and paintings were now spelled to prevent anyone from using the book-walking spell on them. No more illicit escapes from the dormitories after curfew, or sneaking around the castle where no one could find them. There was also the issue that the spell and paintings had neatly bypassed the security on the girls’ side of the dormitories.

It was disappointing. However, such a severe security hole as that, had to be fixed as quickly as possible, Harry knew. The older students seemed especially upset about that, for some reason.

Well, it had been fun while it lasted.

He was right. A number of the firsties had managed to escape their common rooms without the benefit of clothing, and the reactions as they entered the Great Hall ranged from outraged and shocked, to stunned staring. None had even guessed at how well-developed the Equestrian girls were.

Several tried to make it to their House tables as ponies, only to have their Head of House redirect them. The Professorial Aides were put to good use in escorting the miscreants back to their Houses and ensuring they understood the proper dress protocol expected at all meals!

The uproar lasted all through the meal. The owls arriving with the things some students had forgotten, or last-minute additions their parents thought they should have, didn’t help.

Somehow, the professors managed to get the students their schedules.

It being Wednesday, their first class was Double Herbology, with the Hufflepuffs.

Professor Sprout was a squat witch with a large amount of earth on her clothes. She had flyaway hair on which she had perched a floppy wide-brimmed hat. “Greenhouse Three, chaps,” she said cheerfully as they approached the greenhouses that were her domain.

That was a surprise. They had only been in Greenhouse One, last year. The higher the number, the more dangerous the Greenhouse, the upper-years had always said. Somewhat cautiously, the herd entered the greenhouse with the rest of the class.

Soon, everyone had entered and was standing in front of a large trestle bench. Oddly, there were ear-muffs on the trestle in a veritable rainbow of colours. With eleven Hufflepuffs and fourteen Gryffindors, there were twenty-five sets of them.

“This year’s major project is Mandrakes,” she said briskly. “We’ll start by repotting them.”

What followed was a brief lecture on the properties of the Mandrakes and several warnings on how dangerous they were. Apparently, the full-grown ones screamed as they were re-potted, and the screams were lethal, hence the ear-muffs. Even the small ones in the current pots could knock you out for several hours. They all quickly grabbed a pair and placed them over their ears. As soon as she saw they were ready for the next part, she grabbed the leaves coming from one small pot on the table, and yanked.

The sight of an ugly brown, almost black, wooden baby instead of the muddy roots he had been expecting was a shock to Harry. He could see that most of the other students were also surprised.

She plopped the baby into a larger pot, then quickly and efficiently buried him in the readied compost.

“There now!” she declared after removing her own earmuffs and indicating they could do so, too. “We have a hundred more to do, four to a tray. Mark your names on the trays, those will be the ones you’re responsible for this year.” She gave a smile to the Harry and his herd-mates. “Pots are over there,” she pointed. “Compost, there,” she pointed again. “Be sure to wear your ear-muffs at all times.” She paused a second. “Oh, beware of the Venomous Tentacula, it’s teething.” She absentmindedly slapped the vine that was stretching towards her.

They spread out around the table.

For the next hour and a half, they were busy wrestling the little beggars out of pots they didn’t want to release, and into pots they clearly didn’t like. What the professor had made look simple and easy, wasn’t. Most of them struggled to accomplish the task without getting bit, scratched, or both. Not surprisingly, Apple Bloom and Ron seemed to do it the easiest and quickest. Their mandrakes seemed almost happy to oblige them!

Finally, they had twenty-five trays of pots completed. The two earth ponies who were her aides were a big help at keeping an eye on everyone.

However, that didn’t stop two of the students falling victim to the Venomous Tentacula sneaking a vine around their necks without them, or the Professor, noticing until the last second.

Fortunately, Professor Sprout let them leave the Greenhouse as soon as their task was complete. That gave them extra time to rush back to their dorms for a quick shower and still make it their next class. Harry knew Professor McGonagall wouldn’t have liked it if they had traipsed into her Transfigurations class looking, and smelling, as if they had just rolled in dragon dung.

Minerva McGonagall was a tall, bespectacled witch with her hair in a tight bun. After welcoming them back, she said, “These are my Professorial Aides for this class,” and indicated the wizard and witch beside her. “Mr. Bole will be teaching the Monday class and Miss Applesauce will be assisting in both classes.” As if her name weren’t enough of a clue, the witch’s bright green hair told everyone she was an Atlantean.

The class itself was a bit boring, Harry thought. The goal today was turning a beetle into a button. That was something they all could do last year. Not surprisingly, they did quite well. Probably because almost everyone in Gryffindor had visited Equestria at least once over the hols and had had a chance to practice magic there. By the end of the class, with a little assistance from the PAs, everyone easily succeeded. Not only didn’t the buttons have any indications that they once had been beetles, everyone was changing multiple beetles, simultaneously, into buttons!

He did remember to pass on his concerns to Professor McGonagall about what might happen if any of the new Equestrian students happened to catch a glimpse of either a unicorn or centaur in the Forbidden Forest. McGonagall was, after all their Head of House. He knew the Equestrian firsties had all been warned the previous month that unicorns and centaurs were to be found in the Forbidden Forest, but he knew they first time they saw either one, they would panic. At least none of them would faint. Maybe.

Lunch was next. Harry noted that the firsties’ end of the table was especially loaded with vegetarian and fish selections. As she had at breakfast, Hermione immediately pulled out a book, Voyages with Vampires. Unlike this morning, instead of just reading it, she disappeared inside it. Harry had to shake his head. They all had read the books at least once since they had purchased them. As stories of his adventures, they were quite entertaining, if you ignored the many pages on personal grooming and fashion. As texts for a DADA class? He wasn’t so sure. The herd had already noted that at least two of the books took place on opposite sides of the world at the same time, yet neither book explained or mentioned the overlap.

After filling up with as much as they could eat, they retired to the front courtyard. Hermione again disappeared into her book with the book-walking spell. Looking around the courtyard, Harry could see that she wasn’t the only witch pulling out one of the seven DADA books. Notably, none of the wizards were doing that. Neither were the Equestrian witches.

That was when Harry got to meet his most ardent male fanboy.

The boy’s face was almost beet-red as he came over to the little group. He stopped by them and took a deep breath. “All right, Harry?” he said breathlessly, “I’m — I’m Colin Creevey.” He took a tentative step closer. “I was wondering . . . would it be all right, would you mind, if . . . if I took a picture?” he said hopefully, raising his camera.

Harry sighed. “Well,” he said hesitantly, and looked at his friends and herd-mates. While it didn’t happen often, even in Equestria he sometimes had someone come over and ask if they could take a picture. Since he had been adopted by Twilight, and her status as a Princess, it had brought him a bit of notoriety. Not even the Ponyville residents were immune.

Prince Blueblood had told him that unless they were interrupting something important, intruding where they shouldn’t, or being a nuisance, he should always try to accommodate the commoners with pictures and autographs. If you were going to be in the public’s eye, the least you could do was not make enemies of them

The last thing you wanted, he had said, was to alienate ponies for no good reason. Plus, word that you were pleasant with commoners got around, and made them less likely to believe the nasty rumours that papers tended to print from time to time.

It made it harder for the papers to make you out as a villain when everyone you met, except the nobles and reporters, said good things about you to their friends.

“It’s so I can prove I’ve met you,” said Colin Creevey eagerly, nodding and edging closer. “I know all about you,” he explained confidently, and went on for few more sentences to prove he did know a bit about Harry. “Plus, I haven’t done it yet, but a fifth-year said the pictures’ll move if I use the right potion on the film!” And then explained why he wanted the pictures — to prove to his surprised parents that Hogwarts was real, that Harry Potter-Sparkle was real. Then he looked imploringly at Harry and half-begged, “Maybe I could stand next to you, you know, and one of your — herd-mates? — could take it? And then, maybe, after I develop it, you could sign it?” He paused briefly. “And I could make copies for your mother?”

Harry had waited patiently for the nervous boy to finish, but before he could say anything, his least favourite wizard made an appearance.

“Signed photos? You’re giving out signed photos, Potter?” There was more than a hint of disbelieving outrage in the tones.

It was Draco Malfoy.

Crabbe and Goyle, as always when Draco was at Hogwarts, stood beside and slightly behind him. They tried to appear threatening with their large sizes, but at this point in life, they merely looked overweight and slightly constipated. Harry suspected the trio were in a relationship, even though they vociferously denied it the few times Harry and the fillies had acknowledged it.

Harry hadn’t realized the wizard had even come outside.

Malfoy looked around at the scattered students enjoying the sun, and loudly proclaimed, “Everyone line up!” He waved his arms indicating everyone should come up. “Harry Potter’s giving out signed photos!” He turned back to Harry and sneered.

Harry shook his head wryly. Apparently, he had either forgotten, or hadn’t meant, his attempt at a friendship. For an ambitious, clever, and sneaky Slytherin, Draco was a dismal failure.

“Malfoy,” he said dryly as he stood up, “You don’t understand at all, do you? Colin, here,” he turned to the smaller boy, “You don’t mind if I call you Colin, do you?” he said quietly.

The boy excitedly shook his head. “No! No, not at all.”

“You can call me Harry, then.” He turned back to Malfoy. “Colin, here,” he nodded to the grinning boy, “has offered to take pictures of me and my herd-mates to send to our families in exchange for a few pictures for his parents.” He raised an eyebrow inquisitively. “Wouldn’t your parents appreciate a picture of you standing with the main castle entrance in the background? Or wouldn’t you like a picture to commemorate your time at school with . . . friends? Hmm?” He gave a significant look to Crabbe and Goyle.

Malfoy was staring at him, puzzled and surprised that he hadn’t gotten a rise out of the other. His boyfriends were exchanging their glances and from their expressions he saw they realized their parents didn’t have any photographs of them at school.

He turned to Colin. “How much does a roll of film and developing cost, Colin?”

Surprised, Colin had to think. He frowned in concentration. “Ah, six sickles for a thirty-six roll? Maybe a galleon for the potion? Then the cost of the parchment? I’m not sure . . ..”

Harry nodded as he did the math in his head. “Alright, that’ll do for a start. If you fall short, I’ll front you the costs, don’t worry.” It wasn’t likely. If he had the math right, the film and developing cost was about twenty-two pounds — four galleons, six sickles, and twenty-three knuts — and thirty-six pictures at five sickles each would double that. A good return on his time and effort.

He took a deep breath. “HEY EVERYBODY!” he shouted. “FOR FIVE SICKLES, COLIN WILL TAKE A PICTURE OF YOU WITH THE CASTLE IN THE BACKGROUND. A GREAT CHRISTMAS PRESENT FOR YOUR PARENTS! IF YOU’RE INTERESTED COME HERE!”

Everyone was staring at him. He gestured at his friends, who had all slowly gotten to their feet with Malfoy’s intrusion. He turned back to Colin, who had a slightly shell-shocked expression.

A line quickly formed, mostly filled with Equestrians, at first. Colin started with pictures of Harry and Harry and his herd-mates, both individually, together, and as ponies. Then he handed the camera to Hermione and she took a couple of him with Harry, in both forms as well.

Then he started on everyone else.

Unfortunately, Colin had brought only one extra roll of film. He was about to apologize that he didn’t have enough to do everyone here, right now, when Hermione volunteered to take pictures while he ran back to the dorm for more film. When Colin got back, a seventh year volunteered to duplicate the rolls to increase his supply. Colin would have the film developed and the photographs made long before the film dispelled itself.

Malfoy glared at his boyfriends when they joined the line. Goyle shrugged his shoulders and said, “Mum would love a photo,” as Crabbe nodded beside him.

A rather large number asked if Harry would join them for a picture, as long as he was there.

Colin was focused entirely on picture taking, so Harry’s only warning that things were about to change was when Hermione and Ginny suddenly sported silly smiles while looking slightly to one side.

“What’s all this?” he heard behind him and to one side.

When he turned and looked, he saw it was Gilderoy Lockhart, again dressed in his baby-blue robes, headed towards them. He had a toothy smile and his turquoise robes swirled behind him, almost like Professor Snape’s did, but a lot less like a giant bat. “Who’s giving out signed photos?”

Harry watched the wizard approach and remembered his attempts to grab Harry at the bookstore. He dodged behind Hermione. “Colin, here,” he said, “Has offered to take pictures of anyone who wanted to send one to their parents. Almost none of us have a picture we can send our parents of us at Hogwarts.” He shrugged. “For some reason,” and he well-knew what it was but it would be vulgar to say it out loud, “some of them want a picture of me with them.”

“Did he, now?” the Professor said, giving the boy an evaluating look as he lined up a shot for his next customer. Hermione had volunteered to write down the names and Houses of those who had wanted a picture and how many were taken. He was on his fifth roll. Harry was rather impressed with just how well the duplication spell was working and wanted to learn it.

Lockhart adroitly manoeuvred around Hermione as he said, “Well then, Mr. Creevey,” beaming at the boy. He placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder and pulled him close. “A double portrait of England’s top two celebrities would be quite the thing, wouldn’t it now? We’ll both sign it for you!”

Harry had to admit, the wizard was smooth. Objecting would cause an unnecessary scene. He smiled a smile he knew was fake, but would do for the moment. They moved over in front of Colin as his previous subject moved off.

After the picture was taken, Harry enthusiastically said, “You know, I bet there are a lot of students who would love to have a picture of themselves with you!” The witches in the audience around them visibly brightened at the prospect. And crowded a bit closer as they hopefully looked up at the vain wizard, wanting him to say yes.

Harry slipped to one side as Lockhart looked over the witches staring at him worshipfully. Harry nudged Hermione forward, taking the scroll from her hands and handing it a nearby witch with a casual, “Here, would you take care of this, please?” It worked rather well. After both Ginny and Hermione had had their pictures taken with the wizard, Harry and the herd managed to sneak away from the crowd. They headed for the castle, the two girls giggling happily at the thought of their personal pictures.

The cutie mark crusaders just shrugged. His “dreamy” appearance, as Scootaloo put it, didn’t appeal to them as much as it did the witches. Nor did having signed copies of a book they didn’t care about matter that much.

Professor Lockhart was late to their first class of Defence Against the Dark Arts, class, which Harry found vastly amusing. It was also his first class, too.

However, he quickly captured the classes’ attention. Like their other professors, Lockhart started by giving them a test — but it was on himself, amazingly. What was his favourite colour, what was his favourite food, when was his birthday? — those were just a few of the questions on both sides of the parchments he handed out. Halfway through the questions, disgusted, Harry started writing nonsensical answers. This had nothing to do with DADA. His books had been interesting, but the information about the creatures seemed a bit suspect — werewolves were notoriously powerful, more than strong enough to defeat a wizard in hand-to-hand fighting. Yet, he claimed to have fought one off long enough to cast a spell — a spell that no one else seemed to know that would force a werewolf back to a man or woman. Such a spell should have been in regular use for the years since that book was written! Harry knew Remus Lupine, his godfather’s friend, would have loved to have that spell at hand every full-moon.

Of course, now it wasn’t needed. The werewolves visiting Equestria were well on their way to making the werewolf curse a thing of the past.

Then Lockhart went through the papers quickly right in front of the class, giving a running commentary on answers some had missed. He gave Harry a curious look when he reached his parchment, his smile going to a slight wrinkling of his forehead, before he continued on.

Most of the class earned points for their answers, as book-walking made it easy to memorize. And everyone, at least the girls, that is, had read the books cover to cover before school had started, at least once. Hermione was on her fourth or fifth read-through, Harry thought. Plus, unlike their other dry and boring text-books that simply recited fact after fact, Lockhart’s books were actually interesting! They might not contact much hard facts, but they were a fascinating read.

Then, as he carefully placed the parchments in a drawer, he said, “Now to business.” He leaned over and carefully lifted a large, covered, square cage onto his desk.

He gave them a solemn look, “Be warned!” he said gravely, “In this class you will learn about the foulest creatures known to wizardkind! Your worst fears might appear in front of you.” He swept a glance across the room. “It is my job to prepare you to face those dangers.” Then he smiled. “Be assured, however, that you are safe with me. No permanent harm can befall you whilst I am here.”

The class watched apprehensively as Lockhart placed a hand on the cover. Harry and the fillies gave each other quite glances. They gripped their wands and prepared themselves for something unpleasant.

“I ask you all to not disclose what you’re about to see.” He glanced ominously around the room. “It would spoil the lesson when I present it to the other classes.”

Harry and the girls exchanged discomfited glances. That wasn’t an ominous statement, now was it?

^·_·^

Author's Note

Lockhart might be an amoral S.O.B., but he isn’t stupid! He wouldn’t have been able to pull off his book scam if he were. That sort of thing takes deviousness, close attention to detail, and long-term planning. While he might not be a competent DADA professor, the standard spells everyone uses day-to-day would be well-within his skill set — or he never would have passed his OWLs to use a wand, much less passed his NEWTs. While he may not know how to fix bones, he should certainly be able to manage episkey, for example, without a problem. Otherwise, it would be like you forgetting how to read books without big pictures, or how to count to hundred after mastering pre-calculus.

Ch. 09. More Surprises

“Be vewy, vewy quiet,” said Lockhart in a half-whisper, holding a vertical finger to his lips. “We don’t want to upset them.” He gave a small self-satisfied laugh, “Heh-heh-heh-heh!”

No one dared to breathe as Lockhart whipped off the cover off the cage in a single, smooth action.

“Yes!” he said theatrically, waving the hand without the cover. “Freshly caught Cornish Pixies!”

Harry was unsure of how to take the man’s odd pronouncement. Harry had the inane thought of, “Was he a pegasus fish-hawker?” cross his mind. Still, they didn’t look all that dangerous, and the encyclopaedia on creatures that his mum had bought referred to them as pests that were easily handled.

The pixies were small, only about eight inches high. They were electric blue and had pointed faces. Their voices were shrill and unpleasant. They were like human versions of the breezies back home, except . . . violent and menacing. As soon as they saw the class, they started chattering and zooming around their cage. They rattled the metal door and made scary faces at everyone who looked at them.

Seamus Finnigan, who should have known better, let out a snort of laughter.

“Yes?” Lockhart turned and smiled at Seamus.

There was something a bit sinister about the smile, Harry thought. What does he know that we don’t?

“Well, they’re not — they’re not very — dangerous, are they?” Seamus managed to choke out between snickers.

“Are you sure?” said Lockhart, waggling a finger, his other hand on his waist. “Appearances can be deceiving, after all!” he said, nodding his head slightly as he spoke.

Harry remembered the story his mum had told him about the parasprites that had eaten Ponyville — they had looked harmless, and ponies had even wanted to make them pets! These pixies did not look harmless. Anything but harmless, actually. He was starting to get nervous, and his herd-mates were echoing his anxiety, he could see. He palmed his wand in his lap, and nudged his herd-mates to either side. He made a point of looking down at his wand when they looked at him.

“Ready?” Lockhart said loudly, smirking. “Let’s see what you make of these not very dangerous creatures!” He yanked open the cage with a flourish, and stepped back against the wall. Harry immediately cast the strongest protection shield he could between the oncoming pixies and himself and his herd-mates. Sweetie Belle cast hers a moment later, covering their heads. Apple Bloom and Scootaloo were a bit slower, but seeing what their herd-mates had done, they quickly covered their sides. Hermione beat Ginny to covering their backs. Then they took a moment to survey the classroom.

Chaos. Sheer chaos. Discord would have loved it. In fact, Harry had a feeling he might be watching right now, with popcorn. Heh, he had probably been watching every class with the pixies. He might even have invited Pinkie Pie.

The pixies were everywhere, moving so rapidly they were almost blurs. Several had seized Neville by the ears and his robes and were hoisting him up. Several were floating, dazed, by the back window. The windows had clearly been reinforced to prevent their escape. The rest were trying, and succeeding, at wrecking the classroom. Ink bottles were flying, spraying the class with their contents; pages from shredded books and parchments were drifting like giant snowflakes; pictures from the wall were flying like Frisbees; one student was wearing the up-ended waste basket; and rucksacks, their contents, and books flew everywhere. Half the class was unsuccessfully trying to hide under their desks while the others were huddled together in corners. Poor Neville was clutching desperately to the swinging iron chandelier in the ceiling. It was creaking ominously.

Professor Lockhart had his back to the wall at the front of the room, and used his wand to swat any pixies that came close, flinging the pests across the room. “Come now — they aren’t dangerous, are they?” he taunted. “Round them up, they’re only harmless pixies,” Lockhart gleefully shouted.

The man was a bit sadistic, Harry thought approvingly. The DADA professor should be scaring the pants off his students.

Hermione nodded to Ginny, dropped her shield, and began sniping the little monsters with a freezing spell as Ginny did the same to any pixie that approached Hermione. Following her lead, the other four crowded closer together and dropped their shields. Then they started sweeping the pixies out of the air, and banishing their frozen or stunned victims into the cage.

The rest of the class, seeing what they were doing, pitched in, and soon they were pixie-free.

“So,” Professor Lockhart said into the silent room full of panting, shocked students, and grinned broadly. “Still think pixies are not very dangerous?” He paused a second. “For harmless creatures, they sure routed you bunch, didn’t they?” He said, gloating a little.

The iron chandelier crashed to the ground in front of his desk, with Neville landing beside it.

“That was . . . pitiful,” the professor said, shaking his head. “Start putting things to right!” He ordered and waved his wand at the chandelier, saying loudly, “reparo!” It rose up to the ceiling and reattached itself. That left Neville on the floor, groaning and rubbing his head. Lockhart looked at the rest of the class. “Well?” he said, hands on his waist.

Five minutes later, the damage was repaired and the students were once more taking their seats.

“Right,” Lockhart said firmly, leaning back against his table. “First, five points to each of the animagi for reacting first and quickest.” The girls all blushed. “Second, what did you all do wrong?”

What followed was a discussion on how they had underestimated the swarm of pixies. Yes, one pixie wasn’t much of an issue, but thirty? They discussed how they could have done things differently, how they should have reacted, and what might have been good tactics to use.

As they were leaving the classroom after the bell, Lockhart added, “Remember, don’t tell anyone what happened! We wouldn’t want to give an advantage to the others, now would we?”

Harry could hear the enthusiasm in his voice at the prospect of humiliating more students who thought the pixies offered no challenge. His concluding laugh was disturbingly evil sounding.

He had an almost grudging admiration for the wizard’s antics.

It was, without a doubt, the most interesting and informative class they had ever had. There were no doubts that they all would remember that lesson: just because a creature doesn’t look dangerous doesn’t mean it can’t hurt you, now does it?

However, that was their last class of the day, they had the rest free until tea, and they took advantage of it.

They headed out to the lawn. It was a wonderful late afternoon in the sun, and fit their desire to ignore assignments. They could easily handle those, after tea, with a little Book-walking for refresh their memories, and then writing out the results of that. They would finish before lights-out without difficulties.

In the meantime, they would bask in the warmth while it was still available. It wasn’t long before Ginny and Scootaloo noticed several pegasi swooping overhead, and shot up to join them. The trebuchets were making a steady swoosh as they flung students out over the lake — all the firsties were enthralled at that new recreation. The giant squid was fishing them out of the water and flinging them back towards land —making sure they hit the water and not the shore, of course. Several of the pegasi were transforming while in the air and performing loops, stoops, and spirals.

They could see Colin by the large crowd that had gathered around him. This time he was doing his shooting where the castle was in the background, not just the entrance courtyard. Harry was amused to see several students wanting repeats, with their friends in the picture, too. The little wizard was going to be making some serious money with his little hobby. Not to mention the connections he was making. Not that he would realize that for a few years.

Then Luna came over, having finally found them. Someone had given her sunglasses which was probably the only reason why she was outside. Otherwise, it would have been painfully bright for her nocturnally-adapted eyes.

They took turns, and the rest of the afternoon, teaching her how to initiate her animagus form and return. Once she succeeded, she was again swarmed by ponies and people admiring her crystal-appearing fur and skin, and the way she glittered and shone, especially when flying.

Then it was back to the Gryffindor dorm to freshen up for dinner.

As Harry had suspected, there were two new rules* posted beside the entrance, on the inside.

All students are to remain fully clothed outside of their dorms.
..a) and outside of the bathrooms in their own dorms.
..b) and said clothing is to include underwear.
..c) Students are not allowed to attend class in animagus forms to get around the requirement to be dressed.

Students are not allowed to summon the Equestrian Royal Guard to detain the inhabitants of the Forbidden Forest.
..a) The Centaurs are not going to drain anybody’s magic.
..b) YES! WE ARE ABSOLUTELY CERTAIN CENTAURS DO NOT STEAL PEOPLE’S MAGIC
..c) OR PONIES’ MAGIC.
..d) No pony, person, or other creature is allowed to approach any of the Centaurs in the Forbidden Forest for any reason whatsoever on penalty of being suspended from Hogwarts and sent home for one week.
..e) Yes, we know there are unicorns in the forest. No, they do not need the Equestrian Royal Guard to protect them from the Centaurs.

They were not long into their evening meal when the Headmaster and his mum came through the open Great Hall doors. He had expected her to show up today; after all he had sent Hedwyg off with a letter last night before curfew. He knew she would want to know right away about Discord’s mischief. His only surprise was in that she hadn’t immediately shown up this morning!

He stood and waved when she started looking around the hall to find him. While she knew which table belonged to Gryffindor, she didn’t know exactly where he was at the table. That, and she could no longer just look for the bright hair colours of his herd-mates as distinguishing features, considering all the other Equestrians at all the tables.

All the new Equestrians sort of interfered with that.

Smiling broadly, she headed for him, the Headmaster only a step behind. The moment she was close enough, they hugged. The three fillies quickly joined them. More hesitantly, so did Hermione and Ginny.

After exchanging greetings, his mum leaned back. “So, Discord?” she said, pulling her mouth to the side unhappily.

He grimaced, and turned to Luna, who was watching with wide eyes only a few seats away. “Mum, I’d like to introduce Luna Lovegood,” he said stepping over to her and uncurling his arm to present her to his mum. “Luna Lovegood, this is my mum, her Royal Highness, Princess Twilight Sparkle, Princess of Friendship, Mistress of Magic, Bearer of the Element of Magic, Saviour of Equestria, Liberator of the Crystal Empire, Biggest Egghead Ever.”**

His mum glared at him, her hands on her hips.

He smirked. “Prince Blueblood says that proper etiquette must be followed for all introductions regarding royalty . . . and those are your titles, mum.”

She sighed and rolled her eyes. With Princess Celestia making that last one part of her Royal title, there really wasn’t anything she could do about it — except complain. Rainbow still went into giggles every time she heard it. Then the Royal turned her attention to Luna. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Lovegood.”

Luna blinked owlishly, then quickly scrambled from the bench and curtsied as she said, “The pleasure is all mine, your royal highness.” She straightened and nervously glance at Harry, and the Headmaster who was behind them all.

He grinned at her. “I sent an owl last night explaining how you got your animagus form.”

“Yes,” interrupted his mum, moving over to inspect Luna, craning her neck side to side. “Would you mind showing me? The Headmaster said we can use a room just down the hall from the Great Hall, here.”

Luna glanced at her plate, “Of course, your highness.”

“Excellent!” cried his mum. She glanced at the girl’s plate. The portions on the plate were quickly doubled from the nearby platters, then the plate and her juice goblet floated up. She turned, nodded to the Headmaster, and they started back towards the doors, the plate and glass floating over her head.

Harry quickly grabbed his own plate, scooped up a few extra helpings and his goblet, before following them. The girls were not far behind him. Just before they reached the doors, Myrtle joined them.

She was a part of the family, now, even if it wasn’t official. Seeing everyone else in the family was there, except Spike, she didn’t want to miss anything. If nothing else, it gave her some wonderful gossip — if it wasn’t private.

Almost at the same time, another person came trotting in — literally.

“Luna!” exclaimed his mum in surprise.

“Yes,” said the little Lovegood girl, looking over from the imposing visage that had just come in.

“You couldn’t have waited five minutes?” Princess Luna said, staring disapprovingly at Twilight, eye-to-eye. She was in her alicorn form, a deep-blue coat with a quarter-moon emblem on the black peytral on her chest. Her mane was a lighter blue, but sparkled and glittered as if tiny stars were embedded in it. Her crown was black as night.

The Hall behind them gasped at her appearance, but went silent.

His mum rolled her eyes. “Discord,” she said by way of explanation.

“Yes,” Luna said reflectively. “That would imply a bit of haste, We suppose,” she mused. “Is this the little witch with Our name?” she asked imperiously, looking at the only person in the group she hadn’t met.

Luna, the girl, stared at the giant pony with wide eyes.

Harry sighed. “This is Luna Lovegood,” again gently lifting uncurling his arm to indicate her with a sweeping gesture. “Luna Lovegood, this is Her Eternal Majesty, Princess Luna, Mistress of the Stars and Moon, Bringer of the Night, Guardian of Dreams and Destroyer of Nightmares, Bane of Evil, Defender and Grand General of the Realm, Matriarch of the Night Ponies, Monarch of Unicorns, Councillor of Earth Ponies, Commander of the Pegasi, and Co-ruler of Equestria and all Their Other Realms and Territories.”***

He was getting quite good at this sort of thing, he thought wryly. Blueblood would be pleased — and would still critique his stance and presentation.

Luna-the-girl stared a second, then shook herself. She curtsied once more. “A pleasure to meet you, your Majesty.”

Good, Harry thought, she had picked up on the “co-ruler” in the introduction.

“We shall see,” the Princess replied.

That wasn’t nearly as good.

The moment they were out of sight beyond the doors, the Hall broke into an excited chatter. Professor McGonagall came hurrying out to join them not a minute later. The volume of noise from the Great Hall rose even higher.

They quickly made their way to the same meeting room they had used last year when Twilight made her first impromptu visit, curtesy of Philomena.

It didn’t take long for Luna-the-girl to repeat the story of her encounter with the God of Chaos the previous day. Both Princesses paid close attention.

His mum hung on the girl’s every word, walking back and forth in front of the girl, asking questions.

Luna-the-pony spent the time stalking around the girl, examining her from every angle, with a spell or two added.

Then it was everyone else’s turn to explain what they had seen, and what they had told the girl about ponies.

His mum stopped and stared intently at the girl. “Would you please turn into your new form? Have you learned how to change back and forth, yet?” She transformed into her alicorn form.

Luna-the-girl’s eyes darted around at everyone watching. The Headmaster was smiling lightly, his eyes sparkling. Professor McGonagall was just watching curiously. Seeing the girl’s hesitation, she gave a small nod. Luna-the-girl slowly nodded back as the students all told how they had taught her how to transform-at-will earlier in the day.

A second later, there was the beautiful pony they had seen earlier.

Both Princesses were delighted and excited, and the diagnostic spells filled the air for a few minutes.

“Amazing,” breathed his mum. “You have the wings, ears, and eyes of a Night pony, but the Crystal pony attributes that make you translucent!”

Harry jolted slightly. He had noticed her eyes were faceted like a Crystal pony, but he hadn’t noticed that the they were slitted eyes, like a Night pony. Nor had he noticed how much larger than the other ponies her ears were — which was rather remarkable as they were almost as over-sized as a fennec fox’s. Her wings and crystal coat had been too distracting.

Princess Luna muttered a soft, “Remarkable, indeed,” and nodded.

“And it goes right down to the genetics,” his mum continued as she looked into the girl’s eyes. “Your pony children will be just as healthy as you are.”

“Say what you will about Discord,” Luna-the-pony said dryly, “but he does do good work.”

His mum sat back and frowned, deep in thought, while Luna-the-pony examined Luna-the-girl’s wings. She cooed at how pretty the filly looked, the feel of her wings’ membranes, and murmured about how so much like a regular Night Pony she was in overall build, if not appearance.

Twilight suddenly stood up. “Scoots, Sweetie, Bloom, would you all stand there?” She pointed to one side. “Myrtle, would you stand there?” She pointed to where she wanted the girl to stand. “Miss Lovegood? Would you return to your normal form?” She then cast a series of spells on Myrtle, Luna-the-girl, and the CMC fillies. She chewed her lower lip as she studied the results.

She turned to where Harry, Hermione, and Ginny had grouped. “Perfect! Just stay where you are.” And they were included in the next batch of spells.

She turned to Professor McGonagall. “Would you please stand there for a moment?” She pointed to a fourth spot, and repeated her spells. She sighed deeply. “Okay. Could you all take your animagus forms?” She swept her gaze across the entire group.

It was another round of spell casting on the various ponies and cat.

Twilight sat a moment longer, then started pacing. After a few moments, she stopped. “Albus? Is there someone else in the school who learned how to be an animagus in the traditional manner?”

Eyes sparkling, he said, “Why, yes, I believe there is . . ..” A moment later there was a goat standing where he had stood.

“A Nigerian Dwarf goat,” breathed Hermione in surprise.

“Excellent!” exclaimed his mum, again, and started casting spells.

“Now, change to your animagi forms?”

The only one left as a human in the room was Myrtle.

Finally, Twilight stopped. She turned to face Myrtle. “Would you like to be a unicorn, a pegasus, or an earth pony?”

Myrtle glanced around the room at the various ponies. Scootaloo and Ginny promptly spread their wings.

“Uh, a pegasus?” she said hesitantly.

Twilight nodded firmly. “Bear with me, this should only take a moment.” She stared at the girl intently. A glow began to suffuse the entire room. Harry felt . . . something . . . inside, for a very brief moment. His connection to when they had revived Myrtle?

There was a bright flash. When it faded, his mum was panting heavily, and a bit wobbly on her hooves. “Oh, that might have been a bit too much,” she slurred.

Princess Luna was at her side, instantly, a soft glow holding the purple pony upright. She sighed, “Twi,” she said exasperatedly. “Just because you figured it out doesn’t mean you should try it immediately. Next time, just show Us the spell, and We will do it. We have the power to spare.”

“Uh huh,” Twilight said sleepily, and yawned prodigiously.

The rest of them were staring at the new pegasus. “Oh, my,” she said quietly, then grinned, delighted. “It feels exactly like when I’m in Equestria!” She glanced at her wing as she stretched it out. “Except with wings!” She started tentatively flapping them and slowly rose a short distance above the floor. She let herself drop down as the other two pegasi rushed to her.

She ecstatically cantered in place, then sighed and abruptly returned to human. She turned to the other fillies. “Okay, how do I turn back?”

Princess Luna, still propping up Twilight, who was now snoring lightly, looked over at not-Princess-Luna. “We approve whole-heartedly of your animagus form. We shall have to see if that is also your form in Equestria. We suspect it might not be, that you might still have the unicorn form you have already exhibited.” She glanced at Dumbledore. “Just as the Headmaster is a unicorn in Equestria, yet he still retains his older animagus form.” She looked back at Luna-the-girl. “You and your family are invited to visit Us at Canterlot Palace this Hearth’s Warming holiday. In the meantime, We will send a Night Pony to help you adjust to your new senses and abilities.” She paused a moment, then said, “Fare the well,” as she turned to Albus, still a demiguise. “We will see Ourselves and Twi to the gates.” She turned and left the room, his mum floating behind her, snoring.

^-~-^

Having so many Equestrians willing to transform into their “animagi” form changed the common room dynamic. Harry and his herd-mates were no longer the centres of attention, he was happy to see.

Luna, naturally, was the most popular pony. Everyone wanted to see if her coat was soft like fur or hard like crystal. It was soft like fur, but was translucent and glittered like crystal. There were dark sections scattered across her body, but her internal organs were not on display, despite being able to see the broad outlines and colours of the people, and the room’s furnishings, through her. Somehow the imagery behind her was transmitted to her other side, as if she were see-through, like a translucent window.

The “younger” ponies did seem to prefer being close to older ones, though, despite them actually being older than Harry’s herd-mates. Probably because Harry and the herd were seen as “experienced” and would protect them. That, and the fact that Harry was part of the royal family. As were his herd-mates by association, if not yet fact. Being nice to the potential royals was always a good strategy.

In the meantime, regarding safety, if Harry and the other three weren’t alarmed, then it must be okay was the consensus.

That there were also nearly equal numbers of Equestrians in the other Houses meant that this year there were no “visitors” from the other dorms, at all. Which considerably decreased the crowding in the common room.

Now that he wasn’t being singled out, it was hilarious to watch the firsties getting blissed out at all the attention they were receiving.

Actually, as Harry looked around, the common room seemed even less crowded than he had expected. Had it expanded to accommodate the increased number of students, as the firsties’ room had been expanded with extra beds and more room?

The next morning started with History of Magic, which used to be taught by a ghost. Professor Lupin had taken over the position last year.

Professor Binns, the previous Professor of Magical History, had been a ghost and taught the course for over a century. Last year, he had realized he had actually died during his tenure as a Professor, and had never noticed! The CMC had never seen a ghost until they were at Hogwarts, and under their questioning he had finally noticed his deceased state. With that discovery on his part, he had gone off to his “next great adventure,” as the Headmaster had termed it.

His replacement, Professor Remus Lupin, had periodically brought in the ghosts in the castle, and other places, to take turns speaking about their lives and the times they had lived in. It was so much more interesting to listen to someone talk about a historical incident when they had lived through it! Not to mention that some of them actually knew the villains or heroes that their textbook discussed.

Professor Lupin’s approach to teaching had been greatly appreciated, once they all got over their disappointment at losing their scheduled nap time.

It was rather ironic that their Professor was using ghosts to bring the past to life for the students in the present.

His robes were standard Professorial ones, ones in much better condition this year than they had been last year. That, no doubt, was due to Sirius’ influence.

Remus, too, introduced new Professorial Aides, except both of them were Seventh-year students. Naturally. An Equestrian would have been of no help at all in this class. Duh.

Unfortunately, the longer a werewolf had been afflicted with the curse, the more habits she, or he, had to try to correct. Even Remus — who had lived so much among muggles — had a few habits that were hard to break. His temper and lassitude during the times of a normal full moon would be a problem for him for some time to come, Sirius had told Harry.

“Pavlov’s Dogs, you know,” he had said wryly. Which had led into an explanation about how physical reactions become ingrained to visual and auditory stimuli — and very difficult to break.

The next class was Charms. It was as interesting as ever — they started with a comprehensive look at last year’s textbook. Professor Filius Flitwick, was a tiny little wizard with white hair and green robes, who could look a pony straight in the eyes. He was quite affable, and spent the entire lesson revising the previous year’s charms with them. He was more than a little surprised at just how much they did remember.

On the other hoof, Harry was gratified to hear at the end of the class, that they already had covered almost a third of the material for second year! Celestia bless book-walking! That meant that after the revising in the next two weeks, they would already be that far through this year! With luck and perseverance, they might even be able make their way through the third-year spells before they finished second year!

They would definitely be setting records when their OWLs came around.

After lunch was Potions. Which was actually had a bit of a surprise. Instead of Professor Snape, there was an enormously fat, short, bald, old man wearing a wizarding suit instead of robes. His belly was so large that the buttons on his waistcoat appeared to be ready to burst off. He had prominent, gooseberry-coloured eyes, and an enormous, silver, walrus-like moustache. He was grinning broadly as they entered the room.

Standing with him was a Ravenclaw, a blonde-haired, upper-year student, one Harry had never met. Beside him was a buxom Equestrian. An Equestrian he and his Equestrian herd-mates immediately identified. Her hair was black and white striped in a Mohawk-style. She wore two gold earrings, one in each ear, with five gold rings tight to her neck and a matching set of five on her left arm. Her face was a bit squarer than the other Equestrians Harry had seen.

It was Zecora!

All three fillies yelled her name at the same time and charged forward to hug her. After a moment, the Professor shooed them away and they quickly found seats. Apple Bloom and Ginny took one table, Harry and Hermione had the next, and Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo were behind Harry’s table.

Harry wondered if her animagus form was a zebra, like she was in Equestria. The Zebras from Zebrica didn’t seem to have overt magic like the ponies did, relying primarily on rituals and potions. However, most wizards and witches seemed to have the capability, even if they never learned how to do it. Zecora, he thought, should be able to manage the animagus transformation. He would suggest, later, she explore that option.

Once everyone was in place, the wizard started off with, “I am Professor Horace Slughorn. I will be teaching this class, as well as the other classes leading up to your OWLs.” He turned and nodded to the wizard at his side. “This is Mr. Widdershins, and he will normally handle the Wednesday classes.” He turned to Zecora. “And this lovely witch is Zecora, an Equestrian. While she is a Potions Master in Equestria, she will be observing my classes as she learns how potions are created and used here in England. She will be helping the two of us in our classes.” He rubbed his hands together. “So,” he said jovially, “Shall we see how much you remember from last year?”

What followed was a class-long question and answer session where every student received at least some attention. It was clear from the way his expression occasionally fell that the class was not where he wanted it to be. His . . . lapses . . . were just as frequent when he was questioning the Slytherins as with the Gryffindors — neither side of the class was happy with the other hearing their faults.

The end of class came none too soon for Ron and Neville, or Goyle and Crabbe. Although both sets of boys had snickered at the others’ mistakes, all four were exchanging relieved looks as they left the classroom. Truthfully, the entire class was relieved. This was one of a mere handful of times they had left Potions without fleeing an explosion, enduring another melted cauldron from Neville, or the subjects of yet another Sweetie-Belle-potion-gone-wrong.

Not to mention their attendant ear-blistering and soul-destroying tantrums from Professor Snape. No one would miss those!

Just as relieving had been knowing they would be revising safety rules and proper cutting and stirring procedures for the next two weeks. No disasters for two weeks, guaranteed, led to quiet celebrations. Many exchanged high-fives, while looking over at Sweetie Belle, as they left the class.

^-~-^

Author's Note

* Thank you, Firestorm100, for Rule #12. And Odeinoichus for Rule 13.

The Rules
As revised for the new year:

ATTENTION ALL STUDENTS!

1) Students are not allowed to ask ghosts if they are dead. It is rude. (Firestorm)
2) Students are not allowed to exorcize or assist local ghosts to their next great adventure without ADVANCE permission from the Headmaster.
..a) Yes, this includes Peeves, no matter how aggravating he may be. (Firestorm)
3) Students are not allowed to manifest, materialize, restore, or otherwise turn or return to life any ghosts, or other deceased or non-corporeal individuals, whether human or not. Period.
..a) This includes, but is not limited to, banshees, dementors, draugrs, ghouls, jiangshis, liches, mummies, phantoms, poltergeists, revenants, shadow persons, skeletons, spectres, vampires, wights, wraiths, and zombies.
..b) Yes, this includes Peeves, no matter how much he deserves hexing. (Firestorm)
4) Students are not allowed to attempt spells or rituals from household grimoires or books from home without FIRST getting permission well in advance from their Head of House OR the Headmaster. Preferably BOTH.
..a) Individual spells brought or sent from home are included in this ban.
..b) As are any spells from a source not in the Hogwarts Library.
..c) As are any spells from books in the Hogwarts Restricted Section.
..d) Book, for the purposes of this list, shall be construed to be anything with a spell written on it.
5) Outside of Quidditch matches and practice, pegasi are restricted to a top speed of 40 mph.
..a) Pegasi are not allowed to participate in official Quidditch matches.
..b) Pegasi are not allowed to fly in school corridors.
..c) Pegasi are not allowed to fly in the Great Hall.
..d) Pegasi are not allowed to fly up or down the staircases.
..e) Pegasi are allowed to fly in classrooms, with the Professor’s permission and for demonstration purposes only.
..f) Students are not allowed to request a certain Equestrian-Atlantean turn their fellow best-mates into pegasi.
.....i) Or any other animagus form!
....ii) If you don’t know who this Equestrian-Atlantean is, consider yourself very lucky. (Firestorm & Senko)
6) While the desire to learn is laudable, students are no longer allowed within a Hogwarts Library book for longer than two hours. Five points shall be deducted for each infraction.
..a) Students are prohibited from remaining inside any of his or her own personal books for longer than two hours.
..b) Students are not allowed to use the book-walking spell past lights-out. Five points deduction for each infraction.
..c) Students are not allowed into any Hogwarts Library book without strict supervision by a Professor, or a student two (2) years her senior — the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan are not considered appropriate supervisors. (Odeinoichus)
7) Students are not allowed to spend more than 5 minutes hugging/petting/grooming an animagus student in their animagus form if other students are waiting.
..a) Students are not allowed to force, or guilt, an animagus student to remain in their form if they do not wish to do so.
..b) Animagi students must complete their homework for the day before they can partake in any ‘petting’ or ‘grooming’ session.
..c) Animagi students are not allowed to use that form’s cuteness to convince staff members to do things for them or excuse them from activities, assignments, or punishments.
....i) Animagi are not allowed to enlist other animagi in this subversion of authority. (Senko)
8) Students are not allowed to play with dangerous beasts inside the school corridors.
..a) Or on the staircases
..b) Or in the classrooms, unless supervised by a qualified staff member.
.....i) For the purposes of this rule, Hagrid is NOT a qualified staff member.
..c) Or in the dorms.
..d) Or the broom-closets, even if they are expanded.
..e) Or the student trunks, even if they are expanded.
..f) Or the Hogwarts’ front, side, or rear grounds.
..g) Or the lake (except Gerald, the Squid).
9) Students are not allowed to try to catch, or actually catch, the Acromantula spiders in the Forbidden Forest in hopes of getting a Cutie Mark in Spider Wrangling. Or producing their own Acromantula silk. Or any other reason. (Senko)
10) Sweetie Belle is ONLY allowed to brew potions under the direct supervision of Professor Snape, or an accomplished potions student three (3) years her senior.
..a) The Weasley twins are excluded from supervising any students, at any time, for any reason, with regards to potions, unless Professor Snape gives his un-coerced permission. (Senko)
11) Students are strictly FORBIDDEN to call upon a certain Equestrian-Atlantean during Professor Snape’s lessons. Or any other lesson. Or within Hogwarts in general. Or anywhere near it. Or quote this rule out loud more than once in twenty-four hours. Per whole group and not per person. Just . . .DON’T! Penalties include dismissal from Hogwarts and/or time in Azkaban. If you don’t know who this Equestrian-Atlantean is, you should be grateful.(Firestorm)
.
(Names in parentheses are the contributors who suggested them)

** Sir Chaos Omega and Ecuos Oinocernos, from the previous story, for Twilight.

*** CrimsonPlays, from the previous story, for Princess Luna.

Royal Visits, Part One – Side-story

If Wishes Were Ponies . . . Book II

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It was the Royal Visit to top all royal visits. Elizabeth the Second, by the Grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and of Her other Realms and Territories Queen, Head of the Commonwealth, and Defender of the Faith, was going to be meeting with the co-rulers of not just another nation, but the co-rulers of a nation on another planet! The Equestrian Princesses Celestia and Luna were going to come to Earth to meet with the Queen.

To say that the newspapers and video journalists were excited was a huge understatement. It almost . . . almost . . . overshadowed England’s first planned manned-mission to the Moon!

Watching the Buran, Britain’s own space plane, race down the runway for its first orbital flight had galvanized national pride in a way nothing had done since the Blitz. Yes, the Buran was Russian-made, but it was now fully and completely Britain’s!

Britain’s own scientists and technicians had been all over the shuttle, and improved it beyond its builder’s wildest dreams — no giant booster was now necessary, it could fly like a true plane! The yanks were practically drooling at the prospect, and their efforts to be included in the project were getting downright ludicrous.

They had already caught one selenographer trying to sneak aboard the space plane with the absolutely ridiculous idea of being a stowaway. He had a trunk-sized rucksack filled with concentrated-food, and a home-built spacesuit with a CO2 scrubber/rebreather! How he expected to remain undetected mystified everyone.

The announcement that the rulers of the U.K.’s newest ally were coming for a personal visit had driven that fervour to a higher pitch. The Equestrians had freely shared their medical knowledge to provide a cure for cancer, as well as the ability to regrow lost limbs. It was their technology, freely shared, that had thrust the U.K. to the forefront of the space-race, and made possible automotive and industrial air-scrubbers so efficient that the common man already could see the difference in air-quality!

The automotive and lorry manufacturers Morgan, Caterham, and McLaren, were rumoured about to release new models that incorporated several of those technologies. Automotive journalists who had seen advance models were agog over what they had seen — roomier interiors, greater mileage, better safety features. They even had witnessed one of the new models in a crash test at 100kph, with no damage to the test dummy — and only minor damage to the vehicle! *

Then there were the motorhome and semi-trailer manufactures. Devon Conversions, Auto-Sleepers, Bilbo, Swift Group, Awaydays, Lawrence David, among others, were all introducing models that incorporated some aspect of the Undetectable Expansion charm. Different models included different sizes – the government was limiting the sizes of expansion available to keep other governments and citizens from panicking at the actual potential of the charm. Everyone thought it had a maximum limit of triple the original size. Careful design of the runes, with a lot of red-herrings, made it nearly impossible for someone to decipher exactly what the limit was. Hiding part of the runes as the actual vehicle logo made it impossible to simply duplicate the vehicle. Sure, Ford could copy the McLaren version. But then trying to sell a vehicle as a Ford when it proudly proclaimed on the hood and bonnet that it was a McLaren was a simple no-go. Not to mention the various international trademark agreements that would violate.

Even the tip trucks had gotten involved with Hestair.

Naturally, they all had the same safety features as the passenger vehicles.

The rest of the world was stunned.

Of course, the Queen would invite the Princesses!

Second Lieutenant Castor James Searle swore he was going to be bald by his next birthday. Castor had been the very first government officer that the Equestrians had met last year. Just a year ago, he had been a Detective Inspector in the Surrey Constabulary — a relatively sedate occupation, although with an exorbitant amount of paperwork, in his opinion. Prior to that position, he had been a Sergeant in the Special Air Service, the S.A.S., the Sport and Social, as the members called it, before he retired for the much more mundane Constabulary.

Immediately realizing he was way over his paygrade, he had bucked his discovery up to one of his former commanders in the military. He had, ultimately, had bucked it up to the Prime Minister. Which was how he had been reactivated as an officer in Military Intelligence — what an oxymoron that was! — Department Five, and then assigned as Concierge to the Equestrians.

And Concierge he was. Half his time was spent arranging visits to museums and theatres for the various scientists, and Twilight — a member of the Royal family who, apparently, had been put in charge of the First Contact. Not to mention he had to get the teams of both pony and British scientists, technicians, and experts introduced and working together.

He even had a staff, now. One of whom was on-site at the Equestrian Embassy to answer the simpler questions, and direct inquiries, leaving only the more difficult ones for him to field or arrange.

And now the Queen had invited the two co-rulers to visit.

Princesses Celestia and Luna.

As if dealing with the Equestrians, for him, wasn’t already like herding cats. He had no doubts that before it got much further along, not only would it be Celestia and Luna, but Twilight and the others in the Mane Six would want to be involved, too. Twilight would probably insist that Harry and his friends be dragged along, too.

Twilight. Well, he wasn’t sure that she was A.D.D., but sometimes she sure acted like it.

Plus, while the Queen’s staff, and both MI5 and MI6, were well versed in the intricacies of dealing with an Official State Visit, the problems introduced by the Equestrians very alienness was the issue. The arrival ceremony usually took place on the Horse Guards Parade.

Yeah, they really didn’t want the Equestrians being treated to a parade of horses being ridden by the Queens Guard. They would have to use Buckingham Palace or Windsor Castle — but those were more restrictive sites in terms of viewers. And he knew this would have maximum attendance. Perhaps they could use two of the five regiments of foot guards: Grenadier Guards, Coldstream Guards, Scots Guards, Irish Guards, and the Welsh Guards?

If everything was on foot, maybe they could use a portion of each of the regiments, otherwise the Equestrians might question why the others were left out. Considering their EUP Guards, that might be a better option.

Then there was the food. How would the Princesses appear? As ponies? Or human? Or would they do both at different times? The Royal cooks were sure to lose their minds when they saw some of the Equestrian menus — hay-fries and hay burgers?

Vegetarian would have to be the watchword.

He’d heard the ponies had tried tofu, only to have their predator Griffins declare it a chemical weapon — it gave them extreme intestinal gas problems. Which they had discovered when it had cleared out the Canterlot Palace banquet hall at the one event they had tried serving it to the meat-eaters.

Although, the ponies didn’t mind fish being served . . ..

He would have to consult with Princess Twilight.

♚

Castor was a bundle of nerves. The big-wigs on the Equestrian side were enough of a headache, all three princesses, plus Prince Blueblood. He had met the sister Princesses in Equestria more than once, primarily at the Grand Galloping Gala, and other such events. The Ambassador and Twilight he had met far more frequently.

No, it was the litany of English nobility that had him ready to melt into a puddle of anxiety.

A special open-air pavilion had been set up in front of the Equestrian Embassy for the first meeting of the monarchs. It was surrounded on three sides by the press corps — there was very nearly at least one reporter and cameraman from every country in the world — with bleachers for selected guests to watch this first, historic meeting.

Castor was waiting patiently — and nervously — outside the Portal Dome that kept the Portal, and a small area around it, isolated. With him were several of the Embassy staff, eager to meet their Princesses.

His first impression at seeing the Princesses exit the Portal, escorted by Blueblood and the local Equestrian Guards, was that they were much bigger than he had ever thought. The surreptitious pictures taken by MI5 last year had made Luna look a bit smaller than she really was, having only other humanized ponies present in the photo.

While Twilight was slightly taller than an average person, Princess Luna was at least two and a half metres tall! The third Princess was at least another metre!

Fortunately, M.I.5 had made the rather prudent decision to customize the interior of the Land Rover they would be using, and erred on the side of deliberately over-estimating the possible sizes of their visitors. The inside of that particular vehicle provided enough room for a thirty people, with a ceiling that was four metres high.

“Your Majesties,” he said bowing deeply to the Equestrians as they left the Portal Dome and turned their attention to him. “Everything is set according to the schedule we sent you. The Queen and her entourage are waiting in a pavilion in front of the Embassy. After introductions, we’ll take a Land Rover to Trafalgar Square, where we will transfer to carriages and take The Mall to Buckingham Palace. The Mall will provide the populace to see you and the Queen.”

All four nodded, and followed him as he headed into the back doors of the Embassy.

The introductions were the worst. He had spent an entire day practicing until the words began to sound much less than a stilted speech and more natural. That still didn’t prevent him from sweating and being nervous.

He could see the shock in the Queen’s eyes, and everyone else’s, at the two physically imposing princesses as they exited the Embassy proper. There was a collective gasp from the press people privileged to attend. Then there was an almost physical wave of clicks as the camera operators went into full picture-taking mode.

They had seen Twilight, or pictures of her, as she had travelled around England with her people, but that the other two Princesses were so tall and heavily muscled was a surprise. They looked more like fantasy Amazons than just . . . people. The tremendous sword slung across Luna’s back did nothing to dispel that image. Neither did the gold bracers, greaves, and chest-plate she wore over her black shift — all of which were heavily decorated with Moon phases, complex designs, and gems that appeared as stars. The shift was heavily decorated in gold thread in similar patterns.

Celestia was not nearly as warrior-like, wearing a similar shift, but in white, with designs that reflected her relationship with the sun.

Celestia and Twilight wore crowns of gold, while Luna’s was black.

They walked to the waiting entourage.

The noise of the crowd was still loud.

Princess Celestia frowned delicately as she looked at the hundreds of photographers and videographers that formed a horseshoe cordon around the open pavilion. She smiled slightly at seeing the four Embassy unicorns at the posts holding the canvas up, watching the crowd intently and ignoring her presence completely.

“Well,” she said, just barely loud enough to be heard over their audience, “This is slightly annoying.” She stood still for a moment and the sound gradually subsided to a mere whisper.

The Queen didn’t react, but several members of her staff stared around in surprise.

“There, now,” Celestia said happily, “That’s better. Now we can hear ourselves think.” She looked at the Queen. “They can still hear us quite clearly, so do be careful of what you say.”

Castor nervously cleared his throat. “Your Majesty,” he said, addressing the Queen. “I am pleased to present,” he swept his arm towards the Princess in white, “Her Eternal Majesty, Princess Celestia, Mistress of the Invincible and Unconquered Sun, Bringer of the Day, Destroyer of Monsters, Bane of Evil, Guiding Hoof of the Realm, Monarch of Unicorns, Councillor of Earth Ponies, Commander of the Pegasi, Matriarch of the Night Ponies, and Co-ruler of Equestria and All Their Other Realms and Territories.”

The Queen murmured a quiet, “Welcome to the United Kingdom.”

To which the Princess nodded her head gracefully.

Continuing, Castor turned to the Princess in black. “I am also pleased to present Her Eternal Majesty, Princess Luna, Mistress of the Stars and Moon, Bringer of the Night, Guardian of Dreams and Destroyer of Nightmares, Bane of Evil, Defender and Grand General of the Realm, Matriarch of the Night Ponies, Monarch of Unicorns, Councillor of Earth Ponies, Commander of the Pegasi, and Co-ruler of Equestria and all Their Other Realms and Territories.”

There was another brief exchange of pleasantries.

“It is my pleasure to present,” he said, switching his attention to the Princess in purple, “Her Royal Highness, Twilight Sparkle, Princess of Friendship, Mistress of Magic, Bearer of the Element of Magic, Saviour of Equestria, Liberator of the Crystal Empire, Biggest Egghead Ever.”

Twilight rolled her eyes and made a face. The other two princesses just smiled at her. “I hate that title,” she murmured. “I can’t believe you did that,” she said glaring at her mentor.

Ignoring the byplay, Castor turned to the lone male. “And finally, may I present Prince Blueblood Platinum, Duke of Paradise Valley, Ambassador to the United Kingdom.”

“Princesses, Prince,” he turned to the Queen, “I present to you Elizabeth the Second,” and recited the rest of her title. He then introduced the rest of entourage starting with her husband, Prince Philip, the Duke of Edinburgh. Then came Queen Elizabeth, the Queen Mother, Prince Charles, Prince of Wales and Duke of Cornwall, and his wife Princess Diana, Princess of Wales. Her other three children Princes Edward, Earl of Wessex, Andrew, Duke of York, and Princess Anne, Princess Royal.

Princesses Celestia and Luna made the appropriate responses in greeting each individual as they were introduced.

There, it was done. He had managed to make it through without once bolloxing it up. He stepped back and tried to become invisible.

“Welcome to our world,” the Queen warmly said. “We had never suspected that a portal to your world existed in our Realm.” She glanced around. “In fact, Our advisors had never even suggested such portals could exist.”

Princess Celestia smiled down at her. “While We have known of portals for millennia, the realms to which they led were almost invariably violently hostile. Had We known We would get such a warm and welcoming reception in one, We might have pursued the subject a bit more diligently.” She glanced around at the entourage. “The truth is, We recently discovered this portal completely by accident — a most fortuitous accident, if We may say so.”

She gave a sidelong glance at her sister.

“Yes,” agreed Luna. “Having another species to share Our discoveries with is a welcome change from Our world. Most of Our neighbours in Equus used to view Us solely as a food source.” She gave them a smug smile. “They learned the error of their ways thousands of years ago. Despite that, we cannot freely share what we know with them.”

“Discovering this portal was a delight,” Celestia said. “You have a rich culture — we are especially taken with your Shakespeare.” She gave Luna another sidelong glance. “Our Sister prefers Monty Python and Benny Hill.”

“We were greatly saddened to hear of his demise earlier this year,” Luna said sorrowfully.

“Our Faithful Student, Twilight, on the other hoof, prefers Dorothy L. Sayers, Agatha Christie, and P.D. James.”

Princess Twilight was blushing.

“This, of course, is part and parcel with your inquisitive natures. You have delved into areas of science that we never dreamed of considering — such as your aeroplanes, television, radio . . . or even your internal combustion engines.”

The Queen nodded and smiled. “And you have delved into areas we never considered,” she said. “As your cures for cancer, and other diseases, have shown. For someone to regrow a lost limb was a hopeless dream to our researchers — but you have made it a reality.

“Plus, there are dozens of other innovations you have shown us that will inspire new discoveries leading to new fields of research. Our recent mission to our moon is one such innovation.”

Luna straightened at the mention of the moon. “Yes,” she said, nodding. “I thank you for your generous gift of material from your Moon. It is both different and yet similar to Our own. I look forward to seeing it tonight.”

The Queen blinked, surprised. “You do not have to wait to ‘see’ it, Princess Luna,” she said, nodding her head to one side. “It has already risen.”

“Forsooth?” One second there was a tall woman standing there, then abruptly there was a dark-blue horned and winged horse in her place. Almost immediately, with a single flap of her wings, she was outside the pavilion and hovering as she stared at the whisp of a moon not far from the sun. “Sister! Come look! The sun and the moon do share the sky without conflict!” she called excitedly.

Twilight was shaking her head wryly. “I told her that!”

Celestia gave Twilight a warm look. “Yes, you did, but Luna suspected that there was more — tenseness? — involved than you could detect.”

She turned and called out sternly “Luna!”

“But, Tia . . . ,” she glanced back under the pavilion and sighed. She looked back up and shook her head. “You poor thing,” she murmured. She turned back to the pavilion and flew to her sister’s side, landing lightly.

In her normal form, her eyes were about neck-level with the Queen. She shook her shoulders. “Yes,” she said quietly, “This is much more comfortable.” She smirked at the Queen. “For both of us, We would guess. Yes?”

The Queen’s lips quirked slightly, as if she were holding back her own smile, but she did give a slight nod as she examined the alicorn. Her arm and leg bracers and greaves had changed to become metallic shoes that covered the hooves and fronts of the pastern bones. Her chest armour had become an armoured peytral. All were as intricately decorated as before, with the quarter moon as a theme.

Celestia nodded. “Yes, now that the formal formalities have been observed, perhaps it would be better.” She transformed to her alicorn form. She was only a fingers-width taller than the Queen. If she relaxed her neck a tiny bit, they could see eye-to-eye.

Considering how much taller everyone else was to the Queen — she was the shortest person there — it was probably refreshing to not always be looking up to see someone’s expression.

After a few minutes posing for the photographers, the Queen, her entourage, and the Princesses climbed into the Queen’s specially modified Land Rover and left for the official ride down The Mall to Buckingham Palace.

The interior of the Land Rover had been heavily modified. It now resembled a room in the Palace — albeit rectangular instead of square — with more than adequate seating for the entire group to comfortably speak to each other.

Castor had warned the staff that the Princesses might return to their native form, and suitable pillows had been swapped for their seats before they had boarded the vehicle. The Queen looked at the three Princesses after they were all seated. Luna had elected to sit by a window and was even now looking raptly up at the sun and moon overhead.

“According to what I have been told,” the Queen said after taking a sip of her tea, “You will be staying here for three days.” She raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

Celestia nodded amiably. “Yes, Luna and I are quite looking forward to the vacation. It is our first in millennia.”

There was a stunned silence. The books they had secured had indicated that Celestia had been in charge for centuries, but they had not been sure if that was true. It had been possible that it was a series of ponies named Celestia — much like the Dalai Lama in Tibet, where the death of the current monk started a search for his “reincarnated” soul, who then ruled as the continuation of the Dalai Lama.

Elizabeth carefully placed her cup on the small table at her elbow. “Are you immortal?” There was a very slight tremor to her voice.

Celestia shook her head. “No one is immortal, we are just extremely difficult to kill.” She glanced out the window. “I draw my strength form the sun. Luna draws hers from the moons and planets. I imagine that I will . . . pass on . . . when my sun dies. Luna will do the same when her moons and planets are no longer able to generate their magic.”

She turned back to them and smiled warmly. “I had never contemplated just how long that might be until We acquired some of your textbooks. From your books on Astronomy, that will probably not be for many . . . billions . . . of years.” She looked out the window again with a strangely blank expression. She abruptly shook her head. “Unless, of course, magic has another . . . ending . . . in mind for Us.”

There was a profound silence for several minutes.

Elizabeth took another sip of tea and set her cup back down. She sighed, then looked Celestia in the eyes. “You are responsible for the raising and lowering of your sun and moon?” She looked at them questioningly.

Celestia gave her a sweet smile. “Yes. I raise and lower the sun whilst my sister does the same for the moon.”

“Then . . . if I may ask . . . how will that be managed in your absence? Or were you planning on returning to Equestria every evening and morning?”

Twilight gave her mentor a questioning look. She clearly had not been advised, either.

Celestia smiled, more to herself than anyone else. Luna proved she had been listening by giving a short snort of amusement. “As I said, this is Our first vacation in millennia. So, that chore is being handled by somepony who is well suited to the task. It will be good practice for her.”

♚

In Crystal City, a certain pink pony had just passed out and was lying on the floor beside her breakfast table. Maids were rushing around in a panic while her husband hurried to her side and called for a doctor.

Her Royal Highness, Mi Amore Cadenza, Princess of Love, Mistress of Heavenly Affection, Earthly Passion, and Icon of Eros, Guardian of the Crystal Heart, Niece of the Heavens, Liberator and Ruler of the Crystal Empire (aka Princess Cadence, as she preferred) had just received what she thought of as dreadful and horrific news.

The Princess had been calm and happy to see Philomena the Phoenix when she first flamed into their breakfast-room. While her aunts, the Royal Sisters, frequently sent her messages, most came by regular postmare. The official, waxed-stamp on the missive was a bit unusual, but nothing to be concerned about, it just meant this wasn’t a simple note gleefully recounting Celestia’s latest prank on Luna, or vice versa.

She had opened it and began reading. She had paled, her pink fur turning almost white, a faint feeling of horror wafted through the room.

Her husband, Prince Shining Armor, on the other side of their breakfast table, had quizzically stared at her uncharacteristic reaction. “Is something wrong?” he had asked worriedly.

She had looked up at him when she had reached the end of the letter. Her eyes wide in terror and shock, she had started hyperventilating.

“Tia and Lulu want me,” she had said as she stared at Shining in rising panic, “to raise and lower the sun and moon while they visit the Queen of England on the other side of the portal for the next few days!” By the time she had reached the final words she was shrieking, and the pupils of her eyes were mere pinpricks. “Starting tonight!”

Her eyes had rolled up, and down she went.

Hence, the alicorn currently passed out on the floor, and the panic that was rather quickly enveloping the Crystal Empire.

What could be so terrible as to cause their Empress to collapse when meeting King Sombra hadn’t done that?

♚

Somewhere outside of both realities, Discord had fallen out of his armchair, spilling popcorn everywhere as he guffawed in delight.

“Trollestia strikes again!” he finally gasped, before descending into another bout of laughter.

♚

Twilight frowned a moment, then gasped and protested, “You didn’t!?” She stared at her mentor.

Celestia raised an eyebrow in return as she sipped her tea.

Twilight put both hooves over her face.

Luna sighed, and looked over from her window seat. “Princess Cadence has observed Our Sister doing those chores several hundred times. She is more than capable of doing it herself.” She stared at Twilight. “As can you,” she added mildly. “You simply lack practice. The first few times are hardest, until you earn their trust.”

The humans in the room looked at Twilight with a new respect. They had read that there were four Princesses, with the absent Princess being the ruler of the Crystal Empire.

The history of Equestria read like a fantasy story with magic and outrageous villains. At first, they had believed them to be exaggerations, but the more reports that poured in from their people on the other side of the portal, the more likely those stories became.

“What do you mean, earn their trust?” the Queen asked.

Celestia turned her attention back to the Queen, her smirk turning into smile. “Our sun is not simply a ball of gas and nor our moon a collection of rock, as your books tell us you regard your sun and moon. They . . . react . . . to our presence. They . . .,” she frowned. “They welcome our touch.”

The royals exchanged wondering looks.

“Your moon . . . there is something there, but We can’t reach it yet,” Luna said, musing, as she stared out the window. “Perhaps, when sunset arrives, We shall find out more.”

The rest of the short trip to the Square was quiet as they drank their tea and contemplated the concept that stars and moons might be, in some way, alive. Which meant planets were, too. Was the idea of Mother Gaia not the fanciful lark many supposed, but based in a reality none had ever understood?

Once they arrived at Trafalgar Square, the Queen and the Princesses transferred to an official State Carriage — a 1902 Ascot Landau carriage with fold-down top. The plan was for them to be escorted by the Household Cavalry, with street liners coming from the Foot Guards. Union Flags and the flags of Equestria were draped on both sides of the road.

Castor had never thought the Royals would be interested in seeing the Queen’s Mounted Household Cavalry. He hoped it wouldn’t turn into a . . . problem.

The rest would motor on to the Palace.

Naturally, the sisters stalled that plan. Celestia and Luna made straight for the six grey-white horses hitched to the open-air carriage — the weather was cooperating, for once. The horses were well-trained, and only shuffled awkwardly in their harness as the two smaller horses with points on their heads and wings flew over to them. Twilight followed more slowly on foot, staring with wide eyes at the three postilions seated on the left-side horses — the coach had no driver.

The Queen and her entourage were all surprised to see that the three princesses were blushing as they inspected the three men. No, it wasn’t the men that had attracted their attention, but their saddles, oddly enough. Twilight had turned an interesting shade of magenta. Luna peppered the horses with questions, “What’s your rank? How long have you had this job?” and, with a sidelong glance back at the saddles, “Is that comfortable?” to the postilion’s confusion. Celestia, meanwhile, had noticed the ranked Horse Guard before and after the coach.

“Oh, my,” she murmured. “So that really is what they’re for,” she said, studying the saddles of the first rank.

Twilight, looking over at the other ranks, gasped and her blush deepened. “Celestia,” she said, scandalized, “Are those ponies wearing socks in public!?”

Celestia quickly redirected her gaze, then frowned. She quickly trotted over and leaned closer to one black horse who had white colouring on her rear-legs that extended to the bottom of her knees. She straightened.

“No,” she said loudly, smirking, “Those are actually the colour of their coat at that spot.” She gave a sly glance to the embarrassed purple pony, and headed back to the carriage. “Imagine that, Twilight. What would ponies say if they thought you always wore socks in public?” She paused a second. “With a saddle.”

For a moment, Castor thought Twilight turned red all the way to the tip of her tail.

♚

Once more, Discord fell out of his armchair, guffawing in delight.

♚

Shortly, though, the Queen and the three Princesses were seated in the coach, and the procession started off at a slow walk.

Twilight slowly returned to her normal purple coat, though still tinged with a hint of red. She steadfastly refused to look at the horses in front and behind them, instead focusing on the huge crowd that stood lining the road to Buckingham Palace.

The Princesses sat much higher on their seats than did the Queen, which gave the packed throng a clear view of them. The sisters sat in the front, facing backwards, while the Queen and Twilight sat in the back.

Castor and the others headed for the Palace via a different route.

He knew that the Princesses had seen the many books about horses, but the reason for their reactions must be the difference between reading about something that seemed fantastic, and seeing it in real life, up close.

Castor and the rest of the Queen’s entourage knew the moment when the Royal carriage arrived. The booming sounds of the forty-one-gun salute from the cannons in Green Park, with the simultaneous sixty-two-gun salute from the cannons in the Tower of London and City of London, welcomed the Princesses.

In a break with tradition, the Guard of Honour for the event did comprise of senior members of all five House Guard regiments. It was all a great deal of pomp and circumstance as the Queen and her guests stood on the steps of the forecourt of Buckingham Palace. To the watching public’s surprise, as the Equestrian National Anthem was played, the three Princesses stood upright on their hind legs, with their wings spread wide. Twilight was in front of and centred between the other two. The storm of cameras clicking at the impressive sight was not unexpected. They returned to the ground, momentarily, as the band prepared for the next anthem.

As God Save the Queen started, they again stood upright and spread their wings. This time, though, in a move that surprised even the Queen, Celestia and Luna shifted to stand behind the Queen and her husband. Twilight moved down the steps to form a triangle around England’s Royal couple without blocking them.

It made for a striking picture that graced the front page of almost every newspaper in the world. The other governments, and most people, took it as a very public statement of solidarity and friendship between the nations. No one would be surprised when a mutual-aid treaty was announced the next day.

At the end of the anthem, the three Princesses returned to their positions to the Queen’s right. The commander of the Guard of Honour formation mounted the steps and said, “Your Majesties, the guard of honour, provided by the Grenadier Guards, Coldstream Guards, Scots Guards, Irish Guards, and the Welsh Guards, is formed up, and ready for inspection.”

They weren’t the full regiments, of course, only a row of the most senior soldiers from each unit.

While the three Princesses walked in front of the Guards, the selected band played a slow march. Celestia stopped in the middle of the first row to ask one guard to present his weapon for her inspection. When he held it out, she took it in her magic. She popped out the magazine, checked the firing chamber, and took a look down the barrel. She removed and inspected the bayonet, before sliding everything back together in one move and handing the rifle back to the Guard. She thanked the Guard, and commended him on his crisp movements and perfect rifle, then they continued down the line. Luna did the same in the second and fourth rows. Twilight did it in the third row, and a long-distance mike picked up her murmur to the Guard, “Are you as nervous about this as I am?”

Celestia picked someone from the fifth row to conclude the inspection.

In a dramatic departure from tradition, behind the foot-troops were five rows of Mounted Horse Guards.

Celestia and Luna took great delight in inspecting the tack the horses were equipped with, and requested several Guards to demonstrate proper dismount and mounting techniques. Many of television watchers across the world marvelled at how the purple pony could change the colour of her coat to magenta, and if it meant anything.

♚

Discord was pounding the floor with one hand while laughing so hard he was crying. Oh, the stories he planned to tell Fluttershy!

♚

Celestia even flew up and briefly stood on one of the saddles. Her comment that, “We have never before mounted such a large stallion,” left Twilight bug-eyed, and her sister’s coat, dark though it was, still managed to briefly exhibit a slight reddish tinge.

The overheard comment also left a lot of people wondering whether or not they should be scandalized.

It was quite some time before Twilight’s coat returned to it’s normal purple shade.

Following the formal events of their arrival, the Princesses had an informal luncheon with the Queen. Then it was on to view the Queen’s Royal Collection of artefacts, and the tradition of exchanging gifts with the Royals.

“When Equestria was first established, there were those who felt we shouldn’t be there, or that Our ponies were a tasty dinner.” Celestia said.

“It took several decades, and many lives, before Our enemies learned the folly of challenging Us, and left Us in peace. Some still test Us to this day,” Luna concluded.

Twilight opened one of her saddlebags and removed a sword that was longer than she was. It had a polished shine, with a plain hilt, but had clearly seen use. On closer examination, the hilt looked to have teeth marks in the wooden hilt.

Celestia took it from her and presented it, hilt first, to the Queen of the United Kingdom. “Your Majesty, We used many swords in the defence of Equestria against Our enemies a thousand years ago. This sword is one of three that have survived. It has rested in a Canterlot vault since those days, a symbol of Freedom for ponies.” She paused. “Should the United Kingdom ever need the aid of Equestria, in any capacity, take this sword in your hand and call for Us. We will come.”

Elizabeth gently reached out to take it. The moment she touched it the entire sword glowed brightly.

“A promise has been made, a promise will be kept,” Luna and Twilight said as the sword’s glow slowly faded.

After a moment’s silence, the Queen said, “We shall endeavour to be worthy of such a promise, and We will stand by you as you stand by Us.”

That evening was reserved for a State Dinner. Around one hundred and fifty guests were invited to the white-tie event at the ballroom in Buckingham Palace for the banquet. Besides the Equestrian, the guests included members of the extended Royal Family, British politicians, and notable figures from both countries — mostly British.

After the dessert was served, the new defence arrangement between the two nations was announced, and the sword exhibited.

The next day they toured the stables for the House Guard, the Royal Mews. The Queen allowed that with the new “Special Technology” that the Equestrians had made available to them, the stalls for the horses would be greatly enlarged. Currently, they were barely big enough for a horse to turn around or lie down.

Then it was on to meetings to discuss how the two countries could further their ties and cooperation. They were in the 1844 Room, a room usually reserved for meeting foreign dignitaries.

Luna started with, “Thank you for your kind gift of soil from your moon. It’s a quiet little thing, but happy that you’ve chosen to come visit, brief though that was. Are you intending to return?”

The Queen blinked in surprise, before saying, “It was Our pleasure to gift you. It seemed only proper, given your position in Equestria. As for a return?” She smiled, “I am reliably informed that several trips are already under consideration.”

The topics wandered for quite a while, until Celestia said, “I have been told that the air-scrubbers you have installed on your power production plants have been producing blocks of solid carbon as a by-product.” She paused to take a sip of her tea. “If you haven’t a use, yet, for those, We would be interested in purchasing or trading for them.”

At the Queen’s polite look, Celestia explained.

“You see, Equestria hasn’t any large power plants such as you have here, we instead have used hydro-electric dams to supply our needs. So far, they are well-suited for Our needs.

“Pure carbon, as a result, is of limited availability.”

Queen Elizabeth nodded her understanding. “Might I ask why you want these blocks?”

Celestia returned her smile. “Dragon snacks.” **

Prince Phillip looked very surprised. “Dragon snacks?” he said, wonderingly.

“In Equestria, dragons eat gems. They have distinctive tastes, I’ve been told by Our dragon friend, Spike. Rubies tend to be spicy, for example.”

“And plain carbon?” asked Elizabeth.

“Is rather pedestrian. However, it’s not so much the carbon we desire, as that We can easily apply a bit of heat and pressure to make diamonds of the blocks.”

Both Royals looked surprised. “The entire block? At once?” said Phillip.

Celestia nodded. “Although Spike is most interested in experimenting with adding various other elements into the carbon structure to see what tastes he can derive.”

Twilight snorted. “He just wants a reason to stuff himself on diamonds as the taste-tester.”

The other two Princesses laughed.

“There is that,” Celestia said agreeably.

“We see nothing wrong with such an export,” the Queen said. “Our understanding is that the operators of the facilities regard the carbon as a simple waste material. What sort of volume did you have in mind?”

Celestia rolled her shoulders in a shrug. “At first? Only a few tonnes. After that? Probably all of it.”

In response to their incredulous looks, she said, “Most dragons are . . . large. To a fifteen-ton dragon, a hundred-weight of diamonds is the equivalent of a serving of chips for you.” She took another sip of her tea. “Dragons Lair, home of the dragons, could easily consume several tonnes per day.”

“It would also provide Us with a product of interest to the dragons, and induce them into more trade and friendlier relations,” put in Luna.

The Queen shook her head wryly. “Diamonds. As snacks.” She looked over to Celestia. “And it is easy for you . . . your ponies . . . to do?”

The alicorn nodded. “Not difficult at all. A few seconds, at most.” She smiled. “If you could have one of your aides fetch us a sample of coal, I could show you.”

The Queen rang a bell and told the aide who answered what was wanted. The man hurried out.

While they waited, they discussed how the efficiency of the air-scrubbers, and some of the value the power producers had discovered was in the “reclaimed” elements.

Chortling, Prince Phillip suggested, “You might be able to convince the power generating facilities to pay you to take away the carbon blocks!” Then he promised his wife that he would take the project under his “wing” until it was finalized. He promised the Princesses that he would have the first few tonnes collected and delivered with the week.

Twilight rolled her eyes. “Spike is going to gain soo much weight before this is over!”

The aide finally returned, but with a shoebox filled with golf-ball-sized coal pieces.

“Excellent!” Celestia said, hefting the mass of raw coal out of the box in a light-gold aura. “Lulu, you handle the excess heat, Twi, you catch the impurities.” She looked at the two royals, and smirked. “We wouldn’t want to make a mess, now would we?” She guided the mass of coal pieces over to a window where the sun was shining in. She carefully stood in the light, with the coal suspended in front of her.

She nodded, first to her sister, then to Twilight.

As they nodded back, a cobalt-blue aura seemed to surround the coal while a pinkish glow seemed to hover below it. The coal clump seemed to be getting smaller and smaller while a tiny rain of particles fell from it. For a brief moment, the clump didn’t change size, then it began to brightly glow. As the glow faded, it left behind a hotly glowing brick that had to be nearly six-inches on a side — half as tall as a sheet of A4.

“There you go,” she said. “We’ll have to let it cool down a bit. Currently the diamond would scorch the table if we set it on it.”

Even from across the room, they could feel the heat radiating from the block.

An aide rushed out of the room.

“I think that is the perfect paperweight for your desk, your majesty!” Celestia suggested. “Or, perhaps, on the mantle?” she looked over to the fireplace.

The two Royals just stared at the impossibility they had just seen.

The three Equestrians returned to their seats and picked up their cups. Celestia kept the block floating halfway to the ceiling, and well away from anything flammable. They sat in silence for several minutes, just watching the block’s glow slowly change.

The aide rushed back into the room and carefully placed a large glass plate with rubber feet down on a side-table, then placed a shiny metal trivet on top of that.

Celestia gave the arrangement a critical look. “Luna, could you cool this down a bit?” A cobalt-blue glow surrounded the diamond for several moments, and they could see the block cooling down as its glow faded from white to yellow to orange. She nodded her thanks to Luna, who cut off her magic. The Princess placed the cube on the metal trivet. “There, that should do nicely,” the white alicorn said. There was a creak! as the trivet heated up under the block. “It’ll take another hour or so before you’ll be able to handle it safely.”

She sighed and returned to the couch and her tea.

“Your note asked if we would like to address your Parliament, and possibly discuss the possible importance of political, economic, and cultural ties between our two countries. Did you have anything particular in mind?”

♚

That evening, when Luna came in from watching the moon set, Celestia gently asked, “Well?”

“ ’Tis as I said before. It’s a timid little thing. It seemed rather startled that I could touch it. Nothing more, however.”

Celestia sighed as Twilight watched interestedly.

“My endeavour was . . . just as disappointing. I can detect something there, but it is disinterested.” She gazed out the window. “If we were here more permanently, I might be tempted to try harder.” She turned back to the room. “But this is not my world, nor that my sun. It would be rude of me to impose. I will leave it alone and not disturb the balance of the system.”

♚

The rest of their stay was rather enjoyable. Both senior Princesses took great joy in seeing a land and culture that was so dramatically different from their own. When the three were not in meetings with the British Prime Minister at 10 Downing Street, there were meetings with the Leader of the Opposition, the leaders of all parties in the House of Commons, and members of the British Cabinet.

They did manage a quick trip to Blackpool, and a look at the piers and Ferris wheel. They also toured the proposed site for their second portal.

Returning to Equestria, for the sisters, was a bit of let-down. As it always is when you return home from a vacation.

♚

Author's Note

* If the front bumper moves more than two centimetres, runes immediately trigger an impervious spell on the entire car and everything inside it.

** Thanks to Peter for this suggestion.

My Ko-fi account is available if you like this story.

Ch. 11. Exceeding Expectations

It was the biggest shock of his new life, earlier in the week, when he had walked into the corridor that led to what he had been told were Myrtle Warren’s toilets. Instead of a “Closed for Repairs” sign on the toilets’ door, as he had been told to expect, he had discovered his Chamber of Secrets had been turned into a tourist attraction! With sign-upsheets posted. The sign affixed to the wall beside the door explained the schedule for student tours, which he had made sure to note. He was fortunate that more students were taken with the . . . Equestrians . . . than with the novelty of the Chamber of Secrets. Thus, his name had been at the top of the list. The first tour would be that Friday afternoon.

For the past three days since that discovery on Tuesday, he could think of nothing else as he waited, hidden. How had they found it? How had they accessed it? And it was only last year that they did it, too! It must have been the doings of those Equestrians.

Why hadn’t that oaf Malfoy informed him of this terrible deed? What his older-self had seen in the incompetent idiot was beyond him.

It was clear the oversight had been on purpose. Bad Faith was living up to his name. He obviously had no idea what the diary was, what that meant, and what it could do. He probably thought it was a pale imitation of a wizarding portrait. Voldemort would apprise him of his error at a later date. With a suitable punishment. Perhaps, forcing him to use his son for curse target-practice for a few hours every day until the boy cowered in fear at the very sight of his father?

Yes. That might be adequate. The screaming would be soothing to his pride, at least.

But for now, it changed his plans completely. He couldn’t savour the terror and despair of his enemies, and the muggle-borns, as he threw Hogwarts into disarray for the rest of the year, distracting them while he gained strength. He would have to search out another hidden spot to complete the final transformation and his triumphant return.

Perhaps the Forbidden Forest? That had its own problems regarding safety, though. The last thing he needed was a Centaur or other animal stumbling upon him before the ritual was completed. An attack when he was vulnerable would be disastrous. Anywhere in the castle proper was right out, the new detection spells they had been told about would pick that up immediately. Not to mention their usage of the Room of Requirement for Astronomy classes and indoor recreation the rest of the time!

With its near-constant use, he couldn’t even check to see if his horcrux was there. The lack of any rumours about a room of lost things gave him hope it hadn’t been found.

The warm-water swimming pool was nice, though.

He needed a location that wasn’t under direct surveillance, and couldn’t be quickly accessed by his enemies if they discovered what he was doing.

He needed a way to get Fumbledork out of the castle, too. His plan of slowly escalating the situation until the headmaster was removed for incompetence just became incredibly difficult, if not impossible.

Especially with those bloody Equestrians everywhere! He had spotted no fewer than a dozen adult spies. At least half of them were their equivalent of aurors, just from the way they moved and kept watch, despite everyone else calling them “Professorial Aides.”

As it was, learning that the Dark Artefact Detection spells had been upgraded had complicated things severely. Still, nothing he hadn’t been able to trick with the right spells — a drop of blood sealed the deal. As far as the spells were concerned, he wasn’t separate from his victim, he was a part of them. As a result, while he might have a severely dark aura, bordering on black, he wasn’t “separate” from his host person anymore. He wasn’t a Dark Artefact, merely a dark aspect of the host, a smaller part, truly. Regrettably, while his soul was hidden behind strong magics, the spells leaked enough to set off the detectors under normal circumstances. However, with the blood connection, the leaks were small enough to be diluted in his victim’s soul aura, and unnoticeable unless one looked directly into the mind of the victim for signs of possession. As a result, his host had only a slight darkening of their aura, nothing that would set off the detector spells.

Fumbledork’s passive and mild mind-grazing would see nothing untoward.

Later, as he drained more and more of his victim’s life-force, that would change and he ran the risk of detection. He needed to stay low and unnoticeable. However, as long as he didn’t cast any non-school Dark spells, he could reduce his risk to the minimum. If he held back the possession, kept as much of his renewed soul in the diary behind the masking spells, he should be safe. The spells looked for a strong dark aura overshadowing a lighter aura, not a lighter aura that continuously became smaller and weaker over the months.

It was a pity to sacrifice a pure-blood . . . no, no it wasn’t. He smirked. How delicious that he would finally have a true pure-blood body! They had look down on him for being a half-blood, at first. Treated him as something barely above a mud-blood — until he had learned enough magic to show them the error of their ways! He’d get his revenge on them, oh, yes, he would. He’d have to start over, again, but that was merely an inconvenience. Soon enough, he would be back in power, and ready to take over wizarding England, just as he had been when he had encountered the impossible.

Defeated by a baby, they said.

A baby? Defeat him? Impossible!

But that’s what everyone claimed.

He would find the truth.

Once the “tour” began, he was very upset to hear the story of how the Professors had determined the location of the hidden entrance, then routed his pet, the basilisk. They had been very thorough in exploring the chamber, and nothing remained undiscovered. The entire Chamber had been meticulously examined, and cleaned. Salazar’s office had been found, and now everyone was allowed a moment to peer inside at the ancient refuge of the great wizard. The original scrolls had been removed, he could tell, and now fakes filled the diamond-shaped cubby-holes that lined one wall.

He smirked. Fortunately, he had removed and studied the truly important ancient documents fifty years ago. They were safely stored in one of his hidden safe-houses under appropriate charms. Those plebians hadn’t discovered Salazar Slytherin’s true secrets!

The ones he had left behind had been either duplicates or not worth the effort. It was interesting to see that the old fools had padded out the cubbies with far more scrolls than he had left behind.

Disappointingly, the one hidden cubby-hole he was able to access had been discovered and cleaned out, as well. He assumed the rest had been found. He was unable to check the others because the Prefect guiding the tour might notice his “unauthorized” exploring. In any event, he wouldn’t be able to search for the remaining secret places until much later. Doing so anytime soon might reveal him to the detection spells set all over the vast Chamber if he came when there weren’t any tours.

He had to admit Fumbledork had done a comprehensive job of making sure no one made an unauthorized entry.

It was disgusting.

Something so impressive and magnificent, brought down to a mere diversion. He pretended to be awed at what he saw, but inside he boiled with rage that non-Slytherins were trampling all over his heritage. Half-bloods, blood-traitors, and muggle-born, despoiling it with their uncomprehending eyes. His hand kept twitching towards his wand, but he knew he dared not do anything just yet.

He would make them pay for such disrespect! Dearly.

^·_·^

Harry had been looking forward to the weekend. Unfortunately, today, it wasn’t his herd-mates waking him up. It was Oliver Wood, the Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Grumbling at Oliver’s enthusiasm for the sport that prompted waking up literally at the break of dawn, six in the morning on a Saturday, Harry dressed in his Quidditch robes.

Normally, this wouldn’t happen until after try-outs later this month. However, last year, the first years had been given the unprecedented option to try out. Thus, the normal second-year try-outs were unnecessary — the qualified second-years were already either on the team as players or reserves! Hence, why delay starting the practices — at least that was Oliver’s reasoning.

Yawning widely, Ron, the reserve Keeper, joined him. When he made it to the common room, it was to see his herd-mates, also yawning and rubbing the sleep from their eyes, coming down the stairs, too. After a few moments commiserating their loss of a lay-in, they started out for the pitch.

Colin suddenly came barrelling down the stairs and across the room, waving a piece of paper. It was the photograph of him and Colin, and it was moving. Colin alternated between looking at the picture and looking at Harry. Harry in the picture smiled, nodded, and waved out at them. “I heard you coming down the stairs . . . I just printed it last night!” he exclaimed proudly. “Do you think you could sign it now?”

Harry considered. “I don’t have a quill on me, at the moment. Why don’t you develop and print the rest, and then I can sign them all in one batch?”

At Colin’s indecisive look, Harry added, “Besides, I’m off to Quidditch practice, right now.”

“Oh! Oh! I’ve never seen a Quidditch game!” He barely paused before saying, “You’re the youngest Quidditch player in a hundred years, aren’t you?” He trotted alongside the group as they made their way out the portrait hole. “What’s it like?”

“No,” Harry said, “I’m not the youngest Quidditch player, that’s Ginny Weasley.” He nodded at the girl to one side behind Scootaloo. “She was on the team as a reserve last year, and she was only ten at the time.”

Colin gave the girl a wide-eyed look. “Ten?”

“Yes, she was given special permission to start Hogwarts early on account of her mastering the animagus transformation so early.”

Colin’s eyes grew wider. “Really?” he said incredulously, his voice going up a full octave.

He tagged along with them as Harry gave a brief explanation of her being “shown” how to access her animagus form by a powerful wizard, and then how she had learned to do it herself. Then the discussion turned to Quidditch, and how it had seven players. One Keeper to guard the goals, two Beaters who hit balls called bludgers at the opposing team members, three Chasers who took a ball called a quaffle and tried to score points, and a Seeker who looked for a tiny, winged, golden ball, called a snitch, that ended the game.

Colin went to sit on the stands overhead as the rest went into their Quidditch changing room.

Disappointingly, Wood spent almost a full hour explaining the plays he had designed over the summer. He had just finished when George Weasley, one of the beaters, said tiredly, “Oliver. Why couldn’t you have told us all this last night when we were awake?” He gave a big, jaw-cracking yawn.

Oliver was not amused. He grabbed his broomstick and headed outside for the field. Stiff-legged and still yawning, his team followed. The brisk morning air finally finished waking Harry up as the rest were doing their drills, and he began looking around more alertly. He saw Colin sitting in one of the highest seats in the stadium, his camera raised. The sound of the shutter clicking was clear in the still morning air.

Colin waved a hand and called out shrilly, “Look this way, Harry!”

Harry waved genially. He saw Oliver glancing quizzically between Harry and Colin, and not looking very happy. Harry shot across the stadium at speed, and pulled up beside Wood at the goal posts.

“What’s going on?” said Wood, frowning. “Who’s that taking pictures?” He turned and glared at the little firstie. “He could be a Slytherin spy, trying to find out about our new training program,” he said loudly.

“Nah,” Harry said dismissively, “He’s just taking pictures for his family. So, they can see the awesomeness that is Quidditch. He’s a Gryffindor.”

Oliver grumbled, and kept casting suspicious eyes on the little wizard for the next two hours as they ran through his new plays.

Harry idly noticed that the stands were slowly accumulating students from all four houses. So much for keeping Oliver’s “new” plays a secret. Students with brightly coloured hair predominated. Several had transformed into ponies and were hovering over the stands, pacing the broomstick riders. This was likely the winged ponies’ first exposure to Quidditch.

While it was slowly gaining popularity among the pegasi in Canterlot, Cloudsdale, and Ponyville, the rest of Equestria had never had the opportunity to see a game. From the excited arm-waving of the students with more normal colours to their hair, he knew the pegasi would be occupying the stadium whenever the teams weren’t.

The reserves had completed one such run-through on a new play and the Gryffindor team was moving to group up to critique their performance. Harry saw a movement out of the corner of his eyes. When he looked, he saw seven people in green robes walk onto the field. They were carrying their broomsticks

Wood noticed almost immediately. “WHAT!” he yelled coming to halt and floating in place. “We have the field today!” He shot toward the interlopers. Harry and the rest followed a bit more slowly.

“Flint!” Wood bellowed at the Slytherin Captain, staggering a bit from jumping off his broom a bit sooner than he should have. “Clear off! We booked the field two weeks ago! For the entire day!”

Harry glanced at Wood. The entire day? He looked at the castle. Breakfast was almost over, and he was starving. He turned and looked at Wood with narrowed eyes. Had he planned to work them through breakfast and lunch?

Marcus Flint was bigger than Wood by several inches, and more heavily built. “Plenty of room for us all, Wood.” He didn’t sneer, but it looked like he wanted to.

“But I booked the field for the day!” said Wood, positively spitting with rage. “I booked it!”

Flint gave Wood a surprised look. “You did? I didn’t know that,” he said in a way that implied he did, indeed, know that. “Doesn’t matter, though,” he said airily “Professor Snape gave us a specially signed note that gives us permission to use the field to train our new Seeker.” He held up a piece of parchment.

“A new Seeker? A new Seeker?” Wood said, distracted. “Where?” he said suspiciously.

That was when they saw Draco Malfoy. He had been hiding behind the larger and older team members. An easy job, as he was only a second-year, like Harry and the Gryffindor reserve players.

“Aren’t you Lucius Malfoy’s son?” said Wood, staring at Malfoy, puzzled.

Flint, and the rest of the Slytherin team smiled more broadly. “Funny that,” he said. “He’s quite the Quidditch fan, it turns out. Look at the generous gift he’s made.”

All seven of them presented their broomsticks. Seven highly polished, brand-new handles, with fine gold lettering spelling the words Nimbus Two Thousand and One, gleamed under the Gryffindors’ noses in the early morning sun.

“The latest model, don’t you know? Only came out last month,” said Flint casually, flicking an imaginary speck of dust from the end of his own. “Quite an improvement over all other brooms, I’m told.”

“Oh, cool!” said Scootaloo, stepping closer to inspect one of the brooms. “Now we can have a real game. Last year, with these Nimbus 2000’s, it sorta felt unfair against the other school brooms.” She gestured with her broomstick.

Sweetie Belle nodded. “Yeah.” She frowned a moment, then a smile lit up her face. “I know, let’s get Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff new brooms! That way, it won’t matter which brooms you’ve got, only your skill!”

“Oooh, that’s a great idea!” Apple Bloom said enthusiastically.

“We can make the order out over breakfast, and get it in their hooves by Monday!” said Sweetie Belle happily.

The Slytherins lost their smiles, as did Wood. For different reasons.

Ron’s stomach growled loudly, echoed a moment late by Harry’s. They both blushed as the girls sniggered.

“Wait,” said Wood, “we’ve got practice! I booked the whole day!”

Harry turned and stared at Wood with narrowed eyes. “You were planning on stopping for breakfast, right?”

All he got was a blank look.

“You wanted us to practice all day without a break?” he said incredulously.

Even the Slytherins looked surprised at the thought.

Wood just glared back at him. “We need the practice if we want to win games,” he stated. “Especially,” he glared at the Slytherins, “if they aren’t using their regular broomsticks.”

“You did make arrangements with the elves to bring us breakfast and lunch, right?” Harry said accusingly.

Again, his answer was a blank look. He growled in the back of his throat.

He turned back to the Slytherins. “How about this, Flint,” he said, “We’re going to head in for breakfast. You have the field from now,” he glanced at his watch, “nine until noon, since we had it from six ’til now. Then you can go in for lunch and we’ll take the field from noon ’til three while you eat and recover. Then we’ll swap and you have the field from three ’til dinner. Does that sound fair?”

“Or, maybe,” Scootaloo said, “We could have a pickup game after lunch?” She looked at Flint with an encouraging and hopeful smile.

Flint looked at the others on his team, then shrugged.

Wood was looking back and forth between them. “Hey,” he said, “Wait a minute.”

Harry nodded at Flint, then started off the field. The reserves and Ron quickly followed him.

“But I booked the field for the entire day!” wailed Wood.

The twins were giving him disgusted looks. “If you think we’re going to practice all day without eating, . . .” said one.

“. . . or a break, then you’re barmy!” finished the other. They both started after Harry’s group, the three chasers followed them, leaving Wood gaping, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water.

The Slytherins were giving the chasers leering looks as they passed each other. Harry glancing back, saw this. “I’ll be just a second,” he said out loud, and trotted back to the Slytherins, who curiously watched him approach. As soon as he got close enough, he said, in a quiet voice that they could barely hear, “You know, if you think the fillies are good looking in the Quidditch uniforms, you should see them in the changing rooms. You should get a few fillies on your reserve team.” He looked at them with raised eyebrows, “Right?”

He didn’t wait for a response, he turned and trotted back to his friends. He looked back just as he left the stadium. Wood stood abandoned on the field and was watching the Slytherins flying overhead on their brooms. Shaking his head, he slowly started for the exit and Hogwarts.

Harry shook his head, too, but for a different reason. While Oliver might think Quidditch was the be-all and end-all of the purpose of being at Hogwarts, everyone else didn’t. If the quidditch captain wasn’t careful, he’d lose the support of the reserve players and they’d quit. That would mean losing the Quidditch Cup for the year if anyone got hurt during a game and they had to play one person down. Their opponent would steamroller them into the ground before the snitch could be caught. Wood might think that a tragedy in that situation, but very few others would.

^·_·^

Unlike previous meetings, this one was “in the field” as it were. They were at the Otterburn Army Training Estate, a live-fire military training estate in northern England. The group composed of John Major, the Prime Minister, the Foreign Secretary, The Rt Hon. Hurd, the Home Secretary, The Rt Hon. Kenneth Wilfred Baker, Field Marshal Sir John Chapple, and himself, Second Lieutenant Searle.

The rest of the aides and security detail had been left in the command bunker.

The Prime Minister cast a critical eye on Searle, “I hope this trip is as important as your note said.” He took a glance around at the vacant target-practice range, and the empty fields around them. At thirty-four square miles, Otterburn was the largest such military range in the country. “It is Saturday, I had to cancel several very important meetings.”

Searle took a deep breath. “It is, sir, it is. Almost as important as the last time I told you of an important meeting.”

That got him a raised eyebrow. Their last such meeting had been the introduction to the cross-dimensional Equestrians — or maybe cross-space, they didn’t know which, yet — requesting an Embassy London.

Castor reached into his pocket and took a small cigarette case out. He opened and removed a small replica of the standard SA80 A2 rifle used by the military, then replaced the case in his pocket. He pressed a small button on the replica. The rest blinked as the tiny replica turned into a full-scale assault rifle with a large scope on top and a very short, barely visible, ammunition magazine. Most magazines were much larger, stretching the length of a person’s forearm.

He looked up at the others. “Princess Twilight was very happy to show me this. She said that this rifle would keep Equestria safe from its enemies for a very long time. She credited several of our ex-military Special Technology people with the ideas, and several Scottish graduates with the design and execution,” he said solemnly. “They’ve already adapted these techniques to the new rifles their Guard uses.”

He gave them a bleak look. “It is the single most terrifying weapon I have ever seen. The normal ‘es a eighty a two’ has a magazine of thirty rounds, and a maximum rate of fire of a magazine a second. Normal, in-the-field, rate of fire is limited to how fast a soldier can exchange magazines. This rifle has no such restriction.” He raised an eyebrow at the Prime Minister, and hefted the rifle. “May I demonstrate?”

The others exchanged looks and put on their ear-protectors.

He took the forward position and aimed at the targets down-range from them by a hundred meters. He took a deep breath, settled the rifle against his shoulder, slowly exhaled, and gently pulled the trigger. The rifle was set to full-automatic, and with such a tiny ammunition magazine it only should fire five shots — maybe.

At least, that’s what the others must think, he knew. How wrong they were.

He held the trigger down. The rifle fired a steady stream of bullets.

Sir John raised both his eyebrows. He knew the sound of that rifle on full-automatic, and this was not the same. It should have stopped after a second. It was more like a machine-gun.

At the two-minute mark, Castor stopped. There wasn’t much left of his chosen target. His voice shook a bit. “A thousand rounds a minute. Unlimited. The magazine has only one round in it. When you go to chamber the first round, the . . . Special Technology . . . duplicates the original and that is what goes into the chamber. The duplicated round requires only a small amount of energy to create as it will vanish after one minute. There’s a power unit in the magazine to help.” He grabbed the barrel of the rifle, which should have been far too hot to hold, and held it out to the minister. “There is a cooling technology on the barrel and chamber to prevent excessive heating.”

The Prime Minister gingerly accepted the weapon, then gave Castor a startled look as he almost tossed the rifle over his own shoulder.

“The rifle weighs approximately three ounces,” the Second Lieutenant continued. “Special Technology is used to reduce its weight, and absorb and stabilize any rifle recoil — chamber recoil is left alone — so there’s no recoil creep, sore shoulders, or vibrations to throw off your aim. Other Special Technology makes it almost impervious to damage — it could hold a Challenger Two tank from the trigger guard, if you had a cable small enough and strong enough to fit. It’s water-proof, and permanently oiled and greased. There is also a silencer component, which I did not turn on.”

He took another shuddering breath. “The scope crosshairs show exactly where the rounds will hit, you can carve your name into a target at four hundred metres. While only a soldier trained in Special Technology can fire it. It can be personalized to the soldier so that if it falls into enemy hands, they can’t use it. Neither can it be disassembled and reverse engineered without it violently exploding.”

The other four were staring at him in shock.

“Oh, no,” he shook his head, “there’s more.” He held out his hand for the rifle.

He popped out the magazine, which was green, and plugged in another that was yellow.

“This magazine uses the same duplication technology,” he said lifting the rifle to firing position. The others hurriedly replaced their ear-protectors.

He didn’t hold the trigger for more than ten seconds, but it was long enough to obliterate, in large explosions, most of the targets down range from them. He popped out the magazine and turned to look at his superiors. “Those were 40mm grenades. The original has been shrunk, an action that is applied to the duplicate as it is generated. The shrinking is cancelled as the round leaves the barrel. The muzzle velocity is the same as the regular five-point-five-six-millimetre rounds, nine-hundred-forty meters-per-second, one thousand rounds per minute.”

They were openly gaping at him.

He pulled a red magazine out of his pocket and held it up for them to see. He did not place it in the rifle. “This magazine is loaded with a 155mm High-Energy tank round, same conditions as the other two magazines.”

He put the magazine back in his pocket as he said, “There’s a fourth magazine for fifty-calibre rounds and a fifth that is a flame-thrower.” He turned a recessed knob on the stock, then pressed it in, and was holding a tiny version of the rifle again. The knob was now the button he had pressed earlier. He put it back in his cigarette case and took out a miniature pistol, a Glock 17.

He held it up. “This does everything the ‘es a eighty a two’ does, except the accuracy is only a hundred metres, not four-hundred, and there is no scope, currently.” He put it back in the cigarette case. “The Princess promised they would have those defects fixed, shortly.”

He looked at them bleakly. “Imagine an assassin with a pistol or rifle like this. What security agent would think a charm bracelet or earring was a deadly weapon? And with the bullets, shells, and gunpowder residue disappearing after a minute when the duplication technology dissipates, what evidence would be left for investigators?”

He sighed. “Plus, there is no reason why this can’t be adapted to the other branches. Imagine an undetectable impregnable supersonic fighter jet not much bigger than a Mini Cooper, with unlimited fuel, a dozen different built-in gun magazines with unlimited ammunition, and unlimited bombs of every type. The pilot could have unlimited food and drink, too.

“Or an undetectable impregnable Navy Scimitar with unlimited range that can outmanoeuvre and outshoot a battleship and cruise at two hundred kilometres per hour. Or an undetectable, impregnable submarine that can stay underwater forever and sink anything that floats. Put a floo on the ships and the crew can spend their nights at home! Use a portkey for the airplanes, and you could change crews without the plane ever having to land.”

He shook his head.

“We need to rethink our entire approach to the military — and security. We have to keep these things out of the hands of our enemies and terrorists. We also need a way to detect them.

“Plus, convincing the Equestrians not to make any mention of this to anyone else.”

^·_·^

Major Tom studied the chart carefully. It listed the various times that their four “experimental” portkeys had activated as their Bristol Bloodhound had shot into space and past the moon. The first had been at thirteen thousand kilometres, the maximum distance a portkey on Earth had ever been used. The second portkey had successfully activated at a distance of two hundred thousand kilometres — halfway to the moon. The third portkey had been set for the Moon’s orbit, four hundred thousand kilometres, another success. Twelve days later, the fourth portkey had safely arrived from fifty-six million kilometres, the distance at which Mars is closest to Earth.

He was still waiting for the fifth portkey. It was not due for another fifty-five days, when the rocket reached four hundred and two million kilometres. That was the maximum range between Earth and Mars. If the sixth portkey worked, as he hoped, four months and twenty-two days from now, it would pass Jupiter’s orbit, leaving almost the entire asteroid ring between Earth and Mars open to exploration and exploitation.

The problem was time. How long did such a portkey take? The usage on Earth was well-known, a few seconds, at most. Portkeying to the shuttle, still parked in orbit, was easy. At perigee it was barely more than the distance from London to Frankfurt, Germany, or Galway, Ireland.

The second and third portkeys delivered definite numbers, to the hundredth of a second: Nine and eleven seconds. Almost exactly. The fourth had arrived twenty-five-point-three seconds after activation. If his calculations were right, that meant the fifth portkey should take between thirty-point-nine-four and thirty-point-nine-five seconds.

So, the farther you went, the faster the trip.

Now, then, the only other variable was if you could survive the trip. Portkeys were well-known to get more dangerous as their distance increased.

^-~-^

Ch. 12. UN-popular?

Saturday brought a new set of problems for the professors.

They had only thought Harry and his herd-mates were a handful, last year.

After hearing all about Princess Twilight’s, and the other Bearers of the Elements’ adventures in Ponyville for the previous three years, all Equestrians were well-warned of the Everfree forest. They knew that any pony adventuring inside might never make it back outside again. Even the Equestrian Royal Guard only ventured inside in multiple teams at a time. The massive wall built around the portal to this world proved how dangerous it could be.

But the Forbidden forest beside Hogwarts just didn’t have the same sort of cachet as the Everfree. It didn’t look dangerous. It didn’t feel dangerous. It didn’t smell dangerous — no scents of death, decay, and rot. Nothing. Just a forest. It appeared quite innocuous, actually. Almost like a park, really. It just needed a bit more care from a few earth ponies and it would be just fine and dandy.

The young ponies, Harry knew, hadn’t yet learned that just because something seems safe doesn’t mean it is safe. Especially those who had never seen the parasprites, or heard of them, to learn that lesson.

Plus, all the Equestrians in Hogwarts were familiar with the stories of Harry’s herd’s adventures in the Forbidden Forest. Or, to be more precise, their lack of adventures! Except for one or two vague incidents, there was almost nothing mentioned.

Princess Twilight had cleared out the really dangerous creatures, already, hadn’t she, then?

This contrasted well with the horror stories about the scrapes the Cutie Mark Crusaders had gotten into in the Everfree. Stories of tangles with timberwolves, poison joke, swarms of bees that invaded Ponyville, and the like, quickly were approaching the status of legends. Especially when the new students discovered the “published” Harry Potter books that were available from a certain Hogwarts student. Being signed by Harry Potter and his herd-mates “proved” they were true. The books had been quickly snatched up and offered as confirmation that the Forbidden Forest wasn’t all that bad.

Harry knew one enterprising Slytherin pony, Silver Spoon, had sent a query letter to an Equestrian publisher with her copy of the book. She said she was the agent for the Hogwarts student who had originally put the book together. She promised the publisher a second book if he liked the first.

She planned to tell the compiler-student of her status as his agent, and the book’s acceptance, as soon as the Equestrian publisher sent her the contract. She didn’t think the wizard would mind. After all, the advance, alone, would make him rich by witchery standards.

She thought he was a little rough around the edges, but those could be gentled with the right approach, and a firm hoof. After all, he wasn’t even out of school and had secured a steady income worthy of an adult. Not that he realized it, yet. Just like a stallion, to miss the implications and advantages of what he had done.

While it had been a shock to see and hear Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon among the enrolees, Harry hadn’t really been that surprised. They had been at the top of their classes in Ponyville. He could see Filthy Rich carefully explaining all the advantages the family would get from learning this new magic — if only to get a better grasp on what his non-pony business partners were capable of doing.

A great deal of the two fillies’ “superior” attitude over the “blank-flanks” had been drained away at hearing, and seeing, what they had learned and accomplished in the previous year. Her father had impressed upon her that despite those blank flanks, the two non-unicorn fillies had managed to learn MAGIC. And their unicorn friend already could teleport, something Tiara’s mother couldn’t do! Not to mention that the three had the ears of the Royal sisters!

The two earth ponies were still stuck-up, though, and fit in perfectly with the snotty attitudes of the rest of the Slytherins.

Naturally, where Diamond Tiara went, Silver Spoon was quick to follow.

It was obvious that while the attending ponies at Hogwarts had been a random drawing from a pool of a thousand volunteers, some selections had not been as random as others.

Harry could only shake his head. That poor Ravenclaw didn’t have a chance.

So, many of the new students, who were the most curious and bravest colts and fillies in Equestria — they had volunteered to come to Hogwarts, after all — took the forest as a challenge. With the pegasi as overhead scouts, teams of ponies headed into the forest in search of unicorns — and adventure. Most were intercepted by Hagrid, professors, or prefects before they had ventured too far across the lawn, several did not even make it out of the castle when they prematurely announced their destination.

Previous failures to reach the forest, however, did not deter repeat attempts.

Hagrid had only thought he spent most of his time keeping the Weasley twins out of the forest. The Equestrians pushed that to the limit!

The acromantulas fled a little deeper into the forest. They were beginning to develop a phobia about the colourful, innocuous-appearing little ponies.

It was a weird concept to realize that some spiders would have a pathological fear of ponies as some people had a pathological fear of spiders.

Several Centaur scouts found themselves under intense scrutiny from ponies perched on branches or hiding under bushes. Ponies that were easy to spot, given their outrageous coat and mane colours that could be spotted a hundred yards away. However, all of those ponies laboured under the mistaken impression that they were well-hidden. That the ponies were barely bigger than Centaur new-born foals just made the situation that much more surreal to the bigger creatures.

The Centaurs had briefly met the ponies from the Royal Guards last term — all well-equipped and ready for combat. However, these tiny versions left them scratching their heads in confusion. The Centaurs quickly learned that the moment the ponies realized they had been seen, they took off running — or flying! — with phenomenal haste. It was astonishing just how fast the little ponies could move those hooves — and Centaurs were part-horse, so they shouldn’t have been able to be surprised! As a result, the Centaurs never did find out why they were under such intense scrutiny by who they eventually realized were new Hogwarts students.

Hagrid and the other professors trying to corral the tiny ponies sort of gave the game away.

One half-blood student watched from the castle ramparts that Saturday, with a bag of popcorn supplied by the house-elves. At dinner, he regaled his listeners with what he called a live-action game of whack-a-mole — figuratively speaking — as the professors, prefects, and Hagrid tried to round up the groups of curious ponies to the lawns. All it needed, he said, was sped-up action and Benny Hill music in the background. The pure-bloods were puzzled, but the muggle-born and in-the-know half-bloods were laughing so hard they almost fell off their benches.

Harry figured Discord was, too.

For the first time in Hogwarts history, according to Hermione, almost half of the entire First Year class received detentions — it was no surprise that they were all ponies.

For the same offense.

Multiple times.

And none of them regretted it.

They only regretted being caught.

Several regarded it as excellent training for the EUP. They intended to keep trying until their stealth methods succeeded.

This was not the behaviour the Professors had been expecting from the Equestrians. Earth horses and ponies, although curious, were a good deal more skittish — the slightest unexpected movement would send them running. That was why horses had to wear blinders when not in a barn or pastures, and riders had to keep a close watch on their mounts. To ride postilion on the Royal Carriages was not a ceremonial position of no consequence.

Keeping Harry and his three girlfriends in line last year hadn’t been anywhere near as difficult as this.

Equestrian ponies . . . were unexpectedly different.

^-~-^

The rules posted beside the Gryffindor portal door had been amended with some additions that Saturday evening. Not exactly a surprise to Harry, all things considered. However, they weren’t all the amendments he had expected: *

5)

d)

i) the Grand Stairwell area is considered part of the stairs, and, as such, Pegasi are not allowed to free-fly in that space — in any direction.

12)

d) Showing off your cutie mark as an animagus is allowed. As a human, disrobing or lifting your robes in public to show off your “cutie mark” is not.

e) Neither is doing so in private with a member of the opposite sex.

He only wondered why it had taken them so long to notice that the fillies were not shy about showing off their cutie marks to anyone who asked . . . and to many who hadn’t asked.

He was soo glad there were rules, and laws, on this side of the portal regarding nudity. The mares couldn’t tease the stallions, as they sometimes did in Equestria, by revealing, accidentally of course, what their clothes normally hid.

He wondered how the adults had missed the ponies nearly stripping witches and wizards when they heard they didn’t have cutie marks at all! It would only be a matter of time before a rule “f” and “g” appeared:

f) Forcibly disrobing an individual to see if they really don’t have a cutie mark is forbidden.

g) So is doing the same if they do have a cutie mark.

He was relieved to see, however, that Rule Six no longer referred to Hermione directly by name. Did the other Houses have similar problems with over-indulging that activity? Considering their reputation, he rather thought the Ravenclaws might be so inclined. Especially for rules a) and b) — no overstaying personal books from home and no Book-walking after lights-out. He wondered if he should suggest a few more additions to the rules, or wait until their need became obvious.

For example, what if they borrowed somepony else’s book? Or had started the bookwalking before lights-out? And only five points for each infraction? * The ponies he had met from Celestia’s School in Canterlot would certainly consider that a fair trade — they’d easily make up the lost points in class the next day!

It might be better to just wait, he decided. That way he wouldn’t make anyponies think he was spoiling their fun.

Besides, if he provided a bit of chaos, maybe Discord would be less inclined to meddle with him or his herd-mates.

^-~-^

Harry and the herd walked into the Great Hall for an early dinner Sunday and stopped a few paces inside. Five Equestrian unicorns were sitting or standing at various places, staring at the ceiling with expressions of concentration or anticipation, their horns aglow. The few other students that had already arrived were all gawking, astonished at what they were watching. Naturally, he looked up, too.

It took a moment for him to realize what he was seeing.

The enchantment on the ceiling, and the trusses, made it difficult, at first. He could see parts of heads and arms against the projected sky, as well as a few whole students. Over a dozen students were walking on or floating beside the beams.

His muttered, “What the bloody hell!?” got a response from a nearby Equestrian.

“It’s Rule 5, don’cha know? Pegasi aren’t allowed to fly in the Great Hall,” he said dryly. “Plus, some of us unicorns wanted a closer look. So, we’re taking turns.”

Harry sighed. Right. There’s no way the pegasi wouldn’t fly up to the ceiling and look around. And the unicorns would want a much closer look at the interplay between the spells on the ceiling and those on the support beams below them. Using a spell, instead of flying, satisfied their curiosity and didn’t break the rules. No professor had ever forbidden the use of levitation spells to move the platters of food on the tables.

“Wingardium leviosa?” said Hermione with a slight lilt to her voice.

The student chuckled. “Of course. It’s really quite useful for this.”

“Bloody hell!” said a seventh year, and a few moments later, after a rapid consultation with a friend, he was levitated up to join the curious Equestrians.

In short order there were almost as many students at ceiling height — including Hermione — as there were students on the floor.

Harry panicked, at first, as Ginny levitated Hermione higher. Fortunately, she was wearing a frilly set of pink panties. Plus, he was very relieved to note, that once the witches went over a certain height the contrast between the bright sky that was the enchanted ceiling, and the shaded inside of their robes, took care of that problem.

Above that height, it was impossible to tell that Rule 12b had not yet been adopted by all the Equestrians. Or that many of the pure- and half-bloods thought 12b only applied to ponies.

Some of the Equestrian mares seemed to realize this and were taking advantage of it by pretend-sitting as they were levitated by a friend. Usually over a group of boys.

Many of the wizards, and some of the witches, especially the younger ones, were receiving an anatomy lesson on the opposite sex that they hadn’t anticipated. There were a lot of red faces. Several witches were punching boyfriends in the arms and ordering them not to look up. Some witches didn’t seem to mind at all — but they seemed focused on certain wizards overhead, though.

It was quite entertaining watching their expressions as students came into the Hall and noticed what was going on. Apparently, not many had ever thought to use that firstie spell as a method of exploration! Harry almost fell over laughing when Hagrid walked in and promptly tripped over his own feet, startled. The other professors were almost as entertaining when they noticed the crowd overhead.

The Headmaster had to tap on his goblet, and “suggest” that everyone return to their tables for the meal, to restore order.

Harry wondered if any of the Professors had been close enough to the students to note the violations of Rule 12b.

After dinner, the pegasi began exploring the upper reaches of each corridor, with the help of earth ponies, unicorns, and other students. They took turns if they found anything interesting. Apparently, there were “hidden” sculptures all over the place. They were mostly snakes, but there were also faeries, mermaids, centaurs, goblins, and dozens of other carvings of magical creatures tucked out of direct sight. There were many others that were only recognizable if you looked straight at them, or from above.

Almost the entire first-year class learned the levitation spell, and became quite proficient in it, weeks before it would be introduced in Charms class. They all earned a point for initiative in early learning.

There were even a few alcoves higher up that no one had ever noticed. The Prefects took notice of the new locations and included them in their routine checks of broom-closets during the day.

It seemed that since the introduction of the Hogwarts Map in the Headmaster’s Office last year, nightly escapades were a thing of the past. The students were typically intercepted by a Prefect long before they were even close to their broom-closet of choice. Salacious behaviour was limited to normal school hours and the evenings — not that that stopped it. Or even slowed it down by much.

Where there’s a will, there’s a way.

And hormonal teenagers have a remarkable will for such mischief.

Naturally, this exploration of the castle would take longer than a single evening’s work. It wasn’t unusual, months later, to see a student levitating another student up at the ceiling of a classroom or corridor.

The many detentions the ponies earned from their forays into the Forbidden forest were spent learning how to write with fingers, at first. That cut into their explorations, some, but not that much as far as the Equestrians were concerned. Those were universally in the evening when it was too dark to explore outside. The detentions were certainly not enough to deter them.

The castle had not been as thoroughly explored since it had been built. One wag even claimed to have found a “Kilroy was here” message! It had been chalked on a stone brick in an almost impossible-to-reach place that he had been sure no one had ever been to since the castle was built.

Some of the more daring, or desperate, witches used it as a way to flirt by asking a wizard they were interested in, or their own boyfriend, to help them “take a closer look” at a carving near the ceiling.

The professors had another new headache.

^-~-^

Ambassador Prince Blueblood stared at his visitor a bit quizzically. The Director-General, seated across from him, was a tall neatly dressed man. He had black hair, receding, and a moustache that was a mix of black and grey. He had brown eyes, and his skin was what the English called tanned, but wasn’t.

They were in Blueblood’s office in the Equestrian Embassy, which was in Little Whinging. Blueblood was in his pony form, seated behind his desk in a comfortable chair that held him at eye-height to his seated visitors.

“My secretary told me that you represent the United Nations Universal Postal Union, is that correct, Mr. Adwaldo Cardoso Botto de Barros?”

“Most assuredly, Mr. Ambassador,” the man said with a slight accent to his words. It sounded similar to French, but not as different as Spanish.

Blueblood shook his head wryly. “I must say,” he paused and chuckled. “We have read a bit about the U.N.’s mission, but we appear to have made a minor error in deciding to ignore it.”**

His secretary walked in pushing a tea cart.

Blueblood hid his amusement at watching the human’s reaction to the unicorn serving them. Although the man was an accomplished bureaucrat, who undoubtedly worked with hundreds of others from a myriad of cultures, his eyes widened dramatically at seeing her lift and pour the teapot with her magic. Then adding the sugar and milk the same way, and passing the finished cups and saucers to their tables before leaving. She smoothly closed the door behind her without having to turn and touch the door handle. Even the ones who had heard of the ponies’ “telekinesis” were left astounded at actually seeing it in action.

Seeing a pony do this, an animal he had heard all his life was unintelligent, made it all the more surreal.

“We have heard from many sources,” Blueblood continued, “that its primary mandates are to maintain international peace and security, protection of human rights, the delivery of humanitarian aid, promotion of sustainable development, and upholding international law. None of those have any bearing on Equestrians, especially as we are not humans, nor are we part of your world.”

He took a sip of his cup.

“For us to attempt to join would require re-writing its charter, and reworking most of its functions to include non-humans. A vast majority of the countries in it would refuse that, I’m sure.” He sighed. “In fact, I believe only the United Kingdom would vote in favour of such an action.”

He shook his head wryly. “We hadn’t realized that one of the U.N.’s functions might include assisting in maintaining a world-wide postal system.” He deliberately let himself look impressed. He was, actually. Getting almost two hundred nations to agree to anything was an incredible accomplishment. Even dedicated enemies, here in Earth, worked together in the UPU.

The man smiled. “I can understand your confusion. Many others are likewise unsure of just what the United Nations does in the world besides security and the World Health Organization.” He leaned forward slightly. “Full membership in the United Nations would probably not be of interest to you. As you mentioned, many of the main functions of the Assembly are not relevant to you.”

Blueblood nodded.

“However, you might want to petition them to allow you to have observers at the UN General Assembly, just to keep abreast of the current political climate across the world. Also, the United Nations does have countries who are not members of the U.N. but are members of specialized agencies of the United Nations. For example, there’s my organization, Universal Postal Union; then the World Intellectual Property Organization, which deals with issues of copyrights and patents; and finally, the Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization, which sees to helping keep the peace by spreading word of new discoveries and ideas.” He smiled and sat a bit straighter.

“Your country has certainly attracted the e-es-see-oh’s interest. I’m surprised they have not yet contacted you themselves.”

Blueblood smiled back. “One of their representatives did, but we were still setting up our Embassy, and referred him to the United Kingdom. Unfortunately, we have since found, it would be in our best interest to limit our interactions with other countries. Some of our abilities,” he lifted his tea cup with his magic and took a sip before he continued, “would have some of your member nations declaring a Holy War on us. Being the descendants of a predator species, it would not be unexpected for them to feel they must do something about it.”

He paused a moment. “As you know, some countries are already claiming we are demons. It would not take much for them to jump to that final conclusion, and take attempt to correct the situation.”

The Director-General sighed and leaned back.

“But we are not greatly concerned about such things,” the ambassador continued, “they cannot hurt us.” He stared levelly at the man. “At present, there is only this one access point between our worlds, so they cannot approach us without confronting the United Kingdom, first.”

He took a sip of his tea. “We would, of course, work closely with the United Kingdom to repulse such a threat.” He sighed. “If they were to try, and the British don’t object too strenuously, one of the Princesses would take care of it.”

“One of your rulers would fix the problem?” Mr. Barros said, amazed. He leaned back. “And not your army?”

“Princess Celestia can call on the sun,” Blueblood said quietly. “The best way to ensure someone leaves you alone is to glass their country.” He took another sip. “Once you have done that, your other enemies leave you alone. The Dragonlands and Griffonstone learned that lesson after seeing what Princess Celestia did a thousand years ago to the country that we now call the San Palomino Desert. The ancient books say it was a quite lovely — forests, lakes, and plains. Now, it’s much like your Sahara, without any oases, though.”

He glanced out the window. As bluffs go, this was pretty simple. The books that might record such an event were even now being written. Books that might contradict his claim were being sequestered in a vault under the Palace. Only the dragons and griffons could explain the truth. And they weren’t likely to be interested in contradicting whatever the Royal Sisters claimed was history.

“And here, the Princess would not have to worry about accidentally killing one of her ponies.” He looked back at the man whose complexion was now nearly white. It was odd, but he guessed not unexpected, that a human with darker skin would evidence a shocked reaction much clearer than the English.

That American President had had the right of it . . . “Speak softly, but carry a big stick.” And his Aunt Tia wielding the might of the Sun was a very, very big stick. Best get the word out now, before anyone inadvertently called his bluff.

Tia wouldn’t really roast a country. She had merely melted an uninhabited mountain range, turning it into a desert. But totally destroying a country was an action a predator would resort to doing — there were many stories in the Earth’s histories of peoples being wiped out, and the victors salting the ground so no crops would grow for centuries.

His aunts would just withdraw the ponies from common sight and set up a hidden portal, if they still wanted to keep in contact. Otherwise, they’d simply cut off all contact. What they had acquired so far would revolutionize Equestria and all of Equus, for many, many decades.

“The e-es-see-oh would not interest us, at this juncture,” he said, changing the topic as if the preceding was simply not important enough to discuss further. “The United Kingdom has been very forthright in the exchange of ideas. As a courtesy, we have been scrupulously following their laws regarding patents and copyright.”

He smiled. “However, it would probably be a good idea for us to investigate how your Universal Postal Union and World Intellectual Property Organizations operate. If the restrictions aren’t too onerous, I’m sure the Princesses would be delighted to adjust our laws to be more in agreement with yours. It would certainly facilitate the exchange of ideas.” He nodded his head to one side. “Having a mail system that allowed regular and steady communication between worlds would be more efficient, too.”

He smirked. “Although, assuming that the United Kingdom is using the standards suggested by your Intellectual Properties Organization, you might want to change that ‘life of the creator’ section to something more definite. Many of our citizens are over a hundred years old, and Princesses Celestia and Luna are both well over a thousand years.” He frowned slightly. “It might be two thousand.” He sighed sadly. “The God of Chaos destroyed so many records when he temporarily wrested control of Equestria away from the Princesses.” He looked down for a moment before looking back up. He smiled broadly. “In any case, some of the things the British and Equestrian scientists are working on could make the average citizen’s life reach two or three hundred years.”

Barros blinked a few times, no doubt mulling over what he had just heard. They both sipped at their teas.

After a suitable time, Blueblood said, “So, how should we go about setting this up? Can we do this here, in England, or would it be in New York?”

The Director-General took a quick breath to change the direction of his thoughts, no doubt.

“Well, our headquarters is in Bern, Switzerland. If you could just drop me a note of when you expect your postal team to arrive, and how many there are, and I’ll have a car waiting for them at the airport. I’ll arrange the hotel for them. Then we can discuss how we want to go about reaching an accord.”

He bent to the side and retrieved his briefcase. “I was hoping you might be interested,” he said, opening it. He pulled out several thick binders. “These are the standards currently in use, as well explanations on how to submit new entries that might be unique to your needs. Once your team has had a chance to examine them, we can discuss how and when to petition the General Assembly for your admission to the UPU. There are explanations for that in one of these binders.”

The meeting went on for a while before ending on the positive note that Equestria was very interested in joining.

Blueblood was interested to see if their “worldwide” system, which was about a thousand times bigger than Equestria’s system, would show them ways to approach the problem that Equestria had missed.

With luck, they could get the other nations on Equus to create an Equus Universal Postal Union.

^-_-^

Author's Note

* The additions to Rules 5 and 6, and possibly other loopholes, are due to keybounce being rather lawyer-ish.

** Sir Chaos Omega thought Twilight might be interested in Equestria joining the U.N.

Ch. 13. Nobody Expects . . .

Monday, Harry finally noticed that the First Years had been divided into two groups, Orange and Brown. They had separate classes at the same time. One class had the Professor in charge, the other had a Professorial Aide. The two teachers alternated classes so both classes had the same amount of time with their professor.

It made sense. Otherwise, the combined classes had forty-some students. Why they didn’t split them into just the Houses, though, Harry was unsure. Hermione set him straight, naturally.

“It’s for socializing,” she said officiously, and smiled. “This way the different Houses get to meet each other somewhere other than at meals.”

“Ah!” Harry nodded in understanding. That also explained why Gryffindor had classes with Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and Slytherins, both last year and this. That way they could make friends and connections with students in all the houses. At least, he assumed, that must be their theory. In actual practice, the different Houses stayed mainly together in their own groups and didn’t spread out. The professors shouldn’t have allowed them to self-isolate like that.

It wasn’t his problem. He didn’t give it another thought, except to mention the House system based on personality “features” was a failure.

After having consulted with the different team captains on Sunday, Monday afternoon the fillies sent off the owls ordering the different brooms, just before dinner. While the Nimbus brooms were good for the Seekers, the other positions needed brooms that were better at instant starts, cornering, and overall nimbleness. Which meant everyone having the same broom was actually not a good idea and showed one’s ignorance of the game. It also meant that buying everyone on the team the same broom was a waste of money, especially given the high cost of the Nimbus 2001!

^-~-^

Then someone taught one pegasus the paint-shot spell. By dinnertime on the same day, the outside of the castle had been redecorated in as many colours as you could imagine. The pegasi took the game of dodge-spell to the extreme, using the crenelations and decorative stonework as cover, and to snipe at their opponents from above. They demonstrated, unintentionally, that many of the manoeuvres the students had seen the Royal Guard pegasi use were common as these pegasi practically danced in the air with spell dodging, attacking, and retaliating. Cheered on, naturally, by their House mates.

More than a few students grabbed their brooms and joined it. They quickly learned that having wings gave an enormous advantage to the ponies. But the human students, for the most part, were much faster and more accurate at spell-casting, so that almost evened-out the playing field.

A very tired group of students came in to eat that evening.

And would for several more afternoons after that.

Professor Flitwick hunted down the student who had taught the spell to the firstie, and the pegasus herself, awarded both five points.

^-~-^

Then the pegasi were discovered in the Great Hall on a rainy day having a “levitation jousting” tournament with padded spears — it seemed they had hard heads as people, too. The twins had set up a betting booth. Significant numbers of non-pegasi from each House were cheering them on from the House tables below.

The pegasi couldn’t fly in the Great Hall, Rule 5, again. But what if they merely used their wings for control while someone else threw them through the air? That didn’t violate the rules, did it?

Harry had to shudder at that. He had had enough of “hostile” levitation last year.

The professors apparently decided that the “tournament” was a bit over the top and quickly shut it down. They claimed it was inappropriate for wizards or witches — especially in the Great Hall!

Just as quickly, the first rule of the Levitation Jousting Club became, “you do not talk about the Levitation Jousting Club.”

^-~-^

Harry wasn’t sure who started it, but Cloud Dancer and Clear Skies ended it. Someone had apparently been giving a long, snooty diatribe about how “inferior” ponies were to people in regards to magic. The two pegasi took offense to this, and dragged a cloud in from outside. The two carefully positioned the dark cloud over the heads of their unsuspecting targets.

It was amazing how infrequently witches looked up.

Cloud Dancer stood on the cloud, as Clear Skies guided it from below with wingardium leviosa. Once in prime position, Cloud Dancer started jumping up and down, and proceeded to pelt the offensive person, and his four supporters, in alternating blasts of rain, hail, and lightning.

She peered down, over the edge of the much smaller cloud, at her singed and astonished victims. “I’d like to see one of you ‘superior’ wizards do that!” she said smugly, giving the cloud one last kick so that it dissolved into a short burst of rain.

Her friend floated her back to the floor.

The professors were not amused.

Neither was Filch when he saw the giant puddle in the corridor.

“No using spells in the corridors!” scolded Professor McGonagall, first on the scene.

“I wasn’t using a spell,” said Cloud Dancer self-righteously, offended at the suggestion she had somehow cheated. “I was cloud-walking!” she said with a virtuous indignation.

This necessitated a demonstration.

Cloud Dancer retrieved another cloud while a feather-weighted Professor Flitwick rode her. The pegasi then showed how they could stand, walk, and even lay down on a cloud. Then she made a chair, table, and bed out of the fluffy white stuff, and demonstrated using them as intended. The professors, and non-Equestrian students, were gobsmacked. Harry and the others had, by this time, been fetched for support, and with his use of the wings spell from last year, showed the professors that such things were possible for any wizard or witch with the proper spell.

They agreed, she had not cast a spell to create the miniature thunderstorm. The use of the levitation spell, however, was a borderline issue. But so many students had been using it to explore the public areas of the castle that to declare it forbidden at this stage would cause a great deal of unrest.

The saying “Never give an order you know will be disobeyed. It undermines your authority,” was apparently one that both Professors Flitwick and McGonagall were well-acquainted with. Wisely, they decided that because both the caster and the recipient had agreed prior to the casting, neither would be charged with rule-breaking.

The five disgruntled students — soaked, slightly-singed, and still smoking — were not pleased at this outcome.

The pegasi ability to manipulate weather quickly came to the centre of the discussion. And buried any objections the five, or their shyer supporters, might have had that the ponies should be punished.

Watching the thirteen pegasi clear the sky of clouds that afternoon left every non-pony slack-jawed.

The Quidditch captains were nearly drooling over the prospect of perfect weather for every game.

^-~-^

Filch stared up at the pony on the ceiling.

The pony stared back.

“Yer not usin’ a spell, are you?” he asked gruffly, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

The pony shook her head.

“An yer not a pegasus?”

The pony shook her head.

“How?”

“Well . . . um . . . I walked.”

“You walked,” he said flatly.

“Yes.” She lifted — lowered? — a hoof from the ceiling. “You see, I can grip the walls and stuff real tight to hold on.”

She shuffled awkwardly and turned to face him a bit better, although still upside down. “Earth ponies are really strong,” she said proudly. “And I wanted to see a couple of these sculptures the pegasi and unicorns have all been talking about.” She looked away. “I’m an Earth pony, so levitation makes me real nervous. I like to keep all four hooves on the ground, thank you very much.” She looked at her front hooves. “Or at least connected to the ground,” she looked around, “. . . eventually,” She looked back at him. “Don’t like the brooms, either.”

He threw his mop on the floor and put his hands on his hips and glared at her. “How the bloody hell am I supposed to clean HOOFPRINTS OFF THE CEILING!” he bellowed.

“Sorry?” she said meekly, ducking her head down . . . up?

The Headmaster thought it quite amusing when he heard about it, later.

Later, after hearing of the confrontation — Filch complained about it to anypony who would listen — Harry was not surprised to discover a new rule.

Ponies are not allowed to walk on the walls or ceilings inside or outside of any building on Hogwarts’ grounds without getting permission from a professor, first. For the purposes of this rule, Hagrid cannot give permission.

Harry noticed an earth pony, with a contemplative expression, over by one of the walls. As Harry watched, the pony tentatively placed his hoof against the wall, and then grinned widely.

He suspected that Rule Fourteen was going to be ignored — a lot. A new dimension had been opened in the tag-spell games — the earth ponies were not self-restricted to the ground!

^-~-^

It was a Double Potions day, Thursday. They were finally finished with the safety and proper preparation classes. This was the first day they were to do an actual potion.

They were working on a rather simple potion, today, the Blemish Blitzer. It was an acne cure someone earlier in the century had created. Myrtle would have loved to have that back in her first life.

To Professor Slughorn’s mystification, everyone was nervous and kept glancing with trepidation at Sweetie and her partner, Neville.

After a full year of always being paired up, the two had just continued the seating through habit. Professor Slughorn, new to Hogwarts this year, apparently had assumed they were dating and wanted to sit together. As long as it didn’t affect their work, he didn’t care.

For some reason, Professor Snape dropped by to have a few words with Slughorn. He took a long careful look across the class, sneering, of course, when he left.

Those closest to the pair were especially nervous, jumping and grabbing for their wands at the slightest noise or sudden movement from the two. While they knew they really had no way to prevent being affected — there were simply too many transmission methods to cover all the bases — many still cast bubble-head charms. They hoped they would be able to dodge anything thrown by an explosion.

Others cast spell shields against splashes. The later assumed that they were safe from explosion, and would have time to cast the bubble-head charm if they needed it. The shield-users didn’t understand how fast Brownian motion could move a tiny airborne particle from one side of a room to another. The shields were only effective from splashed material and didn’t give them time to switch to a bubble-head charm before the fumes from whatever had caused the explosion reached them.

The herd didn’t bother with any of that. They took the fatalistic approach that no matter what they did, they would be involved in the result. Plus, the fillies had years of experience as Cutie Mark Crusaders. They understood the futility of trying to anticipate all the possible outcomes of any single escapade. Whatever outcome they hadn’t anticipated would be the one that happened. It didn’t take a lot to convince Hermione and Ginny the futility to trying to prevent the inevitable.

Besides, at least with these accidents they weren’t lectured for hours and then grounded for a week or three.

Professor Slughorn, and his Equestrian Aide, Zecora, didn’t understand the students’ nervousness and seemed to decide their actions were a reaction to their first potion attempt in his class. He approved of the bubble-head charm, used by professionals to avoid fumes, and awarded the users a point at being so safety conscious without prompting, which puzzled the students. They weren’t being safety conscious. They were preparing as best they could for a known disaster that was approaching at full speed, like the Hogwarts Express returning to Hogwarts — Sweetie Belle was brewing a potion!

It was with a sense of palpable relief, which, again, puzzled their Professor and Zecora, when the class saw Sweetie and Neville carefully pour the contents of their cauldrons into vials. No explosions, no melted cauldrons, no mysterious, weirdly-coloured clouds of smoke, or oddly-smelling fumes. Or, rather, none that were unexpected.

That Professor Snape was waiting outside the classroom was unusual. That he demanded a memory from Sweetie Belle as she left had some of them rethinking their relief. What had they missed?

The more cautious ones remembered well some of the incidents from last year. They did not remove their bubble-head charm until they were far out of the dungeons, on their way to back to their dorms, and had scourgified their clothes several times. Fortunately, Potions was their last class of the day so they had plenty of time.

Those few were the lucky ones.

The witches were the first to discover something was wrong. After the double-period class, most headed for the toilets. Once there, they planned to check themselves in the mirrors before heading out into the corridors, again, as most people do. There was much lamenting as each girl saw how she looked a little . . . not quite right.

As one girl said, later in the Hospital wing as she waited for the hair-restoring potions to work, “That eyelash just would not stay straight. So, I plucked it. Then I saw that the other eye’s lashes didn’t balance it. So, I plucked one hair from there. Then I realized I should have taken another one instead.” She sighed despondently, “Now I don’t have any eyelashes . . . or eyebrows . . . and I look like I have a receding hairline!” She burst into tears.

The lack of almost half the Second-Year students was very noticeable at dinner. To quell the alarm, the Headmaster explained, “I’m sure you’ve noticed that a number of our Second Year Gryffindor and Slytherin students are absent. It appears our Miss Belle, of Gryffindor, has managed to brew a new potion.” *

There was a loud, “Oh!” as the students realized what that meant. Quite a few started laughing.

His eyes twinkled merrily. Those students were all in the Hospital Wing, and not all of them were witches. “If one looks in a mirror, the potion makes the viewer see that they're not perfectly groomed and coiffed, no matter their true state, and they feel compelled to correct that.” He hummed. “Some feel that the resulting fashion statements are best left unmentioned.”

He turned to the side slightly, “Professors Slughorn and Snape,” he turned back, “have concluded that the fumes settled on the students’ exposed skin while they were brewing the Blemish Blitzer potion.” He stroked his beard. “The effects should wear off tonight. In the meantime, for the remaining Slytherin and Gryffindor Second Years, I suggest that the prudent action would be to avoid mirrors for the next few hours.”

Several of the more astute students noticed that both Professor Snape and Slughorn seemed to be wearing glamours on their faces.

^-~-^

Castor stared, perplexed and amazed, at the two changelings sitting on the pillow-couch. The Ambassador stood beside him, relieved that the blame for the coming shite-storm wasn’t going to fall on his shoulders. They were in a waiting room in the United Kingdom Embassy to Equestria, in Canterlot.

The two changelings placidly stared back him. Although, with chitin faces, it was rather difficult to discern emotions, so he just assumed they were placid. What he knew of pony mannerisms would indicate they weren’t panicked or nervous. Except changelings were supposed to be masters of deception, weren’t they?

Castor was, according to Sir Patrick Jeremy Walker, KCB, — who was the Director General of Military Intelligence Five, the United Kingdom’s internal security service — the best available authority on ponies. As such, the theory went, he would have the most likely chance of settling the situation without ruining their relationship with the Princesses. “Sure. Right.” was Castor’s wry thought on the matter.

The two changelings had, according to what the Ambassador had told him, flown down in front of the Embassy as Gryphons They had landed in the area reserved for flying arrivals, beside the normal crowd of pony pedestrians. They then walked up to the Embassy doors, and asked the two human soldiers guarding it if this was the official Embassy of the United Kingdom to Equestria. Upon hearing it was, they asked permission to enter. Naturally, as this was an Embassy, they were told it was open to anyone who wanted to talk with a representative from the United Kingdom.

Clearly pleased at the answer, they had then walked inside and over to the receptionist’s desk. After greeting her very politely, they had then asked for asylum from those that would arrest and kill them. Upon being queried why, they both had dismissed their disguising illusions to reveal their true forms — and once again declared they wanted sanctuary and that they meant no harm.

Hence his presence here.

He moved over to the pillow-chair and sat. The Ambassador sat in a human chair brought in earlier for that purpose.

Castor took a breath and slowly let it out. This had the makings of the worst-possible snafu he could imagine, or the greatest intelligence coup in history. With his luck, it would be both, each at the most awkward of times.

“I am Captain Castor Searle. I’ve been tasked with resolving this situation.” He paused and waited.

The one on the left said, “I am Worker Infiltrator Three Hundred Seventy Thousand Four Hundred Fifty-one DB. You may call me Debby.”

“I am Worker Harvester Three Hundred Seventy Thousand Four Hundred Forty-three AB. You may call me Abby.”

Interesting names, Castor had to conclude as he nodded slowly. “Alright. You wish asylum in the United Kingdom, correct?” he said quietly.

The two changelings nodded.

“Please explain your circumstances, and why you think we should grant that.”

The changeling on the left, Debby, spoke first. “Decades ago, our Queen-Mother declared that the hive was slowly dying. While our infiltrators and harvesters were bringing back food, it wasn’t in sufficient quantities. Between losing lings to predators attacking the hive, disputes with other hives, and the ponies becoming more difficult to infiltrate, we were slowly shrinking in number. Increasing the take from the ponies would inevitably lead to our being discovered, and the ponies blockading us, wiping us out in a generation. Her advisors provided the proof.

“At that moment, the decline in numbers was slight, only a few every year, but it was clear that eventually, in a century or two, maybe three at the very most, we would go extinct.”

She sighed.

“Our Queen-Mother decided that the only solution was to secure a large pool of food that would not run out.

“We couldn’t seize a large town and hold it against the ponies, they outnumbered us by thousands to one, militarily. We could not win a war,” Abby said anxiously, glancing back and forth between her companion and Castor.

Debby continued. “Our Queen-Mother decided that a surprise attack on their leadership, Princess Celestia, had the best chance of success. While the pony army was much larger than our entire hive, it was also spread out over the entire country. If she took over Canterlot, which had a much smaller garrison than our army, and captured the Princess, she could secure control of the country. The ponies wouldn’t attack for fear of what would happen to Princess Celestia. Princess Celestia wouldn’t retaliate against the lings for fear of the harm we could do to her ponies, or the significant numbers of collateral pony deaths as she confronted our Queen-Mother, which were estimated would have been in the tens of thousands.”

“With a such a vast food source,” Abby said quickly, “the hive would be secure and could finally grow.

“She would keep the pony army to protect the ponies from their enemies and keep Equestria intact,” Debbi went on as if she hadn’t been interrupted. “Which would also keep us safe from our enemies and predators. For the average pony, nothing would change.” She wagged her head back and forth. “They would simply be changing one nobility for another, one Princess for a Queen.

“So, Our Queen-Mother began preparations.” Debby sighed. “Discovering Princess Food, was a miracle. She, alone, could keep the hive alive. It was to get her that Queen-Mother earnestly started planning to conquer Equestria, moving the attack date almost a century sooner.” She shook her head. “Simply capturing her would draw the attention and wrath of the other Princess. That would lead to standoff between the Hive and the Equestrian army — one we would lose.”

She sighed. “Then Princess Luna came back.” She shook her head wryly. “From one Princess to three in such a short time made our Queen-Mother desperate. If another alicorn arose, her plans would necessarily fail. The attack date was moved up.”

Abby hung her head sadly and half mumbled, “The rest you know.”

“Most of the hive died in the failed attempt,” Debby continued. “There were less than a thousand survivors scattered across the country, mostly at the outskirts of Equestria. They had to avoid notice and to secure food — many failed. Most of the survivors were not trained infiltrators, who were at the head of the attack and bore the brunt of the shield. Plus, it is much more difficult to hide among the population with that Changeling Spell the unicorns are using. All that remain are starving.

“There are no nymphs, no caretakers, no organization. Queen-Mother has a gathered a small number, a few hundred, to her in an attempt to make a new hive. The rest of us have been discarded. She does not have the resources for all of us to join her,” she said sadly. “Only the strongest and brightest were called to her side. Those not of immediate use . . ..”

Abby glared sadly out the window at the city beyond, her lip quivering. “The rest of us have been discarded. . .. We are starving. We have no hive.” She blinked rapidly for a moment. “We have nothing to lose. If we get asylum, at least we have a chance at living until next month.”

Debby, obviously the emotionally stronger one, looked at Castor hopefully. “We will Pinkie Promise to never work against the people or government of the United Kingdom.” She looked at the Ambassador. “We will gladly work with you in any capacity you ask, except to betray each other.”

“We could be a valuable resource in your intelligence operations,” she added slyly a moment later, looking back at Castor.

The Ambassador looked over at Castor. “Pinkie Promise?”

Castor was rather surprised the changelings were aware of that. He had learned about if from his association with the six Elements. He glanced at the Ambassador and nodded.

He leaned back and ruffled his wings in thought. That this could work for MI Five and Six was without question. Both would jump at the opportunities for the ultimate spies. The problem would be selling it to the ponies. There was no way they could sneak the changelings through the portal. It had to be all above board.

“You are emotivores, correct?”

They nodded. Abby’s eyes looked suspiciously damp.

“Explain how that works.”

They did.

“So,” he said, “Summarizing, you can absorb the emotional food you need for magic just by being close to ponies, plus you have to eat regular food to sustain your bodies, just as we and the ponies do?”

“Yes. But we need the emotional food or we will die as our magic fails. Just as we need normal food and water, or we will starve. We only captured ponies because of the need for emotional food for those lings who never left the hive.”

“The best sources for our food are weddings and foal nurseries — those have the ponies in the best of moods,” Debby said. “Unfortunately, pony wedding are usually small affairs, so we can’t get to many of those. Princess Food’s wedding was unusual in being so public and large. Only a very few of our infiltrators were able to maintain positions in hospitals.”

“Just by being there you can absorb the emotions?” he said cautiously.

“Yes, without anyone noticing or caring. It’s like standing in a rainstorm with your mouth open, drinking the rain. What you drink doesn’t impact the cloud in the slightest.”

That . . . was an interesting concept. It opened up many more possibilities. He leaned back and considered what Twilight had told him in view of this new development.

That the two changelings had managed so handily to sneak through all of Canterlot’s defences, in broad daylight, was testimony to their abilities. How they had evaded the Changeling detection spells was a study all by itself.

They presented quite the conundrum, however. Such a golden espionage opportunity to have agents who could get almost anywhere, impersonate almost any foe. Balanced by a dangerous ability to inadvertently, or not, cause massive destruction on people’s psyche. An ability they had no qualms about using. For them, nothing was off the table to accomplish their goals.

Controlling such amoral agents would be difficult. They would be like double- or triple-agents — you were never really sure of their loyalty, no matter what they said.

Finally, he leaned forward intently, ruffling his wings again. “Can you store this ‘food’? So, one of you could work at a church, during weddings, while the other is in the field?”

“Church?” they looked at each other and back to him, questioningly.

He smiled. “Churches are where we gather to pray to our God. They are also usually booked quite heavily in the spring and summer with weddings, sometimes as often as one every hour in a single building, with dozens or hundreds of attendees. Weddings during the rest of the year are not as frequent, but still daily.”

Churches, he thought, would be better than maternity wards in hospitals, if the manner in which the changelings fed did cause difficulties. New-born infants would be most susceptible to mental damage, considering their poorly developed brains. The adults at wedding would weather a single exposure with much less chance of anything causing permanent damage.

The two changelings’ jaws dropped and their eyes shot wide open in surprise. They looked at each other and then back at him. Debby started drooling, but caught herself and shut her mouth with a click.

“Yes, yes!” they said almost in chorus as they nodded. “Even if we only get a fraction of food from humans that we do from ponies that would work out very well!” They had both perked up considerably.

He shifted from hoof to hoof and narrowed his eyes in deep thought.

“I will run this by my superiors. As long as you swear not to hurt our citizens by your ‘foraging’, and promise to obey legitimate orders from your superiors, I think we have an accord.”

They nodded eagerly.

“The only sticking point will be getting the Equestrians to agree.”

“We will not betray our brothers and sisters.” Both were shaking their heads.

“We would rather die.”

He nodded slowly. He could understand that. “We can sell this to them as removing a problem from their country — permanently, without violence. Do you think you could somehow notify other changelings of this accord? Get them to come forward? Assuming we get permission, of course.”

They sat silent for a few moments. Then Debby said, “If we were provided an escort to certain areas so we could operate without interference from the locals, we might be able to gather some. We do still have a loose infiltrator network we can access.”

“It would take a few months,” slowly added the other.

“To ensure her ponies weren’t being preyed upon by rogue changelings, I think we could get the Princesses’ cooperation. If a male and female changeling were to agree to a thorough physical examination by Princess Twilight — nothing harmful — I’m sure we could get her cooperation in this.”

“But only if we get an accord, first,” firmly stated Debby, narrowing her eyes while Abby nodded rapidly.

Castor glanced at the Ambassador and raised an eyebrow. The ambassador gave a nod. “In the meantime,” he said, “while you wait to hear from our government, we have two rooms on the third floor you can stay in.”

“Do you have a space in the basement?” said Abby, looking a bit queasy. “We would prefer to be underground, if it’s all the same to you.”

The ambassador was a bit taken back at that. “We only have a few storerooms down there, but you’re welcome to use one if you want. Just give us a few hours to clean one out.” He paused a moment. “What about bedding?”

The two changelings rolled their eyes. “We are not spoiled as are the ponies,” Debby said derisively. “We have no need for such silliness. We don’t even need a room, a closet will do just fine.” Abby was nodding agreement.

“A closet?” asked the ambassador incredulously.

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” Debby said.

“I like sleeping on the ceiling,” Abby said. “A closet reminds me so much of my berth in the hive, only taller.” She looked wistful at the memory.

“Ceiling,” the ambassador said flatly.

Abby nodded distractedly while Debby laid a hoof on her side.

“Right!” Castor said decisively. “I’ll head off immediately. With any luck I’ll be back with a decision in a few days.” As he closed the door behind himself, he heard the ambassador asking the changelings if they needed anything to eat or drink.

^·_·^

Author's Note

* Thanks to Schismatism & Senko for Sweetie Belle’s Second Year Potions’ class debut.

Ch. 14. Behind the Scenes

Anne Bourchier sat in the window seat of her room and looked out over the teeming Saturday evening crowd in Diagon Alley. She once more set aside the owl-post she had received earlier that day.

The numbers were perfect.

The former Equestrian, known at various times as Starlight Glimmer, Bright Star, and Breezy Dancer, could easily afford a mansion in the countryside, but she much preferred it here. Almost everything she needed was within walking distance. The store owners and clerks were pleasant and polite, and usually quite helpful — except for a few.

The “muggle world” was much larger, more advanced, and far faster-paced. Just one history book had shown her how they had gone from a society almost on par with Equestria to one that put themselves on their moon — not once, but many times. And that was decades ago! Something that would probably take the ponies half-a-dozen centuries — if they ever tried! World-crossing instant communication was a fact for common citizens. They could cross continents in hours, not days or weeks. New inventions were hitting the market almost daily. It would take her at least a year to fathom all the facets of their fast-paced society. If she ever could.

The witchery world, on the other hoof, allowed her to use more of what she knew. It was sometimes behind the ponies, sometimes ahead. It also moved with a slower stride — a lot like what she was used to in Equestria. If something took a week to get to instead of a day, that was usually okay. It was completely unlike the muggle world where everything was timed to the minute — literally.

The biggest reason, though, was the great dichotomy between the two. The amount of good she could do in the witchery world was far greater. That was why she was here, after all. That, and escape that meddling purple menace on the other side of the portal.

To bring about change, to allow friendships to grow instead of sundering them over trivial matters — in short, for the benefit of everyone. Besides, she couldn’t make herself do . . . nothing . . . with her life, even though she had the financial wherewithal never to have to work. To do that would be to act like a “noble”, nothing more than parasites on society. She shuddered at the thought of being so useless when there was so much that could be done.

The muggle world, at least, made a pretence at being fair to the common person. Like Equestria, they had a royal family, a Queen instead of Princesses. On this side of the portal, however, the Queen was a mere figurehead, a façade with only the appearance of power. Anne shook her head — how odd that she wasn’t a Princess.

Anyway, she didn’t command armies, issue edicts, or otherwise interfere in the operations of good governance. All she could do was to offer an opinion. Her offices, and her family’s offices, were essentially just publicity departments for the government. Cheerleaders, if you will, nothing more. She did issue direct orders, occasionally, but usually only in matters that affected herself or her family.

Although, the Queen’s opinions did swing a massive amount of support from the populace, which she rarely used to influence government decisions or direction. Anything that was too outré could lead to a change of who was Queen. Or King. She had only to look at Edward VIII being forced to abdicate in 1936 for a prime example of the position’s inferiority to the government’s bureaucracy.

Anne sighed. If only that useless alicorn in Canterlot had subscribed to the same sort of governance. She could have easily handled officials with minor bribes, incentives, or magic. Without the Princesses interference, the bureaucracy might even have made worthwhile improvements for the common pony!

The real governing of this country was a weird blend of aristocracy and common politicians. Both, of course, were more interested in lining their own pockets at the expense of the ruled than actually doing anything. The laws they passed were mostly self-serving.

The House of Lords used inherited seats, and they greatly loved their positions. They were all useless, as competence and training had nothing to do with their position — much like the nobles in Canterlot. They were far too busy having parties and telling each other how important they were to do anything useful. The House of Commons, on the other hoof, were elected to their positions. Thus, their only concern was keeping their plush jobs by being continuously re-elected. Which meant most of them stuck to their political party’s publicly-stated goals, even if they personally disagreed. Party unity mattered far more than proper governance in both chambers.

But at least the House of Commons listened to the commoners. If they didn’t then the party was in danger of being abandoned or discarded.

Oh, sure, there were those who claimed that the parties were all alike. That it didn’t matter which party was in control, Conservative, Labour, or Liberal Democrats. That wasn’t true of course. Anyone who took a good look at what each party really did while in control could see the difference.

Oh, sure, there were mavericks who stood out for their moral decisions, who bucked the trivialities that consumed their compatriots. They, however, merely gave the governed the illusion that their “representatives” represented anything more than their own selfish desires.

The true power, however, was in the bureaucracy, the ones who decided how those laws would be implemented. Those people were the ones who had joined the lower levels of the government and slowly risen by patronage, blackmail, or, rarely, competence, to positions where their decisions had a real impact on those governed.

She had been surprised to note in her research that most of them, like ponies, truly cared about their jobs and tried to be honest in their dealings. It was only as they approached the top ranks that politics became more important than their alleged responsibilities. Of course, the ones who were on the very bottom few rungs only cared about their wages and not losing their jobs. Which meant they usually did their jobs to the best of their abilities. There was surprisingly little graft, fraud, embezzlement, and malfeasance. Oh, sure, there was some, but overall, it amounted to an acceptable less-than-five-percent of the funding.

She attributed that to the freedom the press had to criticize the government and its officials. The press, here, was more than willing to criticize and expose wrongdoing by the government and its officials. In Equestria, some of the things they printed would have landed them in the dungeons! She was rather impressed — and disgusted — at some of the stories they ran. That they weren’t shut down by the government was a continual surprise. But then again, maybe that was their strength?

Still, despite the obvious flaws, it was a great improvement as compared to the dictatorship that the two Princesses presided over. Especially because there weren’t those stupid “cutie-marks” to destroy friendships and drive people apart. Friends, close friends, wouldn’t find themselves driven apart by something so trivial as butt-mark.

So, getting involved with the non-magicals, the muggles, would take decades of hard work, and show little progress — making everything fair for everyone would be a long, hard slog. Unless she used her magic to smooth the way. Regrettably, however, such constant use would draw the attention of those that dealt in magic — the corrupt magical government.

The magical side of governance made her nauseous. It demonstrated that the sisters, while vile in their condescending attitudes towards the common ponies, could be a lot worse than they were.

The witches’ Wizengamot was comprised only of family privilege; competence and skill didn’t matter. You had to have the “right” families, or the patronage of the “right” families, to gain anything in either placement and promotions. It wasn’t unusual for a recently graduated pure-blood Hogwarts student, with no skills, to be put in charge over a group of half-bloods with decades more experience. The right “family”, of course, depended on who was in power at the moment.

What was really sad was that magical prowess had nothing to do with how “pure” a witch’s blood was. If magical prowess was truly linked to one’s purity of magical ancestors, then the very concept of squibs would be non-existent. It would also be impossible for two half-bloods to become the most powerful wizards known in the last century — Tom Riddle and Albus Dumbledore. By the witches’ own logic, only a pure-blood should be able to claim that post.

But half-bloods and muggle-borns were restricted to the lowest levels, the menial jobs without job security, doing the things that all the pure-bloods felt were below their station and dignity. The pure-bloods took shameless advantage of those under their station, believing it their “right.”

For most Ministry pure-bloods, jobs in the Ministry were there so they had something to do to get them out of their manors during the day. Governing the people wasn’t even on their horizon. The people were there for them to toy with for their amusement.

Ministry laws were passed and suborned based on blackmail, bribery, and behind-the-scenes threats and violence. Fraud and malfeasance were not only rampant, but in most positions, they were expected! The Ministry Justice system was a joke — it mattered more who your parents were than whether you had broken any laws. If you had enough money, you could commit any crime without fear of retribution — as long as you didn’t flaunt your privilege and stayed out of the public eye while doing it.

The most important dictum of the Ministry was, don’t get caught!

Which wasn’t that hard to do, truthfully. The Ministry didn’t outright own the largest newsparchment, the Daily Prophet, but they controlled everything that appeared in print. If the Ministry didn’t like a story, the odds of it breaking were close to nil. It took real bad scandal to make it in the paper — or someone with a grudge and lots of bits to spend in bribes to the editor-in-chief or owner. But even that wasn’t too severe a difficulty. If someone got caught in a scandal, they were transferred to another department at a lower position — their wages, of course, remained undiminished. After a year or so for the scandal to fade, or to be replaced by another, they were soon promoted to a position equivalent to their old position. Getting caught was, in most cases, considered a nuisance. Not a real problem, as far as they were concerned. Their punishment for being caught was the temporary loss of prestige and power. It might sting their pride, but . . . that was all.

The civilian sector was almost as bad. Pure-bloods owned most of the businesses, controlling the flow of capital to keep themselves rich by paying the lowest wages they could to the half-bloods and muggle-borns. It handily kept the “less important” at the bottom of the economic scale.

Starting a new business required borrowing money from a pure-blood patron, who took a major chunk of the ownership in exchange. Thus, even a successful half-blood or muggle-born business owner struggled to make ends meet as his patron insisted on huge payments to meet his “loan” requirements. His pure-blood partner would let the businesswizard keep only enough income to maintain the pretence that he was in control. Eventually, the pure-blood would engineer a crisis, and force the entrepreneur out. Then he would hire workers at a lower wage to run the business in his stead.

Not all businesses succeeded, which was how they justified wanting to own so much of the new business in the first place. The patron would claim he had the knowledge in finance to keep the entrepreneur from making fatal mistakes. Then the patron would give bad advice with the intent of taking over the successful business.

The half-blood and muggle-born entrepreneurs were simply contracted serfs to the pure-bloods. Workers who would devote large amounts of their own capital and labour to prove a business was worth taking over by the pure-bloods. There was a reason why only pure-blood-owned businesses lined the main street of Diagon Alley.

The carts and stalls that dotted the street were mostly run by half-bloods; temporary businesses that could only exist in the cracks left by the pure-bloods. Anything that gained enough attention was suddenly available in one of the established businesses. Then the half-blood stall or cart vanished into oblivion.

Borrowing from the goblins was just as bad. Except falling behind in your payments to them meant that you usually ended up working in one of their mines until you died instead of merely being destitute.

She had considered explaining to the goblins how short-sighted that was. If they were a bit more generous in their terms, she knew, they could end up owning most of the businesses in the witchery world in a century or three. That would make them far more than the paltry amounts they currently collected from failed businesses. She quickly had concluded that that would be trading one unsavoury situation for another.

The unfairness of the situation made her stomach hurt. She had thought cutie marks were evil in dividing ponies; these pure-bloods didn’t even have that as an excuse!

All witches and wizards had magic! Who their parents were was unimportant. Having wealthy parents might give one a head-start, but it was only skill that truly mattered.

She couldn’t stand aside and watch. She had had to get involved.

The only conclusion left was to seize control of the businesses from the pure-bloods and put them entirely in the hands of the workers. Or, at least, ensure that each business was owned and operated by a half-blood or muggle-born who was sympathetic to the workers.

To that end, she had carefully researched all the businesses in the Alley. Or, at least, the businesses that weren’t skirting too close to the edge of the law and into unsavoury items or practices. The Daily Prophet, and Sirius Black, had been a gold mine of leads for her to pursue. Cross-referencing those with her “neighbourly” chats with the store clerks and proprietors, had allowed her to identify the unsavoury businesses. Most were run by those who styled themselves as former Death Eaters, or supporters of the same.

She had also discovered, down Knockturn Alley, that there was quite a supply of disgruntled Muggle-borns and half-bloods who felt cheated out of a better life by the establishment. They were disadvantaged not by their skill or knowledge, but by their birth parents! It would be a fertile ground for her to explore and exploit, later.

After careful consideration, and reading the stories in a decade of Daily Prophet back issues, she quickly had concluded that controlling the flow of information was of utmost importance. She didn’t want any word of what she was up to becoming common knowledge among the “aristocracy.” It would also make it easier to “out” any of the pure-bloods by revealing their scandals to a wide audience and temporarily removing them from play.

As she had expected, the Daily Prophet had several part-owners — all former Death Eaters or their supporters.

The Death Eaters were her first priority. Not only were they despicable creatures, they also were guilty of the worst crimes imaginable. And almost all of them were pure-bloods. Here, when accused of being Death Eaters, they had used their money, power, privilege, or a combination of the three, to escape not only punishment for their activities in the Blood War twelve years previous, but avoided even receiving trials where the truth might have been discovered. In Equestria, the Seeds of Truth would have seen them in Tartarus — pity she hadn’t thought to bring any with her.

She needed to keep the pure-bloods out of her way. Hence, her desire for control of the Daily Prophet.

Sirius had surprised her. She had asked for his help in arranging a deal where she could purchase part of the paper from one of the minor owners. She thought the Black family reputation might be of assistance.

She had first raised the subject at one of their weekly luncheons in the Three Broomsticks — it had a much nicer ambiance than the Leaky Cauldron.

^-_-^

“Now that Grimmauld Place has been cleaned and refurbished,” she said as she placed her utensils on her plate, “For the last few weeks I’ve been looking around for something to invest my family’s money.” It was actually her money, but he didn’t need to know how much the goblins had paid for her Equestrian gems.

“You’re not simply going to live off the interest?” he said raising an eyebrow in what he thought was a rakish manner. He had been rather surprised to discover that she hadn’t been as . . . poor . . . as he had first thought when he had noticed her searching the Daily Prophet for a job. That she had been willing to work instead of loaf, as so many pure-bloods did, had impressed him mightily.

She shrugged gracefully. “It isn’t as . . . much as I would like to have as a cushion.”

“What were you thinking?” His gaze slid down to her chest, as it frequently did during their “dates” as he liked to call them. “A clothing line, perhaps? You have the eye for colours and detail, I noticed, when we were refurbishing my . . . home.”

She shook her head. “No, I was wondering if there are any shares in the Daily Prophet on the market?”

He leaned back, surprised.

“It has a steady income, and being a part-owner might keep some of their more salacious articles at bay should a reporter take notice of me.” She paused. “I dislike publicity and would prefer to remain out of it.” The articles that had already appeared about her “friendship” with the eligible bachelor Black had been nauseating.

That got her a nod as he acknowledged her point. He was quiet for a few minutes. “I might have some shares, now that I think about it. Let me check my father’s records — Merlin rot his soul. If I do, maybe we can come to a fair . . . trade.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

She just stared back at him blankly. His flirting was a constant. So was her ignoring said flirting. In a way, it was fun feigning not understanding. Pretending not to understand a flirt drove them to distraction. It deflated his attempts, and ego, without offending him. And, as they said here, Merlin knew, his ego needed deflating.

He sighed. “After I check the Black portfolio, I’ll put out feelers for anyone who might have stock they’d be willing to unload.”

“That sounds eminently reasonable,” she said. After sipping her tea, she continued, “Do you really think I could manage a clothing store?” It was something she had never considered.

If she made it exclusive enough, she could influence the witches without them even noticing.

^-_-^

Their next date, the following week, had been a bit different.

Sirius was waiting when she arrived, almost vibrating with excitement. “You’re gonna love this!” he proclaimed before she even had a chance to sit down. “Thomas Avery, Senior, a Voldemort supporter, owned part of the Daily Prophet, fourteen percent.” His eyes glistened with glee. “Get this, he borrowed the money from Orion Black, my father, to buy the stock back when I was a teenager, fifteen years ago.” He was bouncing up and down in his chair.

“The original loan had a balloon payment schedule — low payments at first, then much larger, later, because Avery didn’t have much money at the time. He firmly believed his situation would improve and he’d be able to make the future payments.

“My bastard of a father died in 1979 — remember me telling you? — leaving only my mother and me.” He made a face as if he eaten something foul.

“While I was in Majorca, Thomas also died, and his son Thomas Avery, Junior, a former Death Eater, took over the payments. Mother, in the meantime, had more or less gone mad, and Pollux, the Head of the Black family, had confined her to the house at Grimmauld Place.”

The waitress arrived at that point, so they gave their orders.

“Because of that, Thomas, Junior, thought she wouldn’t miss the payments,” Sirius continued in a conspiratorial tone, “and he thought he had a better use for the galleons. So, he quit making the payments. With me too busy enjoying the sun and festive atmosphere in Majorca, he felt safe in never getting caught.” He made a face and shook his head wryly. “And he did get away with it. I never even dreamed that the family portfolio might have loans out to Death Eaters, or any of Voldemort’s supporters.” He sighed, and shook his head wryly.

“He probably thought the next inheritor was Draco Malfoy, whose father is also a former Death Eater. Avery probably thought Malfoy wouldn’t mind letting the payments slide in exchange for loyalty in politics. After all, the rest of the Black Portfolio would make Malfoy fabulously wealthy.”

Sirius rubbed his hands together excitedly, just in time for the waitress to float the luncheon goblets and plates into place. “So, I contacted the family solicitor and had him call the loan due immediately. My father, while a right bastard, was no slouch on finances. Which meant the contract had massive penalties on the missed payments, combined with the ruinous interest owed on each missed payment.” He grinned savagely. “That made the sum such a large amount that even Avery’s ‘friend,’ Malfoy, refused to loan him the sum that my solicitor demanded.” Sirius sighed happily. “I didn’t quite manage to beggar Avery, he does have a Ministry job, after all. But now he and his family live in much smaller accommodations.” He gleefully declared. “I got his mansion and his investments. He has next to nothing and is living day-to-day on his income.”

For once, the wizard didn’t spend most of the luncheon flirting. He was too busy chortling in glee over his financial destruction of a hated foe.

As dessert was being served, he said, “Oh, yes, before I forget . . ..” he reached into his pocket and withdrew a small envelope. With a tap from his wand, it became a full-sized envelope-portfolio. “Here’s the stock certificate and supporting paperwork, you now own fourteen percent of the Daily Prophet.” He ginned as she took the portfolio, pleased and surprised.

“How much do I owe you?” she said.

“Nothing,” he replied happily. “I made more than enough profit off of Avery to make this a gift. The family solicitor took care of filing everything.”

He paused a second, then asked, “Know anyone who wants a mansion? Or a French château on the Riviera?

She shook her head.

^-_-^

He had another set of stock certificates for her the following week. Those he sold to her for less than a quarter of their true value.

“I decided to look a bit further into the Black family finances. My cousin, Bellatrix — a better example of an insane witch I’ve never seen — married Rodolphus Lestrange. They’re in Azkaban, both convicted and unrepentant Death Eaters.”

He grinned maliciously, and rubbed his hands together, again, and laughed, doing his best imitation of an evil mastermind — he did shockingly well, she thought. Based on the expressions of some of the closer patrons in the pub, they thought so, too.

“Well,” he continued, “it seems the marriage contract specifies that they had to have at least one child in the ten years after their marriage in 1975.”

She stared at him incredulously. “Marriage contract?” she said disbelievingly.

He gave her a puzzled look. “Well, of course. All the old families use them. They lay out the expectations of the families. You know, what properties will be transferred, if a dowry or groom’s endowment is involved, and what the inheritances will be for the children, financial considerations like that.” He paused and frowned heavily, thinking. “I think Lily said the muggle equivalent are prenuptial agreements. Anyway,” he waived the topic aside, “There was a condition that both families expected children, so a clause was put in at the insistence of the Lestranges — they wanted a way to annul the marriage in case she proved barren.

“Grandfather, a cantankerous bastard if there ever was one, insisted on adding a clause that if Rodolphus failed to fulfil his familial obligations, that the Black family had a similar ability to annul the marriage.” He laughed, almost barking, and again drawing a bit of attention from the others in the tavern.

“They never counted on being in Azkaban and unable to fulfil the terms of the contract. So, I annulled the marriage because he hasn’t slept with her in ten years to give her a chance to conceive, well beyond the ten-year deadline, and demanded the dowry be returned in its entirety. Unfortunately, the goblins had sealed the Lestrange vaults, so I demanded their business investments, of which they had several, with a registered lean should any of them get out. One . . . was fifteen-percent of the Daily Prophet.”

He sighed happily. “I’m selling you those stocks at a fraction of their worth as thanks for pointing out how much fun I can have bankrupting former Death Eaters.” He grinned flirtatiously at her.

^-_-^

His next success, several weeks later, was the Carrow family. The family was reluctant to sell their nine-percent of the Daily Prophet to him, at a discount, but they did.

It seemed, that two relatives, Amycus and Alecto Carrow, had been accused of being Death Eaters back in 1981. As a result, the family had paid out huge amounts of galleons to free them from their Azkaban incarceration — actually bribes, Sirius insisted. Then they had to borrow more galleons to pay the associated fines — which his father had been more than happy to lend them. The hefty debt-payments since then kept them living close to the financial edge for the last decade.

Debts which he was now calling to be paid in full.

The loss of income from the Daily Prophet shares was offset by no longer having to pay back the loan they had been forced to take out from the Black family. The family actually ended up in better financial shape, once they moved out of their spacious mansion, that now belonged to Sirius, into something more appropriate for their income.

They wouldn’t be throwing any more extravagant balls, that was sure. There wasn’t room enough in their new home.

She knew Sirius had managed to cripple the finances of dozens of families — his grandfather, father, and uncle had been rather prolific in their support of anyone who was “friends” with the Voldemort. All of whom liked to live in expensive manors, or be business owners, regardless of their real income.

The Black fortune was benefitting rather handsomely from the new Head of the family. Rather ironic, considering his diametrically opposed political stance compared to his forefathers and most siblings.

Then Sirius had taken off for Equestria for the summer vacation — no, they said hols, here — leaving her without a source of information on his solicitors’ progress. Fortunately, she was able to track down Merula Perkins, née Snyde, who was relieved to sell off her portion of the newsparchment, eight-percent, to settle her debts leftover from her parent’s incarceration as Death Eaters. Her husband, not a former Death Eater, also appreciated the funds that were available, now that they weren’t being sucked up servicing the debts.

The goblins, for a “small fee”, were able to locate two more willing sellers over the summer. One, a month ago, had held three-percent of the Daily Prophet. The other, as her recent owl-post advised her, had had two-percent.

Her total stock holdings in the Daily Prophet were fifty-one percent. She smugly smiled, and took another sip of her tea.

The magic number for a capitalist.

Sirius would be so surprised at their next luncheon, as soon as he settled in after returning from Equestria now that school had started.

Tomorrow, she intended to visit the editor-in-chief and lay down a few guidelines on what she expected from her investment. A few of her special spells might be necessary to ensure compliance, but that was okay. It wasn’t like she had never used them before. And in this world, they weren’t specifically illegal.

That didn’t count the wonderful blackmail material Sirius had managed to find in his files. Pollux, until he had passed-on, had been quite diligent in keeping most of that sort of information up-to-date.

Sirius had been more than willing to share the “dirt” on the people he hated.

The Ministry would no longer have free rein over the press.

Nor would the Ministry have free rein over the populace.

The information might be a few years old, but with a few updates from the “researchers” she had hired from Knockturn Alley, the Wizengamot would think three times before daring to confront her.

She had already hired the goblins to install a few “protections” on the building housing the newsparchment. Those would prevent anyone from interfering with what she printed with anything more than a verbal or innocuous owl complaint.

Then she would start shining the bright light of attention on the Ministry, and watch the cockroaches run.

^-_-^

Ch. 15. Unexpected Negotiations

The temptation had been too great for the pegasi. After the rainstorm on another group of bigots, Harry saw the inevitable next rule posted.

15) No bringing or creating weather inside the castle, without a Professor’s permission. Don’t ask Hagrid for permission.

^·_·^

Three days after meeting with the two changelings in Equestria, James Wootton, M.I. 5’s Director General’s secretary, waved Castor into Sir Patrick Jeremy Walker’s office.

“Captain Searle, reporting as ordered, sir!” He gave the seated man a crisp salute and clicked his heels.

The man gave him a sour look, “Oh, knock it off, Castor.”

Castor grinned and sat in the chair to one side of the director’s desk.

Patrick leaned forward and steepled his hands on his desk. “The Prime Minister, and Queen, have considered this matter thoroughly. Given the changelings abilities at mimicry, they would give us an incalculable advantage in the world against our enemies. And that doesn’t even touch how useful one of them would be against home-grown terrorist cells, or even just criminal gangs. The problem is, of course, how do we secure their loyalty? Simply giving them sanctuary isn’t enough — the other nations would fight for the privilege if they heard about it. We can’t judge them based on human needs, we haven’t a clue what they want. Idealism against our enemies won’t work as they aren’t English. Or even human!

“From what little we know, they aren’t covetous of material things, so money and other items won’t work. The Prime Minister wants to give the changelings sanctuary, but only if we can guarantee they won’t simply disappear into the population or defect to another country.”

He pursed his lips. “There is a . . . method . . . our Military Special Technology experts know . . . that will compel people to keep their word in an oath. It should work with the changelings.” He sighed.

Castor understood that he meant a spell of some kind worked by a muggle-born wizard, a new-magical.

“The difficulty with that is coming up with wording that will leave the fewest loopholes. Their suggestion never to work against the people or government of the United Kingdom is a good start. Your suggestion that they obey any lawful orders is also well-taken. In exchange, we can promise to provide for them and not to abuse their trust in us.

“Unfortunately, we won’t know if the special technology works until it fails to work. Which could have catastrophic consequences.” He shook his head.

“Then there’s the possibility that there might be some sort of long-term problem with them . . . ‘feeding’ . . . on humans. While some of our opponents wouldn’t care about that, would even be happy to supply food, the Queen would be greatly disappointed in us if we allowed that.”

“Well, sir,” Castor said, “If it’s a one-time exposure, based on what the Equestrians have been able to glean, there shouldn’t be any ill-effects at all. I imagine rotating the . . . collector . . . between churches with frequent weddings would fit the bill. We could use the guise of an assistant reporter or wedding arranger. With literally hundreds of locations with multiple weddings per day, in a city the size of London, the odds of the same person being present during two weddings are vanishingly small.

“Or we could put her as a nurse in a hospital in the maternity wards with new mothers.” He shrugged. “Exposing the regular nurses once a month, and the new families only once, ever, we shouldn’t have any problems — especially with the twenty-some hospitals in London, alone.

“Or we could restrict this to military hospitals, that way we could have regular physical and mental check-ups on the families. If we did that, we might be able to detect any changes before it becomes a problem, and adjust things accordingly. The diasadvantage to that is that it might take decades to pick up on a difference from the control group.”

Patrick nodded. “That’s what the Prime Minister reasoned, too.” He sighed. “The biggest problem, as I have said, is securing the loyalty of the changelings.” He opened a folder on his desk and slid a paper to Castor. “Here’s what we’ve come up with for the oath. If they refuse, then we have to say no.” He frowned. “Of course, we won’t insist they take the oath until after the Equestrians allow them to pass through the portal.” He paused. “Assuming they do.” He stared intently at Castor. “Do you really think you can convince Princess Twilight to agree? And that she can convince the other Princesses?”

Castor nodded slowly, looking over the written oath. “If you add a line here that they forsake returning to Equestria unless forced or deliberately invited by one of the Princesses, I think so.”

^·_·^

Hermione’s birthday on September nineteenth was a success — and a total surprise to her. In a move somewhat reminiscent of Pinkie Pie, the twins had arranged an outrageous party in the Great Hall. It was the first party of the year, the Weasley twins declared, and they wanted to start off with a bang!

That it was on a Saturday and they didn’t have to wait for the end of classes made their preparations a bit more difficult. Harry and the others in the herd managed to keep the party-filly distracted during the day as the twins spent the afternoon setting up the Great Hall. Then they hid their efforts behind a few notice-me-nots until it was time for the unveiling.

It was easy to distract the filly, as all they had to do was keep her in the library until it was time for the evening meal. With all six of them together working and reading ahead on their assignments, she never thought for a moment that anything was amiss. That all five were so agreeable to her suggestion to spend the day inside studying did not raise the red flags it should have. “I should have known,” she said later, shaking her head.

She didn’t even get suspicious that the Great Hall was as crowded as it was for dinner — tonight, there were no late arrivals. Word had circulated earlier in the day that there was to be a party in the Great Hall put on by the twins, and nobody wanted to miss that! Even the Slytherins were unable to muster the will to resist the temptation — the twins’ parties had that good of a reputation.

Her expression when the twins started casting their finites when it was time for desserts, and banners with balloons and fireworks appeared, was priceless. The long and innuendo-laden birthday song that followed had her blushing almost beet red. That the Equestrians had joined in the singing at the third stanza and started dancing on the tables and in the aisles as music filled the room had left the witches and wizards stunned, at first. Then they had been dragged into the dancing and singing by the ponies, who wanted to share the joy.

When the song finally faded, everyone in the Great Hall, professors included, were winded and red-faced. That Harmony songs might become a steady fixture at Hogwarts was slowly dawning on those students who had participated in one, or more, last year.

A giant cake appeared on their table directly in front of her moments after the song ended. It was a rectangular monster that built up in steps to tower over the partiers.

She had to climb on the table to get high enough to blow out the candles on the top layer. Which, naturally, flared right back up as soon as she thought she had put them out. After the second try, she waved her wand and sent the lit thirteen candles chasing after the twins.

Elly sat at the Hufflepuff table beside her three “cousins.” The Hufflepuff table was beside the Gryffindor table, and her current seat as a Second Year placed her right across from the Cutie Mark Crusaders, who sat with their backs to the Great Hall wall. Naturally, she and her siblings sat with their backs to Harry’s herd as they didn’t dare draw the ponies’ attention. That her three cousins sat with her was not remarked upon because everyone knew they were related and she was doing her duty to family by sitting with them.

Although, based on how many ponies had come to Hogwarts this year, her three siblings might be better off closer to the middle of the rest of the firsties. She was starting to have second thoughts about not having one of them in Ravenclaw and the other in Slytherin. She would keep Earl close in the event he needed help — he was an unpredictable male, after all.

She was more than pleased at the feelings she was absorbing from the crowd. The party was as much a surprise to her as it was to most of the people in the Hall. She had missed the girl’s first party, last year, which had been more of an in-house thing, she guessed. Watching, listening, and feeling the reactions of the seven Second Year animagi had clued her in to what was about to happen. Listening closely as they bragged about what they had done told the actual mechanics of preventing the “party girl” from discovering it too early. Although it was odd to hear Harry keep referring to the human girls in his herd as fillies.

She happily applauded with others at the unveiling, cheered as the giant cake appeared, and laughed as the candles chased the twins around the Hall. She didn’t have to glance at her three lings to know they were surprised at just how raucous the witches and wizards were. Especially as the twins’ prank candies, cookies, and gums circulated, causing unusual and sudden, but brief, transformations.

The party lasted for several of hours before the professors started herding the students back to their dorms. As soon as Elly felt the professors’ moods become more serious, she immediately chivvied her three lings back to the dorm, to beat the rush. Once they were in their Dorm, she instructed the others to make jars and offload as much love-food as they could, then meet her back in the common room.

She knew the Gryffindors would merely continue the party in their dorm. A number of Hufflepuffs followed them as they headed for the “secret” entrance hole to Gryffindor Tower. Once inside, as she had expected, the raucous party continued. Some couples had already sought out comfortable places for kissing, snogging as they called it here, and for others to jockey for positions in petting the multitude of ponies.

For the new students from Equestria, being the centre of so much focused attention since Hogwarts had started was a giddy feeling. The petting and combing in the common rooms left most of them blissed out. That night was no different.

The lings would have an excellent opportunity to not only gorge themselves, but build a significant stockpile early in the year!

Plus, they could use the opportunity to spread the story of their “escape” from their destroyed village, and gain a bit more emotional support.

They had decided that that would be the best course of action regarding the three lings history. Their story was that their parents had built a safe-room under their home with strict instructions for the children to stay inside for a minimum of a week in the event of disaster.

The same disaster, they would claim, that had been sent Elly out into the wider world, and England.

Once they had snuck out of their underground bunker, it had taken them a year longer than Elly to make their way to England. They knew their great-grandparents had come from there, and that there might be family they could appeal to. Unfortunately, with three people, getting out of Papua New Guinea without alerting the magical, or the non-magical, authorities had been quite difficult. They had finally found a family friend who had been willing to help them by arranging plane tickets to England in exchange for the key to their family’s vault. It hadn’t had much in it, but what there was, was more than enough to get them out of the country and repay the friend handsomely for the risks he took.

On arrival, the goblins had put them in contact with their cousin, de Rippe. And the rest was obvious.

The three were “ickle Firsties,” now, as the witches and wizards at the school liked to call them. While they had access to everything Elly had learned already, they didn’t have the necessary experience with a wand to pull off being Second Year students. Knowing how to swing a sword doesn’t automatically make one a skilled swords-ling, after all. Muscle memory is as important as regular memory. As a result, trying to claim they had been well-tutored and could move into second-year with Elly would have probably failed spectacularly as they flubbed the wand movements. On the other hand, this put them in the middle of the mass of ponies that made up almost half of their class. The opportunities for stock-piling food more than made up for the boredom of the classroom lectures and reading.

Being in First Year, though, also meant they could help their classmates with assignments — they had access to the Elly’s hive-mind, after all — garnering friendship, and making it easier to blend in. Not to mention that being a year behind Elly would add a year to their food-gathering efforts. By then, their “romantic” restaurant should be able to take up the slack.

Perhaps one of them could get into the maternity ward at St. Mungo’s? That place would be a fountain of love. Or perhaps they should concentrate on their restaurant? It could be as worthwhile as the hospital. Especially if the restaurant offered a free babysitting service for parents with children under eleven.

They could collect the freely available emotion as the parents dropped off their children, enjoyed a “romantic” meal, and then picked their children up after. That would give them three opportunities instead of just the one with couples in a normal restaurant.

Elly had been startled at the number of ponies who had shown up at Hogwarts this year. She had hoped Harry and his herd-mates would return, but planned for the opposite. As long as the twins kept throwing parties, she had no doubts she would be well fed. That the four had returned simply made things easier for her. That the Princesses had committed so many ponies to learning wand magic indicated a sea-change was coming in Equestria, and made her doubly glad she wasn’t there.

Having so many ponies at Hogwarts would make the chore of gathering food so much simpler, given how freely the ponies emoted. It wouldn’t hurt to have an emergency stash that the lings could fall back on if something went wrong, however. The wizarding stasis spell would prevent the stored food from spoiling — not having such a spell on the other side of the portal had been one of the issues that had dragged down the hive.

Plus, having a class size twice as big as normal made it easier to hide. Three foreign students in a Hufflepuff class of ten would draw everyone’s attention. Any social mistakes they made would be noticed, and questions might be asked. But three in a class of twenty-two? No, the transformed ponies would be making so many mistakes that any the lings made would be ignored. Moreover, the House was delighted that they now had their own ponies to pet, and in a large enough number that arranging schedules wasn’t a chore. More opportunities at collecting.

One rather unusual occurrence was that the Weasley girl in Harry’s herd was showing signs of jealousy. That wasn’t odd, there was always a bit of jealousy in a herd. What made this different was her jealousy seemed to be aimed at the girl who had gained the crystal-night pony form! Whenever the girl came around in the Great Hall or elsewhere, either as a person or as a pony, Elly could feel that little spike of yellow bleeding through.

In the Gryffindor common room, even though the other girl was absent, Ginny was insisting that Harry spend an inordinate amount of time petting and cuddling with her.

Well before curfew time, the four lings were almost dizzy with what they had absorbed. Fortunately, everyone took the slightly dazed looks and not-so-steady walking as merely indications that the lings were sleepy. At the first intimation of that from one of the others, Elly had had Earl give a big yawn, and then the other three copied him. It made a few of the Gryffindors yawn, too, causing a bit of laughter. The four started back to their dorm.

A quick stop in the broom-closet where they had placed the empty jars took care of the problem, and filled all four jars nicely. With the jars safely hidden in their robes, the lings continued to their dorm, with none noticing their brief stop.

Yes, Elly decided, this year was off to a wonderful start.

The best part, however, was that literally nobody . . . nobody . . . suspected they were here and what they were doing. The ling-detection spells were simple precautions the ponies had convinced the humans to use. The minor alterations to their appearances didn’t trigger any of the spells. It seemed that while they could transform with their magic, using this new ability to just . . . rearrange things . . . wasn’t the same. The fact that the lings could hide in plain sight without using any of their special magic was ironic, given the panic the ponies were in over lings.

^-_-^

The Equestrian First Years hadn’t taken long to develop a strategy for learning as much as possible. When they weren’t in classes, they were in detentions. When they weren’t in detentions, they were exploring the castle, the lake, the forest, just about everywhere where they weren’t supposed to be exploring. Which usually garnered them detentions.

In the afternoons, they took turns working on their assignments so no pony fell behind.

What was interesting to Harry, however, was that the detentions, more often than not, were with Professors Flitwick, McGonagall, Sprout, and Slughorn. Rarely were the Equestrians getting detentions in History or D.A.D.A. Filch had discovered that having them “help” in his chores was a lesson in futility.

No matter whether it was an earth pony, a pegasus, or a unicorn, the pony just couldn’t resist using magic. It was all unconscious, but it was there. And the messes Filch needed to clean had to be done without casting magic. The problem was sort of like handing someone a piece of paper with words on it and telling them to look at the paper but not to read the words. They automatically read it before they realize that’s what they are doing.

Listening in to a few conversations, Harry discovered the new ponies’ reasoning about why the detentions weren’t considered “bad.” A Slytherin upper-year had apparently been trying to prank one of the new gullible Slytherin ponies — and it had backfired spectacularly. She had quickly spread the word that she had a way to get extra lessons! Harry had to face-palm as he realized that the ponies were under the mistaken impression that the detentions were extra lessons, not punishments!

They thought it weird that they had to misbehave to get the extra lessons, but then again, these were aliens. Who really knew how they thought?

Detentionees got more individual instruction, and better, or at least more complete, answers to their questions with the extra time they spent with a Professor or Prefect. Of course, that was only after the students had “helped” the Professors, or Professorial Aides, finish some of their chores. With the chores done early, the professors then had “free” time to devote to more instruction to the eager ponies.

Having nearly ten sets of hands at each detention meant any work was dealt with quickly and the ponies could concentrate on learning more. They could even help the Professors in grading the assignments for the other students, once the Professors explained what the assignments were supposed to teach.

Combined with book-walking, even if it was difficult to maintain for more than five minutes at a time for the Firsties, the ponies were rapidly outpacing the rest of their class in their understanding of what was being taught.

۸-_-۸

Debby read through the oath, looked at Castor a moment, then re-read the oath. She handed the paper to Abby. “We agree.”

Castor didn’t bother hiding his surprise. “That quickly?”

Debby waggled her head from side to side. “We see nothing too onerous in this oath. You provide us a safe place to live, we help you as necessary — that’s better than staying here.”

“It’s less than the Queen-Mother asked of us — she demanded our lives. And discards us when convenient,” Abby said bitterly.

“That you include your obligations to us in this oath speaks well of your intentions,” Debby said as she stared at him. “It will be interesting to see how magic will enforce this oath in your world. We will obey to the intent of the oath, rather than merely to the letter.”

He nodded his understanding. “I thank you for that.”

^·_·^

“Ambassador Seitz, it is good to see you,” Blueblood said, greeting his visitor at the door to his office. In deference to their equal status, he had changed into human form. It was also a subtle acknowledgement that while the United Kingdom was a noteworthy nation, at this point in time, the true power in the world was the United States of America.

Raymond Seitz was the U.S. Ambassador to United Kingdom. Like most people in Britain, and the US, he was a pale pink, what the humans all insisted in calling white. He was slight-built man, with white hair, formerly black, and a receding hairline that left him mostly bald. He combed his hair over to provide a light covering. His, gold wire-frame glasses didn’t hide his brown eyes.

“What brings you to my humble office?” he said guiding the man to a comfortable chair, and taking one opposite him, with a table to one side of their chairs. A tea set was already in place. “Would you like a cup?”

After serving the tea and placing the saucers with their cups on the table by their elbows, Blueblood waited inquisitively.

The man smiled and took an envelope out of coat pocket. “First, President Bush would like to invite Princesses Celestia, Luna, and Twilight to the White House next month.” He leaned over and handed the envelope to the other Ambassador. “Naturally, if that isn’t possible, then perhaps in the Spring?”

Blueblood took the envelope in his magic and floated it to his desk. “I’m not sure the Princesses could manage another visit on such short notice, but knowing my Aunts, they would love another vacation. I will have this in Princess Celestia’s hooves this afternoon.”

The American smiled again. “If you could let me know their response as soon as possible, that would be excellent. We could arrange a State Visit reception in as little as a week.”

Blueblood nodded. “You said, first?”

“Yes.” He took on a more sombre mien. “Second, we would like to invite you to open an Embassy in Washington, the District of Columbia, as well as ask if we can open an embassy in Canterlot.”

Blueblood looked down for a moment.

“While we do have plans to ask for an Embassy with your fine country, we hadn’t set any timetable to do so, as yet. At the moment, our hooves are full dealing with certain activities in the United Kingdom and the rest of the Commonwealth.” He paused. “I will bring this to the attention of my Aunts, perhaps it would be beneficial to move those plans forward to next spring.” He raised an eyebrow as he studied the other’s reaction.

“As for establishing an embassy in Canterlot, I’m afraid that we will have to put that off for a while.” He leaned forward in his chair and looked intently at the Ambassador. “Let me assure you, it’s not because we have reservations about your country, it’s that there are certain . . . issues with crossing the portal.”

Seitz looked at him questioningly.

“I’m not sure if you know this, but your universe exists at a certain energy state. That is, there is a fundamental level of energy in your universe that represents the absolute bottom. You cannot go below that level.”

He stopped, thinking. “My universe exists at a slightly higher energy level.” He paused again. “They are not that far apart, but the difference can be detected.”

The American nodded, although whether that was to encourage him to continue talking, or to signify he knew this information, Blueblood didn’t know.

“For us, the Equestrians, to be here is harmless. Our . . . extra . . . energy might slowly lower to match your local level, but it is inherently harmless to us. One way this appears is that here, we have two forms, human and pony. At home, we have only the one form. Our experts, and the United Kingdom’s, are struggling to understand this.”

He sighed. “The problem is, we don’t know how being in our universe will affect your people. Will our higher energy levels slowly build up in your bodies, then level off until you return home? Or will you be unable to adapt and the energy will build up enough to interfere with your ability to cope, and you die. Or, will being in our universe cause damage to you such that when you return, your body will be unable to adapt back to normal, and, again, you die.”

He stopped to see how the other ambassador was taking this. Not well, it appeared. It sounded like so much hot air, but he couldn’t explain the issue better without bringing up magic. And the Witchery Statute of Secrecy prevented that.

“We are working with the British government, and volunteers, to test how long people may stay in our universe. So far, we have had volunteers for a period of only a year, and we have been unable to detect any ill effects in them. Except for those volunteers, no British staff have remained in Equestria for longer than six months.”

Ambassador Seitz nodded in understanding, and frowned, thinking.

He wasn’t sure how much Seitz believed him, but it was what it was — until the witches went public.

It would be a decade, or several, in any event, before any non-magical was allowed to stay in Equestria for more than a year. It might even be a century as they waited for the first volunteers to die of old age to make sure the exposure hadn’t altered their lifespans.

“We would be willing to set up an Embassy with a rotating staff, keeping stays limited to six months, if you have no objections,” the Seitz suggested.

Blueblood nodded in turn. “I will convey that suggestion to the Princesses and get back to you.” It would take a bit of juggling to arrange things so that the Americans would assume the British coming through the portal and becoming ponies were actually ponies to begin with. And to prevent American Squibs or magicals from crossing. But it should be doable.

He was sure other nations would soon approach with similar requests. They might have to extend Canterlot a bit more around the mountain to create an “Embassy Row.”

Seitz stared at him for a few moments, sighed, then said, “I heard a rumour that you told a UN official that you have the capability to ‘glass’ a country.”

Ambassador Blueblood smiled gently. “You have the capability to use your nuclear missiles to glass any country in the world that you dislike.” He took a sip of his tea. “You have, in fact, used them to destroy two cities in another country in a war forty years ago. Since then, you have threatened to use them against your enemies should they attack you.

“Why would you think we wouldn’t have a similar capability?” He tilted his head questioningly. “Unlike humans, though, we are inherently peaceful and have no interest in expanding our territory, we have quite enough of our own that we haven’t explored. Nor are my Aunts interested in ruling over anyone other than their ponies. The Princesses find Equestria quite enough to rule, why would they want to add more? It makes no sense to us.” he continued. “Quite frankly, we haven’t an army big enough to take over a country — our Guard is more of a police force — so it is a moot point to bring up.

“We are fascinated, however, by the rich diversity of your cultures on this world. You have explored areas of endeavour that simply never occurred to us to pursue. Equestria is more of a monoculture, so the different viewpoints expressed in your science, art, writing, and movies, are absolutely enthralling to us.

He straightened. “That being said, we will defend ourselves if attacked. Our history has told us that the only way to respond to an attack is to eliminate the threat. Trying to stave off a war by placating the aggressor has never worked.

“Recently, a nation attacked Canterlot, intent on capturing it, planning to rule once they captured the Princesses. They no longer exist except as scattered individuals, and their capital is in a wasteland.” He leaned back in his chair. “I doubt your government would have done anything different.”

Ambassador Seitz slowly nodded.

Blueblood smiled. “You can relay to President Bush and his military advisors that we haven’t the slightest interest in taking over any country, or this world. It’s simply too much work for too little gain. We will even sign a non-aggression pact, should you so desire.”

Their meeting ended on a positive note a bit later.

^-_-^

Author's Note

Rule 15 by Spiritus Arcane.

Sir Chaos Omega contributed the idea about the US trying to horn-in on the UK’s pony monopoly.

Ch. 16. Demented Funhouse?

Tom was beyond furious. Fortunately, he was in the Room of Lost and Hidden things, so he could blast the walls to his heart’s content, safe in the knowledge no one would ever know.

It had taken him a month to get to the Room.

He had been gobsmacked to discover on his first weekend at Hogwarts that the room he had discovered that no one else knew about when he was a student, was now being used by the upper-years for special classes, and as a recreation room on the weekends.

He had finally managed to find a time when it wasn’t in use and he could manage to escape his friends. That marvellous room packed with the debris of ages, stuffed with hidden treasures, had been thoroughly looted. It was now a nearly empty room, barely double the size of a classroom, and filled with stored furniture.

Thank Merlin, he had never put anything valuable in the room!

He had been intending to use it as a resource, to mine it, as it were, for items he could sell to secure some extra coin to facilitate his plans. It was what he had done the last time.

It was amazing what the Prefects would overlook for the right compensation. That he planned to obliviated them while they were distracted, and recover his money, was irrelevant if he didn’t have the galleons to show them in the first place.

And while his host came from a pure-blood family, they hadn’t provided their off-spring with more than the bare minimum he might need in school.

More of his plans ruined by those ponies!

^-_-^

At their next Double-potions class, Slughorn intercepted Sweetie Belle and directed her to a workstation separate from the others and at the back of the classroom. Once she was seated, he cast an air-purifying charm — like the bubble-head charm, but on an area instead of a person. Then he cast a shield-charm around her.

He smiled broadly. “There, that should keep you safe,” he said.

Sweetie Belle gave him a sour look. She didn’t like being singled-out like this. But, on the other hoof, considering the calamities inflicted on the class last year, and last week, perhaps she didn’t have a good reason to complain.

The rest of the herd gave her sympathetic looks, but they, like the rest of the class, were relieved that someone was finally taking precautions.

There were no explosions, melted cauldrons, or any other unusual accidents. There were potions that bubbled when they shouldn’t, and didn’t when they should. Others turned colours that were not mentioned in the instructions for this potion.

In short, it was what would be considered a normal class for any other group.

For this group of Slytherins and Gryffindors, it was a unique experience, eerily like their previous potion-brewing class, but not the same.

The only thing that might have been considered unusual was that Sweetie Belle’s potion was among the first finished. She bottled it in a vial, and carefully ensured that her station was safe to leave.

Smiles broke out and heads nodded happily as they saw her headed towards the Professor’s desk to hand it in. Everyone quietly congratulated themselves on having escaped another “Sweetie Belle incident.” A few of the more exuberant ones were exchanging high-fives or slaps on the backs.

Harry saw her swat at a fly as she passed him. Dean Thomas, a table away from away, was giving his thick, green, soupy mixture a worried, puzzled look. It was supposed to be blue and thin.

Harry heard a tiny ting as the insect hit the inside edge of Dean’s cauldron, followed by a just-as-tiny plop as it fell inside the potion.

Dean’s frown deepened. He had seen something fall inside his cauldron.

The potion turned silvery, Harry saw, and he heard a faint hiss.

Dean grabbed his wand in a panic to turn off the flame, but instead hit the cauldron with it. Abruptly, there was a tremendous WHOOSH! A cloud of orangish . . . something . . . exploded across the room.

Whatever had been in the cauldron was now blown throughout the class — no one was spared. Everyone was splashed with at least a little bit.

There was a complete, stunned silence. Even Slughorn just stood there, blinking. Then the swearing began — mostly under their breaths so they wouldn’t get in trouble. Except Apple Bloom.

“Oh, ponyfeathers!” she exclaimed loudly. She had just been about to decant her potion into a vial. Dean’s inadvertent dispersal of his cauldron’s contents had contaminated everyone else’s potion, except for the very few who had already sealed their vials.

That woke Slughorn out of his shock. “I don’t know what you said, young lady,” scolded the professor, “but judging from your tone, it’s something you shouldn’t have said, Two points!”

Harry could see Apple Bloom’s lips moving as she swore some more, but this time quietly and to herself.

Then the effects started to make themselves evident. It appeared rather mild, at first — their skin slowly became rougher, more rigid. Within five minutes their skins had transformed into scales — almost like fish, but appearing more textured and dragon-like.

Seamus, a daring and stupid student that day, by Harry’s reckoning, grabbed his silver knife and stabbed his arm. The scales didn’t scratch.

Scales that were quite tough, it seemed.

They were also rather slippery, as everyone discovered when they went to pick something up only to drop it almost immediately. They had to grip things tightly. Quite a few students shattered their vials before someone got smart and started casting the impervious on their tools before picking them up.

Apparently, their strength went up, too.

Still, at dinner time, there were a lot of dropped utensils and goblets. There were just as many that were mangled, twisted, or crushed before people got the hang of balancing their grip with not leaving fingerprints in the metal.

Professor Snape looked inordinately pleased at having missed out on this particular incident. He had also made it a point to acquire the memories of both Dean and Sweetie as they left the classroom.

The twins were obviously impressed and had managed to talk Dean into sharing his memory with them. Galleons may have changed hands.

It would be a race between the twins and Snape as to who would decipher it first.

Harry was betting on the twins; they didn’t have papers to grade and weren’t shy about skipping classes if need be. They were also more willing to experiment with spells and potions, a risk most adult wizards would abhor.

This time, the potion didn’t start to wear off until the next morning. Quantity of exposure didn’t have that great an effect.

^·_·^

“Your Queen would be willing to let changelings cross over?” Applejack said incredulously, pushing her Stetson back on her head.

“You did warn her how dangerous they are, right?” Rarity said as she shivered.

Rainbow Dash stared and shook her head in disbelief. “But, why?” she said plaintively.

Twilight was frowning, deep in thought after reading the proposed oath.

“As I said, Twilight,” Castor said confidently, “This has the possibility of being greatly helpful to Her Majesty’s government, and the United Kingdom. Plus, it would have a direct and immediate benefit to Equestria by decreasing the number of changelings your Guards have to worry about harming your citizens.”

“But they’re dangerous,” Fluttershy whispered, hiding behind Rainbow Dash.

Castor nodded. “Yes, they are,” he said agreeably. “However, based on what I’ve read, they are downright mediocre compared to some of the creatures in the wizarding world — such as lethifolds, dementors, and vampires.”

The mares all shuddered. They had all seen the Fantastic Creatures and Where to Find Them book. They were extremely pleased that none of those creatures existed in their world

“Yes, compared to . . . those . . . monsters,” Twilight said coming out of her thoughts with another full-body shiver, “I suppose changelings are rather pedestrian.”

He shrugged his wings, “They are certainly more intelligent and easier to bargain with in most cases. Besides, as long as a queen or proto-queen doesn’t go through the portal, there isn’t the opportunity for them to become a long-term problem even if they manage to find a loophole in the oath. And we can screen the changelings as they go through to prevent that occurrence.”

Twilight stared down at the Friendship Map Table, her brow furrowed, obviously back in deep thought. Finally, several minutes later, she looked back up. “Alright, I’ll back your plan to the Princesses.” She sighed. “It isn’t fair to condemn them to a slow death because their own queen has abandoned them and ponies are afraid of them,” she added softly. She glanced at the paper on the map table in front of her. “And this oath seems rather comprehensive and should protect you quite well.”

Then she grinned. “Plus, think of everything we’ll learn by having a cooperative pair of changelings to examine and question!”

^-~-^

Harry stopped just down the corridor from the Gryffindor entrance. He had noticed his shoelace was untied. He moved to the wall and lifted his foot to put it against that wall so he could re-tie the shoelace. When his foot went through the wall, instead, to say that he was startled would be an understatement. He tumbled, foot and face first into a void. There’s nothing like tumbling down a dark chute to get the old adrenalin going, as he discovered.

Afterwards, he insisted he did not scream like a little filly on helium, it was a very stallionly scream of sheer terror.

When he slid to a stop, it was in a small, dimly lit room with an opening at the opposite end.

Moments later, the rest of the herd showed up one at a time. Except Hermione. She had gone off to get a Professor, or at least a Prefect.

They hadn’t tumbled, they had jumped in. Their robes were in considerable disarray, mostly wrapped around their arms and heads, leaving everything else on rather obvious display. Fortunately, it was dark enough that Harry could pretend he hadn’t seen anything he wasn’t supposed to — he did see that the Equestrians were ignoring Rule 12b and had left their underwear in their trunks. So had Ginny, to his surprise.

He knew that Apple Bloom, Scootaloo, and Sweetie Belle, like all the Equestrian ponies-as-humans, were generously endowed for girls their age. They weren’t any match for the other, older, Equestrians at the school, but, still . . . not small by any stretch of the imagination. Plus, the fillies had never been shy about not wearing clothes around him, despite his protestations. However, seeing that Ginny was developing nicely was startling.

Still, he made sure to face the other way and examine the exit as they straightened their robes in the dimly-lit hall.

The exit passage was in the left corner of a blank wall. After he entered it, it was a couple of steps to the right to a jog back the other way with just as many steps to the left. The dim light of the hidden room behind him, he noticed, was completely blocked. Partially in front of him, on a step-high pedestal, was a suit of armour with barely enough room to slip around on its right.

He cautiously peeked out from behind the armour. He was in a corridor he had never seen, but which he had heard described. It was a broad, stone basement corridor, brightly lit, and the opposite wall was decorated with food-themed paintings. A painting of a bowl of fruit was straight across from him. The paintings and the long stack of barrels lining the wall to his side were a dead giveaway. This was the corridor to the Hufflepuff dorms, below and beside the Great Hall.

Thus, he was the first — unfortunately? fortunately? — to discover the slide that went from the seventh floor Gryffindor Tower corridor clear across the castle to Hufflepuff House. That it was only a very short distance to the Great Hall made it absolutely the best short-cut to meals that the Gryffindors could hope for. Why it was in the basement and not beside the Great Hall was a mystery — probably one they would never solve.

While they were looking around and exploring the corridor, Sally-Anne Perks came out of the Hufflepuff portal. She blinked on seeing them. “What’re you all doing here?”

After a brief explanation, they all decided to see if this was a one-time thing, or could be repeated. The trek back upstairs brought to Harry’s mind his experiences in his mum’s castle with the slides they had discovered there. He wondered if there was a hidden swimming pool, somewhere.

The entrance was just like one of those castle doors that pretended to be a wall in a wide alcove. The only marker for it was that it was beside a portrait of a woman writing at a desk. The herd also discovered that when anyone stepped into the alcove, anyone outside didn’t notice the other had disappeared unless they had been paying close attention.

It appeared to have the same kind of aversion spell that prevented muggles from noticing people disappearing, as was being used at platform Nine-and-three-quarters at King’s Cross Station. Except this one was aimed at magicals, not muggles.

It was a repeatable experience. All you had to do was jump into a wall! Using a mild sticking charm on your robes to hold them to your ankles kept them from flying up, which meant everyone was decent when they arrived in the basement. He just knew some of the Equestrians would “forget” the two charms when they were with a prospective boyfriend. He thought that there must have been a variation on the arresto momentum spell on this part of the slide, as they stopped in a ridiculously short amount of space once they reached the bottom of the slide.

Professor’s McGonagall and Flitwick showed up with Hermione as Ginny and Sally were waiting their turns. After a brief explanation, both professors took a jump.

Seeing the two professors, and Hermione, step into the Hufflepuff corridor surprised the rest of the herd. It was predictable, but still a surprise.

Their second trek upstairs made Harry wish there was a shortcut up the stairs, too. He thought about using his broom, but then he thought, “What if I met someone coming down as I was going up?”

Not a nice thought, at all. Perhaps there was a slide that went in the opposite direction? Just put a reverse-gravity spell on it like mum had used in Ponyville, and it would be perfect. But he hadn’t seen a reverse-gravity spell here. Or heard of one. So, probably not. He sighed. Too bad.

Once word spread of the new shortcut, Harry started to see various students, mainly First Years, walking around leaning against walls, and climbing in behind suits of armour and statues.

The twins did not seem surprised at the shortcut, just annoyed that it had been found and made so public. Harry had commiserated with them in the common room — there was no helping it not getting out once it was discovered. Considering that it might have been dangerous, what choice did the herd have but to tell the professors?

Then he mentioned that it was too bad there wasn’t a reverse-slide with a gravity spell. Or a slide that went to a pool, besides the one in the Room of Requirement. Swimming in a warm pool in February while the Room was being used for a class would be quite a treat! Heck, even now would be a treat — the loch’s water wasn’t exactly warm, even if it was September.

The twins gave each other startled glances, then smirked.

The more experienced students in the castle all laughed. They claimed all the hidden passages had been discovered and that the new one was just a fluke. That dissuaded a lot of students, but a few stubborn souls persisted.

^-~-^

The meeting, this time, was at Number Ten, Downing. Present were the usual British attendees: The Prime Minister, the Home and Foreign Secretaries, the Directors of Military Intelligence departments five and six, First Lieutenant Searle, and Ambassador Blueblood and his secretary.

The Ambassador opened the meeting. “First, I’m sure you will be relieved to hear that there haven’t been any further incursions through the portal in Little Whinging,” he said dryly. “We have modified two of the entrances to the portal area on our side to be null-magic areas. These will cancel any cast spells, illusions, or hiding magics such as were used in the previous incursions. They also detect the presence of magics such as the so-called undetectable expansion charm without cancelling them. There will be no way to sneak something or someone through in someone else’s pocket using methods like that.” He smiled.

“And, yes, we will be happy to provide you with that detection technology,” he said in response to their raised their eyebrows at hearing that. “No one will be able to sneak past any of your checkpoints without revealing if they are using the Undetectable Expansion technology or illusions.” He pulled a thick folder from his briefcase and slid it across the table.

“Second, the Princesses agree that the technology used on the . . . infinity . . . guns, and their existence, will be a British State Secret, and we will disclose its existence to no one. We will hold it an Equestrian State Secret on developing and manufacturing them for you, if you so desire.” He drew a paper out of the briefcase and slid it over to the Prime Minister. “As far as anyone who sees the Guard using such things on our side of the portal, the Guard have been instructed to reply, ‘state secret.’ Anyone asking higher will be told the same. We are leaving hints that we are simply using the undetectable expansion charm. Anyone persisting after that point will be arrested and interrogated. We will inform you immediately should that circumstance occur.”

He paused. “Third, the actual method for making that type of combination of Special Technology work in the rifles and pistols is under fidelius technology to keep it secret. That will prevent anyone from re-discovering how to integrate and use those . . . technologies . . . to manufacture weapons. It will leave them available for other uses, such as cars, lorries, planes, power plants, and so forth. The fidelius technology is set to prevent it from occurring to anyone to use the Special Technology in that particular manner to make a weapon, ever again. The Secret Keeper is Princess Celestia.”

“Fourth,” he reached again into his briefcase and took out a small metal box about the size of a deck of cards. “As earlier agreed, in exchange for one hundred each of modified Glock Seventeen pistols and es-a-eighty-a-two rifles, you give us permission to non-destructively copy all the out-of-copyright or government sponsored sound recordings and moving images stored in the British Library.” He placed it atop several sheets of paper and slid that over to the Prime Minister.

Castor knew that there were only about three hundred Special Technology Experts in the military — a fifty-fifty split between full wizards or witches and Squibs. Half of those were in support positions.

If things ever came to a shooting war, the weapons would be passed out to high-level guards in important facilities. A review of all their current treaties and pacts would have to be undertaken, and conditions imposed before these special weapons would be considered for practical use, in any situation.

Likewise, their weapons distribution would be strictly controlled — as-in almost non-existent. For emergency use only. They didn’t want to tip off anyone as to the existence of these things. Talk about destabilizing the world’s military situation . . . sheesh!

The pistols would probably be doled out to MI6 special agents — designated as Agents Double-Oh Seven-and-Three-quarters.

There had been some lobbying for Nine-and-three-quarters, but the proponents of that designation had lost out to bureaucracy. The 009 agents had an inferior skill-set compared to the 007 agents. The three-quarters designation implied a nearly identical, but slightly greater, skill-set

In the meantime, any personnel who might be equipped with the weapons in an emergency would undergo intensive training with the Special Weapons’ normal counterparts. They would have to maintain their Expert Sniper Status at all times, with regular testing.

“This box can only be opened by a Special Technology expert,” Blueblood continued. “Each weapon is inert until activated according to the instructions inside. Each weapon can only be operated by a Special Technology expert, and only after it has been ‘personalized’ to that Special Technology expert. They do not need maintenance or cleaning. Any attempt to examine the weapon beyond simple visual, or attempting to disassemble it or the magazines, will result in their melting and violent explosion. Should the user die, the weapon will have to be destroyed, it cannot be switched to someone new, for obvious security reasons. Tossing it into a smelter, expanded and with its slide locked open, will suffice.”

He patiently waited as the Prime Minister read the papers, passed them to the two Secretaries, and then slid the receipt back to the Ambassador.

“If you are interested,” he said in a tone of disinterest, “we have modified versions of the ammunition for those weapons that are Special Technology enhanced. While a typical Special Technology shield easily can stop our Special Technology ammunition, they do not last against repeated shots, especially if they are rapidly fired.

“No Special Technology shields we have experimented with can survive more than a few moments on being hit at a rate of sixteen Special Technology rounds a second. By the time the target realizes their shield is being overwhelmed, it’s gone and they are . . . not in a position to resist anymore.”

Castor’s pistol ammunition had been enhanced by a Special Technology Expert — primarily stunning hexes. A more limited number of rounds per magazine, seventeen, but capable of being used by anyone. The stunning ability of the rounds would be written off by witnesses as the target passing out from being hit. Most of the Special Technology soldiers carried similar. It was, after all, an obvious blend of Special Technology and non-magical weaponry.

Blueblood sighed. “Special Technology shielding and anti-summoning Special Technology must be added to the weapons when facing other Special Technology users, however, or the wielder is vulnerable to retaliation while exposed during firing. Or they could be ambushed. Both of those Special Technologies can be a small accessory that attaches onto the pistol or rifle. Disguising the unit as a silencer should work. Unfortunately, the shielding can only stop a limited number of rapid hits before it will be unable to recharge quickly enough to stop them. An especially powerful, single attack could also overwhelm the shield.”

He pursed his lips. “Neither weapon would be as versatile as a wand, but their high rate of fire would easily counterbalance any Special Technology defensive abilities your opponents might have or be hiding behind. Using both together would be an especially efficacious tactic. I suggest teaching your people to use the pistols in their off-hands would be the best approach.”

He paused. “It would give you almost equal footing with hostile Special Technology users, if things ever came to a confrontation, again.”

۸-_-۸

Two weeks later, Harry noticed the Weasley twins leaving the Great Hall and heading down stairs to the Hufflepuff corridor. On a whim, he decided to follow them. The herd, naturally, followed him. “There’s no reason for them to go downstairs right now,” he whispered as he waited at the top of the stairs for the two to leave the stairs, below them, for the corridor. “Maybe they found another shortcut.”

“You might be right,” muttered Hermione. “They weren’t as surprised at the new passage as I think they should have been.”

Putting silencing spells on their shoes and clothes, they darted down just in time to see the twins disappear partway down the corridor.

“That’s where the slide is,” Sweetie Belle said with a puzzled frown.

They hurried to the spot. It was the exit from the seventh-floor slide, which was confusing. Wasn’t that the down slide, only?

Harry carefully peeked behind the statue on its right side. Then he went into left-right passage behind it and peeked into the dimly-lit room at the end of the slide. There wasn’t anyone there.

He stepped back out and studied the armoured suit. “Is it my imagination,” he asked, “or is there more room on this side of the armoured suit than I remember?” He pointed to the statue’s left, opposite the exit from the slide.

“You might be right,” said Sweetie Belle.

“I think you’re right,” said Hermione at the same time.

Harry carefully stepped around that side of the armour. It had a similar right-left passage. There was another small room, barely as big as a broom-closet. The rest of the herd followed him, making it bit crowded, but not uncomfortably so. Hermione cast a quick lumos, and they spent several minutes pushing and running their hands on the walls looking for a hidden exit.

Scootaloo saw it first. “Hey, where’s the ceiling?” she said.

They looked up. There wasn’t a ceiling, just a black hole that seemed to narrow as it stretched high into the castle.

“Do you think they climbed into that?” said Ginny.

“Don’t see any hoofholds,” said Apple Bloom.

“Then how did they get up there? Fly?”

“They didn’t seem to be carrying brooms,” Harry said slowly.

“So, what did they do?” said Hermione, musing out loud, hands on her hips. “Just go . . . up?”

With a loud scream that diminished with distance, echoing eerily, Hermione shot up into the ceiling opening.

The others stared at each other, wide-eyed.

“Well,” said Apple Bloom, “it can’t be that dangerous or they wouldn’t’ve used it, right?”

They looked at each other.

Ginny quickly hopped over and grabbed Harry around the waist just before he said, “Up!” It was too late for him to stop her. Suddenly they were falling head-first into the hole underneath them. After one quick startled scream, which made his ears ring, Ginny was quiet. Harry, on the other hoof, had his wand up and glowing. They could see the sides of the tunnel flashing by, but it appeared there was a magic that kept them centred in it. The tunnel narrowed, but was more than large enough for the two of them. It probably could accommodate four or five students together, or perhaps three adults. One Hagrid . . . maybe.

They felt the tunnel twist to the side as it got a bit wider and the ceiling lower. Harry had just realized they were on their backs when they slid into another small room. Just like the other slide, they stopped in a ridiculously short amount of space. Most assuredly, it probably had an arresto momentum type spell on it, just like the other slide.

As soon as they stopped, they stood and cautiously walked on unsteady legs out of the tunnel into a small room. They immediately realized they had stepped out of a wall. There was nothing to indicate the room was anything but empty or that it led to or from anywhere. Hermione was standing in a corner, her wand in one hand and the other on her chest, catching her breath.

“Well,” she said, “That was . . . a surprise.”

Harry and Ginny nodded.

“Didn’t expect that to be voice activated,” Harry said.

“Makes sense, though,” Ginny replied.

They stood and waited for the others, which wasn’t long. As soon as they were all present, and had straightened their robes, Harry headed for the obvious exit. Like the room in the Hufflepuff corridor, this one had a zig-zag passage that left him looking into an empty corridor. He warily moved into the corridor and discovered he was around the corner from the hall to the Gryffindor entrance. When he looked back, there appeared to be a solid wall where he had exited. It was weird to watch the herd members suddenly appear, one by one. If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought that they had been just down the corridor and he only now noticed them.

Notably, looking around, there were no portraits with a view of where they were.

Pressing a hand against the wall that was a door revealed it to be one-way only — out.

This slide, they decided, to keep a secret, for a while. And try to remember to cast a notice-me-not before heading downstairs from the Great Hall.

And to keep a sharp eye on the Weasley twins to see if they knew of any other shortcuts. It would be nice to have one that went to the Astronomy tower. Having to go down to the ground floor and then back up to the top of that tower was a taxing trek, especially because Gryffindor was the on opposite side of the castle, and only a little bit shorter. Why the Astronomy tower didn’t have doors on each floor was a mystery.

۸-_-۸

Author's Note

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Ch. 17. Realizations and Negotiations

Author's Note

If Wishes Were Ponies . . . Book II

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Ch. 17. Realizations and Negotiations

“Excuse me,” Harry said hurrying to catch up with Parvati Patil. Parvati, Lavender Brown, and Lily Moon were headed for the Great Hall doors, having left the Gryffindor table after dinner.

The three fillies stopped and looked at him curiously.

“Parvati,” he said. “You have family back in India, right?”

She nodded. “My father, mother, and sister are the only members of my family in England, at the moment. Padma and I usually spend our summers at the ancestral home in India.”

Harry nodded. “Good.” He straightened up and his tone and posture became more formal. He took a deep breath. “Her Eternal Majesty, Princess Celestia, Mistress of the Invincible and Unconquered Sun, Bringer of the Day, Destroyer of Monsters, Bane of Evil, Guiding Hoof of the Realm, Monarch of Unicorns, Councillor of Earth Ponies, Commander of Pegasi, Matriarch of Night Ponies, and Co-ruler of Equestria and Their other Realms and Territories,” he said loudly. He had the attention of the entire Great Hall at this point. “Her Eternal Majesty, Princess Luna, Mistress of the Stars and Moon, Bringer of the Night, Guardian of Dreams and Destroyer of Nightmares, Bane of Evil, Defender and Grand General of the Realm, Matriarch of Night Ponies, Monarch of Unicorns, Councillor of Earth Ponies, Commander of the Pegasi, and Co-ruler of Equestria and Their other Realms and Territories; and Her Royal Highness, Twilight Sparkle, Princess of Friendship, Mistress of Magic, Bearer of the Element of Magic, Saviour of Equestria, Liberator of the Crystal Empire, Biggest Egghead Ever . . .,” his lips quirked as he suppressed his smile at that last one. Several in the hall broke into snickers. It still infuriated his mum that the Royal Sisters had made that last bit part of her official title. She still muttered about Trollestia whenever it came up. “. . . would like to inquire if your family would be willing to assist them in opening an Equestrian Embassy to the Indian Magical Government. The purpose of the Embassy would be primarily cultural, as the culture of India appears to be a rich and diverse one. The Princesses expect that the exchange will be interesting, profitable, and delightful, to all parties.”

He reached inside his right pocket — it was expanded — and pulled out a golden tube that was three fingers thick and as long as his forearm. It had the Equestrian seal, made from hundreds of tiny jewels, repeated around it so that at no time could you not see the seal and not know the tube’s origin. Larger gems decorated the ends, and were embedded throughout its length in geometric patterns.

“Should your family feel that this is a task better suited for another,” he continued in the same formal tone, “the Princesses request that your family pass this missive on to the most appropriate personage or authority.” He held out the tube to her in both his hands. “Your family, of course, will be generously compensated for their assistance in this matter.” He bowed, still holding the tube out to an astonished Parvati. “Please convey this message to your head of family, at your earliest convenience.”

The witch hesitantly took the tube, staring at him and his herd, who were also bowing — except Ron. Ron wasn’t in his herd, although he was with them.

The tube had the heavy feel of pure gold. The gems which decorated it were worth a king’s ransom, and the artistry of the inlaid seal and the other designs was breath-taking. The end-cap had something written in Hindi on one line, then “Bharatavarsha Confederation” on two lines, and “India” below that. All were written with tiny inlaid rubies.

Harry and the herd straightened. “The Princesses eagerly await your family’s response.” He paused a moment as she stared at the tube in wide-eyed wonder.

He grinned and relaxed. “The end with the emeralds unscrews, although it has a wax seal, too, right now. The message tube’s also indestructible, and becomes light-weight and shrinks when you tie it to a bird’s leg.”

Parvati looked back up at him. “I’ll, uh, send this out immediately,” she said.

He bowed briefly, again. “You don’t have to rush off, it’s not urgent or anything like that,” he said. “Mum said any time before the end of the year is fine. Oh! I almost forgot. The tube is a portkey for itself. So, when they’re ready to respond, put the answer in the tube, tap it with a wand, and say, ‘Return to the Equestrian Embassy’ and it’ll go. That’s in the letter inside, too.” He smiled again. “Thanks for your help.”

“Sure,” she said uncertainly, looking at her friends.

Then he added, “The Princesses also told me to mention that any witch, wizard, or squib can visit any Equestrian embassy and request asylum. Any. Equestrian. Embassy.” He stared at her intently until she nodded. He nodded and smiled back. “Thank you,” he said.

He turned and looked back out into the Great Hall. “Is Su Li still here?” he said quietly.

Apple Bloom, the tallest, went on tip-toes and looked at the Ravenclaw table. “Yep. I kin see her.”

The Indian witch, seeing him turn away, started back out the Great Hall doors. Her friends went with her, all chattering excitedly, and studying the message tube with oohs and ahhs.

The rest of the hall was also chattering excitedly.

Everyone had expected something all day. Harry’s Phoenix, at least they thought Philomena was Harry’s, had flamed into the Great Hall at breakfast and delivered a package to him. When nothing more momentous had occurred immediately after that, they had assumed something would happen later. This exceeded their expectations: a diplomatic mission that involved the Atlanteans reaching out of England! No doubt there would be a rush on the owlery this evening.

Harry nodded. “I think we should wait here instead of interrupting her dinner.”

The others nodded.

It wasn’t a long wait. Su Li had noticed that they were watching her. Lisa Turpin, Mandy Brocklehurst, Isobel MacDougal and Padma Patil all accompanied her, their curiosity clearly aroused.

As soon as Su Li stopped in front of him, Harry stiffened up, and delivered almost the same message. The only differences were, naturally, that he mentioned China’s long cultural history. The message tube had the first two lines in Chinese, and “China,” in English, as the third line on the cap.

By this time, the Headmaster had made his way to them, and stood nearby, quietly listening and observing.

Harry sighed after finishing his spiel with Su. The Headmaster should have waited, according to Blueblood, if it concerned him. If it didn’t, then coming to meet Harry was inappropriate. Unfortunately, the Headmaster’s curiosity had gotten the better of him.

Harry had planned to go to the Head Table anyway.

He turned to face Dumbledore. “Princess Twilight asked me to tell you that asking for the Ministry’s help in contacting the magical governments of India and China might imply that the English Ministry had some sort of influence over Equestria’s actions. She also said that asking for your assistance as the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards was considered.

“However, given your position as Headmaster of Hogwarts and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, that might give the same impression, anyway. Hence, the Princesses’ decision to use this approach. No slight or insult was intended towards your person or positions.” Harry bowed.

The Headmaster inclined his head. “No insult taken,” he murmured softly. “Please tell the Princesses that if there is anything in which I might be of assistance, to please contact me at their convenience. I would be happy to help.”

Harry nodded again.

The Headmaster nodded back and turned to head out of the Great Hall. No doubt he was headed to his office.

Harry sighed again.

“So,” he said, turning back to the herd and Ron, “Shall it be the library or the dorm?” He looked at his friends inquisitively.

“Library,” said Hermione, Sweetie Belle, and Neville, who had joined them.

“Dorm,” said Scootaloo, Apple Bloom, and Ginny.

Ron groaned. “Library,” he said dispiritedly.

Harry stared at Ron, stunned — as did everyone else.

“I gotta Transfigurations paper due tomorrow morning.”

Hermione stared at him, aghast. “That paper was assigned a week ago!” she said accusingly.

He shrugged.

She rolled her eyes, and started for the library. The rest followed.

^-~-^

Anne Bourchier slowly closed the book after re-reading it and stared out over Diagon Alley. It was an interesting read. She looked back at the cover and studied the two names written there: Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels. It reminded her tremendously of what that evil mare had stolen from her — which still made her grind her teeth. However, it concentrated on the concept of socialism as a natural result of the conflicts inherent in the capitalist system instead of the inherent conflicts of cutie magic as practiced by ponies.

She had discovered the topic during one of her excursions into Knockturn Alley, into one of the bars. She had been visiting each gathering place of workers, trying to determine their opinions of the current governing system.

None of them liked the Ministry. They all complained about the corruption, favouritism, cronyism, discrimination, and prejudice patently obvious in its everyday operation. A half-blood had jokingly said, “It’s time to overthrow the bourgeoisie . . . it’s time for a Communist revolution. The proletarians have nothing to lose but their chains!” A loud cheer had erupted from those closest, followed a moment later by louder laughter. Then more grumbling about how it would be an improvement, impossible though it was.

It had confused her at first, and she had pretended to be an ignorant half-blood, asking for more information. Which had led to this book, and another, Das Capital, and a few more besides. She had found the books in the convenient bookstore just outside the Leaky Cauldron.

His theories, while interesting, had only a small impact on magical beings. While the magicals did work on a mostly capitalist system, it was far more feudal in actual operation and governance. The seats on the Wizengamot were, for the most part, hereditary. Except for Department Heads and winners of the Order of Merlin, First Class, medal.

Old families, like the nobility Marx railed against, wanted to keep the status-quo. They would resist changing unfair laws and rules, simply because, “That’s the way we’ve always done it.” This also meant the laws were heavily biased in the favour of those same old families — the members were not about to pass a law that disadvantaged themselves or their families!

It reminded her quite a lot of how the Sisters ran Equestria.

Using her native pony magic had made it easy to establish close friendships with the secretaries who really ran the bureaucracy. After an accidental meeting at a store, they would tell their new best-mate everything they knew about the Ministry. They were more than happy to air their gripes about their jobs. With their input, it was foalishly easy to map out the politics and power-blocks. And determine who would make for a steadfast ally or opponent.

She found herself enjoying the challenge.

She would use her limited influence behind some of the efforts of the Princesses’ pawn, Dumbledore. Much as she hated the three Princesses, in this case, through Dumbledore, they were trying to correct injustices. It would be hypocritical of her to oppose them simply because she hated the way the Princesses treated the ponies, Equestria, and Equus in total, as their toys.

On the other hoof, the discrimination in Equestria was more of social standing than anything else — except for those hated cutie marks. Not like here where personal pedigree mattered the most. Muggle-borns and half-bloods were frozen out of many positions simply because of their birth. Their abilities, intelligence, and knowledge had no impact on their acceptance or advancement.

The discrimination against those who were not a witch or wizard was even worse. Entire classes of beings were excluded, and treated as no more than animals! Their treatment of werewolves was simply criminal, for example.

However, that last would soon be a non-issue, given the discovery that visiting Equestria during full-moons was a cure.

Although the witches and wizards preferred to call it Atlantis, for some bizarre reason. The Daily Prophet was in the habit of starting every story about them with, “The Atlanteans, who prefer to be called Equestrians, . . ..”

The concentration of wealth in the hands of so few in magical England was an accurate reflection of the situation in Canterlot. While the ponies and magicals were not like the destitute peasants mentioned in Marx and Engels’ book, they were disadvantaged and kept downtrodden by those that thought they were superior.

The ponies living in the countryside were much more egalitarian, in that respect. In this witchery world, hiding as they were, that wasn’t a possibility.

Marx’s theories on the equal division of labour and profit were fundamentally flawed, unfortunately, she could see. Just because he and Engles loved the work they did, didn’t mean every pony did. If given a chance, many ponies would do the minimum amount of work possible, regardless of their own potential to do more.

She had seen that in her town, Equality. Some ponies worked very hard, others in the same field of endeavour, as little as possible. She hadn’t cared. If they were happy with the earnings they made, she wasn’t about to criticize their work ethic. It was none of her business.

Marx’s socialism, however, was a different beast. It was unfair to take the total of the result of the people, combine it together, and simply divide it equally. The hard worker would become disillusioned at being punished for her consistent labour by receiving less, while the slacker would be rewarded for doing little. The result of such an approach would be poor yields and shoddy products. No pony would be happy with the outcomes.

One book, The History of the Communist Soviet Union, had explained how Stalin, in post-Imperial Russia, had originally imposed true communism on the farmers in the country. He had established large collective farms where hundreds worked together to grow crops. Six months later, he had had to abandon that plan in the face of open revolt by the entire farming community — eighty-percent of the total population! It seemed people did not like seeing slackers take advantage of their hard work. The hard workers felt they should get more of the bounty they produced.

Imagine that. What a surprise. Who would have thought that?

Only a rich bourgeoisie would not realize this. Which described both Marx and Engels — the literacy rate was extremely high at the time in their homeland compared to other countries. Unfortunately, only the rich could afford advanced schooling in Imperial Germany! Who also excluded most mares.

Stalin had changed to a hybrid system where farmers were allowed large “gardens” of their own that they could tend to when they weren’t working in the collectives’ fields. They were allowed to sell and trade from their gardens without interference. The only “rule” was they couldn’t have employees. But having a “friend” help in exchange for food? That was alright.

Those gardens, it turned out, usually out-produced the collectives’ fields, even though the gardens were much, much smaller.

Marx’s pure communism, predictably, was a failure.

On the other hoof, his idea of worker-owned businesses, and labour unions, wasn’t.

So, her solution was to have the workers own the large businesses — the small ones were not an issue as they were usually run by the ones doing the work, anyway!

Which reminded her. She needed to give her workers in the Daily Prophet a bonus. She had given them a raise when she had hit fifty-one percent of the stock ownership and taken control of the company. The remaining stock owners had immediately complained about the decrease in their earnings. She, in turn, had then offered to buy their stock. Several had been foolish enough to agree. With her current fifty-seven percent ownership, none could deny her the improvements she sought.

Reporting the news and not the slander pushed by the Ministry had garnered the newsparchment much attention. A few discrete spells that pushed for accuracy in the stories, and loyalty to her, had been a help.

Inspired by the raises, the staff worked harder than before to bring in interesting stories.

Revenues had risen as a result.

It was only proper that the staff should share in the additional profits.

She would make it a regular, monthly, pay-out, with the rewards slanted towards those on the bottom — they needed the extra more than the ones at the top. It was amusing that what she earned in stock dividends from the business wasn’t even half of what the Editor-in-Chief earned. But it was more than sufficient for what she needed for necessities, as well as a few luxury items when she wanted to spoil herself.

In the meantime, she needed to do a bit more research on which businesses belonged to which old families. Then she would either purchase the business and sell it to the workers, or blackmail or magic the owner into paying fair wages and offering bonuses for business improvements.

Sirius, she figured, would be a good ally in that he didn’t care about money. She could convince him to join her in setting up independent businesses.

She might even be able to start up competition, and hire away the owners’ employees. She was sure they would abandon their employer for better paying jobs doing the same thing. To prevent her competitor from simply hiring new employees, she would begin spreading the idea of unions the next time she visited Knockturn Alley.

After all, if it is right and proper for a businesspony to maximize their profits by efficiently organizing their business’ resources, both physical and labour, then it is also right and proper for the labourers to maximize their wages by efficiently organizing themselves in return.

In the meantime, she needed to start work on undermining some of the Ministry blockades to her plans — such as the odious toad-like Senior Undersecretary to the Minister. Umbridge would fight every advance, Anne could see.

There were others who were objecting to the reforms the Chief Warlock was pushing through the Wizengamot. It was time for the Daily Prophet to start a campaign to bring those dissident voices under control.

^·_·^

Tom found himself in a quandary. Not the possession, that was proceeding apace quite nicely. No one suspected a thing. His host was a bit surly, but then he was always a bit surly. As long as he did what he was told, the soon-to-be-restored Lord Voldemort was satisfied.

The switch from a firstie Hufflepuff to a second year Slytherin had gone off without a hitch. The firstie had been a good choice, in the beginning, but getting close to his former lieutenant, Malfoy, was a better ploy.

A confundus at the right time, a silver knife from his potions kit for the blood-letting, and a mild command to write in the diary the first time had been all he needed. The plus to it all, which he hadn’t expected, was that having blood from both his victims linking to the diary meant he was getting a flow of soul energy from both! True, the flow from his first victim was small, but it was there. If he could get several others as donors, he wouldn’t need a sacrifice to get embodied. But where was the fun in that?

It would be so much more satisfying if he could drain this fool dry. The fool’s father would mourn his death, searching endlessly for his killer and vowing terrible vengeance. He’d never suspect that the one he served, the one whose feet he kissed in supplication, was the very one who had done the deed. Ah, delicious irony!

For now, he could pick up from Malfoy’s spawn what was happening among his Death Eaters. The boy knew far more than his father expected. An occasional confundus made the intelligence gathering something anyone could accomplish. Torturing him afterwards, healing the damage, and obliviating him of the incidents was ever so much fun. The incurable brain damage of too many obliviations would slowly accumulate over the year. A fair punishment for his father having deserted the Dark Lord eleven years ago, seeking only his own glory.

Those scum had abandoned him! While Tom had been sleeping as a horcrux, his original had been wandering the mortal plain as a wraith. They should have been easily able to track him down and restore him. His Dark Mark would have been a guiding beacon to anyone with the brains god gave a goldfish.

And yet, his loyal, faithful, devoted followers hadn’t bothered. Traitors!

Unless his other self had been stupid and not warned his closest lieutenants what to do should he appear to have “died.” After all, if they didn’t know he was a wraith, how would they know to look for him? Telling them he had gone further down the path to immortality than anyone had ever done before wasn’t telling them anything useful!

Then again, maybe he had told them and they had decided to abandon him. His followers should have known he wasn’t gone, in any case. Their Dark Marks hadn’t disappeared!

The biggest mystery was what had happened all those years ago. How had a toddler managed to defeat the greatest wizard of all time? Truthfully, he doubted the toddler had done anything except make a mess in his diapers. His parents had, undoubtedly, laid a subtle trap for him. The problem was, how had they known he was going to attack them? Why had he specifically targeted a toddler in the first place?

The boy wizard did have impressive control of his magic — an animagus before even coming to Hogwarts! Plus, he had been the centre of a number of massive changes in Hogwarts — including removing problematic professors and instigating a complete overhaul of the spells protecting the castle!

Yes, he would keep the boy under as close observation as possible. It would be child’s play to subvert a few Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs to report on the boy.

He would find the truth and exact his revenge in both cases.

However, his current host was more than happy to help the Dark Lord regain power. It was just too bad that the fool didn’t know it meant his life was forfeit . . . nah, no need to worry about that. It was fitting that the son of a former Death Eater would be sacrificed to bring him back. It showed such dedication to his master.

He snickered quietly to himself.

No, the problem was with the Atlanteans.

By all that he had read in the Daily Prophet — stealing the newsparchment after Malfoy discarded it was child’s play — Atlantis was a paradise compared to Britain. So much magic was there that they had never heard of a squib! Magic permeated everything to the degree that they had never needed to invent wands or any other magical foci!

The flood of first years had seemed to indicate that their population was similar to England’s — a potentially rich source of new followers. Especially those that felt disadvantaged. But then his former host had talked with several of them. Discovering that they had been chosen from among a thousand others of the same age had been earth shaking! Simple math had told him that meant they had a population eight times that of wizarding England! Which meant they had more magic users than all but two countries — China and India. Then another had told him that the thousand were the volunteers out of the total forty thousand eleven-year-old students! Again, simple math had told him that that meant they had more magic users than all the countries on the planet. One country, with more magic users than the rest of the planet. It was mind boggling.

His old plan of destroying the pure-bloods, while milking them of every galleon they had, was passé. Oh, he had not doubt they would flock to him once they discovered he was back. However, the Atlanteans had changed the whole dynamic. The younger adults might want to “restore” the old ways, but not the older adults. The family heads would be more interested in adding the Atlantean magical heritage to their lines — no squibs for the last thousand years, minimum! What old family wouldn’t want that for their heirs? Not to mention that every single one of the Atlanteans had managed an animagus form before he or she arrived at the school!

The Atlanteans were the envy of every old family in the United Kingdom. Probably the world, once the other countries heard the stories.

The next generation, after one of their parents married an Atlantean, would demonstrate to the muggle-born just how out-classed they were in the wizarding world. That would quickly set things to the right, as far as the family-heads were concerned. There was no need for a rebellion, especially when it might result in the death of a child of theirs. Not when that same child could be gaining a new magically-powerful husband or wife from Atlantis!

If he were to go back to the old tactics he had apparently used — which several books in the library dissected in exquisite detail — the Ministry might ask for the Atlanteans’ military assistance.

If the ratio of Aurors to public was the same in Atlantis as it was in the rest of the world, it meant they had nearly twice as many aurors as England had wizards!

Any attempt to foster rebellion would be crushed by the sheer military presence brought to the battlefield. He wouldn’t be able to bribe them, nor entice them, to support his efforts from inside the Ministry. With an independent force in the Ministry, any operation he tried to implement would quickly get a response that far outnumbered any he might be able to field.

Just look at how they had responded to a threat to just one of their students at Hogwarts last year. They had fielded a force beyond anything the English Aurors could have. And they did so in a matter of minutes — with a competence that put the Aurors to shame, according to the second-year and older students.

He didn’t dare attract their attention unless he had an army at his beck and call.

Making matters worse, from his point of view, was that the Atlanteans didn’t even understand what the issues of pure-blood, half-blood, and muggle-born were about. As far as they were concerned, everyone could do magic, so what was the problem?

Plus, with such a huge population, if someone felt they were being discriminated against in one location, they simply moved somewhere else where they weren’t!

He would have to rethink everything.

He wouldn’t get financing from the old families because they wouldn’t want to “rock the boat” while things were in a state of flux with the Atlanteans. In ten years or so, after things had settled down to routine, he might garner some interest if things weren’t working out as the family heads had imagined. But it was just as likely that they would be pleased with their efforts so far and not inclined to back him.

He had no idea of the political and social situation in Atlantis. The students from there were remarkably close-mouthed. He had learned that they were a theocracy of some kind, with a Royal family of three Princesses being in charge. Two of the Princesses, the students claimed, were over a thousand years old!

They had nothing but praise for the one they called Celestia, and even used her name the same way some wizards and witches called on Merlin. The one called Luna wasn’t nearly as well-liked.

There was a bit of mystery about the second one. He had heard one student say she had been banished for the last thousand years and only recently returned. A thousand years!

However, they had nobles who ran the country somewhat like the Wizengamot ran England. Having what appeared to be a monoculture — no muggle-born, half-bloods, or even ones that they would consider foreigners — Atlanteans appeared quite happy with the status-quo. Which meant he had no hope of gathering followers and power from ponies discontented with the status quo.

On the other hand, . . . Princesses who were well over a thousand years old? That bore some serious contemplation.

While he was a horcrux, and thus had the potential to be immortal, the body he lived in wasn’t. It would grow old and die, he assumed. It would live a long time, sure, but eventually it would die. Would he be able to switch to a new body? If he was killed in battle or his body died, would he survive death as the original soul had? Or would he just dissipate? The purpose of a horcrux was to enable the primary soul to persist in this plane, not the other way around.

Being a Horcrux, he wasn’t sure if he could use the soul-ritual again to create another. If he could, would it protect him? Or only the original? Did he dare take the chance? In both cases the downsides far outweighed the upsides.

Once he was embodied, he should visit Equestria. It wouldn’t hurt to spend a few years investigating how those two had achieved their apparent immortality.

Yes. First, he would embody himself. Then go to Atlantis to learn what he could of immortality. Then return here and retrace his original’s travels to learn the magics he had learned. Once that was done, he would decide what to do next.

Maybe he should also explore using the blood-ritual to secure a few more donors? If he could re-embody without leaving a dead wizard behind, it would make it much harder for anyone to realize he had returned.

Increasing the number of donors, however, might make it easier for the castle spells to detect him.

That, too, required serious study.

^-~-^

Ch. 18. Unexpected Incidents

“Before we proceed further,” Debby said, “You previously asked if there were other lings interested in going through the portal. There are. However, before any of them will come forward, they will have to be reassured that we can survive on the other side of the portal.” She looked out the window for a moment, then back at him. “After all, if there is no food for us on the other side, why bother trying? We might as well just starve, here, as there. Here, at least, some of us might survive, perhaps, even, Queen-Mother might let us re-join the hive.” She stared at him. “We two will go first and ascertain if this is worth doing. Only after that will we return and tell the others of our findings.”

Castor smiled wryly. “We thought you might say that.” He paused, thinking. “How long will it take you to determine this?”

“Depending upon where you take us, anywhere from a few hours to a week. You mentioned the possibilities of weddings, churches, and maternity hospitals, so how quickly we could arrive at such places will determine the time it takes.”

He nodded again. “Well, I’m ready when you are, so shall we go?”

They stood and followed him out the door. Just outside was a contingent of eight Special Air Services troopers.

“These gentlemen,” Castor explained as the two changelings slowed at seeing them. “Are going to be our escorts, so that we aren’t delayed on our way to the portal.” He continued walking. The changelings exchanged glances but followed him.

Having four men towering over them on each side was disquieting to the changelings, Castor saw, but his matter-of-fact presentation didn’t allow them more time to react.

The changelings were used to seeing men and women, this was Canterlot’s U.K. Embassy, after all, and the staff were humans, not ponies. The two had been guests in the Embassy for the nine days since they had arrived. What had startled them, he knew, were the obvious military garb and weapons these eight humans wore. They were carrying the weapons casually, but in a manner that said they were ready to react at a moment’s notice. Plus, unlike the pony guards, these guards were constantly scanning the area around them, as if they expected an attack, even in the Embassy.

It didn’t escape the changelings notice that four of the guards were keeping a specific watch on them.

Castor led them to another room with a lit fireplace. “This is a floo,” he said. “It is a quick method of travel between any two locations. To operate it is simple. Watch.” The two lead guards stepped up to the fireplace and linked their arms together on one side. The first one pressed down on a floor-mounted pedal. A second later, the two changelings were startled to see the fire in the fireplace turn green! The two troopers then stepped into the fire and one of them said, “Ponyville Embassy Security Floo.” They disappeared.

Debby nodded. “We had heard about the floo-network, but never had the opportunity to see it used.” She sighed. Instant, untraceable transportation of troops. The lings were soo behind.

Minutes later, the group was exiting Ponyville Embassy to find twelve Equestrian Guards waiting for them. The Guards made no effort to pretend they weren’t there to watch the changelings. The two groups studied each other for a moment, then both headed for the Portal Station down the street. Faster than the changelings had expected, Castor was showing them how to put on the transit robes and they were stepping through the portal itself, escorted by the S.A.S. members.

They were met with four more soldiers, all female, when they exited the portal.

Castor wasn’t surprised to notice that the changelings quickly adapted to being only on two feet instead of four hooves. Nor were they unfamiliar with having hands. With their abilities, they would be able to show exactly what those other species on Equus looked like and how they behaved. A veritable gold-mine of information. They had to know far more than the ponies did, who had only a cursory interest in the others who shared their planet. Much of their information seemed to fall into the category of travelogues, or, “My mother told me . . ..” Not to mention being decades or centuries old.

For a modern nation, it was intolerable to be that ignorant of ones neighbours.

Debby appeared to be about thirty and Abby, based on the grey in her hair, about fifty. They were dark-skinned, tall, and not nearly as buxom as the Equestrian ponies when they crossed the portal. Also, unlike the Equestrians, both had close-cropped hair.

“These ladies,” Castor said, pointing to the new soldiers, “will assist you in dressing in our clothes.” He indicated the changelings should go into the room with door that had a stylized-image of a woman in a dress, “Female” written in several languages.

Getting dressed took some time, as Castor had expected from the first-time immigrants. Most of the time was spent in explaining what proper street-wear clothing was, and showing them the different fashions available. However, what they actually wore were simple, knee-length dresses.

Once they were outside the Equestrian Embassy, they were brought to a non-descript bus. It was the lings’ first sight of a pony-less carriage that wasn’t a train and they stared at it a long time before boarding. Once inside, they were clearly taken aback at the opulence on display — cushioned seats with a carpeted aisle, warm air circulating, and with curtain-covered windows! Not even the trains in Equestria could match this carriage.

They were directed to sit in the middle of the bus, with the soldiers taking seats at the front and back. The changelings stared out the windows through the gaps in the curtains as they left the Embassy grounds, taking in what they could of this new world. It was very much unlike what they were used to seeing. The closely built houses, the tall buildings, the paved roads left them quiet. The fact that the vehicle didn’t jolt and sway as it moved was another point towards the comforts these humans expected. Even the road was a work of art.

Soon enough, however, they pulled into a nearby layby.

^·_·^

Unusually, Scootaloo and the rest of the herd did not wake him that morning by traipsing into his dorm out of this trunk. Surprised at his uninterrupted routine, he rushed through it wondering what was wrong. He reached the common room just in time to meet Scootaloo and the other fillies as they leisurely came down from their room.

With them was Chirpy Hooves, a filly with light-gold and pale-yellow hair, and greyish purple eyes. Harry knew she was a pegasus filly at home, and one of the three Firsties without a cutie mark.

“Chirpy wants us to help her find her cutie mark,” said Sweetie Belle as they walked over to Harry.

“We spent several hours last night talking to her,” said Apple Bloom. They had spent most of the late evening going over her Equestrian likes and dislikes, she explained. “She likes reading in general, and found the magic they were learning fascinating. But nothing else really stood out from everything she had done back home.” She sighed.

“We’ll talk some more over breakfast,” finished Sweetie Belle.

On the way to the Great Hall, Hermione asked, “Well, Chirpy, is there anything you’ve seen or done at Hogwarts that you find interesting?”

“Hmm,” Chirpy said, clearly considering it. “Well, magic, of course, that’s really interesting, but I don’t think I’d get a cutie mark in it. Quidditch is kinda cool, but I’m not a fanatic about it.” She was quiet for a few steps. “I do find the wizarding world itself fascinating, though. The history Professor Lupin is teaching us is incredible — so violent!” She shuddered.

“Then one of my dorm-mates told me that Padma Patil is from India, so I started asking her questions.” She skipped ahead a step and turned to face them, walking backwards. “Did you know they have an entire pantheon of Gods?” She looked awed at the thought of more than three. “Some of them sound almost as powerful as Princess Celestia!” She frowned, “But the Princess insists she isn’t a god.” She shook her head. “Anyway, it is just soo fascinating that I don’t know what to say. And then she told me about Sue Li being Chinese, and introduced me to her. China is just as interesting, with just as many Gods. It would be soo interesting to search for them!”

Harry could see she was quite excited at the prospect. Especially as she continued on that topic all the way through the meal and back to the common room with them. She named the Hindu and Chinese pantheons and gave their basic descriptions and backstories.

She was a lot like his mum, he thought, only focused on the topic of the Hindu and Chinese old gods, and how they were so different from each other, and alike at the same time. So very different from what they had known back home in Equestria where there were only Princesses Celestia, Luna, and Cadence, and practically everyone knew everything about them. Princess Celestia’s reaction to the Great Toothpaste War was taught to every colt and filly in their first year at school as a cautionary tale. That there were cultures with dozens, or hundreds, of Gods was breath-taking to the ponies. Religion, praying for guidance, was a foreign concept to them.

Harry had a good idea of what her cutie mark was going to be, although the three Cutie Mark Crusaders hadn’t sorted it out, yet.

While the fillies were preoccupied with that, he excused himself and went looking for Bon Bon. After he explained what he wanted, she promised he would have it late that afternoon.

^·_·^

When the bus stopped in the layby, Castor turned to the two changelings. “This is Second Lieutenant Harrison, she’s a wand user.” He pointed to a woman who had been waiting for them on the bus with the driver. “We refer to all magic on this side of the portal as Special Technology.” He stared at the two changelings. “Got that? Never say the word magic when you see it. It is always to be referred to as Special Technology. There are exceptions, however, such as telekinesis. I’ll explain the whys and wherefores later.”

As he was saying this, the bus driver was shutting down the electronics in the bus, and disengaging the battery.

The two nodded their understanding.

“Lieutenant Harrison will conduct the casting of the oath,” he continued, and handed them two sheets of paper. “The words you need to say are in bold-red, I will be speaking the lines in green. Harrison will be the initiator of the Special Technology. Are we clear?”

They nodded again and looked at the papers.

“First,” Harrison said, “All three of you clasp your right hands together.” After they did so, she rested her wand tip on their hands and nodded to Castor.

“I, Captain Castor James Searle, with the Queen’s permission, am acting as surrogate for Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth the Second, Queen by the Grace of God, of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and of Her other Realms and Territories, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith, as well as the people who live under her reign.” Everyone watched as a bright red rope of light wrapped around his hand. A thin, red band shot off out of the bus.

As the two changelings identified themselves, separate ropes of light, in different colours, wrapped their hands.

Then they stated their obligations towards each other, each statement creating a separate white roped light. At the very end, they concluded in chorus, “As we have sworn, so shall it be.” The separate ropes all merged, and a wave of white seemed to pulse outward from them.

After blinking away the spots in their vision, “Well, hopefully, that will do the job,” Castor said. “Take a seat and I’ll explain our itinerary for the next two days.” He smiled. “And answer your questions.”

He looked at the driver and nodded. “We’re ready. Head for our destination.”

As they were being driven, Castor explained that their first stop would be at a military hospital, the maternity ward. The future use of a maternity ward as a “food” source would be based on their reports. They would be queried on if they could determine if there were any ill-effects on the infants, the mothers, or the hospital staff while collecting their emotional food. The government also needed a base-line estimate on how long it took to gather a suitable quantity of food for the changelings.

Any indications that the babies, their parents, or the staff were negatively affected by the changelings “collecting” would strike that particular option off the list of acceptable places.

He would decide, from their reports, if they would be investigating any other hospitals to see if their wards might significantly differ in yields.

The second lieutenant took advantage of that time to transfigure their dresses into proper nurses’ uniforms, with name tags that labelled them as Special Technology trainees.

When they arrived at the hospital, it was only Castor, Harrison, a second female Special Technology Second Lieutenant, and the two changelings that debarked. The three humans were attired as hospital workers to match the changelings. The bus left as soon as they entered the hospital’s front doors, to return the soldiers to base. Castor had a much smaller vehicle he would call to pick them up when they finished here. There was no need for the soldiers now that the changelings had given their oath.

If it wasn’t going to work, it would be better to find out now than when they had possibly dozens of the creatures running around.

After checking in at the receiving desk, they headed straight for the maternity ward. Castor gave the two changelings a running description of where they were in the hospital, explaining the different sections as they passed them. It was interesting to see how comfortable they were in their new bodies, and walking on two legs.

He also noticed that sometimes they would slow down as they walked by certain rooms, or give puzzled looks at some of the people, both patients and staff, as they passed them.

Soon enough, they were in the maternity ward. Castor stopped at the first occupied room, a single room. The new mother was sitting in her bed, cradling her new-born. She looked up, smiling as they entered.

“Good day,” Castor said cheerfully, a warm feeling in his heart at seeing the infant and mother. “How are you feeling this fine morning?”

“Tired, still,” she said happily.

He stopped at the bottom of her bed and picked up the clipboard with her information. “I see you gave birth to this wonderful little girl last night at ten-fifty-seven.” He looked up at her, watching as the two changelings moved to either side of the bed. They were staring at her rather intently.

To keep her distracted, he said, “Do you have any suggestions for us on how we can improve our department? Make things more comfortable beforehand, perhaps?”

He continued his banter until Debby gave the agreed-upon signal and they left. He stopped outside the next room and gave the two a questioning look. They just nodded, and Abby whispered, “We were able to collect from her. The baby was a blank, we felt nothing from her, and took nothing.”

He nodded and they moved on.

Given the number of hospitals in the city, the current population, and the average number of babies born in a day, there were only ten occupied rooms in this hospital. However, this hospital wasn’t the largest in the city, either.

“This has possibilities,” Debby said after they climbed into the Land Rover Castor had called. “Not nearly as much the ponies, but one of us could collect enough in one day to last for two days.”

“We did not have to directly draw, so there shouldn’t be any repercussions for either the parent or the foal . . . child,” added Abby.

“To give you a comparison,” continued Debby, “A similar number of new-mother ponies would give a collector about a month’s worth in a day.”

They visited three civilian hospitals before calling it finished and heading for a secure location in a nearby military base. Castor continued his briefing on what to expect in the human world, and what they might be asked to do.

^·_·^

After classes that afternoon, Harry made a quick run to Bon Bon and Lyra’s room. After profusely thanking her, he quickly returned to the common room where the three fillies were still brainstorming on what Chirpy’s cutie mark could be.

Both Hermione and Ginny had retreated to the library to work on assignments. Ron was beating the trousers off Dean in a game of chess — even with a handicap of no rooks.

“Hay, Chirpy,” he said interrupting their confab in one corner. “I think you might be interested in these.” He pulled three books out of his saddlebag — he was wearing it as a belt pouch. The first was Chinese Mythology, by Anthony Christie, An Introduction to Oriental Mythology by NJ Secaucus was the second, and Hindu Mythology: Vedic And Puranic by William Joseph Wilkins finished the stack.

Her eyes widened in surprise and she hurriedly grabbed the Hindu book. She flipped through it excitedly, stopping to read a section occasionally. Then she grabbed the next book and flipped through it, getting more and more excited with each snippet she read. She was practically vibrating in her chair. After she had given the second Chinese book a quick perusal, she jumped up and hugged him, transforming into her pegasus form, wings pumping excitedly as she flew in a circle around him, spinning him with her.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she sang gleefully.

A second later, a brilliant bright light filled the room. When it faded, leaving everyone blinking — except Chirpy, she didn’t seem to have noticed anything had happened — there were three books emblazoned on both her flanks, with the faint images of alicorns and human gods on them. She had discovered her cutie mark!

Before they had stopped blinking, Harry heard the swelling chords of a heartsong. The next few minutes were devoted to Chirpy declaring to all and sundry that she had discovered her life’s pleasure to be learning about the gods and goddess of other cultures. The rest of the dorm, those that weren’t elsewhere in the castle, formed a massive choral backup. Whomever wasn’t in the common room came down from their rooms, singing harmony and counterpoint, and interjecting their comments about life and gods as appropriate.

Those witches and wizards who were in the Gryffindor Tower that day gained a whole new understanding of just what a cutie mark meant to ponies. Not to mention the power of a heartsong to induce participation and bring joy to everypony.

That week, Harry noticed that for some reason Malfoy and his coltfriends seemed more interested in him. He caught Goyle trying to be subtle at watching him whenever they were in Potions or anywhere else in sight of each other. Hermione told him she had seen Crabbe glaring darkly at him more than once.

^-~-^

The day after visiting the hospitals, Castor took the two lings to a wedding in the morning, and two more in the afternoon. The weddings covered the range from small, with only a dozen or so participants, to large, with nearly a hundred.

The weddings were much more fruitful than the maternity wards, the lings explained. They had access to dozens of happy and emoting people at one time instead of a single, or set, of parents. Positioning close to the parents and the wedding party simplified and increased collection. One wedding gave them enough for a week, each. If a collector could be present at three large weddings in a day, she would reap enough emotional food for a month. Or thirty changelings for a day.

Satisfied with their findings, that evening, they mapped out their search in Equestria for their abandoned sisters. Tomorrow, they planned to return to the Ponyville Embassy, and Equestria, to start spreading the word. They would have to be very careful, they didn’t want any of the lings their Queen-mother had gathered to hear about this. She would interfere, the two lings were certain.

^-_-^

Major Tom, his superiors, and most of the space-oriented community, were thrilled when the fifth portkey arrived, right on schedule. Over seventy percent of the Asteroid Ring, and all of Mars’ orbit was available to them, all the time, once they got there. With the help of the new telescope on the back side of the moon, the Yanks were helping them map out which asteroids might be worth mining. They had already fielded some questions from mining consortiums.

The Buran was being prepped for its interplanetary voyage. First, Mars, then from there, the asteroids.

Unfortunately, they had discovered, portkeying living creatures farther than twenty-thousand kilometres was fatal. Portkeying a living creature that had been transformed into a statue and then reversing the transformation on arrival? Not dangerous at all. Unpleasant and disorienting, but not dangerous.

It was easy to disguise the long-range portkey as a Special Technology device. They simply made it a standard part of their spacesuit design that used “suspended animation” to prevent harm while using the “Translocator.”

They were prepping another Bristol Bloodhound with the intent for a launch to Alpha Centauri. The plan was to get it as close to lightspeed as possible. It would have twenty timed-portkeys at different distances. The first four would be at the gas giants, the fifth would be at the “rim” of the solar system, the outside edge of the Kuiper Belt at fifty times the distance the Earth is from the Sun. The sixth at one light-day. The seventh at one light-week, then one month, half-a year, one year, two years, three years, and so forth to ten years. It would then decelerate to a stop at eleven years, and portkey to the Moon orbit for retrieval. If everything went to plan, it would arrive back in twelve years.

In view of David Latham’s speculation that he had discovered a planet in orbit around HD 114762, one hundred twenty-six lightyears away, and Aleksander Wolszczan’s and Dale Frail’s discovery of two confirmed planets around the pulsar PSR B1257+12, two and a half thousand lightyears away, and the very real possibility of interstellar travel in this century, the scientific community was desperate to find nearby planets. Thus, there were now two telescope stations on the Moon. One at each pole.

With fancy enough coordination and electronics, the two could be electronically linked as one, giving astronomers an effective mirror almost three-and-a-half-thousand kilometres, over two thousand miles, in size. Without an atmosphere to mess with their viewing, finding and actually seeing planets was well within the realm of possibility.

^-_-^

Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington’s Death Day party was unlike any celebration Harry had ever seen or heard of. With Sir Nicholas being the Gryffindor ghost, he had expected that it would be unusual. However, seeing the long, thin, jet-black tapered candles that lined the corridor to the dungeon room that held the party let him know his imagination was sorely lacking. Especially as the candles all burned a bright blue and cast a dim, ghostly light that made even the ponies appear to be ghosts.

Myrtle, quite naturally, refused to attend. She had had her fill of them, and their cruelty, when she had been a ghost.

That the temperature dropped as they continued onward was unexpected. Having a ghost freeze a pony to the bone if you accidentally walked through one, or it flew through you was normal, he knew. But he had never noticed them making a room soo much colder just by their presence. Or maybe he had just been used to the drafty and cold castle, and never noticed the slight addition when a ghost was nearby.

Then they turned a corner and could see Nearly Headless Nick standing at a doorway hung with black velvet drapes. They could also hear a horrible screeching sound, like two enormous pieces of metal sliding roughly against each other.

“Is that music?” Ron mumbled incredulously.

Harry understood why the fillies and Hermione would want to know more about ghosts. He was interested, too. His mum would find the details intriguing. She might even try to wrangle an invite for the next year. However, Harry could see that Scootaloo was already making the face that said, “Well, I’ve seen enough. I’m bored. Let’s go.” But she didn’t say anything. They had promised, after all.

“My dear, dear friends,” Nearly Headless Nick mournfully said as he swept off his plumed hat and bowed. “So good of you to come. Welcome . . . Welcome.”

He waved them inside with a flourish.

“Not a problem, Sir Nicholas,” Hermione said cheerfully as she passed him. The rest just nodded, not nearly as enthused at the experience before them as they had been.

It was a sight no pony would ever have believed possible. Harry was there, and he didn’t believe it! The chamber had hundreds of pearly-white, translucent people filling it almost completely. On a raised, black-draped platform at one end of the dungeon was the source of that awful shrieking, screeching noise. It was a thirty-member orchestra, playing musical saws as instruments, of all things!

Most of the ghosts were waltzing, to that dreadful, quavering sound on a crowded dance floor. A thousand more black candles blazed overhead on a chandelier, giving off that same midnight-blue light they had seen in the corridor. Apparently, large numbers of ghosts in one location did indeed lower the temperature of a room quite significantly — the room was like one giant freezer, and their breath rose in a mist before them.

Harry took a deep breath and immediately regretted it. His lungs felt like they were half-frozen. He surreptitiously cast a warming charm on his feet, hands, and robes. He wondered if there was a charm that would act like a mask and warm the air before he froze his lungs, like he was afraid was about to happen.

Hmm. Such a spell would be useful when they were outside during winter, too. He made a mental note to ask Hermione about it later. And if she didn’t know of one, he bet his mum did. He’d send her a letter and ask, in either case. Hers might be better than the witch version.

They slowly meandered through the room, carefully avoiding walking through any ghosts. Not that that helped as the ghosts had no qualms about flitting through them going somewhere else.

They saw a knight’s squire who was somewhat singed around the edges, a gaunt woman with a noose around her neck, several ghosts in sailor uniforms draped in seaweed, and the Hufflepuff and Slytherin Ghosts. Harry wasn’t surprised to see that the Bloody Baron, the Slytherin ghost, was being avoided by the other ghosts, with a wide space around him on all sides.

A long table draped in black velvet was on the other side of the room, and it appeared to have food on it. Ron led the way as they approached it, but he suddenly stopped and made a face of revulsion. The rest soon joined him, horrified.

Beautiful silver platters held large, rotten fish; other platters were heaped with burnt, charcoal-black cakes; the pride of Scotland, a giant haggis, was crawling with maggots and flies buzzing about it; other trays held bread and cheese so covered with furry mould that it was difficult to discern what exactly was underneath. Centred on the table, charred and mouldy, was an enormous, tombstone-like, grey cake. The black, tar-like icing said,

SIR NICHOLAS DE MIMSY-PORPINGTON

DIED 31ST OCTOBER, 1492

The smell was overpowering and quite revolting.

Astonishing them, Ron said, “Can we move? I feel sick.”

Which proved there was a limit to even what he could stomach.

The arrival of yet more ghosts, riding ghostly horses, no less, was an interesting and welcome distraction — especially as it meant the orchestra stopped playing that dreadful “music.” The leader of the “headless hunt” was a ghost named Patrick. He didn’t seem to notice that his group had more or less taken over Nick’s party as they proceeded to play Head Hockey. It was a rather deliberate slight on Nearly Headless Nick’s situation, or Patrick was incredibly socially dense. Especially as he, and the others in the hunt, seemed to delight in showing off that their heads were detached by tossing them around to each other in a bizarre game of hot . . . er, cold . . . potato.

Harry and the others didn’t stay much longer. After only a short time they already felt as if they’d never again be able to feel their fingers and toes. They headed out and up the stairs to the Halloween Feast in the Great Hall. They hadn’t eaten since lunch, and expecting ghosts to provide food for the living had been silly, as well as futile.

The Feast in the Great Hall was just as wonderful and exciting this year as last. The dancing skeletons were a surprising new addition that helped make the feast more entertaining. Harry thought they were quite delightful. He knew his mum would be more than interested in meeting them, and learning the spell that animated them.

What would happen if one of them went through the portal?

^·_·^

Ch. 19. Hidden

For the first time, both teams in the Quidditch stadium were playing on up-to-the-date brooms that differed only in the tastes of the players and team captains. The Slytherins were playing on Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones. The Gryffindor team, however, was using a mix of new brooms. The twins were on their Nimbus Two Thousands from last year, and the three chasers and goal-keeper were on CleanSweep Sevens. According to the team Captains, the CleanSweeps were better suited for nimbleness — a necessity for those positions. The Nimbuses were more oriented towards straight-line acceleration and high-speed. Perfect for Seekers and Beaters needing to be in a new position that wasn’t necessarily very close to their current one.

It promised to be an interesting game.

It was, just not in the manner that everyone expected.

A rogue bludger had chased Harry relentlessly back and forth across the pitch while he searched vainly for the snitch and tried to avoid getting hit. It had taken him only a moment’s inattention to fall victim to the rogue, leather-covered, lead ball. Malfoy taunting him throughout did not help the experience.

While Harry did manage to get the snitch before Draco, it was at the expense of a broken arm. Which was further complicated by Professor Lockhart muffing a spell and accidentally vanishing all the bones in his right arm, from shoulder to fingertips.

His mum would not be pleased. For many reasons.

Goyle and Crabbe seemed especially pleased at seeing Harry floated off to the Hospital Wing, despite losing the game. Malfoy was too distracted by Slytherin’s Quidditch Captain, Marcus Flint, screaming in his face at losing them the game to notice.

After taking the distasteful Skele-Grow — why did all witchery potions taste terrible? — his teammates, and herd-mates, showed up. They wanted to celebrate their win and commiserate his misfortune with a grand party to cheer him up.

Unfortunately, Madam Pomfrey chased them all out, claiming he needed rest to regrow his missing thirty-three bones.

It took an inordinate long time for him to finally fall asleep.

^-~-^

Harry woke with a small yelp of pain. His arm felt as if it were full of large splinters, all wriggling and moving slowly, like a batch of worms. He blinked, looking around. It was almost too dark to see. With a shock, he realized someone was touching his forehead in the dark.

“Shite!” he exclaimed and tried to move away from the giant eyeball inches from his face.

Tennis-ball sized eyes were peering at Harry through the darkness. After a moment, Harry realized it was Dobby, the house-elf.

He looked miserable in the dim light. “Mr. Harry Potter, sir, came back to Hogwarts,” he said softly. “Dobby tried to warn Harry Potter. Ah sir,” he sighed mournfully, “why didn’t you stay home?”

“What’re you doing here?” Harry said as he pushed Dobby’s sponge away. He leaned up on his good elbow. “Besides, did you see how many adults were with me? Do you really think they would have let me stay at home?”

Dobby looked away and sighed. He turned back to Harry. “Harry Potter must leave Hogwarts! Dobby believed his bludger would be enough —”

“Your bludger?” said Harry, anger lacing his voice. “Your bludger? You tried to kill me with that bludger?” he said fiercely. “You’d better get lost before my bones come back, Dobby, or I might strangle you.”

Dobby smiled weakly.

“Death threats mean nothing to Dobby, sir. At home Dobby is threatened five times a day, at least.”

He blew his nose on a corner of the filthy pillowcase he wore. He looked so pathetic that Harry felt his anger ebb away in spite of himself. He sighed. He knew from his mum’s house-elf, Squeaker, that house-elves were bound to their master’s family, no matter how badly they were mistreated. They would live and die with that family, unless given clothes first.

Of course, badly treated elves didn’t give the best service. They would execute their commands exactly as ordered, but not one iota more than the order required. Plus, as any officer in any army will tell you, any order that can be misunderstood, already has been misunderstood.

The filthy pillowcase that Dobby wore was a badge of pride among house-elves, proof that they weren’t a burden to their master in any way, shape, or form. For him, it was a sign that his family didn’t care about him, that he deserved punishment. Which was why he was here. Any house-elf who would defy his master by assisting an opponent was clearly not sane.

“But not kill Harry Potter! Never kill!” Dobby remonstrated, tears leaking from his eyes. “Dobby wishes to save Harry Potter’s life! Better seriously injured at home, than be here, sir! Dobby only wanted Harry Potter sent home!”

“Really?” said Harry angrily. “It never occurred to you that with magical medicine anything that isn’t fatal is generally just an inconvenience?” He glared at the house-elf, who wilted a bit under that gaze. “Why,” he demanded, “do you want me sent home in pieces?”

Dobby tearfully explained how the house-elves had been mistreated when Lord Voldemort had been ascendant. That he had routinely tortured and killed them as mere entertainment, and encouraged his followers to do the same. How his disappearance at the Potter house that Halloween eleven years ago had had been a new dawn for those down-trodden house-elves. How Harry Potter became a beacon of hope, their saviour. He ended with, “And now, at Hogwarts, evil, true evil, stalks the corridors and dungeons of Hogwarts —”

He stopped, horrified.

“N-no more, sir, ask n-no more of poor Dobby,” stuttered the elf, his eyes huge and almost glowing. “Dark deeds are planned, dark deeds indeed. Harry Potter must not be here when they happen! Harry Potter must go home,” he said emphatically.

Harry sighed. “Like anyone will let me,” he said gloomily. “As I told you, the Princesses want me to come here.” He stared at Dobby. “When somepony who can make the sun rise, set, or make a figure-eight in the sky, at her whim, asks you to do something, only a fool says no. The last pony who seriously dared to disobey her, her own sister, she exiled to the moon for a thousand years.” He looked away for a moment. “I am not a fool.”

Dobby stared at him, eyes wider than usual. They almost looked like they would fall out and roll across the floor. “The Sun? The Moon?” he breathed. “A thousand years?”

Harry nodded. “Her little sister, Luna, took care of the sixty-foot basilisk that used to live in the Chamber of Secrets, last year. She controls the Moon and stars in Equestria. She said she thought the basilisk would make a nice pet to keep the Canterlot nobles in line.”

“Chamber of Secrets?” the house-elf whispered. “It’s empty?”

Harry nodded. “Yep. They have regular tours of the Chamber every weekend.” He paused and frowned at Dobby. “I’m surprised you hadn’t heard about that.”

Dobby numbly shook his head. “Dobby bes not allowed to hear news or gossip.”

Harry sighed and nodded. “So, you see, I can’t leave.”

Dobby shook himself, almost like a dog shaking water from its fur. “Harry Potter must stay safe!” he declared. “Dobby will keep you safe!”

He POPed away.

Harry collapsed back down onto the bed, His right arm tingled abominably, but it was stiff and rigid. Apparently, Madam Pomfrey had cast a spell of some kind that prevented his arm from being jostled while he slept. He took a deep breath and slowly let it out.

Only Celestia knew what that insane little house-elf was up to. He could only hope he survived being “protected.”

Tomorrow he would send a message to his mum, and give her the warning that “evil stalked the corridors and dungeons of Hogwarts.” Plus, how and why he was in the Hospital Wing. As he had heard mentioned in one of the movies they had watched over the previous summer, this was way above his paygrade.

^·_·^

The days went by just as quickly as they had the previous year. His mum dropped by several days after the Quidditch game and its aftermath, and stayed for dinner. She was quite displeased with what he had written her, and spent the afternoon yelling at the Headmaster. However, as the Headmaster had pointed out, what had happened had been instigated from outside the Castle, and he couldn’t track all the house-elves simultaneously all the time. With as many house-elves as were employed by Hogwarts, it wasn’t possible to spell the castle against them, or it would severely impact the castle’s habitability.

Trying to ward the inhabitants of the castle against violent intentions wouldn’t work. They’d be retrieving students from Hogsmeade daily, as every student at one time or another would be angry enough to want to harm another student — especially girlfriends or boyfriends when they discovered their “love” had cheated on them. Of even just suspected that they had cheated. Not that they would actually carry out such intentions, but the spells couldn’t tell the difference.

Harry and the herd studied magic diligently, as did the Equestrian Firsties. Being the cream of the crop of students in Equestria meant they were picking things up at a ferocious rate. Especially as most of them were what many of the Gryffindors referred to as swots — that is, extremely studious.

Unfortunately, this also meant some of them were quite clever at getting into things they shouldn’t. Every weekend at least two Equestrians were kicked out of the Restricted Section in the library — despite Madam Pince, the librarian, being the only one with a key to the room!

Which meant, in turn, that they asked their questions of the professors while in their detentions instead of just wandering through the aisles in the library, picking books at random.

Why the professors thought they were punishing the over-achievers with extra lessons was a mystery to the ponies. The unicorns and pegasi took the detentions with Professors Sprout, Flitwick, Lupin, and McGonagall as remedial lessons to help them improve their grades. The earth ponies felt the same, except the detentions with Professor Sprout were highly prized as they explored the limits of what she knew about plants, and the effect earth ponies had on plant growth.

Professor Snape refused detentions with them when he discovered what the four assigned to him one evening did after cleaning the classroom by hand as he had instructed. Bored, unsupervised while he was distracted reading assignments in his office, they had reorganized his potion ingredients — by smell.

The fillies worked just as industriously to help the other two Equestrians who hadn’t yet found their cutie marks — which sometimes ended up with them in a detention. Or covered in tree-sap. No pony quite understood why they kept finding bottles or barrels in so many rooms, but they did. Knocking over a bottle was understandable, especially if you didn’t notice it was tucked at the back of a shelf. How you could get a wooden barrel to spontaneously erupt and shower the room with sap was a mystery. But the Cutie Mark Crusaders somehow managed that feat.

Scootaloo darkly complained that the castle was pranking them with the tree-sap.

Harry blamed Discord.

The first-years continued to push the boundaries of what was expected. Despite assurances from all the other years, and the professors, that they were wrong, the Equestrians still considered detentions to be “extra” lessons. The professors were off-balance at the discovery, and clearly flummoxed at the realization that what they considered punishment, the first-years were looking on as rewards. The points lost to the detentions were always recovered in the classes with how quickly the ponies picked up the lessons and answered the questions.

Professor Kettleburn didn’t know whether to be proud or horrified that the Equestrian unicorns had managed to catch one of the younger unicorn fillies in the forest and had her in one of the unused classrooms. His first instinct was to dock them an incredible number of points for the dozen rules, at least, they had broken. Then he wanted to reward them an equal number of points as a reward when he realized they had taught filly to shoot red and green sparks from her horn. The filly seemed quite pleased with herself and not al all upset with her abduction.

He made them release the filly back to its mother. Who, oddly, hadn’t seemed all that upset about the incident, either.

It didn’t help that when they assigned a detention to a student, several usually showed up for the “extra” lessons. It was a situation that was both gratifying that the students were so eager to learn, and frustrating that the professors couldn’t seem to control their students’ enthusiasm for mischief.

New “secret” passages continued to be found at irregular intervals. One wall that used to pretend to be a door, was now a real door. Two steps in and you were waist-deep in the lake — which was getting rather cold! The Astronomy tower now had a slide to the ground floor hidden behind a zodiac chart. Then there was a hidden trapdoor directly in front of a landscape of a lake. Sneeze while standing on it, and you fell straight into a large, warm swimming pool.

The professors had followed the wet-trail left by the firstie who found it, when she first trudged out of the dungeons. But, sadly, it ended in a blank wall that stubbornly refused to give up its secret. It didn’t matter. Most students preferred the trapdoor drop.

Still, it was a nice, and popular, discovery. There was a lot of sneezing students wandering the castle for several days after that — but no new discoveries.

Oliver Wood had frequent Quidditch practices, of course. With all the other things taking up their time, how the herd found time to do their assignments puzzled Harry, sometimes. Book-walking certainly helped, though! He didn’t think the professors understood, just yet, how powerful a tool that was in learning.

Sweetie Belle continued to “invent” new potions that were always a surprise. A swelling potion that shrunk ponies to half their normal size, a strengthening potion that made ponies weak, a potion that gave everypony beaks, and another that gave everypony toad-like skin — for that one, most of the girls, and Malfoy, secluded themselves in their rooms and refused to leave until the potion wore off overnight.

As a result, everypony in their Potions Class was becoming quite accomplished and quick at casting a shield charm and the bubble-head charm — some even managed to do it soundlessly! Only rarely did they guess right on which they should cast first. However, it was good practice. Plus, sometimes the . . . alterations . . . induced were fun . . . sometimes. The most hated one gave everypony flippers for hands and feet for the evening. Dinner that evening was . . . awkward . . . to say the least.

On the other hoof, Neville hadn’t melted a single cauldron. Nor exploded a potion. Under Professor Slughorn he was positively thriving in potions. His love of Herbology was evident in his understanding of how different components of a potion interacted.

Scootaloo had the honour of discovering Lady Rowena Ravenclaw’s library. Why she decided it would be a good idea to fly down a chimney left everypony puzzled. “Eh,” she said by way of explanation, “I was slaloming around the chimneys, bored, when I noticed this one chimney didn’t have any heat or smoke coming out of it.” She shrugged. “I was bored. So, I decided to see where it went, and where I would end up.”

She sighed. “It was just a room with big desk and lots of scrolls stuffed in little cubby holes. Surprisingly, there wasn’t any dust anywhere. It looked as if the owner had just stepped out.

“It had an enormous window overlooking the grounds, and a smaller one that let me look into what I later realized was the Ravenclaw common room.”

“How did you know that?” asked a first-year.

Scootaloo rolled her eyes again. “ ’cause that’s where they told me I was when I left the room! The entrance is behind her statue in their common room.”

She sighed. “Unfortunately, the door wouldn’t open again once I left.”

“What if you got stuck in the chimney?” Apple Bloom said with a shudder. “No one knew where you were!”

Scootaloo rolled her eyes, “I’d call for a house-elf,” she said. “Duh. One of them could easily POP me out.”

The others all nodded, understanding.

“Still, next time, tell someone before taking off into someplace unknown,” Harry said quietly.

The Headmaster was especially pleased about that discovery, and gave Scootaloo ten points.

The window to the common room was apparently a series of one-way-transparent stones. It had let the Founder monitor her House’s common room, and the students in it, without being noticed.

No one had, as yet, found the method to entering her study, which was beside the Ravenclaw common room chimney. The professors were stuck with either flying down the chimney as a pegasus would or having a house-elf pop them into it. Only the Headmaster could use apparation.

Harry had his doubts about that exclusivity. He was sure that his teleport would work just fine, but he first needed to take a look at it. He was surprised that teleporting was so slow at catching on. It was a tremendous improvement on apparating. However, witches had shown themselves reluctant to try anything new. It was better to stick with what they knew than experiment with something else, seemed to be the sentiment.

The house-elves knew of Rowena’s office, of course, they kept it clean, after all. But they had been told never to tell anyone, not even the Headmaster. As the order came from a Founder, the castle magic had informed subsequent generations of the ban. Now that it had been found, the order had been cancelled.

Unlike Salazar Slytherin’s Chamber of Secrets, Ravenclaw’s Library had not been pillaged by previous sleuths. Rowena’s diaries, notes, and many priceless manuscripts and scrolls were still intact, as if only set aside by her the previous day.

Copies were placed in the Hogwarts Library, where scholars and students were reading them avidly. To Scootaloo’s surprise and delight, she was awarded a special plaque for finding the Founder’s hidden room.

Naturally, this discovery led to a flurry of pegasi diving down chimneys and popping out of cold fireplaces all over the castle. Not that the pegasi were all that interested, at first. Some of the other students, however, were more than willing to bribe the flying ponies to do the checking for them. Probably because they were too big to fit, themselves, and doing it while riding a broom was impossible.

Other upper-year students teamed up with first years and used levitation charms to explore the attics and chimneys. The firsties were, naturally, smaller than the older students and less likely to get stuck in a tight place.

Sadly, no other “hidden” rooms were found with that method, although they did discover a rather unusual number of disused sleeping quarters for professors or guests.

In an interesting development, the newly discovered rooms appeared on the map in Headmaster Dumbledore’s office, as well as the more extensive one in the Prefects’ Monitoring room. It seemed that the map only acknowledged Castle areas that had been “in use” when the map was first initialized last year.

The Prefects did not appreciate the number of new hiding places they had to check for couples engaged in illicit activities during the day.

This left only Godric Gryffindor’s Armoury and Helga Hufflepuff’s secret room — possibly a solarium? — undiscovered.

The hunt was on!

^·_·^

Elly was stumped. For the last month she had kept noticing an unsettling disparity with one of the Slytherins. His feelings were . . . too erratic. They varied from boredom or relaxed, to afraid, worried, and anxious — normal for most students with assignments to hand it — to upset, enraged, and downright near-violent. It was almost like two people in one body, at different times of the day. There seemed to be no pattern to it at all.

She hadn’t yet narrowed it down to one student because the Slytherins were remarkably inexpressive — most had a “public” face when they weren’t in their dorm. At least that was her conclusion based on how often the expression of any particular Slytherin was at times radically different from the feeling he or she was projecting. The other three Houses were much more carefree about showing their feelings through their expressions.

The Slytherins faces, by comparison, were almost wooden.

Complicating the situation was that the Slytherins always seemed to move in packs of at least three, and usually the whole groups of boys or girls, or both together.

On the other hoof, she had narrowed it down to a select three boys in her year. Because they were Slytherins, it was difficult to get close enough to single out which of the three was responsible for the feelings.

But his feelings of rage and desire for violence were worrying, to say the least. Especially after what had happened last year. That time it had been a professor working through an older student. Was the same thing about to happen, but with a younger student? The last thing she wanted to see was the Equestrian EUP Guard take up permanent residence in the castle. It was bad enough with the so-called Professorial Aides, even if they did seem to be more interested in magic and their students than sniffing out lings.

Tracking the three was difficult without using anything more powerful than a notice-me-not. Which wasn’t all that unnoticeable for a first- or second-year. Unfortunately, her or her lings constant attention would make her stand out — she didn’t have a reason to hang around them. She couldn’t change to something they wouldn’t notice to follow them, like a cat or rat, because the castle had that stupid ling-detection spell on it. Changing her appearance to look like someone else was fine, but anything more than a cosmetic alteration knocked out the ling, they had discovered. They couldn’t even imitate one of the pony forms.

Mapping the limits of what they could accomplish without getting caught had been tiresome, but easy. Going too far meant the ling was zapped and instantly returned to base-form as a young human. Having the other three carry away the unconscious ling each time that happened had kept them from discovery. Doing it in a hidden passage had also helped. As had doing it during the day when the Castle Map was not in use looking for illicit activities between consensual, although underage, couples.

Not that the lings had wasted time while she was distracted by the Slytherin mystery. She had given them very extensive tours of all the hidden places she had discovered. Unfortunately, the pegasi first years had found most of those places, too. The only ones still a secret were the rooms and passages hidden in the walls and dungeons that didn’t have fireplaces installed.

Helga Hufflepuffs office, situated overlooking the greenhouses, was mostly empty, with the floo tightly shut and the chimney on the roof hidden behind an aversion spell. The books were merely very old versions of current books in the library. Even her diaries were dull, except for the parts about the squabbles between the other founders that she had noted down in detail. She was quite a gossip, it appeared.

The only items of interest to the lings were the passages from her office to the four greenhouses, which had limited use if you weren’t in her office or didn’t want to go just there.

Godric Gryffindor’s office was just an armoury with a desk that overlooked the castle’s main entrance and courtyard. It was filled with swords, knives, bows and arrows, crossbows, and cauldrons filled with oil suspended over holes by the front wall. It was warmed, apparently, by the one wall that was a dozen chimneys that led down to the kitchens below the Great Hall. He didn’t seem to have left much in the way of diaries or letters. The only books were those that described defensive techniques for the castle, and using physical weapons against both the non-magical and the magical. Not to mention combining magic with those physical weapons — such as causing arrows to explode on contact with anything, even magical shields. Very dull stuff, and not very applicable to the modern day for the magicals of today. Using a sword or crossbow was too . . . muggle . . . for the modern witch or wizard.

She had to snort at that. The ponies knew the value of a good sword or knife in a magical fight. The element of surprise was always a valuable tool in any fighter’s repertoire. The witches did not know what they were forsaking, she sadly reflected.

But that was all to the good, from her point of view. The witches’ and wizards’ surprise at being on the receiving end of a physical attack as well as a magical would be invaluable to the lings.

Should such a confrontation ever occur.

She planned that over the coming hols she and the other lings would drill relentlessly in the close-fighting techniques that Godric had written down. While their instructors in the Hive had taught them two-legged combat skills, Godric’s writing were far above those simple techniques.

Using ling techniques to sneak close, and physically take down an unsuspecting opponent could save the hive. They certainly had done so in the past, in Equestria. But that was risky in this new world with the ling detection-and-stun spells scattered around haphazardly. Which meant they had to master the methods used by a true professional in the art of using tools instead of claws, fangs, and subterfuge.

Not using magic to sneak around meant no one would pick up their activity, too, unless their victim was being actively watched by others.

They took care to leave everything as they found it, after each currently short weekly session. While the lings thought they were the first ones to discover these hidden places, there was no proof someone else hadn’t. Even if no one had, that didn’t mean someone wouldn’t in the future — and they wanted to leave no clues about themselves.

They had already started studying the scrolls carefully, but always returned them to where they had been found. The same with the weapons. Careful application of cleaning charms removed any physical evidence that they might leave.

Lings were very good at hiding their presence. Anyone finding the room would think it had been the elves doing the cleaning.

It also made for good practice on their hiding-in-plain-sight techniques. Humans, like ponies, it seemed, would see what they expected to see, if you provided the correct visual or sight cues.

^·_·^

In the second week of December, Professor McGonagall posted the signup sheet for those who wanted to go home for the holidays. Which turned out to be the entire Gryffindor House.

Both Charlie, the dragonologist, and, Bill, the Gringotts curse breaker, were being sent to Equestria by their bosses as a working holiday. The standing invitation for the Weasleys to visit Equestria, at no cost, meant their parents could go there, too. Not that cost was a problem anymore with the income from the children’s exploits. But old habits are hard to break.

So, as long as the others were there, having the Hogwarts contingent join them was no inconvenience. The Weasleys could renew their tradition of the whole family being together at this time of year for the first time in a number of years.

Almost the same was true for the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff Houses, with even most of the O.W.L. or N.E.W.T students leaving. It seemed the Ministry hadn’t yet realized just how much book-walking had improved the students’ understanding of theory or memorizing of details. As a result, they hadn’t adjusted their testing, thus far. But even if they did, the students still had the advantage. It would probably take a few years, as each subsequent class had that much more time to use the book-walking spell and improve that much more than the previous year was able to achieve.

Which meant those students preparing for their tests were having a markedly easier time than their predecessors, with the attendant lower stress. Madam Pomfrey definitely noticed the decrease in students with anxiety and lack-of-sleep issues.

Slytherin, by comparison had a significant number of students stay. In their year, alone, they had Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Millicent Bulstrode, and Pansy Parkinson stay. In fact, the Equestrians in that house were a significant number of the Slytherins who went home!

The rumours coming from Ravenclaw about the Slytherins suggested that many of those students’ parents were experiencing . . . money troubles. Several had downsized their living arrangements, while others had had to adapt to severely reduced income or circumstances. They wanted their children at Hogwarts while they navigated these new treacherous financial waters in which the families now found themselves.

It was all good in his book, as far as Harry was concerned. The Slytherins with financial problems in the family were more subdued than in the past, much less boisterous. Which made things less stressful in Hogwarts for him — and almost everypony else, too.

Excellent.

^·_·^

Author's Note

The potion that does the opposite effect of what it’s supposed to do was Senko’s suggestion.

Royal Visits, Part Two – Side-story

Whether Castor had been dragooned, shanghaied, or ordered, he wasn’t sure. Maybe it was all three. Everyone from his superiors to the ponies, it seemed, assumed he was going to go along.

Apparently, the consensus was that as their first contact, he should accompany the Equestrians in the event something happened or was said that needed explaining. Not that he thought there would be such problems. The Royals had studied closely the records of several State Visits that the Yanks had supplied.

He had been expecting them to take a plane across the Atlantic for the State Visit to the United States, at the invitation of President George Bush. Instead, here they were, in the back courtyard to the Equestrian Embassy in Little Whinging, Surrey.

As ponies.

Maybe, because out of the six of them he was the only one with saddlebags, they wanted to use him as a pack-mule?

While he and his family were pegasi in Equestria, they didn’t have the magic to transform on this side of the Portal. Princess Celestia had used her magic to give him the little boost he needed to make the change. It was an odd perspective to see how much taller everything now appeared.

Why she wanted him as a Pegasus, he didn’t know. He would find out soon enough, he was sure.

Waiting with him were Princesses Celestia and Luna, and Prince Blueblood, the same as the State Visit to the U.K. this summer. What was different, however, was this time they did not include Princess Twilight.

Replacing her presence were the two other royals he met them in Equestria at the ball.

The first had a pink coat, and yellow, rose, and violet mane and tail. Unlike Princess Twilight, her mane and tail appeared to occasionally shift and move around in an unfelt breeze — but nothing like the non-stop, gently-flowing, movements of the other two alicorns. Her cutie mark was a crystal heart.

It was her Royal Majesty, Mi Amore Cadenza, Princess of Love, Mistress of Heavenly Affection, Earthly Passion, and Icon of Eros, Guardian of the Crystal Heart, Niece of the Heavens, Liberator and Co-ruler of the Crystal Empire.*

Accompanying her was her unicorn husband, His Royal Highness Prince Shining Armor, Liberator and Co-ruler of the Crystal Empire. The Prince had a light grey coat with a mane and tail that were a combination light, moderate, and dark blues. His cutie mark was dark-blue shield with a six-pointed pink star in the centre of it, and three pale blue stars above.

He was also Twilight’s brother! What a coincidence. And, from what he could tell, it really was a coincidence.

Castor was more than a little worried about what was happening — or, rather, not happening. The U.S. Ambassador had provided them with a detailed itinerary which required their plane to land at the Andrews Air Force Base in Prince George’s County, Maryland.

In about fifteen minutes.

Instead, the three Princesses were carefully studying a video camera feed from United States of the reception committee waiting for them on the runway. He knew Prince Blueblood had informed the U.S. Ambassador that they would be arriving via their own transport, but he hadn’t said exactly what that transport was.

Princess Celestia nodded firmly. “It will be no trouble at all,” she said quietly. “Shiny? Bluey? Ready?”

Prince Armor rolled his eyes. “Yes, Tia,” he said as he nodded slightly. Blueblood just boredly nodded.

A light-gold aura lit up her horn and the same surrounded the Prince and Blueblood, slowly becoming brighter until the pegasus had to look away. When he looked back, both had wings, just like he did!

Shining Armor and Blueblood gave their new wings a couple of stretches and flaps. “Excellent,” Shining Armour said in a satisfied tone. “As natural as walking.” He grinned at his aunts. Blueblood just nodded, again.

Castor was still blinking away the dots. No one had seen that magic before. How long would the wings last? Could they give wings to humans?

He shook his head. He needed to stay on topic. How were they supposed to get to the airbase in the next ten minutes?

“Time to go,” Celestia said, spreading her wings and lifting up into the air.

Moments later, they were hundreds of yards in the sky. Celestia and Luna were in the lead. They slowed their ascent and coasted a moment. “Lulu, Cady, Bluey, follow my lead. I’ll take Castor and Shiny.”

Castor wasn’t sure what she meant, but he found out an instant later as Little Whinging, and England, disappeared from below him. There was the faint sound of bells. Then he realized he was staring down at the runway that only moments before had been thousands of kilometres away and on a telly screen.

After the initial shock, it took only a few moments to pick out where they needed to go. Two barricades were erected on one of the airport’s taxiways, with a small crowd behind each. He could see the obvious press contingents, the seated band, and audience. The soldiers in two lines between them were a dead giveaway that that was where they were expected.

After their visit to England, Castor knew that this visit was being broadcast, live, to the world. The U.S. wanted to milk this for all it was worth, and had been hyping it for the last month. Unfortunately for President Bush, the bad economy at home overrode any accomplishments from outside the States, which meant he had lost the election just two weeks ago. It had been close, but he had lost. However, he would be going out with a historic first that guaranteed him prominence in the history books. He would be welcoming the first ever interplanetary visitors to the United States.

It took a few minutes, and them losing most of their altitude coasting in loose circles, before anyone on the ground noticed the six flying ponies over their heads. Without the drone of propellor or jet engines to smoother the sounds, the collective gasp that erupted from the ground was clearly audible. There were more than a few screams from little kids of, “Mommy! Look! Flying horses!”

Castor had to grin at the expressions of shock and surprise he was seeing — it really was amazing how good his eyesight was. He could see them all so clearly when he was at least a football-field away.

He had read that a raptor could pick out a mouse in a field of grass that was at least a football field’s distance away, but to experience something similar, though not as distant, was another thing entirely. No wonder his marksmanship lately was 40/40.

The viewers watching on the telly and listening over the radio were probably stunned at the sight of six winged ponies landing at an American airbase. Whatever they had been expecting, this was not it.

The reception committee had lost their practiced composure as everyone pointed and stared. Jaws were dropping and the attending journalists were losing the plot.

Celestia and Luna were in the lead. To Celestia’s left were Blueblood and Castor. To Luna’s right were Cadance and Shining Armor. Castor found himself chuckling out loud at the dumbfounded looks headed their way.

He was positive that Celestia and Luna were using their magic on a very small scale to make sure they were in this specific formation, and not drifting too close or apart from each other. He certainly wasn’t trying to control his flight any more than to keep gliding.

He was sure the officials had been warned about Princes’ and Princesses’ pony forms, with accompanying pictures — all of which were normal colours for horses and ponies on Earth. Well, except for their manes and tails which could be explained by hair dyes. However, Cadance’s clearly bright-pink coat was a colour not seen in nature on Earth, which had undoubtedly raised eyebrows. Was it real? Or an affection?

He knew his own appearance matching Shining Armour except for the lack of a horn, would be oh, so, confusing to the analysts. Was he related? But how could he be, when he was a verified human born in Britain?

When they came around on their final lap, the band leader realized that the winged horses were the intended guests. He immediately had the U.S. Air Force Band begin playing “Arrival Fanfare Number One.”

One person, at least, had woken up and realized what the next step had to be. He had jumped into action as they were gliding on their final approach to the reception group and had unrolled the red carpet.

They lightly touched down at the foot of the red carpet.

As they had been told, military personnel, twenty-one total, formed two lines flanking either side of the red carpet. They were from the Third United States Infantry Regiment, the U.S. Navy Ceremonial Guard, the U.S. Coast Guard Ceremonial Honour Guard, and the U.S. Air Force Honour Guard.

At the end of the red carpet closest to them, a welcoming committee stood. Two officers from the Andrews Air Base Colour Guard held short poles with the flags of the United States and Equestria. A small welcoming committee waited for them at the foot of the carpet. The Chief of Protocol, John Giffen Weinman, a tall, thin man with receding grey hair, the commanding general of Andrews Air Force Base, General Ronald W. Yates, a fit man with greying black hair, and three other ranking officers smiled as they approached. After they landed, three wide-eyed American schoolgirls stepped forward and presented a bouquet of flowers to each alicorn, murmuring “Your Majesty.”

Every dream the three girls had ever had about horses had just come true.

The Princesses graciously lifted the flowers in their magical auras, golden, deep blue, and light blue. They all replied with a warm, “Thank you.” They studied the bouquets for a moment, then Celestia selected a red rose from her bouquet, and delicately munched on it. “Oh, Lulu,” she said turning her head. “You must try one of these, they are a simply delightful snack.” A red rose left Luna’s bouquet and hovered in front of her sister.

Castor was trying mightily to keep a straight face.

Based on his horrified expression, which quickly turned bland, clearly the Protocol Officer hadn’t realized just how herbivores might react to a traditional flower bouquet. Not as a nice gesture, but the offer of exquisite snacks! He was probably having heart palpations at the questions he realized he should have asked when the Equestrians announced they were coming for a State Visit. He should have realized the playbook would be thrown out as soon as he saw that the Equestrians were definitely non-human! That they had flown to the base — without a plane — should hammer that point into even the densest aide!

Why had he expected them to appear as people?

No wonder the radar operators hadn’t said anything about an approaching aircraft.

He was probably in a panic over just how those flowers would taste to a pony.

As unobtrusively as possible, he signalled desperately to one of his aides. Castor clenched his teeth as he tried not to laugh at the thought that that poor panicking sod was going to dash to the limousine and ensure that any snacks inside were palatable to herbivores. Hopefully, there none of the pork-rinds that the President favoured on-board.

He imagined that the other Protocol Officers in the government were in the process of frantically calling their aides, and reviewing everything planned for the Royals’ visit.

Celestia offered her bouquet to Castor. Castor found the carnation to be rather nice. Cadance took a yellow gardenia from hers, while her husband decided to sample of the Lilies of the Inca. Luna offered Blueblood a choice from her bouquet.

Children in the audience were jumping up and down enthusiastically, squealing happily. Their families, primarily from the air base, had to physically restrain some the more exuberant children from dashing under the ropes and accosting the ponies on the red carpet.

Celestia, Luna, and Cadance leaning back slightly and then waving their front hooves, obviously to the children, didn’t help the parents. Although their children were ecstatic at being noticed.

Castor had to wonder how those watching on the telly were reacting to all this. The commentators were probably having a field day, he was sure.

Recovering, Weinman managed the rest of the ceremony with aplomb. The national anthems of Equestria and then the United States were played as they walked to their waiting car. The flowers, alas, did not make it to the end carpet, not even the stems.

John, the Protocol Officer was probably praying he hadn’t just poisoned the visiting Royals, or any in their party.

Celestia and Luna took their time, studying the men and women to either side. The Sun alicorn stopped at one point and asked to see a sailor’s rifle. Not to be outdone, Luna asked the same of an infantry woman. They both hefted the rifles in their magic and examined the bolt-actions as if they were on an official inspection.

Prince Armour looked as if he also wanted to take a look at the rifles, too. Cadance just rolled her eyes. Castor imagined she was thinking something along the lines of ‘colts and their toys.’

The limousine waiting for them wasn’t typical. Not having the expansion technology, and having seen that the Princesses were big, in both their forms, the government had either acquired or created a stretch-van and heavily modified it to look like simply a larger version of a stretch-limo.

Eventually, and to the Protocol Officer’s great relief, Castor didn’t doubt, they reached the vehicle. The poor man would probably have a breakdown once they were out of sight.

Once the six of them were comfortably seated, they left for the President’s Guest House.

Blair House, their destination, was a 119-room home across the street from the White House. The Blair House staff had been extensively briefed on the Royals, and that they could appear as either ponies or people. Castor planned to slip a word in the ear of one of the cooks that Celestia absolutely adored cakes — of all kinds. If they wanted to get in her good books, all they needed to do was make sure that there always several on hand, and to serve at least one with every meal. And that chocolate was not a problem.

While they were there, as a sign of respect, lamp posts on Pennsylvania Avenue were outfitted with Equestria’s, the United States’, and the District of Columbia’s flags. The Equestrian flag also would fly in front of Blair House and the East Executive Avenue entrance to the Eisenhower Executive Building.

The six would have the rest of the evening to settle in.

It would be quite interesting to see how the evening news portrayed their arrival. It would be the first time the Royals, except Blueblood, had seen television in use. It would give them an unparalleled look at how the “idiot box” could be used to shape opinion.

Seeing as how they were five hours ahead of the current time zone, while it was not much past lunch-time for those on this side of the Atlantic, for them, they had already had their dinner.

Tomorrow would be the official arrival ceremony at the White House, and the State dinner that afternoon.

Castor was a bit anxious that representatives MACUSA might show up. On the other hand, the separation between the magicals and the non-magicals was extremely strict over here. They had only allowed magicals to marry non-magicals starting in the sixties! The magical government might not even know the Equestrians were visiting!

After all, the only magic had been their teleportation, and a few minor others. From what he had been told, the ponies’ teleportation didn’t set off the detectors as normal wizard apparating did. So, the alicorns and unicorns hadn’t done anything that would bring in obliviators. As long as the magicals kept their noses out of things, at this point, the Statute of Secrecy was perfectly safe.

Castor idly wondered how Twilight was doing.

♚

Spike sighed as he walked to Twilight’s room. He had already searched the Map Room, the Throne Room, and the kitchen. The sun was getting awfully close to the horizon and there hadn’t been any signs of Twilight since their early dinner when the Royals had left.

First, he checked under the bed. Nope.

Then he checked the closets. Nope and nope.

He sighed again. As he reached the door, he had a sudden inspiration. He turned, rushed into the bathroom, and yanked open the door to the shower stall. Disappointingly, that, too, was empty of any signs of his purple mum.

He once more headed for the door, stopping at the threshold to think.

He slapped his head with his paw. Of course. He should have checked there first.

He jogged into the massive library and looked around.

The book shelves were completely empty.

A massive book-fort, with a dry moat, on the other hoof, had been built in the centre of the room. The furniture not being used inside the fort had been haphazardly moved to the edges of the room.

He walked over to the fort’s entrance, currently blocked by the massive World Maps book, Third Edition, with New and More Accurate Maps of Places Ponies Have Never Been Before!TM, With Additional Annotations and Commentary by Princess Twilight and the Mane FiveTM.

“Twilight!” he yelled — merely talking would never make it through the book-thick walls or the equally thick book-drawbridge. “It’s almost time for sunset!”

He jumped to the side as the massive Maps book, crashed down, revealing a distraught and panicked purple alicorn.

“No! It can’t be, not yet! I’m not ready!” she shouted.

“Twi,” he said soothingly, “Of course you can. You practiced with Tia and Lulu last night and this morning. They both said you did fine.”

“But they were there, then. They won’t be, now! What if I make a mistake!” She shrank back. “Oh, I could accidentally melt Griffonstone! What if I goof and raise the moon instead of setting the sun? Or the sun gets mad at me and refuses to set? I’ll roast the world! They’ll call me Daybreaker Twilight! Celestia and Luna will never forgive me! Everyone will hate me! They’ll throw me into the dungeons, forever!”

She was backing further and further into her fort, shrinking down slightly with each sentence, her mane looking wilder and wilder while her pupils shrank to mere pinpricks.

Spike sighed again and followed her into the fort. This was going to take a bit of time. The book-drawbridge slammed shut behind him.

“Twi,” he tried again, speaking as soothingly as possible, “Nothing of the sort will happen.” He grabbed her by the hoof. “It’ll be just like you practiced. Trust me!”

Her disbelieving look told him it wasn’t going to be as easy as he had hoped.

Sunset that day was about an hour later than normal, and not nearly as smooth as when Celestia did it, ponies and creatures everywhere noticed. One moment it was there, the next, not. Then it was back, but lower. Then it was gone again. As they were blinking their eyes in the response to the transition from light to dark to light to dark, the Moon popped up like a scalded rabbit. Then it ducked back down with only a tiny bit over the horizon, as if it were cautiously checking its surroundings.

It shot up halfway to overhead. Then reversed direction in a series of jerks that left it at its normal moonrise position, just above the horizon, but a bit further north than normal — by half the normal distance. It stopped, but had an odd pinkish glow, almost as if it were blushing. Or Luna was. It slowly slid sideways until it was at its regular position. It turned a bit pinker.

More than a few nobles, who knew Celestia and Luna were visiting elsewhere, made notes to have a talk with the purple Alicorn. As soon as possible.

First, though, they’d have to find her.

She was positive they’d never think to look in her closet.

Spike heard her mumblings under breath — she had parked him on her back in the mad dash to her room. She was calculating if it would be possible to use that obliviate spell she had read about in the Witching book on everypony in Equestria. Maybe she could make them forget her first unsupervised attempt at sun and moon manipulation before Celestia and Luna returned?

♚

The next morning started early, and the Blair House’s staff hit a home run when they served a pound-cake smothered in frosting with Equestria’s Twin Sister’s emblem on top. Breakfast itself was an array of omelettes: apple and sharp cheddar; smoked gouda and asparagus; spicy sun-dried tomato and feta; corn, black-beans, peppers, cheese and tomatoes; mushroom scallion frittata with parmesan; and several others.

Celestia and Luna tried them all. Eating triple what the others consumed.

Celestia still managed to eat the entire cake by herself. That they brought out a second cake for the others showed Castor that the Head Cook had taken his advice to heart.

Today, they went as people instead of ponies in their special van to the White House where they were met by a civilian welcoming committee for the arrival ceremony. Also meeting them, in the background, were a large number of military personnel drawn from the 3rd U.S. Infantry Regiment, the U.S. Navy Ceremonial Guard, the U.S. Air Force Honour Guard, the U.S. Coast Guard Ceremonial Honour Guard, the White House sentries, Alpha Company of the garrison of Marine Barracks Washington, and selected other personnel.

While they were being welcomed and introduced, the Presidential Salute Battery fired cannon volleys from a firing position in President's Park — the famous twenty-one-gun salute. The band was performing Equestria’s national anthem at the same time.

Just as there had been in England, there was an inspection and review of the troops present. Then it was time for the speeches. The press, after all, had to be given something. The speeches were, thankfully, short.

President Bush started off.

“Your Majesties, Your Excellencies, and our friends here in the White House, on behalf of the American people, it is my great honour to welcome you to the United States.” He stopped and waited for the applause to die down.

“Your Majesties, this historic house has witnessed many historic occasions, but as all of our guests here today I am sure will agree, and as those who are listening on television and radio will understand, no visit to this house has a greater historical significance than your visit today to the White House.

“Never has any president of the United States ever welcomed visitors from another world. A world that is both the same and yet different from our own.”

The applause lasted a bit longer this time.

He continued in that vein for a few minutes, before concluding, “We wish you a good visit here, and we wish you the very best for the many years of leadership which we know you will continue to provide, not only to your nation, not only to your world, but to those who cherish and honour freedom throughout both our worlds.”

Princess Celestia’s speech was a bit shorter, and consisted of saying nothing important while appearing to do so. It was a skill she had developed far back in her career as leader of Equestria. About the only thing she did say was how much she enjoyed being on vacation, meeting new people, and learning things she had never suspected existed!

After the speeches, they moved inside to the Blue Room, called so for its thematic colour. There, the five Equestrians signed the Official White House Guest Book.

Then it was to the Red Room, where the Official Presentation of Gifts was to take place. Equestria’s gift had already been handed to the White House yesterday and was waiting for them on the oak table in the centre of the room, as was the gift from the President to Equestria.

The American gift was astonishingly well-chosen, Castor thought. All the Equestrians were completely taken with the “Cook Book of the Americas” presented to them. Hundreds of recipes that they had never tasted. To individuals who counted centuries, a new recipe was beyond imagining for them. All the cookbooks from England were heavy in meats, unfortunately. A few catered to vegetarian diets, but those were a definite minority.

That must have been a monumental effort to canvass recipes from almost every country in North and South America for ones that would be appropriate. Plus, it was quite clever to include all the Americas and not just restrict themselves to the borders of the United States.

The Equestrian gift was a box about a foot long on each side, thirty-and-a-half centimetres, and four inches, or ten centimetres, deep. Emblazoned in the top were both the Seal of the United States and the Seal of Equestria. Celestia smiled at the President as she opened hinged top, revealing the interior to the Yanks for the first time. The inside of the lid duplicated the outside, but with the words, “A Gift to The United States of America from Equestria, in honour of Eternal Peace Between Our Nations” above them

It would take a moment for anyone to notice that, however. What immediately drew their attention was in the bed of the velvet-lined box. It was a single, eagle-shaped diamond, replicating the Seal of the United States.

In lifting the lid, a soft light suffused the diamond from underneath.

The body was amber, the beak and legs yellow, and the head was white. One foot held a green olive branch with leaves, and the other held three yellow arrows with white heads and fletching. The shield on the bird’s torso had a blue field at the top, and red and white vertical stripes below. The blue field held thirteen white stars.

If you looked very closely, Castor knew, you realized it was made of a single diamond. The colours weren’t painted on, those were the colours of the diamond at those places. At seven kilograms and ten inches, twenty-five centimetres, tall and wide, it was the second largest diamond in the world. Only England’s new Block Diamond was more massive. With its intricate shape and colours, the eagle-diamond was, Castor knew without any doubt, beyond priceless.

While the Yanks stared, dumbfounded at the glittering diamond, Celestia said, “It took myself, Luna, and seven unicorn artisans to fashion this. Afterwards, the artisans had to rest for a day.” She paused, taking in their flabbergasted expressions. “In the bottom of the box is an ‘eternal light’ that will always light the seal when the cover is open.” She smiled. “You need not worry about it burning out. The power-supply will not run out in my lifetime.”

If they jaws could have dropped further, they would have. They had heard she was over a thousand years old, and would not die of old age.

She stepped back and let the officials admire the diamond while she joined her sister and niece in looking through the cookbook. “Look! Look, Sis,” Luna said excitedly, waving the book at her sister as they paged through it. “We have to try this one!” A cry that was repeated often as they flipped through the pages.

The official White House photographer was busy taking pictures.

Castor made sure to inform one of the aides lurking just outside the Red Room that the cookbook would see much use back in Equestria. He warned them to expect requests for sources for some of the ingredients mentioned, by the ton. After all, the Royals had exhausted their own cookbooks of ideas centuries ago. Something new was almost unheard of.

After several posed and candid pictures, it was on to the planned luncheon. That was limited to the Royals, the President, and his wife, however.

Not unexpectedly, to Castor, at least, the sisters took the cookbook with them and continued to share it with Cadance and Shining Armor.

It was interesting to see that someone had planned for the fact that both Celestia and Luna were much taller than the tables and chairs originally had been designed to accommodate. Someone had modified the cushioned chairs so that they were taller, almost bar-stool chairs, with the table likewise elevated. While Celestia and Luna sat down, everyone else shifted back and up to sit, and propped their feet on the footrest-spokes of the chairs.

Castor had a quick sandwich from the kitchens that one of the other aides was able to acquire for him. Despite his position outside the room’s open door with the other aides, he could hear most of their conversation. He decided it must be his pegasus hearing kicking in as he strained to hear what was being said.

It was nothing really secret or surprising, but he wanted to be ready if the Royals had any questions later.

“You underestimate the value of your gift, Barbara,” Celestia said kindly, when Barbara Bush asked why the cookbook was so fascinating. “I long ago tried all the recipes in Our cookbooks. To have something new, that I never tasted before, is a unique experience. I promise that millions of ponies will want to buy copies of this cookbook once it’s translated into pony measurements.

“Our gift to you is unique, and very valuable, We’re sure, but it will not personally touch nearly as many lives as your gift to us will.

“Of the two, I think your gift to Equestria is the better.”

The two Bushes were amazed to hear this, Castor could tell from both their silence and then their subsequent remarks.

“If you don’t mind my asking, Celestia,” Mrs. Bush asked, “I noticed you are quick to discard the normal honorifics of your office. Why?”

She chuckled lightly. There was a bit of dry humour in her answer. “After a thousand years of kowtowing, pomp, and ceremony, you begin to resent the time lost to meaningless actions. They have a certain time and place, such as the ceremonies of Our visit, but for every day? I wish to simplify my life. Eschewing ‘Princess this’ and ‘Princess that’, dropping the bowing and scrapping from friends and associates, saves me much time in my day. It is also much more relaxing. I do not wish to distance myself from my ponies.” There was a short pause.

“Imagine having every meal treated as a State Dinner?” Luna said. “How quick would you be to rebel?”

The Bushes nodded in understanding.

As they were standing to leave, Celestia said, “If you have no objections, George, could we move the Ceremony for the nonaggression treaty to this afternoon? I feel, after these gifts, it would be appropriate for the day, and add a bit of relief to the State Dinner tonight.”

The President quickly responded, “I see no reason why we couldn’t. All the details are settled, it is merely a press conference. I’m sure we could even get the treaty ratified before your visit is over.”

What wasn’t said was that it would require a special session for the 102nd Congress to be called. From things Blueblood had mentioned in passing last month, Castor knew the Yank government would not rest quietly until the treaty was done and delivered. They were more than a little anxious at some of the stories they had heard about Celestia’s and Luna’s abilities.

After the lunch, it was back to Blair House for the Royals and Castor for the few hours until the press conference could be arranged.

It came off smoothly. After the treaty was read out loud, it was quickly signed by all parties, live, on the telly for everyone to see.

The Government of Equestria, of the Planet Equus, and the Government of the United States of America, of the Planet Earth, desirous of strengthening the cause of peace between Equestria and the U.S.A. have reached the following agreement:

ARTICLE I : Both Parties obligate themselves to abstain from any act of violence, any aggressive action, or any attack on each other, either individually or jointly with other powers.

ARTICLE II : Should one of the Parties become the object of belligerent action by a third power, the other Party shall in no manner lend its support to this third power.

ARTICLE III : The Governments of the two Parties shall maintain continual contact with one another for the purpose of consultation in order to exchange information on problems affecting their common interests.

ARTICLE IV : Neither of the two Parties shall participate in any hostile grouping of powers, whatsoever, that is directly or indirectly aimed at the other Party.

ARTICLE V : Should disputes or conflicts arise between the Parties over problems of one kind or another, both parties shall settle these disputes or conflicts exclusively through friendly exchange of opinion or, if necessary, through the establishment of arbitration commissions.

ARTICLE VI : The present treaty will be enforced for a period of ten years, with the provision that it shall automatically be extended for another ten years, if one of the Parties does not denounce it one year prior to the expiration of this period.

ARTICLE VII : The present treaty shall be ratified within the shortest possible time. The ratifications shall be exchanged in Washington, DC, The United States, Earth. The agreement shall enter into force as soon as it is signed.

Done in duplicate, in the Ponyish and English languages.

For the Government of the United States: George Herbert Walker Bush

For the Government of Equestria: Princess Celestia

For the Government of Equestria: Princess Luna

The State Dinner scheduled for that evening would be a bit celebratory for those in the know, Castor knew. Now, if something went wrong or some nutcase took untoward actions, the Equestrians would not automatically think the government of the U.S.A. had anything to with it, even if it were a false flag operation by another power. There would be time for both governments to meet and discuss what had happened before any hostilities took place.

The Equestrians returned to Blair House, again, and waited for the formal dinner. They had already informed the White House staff that they intended to attend as people and not ponies.

The three Alicorns were amazed at the concepts of soap-operas and game shows. The comedy show reruns were also eye-opening. The Three Stooges gained another ardent follower in Luna.

The dinner officially started at seven, so their car arrived at six. Castor was not included for this, fortunately, he thought. It sounded like a thoroughly boring evening. Greeted by the President and his wife, then taken to a reception in the Yellow Room for those who would be seated at the head table. From there they would go via the Grand Staircase in a short transit ceremony with a band playing the Presidential Entrance March. After they arrived in the Blue Room, the other guests would be individually announced by a military social aide, where they would be greeted by the President and the Equestrians before being seated in the State Dining Room, with their pictures being taken.

After everyone had arrived, the Press Corp would be allowed in for more pictures, and a toast would be offered, first by the President, then a reciprocal one by either Celestia or Luna would take place.

The sisters hadn’t yet decided which one would have the honour. Each kept telling the other, “No, you do it.”

After the conclusion of the dessert course, the President of the United States and the Equestrians would lead the guests into the East Room of the White House while the U.S. Air Force Strolling Strings would perform a recessional. The U.S. Marine Corps Chamber Orchestra would then give a thirty-minute performance. Following the performance, they would move to the Entrance Hall for sparkling wine and dancing to music provided by the United States Marine Band’s jazz ensemble.

That last had been a bit of a surprise to the Yanks, but Celestia was interested in seeing formal dancing as it was practiced here.

All-in-all, Castor felt he was well out of it, and planned to spend the evening relaxing and writing the reports he needed to hand in when they returned.

Unfortunately, not five minutes after they left, the House butler came into the sitting room and told him there was a government official at the door who wished to speak with him. Not the Royals, but him.

The man who came in was well-dressed, about thirty with black hair and glasses. “Good evening Mr. Searle. I’m William Trueson. I’m sort of what you would call an assistant to the Foreign Secretary. I was hoping that you might be able to answer a few questions my government has about the Equestrians.” He held up both hands in a placating gesture. “Nothing private or privileged. We’ve seen a few Equestrian books and want to check their veracity — some of the claims they make are frankly fantastical. We’re hoping you can clear up some of our confusion.”

Castor slowly nodded. “I’ll answer what I can.”

They sat across from each other.

“First,” William said, “Princesses Celestia and Luna are the rulers of Equestria, and have been for a . . . thousand years? That’s true and not just a continuation of a traditional name?”

Castor nodded. “Yes. Queen Elizabeth asked them about that during their visit with her a couple of months ago. Princess Celestia said that they aren’t immortal, just very, very hard to kill. It’s apparently in their nature as alicorns. They don’t get sick, nor do they perceptibly age.” He paused. “They do age, however. I have seen old paintings of them and they are definitely more mature looking now than they used to be. Sort of like how a twenty-year-old looks younger than a thirty-year-old, not quite as filled out, a shade shorter, that sort of thing. Not a huge difference, but noticeable.”

The other man nodded in understanding, appearing a bit unsettled. “Next, Princess Cadance. We originally were expecting Princess Twilight. Can you tell us anything about them?”

Castor leaned back and thought carefully. “Both Princesses only recently became alicorns . . . well, recent as opposed to how long the Sisters have been around.” He stopped to think. “Princesses Celestia and Luna are sisters, with Celestia being the elder. When they were born, they were unicorns. They became apprentices to Star Swirl the Bearded, and discovered they had an affinity to the Sun and Moon, respectively. With his guidance, they eventually took control of the Sun and Moon.”

“By control, you mean . . .?”

“Literally. They raise and lower the sun and moon, daily.”

Williams look was incredulous.

“I have seen Princess Celestia make the Sun move in a figure eight in the sky. It’s not simple superstition among the ponies, nor hyperbole due to their positions as rulers. They truly have control of those celestial bodies where they come from.”

It was Williams turn to lean back in his chair. “That defies physics!” he stated flatly. “Never mind that the sun is so much bigger than the Earth, just making the Earth change it’s rotation would most likely be an extinction-level event!”

Castor nodded understandingly, “And yet, it is so.”

Williams huffed and looked out the window to the dark sky outside. “Who is doing that while they are here?”

“Princess Twilight. When they were visiting the Queen, several months ago, it was Princess Cadance. My understanding is that it is a much more difficult job for those two — it leaves them almost too tired to stay awake — than it is for Princess Celestia and Luna, but they can do it.”

“Princess Cadance was a surprise to us, can you tell me anything about the Crystal Empire? There haven’t been many books that mention the Empire, and what they do say is sparse.”

“Truthfully, I don’t know much. It was an isolated pony kingdom to the north of Equestria that suffered under the rule of a tyrant, a King Sombra. They had been at war with Equestria without hostilities for a thousand years, but they learned he intended to attack Equestria, again, so they struck first. Princess Cadance is apparently distantly related to the former King and Queen of the Empire from a thousand years ago, and became ruler after they subdued King Sombra. The Empire is still recovering from the trauma imposed by the King. This is more of a vacation for Princess Cadance and Prince Shining Armour than anything else.”

William shifted in his chair. “Was King Sombra an alicorn?”

“No,” Castor shook his head. “He used other methods to survive. According to what I’ve read of reports from the Empire, he was quite insane, and his methods were stomach-churning, to say the least. Think Stalin, only more ruthless and less moral. Basically, willing to do anything to get what he wants. And with their telekinetic abilities, that’s quite a bit more than you can possibly imagine.”

“And all four of them are alicorns? Are there any more?”

Castor shook his head. “Alicorns are not born,” he said. “I don’t understand the mechanism, and I’m not sure they do, either. Under special circumstances, different for each, they . . . ascend . . . and become alicorns with immense personal powers and apparent immortality.

“Princess Cadance was a pegasus when she ascended, while the other three were unicorns. Princess Cadance ascended fifteen years ago; Princess Twilight ascended almost two years ago.

“However, and this is important, simply having wings and a horn does not make a pony an Alicorn.”

Williams gave a tight smile. “That was to be my next question.”

Castor nodded. “As you no doubt saw yesterday, both Prince Blueblood and Prince Shining Armour had both. Today, they do not.”

William nodded. “Yes, we were curious about that.”

“The wings were ‘temporarily’ given to them by Princess Celestia using one of her psychic abilities. I truly don’t understand how that works, but apparently it does.

“As another example, yesterday, you saw me as a Pegasus. That was ‘given’ to me by Princess Celestia for that day only. I cannot change to that form, right now, like they can change forms. She, or Luna, has to do something for that to happen.

“So, anyway, you don’t have to worry about there being any ‘hidden’ or ‘secret’ Alicorns. At present, there are only four.” He smiled. “And after that non-aggression treaty, the Princesses will immediately inform you if that situation changes.”

They were both silent for time.

“We have heard,” Trueson started solemnly, “That Princess Celestia could . . . glass . . . any country foolish enough to attack them.”

Castor looked down, then back up, and sighed tiredly. “Imagine being able to call a solar flare to Earth. Three days later, a ball of hot gases, half-a-million degrees hot and several miles in diameter, hits the target country. What would be left?” he shook his head.

William looked positively horrified.

“There’s no finesse in a solar flare. You’re not going to take out a building like a smart-bomb, nor simply destroy a city with a nuke. The damage will be fifty, maybe a hundred miles across.”

Williams looked stunned at the possibility.

Castor leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands. “Look, they simply don’t get how terrifying these abilities appear to us. The ponies and their enemies have had a thousand years to become accustomed to them. They’re like a . . . a porcupine who doesn’t understand his own defence. Smart predators only mess with them once, and then leave them alone; it’s too painful not to. The pony predators learned this lesson long, long ago, and take it for granted. We’re running into them for the first time and its scary.” He leaned back. “Bloody scary!”

He sighed. “On the other hand, like a porcupine, they just want to be left unmolested. You don’t hurt them and they won’t hurt you. They have no interest in either expanding their territory or controlling others. Princess Celestia says she has her hooves full just controlling Equestria, why would she ever want to add to that headache? Plus, consider that they’ve had a thousand years to conquer their entire planet, if they wanted more territory — and they haven’t.”

He smirked. “They are intensely interested in new ideas, however. They are fascinated with your soap operas on the telly. They are absorbing our books, movies, and plays like sponges. Princess Luna loves physical comedy, like Benny Hill or the Three Stooges. If any of them were still alive, they’d probably be considered honorary ponies and Knighted, already.” He added, and chuckled,

“If you want to have Princess Twilight’s eternal friendship, invite her to visit your Library of Congress and give her access to the non-public areas. She’ll disappear inside and you’ll be lucky to drag her out in your lifetime.”

“And Hollywood?” He rolled his eyes. “Suggest that a portal in Hollywood would make it easier to acquire movies and scripts, and Twilight might set one up tomorrow.”

The other man leaned forward. “They can set up a portal that fast? Anywhere?” William was either very excited or very alarmed at the prospect.

Castor shrugged. “Princess Twilight told me that it would take her no more than a few seconds to set one up, anywhere she wanted, now that she’s seen them in operation here. We’re adding a second portal in Blackpool, as I’m sure you know.”

Their conversation went on until shortly before the Dinner was scheduled to end. He did clarify that his colour scheme as a pony matching that of Shining Armour was an accident of fate.

Discord was, after, a force of nature on the other side of the portal.

And he might be on this side, too.

Especially because, unlike Castor or his wife, his daughter could transform into her Pegasus form with only a little concentration.

She couldn’t cast magic, though, and Twilight had confirmed she wouldn’t be receiving a belated invite to Hogwarts. Thalia had been disappointed to hear that last Spring, but he and his wife hadn’t been. They much preferred she stay in their world!

Castor was very careful not to mention Discord’s name, or hint at his existence. That was a can of worms he most assuredly did not want to open.

The U.S.A. would be trying very hard to prevent anyone from attacking the ponies — with extreme prejudice, if Castor was reading the man correctly.

Castor made sure to inform the Princesses of his conversation when they returned, and promised a written summary for the morning.

♚

Their second day was a leisurely one. Their only appointment was to address Congress. It was a joint meeting of the Senate and the House of Representatives as the parliamentary procedure for initiating a joint session was too complex for the time frame they had had when the State Visit was announced. Being so media driven, the address was scheduled for the evening.

Which meant the princesses spent the afternoon watching soap operas. If you closed your eyes, you couldn’t tell if the speaker had two legs or four. The Blair House staff did their best to answer the questions that were asked.

They were well and truly hooked, Castor could see.

While they all attended the joint meeting, only Princesses Celestia and Luna spoke. Their remarks stressed how happy they were to make a new friend, the United States, and that they looked forward to the two nations working together in the future, and that their interactions would always be peaceful.

After their remarks, the meeting was adjourned. However, the Senators were called to a special session that started less than half-an-hour later. The Non-Aggression Treaty was quickly ratified.

♚

The next morning, there was a river barge cruise that took an hour and a half. The President was most surprised to have the majority of their discussions centred on getting a television network setup in Equestria. Princess Luna basically wanted to buy a production studio and have them teach ponies how to do everything so she could watch soap operas. That the shows would also be broadcast was a minor point.

The Executive Vice President for CBS met them as they docked. The other two networks hadn’t been able to clear their schedules quickly enough. He had a team of people with him, and suggested they take a second cruise while they discussed the mechanics of a television network. Princess Luna was more than happy to comply, resulting in the two Sisters going in separate directions. Cadance and Shining Armor decided another stress-free cruise would fit the bill. They were also interested in hearing what the television executive and his people had to say.

That the other two networks would be unable to contact them while the CBS executive had Luna’s undivided attention was just an accident, Castor was sure. He thought the man was interested in opening a subsidiary in Equestria before he had competition, since it was obvious that they didn’t already have a nationwide telly network.

Castor went with Celestia and Blueblood to see National Gallery of Art.

Luna came prancing in at dinner, humming and singing happily, with Cadance and Shining Armour almost as pleased. She had bought CBS to the tune thirty-two billion dollars, about six hundred and thirty-three tons of gold, she gleefully announced. It wouldn’t be final for a few days, though. It seemed there were laws regarding the purchase and sale of large companies. She didn’t expect it to be any longer than that. The company was, apparently, trailing the other two networks in appeal.

“Lulu!” Celestia said, alarmed. “You aren’t planning on using all the gold in the Royal vaults, are you?”

Luna rolled her eyes and ruffled her wings. “Of course not, Sister. I’ll just use my stash on the Moon! I’ve already delivered ten percent as a down payment.”

“Moon stash?” Celestia queried cautiously.

“Well, I had to do something with my time when I wasn’t sleeping.” She paused. “Actually,” she said thoughtfully, “I think Nightmare planned to throw it at Canterlot if you proved tougher than she expected.”

They stood in silence for a moment.

“How big of a stash, Lulu?” Celestia said, her eyes narrowed.

Luna frowned. “About seven hundred celestials on a side? Maybe a bit more?”

Celestia slowly nodded. “That . . . must have taken a long time to get.”

Luna frowned at her sister. “About a thousand years.” She said testily, and glared at her sister.

Celestia sighed. “I said I was sorry. I didn’t know the Elements of Harmony would send you to the Moon, I only wanted Nightmare gone.”

Castor was still trying to wrap his mind around Luna having a stash of gold that was over a kilometre on a side. ** He knew that was far, far more than the humans had mined, ever.

Luna continued after glaring at her sister a bit longer. “Anyway,” she rolled her eyes. “They promised to have a portable studio for me in a couple of days, with the entire run, so far, of The Young and the Beautiful and the last thirty years of Guiding Light. That should tide me over until we get our own pony-series up and running. He also promised to get me all the movies and shows of the Three Stooges.” She glanced at Castor. “Do you think you could contact whomever has the entire run of Benny Hill? I think it would be wonderful to have them both.”

Castor slowly nodded. The BBC would be happy to hand over everything they had, for a reasonable price. It certainly sounded like Luna could afford it.

“And when they’re done with that,” added Cadance, “Shiny and I intend to hire them to set one up in the Crystal Kingdom!”

Celestia glanced at her. “Why not just have your ponies learn with Luna’s ponies? Then all you would need would be to buy extras of the converted equipment that they made.”

Luna looked over at Shining Armour and Cadance. “We see nothing wrong with that. Do you?”

Cadance shook her head.

“Brilliant!” Luna declared. “Let’s do that!”

Castor’s report that night sent shockwaves through the government, but was nothing compared to the turmoil in the United States three weeks later when news of the finalized deal was officially announced.

After Luna’s announcement, the rest of their “vacation” was sedate by comparison.

It was considered a very successful meeting between the three rulers. Except that the U.S. military was upset that they couldn’t get their mitts on any advanced weaponry. And Celestia was making some noises about buying something called Castle Rock Entertainment.

Apparently, the two sisters had a bit of a rivalry going on.

Castor was just happy to get home without drawing the interest of MACUSA!

♚

Author's Note

* Cadance’s titles courtesy of suggestions from Ecuos Oinocernos

** Simulations of the collision between a Mars-sized planet, Theia, and a larger planet that is the Earth show that most of the particles that do not fall back onto the Earth are comprised of the crusts and outer mantles of both planets. The core materials and most of the deeper mantle materials remain behind to become the current-sized Earth. Therefore, most of the material that is our Moon is comprised almost entirely of both bodies’ crust and upper-mantle materials.

Thus, whatever the makeup is of the Earth’s crust and mantle (which is a combination of both bodies) will be reflected as being most of the material in our Moon. Research has shown both the Earth and the Moon are very similar in makeup, unlike Earth and Mars, or Earth and Venus. It is also of note that the Moon’s central core is only 20% of its mass, where the planets in our solar system seem to have cores that are 50% of their mass.
The Earth’s crust is estimated to have 122 billion tonnes of gold. The moon is one-sixth the size of the earth. With a specific weight of 19.7 tonnes per cubic meter, that gives about 1.036 billion cubic meters, or a block of gold about a kilometre on a side. A kilometre is just under 2/3’s of a mile.

Thus, a block of gold the size Luna claimed is not unreasonable.

Ch. 20. Not so Subtle Changes

In mid-December a notice appeared about a duelling club, with the initial set-up being in the Great Hall. Intrigued, practically the entire school showed up on the evening it was scheduled. Everyone’s expectations plummeted on seeing just who it was that planned to be the advisor — Lockhart. Professors Snape and Flitwick being involved, at least this time, did bring up their hopes.

It wasn’t quite an unmitigated disaster, there were some grudges that managed to work themselves out before the Professors and the Equestrian aides brought things back under control.

Draco earned a detention and lost a few points for summoning a possibly venomous snake instead of sticking to the spells taught so far in school. Flitwick had immobilized the snake immediately, then sent it back to wherever it came from.

The twins rated the odds of there being a second duelling club activity at somewhere between vanishingly small and none.

^·_·^

The Hogwarts Express had left the station less than an hour ago and now it was time for the End of Term Staff Meeting.

Headmaster Dumbledore looked around the Staff Room. “Well, we seem to have survived another interesting term,” he said, eyes twinkling, as he took his seat. “Rather more crowded than we’ve seen in several decades, I imagine.”

From Argus’ expression, he probably considered it more distressing than interesting, despite his two new aides. Getting hoofprints off the ceiling had been an exercise in time-consuming, non-magical ingenuity. Despite Rule Fourteen, they still found ponies exploring a wall or ceiling — or sneaking around. They usually covered their hooves with make-shift cloth slippers, so hoof-prints weren’t as noticeable. That the earth ponies managed to grip the ceiling through the slippers, because the slippers clearly weren’t up to holding a pony, was truly impressive!

Minerva shook her ruefully. “I don’t know what we would do without the Professorial Aides, Just the assignments alone are a full-time effort, never mind the increase in classes.” She looked over to him. “On the other hand, you were correct in your assessment that the Atlanteans would quickly move to the top of the classes. In almost every subject the top ten students are Atlanteans, with the next ten having only a few of our other students.”

While the other professors nodding agreement, Pomona said, “I must say, that the ones who call themselves earth ponies excel in Herbology, just as Apple Bloom and Ron Weasley did last year. The plants just love them. All seventeen are at the top of the class, the other Atlanteans are scattered through list, with the thirteen pegasi performing noticeably worse, almost all in the bottom quarter with regards to hands-on work. In theory, though? They’re almost all in the top half.”

Flitwick laughed. “For charms, I would say I have similar results on the practicals, only it’s the nine Atlanteans from the unicorn tribe at the top. The others are scattered through the list, nearly at random, with several in a clump at the bottom from both the pegasi and earth tribes. For the theoretical? Just as you said, almost all are in the top half, with only a few of our students joining them.” He grinned. “They have an unparalleled focus on their studies.”

Septima, the Arithmancy professor, nodded. “My Equestrian Aide has picked up Arithmancy rather quickly. She’s already mastered the third year and started on fourth. She should be well into her N.E.W.T. by the time this group of first years hit third.”

Bathsheba, the Runes professor, agreed with a soft, “Mine, too.”

Horace nodded solemnly. “It’s clear that the Atlanteans sent us only their best students, while our students run the gamut from barely above Troll to Outstanding. Their quickness at learning and overall enthusiasm has shifted the grade average much higher, discouraging even our best students. Students I would have given high marks to in previous years are now scoring average by comparison. I fear we shall have to consider separating them, making a class for Atlanteans and a class for our students.”

It was not a welcome suggestion to the Headmaster. He wanted as much intermingling between the two groups as possible. Separating them would prevent the children from forming attachments and finding possible friendships, future spouses, and business partners. They needed the new blood, both literally and figuratively, that these powerful Atlanteans could provide for England to continue to dominate the world.

Gilderoy glanced around, then, looking pleased with himself, said, “Why not institute a Pass/Fail system for the Atlanteans, such as I use for my apprentices? Coming from a completely different society, we could justify it as it being unfair to compare them to English students. They haven’t much of the cultural background that forms the underpinnings of our society.”

That was an interesting approach.

“We can say that, given the results of the first term, we felt this is a fairer approach,” he continued. “That way we can grade our students without the Atlanteans disturbing the others.”

“An excellent suggestion,” Dumbledore said happily. “We can consider the problem over the holidays, and make a decision when the new term starts.” He looked at each of the professors with a raised eyebrow. They all nodded their agreement.

“Now, then, are there any other issues that have come up?”

^·_·^

The staff meeting broke up shortly before noon. That gave the Headmaster time to reflect on his next meeting during the staff’s leisurely lunch.

He had just settled himself in his office and gathered his notes when his floo turned green and Princess Twilight’s head appeared.

“Headmaster? Are you there?”

“Yes, Yes, Twilight!” he jovially called out, “I cleared my calendar for you for the rest of the afternoon. Come right through, I’ve already cleared you.”

A few moments later, she was sitting opposite him.

“Everything alright?” she asked, “No problems?”

He stroked his beard as he said, “No, everything is proceeding precisely as we expected. The train left right on schedule, and there haven’t been any unusual incidents involving Mr. Potter-Sparkle since the Gryffindor Quidditch match with Slytherin, I’m happy to report.” He paused a second. “With few exceptions, all the Equestrians are fitting in seamlessly with the school. However, we do have a minor issue that is a bit vexing.”

Then he explained the detention issue where the ponies seemed to regard the punishments as simply one-on-one time with their teachers. They’d happily, cheerfully, even, do the assigned chores, then spend the rest of the detention asking questions. As a result, they weren’t deterred from doing things that would earn them a detention. “As a result, poor Hagrid is running himself ragged trying to keep them out of the forest,” he concluded.

“A bit of a quandary, don’t you agree?” He raised his eyebrows at her. “We don’t want to discourage such eager students, yet we need a way to maintain order and discipline.”

She frowned and nodded her head. “Yes, I had the same issue with Harry.”

“Is that so?”

She sighed. “He and the fillies were constantly getting in trouble in Ponyville. When they weren’t sneaking into the Everfree Forest, they were causing other mayhem. But he seemed quite happy when I told him he couldn’t go out to play. He’d just curl up with a book by the fireplace and read for hours.” She shook her head. “When I tried forbidding him books, he just played with his magic until he fell asleep, exhausted. He actually told me he enjoyed playing with the fillies, but sometimes he just wanted to be alone with me and Spike. And being restricted to the house did that for him without hurting their feelings.” She looked up at him. “I mean, how do you handle that!?”

They both lapsed into silence.

Twilight sighed. “The only suggestion I can make is to give them detentions doing things they find boring — such as your history or astronomy. They have little interest in that, so being forced to write an assignment on how the Greeks regarded the stars would fit the bill for punishment, I would think.”

He nodded sagely and stroked his beard. “A good suggestion. I’ll speak with the Professors to see what we can come up with.”

“There is another issue that the Professors have brought to my attention.” He paused and gave her a solemn look. “The Equestrians are throwing off our grading system.”

Then he explained how the exceptional Equestrian students were accidentally discouraging the average English students, using the examples he had been given by the other professors.

“So, we’re contemplating switching the Equestrians to a simpler Pass-Fail system,” he concluded. He smiled. “As of this moment, none will fail.”

“I’ll ask Celestia and Luna what they think, but I don’t have a problem with that, in theory. It is unfair to compare a small group of top students with a range of random students.” She pursed her lips in thought.

He nodded his agreement. “We’ll be discussing it and give you a final decision before the New Year.”

He pulled over a scroll and took a quick look at his notes. “The Professorial Aides have been a resounding success, if I do say so. Without them, the large First Year class would have overwhelmed my professors. I thank you both for the idea and the aides you so generously provided. Please convey my gratitude to the Princesses.”

She nodded.

“At the rate the aides are progressing, you should have fully qualified professors in each field in under three years.” He shook his head. “They won’t be trained in anything outside their expertise, but they will be well accomplished in their chosen subjects.” He paused. “To further your goals of opening a series of schools in Equestria, I would suggest that for the next several years you add another group of aides, each year for the new incoming class. That way you can have a continual supply of new Professors as the current group finishes their education and their aides move to the new year with them.” He smiled. “At least until the current First Years get their N.E.W.T.s and can add their more complete expertise to your resources.”

Twilight grinned back. “The Princesses are looking forward to that. They’ve already started searching for the best locations for the first schools.”

He nodded wisely. “Do convey to the Princesses that if they need to consult on planning the school, I would be very happy to oblige.”

She tilted her head slightly. “Would you have time for that? I imagine your current jobs here, in the Wizengamot, and in the ICW give you a rather full schedule.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “With the aides you’ve provided, the school is well in hand. The ICW takes little time in and of itself, and then only in the summer hols if there’s an emergency that needs tending to immediately. The Wizengamot does take its toll, but nothing excessive. Fortunately, it only meets in regular session once a month unless there are special circumstances.”

“Speaking of the Wizengamot,” Twilight said, straightening, “How have they been reacting? Based on what I’ve read, I would have expected more outcry at the presence of so many ponies at Hogwarts, and our impact both on your society and Diagon Alley. The Daily Prophet has been surprisingly upbeat towards us, lately.”

Albus frowned. “Yes, it is incongruous. The Wizengamot has been surprisingly cooperative for the last several months to some of the measures my allies and I have introduced. Quite unlike last year, you know. Usually, the worst opposition in the Ministry has been from the more conservative members, led by Mr. Malfoy and Senior Undersecretary Umbridge. Peculiarly, both of them have been rather quiet lately. Several of the darker families have actually voted for loosening, or even removing, some of the more onerous laws. Very Unusual.” He paused. “quite remarkable, actually.” His brow wrinkled in thought as he considered how things had changed over the summer.

“And, you are right, the Daily Prophet has been extraordinarily positive towards Equestrians in its coverage, lately. Their articles have been a good deal less shrill, in general, about my proposals in the Wizengamot, too. They are certainly less slanderous than they have been in the past.”

He sighed. “But I’m not going to look a gift . . .,” He suddenly stopped and coughed several times. “Sorry,” he said looking back up, and clearing his throat, “. . . askance.”

Twilight nodded understandingly, seemingly oblivious to the faux pas he had been about to make using the old proverb.

“Getting the werewolf laws amended to just require werewolves to stay in Equestria during a full moon was shockingly easy. The penalties for failure to do so, and harming anyone as a result, are rather stiffer than I would like, though. On the other hand, we should see the elimination of the werewolf curse in England by Spring. Maybe even on the continent, too. Which renders the severity of the punishments for violating the new law moot.” He smiled happily.

“The other species’ laws have also been extensively amended, especially those regarding muggles. It is no longer legal for the laws to discriminate against anyone based solely on their blood status. Any wizard or witch harming a muggle will be charged as if they had attacked a magical pure-blood, and the punishments applied just as impartially.” He gave a small smile, then added. “One unforeseen result is that the pure-blood discount in markets has been declared illegal.” He shook his head. “It was a close vote. I honestly didn’t expect it to pass. I had proposed it simply to show the muggle government I was trying to implement change.” He sighed. “Quite frankly, I expected the more conservative families to vociferously oppose the measure.

“Something is going on behind the scenes, I fear. The Wizengamot barely had enough votes for a quorum when court resumed after lunch that day, with many of the most hard-line conservatives not returning until after the extended voting period had ended.” He frowned lightly. “They said they were in discussions during lunch and lost track of the time. While they bitterly complained at missing the vote, most seemed rather relieved the changes had passed.”

“That is odd,” Twilight said. “It sounds like some of the manoeuvres the Canterlot nobles have pulled. You should take a close look at that law to see if you can find a hidden ‘gotcha!’”

“Hmm, yes, most certainly,” Albus mused out loud.

“Or if they are planning a new law that will ‘accidentally’ gut this one,” she said disdainfully.

“There’s also the issue that the Ministry, itself, hasn’t been as cooperative. Old habits die hard, and there has been much dis-satisfaction and resentment among the rank and file — who are all half- and pure-bloods. They fear they will lose their jobs to more efficient or talented muggle-borns. However, the Heads of the departments have managed to keep it all under control. Which is rather unusual. I would have expected them to be the last ones to embrace the changes. I expected them to voice support for the changes while secretly pushing their departments at large to complain.” He shook his head, bewildered.

He sighed and stroked his beard again. “I fear there may be new player in the political arena, someone making moves in the background.” He paused and studied Twilight for a moment.

“Fortunately,” he continued, “A large number of the muggle-borns have decided to explore Equestria rather than settle down to a Ministry job, which has helped in greatly reducing those tensions. Balancing that, though, is that many of the businesses in the magical world are experiencing labour shortages.” He smiled and stroked his beard. “Which means many of them have raised their employees pay in order to keep them. Normally, that would be troublesome. But your unexpected purchases have boosted their sales, so the pay increases are barely being noticed in their profits. A few have even called in squibs for some of the backroom work where they won’t be seen by their customers or clients.”

Their conversation meandered for a while after that, then Twilight departed to meet the Hogwarts Express in London.

^·_·^

Harry was surprised to see his mum at the train station, but he wasn’t about to complain! Apple Bloom, Sweetie Belle, and Scootaloo, were equally happy to see Applejack, Rarity, Aunt Lofty, and Rainbow Dash, who had also decided to meet them at the King’s Cross Station instead of in Equestria. Hugs were exchanged all around, and Harry stayed beside Twilight as if glued.

The Weasleys were surprised that both Arthur and Molly had elected to come instead of just their mother. To everyone’s surprise, Luna’s father guided her over to join them, as did Hermione’s parents.

The group followed the other Equestrians as they headed through the station to the luxury coach rented by the Embassy. The Weasleys and Lovegoods were amazed at seeing it. They had never seen anything like it, and Arthur spent most of the ride to Little Whinging grilling Hermione’s father on the particulars and playing with the controls beside his seat.

The line to go through the portal in Little Whinging was long. After all, there were forty-eight students — including all the Weasleys, Harry’s herd, and Myrtle —then Hermione’s, Luna’s and the Weasleys’ parents, and the twenty-or-so Professorial Aides from Hogwarts in addition to the normal traffic. This being the holiday season also meant the traffic was greater than usual as many ponies working on the Earth side of the portal wanted to go home for the Hearth’s Warming holidays, too.

The Princesses were considering a second portal so they could have one for outgoing and the other for incoming traffic. They were currently debating whether they should use the backside of the same tree, or locate the second portal in a different dome, nearby. The first would be simpler, but the intermixing of coming and going traffic made things very difficult for security, and could end up in a disaster if anything went wrong. The second involved expanding the Exclusion Zone further into the Everfree, which presented its own set of problems.

Or, they could locate it on the other side of Ponyville. It would double the presence of the Guard, and the bureaucracy, but it would be safer — in more ways than one.

Fortunately, on the English side, there was plenty of room on the Embassy grounds for a second, separate portal.

At the moment, though, there was only the one.

Each individual was carefully checked to prevent contraband or anyone trying to sneak through the portal — three times. Once on entering the Embassy, once more passing through the entrance to the Portal Station, and once more just before they went through the portal. While the “leaky” side of the portal seemed to be on the Equestrian side, they weren’t taking any chances that a “dark” or “light” witch or wizard might decide to “exploit” the “naïve” or “inferior” ponies.

Fortunately, the Guard had been increased to match the anticipated crowd and things progressed quickly and smoothly.

This time, there were no surprises for Harry and his friends when they exited the portal tree into Equestria. Harry slowly let out the breath he had been unconsciously holding.

The spiralled walk, dome, and watchful guards on the Equestrian side of the Portal were the same as his last trip through. So was the carefully groomed, short-cut grassy lawn with the small hospital nestled close to the first Portal Exclusion Wall, which separated the dome from the rest of the Exclusion Zone. The visible Guard emplacements on the ground, dome, and walls had been upgraded to miniguns, he noticed.

He didn’t doubt that there were additional guards hiding under don’t-notice-me spells.

Exiting the passage through the several-house-thick wall, however, revealed much more than simple upgrades had been done.

Instead of a brick walkway through the remainder of the Portal Exclusion Zone, there was now a wide, bricked road. At the wall where it started was a large, glass building where the parents for the arriving students waited.

Everyone could see the Guard positions mounted on this side of the wall, overlooking the road. Harry, however, could still pick out the hidden surveillance and guard positions in small bushes and rock garden arrangements beside the path and the more distant walls. If you didn’t know where to look, he knew, you’d never notice them with the chest-deep unmarked snow that seemed to coat everything not on the road.

The Princesses took the safety of the Portal very seriously.

As the students reunited with their patiently waiting parents, their numbers swelled to a veritable flood of ponies trotting down the road to the exit to the Portal Station.

Luna’s Crystal Nightpony appearance garnered quite a lot of attention and admiration. The Gryffindor ponies were very pleased to introduce her to their parents.

The walk to the exit was quite noisy as everyone talked at once. Harry enjoyed being cuddled by his mum, her wing draped over him, as they walked. Myrtle had an unusual expression as Twilight did the same to her — her face sort of vacillated between surprised, gratified, and embarrassed.

However, Harry realized that his eyes seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time staring at his herd-mates’ swaying flanks and tails as they walked ahead of him. It was rather hypnotic.

Ponyville, too, had undergone a few more changes since the summer, he saw as they streamed out of the Portal building exit. The road between the Apples’ orchard and the Everfree Forest was a lot wider, now, wide enough for four carriages easily ride side-by-side. The “Ponyville Sweet Apple Acres Portal Station” had been renamed the “Ponyville Surrey, England, Earth, Portal Station,” he noticed, looking back.

The firsties were dying to show off what more they had learned to their families, especially the non-unicorns. Harry was sure the trips home would be marked by red and green sparks flying from wands all over Equestria. Not to mention the novelty of the leg-locking charm and the levitation charms. There was more than one double-take as pegasi and earth colts and fillies exited the Portal Station Building with their saddlebags floating over their heads while they held wands in their mouths or wings.

Most of the students were already showing off how their wands worked and what they had learned so far — magic and flying had been prohibited inside the Exclusion Zone. A number of the passers-by were also closely watching the demonstrations. The unicorns, especially, were interested in seeing pegasi and earth ponies casting spells that heretofore had only been the realm of the third tribe.

Hearing about the non-unicorn Guards training with magic was one thing, but it was quite another to see non-unicorn colts and fillies freely using magic!

The building they had just passed through had been beefed up since their last transit. It was no longer wood, but heavy stone, and changed so that it now had a fortress-like appearance. The simple, but very tall, fencing that had separated the cleared land through the Everfree from Sweet Apple Acres was now a thick, stone wall with Guards stationed and patrolling its entire length. Here, too, Harry could spot minigun emplacements at regular intervals. Not even Canterlot could be so well guarded, he thought. He shuddered slightly at the thought of the mess that would result should somepony, or someone, try their patience.

Even more astonishing was the sight of a large restaurant across the road from the Station. A big sign named the place as the “Ponyville Portal Palace of Provender.” It had signs in the windows that proclaimed “Welcome to Ponyville!” “Fish and Chips” “A Full English Breakfast” “Hay Burgers, Hay Fries” “Take Out or Dine-In” “Box Meals Available” and “Human, Griffon, and Pony Chefs on staff.” It appeared that a good number of the Portal workers and visitors took advantage of the non-cafeteria menu.

A significant number of the students and their families headed into the restaurant.

Beside the restaurant was a large pavilion with dozens of carriages and their owners waiting. Prices were posted for rides to the Train/Floo Station and various locations in Ponyville. They were doing a brisk business today as those families not headed for the restaurant hurried over to the queue for a carriage.

Except the pegasi families, who took off directly for the Train/Floo Station.

They were in a hurry to get to their homes, no doubt, Harry thought, scattered all across Equestria as they were. Only Silver Spoon and Diamond Tiara, after all, had been from Ponyville! The amazing part, now, was knowing that by evening they would all be home. If they had been at a Ponyville boarding school just two years ago, they would have been just starting their journey at the train station! The Floo system was indeed dramatically changing Equestria.

Scootaloo and her Aunt Lofty took off for home, and dinner, almost immediately, with Rainbow Dash accompanying her “little sister.” Harry watched Scootaloo fly off. Naturally, Applejack and Apple Bloom headed to the farmhouse when they got to an appropriate turn-off into the Orchard.

The improved road ran all the way to Ponyville, which had grown even more. The wheat field that had once been opposite Sweet Apple Acres, once they left the Everfree behind, was now filling up with houses, apartment buildings, stores and cafes. Regretfully, he saw, there would be no mud puddles on the road to splash in, anymore.

As they went through town, Rarity and Sweetie Belle turned off for the Carousel Boutique. Harry had watched Apple Bloom and Sweetie as they walked away, probably a bit more than he should have. He blushed slightly when saw that his mum had noticed him staring the second time.

Ponyville, itself, had changed, too. Where previously the houses and businesses had been spread out with empty spaces between them, there were many new houses with nary enough room between them to slip a feather. Some houses were gone completely and multi-family duplexes, triplexes, and more replaced them. Before, there were barely any buildings with more than two floors, now there were many that were three or more floors tall. From the placement of large balconies without rails, and doors with numbers on them, it was easy to see that the top floors were usually occupied by pegasi.

The streets were also much more crowded with ponies going places.

Ponyville was no longer the sleepy little town that seemed to draw disasters from the Everfree. Now it was a bustling town in the throes of growing to be a city. A lot like an adolescent — awkward at times, always seeming to be slightly off balance, yet earnestly trying their best to cope with the changes. Excited at times, depressed at others. Wanting to get back to when life was simpler, yet thrilled at what was happening, and eagerly anticipating what was coming.

It was, Harry thought, a bit like he felt, sometimes.

The castle was the same, yet different. It wasn’t much bigger in that it didn’t seem to take up more room, but it was taller. There were also four Guards in front instead of just two, with one more at each of the two corners of the building facing the street.

Before, it had been too large for them — him, his mum, Spike, Squeaker, the maids, and the hoof-stallions. There had been three or four times as many bathrooms on each floor as there were of ponies!

Now it felt like their house had been converted into an office building. The front doors were in constant motion as clerks and others continually went in and out. The doors to the sides of the entryway inside led to several large offices where ponies were busy reading, writing, asking questions, answering questions, and filing piles of paperwork. It reminded him a bit of Ponyville’s Town Hall, or Gringotts in London, but not quite as busy. One room they passed seemed to be a communications-room based on how he could only hear one side of what were obviously several different conversations.

Now that he considered it, it was not unlike the impression he had of the castle in Canterlot when he visited there with his mum — a home and business combined, with the line between the two rather blurred.

It was only when they went up the stairs and through another set of guarded and ornate double-doors that he understood. The castle had grown an entirely new floor while he was gone — the new ground floor of the castle was the administrative headquarters for the Portal. Twilight’s, Spike’s, Myrtle’s and his personal quarters had lifted up a level. No one knew where Squeaker slept, when he asked.

He wondered if the slides that had been hidden below the chairs in the “Friendship Map Room” had stretched to account for the new floor. Some wouldn’t have needed to change, but surely the one to the pool couldn’t have remained the same.

Settling in was easier than Harry expected, after seeing what had been done to the ground floor. Twilight’s library was the same — well, it was bigger, but that was to be expected from his mum — as were the sitting room, lounge areas, his room, Myrtle’s room, and the guest rooms.

Even with the Grangers, Weasleys, and Lovegoods, there were still more bathrooms than ponies.

After everyone had dropped off their saddlebags, they all met back in the main dining room for dinner. Bed was a welcome destination, afterwards. It was exhausting traveling on a train!

He woke the next morning in a pony pile with Ginny, Hermione, and Luna. He was surprised to realize just how much he had missed doing that.

He was rather concerned about Luna being in the pile, though.

^·_·^

Ch. 21. Expected and Unexpected

On their first day back, the twins had met with Mr. Rich to discuss their various ventures. The greater interest in their products and the larger pony population — six million versus eighteen thousand — made them quite wealthy. That meant their earnings on the other side of the Portal, impressive though they were, were pocket-change by comparison to what they had made here.

Sweetie Belle was, without a doubt, the richest filly in Ponyville, if not all of Equestria. Their bank accounts, Filthy Rich’s, the twins’ and Sweetie Belle’s, were growing even bigger. At the rate the wizards’ and witch were going, they would soon eclipse their pony partner. Rich gave them quite good profit-sharing deals, knowing that taking advantage of them today could lead to great losses later. Better to give them an excellent deal, now, so that no competitor could seduce them away from him later.

Bill spent part of the hols in Canterlot, meeting with officials there about the possibility of Gringotts setting up a bank in Equestria. The main sticking point was the exportation of gold and gems from Equestria — the Princesses knew from the histories in the witching world that the goblins would try to corner the markets on both worlds. Which would have a devastating effect on the non-magical world’s economy. Not to mention moving a great portion of Equestria’s gold to Earth — the goblins wouldn’t be able to stop themselves!

In the Equestrian market, gold was used as a marker. Like pre-World War I Earth, though, the price of a Bit was arbitrarily set and maintained. As long as the reserves could match the Bits, there wouldn’t be a problem. The cost of mining large quantities of gold nearly matched the price point set for the Bits, making such efforts only marginally profitable, so no pony tried to game the market.

Gemstones, while pretty, suffered from being too-easy-to-find-to-be-valuable-except-as-decoration, although ponies still accepted them for small purchases. However, the problems of terrorist groups on the other side of the portal illegally mining diamonds in Africa, and other rare gems elsewhere, was making them rethink their policy of restricting export of gems to Earth.

The Gringotts and Equestrian goblins had met months ago. That the two sets of goblins wanted nothing to do with each other was not much of a surprise. Each side looked down on the other as inferior, and mistrusted them deeply. If they hadn’t been on different worlds, things would probably have spiralled out of control and into war in a couple of days, if not hours.

It was in the best interests of both worlds to keep the two factions separated.

Harry wasn’t sure how Gringotts would compete with the banks in Equestria, anyway. Equestria banks might charge for vaults like Gringotts did, but that was the only similarity. After being able to deposit and withdraw funds with accounts that paid the depositor interest, why would anypony be willing to pay to keep their money in Gringotts? Then, too, the Equestrian loan rates were a fraction of what the Gringotts charged. Their other services were similarly discounted when compared to the goblin bank

If an Equestrian Gringotts bank acted like a normal Equestrian bank, word would make it back to the witches in England. They would soon demand the same treatment! For Gringotts, it would be a lose-lose proposition.

The Hearth’s Warming holidays, at first, went as expected — no major trials or tribulations for the CMC. An almost unheard-of situation considering what Ponyville had gone through since his mum had taken up residence there. It was kind of relaxing, he thought. But, at the same time, he couldn’t help but be anxious waiting for the last shoe to drop, as the saying in apartment houses went.

Luna Lovegood, as a Crystal Pony, drew attention whenever she went into public. That she was a Night Pony, too, just made her appearance that much more exotic. The crystal appearance tended to overshadow any semblance she had to the scary Night Ponies. The shy filly didn’t know what to do with all the oohing, aweing, and compliments she received. Her father couldn’t have been prouder without exploding.

On the other hoof, her forays into asking about strange creatures did scare a few ponies away. And started a series of rumours among the more skittish. The Quibbler would find a fresh audience on this side of the portal, Harry knew. With a lot more readers taking it seriously! He had to shake his head in dismay. So many ponies were simply too gullible.

But Mr. Lovegood would sell ten-times as many issues of the Quibbler here as he did at home, simply because of that, never-mind the larger pool of potential subscribers!

Charlie spent most of his time consulting with his mum and Spike on what they knew of Dragon society — which wasn’t much, it appeared. The ponies knew less about their dragons than the wizards did theirs by a rather large margin. In fact, the sum total of what was known by the ponies was, “They’re really big and scary!”, “They breath fire!” and, “They live that-a-way,” followed by pointing to the east.

His experiences over the summer hadn’t been that productive. Most of the dragons, as predicted by Twilight and Spike, had never replied to his letters. Equally difficult had been trying to meet one. He wasn’t about to travel to Dragon’s Lair alone! The Princesses had refused to send a Guard escort with him, as the Dragons might look on that as an attack, and respond in kind.

Their only suggestion had been to look up Daring Do to see if she was interested. She hadn’t been.

He had acquired all the books he could on dragons in the summer, and returned to the Reserve with them to consult with his bosses. Which was why he was here, now, over Hearth’s Warming trying, again, to meet with a dragon — other than Spike, that is.

The most important request was to find a dragon who might be willing to travel to the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary in Europe. His bosses wanted to see how closely alike witches’ dragons were to Equestrian dragons. That they were both cantankerous was readily apparent. That the Equestrian dragons could be talked to was going to be a novel experience for Charlie — Spike notwithstanding.

Charlie was by far more used to using his wand to coerce a dragon into following orders.

The difficulty with that was, again, just talking to the dragons. Then he needed to find one small enough to fit through the portal. He had asked Spike, but he would only go if Twilight went, too. And her schedule was rather . . . complicated.

Rainbow Dash and Scootaloo generously spent time with the Granger adults, teaching them the “nuances” of flying. There were several pony-shaped divots around Ponyville the first few days. Neither Rainbow Dash nor Scootaloo seemed to understand that going from never-having-had-wings to difficult-airborne-stunt-manoeuvres was not an instinctive, or easily mastered, process. It did show, however, that pegasi were tougher than they appeared.

Mr. Granger, it seemed, was a bit of an adrenalin junky. Mrs. Granger was not.

She also was not pleased when several of Rainbow Dash’s pegasi friends hit on her husband for dates. A few hinted they’d be interested in something more long-lasting if they were compatible. That they insisted she join them on the dates was just plain confusing, at first.

Myrtle found herself the target of several stallion “gold-diggers” who thought she might make a convenient stepping-stone to get close to Princess Twilight. Or, failing that, at least to have a cushy life with Myrtle and her close connections to Princess Twilight.

Unlike Luna, though, Myrtle was neither confused nor shy. She had spent the last fifty years observing dating behaviour in Hogwarts, and was well-familiar with “gold-diggers” — of both sexes. She was not above taking advantage of that knowledge, either. She seemed to be enjoying herself immensely, what with the constant flirting and innuendo she was throwing around.

Sirius, Harry was amazed to hear, was setting up a resort on the outskirts of town, over by Ponyville Lake, for witches and wizards to visit. It included a movie theatre with, he said, several hundred muggle movies, as well as the copies of the plays being filmed in London. He planned to rub their noses in the fact that the wizarding world had nothing like them — so wizards are superior, you say? Look at this!

The concept of answering machines was life-changing for people used to floo-calls either working, or not. Especially businesses.

When the Cutie Mark Crusaders, or Cutie Mark Consultants, as they had now christened themselves, were not with their families, they were with Harry, Ginny, and Hermione. The herd was having fun exploring the expanded Ponyville and delighted to find there were still a lot of places unchanged.

And then it was Hearth’s Warming Day.

The first inkling that things were about to go off the rails was when a maid came charging into the large sitting room with the Hearth’s Warming Tree. They were just starting to exchange presents — they had already had breakfast, earlier. Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle had rushed their families through their gift-giving, and insisted they had to be at the Palace, which meant Rarity and Applejack were in attendance too. Scootaloo had apparently had her gift-giving with her aunts last night.

“The Princesses are here,” she said excitedly, slightly out of breath.

His mum jolted to her hooves from the couch; her wings partially raised. “Is there an emergency?” she demanded. Applejack and Rarity had quickly joined her. Then she frowned. “No, if there were an emergency they’d’ve sent a message to Spike!” A book flew into the room to his mum, and the pages blurred as they turned.

“No, no, I didn’t forget an appointment,” she murmured as the book vanished, no doubt back to the desk it belonged on. She gasped. “It must be something to do with the portal! Something’s happened on the other side!”

She was pacing back and forth frantically, murmuring to herself as she tried to think why the Sisters would come here instead of summoning her to Canterlot. Her saddlebags had already flown into the room, with a series of other things following them as she thought of items she might need, and added them to the bags.

Harry just sighed and looked at the CMC and rolled his eyes. Scootaloo tried to hide a laugh and Apple Bloom smirked. Hermione and Luna were just watching, wide-eyed.

Moments later, the two Princesses came into the room, escorted by one of the hoof-stallions.

“Is something wrong?” pleaded his mum as she darted across the room to confront the two.

Celestia smiled while Luna gave a big sigh. “No, nothing is wrong my faithful student,” Tia reassured the panicking purple pony, giving her a hug with one wing. “Just a bit of business we need to conduct,” she said as she scanned all the ponies in the room.

Applejack and Rarity visibly relaxed and returned to their chairs.

Her eyes stopped on seeing one pony in particular. “Oh heavens,” she said, examining Luna Lovegood. Her gaze switched to him for a moment. “You were correct, Harry, she is quite beautiful.”

Harry squirmed a bit as his herd-mates glared at him.

The filly looked startled, and glanced at Harry.

After Luna had returned to Equestria at the beginning of the Fall semester, Harry had received a missive from Princess Celestia requesting he tell her about the Crystal Night Pony that her sister wouldn’t shut up abo . . . seemed to adore.

Which he had been reluctant to do, but he wasn’t about to say no to a Princess! Well, except maybe to his mum.

So, he had sent a few replies about Luna-the-girl’s unusual antics. He had to rely on others — she was in a different year, after all — for the most part. He did add his observations at meal-times and in the common room. While many appreciated the beauty of the pony, her overall attitude of listening to something that wasn’t there made others . . . uneasy. Her tendency to talk about Moon Frogs, Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, Nargles, Wrackspurts, and Dabberblimps that others had never heard of, and couldn’t find in any reference book, didn’t help her popularity.

She was, from what Harry had learned, a bit of a loner despite her appearance. She only received true acceptance in the common room as a beautiful pony to pet. Even then, people tended to avoid her.

His herd-mates had not appreciated his apparent interest in the girl.* Despite his denial’s, the CMC seemed to think he was romantically attracted to her. Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle had been a bit depressed that the filly had so clearly outclassed them in appearance. Hermione and Ginny had seemed the most upset. Scootaloo hadn’t seemed to notice.

When they herd settled down, he had at first thought they had finally accepted his explanation that he was merely gathering information for Celestia because she had never met the filly. Then he had caught Ginny commiserating with Luna about how obtuse he could be sometimes.

Since then, he had gone out of his way not to let them catch him paying any particular attention to the filly. But, darn it, she was so . . . pretty. He couldn’t help but stare at her sometimes.

“A beautiful Night Pony who is misunderstood and ostracized by her peers?” Celestia sighed softly. “Lulu is never going to let go of that poor filly,” she murmured, shaking her head.

Princess Luna had headed straight for Luna-the-filly. After eyeing her critically for a moment, she had thrown a wing over the filly and hugged her tight. “Finally,” she declared softly, “Somepony who understands Our pain!” She gave her sister a narrow-eyed glare.

Apparently, Luna had her own sources in Hogwarts keeping an eye on Luna

Everypony else either looked puzzled or awkward.

Luna-the-filly, after a moment’s hesitation, leaned into the hug and a small smile crept across her face. Soon, she was grinning widely and her eyes were closed, basking in the warmth of the embrace.

Her father watched approvingly.

“The others are merely jealous of you,” Princess Luna said softly to the filly. “ ’Tis only natural to envy your dark blue mane, majestic wings, and nocturnal allure.” She looked at everypony in the room daring them to disagree.

“I hate how I feel when Harry looks at Lovegood,” Apple Bloom murmured to Sweetie Belle, just at the edge of Harry’s hearing.

He sighed and walked over to the three fillies. “I can appreciate how pretty a pony is without it meaning anything more than that,” he said softly. “I swore never to leave you three years ago, and I still mean it.”

They stared at him, then shyly smiled and hugged him.

Celestia cleared her throat. “Now, then, Twilight, you told me that as far as you could tell, Discord’s changes to Miss Luna Lovegood went right down to the genetic level, correct?”

“Oh, yes, Princess,” his mum answered quickly. “As far as my scans could show, she’s an Equestrian pony.”

“And when you checked the other human’s animagi?”

“Their magic base levels indicated that they were the animal that was their animagi, but also human, too.”

“And Miss Warren? She’s the one you used your magic to help transform into a pony?”

“Yes,” was Twilight’s answer. “She tested as a pegasus, but there are still some human connections.”

Celestia nodded. “Mrs. Weasley, Misters William, Charles, Percy, Fred, George, and Ronald Weasley, Miss Ginevra Weasley, Miss Luna Lovegood, Miss Hermione Granger, would you all please line up here.” She pointed to where she wanted them.

“You’ve all been seen by the doctors at Ponyville Hospital, isn’t that correct?”

They all nodded. The doctors had been quite excited to compare the results of their pony forms as created by the portal with their forms as animagi. According to their results, they hadn’t been able to detect any differences.

“I would like to cast a spell to confirm a suspicion I have. May I?”

Harry supressed the urge to snort. Like they were going to say, “No,” to her!

One by one, she cast her spell on them. Then she had Luna repeat the spell to confirm her findings.

They were all quite curious what was going on.

Celestia took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Discord didn’t change your animagi forms to pony,” she told them sincerely. “He changed it to human after making you ponies.” She paused a moment to let it sink in. “You are all true ponies.”

They stared at the two royals, blinking.

Hermione sat and slowly raised her right hoof.

Celestia looked at questioningly.

“Does that mean that if I have a baby, it’ll be a pony?”

Celestia thought a moment. “If you were to give birth here, in Equestria, it would be born a foal. If you were to give birth on the other side of the portal, it would be a baby just like you were a baby, but it would be the baby’s animagus form as a human. Its default form would be a pony. It would probably switch between the two, spontaneously.”

Hermione frowned. “But does that mean that any human mother who comes through the portal and gives birth here, the baby would be a pony? And when they go back through it, the baby would be a human baby with the animagus form of a pony?”

Celestia shook her head. “A human giving birth here as a pony would have a foal. When the two returned to the other side, they would both be humans. The baby’s animagi form would be whatever they were fated to be, not pony.

“Just as no human coming through the portal has their animagus form changed to a pony just because they happened to travel to this side of the portal. Being unborn hasn’t anything to do with it.”

The ponies exchanged glances.

“So, we aren’t . . . human? . . . anymore?” There was a bit of a quaver to her voice.

Celestia frowned in concentration.“When you learned you were a witch, did that make you think you were less human than your parents? Did you think yourself not a human, anymore? Or did you think being a witch was something in addition to being human? On the other side, a DNA test will reveal you are as human as anyone else they can test, witch or not. On this side of the portal, a DNA test will show you are as much a pony as any pony in Equestria.” She shrugged. “Take it any way you want. You are a human with the animagus form of a pony, or you’re a pony with the animagus form of a human. Your default form is whichever one you want to think it is. Your children will be the same as you, just as they would be witches or wizards.” She paused. “As far as I am concerned, however, anyone on this side of the portal is a pony.”

Hermione sat for a moment longer, her hoof twitching as if she wanted to raise it again. “But . . ., we were told ponies didn’t have an animagus form,” she said slowly, her eyes almost closed as she thought.

Luna shrugged. “We, and they, don’t.”

Hermione’s lips were moving, as if she were talking to herself. “Then, if we’re really ponies with an animagus form of human, then, shouldn’t we be able to turn into humans while we are here?”

Celestia started to say, “No, what I mean is that . . ..”

Hermione turned into a person.

Unfortunately, having changed clothes in the portal changing room, that meant she was naked. She squeaked loudly and tried to cover the important parts with her hands, then abruptly was a pony, again. She fell over sideways, then slowly regained her hooves, blushing madly.

Everyone stared.

Celestia, Luna, and Twilight all face-hoofed at the same time. All three said, in dejected and aggrieved tones, “Discord!”

The twins, after a wide-eyed glance at each other, darted to separate armchairs, snatched the pillows up, and dodged behind them. After a second or three of silence, the two red-headed terrors stood up, as humans.

Faintly, the sound of laughter could be heard and the room suddenly smelled like popcorn.

Harry had tried to transform before he ever got his Hogwarts letter, so he knew he couldn’t do that. He had to admit to being a bit jealous.

The twins looked at each, and said, in chorus, “I think we need a new wardrobe.” Then they turned back into ponies.

Celestia sighed, tiredly. “I suspected,” she pushed on, “That you might be true ponies, so I have prepared official Citizenship papers for all of you, including the parents.” She gave a wan smile. “Can’t break-up the families, now can we?”

A unicorn stallion had entered behind the Royals. He had been patiently waiting for his cue. He did not look too surprised at the turn of events. The last five years had inured him to expect the unexpected where the Royals were concerned. One of his saddlebags opened and fourteen scrolls tied with red ribbons floated out.

Celestia took the scrolls and distributed them to their proper owners.

“The United Kingdom allows its citizens to have dual-citizenships with other countries,” she explained. “Your passports will be magically updated when you return to the other side of the portal to reflect your new status.”

She turned her attention to Fred and George. “As citizens of Equestria, your earnings from your businesses will now pay lower taxes.” She grinned. “That’s why I originally wanted to do this. Your Ginger Gender Gels have been wildly popular, and have made quite a number of ponies happy.”

Luna was nodding.

She would know, Harry couldn’t help but think, with her access to all ponies’ dreams.

“I wanted to show you my appreciation for what you have done for my ponies,” she concluded.

The twins were delighted with that news. They didn’t know exactly what the change would be, but just the fact that Princess Celestia thought so highly of their ingenuity was gift enough.

She turned to Harry’s mum. “Twilight? I have a special gift for you.” Her eyes twinkled “Actually, it’s two gifts.”

His mum stared at the two Princesses, flummoxed. “You do?” she managed to get out.

The Princesses always exchanged gifts on Hearth’s Warming, but they were usually food gifts — a thousand years of trinkets were in a vault somewhere below Canterlot Castle. Rare, indeed, was a present gifted centuries ago still in view.

Celestia always appreciated cake, and the new recipes from Earth were unqualified successes. Especially the tequila cake — agave was not a native Equestrian plant.

Their unicorn attendant lifted two large boxes from his saddlebags. The bags were clearly bigger inside than outside, because the boxes were bigger than he was, by a large amount, once they were out. They were bigger than Princess Luna, and only slightly smaller than Princess Celestia. Each was a rectangle wider than tall, and only a hoof or two thick.

Celestia nodded happily. One of unoccupied couches was pulled close. The closest box had its top removed and a large painting was removed. It was a painting of Luna, standing proud in the thrones’ room of Canterlot palace, but her eyes were closed, as if she were sleeping. The background behind her held the tapestry of the Sun.

Celestia frowned and looked at Luna. “Why,” she said accusingly, “is your painting in my box?”

Luna was clearly just as surprised. She took a step back and held a hoof to her chest with a gasp. “Why, sister, I haven’t a clue how that could have happened! Besides, you never let the boxes out of your sight, did you?” She looked at her sister with wide eyes.

“Right,” Celestia said sarcastically, clearly not believing her at all as she set the painting on the sofa.

The second case was opened, and sure enough, out came another painting of the Canterlot Thrones Room, but from a slightly different angle, with the Moon tapestry in the background. But that was all it showed. Just the room.

Celestia blinked. Luna blinked. Celestia set the second painting beside the first, and studied them both.

Sitting side-by-side, the two painting made a whole scene of the thrones as seen from the front.

“Why,” Celestia said quietly, “Is your painting empty?” She glared at her sister.

Everypony else just stared, mystified at what was going on.

There was a snicker. Then a chortle. Then the Luna in the painting sat down and pointed her hoof at the ponies in the room. “You should see your faces!” She burst into laughter.

A moment later, painting Princess Celestia walked out from behind the banner behind her throne in her painting and joined Luna. Between her own guffaws, she said, “You were right, Lulu, taking my place in the painting while I hid was hilarious.”

Harry gasped. “Witchery paintings!” ** he cried. Then cast the book-walking spell. Moments later, the rest of the students joined him and began exploring.

^-_-^

Tom was upset. Someone was watching him.

Everything had been going perfectly and according to his plan. The possession should have reached the critical point by Easter. He would take the train home, absorb the final bits over the hols, dispose of the evidence with incendio, and disappear into the muggle population before the term restarted. A simple confundus, and his family would tell everyone he had been sent to family in South America for schooling to reduce the pressure on the family finances.

However, in December, he had begun to develop the feeling that something wasn’t as it should have been. That he was drawing more attention than he should.

At first, he had thought it was Dumbledore, but the wizard didn’t seem to pay any more attention to him than anyone else. Not like he had when Tom had been in Hogwarts. There were no contemplative glances, no suspicious “random” encounters, no hovering distantly in the background, nothing to indicate he had the least bit of interest in him or his host. Plus, the portraits weren’t paying any special attention to either him or any other students — that he could tell.

Then he had suspected Professor Snape.

Except this year Snape was teaching only the NEWT students, and had been relieved of his position as House Head. He almost never saw the wizard! So, that was unlikely. Horace, too, ignored him, except for in classes. Because he wasn’t an up-and-coming brilliant student, or someone with valuable connections, Slughorn disregarded him as completely unimportant. His host could have been an untalented muggle-born instead of a pure-blood, and he wouldn’t have garnered any more, or less, attention from the Wizard. He was, for all intents and purposes, a non-entity to the professor. Instead, the sycophantic fool dedicated his attention to Harry Potter and his whores.

Which suited Tom just fine, at the moment. The less attention he attracted, the better.

But he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching him.

If the man suspected Tom was who he was, then the Potions Professor would have fled the school immediately. At a very high speed, too.

Tom couldn’t help but wonder why his progenitor hadn’t removed that one connection that led to his discovery of his ultimate immortality as Voldemort. He could only shake his head at his progenitor’s errors in judgement. He would have to handle removing Professor Slughorn as a connection to his past, later.

None of the other regular staff seemed even to notice him outside of classes and mealtimes, and sometimes not even then.

The Atlantean Professorial Aides didn’t seem to be watching him, either. They were all focused on learning their subjects and teaching the students. They were all too cheerful, by far. They made him want to curse them just to wipe off their inane smiles. However, he had to be careful with them. He had quickly learned that being too slow at something brought their attention sharply into focus on him. Hence, compared to last year, he had improved his host’s grades up to average — mostly by dropping hints and giving almost imperceptible nudges at the right times.

This was emphasized over the hols as the castle was almost completely depopulated. Gryffindor was fully empty, while Hufflepuff had four students and Ravenclaw had two. Of the Atlanteans? None stayed. Thank goodness. Their eternal cheerfulness grated on his soul like sand in his crotch.

He wanted to crucio them simply on principle!

His feelings of being watched hadn’t declined despite the emptiness of the school. So, he had reasoned, it must be someone who didn’t go home.

He might have suspected one or more of the ones who had stayed, but he rarely saw them except at meal times. The Ravenclaws, being upper-year students, might have been able to use a disillusionment charm to stalk him. However, both spent the majority of their time in either the library or their common room. The Hufflepuffs were first- and second-year students, and such magic was still beyond them. Besides, he saw them almost as little as he did the Ravenclaws.

The occasional checks with homenum revelio indicated he was alone when he thought he was alone.

Which left the Slytherins.

That was a more difficult proposition, at first thought. The three of them, Draco, Vincent, and Gregory, rarely left the Slytherin dorm alone. Vincent’s and Gregory’s fathers had insisted they stick close to Draco as a matter of family fealty. Draco’s father had told him to use his influence to protect them from the other, smarter, Slytherins’ schemes.

In the previous year it had been a win-win situation for them. They weren’t dragged into questionable activities or schemes and he had ready and willing assistants at his whim. Plus, he could help them with their classes without incurring further obligations on their part while cementing his position above them, unlike if they sought help from others.

The use of the Malfoy name simply made things that much easier for three.

However, this year, it was troublesome. He had to make excuses to escape the attention of the other two, which he couldn’t do all that often without incurring suspicion. Not that he really needed to escape, he was simply bidding his time. On the other hand, it meant he couldn’t lay any traps for his stalker. Which made it . . . problematic . . . in finding him. Or her.

So, Tom had to lie low until he could identify who was tailing him. He would limit his probes into the real world.

He knew he would still feel like crucioing one of the Equestrians whenever he saw on, once the new term started.

^-~-^

Author's Note

* How could Harry’s herd-mates not be jealous of a beautiful pony like Luna? — 1batman4u.

** Portraits of Celestia and Luna, ponies adopting the wizarding portraits to preserve the memory of loved ones, and animated stained-glass windows such as the (fictional) mermaid in the prefect bathroom for historical figures — Peter and 1batman4u.

Ch. 22. Anything But That!

It was hysterical watching the adults in the room staring at them in the paintings, in stunned surprise. His mum rolled her eyes and joined them. Percy popped back out and explained to the adults about the book-walking spell. With the Princesses help, they were all soon inside the two paintings.

“Well,” Celestia said, “I hadn’t expected this to happen!” She shook her head. “It certainly gives you a new perspective on things, doesn’t it?” she said, scowling. Her ears were laid back as her painting-self walked around her frowning and muttering critical comments on her flanks. There was even a faint mention of that dreaded four-letter word, diet!

There were clear differences between the two sets of Princesses. The brush strokes on the original ponies were finer and more detailed than those of the painted princesses. Painting-Celestia, however, was clearly slimmer.

She turned to Twilight. “I wanted to surprise you with the witchery paintings. The students at Hogwarts all wrote home about the moving pictures and paintings in the castle, not to mention that your descriptions of them last year were quite intriguing.

“As a result, magical photography has taken Equestria by storm. Photo Finish has embraced it with relish and is using it to make one-of-kind mini-plays. The newspapers are all trying to get their presses to work with moving pictures. The Polaroid cameras that the muggles use were easily adapted to use new magical film packs, and they are popping up everywhere, now.” * She smirked. “The American Polaroid company is currently building a facility in Manehattan.”

“It seemed only natural, and more personal, to want something more sophisticated than just pictures, so Lulu and I decided to hire an English magical painter. These two are, as you see, the result.” She frowned and looked around. “But I didn’t consider how well your book-walking spell might work.” She walked into the other painting. “We will need to make several more, to test the range of the linkage between the painting. If it is great enough, we could instantly travel almost anywhere in Equestria, undetected.” The other Princesses followed her.

“It is a broad security breech, and would allow easy spying,” painting-Luna said.

“We shall have to make a decree that all magical paintings preclude being linked together if not in the same building,” painting-Celestia said.

“And lock them as they are at Hogwarts to prevent unauthorized ponies from sneaking around in the Palace,” painting-Luna said, frowning.

The other Luna nodded her agreement and added, “Mayhaps, modify the activation spell to include that as a fundamental component. Make it a new spell, so there is no way to make a . . . ‘mistake’.” Both Lunas gave Twilight a steady look that Harry took to mean as an order to do so.

Painting Celestia looked at Celestia and her sisters. “Should we continue with the stained-glass project?”

The Lunas looked pensive. “I think we can. Most of them are historical events and figures, they won’t have the personality that the paintings do. If we lock them from linking, or limit them to a few side-by-side in the public areas, I think that will suffice. With alarms to detect any tampering, of course.”

Both turned and directly glared at their sisters. “And no hiding painting in each other’s bedrooms!” they declared warningly, in stereo.

Both Celestias leaned back and placed a hoof on their respective chests, trying to look innocent. “I would never do that!”

Oh, yes, she would, Harry couldn’t help but think. The two Princesses were always trying to out-prank one another. He couldn’t imagine the painting versions of themselves were not about to embark on a prank war with their non-painting others, and each other, too.

Sir Cadogan chasing a student across the school through paintings would have nothing on these two pranksters! And now there were four of them.

He would ask Hermione if she could find a spell that would stupefy and lock paintings — one had to exist. It might be a good habit to develop to always cast that before discussing or doing anything important. Even if the room didn’t appear to have any paintings!

“But, still,” Celestia said, “Having a painting of us in several important venues would make Our response to problems much more immediate. And far more convenient than using the floo-network, at times.”

She turned back to Twilight. “Anyway, Twilight, with these paintings, we will always be available for consultation should the need arise, or you have a question and don’t want to bother us with a message.”

The rest of the morning was rather hectic. Various members of their group experimented with their newly discovered skill to turn into humans. Others played with jumping in and out of paintings, and discussing where the paintings would best be placed.

Rarity was delighted to show off her collection of human clothing she was selling to the Embassy staff in Canterlot, and those people in Ponyville who hadn’t changed when they came through the portal. Sweetie Belle was drafted into being a teleport-porter for several trips.

Rarity's off-hoof comment that she wanted to be prepared for when the twins came out with a candy that changed ponies into humans had the two exchanging startled glances. They then rushed to their room and locked themselves inside for the rest of the day, having lunch brought to them.

The Princesses didn’t stay for long. Unfortunately, they had an official luncheon they had to attend.

They had just settled in the dining room/kitchen for lunch when there was a knocking from the open door. Naturally, everyone looked up.

It was a guard. “Princess Twilight?” he said. “You have a guest.” He stepped to one side and a unicorn mare hesitantly walked in. She had a brilliant-amber coat and light-bluish-green eyes. Her mane and tail were crimson with yellow stripes. Her cutie mark, when Harry finally saw it, was a stylized sun with swirl flames, divided like a yin/yang symbol but with the different halves of amber and red.

Harry recognized the mare from his mum’s descriptions just as the guard announced. “Miss Sunset Shimmer, of Canterlot High.” He looked a bit puzzled at the name.

She seemed surprised at the crowd in the room. Then she saw the decorations. “Oh,” she said, looking around more carefully. “It’s Hearth’s Warming?”

“I thought I told you yesterday that it was Hearth’s Warming?” Twilight said, looking equally puzzled.

The mare shrugged. “I thought you were joking. Just two months ago when you came over, you said it was summer, here. And as I told you last night, I just wanted a break from getting ready for finals, later this month.” She grinned happily, “Just two days there gives me a whole week, here, to relax.”

Harry shook his head. His mum had told him about the other portal when they started exploring his, the summer before last. If it hadn’t been for the whole “stolen crown” issue, Twilight would never have bothered going through, in the first place. At that time, the portal was only open for three days every two-and-a-half years for the Equestrians. For the inhabitants on the other side, however, it was three days every seven-and-a-half months and some days. Any sort of meaningful trade was impossible under those conditions.

In the past, a thousand years ago, the portal had opened into a violent, wild land. It would have been, according to his mum, about 1746AD, if it were his world. According to what she had learned from her research, both here and in Harry’s world, it had been inhabited only by the American Indians. At the time, it was claimed by France as Louisiana, which they said stretched from the Great Lakes to the Gulf Coast, from the edges of the British Colonies to the Rocky Mountains!

Strangers were viewed with suspicion, in that world, and the people there frequently seemed to resort to violence as a first response. Celestia had been unwilling to abandon, for lack of a better word, any of her ponies in that strange and hostile place. Especially for such a length of time without any significant protection. She wasn’t even sure magic would still be available to her ponies who went through, once the portal closed. The next time the portal opened, she might not have had any of her ponies to retrieve.

She deemed it too risky for too little reward. Consequently, she had ignored the portal as anything but a curiosity. As a result, Twilight had been more interested in Harry’s home world, even after visiting the other. It had appeared that his home’s portal led to a world far advanced over the primitive hostile natives that Star Swirl had advised them he had found beyond the other portal.

When Sunset had returned through the portal over two years ago, it had been amazing to see how far they had advanced. The time differential, however, was still a major disappointment. When Twilight had helped with Sunset’s battle with the sirens, the following summer, she modified Sunset’s journal to allow them travel through the portal anytime they wanted. By then, even though Sunset’s world was at least two decades ahead of Harry’s world, the Princesses had already decided for Harry to attend Hogwarts, and thus were too invested in Harry’s world to explore that technological difference.

Still, being able to transit any time she wanted made it sensible to use Equestria as a time saver. Have only three hours to do a paper that’s going to take eight hours to complete? Pop through and use the nine hours you now have for you to do a bang-up job on the paper!

Harry was envious. He wished he had something that would let him have more time to finish certain tasks.

It took a few minutes to complete the introductions, then they resumed their lunch. Sunset, of course, joined them, and asked a few questions about where they came from.

The explanations of the portal they came through, and the world beyond, left her gobsmacked. An entire world of people who had magic, hidden in a world of people who didn’t.

The first time someone mentioned Hogwarts, she got a funny expression, as if she were unsure of what she had heard. When Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Snape were mentioned, she suddenly surged to her hooves.

“Wait a minute,” she said, accusingly, pointing a hoof at him. “You’re Harry James Potter!?”

He frowned at her, “It’s Harry Potter-Sparkle, here, although I prefer Harry Sparkle.”

“Prince Harry James Potter-Sparkle,” corrected his mum, to Sunset.

“Doesn’t matter,” she said. Then speaking to Harry, she said, “You’re Harry Potter, your father was James Potter, and his best friends were Sirius Black and Remus Lupin? Right?”

Wondering what she was going on about, he slowly nodded. He also wondered how she knew that about his father.

She slowly turned to the black-coated unicorn filly with bushy brown mane and tail, and switched to pointing to her. “And you’re Hermione Jean Granger,” she accused.

“Well, yes,” Hermione said, a bit reluctantly. “But we told you that.”

“And your parents are dentists?” The two pegasi to either side of the filly, looked at each other, wondering how she knew that. They had been introduced as her parents, but hadn’t mentioned their professions.

She slowly swung her arm to point at the Weasleys. “And you’re the Weasleys who live at The Burrow?”

Exchanging mystified looks, they nodded and said they did.

She sat down in shock. “Oh my god,” she said quietly. She glanced around the table several times. “Oh. My. God!” she repeated emphatically.

She jumped to her hooves and waved one at them. “I’ll be right back,” she said excitedly. And jumped for the door. She grabbed the frame to stop herself, and spun to look back at them. “Oh, right, make that, I’ll see you at dinner!” Then they heard her gallop off down the corridor.

They exchanged baffled looks, then looked at his mum.

His mum just shrugged, as surprised as them. “I haven’t the slightest clue what she’s talking about.”

They slowly returned to their lunch, wondering what had the mare so excited.

^-~-^

She returned well before dinner, but it was about three hours later. She ran into the main sitting room where they were still discussing where to put the paintings. Rarity had the various ponies showing off their people forms in the new clothes she was altering. Sunset was levitating a large box that was nearly as big as she was and a bag that was only a bit smaller.

The guard was trailing her, looking lost.

She ran up to his mum. “Tell me you have one-hundred-twenty-volt, sixty-cycle electricity somewhere in this castle,” she declared.

His mum reared back. “Well, no,” she said. “I have only a two-thirty generator for our movies.”

“Right, right,” she said, setting the bag and box down. She immediately opened the box and took out a telly that stood almost to her shoulder. “We can down-step the voltage with a simple two-to-one transformer, but we should use a fifty-to-sixty cycle converter.”

“Come, lets go to your lab . . . I know you’ve got a lab, you’re too much of a geek not to be have one.” She started pulling his mum out of the room. “Oh,” she called to the rest of them, “and leave the bag alone, it’s a surprise.”

While they were gone, the others looked over the new telly. It looked a bit like the one they normally used, except it had a flap under the screen that proclaimed it a Zenith VHS HQ with on-screen programming.

An hour later, the two were back with a box with all sorts of wires and knobs poking out. His mum, still shaking her head, perplexed at why they were doing this, plugged three wires into the wall-socket for their telly. Setting the new telly on a table, she plugged its cord into the box they had made. She popped out for a second, then returned. “Generator’s on,” she said, looking curiously at Sunset.

Giggling excitedly, Sunset took a tape cartridge out of the bag and shoved it into the flap. She arranged the telly so they all had a good view of it. Considering its size, it wasn’t that had to do. For a moment, nothing happened, Then the movie started. It had the normal “Coming Attractions” which Sunset used the remote to fast forward through, then the movie started.

The music began. When the sign appeared that said, Privet Drive, they all leaned forward. A man with a long beard started walking into view, and a tabby cat watched him as he pulled the lights from the street lamps. When he placed the letter on the baby’s blanket, addressed to the Dursleys, followed by calling him Harry Potter, the room erupted into noise.

“Just watch, just watch,” Sunset insisted.

They did.

They had dinner in the sitting room, that evening.

When the end credits rolled, there was dead silence, at first.

Harry slowly turned and looked at Sunset. “There’s a movie about me?”

She giggled delightedly. “Oh, no. Not just a movie. There was a book, first. Then it became a series, one for each year at Hogwarts.” She laughed. “Now there are eight movies! The last book was so thick, they had to make it two movies!”

Harry blinked, his eyes out of focus. “Eight movies,” he repeated in a whisper, appalled, so shocked he felt he might faint.

“How did it measure up to your first year?”

It was his mum who spoke. “His experiences were nothing like the movie, but the details . . .,” she turned her gaze to the telly. “The movie was scarily accurate in its details about the Sorcerer’s Stone.”

“Really?” Sunset said, excited at the prospect.

“Are you sure?” his mum said accusingly, “That that world doesn’t have magic?”

Sunset shook her head. “Absolutely none, until the crown came through. Fans of the books have been to all those locations and never seen anything out of the ordinary. There’s no Little Whinging, no Privet Drive, No Leaky Cauldron, nothing. They’ve got cameras on every corner in Britain, and not caught a single person doing anything that might be called magic.

“Even the author, J.K. Rowling, insists they are just fiction. She said she even made major changes at her publisher’s request before the first book was published.”

She pulled a second bag out of the first. “Here. These are the books. I’m sure you’ll want to see how they compare to the movies.” She set them on the table beside the telly. She paused a moment. “Want to see the second movie? It’s called ‘Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets’.”

When the movie was barely over, his mum asked, “If the book was right about the Stone, Quirrell, and the basilisk, and it was, what else do the books get right?” Ginny’s parents immediately started questioning her on whether or not she had ever even seen a diary that had the name Riddle on it.

Sunset was a good deal more serious than she had been, seeing their reaction. It wasn’t just fiction, simply a funny coincidence that they had a Hogwarts with many of the same people as her books. “Do you think that maybe there’s another universe where this has all happened,” she asked hesitantly, “and that J.K. Rowling somehow picked it up?” She paused and thought. “Maybe you should watch the last two movies tomorrow, Twi? The Deathly Hallows movies are where they get into the things that are like that diary.” She stared at her friend uncertainly.

“Yes, perhaps we should,” his mum replied seriously.

For the first time in a long time, Harry had nightmares about the Dursleys.

Was that really what his life would have been like if he hadn’t fallen through that portal into Equestria? He woke up the fillies twice before morning officially arrived.

^-~-^

When morning finally arrived, a tired Harry and the three fillies headed for breakfast, they discovered that his mum hadn’t gone to bed when the rest did. Instead of waiting for morning, apparently, she and Sunset had watched the last two movies that night, and then gone to bed. The sitting-room was closed and locked, with a note forbidding them from watching the rest of the movies until later. A separate note said the books were off-limits, too.

His mum wanted to verify a few facts on the other side of the portal, first.

They shrugged, and went on to breakfast. Sunset and his mum were still sleeping apparently. Or, maybe, they had gone to Hogwarts.

The day was hectic, anyway, as the twins tried to organize a Quidditch match as humans with the local pony team. It wasn’t that difficult, to be honest. The only question Harry had was, why did the entire Weasley crew pack their broomsticks?

The only answer he got was, “why not?”

The humans lost, hands down. Pegasi were just too quick. On the other hoof, the Weasleys did put up quite the fight as they used tricks and techniques the pegasi had never seen and didn’t expect. Still, they lost. But they had a great time, and so did the many spectators that showed up as the games went on — they played more than one.

That led, the next day, to several daring unicorns and earth ponies trying to ride the brooms, with rather mixed success. It was the innovation of one sharp-eyed and quick-witted unicorn to adapt the flight spells used on Snitches and Bludgers to an Icarus-style wing harnesses. *** It took several attempts before they succeeded, and quite a few uses of the aresto momentum spell. They also discovered that they really should use non-flammable materials. Or at least make sure the impervius charm was used quite liberally on all the components.

Sweetie Belle managed to get in trouble for “borrowing” some of the materials from her sister without asking, first.

For the daredevils, of which there were a few, the stripped-down broomstick spells cast on the harnesses gave a real enough experience of being a pegasus that a new sport for the non-pegasi was well on its way to popularity.

Harry noticed several guards taking notes and conferring with each other by the end of the day.

The twins announced they would carry the harnesses in their stores in Equestria — currently managed by Filthy Rich.

^·_·^

Over the next few days, they were allowed to watch the rest of the movies, two movies a night. His mum told him she had been through the portal and checked out the locations mentioned in the movies as hiding places for the horcruxes. They had all checked out, which meant they didn’t have to worry that they had missed one. As Tom Riddle hadn’t had a chance to flee in first year, they didn’t have to worry about the snake Nagini being one, either.

With Tom being a prisoner, that was that.

The diary, however, was a worrisome problem. From what the Headmaster knew, he didn’t think the presence of another horcrux would save any of the others. When they found and destroyed the diary, that fragment would be destroyed, as well.

Still, they were to keep their eyes and ears open. The possibility of the vicious wizard returning with his pre-graduation personality and knowledge was a serious proposition. Not having access to the magic he had learned after leaving Hogwarts was only a little consoling.

If the movies hadn’t been so semi-autobiographical in nature, Harry, and the others from the other side of the portal might have found them more enjoyable. As it was, the this-could-have-been-your-life air to the movies was surreal.

Harry decided he was very relieved that Sunset had decided she needed a break from getting ready for those games. Inadvertently, she had ended up giving them a marvellous Hearth’s Warming present!

Not to mention showing Harry just how much his mum, and the herd, had changed his life for the better. He swore to himself to be the kind of pony that deserved what they had done for him.

^-_-^

The fillies were up to something, he just knew it. They’d be talking about something, but when he entered the room or ventured too close, they suddenly shut up. Or pretended what they were talking about wasn’t important enough to tell him.

The last time they had done that, they were planning a surprise party. But his birthday was nowhere near. Plus, they seemed to be spending a lot of time speaking with the Royal Paintings, which still hadn’t been situated anywhere permanent.

It didn’t help that the two Royals in the paintings seemed to smirk whenever returning to Hogwarts was mentioned.

^-_-^

Unfortunately, all was not fun and games for Harry.

On Tuesday, he had the most uncomfortable conversation he had ever had. Ever. Without reservation. Most Uncomfortable. Conversation. Ever.

It wasn’t the material, so much — although that was tremendously embarrassing by itself. No, it was having to learn all that from Blueblood. The only worse source would have been his mum.

It was just as they were finishing breakfast that Blueblood walked into the dining room. After greeting the Princess and the others, he turned to Harry. “If you have a few minutes, I’d like to talk with you.” He raised his eyebrows, which was his way of letting Harry know it was more of an order than a request.

Harry looked at his blushing mum and received a small nod. He shrugged and stood. “I’ll see you guys in a few minutes, I guess,” he said to the others.

Blueblood immediately turned and started out. Harry hurried after him.

A short walk later, they entered what was obviously a small study. The wall to their left had a fireplace, which came to life with a flump — probably Squeaker at work. Bookcases to the sides framed the hearth. It faced two armchairs angled towards each other. They were reminiscent of those at Hogwarts, only lower and designed for a pony, with a big soft pillow and wings on the back-rest that projected forward enough to rest your head against if you wanted. Between them was a table with two bottles and two glasses, one small the other large.

The far wall had a bookcase built around a large window with Ponyville as a background and the right wall had a wide desk in front of it.

Blueblood closed the door behind them and led him to the armchairs. As he seated himself, he poured a small amount of an amber fluid into the small glass and a fizzy drink into the large one from the other bottle.

Harry hesitantly took the other seat and looked at the aristocratic pony.

Blueblood looked at his glass as it hovered in front of him. “It’s a bit early for this,” he said dryly, and took a sip of his glass. He closed his eyes for a moment, then breathed out a small flame, startling the colt.

He looked at Harry intently. “Tell me, Harry, has anyone bothered to explain to you about stallions and mares, and where foals come from?”

Harry’s mouth fell open in shock.

Harry learned many things that afternoon, the least of which, at the end, was that Firewhiskey was an acquired taste. With only one small glass of it, he decided to withhold final judgement.

The most important was that a certain three fillies had already filed an intent to herd with a certain colt. They wanted first dibs, it appeared, as Blueblood explained.

The second most important were the two spells that Blueblood claimed were the most significant spells he would ever learn — a contraceptive spell for himself and another for his partner. He wasn’t allowed to leave the room until he had mastered both to Blueblood’s satisfaction.

Blueblood insisted he keep and study diligently the full-colour, illustrated, moving-pictures book he used as a teaching aid that afternoon.

When Harry left the study, much later, he wasn’t sure if his shaky legs were from the Firewhiskey he had sampled or the subject matter they had discussed. In either case, no one saw hide nor hair of the gold-and-red colt at dinner or afterwards.

Book-walking had never been so interesting — or disconcerting. Harry now knew far more about mare anatomy, seasons, and bearing foals than he had ever wanted to know. He knew the signs to look for and when to expect them. He also knew the sorts of things adult mares liked, from what they expected on Hearts and Hooves Day to the more age-appropriate gifts and actions fillies expected.

He wasn’t transformed into a mare’s stallion by any stretch of the imagination. On the other hoof, now he knew the minefield he had been blithely walking through for the last three years. He was extremely grateful that the fillies had been so patient with him, waiting and not pushing for what they wanted, things that older colts and young stallions would immediately have picked up on. They had known he was clueless and oblivious to what was going on.

He missed the last two movies that evening.

Several days later, he watched them, and learned why Fred and George had been so shaken the morning after viewing the last movie.

^-~-^

No pony saw him the next day. His bedroom door remained resolutely closed with a small sign pasted to it, scrawled with “DO NOT DISTURB!!!!” Twilight blushed when the fillies questioned her, and told them not to worry, and just to give the colt some space.

Unfortunately, though, this new information left the poor colt in a permanent state of awkwardness every time he saw a mare or filly for the rest of the holidays, short though they were. He was blushing almost constantly when he was with them, especially if any of them were in front of him. Which, outnumbering him five to one, there was always at least one, if not two or three, of them leading the way when they went anywhere in Ponyville.

He refused to talk about why he had secluded himself, blushing a deeper red than he already was whenever they asked him.

Ginny and Hermione were quite annoyed when they discovered that there would be no more pony-piles in his bedroom at night. Nor in theirs when they tried to get him to join them.

Luna was merely disappointed. She hadn’t had much experience with ponies sleeping together and the first few times, here in Equestria, had been relaxing and comforting. She pouted a lot at not getting anymore.

The other fillies never said anything, but Harry got the impression that while they were unhappy at missing out on the pony piles, they were relieved that the crystal pony wasn’t in Harry’s bedroom with them.

If the fillies’ parents had been trying to force this on them, there would have been many loud arguments. However, it was Harry that was refusing the group sleeping arrangements. That he also refused to explain his reasoning was frustrating to the fillies.

The various human parents, however, were relieved when they heard the girls grousing about that fact. They no longer had to worry about their girls disappearing from their rooms in the middle of the night. The ponies seemed to have a very “it’s perfectly harmless” attitude towards the subject that didn’t sit well with the humans. Except Mr. Lovegood, he didn’t seem to think anything of it, saying only, “She’s learning to be a pony. I expect she’ll write an article for The Quibbler.”

That it was Harry raising objections restored some of the parents’ faith in the colt.

^-~-^

Author's Note

* Photo Finish, and a Polaroid craze courtesy of 1batman4u.

** Harry reading the HP books suggested by several, including Peter and Josiador.

*** I think this one was suggested by Sir Chaos Omega, but I don’t remember exactly.

Ch. 23. Who Wants to Meet Who?

That morning, he woke after a terrible dream. A group of older fillies were playing games with him. That is, they were trying to get a reaction by showing things they weren’t supposed to. For him, it was horribly embarrassing. For them, they laughed at him a lot, and made crude jokes about how he was disappointing.

The girls in the wizarding world couldn’t do that. The trousers guys wore hid their reactions to visual stimulation. It was only colts and stallions that had this problem.

That was when he had his brainstorm.

It took a bit of finesse, and liberal use of the wizarding notice-me-not spell to sneak out of the castle and over to the Carousel Boutique without any of the fillies noticing.

After carefully opening the door just enough to slip through, he looked back out through the curtains to see if anypony had noticed the door mysteriously opening and closing by itself.

“Hello, Harry,” Rarity said, almost at his side.

He screamed and jumped, falling to the floor. He hurriedly scrambled to his hooves. He put one hoof on his chest as he tried to get his breathing back under control.

Looking at him quizzically, she said, “I’m sorry to say, Sweetie Belle has already left with Apple Bloom and Scootaloo to help a colt get his cutie mark.”

Harry took a deep breath and slowly let it out.

“Trousers,” he said, nervously, “Shorts.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve noticed that while you design dresses, vests, jackets, and robes for fillies and mares, for colts and stallions you only make collars, vests, jackets, and robes — no trousers or shorts. Why is that? I think having trousers and shorts would be a nice option.”

She stared at him and slowly raised an eyebrow as she thought on what he had said. She nodded slowly. “Yes, my main clientele are mares and filles.”

“Well, maybe you should make a new line for colts and stallions that uses trousers and shorts,” he suggested hopefully. “I know I wouldn’t mind having some.” He glanced out the window nervously. “I know having pockets on trousers is real convenient, not as good as saddlebags, of course, but fine for the small stuff.” He looked at her half-pleadingly, half earnestly. “The Guard can wear trousers for additional protection and carrying more stuff.”

He swallowed. “In fact, I’d like to order several of each for when I come back in the summer.”

Rarity was pacing now. “A new line of clothing for colts and stallions?” she said slowly, nodding her head. “With pockets for when you don’t want to wear saddlebags,” she said a bit more excitedly.

“There’s a whole bunch of different styles in the human world,” he added hopefully. “I’m sure you’d find plenty of inspiration, there.”

It went back and forth for several more minutes.

When he left, Rarity had promised him three sets each of shorts and trousers, after taking his measurements. “Don’t worry dear,” she said, “I’ll compare these with my last measurements and adapt them for what you’ll be when you come back in summer.”

He reapplied the notice-me-not spell so no pony would suspect he had visited the talented unicorn. *

^-_-^

Castor stared, stunned, at Sir Walker. “Two hundred, you say?”

Sir Colin McColl, Director General of Military Intelligence Six, which handled intelligence gathering from outside the United Kingdom’s borders, pursed his lips. “Two hundred and seven. It was a bit of surprise to us, too.”

Walker nodded. “They’ve been popping up at the Ponyville Embassy almost daily for the last two months.” He sighed and shook his head wryly. “Whatever method Debby and Abby used to contact their sisters certainly worked.” He paused. “It’s interesting to note that the only ones who showed up were their sisters. No brothers.”

Castor sighed. “It was a bit distressing to learn that they had so few male changelings in the hive. Abby was not hopeful that Chrysalis had missed gathering any of the surviving males.”

After a moment, Castor ventured, “Are we sure that they’re all from the same hive? Debby did mention that there was more than one.”

“Yes,” Patrick said. “We had Debby and Abby, independently, verify the identity of each one. There were no queens or proto-queens trying to sneak through. They are all average workers. No drones, though.” He sighed. “The oath wouldn’t have let them lie to us . . . I hope.”

“And we have quite a selection, too,” put in Sir Colin. “They range from almost every job skill you could imagine. Creche nurses for the nymphs, farmers for their normal food, tunnel borers, tunnel repairers, ventilation experts, soldiers, infiltrators, the whole gamut of their society.”

Patrick shook his head. “The infiltrators, the ones that actually went into pony society to gather emotional food, made up about a third of their workforce. Unfortunately, they were on the front lines and most perished.”

“We didn’t get a handful of special agents as we had thought, but an actual small village, with a smattering of those with the skills we were expecting,” concluded Colin.

“On the other hand,” Patrick said, “Debby is an infiltrator. She told us that we could easily train as many of the workers as we wanted for whatever activity we desired. So far, it appears that she is correct. Unlike bees and ants, while the changelings do specialize in certain jobs, they are not physically locked into such jobs.” He shook his head.

“Unfortunately, it appears the average changeling is not all that bright. However, with a sufficient number in any one location, it seems that what one knows, they all know. It’s simply a matter of physically training them how to use what they know.”

“Also,” Colin said after a moment of silence, “What we consider a decent amount of training in espionage, they consider piss-poor performance. Passing information between agents is as simple as being in the same building, for them. They seem to have an instinctive ability to mimic their targets — and I don’t mean just physical appearance. They must be using some sort of innate magic to gain the skills they need for a successful impersonation. It seems to be nearly instantaneous.” He sighed and shook his head. “In one of the trials we did, Debby was able to replace a woman and fool her husband for an entire weekend.” He looked at Castor intently. “She had only spent ten minutes with the woman.

“She didn’t gain any direct knowledge or memories, however, she just knew how to act to allay any suspicions.”

“I think, all things considered,” Patrick said, “that you can tell Princess Twilight that we are well pleased with what we have gained with the changelings.

“With a minimum of thirty wedding every day in London, and an average of over a hundred and fifteen, we’ll have no problem with keeping them well-supplied in their needed food source without causing any problems with our citizens, or our superiors.

“That collection activity is where we will put the less skilled and older ones to work.”

“Even if we only manage to use the talents of twenty or thirty for intelligence gathering, it is well worth what we’ll get in return to maintain the entire population of changelings,” Colin added. “Although it will probably take a year for us to train the first ones in what we need. Their ‘hive-mind’ as they call it, will considerably shorten the time to train the remainder.”

“The consensus is,” Patrick said, “that this is a satisfactory solution for the United Kingdom. You may inform the Princesses that we will happily give sanctuary to any other changelings that they might acquire, as long as they will take an oath not to betray us.”

^-~-^

There was one surprising bit of information on the day before they were to head back to catch the Hogwarts Express. In the morning, after breakfast, his mum told him that he shouldn’t panic if he came across a changeling on the other side of the portal.

The muggle government had made a deal with the changelings and the Princesses. The changelings were emigrating to the United Kingdom as official citizens. They were giving magical promises as they did so to obey the laws and not harm humans unless in self-defence or in the defence of someone else who was being unjustly attacked.

It was, she happily proclaimed, a win-win-win situation for all three parties. Equestria was safer, the changelings were safer and not in danger of starvation, and the United Kingdom gained some extremely loyal, and useful, spies.

The result of that deal was that should he meet a changeling, he was not to react in any way. The changeling might be on a mission from the muggle government and for him to loudly announce that it was a changeling might jeopardize its mission. Maybe even its life — and possibly his own and anypony with him.

In other words, play it cool.

On the other hoof, they knew that a changeling had already gone through the portal. If there was any indication of hostility from the changeling that seemed out of character for the situation, he was to flee and immediately seek assistance.

She didn’t think he would meet a changeling, though, because he and the other Hogwarts students would not be venturing into the muggle world. She just thought he needed to know because he was familiar with the muggle world and might, in the future, need to go there for one reason or another.

^-_-^

Harry only had thought it couldn’t get worse. He was wrong.

Sirius pulled him aside after dinner that night and told him that they needed to talk about something very important.

Ensconced in Harry’s bedroom, door closed, Sirius began to take various items out of his saddlebags, including two bottles of Firewhiskey. Harry almost crawled under his bed when Sirius told him that, “It’s time for me to give you the benefit of my extensive and valuable experience in dating, snogging, and shagging.”

Sirius managed to get hold of a hoof and pulled him back out.

Then Sirius sat on him after he tried to escape to the closet.

It was nowhere as clinical and detailed on the physical end of things as Blueblood’s lecture. Black concentrated more on how to seduce a girl and leave her with a good impression, both mentally and physically. What tactics to avoid and what would work. Charts were used, with many warnings on the pitfalls of dating. One such piece of advice — or warning, Harry was unsure — was, “Going up to a girl and asking, ‘Wanna shag?’ will get you slapped nine times out of ten. But the tenth time,” he said smiling broadly, “oh, is that worth the pain of the other nine.”

Then he had frowned. “But becoming known as that kind of horn-dog is the sort of reputation you don’t want to have.”

His most valuable piece of information was, “Never ask a girl for a date with a yes or no answer, always give her a graceful way out. So, no ‘Wanna go to Hogsmeade with me?’ Instead, it should be, ‘If you haven’t made other plans, would you like to accompany me to Hogsmeade?’” He had paused. “That way, if she’s not interested, she can decline by saying she had already made plans and avoid making a scene. If she is interested, and she already has made plans for that day, she can counter offer with another day, or say, ‘Maybe next time.’” He had paused again. “Plus, that takes the sting out of rejection . . . she’s not saying ‘No’ to you, but saying your timing is off!”

Then he shrugged. “Unless she hates you. Then you’re likely to get a ‘No, you gutless toe-rag! Now get out of my sight!’ like you mother used to tell your father, James. Then she’d chase him out of the room with a dozen or two hexes.” He had shaken his head sadly. “That boy had a will of steel — or a head as thick as a rock — he never let the rejections faze him.”

He looked back up with a wide grin. “I, on the other hand, never had the problem. Rejections, I mean.”

He looked sternly at Harry. “I never asked Lily for a date, or tried to snog her.” He sighed. “She’d’ve hexed me to the moon. And then James would have done me to Mars.”

There were also two more spells he had to master, with many warnings on the consequences of failing to use them properly.

The only true benefit to the night, from Harry’s naïve point-of-view, was that Sirius managed to get them both legless. So much so that much of what was said later that night he never remembered — thankfully. He did discover that Firewhiskey was quite tasty after a couple of glasses, in contrast to his first glass with Blueblood the other day.

Harry’s mum was not pleased when the two came down the next morning for breakfast with massive hangovers. The herd wasn’t too pleased, either. For some reason they insisted on talking too loudly.

On the other hoof, his head hurt so much he spent most of his time in misery. With his eyes closed, so he wasn’t constantly staring at the fillies’ flanks and blushing madly. His mum refused to give him a headache potion, unfortunately. “This way you won’t forget the lesson! Getting drunk, especially with Firewhiskey, is not for colts!” she had concluded icily.

He sadly agreed with her.

^-~-^

The new school year was off to a good start, Harry thought, almost as soon as they passed through the Portal — the fillies were wearing clothes! Plus, his eyes weren’t anywhere near the same level as their tails and flanks! If he wanted to stare at their butts — which he didn’t, right? Right? — he had to look down. If he looked straight ahead, he saw the backs of their necks. He no longer blushed every time he happened to catch a glimpse of one of the fillies.

Although, he did notice that Hermione’s robe had a nice sway to it — when she was far enough ahead with her parents for him to see her entirely.

Unfortunately, as his headache slowly wore off, his “lesson” with Sirius had his eyes drifting to other parts of their anatomy.

In the next few days, he found that he tended to drop his gaze a bit lower than the fillies’ chins when he was talking with them. Something about the way their robes bulged out slightly just drew his eyes. Except Ginny, her robes in front were rather . . . flat.

He knew from their experiences with the various castle slides, and when she hugged him, that she wasn’t . . . flat. She just didn’t seem to be as buxom when wearing school robes.

The robes did an awful good job of hiding what was underneath them. It was both a relief and a disappointment.

Not that that mattered, really, breasts were pretty much a non-issue in Equestria — unless a foal was feeding. Which was usually ignored by the stallions as nothing important.

However, for some reason, Hermione tended to be blush when he noticed himself staring at her like that, and Ginny got mad that he wasn’t doing the same to her. The other fillies really never noticed. Or if they did, it didn’t bother them nearly as much as it did the other two.

Plus, he caught himself staring at other fillies in Hogwarts whose superstructure — Sirius’ word — was rather impressive. None of his fillies were pleased with that new interest of his.

Especially when they saw him staring at Luna.

Myrtle kept looking over their way during meal times and snickering.

Fillies . . . were weird.

^-~-^

Now that the new term had started, she would be merely one in the crowd. With her siblings providing secondary coverage, she should be able to see if he was sneaking out at night. His daytime activities were curtailed by classes, unless he cut them. Something his friends would notice and remark on.

She would keep a careful eye on the three until she had evidence that didn’t depend on her ling ability to discern a target’s feelings.

Speaking of which, the returning ponies were a mixed lot of depressed at leaving their families and overjoyed at learning more magic. Harry Potter-Sparkle’s herd, especially, had apparently had an interesting time over the previous two weeks. They were a positive roil of emotions, mostly delicious ones. The main feeling from the boy himself was of embarrassment, and a bit of suppressed lust, which periodically spiked, and then was followed by a wave of guilt.

From what she remembered of her training, now over two years old and with no hive memory to back it up, only her own limited one, that meant a colt, or filly, going through the very first stages of puberty. It was just as confusing a set of emotions between ponies as her instructors had told her.

Rather typical, then.

They were realizing for the first time that the opposite sex, the same sex, or both, were actually attractive in a certain way that they had never noticed before. The physical responses they now experienced as a result of that realization, was more than a little disconcerting to the uninitiated. Not to mention embarrassing to both parties when the physical reaction became a little too apparent. Fortunately, the heavy robes they wore now that it was winter tended to hide such things.

The lings’ mind-link bypassed that stage rather well, she was happy to realize. There was none of the fumbling that plagued the non-lings so badly. With the hive-mind, all the physical knowledge was there for perusal at any time, with none of the embarrassment. The physical reactions, rare though they were, were no more surprising than walking, flying, or casting magic to the lings.

It was merely finding out what worked best for a specific ling. Not that that happened often. Only the infiltrators, harvesters, and scouts really had exposure to such activities on a regular basis — and those were only when they were in disguise as ponies.

The Potter-Sparkle herd was happier now that the boy/colt was finally beginning to notice them in that way instead of just as friends. It was, Elly thought, an interesting dynamic. The boy was older than the fillies by two years, on average, yet he was only now coming into the realization that there was more to his pony friends than sharing interests and having foal-like fun.

She was quite pleased at the increased “love” that now surrounded the herd, especially because the last few weeks had been a bit lean. The sour Slytherins in an almost empty castle hadn’t exactly thrown around much love.

Next time, she decided, they would go “home” and work in her restaurant as adults to help maintain their reserves. Plus, there would be the bonus of the students meeting and leaving their parents at the train station in London at the beginning and end of each holiday to look forward to. They had missed out on that this time.

^·_·^

Harry wasn’t sure when he first noticed it, but the twins were conspiring with the fillies, mostly Scootaloo, Sweetie Belle, and Apple Bloom. When he asked about it, they said they were just asking for help with spells.

No. There wasn’t a single thing suspicious about that, now was there?

He started casting detection spells on his clothes, books, desk, and bed. And under the bed, just to be sure. His paranoia infected the rest of the school, too, as he saw more and more students checking their food at mealtimes.

^·_·^

Castor had been amazed, last year, at the way the Equestrians had vacuumed up British culture. They had visited dozens of new and used bookstores, video, thrift, second-hand, and pawnbroker stores in London and other cities, and pillaged the fiction sections mercilessly. Duplication of purchases had not been an issue. Apparently the first of each purchase went to the Canterlot archives, the rest went to libraries all over Equestria for general distribution.

Publishers had received orders for thousands of current books for redistribution to bookstores all over Equestria.

It seemed the Equestrians were fascinated with English history, romance, and adventure. The Princesses had commissioned rotating groups of theatre troupes to put on plays for them to record, recruiting some of the most famous names in the English-speaking world. The actors and actresses were more than happy to perform a different play every two weeks. Especially at the pay rates offered! Using two theatres allowed a new play every week. All performances were filmed in front of British audiences, and the best of the six days was kept for distribution in Equestria.

It was an unparalleled experience for theatre aficionados. The plays were always sold out, especially the plays that hadn’t been performed for decades. Tickets disappeared almost the hour they went on sale, and prices climbed to ridiculous levels. The Princesses were turning a handsome profit, even after purchasing the theatres.

Just to be fair, the Princesses had built a third theatre — a theatre where on-stage flight was common and multiple stage levels were required! — just to put on famous pony plays. Those had become startlingly popular, and there was a surprising amount of competition for the always-sold-out performances. Especially the pegasi performances where the stage was wrapped in real clouds!

They, too, were being recorded for distribution, but this time on this side of the portal.

The Princesses were considering building another two theatres.

Meanwhile, there were two new bookstores dealing exclusively in Equestrian literature. Books disappeared from the shelves almost as fast as they could be stocked. Many of the customers appeared to be from places other than England.

Someone had penned a comedy of errors that included both humans and Equestrians. It was a cross between The Importance of Being Ernest and a Gilbert and Sullivan play. It was doing surprising well in front of audiences on both sides of the portal.

A team of two dozen ponies had descended on the British Library last Spring and begun combing through their archives of fiction and science with a fine-toothed comb. Their obvious delight and joy at finding hundreds of years of plays and books had been gratifying to see. You would almost think they had little culture of their own.

They did it with production line efficiency. They used a “duplication technology” box on a wheeled cart that barely fit in the aisles. One person brought books to the duplication box, a second opened it, put a book inside, closed it, pushed a button, then removed the original and gave it to a third to return to the shelf once they had an armload. A fourth person took the duplicate and put it in a box. A fifth took the box to their lorry when it was full. A sixth made sure the cart was loaded with the raw paper and bindings as source materials.

They were clearly happy at what they were doing. Every once in a while, they would break into a heartsong, to the astonished bemusement of the library staff and visitors.

When no one was watching, they used magic to zip the books around and quadrupled their throughput.

The library staff occasionally came across Princess Twilight surrounded by a mound of books. Or watched, astounded, as teams of unicorns dragged the unwilling alicorn out of the stacks, sometimes literally, because she had neglected her official duties — again.

Nerds and swots came in all shapes, sizes, and creatures, apparently, the humans concluded.

One researcher had explained that British fiction, both written and recorded, was riveting in how much passion was revealed. Plus, it gave them clear explanations for the many cultural references in British English that puzzled them when talking with anyone from the United Kingdom — things like brolly, chuffed, feed-bag, and tickety-boo. Not to mention the ready adoption of violence in the pursuit of a solution — which was like watching a slow-motion train wreck. They just couldn’t not watch or read it.

Many of the works that were considered comedy, action, or adventure by the humans were all variations of horror to the ponies. The campy Hammer horror films had them hiding under chairs and clinging to the ceilings — if they were brave enough to stay in the room. The less said about the Alien movies, the better.

Yet the Equestrian audiences always came back for more.

It was all soo . . . different . . . soo . . . exciting!

Plus, there was the way the human technology had exploded over the last three hundred years. They could actually graph how technology had developed over the last four hundred years, and was growing at an ever-increasing rate, a curve that was shooting up almost vertically at the moment.

While Equestria had had steam locomotives longer than the U.K., they had not advanced nearly as fast. Nor had their technology been as pervasively adopted. The Equestrian graph of technology was a gradual slope upwards.

Being able to do magic, and fly with ease, had apparently retarded their technological development in many areas. For example, being able to fly had completely short-circuited any attempts at making gliders or powered flight.

Dirigibles had been invented, because even the pegasi could appreciate moving huge amounts of material all at once.

But now they were catching up, fast.

Humans were just so . . . inventive . . . to the Equestrians.

And now he and Ambassador Blueblood were in the office of Laxmi Mall Singhvi, High Commissioner of India to the United Kingdom.

“Your culture sounds fascinating to us,” Blueblood started after the regular diplomatic pleasantries, and as soon as they sat. “While Princess Celestia has ruled our people for a thousand years, only recently have Princesses Cadance, Luna, and Twilight taken their places beside her. Our scholars believe that examining your pantheon of gods and goddesses will help us navigate our near future. Especially as Princesses Celestia and Luna did come into conflict a thousand years ago, with great loses of life on both sides.” He shook his head sadly. “While we don’t anticipate any problems, it never hurts to be prepared — perhaps, even, head off the problems before they surface.”

The Indian leaned back in his chair and steepled his hands, thinking. “I assume you have read a bit about Hinduism? You realize that while there are many gods in India, those most popularly worshiped by Hindus are principally devoted to the god Vishnu, the god Shiva, or the Goddess?

“However, I have to say, according to some interpretations, all divinities are in fact a manifestation of a single godhead, a universal divine force.” He paused for their reactions. “Whereas, from what I have been able to gather about your Princesses, they are long-lived, but do not consider themselves to be gods? But Princess Celestia can move the Sun, and Princess Luna can move the Moon?”

Blueblood evenly nodded. “Yes, that is true. All four Princesses eschew being called goddesses. They say that they are merely extremely powerful individuals.” He smiled. “That’s a bit of an understatement. Princess Celestia could glass the planet — or just a city — if she wished.” He shifted slightly. “Not that she ever would do that. As our God of Chaos has said, ‘It would make things, oh, so boring to do that. No fun at all.’” He smiled at the other diplomat.

“The Princesses regard worship to be annoying in the extreme. Not only do the worshippers tend to get into arguments over silly, inconsequential things — she likes to cite the Great Toothpaste War — but they are distracting. Much the same way a swarm of flies buzzing around your head is annoying. Princess Celestia says that the Royal Court is annoying enough without being bothered while she’s in her bath, relaxing.”

Laxmi raised an eyebrow. “The Great Toothpaste War?”

Blueblood made a wry expression. “Yes. It was fairly early in her reign. She was trying to improve dental hygiene by promoting toothbrushing. Several ponies got into an argument over whether it was best to use mint-flavoured toothpaste or plain. Before she knew it, they had divided the kingdom into two camps and were preparing to go to battle over which flavour toothpaste best reflected the tastes of our Princess.” He shook his head ruefully. “She stopped it before things fell into violence, fortunately. She exiled the leaders of both groups to live in the same small town for ten years. Then she explained that she actually preferred cinnamon-flavour because of her affinity with the sun.” He sighed. “There are now over a thousand different variations of cinnamon toothpaste, no two exactly alike in texture or flavour.

“Ponies still use her name as if she were a god.” He glanced over at Castor. “Things like, ‘oh, for Celestia’s sake!’ and exclaiming her name when surprised. But nothing serious such as praying to her for guidance or favours as the religions here seem to do to their gods.” He smiled at the High Commissioner. “Our scholars believe there is much we can learn from your polytheistic culture.”

He glanced over at Castor again, and nodded slightly.

“To that end, I have prepared a list of the scholars, and their backgrounds, who would like to visit your homeland.”

Castor pulled out a folder from his briefcase and placed it on the side of the Indian’s desk.

“They have spent the last six months studying Hindi and Bengali, both spoken and written forms,” the Equestrian continued. “I would like you to arrange for another month of study in India with experts in both English and those languages to help them refine their understanding, if you don’t mind. After that, perhaps your government would be kind enough to provide them with escorts to the religious experts, libraries, and temples?

“Naturally,” he explained, “Each scholar will be escorted by one of our E.U.P. Guard squads.” He gave a wry smile to Laxmi. “Scholars are notorious for poking their noses into areas they shouldn’t because they’re too distracted by what they are researching to pay attention to their surroundings. They also tend to have no tact whatsoever. The Guards will keep them from being too obnoxious, and to at least behave with a mediocrum of politeness.”

Laxmi returned his smile. “Quite,” he said, taking the folder and glancing through the papers in it. He looked back up. “It appears you have included everything we need for visas. Allow me to contact my government.”

Blueblood nodded amiably. “Naturally. My contact information is on the inside-front of the folder. Let me know when the arrangements have been made. They’ll take a chartered flight as soon as you give us permission and provide the paperwork.”

He stood, followed a moment later by Castor.

“Thank you for your assistance in this matter. If you have no further questions at the moment, we will leave you to it.” He nodded his head at the other. They had almost reached the door when he stopped.

“Oh, by the way,” the Ambassador said as he turned around to face the High Commissioner, “Princess Cadance has heard that you have a . . . goddess . . . of Love. Rati, I believe. She would be interested in visiting India to meet with her and get her advice on dealing with her followers. The Princess is also quite intrigued at the thought of meeting another with the same abilities and comparing them. Would you ask your government if they could arrange that?”

^·_·^

Author's Note

* peter suggested Harry panicking about trousers. And, darn it, he’s right!

Ch. 24. Who’s Watching Me?

At the Arrival Feast, Harry and the herd couldn’t help but look at Professor Snape, and speculate. They had to wonder how accurate the books were compared to this Snape. He certainly hadn’t appeared to care what happened to Harry last year — except for saving Harry from Quirrell in his first Quidditch match. Since his new assignment as the N.E.W.T. professor for Potions, they rarely saw him.

On the other hand, he was writing up the things that Sweetie “discovered” in Potions. He was being very fair about sharing the credit for what he refined from each new potion.

Harry decided, barring any new evidence, to remain sceptical of the wizard and his silly prejudices towards non-Slytherin students. But, maybe, he wasn’t the useless waste of space they had been thinking of the wizard as being.

The first few weeks at Hogwarts were a bit tense for the herd. They couldn’t help but scrutinize every wizard and witch they saw. Was she, or he, acting odd or different? Was anyone surreptitiously stuffing a journal away when they happened to see them?

Elly and her cousins still seemed to be in the background, but the thought of one of them being possessed was ludicrous. They were too close-knit not to notice something off if one of them had the diary. Especially because Elly had been so instrumental in saving Harry the previous year.

However, there were no ominous messages written in blood on the walls, Hagrid’s roosters were in fine shape, and no students were acting obsessive about writing in a journal. Gradually, they calmed down and forgot about the diary being missing.

It was entirely by accident that the Gryffindors discovered Luna’s secret super-power. She had decided, during the after-dinner petting circle in the common room, that she needed something from her dorm room. She had gotten to her hooves and started for the stairs when one of the Second Years decided she wanted to spend a bit more time petting, and cast the Leg-Locker Jinx at shiny pony.

To everyone’s intense surprise, the spell hit the pony . . . and refracted in a rainbow-like spread of spell-light across half the common room. It didn’t separate the light of the spell into components, as a prism does white-light into a rainbow of colours, but it did make the spell fan-out over a wide area. Dozens of people, those standing, at least, felt the spell attempt to pull their legs together. It wasn’t a powerful spell. It hadn’t been cast with strong intent. Spread across a dozen people it was more of a “please do this” rather than a “DO IT NOW” sort of thing. Luna, herself, felt only a slight tingle.

An intense evening of spell-casting research was the result.

Action-specific spells, like the disarming charm, tripping and knockback Jinxes and so forth, spells sent at Luna, tended to pass through her and get spread out. It was much like shining a light through a crystal — without the colour rainbow, of course, just spreading or bouncing off to the side in a wide beam. It all depended on precisely where the spell hit. Glancing strikes tended to bounce, head-on strikes went through, or rarely, bounced.

Other spells, ones that required continuous concentration, like the levitation, or tickling charms, worked just fine.

Spells cast from the wand, such as the hot air charm, worked normally, too. That was, of course, because the wand was generating the effect and not trying to impose the magic on another.

They also discovered that if you turned out the lights and had Luna cast lumos while holding the tip of her wand against her side, she lit up the entire room. Almost blindingly so, depending on how bright she wanted the lumos. * A lumous maxima would probably light up a stadium without difficulty.

Still, it made for some very interesting letters back home to Equestria. The Princesses, and his mum in particular, would want to see if this was a natural ability of all Crystal Ponies. Or, had Discord, again, done something different?

The good news, from Harry’s point of view, was that this meant another visit from his mum on Saturday as she came to scope out the new discovery! Princess Luna’s arrival with her was not unexpected, and she showered the filly with attention and praise. From Princess Luna’s comments to others, you would think she was the one who was crystal and not the filly!

Harry had the feeling Princess Luna was already preparing a list of potential suitors for the filly. He hid his shudder. Better her than him! He had his hooves full with the five that had decided they wanted him.

Which was a whole different kettle of fish.

Witches were paying a lot more attention to him, he noticed. More than one would try to hang around the group — some more successfully than others.

He hadn’t noticed it before, but after what both Blueblood and Sirius had told him, he saw that more than a few witches were trying to talk to him away from the herd. Or they were saying things that could be taken multiple ways — invariably naughty ways, too.

He just didn’t understand.

He wasn’t rich. Everything he owned was something provided by his mum.

Celestia, Sweetie Belle was far richer!

He wasn’t important.

He wasn’t even that smart.

Hermione was far smarter!

Ginny and Apple Bloom both had wonderful, supportive families. Sweetie Belle’s sister would do anything for her.

Scootaloo could fly!

He wasn’t particularly good looking, in either form. There were plenty of others who were more handsome, who had more money, who were lots smarter.

Unless they wanted to use him to get closer to his mum?

Or did they thought that by getting closer to him they could get closer to the herd, and thus accepted into the herd? That didn’t make any sense, though.

Why would anypony be interested in a pony who had spent nine years in a cupboard, as the punching bag for his cousin? He wasn’t special in any way.

So, why him?

What made him so special they would seek him out?

Although, it was sort of pleasant that they were nice to him. He doubted it would last past when they realized he wasn’t interested in them.

^-~-^

Unfortunately for Tom, time was distorted when he hid in the diary. He never really knew how much time passed while he was inside it, beyond vague feelings. Having to keep so much of his soul inside the diary while absorbing his target’s made things more complicated. It would have been so much easier simply to displace the boy from his own body while he slept and wander the castle to relieve his boredom. Regrettably, that risked being discovered by the spells guarding the castle, or noticed by the prefects using that bloody-damned map to look for wayward students at night.

It would probably show his real name, too.

If only the Atlanteans had just kept their bloody opinions and hands to themselves, and hadn’t provided those improvements, he would have had free rein. But now? He didn’t dare risk it. He had to keep his explorations to the minimum.

His only respite had been the hols, when the professors were much laxer about enforcing the rules. But even then, he had felt under watch and kept his activities to the absolute minimum outside of the Dungeons.

He had discovered a lot about the Atlanteans since the beginning of school, though. Being in the diary so much gave him plenty of time to think and review what he had learned without distractions. The memory of the ponies’ “demonstration” last year, which he had seen in his host’s mind, had been startling, to say the least. That their “Guard” had gone so muggle in their approach to a magical incursion had been illuminating. They had transformed the castle into an impressive armed camp overnight — one that would have been a tough nut to crack even for a wizard army.

The rapidity with which they had used muggle guns to punch through a strong shield faster than a crucio had given him much to ponder. Unlike spell-fire, one couldn’t even think of a shield before getting hit! Their ability to combine magic and muggle technology had been extraordinary. That the wizard-disdained muggle weaponry could be so effective was an eye-opener.

There was no doubt that their weaponry would stop giants, trolls, and werewolves long before they came close enough to engage in hand-to-hand combat. The vampires would even have a difficult time, given the Atlanteans penchant for equipping every other team with a flame-thrower specialist in addition to those mini-guns. With a flame-protection spell on themselves, they needn’t worry about “friendly-fire” incidents should the vampire’s get among their troops.

Wizards would barely get to the second syllable of a spell before being reduced to bloody mist by a hail of bullets. No wizard would be able to cast a spell and then erect a shield in time. The retaliation would arrive before an offensive spell could even finish being cast, much less travel to hit its target.

If shields were rendered ineffective in less than a second by heavy-duty muggle weapons, as it appeared, then the only hope for a wizard was dodging or a sneak attack, Unhappily, dodging a well-aimed bullet was impossible. With those miniguns they had? Even needing to be well-aimed was made unimportant. They could make them even deadlier if they charmed the bullets with explosive or cutting curses. The potential of homing spells made him shudder — figuratively speaking, that is.

No one could move fast enough to dodge something traveling at a thousand feet per second when the one shooting the gun was only a hundred feet away. The first that they knew they were being fired at was when the bullets took their arm, leg, or head off. That didn’t even begin to factor in the number of bullets per second being fired.

That they fought in teams of three made things especially difficult. The aurors usually worked in teams of two or alone. Not to mention that now all three Guards were likely wand-users specializing in combat. The combination of muggle and magical defensive and offensive tactics made them formidable opponents.

That they were so well-prepared for combat on a large scale said a lot about what enemies they faced in their own land. That they depended so heavily on muggle means to fight when all their enemies were as magical as they were was also intriguing. It gave him much to ponder while he was stuck in the diary. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so quick to write off the muggles as nothing more than easily managed pests?

Fortunately, he had no need to confront them. Once he had reconstituted himself, his first order of business would be finding a secure place from which to operate.

He had no doubts that his parent soul-piece had established several bolt-holes and caches of gold, potions, and equipment, but he had no idea of where they were. Aggravating, but there was nothing he could do about it.

There was a chance that he had a vault in Gringotts, so that would be one of his first goals. Which would be right after he had pillaged whatever remained of his parental host’s resources. Regrettably, based on what he had heard from the other Slytherins, all his former slaves had already been thoroughly, and legally, pillaged by that bloody-damned pure-blood-traitor, Black.

Still, once he had a few thousand galleons to back him, he had no doubts that he would be able to track his “errant” parent soul-piece. Depending on what he found, he would either suborn it or destroy it. Preferably the former. There was a considerable amount of magic his parent-soul had accumulated after leaving Hogwarts. Losing all that knowledge would be a waste of tremendous proportions. However, if the other was not accommodating, then he would destroy it. No reason to leave competition just waiting for an inopportune moment to surface and attack.

Finding the parent-soul would be easy, but time consuming. Particularly if he had to be careful with his resources! But once he found it, he would have access to all its secrets, including those prepared bolt-holes and caches, at the least. There wouldn’t be any resource scarcities after that.

Then he planned to assess the current world-situation, both muggle and magical. If the muggles were as well-equipped as the Atlanteans, then he would have to avoid direct confrontations at any cost. The only way to control the irritating beasts would be to control their leadership. That would take decades to get wizards and witches into the proper positions for control. But what did he care? He had millennia to execute his plans. There was no hurry.

Before conquering the wizards and muggles, though, he would have to sneak into Atlantis and steal their secrets.

He wanted to rule the world — the entire world — not just the wizarding and muggle parts he had known about before his host had started using the diary.

However, before all that, he needed to discover just who it was that was stalking him. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a Slytherin, as he had first supposed.

Living in the same dorm over the hols had made things much simpler than they might have been. One at a time, usually at night when everyone was asleep, he had had his suggestible host stun everyone in a dorm room. It was a good deal like trying to drive a car from the backseat and shouting directions through a blanket at a blind driver.

He had used a compulsion charm on his host that the students in that dorm room had something of great value that his host wanted. That way, he wasn’t taking direct control and possibly tripping the alert spells to his presence. Once in the room, he used a moment’s legimency to examine their memories. The wizard-side of the dorm had taken only a few days.

The witches’ side had taken a bit more work — defeating the spell protecting the staircase for that side had required non-magical means — and five days. However, more compulsion charms had taken care of that problem. They, too, had been eliminated as suspects.

He had carefully obliviated everyone of all his activities — even his host, even though he was loathe to use that spell on something he intended to use.

Which left only the Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs.

It had been tricky, but he had finally cornered the Ravenclaws, separately, and rejected them as possible suspects.

He had found it difficult to believe that the four Hufflepuffs could be that advanced in magic to track and follow him. However, that seemed to be the only conclusion possible. Unfortunately, trying to isolate any of the four had been impossible — they never seemed to travel alone. He had considered an ambush, but there was no way he could hit all four simultaneously — they didn’t bunch up the way Slytherins did.

One of them was competent enough for him to fail to detect the spy before now. That meant there was the distinct probability that attempting an ambush would backfire in the worst sort of way. Plus, if it was two or more working together, then it would be a disaster for him. The risk was not worth it.

When the new term started, the feeling of being watched had increased.

He was caught between a rock and a hard place. It was far too early to flee, the resistance from his host would be a definite problem. If he continued as he had planned, there was the increasing chance that whomever it was might find evidence, and go to the Headmaster. He might be found out and caught before he could escape.

He could reduce his drain on the boy, curtail all his activities, and hope they lost interest as his trail appeared to vanish.

However, if he did that, then he would have to wait until summer to complete his plans. Not that he was in a hurry. That might even be better.

He would have to increase the compulsion on his host to write in the diary at night. It would be in the privacy of his bed, instead of at random times during the day when he had time. And not every night, either. Plus, he needed to have his host leave the diary in his dorm room — just in case someone was picking up the spells on the diary when they got close to his host.

Perhaps he could spend a bit more time with the Atlanteans and mine for information about their home? Leave his host with a list of questions every night and get the answers the next?

Knowing your enemy was a very important tactic in warfare. He understood wizards and witches quite well, but the Atlanteans were a mystery. They had a prey-mentality, based on their almost universal animagus as a pony, and not predator.

Their entire approach to life was different. Just look at how they considered polygamy as normal! Balancing that was their assumption that the witches made the decisions and their husbands followed, the exact opposite of wizarding and muggle customs.

Bah! Stupid Atlanteans.

But maybe he should make some contingency plans in case something went wrong before summer hols arrived . . .. It wouldn’t hurt to be prepared to flee at a moment’s notice if things went pear-shaped.

^·_·^

They had settled into a Hogwarts routine rather easily, fear of the diary notwithstanding. The routine was comforting, albeit a bit boring, sometimes. However, Harry had learned his lesson about wishing things weren’t boring. Oh, yes, he had!

Well, boring for his friends. Not so for the other ponies. The change to the grading system, separating the humans from the ponies, had been a surprise to everyone. Following that was the change of detentions from being extra learning lessons to down-right boring historical assignments. For many of the ponies, discovering the very violent history of the humans was stomach churning. Reading what they sometimes did to each other was enough to get the pony rule-breaking almost eliminated.

That hadn’t, however, prevented a group of the pegasi from corralling a doxy colony in the attic, and attempting to domesticate them. **

Subsequently, Rule 8 was modified:

8) Students are not allowed to play with dangerous beasts inside Hogwarts, its grounds, or the lake, without the direct supervision of a Professor.

a) For the purposes of this rule, Hagrid is a qualified staff member.

And, in a rare show of foresight, another new rule was posted: ***

16) Students are required to GET PERMISSION from a staff member with suitable qualifications, experience, and attitude BEFORE bringing any dangerous beasts from home.

i. For the purposes of this rule, Hagrid is NOT a qualified staff member.
ii.
a) Hogwarts’ staff are the arbiters of whether a beast is dangerous.
b)
i. For the purposes of this rule, Hagrid is NOT a qualified arbiter.
ii.
c) Hogwarts’ staff are the arbiters of whether an animal is a beast.
d)
i. For the purposes of this rule, Hagrid is NOT a qualified arbiter.
ii.
e) Students are not allowed to take home with them, or send home, dangerous beasts from the Forbidden Forest to demonstrate the difference between their forest and ours. Rules 16a & b from above apply.
f)
g) Students are not allowed to have dangerous beasts sent to them from home. Rules 16a & b from above apply.
h)
i) Students are not allowed to send dangerous beasts to school ahead of themselves. Rules 16a & b from above apply.

Then it was February.

Hearts and Hooves Day — Valentine’s Day on this side of the portal — was fast approaching and Harry didn’t know what to do. Blueblood had been quite explicit about what would and would not be appropriate things to do and say on that day. At the very least his herd-mates — the three fillies for sure, and very probably Hermione and Ginny, based on what had been happening since this day last year — expected cards that expressed his sentiment.

The first problem was, just what was his sentiment?

He was extremely relieved that the three fillies wouldn’t end up quarrelling, and that he wouldn’t end up losing two friends just because he liked the third a tiny bit more. Hermione and Ginny left him confused, however. He wasn’t certain they understood that the three fillies weren’t vying for his attention the way the other fillies in the castle seemed to assume. The three fully intended to marry him. He wasn’t sure how that would work, but Blueblood had assured him that ponies did that all the time without any troubles, or, at least, none that were worth worrying about.

Harry hadn’t really noticed such things, before, in Equestria.

They simply hadn’t been anything he thought about. It didn’t help that most of his mum’s friends were all single . . . and the ones that were married were in monogamous relationships . . . well, he thought they were monogamous. Maybe they weren’t and he simply hadn’t noticed.

He still wasn’t sure why the fillies hung around him. It had been quite a shock to discover that they liked him more than as a friend. He had never had friends! The thought that somepony might want to be more than that was . . . inexplicable. How could there be more than being a friend?

The real problem was, what did he feel towards them? He liked them, that was for sure. Waking in a pony pile with them was definitely something that made him feel warm — and he didn’t mean as in temperature. If he didn’t see them for a while, it was always a relief and joy when they did get back together. He couldn’t imagine not being involved in their shenanigans. The thought of never seeing them again left a hollow feeling in his stomach, and he couldn’t really imagine not seeing them again. They were the first ones he thought of when waking, and the last at night going to sleep. When they were sad, he wanted to make them happy. When they were happy, he just wanted to bask in the glow of their happiness.

But what did that mean? Did that mean they were family? He had never had a brother or sister, and his cousin had prevented him from getting close to other colts and fillies who did have siblings, so he had no examples. His cousin certainly wasn’t a good example, what with the way he had always belittled and bullied him, and did everything he could to make Harry miserable.

That all three agreed they wanted to be more than friends with him left him a loss as to what he should expect or do.

Blueblood hadn’t had the experience of a poly-marriage himself, but from the ponies he had shared drinks with over the years, it hadn’t seemed to be an issue. By the time a mare joined a herd, all of the mares knew where each stood, what each gained, and what each had to compromise on.

But did the two human fillies understand that? Did he dare ask? Or had the five already hashed that out among themselves? Should he just assume that everything was settled? If it wasn’t, then he hoped his defence that he was a clueless stallion would suffice.

But back to what to do.

Cards for each of them was a given. He wasn’t a poet, but surely the library had something he could crib from, right?

Blueblood had said that candy for the fillies was acceptable, almost demanded if the fillies were in a herding mood. Sirius had also said that getting fillies candy was never a bad idea. He also suggested flower arrangements, but that Harry had to be careful of what Sirius called “flower messages.” For example, Sirius had told him that a red rose meant love or respect, while an orange lily could mean you hated someone. Putting both together in a bouquet? What did that mean? Except, maybe, that he had made a tremendous mistake?

So, while Hermione might like flowers for the flowers, Ginny and all the other pure-bloods would read a message into whatever he might give them. The fillies, naturally, would assume the flowers were interesting snacks to go with the candy.

He cradled his head in his hooves.

He wondered what message a chocolate rose with a peppermint stem would send? That he was hungry at the moment? His stomach growled.

Any kind of jewellery was out of the question, at this point, according to both of his “experts.”

Blueblood said, in view of his previous gifts of the rings, that more jewellery from him was uncalled for, even vulgar. It would be taken as him bragging about how rich he was. Which was quite gauche for a member of the nobility such as himself, now that he had been adopted by his mum. Sirius had concurred.

Jewellery from the mares would be more acceptable. However, at this stage of their relationship, anything more than small trinkets would be considered premature by the adults.

Sirius had said that, for the purebloods, giving jewellery on Valentine’s Day was a serious statement of intent. A wedding would be expected in the summer, if either side gave jewellery, even simple earrings or bracelets. Best to avoid that as much as possible.

After much consideration, Harry decided on white and red roses with white heather to accompany his cards. The roses said unity — they were a herd. The heather was both protection and wishes will come true — Ginny would read the second as first, as would most of the pure-bloods.

He didn’t understand the dynamics of a herd, yet, but he wasn’t going to tell her ‘no’ right off the bat, for no real reason.

That Valentine’s Day morning, in the Gryffindor Common Room, everything went as he had planned and hoped. He presented the fillies with the cards he had meticulously made. The chocolates, owl-ordered from Hogsmeade, were well-received. He had practiced the third-year reducio and engorgio charms just for this occasion to present the flower arrangements without having to make multiple trips to his room. They had come with a stasis charm on them so that they stayed as fresh as when they had been delivered — again owl-ordered from Hogsmeade.

There were quite a few ohhs, awes, and compliments from other fillies in the common room. The pure-bloods all sighed at the flowers. Hermione and Ginny had pinked a bit, while Ginny’s eyes had turned a bit watery.

Harry figured that Ginny would clue the others into the meaning of the flowers soon enough.

It appeared, from what he could observe, that the Equestrian fillies were taking full advantage of Valentine’s Day. The older colts were almost under siege as the fillies made clear that they were not limiting their choices to the colts in their age group. Neither were the fillies limiting themselves to one. After all, who knew if the one they selected would be interested in them? Better to explore several and pick the one with the most potential for a good match in the future.

All five fillies made sure to hug him and give him a kiss on the cheek. The group of them were skipping and grinning the entire way to the Great Hall.

Which was where things started to go pear-shaped.

The walls were covered with large, lurid pink flowers. From the pale blue ceiling heart-shaped confetti was falling and slowly collecting on the exposed food. Harry led the way to the Gryffindor table. Ron, who had rushed on ahead of them when Harry started handing out the Valentine cards in the common room was sitting, looking sickened. He was holding a small shield spell over their section of the table to keep their food from acquiring any more unwelcome additions.

At first, the fillies seemed to have the giggles at the state of the Hall. But Hermione quickly noticed and took offense at the unsanitary pollution of their meal, to which she loudly proclaimed her disgust. She used a soft wind from her wand to blow away what she could while the others either tried to help her or added their shields to Ron’s.

Fortunately, the second years were well-accomplished with that spell from all their practice last year. They extended their coverage to the first years who were still struggling with the spell.

“So, what’s this all about?” Harry asked, sitting down and shaking confetti off a rasher of bacon.

Ron, too appalled to speak, gave a disgusted look at the teachers’ table. The teachers were stony-faced to either side of the widely grinning Lockhart. He was wearing lurid pink robes to match the decorations, and waving for silence. From even this far, Harry could see a muscle twitch in Professor McGonagall’s cheek. Snape looked as if he had just drunk a most repulsive potion.

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” Lockhart shouted, with his arms wide-spread, and then he explained. Harry was surprised to hear that forty-six people had sent him cards — he actually had expected for more of their female population to have done so! Then Lockhart bragged about arranging the decorations in the Hall.

But that wasn’t all. Somehow, he had convinced dwarfs to wear golden wings and carry harps while wearing what could charitably be called a baby’s diaper. They did not look happy. Harry could only bury his head in his arms as the daft wizard announced that the dwarves would be accepting and delivering Valentine cards — but that wasn’t the worst. The worst was that they would be singing the valentines.

The DADA Professor did not endear himself to Professor’s Snape, Slughorn, or Flitwick by suggesting that two would be a good source for instructions on Love Potions and the other might share his knowledge of Entrancing Enchantments. All three professors gave him appalled looks, and then glares into the Hall that promised detentions to any student who dared approach them about anything that wasn’t directly related to today’s classes.

All day long, the dwarfs kept barging into their classes to deliver valentines, to the annoyance of the teachers. Late that afternoon, as the Gryffindors were walking upstairs for Charms, one of the dwarfs caught up with Harry. Harry dealt with it as gracefully as possible, while wanting to sink into the floor in embarrassment. The fillies watched on with varying expressions of laughter and horror.

Fortunately, Harry knew none of the fillies in his herd would have need of the services of the dwarves, having delivered their valentines earlier.

Still, it made for a madhouse in the corridors as the dwarves rushed about between classes trying to deliver their messages before the next class started, embarrassing students by the score. Their surly attitude was a surreal contrast to the syrupy-sweet and awful poetry they recited.

Usually while sitting on the person to whom the poem was addressed, because that was the only way they could get the silly sots to listen.

^·_·^

Harry wondered if he was slowly losing the plot. Ever since those dwarves had been in the castle, he could swear that he kept seeing unicorns in some of the portraits that lined the corridors.

There were a few landscapes that featured unicorns, of course. However, he kept seeing a white unicorn, always in the background and peeping from behind the scenery, that looked suspiciously as if it was trying to hide faint lines that seemed to indicate wings. And he could swear that he had seen the vague shape of a black unicorn whose eyes were staring at him from a painting of a moon-lit forest glade.

But he knew that the portraits were all locked, so it couldn’t be any of the pegasi sneaking into them with fake horns.

^·_·^

Author's Note

* Sir Chaos Omega came up with this possibility for Crystal Ponies. Perhaps a reason why we don’t see Crystal Unicorns in MLP, except as regular Equestrians who crystalized while in the Crystal Empire. Their spells never worked right!
** keybounce school-house-lawyered this exception to the rule.
*** Firestorm came up with this a while ago.

Ch. 25. Burning Pink

Now that they weren’t expecting someone to jump out at them from behind armoured suits, their attention turned to their DADA professor.

From the books, and movies, Lockhart was a charlatan. Unfortunately, his mum had told him, the ponies were not yet adept enough to pursue the leads provided in the books to see if he had really stolen the stories from others. All they could do was watch his every action as carefully as possible.

It wasn’t like traveling in Equesteria, unfortunately, where there were no restrictions. Here, they had to negotiate with multiple governments, not all of whom were all that friendly.

His failure to actually follow the order of the chapters in Miranda Goshawk’s The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 2) seemed to support the argument that he was a fake. Of course, his use of the situations in his books to get them to suggest various spells and tactics muddied the waters more than a little bit. Still, at the rate they were going, they would definitely not learn all the spells in the book. As a result, they had begun going through that book on their own, again — they had used part of their summer hols to read ahead.

With book-walking, it was surprisingly easy to revise the spells. That was especially true because they devoted more time than just the three days a week they had in classes. Which was probably a good idea, considering the end-of-year tests were coming up. Hermione was especially stoked about that. Pooling their resources made the written work in the other classes quicker and easier, so they had the time to spare.

Hermione, meanwhile, had started scanning through Lockhart’s books looking for inconsistencies and tabulating the results.

Professor Lockhart didn’t act or say anything out of the ordinary during his classes. That didn’t prevent the eight of them watching him like hawks searching for a mouse in a meadow below them.

Once more, Harry found himself reflexively, and extensively, checking his food for “poisons” at lunch. He had been slacking lately, just checking once with a simple is-it-safe spell.

The other Gryffindors saw him and his herd-mates doing that. The more suspicious ones hesitantly checked their own dishes. After all, if Harry Potter suddenly started using detection charms on his food, and the Twins weren’t in sight, maybe he knew something they didn’t.

Reinforcing that disquiet were Hermione’s actions. She was very busy that first week after Valentine’s Day.

It wasn’t that unusual for her to read during mealtimes. But for her to be diving in and out of the DADA books, rapidly switching back and forth between the open books spread around her? She was obviously, urgently, and actively searching for something. It didn’t make anyone feel better that she seemed to be getting angrier and angrier as she researched.

Whatever it was, it meant there had to be a reason for Harry’s abrupt wariness.

Harry could only shake his head as he noticed the spread of troubled students slowly ripple across the Great Hall. First to the Hufflepuff table, then a few Ravenclaws frowned at their neighbours, and followed suit. Finally, ironically, the very suspicious Slytherins began checking their meals.

The professors, those who noticed the rising anxiety levels in the Hall, looked around, puzzled. The Headmaster, by the way he was watching Harry, indicated he had noted where the disquiet had started.

By tea-time, that first day, the entire student body would be checking their food, Harry knew. Stories soon would be circulating about Harry or one of his friends or herd-mates being poisoned.

Hermione, wouldn’t have eaten at all if Harry and the others hadn’t forced her to take a bite of something every time she emerged from a book. That, too, was noted, as evidence that all was not to the good.

While she had read the books thoroughly at the beginning of the year, several times, she hadn’t really tried to place them in any chronological order. She had treated each book as a separate incident, individual and alone, except that of the order in which they were printed indicated when they had happened. She had not considered the actual dates as anything but markers for events in the book, so she hadn’t considered comparing the dates between the books.

Her conclusions? Two of the books took place on opposite sides of the globe at the same time — Walla Walla, New South Wales, Australia, and Bandon, Ireland. Without a prodigious use of international portkeys, he could never have done both. But the books never acknowledged that they happened simultaneously. Nor that he repeatedly used international portkeys during the course of the stories — even though he would have needed to use one almost every day, and several on certain days. Not to mention being awake for thirty-six or forty hours straight, several times.

She and Ginny glowered at Professor Lockhart throughout the DADA classes. They made it a point to inform the other students of her research. The Ravenclaws were especially upset at discovering their professor’s deceptions.

However, he was the professor and they were the students. From previous years, and what their older Housemates told them, complaining was useless. Plus, his approach to have the students bring up and discuss the various spells, and what to do with them, was engaging. It just wasn’t really following the DADA book.

Lockhart, however, never noticed their hostility. He was too busy being the centre of attention.

Neither did he notice that most of the witches in his class were casting questioning glances on him as they tried to convince themselves that their professor wasn’t a scoundrel. Some were more successful than others.

^·_·^

Anne settled herself into her seat in the Wizengamot visitor’s gallery of Ministry Courtroom Ten. Several Wizengamot members had already arrived and were conversing in low tones as they clustered in small groups. The gallery had only a few spectators, as yet. The agenda for the day wasn’t anything earth-shattering that would garner more than a yawn from the general public. The reporter for The Daily Prophet looked bored. No doubt he was the lowest reporter in the pecking order at the paper.

If anything of real interest had been scheduled, a more senior reporter would have taken the chair so he could get credit for breaking a news-worthy story. It sucked to be low-pony on the totem pole, Anne knew.

It was only as the Wizengamot members began to take their seats a few minutes later that the more attentive people noticed that there were considerably more seats being taken than expected for a dull session. Most Wizengamot sessions had little more than the minimum number in attendance, just enough so that no bills could be suddenly introduced and passed by a majority from any of the different political parties. The only bills passed in such a nondescript a session would be those that both parties agreed upon — a rare occurrence.

Anne knew that three quarters of the Wizengamot were in attendance today. It had taken a bit of devious manoeuvring to arrange for that, without alerting their political opponents, but Sirius considered it galleons, and blackmail well-spent. A few touches of her “friendship” magic had helped keep her at a discreet, but very effective, distance — each lackey thought her “suggestions” were their ideas. The unsuspecting missing members who might have objected to the proceedings thought they had much more important appointments elsewhere regarding their families or businesses.

After several boring hours, the item she had been waiting for came up. Anne had to supress the grin that threatened to breakout on her face; their ploys had worked well. Only a few in attendance today would try to impede the scheme.

A Ministry employee had caught someone offering a bribe.

In the Ministry for Magic, bribery was a well-used means of doing things. Want something to go faster through the bureaucracy? Bribe the right person. Want something to go slower? Same thing. Want something “lost” in the bowels of the Ministry? Bribe several people, or offer a rather large, single bribe to the right person. Sometimes a donation to a certain charity would be involved. Nothing was sacred to those who idolized galleons and viewed the jobs as a way to enrich themselves at the expense of less-fortunate or “inferior” others.

Unless it was something really trivial, such as getting a floo-hookup or license expedited — those things could take months, you know — you had to get hold of a pure-blood to affect things. It was no accident that the jobs capable of providing the most bribe opportunities were occupied by pure-bloods.

A ministry employee “catching” someone in bribery usually meant only one thing: That a pure-blood wanted to get a non-pure-blood in trouble — either for general principles or for revenge. They would claim that the non-pure-blood had offered them something of value to influence a decision in their job. In truth, the pure-blood had tried to extort a wizard or witch, and the victim had refused. Sure, the pure-blood would lose a few galleons of off-the-book income, but fine paid and the time the victim spent in Azkaban more than compensated them — in their opinion. Not spoken of was that half the galleons paid in the fine would usually, under the table, be split between the accusing pure-blood and the Ministry. So, no money was really lost.

Naturally, the accused claimed that the Ministry official was lying, or that the official had tried to extort money from them. That argument almost always failed.

Pure-bloods couldn’t be forced to take veritaserum, the potion that forces one to answer questions truthfully. Asking someone, “What felonious crimes have you committed?” would force a defendant to confess their crimes. If they weren’t guilty of any felonies, they would remain silent.

Regrettably, if the accused had time to prepare, there were potions one could take to combat veritaserum, or memories of a crime could be obliviated from memory by a friend. Plus, some wizards and witches were powerful enough in magic and will that they could resist the potion.

As a result, veritaserum could only prove someone was guilty, not that they were innocent.

Because of things like Polyjuice potion, illusions, and metamorphmagi, witnesses to crimes were useless.

Being legally able to refuse veritaserum made it nearly impossible to convict a pure-blood — it was the word of a trusted Ministry employee against that of a common citizen, usually an inferior half-blood, half-breed, or muggle-born. The pure-blood had to be caught in-the-act by aurors, and kept isolated to remove the possibility of potions or obliviations. Special detection spells could remove the possibilities of illusions and metamorphmagi.

Sadly, even if they were caught in the act, the pure-bloods could claim they had been mind-controlled with a spell such as the imperio. For many things, that meant they had an effective defence.

Of course, using the imperio defence had its own difficulties, as it implied the accused had a weak mind, which could backfire spectacularly in the cut-throat competition higher up in the Ministry. After all, if you were so weak-willed, how could anyone trust a decision or opinion from you as your own?

In any case, the Wizengamot members sat up a little straighter at the thought of someone getting their comeuppance. At the very least, it would be entertaining — anything to relieve the tedium.

She couldn’t help but grin, both at the reaction of those in the Courtroom and at the beginning of the culmination of six months of scheming and planning. The last two months had been simply been arranging this event.

When Madam Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and a square-jawed witch with close-cropped grey hair and a monocle, walked in with Arthur Wealsey and his two-auror escort, the entire hall quickly descended into excited whispering. Her appearance of a serious person matched her personality perfectly. Mr. Weasley had bright red hair, and was going bald. He wore glasses and had blue eyes, and also possessed a tall, thin build.

Mr. Weasley was the head of The Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office at the Ministry for Magic, and a pure-blood from a family of longstanding. While his office wasn’t that important to the rest of the Ministry, the man himself was well-liked as a goodhearted, reasonable, and competent wizard. It took considerable work to anger the man.

Some in the Ministry, and the so-called polite society, considered him a blood-traitor because of his principles. Mr. Weasley was strongly opposed to discrimination against muggles, muggle-borns, half-bloods, half-breeds, and cursed beings such as werewolves. He felt that how you acted was more important than who your parents were. The law, he reasoned, should apply evenly to everyone — no one should be treated better, or worse, simply because of their parentage. He did not think highly of those who advocated otherwise.

Last year he had even introduced The Muggle Protection Act which had drawn the ire of the conservative members of the Wizengamot, most of whom were former Death Eaters or their supporters. They hated the loss of legally harassing the “beastly” muggles at their whim.

That someone had tried to bribe the wizard known for his unwavering principles was astounding to those in the courtroom. That Arthur had taken it to the aurors was almost as amazing. Whomever had tried to bribe the wizard must have taken things to the extreme, was their only conclusion. Otherwise, the affable wizard would have shrugged the matter off as a mere misunderstanding, or, considering his stories about his sons and their escapades, a prank.

With the accuser being a pure-blood Department Head, it was only natural that the Head of the DMLE would be involved. She wouldn’t foist this onto an underling.

The case, once Mr. Weasley was seated and Madam Bones had begun questioning in her loud, booming voice, involved possession of a questionable unregistered potion, and selling a cursed, goblin-silver tea-set, which the accused had stolen.

It was no wonder that the accused wizard had tried to bribe his way out of a stay in Azkaban.

“It started when Mary Twist . . ,” Mr. Weasley began.

“A muggle-born witch?” interrupted Madam Bones.

He blinked in surprise, “Well, yes. Anyway, she came into my office in a rush. There was an incident at her mother’s house regarding a cursed tea-set. After steeping, if a muggle began to pour a cup, the teapot would spray alternating streams of ice-cold and steaming hot tea all over the muggles in the room.” He sighed and shook his head.

There were titters of amusement from both the Wizengamot members and the watching gallery.

The red-headed wizard frowned and looked around the room.

“Fortunately,” he continued, “Miss Twist happened to be there and was able to get things sorted, but she wanted something done about the tea-set.

“She had acquired the tea-set for her mother as a birthday present, you see, and her mother had had a tea party with her muggle friends the following weekend.

“I removed the curse, it was rather simple, actually. Then I began tracking down the wizard responsible. Fortunately, she knew the wizard who had sold her the tea-set — Mundungus Fletcher.” He sighed.

“Once I had Fletcher in custody, it came up that the tea-set had been stolen, and that he was in possession an unregistered potion.

“There is a fine for selling a muggle-baiting item, stiff, but not that terrible. Plus, this was his first offense. He hadn’t known that the set was cursed, but he should have checked, first.

“That it had been reported as stolen, however, made the case a bit more severe. Now it included a several week’s stay in Azkaban, and a much stiffer fine.

“The potion, on the other hand, was not such an easy problem. First, he should have surrendered a sample of the potion to the Ministry Potions Department. They would have analysed the potion for harmful side-effects, and its efficacy at doing what the potion was supposed to do. Only if it did what it was supposed to do — and nothing harmful — and had only temporary and mild side-effects would it be allowed to be produced and sold or shared with others.”

Most of the Wizengamot members were nodding in agreement.

“As you know, producing, selling, or possessing an unregistered potion is forbidden. If the potion’s properties are severe enough, the inventor of the potion might be punished for inventing and producing it, up to and including being forbidden to make any potions whatsoever. That would be in addition to any fines or time in Azkaban.” He leaned back in his chair.

“That was the sticking point for Fletcher. He knew that if a Ministry potion master looked at his potion, they would discover that it affected the minds of the drinkers — nothing dangerous, mind you, they would merely think whomever was playing an instrument or singing was a better musician than he really was. Which could influence them into giving him more money for him playing. It had the potential of being abused if it were to get out into the public.

“But he swore it was only because he wanted people to like his music, and he never used the potion with a wizarding audience.” Mr. Weasley stopped a moment.

“Which was when he tried to bribe me with one hundred Galleons.”

The whole room gasped. That was the equivalent of a year’s wages for the average Ministry worker.

“I immediately hit him with a stupefy, and notified the auror department,” Mr. Weasley concluded.

“Thank you for your assistance in this matter,” said Madam Bones, dismissing the man. “I’m sorry we had to take up your valuable time.” After the exchange of a few pleasantries, the red-haired wizard made his exit from the chambers, only to return a few minutes later wearing his Wizengamot robe, and take a seat.

The room descended into outraged whispering and debates as to how long the wizard should be incarcerated. Not being able to pay the fine in full immediately would increase his stay at the wizarding prison by more than a few weeks.

Now it was Fletcher’s turn. His treatment was decidedly different, with an escort of four aurors and his hands chained to his back. The noise level rose as he came through the prisoners’ door from the holding room.

Mundungus was a short, half-blood wizard with bandy legs and long, straggly ginger hair. He had bloodshot, baggy brown eyes and hadn’t shaved in several days. His hands were quite grubby, Anne saw, when his arms were chained to the arms of the prisoner’s chair centred in the chamber.

Dumbledore had to set off a cannon blast from his wand to get the room settled again.

Madam Bones was quick to tell them that Mundungus had been involved in many illegal and questionable activities, and that he had a notorious disreputable reputation as a petty criminal. He had had a number of scrapes with the aurors in the past, and even one serious incident which had almost seen him in Azkaban for a rather lengthy term.

The veritaserum dose he received made him verify all the information reported by Mr. Weasley.

Normally, that would be the end of the interrogation with a vote on his being innocent or guilty. If he was voted guilty, then a discussion for the proper sentence and another vote would take place.

This time, though, there would be an additional question asked, Anne knew, almost as if it were an impulsive afterthought. It wasn’t; but no one beyond Madam Bones, Dumbledore, Sirius, Fletcher, and herself knew that the trial had been carefully planned and choregraphed for this moment.

Even the aurors in the chamber had been carefully selected.

“Administer the antidote,” she ordered one of the aurors who was several paces away.

Just as he was about to tip the vial into Mundungus’ mouth, she stopped him, saying, “Wait.” She frowned as if she had had a sudden thought.

Staring impassively at the chained wizard, she asked, “Do you know of any other bribery cases by a half-blood that need investigation? Not your own, of course?” She raised her eyebrows in sudden thought. “Or, perhaps, someone who might know of unreported bribery cases?” It was a crime to know of a bribery incident, or attempted bribery, and not report it to the aurors.

The noise level in the courtroom had been steadily rising as it appeared the case was sorted and all that was left was sentencing. For a normally dull Wizengamot, this session had been surprisingly interesting. At the very least they had some interesting gossip for the tea table this evening.

In the dull monotone that all prisoners dosed with veritaserum exhibited, Fletcher replied, “Dolores Umbridge . . ..”

Abruptly, the courtroom dropped to dead silence as the prisoner’s words cut through the noise. Then it burst into an uproar, yelling and shouting as members demanded to know if Fletcher was lying, if they had misheard, or that he had to be mistaken.

Several objected that this was an illegal line of questioning.

Drowning out any other names he said was the thunderous roar as the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic leapt to her feet and bellowed, “WHAT!?”

The Minister, Cornelius Fudge, was seated beside her in the Minister for Magic’s box in the Wizengamot section. They were below and in front of the Chief Warlock’s podium. He looked on with an expression of sheer shock, gobsmacked at the revelation.

“THAT’S A LIE!” she shouted at the top of her lungs, pointing at Fletcher.

The room was in pandemonium as members tried to outshout each other.

The Daily Prophet reporter was taking notes furiously. A dull day that normally would have seen his story placed on the very last page had just given him front-page news. It didn’t matter if it was true, just the accusation in such a forum as this was enough.

The Chief Warlock, Albus Dumbledore, silenced the room with a tremendous cannon blast from his wand. “Order, please,” he said slowly.

Madam Bones had already stopped Fletcher, who patiently waited for the next question.

“HE’S LYING!” declared the Undersecretary, still pointing at Fletcher in outrage. Dolores Umbridge was a short squat woman resembling a large pale frog. She had a broad, flabby face, a wide, slack mouth, and nearly non-existent neck. Her eyes were bulging and pouchy, with mousy brown hair adorned with a black velvet bow. She wore a green tweed dress with a pink fuzzy cardigan on top, giving her greater frog-like qualities.

Anne had never seen a human who so closely resembled a member of the frog family. Considering some of the half-breeds she had discovered in the witchery world, and some of the things she had heard stories about in some of the more disreputable pubs, she couldn’t help but wonder on the witch’s ancestry.

Primarily, how?

Still, that didn’t matter. What did matter were her truly offensive personal views of non-pure-bloods that she wanted to force on the witchery world. Views which would block some of the things Anne wanted to pass.

Dumbledore looked down at the witch. “This is the Wizengamot. Silence! Or you will be silenced.”

“But that half-blood is spouting lies! I’m a pureblood!” she pronounced imperiously, “I demand he be arrested and sent to Azkaban for slandering a pure-blood!”

Dumbledore tilted his head down to look at her over his spectacles, and raised an eyebrow.

The toadish-witch crossed her arms angrily and sat back down, scowling darkly.

Madam Bones turned back to the prisoner. “Madam Umbridge, the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, is a pure-blood, is she not?”

Continuing in the same monotone, Fletcher said, “Dolores Umbridge is a half-blood.”

Anne’s research had discovered that Madam Bones had been in the Ministry for several decades, almost as long as Umbridge. Madam Bones had watched and listened as the Dolores had risen through the hierarchy after graduating from Hogwarts. The toad-like woman was a real nasty person, and had no problems letting those whom she felt were beneath her know how she felt about them — and used that higher Ministry position to take advantage of them. People who wanted to remain on her good side, both inside and outside the Ministry, tried to avoid her at all costs. Doing so wasn’t a guarantee that she wouldn’t savage them, anyway, but it did reduce the odds enough to make it a worthwhile effort.

Those that did fall prey to her need to feel superior tended to have terrible things happen to them or they disappeared. In her first days of getting a job at the Ministry complaints had been many, but they rather quickly fell off as she retaliated in underhanded methods.

Umbridge had been extremely careful in covering her tracks, which had made things difficult for the DMLE to rein her in. She used her pure-blood status as a shield to stymie investigations, claiming any accusations were untrue. She sharply criticized both the complaints and the people making them — always those who were beneath her. To her superiors, she was always polite and subservient to a sickening degree. She almost grovelled to stay in their good favour, and rode their coattails as they climbed the Ministry hierarchy. She was not afraid to drop names to halt questions into her conduct. The officials tentatively investigating always had to retreat, until it became well-known to not even try.

While there were rumours that she wasn’t a pure-blood, she had been making the claim since she had first started at Hogwarts. Anyone who noted that one of the janitors at the Ministry was named Umbridge soon regretted it.

Bones, and Anne, knew the woman wasn’t really a pure-blood, despite the witch’s insistence, ever since she started Hogwarts, that she was. All the evidence in the Ministry of her true ancestry had “mysteriously” disappeared or been “lost” as misfiled. The Head of the DMLE knew that nasty things tended to happen to people who asked about Umbridge’s, or, as many preferred to call her, Umbitch’s parentage. Or anything else about which Umbridge did not like discussing. Which Anne also knew.

This, however, was a golden opportunity to destroy the witch’s influence. It was a crime to pretend to be a pure-blood, with a mandatory month-long stay in Azkaban. The issue of bribery was merely a gateway to that goal. The true objective was getting a chance to prove, once and for all, that Umbridge wasn’t a pure-blood and didn’t deserve the pure-blood protections. In all the other cases, there hadn’t been enough credible evidence to support what was about to happen.

It hadn’t been difficult to get Bones’ cooperation in this endeavour. She had been trying to catch the slippery bigot for years. The witch wasn’t going to win this battle. She was a major blockade to the reforms that Anne wanted in place. She had to be removed. The public discovering the witch was really a half-blood would quickly see her influence erode as pure-blood supporters departed in droves.

Plus, it opened up all the other investigations that had been stopped by her use of the pure-blood defence.

“The prisoner has made an accusation of criminal acts by another person while under veritaserum, as well as called into question their pure-blood status,” Madam Bones stated flatly. “That the prisoner believes the accusations to be true cannot be disputed. She must defend her status. Because the accused is present, and the Wizengamot Court is in session, we can summarily deal with the accusation.”

Madam Bones turned to two of the aurors in the room, and nodded at the Undersecretary. “Escort the Undersecretary to the ‘Accused Chair’.” She turned to two others, “Escort Mr. Fletcher to the Holding Room.” His case would be finalized later — a slap on the wrist for his cooperation in catching a much bigger fish.

By this time, the antidote had been given to the wizard and he was watching with a certain amount of glee.

Soon enough, Umbridge was seated, fuming, arms crossed on her chest in the chair. She was glaring malevolently at Madam Bones in front of her.

She didn’t even wait for a question, stating loudly, “I am a pure-blood, and I categorically deny knowing anything about bribery in the Ministry. That spineless thief is lying!” She stared defiantly at the Wizengamot.

Bones nodded genially. “We will know the truth in a moment.” She turned to the auror with the vial of veritaserum. “Three drops please.”

Umbridge started to jump to her feet, but Madam Bones hadn’t officially declared the questioning finished. The chair’s magic yanked her arms to its arms, and restraints immediately snapped into place. There were two each over her arms and around her ankles. A fifth restraint tried to snap around her neck, but caught the lower part of her chin on the nearly neckless woman. A last restraint wrapped around her forehead and held her head tight to the chairback.

Despite that, Umbridge managed to yell out in fury, “I’m a pure-blood! You can’t do this! Pure-bloods can’t be forced to take veritaserum!”

Before she could say more, Madam Bones silenced her. After realizing that she couldn’t say anything, the witch glared at the Head DMLE balefully.

Bones just stared at her. “Anyone can claim to be a pure-blood. For the purpose of determining the truth of that claim, though, the Ministry is allowed to administer veritaserum and verify that claim, if it is brought up by a subject under veritaserum in a court case or investigation.” She paused and looked around the room. “The only question I am allowed to ask is if either of the accused’s parents or any of their grandparents, or great-grandparents are a muggle, a muggle-born, a half-blood, a half-breed, or a cursed being such as a werewolf.” She returned her gaze to Umbridge. “If the answer given is ‘no,’ then the antidote will be applied. The accusation by the Ministry is dismissed with prejudice, and the accused is generously compensated for their treatment.”

From the expression on Bones’ face, and the way her eyes raked over Umbridge from her shoes to her hair, it was plain that she did not think the answer given would be a ‘no.’

^-_-^

Ch. 26. The Known and Unknown

“If the answer is ‘yes’, however, I am allowed to pursue the questioning.” Director Bone’s expression, while mostly blank, had the hint that she expected to continue her questioning.

The Minister Fudge had turned quite pale and looked close to fainting. This would be a black mark on his administration, if true, everyone knew. All the decisions that she had made, all the new laws or changes she had supported, would have to be reviewed.

Umbridge looked furious and scared.

At Madam Bones’ signal, the auror with the vial stepped forward. The chair, reacting to his intent, tilted Umbridge’s head back. She stubbornly refused. Sighing, one of the other aurors stepped forward and used magic to make her open her mouth.

Surreptitiously, a third auror, the one behind her chair, cast a confundus on her to help prevent her resisting the potion. He was a friend of Sirius.

Anne did not want this chance to remove the vile witch’s influence slipping through her fingers. Later, that auror would receive an owl with a gift certificate, for a popular restaurant, that he had won in a “raffle.”

The frog-witch’s face relaxed and her expression became blank. To the observers, it was apparent that the potion had taken effect extremely rapidly. A quick finite silencio allowed Umbridge to once again speak and be heard.

“What is your name?”

“Dolores Umbridge,” came the immediate and monotone response typical of people dosed with veritaserum.

Bones nodded. “Miss Dolores Umbridge, you are the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic, are you not?”

“Yes.”

“Are either of your parents, or any of your grandparents or great-grandparents, either a muggle, a muggle-born, a half-blood, a half-breed, or a cursed being such as a werewolf?”

Anne Bourchier, and Madam Bones, knew, as a large number of those present suspected, what the answer to that question would be. Those who were suspicious were not disappointed. To most of the pure-bloods, though, it was quite a shock.

Her struggle was obvious as she tried to resist the potion, “N-n-n-n-yes.”

Dolores Umbridge then confirmed that she was the first child of a pure-blood wizard, Orford Umbridge. She had blackmailed a clerk in the Records Office to make her file “disappear.”

“Which of your parents, grandparents, or great-grandparents were not pure-bloods.”

“N-n-n-n-my mother.”

“And was she a muggle, a muggle-born, a half-blood, a half-breed, or a cursed being?”

“A muggle.”

Further questioning revealed that Orford Umbridge, a pure-blood, was a former janitor in the Ministry. Her mother was Ellen Cracknell, a muggle.

She also admitted that her younger brother was a Squib, and that she despised both him and her mother. She considered both of them to be inferior to her and her father because of their lack of magic.

She explained that when she was fourteen, her mother and brother had returned to the muggle world, never to be heard from again. Umbridge was proud of the fact that she and her father had finally driven the two away. They hadn’t been able to withstand the constant verbal abuse the two had given.

Why Orford and Ellen had married in the first place would forever be a mystery now that both had left England, Anne thought distractedly. But whatever else happened, for falsifying her blood-status so egregiously, Umbridge would immediately lose her position as Senior Undersecretary. Once she left the mandatory, but short, Azkaban sentence, she would be lucky to get the Ministry job her father had once had.

“The legal definition of bribery is influencing, or attempting to influence, the actions of an individual holding a public office or someone subject to a legal duty, by the offering, giving, soliciting, or receiving of any item of value or favour, either monetary or informational,” Madam Bones calmly stated. She paused a moment, then continued, “Have you ever offered, given, solicited, or received any item of value, promised to withhold or release privileged information or a favour, as a means of influencing the actions of a Ministry official?”

Anne could see that she again tried to resist the potion, but failed, giving another, “Yes.”

Madam Bones looked around the courtroom. “To save the Court the tedium of listening to a potentially long list of crimes, I would like the Courts permission to continue this interrogation later, and to bring it back to the Court at the next meeting.”

“I move we allow Madam Bones to continue the interrogation at another location, and bring the case back later to the Wizengamot at our next session,” came the immediate statement from Madam Longbottom.

“Seconded,” said Madam Marchbanks.

“What does the Wizengamot say?” asked Dumbledore.

Anne barely concealed her pleasure at seeing a large majority of lit wands lifted.

“Madam Bones, see to your prisoner, and bring us back the results of your interrogation at the next meeting.”

Anne sat back and watched as the Wizengamot slowly returned to the normal and boring agenda for the day. It was with no small amount of glee that she watched the shell-shocked, former Senior Undersecretary being escorted out of the room. Minister Fudge hadn’t wasted any time in letting everyone know that he hadn’t known the witch’s perfidy. He had quickly, and loudly, immediately relieved her of the position.

With that obstacle out of the way, her plans for making-over the Ministry into something that approached fairnesss for the average witch and wizard had taken a great leap forward. It would still take decades, but a few more entrapments would go a long way toward securing that outcome.

Mundungus Fletcher would be well-compensated for his role today; his tabs at various pubs would be paid in full, with a bit extra for credit. That last, he didn’t know, yet. Not to mention that Anne could put a wizard of his background and skills to good use in the future, and intended to do so. Competent agents were difficult to find, and she had no intention of allowing this one to wander away.

She would be the power behind the Minister in a few short years. Then she safely could work on making things equal for everypony . . . everyone. Without cutie marks in the way, only a person’s true abilities, skill, and knowledge would matter. And she would keep it that way!

^-_-^

The April Easter Break could not come quick enough for most of the ponies in Hogwarts.

The firsties were dying to show off what more they had learned to their families, especially the non-unicorns. Harry was sure the trips home would be marked by smoke-screens, blind-folds, and several other spells shooting from wands all over Equestria. Not to mention that the levitation charm was still a stunner to the ponies who hadn’t been at the portal station on either day at Hearth’s Warming.

As a result, there was more than one double-take as pegasi and earth colts and fillies headed for the Equestrian train/floo station with their saddlebags floating over their heads, and excitedly demonstrating new spells.

For Harry, his herd-mates, and his friends — the Weasleys were once more vacationing in Equestria — the big news when they arrived was Cranky Doodle Donkey’s and Matilda’s upcoming wedding. It seemed that that was what most of the old-town residents were talking about.

The first day, the twins met with Filthy Rich to check on their various finances and projects. They would never want for money, that was for sure. That, in turn, meant they could concentrate on going through their studies as fast as possible. They told Harry they wanted to take their O.W.L.s a year early, this year. With Hayscarte’s Method, they might even be able to take their N.E.W.T.s two years early, next year. They wouldn’t have time to work on their candies and jokes, but graduating early would let them catch back up quickly. Especially as they would have more knowledge of the necessary subjects at their hooftips.

Harry noticed that his mum had decided on locations for the two portraits. One was in the main sitting room, the other was in the Map Room. Oddly, neither Celestia-painting-pony nor Luna-painting-pony made an appearance. When he asked his mum, she said she suspected that the live Princesses had had their second set of Portraits finished and the both sets of paintings’ versions of the two Princesses were in Canterlot, pranking everypony.

Harry and the rest started exploring how much the town had changed. To everypony’s surprise, there were now two Quidditch pitches at the edge of town. One was a major stadium, the other a practice field. Not surprisingly, they saw “The Weasleys’ Weird and Wonderful Widgets Stadium” logo emblazoned on the side of that building.

Beside that was another logo, declaring Ponyville as the “Home of the Everfree Flyers.”

Naturally, there was a complete joke store built into the ground level. Disappointingly, most of the products were actually imported from the wizarding world. Gambol and Japes and Zonko’s Joke Shop’s might be old hat to the wizarding public, but to the ponies? Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash were almost beside themselves with joy at the wide selection.

Harry was sure that in a few years most of the merchandise would be from creations by the twins.

A separate counter inside catered to the Ginger Gender Gels demand. They had them in hourly, daily, weekly, and monthly options, with several different pre-packaged quantities, including a variety pack.

For the next three days, in between exploring the changes, the Cutie Mark Crusaders helped several fillies and colts get their cutie marks.

Then, in the middle of the vacation, a bugbear wandered into town and started to make a fuss. The bugbear seemed to be looking for a particular pony, based on how he scrutinized each one he saw before moving on. No ponies were deliberately hurt.

He seemed to be especially interested in ponies with a beige coat and dark mane. Harry and the others were watching concernedly as Twilight and the other Element Holders immediately started planning to subdue the beast.

“Do we know what they’re talking about?” Octavia said, having come up behind Harry.

“I’m pretty sure it’s about that monster, there,” Sweetie Belle said offering her some popcorn from her oversized bag.

“A monster attack!? Blast! I’m performing at the ceremony this afternoon, and I still haven’t sorted out what to play,” Octavia said.

“Ceremony? Today?” asked Sweetie Belle.

“Cranky Doodle and Matilda’s wedding is this afternoon, not tomorrow. The invitations all went out with the wrong day.” She sighed. “How can I practice with a monster invading Ponyville?” she said despairingly.

“Maybe it’s just a friendship problem, and it’ll all be cleared up in half an hour or so?” suggested Apple Bloom, munching on the popcorn.

“Ahh!” Octavia cried out distractedly, and then dashed off.

Naturally, Matilda showed up moments later, all in a panic. “Ohh!” she said, upset, “Cranky had Derpy Hooves make the invitations, but got the day wrong for the wedding! It’s today! I need Pinkie Pie, my wedding planner!”

Which was when she saw Pinkie try to distract the bugbear with a lemon pie to the nose.

“Oh, no! On my wedding day!? Somepony’s gotta help me! You!” She suddenly pointed at a light-purple coated mare with a darker purple mane.

“Me?” exclaimed Amethyst Star, looking surprised.

“I need to move an entire wedding from tomorrow to today!”

“But nopony’s asked me to organize anything since Twilight came to town.”

“So?”

“I used to be the best organizer in all of Ponyville,” Amethyst said proudly.

Matilda was not shy about dragging the other pony with her as they left the plaza for the salon, moments later.

Meanwhile, over by one restaurant, a pony was setting up a table and seating to watch the Mane Six deal with yet another monster in Ponyville. A waitress was bringing out orders of popcorn and drinks. Other ponies were brought chairs or pillows out of their stores and set up to watch the impromptu entertainment. Most ponies in the plaza and surrounding streets just moved out of the way and went on about their business. The Flower sisters, of course, took one look and dramatically fainted.

The Guards in sight were more concerned with preventing ponies from blocking the streets than anything else. “Nothing to see here,” Harry heard one say, waving one foreleg, to small group, “Move along! Nothing to see here!”

Harry noticed two familiar, shifty-looking ponies, both yellow-coated with red and white striped manes and wearing blue-striped shirts. They had set up a small table and were apparently taking bets on how long the bugbear would resist.

Flim and Flam had managed to sneak back into town.

The bugbear was putting up a good fight, and was giving Pinkie Pie a head noogie when things started to go crazy. The first inkling was the music they heard. Something like a wedding march but with a heavy beat.

In the distance, and rapidly approaching, was a strange conveyance, even by Ponyville standards. Charging down the street was a pair of giant speakers on a wheeled platform, with a table and smaller speaker between them. Behind the smaller table was a white-coated mare with dark sky-blue mane and wearing headphones. Atop one of the speakers was Octavia, playing her cello.

They shot by Rarity’s Carousel Boutique, where the bugbear was currently battling the Mane Six, so fast that the small black colt Harry had noticed earlier was revealed to be Featherweight! Apparently, he somehow had been coated in ink, which the fast-moving speaker-platform had blown off when it went by so fast!

Unfortunately, Harry and the rest of his friends were swept up in the process. Harry was certain they were going to crash until he saw Octavia reach out with her cello bow and hook a lamppost. The lamppost should have simply bent, her bow should have snapped, she, herself, should have been pulled right off the speaker she was sitting on! Impossibly, though, the entire conveyance swung around to the cross street. After an exciting ride that could be used in a carnival, they crashed into the town hall.

Harmony couldn’t miss a chaotic opportunity like this. The ponies flew into the building, landing where they were needed, just as the duo of Octavia and D. J. Pony concluded their impromptu composition.

The non-pony-born contingent of the wedding was staring around in astonishment. That was when Bon Bon came in and announced the Mane Six’s defeat of the bugbear, to the cheers of their friends.

Cranky arrived moments’ later, but with an orange wig instead of his normal blonde one. Steven Magnet, the sea serpent, arrived with only half of his moustache. No one noticed until later that Derpy Hooves had closed the Hall doors just before his mum and the rest of the Mane Six arrived. Harry certainly didn’t.

What stunned everyone was the appearance in the back row of a changeling! Kevin, as he called himself, said Cranky had invited him — he had the invitation — and that he was only there for the food. Harry was told later by Twilight that because Kevin wasn’t using his magic to hide, and he wasn’t trying to force a pony to give him love, he wasn’t actually doing anything wrong under the law. It was a bizarre situation in anyone’s book.

The Flower sisters still fainted, of course.

That Celestia and Luna also attended the wedding was another surprise. That they appeared to have no problems with Kevin’s attendance kept anyone who might have objected, quiet.

Nonetheless, the herd had kept a close eye on the changeling for the rest of the wedding and reception.

The beautiful flowers at the front of the hall turned into equally stunning fireworks when Cranky Doodle and Matilda kissed as jack and jenny for the first time. It made for a truly lovely end to the wedding, and the start of an equally wonderful reception.

At least Harry and his friends thought so — the cake certainly made it worthwhile to stay! From the occasional expression that he caught, he was sure the three fillies were making a few mental notes. He could only shudder and pretend he hadn’t seen a thing.

^-_-^

When Major Castor walked into his office at nine that morning, he was surprised to see Debby, waiting.

“Oh,” he said, “I would have been here earlier if I knew you wanted to speak to me.” He moved over and sat behind his desk. “Is there something I can help you with?”

Half of the lings had been integrating rather nicely into MI5 and MI6. The other half, it had been decided, were better suited for support roles. Which, oddly enough, seemed to be research and training. What one ling learned could easily be transferred to another with only a few minutes concentration while they were together. The original ling didn’t even have to completely understand what she had learned — much like a typesetter doesn’t have to understand a manuscript on Quantum Physics to prepare a book.

The destination ling could take the information and add it to what she already knew. This meant, for a complex infiltration, three lings could be watching or reading the background information while the primary agent worked at physically incorporating any needed new skills. When the three researchers finished their respective assignments, they could transfer their knowledge to the primary. By the time the agent was ready for insertion, she knew as much about the assignment as if she had spent months preparing instead of weeks!

They had also discovered that the lings, excepting the infiltrators, did not know what relaxation meant. They worked until they were sleepy or hungry. When those were taken care of, they returned to work. The concept of “free-time” was foreign — when they had nothing to do, they typically just slept. Even the infiltrators were uncomfortable when they had no assignment — the infiltrators were always at work, even when sleeping, when they were among the ponies.

Ordinary leisure activities, such as reading fiction, going to theatre or films, or watching the telly were futile pursuits to the lings. Once a ling had read a book, seen a movie, or anything similar, she shared it with the others and they didn’t need to repeat the action. Going dancing served no purpose for them except as physical exercise, although visiting clubs, pubs, and other such venues did provide them with a small flow of emotional food — which was work, in a way, not recreation.

They had discovered that lings liked physical games, though. The more violent, the better; they seemed to view them as practice combat. Several footie games turned into outright brawls — brawls that would have delighted the footie hooligans that travelled to support their teams. Even the lings otherwise occupied piled out of their training building and joined in — even those who were sleeping. Apparently a group “fight” meant the hive was in danger and it was every ling on deck. They had a mindset — several millennia deep — where the purpose of any contest was to put down the opponent as quickly and efficiently as possible — but not permanently. You can’t feed the emotions off a corpse, now could you?

It was really weird to watch two hundred women going at each other like that, at first. Then one changed into a Pegasus and took off. It quickly developed into an aerial brawl the likes of which had not ever been seen on Earth. Especially when they started transfiguring themselves into other Equus races for better advantage when facing a particular ling opponent.

Some of the lings, many not considered infiltrators or guards, seemed to enjoy the brawl rather a lot, disturbingly like footie fans.

The first such incident set the training program back several days as most of the lings were unconscious or nursing broken bones. They had to dig into their reserves quite deeply for the first time. But they didn’t seem to mind, at all.

But the lings were learning to restrain themselves.

Until they discovered rugby — the brawl that time was, for the most part, ground-bound and as men. It took a bit longer for the losing side, and most of the winning side, to recover.

Oddly, emotion “harvesting” seemed to be more efficient, now.

After that, Sunday brawls somehow worked themselves into being regular routine. The lings seemed quite unfazed by their injuries. A few seemed to think the whole point of the brawl was to see how many injuries one could accumulate before passing out.

The government had ended up setting up three sets of trainers to handle the lings. Which had compressed what should have taken a year into a third of that.

The world wasn’t going to know what hit it, intelligence agency wise, that is, when Britain unleashed its new MI Five and Six agents.

The entire group was located at a remote, abandoned airfield, Brunton. It was eleven kilometres north of Alnwick, a short distance inland from the North Sea coast. It was in Northumberland County, in northeast England. It was fairly remote. With the aid of a dozen earth ponies, a ring of trees and brush would soon surround the perimeter of the airfield, and cut it off from casual viewing from the roads that ringed it

The government, using shell companies, purchased all the bordering private homes and business properties. At the prices offered, none said, “no.”

A little over half the lings were there as research support. Those were mostly the ones who weren’t suited for duties among the public. They were uncomfortable when surrounded by humans and hesitant at doing anything outside of the group. They were mostly the lings who had never left the hive, previously. Quite a few preferred their old form over their new “default,” and so it wasn’t unusual to see a black, insect-like pony in the buildings.

They also began excavating heavily under the buildings to create what they kept calling their “hive.” As a group, they were all much more comfortable underground in their new tunnels than the wood and brick buildings leftover from World War Two. Plus, with tunnels to all the buildings, the insect-ponies were never seen above ground.

It quickly became evident that trying to talk them out of creating that hive was useless. All the humans got were blank, uncomprehending stares.

The unintended consequence of this was that the base still appeared mostly abandoned as all the real activity was below the surface. The only signs of activity were the vehicles that transported the research material and personnel to the buildings at the front gates.

And the Sunday brawls.

One quarter of the “new” infiltrators were gathering emotional food for the rest, and stockpiling the excess. Those lings were better at maintaining disguises and weren’t liable to accidentally reveal their unfamiliarity with British society. Or blow their cover by their actions or inactions in a social situation.

Most of a second quarter were assigned the roles of messengers and couriers. They were excellent with disguises, could easily switch between them, and knew when and where they would be appropriate. Their only failing was they were not as quick-witted and able to react appropriately in a given situation as the remainder. They also weren’t as ruthless or focused as the infiltrators might sometimes have to be.

The third quarter were either infiltrators from before, only thirteen, or were talented enough to make the switch to that kind of active duty.

The remainder were relegated to the camp for one reason or another.

A ling would do whatever her Queen-mother ordered. Regrettably, this hive lacked a Queen-mother, so the order of command was more than a bit muddied. Without a distinct order to do so, getting a ling to switch jobs was . . . problematical. It wasn’t unusual for a ling to swap jobs with another without her supervisor knowing what had happened until the “new” subordinate showed up after finishing a task and wanting a new one.

In any case, the more accomplished infiltrators had already rolled up two criminal gangs involved in human trafficking, and were tracking a spy ring back to their British handlers.

In a year’s time the U.K. could have fifty-one additional Double-O Seven agents, if they needed.

Debby was the “unofficial spokesling” for the rest. Abby had disappeared into the ling support group.

She launched into the subject without pause. “When we first went through the portal, after we took the loyalty oath, we were warned that a ling had snuck through the portal within seven weeks of the Equestrians discovering it. Then, this summer, on August seventh, three beings, thought to be lings, also snuck through the portal.

“We were told to keep watch for the lings, or other races from Equestria, and not to let their unexpected appearance throw off a mission if we were in the field and came across them.

“In the hive, infiltration lings were taught a special code to use in the field to leave messages and warnings for follow-on lings in the future. This code would be placed in areas that were easily accessed, and so public as to make accessing the messages undetectable. A ling could be reading such a message and everypony around them would think they were window-shopping or watching colts and fillies playing in a park.

“Part of our training, here, includes Diagon Ally and its environs,” she said, “during one of the familiarization missions, yesterday, a ling came across one such message.” She paused to give him a moment to consider what she had said. “The message indicates that she has established herself, and left contact information via Gringotts. We are asking permission to contact the ling.

“Once we meet her, we will persuade her to take the oath. If we cannot convince her to take the oath, we will warn her that should she break any conditions of the oath, we will consider her a hostile in our hive’s area of operation, and act accordingly. We will also leave her a method of contacting us if she should ever need assistance.”

Castor thought for a few moments. “Is there any indication that there is more than herself?”

Debby shook her head. “No. The message is old, well over a year, probably back to when she first came through, but there are no indications that she has met, or knows about, the others who snuck through.” She pursed her lips. “Of course, this could be a message from one of the three that went through this summer, we don’t know.” She smiled grimly. “Not giving away when she came through, or how many are involved, or even the actual age of a message is typical.”

She shrugged. “Whomever she is, she will want to meet us in a crowded location. That way she can easily escape if it is a trap. None of us would resort to violence in such a location. And a ling in public who doesn’t want to be found, cannot be found — except by a Queen-mother.”

He frowned. “And because you don’t have to actually meet when in such a location,” he mused out loud, “she could be anyone in the crowd.”

The ling nodded. “Whomever you select for the contact will know the other has arrived the moment she comes within a hundred yards. We will immediately advise her of the situation, at that moment. If she senses any subterfuge, she will break off contact and you will never see her, or ever find her.” She gave him a steady look. “If she were to select Harrod’s, for example, she wouldn’t even have to enter the building. The surveillance cameras would leave you with thousands of leads — if they even saw her. She could be disguised as a dog or a cat.”

He sighed. “And that assumes she isn’t using an illusion of some random person she saw in the city.” After a pause, he added, “I will have to take this up with my superiors.”

Debby just looked at him. “Do not take too long. We do not know if she was watching us yesterday. If she were suppressing herself, and already in place, we would never have noticed her.” She sighed. “A problem she won’t have in meeting us. If we agree on a place and she cannot sense us at the appointed time, she will suspect a trap and vanish.”

“Right,” he said, straightening. “I will contact you later today.” He picked up the telly to make a call as Debby left his office.

^·_·^

Voldemort was quite satisfied with himself. Currently, he was in Slytherin dorm, with many of his brethren. Most had, once again, remained at school instead of returning home. Their parents were still trying to find their balance, and were unready to deal with teenagers underfoot.

Fools. They should have planned for times when things went against them. They shouldn’t have depended on chance that the Black fortune would fall to one of their friends. Nor should they have counted on the goodwill of whomever inherited the Black family fortune and assets.

Goodwill. Ha!

He knew he would have taken advantage of the Black fortune to keep the others firmly under his foot. It was foolish of them to think the eventual inheritor would be as generous as the old Blacks.

They didn’t tie up the loose end of Sirius Black, and look where that had gotten them! Many of his old rich associates were nearly paupers, now. The others were struggling.

Planning for every contingency was the secret. And they clearly hadn’t. Which was their loss. It complicated things, slightly, but nothing he couldn’t surmount.

Plus, as far as anyone knew, he didn’t exist! The perfect ploy.

In that vein, he had managed to find a secure place for his diary. One that was both hidden, and yet still accessible. He didn’t want to deal with having to sneak into the Slytherin House to retrieve it, but he wanted it as safe as possible. It had to be in place where the house-elves wouldn’t disturb it, nor would anyone think to look there if they were searching for something else. But it also had to be easily accessible to him, or any of his dupes. Plus, in a place that wouldn’t attract attention if he, or anyone else, was there. He needed to be able to drop off the book and pick it up at his leisure, and no one would suspect a thing.

The Library fit the bill perfectly.

With a simple fidelius, and him as the secret keeper, it was perfectly safe among the books on arithmancy. Anyone wandering in those aisles would not garner a second look. Plus, if he was carrying the book, no one would give it a second glance, even if he had it out and was writing in it. Not that he intended to do that. Writing was saved for late nights in his bed, with the curtains closed and spelled shut. Otherwise, he only wanted the boy to carry the book to maintain a light bit of control, occasionally.

^·_·^

Ad Astra – Sidestory

October 28th, 1992, 4:19PM

Administrator David Williams and Director General Arthur Pryor, both of the British National Space Centre; Yuri Koptev, the Director for the Russian Space Agency; Jean-Marie Luton, the French Director General of the European Space Agency; Retired Vice Admiral Richard H. Truly of NASA, Ambassador Blueblood of Equestria, Ambassador Ma Yuzhen of China, and a score of lesser dignitaries were enough of a crowd, thought Major Thomas. However, the number of reporters and press members at the Otterburn Army Training Estate, Britain’s largest live-fire military training estate, was simply ridiculous.

They were all studying the modified Bristol Bloodhound Mark II missile — with Ad Astra II emblazoned on its nose — and its mount. The technicians were giving it one final check-over before launch in just half-an-hours, at four o’clock and thirty-nine minutes

With the success of the Moon mission, the Queen had shifted from a lukewarm appreciation of exploring space to full gun-ho admiration. Especially when she heard how pleased Princess Luna was with her gift. Similarly, Parliament, controlled by the Conservative Party, had changed from quiet critiques about wasting money, to whole-hearted support. Their base had been energized and bragging about Britain being a major-player in a field in that, to-now, had been dominated by the yanks. Especially so since it had been so cheap compared to the yanks’ efforts. That had led to quick turnaround in opinion.

Today’s Bloodhound looked exactly like the previous one that had stood on this very spot just seven months ago, a decommissioned unit. The ramjets that normally powered the anti-aircraft missile in flight had been discarded. The ramjets’ fuel tanks in the core missile had been replaced with a single, large kerosene and liquid-oxygen thruster, and its attendant fuel tanks. Its fresh coat of paint, with the BNSC logo proudly displayed on its side, however, tended to give the impression it had been purpose-built for this launch.

The insides, too, had been heavily modified, not that those in attendance knew the specifics. Unlike the previous missile, the fuel tank wasn’t expansion-enlarged and holding thousands more pounds of fuel than it should. Instead, each small, sealed, fuel tank held only enough fuel for one second. A special duplication charm in a module at the top of the nozzle was copying the fuel from the tanks and injecting it into the combustion chamber.

The magically-duplicated fuel only needed to last half-a-second, and was consumed in less than a fraction of that time. As soon as the spell timed-out, the remains returned to the magic that had made them. It was the ultimate in a non-polluting, recyclable, infinite fuel.

All the Press knew, however, was that Equestrian Special Technology had provided a vastly more powerful fuel.

It had taken a crew of five “Special Technicians” working together to create the module. It was as permanent a charm as it was possible to create.

The specification was for it to last fifteen years. It would probably last forever — like the rest of the missile.

Closest to the engines was the portkey, no, Thomas corrected himself, the “translocator” container. It had twenty timed-translocators for set distances — approximate, of course. The first four would be at the distances where the different gas giants orbited, the fifth would be at the “rim” of the solar system, the outside edge of the Kuiper Belt and at fifty times the distance the Earth is from the Sun. The sixth at one light-day. The seventh at one light-week, then one month, half-a year, one year, two years, three years, and so forth to ten years.

The light-time distances were all estimates. The plan was to get it as close to seventy-percent lightspeed as possible. The Russian scientists insisted they had calculated things precisely to take in the effects of Lorentz time dilation. They also insisted the on-board computer could easily handle any in-flight adjustments and corrections to its flight-path, as necessary. It used gyroscopes to maintain its attitude.

Major Thomas reserved judgement. The proof would be in the pudding, was his thought.

To help verify the distance covered, each portkey was attached to a camera facing back to Earth, with time-marks. Well, there really was only one lens, set towards Earth. The cameras all sat safely with their portkeys and used Special Technology to use the same lens and record the last minute before the respective translocator engaged.

The missile would decelerate to a stop at eleven years out, and attempt to translocate to the special Moon-orbital-target for retrieval. If everything went to plan, it would arrive back in twelve years for analysis and reuse. Or placement in a museum, whichever would be more appropriate.

Next from the engine was the payload package. It was actually the top stage of the Ad Astra. It would separate from the Bloodhound at the two-light-year mark. Once it was a safe distance from the Bloodhound, it would begin decelerating. If everything went perfectly — ha! — it would come to a relative stop at edge of the Alpha-Beta Centauri System. It would spend several days taking hundreds of pictures, then return them with its own translocator. It would wait a week, then deploy a translocator target.

The scientists in BNSC, NASA, ESA, and Roscosmos had been very upset about their inability to come up with a viable platform with more complex scientific instruments in the short time they were given. Actually, frothing with rage was probably more accurate.

If the translocators worked at that distance — Thomas not so unconsciously crossed his fingers — those scientists might be able to go there in person in seven years with a complete suite of instruments. That promise was about the only reason why most hadn’t quit and stormed off to sulk.

If the translocators failed after a certain point in space before then, they would have to resort to their backup plan for interstellar exploration.

It was a bit more inconvenient, but doable.

They would have a backup Bloodhound prepped for immediate launch with the designated instrument package, in the meantime. It didn’t hurt to be prepared, and they had a few years to prepare a proper package for the Alpha-Beta Centauri system, regardless of which way things turned out.

The visitors were giving the missile and its launch rig a critical eye. BNSC was using the original mount — no need, really, to change that. It made things much simpler. For the mount, the missile weighed just the right amount for a fully-fuelled missile.

Koptev looked over to Pryor. “This will achieve near light-speed?” he said sceptically. The others mirrored his disbelief.

The Director nodded. “Using the Special Technology the Equestrians have provided, it should hit seventy-percent the speed of light in twenty-eight days, without a problem.” He smiled. “We launched the first Bloodhound with their tech in April, and we just received confirmation it has already reached Jupiter’s orbit. Something no one would have believed was possible six months ago.” He nodded at the waiting missile. “We’ve improved on the technology since then, and Ad Astra Two will put the first to shame.”

“And the Equestrians’ have this in their own world?” someone asked a bit incredulously.

The Director shook his head wryly. “They are a . . . peculiar race. The whole concept of different worlds around different stars never even occurred to them. Instead, they explored portals and different dimensions. As a result, they never considered using rockets to explore space. They’ve only used them for fireworks and the like.”

Thomas spoke up. “That’s changing, however.”

Ambassador Blueblood came closer to the cluster of top officials. “Our solar system has no gas giants, and the other planets are all the size of your moon or smaller,” he explained. “The night sky, while beautiful, did not hold anything that we particularly wanted to see any closer.” He sighed. He smiled ruefully. “And Princess Luna is rather particular about who she would let step onto her moon.”

The others nodded a bit uncertainly. Most still did not quite believe that the Royal Sisters actually controlled celestial bodies.

“Yes,” said Truly, “The lack of anything interesting closer than the next star would put a damper on that sort of pursuit.” He glanced at the others. “Going from a shot at the moon to a shot at the stars with nothing in between?” He shook his head.

“On the other hoof,” Blueblood said, “We have several ponies wanting to join your space agencies.” He gave the others a speculative look. The Director of the BNSC was looking gleeful at that news. The others merely looked thoughtful.

Thomas could almost read their thoughts. Would having a pony in their program give them a leg-up on the competition for the Buran? Would they get priority access to the Special Technology for their own programs?

The warning siren sounded and the group slowly moved over to the new, partially underground launch control building. Part of it was a garage in which the Bloodhound launch control vehicle was parked. The press was moved back to their prepared, concrete berms at a greater distance.

The head technician looked up.

“Everything is green. We couldn’t ask for better weather conditions, and the airspace is clear.”

David and Arthur just nodded. The launch schedule wouldn’t be changed unless something went wrong. So far, nothing had.

The group moved into the bunker and jockeyed for good positions behind the reinforced glass to watch.

Just like the first time, the launch was spectacular. One moment the missile was on its mount, the next it wasn’t. Even knowing where to look, Thomas lost sight of the missile almost instantly. The large video display on one wall displayed the missile rapidly disappearing in the distance.

The new engine in the Bloodhound, and its design for operation in space, meant the two normal ramjets it should have had were gone. Only the control wings remained on the sleek missile.

Thomas knew the missile would now proceed at a more sedate acceleration of eighty-seven metres per second, or 8.8 gravities. The guidance system would make sure the missile maintained its present attitude until the Bloodhound left the atmosphere.

Then it would roll and change to more directly point at Alpha Centauri. Or, rather, where they expected the Centauri system to be in seven years. After all, what they saw in the night sky today was where they system had been four years and some months ago.

At this time of the year, the Centauri system was only a month or so from being on the opposite side of the sun from Earth. Hence, the launch so late in the afternoon. It took advantage of the near-forty-five-degree angle of the launch mount and currently-southern aim to decrease the manoeuvring necessary.

Unlike the previous Bloodhound, this one made use of the same “Special Technology” that allowed the Knight Bus to avoid obstacles. It would be quite inconvenient if the missile ploughed into an undiscovered moon or asteroid in the Kuiper Belt or Oort Cloud.

Of course, hitting even a grain of sand at the speeds the missile was expected to achieve would make an explosion that bordered on nuclear in size. Which was why it also had an impressive array of detection spells deployed in front of it, and linked to shields to “nudge” smaller particles out of the way.

That last also eliminated any chance of interacting with any of the junk put in Earth-orbit in the last fifty years. The space might technically be nearly empty, but that nearly was still very crowded compared to the space between planets.

When the payload separated, its tech would begin sweeping the rear as the missile decelerated. The now-shorter Bloodhound would engage its version of the tech to use for the rest of its flight, and also switch to the rear when it dropped its last translocator and began decelerating itself.

As expected, the modified Bloodhound quickly out-ran their on-site radar installation and they switched to a feed from the UK Air Surveillance and Control System in Fylingdales.

Then came the steady chant of altitude readings as the missile climbed. Ten kilometres, twenty, thirty, fifty, seventy, a hundred.

“Time mark, coming on sixty seconds . . . mark! Altitude, one hundred and fifty-seven kilometres. Velocity, 5.2 kilometres per second. Course within one percent of projected.”

“Switching to SPACECOM for continued tracking . . . established.”

A new system that was integrated into the yanks’ SPACECOM was being installed, but it wouldn’t be operational for several more months.

This was only the second time Britain had launched a potential ballistic missile from the island. Thomas knew that every foreign agency that could, would be closely watching this launch. The BBC crew that was broadcasting this live, and recording it for posterity, were giving a running commentary in the background. The video and audio from the control bunker were being fed directly to dozens of broadcast networks, both radio and television. Much of the press had started with their own equipment, but after the launch had had to switch to the “official” feed.

“All systems green, engine nominal,” called out one of the technicians.

“Coming on two-minute mark . . . mark! Altitude 626 kilometres. Velocity, ten-point-four-kilometres per second. Course on track.”

Everyone there knew that what they had just seen should have been impossible. The missile simply wasn’t big enough to carry the fuel it needed to achieve even near-Earth orbit. The BNSC just parroted “Equestrian Special Technology.”

There was a stunned quiet as they watched the radar-feed from the yanks and saw the missile climbing and accelerating, straight as an arrow now.

“Coming on ten-minute mark . . . mark! Altitude fifteen thousand six-hundred kilometres. Velocity, fifty-two kilometres per second. Course on track.”

“. . .”

“Beginning to lose as lock as Ad Astra Two leaves effective radar range on the United Kingdom’s, and mankind’s, first attempt at interstellar exploration. All instruments register green for a perfect flight to the Alpha-Beta Centauri System.”

Pryor cleared his throat. “Well, I don’t think we need to stand around here! We have a chartered plane waiting to take us back to London. As I mentioned in the briefing on the way here, explaining Ad Astra One, we have a small folder of papers for each of you detailing Two’s mission and what we hope to accomplish with this launch. How successful it will be, I really don’t know.

“If the Translocators continue to work as expected, in less than seven years we will be able to go directly from Earth to the Alpha Centauri system. In a worst-case scenario, we might have to put space stations in place as stepping stones.” He stopped and grinned at them. “I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t care if I had to take a thousand such steps! That’s still less than how far I normally walk when I visit Downing Street!”

The others smiled.

“The lunar Planet-Explorer Telescope Complex, PETCo, has already confirmed that there are two planets orbiting Proxima Centauri.

“One has an estimated mass of about twenty-percent more than Earth, an orbital period of about eleven-point-two days, and a distance of about seven and a half million kilometres — five percent of what the Earth is from our sun.” He rubbed his hands together gleefully. “Which places it at about the distance where water is liquid on the surface! Whether it is inhabitable is unknown, unfortunately. But we have high hopes!” He sighed dramatically.

“The other is a super-Earth, about seven times more massive than Earth. It is, unfortunately, one-and-a-half times as far from Proxima as the Earth is from our sun, with an orbit of one thousand, nine hundred, and twenty-eight days.

“Also, they postulate Alpha Centauri may have a Neptune-sized habitable-zone planet, at about ten percent further out from the star than Earth is from our sun, with a period estimated at a year. They hope to confirm that within the next year.

“Details on all this are in the folder.”

They slowly exited the building and headed for the coach to carry them to the nearby airport. The press behind them were recapping the launch and waxing poetic about wonderful days ahead in the space program. Plus speculating on which nearby stars had habitable planets and where the United Kingdom’s space program was going to go, next. The BBC was again applauding the Conservative government’s foresight in backing the research that was making the United Kingdom a leader a space and industry. Not to mention the cleaner air, more efficient lorries and cars, and unprecedented recycling efforts that were all rejuvenating the economy.

The various space agency members were discussing what they had seen, and wanting to take a good look at the papers in the folders Pryor had promised them. Would it be better to meld their space programs with the United Kingdom’s? Or not?

December 3rd, 8:13PM

Ad Astra II had hit its marks like clockwork, Thomas, and everyone else in the BNSC, were pleased to see. The Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune translocators had come in right on time at thirty-eight, fifty-one, seventy-three, and eighty-eight hours. The fifth, the Kuiper Belt, at fifty times the Sun-to-Earth distance, came in at about one-hundred-fifty-five hours and twenty minutes.

They were good-to-go for translocating to any place they could reach by rocket in the entire solar system.

The probe had been hauling arse at 36,124 kilometres per second, at that last moment, and accelerating constantly. The yanks had been incredulous, at first, but when their Hubble telescope picked up the flame of the missile’s engines as it passed Jupiter’s orbit, they became believers.

Thomas was sure that if they hadn’t layered impervius charms on the missile’s nozzle, it would have eroded away and been vaporized long before it made it that far.

The sixth translocator, scheduled for one light-day came in almost nine days after launch. The seventh, at one light-week distant, appeared at twenty-three and a half days.

Less than half-an-hour shy of twenty-eight days, the engines shut off. They had reached the target of seventy-percent the speed of light, at a distance of nine-point-seven-seven light days. They would reach the one light-month marker in three weeks — fifty-seven days after launch.

BNSC had also learned that translocators operated on a geometric scale for distance versus time in transit. That is, take the distance and divide by two hundred thousand. Then find what power of two you need to hit that number. Multiple that power by two and add nine. Thus, jumping two-hundred-thousand kilometres takes nine seconds. The moon is four hundred thousand kilometres away (2^1, 2+9) and eleven seconds. Mars is fifty-six million kilometres at its closest (2^8.15, 2*8.15+9), which gives a time of twenty-five-point-three seconds. At its farthest, it’s four hundred and two million kilometres (2^10.97, 2*10.97+9), and takes thirty-point-nine seconds.

The distance to Alpha Centauri varies according to the source, but the average works out to just over a minute in translocator transit time.

No one was sure why there was a nine-second offset. Nor why the time was a geometric factor of distance. One theory was that the translocator was actually speeding up to punch through to a different dimension where there was no limit to your speed. Once there, the translocator sort of . . . shifted into warp speed . . . and off you went.

Shorter distances than two hundred thousand kilometres apparently didn’t give the portkeys time to rev up to full speed. With an Earthly range that never exceeded thirteen thousand kilometres, one-fifteenth the two-hundred-thousand minimum distance, the portkey was active for just a fraction over half-a-second. Which matched what most people claimed a portkey took to get them where they wanted.

The Buran was being refurbished — again. It now had the unlimited fuel possibilities that the Ad Astra II had pioneered. The BNSC was waiting for the yanks to finish their “Mars-base” modules before sending it on a Mars mission. Which required more modifications to the Buran, they had realized. Which was why it was still in its hanger and not being run as a tow-truck service.

The Russians had refused to sell the Ptichka after they saw the moon-shot. Instead, they had immediately started working on finishing its construction. They offered a fifty-one-to-forty-nine partnership to the British. They planned, according to the Director General of the BNSC, to turn the spaceplane into an Earth-to-high orbit taxi-service retrieving “old” satellites and placing new ones at a fraction of the current cost to do so. Not to mention acting as the workhorse for the space-station.

It was much cheaper to pay twenty million quid for a satellite placement than the current fifty-million that the cheapest traditional launch cost. Especially because there wasn’t the risk of the whole thing going up in smoke with a failed launch. The cost to the Russians, and Brits, would be less than million quid. The flight itself shouldn’t last longer than a standard eight-hour shift, from loading the cargo, to take-off, to landing, and returning to its hanger! Renting a 747 to fly around the world would cost more and take longer.

They expected the Brits to kick in a quarter of the funding, and access to the Special Technology in exchange. It was, according to Administrator David Williams, far cheaper than building a spaceplane from scratch. The return on their investment would take less than a year, even if they only placed one satellite a week. The average for the last ten years was one hundred and twenty launches per year, better than two per week.

If they could manage two satellites per flight, their profit trebled after expenses.

There was already one billionaire making noises about building a “space hotel.” On paper, fitting the Ptichka cargo bay with a special “passenger” section would provide seating for one-hundred and sixty-eight people, assuming a pitch of seventy-eight centimetres, and a width per seat of fifty centimetres. In a few years, you should be able to fly to a space-station for less per ticket than you could fly from London to Paris.

The Russians had, of course, already modified their “Little Bird” spaceplane to take the new “Special Technology” engines.

Thomas had to snicker. Unlike the airlines, they didn’t have to pay for thousands of kilograms of fuel for the flight.

However, Thomas knew they’d charge a premium for the tickets. They had to recoup the cost of the spaceplanes, which cost significantly more than a regular jetliner. But even at ten times the price of a normal First-Class ticket from Tokyo to London, people would queue up for a chance to see home from space!

They wouldn’t make as much profit as they did with the satellites, unfortunately. But then, more flights per week meant the cost to maintain the ground facilities and personnel would be less per flight.

As their part of the deal, Britain had dispatched ten Special Technology officers to Baikonur Cosmodrome, Kazakhstan. They were carefully examining the exterior of the spaceplane, tile-by-tile, using their Special Technology instruments to look for defective or suspicious tiles. A follow-up on that would an interior examination. They didn’t tell the Russians they would be reinforcing the structural members and all the potential weak spots they had identified previously in the Buran.

They were also installing the Special Technology cameras that were on the Buran, and a few other safety measures they deemed necessary that would be impossible to detect if you weren’t well-versed in Special Technology.

The British weren’t giving away any secrets, but neither did they want a crashed-spaceplane on their consciences.

Besides, it saved the Buran from grunt-work duty. As a result, the Brits could capture the world’s eyes with sexier space spectaculars.

Like the first landing on Mars, televised in gorgeous full colour and broadcast by the BBC. Then the exploration of the Asteroid Belt — with, perhaps, the retrieval of few tons of material for the scientists. Just how similar are Ceres, Vesta, and Pallas? How difficult would it be to emplace a space-engine on the surface of an asteroid and bring to down to Earth orbit?

Not mentioned would be the Special Technology experiments: Can you use the Technology to find particular mineral-rich asteroids? Would the switching-spell work in mining? If they were small enough, could you use a translocator on an asteroid?

The yanks, secure in the superiority of their NASA, had already pulled both their Atlantis and Endeavour spaceplanes from service — the Endeavour not even having flown, yet. They were quickly refurbishing them in preparation for the Special Technologies being offered by Britain. Again, in exchange for a partnership. A much smaller partnership for the Brits, considering they were “only” contributing the Technology and not any cash.

The U.K. government didn’t really care about the percentages. It was all about prestige, at this point.

In the future, every picture of every spaceplane would feature the flag of the United Kingdom, right beside the flags of the United States or Russia. Once again, they could say the sun never sets on the British Empire! Although, this time, it was a bit more tongue-in-cheek than in the past. And it didn’t require thousands of soldiers posted around the world with restless natives objecting to the “foreigners.”

Mars was about at its closest, now, and had just gone into retrograde motion. Which meant, Earth, being in a closer orbit than Mars, had just passed it. With time for turnover, that made a leisurely forty-two-hour trip to Mars at a steady one gravity acceleration. Or thirty hours if they pushed it to two gravities.

The selected Astronauts were already training in plywood mock-ups of the cargo bay and spaceplane with loading and unloading the equipment for building their Mars-base. The cargo-crane had already been beefed up to handle the heavier equipment loads expected on Mars. The crew wasn’t being told that the crane was as robust on Earth as it would be on Mars. Ah, the wonderful advantages and beauty of Special Technology!

Speaking of which, one genius had managed to create a “Replicator” — Star-Trek-style. Like the original series on the telly, it appeared as if it was simply a vacant cube built into the wall with a control panel below it. In truth, the bottom of the “box”, the part with the blinky lights, hid an expanded space with several dozen prepared items, in stasis and shrunken size. The control knobs merely selected the item, and pressing the “GO” button duplicated it. He promised that he would have a much slicker version in a few more months, designed for the same form factor for simple replacement.

Ha! No more wasted space storing food on long trips.

Considering that the Buran would now be running its engines for many hours at a time, the flight decks of the spaceplane had to be redesigned. While lying on your back with your legs elevated wasn’t much of an issue during take-off, doing so for hours on end, was. Plus, the rear wall of the cabin became the floor, necessitating a few changes for such long flights. Such as the toilet facilities, which would be on their side, the ladder to the lower deck, and the airlock to the cargo bay being on the floor.

Fortunately, no longer needing to carry as much support materials freed up a lot of space. No need for tanks of water, oxygen, and nitrogen, nor locking cupboards for food. The Special Technology that removed waste from the sink and toilet didn’t really save much room — space-craft typically just shot waste into space — but it did remove all the plumbing and safety equipment those required.

The pilot and co-pilot seats kept their positions relative to the instruments, but the seat-section folded down so their legs were in line with their bodies. Naturally, the flooring had the swing down, too, to accommodate the extra length. Those two seats, being on a raised platform, had the room for such expansion with only minor adjustments and adding handholds for moving around in space-flight.

The three seats behind them, for the Flight Engineer and Mission Specialists, in the original design, were a big step lower, and would have intruded into the lower deck if they did the same as the other two. Instead, those seats moved up. There was plenty of headroom for that, fortunately. The Flight Engineer’s and Flight Mission Specialist’s instruments were remounted into sliding panels that the two could adjust to suit their needs.

The seats on the lower deck were similarly altered.

The next generation of spaceplanes would, undoubtedly, feature a rotating Flight Cabin. After all, once you were in space, everything was instrument flying anyway.

If submarines could operate safely in the oceans without seeing exactly where they were going, then so could spaceplanes, albeit at higher velocities and much less chance of hitting anything.

The first trip to Mars would be an international crew, it had been decided. Like the first flight in August, the Flight Commander was Oscar Baker, Pilot-Cosmonaut Vicktor Afanasyev was co-pilot, the Mission Specialist was Cosmonaut Yelena Kondakova, and he was the Flight Engineer. Having done it once, it only made sense for them to do the next. They were the most familiar with the Buran, after all. In addition, they had five Mission Specialists on the deck below: Hans Schlegel, a German; Leroy Chiao, an American; Takao Doi, a Japanese; Umberto Guidoni, an Italian, and Claudie Haigneré, a Frenchwoman. Takao and Claudie would be responsible for setting up the scientific instrument packages on the surface. Those were a suite of instruments like the ones Thomas had helped set up on the moon, with the inclusion of a battery of atmospheric monitors.

Hans, Leroy, and Umberto would be setting up the Martian “base,” with occasional assistance from the other Mission Specialists. The base would be basically a two large, inflatable, rubber domes. They were more to protect the equipment than anything else. One would be empty and act as a translocator target. The other was more of a meeting and storage-room. However, both would have to be very securely attached to the ground to survive Mars’ famous world-girding dust storms.

Unfortunately, what with the training, waiting for equipment, and the modifications to the Buran, there wouldn’t be any flight to Mars for some months. Or anywhere else.

Those missions to retrieve “dead” satellites would have to wait a bit longer, it seemed. As would the missions to the MIR Space Station. The Proton system would have to be used for a bit longer.

May 1st, 10:38AM

In the previous two weeks, the Buran had completed four flights. The first was a simple orbital test under autopilot control. The second was with a crew of three as a “shake-down” cruise. The third was a quick trip to the moon, one lazy orbit around it, and then back, with the full crew of nine for the Mars expedition. The fourth had been with a full mock-up of the cargo intended for Mars.

All the modifications had worked perfectly, and the plane had performed flawlessly.

All systems were go!

Today was the real-deal.

The cargo-bay was loaded with delicate equipment, and vital essentials for establishing a base on the Mars. All of it carefully secured to not shift no matter which way was down, nor how high the acceleration went.

Even with a full cargo-bay, the plane massed just over seventy-five tons, and the cargo almost out-weighed the plane! Removing the thirty-three tons of fuel the Buran used to carry, and the removal of crew-maintenance supplies, had decreased its lift-off weight by over eighty-percent.

According to Oscar, the difference in handling the empty plane was like night and day. “It no longer flies like brick with stubby wings and an effing big engine,” he had said.

Still, that didn’t matter as much once they left the atmosphere behind.

Their seats were in the normal position for ground manoeuvring and air-flight. Or, as the airlines might say, “the seatbacks were in their upright position, and the tray tables secured.” Once they hit a speed of four miles per second, about a hundred miles up, they would transition to their seats to the “recliner” settings for a more comfortable flight.

Thomas had to chuckle at the thought. They now had the most expensive recliners in the world! Plus, with the addition of a little hidden Special Technology, they were the most comfortable recliners in the world.

The manned test flights had been conducted as close to normal operation of the airport as possible. Delays had been limited to five minutes, and those were only the planes taking off or landing, depending on which runway the Buran was planning to use. The plane had been wheeled out, taxied to the runway, and took off with as little fanfare as possible. The landings had been a little bit more complicated, clearing the landing lane for what was essentially a glider approach — flying brick, right? — but had been just as quiet.

Not today, though. Heathrow was shutdown, again, both runways.

Not to accommodate the Buran, but for the vast array of on-lookers and press clogging streets for miles in every direction — not to mention the terminal buildings. Attempting normal operations would have been frustratingly futile for the Airport Authority.

Still, Thomas was kept occupied as the Buran was pushed out of its hanger and onto the taxi-way. Everything was green, as it should have been, when he felt the engines ramp-up and press him tightly into his chair. He glanced over at the outside monitor for his side of the plane, and froze, staring.

Three pegasi were lazily flying less than a few dozen metres away as it first began rolling forward, faster and faster. Rather quickly, they began pumping their wings like mad, pacing the plane it thundered down the runway. They were grinning like maniacs, clearly having the time of their lives. How they managed to keep up after the plane hit one-hundred-sixty kilometres an hour he didn’t know. They weren’t exactly what you would call aerodynamic, like a bird, now were they?

The Buran’s front wheels left the ground. It was moving at two-hundred and seventy kilometres per hour, with the rear wheels lifting off at close to three hundred.

Like the previous flights, the Buran took to the air and his stomach felt like he had just entered a high-speed elevator. The ground dropped away astonishingly fast as the engines hurled the space plane on a steep climb into the sky.

Announcing “Wheels up” and “Doors locked” were almost after-thoughts.

First one pegasus, then the second, and finally the third dropped behind, arcing away gracefully as the instruments showed them approaching three thousand metres altitude and six hundred kilometres per hour.

He could only shake his head in disbelief. He had heard that Pegasi were fast, but that was simply ridiculous. No wonder the Equestrians had never considered building airplanes! When a third of their population was as fast as your average prop plane, and non-pegasi could hire a ride from them, why bother?

When the sky changed from blue to black, the crew pushed the levers that transformed their seats into recliners and made themselves more comfortable for the upcoming trip.

Adding the Knight Bus avoidance system had been a “doh” moment for everyone in the BNSC who knew about them. Adding the Special Technology detection equipment and shields like the Ad Astra II had was also a no-brainer. Anyone who saw either system in actual operation would be watching through either a telescope or a camera. As a result, they would write-off what they had seen as either a glitch in their equipment or think they were simply mistaken at what they thought they had seen. After all, it was impossible for things like that to happen, right?

Thomas kept an eye on his instruments, and Yelena made sure the cameras and other instruments were recording everything the way they should. He glanced, occasionally, at the crew-camera the BBC had begged them to add.

No doubt they were on the telly right now. He resisted the sudden urge to pick his nose or stick his tongue out.

Like the previous flight, they didn’t bother with an orbit around the Earth, the Buran simply pointed its nose at Mars, and off they went. Mars, unfortunately, was no longer in retrograde, and the distance they had to travel was a few tens of millions of miles farther away.

That didn’t really make that big a difference however. It changed the trip to Mars to forty-eight hours instead of the forty-four hours he had figured in December. Two days.

After switching from one screen to another, for several hours, reviewing the data recorded on take-off, and filling out reports on it, he spent a bit of time just staring at the viewscreens.

Finally, he looked over at Yelena and Takao. “So,” he said, “who’s up for a game of poker? The computer can be the dealer.”

Turnover was easy and simple, and fully automated. Oscar groused a bit about being a passenger on the plane he was supposed to be piloting. Vicktor just laughed at him. “Given the Buran’s record, I think the automatic pilot is just fine!”

Slipping into orbit was just as easy. BNSC, in conjunction with NASA, ESA, and Roscosmos, had selected Ares Vallis at the mouth of an apparent ancient outflow channel. Eons ago, it was speculated, back when water flowed on Mars, great floods inundated the proposed landing site, located on that rocky plain. The site is 850 kilometres southeast of the location of Viking Lander 1, which in 1976 became the first spacecraft to land on Mars.

The final moments of the landing, as on the Moon, were supervised closely by Oscar. The spaceplane entered Mars’ thin atmosphere with minimal heating, having come to an almost complete stop relative to Mars earlier. Once the plane reached terminal velocity in the atmosphere, the RCS engines were lit and the Buran transited mostly to a hover. When their velocity dropped below a metre per second, the autopilot deployed the landing gear. They came to a gradual halt only metres above the surface.

They had timed their approach for mid-morning to give them more than sufficient daylight to see any potential obstacles. Fortunately, unlike Commander Neil Armstrong and lunar module pilot Buzz Aldrin, during the Apollo Eleven mission, the field chosen for their landing didn’t feature large boulders that might compromise their stability, and ability to take back off later.

Not receiving any signals from the crew that anything was amiss, the computer then brought the plane to a soft landing. Honestly, Thomas had had far rougher landing in commercial airliners!

Their landing zone was . . . chaotic. There were rounded pebbles and rocks of all sizes, with abundant sand and dust-sized particles coating the areas between them.

Their random pattern was unlike the ejecta normally seen around craters; Thomas could see. Those always had distinct lines or cross-patterns from different impact events. The fact that the entire Ares Vallis plain appeared to be an outflow channel, implied that the rocks and pebbles probably had been swept down and deposited by floods from the Ares and Tiu regions nearby. Those floods had been far in Martian the past, when water in abundant quantities had existed on the surface, or just below it.

They would have to be very careful in setting up the inflatable domes. The last thing they wanted to happen was to pull a leg muscle or sprain a tendon with a careless step.

Oscar had finished his prepared “Welcome to Mars Base” speech while Thomas was double checking his instruments. Every nail-biting second of their descent had been recorded, and was now being uploaded to the millions waiting to hear if they had been successful. According to the ESA feed, this was the largest audience ever for a live event. Commerce had come to a complete stop as everyone hovered over their telly’s or radios.

Minutes later, the nine of them were standing on Mars. Oscar and Viktor immediately began a visual check of the spaceplane. Thomas pulled out his “Special Technology” probe and began his own check of the charms and spells on the ship. The others began examining the surrounding area. Hans, Leroy, and Umberto were searching for a likely location for the habitats. Takao and Claudie were checking for good locations for their instrument packages.

In both cases, they wanted their locations to be far enough from the Buran so their eventual take-off wouldn’t cause any damage.

The rest of their day was spent in pursuing their various tasks.

Thomas completed the first experiment, a verification of the translocator. He grabbed a random rock, about the size of his fist, dropped it into a box not much bigger, sealed it, then tapped the translocator control. It vanished. Eight nail-biting, fingers-crossed minutes later, the ESA message arrived that the box had made the journey intact.

The Mission Specialists decided to locate the habitats a kilometre to the north of the Buran, while the scientific instruments were a kilometre to the south.

They didn’t want the activities at Mars Base to disturb the readings taken at the other. Both habitat domes were raised platform on pillars drilled into a metre into the Martian ground before mid-afternoon. A fabric skirt was fastened to the pillars, and staked at regular intervals, to prevent any wind from going underneath the domes and building up enough lift to flip them.

The translocator dome wasn’t merely inflatable, it had a metal strapping grid in it, much like some mountain climbing tents, that held its shape regardless of pressure. This allowed the airlock doors to be locked open for moving large pieces of equipment outside — such as the large outdoor target that they were planning on sending through from Earth, later.

The plan was that a much larger dome would be placed over that one to protect it from dust build-up during the Martian storms. Too much dust covering the target would prevent the distant translocator from getting a fix on it.

For Thomas and Yelena, the important experiments were with the live animals they had brought. The first cage was a common hamster. Activating its translocator first placed the small rodent into stasis, then sent it back to Earth. The spell on the second translocator transfigured its hamster into stone, then sent it to Earth. The next three cages did the same but used different materials: steel, wood, and glass. They shouldn’t make a difference, but with “Special Technology” it was always better to check.

The target dome for the translocators was tested as soon as they filled it with an atmosphere, and finished an hour-long check of its integrity, that afternoon. A flag and pole assembly came through from Earth — the UN flag.

That would settle any disputes about who claimed what.

Soon after, all five cages returned to Mars, with their respective passengers apparently in fine shape. They ran the necessary Special Technology tests to ensure the animals were in excellent shape, then returned them to Earth with the tests’ “no change” conclusions.

They didn’t finish their tasks until the end of the next day, though. The surprise was, however, that the ESA told them to expect the arrival of two astronaut-scientists just after lunch.

By the time it came for them to head home at the end of that day, it was only with a crew of four. The other five were taking translocators after assisting the new crew of five that had arrived.

Take-off and return was as simple as the landing had been, with the exception that they dropped off four high-orbit satellites to maintain a constant watch over the new Base and a constant day/night communication network.

The four spent their first day in space writing up reports on what they had seen and done, as well providing feedback on the plane’s operation.

Thomas had never thought he’d say it, but the last day as they decelerated towards Earth was kind of boring. Not that he would ever admit that.

Milking it for all the publicity they could, the government made their landing in Heathrow into another media event. The two million pounds the BNSC paid them for the “disruption” made the Airport Authority a tiny bit less disgruntled at the delays created.

The next flight would be an extend exploration of the asteroid ring between Mars and Jupiter, with a brief stop in the trojan positions for both planets.

Major Thomas had already decided he wasn’t that interested in that flight. Besides, it was about time to let others in on the fun.

Ch. 28. Scheming, Again

Lin Yueshi, Esquire, of Yueshi and Fuxiao Conveyancing Services, knocked on the door of the small cottage in Little Hangleton, on the former Riddle Family estate. He heard vague noises inside of someone stirring. Soon enough, the door opened. The old man who appeared looked every one of his seventy-five years, and leaned on a cane for extra support.

Lin studied the face of the man he had spent the last two weeks researching, in person, in London and Little Hangleton. This was far too important to delegate such research to an intern or new-hire.

Frank Bryce had lived in the village of Little Hangleton, England nearly his entire life, except for a brief stint in His Majesty’s Service.

Frank had started working as gardener for the estate of Squire Thomas Riddle almost as soon as he had left primary, at age fourteen. Riddle had been an elderly and snobbish man, who lived with his wife, Mary, and their adult son, Tom, in the luxurious Riddle House. The house was on a hill overlooking the village, and the rest of the valley, with Frank’s cottage right at the edge of the vast estate.

In 1939, the Second World War started, and Frank had been called into military service at the age of twenty-two. He fit well in the military for the first three years of the war, working his way up in rank. But then he had been severely wounded, almost losing his leg. Unfortunately, his leg remained very stiff, even after it healed, so he had been invalided out of Service. Due to his injury, Frank had to use a walking stick, and took it with him wherever he went.

Despite his injury, he had returned to working as gardener for the Riddles. Frank, however, had returned to Little Hangleton with a great dislike of crowds and loud noises. He was not a fan of Guy Fawkes Night. Nor New Years.

It didn’t help that the residents of the nearby town liked to use those nights as a reason to annoy the man and disturb his sleep. Especially the teenagers.

As a child, he had been described as having a “horrible temper.” His time in service had not mellowed him in the slightest, according to the citizens of Little Hangleton. Many insisted that he had returned in worse temper than he had left.

As a result, he was rather unsociable and solitary. Several residents had described him as outright hostile when they had call to talk with him, back then. According to the Riddles’ cook, he “never wanted to mix,” and refused the cook’s offers for a drink.

That had gotten worse, later. Not too surprising given the towns’ reaction to his presence.

Frank preferred the quiet life. He avoided relationships with the residents of Little Hangleton as much as possible, and only came to the village for groceries, and an occasional drink in the pub. Even in the pub he remained solitary, rebuffing all attempts at conversation. No man is an island — but Frank was giving it a run for the money.

In the summer of 1943, not long after he had retaken his former position, the Riddle family had been callously murdered. One morning, a maid found all three Riddles dead in the Riddle House’s drawing room. Naturally, the local bobbies arrested Frank as their main suspect. It primarily had been because, as the cook said, “Who else had a key to the back door, then? There’s been a spare key hanging in the gardener’s cottage far back as I can remember! Nobody forced the door last night! No broken windows!”

There was also the absence of either carbon-monoxide or gas leaks that might have taken the lives of the three. It simply beggared the minds of the bobbies that all three should succumb to heart failure at the exact same time! Especially when there were no signs of heart problems with any of them.

He was questioned in the neighbouring town of Great Hangleton. Just as naturally as the arrest, he vehemently denied the committing the murders. Bryce explained that the last person he had seen near the Riddle House was a dark-haired boy. Unfortunately, nobody else had seen the boy, and everyone thought Frank was lying. However, the report on the Riddles was unable to determine the cause of their deaths — deepening the mystery of what had happened.

Also, like most of the other people in Little Hangleton, Frank rarely locked his door. Anyone could have snuck in and taken the key while Frank was working the gardens elsewhere on the estate, and replaced it after copying it. The complete lack of evidence, and motive, led to his release.

Bryce had continued to live a solitary disconnected life in his small cottage on the Riddle estate. He continued to be paid as the gardener, and now caretaker, by the house’s succession of owners. As he aged, he had been plagued by the pain in his leg, and by the local boys

Lin suspected the children were motivated by the belief that he had gotten away with murder, and thus was fair game for their cruel pranks. The boys would usually throw rocks into the Riddle House, trample or ride their bicycles on the flowerbeds that Frank worked hard to keep smooth, or even break into the House for more random vandalism, then flee when Frank tried to pursue them, unsuccessfully due to his injured leg.

“Good morning, sir,” Lin said politely, “Are you Frank Bryce?” He handed him his business card. After a few moments establishing that the old man was, indeed Frank Bryce, and that Lin was, indeed, a solicitor who had something important to discuss with him, the two of them proceeded inside to the small kitchen table.

The Gardener’s cottage was simple, a two-room building. The front room was the sitting area, the kitchen, and the dining area, all open to each other. Behind the sitting room was the bedroom, while behind the kitchen and dining area was the bathroom. All told, the cottage was barely five yards on a side.

Once they were seated, Lin launched right in on his sales pitch. Frank had no family that Lin could find. But that wasn’t a problem.

“Are you aware that you had a cousin on your mother’s side of the family, who lived in the Bahamas?” he asked, to Frank’s surprise.

The story he spun was that of a distant cousin who had recently died, and Frank was his inheritor. Frank now was the owner of a completely-paid-for two-bedroom condominium not far from the beach. In addition, he inherited an extensive portfolio of stocks that paid just under ten-thousand quid a year. “With the current cost of living in the Bahamas at about seven hundred quid a month,” Lin said, “You won’t have to worry about working, should you not want to.” Bryce’s eyes weren’t exactly popping out of his head, but they were close to it. “Plus, if you’re interested, there are several gardens on the grounds that you are free to use, if you like to keep busy.”

Lin didn’t tell him that he had recently purchased the entire condominium complex for Royal Equestrian Properties. Nor that the entire complex had been carefully inspected and any problems fixed. The building looked as if they had just been built, and the grounds landscaped. Lin did give him a folder of photographs showcasing the pool, beach, grounds, and his new home in it.

The Equestrians were going to turn a nice profit on the entire deal in the long term. Especially as they used the “Special Technology” to make the improvements at no real cost to them. Plus, they reduced the condominiums’ reliance on town services, such as providing their own silent, power generation, water supply, and waste disposal.

Everything was ready for the new owner, Frank Bryce, to move in, Lin told him. All he needed to do was give his current employer two-weeks’ notice and he could move in to his new home as soon as he could get there. Lin would arrange all the transportation, both local and airline. All Lin needed was a date for the travel.

To assuage the man’s paranoia, Lin handed him an international phone card with several hundred quid on it. He also included several phone numbers in the Bahamas to verify the information he had. One of them was the local police department.

“Ah!” he said, after standing up to leave, “One more thing.” He told the old man about the new medical treatments available for free to veterans that should allow the man to discard his walking stick. Lin made sure to mention that it might also relieve any lingering pains. “I think you should check it out before you move to your new home,” he concluded.

As Lin was leaving town, he contemplated his next moves. First came acquiring the former Riddle estate, but that would have to wait until Bryce moved out. Only last week had Lin managed to track down the real owner of the property. He had to go through several holding companies.

That new homes and greenhouses had been built, as well as a serious attempt at turning the property into a viable enterprise instead of a rotting tax write-off had been a shock to the Princess. That several new families also had moved in had deepened the surprise. However, Twilight had told him to proceed with the plans for Mr. Bryce.

For some reason, she seemed to feel it necessary to get him out of England.

The other tenants? Well, they would have to see what the landowner’s negotiations were like, if they included the tenants or not. They had the time.

The Equestrians wanted to go over every inch of the estate looking for something that Princess Twilight said she hoped was not there. The Riddle House would be torn down in the process.

Unfortunately, it appeared that the new owners of the Riddle estate might be a bit reluctant to sell it off. They were also very difficult to contact. Lin didn’t think that would be a problem, though. From what the Princess had said, it wasn’t a rush. Waiting six months or a year would not impede their plans. Whatever the new owners had paid for the property, whatever the improvements, the Princess was willing to pay double that or more. For that sort of profit, very few would turn down his offer — and it would be very suspicious if they did. What was there that they wanted on the estate enough to refuse a one-hundred-percent profit?

Failure to sell would be of the utmost interest to the Princess, he could tell.

While he was trying to negotiate with the Riddle Estate owners, he could begin researching the Gaunt estate. It was slated for similar treatment.

After that came the Little Hangleton church and graveyard.

The graveyard and church were just outside the village. Like the village, both the graveyard and the church were clearly visible from the Riddle House. The graveyard was bordered by a stone wall and sat next to the grounds of the vast Riddle estate. Frank Bryce’s cottage was right next to the graveyard and was separated from it by a stone wall. One set of the cottage’s kitchen windows faced the graveyard.

Lin thought the location rather unfortunate, but Frank appeared unfazed by his proximity to the spirits.

The graveyard was in an uneven area, which resulted in there being high and low burial segments. They ranged from wide-open to narrow and cramped. A small wooded area contained yew and other currently bare trees.

As well as having normal graves, the graveyard also had above ground mausoleums, and a series of below ground vaults and catacombs. While most of those buried had simple head stones to mark their graves, there were others that were grander — several were marked by stone obelisks and angels.

Near the mausoleum and vaults were a number of stone sarcophaguses. Several of these were placed on top of each other. The most opulent of the graves belonged to the Riddle family. The Riddle grave was marked by a large marble headstone that bore the names of Thomas Riddle, Mary Riddle, and Tom Riddle, Senior. The most striking feature of the grave was the large stone statue of the Angel of Death. The angel bore a raised scythe in its right hand and featured a skull face and skeletal hands.

Except for the newer graves, the graveyard had been neglected for many decades. Numerous graves were covered with ivy and moss, and dozens of the gravestones had names that could barely be seen. Several grave stones had tilted and sunken into the ground. A number of stone steps had also sunken into the ground, and were partly hidden.

Lin thought the Vicar would be delighted to hear that an anonymous, philanthropic relative of one of the villagers wanted to restore both the graveyard and the church to their former glory. He would be sending workers to right everything in the neglected graveyard.

Among the workers would be disguised Equestrian Earth ponies, Lin knew. Their jobs, masked by the others, would be to inspect every grave for its contents. They would also ensure that the bodies and their coffins were thoroughly decomposed and magically inert. The Princess wanted everything in graves useless for any sort of magical ritual that anyone might contemplate.

The Princess had been quite emphatic that this was very important. Moreso than acquiring the Riddle and Gaunt properties. She didn’t explain why. He knew it had something to do with magic, all of this did, so it was better to remain in the dark.

Plausible deniability, and all that.

^·_·^

Elly was surprised when the Gringotts Owl flew in at breakfast. She was even more surprised when she read the scroll the owl had brought. Someone wanted to buy the de Rippe estate!?

A muggle solicitor had approached the muggle agent Gringotts had used to purchase the estate, originally. It seemed, another party wanted the estate, and they were willing to pay quite handsomely for it.

The agent for the buyers had looked up the transfer papers and tax documents, which disclosed the final purchase price she had paid, then offered ten-percent over that amount.

The goblins had turned down that first offer, out-of-hand. The goblins had refurbished the run-down manor house to make it habitable, as well as modernize it, not to mention the new homes they had built and the greenhouses they had erected. They had told the agent that they had spent quite a bit more than a mere ten-percent on the manor. The amount they said they quoted the agent was, she knew, greatly exaggerated.

She was sure that whomever the buyer was, he knew that, too.

To their surprise, he had immediately counter-offered with a quote that over doubled the original purchase amount. It not only covered what the goblins had claimed to have spent, but left a small profit.

Looking at the total, the goblins recommended selling the property if the agent was willing to go to three times the original purchase price — they sensed that he wanted that estate. That would cover all the expenses so far, plus give Elly nearly a ninety percent profit, after the goblins took their “small fee” for the transaction.

Elly discussed the matter with Essie, Emmie, and Earl for the rest of the day. For the lings, there was the additional problem that she couldn’t admit that she had done some major tunnelling under the estate. She had constructed an escape tunnel in one direction and another to the small cluster of houses at the edge of her estate, as well as several chambers that were the bare outline of a tiny hive. To anyone who looked, it was clear evidence that lings had been living there.

However, she also knew she couldn’t unreasonably refuse to sell the property. She couldn’t claim it was an old ancestral home that she was reluctant to let go, now could she? Plus, unlike the ponies, people here would wonder why she had turned down what looked like a quick and easy profit. What was she trying to hide?

Especially because such a nice profit that would allow her to purchase a larger estate elsewhere, if she wanted. Or one the same size with a healthy balance in her vault for future projects — such as her restaurant.

Which meant she needed time to fill in those tunnels and erase any signs that lings had been around. That sort of work always took three or four times as long as the original digging!

She went to Professor Sprout to ask her advice, who referred her to Professor Aurora Sinistra, the Astronomy teacher, as having bought a home, and then sold it not too long ago. She had discovered it was cheaper to rent an apartment during the summers when the school was closed.

Elly used the excuse that although her “relative” had recently purchased a small, income-producing estate, someone had just made a generous offer for it. Elly wanted to be sure the situation would be fair to everyone — what was reasonable or unreasonable to expect or demand.

Between them, they crafted a letter that instructed the goblins to accept the offer, but with conditions.

First, the de Rippes would be allowed to stay there until September Thirtieth — that meant they didn’t have to make special arrangements just for the coming summer holidays. Sinistra didn’t know that that also would give the lings the time they needed to erase the evidence of their “hive.” It would also give the goblins time to remove all the furnishing to either a vault or her new home.

Second, the new owners had to allow the residents of the tenant houses on the estate to remain, rent free, until the goblins had purchased a suitable replacement estate and refurbished or built adequate housing for them. Sinistra thought this would build a reputation of goodwill in the wizarding community. Elly thought that if she treated her tenants right, they would be more inclined to loyalty to her. Plus, it would be an advantage to have the reputation of a “good” landlord if she needed additional tenants in the future. That might even hold over to employees at her restaurant.

Third, the goblins would be allowed to remove the greenhouses to the new estate at the end of September. That would allow them to finish two growing seasons without disturbing the plants. Moving them with magic could be done overnight, of course, but they didn’t want buildings disappearing into thin air in the middle of the night to attract the notice of their muggle neighbours. They would make a show of disassembling everything.

Fourth, the new owners would pay for all those moving costs — those “small fees” tended to mount up!

If those conditions were met, then the goblin-suggested price would be acceptable to Elly — as a minimum.

^·_·^

A second owl, two days later, informed them that the buyer had agreed to all conditions, and placed funds in escrow to cover the future moving expenses. Elly could expect the funds from the sale in her vault by the weekend next, at the latest.

The goblin in charge anticipated that they would get at least two crops in from the greenhouses before they needed to be moved. If he could squeeze in a third, then the greenhouses would have paid for themselves, already.

^·_·^

On Saturday, Elly received a third owl from Gringotts. It seemed, the buyer for their property hadn’t known they also owned the former Gaunt property. He was a bit miffed that they hadn’t told him this. To which they had snarkily replied that he hadn’t asked.

In any event, he was offering double the original purchase price that Elly had paid. It was a much smaller piece of property, so the goblins suggested countering with a demand for three times the original purchase price. They would remind the buyer that this time he was saving funds by not having to deal with escrow for future expenses, nor any reimbursements for improvements. In fact, they had knocked down the rundown shack that originally been there, and the buyer was lucky they weren’t charging him for it! They would have suggested charging him for the demolition, but they didn’t think he was that gullible. Unfortunately.

Elly quickly replied to sell the property.

^-~-^

The day they were to head back to Hogwarts, at breakfast, his mum said, “I’m sorry to say, son, that we’ve been unable to make any real progress based on those books and movies we saw at Hearth’s Warming. Despite the confirmation that we appear to have recovered all the other . . . soul pieces . . . I haven’t been able to find the diary — if there is one. If the diary’s at Hogwarts, it’s extremely well-hidden. Plus, while the books seem to have mirrored events in your world, I don’t know if they truly reflect every detail. The first book was certainly wrong about how Professor Quirrell and Voldmort managed to reach the mirror. The second book claimed Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Weasley got into fisticuffs inside Flourish & Blotts, but they didn’t. Plus, Ginny never saw the diary in among her books. There are other discrepancies as well.”

She sighed, as everyone at the table listened in, “Most of the Death Eaters that are mentioned were trialled twelve years ago, and can’t be re-trialled. The others?” She sighed in frustration. “Well, a suspicion raised by a book from another world is insufficient to get the Ministry to do anything. It’s basically hearsay evidence of the flimsiest sort, and the Aurors, even if they wanted to, can’t begin surveilling or bring someone in for questioning with no real evidence — in essence, just because they feel like it.” She sighed. “You can just imagine how much the Guard, here, would laugh at you if you insisted they arrest somepony based on a fictional story in book from another universe!”

She looked at him. “Just . . . try to be careful and pay attention to your surroundings, honey, okay?” she implored.

He nodded, as did Luna, Hermione, Myrtle, and the Weasley children.

^·_·^

Elly surprised Harry and his friends when she joined them on the way from Potions to Herbology class, April nineteenth, the Monday after returning to Hogwarts. Usually, she stayed with the Hufflepuffs.

They had managed to escape Potions without any obvious signs that Sweetie Belle’s potion had done anything different from what it had been supposed to do. They were all positive, however, that they hadn’t escaped, unharmed. It was merely a case of when it would show up. The suspense had them all on tenterhooks — metaphorically speaking, of course.

She casually drifted up beside them as they left the castle for the greenhouses. It was only when she spoke up that they realized she had joined them on purpose.

“I wasn’t sure I should mention this,” she said quietly, moving up beside him. “But I think I should warn you.”

Harry frowned at her. “Warn?”

The others glanced over, concerned.

“Yes,” she said with a pensive look. “It’s about the Dark Trio, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle.” She glanced around and slowed slightly.

Harry slowed, too, letting the other Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs get a bit ahead of them. Naturally, his herd-mates, and Ron and Neville, kept pace with him, giving the Hufflepuff girl wary looks.

She didn’t indicate that she wanted even more privacy, so Harry thought whatever she had to say wasn’t that urgent or dangerous.

Once she judged they were far enough back, she said, “They are planning something that involves you.”

Harry arched his eyebrows.

“When aren’t the Slytherins planning something?” Ron said darkly, looking back towards the castle.

She shook her head. “No, this is different. I noticed last term that they were giving you an inordinate amount of attention when you weren’t looking, but lately it’s gotten worse. I’m getting the same feeling that I did last year during testing. Something is up, and it isn’t good.”

Harry exchanged alarmed looks with his friends.

“Malfoy,” Ron said nastily. “He’s always up to something vile.”

She shook her head again. “No, not so much him,” she said frowning slightly, “I’m getting the feeling that it’s Goyle, with Crabbe being dragged into it. Malfoy seems oblivious to what those two are doing.”

That got a few incredulous looks. Malfoy wasn’t only not in charge of the plot, but wasn’t even in the loop? Had the world turned upside-down?

“What are they doing?” said Hermione.

“It’s nothing too obvious,” she cautioned, “nothing I can mention to a professor.” She paused and took a breath, as if building up her courage to say something, and gave another look around the grounds. “Whenever Harry is in sight, or arrive where they are, they keep looking at him as if he had personally offended or hurt them, and they were plotting revenge.”

She sighed. “I know it’s not much, but . . . I just have this feeling that someone is plotting something that’s going to end with someone really hurt.” She took a look around the area, cautiously. “So, better safe than sorry, right? Just keep a sharp eye on them whenever you see them.” She glanced at his wand pocket. “Keeping a shield charm in mind would not be . . . unwarranted.”

She paused and looked over at Hermione. “Oh, on an unrelated topic, Professor Lockhart isn’t all on the up-and-up. He’s been paying an inordinate amount of attention to Harry during mealtimes, this term.” She gave Hermione a look with narrowed eyes.

Ginny and Hermione gave her dark looks. “Yes,” said Hermione, “We discovered after Christmas that his books . . . are bunk.”

She gave them an evaluating look. She shook her head slightly. “No, it’s more than that,” she said softly. Before any of them could say more, she broke into a run to catch up with her housemates, and left them behind.

Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom were exchanging calculating looks.

“Well,” Neville said philosophically, “That was interesting.”

“I don’t think we should ignore her warning,” Apple Bloom said worriedly. “She was right last year when she told the Guards that the Head Boy, Twycross, was acting oddly.”

Hermione nodded thoughtfully.

Scootaloo gasped. “Do you think he’s possessed and controlling a student?”

They all looked alarmed at the prospect.

Hermione frowned deeply. “Well,” she said slowly, “the only new Professor this year is Professor Lockhart.” She did not say the Headmaster would not hire an untrustworthy Professor, or that the castle was the safest place in England. Last year’s experiences had disabused her of that conviction. Especially after Twilight had told them some of the things she had done in the castle last year — like the basilisk.

“And he has been picking Harry as his demonstration partner an awful lot,” Ginny said, eyes wide.

“I wouldn’t put the ponce past it,” Ron said disparagingly.

Neville nodded worriedly.

“I’m not sure,” Hermione said slowly. “While De Ripp did say he’s not what he pretends, she didn’t seem to think he was involved. She did say her comment was on an unrelated note.” She sighed. “But that doesn’t explain why he’s paying attention to Harry — besides the obvious, of course.”

The year had been going so well, too, he thought, distractedly. In everything except the DADA, they were closing in on finishing third-year’s curriculum by the end of this term. He sighed. He wondered, if they did a hard push, could the take the Fifth Year tests at the end of fourth Year and maybe get out of Hogwarts a full year early?

He was tense during Herbology, constantly looking around. He was watching not only the area around himself, but his herd-mates and friends as well. Suddenly, everything around him seemed to be a potential threat until he had checked it out. Several times.

It wasn’t paranoia if they really were out to get you!

^-~-^

Tom was . . . unsettled.

His instincts said that something was coming. The feeling of being watched had been getting worse, but now that everyone had returned from Easter hols, the number of suspects became impossible to narrow down. He was sure the three Hufflepuffs were involved, but he couldn’t catch them out. The other choice meant a professor was watching him.

But none of the professors seemed to be paying him the slightest interest. At least, no more than what they normally did regarding any random student. Potter, and the Equestrians, naturally seemed to get more of their attention than most. Not even the Weasley twins were watched as closely.

Except Professor Snape. Tom found it extremely amusing to watch how the wizard constantly, and futilely, accused the two of being the source of the pranks that were his constant bane. There were no doubts that the wizard was a genius at potions . . . and an absolute failure as a Professor. Even Slughorn, brown-noser though he was, did a better job of teaching the craft.

The incompetent Lockhart, too, had his favourites, but only in how those could bring attention to himself. He appeared to think that any attention was better than no attention, subtlety was not his forte. From what Tom saw in the Great Hall to the rumours of Lockharts classes, he gravitated to those that drew the eye, for any reason.

His clear favourite was, of course, the famous Boy-Who-Lived. He was worse than the witches, in that respect. Maybe Tom could start a rumour that the professor had an “unhealthy” interest in the boy? If nothing else, it would be entertaining.

^-_-^

Ch. 29. Queen’s Gambit

While not yet summer, the temperature outside was a decent improvement over what they had experienced in January. So, after lunch and their last class of the day, the herd and friends decided to go outside. With the castle walls reflecting the morning sunlight, the areas close to the building were much warmer than over by the forest or on the opposite side of the castle.

“What do you think Elly was trying to say?” Sweetie Belle said to Hermione.

“I’m not sure,” Hermione said slowly. “She did warn us that Lockhart is a fraud, which we already knew, and that Goyle, of all people, is plotting something.” She paused. “She seems to think something involving them is going to happen, would be my guess. But what?” she said, frustrated.

“Maybe she thinks the Slytherins are planning something with Lockhart as a stooge?” Ron interjected, idly kicking at a flower bed and watching as the blooms brightened and several more plants burst from the ground.

The three fillies exchanged a fierce look.

“Ah think we should practice our shield spells, doing them as fast as possible,” Apple Bloom said, squinting at the Greenhouses across the lawn.

The others nodded agreement.

“And stay as far from the Slytherins and Lockhart as we can,” firmly stated Ron, looking up at the rest.

Which would be fairly easy to do — avoiding the Slytherins, that is — as the only class they had with them was Potions, and at mealtimes they were on the opposite sides of the Great Hall from each other.

Practicing the shield charms wasn’t as easy as Harry expected. Hermione insisted that they learn and use the more powerful shield charms such as Protego Horribilis, Protego Diabolica, Protego Maximus, Protego Totalum, Fianto Duri, and Repello Inimicum. They spent the rest of the day and evening practicing the wand movements. Tomorrow, they would work on the pronunciations.

^-~-^

Elly was surprised when the Gringotts owl flew in at breakfast on Tuesday and landed in front of her. They were done with the Riddle and Gaunt estates business, right? What the letter actually said left her shocked.

Another ling had made it through the Portal!?

The four were stunned! They knew the Equestrians would have discovered the deception by the three from summer. How could they not? The Guards would inquire when the three “ponies” failed to return. Or when the Guard inquired as to what the emergency had been that had required those three ponies. Which would have led to the Guard tracking down the three ponies in Equestria and finding that those ponies knew nothing of the incident.

She took a moment to congratulate herself on changing the message outside the bank. Instead of leading directly to her, de Rippe, any lings were instructed to ask the goblins what it would cost to help an Equestrian refugee. If they answered the questions correctly, the goblins would contact her.

As they just had.

This required a lot of thought, and the four were quite distracted during their classes that day. Not that that mattered, as they knew the material forwards and backwards. The distraction did help their images as average students, though.

There were three problems. First, was this a trap? Second, how could they sneak Elly out of Hogwarts without being noticed while she was gone. The third was selecting a location that was both convenient to reach, yet wouldn’t suggest where they were. The new ling could be from another hive and hostile, after all. Fortunately, neither was as difficult as they first thought, when they devoted serious discussion to the problem. That evening, she sent of an owl to the goblins explaining the situation, and their concerns, and asking for their solution to keeping their identity anonymous.

^·_·^

It was a tradition, now, for the girls to pop out of his trunk in the mornings. The other boys in the room had quickly learned to keep their bedcurtains closed for privacy. The girls, in previous visits, had managed to teach them the advantages of keeping the room clean and neat. The banishing charm had been a wonder at dumping everything on their heads in the morning if it wasn’t properly put away the night before.

He had learned to always be ready before they appeared.

As a result, he and the room were ready when they dragged him, grumbling, down to the common room and out into the corridor. However, that Wednesday morning he saw that Hermione and the others were not happy when they came out of his trunk.

Once out in the corridor and headed for the Great Hall, he learned why they were in a sour mood. “Parvati told us, last night, about the latest rumour,” Scootaloo said.

“And it’s a doozy,” said, Apple Bloom, shaking her head.

Hermione just shook her head in disbelief, as Ginny said, “Get this. Lockhart likes you!”

He just stared at her. “You know,” prompted, Sweetie Belle said, “He really like, likes you.” She waggled her eyebrows.

They stared at him, expectantly.

He stared back, cluelessly.

Hermione rolled her eyes, and huffed. “Like a boy likes a girl.” She tilted her head and widened her eyes in a significant manner.

Harry suddenly stopped walking and broke into a cold sweat. “You’re kidding, right?” He felt his blood drain from his face. “This is a prank, right? Not Lockhart! No, no, no!”

Both Blueblood and Sirius had told him about how a few of the stallions preferred other stallions, and that it was . . . something that happened. However, society frowned on that. It was okay to experiment, but anything more was . . . not generally accepted by the mares.

That shouldn’t stop him, of course, if it was what he truly wanted, they had both concluded. Just that he had to be aware of the difficulties, if he did.

The thought of Lockhart, their professor, being that way wasn’t a problem. That he, Harry, might be the object of the professor’s affections? That was terrifying. Especially considering how much of a fraud he was.

Harry barely touched his lunch, when it came time. He decided the better part of valour was to complain of an upset stomach and a hot forehead — which he definitely had — rather than go to DADA class, afterwards. It necessitated a trip to the Hospital Wing, but dealing with the not-so-tender mercies of Madam Pomfrey was better than with . . . an affectionate Professor.

He shuddered.

Was this what Elly had been trying to warn them about?

He hoped not.

He put a lot of effort into magic-practice after classes as a way to distract himself. By the time curfew arrived, he was too tired to dwell on the day’s revelations. On the bright-side, though, he was the best at casting the spells they were working with.

^-~-^

The goblins were more than happy to provide portkeys to any location for a modest fee — for a generous definition of modest. The goblins suggested George’s Street Arcade in Dublin, Ireland. It was both close and would leave a false impression of where she was located, but wouldn’t require an international portkey which would draw attention.

Thursday’s schedule was the best, they decided. Elly had a free period after lunch, giving her just over an hour before she had DADA if she left lunch early. The Hufflepuff first-years had the afternoon off, so Emmie could take Elly’s place in DADA, if necessary. That would give Elly the entire afternoon to settle the new ling in place, if she decided to bring her back with her.

Depending on the ling, that is what her specialty was, she might spend the time from now until summer hiding out at the de Rippe estate. Or they’d sneak her into the Forbidden Forest to keep her close and bring her up to speed on what they were doing. If things went perfectly — ha! Like that would ever happen — they’d have the new ling enrol in Hogwarts as a new student next year.

In any case, for this excursion, Essie would be her backup.

Then they changed it. Emmie and Essie would get into an argument at breakfast over Essie “borrowing” some of Emmie’s things. Earl and Elly would try unsuccessfully to defuse the situation. Essie would storm off in a rage at her sister’s hostility about sharing, and skip her classes for the day. Earl, Emmie, and Elly would get into a three-way argument over who was right, and end up treating each other very frostily for the rest of the day.

In truth, Elly and Essie would swap identities. Elly would take the portkey to Belfast just after breakfast, set herself up in a quiet corner, and wait for her “appointment” to arrive at two o’clock. Meanwhile Essie would impersonate Elly in all her classes. After lunch, and another argument, Emmie would storm off to sulk, as “Elly” and Earl would loudly proclaim.

Instead, after making her dramatic exit, Emmie would take a second portkey to Dublin to act as Elly’s backup, if needed.

If everything went as they hoped, they would have a new ling installed in their hive by nightfall. If not? Whomever had tried to flush them out would be left with no clues on where to start looking for them. With any luck at all, they wouldn’t even realize the lings weren’t in the Irish isles. Or that there was more than one ling to contact.

^·_·^

The portkey dropped Elly into an alley that, as the goblins had promised, was just down the street from George’s Street Arcade. Someone had even written on one of the alley walls, in now-faded chalk, which way to turn as you left the alley. She could feel the slight muggle-aversion charm on it, so it was safe from being deliberately erased. Mother Nature, on the other hand, was well on her way to making the message illegible.

The building was huge, taking up the entire block, much bigger than the Quidditch stadium was at Hogwarts, almost as tall, too. Unlike the Quidditch stadium, though, the Arcade was primarily brick and completely enclosed.

Studying it, she could see that the Arcade building consisted of numerous restaurants, small shops, and stores that lined the entire perimeter. Above them were three floors of apartments and businesses. In the middle of the building, fronting on South Great George’s Street, with a large triple-arch entrance, was the Arcade part. It was basically two wide corridors running through the middle of the building. There were small shops between the two corridors, and lining the sides. At the other end of the Arcade was a two-arch exit, or entrance, depending on which way you were walking, on Drury street.

She seemed to have arrived not long after they had opened the doors for the day.

The Arcade had the feeling of having been an open-air market that had been roofed over many decades ago. It looked a bit rundown, the colours faded and the bricks dirty with their surfaces crumbling in many spots. However, it was obviously well-attended by vendors, which meant it would be well-attended by customers. That combination meant she would be well-hidden in the crowd.

She wandered up and down the two corridors, twice, looking for anything to indicate she might be under watch. However, nothing triggered her instincts that she was in danger, or being scrutinized. The people, both tradesmen and customers, ignored her beyond quick checks to see if she was interested in their wares or in their way.

She made her way over to one wall where there was a shadowed spot, leaned back against the brick wall, and studied the as-yet light crowd. Carefully checking that no one was watching, she surreptitiously cast the muggle-aversion version of the notice-me-not charm. She waited several minutes to see if anyone suddenly began searching for someone they had been watching, who had abruptly vanished.

Once she was sure she no one had noticed her absence, she cast an illusion that she was a brick wall. She hadn’t detected any of the ling-detection spells, so she then transformed into a brick wall. If the transformation failed for any reason, she’d still be hidden by the illusion.

When she didn’t immediately pass-out, she relaxed a bit more. Now she was prepared if the illusion should be countered or failed for any reason. She settled in to observe everything she could, and waited for a sign her “appointment” had arrived.

She drank in the appearance and accents of the many people wandering through the building — quite unlike Hogwarts and Diagon Alley. The hours passed quickly as she memorized the many details an infiltrator used in copying a target. She was getting a rich variety of voices, customary reactions, and facial and body expressions, far better than what she had picked up in Hogwarts.

People frequently wandered quite close. From them, she was picking up more than just the appearances and speech cadences to serve the hive in the future. She was close enough to the customers and clerks to get glimmers of their personalities based on what they said and did. Her passive magic was hard at work parsing out the other details she wasn’t consciously noting.

It felt odd to not have even a vague feeling of connection to the other lings. For all she could tell, she was the only ling on the planet. It was not a welcome feeling; she had grown too used to other lings being nearby.

The Arcade began to fill up as lunchtime approached. She settled herself further into quiet. She no longer allowed her active magic more than several paces away from her position, while stretching her passive magic senses to “listen” for the approach of a ling.

At thirteen minutes after one, she felt Emmie arrive via portkey. She was rather startled to pick her up at that distance. Her passive detection skills hadn’t had such reach, before. In Equestria, she might have been able to pick up a fellow ling at the edge of the Arcade’s main entrance. Emmie was at least twice that, at the moment.

Could it be because she was so well-known to Elly?

A few minutes later, Emmie walked into the Arcade. Elly waited until she was directly across from her before touching her lightly. It took mere seconds to transfer what had happened that morning, both ways.

Emmie began to wander aimlessly through the arcade’s corridors, imitating the many customers who were doing the same thing.

At a few minutes before her appointment time, Elly began to feel the approach of a ling’s aura — a ling from her original hive! However, she held herself back. While the approaching ling was familiar, in a vague manner, the exact ling was as yet unrecognizable. Emmie had not yet detected the new ling, bringing a mental frown to Elly. Whatever had increased her range hadn’t affected the other. She would have to test this with all three when she got back to Hogwarts.

The strange ling came into the Arcade and slowly started walking down the shops. Emmie, as they had prearranged, began to drift towards the entrance/exit arch farthest from Elly, to her left. If things went to tartarus, Emmie would act as decoy to try to draw attention away from where Elly was hiding. Or to allow Elly the time to get into position to ambush the other, and they both would escape.

Elly waited until the new ling had reached the middle of the Arcade before allowing her magic to touch the other, using Emmie as a conduit.

It was difficult to tell who was shocked more: Elly, Debby, or Emmie.

Debby was too experienced of an infiltrator to react in a physical manner, but her near instant reaction to Elly’s touch, “You’re a Queen?” almost shocked Elly enough to get her to reveal herself. Luckily, Emmie let out a startled mental “Eep,” and Debby turned to face that direction. Even though the crowd was too thick for them to actually see through the crowd, the two lings “stared” at each other.

Discovering that two hundred and nine lings had escaped from Equestria, with the aid of the muggle government, was ground-shattering to the other two lings.

That Debby perceived Elly as a Queen was equally shattering to the lings in the Arcade. Elly and her “cousins” had noticed that the three new lings at Hogwarts had always deferred to Elly and had been somewhat servile. She was also bigger than her sisters. They had attributed both conditions to her longer exposure to this new world and its magic. That it might be because she was becoming a Queen had never occurred to them.

This was impossible. The best any of the four knew was that a Queen had to be born. They had merely been making themselves a safe home until they died. For a Worker to spontaneously become a Queen was impossible, as far as the four knew. Hence, they had never had reason to look for or notice the changes.

Emmie’s obvious shock at the declaration helped convey the impression that she was the Queen, and helped hide Elly from Debby. Her reaction easily disguised Elly’s surprise as her own.

Elly had a sinking feeling as to why that rock she had found in First Year had tasted so good — and why she hadn’t eaten it all at once, nor simply ignored it. Every week, she had found herself giving it a few licks or breaking off a tiny sliver to suck on. Which she still did. It was the one thing she hadn’t shared with her siblings. She had felt uneasy with telling them about it — it was private, it was hers! She had told them of course. It wasn’t a secret, just something . . . private. They knew all about how she had acquired it. And that it was hers. They never questioned why they knew better than to touch it.

Debby was quite certain that Emmie had been a proto-queen that their Queen-Mother had been keeping in suppression with her mind-skills and limiting her food to Worker rations. Now that she was isolated from those influences, her Queen attributes had come to the surface.

Elly kept as tight a hold on Emmie’s communications-link as she could. She hoped she had reacted fast enough, and stealthily enough, to prevent the new ling from discovering that the four lings had joined together for an impromptu hive. At this point, all Debby knew was that there was one ling she was now in contact with, a proto-queen. If everything went to tartarus, Elly and the other two would still be safe.

After a moment’s hesitation, Debby told her — them — what had brought the others to this juncture. Asking for Sanctuary in the Embassy, the oath, the government’s offer to her and the others, and what they had been doing since. The reasoning was unassailable, Elly decided.

It took only seconds to absorb everything the ling knew into Elly’s hive-mind.

Elly and the others would sift through the details when they had time, later.

Elly, through Emmie, told Debby that she was living in the witching world as a menial. She had left the message in Diagon Alley as the only place she knew where, if a ling came through portal, she could establish contact. Trying to do so in the muggle world would have been an exercise in futility — there was no central place where she knew a ling would see a message. In the witching world, everyone eventually visited Gringotts and Diagon Alley.

Anywhere close to the Equestrian Embassy was a non-starter. Any ling coming through the portal would be moving as fast as possible to get away from there. She wouldn’t be hanging around looking for a hidden message while doing so!

She had hoped that any ling that made it through would eventually notice the magic-users greater potential for providing emotional food, and end up in Diagon Alley.

Then again, Elly hadn’t really expected any lings to contact her. The ling hex-traps the muggle government had erected around the Embassy and other locations would have detected and trapped any lings as soon as they tried to transform using anything but an illusion.

Illusions which were now, she knew from Debby, also countered with special spells built into the doors as traps in both worlds.

Which was why she had moved into the witching world. It was safer. Given the wizards’ and witches’ attitudes towards “muggles”, she knew they would ignore any warning coming from the British government. Plus, based on what she had read in the library, lings were rather pedestrian when compared to vampires and dementors.

However, now that she was aware of the muggle government’s concerns, she would abide by the restrictions of the oath. Nonetheless, she had no intention of taking it herself. She would leave the government lings alone unless they were interfering with her interests for any reason. Plus, her actions in those cases would be limited to protecting herself and her endeavours.

If the British government tried to pressure her, she would flee to somewhere where they had no influence.

Just to be clear, though, she assured Debby, through Emmie, she was not doing anything that would violate the oath as told to her. Nor had she been planning to do anything like that. She just preferred her freedom, and not being beholden to another party, no matter how . . . honest . . . they seemed.

Knowing what the muggle government demanded of the lings actually made it easier for her to blend in and hide from discovery! The oath told her the things to avoid under all circumstances. She would leave them no clues.

She always had intended to keep as low a profile as it was possible to maintain. Her location was such that she could collect all the emotional food she needed from the ambiance, alone. Which meant she was not a threat to the muggles or witches of Ireland, or England. If not for the muggle government’s deal with the abandoned lings, and those lings’ subsequent knowledge of the code, the muggle government and citizens would never even have suspected she was there.

If she were their former Queen-Mother, she would have forcefully made Debby a part of her Hive, and forbidden her to disclose any of the Hive’s secrets. As long as she didn’t give any orders that ran afoul of the oath, no one would ever suspect that she had done that.

But Elly wasn’t their mother. She also wasn’t developed enough as a Queen, she could tell, to successfully make such an attempt. If she failed? Well, then she would be in deep trouble.

Then again, if any lings wanted to join her hive, she was not averse to that, she decided. Their oath to the muggle government would not, in any way, interfere with her plans for the future. Nor hers, theirs. They could be in her Hive without fear of conflict.

Through Emmie, she made Debby aware of what she proposed.

There were distinct advantages to doing that, too. Foremost, the other lings would have access to a more versatile and expanded hive-mind. Just being a proto-queen gave their hive-mind a big mental boost, one that was increasing in its potential almost daily, anyway.

She hadn’t realized it to be true for her little group because it had been so gradual, but it was. Even as immature as her hive-mind was at this point, what the government lings had now was a pale imitation of what it would be if they had a Queen-Mother boosting it. Or even a proto-Queen.

The knowledge of the other lings, individually weren’t any better than hers, but combined across their different expertise’s and experiences? It would be a huge improvement, for her. The queen’s innate abilities made that much of a difference. While the individual lings could delve into it for the knowledge they needed, it was a part of her. No wonder Queen-Mother Chrysalis had been so smart!

She would have to be careful, though. Knowing something was one thing; understanding it and using it on a fundamental level was different. She had learned that from her studies in magic regarding the obliviate and confundus.

Next, there was the peace-of-mind that belonging to a hive and a queen brought to the lings. Their Queen, with her more comprehensive knowledge, would look out for them. Finally, once established, their ability to coordinate would greatly increase, and Elly would be able to assist them just by being nearby.

With a Queen and a Hive, they would have a future in this new world. They weren’t simply marking time until they died. The lings would have a new home, and a new future.

It was, without a doubt, a win-win arrangement for both groups of lings — not that Debby knew there were two groups.

Elly could sense that Debby had made a similar series of conclusions, and wasn’t averse to joining with her — at least she wasn’t trying to disengage and run. The only downside was that by having the government-oathed lings in her hive, she had to abide by the restriction set by the government. Which, as she had already realized, was a moot point to her.

Elly could tell that Debby’s magical oath to the government didn’t even twinge in response to Debby’s desire to join a hive with her as the Queen. Magic was all about intent — it knew she didn’t intend to violate the oath or ask any of her lings to violate the oath.

Fortuitously, the muggle government had made a mistake in not considering that Debby, or any of the lings, would be willing to join with Elly in a new hive. They could have issued an order not to do that, and the oath would have kept the lings separate from her — it wasn’t an unreasonable order, after all. The muggles lack of knowledge and ensuing foresight about lings meant the lings could establish a true hive before the government’s non-ling agents realized it was happening.

With a bit of work, they never would know, either.

All the oath did was prevent the lings from disobeying legitimate orders, stop them from knowingly harming the citizens of the nation when they collected food, and not defecting to other nations regardless of the incentives offered. In return, the government made them citizens, and promised they would be treated as any other citizen who worked for the government in the armed services.

Having a Hive here would certainly prevent them from wanting to defect to another nation! That would be equivalent to betraying the hive. By joining her Hive, the lings were actually obeying the oath!

Plus, Elly’s Hive could no more be considered a nation than the Church of England. Except she was paying taxes!

In other words, nothing in the oath prevented Debby and Elly from forming a hive, they both realized.

Mere seconds had passed since Debby had walked into the Arcade.

Any casual mention of a hive would lead the muggles to think they meant the base they had converted. In the absence of the knowledge that Elly was a proto-queen, any other possibility shouldn’t even occur to them.

Debby requested Emmie to let her join her hive.

Elly’s new home would be the airbase, she decided. The new de Rippe estate, when the goblins finally found a likely prospect, would be a secondary location and a source of revenue in both worlds. Essie, Emmie, and Earl would stay there and provide a “presence” to keep any of the witches or wizards from getting too curious as to where Elly was during the summer hols. She could rotate other lings there, too, so those three wouldn’t feel left out.

The big plus, for her, was that now she had more lings to help her restore the old estate and hide their brief presence in it before the buyer took possession of it.

Elly had no intention of interfering in the muggle government’s schemes, but she would look out for her lings. There would be no missions that needlessly endangered any of her lings. Not without a very good reason. Nor would she abandon any lings as inconvenient.

Elly could feel Debby’s relief at joining her hive, and her astonishment at discovering the other three “intruders” were members, already. She was even more shocked at discovering Elly had been just a regular infiltrator trainee, not a proto-queen.

It had never been known to any of them that a Queen could spontaneously appear. Apparently that rock Elly had found was special in a way no one had ever considered. Debby hadn’t made that connection, yet.

They decided that Debby would inform the other lings as to what was happening, and that a Hive by Elly was theirs to join. Both were sure none of the other lings would want to be left out. They would not tell the muggles of their new alliance unless directly asked by their handlers or superiors. Besides, it wasn’t as if they were violating their oath — joining the new Hive actually made it easier for them to do their jobs and fulfil their governmental obligations, as the oath demanded!

Plus, even if Elly wanted to do something the government considered harmful, the oath the lings had taken would prevent them from following her orders, no matter how much they might want to do so.

Elly would sneak out of Hogwarts tomorrow afternoon, she decided, and visit the lings’ “formerly abandoned” air base. Then the lings could properly meet her and merge into the Hive-mind, which, at this point, was more for her benefit than theirs — their combined knowledge was greater than hers, except for magic. Tonight, the tunnelling lings would extend a section to the border of the airbase to facilitate her sneaking past the human soldiers patrolling the base’s perimeter. Once she was in the tunnel, no muggle would ever be able to detect her — she was just a regular ling, to them, only slightly larger than most but smaller than some of the warriors who had survived. It would be especially helpful that she could illusion herself as one of the other lings, without transforming, to help the deception should a muggle happen to see her. They would never suspect a ling in their base knew how to cast magic.

^-_-^

Ch. 30. Subversions and Preparations

Debby would report in to her handler, Elly knew, long before she, herself, returned to Hogwarts. She would say that Elly was the loner from the first incursion. “The lone ling that went through was a Worker Infiltrator, definitely not a queen or proto-queen. She fled a hostile Equestria in the hope that it might be easier for her to survive in a new world,” Debby would say, and she could claim her oath prevented her from lying, which meant what she said had to be true. “She won’t give up her freedom by making an oath, but promised to abide by the oath and do no harm. Your enemies are her enemies, she said. Your friends . . . she will watch closely. With proper incentives, she might be willing to assist us in the witching world, not that she knows all that much. She is using her innate magic for simple tasks to pretend to be a witch,” she would conclude. “No one who knows her suspects anything.” She would smile, “Otherwise she would pick up their suspicious feelings.”

To help her bonafides, Elly told Debby how she had managed to infiltrate the Exclusion Zone and escape through the portal twenty-some months ago and clandestine entry into Diagon Alley. Nothing, up to that point, was held back. Debby would tell her superiors exactly what Elly had told her, with no omissions.

Elly thought the non-ling government agents and their superiors would be astonished at what she had done. The lings had not told the humans they could imitate rocks, trees, and other “inanimate” objects. Nor just how far they could change their sizes! The government agents had never thought to ask, either.

Debby would further explain that Elly, or Loner, as she would call her, was more than a bit skittish about meeting any government officials or agents. She had seen and heard how corrupt the witchery government was. The few newspapers in the muggle world she had read didn’t reassure her that the muggle government wasn’t the same. Her only safety was her anonymity, which she intended to fiercely protect.

The only way she would “meet” them would be if they were on opposite sides of a crowd — much like it was at George’s Street Arcade. Gringotts would still remain their primary contact method. As far as the goblins knew, she was a renegade pony.

She would suggest that they post several lings at the Equestrian Embassy to catch any other lings that might slip through. While they might be able to avoid detection by the ponies, a ling would instantly know if another came through the portal. Plus, their ability to sense emotions would alert them to other intruders, too. They could use some of the older farmer, harvester, or tunneller lings, so they wouldn’t feel useless in this new world.

Debby waited for fifteen minutes after Emmie left the Arcade before she did so herself, from the opposite exit. Debby would be catching a commercial flight from Dublin to London.

Elly remained in the Arcade until it was meal-time at Hogwarts. Then she reversed her transformation and illusions, and slipped out of the building with a completely different persona-illusion. She found a different alley, in a random direction from the Marketplace, to trigger her return portkey — just in case someone was watching the designated alley.

She could hardly wait until tomorrow. Knowing that she had a Hive waiting, that she had a Hive, made her want to dance in joy.

But she restrained herself. She could let no outward sign show that anything had changed, it would raise too many questions at Hogwarts.

On the other hoof, the knowledge that it was her Hive, that she wasn’t merely a ling in the hive, was sobering. Running a hive was a huge responsibility, one for which she had never been trained. Hopefully, the memories of all the lings would give her clues on how to do things. Not that she would be making changes, definitely not, not yet. It would be better to have the muggles think that they controlled the incipient hive — that the lings were still merely individuals defensively banding together.

Tonight, though, she intended to take a good, hard look at her stone. And perhaps eat a sliver. It just might help, tomorrow.

^-_-^

Castor took a deep breath as Patrick Walker, Director General of MI5, and Colin McColl, Director General of MI6, took their seats in the meeting room. Debby, as always, appeared completely relaxed.

“Thank you for coming so quickly,” he said standing. “I’m sorry if it sounded abrupt, but this is a no-written-records situation.” The others sat a bit straighter and exchanged glances.

“As you know,” he continued, “yesterday, Agent Debby met with the changeling who snuck through the Portal from Equestria a year-and-a-half ago.” He nodded at the folders on the table in front of the two directors. “The complete report is there.” He sighed. “In summary, the changeling refuses to come in. She has lived in the wizarding world since arrival and seen the rampant corruption, and doesn’t trust us to be any different.” The two men were not happy to hear that. “However, she has agreed to abide by the oath the other changelings have taken. Following the oath is only logical, she says, as it is essentially what the changelings have been doing for thousands of years, except for taking government missions.” That mollified them a bit.

“Debby has assured me that if this changeling doesn’t want to be found, we won’t find her. While they met in Dublin, she could have come from anywhere in England, so we can’t be sure of where she is. She could easily be in France or Iceland, for example. Borders don’t exist for Changelings. They can just fly across the borders as a bird!

“I don’t like leaving her out there, but we haven’t a way to enforce compliance.” He shook his head.

“But that’s beside the point. As a measure of her intentions, and good will, she has given Agent Debby a complete account of all her actions in Equestrian from the time of the invasion until she passed through the portal. Then she told her how she survived until she made it to Diagon Alley, and set up an account with the goblins. She is not poor.”

He gave the other two men an exasperated and embarrassed look. “We didn’t ask the changelings the right questions, and they never thought to tell us.”

He waved his hand to Debby. She stood, then climbed up onto the table and walked over in front of the two men. They leaned back in their chairs. Both gave Castor questioning looks.

“They don’t just imitate living things,” he said flatly.

Green flames enveloped Debby, and when they subsided, there was a rough, granite rock sitting on the table. The rock wasn’t large, not much bigger than one or two volumes of the Encyclopaedia Britannica.

Both men gave him wide-eyed stares.

“Yes,” he said, “She can still see and hear you. Touch it, pick it up, tap on it . . . to all points of observation, she is now a rock — except she’s a changeling.” He nodded and imitated lifting something with his hand. “Go on, pick her up.”

Hesitantly, Colin leaned forward and tried to pick up the rock. He frowned, then stood and leaned over to pick it. When he succeeded, he gave Castor an incredulous look. “She feels like a rock, and is as heavy as I would expect a rock this size, but I know she weighs nearly as much as you! I shouldn’t be able to pick her up so easily.” He set the rock down, and Pat took a turn.

“When she changed to a rock, she took on all the physical attributes of a rock, decreasing her weight to fit the size and density of the rock she has chosen. She could make herself heavier or lighter than what she is now, however, should she need to do that.”

“I can feel the weight changing,” Pat exclaimed staring at the stone in his hands with an alarmed expression. “It’s much lighter, now!” He quickly set the rock down. After a moment, it was engulfed in green flames a second time. When they stopped, a normally waist-high, red, Royal Mail pillar post box appeared on the table, complete with gold trim. They stared at it for a couple of seconds, their eyes still wide with shock, when green flames enveloped the mail box, and a triangular “Give Way” road sign, on a post, replaced it.

Castor smirked. “Anne?”

Green flames engulfed one of the other chairs at the table, and a man in a bobbie’s uniform appeared. The man was actually Worker Infiltrator 370,432AN, Anne, for short.

The MI directors stared with mouths agape.

“There are limits in sizes, of course. No ling could realistically imitate a blue whale beyond mere appearance, and a small one at that, for example. Or a tank. Or a mosquito. Small birds or rodents? Yes.”

He paused to give them a moment to think.

“The lings use of inanimate objects as disguises, and what she used, have been edited out of those reports,” he pointed. “A full copy has been given to the Equestrians.” He paused. “This is why the changelings were never found until they revealed themselves.”

He said solemnly, “Infiltrating an enemy encampment prior to an attack would be child’s play for the changelings. A soldier could carry a changeling into his encampment thinking it was a gas can or ammo box, and never be the wiser.” He sighed and shook his head. “Espionage and infiltration will never be the same.”

^·_·^

Friday couldn’t pass fast enough for Elly. Fortunately, her last class was out at two. She quickly made her way outside, and down to the lake. As soon as she was out of direct sight of the castle, she transformed into an eagle owl, and headed straight east, away from the castle and towards Denmark. When she judged she was far enough away, she swung around to head south. After crossing a mountain, and placing Hogwarts and Hogsmeade completely out of sight, she swung to a new south-western heading, towards Dublin. Once she reached the Isle of Mann, she would head south for a while, then curve around and head back to England. Her approach to the east-coast airbase the government lings occupied would be from the south-west, as if she were coming from Dublin.

It would be a long flight, five hours at least, but she was well fortified with love. Plus, it would give her a chance to exercise her wings. She hadn’t had a chance since arriving in this world — except for brief jaunts around her estate-hive.

The invisibility charm worked just as it should. No one looking up would see her. Any hint of her presence would be dismissed. Plus, as she approached the airbase, she would be coming from the sunset, further making her difficult to see.

A ling couldn’t be too careful.

Locating the airbase was easy, given the memories Debby had supplied from when she had flown over it, scouting.

She had barely started flitting among the trees as a Canadian goose when she felt the presence of a ling loudly broadcasting her presence. She quickly zeroed in on the contact and landed on one of the lowest branches of the tree hiding the ling, and, of course, the tunnel entrance.

She and the ling, a large, purple-blue-brown bird with red around its eyes — a capercaillie — studied each other. After only a second, the ling flew down, transformed into her Equus form, and prostrated herself, “My Queen,” she said reverently. “I am Worker Tunneller 370,435LC — Elsie. I apologize for the roughness of the tunnel, but it was only finished at noon.”

Elly blinked. Just like that, another ling had joined her fledgling hive. Then she nodded. “Get up. Pass the word that no gestures or actions that draw attention to me from the humans are to be made, in private or public.” The ling scrambled to her hooves and nodded “Certainly,” she said, with a minor head dip. She stood aside and indicated the tunnel entrance, which looked like the rough entrance to the burrow of a large animal.

Elly flew down and transformed back into human form. She pulled out her wand and quickly cast a muggle and wizard aversion charm on the entrance, and then general animal and insect aversion charms on both the tree and entrance. She didn’t want any creatures except lings to be able to see and use this tunnel entrance — plus, it would help keep the tree healthy and long-lived. Then she cast a weather shield over the entrance, followed by an impervius. That would protect the entrance from degrading and revealing its presence by the changes around it.

The ling watched with wide eyes. “You can do human magic, too?” she breathed out, astonished.

Elly paused a moment. “Any ling who wishes to learn human magic, I will ensure gets a wand and access to the proper sections of the hive memory. But that will have to wait until this summer.” She was positive the goblins would know of a source of wands that wasn’t Ollivanders. Probably one on the continent would be happy for the extra sales.

She transformed again, this time to a weasel form, and darted inside the tunnel. She ran for a short distance until the tunnel widened enough for her to assume her Equestrian form. “Leave the entrance and first section unchanged,” ordered Elly as Elsie followed her.

The other ling nodded. “Of course,” she said.

Elly turned and cast a variation of the obliteration charm, this time through her horn, at the tunnel section behind them. Constant traffic would degrade the entrance, but this charm would ensure everything returned to what it was before, after someone passed through it. It was almost like a reset spell, and quite useful for covering one’s tracks.

That one book in the Hogwarts Library on how to make repetitive trap-charms out of regular charms had been a wonderful discovery, too. The modified charm would trigger, every time, when a ling passed through.

She was truly amazed that magic on the other side of the portal, despite being so pervasive, had been so . . . underutilised. Fewer than one percent of all unicorns used teleportation, yet over ninety percent of the wizards and witches used their version of it! And the aguamenti charm? That was revolutionary in concept. No settlement, anywhere, had to worry about insufficient, pure water! Rig a fire charm, such as incendio, to generate constant heat, rig another with the water spell, and the ponies would have had a train that could run forever without using any resources or wasting time loading fuel and water.

They could easily have made the deserts on the continent into productive farmland! And while you couldn’t create food via conjuration or transfiguration, you can duplicate what food you did have. It might not taste as good, but when you’re starving, taste is the least of your concerns! She now knew that with the right mix of spices, any deficiency in taste in the duplicated food could easily be hidden. Even if the spices were duplicated, too!

After such a long flight, and casting that many spells so quickly, especially considering how much power she put into them to make them last, she was quite tired. However, as a Queen, she didn’t want to show her fatigue to her lings. Or potential lings, that is.

She would have to remember to delegate one of the lings to renew the spells periodically, until she learned how to make them permanent. Emmie and Essie would enjoy the opportunity to visit with so many other lings.

The tunnel was very long, longer than the tunnels under Hogwarts that led deep into the Forbidden Forest or to Hogsmeade. It had to be several miles at least, significantly distant from the perimeter of the airfield. Which made the possibility of discovery extremely low. It also made an excellent evacuation tunnel, or a way to outflank an attacking enemy.

On the way, Elsie spent most the time talking, explaining about the base and how the different lings were adapting. She also described the different humans they regularly interacted with on-base.

“There’s no hurry, but at the three-quarter’s point from the base, add a meeting room big enough for all the lings,” Elly said, interrupting Elsie. “And an emergency storage area with supplies for several weeks.”

Elsie hastily agreed, then continued her summary.

It was daunting, when she finally met the lings currently residing or training there. She had never had over a hundred lings looking to her for anything, much less guidance. It would have been double that, but the other half of the lings were either on assignments or at work gathering the love the hive needed. More were involved in the latter than the former.

The four of them back at Hogwarts had been a matter of helping fellow lings . . . they were safer together than separate. They had to cooperate. That the others had deferred to her, especially lately in regards to the odd activities of the Slytherin trio, had not really occurred to her, or them. Everything they had done, besides that, had been by consensus, she had thought.

Only, now, she wasn’t so sure.

Still, one by one, the lings came to her and introduced themselves. Each told her of their jobs in the old hive, and their new jobs, here. After hearing her expectations of how she planned to run her hive, each requested integration into it. They would call it Brunton Hive, to allay suspicions from the humans. After an exchange of promises, especially the one which she made of fair treatment for all lings, unlike their former Queen-Mother’s attitude, she accepted the new lings.

Her orders to her new workers were simple: not to divulge to any non-hive member that she was a queen, and in contact with them. Otherwise, they were to carry on as if she had never made contact with them. They were to always abide by the terms of their oath to the government, to work as diligently as possible for it, and to protect its citizens as much as they could. Until she said otherwise, they were to consider any orders from the government agents as if they had come from her. They were not, however, to undertake missions that had small chances of success, nor to take suicidal missions. The exceptions would be missions that they considered had to done for the safety of the Hive. If at all possible, they were to consult with her, before accepting such a mission.

She promised never to give an order that would contravene or trigger the penalties of their oath to the government in any way.

This summer, she would have several of the tunnellers make their way to the current de Rippe estate and do what they knew that she didn’t. They would conceal Elly’s tunnel so that no one would suspect a ling had been there.

Once the goblins had a location for the new de Rippe estate, the tunnellers would head there to carve out a new hive. It wouldn’t be more than what she had dug out herself, an escape tunnel, miscellaneous rooms, and a tunnel to the village at the foot of the estate. Later, when they had time, they would set up the hive-nursery and nymph training centre. Those would for the future, once she reached maturity.

The year before she left Hogwarts, in four years, the “older”, non-critical, lings would begin to fake their deaths. They would move Nova Hive to take care of the next generation. In the meantime, they were to accelerate their apparent aging.

It helped that the humans had no real idea of either the ages of the lings, nor how long their lifespans were. For the lings, the passage of the years was almost a foreign concept. Underground, every day was the same as the one before, and only comments from the infiltrators told them a winter had gone by, or was coming.

If a superior should ask a pointed question, they were to tell the truth, giving as little information as the situation allowed them. Such as, “Have you found any hints of a Queen?” would be answered, “None of the changelings we have encountered from Equus were Queens. Nor have any proto-queens or queen-nymphs come from Equus, to our knowledge.” Similarly, the possible follow-up question, “Are there any queens here, now?” would get a puzzled look and the answer, “Workers cannot become Queens by any means we are aware of.”

It would take decades, but eventually the Brunton Hive would “die” off — and no human or magical would ever suspect that the Lings had successfully established a covert hive. One dedicated to protecting the citizens of the U.K., and its integrity.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t disappear from Hogwarts for the weekend. She had no time to explore the new hive, and the settle in with her new lings. But it was enough time to meet them all, and reassure them that they would be taken care of properly.

One of the infiltrator lings, Worker Infiltrator 370,430AD, Addy, accompanied her back. She would spend the weekend updating Elly on what they had learned about the non-magical world. Unfortunately, that was a subject about which Elly knew very little.

When Addy wasn’t doing that, she would be exploring Hogsmeade. It was unfortunate that she would have to stay outside to maintain her secrecy, but it wouldn’t be the first time that Addy had had to do that. In the next month, Elly would purchase a small house there, through the goblins, based on Addy’s recommendation. It would be for the lings to maintain a point of contact with her. With a bit of work, it would become a useful emergency assembly point.

Debby would suggest that the government might want to keep one or more of the low-level and “older” lings in Hogsmeade to keep an eye on the happenings at Hogwarts. It would also reduce the odds of them being blind-sided should something come up. They could carry a stick, Debby would suggest, and pretend it was a wand. They would be actually using their innate magic for small tasks, enough to fool any wizards or witches that might happen to be around to think they had used a wand.

Only the lings would know that the stick was a real wand, acquired on the sly. Or that they had access to a hive-mind with all the details about magic that they might need.

If the government agreed, Elly and Debby planned to make sure the government ended up renting the house from her, making the situation even more convenient for the covert lings.

Debby would also suggest that it wouldn’t be a bad idea to do the same in Diagon Alley. If the government showed any interest, Elly would have the goblins procure the building in which the government was going to rent an apartment.

Elly thought it amusing that the government lings would be renting from her and working at her restaurant when it opened.

The flight back was exhausting, and her wing muscles ached abominably. However, she arrived early enough — or was it late enough? — that sneaking into the dorm was easy. Carrying in a plate of muffins from the kitchens helped the image that she had left just as soon as curfew ended and picked a spot of breakfast. An invigoration draught, purchased earlier in the year, took care of the issue of her not getting any rest the night before. Besides, it was a weekend. No one would complain if she decided to take a nap in the middle of the day.

She would head back to the airbase early Sunday morning. Addy could easily cover for her with illusions. As long as she kept her nose buried in a book, no one would bother her. Especially if she stayed outside all day. Having the other three lings running interference with their friends would help considerably. With luck, no one would notice her name on the Castle Map during the late evening before Elly returned.

^-_-^

Thursday’s kerfuffle with Elly and her cousins, the Pauncefoots, took the rumour mill’s attention off of Harry for a short while. The Hufflepuffs were usually so quiet no one noticed them. So, them having a very public argument — not once, but twice in the same day! — was noteworthy.

Unfortunately, by Friday, they seemed to have settled their differences. Subsequently, Lockhart’s “infatuation” with Harry returned to front-and-centre for the rumour mill. It didn’t help Harry that the Slytherins seemed to delight in adding with more and more outlandish details. Such as Harry’s detentions were secretly assignations — regardless of the fact that Harry hadn’t been getting any detentions from any professor.

Plus, the professor had seemed to be waiting for Harry at every meal time all week. Oh, he was in his place at the Head Table, but Lockhart definitely noticed when Harry arrived, giving him a big smile every time. Plus, in Friday’s class, he had insisted that Harry help him enact the part of his Voyages with Vampires book he was focused on that day — to the Slytherins delight.

Harry had been, at various times, the ignorant villager, the hapless maiden, and the frightened innkeeper. Each time had segued into how the class would handle the situation. It was actually quite interesting in learning questioning techniques that wouldn’t warn the person that they were really being interrogated. But only, in Harry’s opinion, if he hadn’t been at the front of the class getting smirks and badly disguised laughter from the Slytherins.

His shield-practice that afternoon had been especially effective at turning aside the spells sent by the others. The petting and combing as a pony in the evening after dinner did a lot to calm his ire. Plus, being a pony seemed to blunt some of his anger that evening, anyway. Maybe it was because he could cuddle with the fillies while that was going on and nopony could criticize him for it, as they tended to do when he tried to cuddle with them as a person.

By Saturday, the herd had tried everything they could think of to discourage the rumour that Professor Lockhart had a thing for Harry. Regrettably, to little success outside of Gryffindor.

“Alright,” said Hermione, “I think we have the shield spells down. We can cast them every time, and quickly. The only problem is how to test how strong they are.” She reached into her rucksack and pulled out a thick book. “I found this in the library.” She held up the book. There cover was blank except for the title — Even the Simplest Spells Can Stop an Enemy.

“However, I think we should start with the spells we know, first, they’re fairly harmless should the break through our shields. Spells like, the jelly-fingers curse, jelly-legs jinx, Ginny’s bat-bogey hex, the leg-locker curse, the pimple jinx, the tickling charm, the stinging hex, and the trip jinx. That’s a big enough variety that you can’t predict which spell is coming and just use the same shield over and over.” She paused.

“We should start with the stinging hex,” Harry said. “We have plenty of practice with the paintball spell from dodge-spell, but I doubt the Slytherins will be slinging paint at us.”

Hermione and the others agreed. They spent the rest of the day testing each other’s shields against the various spells they knew. When they stopped for dinner, they could all stop every spell on their list.

Others had noticed their dedication, and been told in answer to their questions, that the group was simply improving the dodge-spell abilities.

Sunday was a bit different, as Harry had Quidditch practice in the morning while the others continued on from the day before. After lunch, when Harry joined them again, they started working in teams of two. One person shielded while the other attacked one of the other three teams. Sometimes the teams would gang-up on one other team, or it would become two teams against the other two.

By the time dinner came, they were all exhausted. Not from the spell-casting, but the running and dodging. Working on the assignments due the next day was exhausting in a different manner as they kept yawning. Foregoing the petting was a trial, but the pony animagi knew they’d conk out only a few minutes after it started.

Fortunately, the firsties being available eliminated what would have been incessant demands they . . . pony-up.

Monday was classes, including more humiliation in Lockhart’s class, with evening Quidditch practice. Wood was getting rather anxious, what with the Hufflepuff match coming up in less than two weeks. But that wasn’t unusual. Wood did that every time a Quidditch match came close. Fortunately, he couldn’t schedule practice for every evening as the other team also wanted time for their practice.

The others quickly finished their assignments and started in on the spells. Having them share their research allowed Harry to save a great deal of time in his assignments, when it became too dark for Quidditch practice to continue. As a result, he could join them in practicing much sooner.

On Tuesday, they moved to the more difficult to block spells of incarcerous, petrificus totalus, and stupefy.

^·_·^

Ch. 31. Upending Things

A week later, in Wednesday’s DADA class Harry was, as usual, recruited into re-enacting scenes from Lockhart’s book. They involved scuffles with several muggles and wizards enamoured of the vampire. After which, he turned to the topic of Renfields. “It’s rather humorous,” he said, as a relieved Harry got to return to his desk. He swept his gaze across the class with a huge smile. “Most of you haven’t heard of the book, but those of you who are muggle-born, and a few of the half-bloods, have heard of a book by Bram Stoker called “Dracula.”

He nodded as Neville, Lavender, Fay, and Parvati, the pure-bloods sat up. “Yes,” he said, “that Dracula.” He smirked a tiny bit. “The muggles know about Dracula, you see. A very enterprising Irish half-blood, Stoker was. He wrote a book about the vampire, wrapping it in superstition. By the time the Ministry discovered he had written it, there were far too many copies around to remove it.” He shook his head.

“Fortunately, the Ministry was able to use confundus on any curious muggles and convince them that there was no solid evidence that the Count in the novel was modelled on the real Dracula of Wallachia. They spread the tale that Stoker only borrowed the name Dracula and mixed his story with scraps of miscellaneous information about Romanian history. They went so far as to ensure that there were no comments about the Count in the author’s working notes. There was some debate about tossing Stoker into Azkaban, but he was too much in the public eye, by them. So, the Ministry fined him heavily, leaving him and his squib wife paupers, by all accounts, to discourage anyone else doing what he did.” He shook his head sadly.

“Anyway,” he continued, “The book became quite popular. One of Stoker’s ‘alterations’ to the Dracula story was distilling the people who are mind-controlled by vampires into a character called Renfield — whom he described as a lunatic. When the Ministry aurors were dealing with the book incident, some of them who had to deal with vampires started referring to those victims as Renfields, and the name has stuck.”

He paused and looked around. “Well,” he finished, “It seems we have run out of time, so that is all for today. Don’t forget, your assignment on Marauding with Monsters is due next Monday. Dismissed.”

^-_-^

It was during breakfast on Thursday that the Headmaster began to tap his cup. The students in the Great Hall quickly settled down and waited curiously, with many whispered comments back and forth.

He stood and smiled genially at them all, at least the ones who weren’t running late to breakfast. “Professor Lockhart would like to say a few words about classes today.” He sat and looked over at the professor expectantly.

The professor, resplendent as always, was in robes of deep plum as he stood behind the Head Table. He grinned broadly as he glanced around the Great Hall at the students. “I am sure you will be overjoyed to hear that I will be holding a special class for my Second-Year students on Saturday.”

The students looked at each other warily. Many of the Second-Year witches looked excited at the prospect. The wizards were a good deal less pleased, as were a few of the witches, such as those in Harry’s circle.

“Never fear,” he continued exuberantly, “although it will be much more exciting, it won’t interfere with the quidditch match, in the slightest.”

A relieved sigh was heard from the wizards in his second-year classes.

“I will be holding an exceptional demonstration on the mind arts for the second years.” He again swept the room with his gaze. “Those of you not in those classes need not fear you will be left out. The class is open to any who might wish to see an incredible display of my wizardly prowess. A level to which you should all aspire; despite the many years of concentrated study it will require.”

He struck a pose with his wand upraised. After a brief pause, as if waiting for the flash of cameras to accompany the enthusiastic applause of the witches, he lowered his arm. “The class will be immediately after breakfast, at nine, and be completed by ten-thirty.” He gave a throaty chuckle. “There will be plenty of time for you to make it to the pitch and secure good seats.”

He took a deep breath and looked proudly at the students. “I suspect most, if not all of you, will benefit from taking advantage of this once-in-a-lifetime demonstration! If you aren’t there, you will forever bemoan not seeing the incomparable Gilderoy Lockhart at work! It will be a lesson for the history books.” He struck a new pose.

Harry tried not to roll his eyes, but he noticed quite a few other boys were unable to resist. Almost an equal number of witches, most not in Gryffindor, sighed dreamily. He suspected nearly all of the audience on Saturday that weren’t second year students would be witches.

Lockhart started to sit, then stopped and stood again. “Ah, yes,” he said as if he had suddenly remembered something. “In compensation for the special class Saturday, classes for the second years are cancelled for today and tomorrow.”

He sat with a flourish as the second years all burst into cheers — or, at least, the boys did. Many of the witches looked disappointed. Harry shook his head and looked across the table at Neville, who had a similar expression at the reaction of the witches. His herd-mates were looking relieved, while Hermione was downright scowling.

That was when he noticed that Elly had turned around and was giving him a steady, meaningful look. He raised his eyebrows at her. She turned her head enough to look at the Head Table from the edges of her eyes, then looked back at him and tilted her head in a slight nod at Lockhart.

Then she turned around completely to look over at the Slytherin table, and craned her neck to look over in the specific direction of Malfoy and his boyfriends. Then she turned her head enough to look at him from the edges of her eyes, and tilted her head at Malfoy.

After that, she returned to eating her breakfast and ignored him.

Hermione, Apple Bloom, and Sweetie Belle had not missed Elly’s action, and were frowning heavily, glancing among themselves, Lockhart, and the Dark Trio. How their professor was connected to the Dark Trio, beyond the obvious, was puzzling.

But, considering Elly’s actions, they would find out Saturday. In the meantime, they would need to be especially vigilant.

Everyone was debating what the DADA demonstration on Saturday would entail — and if the non-second-years should attend, in view of what had happened at the Duelling Club demonstration in December.

^·_·^

Tom was not stupid. He stared at the Professor with narrowed eyes. Something was up with Gilderoy. He was planning something . . . something more than just a “demonstration” for the second-year students.

Tom hadn’t missed that the older of the four Hufflepuffs who had stayed over the hols had given Potter a rather obvious alert that something was up with the Professor. He shook his head. She couldn’t have been more obvious if she had climbed up on the table and shouted at the boy.

Clearly, she thought that whatever the Professor was planning had something to do with Potter. What her connection to Potter was, he didn’t know. She never hung out with him, and while they shared a few classes they hadn’t studied together. Or, at least, not that he had noticed. That she was one of the Hufflepuffs who had stayed over the hols was significant, he felt. It might be just a coincidence, but there was that niggling thought that it wasn’t just that.

Was she the one spying on him?

And, if so, why?

Had she somehow picked up on his draining of his host?

Did that have anything to do with the DADA professor and his announcement?

He had learned in the orphanage to pay attention to those feelings that said something wasn’t right, that he needed to pay close attention to his surroundings. They usually portended one of the orphanage’s bullies doing something to him or his few possessions. That had only lasted until he had learned how to focus his meagre magical powers. It had taken a while, but he had taught the bullies that messing with him was not something they could do with impunity. Once he had started Hogwarts, they had quickly learned that payback was a real witch, or wizard in his case.

Maybe he needed to revise his plans? Maybe waiting until summer wasn’t a viable option, anymore?

Or was he panicking for no reason?

No, he was being cautious.

Tonight, he would use the confundus on the fifth through seventh years and have them give him some of their galleons. They would remember it as loaning the funds to each other, with the promise to repay the loans by June first. It wouldn’t be a lot, only a twenty or so galleons, but it would be enough for him to live on for a few months if he did have to do a runner. He could search out some of the places he assumed his “parent” soul-piece would have used as emergency stashes — such as the cave on the coast, the Riddle family cemetery, and a few other places no one should suspect.

That, of course, assumed he wouldn’t be able to pillage his host’s family vault before he completely drained him. Or that someone else — Black — had already done significant pillaging.

He had to admire the wizard’s business acumen, though. He had manoeuvred around and exploited the Death Eaters’ financial Achilles’ heels quite well. He would have to remember some of those tricks to use on his own, when he had gained enough funds. It seemed to be remarkably easy to get others beholden to him by loaning them the funds to live above their means, temporarily, with the promise that they would have higher earnings in the future to pay him back.

^·_·^

Albus was not stupid. Something was up with Gilderoy. He was planning something . . . something more than just a “demonstration” for the second-year students. Unfortunately, except for the Duelling Club and Valentine’s Day fiasco’s, the wizard had been fairly subdued outside of his classes this school year.

That was very much unlike his desire to be the centre of attention when he was at Hogwarts as a rather average student.

He actually seemed to be somewhat effective in his classes, much more so than Albus had expected. Giving the students a scenario from one of his books, asking what they would do in that situation, then having them practice the spells they mentioned was surprisingly successful at teaching. He was definitely doing better than many of the other professors Hogwarts had had in the DADA position over the last twenty years.

Which was a bit of a relief, as Dumbledore hadn’t had a choice in hiring him — he had been the only one to apply for the position! If he hadn’t come forward, Dumbledore would have had to go to Cornelius, hat in hand, and ask if he would be so kind as to appoint one of the aurors to the position.

The only indication he had that anyone suspected the wizard wasn’t what he purported to be was that some of the witches in Gryffindor and Ravenclaw weren’t as enamoured of the wizard as the other witches in the castle. Especially, lately.

Albus had been hoping that Lockhart would make a fatal mistake and expose himself as the fraud Albus knew he was. The downside to that happening, of course, was that if he left at the end of term it would leave Albus in the same quandry as this year. Maybe Albus could ask a retired auror to take the position? This was Alastor’s last year in the auror’s . . . maybe he would consider the job?

He shook his head, he was going off on a tangent.

Gilderoy had made an error in memory-wiping a friend of Dumbledore’s, one who had already confided his adventure to Albus. He had been a bit disgruntled at the attention that was starting to draw to him. He’d rather continue his researches out of the limelight.

However, now it was the basis of an adventure in one of Gilderoy’s books, with Gilderoy as the hero. Albus’ friend had no recollection of telling Albus of any such incident. Many of the principal participants in the situation now remembered Lockhart as their “saviour,” too.

Albus had researched one of Lockhart’s books on a weekend this past summer. The descriptions of the actual incidents in the book were truthful, if a bit exaggerated. The embellishments could be written off as differences in points of view in those who had witnessed what had happened. Merlin knew, if ten wizards saw duel, their retelling of the duel would sound like ten different duels had taken place.

There had been more than a few discrepancies between what Gilderoy looked like and what those involved remembered about the wizard who had helped them. Differences in hair colour, facial hair, attitude, clothes, and so forth. Nothing that would be proof positive, mind you, but more than enough to cast doubts on him being the wizard that had been there at that time. At least, in Dumbledore’s mind. He was sure no ordinary wizard or witch would take his observations seriously, despite his leadership role and reputation.

Albus had been rather pleased to note that there was a growing sentiment among the students that the DADA Professor was not the great adventurer he claimed to be. Several portraits had told him they had heard students discussing the discrepancies in Lockhart’s books as to when the events recounted had actually happened.

Normally, one expected an adventurer’s books to be released in the order in which they occurred. However, one of Gilderoy’s adventures seems to have happened after the book that came after it! Plus, they had noticed that two of the books seemed to take place at the same time.

But, so far, nothing that might unveil the depth of the wizard’s deception. Very disappointing.

Until now.

What made Albus most suspicious was not the professor’s insistence that the Headmaster be in attendance, but that he also insisted that Madam Bones, Director of Magical Law Enforcement, also be present.

She had already agreed.

His excuse was that he wanted her present as he wished her direct permission in using Susan Bones as one of his subjects.

The question was . . . what was the gilded-fraud planning?

He would make sure that both Filius and Severus were present, and under invisibility cloaks.

^-~-^

The morning passed quickly for Harry with History of Magic after breakfast, and then Charms with the Ravenclaws. Then there was a break, which they dedicated to revising their spells, they needed to be able to cast them quickly and accurately. As they headed for a late start to lunch, Hermione insisted they needed to learn the impediment, impervius, and episkey charms that afternoon.

Then came Double Potions with the Slytherins. The only things of note in the last two weeks had been one or another of the Dark Trio smirking at them and laughing. They hadn’t really done anything that was outright offensive. Still, Harry and the others would have to keep a careful watch on the three Slytherins. Just in case they decided to strike early instead of waiting until Saturday.

After the class, it would be back to practicing their spells.

It would mean leaving off assignments until Sunday, but they were ahead, anyway.

^-_-^

Hedwyg made a surprise delivery at breakfast, Friday morning. Harry took the proffered scroll and offered a rasher of bacon in return. After cooing a bit over his owl, with his own appreciative sounds coming out as he stroked his breast and head, he turned his attention to the mail he had brought.

“Huh,” he said as the herd crowded closer. “It’s from Hagrid. He wants to know if I could stop by after classes today.” He looked up at the others.

“Sure.”

“Don’t see why not.”

“Fine by me.”

“We really should practice more on the shield-spells.”

“Well, we haven’t seen much of him, lately, have we?” said Ginny.

“I could do with a break in shield-spell practice,” said Ron

Neville just shrugged.

Harry nodded and quickly wrote a response of sure they would visit him, re-rolled the scroll, and gave it back to Hedwig. The owl grabbed a banger in one claw and took off.

^·_·^

Harry and company arrived at Hagrid’s hut not too much after their last class. Truthfully, Harry was relieved that they weren’t going to be practicing shield charms the rest of the afternoon. He could put up with an hour or so, but three hours? That was a bit too much. Last night their whole bodies had ached after three hours of practicing after dinner. That had hit their beds well before curfew. He figured that was one reason why Hermione hadn’t been as insistent on practicing as he had expected.

On the outside, everything appeared normal, but when Hagrid let them inside . . . things were different. For one, the inside was bigger — almost twice as large as before. Second, there was a bin just inside the door that was a yard wide, the same in height, and almost as long as he was tall. It was filled with a white substance that he quickly realized was spider silk, specifically, acromantula silk.

To one side of the hut was Hagrid’s enormous bed, table and chairs. The fireplace, with its spit and cauldron holder, was unchanged. However, now, there was an armchair and couch across from the table, against the wall. “Perfesser Flitwick ’elped me wit’ this,” he said proudly, standing with his hands on his hips, in response to their wondering expressions. “ ’e said I should ’ave sometin’ fer guests.”

After serving them tea, this time in cups sized to their hands instead of his, he relaxed into his new armchair. He ran a hand along the arm of the chair, looking down at it and smiling. “Good man, Perfersser Flitwick, he is. I jus’ ask’ ’em to make me hut a bit larger, ter make room fer the bin, yer see, and ’e did all this.”

He looked back at them. “I wanted ter thank yer for yer suggestion, Harry.” He nodded at the bin by the door. “I sent a letter ter tha’ Mr. Rich, nice feller, wit’ a bit o’ silk, and ’e wer mighty interested. Smart man,” he gave them a sly look, “— or should I say pony? — that Mr. Rich.” He glanced at the bin by the door. “I think ’e made a mistake, though. He sent me this bag o’ galleons fer the first bale of silk I sent him.” He reached over and pointed with one hand at a rather large bag stuffed under his bed. “I wanted yer ter check with ’em. See?” he handed a scroll out to Harry, who was sitting closest.

Harry unrolled the scroll and started reading. A moment later, staring at Hagrid, he handed the scroll to Sweetie Belle. Everyone watched as her eyebrows rose. She looked up at him and just stared for a moment, obviously calculating something in her head. “How hard was it to get the silk?” she finally asked, frowning.

Hagrid shrugged, and glanced at his new wand — it was almost as long as a footie bat — leaning by the door. “No’ tha’ hard, a’tall. Aragog were quite innerested in trading it fer food. I promised him a cow fer each bin-full, pressed tight. I bin studyin’ real hard and I almos’ go’ the duplica’ing charm down. I’ll jus’ keep a dead ’ne in stasis an’ make ’nother as I need ’em.” He paused. “It’ll be while ’fore I ’ave the spells right, bu’ tha elves are ’appy to ’elp until then.”

She stared at him a moment. “Then, nothing, essentially?” she said a bit incredulously.

“Except me time, and tha’s jus’ an evenin’s stroll.”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Well, over the summer, Rarity told me about the demand for acromantula silk, what she pays for it, and what it sells for.” She shrugged as she handed the scroll to Hermione, who had been trying to lean over Ginny and Apple Bloom to read it. “So, eight hundred galleons for a bale sounds fair.” *

Ginny and Ron choked and stared at Hagrid in shock. Hagrid had just made almost six years of their dad’s old salary, and three years of his new one. For, as he put it, “An evening stroll.”

Neville merely looked surprised.

Hagrid looked at the bag, eyes big. “Really?”

She nodded slowly. “I suggest you get to Gringotts and set up a vault. That way you won’t end up with sacks of galleons stuffed under your bed.”

The others all slowly nodded their agreement.

“Huh,” he said, thinking. “Guess I’ll ‘ave ter go do tha’ tomorrow mornin’.” He shook his head.

Scootaloo got a sly look in her eyes, and smirked. “I think, once the witches hear how much you’re earning, you’ll find more than a few dropping by to say hello!”

Hagrid blushed. “Now, dunna you start tha’!”

“I won’t be starting anything,” she quickly retorted.

He shook his head, “It dun matter. No witch’ll give me a second look.”

The three fillies giggled. “I think,” Sweetie Belle said, “You should get my sister to make you a new wardrobe. What you’ve got is good for a groundskeeper on a small income, but now you can afford things that fit better and look nicer! My sister told me that a proper acromantula coat would easily be warmer and more rugged than what you’ve currently got. You can trade her some the raw silk for her to use as thread, in exchange.”

“Aw, I dun need a new wardrobe,” he said, looking slightly panicked. “Wha’ I got is jus’ fine.”

“Nonsense,” declared Hermione, as the other girls all nodded. “My father says, ‘Clothes make the man,’ and your clothes currently declare you to be a rough wizard who lives in a forest. You need clothes that say you’re a wizard of means, and you live in the forest because you like it, not because you haven’t a choice.” She nodded again.

“Besides, the new wardrobe isn’t really for you.”

He frowned at her. “I dunno ‘bout tha’.” He said slowly.

Sweetie Belle shrugged. “As soon as word gets out that you’re making this much money, if you don’t upgrade your wardrobe people will think you’re not very smart. You might not think it important,” she said, “but my sister says, “Just a minor change in attire can make a tremendous change in how others perceive you.’ Especially if you give most of what you make to Hogwarts.” She gave him a sly smile. “On the other hoof, if you dress like a gentleman, they’ll think you quite shrewd. I know that in the Equestria all the ponies look up to other ponies who dress well.

“You telling everyone that you’re investing in the witchery world’s future, and paying the school back for all that they’ve done for you in the past will reinforce that image.” She paused, then added, “Who knows, if you get enough attention, we might see more half-giants deciding to go to Hogwarts. That would be a good thing, right?”

Hagrid leaned back in his chair and stroked his beard in a manner that they all recognized as an imitation of the Headmaster.

“That’s right,” Hermione chimed in. “You aren’t spending the galleons on yourself for no purpose, you’re showing everyone that a half-giant can be as successful in wizarding society as anyone else! You’ll be an inspiration to all of the other half-breeds. Just as everyone looks up to Professor Flitwick.” She paused, then added, “Figuratively, that is, not literally.” She gave him a steady look. “It’s not for you, it’s for the ones who would toss their Hogwarts letters because they think someone like them could never do it.”

By the time they left, the girls had convinced Hagrid that it was his duty as a newly-rich half-giant to show-off that wealth, to inspire others to strive for equal success. To show that, even though he had had a rough row to hoe, he had come out on top, and so could they. There was hope.

They had a promise from him that he would contact Rarity for a fitting.

As they were headed back to the castle, Harry couldn’t help but overhear the girls conspiring to order several books on how to attract the notice of witches, in a good way. By the time dinner was over, the girls had an action plan. They would read the books, add comments and asides to the margins, and even possibly insert a few extra pages. They would, in essence, tailor the books to suit Hagrid’s unique situation. Myrtle was going to be drafted for her opinions, too. Fifty years of observing the older teenagers ought to have a few insights they would miss.

They also planned to alert Rosemerta, at the Three Broomsticks, about Hagrid’s new social status. They hoped she might know a few . . . open-minded . . . witches who might be willing to meet Hagrid.

^-_-^

The first thing Harry noticed when he walked into the Great Hall for breakfast was that Susan Bone’s aunt was seated with her. Director Amelia Bones was the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. That she was here was a surprise. Parents rarely were present for any of the meals. He was curious, but not that curious. He settled into place at the table and started adding food to his own plate.

Neville’s gasp at the breakfast table drew Harry’s attention. They were mostly finished, and the owl parliament had arrived only moments before. Neville had just opened his daily subscription to The Daily Prophet. “Oh, wow,” he said, eyes wide in surprise at what he was reading. There were several other gasps from across the hall, as other subscribers, usually the more astute students, opened their copies.

“Oh, wow,” was a phrase he repeated a couple of times — in between stares at Harry and the article. Others were staring at Harry, too. Finally, he said, “Harry, is this true?” and turned the paper around so he could see the headline.

“The Boy Who Lived is The Boy Who Left!” it blared across the top of the page in two lines. Harry dropped his head down. He felt like pounding it on the table, but his breakfast was in the way.

Already, he could feel the hostile stares coming his way.

Grabbing the newsparchment, he began skimming the article. It was, surprisingly, rather accurate. The author, Rita Skeeter, whom he had met the previous year, pointed out that he had a dual-citizenship in Equestria and England. That was, she conceded, entirely legal. However, she also mentioned that he had been adopted by Princess Twilight, a member of the royal family in the Equestrian Princessdom. Which meant he was also a member of the Royal family, Prince Harry Sparkle, as everypony over there called him. “Notice,” she said in the article, “that the Equestrians do not call Harry by his parents’ name, Potter.”

Amazing, Harry couldn’t help but think, she was one reporter who didn’t once refer to them as Atlanteans!

She was not shy about supplying numerous quotes from Ponyville residents about the many ways that Harry preferred Equestria to England. Including that there, it was legal to have more than one wife.

The students at Hogwarts, of course, knew how the three fillies and two witches were always with him. They had heard rumours from the pony firsties that polygamy was allowed. But it had a different impact to read in the news that that bit of rumour was actually true!

She further explained that he had been telling ponies since the summer before his first year that he was only attending Hogwarts because the Royal sisters had requested he do so. A request he read as a command. She even had one source who came right out and said that Harry would have stayed in Equestria, if given the choice.

Then she delved into the reasons why he preferred Equestria over England — the Dursleys. She didn’t go into many details, fortunately. But the ones she included were bad enough, in Harry’s opinion. Regrettably, from his point of view, she promised a more complete recital of his difficulties with the family in future editions of the newparchment. She heavily implied that it was magic, itself, fed up with their treatment of the Saviour of Wizarding World, that had finally provided him an escape to Equestria.

Then she went into some of Harry’s and the CMC’s adventures in and around Ponyville. She quite bluntly said that the two books about Harry’s adventures in Equestria were, for the most part and with little exaggeration, the complete truth. She had heard the stories in Equestria before discovering the books in England. She named them both, and the author, and pointed out that the fillies were more than happy to sign them, if asked.

She ended by asking, given the few details she had provided so far, would any of them have been eager to return to England?

That wasn’t all, though. There were other, shorter articles inside asking questions and delving into tangential matters. One such was the Potter Wizengamot seat. There was the very legitimate question of whether Harry, as a foreign prince, could actually hold the seat. And, if so, should something be done about it? Plus, given his disillusionment with wizarding England, could they really leave it undecided? If they did take the seat away from House Potter, weren’t they justifying his disdain and indifference to them?

Then there was his adoption by the Equestrian Royalty. Was it even legal? Should they say that Equestria had no right to interfere in the custody of Harry Potter? Was Sirius Black, as the legitimate guardian of the boy, according to the Potter will, going to acknowledge this usurpation of his obligations? What would be Harry’s reaction if they tried to claim his adoption was illegal? Wouldn’t that, too, justify his disdain and indifference to them?

Harry shrunk down a bit further. Once more, he was under constant scrutiny. He had a feeling Lockhart’s upcoming class, and the rest of the day — no, week — were not going to be much fun for him.

^-~-^

Author's Note

As already established, the average wage non-menial wage earner makes about £20,000 a year. With gold trading at £200 an ounce, and the galleon apparently a one-ounce coin, the average wizarding wage-earner makes about 100 galleons a year. Which is in keeping with the pricing we seem to see in canon. (Otherwise, something as important to life as a wand for merely £35 would be like getting a brand-new motorcycle £100 – plus it means Ollivander isn’t living on the dole at earning less than £1400 a year income (40*7 galleons, each)).

** Sir Chaos Omega is responsible for pointing out that the Rita would pounce on Harry’s adoption and apparent disregard for wizarding England.

Ch. 32. Laying the Groundwork

Author's Note

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Ch. 32. Laying the Groundwork

Just when he thought things were going his way, the roof caved in.

The auror raid on Bartemius Crouch Senior’s home had borne fruit. The wizard had freed his son from Azkaban years ago, at his wife’s request, and then kept him under an imperio for nearly eight years. The sheer hypocrisy of that act compared to his refusal to show leniency to any others he sent to Azkaban was breath-taking. Not to mention the abuse of his Ministry position to cover up that act.

Junior’s status as an escaped prisoner had allowed the use of veritaserum, despite the pure-blood laws that protected his father. The Azkaban records of visits had destroyed the father’s blustery protests. There was no rational argument that Senior couldn’t have known about his son’s presence in his own home, and that said son was under an imperio. Nor that he was the one his son identified as his jailor.

Senior was going to spend the rest of his life in Azkaban for the repeated use of the Unforgiveable.

Just as soon as his father’s trial was completed on Monday, Junior was scheduled for the Veil as an escaped prisoner.

Bertha was in treatment at St. Mungo’s. The healers thought the prognosis was good that her obliviated memory could be recovered. They were hopeful that most of the damage to her psyche would be reversed when that happened. She still might suffer from some forgetfulness, but nothing like before.

Part of the Crouch estate would go to her as compensation for what Barty Crouch, Senior, had done to her. She wouldn’t be rich, but neither would she be on the edge anymore. The Ministry was picking up her tab at St. Mungo’s. Barty had, after all, obliviated her while she was on official Ministry business. Then he had used his Ministry position to conceal what he had done.

Many of the more nervous Ministry employees were also making appointments at St. Mungo’s to check for clandestine obliviations. This was especially true of Crouch’s former associates and departmental employees.

Plus, based on some of the evidence that Barty Junior had supplied, the Aurors had managed a few raids on previously unsuspected Death Eaters — a few uncovered Death Eater robes and masks. Several of the previously “imperioed” Death Eaters had also been the subject of raids. Again, based on Barty Junior’s evidence — except Albus knew most of that evidence came from another source.

Nothing says guilty, or that you perjured yourself, more than being caught with Death Eater paraphernalia, equipment, and trophies in a secret room under your Drawing Room floor, or other places. Paraphernalia, equipment, and trophies that clearly had seen use in the last ten years since the trials. Especially so, if some of the victims were still alive.

A few more seats on the Wizengamot were . . . indisposed . . . to his opponents.

More people had been turning to Albus for advice in view of his successes.

But now . . . this.

Dumbledore could only shake his head looking at the Prophet’s headline. Rita had outdone herself this time. Most impressively, she had managed to do it without once implying anything that was untrue. Everything held together quite plausibly, and fit the facts just as accurately. At least, as far as he could tell.

Then there were the other articles about Harry, most also authored by her. She had certainly been a busy bee, without once having to resort to being a bug. Again, at least as far as he could tell. Her copious quotes from witnesses and experts showed that what she had learned was all public knowledge, just not publicly pulled together and published.

There went his plans for the day. He would have to leave Lockhart’s impromptu “special” class to Filius, and hope it was all a big fuss over nothing. Severus, unfortunately, was cleaning up after a potion’s problem this morning. One of the Seventh Year’s students, working on a multi-week potion, had had it go off overnight, and the two were deeply engrossed in recovering the potion without starting all over or taking out that part of the castle in a massive explosion.

Albus would have to set off immediately after breakfast for the Ministry. It would be a time-consuming effort to begin repairing all the damage she had just done to his efforts over the last year. He had convinced many of the fence-sitters that supporting his agenda would be good for country, especially as his agenda would make the Equestrians more likely to stay in their world.

He knew a large number of his conservative and conservative-leaning political supporters would look askance at him as a result of Harry’s apparent loyalty to Atlantis over England. He gave a mental sigh. So would most of his loyal followers, for that matter.

That apparent loyalty threw into doubt just how interested Harry was in staying in England after Hogwarts. He would have to be quite persuasive to keep some of his allies from withdrawing their support. Others, he would just have to write off and hope they didn’t vote against any of his proposals.

Using Harry, as the Boy-Who-Lived, as the mascot for the “Light” Party was an actual liability, at this point. It might even backfire if he tried to pursue it at this time. He could only hope that he could turn that situation around in the future.

Fortunately, he could point out how the Atlanteans had already informed him that there definitely would be more new students next term, and the year after that, too. In fact, he could easily say that unless the Ministry did something that was patently offensive to them, the Atlanteans intended to send students to Hogwarts every year for the foreseeable future.

Which would be a tremendous boost to both the economy and England’s prestige on the world stage — and his own.

Unfortunately, the withdrawal of even some of his support in the Wizengamot made his task of placating the British government that much more difficult. The muggle government was still harping on him to correct the one-sidedness of many of their laws. Fortunately, their complaints about the unfairness of the werewolf-laws had subsided in view of the “cure” being offered by visiting Atlantis at the right time.

At the rate those were going, by summer’s end there wouldn’t be any werewolves in England, or the continent.

Balancing that progress, unfortunately, now, were the stories Rita printed about Harry’s treatment by the Dursleys. Today, he knew, just had to be only the opening salvo of such articles on Harry’s time at the Dursleys. Wizards and witches on both sides of the political arena would be outraged. They would want to punish that family far more than what the muggle government was meting out. The only good he could find in the situation was that the Dursleys were still in one of the Queen’s prisons, and would be for several more years.

The down side to that, though, was with the removal of the original bullies from their reach, the irate wizards and witches might take their desire for vengeance out on other muggles. They would demand the Wizengamot “do something” about the Dursleys.

Then the public, and Wizengamot, would focus on his “adoption” by the Atlanteans. Albus already could foresee many wizards demanding that the adoption be declared illegal, and overturned in favour of a family in England. Dumbledore would quickly point out, of course, that enforcing those rulings would be pretty much impossible, unless they wanted to make the boy wear disapparition-preventing manacles. Making the boy feel like a prisoner would not engender any good feelings about the wizarding world on his part. The Chief Warlock would have to stress how doing anything like that would completely alienate the boy. Harry would scamper off to Atlantis at the first opportunity, to never come back.

The real difficulty for Albus was how Princess Twilight would view the proceedings. The wizards might find themselves cut-off from the single richest source of magic any of them had ever heard of. She might just decide to take her portal to the colonies or continent, and let them benefit!

Hogwarts was not the only magic school in the world.

Plus, Sirius Black was not only one of the Atlantean’s biggest supporters within the Wizengamot, but as Harry’s Godfather and Magical Guardian he would also have final say over anything related to his godson, outside of a criminal court, that is.

Albus could probably count on Sirius to squash any attempt to strike Harry’s status in Atlantis as the adopted child of Princess Twilight. He might even be able to stimie it before the next Wizengamot session.

Which meant his opponents would strike back in other ways — such as blocking his attempts to bring their laws into line with muggle laws.

Then there was the whole quagmire of the Potter seat in the Wizengamot. That would take quite a bit of thought, and work, to straighten out. The pure-bloods, again, would demand something be done. Which, under the circumstances, was rather reasonable. It would be unconscionable for a seat on the Wizengamot be held by someone who was not in England!

They would probably pass a new law declaring that only a citizen of England, who lived in England full-time, could hold a seat on that illustrious body.

Dumbledore had hoped that this wouldn’t become public until the boy left Hogwarts — being proxy for the seat had helped him pass several laws in the past. The only reason he hadn’t handed it over to Sirius when he officially took over Guardianship of the boy was because each member could only vote one seat. Thus, Dumbledore, having no Wizengamot seat, kept it to vote with Sirius.

Dumbledore’s vote in the Wizengamot as Chief Warlock would only be called in the event of a tie. Something that hadn’t happened in decades. In fact, his holding the seat made ties impossible. If a tie vote occurred, then turning to him for the tie-breaker automatically disqualified the Potter-seat vote, removing the tie.

So, probably at the next Wizengamot General meeting, there would be a motion presented to remove the Potter family’s seat on the Wizengamot and replace it with another. The whole process would take months, though. Just removing the seat from the Potters would take several sessions as the sides for and against argued their points. The bureaucracy would slowly grind on as other motions to precedence, and procedural attempts to stall the final vote took place.

Such a revocation would require a new family be proposed by the Minister. His proposal would then be voted by the Wizengamot. If the proposed family was accepted, then the seat would be transferred from the Potters to the new family.

However, the Potter family connection to the Black family, a pure-blood family, and Sirius being his godfather, changed a few things. The Black family already had a seat on the Wizengamot, so they couldn’t keep the additional seat. It would need to be passed to another family, preferably a pure-blooded one.

Which meant Sirius would have the right to decide on who would get the seat, not Cornelius Fudge. All the Wizengamot could do was vote up or down on the suggested family. He could take as long as he wanted before suggesting a candidate family. He couldn’t stall forever, but it would be many months before the seat finally changed hands.

In the meantime, Dumbledore would continue to vote as proxy in the seat.

He wondered how he might keep that seat’s vote under his control?

He stared at the group of second years, noting who sat where, and how they were interacting. He noted Ginny Weasley was seated quite close to the boy. Perhaps the Weasleys could provide a way through the morass? Sirius would have a difficult time refusing his suggestion to award the seat to Arthur, if there was a connection between Harry and Miss Weasley. The family was pure-blood, after all.

It wouldn’t even have to be all that solid a connection, at this point. He could point out how disappointed the boy, and the Princess, might be if Sirius gave the seat to another family. Maybe not this year, but in five years? Sirius was savvy enough in politics to see the advantages of getting in on the good side of the Atlantean royalty.

The three girls from Equestria had made no secret of their intentions towards Harry. According to his sources, the three regarded Harry as theirs. That the boy was oblivious to their machinations was clear to anyone who met the group. That they had allowed both Miss Weasley and the muggle girl, Miss Granger, into the group was a bit of a surprise. However, as he had learned, the Equestrians had a tradition of polygamy, multiple wives to one husband, so there was that.

Miss Weasley working her way into the group wasn’t that much of a surprise. Despite wizarding society’s lip-service to monogamy, it was a poorly kept secret that rich wizards had mistresses. As any perusal of The Daily Prophet’s social section would make clear.

With Ginny’s own family’s history of barely scraping by, it was no mystery why she had set her sights on Harry to avoid a continuation of that lifestyle.

Plus, her mother had made sure that the girl had grown up on stories about the heroic boy. He smiled softly. The books about young Harry being a hero had made him the idol of all the little witches — Molly had just watered that plant a bit more than most mothers. She had fed the girl a steady stream of how the two of them would be perfect for each other, how the boy would never be able to resist such a wonderful witch as Ginny.

The Potter family had been well-to-do — not extremely wealthy, but more than enough to allow them to live quite comfortably. That alone would have been enough to attract the witch to the boy, even without his heroic reputation.

Harry’s return to wizarding society as a powerhouse of magic — animagus ability, apparition mastery, etc. — made him even more attractive to her. He might not be the hero of her books, but he was head and shoulders above his competition — even if he was the shortest boy in both First and Second Years.

Plus, with his connection to the Princess, and his own title as a Prince, she wouldn’t have to worry about finances in her, or her children’s, future.

He had to wonder, though, had the Princesses “encouraged” the three girls to be “open” to adding one or two English witches? Having Royal family connections on both sides of the portal could be very advantageous to them, politically. Just as it could for the wizards and witches on this side of the portal. The three had seemed rather quick to add the other two girls to their casual group.

The Weasley family had certainly seen profit in that connection, already, nebulous though it was at present. Albus knew, from their repeated invites to the palace in Ponyville, that it would only grow. Plus, while the children had claimed they had only brought a few gems back, the goblins had acted more as if they had brought back gems by the tens of pounds!

To the wizarding world, the Weasley’s now had a reputation as a powerful wizarding family. That was thanks to the discovery that all the children were animagi, with two of them accomplishing it before they started Hogwarts. No other family could boast such an accomplishment. That the mother was one, too, had come as a shock when she officially registered. She had said, at the time, that she hadn’t really been interested in the ability until her children had all started using it, so she had changed, too.

Before last year, the family had been looked down on as an old wizarding family that had fallen on hard times, just barely above poverty. Their having so many children was also a bit of a detriment to the more conservative families. Many children meant the inheritances would be equally small. Plus, there was the possibility of the family falling into dispute with itself as the children squabbled over the estate when the parents died.

However, the sudden spending coming from the family seemed to indicate that their fortunes had changed rather dramatically, recently. Backing up this impression was how they were treated, now, when they entered Gringotts. Many had noted that the goblins were . . . more attentive . . . less condescending . . . than they normally acted. It was almost as if they hoped to gain something.

Then, this year, Mr. Malfoy had made no secret that his latest venture — a very profitable one, too, he claimed — was a partnership with Fred and George Weasley. Formerly, he had made only disparaging remarks about the family, remarks emphasizing their large family, poor finances, and lack of proper respect for wizarding customs and manners.

He had been especially critical of their support for half-bloods, muggle-born, muggles, and other creatures that he felt were beneath aa wizard’s dignity to discuss in public. He had even called them blood-traitors, although that was usually only in private.

The discovery of Atlantis, a country of wizards and witches who could claim no squibs, muggle-born, or even muggles in their family history for several thousand years, put his views into a different perspective. If the Atlanteans were to use his attitude towards the English wizards and witches, then, to the Atlanteans, he and they were only marginally above house-elves!

Especially as every single one of them were accomplished at becoming animagi before they started schooling. Add in that many said they had been casting spells without wands for several years before coming through the portal? Without the help of a wand? Saying they were coming to Hogwarts to learn wanded magic, as opposed to the wandless magic they could already do, merely reinforced how they could build up a wizarding family’s magic if they were to marry into it.

Yes, the change in fortunes for the Weasley family was very dramatic. Their appearance of magical prowess would make many think twice before advocating to Sirius against giving the family a seat on the Wizengamot. With Arthur’s affable attitude at the Ministry, there were very few who would vote against him based on his personality. Malfoy’s apparent change in attitude towards the family would also make many carefully consider their vote.

All Albus had to do was hang on until the old-conservative families had a few sons or daughters married to Atlanteans. Once that started to happen, it would become much easier to sway them to his point of view. The opposition to Harry being primarily in Atlantis would diminish as the conservatives developed their own ties to that country.

Well, at least Director Bones was here. He finished off his plate, dabbed his mouth with his napkin, and stood. Leaning over, he said to Minerva, “I have business at the Ministry I must attend to. I won’t be back until late.”

She glanced at the newsparchment and shook her head. “I’ll tend to things.”

He regally straightened, and strode to the Professor’s Door, and thence to his office to floo to the Ministry.

^-~-^

Castor could see that Jackson knew he was in for a struggle when he walked into the meeting room and saw one person and three ponies seated at the table, but he didn’t show that. The man just smiled and nodded companionably.

William Jackson, a tall, dark-haired man with brown eyes, was one of the top negotiators for The Union of Shop, Distributive and Allied Workers — USDAW, for short.

Castor stood. “Thank you for coming. I am Castor James Searle, Retired, SAS, and I am the . . . translator today.” He leaned over the table and shook his hand.

William gave him a curious look.

Castor smiled. “Yes, the Equestrian speak English quite well, however there are many nuances to British culture with which they are unfamiliar. I have been assigned by Her Majesty’s government to explain anything they might find confusing. Head off problems of miscommunication, you might say.”

William nodded. “I see,” he said softly.

Castor turned to his left pointed to the middle of the three ponies. “This is, as I am sure you recognise from photos, is Princess Twilight Sparkle. On her far side is Applejack.”

Applejack leaned across . . . well no, she got up and walked across the table and held out her hoof. “Howdy,” she declared cheerfully.

The union representative looked confused, and he glanced at Castor. Castor leaned back to get out of Applejack’s eyesight. He made fists of his hands and pantomimed bumping them together.

William flicked his eyes back to Applejack, smiled, and fist-bumped her. “The pleasure is all mine,” he said.

“And on this is Lemony Gem, she will be in-charge of the facility” Castor finished, as Applejack returned to her pillowed seat. He pointed to the yellow unicorn with two shades of cornflower blue colouring her mane and tail. She was also wearing a pink saddle and lighter-coloured pink skirt.

She, too, hopped up on the table and repeated Applejack’s hoof-bump. “Nice to meet you,” she said.

Willian smiled, nodded, and murmured a polite, “Nice to meet you, too.”

Castor saw his eyes briefly scan across the three folders on the table, one in front of each pony. He pulled out his chair and sat. He opened his briefcase, took out a pad of paper and a pen, and looked inquisitively at Twilight.

If the man was phased by meeting royalty, or aliens, he hid it well.

Princess Twilight leaned forward slightly. “I’m sure you’ve heard the stories about the portal that we’re setting up here, in Blackpool. Unlike the portal at the Embassy, this one is for cargo, only. No beings or animals will travel through it.”

“Yes, the newspapers have been quite excited about the employment prospects,” William acknowledged.

Twilight nodded. “The buildings are complete, now, and we’re beginning to move in the equipment necessary to support the transport of large amounts of material through the portal. The railroad spur and roadway alterations are nearly complete — ahead of schedule, actually,” she gave a pleased smile.

“Now, then, we expect to employ a significant number of people here, and want things to proceed as smoothly as possible. Which is why I’ve asked for you to meet with us today.”

There wasn’t much he could say to that.

“I’ve been doing a little reading on the trade unions in Britain . . .,”

Applejack rolled her eyes and murmured, “only if you call a stack of books that reaches the library ceiling, little.” She shook her head as she said that.

Castor saw Williams raise his eyebrows slightly.

“And I must say I am impressed with what they have accomplished.” She shook her head. “I don’t understand, though, why the companies that employed the workers were so against what the workers were asking. I mean . . . it’s just common sense, right?” She turned and looked Castor.

All he could do was shrug.

“In Equestria, workers and employers work closely with each other. Workers bring any problems to management that the management might have overlooked, or weren’t aware that an issue had come up.” She paused and looked at the man.

He had a pleasant and slightly curious air as he returned her gaze.

She sighed. “Anyway,” she continued. “Given your unions reputation for handling problems without disrupting business, I think having The Union of Shop, Distributive and Allied Workers onboard when we start hiring would be an excellent idea. As the largest trade union, it’ll give us a unique opportunity to improve conditions in all of England!”

Both of William’s eyebrows arched up.

“Improve? Improve for whom?” he said suspiciously.

Twilight blinked at him, surprised at the question. “Why, everyone, of course!” She shuffled some papers in the folder in front of her. “For example, according to law, eligible employees can receive maternity pay of about ninety percent for up to thirty-nine weeks, about nine months.”

Applejack interrupted, “Yeah, I don’t understand that. I mean when Ma had Apple Bloom, she was back to bucking trees a week later.”

William frowned at the orange pony.

“Ah, allow me to explain,” interjected Castor. “That’s a physical difference, Applejack. Unlike Apple Bloom, human babies don’t start walking their first day. Human babies usually start walking anywhere between nine and sixteen months, and become verbal at two years, not two months.”

Applejack stared at him. “Yer jokin’, right?” she said, appalled.

Both Twilight and Castor shook their heads.

The union man was giving him an incredulous look.

Applejack opened her folder and began reading, frowning heavily.

Castor looked over to William. “Pony babies, foals, are capable of walking and running moments after birth, and begin saying individual words at one month.”

The man nodded slowly, and made notes on his pad.

Twilight cleared her throat and nodded. “In Equestria, giving a pony thirty-nine weeks off wouldn’t work. The ponies would just come in anyway, after a month or two.” She shuffled her papers. “Besides, the company’s play area for the babies gives them excellent supervision and the mothers can visit any time, anyway. Which is what we planned to do here, too, by the way.

“However, here, on this side of the portal, it is obvious that . . . babies need far more time with their mothers, so I can easily see them staying out the entire time.” She got a pensieve look. “Although Mrs Cake did mention that having work to go to was such a relief while her husband took the twins, so maybe not.”

“Anyway, I think we need to make it clear to the employees that maternity leave is at their discretion. If they don’t want the full time, they don’t have to take it.”

The union negotiator gave her an incredulous look.

She shook her head sadly. “This pay, though . . . ninety percent? That has to go.”

William looked ready to speak, but she continued before he could say anything.

“It should be one-hundred percent. To make up the difference, I’ll petition Parliament to excuse part of the payroll taxes an employer would pay, or reduce the total revenue tax by that amount.”

He leaned back; surprise evident in his expression.

“I think there should be an exception on taking the maternity leave early. It should start at a doctor’s discretion. Some mares have extremely difficult pregnancies months before the due date.”

Castor and William were giving Twilight surprised looks. William was making almost continuous notes, now.

“Next, paternity leave. That is simply right out.”

Again, William looked ready to object.

“It should be at least two weeks before and four weeks after, that’s what it usually is in Equestria. The mother needs the father’s support, after all.” She paused and looked at her folder. “Especially considering how dependent the babies are, here. I’ve been told having foals is extremely stressful. It certainly looks like it’s uncomfortable in the extreme.” She gave William a stern look. “And no, it won’t be voluntary. He has to take that time off. Also, antenatal appointments with the doctors will be covered for both parents.”

William slowly nodded.

“Sick leave.” She shook her head. “With the new ‘special technology’ the government is rolling out in the hospitals, I don’t see that being much of an issue.” She smiled happily. “Even if you lose a leg, somehow, you can grow a new one in a few days. As for cancer and other aliments? Cures for most of those are in the works.”

William was writing furiously.

“So, full pay for any illness for the week they’ll miss work should be adequate.” She smiled, again. “We learned a long time ago that it is more efficient for workers to visit a doctor when they feel sick rather than go to work and make everyone else sick, too. You think you have the flu? Go to the doctor to get treatment instead of work.”

“Next,” she continued, “There’s time an employee takes off to look after a dependant, or sick relative. Again, with the new techniques coming out, I can’t see that as a real issue, so maybe a week again. We’ll have to wait and see how that works out.”

She sighed. “Which brings us to time off for an employee following the death of a loved one. I suggest two weeks, although taking it should be at the discretion of the employee. Many ponies claim they would rather be at work rather than moping at home. I don’t know how it is here, so I’m open to suggestions.” She paused and bit her lip, obviously thinking. Applejack was staring at one of the painting on the opposite wall.

Twilight took a deep breath. “Finally, there are the yearly vacations. The government mandates workers to five weeks and three days — twenty-eight work-days a year, including the UK’s eight bank holidays.” She shook her head. “I have nothing to say about that.” She looked at William. “During the summer vacation, we will need the facility in operation, so any suggestions on how to do that would be greatly appreciated. Perhaps some employees would like their vacations at times other than the summer and they could work the summer hours?” She waggled her head. “I don’t know how that works here.”

She ruffled her wings. “So, that’s what we’re thinking right now. As I said, I’d prefer your union for all our employees, so if you could get back to us next week with a proposed contract, that would be very helpful. We also need some idea of what the union wages and dues will be. You’ve got far more experience with what works here than we do.”

Willian looked rather shell-shocked as he left, although he tried to hide it. Castor grinned as he left the room. He’d probably never heard of a negotiation where the employer not only wasn’t crying foul, but was actually trying to top what the Trade Union would normally demand.

Audrey Wise, the current president of the union, was going to be shocked when William reported what had happened in the meeting.

^---^

Ch. 33. Another Boring Lecture

Too soon for Harry’s taste, Professor Lockhart, resplendent as always in his perfectly turquoise robes, stood-up at the Head Table. He gave a very toothy smile to the students as he glanced around the Great Hall. Harry thought that with the right angle, and a very bright torch to reflect off those teeth, he probably could manage to blind most of the people in the hall. The professor began tapping his crystal goblet, as if no one had noticed the peacock abruptly standing. Quickly, the room quieted.

“Thank you, thank you,” the wizard said proudly, enjoying the attention of the entire school. He grinned widely, again, as he swept the hall with his gaze. “As I mentioned on Thursday, this morning I will be presenting a special class for the second-year students in the Great Hall after breakfast today.”

He chuckled, self-satisfied, at everyone’s attention. “After the house-elves clear the tables, Professor Flitwick, my assistant today,” he turned and smiled at the wizard as he swept his arm to point at him, “will move the tables aside and arrange seating at the front of the hall.”

Professor Flitwick raised his eyebrows. Apparently, he hadn’t been consulted about this beforehand.

The gadfly nodded and smiled as if the other professor had said something. “If it’s not too difficult, that is?” Lockhart added as if it would be remarkable that he couldn’t. Flitwick only narrowed his eyes.

“So, everyone, please move to the back of the hall while we arrange things for you. Anyone not in second-year who wishes to watch this most extraordinary class, seating for you will be provided.” He chuckled lightly. “I promise you; it will be a show you won’t want to miss!” he confidently added. He chuckled, again. “And you needn’t worry any about the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff match later this morning! I promise the class will be over well in time for you all to find the best seats!”

Harry wished he could miss this class; he had a really bad feeling about it. He exchanged glances with his herd. He would have to keep a close eye on them — all five. At least he knew Hermione and Ginny weren’t quite the trouble magnets the three fillies were.

The food on the tables vanished as soon as Lockhart finished speaking.

There was a great deal of noise as the students shuffled around.

After giving Lockhart another hard look, Flitwick pulled out his wand and began waving it. The tables and benches in the hall all floated to the hall’s sides, stacking themselves neatly to take up the least amount of space. As soon as the floor was cleared, classroom-desks began appearing at the front of the hall, enough to seat the entire second-year class. No doubt the house-elves were bringing them in from empty classrooms. Gilderoy stood at the front of the hall with his hands on his hips, supervising and smiling as if he were the one doing all the work.

Still, in a remarkably short amount of time, all the second-year students were seated at the desks at the front of the Hall. Naturally, they were grouped into the different Houses. Harry noticed that Elly had taken a seat right beside him and the fillies. The Gryffindor students, of course, took the desks at the far left while the Slytherins took those on the opposite side of the hall.

Elly kept giving the Dark Trio a series of rather intense glances.

Harry felt his back tense up.

Two yards behind the desks for the second-years, chairs began appearing for the rest of the audience. The front rows were quickly filled with eager and ardent Lockhart fans — mostly witches — and the entirety of the first-years. The back rows slowly filled with wizards and witches who were not so enthralled with the DADA Professor. More chairs kept appearing until everyone had a seat.

Most of the school seemed to have decided to stay. The sixth- and seventh-year students seemed largely absent — only a few witches remained. The rest were probably preparing for their NEWTs, Harry thought. They properly assumed that anything the professor deemed appropriate for second-year students was far below their interest.

“Your attention, please,” Lockhart said pompously, as if he didn’t have it already. He was standing in the centre of the raised platform that normally held the Head Table — it, too, had been moved against the wall behind it, and the chairs moved to the sides of the hall. It made for an excellent stage.

“Can everyone see me?” he asked, “Can you all clearly hear me?”

His voice carried easily to the back of the hall, without an echo. He had apparently cast a low-volume sonorous on himself so he didn’t have to yell.

“Excellent!” he said, with a self-satisfied toothy smile. “Now then, as you all may recall, we were speaking about vampires, last class. Specifically, we were discussing Renfields.”

Flitwick, McGonagall, and Madam Bones, who were seated to one side of the stage gave him interested looks. Bon Bon and Lyra were midway through the Hall, at the sides, where they could keep an easy eye on all the first-year ponies in attendance. So were many of the pony assistants to the professors. Most of the professors, on the other hoof, had used the excuse of grading assignments to escape what they expected to be a most boring lecture.

“As I said before, renfields are muggles, wizards, and witches who, for whatever silly or nefarious reason, have decided to help vampires.” He shook his head and chuckled. “This means they act as beasts of burden, scouts, servants, or whatever else their master may require of them — including giving blood!” He concluded ominously.

Many of the students in the Hall shuddered at that thought.

Lockhart gave the hall another sweeping glance.

“Their most common duty, however, is guarding their master during the day, keeping him safe from intruders, and other calamities that might befall the place in which they are residing.” He paused and took a breath.

“On the other hand,” he continued in the same menacing tone, striding across the stage, “those aren’t the only things they provide to their master that a wizard must be wary of. Skilled vampires, those vampires with a few centuries under their belts, can also form a link with their renfields! A minor possession at a distance, if you will.” He paused dramatically, sweeping the hall with another long glance.

Harry saw Elly turn and stare at the Slytherins.

“Not only can a distant vampire, through such a link, be able to determine where their renfield is, they can even hear what he hears and see what he sees!” Lockhart said dramatically, with a sweeping gesture.

“Yes, my dear students,” he said theatrically, “You could be having a conversation with a muggle, wizard, or witch, and their master could hear every word, see every expression you make. He can easily flit from one renfield to another, laying out a plot to trap you in his web, if you aren’t careful.”

The witches in his audience gasped, especially the first-year ponies.

“Fortunately,” he said is slightly reassuring tone, “There is a distance limit to that ability. Most cannot hear and see through their renfields further than the insides of a typical small house.” He shook his head. “However, if he were in here, beside me, he would accurately know where his renfields were in most of Hogwarts, with just a thought.

“The more ancient a vampire is, however, the greater those ranges become. A truly ancient vampire, for example, would be able to tell if his renfield was in the Forbidden Forrest or Hogsmeade, and communicate with them in all of Hogwarts and most of its lawns.” He started pacing.

“The problem that presents, of course, is that as long as he can feel the presence of his renfield, he can summon him closer until the renfield is close enough for direct, mind-to-mind, orders.” He stopped to give another long glance across the hall, narrowing his eyes and posing dramatically.

“Even finding a vampire asleep during the day, apparently with no one to protect him nearby, doesn’t mean the vampire is unaware of you.” He struck a melodramatic pose. “The appearance of helplessness is a ploy to trick you into lowering your guard. He has already called for his renfields to deal with you.”

He gave the hall a grim look. “If he couldn’t call for help, you would never have been able to get so close in the first place. Unless, of course, like me, you have already rendered his renfields helpless.”

He sighed heavily. “However, how do you determine if someone is a renfield?”

He spent the next quarter-hour going over the various traits shared by many renfields. It took someone of a certain personality to want to be a renfield, and that personality was decidedly unusual. They were, almost to a person, twitchy and easily distracted. They weren’t that particular about their personal appearance, either. Personal hygiene seemed to be the first to go, and they seemed to forget to take care of their clothes and other belonging. Unless it was something their master had given them to have or guard. Then they took scrupulous care of it.

Because of Elly’s warning, Harry, and the girls, tried to keep an eye on Draco, Goyle, and Crabbe.

Just as they did in Potion’s class, the two goons were seated on either side of Malfoy. Unfortunately, he couldn’t really see the Slytherins, there were too many other students in the way. However, Harry could easily imagine that they were spending most of the time joking and whispering asides to each other. Just as they did in Potions class.

“Unfortunately, these particular mannerisms and oddities are not proof of a renfield,” Lockhart said as he shook his head wryly. “There are some rather slovenly wizards, witches, and muggles out there, with equally unusual habits, after all!”

He sighed, still shaking his head. “The only way to confirm with any accuracy, if you suspect a renfield, is to use a charm.”

He turned and looked over at the Hufflepuff desks. “Miss Bones, Mr. Hopkins,” he said. Then he turned towards the Gryffindors, “Miss Granger, Mr. Potter,” he said. Then he called for Li and Cornfoot from Ravenclaw, and Parkinson and Goyle from Slytherin. “Please join me up here,” he concluded.

Harry sighed heavily when his name was called. Of course, he was going to be a part of the lesson. He almost always was. Well, at least this time he wasn’t the only one at the front of the class. Unfortunately, it was in front of most of the school. And it separated him and Hermione from the herd.

The eight of them made their ways forward and joined Lockhart on the stage. The last to stand was Goyle, amidst much whispering. He was quite reluctant.

Harry thought he saw the boy stuff his wand into his pocket, and wondered why he had had it out. He tried to note which pocket it went into. He fretfully ejected his wand from its holster and slid it back in. He kept his hand close to his robes to help conceal his nervous reaction. He could see Hermione whispering to herself, repeating some of the shielding spells they had taught themselves over the last two weeks.

The fillies and Ginny watched on anxiously.

Goyle was frowning darkly. That wasn’t an unusual expression for him, however. He was also staring at the professor suspiciously.

There was a bit of shuffling as Harry and Hermione tried to make sure that that Goyle was as far from them as possible. They ended up in a line facing the hall, the professor beside them.

“There’s nothing to fear,” Lockhart grinned broadly at them, “you can trust me to keep you safe, and nothing I will cast can harm you.” He turned back to the rest of the Hall. “Now, the problem is, if you want to check if the person you suspect is a renfield, how do you do that without him seeing or sensing you?” He turned slightly, “Professor Flitwick, would you be so kind as to darken the room so that the students can see a soft light? A full-moon night should be sufficient on this half of the platform.” He swept his arm to indicate the area he meant.

Flitwick nodded and waved his wand lightly at the ceiling that was invisible to the sky outside. Slowly, clouds began to grow from the wall. In a few seconds, the entire hall was much darker than before, with the area indicated even darker. Lockhart looked up, took several steps away from the students, then cast a spell up at the clouds, letting a beam of brighter light hit him. He looked as if he were in a spotlight while everyone else were grey shades against a darker background.

“This particular spell,” he said flamboyantly, with a sweeping gesture, “is fairly simple in concept. You can cast it easily,” he twirled his wand. “If it detects a connection between a vampire and another person, your wand tip will glow red, otherwise it will be yellow. Unfortunately, it is very dim so-as not to alert the suspected Renfield. That does limit its usefulness to night time, or dim locations.” He sighed. “The other problem is that you will probably find the renfield in a public place, like a pub or store, and not wandering by himself. So, if I were to cast this spell at these fine young wizards and witches, it would tell me one of them is in contact with his or her master, but not which one.” He turned to the group of students. “Miss Bones, please take four steps straight back.”

Harry watched her take four rather short steps.

“A bit farther, please . . .,” Lockhart prompted. “Yes, that will do,” he said when he apparently thought she was far enough back, about three yards.

The wizard cancelled the beam of light from above, and pointed his wand at Susan. He waited a few moments for everyone’s eyes to adjust to the now darker Hall. Everything was in shades of grey and Harry could see his fillies and their expressions.

After a bit, Harry could see that Lockhart’s wand-tip had a very faint yellow glow.

“If the conditions are such that you can’t chance the suspect seeing the glow,” the professor said, “turn slideways to better hide your wand, or position yourself so that your wand is partially hidden from sight behind a table, chair, or counter. There is a tiny delay between casting and your wand’s response, so you can take advantage of that to conceal the tip.” He made a show of lifting his left arm and recasting the charm with his wand barely past the edge of his hanging sleeve.

He cancelled the spell.

“If you are outside in the daylight, or a room where it’s bright enough to make it impossible or difficult to see the response, there is another charm.” He waved his wand at the clouds over his head, and the stage brightened, still leaving the rest of the Hall mostly dark. “This charm makes your wand vibrate if the suspect has a link with a vampire or is being possessed.” He pointed his wand at the students, not Susan, and cast the spell. He paused a second, and slowly shook his head. “Unfortunately, with this charm, if your wand doesn’t vibrate, you don’t know if the lack of a response means you cast the spell wrong, missed your target, or they aren’t connected to a vampire.” He turned and grinned at the Hall. “Unless you’re me. Being the talented and versatile adventurer I am, I never miss or miscast. Just refer to my books for a small portion of my adventures.”

He turned back to the students on stage and grinned again. “Spread apart a bit, would you please?” he said.

Harry glanced at Hermione. She nodded, and they moved towards the back of the impromptu stage, away from the others and a bit closer to Lockhart. They were all about a yard from each other when Lockhart cheerfully said, “That’s good enough.” He looked back and forth across the students on the stage, then pointed his wand at Hermione. Harry couldn’t help but reach for his wand, as did Hermione.

“The next charm,” he said quietly, “is not subtle. It is best used only when you are a safe distance from your suspected renfield. It gives away your suspicion of him or her, and the target might attack you or run. In fact, you should only use it when you have the suspect surrounded by your allies.”

Lockhart said something quickly, and a yellow light glowed around Hermione. “You see?” he said stepping closer to the other students and in front of Harry and Hermione.

What happened next took everyone by surprise.

Lockhart flicked his wand to the end of the row of students, towards either Goyle or Parkinson, Harry couldn’t tell from where he stood.

“Stupefy,” he said.

Time seemed to move in slow motion, yet too fast for anypony to react.

Parkinson and the others gaped at the professor.

Goyle, shockingly, didn’t. He agilely jumped to the side, yelling “flipendo,” at the top of his lungs before the knock-back jinx had crossed half the stage.

That was when Harry realized that Goyle had apparently had his wand in hand the entire time, partially concealed up his robe’s sleeve. Fortunately, so had he and Hermione. Their shields popped up almost before they could say the incantation. They had been practicing surprising each other all week.

Goyle’s curse threw Lockhart across the stage.

Malfoy and Crabbe instantly stood and shouted “Bombarda maxima,” at the top of their lungs. The bright-red light-pulses were clearly visible in the darkened Hall. They shot up to the ceiling, and violently exploded.

Lockhart crashed into Flitwick, McGonagall, and Bones. He knocked them off their chairs, entangling them.

A bright-red flash of light splashed against Harry’s shield.

Smoke started billowing from Goyle’s wand as hundreds began to scream and yell.

Harry grabbed Hermione’s hand and teleported in front of his herdmates, expanding his shield to cover them.

Chunks of the ceiling began to fall. Bon Bon and Lyra cast spells, along with several of the quicker older students at the back of the hall.

Shields popped up around the rest of Harry’s friends in second-year. Harry swung his arm, and yelled, “To the wall!” at the fillies and Ginny. He body-bumped into Hermione to get her moving in the same direction.

Spells from a few of the Prefects shot into the cloud of smoke covering the stage area where the Slytherins and Ravenclaws had stood. Malfoy and Crabbe, meanwhile, had turned their wands on those seated beside them, casting cutting curses. The smoke from the stage spread quickly, covering everything in a haze, making it incredibly difficult to see in the already darkened hall. The screaming and yelling made it impossible for anypony to be heard.

Harry curved his shield to cover his herd from those on the stage and the audience. They huddled under that stacked tables for protection from the pieces of falling debris. Hermione had switched to trying to slow the larger pieces’ descent. The others quickly followed her lead.

Hundreds of students were trying to escape, colliding with each other, knocking each other down, and trampling over each other in panic. Ron and Neville were casting the strongest shields they knew over the students, and trying to rally as many others as possible.

Flitwick, Bones, and McGonagall, were trying to regain their feet, but were tripping over Lockhart and each other. Flitwick gave up and cast some sort of shield charm from his position on the floor.

Instead of crushing whomever was unlucky enough to be under it, a beam of wood as thick around as Dudley crashed into the shield. It was barely two yards from the floor, and much less than that over the stage. Bones rolled sideways, away from the others, and cast a stupefy towards the two, now-isolated, Slytherin students who were still casting curses. It took her three tries to get them, the smoke, darkeness, and chaos not helping.

The two made no attempt to dodge or shield against her attacks. They collapsed to the floor. Dust and smoke billowed everywhere.

Bones then lunged to her feet and sent a great wind from her wand across the stage. Someone dispelled the clouds overhead, putting everything into bright view. The stage was empty except for three bodies on the lying on it. From their long hair, two were Parkinson and Li. The third was too small to be Goyle, so it had to be Cornfoot, Harry guessed. Whether they were dead or alive was impossible to tell.

Susan, and Wayne were crouched at the wall at the back of the stage. Their shield charms were outlined in the dust swirling around them. McGonagall was trying to restore calm, but she was running against a definite headwind — Harry knew the ponies were quite good at panicking and staying that way for a time.

The Hall was sheer pandemonium. The students were still rushing around — especially the many transformed and colourful ponies, Harry could see. Many were coughing and choking in the dust clouds drifting around. There was too much noise for anypony to hear anypony else. McGonagall’s cannon-blasts from her wand to get attention merely added to the confusion.

Apple Bloom had paused shielding to cast bubble-head charms on the herd, Ron and Neville.

Flitwick looked strained as more and more debris accumulated against his shield.

“Sweetie Belle!” Harry yelled. She happened to be looking at him, so that helped. He pointed at the stuff falling from the ceiling, and then re-cast his shield to cover as much of the hall as possible. They quickly caught on and added their efforts to Flitwick’s. Other students saw them and started to help, too. It wasn’t much, they were only second-years, but every little bit helped.

The DMLE director had moved to stand over the two Slytherin students. A silvery animal shot out of her wand. A moment later, it vanished through one of the walls. She swept her wand and cleared a wide swath of the air of both smoke and the dust that had fallen from above and hadn’t settled to the floor. Harry could clearly see her now standing in a wide circle of blood-stained stone among the scattered and knocked-over second-year desks.

McGonagall repeated the Director’s action, and sent a white cat charging out of the Hall in another direction, not towards the Hospital Wing. House-elves started popping in and began transporting injured students to safety. There were a lot of them.

There was no sign of Goyle.

Lockhart was out cold, a wide swath of blood covering his face. He was crumpled on his side on the floor, the professors’ knocked-over chairs on either side of him.

The next ten minutes were continuing bedlam. Flitwick and the uninjured second-years were trying to prevent anypony from being killed as the Great Hall slowly collapsed around them. The other professors, even Trelawney, had to fight their way inside the Hall against the tide of panicked students trying to flood out. Heightening the chaos were the occasional crashes as something heavy managed to crash to the floor at the areas where the shields didn’t reach, or failed.

Between them all, however, they managed to shore-up the ceiling with temporary sticking charms.

The Hall was nearly empty when the running Aurors finally arrived. They stopped, stunned, at the damage they could see. Several tripped and fell when Flitwick ordered some of the older students to cut their shields. That allowed some of the heavier roof-debris to crash safely to the Hall’s unoccupied floor areas.

With the help of the Aurors, the rest of the debris was lifted from the shield Flitwick had held, and moved to the walls.

Director Bones, dirty and grimy, as they all were, stood over the two Slytherin boys. They were coated in a layer dust, now.

Harry just collapsed by the wall, too tired to move on, once Flitwick told them to drop the shields they had been holding. There were about twenty others, mostly second-year, on both sides of the Hall. There was another group of older students at the back of the Hall. They had been too far away to be of anything but minimal help to those at head of the Hall. Still, they had been of tremendous assistance in preventing the Great Hall roof from completely caving in and crushing the students until help arrived.

Whatever Elly had been trying to warn them about, clearly this was not it! Otherwise, she would have said something more definite — and been better prepared, herself! He could see her and her cousins a bit down the wall from him, huddled together. When she saw him looking, she gave him a sad smile.

It had involved the Dark Trio, however, as well as Lockhart. Without her warning, they would never have practiced those shield spells. Without her warning, he never would have expected something to go wrong when it did. Without her warning, he never would have had a shield up to stop whatever that red spell had been that had hit it.

He owed her another debt.

Harry could only agree as Hermione, beside him, muttered, “Thank Merlin we practiced those shield spells!”

But, as Elly had said, the connection between Lockhart and the trio had been slight, at best. It seemed like the professor had suspected one of the Dark Trio, too. Today’s class had been his fumbling attempt to corner whomever was responsible.

It was no mystery why he hadn’t confided in anypony else, Harry thought. If he had done that, he would have had to share the glory when he unmasked Goyle’s possession.

It didn’t take long for a group of the higher-ranked Aurors to reach their Director. Harry quickly cast a directional hearing charm on his ear to listen in.

He rapidly realized she knew even less than he did.

Susan’s aunt was an unknown. Would she even listen to him? He wondered if he should tell her what he knew? He had a feeling she would brush him off, like all the adult wizards here did. If his mum had been here, he would have told her.

“Professor Lockhart was teaching a special class on vampire renfields,” Bones said to the Aurors. “He had just finished casting a possession-detection charm when he suddenly shot a stupefy at Mr. Goyle’s son. The boy apparently suspected the professor might attack him, and dodged his charm. He returned a filpendo that knocked the man across the stage and into me and the two professors watching the class.”

She shook her head. “These two Slytherins, for whatever reason, decided to throw bombardo maximas at the ceiling at the same time that their friend cast a flipendo at Lockhart.” She shook her head. “After that, while he cast a fumos, and they started to lay about with cutting spells at their classmates.” She sighed heavily. “They didn’t even try to dodge or shield.” She shook her head. “Take them to St. Mungo’s under guard, and have them checked for possession, compulsion, and obliviation, and any other spells you can think of.” She rubbed her face. “They are to be restrained at all times, and their magic blocked.”

She looked around at the wreckage. “We’ll be lucky if no one died.” She paused a moment, then gloomily added, “Or dies.”

She sighed. “Mr. Goyles son, Gregory, I think his name is, was no-where in sight when we cleared the smoke, so I think he has fled. Send a detail through the school, searching for him. Alert all Aurors that he is to be stunned on sight. He is to be considered extremely dangerous, and might be in the company of a vampire of undetermined age or sex. Search the premises for a coffin or burial urn.”

She turned to another Auror. “Dispatch a team to the Goyle House for a picture of the boy, give a copy to the Daily Prophet. Give them a brief explanation that there was a terrible accident at Hogwarts. The boy is under the impression he is in trouble, and is running away. He is not to be confronted because he might react violently, and hurt someone.”

She took a deep breath. “I’ll stay here and we’ll start interviewing the witnesses.” She gave them a piercing look. “Go!” They quickly left the Hall, floating the two boys behind them, as she rubbed her face with one hand.

She turned and climbed back onto the stage. She walked over to her niece and the others collapsed to the stage floor.

Elly would be in the same position of not being taken seriously because of her age, Harry knew. As a foreigner, too, her opinion would be ignored. Just as things Sue Li and the Patils said were ignored by the half- and pure-bloods. Those three might be pure-bloods, but they weren’t English.

That attitude was slowly changing with the massive influx of ponies into Hogwarts. Unfortunately, the outside witching world would still regard them as unreliable foreigners for many years.

However, before he could think further on the situation, Lyra Heartstrings came hurrying into the Hall. She immediately got a relieved expression at seeing the group of students huddled together not far from stage. She swiftly crossed the debris-strewn floor to them. “Are you all alright,” she addressed them all searchingly. However, her eyes were primarily on Harry and the fillies.

“We’re fine,” Harry said tiredly. “Maybe a few bruises, a bit tired, but nothing more, right,” he said glancing at the others. The gave mute nods for the most part, with one or two mumbled, “yeahs.”

She nodded. “Good, I’ll tell Bon Bon the second-years are okay, and we’ll double-check the firsties.” Suiting action to words, she turned and ran out of the room.

Almost immediately, an Auror loomed over them. “Come on,” he said gruffly, “You need to leave before anything else falls off the ceiling. It should be stable for now, but you never know.” He made shooing motions with his hands. “Oh, and don’t discuss anything you saw in here until we’ve had a chance to interview you properly, okay?” He studied their faces, then nodded.

Reluctantly, they climbed to their feet and tiredly left the ruined Great Hall, staying close to the walls for safety and dodging the debris that had fallen. Harry knew, however, that by tomorrow most of the damage would be repaired. In fact, Harry could already see several of the Aurors shifting the debris back up into the ceiling area and casting repair charms.

He didn’t see any sign of Elly or her cousins, anymore. Except for that one brief glimpse at the beginning, he hadn’t paid much attention to anypony except his herd-mates.

For all that had happened, Harry thought he and his friends had gotten out of it unscathed, except for maybe bruises. Especially lucky, he couldn’t help but think as he noticed the splotches of blood on the floor as they exited into the entry way. An Auror stationed there directed them, “If you are uninjured, return to your common room. Do not discuss what you’ve seen until you talk with an Auror.” He waved them onward.

^-~-^

Ch. 34. Slip-sliding Away

Harry and his friends were on the staircase to the seventh floor when Scootaloo said, “Well. At least they can’t blame this catastrophe on the Cutie Mark Crusaders!”

“Yeah,” agreed Sweetie Belle. “I don’t know anypony crazy enough to be a Vampire Hunter, anyway.” She shuddered.

Ron sighed heavily. “Do ya think they’re gonna cancel the Quidditch match?”

They all turned and stared at him.

He shrugged. “Well, do you?”

They looked back down the stairs. “I don’t see how they could still have the match,” Ginny said. “Who knows if any of the Quidditch players were injured.”

“Oh, Merlin,” Ron said with a horrified look, “I didn’t think of that! Oliver will be beside himself, if anyone is.”

Hermione huffed and rolled her eyes. “With most of the school confined to their common rooms, I don’t think there would be many spectators at the game, anyway, Ron.”

Ron slowly nodded.

“Look on the bright side,” Harry said, “Now we’ll have another week to practice before the game!”

Ron cheered up at that thought.

The battle in the Great Hall was the main topic of the common room, despite the best efforts of the Prefects. Fortunately, most of the discussions were about what they did to get out of the Great Hall, and dodging the stuff falling from the ceiling. And complaining about who had pushed them or stepped on their toes. There was also much wondering if Goyle had been possessed by a vampire, or acting for some other reason.

Plus, for the older students, there was a lot of commentary on how the Slytherins were always causing trouble for those they considered “below them.” That Malfoy and Crabbe had been attacking their fellow pure-blood Slytherins just threw everything into a tailspin.

Could they have been possessed, too?

Were there three vampires hiding in the school?

Oliver, oblivious once he saw that his team members were all unharmed, was already planning out when he wanted to schedule practice sessions in the coming week. That he would have to work with the Hufflepuff captain on that was a minor consideration — the Hufflepuffs almost never practiced in the early morning.

^-~-^

Tom cursed under his breath at the morning’s events as he walked out of the Leaky Cauldron and into Diagon Alley. The moment that fraud had mentioned possession, Tom knew things were going to go pear-shaped. The man was a better actor than Tom had expected. He had certainly managed to fool Tom into thinking he didn’t suspect anything.

A silencing spell around the three of them in the Great Hall while the fraud pontificated on renfields had given him time to throw together some last-minute plans. It had allowed him to place compulsions on Crabbe and Draco on what to do, based on what he did.

In the best of all worlds, he had hoped to slip through the class undetected, avoiding a confrontation. In which case, the other two would do nothing and he would obliviate them later of what he had instructed. If he had been detected but, but wasn’t trapped under a barrage of curses, he would have needed a distraction to escape the Hall. In the worst case, where he was under attack by more than one professor, the two stooges would send bombardas at the professors, and everyone around them.

As he had half-expected, he had been detected, but only by Lockhart. The fool clearly hadn’t confided in the other professors what he suspected, or what he planned. If he had, Dumbledore would never have left the Hall after breakfast. The other professors casual attitudes, and the matching attitudes of their assistants, had shown they equally were unprepared for anything other than a boring class. Lockhart casting the knock-out jinx had caught them by surprise. But not him. He had been expecting an attack as soon as he stood up from his desk to go onto the stage.

He had had Goyle immediately cast at the professor as powerful a flipendo as the boy could manage. He had wanted to use a bombardo, but that would have instantly killed the wizard. It had been much better to use the knockback-jinx to fling him into the other professors. That had surprised and delayed their response.

His two “friends” had cast bombarda maxima at the ceiling, as he had compulsed them to do if he attacked anyone. The ceiling coming down had been perfect for sowing confusion and terror. Then they had started casting cutting-curses at their classmates. The screaming that caused had drawn attention to them and away from him.

He had had Goyle follow his knock-back jinx with a powerful cutting curse at Potter. Unfortunately, he hadn’t had the time to see how badly he had hurt the boy. Those two spells had almost exhausted Goyle, and the boy had barely had the magic left to cast the smokescreen jinx to cover his escape. No one would find traces of his magic when they examined the Hall, later. He had used the cloud of smoke to escape the Hall through the Professor’s Door.

He had shrunken his trunk this morning, not trusting a “special” class in DADA to be totally innocuous, and had it in his pocket. Goyle’s exhaustion after casting the spells had the benefit of making it easier to control him. His magic was too weak for the normal innate resistance to a possession. It also lowered the resistance of the boy’s soul to his absorption.

A disillusionment charm, cast by Tom, he still had full reserves of his magic, had covered his retrieval of his fidelius-protected diary in the library, and his subsequent escape through the one-eyed witch’s tunnel to Hogsmeade.

Months ago, he had stolen and dis-illusioned a Hogwarts broom. He had stuck it just inside the tunnel, in the corner where the wall met the ceiling. That preparation had made it a quick trip to the Hogsmeade exit in the basement of Honeydukes. However, instead of sneaking into Hogsmeade, he had stayed in the tunnel underneath the shop. He had quickly stripped and used the polyjuice he had blackmailed another student into acquiring for him, just a few weeks ago, when he came up with this impromptu escape route.

This vial had a hair fragment from a random witch he had seen in Diagon Alley. His pursuers would never think he had not only used Polyjuice, but had switched genders, as well. He had transformed his clothes into something more appropriate to his new adult size and sex, then put them on. A few adjustments, and it had become the perfect disguise.

Through one of the basement windows, he had heard the Aurors arriving. They were racing from the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade to Hogwarts. He had grinned widely just before he disapparated, still undetected, from below the basement.

Apparating to, and getting inside, the Goyle House had been a matter of seconds. He had again dis-illusioned himself, the better to accomplish his goals undetected by either his “parents” or any of the portraits in the house.

His luck had held good. Goyle’s mother was off visiting a friend, apparently, and his father had been in his study. Tom had stuck his wand into the room at floor level, and stunned the man.

Getting the vault key had been just as easy as he had thought it would be. It had been in the currently-unlocked centre desk-drawer. He had taken Goyle Senior’s “walking money” money pouch from the wizard’s pocket.

Tom had considered breaking into the house safe. He had decided, instead, that the bank vault would be more lucrative given his limited amount of time before word got out that the Aurors were searching for Goyle.

He had then propped the older man up, carefully, with a weak sticking charm on his chair. After picking up a few other things, he had rennervated him and left while the man was still somewhat disoriented. With the smallest bit of luck, the man would think he had been momentarily distracted and not realize he had been knocked out for a period of time.

Hopefully, the fool wouldn’t look for either his key or his walking money for the next hour or so. Longer than that, and both items would be back in his home-office. He would be most unhappy to learn he had no walking money, but he would probably blame the empty wallet on his wife. It would be only when he used his key to access his vault to replenish his wallet that he would discover he had no galleons, sickles, or knuts. The Goyle family would be in for some hard times in the near future, until their business brought in some more profits.

Unless they had some big bills come in that needed immediate attention. Then they might have to sell something they’d rather keep. On the other hand, Goyle, Senior, hadn’t been caught when the Ministry came looking for Death Eater paraphernalia or other dark items. So maybe he wasn’t as stupid as his son.

But that wasn’t Tom’s problem.

He had frozen the portraits in the floo-room before waking in and closing the door. He had dismissed the dis-illusionment charm, floo-ed to the Leaky Cauldron, and now he was in Diagon Alley. He needed to purchase a second expanded bag, visit Gringotts, and pack as much into his new bag as possible.

He smoothed his hair with one hand, sneered at a nearby hag, and set off down the Alley at a quick, no nonsense pace. He spotted Truckle’s Trunks a few minutes later without difficulty.

Truckle’s Trunks, was a small, dingy, shabby shop from the outside, yet the inside was bigger and brighter than one could expect. There were stacks of trunks everywhere. One wall had a stack from floor to ceiling of standard Hogwarts trunks: black with wooden rails around the edges at the ends and two around the middle. There was one open on the floor on top of a waist high stack. Like his current trunk, the others were about three by two by one foot in size, with a handle at each end.

There were other stacks of three or four on the opposite wall with several stacks in the middle of the room. What differentiated those trunks, though, were the signs. “Double-Closet,” “Three Compartments,” “Two Rooms,” and “Deluxe Apartment,” were up front. A moment later, the shop-clerk came out of the back room.

“Good morning,” he happily proclaimed. “I’m Mister Truckle, the proprietor of this fine establishment.” He grinned at Tom.

Tom frowned at the wizard. He easily had enough for a trunk, but he suspected he would need an expanded trunk. Without preamble, he said, “How much is the two-room, plain, shrinkable trunk?”

He blinked, looked at the trunk, then said, “Forty-nine galleons.”

Tom repressed his sigh. That would take all his galleons in one go. But, then again, he was headed for Gringotts. So . . ., “Forty-one galleons.”

The wizard shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said sadly, “but I couldn’t take anything less than forty-eight galleons.”

They settled on forty-seven galleons, fifteen sickles, and thirteen knuts — and a small, expanded bag.

Once more in the Alley, he cast a notice-me-not spell-variant on himself that he had created decades ago, or only a few years ago, depending on your point of view. He emptied Goyle Senior’s wallet into his new expanded bag. Then he carefully scoured the wallet of any trace of evidence that he had touched it. He portkeyed the now-clueless wallet onto the floor beside the desk in Goyle senior’s office. He would do the same to the Vault key once he was done, returning it to the desk-drawer where he had found it.

The Goyles would never suspect Tom had pillaged their vault, or stolen the galleons in the wizard’s wallet. Only that someone had done it. They would blame the goblins, no doubt. And drive deeper the distrust between the goblins and wizards.

Dismissing the spells, he continued on to Gringotts.

Walking in, he was well aware of the more than normal suspicious looks he was getting. Did they, perchance, have a spell that could detect polyjuice? He wouldn’t put it past the murderous little thieves.

He waited patiently in line. As soon as he reached the counter, he leaned forward and whispered, “I am not who I appear as. I am using Polyjuice to evade my enemies.” He slid the vault-key across the counter to the goblin. “Who are not you,” he added. That that was true only for this visit was beside the point.

The goblin picked up the key, sneering. He examined it carefully, then called, “Hooksword!”

A young goblin came running up.

“Take this . . . customer . . . to this vault.” He handed the key back to Tom.

The goblin turned on his heel, saying, “Follow me,” and set a rapid pace for the back of the bank.

Tom gritted his teeth and kept the sneer off his face. For the moment, he wanted to remain as non-descript as possible for the other customers in the bank. He quickly followed the goblin. Luckily, his longer legs made it easy to catch up.

Minutes later, they were hurtling through the tunnels and caverns at a breakneck speed. The cart rattled and shook as if it were about to fall apart, and unsupported-rails bowed and swayed as the cart shot across bottomless chasms. Tom had to restrain himself from whooping with delight at the experience.

Being an orphan, he had never had the chance to open his own vault. He had had only the stories his associates had told him of the times they had visited their family vaults with their parents. Those stories had ranged from terrifying to exciting to boring, depending on the temperament of the person — and their innate belief in telling the truth. Or lack of such belief.

He decided it was exciting. He resolved to open a vault of his own, in the future. The rides to and from would be an excellent way to reduce his stress levels. He could see himself visiting his vault several times a day, in fact.

Finally, the cart coasted to halt in front of a large metal door. He could see others dotting both sides of the long tunnel they were in.

“Key,” said the goblin in a bored tone as they climbed out of the cart.

The goblin snatched the proffered key from his hand and strode over to the door. He shifted the cover of the keyhole to the side, placed the key inside, and turned it. There was a loud CLACK! He leaned forward and caressed the door with two fingers. The door shimmied a moment, then opened outward with an even louder screech. Green fog wafted from the room inside.

Hooksword stood to one-side and leaned, bored, against the wall.

Tom stepped inside the vault and was not impressed. Or, at least, he tried to pretend he wasn’t impressed. The room was twice the size of the dorm room he shared with the other second-years in Slytherin. He had always dismissed as exaggerations his associates’ stories of the size of the vaults. Especially as he knew how small the storage boxes were at muggle banks.

Three-quarters of the room was filled with stacked furniture, portraits, and heirlooms of dubious quality. Those he dismissed out of hand. In fact, it reminded him most of the Room of Requirement, in that respect, only there were no obviously broken items or school contra-brand.

The other quarter of the room, however, did impress him. There were three stacks — mounds, actually — of stacked coins: galleons, sickles, and knuts. Each mound came almost to his waist. There had to be many thousands of coins. It was much more than he had ever seen in his life.

He took out his new bag and filled it with several hundred galleons. Then he pulled out his shrunken trunk, enlarged it, and opened it. He turned to the door and said, “May I use my wand to gather the coins I need?”

His associates of long ago had insisted that using your wand without express permission was a quick way to losing your vault. The fines were truly breath-taking — they were based on a percentage of the vault’s value, not a set number, and scaled up with each unauthorized spell. It took only a handful of such casting to empty a vault, regardless of the vault’s content’s value.

Hooksword peered around the edge of the door, sneered, and said, “Only that.”

Tom nodded, and promptly cast the spell that would send the remainder of the galleons into his trunk — there was still a rather impressive pile. Then he did the same for the sickles. Both would easily fit in one room. As the coins streamed through the air, he considered what to do with the knuts. They really were beneath his notice. He could take and destroy them . . . but that was petty, really. The Goyle’s were truly quite accommodating with letting him drain their only son of his life. Even if they didn’t know that was what they were contributing to his resurrection.

He decided to benevolent and leave the knuts alone.

As soon as the coins were all in the trunk, he closed it. He took one last look around. There might be more valuables in the vault, but he didn’t want to waste time searching for them. He was under a deadline with the Polyjuice, after all. He shrunk the trunk, then returned to the cart, saying, “I am finished.”

After a second thrilling ride, he returned to the lobby and sought out another clerk. “A hundred galleons made into quid,” he ordered, taking the coins out of his new bag and stacking them on the counter.

His eyebrows rose as the goblin replaced the golden coins with an impressive stack of hundred-pound notes. That was quite a bit more than what he had expected. He slid two bills from the stack. “Exchange these two for tens,” he said.

Satisfied after stowing the funds in his bag, he made his way back into the Alley. It was past midmorning now, and his time as a woman was quickly running out. He took a moment to portkey the vault-key back into the drawer he had fetched it from at the Goyles, then headed for the Leaky Cauldron.

He wished he could see Goyle Senior’s face when he looked into his vault and saw the empty spaces formerly occupied by galleons and sickles.

He quickly covered himself with a notice-me-not and snuck into the wizard’s restroom on the second floor. He carefully locked the door, then stripped out of his clothes and waited out the remainder of the polyjuice. In the meantime, he cast a permanent muggle-aversion charm on his undetectably-expanded bag. He could take it out in public for funds without any of the muggles noticing what he was doing was impossible. Thet wouldn’t notice the bag if he waved it in front of their noses. They would assume he put away or retrieved anything he put in or took out as coming from his pocket — no matter how silly, ridiculous, or absurd that might be.

Magic was a wonderful tool.

Ten minutes later, a dapper-looking man in a top-hat walked out of the restroom and quickly made his way out the Leaky Cauldron’s street door.

Stepping outside the Leaky Cauldron into London was shocking. The city had changed from what he had known. Not the buildings, but everything else. The cars were sleeker, much more colourful, and there were far more of them. The lorries were giant, colourful, painted advertisements for their owners. The streets were cleaner, too. He glanced at the bookstore beside the pub, and had to do a doubletake. Gone were the drab green, brown, and black books he was familiar with. The books on display were more like magazine covers, with bright pictures of people, scenes, and locations. Through the glass, he could see that the inside was just as colourful, brighter, and more welcoming, too. If he hadn’t been on a schedule, he might have gone inside.

The people had changed the most. Many of the girls and women he could see were wearing trousers, like common tramps — and their skirts! They were so short it was positively scandalous. Some were so short they could almost be called extra-wide belts! How did they escape being arrested for indecent exposure?

Not that he didn’t appreciate the view. But to go out like that in public!?

Their hair was similarly disturbing, some with colours that were not natural to either nature or muggles. And the men! Not a hat in sight, and ties were definitely uncommon. He even saw a man wearing shorts!

Muggle society obviously had changed greatly while he slumbered in his diary. He dispelled his hat and tie, then changed the illusion to more closely match what he saw the majority of the men wearing. Luckily, this close to the Leaky Cauldron, the muggle-aversion magic cloaked what he was doing. It also meant the Ministry would ignore any alerts about underaged magic being cast.

An auror seeing him would just assume he was modifying his appearance to blend in, and think no more of the matter. Except maybe to commend him for being so conscious of the Statute of Secrecy.

It took only a bit of searching to locate a taxi. “The Post Office on Bexley High Street, if you please,” he said, sliding into the back seat. The ruffian in the driver’s seat, he wasn’t even wearing a suit, nodded, “At once, sir.” He pulled out into traffic.

While they were driving, Tom took the opportunity to survey what he could see of the city. It had changed, remarkably so. In 1945, the tallest building in London had been St Paul’s Cathedral, and that was only because of the spire on top. Now, he could several building that dwarfed the Cathedral — not with spires, but with occupied floors of offices or flats! He saw at least one that had to be twice as tall as the Cathedral. Any one of those monsters could house every English wizard and witch, with room to spare!

There were far more people, too. At least, the streets seemed busier. There were certainly more vehicles in sight. It would seem that nowadays far more people drove into the city than took the trains.

Finally, they arrived. “That’ll be two quid,” the man said, turning in his seat. Normally, Tom would have obliviated him. However, his host was still under seventeen. As such, any use of magic by him this far from a wizarding enclave would be detected by the underage trace.

The trace was placed on the wizard, not the wand, as many of his colleagues at school had supposed. Idiots.

Being traced was the last thing he wanted at this juncture. He pulled out a ten from his pocket and handed it to the man. While the driver busied himself with getting change, Tom looked around the street. He shouldn’t have too much trouble finding a flat for the night.

He took his change, gave the man a one-quid tip, and started slowly down the pavement. If not for the cars and the way people dressed, the street looked remarkably like any street he had known in London . . . before the blitz had hit. Then, every street had its share of bomb damage marring its appearance.

He passed several eateries before finally stopping at one and ordering two large lunch-sandwiches and two bottles of fizzy drink called coca cola. What a weird idea for a fizzy. However, it was almost lunch time, and he did need something to drink, after all. He ordered two because one would be his dinner. He stopped between two buildings and stowed his meals and drinks inside his bag.

He continued on until he found a hotel. He brought out his trunk, unshrunk it, and carried it into the lobby of the hotel. The clerk behind the counter looked up from whatever he was doing.

Tom smiled as he walked up to the counter. “Do you have a single available for a week?”

The man frowned a moment, and looked at the row of small boxes on the wall behind the counter. He turned back. “You’re in luck, one of the single’s left early this morning and room-service just finished setting it to rights.” He retrieved the key as he stated the weekly and monthly rates, and turned the guest book around for Tom to fill out.

Ten minutes later, Tom was in his room and wolfing down his lunch. A last meal for the condemned, you might call it. Besides, there was no real reason to suffer the pangs of hunger for no reason. Dinner this evening would be his first real meal since he had entered the diary, fifty years ago. It would be interesting to compare his taste buds’ reactions to the food over those of the soon-to-be-late Goyle’s.

While the day had started disastrously, it seemed to have played out well for him in the end. He had made it this far without encountering any trouble. The rest of this afternoon, and possibly evening, he would absorb Gregory’s soul, and finally return to the land of the living. It should only take a few more hours, it wouldn’t be past early evening, even if he took his time. However, there was no need to be cautious, anymore.

In fact, considering what he had heard the ponies mention about their Princess Twilight, he should probably push it as hard as he could. She might know of a magic to trace the boy’s magic or soul. The sooner neither remained, the more secure he would feel.

Might as well get it done with. It would take him a while to get used to having a body, again. He expected that remembering to eat would be the most annoying.

Tom’s new body, basically his old body, but reborn, wouldn’t have the trace on it. Goyle’s wand would work for him, but not well, he knew. He could force it to work for him until he got a new one. He would have to make a trip on a ferry to the continent for that. He would have to brush up on his French and German.

On the plus side, the further he was from the English Ministry, the better.

The diary would be useless when the transfer was complete. He would need to disable its protections before he could destroy it. Which wouldn’t take any longer that it would to dispose of Gregory’s corpse.

Well, at least he had intended to destroy Gregory’s body. Leave no traces had been his plan. After some thinking while walking, though, he had changed his mind. Instead, he would conjure a snake, without venom, and have it bite the boy’s neck in the proper place. Then he would carefully drain most of his blood into a container.

The boy had, after all, freely allowed Tom to possess his body. So, it was freely given blood — a very powerful potion’s ingredient. It would keep for a very long time under a stasis charm.

He would leave just enough blood in the corpse to maintain the fiction that a vampire was responsible — it was impossible to completely drain a body of blood without a special spell, after all. At a certain point, the heart just stopped beating. There was always a little blood leftover all over the inside of the body, as a result. Plus, not leaving any blood would be a clue contrary to the fiction he was trying to build.

When the body was found, the Ministry would conclude that Goyle had been done in by a rogue vampire. The parents would grieve and vow revenge. They would demand the Ministry avenge this wrong. The Ministry would launch into a nationwide hunt, eating up their resources for no profit, searching for someone who didn’t exist. The populace would be terrified that one of them could be next.

The failure of the Ministry to solve the crime would help besmirch their reputation in the eyes of the public. It was all to the good, from his point of view.

Delicious chaos to those damnable pure-bloods. They had thought they were better than him, but his parent soul had obviously shown them the error of their beliefs. He had pushed more families into extinction than even the goblins had managed during their various wars!

All while fooling those simpletons into believing he was a pure-blood himself! Ah, the wonderful irony.

Tomorrow, he would plant the suggestion in the clerk’s mind that he was still here, then he would leave for France. Dover to Dunkirk would be fastest, although Newhaven to Dieppe would be closer to Paris.

The clerk would think he stayed the entire week before leaving. That should throw off any pursuit. He would place a timed muggle-aversion charm on room’s door to keep everyone away until next week, too.

There might be a smell, but they wouldn’t be able to track the source until he had been gone for six days.

The Ministry obliviators would have fun cleaning up this incident.

No one would think Tom was to blame.

^-~-^

Ch. 35. Interrogation and Contemplation

Not too long after Harry and the others entered the common room, a squad of aurors came in. The lead auror, grim-faced, with black hair and a no-nonsense attitude, quickly took control. “Alright, everyone,” he said loudly, “Listen up! I want everyone who was not in the Great Hall to go over beside the door to the boys’ side of the tower.

Harry had learned that the students not in the Great Hall had been popped to the Common Room by the house-elves as soon as all the wounded students had been moved to the Hospital Wing. The house-elves had told them to tell everyone else that the Castle was on lockdown and everyone had to remain in the Tower until further notice.

It wasn’t a very large group, consisting primarily of fifth, sixth, and seventh-year boys, with a scattering of a few girls.

You,” the auror pointed at one of the Prefects, “go up and make sure everyone is down here.”

The Prefect nodded and started up the stairs, taking two steps at a time.

He pointed at one of the girl Prefects. “You do the same for the girls’ side.”

She immediately headed up the stairs, but not at the pace the boy had taken.

“Next, everyone who was seated in the desks in the Great Hall, and anyone who thinks they were close enough in the first rows of chairs to get a good look at what happened, go over to the fireplace!” This was a larger group comprising primarily of all the second-year students and a fair number of first-year’s. Harry noted that most of the first-years joining the group were ponies. No doubt the Pegasi would have had the best view given the leak-over of superior vision into humans that that gave them.

The auror looked around the room. “Everyone else, go over there,” and he pointed to area to the left of the Common Room entrance. That was, by far, the largest group.

The aurors quickly split up and went to the different groups. Five went to the last, one to the first, and two to Harry’s group. Based on the numbers, it made sense. Interviewing the first group would take only a few minutes per person to ascertain that they really hadn’t been in the Great Hall. The last group would take more time to weed out those who could contribute something useful from those who couldn’t. The information they might provide, however, was slight compared to the students who had been closest.

Harry and Hermione, having been on the stage, were the first two picked out to be interviewed by their assigned aurors. They had been closest, and had seen everything that had happened on the stage, after all. And on-stage had been where all the action had been.

They were standing slightly to the side of the rest of the group when the aurors came over to them. The one who singled out Harry was a large, bronze-skinned man, well-proportioned, and had bronze-hair with an exaggerated widow’s peak. “Hello,” he said, walking up to them. It was only as he came close that Harry realized he was tall, easily taller than Mr. Weasley. However, he moved lightly on his feet, as if he could move in any direction at an instant’s notice.

“I’m Auror Savage.” He had brown eyes were flecked with gold that drew Harry’s attention, but he found he had difficulty looking into them for very long.

The two students both nodded and murmured, “Hello,” in turn, a bit intimidated by the aurors. Adults were scary enough with having the authority of the Ministry behind them, too.

“So, you two were on the stage with Professor Lockhart, right?”

They nodded again.

“Alright, then,” he said looking back and forth between them. “Let’s start with you, right lad?” He gestured over to two armchairs under a window of the Common Room. Harry nodded uneasily and headed for the indicated corner. Hermione and the other auror were headed to a spot only slightly distant from where Harry would be.

The auror pushed one armchair and shifted a second so they faced one another. “Make yourself comfortable,” the man said, then lifted his wand and made a few short gestures. “There now,” he said in a satisfied tone, “We’re all blurry to everyone else so they can’t see our expressions or read our lips. Plus, while we can hear them, they can’t hear us.” He settled into his chair and looked Harry over. “We don't want to be distracted by other conversations, do we.”

Harry nodded hesitantly. He didn’t have a lot of trust in the Ministry or its employees.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small clear crystal and attached it to his robes, just over the centre of his chest. “First things first,” he said briskly. “This is an official recording of a first interview. I am Auror Clark Savage, Junior. I am at Hogwarts, in the Gryffindor Common Room, and I am interviewing . . .,” He paused and looked at Harry, raising his eyebrows inquisitively.

Harry nodded nervously, staring at the crystal. “Uh, Harry James Potter-Sparkle.”

The Auror lifted one eyebrow, but said nothing about who he was interviewing. “The current time is,” he looked over his shoulder at the clock over the Common Room fireplace, “ten oh four in the morning on Saturday, May First, Nineteen Ninety-three.” He turned back to Harry. “Mr. Potter, you were present during the incident today in the Great Hall, is that correct?”

Harry nodded.

At the Auror’s tilting his head and glancing downwards at the crystal on his chest, Harry, understood the unspoken request. “Uh, yes I was.”

Savage nodded genially. “Excellent. I would like you to tell me, in your own words, what you saw happen. Start with, oh, say, the moment you walked into the Great Hall for breakfast, and who was with you at that time?”

With the auror’s gentle coaxing, Harry managed to describe his morning. Oddly, the man asked Harry what he had had for breakfast, and if he had received any mail, as well as who and where everyone around him was seated.

Somewhere along the line, he had started making notes on notepad Harry hadn’t previously noticed.

“Was there a reason why you kept looking over at Misters Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle in particular?” He shifted slightly in his chair. “I mean, I know there’s a bit of bad feelings between Slytherin and Gryffindor, but why those three in particular?”

Harry chewed his lower lip for a moment. “Draco, with his girlfriend Parkinson, and Goyle and Crabbe, are always coming over and pestering us.” He ran a hand across the back of his neck. The auror waited patiently. Harry sighed. “Elly de Rippe . . . in Hufflepuff . . . she told me she thought Goyle was up to something, that Malfoy wasn’t directing it, but was involved a bit. Back at the end of Spring Break when we first got back.”

“And why would she do that?” he asked in a reasonable tone.

Harry shrugged. “She did save my life last year when she thought something was wrong during our Defence Against the Dark Arts practical test, and she said she had the same feeling this time, only about Goyle.”

He gave Harry a puzzled look, as if he didn’t understand or didn’t believe what Harry had said. Finally, he said, “And what feeling was that?”

“Well, last year, the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor was possessed by . . . an evil spirit.” Harry knew he shouldn’t mention Voldemort. Everyone else thought the wizard was dead. If Harry said Voldemort had been still around as a spirit, no one would believe him — plus, they’d discount anything else he might say as just the fanciful imaginings of a child.

As usual adults never believed children.

It was adults who weren’t to be trusted.

“He kidnapped me and tried to kill me. She said that something about Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle was giving her the same feelings that that professor had given her, but more Goyle than the other two. So, yeah, I listened.”

He looked up at the man and narrowed his eyes.

“I’ve learned to listen to feelings like that.”

The auror slowly nodded and looked thoughtful for several moments. “Sounds like that would be quite the story. Too bad we don’t have the time to hear it right now.” He sighed. “So,” Savage finally said, “What happened next?”

Harry led him through Lockhart selecting students to come to the stage, the spells he had cast, and the final spell that had triggered the debacle.

They went over that last bit several times as the auror tried to get Harry to remember any details he might missed mentioning, or to clarify something. Such as, who was standing where, how they reacted or didn’t react, or details he might not have realized he had seen until prompted more closely. His missing a detail didn’t happen often, but it did happen, Harry had to admit.

By the time they finished, it was coming up on lunch time. Harry felt as if he had been squeezed dry by one of Applejack’s apple presses that she used to squeeze the juice from apples.

The only part Harry had fudged was not mentioning his teleport. Instead, he claimed he had pulled Hermione with him as he jumped off the stage to his friends.

He was very careful not to mention the word “herd.” He was sure the wizard wouldn’t understand, and if he did, he would make fun of Harry and the girls.

“Well, Mr. Potter,” the wizard said, looking up at the clock over the fireplace. “I believe that concludes this interview. I thank you for your cooperation, today, and the details you were able to remember. They will be very helpful to us in wrapping this up. The current time is,” and he again looked over his shoulder, “Eleven forty-five in the morning on Saturday, May First, Nineteen Ninety-three.” He turned back to Harry and grinned as he tapped the crystal on his chest with his wand.

He leaned forward slightly, and held out his hand.

Harry gingerly reached out and took it.

Shaking their hands, Savage said, “Again, thank you for helping us.” He dropped Harry’s hand and stood up. His notepad had disappeared. “You have quite the memory for details.”

Harry shrugged, getting to his feet. “That’s nothing,” he said disparagingly. “Hermione has a phenomenal memory.”

“Really, now,” the auror gave him an intrigued look.

They walked over to where his friends were sitting.

Hermione was still talking with her auror, based on her gesticulations.

He sat with his friends. He saw that the other aurors had made quite a bit of progress. The group of students who hadn’t been in the Great Hall had all been interviewed, he saw, as none were left in their section of the room. At six at a time, the last group was almost completely finished at this point. Several were being dismissed as he watched. From the looks of it, the third group would be finished just in time for lunch.

It appeared that the students were heading up to their rooms after their interviews, because the room was far less crowded than it had been.

Savage smiled at the remaining second and first-years. “The house-elves will be bringing lunch in shortly, so why don’t you all have lunch first? Hmm? We’ll resume the interviewing after that. Once we finish with the second group, things will go much faster for your group.” He looked at them with raised eyebrows. They all nodded back.

He turned to Harry. “Please don’t discuss anything you told me with anyone else. You might accidentally colour what they think they remember with your observations.”

Harry nodded and said, “Yes, sir,” as his girlfriends all pouted a bit at being denied the opportunity to grill him on what he and the auror had discussed.

The wizard looked over at his companions, and looked at the remaining Gryffindor students who had stayed for Lockharts “special” class students. He walked over to the students, and waved one to join him for an interview.

As Harry had suspected, it took a surprisingly short amount of time to finish that group.

The last interview was just starting when Hermione finished her interview, and the two came back over.

The auror just looked at them a moment, then repeated what Savage had said. “We’ll start your interviews after lunch.”

Just minutes later, food started appearing on the various tables in the room. Two prefects started up the stairs, a boy and a girl, to alert the ones who had finished their interviews that food was available.

It sounded like a herd of elephants charging down the stairs as each floor received the news. Everyone moved to satisfy the hunger that had crept up on them. Harry realized he was ravenous, much more so than normal. He must have used a considerable amount of energy casting his shields.

Just as the house-elves started bringing in the food, the Common Room door opened and Harry’s mum stepped through, with several aurors.

“. . . well you told me to put a bit of power into it, so I did,” she said to one of the aurors behind her.

Harry snickered. Knowing her, whatever she had cast had probably shocked everyone else.

Harry had expected her to show up sooner, as soon as she got the notice of the spell-fight and damage, actually. Apparently, she had been waylaid on her way to the Gryffindor Tower.

She spotted him almost immediately and rushed right over, pulling him into a hug, which he happily reciprocated. That was the best thing about the human form, as far as he was concerned — hugs. Not that pony hugs were anything shabby.

As soon as she let him go, he asked, “And what did you overpower, this time?”

She looked embarrassed. “Well, after Bon Bon sent me the alert, and told me that you were unharmed and safe, I went to St. Mungo’s. Bon Bon had also said they had sent a large number of the injured students there, and that the healers probably were overwhelmed, so I thought I’d help. They were overwhelmed, and there was this one child with a broken hip. The healer said I should use a bone-healing spell, but since I didn’t know that one, I used a general-purpose healing spell that the doctors at Canterlot use.” She sighed. “But the magic here is so much less, so I overpowered it as much as possible.” She stopped.

The auror behind her dryly said. “She fixed practically every broken bone, bruise, cut, and scrape anyone in the hospital had — all at the same time.”

His mum was blushing.

“I heard one of the nurses saying she emptied out half the hospital at one go,” put in another.

“Then, on the way here from the Hospital Wing floo, we passed the Great Hall, and she took a whack at that, too,” added a third.

The fourth auror shook his head. “We were only about half done when she came in and cast a reparo that makes the Great Hall look like it was just built.”

She rolled her eyes, “I just used the same spell I do when Discord messes with things, the one that restores everything to how it was before whatever he had done.”

Harry and the fillies grinned. “Yeah,” he said, hugging her a second time, “That’s my mum.”

The rest of the room was staring at them in disbelief.

“So,” she said, holding him at arms-length and giving him a good looking over. “What happened?”

He glanced over at the aurors, who were now in a group over in a corner, eating. “I’m not supposed to talk with anyone that they haven’t interviewed, yet.” He nodded his head at the fillies and girls.

His mum slowly nodded, looking around. “Yes, she said, “That makes sense.” She concentrated for a moment. “Okay,” she said pulling out her wand. Seconds later she had a small vial in her hand. “Now, then,” she started, “I’m going to make a copy of your memory so I can look at it in my pensieve. I want you to think of this morning, when Professor Lockhart started his lecture and go right through to the attack and what happened after that, okay? Concentrate on it and try to remember as much detail as you can.

Harry nodded, remembering the things he had seen in the pensieve in Equestria. He closed his eyes and started thinking of when Lockhart had first stood up.

However, they were interrupted. Auror Savage came over and said, “Oh, are you retrieving his memory of the incident? Could we possibly have a copy? It would make things much easier for us to have more than just the three memories from Professors’ McGonagall, Flitwick and Madam Bones of what happened.” He looked at her apologetically. “We’re not allowed to collect memories from children, but if their parent or Guardian does it, it’s okay.”

Harry had read up on that last summer. Many parents didn’t trust the Ministry to not trick the children into revealing family secrets. Plus, some parents, in the past, had claimed the aurors had hurt their child and demanded rather large sums as compensation.

Twilight looked at the auror and nodded. “I don’t have a problem with that,” she said, “Do you have a memory vial?”

He grinned. “Always,” he said and pulled a crystal vial out of his pocket.

Harry frowned. He did not want them to know he had teleported. His mum was fine, but they were wizards, and adults. He frowned, thinking how he could accomplish this. Finally, he looked at his mum, nodded, and closed his eyes again, concentrating.

Abruptly, it was as if he were watching a movie taken through his eyes, every detail was crystal clear. It started as he wanted, when Lockhart stood up. He ended it just as he grabbed Hermione’s hand and prepared to teleport.

Everything important was there, but none of his secrets.

He watched, fascinated as his mum lowered the long string of silvery thread into her vial, then pulled a duplicate out and dropped it into Savage’s vial.

The auror thanked her, again, and headed for the exit. He, no doubt, wanted to get that memory to his superiors as soon as possible.

After he had walked away, Harry said, “I have another memory for you, but let’s do that one where the aurors won’t see.”

His mum gave him a frowning look, but nodded her agreement.

He chewed his lip for a moment, then said, “Let’s go to my dorm room.”

The entire group made their way up the stairs, fascinated at the magic being used.

It was only a few moments to give her the rest of his memory of what had happened, and to add the memory of Elly giving them a warning immediately after Break.

His mum sighed, and looked at Harry sadly. “I need to see these as soon as possible,” she said, holding up the memory vial. “So, I can’t join you for lunch.”

He nodded. “I figured as much,” he said, disappointed, but resigned to the fact.

She hugged him again, joined by the other girls. Ron and Neville watched, uncomfortable at the display of affection.

They trooped back downstairs.

“I’m going to examine these memories,” his mum said to the aurors as she headed for the Common Room’s exit.

They nodded and waved.

Harry and his friends headed for the food laden tables, and started on their lunch. It was a strain, but they managed not to discuss what had happened in the Great Hall. It was difficult, unfortunately. The other students, the vast majority, now, who had been interviewed, wouldn’t shut up. Most didn’t even try to keep their voices low. Harry and the girls ended up casting a sound-muffling shield around the table they had staked out as their luncheon counter.

What they talked about, once they could ignore the other Gryffindors, was just what his mum had done in “restoring” the Great Hall. Based on the aurors’ reactions, it ought to be interesting. The first part of the afternoon Harry watched his friends get interviewed. Hermione spent it book-walking. That probably would have been a good idea, but Harry found himself unable to concentrate on reading. He just kept running the attack back and forth through his mind.

If Goyle hadn’t been possessed, why would he have attacked the professor? It would have been senseless and stupid. Therefore, he had been possessed, and ready to react the moment he was detected.

Goyle had shown an incredible increase in both his ability to cast magic. He had never been anywhere but at the bottom of the class. Even this year, he had hovered at barely acceptable grades in charms, DADA, and transfigurations. His actual spells were okay, but only nothing to brag about — definitely only a bit about average. Plus, it always took him a long time to master them.

But this morning . . . his spell casting had been powerful, fast, and accurate. He had cast his knock-back, and then immediately cast a cutting spell of some sort at Harry. It had been more than enough to remove an arm or leg if it had hit him. Considering his father’s reputation as a former Death Eater, whatever that spell had been, it would have been dark enough that no potion or spell would be able to reattach anything it cut off.

Then, even before the spell had reached Harry, or Lockhart had hit the other professors, he had started spewing smoke from his wand, to hide his escape.

The only question Harry had at this point was, by whom or what? A vampire rarely depended on casting spells from a wand. And that sort of long-range possession couldn’t allow for such sure control of the host.

In any case, why would a vampire attack him?

He hadn’t seen any signs of it this year, but Harry slowly came to the conclusion that somehow Goyle had come into having Tom Riddle’s diary. It was the only solution to the problem that made sense. It would certainly explain why he had attacked Harry. Harry had vanquished his progenitor, hadn’t he?

He kept worrying at the issue, trying to see where he could be wrong in his supposition. But it held together quite well. Especially considering what Elly had told him of her observations, and assumptions.

Meanwhile, his other friends, having been further away from the action, took much less time to give their interviews. With several aurors working, the rest of the second and first-year classes was quickly dealt with and everyone was finished by mid-afternoon. The aurors declared that they were done, thanked the students, and left.

Only after they left did Harry share his theory about what had really happened with his friends, and who was responsible. After listening closely to his reasoning, none of them, not even Hermione, could really discount it.

Hermione concluded they should have realized it was Voldemort back when Elly told them. Only their naïveté as children had allowed them to lose their focus.

That was when his mum dropped by a second time. She gave him a huge hug. “I can’t stay for long, dear, I have some research to conduct.” She shivered and her eyes had a bright, happy quality to them. He pressed his lips together and gave a small smile. Research. The only thing that truly made his mum happy — besides him, Spike, and her friends.

She hurried back out.

Then the girls insisted they all needed to take showers. Which made sense. They were still coated with dust from the morning, after all.

Drying off afterwards, Harry had to admit that the shower had been a good idea. He felt much better after watching the grime and dirt spiral into the drain in the floor.

He met with the others back in the Common Room, only to be told by the Prefects, a few minutes later, that dinner would be in half-hour, and that attendance was mandatory.

Entering the Great Hall was a surreal experience. Remembering the destruction they had last seen, and now seeing the Hall as if it had never happened, almost made Harry question if he had dreamt the whole thing. Only his friends being equally amazed showed he hadn’t imagined it.

The aurors had been right. The Hall looked cleaner and brighter than he ever had seen it. He hadn’t realized that the dark tone to the floor was from centuries of inground dirt. The same was true for the walls, which practically gleamed under the torches lining them. Even the tables and benches looked and felt new, with shaper edges and clearer grain.

Not seeing the afternoon sky overhead had been disappointing. Whatever enchantments that had been on the ceiling either had not yet been renewed or had been destroyed by the damage done by the bombardos.

Somewhat reassuring, all the Professors, including Lockhart, were in evidence. Dumbledore was nodding and smiling. Lockhart looked pale and withdrawn.

As soon as the last few students came in and were seated, Dumbledore stood. “I have a few words,” he said in his old, kindly voice.

Harry immediately felt his back-hairs go up.

“First, let me reassure you all that there were no permanent injuries suffered by anyone in this morning's regrettable incident. In fact,” He looked around the room with a gentle smile, “I can confidently say that everyone who was injured will make a full recovery. Madam Pomfrey's skills were on full display, and I thank her for her dedication and attention to detail in preventing any lapses.” He turned slightly and bowed to the Hospital Wing Matron. When straightened, he clapped his hands lightly, several times, creating by example a tremendous applause from the students.

“Sadly,” he continued, “We are missing three students. Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Crabbe are currently at St. Mungo’s undergoing evaluation. It seems that they were under a compulsion this morning, and were not in control of themselves. Mr. Goyle is missing, and has apparently fled Hogwarts and Hogsmeade.”

He paused a moment and peered over his glasses at the students. “Unfortunately, he has not gone home. His parents are extremely worried for him, as am I. If any of you have a suggestion as to where he might have gone, please confide in your Head of House, or a Prefect. We shall not disclose the identity of anyone who does so.”

He paused and gave the students another long glance.

“There has been speculation that a vampire was controlling the boy. However, I can unequivocally say that there hasn’t been a vampire on Hogwarts’ grounds in the last ten years. It isn’t impossible that he was under the thrall of a vampire, but the creature was not close enough to exert any control over him. Why he acted the way he did is a mystery.” He shook his head sadly. “Which is another reason why we would like to find and talk with him.”

He sighed, obviously unhappy at the next part of his announcements. “Please ignore the aurors you will be seeing at Hogwarts over the next few days. Do not bother them. If they stop you and ask any questions, answer as completely as you can.”

He paused again, and smiled. “On a lighter note, the Hufflepuff-Gryffindor Quidditch game has been rescheduled for next Saturday.”

This announcement was met with more than a few cheers from both the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor tables — most notably, from the team players and their most ardent fans.

He stopped and raised both arms, outstretched as if to give a benediction. “And that concludes my announcements for this evening. Enjoy your repast!”

Food immediately appeared on the tables, and everyone dug in.

^·_·^

Curious about the big boxy thing that took up a corner of the room, Tom examined it carefully not too long after settling into the room.

The folded newspaper, only the part labelled “Entertainment” on top, had five columns in it. It listed BBC1, BBC2, ITV, Channel 4, and Channel 5. The descriptions read somewhat like the listings that he used to see in the orphanage for the radio plays. Just like the old radio, most of the shows sounded vapid and absurd. However, he expected the old standard, BBC News to be a rich source of what was happening in this modern world.

Pity it would be a few hours before he got to it.

The remote control on top was rather obvious, and hitting the “on” button was revolutionary.

He could only stare in shock as the morning programs played out

He kept just flipping channels. He’d stay on a channel for a quarter of an hour or so, then move on. Most of the stuff, except the children’s programming, was dreck unsuitable for wrapping fish if it had been in print. He could feel his brain rotting just watching some of the “entertainment.”

On the other hand, it was an invaluable resource for seeing how far the muggles had advanced in the last fifty years. Instant communication via telephone was so common, its absence was noticed more. Travel across the oceans in a few hours by flying instead of the weeks’ sea-ships used. As long as he eschewed magic, he could travel anywhere in the world as a muggle. It might take him longer, but the bureaucratic hurdles he would have to clear were nearly non-existent, by comparison. Especially if he wanted to escape notice by the magical authorities.

He could take a flight from here in London direct to Paris or Berlin, if he wanted, saving hours of travel time. With the quid he had had converted at Gringotts, he didn’t have to be a miser.

And cars! When he had been at Hogwarts, only the rich could afford a car, everyone else took the train or bus. Now, there were almost as many cars as people. Maybe more, if what he saw was accurate. And it had to be accurate or the viewers would have objected.

The TV was a remarkable window into the world.

He absentmindedly ate Goyle’s lunch.

Then the news program came on.

This was so far above radio that he couldn’t believe the difference.

It covered the world, with live pictures of events happening in real time.

Europe, yeah, he could understand. But, coverage of a bomb attack in Sri Lanka? With pictures? Cricket Test Scores, showing the actual match’s best moments? The maps of the expected weather for the country and part of the continent?

The difference between hearing a written report of the expected weather and seeing it play out across a map was . . . astonishing.

The wizards had nothing like this!

Tom left the TV running in the background as he executed his scheme for Goyle’s lifeless body. It had gone much quicker than he had expected. Draining the boy’s magic so deeply had been a tremendous help. The boy finally stopped breathing not too much after the news program ended. He made sure to place the body as if it had been callously discarded at the side of the bed.

He spent the rest of the afternoon, evening, and until late at night, perusing the channels.

This world of the muggles was fascinating in a way that 1945 had never been. Maybe they weren’t as useless as he had thought.

^·_·^

Author's Note

Sorry for the delay, but it was a three-day weekend for me (Sat-Mon).

Ch. 36. Confounding the Enemy

Anne studied the Daily Prophet quite carefully every morning. She always received the very first finished copy off the press. She wasn’t so much interested in the reporting, per se, as much as the tone of what was written.

Did it read as authoritative? Did it present the details needed in a story to be accurate and truthful? Were the details actually accurate and truthful? Did it present the facts without undue coloring of those facts? Were any insinuations plausible, given the facts?

Were opinions clearly stated as such, with a disclaimer below the headline and before the author’s name? Or on the Opinions Page?

She had been surprised at how quickly the staff had jumped behind her instructions to stick to the facts. Removing the salacious libel and opinions that had formerly graced the front pages, with the authors frequently substituting their opinions for fact, had been a quite a change in outlook for most of the reporters.

It had taken a few weeks for them to understand where that line was that separated their opinions from just presenting the facts and letting the readers form their own opinions.

Running stories that stuck to the facts seemed to be what the readers really wanted. Especially when the readers realized those facts were not being dictated to the Prophet by the Ministry! Readership had grown immensely since the summer. Surprisingly, they now had a substantial number of issues going to the continent and colonies.

Helping matters was the new section for the “Society” types — almost entirely pure-bloods — labelled “About Town.” This was where they posted pictures and stories of the pure-bloods and what they were up to in public . . . and sometimes private if the story was juicy enough and they had facts to back up what was written.

One successful new feature was the “Secrecy” page. In it, The Daily Prophet now printed stories about wizards and witches getting into trouble and drawing attention from the muggles. The stories were always humorously written, but the underlying moral of the danger of not being properly prepared when venturing out of the wizarding enclaves was plain to see.

The hilarious pictures of what some wizards and witches thought was appropriate attire was a big draw for many of muggle-borns and half-bloods. The number of pure-bloods who didn’t get it was appalling, but they disliked the thought of being a laughingstock after their pictures were printed. With time, though, the Daily Prophet would educate them on what to wear. And they would wear it, if only to avoid the public attention an error would mean once the next day’s Prophet came out.

In order to survive as a society, the wizards had to take care in not being noticed right now. The ponies were going a long way in changing the non-magical publics’ perception of magic by renaming it “special technology.” Later, in a few decades, the magicals might be able to come out of hiding. In the meantime, the magicals had a long way to go in getting their attitudes changed.

When it happened, she intended to be a major player in ruling the masses. It would take work, and the selective application of magic, but she would make sure everyone was treated equally under the law. And friends could stay friends and not be separated.

That she would be rich was secondary. Nice, but secondary.

Most surprising had been Rita Skeeter’s changes. Anne had expected her to kick up the most fuss. But she hadn’t. She had readily dropped her “quick-quotes” pen for a more normal dicta-quill. Or maybe that little nudge she had given the reporter last year had been more effective than she had thought. She shrugged her shoulders. It didn’t matter, did it? As long as Rita followed her rules, who cared why?

This morning’s edition had had her pursing her lips, though, at first.

Anne shook her head wryly. That witch certainly knew how to ferret out interesting stories. Anne had nothing against Potter, he was just another person to her. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. If not for him, she wouldn’t be here. She would still be on her vendetta against Princess Twilight, and who knows how that would have gone!

She shuddered. One of the books she had discovered here had described, in nauseating detail, how badly time travel could go. One little slip and she might have erased herself from history instead of the purple know-it-all. Or, avoiding that fate, might have succeeded in getting rid of the alicorn, but ended up killing herself at the same time. Or, worse, ended up in a Changeling pod because purple hadn’t been there to stop the Royal Wedding with Princess Cadance and Shining Armor, and Canterlot had fallen.

Today’s Prophet was one reason why Rita was flourishing.

Anne made a special trip to the paper, before breakfast, after reading her copy. Sirius had told her a lot about wizarding society, but there were still nuances she missed.

She had a luncheon date with the wizard today where she would defend the Prophet from his righteous wrath at seeing his idols pilloried in public. Or his god-son’s life dragged into the limelight. No, she suspected, he wouldn’t be happy.

However, he would be a mine of information about how to expect the pure-bloods to react. He could guess quite accurately at the tactics they might throw-up to block any plans she had for future political manoeuvring. Forewarned is four-armed, as the human saying went. Although why they needed four arms, she wasn’t sure.

As she had hoped, the reporter had had all her papers properly laid out. Nothing she had printed had been fabricated. She had copious notes from her times in Equestria, backing up every detail. She had played by the rules set out, and won big.

Anne felt sorry for Potter, as she would have for any foal, child, caught up in politics. But she wasn’t going to kick up a fuss at the paper. It wasn’t their fault the boy’s treatment prior to escaping to Equestria was unconscionable. Nor theirs that the ponies took such good care of their foals.

The information Rita had found was publicly available on both sides of the portal. That each didn’t know the details the other side had was irrelevant. Anyone could have dug this information up. That it caused complications and problems for Princess Purple was all good in her book. That it would erode White Beards support was even better. Every supporter he lost, she intended to snap up.

The Sunday edition would have several articles about how dangerous muggles could be, if roused. There would be warnings to the public about “loose wands” causing trouble for everyone. It would emphasise that the last thing they needed was a series of investigations from the ICW for violations of the Statute of Secrecy.

The English were better than that!

That edition would also see the start of a new page, one devoted to pointing out information about muggles that the wizards and witches didn’t know. Such as being out-numbered by a thousand-to-one and what that meant. That, while they had portkeys for instant transport, traveling a great distance in the world was always a trial of bureaucracy. Muggles, on the other hand, had planes — effectively giant railcars with wings — that could fly across the world with ease. A witch who wanted to go somewhere new to them, where there wasn’t a floo, had to either apparate (limited to a few hundred miles for most), take a portkey, or fly a broom. None of which were pleasant experiences.

Muggles could take a plane, then hop in a car and drive there in comfort and style.

Several of the workers at the Prophet had been amazed at the stories of what the muggles could do when the muggle-born reporter started several weeks ago.

She might be the majority owner, but it was strictly hooves-off as far as she was concerned. As long as the rules were followed, her personal opinions had nothing to do with the stories that were or were not run.

Plus, she didn’t have the temperament of an editor who could decide which stories were worth printing, which ones needed more detail, which ones had the potential to attract more readers, or which ones seemed important, but weren’t.

Sirius might not like that, but all she had to do was point out that that hiding the truth was the way the Ministry had operated the paper. Did he want her to start doing that? Where would he draw the line? Should stories about his friends be ignored, especially when they did wrong things or broke the law? Just like Minister Fudge had protected Malfoy? Should she start accepting “inducements” to push one story while dropping another, as the previous management had considered acceptable?

She didn’t think he would agree with her taking bribes.

Besides, she wasn’t involved with the day-to-day operations of the Prophet, that was the editor. She would explain that the editor selected the stories to run, and when. He never consulted her.

So, as long as the stories were accurate and truthful, she had no objections to them seeing the light of day. Particularly the stories on corrupt officials. Or certain old wizards who thought they knew the way the world should run, but were woefully out-of-date. The old system of pure-bloods in control was passe. A new system, a fairer one for everyone, was on the way. A few nudges from her along the way would smooth things out admirably.

As long as their objectives aligned, she would work with Dumbledore. From behind the scenes, of course. By the time he realized he had lost control, it would be far too late. It was just beginning to start.

The articles Rita had shown, and planned for the next week were definitely going to profit the Prophet. Not to mention, light a firestorm of protest about the wizarding world’s treatment of their boy-hero and how the pure-bloods, who controlled the Ministry, could allow that to happen!

Which should put quite a few more cracks in the veneer of infallibility that old wizard liked to project.

^-_-^

The moment Goyle walked into the Great Hall, Elly knew today was going to go badly. His suspicion was like a dark stain on the froth of banality that was the rest of the student body. She gave a brief look at the entry as he came in, not displaying anything more than that her glance was probably just an accidental coincidence.

Whatever the situation was with Goyle, he clearly thought the special class Gilderoy had planned for after breakfast might have something to do with himself. That was the only explanation that seemed to fit his mood.

For once, he wasn’t focused on Potter or his friends.

Harry, his herd, and his friends, were likewise a cloud of suspicion when they spotted the Dark Trio making their entrance. His group did not have the same taint of darkness about them. Quite the opposite. While suspicious, it wasn’t consuming them. There was plenty of light-hearted banter, and ambient love.

There was a distinct air to the Great Hall this morning. Anxiety, worry, curiosity, and even traces of boredom? Yes. There were plenty of emotions wafting around. Very unlike a normal morning.

The students’ emotions spiked, mostly curiosity, when their DADA professor stood and began speaking. Potter and their friends took pains to seat themselves as far from the Dark Trio and as close to the wall as humanly possible. The Dark Trio, seemed far more relaxed, despite the suspicions coming from Goyle. She shook her head slightly. It would take a Queen-mother miracle for things not to go to tartarus.

When Lockhart mentioned possession, and then picked students to come to the stage, including Harry and Goyle, she knew this was it. Goyle was trapped in the direct attention of the entire school. He couldn’t fake getting sick and escape that way. No matter what the self-possessed professor did, there would be spells flying everywhere.

Her lings were situated too far back to be of use to her. Plus, they couldn’t interfere without giving away that they knew spells that were well-beyond the abilities of most fourth-year students. Them being only firsties would draw far too much attention to them, afterwards. Too many questions would be raised that would be impossible to answer.

She delegated them with the task getting as many ponies to safety as possible when spells started flying.

The ponies were far more prone to panic than the wizards and witches, here, were. Helping them stay calm and escape would reap benefits in the future as they showered their saviours with gratitude — and love.

Any shielding spells the lings used could be explained as the same shield charms they used at breakfast when the owls came it. They would say their effectiveness must have been from desperation and panic on the lings’ part.

Meanwhile, she slipped her wand to her desktop, and kept it pointed at Goyle. The darkened hall helped conceal her movements. She focused a close watch on Goyle.

She could feel Lockhart’s emotional reactions as he pontificated on the stage. Each time he cast a spell she expected Goyle to erupt into violence. While the professor dissembled about how a vibrating wand didn’t single out a suspect, she felt his elation at casting that particular spell. She knew it meant his wand had vibrated in response to Goyle’s possession.

That it vibrated at all confirmed his suspicions that one of the students was, indeed, possessed. Based on what Elly had told him, she assumed that meant he now knew it had to be Goyle. His elated feelings gave her all the warning she needed, and she prepped her spell for instant use. She cupped her left hand over her wand’s tip to hide its faint glow, Goyle was too concerned with the professor to glance into the audience and pick up on that clue that someone other than the professor considered him a threat.

She had expected Lockhart’s stunner. Goyle’s instant dodging reaction was not. She had thought he would raise a shield. His dancing aside meant her own stunner missed him and hit Susan.

Well, that, at least, meant Goyle would not consider the girl a threat and hurt her.

Goyle hadn’t only dodged. Even as she sent her charm at him, he had cursed Lockhart. The Professor was now at the end of the stage, tangled with the other adults. An effective tactic, she decided, to prevent them from interfering as he escaped.

The explosion over her head was a tremendous surprise.

Still, she rapidly fired another stunner, but Goyle was still moving, and quite erratically, too. Her second spell took out Parkinson, who, like the other students on the stage, was still gaping like a fish. At the same time, he, too, had sent off a second spell.

She was pleased to see that Potter and Granger were not staring, gormless, at the spells flying around them. They were shielding themselves. Goyle’s red curse was easily blocked.

She sent a third spell at Goyle, but by that time he was spraying a thick plume of smoke from his wand. He had already disappeared from direct view. His emotions had flat-lined into a calm state that didn’t give her a feeling of where he was in that billowing cloud that was rapidly covering that section of the stage.

She fired another stunner, blindly, hoping for the best, but not expecting much success. Then she cast a general confounding jinx around herself and on the half-dozen students closest to her. The beginning panic would help confuse things, she knew, as she shouted, “Who cast those spells at Goyle? They came from behind us, right?”

Dirt and other, heavier, debris began to fall around them. The explosion hadn’t just shaken the dust off the ceiling panels the trusses that held up overhead. She held up her wand and cast the umbrella shield. “To the walls,” she shouted, “The tables will protect us.” She stood up from her desk. She heard her lings echo her from behind.

As more fragments cascaded down, she heard the ominous cracking sounds as the beams holding up the ceiling started to shift. Those bombardos must have hit something important.

The Hall, she knew from research, was heavily reinforced against attack. A thousand years ago, it had been the centre of the castle. It was the place of last resort in the event of an attack. The walls and roof were heavily spelled with protective enchantments to resist any muggle siege-weapons, or attacking wizards’ spells.

Unfortunately, no one had anticipated that someone would be attacking the structure from inside. Only the insane, foolish, or suicidal would deliberately attempt to bring down the Hall on top of themselves. As a result, the spells on the interior beams were meant to buttress the spells on the roof and walls, not resist direct attack, themselves.

With a loud crash, one of the ceiling boards slammed into the floor over by the second-year Slytherins.

That was when the panic began in earnest. The screaming and yelling made it impossible for anyone not right beside oneself to hear anything one might say.

She heard through her connection as Earl cast a shield spell, and used it to herd the ponies around them to the far wall. The shield didn’t push anyone, it was more of a nudge to head in that direction. It appeared to work as she felt a group of panicking ponies head towards that wall. Their concerted movement drew others. Emmie and Essie were trying to chivvy the students who had been behind them towards the door and the walls. They had put their shields at angles to each other, forming a wedge, and were pushing straight for the doors.

Most of the second-years headed for the wall away from the Slytherin desks, where the first pieces of debris had noisily landed.

The students at the front quickly sought shelter under the tables stacked at the sides of the Hall. The others were rushing around despite her lings attempts at control. Quickly enough, the lings gave up their attempts — no one was listening to first-years, no matter how sensible they sounded. They turned their attention to seeking shelter beside her, and casting shield spells over as many students as possible.

As soon as the crush of students at the doors began to subside, the students under the tables began making their way to the doors, hoping to leave before the roof really did come down on them

The lings had barely made it to the doors when aurors began to arrive and establish control.

Once Elly and the others reached their Common Room, it was amazing to see that there were no indications of anything being wrong. Once they entered, it was as if nothing was happening in the Great Hall. Except for still panicking ponies and students, rushing around and spreading rumours of how the entire castle was about to collapse. Any missing students were immediately declared to be in comas, grievously wounded, or even dead. Until they came into the through the Hufflepuff entry. Some never came in.

The older Prefects somehow managed to keep things under control, and mostly calm. They ended up sending most of the students to their rooms.

Which was where things were when the aurors came into the Common Room and started their interviews.

As the second-years were interviewed, Elly was quite pleased that neither she nor her lings were sought out for special questions regarding anything what had happened in the Hall. She, and they, were only asked to recite what they had seen or heard.

She figured they had managed to escape notice completely. However, after lunch, a large, bronze-skinned man with bronze-hair and an exaggerated widow’s peak came into the Common Room. He spoke to Tim, the Prefect, who was standing guard at the door looking fiercely at anyone who even came close to the entry. No one would sneak out with him on duty! Tim looked around the room, and pointed her out to him.

“Hi,” he said as he came over to her. “I’m Auror Savage.” He had brown eyes were flecked with gold, a bit unusual, she thought. He held out his hand and she gingerly shook it. He looked around, then pointed to a set of chairs over in one corner of the room, and motioned her over that way. She gave him a questioning look, but only detected normal curiosity. No alarm or worry.

The chairs were already occupied, but as they stopped beside them, he said to the two students, a boy and a girl, both fifth-years, “Sorry to bother you, but I’d like a quiet word with Miss De Rippe. I wonder if you mind moving?” He smiled down at them, good-naturedly.

Even though he wasn’t being assertive and simply ordering them to move, they almost jumped out of their chairs, gathered their papers, and vacated with considerable haste.

Once they were seated, and he had put up the privacy charms.

“First, thank you for your help, Miss De Rippe. The reason I’ve come to you is because Mr. Potter, in Gryffindor, told us that you had said something interesting to him, back at the end of Spring Break. He told us that you had warned him that Misters Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle — he called them the Dark Trio — were up to something that involved him.” He paused and studied her. “You remember that,” he asked

She had thought Potter might say something. If he hadn’t, she was sure that Granger would have, if only to explain why they were so prepared with a shield charm.

She nodded slowly, frowning, as if surprised at being approached.

“Good, then I’d like you to tell me as much as you can recall about when you first became suspicious of them, and why you felt it necessary to tell Mr. Potter.”

She sat back, pretending to think. She had worked out this contingency the night after the Professor had first announced his “special” DADA class.

“Well,” she started, “I guess it was some time before Christmas . . .,” she paused and squinted at the table. “It wasn’t anything definite,” she said haltingly, picking her words carefully, as if she wasn’t presenting a painstakingly prepared speech.

He still seemed to be only curious.

She stopped, sighed, and looked back up at the auror. “You need to know that Malfoy was the leader of the group. Crabbe and Goyle always did whatever he told them to do. Last year, Malfoy and Potter got off on the wrong foot. Malfoy apparently took that to be an insult, and never forgave Potter. As a result, Malfoy is always insulting and disparaging anything Potter does. Malfoy goes out of his way to interfere with anything that Harry is involved with.” She pulled her mouth to one side and rolled her eyes. “Slytherins are supposed to be sly, sneaky, and ambitious. Malfoy doesn’t seem to know what the words mean.”

She sighed. “This year, the arrival of the ponies threw everything into a spin. However, Malfoy still liked to annoy Potter whenever he could.” She looked away and shook her head. “But around Christmas I noticed that it was Goyle who was glaring at Potter, much more frequently than Malfoy. Which was odd, you know?” She tilted her head slightly. “Because I don’t think Potter has said three words to Goyle in the last two years. What could he have done that earned him Goyle’s ire?” She shrugged. “But it wasn’t all the time. Sometimes he would act like he always had. But then, a few minutes later, he was glaring at Potter as if the boy had insulted his mother a few seconds before. It was really weird.” She shook her head.

“Then, after Christmas, it seemed to get a bit worse. Well, not worse, but more . . . intense?” She glanced into the auror’s eyes for a moment.

“It just struck me as . . . odd. This sudden change in attitude in mere minutes. It was like he was two different people.” She paused and shook her head, then looked at the auror curiously. “I don’t know if you know, but last year the DADA professor, Professor Quirrell, was possessed by an evil spirit.” She paused and shook her head again. “I don’t understand what that was all about . . ..

“It happened during our year-end tests. During the DADA test, I noticed that the Head Boy — who was substituting for Professor Quirrell because he was supposed to be in the Hospital Wing sick with something — was acting very strange . . . listless, for some reason. He had his N.E.W.T.s to prepare for.” She paused a beat. “But he didn’t seem to be in a hurry to get the practicals done as soon as possible so he could go back to his studies.”

She suppressed a smile. She had him convinced in her story, she could tell. His curiosity had definitely peaked when she mentioned Professor Quirrell from last year.

“Instead, when I finished the test, he seemed sluggish, quite the opposite of what he just had been like, which was very business-like and focused. He just . . . did nothing. He didn’t seem interested in calling in the next student. It was like he was deliberately stretching out the time between students, for no reason I could see. I mean, he could have used that time for last-minute studying, if nothing else.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “So, when my test was over and I left the exam room, I mentioned it to one of the pony Guards that were escorting the students after the scare that a monster was loose in the forest.”

The auror raised his eyebrows.

Did he not know about that?

She nodded firmly. “He decided to take a peek at the Head Boy, and then they discovered that Potter had been kidnapped earlier. And then everything went into lockdown. I heard Potter had been badly hurt, but he recovered quickly. He even thanked me for noticing how strange the Head Boy had been acting. Potter wasn’t sure he would have survived if no one had noticed he was missing for much longer. Princess Twilight even came to thank me,” she said in a wondering tone. “Just because I mentioned the Head Boy was acting odd.” She shook her head as if she couldn’t believe it had happened.

She looked up at the auror Savage with a frown. “For some reason, after Christmas, I was getting the same . . . feeling of unease about Goyle. Then during Easter Break — most of Slytherin stayed, as did I and my cousins — he was very unlike himself. He was more . . . alert, he was quicker to move. He seemed to be looking for something.” She gave the auror a quick smile, “Last year, I heard one of the Ravenclaws say ‘You had to get up pretty early in the afternoon to beat Goyle in wits.’” She paused. “Well, adding in his unusual animosity towards Potter with that change, and what happened last year, I thought I should mention it to Potter and his friends when they got back from Break.” She looked away, then back. “It wasn’t anything I could mention to a professor, you see. It was just a . . . feeling.”

Savage gave her a long look. “You are a very observant little witch,” he said softly.

She forced herself to blush at his compliment.

“Noticing subtle changes in behaviour like that is just the sort of thing we search for in aurors.” He smiled. “Perhaps, in a few years and with a bit of study, you might consider applying to the force.” He raised his eyebrows enquiringly.

She deepened her blush. “It wasn’t anything that great,” she murmured, as if embarrassed at the suggestion. “And I’m only an average student.” She looked down at the floor, as if too shy, now, to meet his eyes.

If she had a few more lings, she might have detailed one to do just that. Having a ling in the Ministry Aurors would be quite the direct link to their safety. She could also map out who was corrupt, and who wasn’t. With careful manipulation she could work in the background and control the government from behind the scenes without fear of being discovered.

He laughed. “There’s nothing wrong with being average,” he said.

She gave him an incredulous look. There was no way anyone would call him average.

He gave her another smile. “With the proper training, even an average person can be an auror. Once you complete the training, there’s no way anyone would ever call you average, again.”

She gave him a slow nod, keeping her incredulous expression. He believed her completely, not a trace of suspicion or doubt in either her or her story.

“Well,” he said briskly, slapping his hands together. “I think we’re finished here. And thank you, again, for your cooperation in our investigations.” He stood up, taking his wand out and dismissing his spells as he did so.

He nodded to her again. “I hope you have a pleasant rest-of-your-day, young lady.”

She nodded back and murmured a soft, “Thank you,” as he turned and headed back out the entry to the Common Room.

She made a show of collapsing back into her chair and looking relieved that the ordeal was over. There was probably a good deal more real relief in that then faking, but only her lings could sense it.

She wondered if Earl might be interested in joining the Aurors. It would give him a purpose, after all, besides simply surviving.

^·_·^

Ch. 37. There’s Always Something to Ruin the Day

Whenever Albus Dumbledore arrived at the Ministry, people took notice. Especially on those days without a scheduled Wizengamot meeting. Today was no exception, and he had many people greeting him cordially in the lobby and on his way through the Ministry building. Most of them had been his students, either when he was a Professor, or as the Headmaster at Hogwarts.

It was noticeable, however, that this time at least a few of them were not as warm a greeting as he usually received. In fact, a few were downright frosty. Clearly, those particular wizards had not liked the revelations in today’s Daily Prophet.

Still, that was why he was here — to combat some of that attitude.

However, rather than go to the Minister, as those with less political acumen might suppose, he headed for Arthur Weasley’s office.

Arthur had come up in the world since the Atlanteans had arrived. His family’s sudden outing as nearly all being animagi, and such close friends with the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter, had seen a dramatic change in how he was viewed in the Ministry. That didn’t even factor in their close association Atlantean royalty.

Then there was the fact that the wizard was no longer poor.

No one knew how they had done it, but each of his children had come into Gringotts to deposit gems — gems the goblins had been very happy to see. Even the two that had moved out and were in foreign countries had managed a few gems. All denied that they had been given the gems by the Atlanteans, but that they had secured them, themselves. Whatever the source, the goblins treated them with what might be the goblin equivalent of respect.

Arthur had told Dumbledore that one of Harry’s girlfriends had taken the Weasleys on a gem-finding expedition, and the kids had actually dug them up! Not the uncut kind, but cut and faceted gems! It was incredible. But true.

Suddenly Arthur had been looked on with great favour instead of the disdain with which many had previously viewed his family.

Cornelius, the Minister of Magic, had not been slow to realize that having Arthur support him would be a big political advantage. As a result, success had begat success, and Arthur had been promoted. But not out of his position as head of The Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, as many had supposed would happen.

No, at Albus’ subtle urging, Cornelius had instead greatly expanded the department. The formerly overwhelmed and understaffed department had a dozen employees, now. It even had a special liaison member who worked closely with the aurors to track down the miscreants who liked to bait the muggles.

This expanded department would decrease the exposure of magic to muggles, and prevent the inevitable clashes that using magic on muggles would create with the muggle government. Combining that with expanding the auror ranks to pre-1980 levels, and, well, Albus had great hopes that it would reduce the threat of wizards inadvertently breaking the Statute of Secrecy.

The more carefully wizards and witches hid themselves, the less likely they were to have an unfortunate experience with the muggles. That meant there was that much less of a chance that the muggle government would take offense at them. Which meant dealing with the government’s expectations would be easier.

It was definitely a case of out-of-sight, out-of-mind!

Those improvements, he hoped, would gain him more time to correct the Wizengamot’s wayward course. The Wizengamot moved at a glacial rate in the best of times, and anything he could do to decrease that time would be to his advantage. Placating the muggle government by reducing the incidents of conflict was one way to manage that in his favour.

Plus, the newest addition to the Daily Prophet was a big assist in reducing the attention those wizards and witches who went into muggle areas tended to attract. He, himself, had been amazed to see that some of the costumes he had thought were perfectly acceptable were not!

Fashion in the muggle world apparently moved much faster than in the wizardry world. Who knew?

He shuddered. Reading how a bright-purple suit with sparkly pointy-toed shoes — with a picture of the poor fellow — was considered the attire of a man who kept prostitutes had been quite a shock. Albus, himself, had one of those suits and shoes in his wardrobe! He thought it looked quite fetching.

He shuddered again at the thought of having to go out in a plain-brown tweed suit. The horror!

Fortunately, going among muggles was something he rarely did. But if he did, he now had a much better idea of what they considered acceptable.

He wondered who had managed to convince that old buzzard of an editor at the Daily Prophet to put in something that was so radical. It seemed popular, though.

Especially among the half-bloods and muggle-borns. Not so much the pure-bloods, however.

It took him only a few minutes to find the enlarged Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, and then Arthur’s office in it. Despite his increase in responsibility, Arthur, so far, had eschewed having a secretary. Instead, he usually left the office door open. He was hard at work when Albus looked in.

Paperwork, the bane of any manager. Not even magic could get rid of it.

Albus was grateful that Minerva took over most of his paperwork. It gave him more time to manage non-Hogwarts related items.

He knocked three times on the door’s frame.

Arthur looked up from the parchment he was writing on, and nodded. “I thought I’d be seeing you today,” he said quietly, setting the parchments aside and stretching slightly. Arthur motioned him to take a chair.

“You’ve read the Prophet, then?” said Albus, going inside. At the other’s nod, he said, “It’s quite the quagmire she’s laid out for us, isn’t it?”

Albus sighed as he waved his wand, transforming the simple chair into a very plush and comfortable armchair.

There weren’t enough hours in the day for Albus to tackle this problem himself. Arthur would be essential in helping him quell the worries and objections of their allies. Arthur normally wasn’t interested in the politics that enveloped the Ministry, but he was, by far, not an innocent in that scrum. He had managed to get laws passed or amended, in the past.

They spent most of the next hour dissecting the problems, and what the best approach to mollifying the objections they both expected to encounter in the Ministry. Albus would concentrate on the Wizengamot, and Arthur on the Ministry Department Heads. Between the two of them, they should be able to keep most of Albus’ Light supporters in line.

Arthur would play up his daughter’s association with the Boy-Who-Lived, and his twin sons’ business dealings on the Atlantean side of the portal. The one would draw the boy to the Wizarding world, ensuring he wouldn’t abandon it as Rita had suggested. The other would bring their business contacts to this side of the Portal, enriching everyone here with new customers and business opportunities.

They were just concluding their plans for the day when a silvery cat burst through the wall and galloped to halt in the air in front of the Headmaster. “Albus,” the cat declared opening its mouth and speaking in Minerva’s voice. “Gilderoy’s class has ended in an explosion. We need you here immediately. The Great Hall has extensive damage.”

After delivering that alarming news, the cat faded away.

“Oh, dear,” Dumbledore said, shocked. Minerva would never have contacted him for anything but a disaster! What possibly could have happened? If they hadn’t dealt with Voldemort last year, he would have expected this to be one of that evil wizard’s plots. That the “missing” diary might be a factor was a possibility. However, the horcruxes that they had seen, while powerful in and of themselves, wouldn’t be able to cause any real damage. Scorch the floor, or a wall, and make a lot of noise, but that was it. The lack of any signs of the diary, or anything that could be attributed to actions by its inhabitant, helped him dismiss that as a cause.

He stood, absentmindedly restoring the armchair to a regular chair. “Well, Arthur, I see that I must take my leave.” He gave the other a weary look. “It appears I will have to place things in your hands for the day.”

Arthur, also alarmed at the news, nodded. “Go,” he hurriedly said, “If Minerva calls, it is serious! I’ll see what I can do here, in the meantime.”

Arthur followed him into the main room. “I’ll be stepping out for a while,” he said to the room at large.

The four people working at their desks looked up at him.

“I won’t be leaving the Ministry, so if anything important comes up,” he said as the two wizards headed out the department’s door, “just send me a memo-flyer.”

“Yes sir,” one of the witches said, nodding.

Albus headed for the elevator to the atrium while Arthur headed for the office of one of their allies who they suspected might have taken the news in the Daily Prophet badly.

Just as he reached the elevator, Minister Fudge stepped out.

“Cornelius,” Albus said cheerfully, cursing inside at the Minister’s bad timing in showing up at this instant. “What a surprise!”

Fudge smiled and then frowned at him, simultaneously happy to see the wizard and unhappy at why he wanted to see him.

“Have you seen this?” he demanded of Albus, brandishing a rolled-up copy of the Daily Prophet. “This is terrible! The boy-who-lived wants to leave or world!”

“Now, now,” Albus said calmly. “This was written by Rita, and you know how she exaggerates!” he said soothingly. “I’m sure the boy has no such intentions, whatever his friends in Atlantis might say. Without a doubt, they want him to stay there with them and are telling her tales to make her think something he has no intention of doing.”

Albus steered the minister into the elevator. “Minister’s Office,” he said. He suppressed a sigh. Much as he wanted to return to Hogwarts, with the Voldemort issue settled there probably wasn’t that much of a problem. An explosion in the Great Hall was nothing compared to what it had been built to withstand. It might shake the dust off the ceiling and torch sconces, but that was all Only a direct attack on the structural supports might cause a difficulty, but Minerva hadn’t mentioned any such thing.

Dealing with the fallout from the Prophet’s article took a higher priority. He would apologize to Minerva later.

Two hours. It took him two hours to calm the Minister down enough to leave him. He had reassured the man that Harry Potter had no intention of leaving the wizarding world, and England, behind. It was, after all, the truth. The boy, himself, had told Albus that he intended to complete his Hogwarts education!

Albus had exaggerated a bit, not a lot, but a bit, about how smitten the boy was with the Arthur’s daughter. He had emphasized the close connection the two had, and how the other girls, the ones from Atlantis, had accepted her without complaint. He had also pointed out that two girls didn’t live with their parents in Atlantis. Instead, one lives with her aunts and the other, her sister. The third’s parents had passed on years ago. Albus might have implied they preferred it at Hogwarts, and the wizarding world.

Then he had pointed out the close business connections the Weasley twins had with the Malfoy family, even if Malfoy, Senior, was currently serving a sentence in Azkaban. Plus, that they had a similar business connection to several businesses in Atlantis which would draw both sides of the Portal closer together.

It was highly likely that the boy-who-lived would spend his time equally between the different societies. After all, he would have family on both sides of the Portal. That the Weasley family would forsake the wizarding world for Atlantis was ludicrous . . . completely unbelievable. If anything, they would make sure the boy spent more time here than there!

The Minister had met Molly, hadn’t he? Could he imagine her letting her only daughter move to Atlantis, permanently? It would never happen. That witch had her roots firmly in the wizarding world.

As for the adoption? It meant nothing in the long run. In five years, when the boy graduated, no one would even remember it.

His voting rights on the Wizengamot seat? Those could easily be handled by proxy until a child from Ginevra grew to adulthood. There were currently several such seats waiting for current Hogwarts graduates. That the Potter seat might have to wait until the next generation was not necessarily a reason to try to strip the family of their seat. On the other hand, if one of the current Weasley adults were to have a child, the Wizengamot seat could be transferred to that child at majority, if neither Harry nor Sirius raised an objection. The Weasley family, after all were a long-time pure-blood family who would have cadet status to the Potters with the marriage of Arthur’s daughter to the boy, later.

Considering the Weasley family’s meteoric rise, lately, it would be in Cornelius’ best interests to support Arthur, now, wouldn’t it?

Two hours . . . to explain what should have taken only five minutes — ten minutes, maximum. Two hours to say the same thing in as many ways as the English language allowed.

He wished they had been able to get almost anyone else into the position of Minister. Unfortunately, with the conservative block — former Death Eaters and their supporters — vetoing all his candidates, and his supporters vetoing all the conservatives’ candidates, Fudge had been the only one that they all could agree on as the least offensive to everyone.

He was quite relieved to finally floo to his office.

After a quick bite to eat — it was well into the lunch period — he checked the Hogwarts Map on his wall, and saw Minerva was in the Hospital Wing. He also saw an inordinate number of unfamiliar names on the map. Well, no exactly unfamiliar, he recognized all of them as being former students.

What were so many aurors doing in his Hogwarts?

He headed off to the Hospital Wing to speak with Minerva.

He had barely walked into the room when Minerva spotted him and came charging over. She was furious, he could tell. And still a bit dishevelled from whatever had happened earlier. It must have been quite something if she hadn’t put herself to right yet. She had probably forgotten she needed to do that.

“Whaur hae ye bin?” she demanded. “It’s bin a madhoose haur!”

Oh, dear, she had slipped into her native gaelic. He slowed down and braced for the onslaught.

“Th’ Stoatin Close almost destroyed, dozens ay injured students haur, dozens mair sent tae St. Mungo’s . . ..”

He raised an eyebrow and regarded her carefully. “Fudge was being especially difficult at the Ministry. I only now managed to take my leave,” he said calmly.

She rolled her eyes, and her head, and waved her arms angerly. “Th’ Minister!” she said derogatorily. She put her arms on her hips and stared at him with narrowed eyes. Then she huffed.

“If it wasn’t fur princess Twilecht, thes woods still be a disaster area!” she stated.

“What!?” he said amazed.

It took only a few minutes to recount the disaster in the Great Hall, the evacuation to the Hospital Wing and St. Mungo’s, and the lockdown on the castle. The worst part was hearing that Gregory Goyle was still missing, and that Draco Malfoy and Vincent Crabbe were still in St. Mungo’s with clear cases of obliviation, compulsion, and other magical mind damage.

The good news was that those two were the only students still at St. Mungo’s. The students filling the Hospital Wing beds were sleeping off the effects of the strong calming potions that had been given to counteract their hysteria at the happenings in the Great Hall.

Minerva had mostly calmed down by the time she had finished, and they were almost at his office. A few moments later, he was pulling out his pensieve and Minerva was dropping a memory of the event into it. Then he got to see for himself just what had happened after he had left.

“Vampire?” he said questioningly, on their return to his office. “An interesting possibility.” He looked over at the Hogwarts Map. “But it would be impossible for a Vampire to enter the castle undetected. Especially now that we have someone always watching the map for intruders, and mischievous students.” He sighed and stroked his beard. “Has the Great Hall truly been brought down?”

He waved his wand. A cabinet opened and a bottle of amber liquid floated over, accompanied by two small glasses. He poured one for himself, and the other for his Deputy.

She shook her head as she took the glass and swallowed half at one go. “Haaa,” she said as a small flame burst out of her mouth. She closed her eyes a moment, then sighed.

“Princess Twilight came through about half-an-hour before lunch and managed to put things to right.” She shook her head again. “The enchantments on the ceiling have been broken, though.” She looked at the Headmaster. “Filius thinks we can restore them over the summer, but it’ll take a lot of work, especially on your part.”

Albus winced. Then furrowed his brow lightly. “Princess Twilight?”

Minerva nodded. “One of the ponies notified her rather promptly. It took her a while to make her way here from the other side of the portal.” She sighed. “Whomever it was got her to go to St. Mungo’s first, and she healed all the injured there, first, before coming here.” She blew her cheeks out in remembered surprise. “I heard she accidentally emptied half the hospital. The only ones not set to right were the long-term patients and the potion accidents.”

Albus found himself raising his eyebrows. That . . . was a remarkable amount of magic to use. She might not be on par with what he had seen Princess Luna wield, but it wasn’t that far off.

She sipped from her glass.

“Then she came here. She wanted to see Mr. Potter, and I can’t say I blame her — not after last year. I didn’t exactly try to dissuade her.” She gave him a long look. “We should open the school to parents, tomorrow, to reassure them. It’ll be impossible to keep this from the Prophet, especially with Rita here to witness it!”

He stroked his beard thoughtfully, then nodded. “With the aurors being here, and so many sent to St. Mungo’s, the parents would descend here en masse, anyway,” he said, sighing. He gave her a steady, narrow-eyed look.

She shrugged. “With Madam Bones being here, do you think she wouldn’t have called for backup?” She sighed. “I was more concerned with the students than worrying about the publicity.”

The look she gave him dared him to disagree on her priorities.

He nodded. “Of course,” he said sadly. He would still try to guilt-trip her.

“So,” she continued from before, “I heard Princess Twilight went by the Great Hall to see the damage for herself, then cast an overpowered spell from her own repertoire and put the whole hall back together as if it were brand new.” She stopped and took another sip, then looked at her empty glass sadly. “Couldn’t fix the broken enchantments.” She sighed. “The Great Hall was never designed to withstand an attack from the inside.”

She fixed the headmaster with a solid stare. “If those two wee jimmies hadn’t nearly exhausted themselves with the two bombardas, there might have been a few deaths when they started slinging those cutting spells.”

They both reflected on that for a few moments. The headmaster refilled his empty glass and offered the bottle to Minerva.

She reluctantly shook her head.

“Gilderoy insists Mr. Goyle was possessed by a vampire,” she said darkly. She hiked an eyebrow. “Do you think it might have been the diary?”

He slowly shook his head. “No horcrux that I have heard of can possess someone. Their only purpose is to act as an anchor. Nonetheless, I shall make a few more inquiries of my Egyptian contacts, and the goblins.” He reflected a moment on what those books from Equestria had implied. It would take careful, extensive research.

He sighed and stroked his beard, thinking. “We shall have to just go with the vampire theory, no matter how improbable.”

She nodded her agreement.

They spent the next half-hour discussing the events, and how to handle the parents and students tomorrow.

Just as they were wrapping things up — Albus planned to inspect the Great Hall while Minerva would have the house-elves spread the word to the Prefects that dinner in the Great Hall would signal the end of the lockdown — the floo suddenly flamed up. Out of it emerged Princess Twilight’s visage and voice, “Is anyone there? Can I come through?”

“Of course,” called out Albus, “Just give me a moment to set the floo to receive.”

Seconds later, the purple-haired princess popped out into the room. She looked at the two people already in the office and nodded. “Have you had an opportunity to look at a pensieve memory?” she asked, going straight to business.

They nodded.

She nodded back. “Good. I took a memory from Harry and I’ve been studying it carefully.” She crossed her arms on her chest and started pacing. “From the memory, it’s obvious that Goyle suspected something from the beginning.” She stopped and looked at them. “I don’t know if you know it, but apparently there’s some sort of rivalry between Harry and Malfoy, Goyle, and Crabbe.”

Minerva moued and Albus nodded,

She resumed pacing. “In addition, Miss De Rippe — you remember her from last year’s incident, right? She was the only one to notice something was wrong.” She stared at the Headmaster. “She had a warning for Harry just after Easter Break.”

Yes, he certainly did remember the quiet Hufflepuff. Albus tilted his head sightly and raised an eyebrow to encourage her to continue.

She resumed pacing. “She said that she had noticed Gregory acting . . . out of character since before Christmas. So, she started watching him more closely. Her tentative conclusion was that something about the situation reminded her of the Head Boy from last year during exams. Nothing definite that she could take to a professor, but something, even so.” She waved her right arm.

“Looking at the memory, it’s easy to see that Gregory was suspicious of Gilderoy’s class. His expressions were quite out of line with those of Draco and Vincent.”

She shook her head. “Clearly, Gilderoy suspected something was up with Gregory. He was using this ‘special class’ to isolate the boy from his class. Confronting him in a classroom would have been difficult and the boy might have grabbed a hostage.” She huffed. “By getting him on-stage with only a few others nearby, he was better isolated. Plus, without a doubt, he planned to milk the situation for all the publicity it was worth, after the fact.”

After a brief pause, she continued. “Anyway, he used his ‘demonstrations’ to verify the situation by casting spells that would have been dead giveaways of his misgivings in a small classroom.” She shook her head, again. “It might have worked if Gregory already hadn’t been suspicious. Which was entirely out-of-character for the boy, according to Harry. He should have been like Vincent, slow to realize what was going on.

“Thankfully, Gilderoy managed to separate Harry, Hermione, and Susan from the rest before casting his last detection spell. That his wand vibrated slightly you can tell if you look very closely in the memory. That and he has a tiny smile afterward. That meant that whomever was possessed, and it was definitely a possession at that point, had to be one of Wayne, Su, Stephen, Pansy, or Gregory. Wayne, Su, and Stephen were out, because they hadn’t aroused his suspicions. The same for Pansy. Which left Gregory.”

She stopped pacing and stared at them. “If you examine things closely, you can see that when Gilderoy starts to raise his wand to cast the stunning charm, Gregory’s eyes widen and he too starts to raise his wand. Which he has had up his robe’s sleeve the entire time since he had left his desk. Interestingly, the tip is already glowing, which means he had a spell ready to cast before Gilderoy even started.”

She sighed. “The rest was quick. Gregory had already moved to the side before Gilderoy cast his stunning charm. You can tell Gilderoy saw Gregory’s flipendo jinx just before it hit him. As Gilderoy flew across the platform to hit Madam Bones, and Professors Flitwick and McGonagall, Goyle sent a second spell, a curse, at Harry.

“Harry, with Elly’s warning ahead of time, had a shield spell up already.” She gave a proud smile, then continued, “By then Gregory had smoke billowing from his wand, obscuring everyone’s view of him, and he used that cover to vacate the Great Hall using the Professor’s door on that side of the stage.”

She paused a moment. “The Castle Map shows he was out of the castle long before the aurors showed.” She grimaced. “So, my conclusions are that, first, there weren’t any vampires close enough for a possession. They would easily have been detected by the map weeks ago.” She glanced at the map that took up most of a wall in the office. “Second, we suspected there was a horcrux in the castle hiding as a diary, but we couldn’t find it. If the horcrux is as powerful as we have been led to believe by the books, then it could have possessed Gregory. Given how close-mouthed the Slytherin wizards and witches are, it wouldn’t surprise me if it got away with possessing Gregory and no one said anything about minor changes in Gregory’s character from last year.

“Third, the spells used by Gregory are within reason for him to know, but not at the level of competence he demonstrated given his academic performance so far in Hogwarts, according to Harry. Also, to do what he did required far more control over his magical power than he has every shown.”

She glanced between the two others. “The only reasonable conclusion I can reach is that Gregory, indeed, has been possessed by the diary horcrux. That being the case, we need to get to Gilderoy as soon as possible. There is a spell I know called ‘Traumalocation’. It is a spell that, when cast on someone who has recently been the victim of some form of attack, will allow us to locate and view the person or persons who committed the act.”

She turned and looked at the map, obviously concentrating on Gilderoy’s present location. “He’s still in the Hospital Wing?” she said, surprised.

Nodding firmly, Albus said, “Then let us be off.”

On the way, McGonagall explained that he had been knocked out when he crashed into them. Madam Pomfrey, not wanting to deal with his drama, had simply fixed him up with a potion, made him comfortable, and cast a spell to let him sleep and leave her in peace.

Soon enough they were grouped around his bed, the curtains drawn for privacy. “He doesn’t need to be awake for this spell,” Twilight said as she drew her wand.

“Thank Merlin for small favours,” Albus heard Minerva whisper.

There were no fancy wand movements, she just pointed her wand at the sleeping professor. A magenta glow began to surround the wand, then a second later a beam of the same magenta encompassed the professor on the bed, growing to a globe in shape. One spot on the globe began to glow bright while a spot on the direct opposite side got darker. “He’s in that direction,” she muttered, indicating the line formed by the two spots.

Albus noted the direction indicated, and had a quick spell-map of everything in that direction appear. Most notably, it included London, he saw.

A scene started to form in the globe of some sort of room, but it was mostly a magenta fog that slowly dissipated, and the two spots on the globe returned to their normal shade.

Twilight sighed, and the magenta magic faded.

“Well,” she said, dejected, “Either he is too far for more information, or he just died.”

“Too far?” Albus asked, staring at his map as the coast of France appeared beyond London on his image-map.

“Dead?” gasped Minerva.

The princess shrugged. “That could have been the cabin of a ferry, or train.” She frowned. “I haven’t really determined the exact limit of that spell.” Her mood noticeably brightened. “A new research project!” A notebook floated up beside her, with a pencil. She hummed to herself as she made notes and rearranged a few things in her scheduler.

“And yes, one of the reasons for the spell to fail is that the target died in the meantime,” she distractedly said. “However, he was alive when I cast the spell or we wouldn’t have gotten a direction indication, so I rather doubt he just up and died for no reason. And if he’s traveling, then the horcrux-diary wouldn’t dare to try to assimilate him, so probably not. It is more likely he’s on a train and it just exceeded the spell’s range. Or maybe he was somewhere with a floo and took it to a point that was outside the spell’s range.”

She looked around the room absentmindedly. “Unfortunately, he has probably mastered your apparition — he was seventeen, a sixth-year, when he made the diary. Hopefully, he’s not very proficient at it yet, and can only travel to places Goyle’s visited. Fortunately, almost everywhere else he might go to has changed and it would be very dangerous to attempt.” She shook her head. “If he did, he might find himself inside a wall.”

She turned to him. “I can leave you to tell all this Madam Bones, right?” She shivered slightly. “I have some research I need to conduct,” she said brightly, appearing far too happy at the prospect.

He nodded slowly. “I think Madam Bones would be most interested in your Traumalocation spell. I find myself intrigued by it.”

She frowned, and sighed. “Okay.”

The spell was surprisingly difficult to master using her methods, which were far more mathematical and formula-based than the methods wizards used. It took him, and Minerva, the better part of ten minutes to get the spell to work every time. But once mastered, it was easy to cast.

This spell would be quite the time-saver in catching any students who might cast harmful spells at others. The miscreant’s own magic would betray them.

“There now,” she said, pleased, “You can teach Madam Bones the spell, right?” She handed him the formula she had written down on parchment.

^·_·^

Ch. 38. As If Things Weren’t Bad Enough

Major Castor Searle and Princess Twilight were already seated when M.I. Five Director General Sir Patrick Jeremy Walker and the Head of the British Secret Intelligence Service, M.I. Six, Sir Colin McColl came into the conference room. Both had sour expressions. They were accompanied by their respective assistants.

It wasn’t a surprise, given the suddenness of the call and the fact that it was late on a Saturday.

Not wasting time, Walker started with, “Well, what happened this time,” immediately after greeting the other three. It was said in an offhand manner. One would almost think he was joking except for the hard lines around his eyes.

Princess Twilight blushed, and cleared her throat. “Nothing on the portal side of things, fortunately,” she said briskly, and with a bit of relief. “This time the problem is on the wizard’s and witch’s side.”

Both directors raised their eyebrows.

“I’m telling you because the Minister of Magic doesn’t believe this is a serious problem. Having dealt with the individual, Tom Riddle, before, I know he isn’t to be taken lightly,” she said.

“I’ll make this brief.” She slid two thick folders across the table to them. “I don’t want to make you any later for dinner than you already will be.”

She huffed. “Neither of you were in charge, so you may not know this. In the very late 1970’s and first two-years of the 1980’s, the wizarding world had to deal with a home-grown terrorist who called himself Voldemort. He liked attacking non-magicals, new-magicals, those who were half-bloods, and anyone who disagreed with him. He was rather indiscriminate in his methods. He sought to over-throw the ministry and install himself as king.” She shook her head.

“Most of his and his followers’ misdeeds were attributed to gas explosions, Irish terrorists, or flaws in construction to hide the truth from the non-magicals.” She nodded at the folders. “Those are a summary of the time, and the crimes of his and his followers. You will find that many of the incidents attributed to him that affected the non-magical society were blamed on the Irish or gas explosions.” She paused to let that settle.

“Supposedly, in October of 1981, he was killed. We discovered last year he had somehow survived, and he made a brief reappearance. We apprehended him — the details are in the folders — and thought the matter settled.”

She sighed forlornly. “We were wrong. Yesterday, we discovered he had somehow split himself decades ago and stored part of himself in an artifact.”

The other four all gave her incredulous looks.

“Yes,” she said, nodding, “I know it sounds impossible by your standards, but it is magically possible to do this. It’s extremely painful and tends to drive the person insane, I gather.” She gave them another moment to think, then continued. “He has apparently been using one of the students in Hogwarts as a stooge for the last seven or eight months. Yesterday, he came out into the open, caused a great deal of damage to the Great Hall at Hogwarts when it was full of students, and escaped in the confusion. Again, details are in the folders.

“I was, naturally, in Equestria. Headmaster Dumbledore, unfortunately, had travelled to London for an unrelated matter.

“Here’s the problem. Tom Riddle, Junior, his real name, is a half-blood, and well acquainted with the non-magical society. He won’t make the mistakes that most other wizards and witches are prone to do when among non-magicals. He will be able to blend in almost seamlessly.

“However, his view of it is extremely dated. He last lived in it in the early 1940’s, in the area around London. So, he is familiar with the city, to a certain extent. Any mistakes he makes will be through unfamiliarity with modern society. He will underestimate the government’s ability to communicate and possibly track him.”

Again, they were giving her incredulous looks.

She ploughed on. “His information, while old, is more than sufficient for him to adapt to the non-magical society quite quickly. We have searched for him in the magical community, and with magic, but so far there hasn’t been any signs of him. The closest heading we have on him is that he is likely in London. I fear he has snuck into your society to escape, or is lying-low until he can do that.”

They had grim expressions, now.

“He views non-magicals as little better than beasts, and has no qualms about killing anyone who displeases him or gets in his way. He is very clever, very smart, extremely dangerous, and knows very deadly magics. Your police forces should be warned not to try to apprehend him, if they see him. They need to call in backup if they even suspect he might be nearby. I understand there will be many false alarms, but as dangerous as he is to non-magicals, it can’t be helped.”

She picked up a box from beside her and slid it across the table. “There are a thousand emergency beacons disguised as cellphones in that box. Distribute them to as widely as possible to responsible people. When a sighting of Tom comes in, pressing the button will connect them directly to the Ministry of Magic’s police, and someone will teleport there immediately.”

She gave Walker a steady look. “I know you have all the wizarding enclaves under surveillance — I would if I were you. Go over the recordings for today, starting at about nine-thirty A.M. until three P.M..”

She again indicated the folders. “There are several photos of Tom in there, both what he used to look like in 1945 and the boy he has taken. He will appear as one or the other. Do not be taken in by his appearance, he put down a full-grown wizard who suspected him, almost instantly, and caused great damage to Hogwarts. They were lucky no one died. If not for magic, dozens would have.” She sighed. “Unfortunately, he should know the disillusionment charm. So, even if you don’t see him, he might still have passed through your recording. Look for anything that one of your Technical Specialist would call unusual — doors opening for no reason, and so forth.”

She stopped for a moment. “That’s basically all I can tell you. He is a threat to everyone.” She turned to Walker. “I’m sure he suspects that staying in Britain is foolhardy. He would eventually make a mistake and be captured. So, I expect him to make a run for either the continent, or elsewhere.” She looked at them.

“The magical avenues for leaving the country — portkeys, apparition, the floo-network, even the Knight Bus — are being closely monitored for signs of him.” She frowned and shook her head. “We aren’t taking any chances. I think we’ve closed all the magical avenues, so he won’t be able to escape through magical means. Which means his only way to escape has to be non-magical.” She made a wry smile.

“Knowing the attitudes most magicals have for non-magicals, especially in his time, I’m sure he will conclude that escaping via the non-magical world will be a piece of cake. After all, in his day the magicals would never think to warn the non-magicals that a magical criminal might be trying to sneak out of the country. So,” she looked at Walker and raised an eyebrow, “if you could have agents watching the airports and ferries, we might catch him when he tries to leave.” She paused and waited expectantly. “I suspect that he will assume he doesn’t need to hide from the magical police in the middle of a non-magical area, so, hopefully, he won’t be trying to conceal himself with an illusion.”

Frowning heavily, the man nodded. He understood the gravity of the situation.

Twilight looked over to McColl. “If you could alert your foreign agents that a dangerous fugitive is out, and have them watch the arriving flights and ferries from Britain, we might catch him that way.”

He nodded impassively.

“I would offer some of my Guards, but I think their unfamiliarity with both your society and magical that they would be more of a hinderance than a help,” she said apologetically.

“Do you have any questions?”

“So, which of these is what he looks like?” asked Walker’s assistant, holding up a photo of Tom, when he was in Hogwarts, and Goyle.

“The one on your left is how Tom looked when he attended Hogwarts in 1945. The other is Gregory Goyle. Tom could look like either of the two in public.”

She could see he didn’t understand.

“I told you he had split himself in half, which means, as the papers in the folders explain, that he split his soul in half.”

The men exchanged wondering looks.

“He put it in an artifact that has been hidden since 1945. Because he did the split in early 1945, the soul piece in the artifact has been frozen in time, you might say. That piece has no memories beyond the moment it was split off. The only information it has on the modern world is what it, he, has learned this year at Hogwarts. Based on the information we have, we believe he will look exactly as he did in 1945 — he will look like a typical teenager.” She stopped and took a breath. “Albeit, one who will act annoyingly superior to anyone he meets.”

“That’s fortunate for us because it means most of his magical knowledge will be at Hogwarts level.” She frowned. “Maybe a bit above, as he appears to have been an exceptional student in 1945.”

The man slowly nodded. “So,” he said slowly, “a teenager with gun who isn’t afraid to use it, at any time, on anyone? Maybe psychotic?”

She nodded back. “Yes, I’m afraid so.”

“We’ll need to bring in as many Special Technology people as possible,” he said to his superior.

Walker sighed. “I’ll ring Sir John, bring him up-to-date, and get the necessary clearances. We can have soldiers, out of uniform, posted by morning. Perhaps call in Interpol wth him as a ‘person of interest — do not approach’.”

Twilight nodded. She knew that Sir John was Chief of the General Staff, the professional head of the British Army.

“What about funding? Will this . . . Riddle . . . be able to pay for transport anywhere?” asked McColl. “It seems highly unlikely that the boy would have easy access to pounds, given that he’s been living in the magical world.”

Twilight shook her head. “He’s not stupid, and he’s had over seven months to prepare. I don’t think we can assume he is destitute. Not with how quickly he has moved and managed to escape detection so far.” She sighed. “His parents claim not to have seen him since he went to Hogwarts in September, and they appear truthful. He might not have a lot of money, but I would be surprised if he didn’t have enough to make it to France or the Netherlands. If he has enough for a plane ticket, he could go to almost any big city on the continent. Assuming he discovers how easy and far he can travel by plane, that is.”

She grimaced. “When he was around, passenger airplanes were for the rich, and the magicals mostly ignored or belittled the concept. Many still do. Without access to the non-magical world, I doubt he has learned of all the changes your world has gone through in the last fifty years. That ignorance, however, won’t last for long if he is in the non-magical world for any length of time.”

Walker sighed and slumped in his chair. He gave McColl a sympathetic look. “Looks like none of us are going home soon,” he said dryly.

Twilight grimaced. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I thought you should know as soon as possible, given Minister Fudge’s truculence on the matter.”

On that note, the meeting ended and the directors and their assistants hurried off to their offices. None of them expected they would be home before dawn.

^-~-^

Lights-out had been some time ago.

Harry had been staring at the underside of the canopy on his bed since then. The room wasn’t completely dark, however. The full-moon was less than a week away, and its light through the windows was more than enough to illuminate the room. He’d’ve had to draw his curtains tightly-closed to get it really dark. Or if he had wanted real privacy. The other boys, Ron, Dean, Seamus, and Neville were all asleep. Last year’s complaints of Ron’s snores not letting then sleep had been dealt with when Harry had complained to his mum over the summer.

She had disappeared into the Ponyville library on the ground floor for hours before returning with a solution. It was called “The Wife’s Perfect Rest.”

It was a simple spell. It detected when someone started to snore, and prevented anyone from hearing it. All other sounds came through, both ways, without impedance. So, you could hear the snorer wake up, sneeze, cough, what-have-you, but not be kept up by a buzzsaw in your ear. Likewise, the snorer could hear everything around him, so they could wake to an alarm, cock’s crow, or the wife telling the lazy gob to get up.

The book carefully did not mention that husbands could also use the spell on their wives if they were the ones snoring.

It was a nice night, too. If he listened carefully, he could hear the occasional hoot or call from the owlery or Forbidden Forest.

Unfortunately, Harry couldn’t seem to relax.

He was as wide awake as if it were noon and he was in the Great Hall.

That hadn’t been the case earlier. The adrenaline rush of the disaster in the Great Hall had worn off well-before lunch, leaving them all tired. However, the tense atmosphere of the interviews hadn’t helped any of them rest in the afternoon. He’d especially had been worried the entire time the aurors had been interviewing his herd and friends.

Would they mention something that he wouldn’t want out?

He had been anxious even when Ginny had gone over for her interview. He wasn’t sure why, just yet. It wasn’t like he felt the same way about Hermione and Ginny as he did the fillies, but they were his friends and he felt protective of them.

They were all weary and sleepy by the time they finished the evening meal. He had been yawning and slightly muzzy hours before curfew, as had been most everypony. Many had even gone up early.

But the moment his head hit the pillow, the events in the Great Hall had stampeded to the forefront of his mind. No matter how much he tried to shove them aside, into the little boxes that held all his memories, they kept crawling out.

He had been barely conscious of putting up a shield when he saw Goyle lifting his arm. One second it wasn’t there, and in the blink of an eye, it was. That was fine. They had practiced for many hours getting to the point where their shields came up every time, at full power.

However, he had been simply furious. Enraged that someone had attacked him and Hermione. Yes, the spell had been aimed in his direction, but it could easily have hit Hermione if she had moved in the wrong direction in the exchange of spells between Goyle and Gilderoy.

Him being the target wasn’t that much of a shock. He had always been the target, both in primary school and out. His home had to be included in that group, too. About the only place he wasn’t a target was in Equestria or the Gryffindor Common Room.

His cupboard, prior to that, had never been a place of security. It was where he was expected to be. Any safety it provided had been accidental. He had been allowed to stay because the adults couldn’t legally toss him out.

A lot like Tom Riddle.

Harry had never really had a safe place — until he had arrived in Ponyville. But, even then, Ponyville had its share of dangers. But they never singled him out. He had always been simply one of the crowd. Anonymous. Just like the rest.

He could handle being attacked.

What wasn’t so fine was his immediate desire to return that red-spell that had splashed so on his shield with another, but with twice the power. A spell with more than enough power to shatter most shields, he knew, and throw the one shielding to the floor. Once they were on the floor, then he could deal with them at his leisure.

There had been several spells for him to choose from for that leisure, at the very edge of his conscience. He couldn’t recall them now, but they hadn’t been nice spells, he knew. Survival of the wizard or witch on the receiving end was questionable, at best. The pain before the end, though, would have been intense.

How had he known those spells? He couldn’t recall reading any books with such spells in them. The first in the group he thought of certainly hadn’t sounded like a Latin-based curse. That meant it couldn’t have come from any books in Hogwarts, or at least those that weren’t based on European or Egyptian heritage.

There might be books from other magical societies in the Restricted section, but he had never noticed them.

Was it odd that he remembered a secret passage from the dungeons that led to the Restricted Section that Madam Pence guarded so jealously?

As careless as his mum was about leaving books for Spike to reshelve, he knew his mum would never have left out a book with such dangerous spells in it. Especially, when he might come across it before it was put back.

The spell had sounded in his head like de-sa-dal.

That rage . . . it worried him. He didn’t know where it came from.

For sure he had never been that angry in Equestria. None of the monsters there had ever singled him out. If they went after him, it was because they felt he was invading their territory. Or, they had been driven out of their territory and were attacking him because he was in their sight and they were scared. All very reasonable reactions, all things considered. With the exception of Timberwolves, most could be either escaped or driven off with a concerted effort by him and his friends. Only timberwolves went out of their way to hunt ponies.

Oh, sure, he had a few run-ins with other ponies, but they had never gone after him with the intent to kill. Embarrass? Insult? Yes. Definitely. But never kill. Ponies didn’t think that way. Once an enemy was down, they quit fighting. They would much rather have friends than enemies.

He had no doubts that the spell Goyle had cast at him had been intended to cause great harm, if not out-right kill him. But while he and Goyle had had their disputes, Goyle had never seemed to dislike him on a personal level. Everything had been at the instigation of Malfoy. The very few times they had met without Malfoy or Crabbe being around, last year, he had been cordial. Or, at least, as cordial as a muscle-bound thug could be when he had no orders.

The longer Harry considered it, the more certain he was that it wasn’t Goyle he had been enraged at, but something else. The spell, he had recognized it just from its colour, was a cutting spell of a particularly nasty sort. It wouldn’t be easy to heal any cuts made by it, and the pain it caused would linger.

How did he know this? How did he recognize it?

He didn’t think like that, he didn’t react like that.

He was a good pony!

Wasn’t he?

Goyle had been possessed. There wasn’t any doubt of that in his mind. During the entire “class,” Goyle hadn’t moved like Goyle did. He had been smoother, more graceful, lighter on his feet. Things no one had ever accused him of doing previously.

So . . . yeah. Possessed.

Those . . . . books . . . that Sunset had brought over had gone into great detail on horcruxes. The books had mentioned how the one in the diary, in book two, had been designed to take over another person. Could it have been given to Goyle, this time?

The books had made it quite clear that Malfoy Senior had never known what the diary really was — only that giving it to someone in Hogwarts would cause a calamity and greatly harm Dumbledore in some manner.

He had focused mainly on the first-years.

Even after Elly’s warning, it hadn’t sunk in except to make him work harder on their spells. That he really might have been the horcrux hadn’t really registered.

So.

The last horcrux, the diary, had taken over Goyle.

He should have realized it.

He should have told his mum.

Elly had warned them to watch him.

This was his fault for not telling his mum.

That was why Elly had had a feeling of familiarity about the situation, the feeling of possession. Somehow, she had unconsciously picked up on Goyle’s changes, just as she had noticed the Head Boy’s mis-actions last year.

Or, perhaps, had her magic somehow reacted to the possession? Had her magic, somehow, detected the same magic in Goyle that had been in Quirrel? Had it given her subconscious clues that not all was right with the boy? That Tom Riddle was again about to make an appearance?

That would explain much, actually. Her magic had picked up the subtle clues of possession and compulsion in the others’ magic, and brought it to her attention as a feeling that something was “wrong.”

The clues fit.

The next time she said something, he would listen.

Tom Riddle, a young Voldemort wannabe, was loose in the world.

And he had a grudge against Harry.

Which meant he would be after Harry’s herd, too.

Elly might notice before he did that something was coming.

He should have realized it. But nothing in the books had been happening all year. There were no mysterious attacks — the basilisk was long gone. There weren’t any other attacks, either. Plus, there was none of the tension and terror that the books had mentioned had been the hallmarks of the book’s second-year.

If not for Elly’s warning, he would never have suspected anything was wrong until it went wrong. And, despite the warning, he had still been surprised at Tom’s competence and planning.

In the books, Ginny had been acting . . . well, not suspicious, but unlike herself. Goyle, on the other hoof, hadn’t overtly changed at all this year. Or, at least, any changes had been so slight that they were things no one but his closest friends would have noticed.

But it was highly likely that Tom had been confunding and obliviating his “closest” friends. They probably never remembered noticing anything different about the boy, in either word or deed.

Plus, even if Harry had suspected Goyle had had the diary, who here would have believed him? Harry would be accused of over-reacting, as he had last year with the centaurs.

The Professors just couldn’t start casting detection spells. The parents would have been involved. And who knew if the wizard hiding in the diary couldn’t have bluffed his way out of it? Or even, forewarned, managed to conceal himself and the diary?

If Tom had realized the professors were suspicious of Goyle, he could have had one of the other two cast that fidelius spell on the diary and himself. Then he could have obliviated them of having done it. With that, it wouldn’t have mattered that the spells detected him, the casters and witnesses wouldn’t “see” that he was possessing Goyle. The perfect camouflage.

As he had heard, hindsight had twenty-twenty vision.

The only saving grace, as far as Harry was concerned, was that this version of Tom had only a Hogwarts education. He hadn’t spent nearly forty years combing the world for dark magics to wield and slowly building up a following of pure-bloods.

Well, then, Harry resolved, the only solution was to match his magical growth to Tom’s. At this point in time, Tom was only three years ahead of him. If he applied himself, he would finish third-year, easy, by summer. If he started the fourth-year books this summer instead of waiting for school, he would be able to finish fifth-year by next June. Then he could start sixth-year over the summer.

By the time he started his fourth-year at Hogwarts, he would have caught up with Tom. He questioned whether Tom would have as easy access to magical books as Harry had here. Plus, Tom would be traveling, not studying, plus having to secure some way to live. Not to mention trying to evade notice in the wizarding world. In two years, Harry calculated, he would be ahead of Tom on the magic on this side of the portal.

With the fillies help, and access to his mother’s library, he was confident he would leap-frog ahead of the other boy! The fillies wouldn’t like that, nor would his mum, he was sure. But the alternative would be to leave them at the non-existent mercies of a psychopath with no concept of mercy. One who, they had just seen, could strike with no warning.

It would be a difficult sell, but when he presented his final conclusions, his mum would have no choice but to teach him Dark Magic.

He shuddered.

Dark Magic wasn’t a nice toy. It felt dirty and, well, distasteful. Harry vividly remembered the feel of the magic Quirrelmort had used to hurt him.

Actually, now that he thought about it, it reminded Harry of Tirek.

He shuddered again.

Now there was a centaur he had no interest in ever seeing again!

He remembered the helpless feeling he had had as his magic was . . . wait. Now that he thought about it, what had happened? He had felt a drain on his magic, but his magic wasn’t the same as the ponies, they all knew that. His mum had even scanned his magic before they had “found” the portal. His magic had always been slightly different.

Tirek had known magic to drain a pony’s magic, not a human’s magic.

So, why did that remind him of Dark Magic? Tirek hadn’t actually used Dark Magic. King Sombra had used Dark Magic, and he had been dealt with well before Harry had arrived in Equestria.

It suddenly felt as if Harry had ice-water running through his veins. He had trouble breathing, broke into a cold sweat.

Yeah, now he remembered. When Tirek had tried to take his magic, something else had fought back. It had been a dark and unsavoury, but he had been relieved, at the time, that something was fighting to let him keep his magic. Together, they had fought. A black mist had temporarily surrounded him before disappearing as Tirek moved on.

Tirek apparently hadn’t noticed his resistance, or thought it was the same futile resistance other ponies had shown. He had taken the fall-off in magic from Harry as being the colt running out of magic instead of him successfully resisting and keeping a bit.

The dark and creepy feeling had persisted for a few minutes after the monster left, before slowly dissipating. He had felt quite sick and weak. But later, he had felt as if a dark fog in his head had disappeared. A fog he had never realized was there. Everything was sharper, clearer.

That had been his horcrux! In his scar!

He started shivering.

His mum had never mentioned anything being different about his scar, either before or after the Tirek incident. Despite the scar becoming less prominent.

However, now, from the books, he knew he had had not only part of Tom’s magical abilities — speaking to snakes — but also a part of Tom’s soul.

And his memories.

How much of him was Harry? How much was Tom?

He had been in a bit of a panic when Sunset had first produced the books from her world. However, his mum had reassured him there wasn’t a single trace of the evil wizard in his scar, at all. Her scans on his magic would have revealed any different magic in his scar, she had said.

Just to alleviate his worries, she had re-done several of her scans. The results had shown that there weren’t any signs of either magic in his scar, or a separate piece of soul in his head. There was only Harry’s magic, Harry’s soul. The only one in his head was Harry.

Of course not, he now realized.

Tirek had greatly weakened both their magics. Without the magic to reinforce it, Voldemort’s piece of soul had been too weak to do anything. According to his mum, that soul-piece in his head would have been only about one-and-a-half percent the size of his. If he had had a piece of it in his head. Far too small, she had reassured him, to ever pose a threat to his soul. Even with magic, it would have been too small to affect him.

If it had ever been in his scar to begin with, she had said.

But, then, she had never previously scanned him for a piece of someone else’s soul. You can’t find something if you never think to look for it in the first place.

Just as they had never thought to look for the diary before Sunset had shown them the books.

How much of him was Tom? How much of him was Harry?

^-~-^

Ch. 39. Masquerading

There had certainly been a bit of strange magic in Harry’s scar when he first came to Equestria, his mum had said last December, but there were no traces of it now.

What had happened when Tirek had attacked him? What had happened to the soul-piece? Based on what he remembered of Quirrellmort’s death, the soul-piece emerging from the wizard had been like a black cloud that had formed a face.

Harry had had a black mist around him, when Tirek attacked.

He didn’t remember seeing a face, at that time.

But he hadn’t exactly been in the most alert of conditions at that time, either.

The pain had been rather overwhelming.

He wondered if the reason his magic had been different from the other ponies was because he had had part of that vile creature’s magic and soul in his head?

His stomach felt like it had fallen to his toes.

Instead of Voldemort’s soul-piece absorbing him, as the diary-Tom was absorbing Goyle, according to the books, Harry had done the absorbing, back then.

Harry and Voldemort were now one person.

That would explain those odd memories he had from time to time. They weren’t his, but Voldemort’s.

He couldn’t stop shivering.

He had read that a person was the sum of their memories of their experiences. If a person had been burnt by a fire, and now feared fire, you could change the person by removing their memory of being burned. Then they wouldn’t fear fire anymore. Conversely, if you put the memory of being burned into a person, a “fake” memory, they would then fear fire.*

What did it mean when Tom had had seventeen years of memories and he had had only ten when they merged? Or had it been that only some of Voldemort’s memories persisted?

He had teleported, with Hermione, to get with the others. That was supposed to be impossible. He hadn’t tried it last year, keeping it as a secret escape should things go pear-shaped. It hadn’t helped. Quirrell had had him too firmly under his control for Harry to try, at first. Later, he had been to hurt to concentrate properly and try.

How had he done that? Was that another holdover from Tom? Had Tom, cursing the DADA position, added an exception to apparition in Hogwarts for himself? Or perhaps he had done it while still a student, when his wanderings and experimentation wouldn’t have been questioned? Perhaps he had carved out a privilege to bypass the spell that prevented apparition?

Which had then been inadvertently extended to the teleportation spell when the protective spells on the castle were modified by the ponies? His mum wouldn’t have deliberately let them miss such an obvious security problem. Maybe because it didn’t cross the school’s boundaries, that tiny alteration to the basic spell had been missed? Maybe Tom had added a magical trip-line that you could use magic to activate to allow him, or anyone he told the secret, to use apparition in Hogwarts?

Harry certainly wasn’t powerful enough to blow through the Castle’s protective spells! He would have to try, later.

Another disturbing aspect to discover. If anyone tried to say he had teleported, he would, as he had already planned, just say that it was impossible to use apparition and teleportation in Hogwarts. He must have used his magic to move very fast, and it had only seemed like he had teleported?

The Dursley’s had been right.

He was a disgusting freak.

Unknowingly, they had been trying to beat Voldemort out of him.

Too bad they had failed.

What would his mum say?

He had to keep this a secret!

If anypony found out they would fear and hate him.

They would say he was Voldemort.

He would lose everything.

Hermione and Ginny would disappear so fast, it would be like teleporting. The fillies might try to stay, but they, too, would eventually leave he wasn’t really Harry.

He would be alone. Again.

And this time, it would be for a good reason.

He would have to be especially vigilant about not thinking bad thoughts. Maybe he could remove all of Tom’s memories that weren’t spell-related? Instead of putting them in a pensieve, he could discard them! If they weren’t there, they couldn’t influence him. Right?

He had to protect his herd. Leaving wasn’t an option, Tom would just go after them in the hope to hurt him.

As the tears ran down his face, he had a bitter smile.

With some diligent digging into what memories he had, he would soon undoubtedly be far ahead of Tom in the magic department. He clenched his fists. When they next met, he would crush the insect for what he had done.

He would have to start setting aside time every night to go over his memories. He had to carefully and cautiously examine each and every one to separate his memories from Tom’s. That would be the only way to isolate the sources of those bad inclinations he had from time to time.

He would be a good pony!

^-~-^

Tom used a small bit of magic to wake him at sunrise. It was so small that he had doubts that the so-called “trace” would even have reacted. That he didn’t need his wand to cast it was a factor, too. If anything, it would have been counted as accidental magic.

However, the trace only worked on children under the age of wizarding majority, seventeen. Because the cut-off for Hogwarts was being born before September First, and his birthday was in December, he had started Hogwarts at almost twelve. Meaning he had been eighteen when his diary-self had been created. Goyle had been under majority, but Tom wasn’t. Tom had absorbed him and used his magic, with the diary’s, to create a new body with his magic. Which meant that the trace on Goyle’s magic would consider him to be sixty-eight years old. So, no trace to worry about!

Be that as it may, however, Tom was up, dressed, and finished with his morning routine in only a few minutes. He stepped outside the room, closed the door and cast a locking charm on it, followed by a muggle-aversion charm. Anyone thinking of going into this room would suddenly realize they needed to do something else more important, somewhere other than here. He also disillusioned himself to look like the man he had appeared as yesterday.

He headed down to the check-in desk. The morning muggle clerk had just arrived, fortunately. It was simple for him to walk over and lightly touch the muggle’s arm. He cast the confusion charm and a compulsion charm through his touch.

“You remember me coming down at eight, asking for a breakfast recommendation, and leaving. I returned an hour later. I said I had work to do, and I didn’t want to be disturbed. I did the same for lunch and dinner. You will remember that happening every day that you work. You will only vaguely remember the different restaurants open at eight that you recommended.” He stepped back from the blank-faced muggle.

“Excuse me, sir,” he said loudly.

The muggle blinked and shook his head uncertainly.

“Excuse me, sir,” Tom repeated.

The muggle jerked and turned to him, “Oh! I’m sorry!” he said with a conciliatory tone, “What can I do for you?”

“Could you suggest a nearby pub where I could get a decent breakfast?”

“Ah,” the muggle blinked again, “At this hour. I think the only thing open this early is the Chislehurst. That would be out the door, turn right, and about ten minutes up the street. You shouldn’t have any troubles finding it, it’s beside the Chislehurst Clinic. The meals are reasonably priced, if a bit plain.”

Tom nodded and murmured, “Thank you.” He headed out the door, and turned right. Once he was well out of sight, he ducked into an alley and apparated to another alley that was near a street much further away, and closer to the heart of London. After casting a new illusion, he looked to be a man of thirty in an expensive suit. Just in case someone was trying to track him.

It took a few minutes, but he finally waved a taxi down. “Gatwick airport, please.”

He hopped inside. The driver started moving the taxi. “Which terminal? U.K, France, Germany?” His voice trailed off.

Thinking quickly, Tom said, “Berlin.”

The driver nodded.

The airport was . . . stunning. It was all he could do not to stare as the cab approached. The size of the planes was beyond his imagination. They made the planes he had seen in 1945 look tiny. It was like seeing a train fly.

And their speed!

Nothing, absolutely nothing the wizards had could compare with the speed these planes had as they took to the sky. They easily climbed higher and faster than any wizard could hope to fly a broom — in only a matter of minutes. Not even the planes he had seen in 1944 could compare.

Of course, watching yesterday’s replay of the launch of the Buran spaceplane as it left for Mars — MARS for Merlin’s sake — had left him thoroughly shaken. The muggles had two bases on the moon and were now half-way to Mars to set up that base. The announcer had even talked about plans for the first flight to the next STAR!

The wizards had never considered, seriously, going to the moon. And Mars? Never even crossed their minds. They were quite happy with the world they knew.

All because of the “Special Technology” brought through the portal by the Atlanteans . . . no Equestrians. The Equestrians had managed to do what no wizard or witch had ever imagined — convinced them that magic was technology, and nothing to be alarmed or afraid of. As one news-reporter had put it, “Any technology sufficiently advanced from one’s own is indistinguishable from magic, but it isn’t magic, it’s technology!”

He knew it was magic, though, after watching the Equestrians in Hogwarts in Goyle’s memories, and watching them, himself, this year.

These Equestrians were much smarter than he had given them. Clearly smarter than the muggles, at the very least.

Which was why he was going to Gatwick. Heathrow was still recovering from yesterday, he imagined, with rescheduled and postponed flights. The general confusion should help to slip out of the country.

It took all of his control to bring up his occlumency barriers so he didn’t look like a child from a country village staring at the big city. He calmly thanked the driver, paid, and started inside the terminal. He took a long look around, trying to project the air of someone merely scanning their surroundings.

He was quite happy with his progress in occluding. It had progressed to the point where if he hadn’t known he was occluding, he would have thought he was a regular businessman in a new location, getting his bearings. All his emotions, except a mild curiosity, were firmly locked away.

Undoubtedly, he didn’t need to do this. The wizards were probably still looking for him in Hogwarts. That he might have fled would probably come to them later today. Then they’d start with the standard wizarding locations, first. That Goyle, or even a vampire, could manoeuvre in the muggle world would leave them slack-jawed in disbelief.

Back in 1944 he wouldn’t have worried about wandering in the muggle world — his magic was more than up to the task of dealing with problems. But the programs he had watched yesterday seemed to indicate that these muggles were much more aware of their surroundings. The bobbies had radios, now, and they could call for help too easily for his comfort.

He didn’t want to attract the attention of the muggles. Too much of a disturbance would attract the obliviators. In the clean-up, they might realize he had been the cause, giving a clue that his cover story of a vampire was a lie. So, he would act as if he were under observation.

The building was bloody huge! The entirety of Diagon Alley would easily fit in the concourse area. There were shops and offices looking out onto the floor, too.

It was easy to ignore his distaste for the muggles in admiring their building.

Hanging from the ceiling were a series of display boards with headings of “Departures” above them, in several different languages. It was confusing to a newcomer, to say the least. He didn’t know which way to turn, or where to go.

There was nothing for it, he’d have to ask. Looking around, he noticed a bobby not far away. He headed over.

“Excuse me, officer,” he said approaching the man. “I usually use Heathrow, but with all the excitement, yesterday, I was worried about getting a proper flight. However,” he paused and looked around, “I’m a bit lost, here. Can you tell me where to go for the next flight to Marseille?” He smiled at the muggle, using his occlumency to help him appear harmless and innocent.

A woman seated in the row of chairs at the street windows facing into the lobby, was staring at him curiously. He glanced at her and nodded congenially. She looked away, as if embarrassed at being caught. He would have sneered if he hadn’t locked his emotions away.

“Marseille, you say?” The man looked up at the big boards hanging from the ceiling and shifted a few steps to get a closer look. “The flights are in alphabetical order by destination,” he said, staring intently. “Looks like you’re a bit early, the flight for the day isn’t until almost noon. And you’ve a bit of a hike, too. You want the British Airways counter at the far end of the building.” He pointed. “The cabby must have dropped you off over here by mistake.”

Tom shrugged. “That’s alright. It gives me time to review my speech.” He looked off down the terminal. “A little exercise won’t hurt, either.”

“Glad I could help, sir.”

Tom murmured, “Thank you,” and set off.

The woman was staring at him as he walked off. He pretended not to notice. A bit of irritation at being stared at leaked through his shields.

He took his time and studied the building as he walked. Despite his dislike of muggles, their recent achievements were incredible, and he had to admit a grudging respect for their construction and aesthetics.

It was a marvellous building. Clean uncluttered lines, clean surfaces, the feeling of efficiency, everything clearly marked in multiple languages, with large windows on the street-side and everything else on the other. Periodically, there were extremely wide hallways leading off with designations of which numbered “gates” could found in them. Superficially, it reminded him of Charing Cross Station, but bigger, cleaner, and more commercially-oriented.

Completely unlike the wizarding world where the only concern seemed to be, “Is it dirty enough? It can’t be good if it isn’t a century old!” An extremely ridiculous attitude given how simple it was for even the worst wizard or witch to cast a cleaning spell! It seemed as if they revelled in their shops being dark, dingy, and difficult to find anything in.

It was also remarkably crowded for the time of the morning. Most wizards would barely be stirring themselves, only the merchants would be up and about.

On the other hand, the confusion in the crowd made it easy for him to fit in.

Observing the crowd allowed him to see how people purchased their tickets. So, when he finally reached the proper ticket counter, he was prepared.

Stepping up the muggle woman, who, he had to admit, was rather attractive, he said, “I’d like a ticket for the next . . . flight to Paris.”

The woman nodded genially, “Will that be First Class, Business Class, or Coach?”

He blinked, having missed that distinction in his previous eavesdropping. Best to go for average. “Business Class.”

The price she quoted was breath-taking. Only a bit more than two hundred quid? That was the same price as in 1945! The change in planes and travel times was incredible, but the price stayed the same? Was she having him on?

He counted out the quid. She gave him his ticket and the gate number for the flight.

“I’ll need to see your travel documents,” she said. He handed her a quid, and cast a mild confusion charm. “This has everything. My name is Sweeny Todd, from Surrey, and I was born on May First, 1971,” he said. “I trust you don’t need anything else, or to do anything more.” She stared at the bill, blinking. She typed on what looked like the keyboard from a typewriter, but there were no levers pounding letters on paper, just little clicking sounds. Then she smiled and handed the quid back. “Everything appears in order, Mr. Todd.” He heard a buzzing sound repeated several times, then she reached down and lifted a paper up. “Your ticket, it has your flight and gate number marked on it.”

“Do you know where that gate is?” she asked pleasantly. “No?” She reached for something beside her and handed him a piece of paper with the terminal mapped out on it. She circled one of the numbers on one of the spokes, then drew a line from it to where they were on the map. “There now. That should do you. That wing is just down that way,” she pointed, “a short distance. Have a nice flight.”

He took the paper and headed off in the direction indicated. He had about an hour to kill, so he took his time and did some exploring in the shops he passed. Everything was well-organized, clean, and brightly lit. He stopped at one of the restaurants on the way and had his breakfast.

Then he spent time watching the planes land, take off, and taxi. It was incredible that the muggles had managed that feat. He observed how quicky they queued and bordered their plane, or deplaned. It was a marvel of efficiency. Dealing with wizards was frequently like herding cats.

Then his turn came, and he bordered the plane.

The seats, naturally, were organized with First Class, those paying the most, up front. Business class was second, and Coach, the vast majority, was last. After taking a look into the Coach section, he could see they had more seats per row. That would make it more crowded and uncomfortable, he could see. The rows also appeared a bit closer together, too.

Business class was quite nice, he decided. The seat was easily as comfortable as many of the seats in Slytherin Dorm, and a tiny application of the cushioning charm from Goyle’s wand made it even moreso. The window beside his seat gave him a decent look at outside the plane. He could see the leading edge of the wing if he leaned close to the window and looked back.

He was well-satisfied with his seat, he decided. Having to sit with so many muggles did set his nerves on edge, a bit, however. But his occlumency was up to the task, and he felt as relaxed and confident as he appeared.

The flight . . . was an experience. It was only when he sank into his seat as the plane abruptly accelerated and thundered down the runway that the reality of the situation sank in. Then the plane’s wheels left the ground and his stomach dropped as the plane rapidly climbed. In a few minutes he was higher than any broom-rider had ever been, and the plane was still climbing.

The plane had barely slowed its climb when the stewardess stood and started a brief lecture on what to do in an emergency. It was the first he realized that the cabin was pressurized, and if it lost that pressure, he would quickly pass out from lack of oxygen.

Truly, they were higher than any wizard had ever been, and lived to tell the tale. He stared out the window and realized they had already passed the channel and were now over France.

Then the pilot made an announcement that they were traveling at five hundred and fifty miles an hour. He also said that was eight hundred and eighty kilometres per hour, whatever that meant. Tom shook his head in disbelief. The muggles were basically flying a building full of people five-times-faster than the fastest broom on the market.

And they considered that normal.

He could only shake his head.

He was mesmerized by the view. Seeing things from a height of a thousand or two feet up was one thing, seeing it from miles up was another. Finally, he turned and looked around the cabin. He noticed there was a magazine of some kind in the pocket behind the seat in front of him.

He had barely started to peruse the magazine when the pilot’s voice came on. He announced they would be landing in twenty minutes, the temperature at the airport, and the weather forecast for day.

Half-an-hour later, he was queueing with the other passengers as they disembarked. Barely a bit over an hour and the muggles had travelled to Paris. He had to shake his head in wonder. A port-key or apparition would be faster, but not nearly as comfortable. He couldn’t imagine how much faster the military versions of these things were.

He shuddered at vividly remembering the block-buster bombs being dropped on London. There was no warning where one would hit. The only thing protecting wizards was that most of them lived in the countryside, not in the big cities. Those that did, floo’d or apparated to the countryside when the warning sirens started.

And how deadly they were. Dropping a car-sized bomb from such a high altitude would go right through most spells protecting wizard residences before the owners even knew an attack was on the way! Spells could stop anything — but only if you were powerful enough! The spells protecting houses were strong, but thousand-pound bombs falling at 500 miles per hour had a HUGE amount of kinetic energy. Ignoring the whole explosion part, a one-ton bomb falling that fast would pass through almost any shield a wizard could make as if it didn’t exist.

If they were at all accurate in their aim, and he had no doubt they could get one of their bombs exactly where they wanted, they could drop a dozen of such bombs, one right after the other, on the same target. With careful timing, they could all hit with a few seconds of each other. Not even the fastest wizard would be able to react and reinforce his spells in that short a time. If the first didn’t make it through, at least one of the others would.

The protego maxima was fine for bullets and debris thrown by a spell, but when the stuff thrown at you out-weighed you by ten times? Good luck, because you’d need luck!

And that was nearly fifty years ago! Who knew how much bigger their bombs were today? He needed to do some serious research before he moved on any of his tentative long-range plans.

Having his “documents” vetted by the airline before departure apparently obviated the need for a customs desk at the Parisian airport. Not that he would have had a problem confounding anyone who might have gotten in his way. Minutes later, he was exchanging some of his quid for French francs, leaving the Terminal building, and looking for a taxi. Half-an-hour after that, he was entering the French Magical Quarter.

It would not take him long to acquire a wand that was as perfect for his new body as his old wand used to be for his old body.

He wondered where his old wand was. The books about his disappearance said his wand hadn’t been recovered.

^-_-^

Harry had not had a good night’s sleep. Even after his morning shower he didn’t feel quite as awake as he should. Still, he managed to fool his friends into thinking he hadn’t slept well because of the events, themselves, rather than his epiphany about himself late last night.

Hence his false cheer as they once more walked into the Great Hall. A cheery attitude which was doubly-hard to maintain as soon as they entered. The room was well-lit, of course, but it was from the torches on the walls and floating overhead. The simulacra of the morning sky that usually greeted them was gone.

Instead, only a normal, solid, wooden roof was overhead.

A reminder of yesterday’s disaster. That they hadn’t yet restored the magic that had made the Great Hall so distinctive was a telling tribute to just how much damage Malfoy and Crabbe had done. Plus, an indication of either how busy everypony was, or how difficult it was to recast the spells.

They weren’t the only ones subdued by the “normal” appearance of the Hall, despite how “new” it appeared in other aspects. Which was another remarkable aspect of yesterday. He couldn’t help but smile at the thought his mum had “restored” the hall to this pristine state.

They sat down and began filling their plates. Despite the events of the day before, everypony seemed to have a hearty appetite.

The number one subject, of course, was yesterday.

“I heard,” said Parvati in a whisper that was just a hair short of being at a normal conversational level, “That Malfoy and Crabbe are both on their way to Azkaban!”

Neville frowned heavily. “I doubt,” he replied sharply, “that the Ministry would send a second-year to Azkaban when no one was killed!”

Ron sighed. “Yeah, there’s no way we would be that lucky.” Despite appearing glum, he wasn’t slow about stuffing his plate and mouth.

“The only things you can blame on them are property damage and endangering other students,” Hermione said primly. “Besides, as the Headmaster said last night Goyle had compulsed them to act the way they did, so it’s not their fault.”

“Mental weakness against compulsion magic must be a family trait for Malfoy,” said Apple Bloom, “considering his father claimed to have been under compulsion charms for several years, twelve years ago.” She started cutting up a banger. “Somethin’ in their blood-line I would guess. My sister says you shouldn’t marry close relations for that reason.”

Hermione nodded firmly. “Yes. If there are any defective genes in a family-group, marrying too close together will bring them out. Tay-Sachs disease is one such ailment. People with relatives diagnosed with that have to be very careful not to marry others who might also have that defective gene or their children will suffer from a nerve disorder and die.”

Harry and the other fillies nodded.

The pure-bloods just looked confused.

She stopped and looked off for a moment. “I wonder if the muggles can use their Special Technology to fix that?” she said softly, with a glance at Harry.

She shook her head and returned to the conversation.

“I wonder if his father never really threw off all the compulsions from back then?” Harry mused out loud. “It would explain why he is so persistent in his anti-non-magical views, and refuses to see reason.”

Ron chuckled. “Maybe one of the other Death Eaters keeps confunding him! How would we know the difference? Or anyone, for that matter?”

That seemed an interesting thought to the others, and Parvati got a bit excited at hearing his conjecture. Harry hid his smirk. This was one way to get back at the older Slytherins for spreading rumours about him.

It was as the owl-parliament flew in half-way through breakfast, and everypony raised the owl-shields, that Harry realized the lack of the magics on the roof might be an opportunity.

He knew his mum had closely examined the magics in the roof of the Great Hall with an eye towards showing them to the other Princesses. Perhaps he should tell her about their failure here? Ask her if she would be interested in recasting them to the Great Hall before trying them in Equestria? Being able to consult with the Headmaster and Professor Flitwick as she put them up would very helpful.

The arrival of the Prophet started to set off a whole new set of whispering and exclamations. From what Neville and Hermione were saying, Rita Skeeter was really taking the Headmaster to task for not being in Hogwarts during the attack, and taking so long to arrive after the fact, too.

Only a minute or two after the owls had started landing, the Headmaster stood and tapped his goblet. The room fell silent and waited.

“I am happy to report that there were no permanent injuries in yesterday’s regrettable incident.” He turned slightly and bowed to the Hospital Wing Matron. “As I said yesterday, Madam Pomfrey’s skills were on full display, and I thank her, again, for her expertise, professionalism, and dedication.” Just like yesterday, he clapped his hands lightly, several times, encouraging applause from the students. Which the students were happy to supply.

“Sadly,” he continued once the applause, whistling, and cheers subsided, “Mr. Goyle is still missing. If any of you have a suggestion as to where he might have gone, please confide in your Head of House, or a Prefect. We shall not disclose the identity of anyone who does so.” He swept the Hall with his kindly gaze, and stroked his beard. “Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Crabbe are currently at St. Mungo’s,” he resumed after a moment, “but will be returning to Hogwarts this afternoon.” He sighed, looked down, then back up.

“The healers at St. Mungo’s have determined that both were under strong compulsions and are not responsible for their actions in the Great Hall. There are signs of obliviations going back several months.” He paused. “They deeply regret what has happened, and deserve our sympathy and compassion.” He looked across the Hall. “That there were no permanent injuries means there is no cause to hold unjust feelings against them. They are just as much victims as anyone else is in Hogwarts.”

He paused a moment and peered over his glasses at the students. “Please do not harass them,” he said gently, but the steel in his voice was clear.

He paused and gave the students another long glance.

“On a much brighter note, however, I have invited your parents to visit Hogwarts today and tomorrow.” He looked up at Hall doors.

The room broke out into excited chatter.

“I expect the first group to be arriving shortly, after breakfast is concluded.” He said loudly, and took another look around the Hall. He focused more on the first-years, and smiled broadly.

“We have coordinated with the Princesses, and so it is with great joy that I relay their assurances that the parents for all of our . . . Equestrian . . . students will be visiting today and tomorrow.”

It was amazing how forty ponies could manage to drown out the entire rest of the school in celebrating. The pegasi were flying circles while the rest were jumping up and pronking around their tables. They were grabbing and hugging almost anyone who wasn’t quick enough to dodge.

Not that many did.

Pony hugs were appreciated by most non-pony students.

Anything else the Headmaster might have wanted to say was lost in the pandemonium.

The stunned looks on the other students’ faces was priceless.

^-_-^

Author's Note

* Giving people fake memories of an event is possible. Put someone under hypnosis and say, “Tell me about the time you were kidnapped by aliens.” Rather than reply, “That never happened,” they make up a story (People under hypnosis can only do what they are told, they don’t initiate any actions). Then, when they wake, they believe the story to be true. It’s why hypnosis is not allowed as testimony in court. See https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/media-spotlight/201211/implanting-false-memories.

Ch. 40. Gathering Intelligence

Anne’s Saturday had gone off the rails with a rapidity that was truly breath-taking.

They had been in a private dining room at the Leaky Cauldron, having their weekly luncheon. Sirius, in a predictably upset mood, had not been flirting with her, for once. She counted herself lucky.

“What do you mean you couldn’t stop the story! You own enough to get them to listen, don’t you?” He scowled at her from across the table, his crumpled copy of the paper flung down between them. “They have no right to talk about Harry like that!” he fumed, waving his arms wildly.

“They don’t consult with me on all the stories they run, that would be ridiculous!” she calmly retorted, stirring her tea as they waited for their meal to arrive. “I am not an editor, nor do I want to be. What they run is up to them. All I did was suggest some common-sense guidelines on how we could increase our sales . . . common-sense which seems sorely lacking in this community!” she countered.

“First, as far as I know, nothing that was printed was untrue. Was it?” She paused and stared at his angry expression, waiting for his reaction.

Grimacing, he shook his head as he leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest.

“Second, you’ve heard him say he’s here under protest. You can’t say that you didn’t expect that to get into the Prophet at some point, can you?”

Pursing his lips, he shook his head.

“Besides, he’s twelve! How many times did you change your mind when you were his age?”

“Third, his adoption was legal, in Equestria, and is irrelevant to here. As for being influenced by a foreign power, half the Kings and Queens of England have been foreign-born and raised! Those are closer ties than adoption, right? And you don’t hear very many people complaining they shouldn’t have ruled England, do you?”

She smirked. “Besides, how many of the pure-blood families want to give up their seats in the Wizengamot if their son marries a witch from the continent — because their son or grandson might be unduly influenced by the foreigner?”

Sirius scowled and stared at the table, refusing to look up at her.

“Fourth, he’s twelve! He won’t have anything to do with the Wizengamot for five more years. Control of his seat and voting rights are all in your lap because you’re his guardian. What you say is all that matters.” She stopped and raised an eyebrow. “If you’re worried about what Dumbledore will do, that he will try to get Harry to assign his seat to one of the wizard’s followers, assign the seat to your cousin, Andromeda Tonks, or her husband. No one will accuse them of being in Dumbledore’s pocket or acting against the boy’s best interests.”

The wizard was clearly pouting, now.

She sighed. “It might even be easier to get some of those changes you want pushed through if it didn’t appear as though it were being proposed by Dumbledore and rubber-stamped by his followers. Too many of the neutrals don’t want to get caught up in one of the wizard’s long-term schemes.”

She stared at him levelly until he finally huffed and nodded.

“On the subject of the Wizengamot, Madam Longbottom was kind enough to introduce me to Mr. Scamander. I think he might be convinced to attend a Wizengamot meeting or two, and introduce some legislation for you. He has successfully introduced bills in the past, and many of the Wizengamot members seem to hold him in good regard. As a plus¸ although he knows Dumbledore, he isn’t considered a sycophant. His Order of Merlin, Second Class also gives you one more vote.” She smiled slyly. “I think he might enjoy a short vacation in Equestria in exchange for his assistance in drafting a few changes to the more onerous laws.”

Sirius grinned. “Newt doesn’t have an animagus form, so suddenly having four hooves and fur will be a great prank!” He rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

“You could invite him and his wife to your spa in Ponyville, maybe even introduce him to Spike. What do you think he would say on seeing a timberwolf?” She smiled back at him. The man was still a great deal like a foal — easily distracted.

“Now, then,” she continued, “how sincere is he about the girls he’s apparently dating? Tell me about this . . . herding.” When it came to bragging, Sirius was no sluggard. Just the thought that the boy was with five girls brought a huge smile to his face.

She wasn’t about to admit it, especially to a human, but she did wish she had thought to start a herding-intent when she was the same age as these fillies. Her life might have taken an entirely different direction. But she hadn’t been as socially clued-in as she should have been.

They were on the dessert course, and Sirius was still waxing poetic on the boy’s conquest of the five girls, when there was a knock at the door. She hadn’t bothered to correct him that it was the three fillies who were the leaders in the relationship, as Equestrian custom dictated.

Tom stepped in at Sirius’ “Enter!” with an owl on his shoulder.

“This owl just flew in with a message for you,” he said to Anne with a nod in her direction.

She raised her eyebrows, momentarily, in surprise, and glanced at Sirius to see if this was one of his pranks, but he appeared as mystified as she was.

Tom pointed to the scroll tied to the owl’s leg. “It’s marked urgent.”

The owl promptly left Tom and landed in front of Anne, sticking out one leg while balancing on the other. She quickly relieved the owl of its burden, noting the scroll was indeed marked urgent — underlined three times, no less.

“Thank you, Tom,” she said as she unrolled the scroll. “Would you please give the owl a few treats and some water, if she wants?”

Tom nodded, and held out his arm for the owl, before leaving and closing the door.

She glanced at the scroll and gave Sirius a surprised look. “It’s from the Daily Prophet’s Chief Editor.” She looked down and started to read as he watched her. “Oh, dear,” she said distractedly. “Something important has come up and they want to give me advance warning.”

She stood and started for the door. “Thank you for the lovely lunch, Sirius.” She stopped half-way to the door and turned to face the wizard. “Maybe you should come with?” she suggested. “I’m sure they would love an interview with you on your take on your godson’s future? After all, he certainly can keep up the tradition of a pure-blood son to inherit the Potter family with the Weasley girl, and naming a son from the muggle-born witch to inherit the Black family would make your mother and father rollover in their graves, wouldn’t it? Not to mention the advantages having sibling sons and daughters in the Equestrian royal family would confer on both families — and possibly their friends.”

He had no idea how much she disliked the four princesses, and the way they ran Equestria as if it were their personal property to do with as they desired. That wouldn’t stop her from using the suggestion of their clout to improve the wizards’ conditions on this side of the portal, however.

She could grit her teeth and deal with the untrustworthy alicorns if it moved her closer to bringing true equality to the witches and wizards in this world. Once all the magicals had equal opportunities, then she would have enough followers to tackle the non-magicals with some hope of actually making a difference.

Sirius gave her a blank look, before he broke out into barking-laughter. “Oh, yes,” he said and grinned widely. “I would love to give them my opinions!” He quickly joined her, chortling still. “And the stories I can tell about Harry and the girls?” He gleefully rubbed his hands together again.

^·_·^

Anne stared out the window. It was amazing that none of the children had died. Despite the ceiling almost coming down, most of the injuries were minor and from the panic as they tried to escape. Even the students directly attacked would suffer no long-term physical harm.

“Thank you for alerting me to this situation,” she said to the new Editor-in-Chief, Mr. John Jonah Jameson, Junior, who nodded while switching his cigar from the left to the right-side of his mouth. Mr. Barnabas Cuffe, the previous editor-in-chief, had left due to “differences of opinion on the future of the stalwart brand of this fine and time-honoured newsparchment.” Or, at least, that was what the article in The Daily Prophet covering his retirement had said. That he had been a die-in-the-wool pure-blood bigot and had been a secret supporter of Voldemort had not made it into the article praising his retirement.

She had had to use only a little magic to get him to decide it was time to retire and spend his remaining years at home . . . doing nothing that had anything to do with politics. He also avoided, whenever possible, meeting with his old pure-blood friends who had been as dedicated to Voldemort as he had been.

“As I’m sure you’ve already decided,” she continued, “you need a thorough examination of Mr. Lockhart’s credentials.” She paused and looked at him. “And you certainly want a special edition for this evening, but focusing on the events themselves, right?” He gave her a firm nod, his cigar tip remaining unmoved. “That should give your reporters time to find out where the Headmaster was, and what he was doing, as well as the research on Lockhart.”

Jameson took out his cigar. “I’ve already got a reporter at St. Mungo’s compiling a list of students admitted, their injuries, treatments, and prognosis. Another two went through with the healers to Hogwarts for a similar list, there, and to interview some of the students for eyewitness quotes.” He sighed wistfully. “I doubt we’ll get any kind of meaningful response from the aurors.”

She nodded. “But the speed with which Director Bones reacted, and the aurors responded, says volumes about her competence, and the way the new Ministry is taking charge. From the sounds of it, they couldn’t have come any faster. Unlike the Headmaster, who was hours late.” She paused a moment, thinking. "Just remember, though, even if Dumbledore is a revered wizard, he is still just a wizard. If Professor Lockhart isn’t as competent as he claims, then that proves Dumbledore is just as fallible as any of us. Don’t let his standing in the community defer you from fairly and accurately reporting his failings, if any, in his capacity as Headmaster.”

She smiled at the editor. “Well, I think I should probably go rescue your reporter from Sirius. He’s either ranting like a madman, or trying to get a date.” She stopped at the door and looked back at him. “There are also a few people I need to talk to before the special edition hits. Build up a little . . . anticipation, right?”

Jameson gave her a vicious and anticipatory smile as she closed the door behind her.

After retrieving Sirius, and bringing him up to speed on the events at Hogwarts, she would unleash him on the Ministry. One, to reassure their friends and allies that the Ministry really was working on the problem, and to criticize Dumbledore for not being at the school when he should have been. Perhaps the school would be better served if he gave up one of his other duties?

Meanwhile, she would be doing the same for those friends and acquaintances who were not currently at the Ministry . . . like Madam Longbottom, the MacDougals, and the Turpins, to start with. They would be quite interested to hear how close their children came to being injured while the Headmaster was . . . not present, when he should have been. Whatever was happening elsewhere couldn’t take priority over the children in the castle.

Then she would move on to the other influential witches, peddling the same concerns.

^·_·^

Castor escorted the Princess up to the “official” apparition/teleportation room at the top of the building. It was the only room in the building that was excluded from the protective anti-apparition/teleportation spells. It also had an armed squad in the next room and observing through a one-way-view illusionary wall. They were armed with wands, pistols, and a machine-gun. The muggle weapons had bullets enhanced with magic — the pistols used stupefy and the machine-gun used bombarda’s. Anyone arriving with hostile intent would go down. Depending on how hostile, they would go down hard, if necessary.

Then he headed for Sir Walker’s office.
An awful lot of things needed to start happening, and happening quickly. His first call would be to the Brunton Airbase. They would need every advantage they could for this, so they needed to recall as many changelings back to base as possible. But he had to run it by the Director, first.

He nodded to James Wootton as he entered the main office. The man was already on the phone to Field Marshal Sir Chapple, he realized, arranging for the Special Technology people they would need.

“I’m not sure how many agents you can free for this,” Patrick was saying to Colin as he walked into the director’s office and sat down.

“I think,” McColl said, “that the best I can do is get the Dunkirk, Calais, and Dieppe ferry-ports, and the Paris, Amsterdam, Frankfort, and Madrid international terminals covered by morning.” He shook his head. “That’s about it for Special Technology people in my division . . . and they’ll be stretched really thin.”

“That’ll do, I suppose, for the morning,” said Patrick.

Colin looked over at Castor, “Is this guy as deadly as she said?”

Castor sighed. “Think of him as an IRA terrorist who’s carrying a machine gun that shoots grenades instead of bullets and never runs out. Plus, he can perfectly disguise himself as anyone he wants. The psychological profile on him is that he’s a highly-functional sociopath with delusions of grandeur. He considers torturing people ‘fun.’ He would think nothing of crashing an airliner, sinking a ferry, or causing a building to collapse to create a diversion for him to escape. All of which he is capable of doing with a wand, which he has.” He nodded at the folders they had out. “It’s all in the folders, including accounts from surviving witnesses the last time he was active — when there were any survivors.”

He took a deep breath and let it out. “I think we should deploy as many Changelings as we can. Their ability to sense emotions may be the only way to detect him. From what I’ve been told by the Wizards, and what the Changelings have said about their ability, he should stand out like a red floodlight among candles.”

The other two frowned as they considered his words.

“How many can we field?”

Castor shrugged. “Out of the three hundred and fifteen we have? I think we could get nearly three hundred if we paired the . . . less-skilled ones with Special Technology agents and told them they were on-loan from Equestria to explain any mistakes they make in regards to interacting with others. From what I’ve been told, the others are . . . what we would deem unsuitable for military service.” He grimaced. “It’s not that simple actually, it’s just that they are so specialized that they can’t do anything outside their hive duties.” He shook his head. “She told one . . . tunneller could carve her way through a kilometre of solid rock in a day and leave a tunnel that could withstand an earthquake without damage. But if you told her to count her fingers and toes three times, she would end up with three answers. Expecting her to cope well in the none-Changeling world . . . would be unrealistic.”

Patrick sighed. “An idiot savant?’

Castor nodded. “Apparently, their queen liked to tailor Changelings into specialities so they wouldn’t be unhappy with what they did. As long as they could do their job and were fed adequately, they were happy.”

McColl frowned and sighed. “A serf class that would always be happy with their lot, follow orders perfectly, and never revolt,” he said flatly.

Castor nodded in agreement. “Most didn’t survive after the battle. They couldn’t cope by themselves. The ones that did survive, did so by joining a group of other Changelings and making themselves useful to them in exchange for food and protection.”

“Still,” Patrick said, “In this situation, I think we can certainly use their talents.” He sighed. “We’ll just have to pair the less-experienced ones up with our people and selected members of the constabulary.”

James poked his head into the room. “They’ve started collecting the videos from the different locations. They expect to be through them all by midnight.”

Castor stood, “I’ll call Brunton and get them organized, then start calling in the Special Technology people in Em Eye Five. If you can get the list of airports and ferries to check, we can start on making portkeys to get everyone to Brunton, assigned a partner, and then to their destination. With any luck, we can have every location under surveillance by six in the morning, tomorrow.”

Patrick looked at Colin. “I don’t want to send any of the Changelings outside the U.K., just yet. I don’t think they’ve had enough training on the European countries, yet. They’re still having a few problems with understanding British culture.”

Colin nodded his understanding as he, too stood, “I’ll get started on my end, then.”

The two left as Patrick picked up his phone.

^·_·^

They were lucky. They had managed to comb through the videos for all the locations by midnight, as promised, using several dozen playback units “borrowed” from the BBC. One recording from outside of The Leaky Cauldron had been the critical one. The agent reviewing it had noticed a wizard exiting the pub in the late midmorning, and stopping almost immediately to rearrange his appearance.

That had seemed odd, but only a little. However, before the man had walked out of view, he had haled and climbed into a taxi. That had made the agent take a closer look. A wizard who was unfamiliar with modern clothing styles, but was familiar enough to call a taxi and, presumably, pay with modern pounds? What was wrong with that picture!

Given the time stamp on the video tape, they built-up a rough timeline. The time of the incident at Hogwarts and the wizard’s exit from the pub left just enough time for an organized person to make the trip with a few minor brief stops on the way.

He could have used one of the “secret” passages from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade and apparated to a location with a private floo. From there, he could have gone to Diagon Alley, visited Gringotts, removed money in both galleons and quid, and left via the pub.

Goyle would have had a terrible time accomplishing all those things, given his age, especially the apparition. Therefore, it couldn’t have been Goyle. It had to be this Tom character that they had been warned about. It was easily believable, based on the person described in those books Twilight had described.

Which made Tom/Goyle very dangerous, indeed.

It had taken few more hours to get a Crown Judge’s Production Order, track down the taxi company, and get an answer as to where that taxi had taken its passenger.

They weren’t positive this wizard was Tom, but they didn’t dare risk treating it as a standard investigation. Thus, Castor and his team had wasted more time canvassing Bexley High Street in both directions, and the side streets. Unfortunately, it had been very early in the morning, the sun hadn’t even risen when they had arrived. Which meant Tom/Goyle could be in any of the houses, rooming houses, or hotels in the vicinity . . . if he hadn’t apparated elsewhere.

There certainly weren’t any known wizarding residences or businesses in the area, so he really was going off the radar as far as the wizards were concerned.

Castor and Debby were on Bexley High Street, some distance from the Post Office, now. Four other Specialists were across the street — two lings and two government wizards. Two other pairs were keeping watch on the back alleys on both sides. Six pairs had headed in the opposite direction when they first had arrived at the taxi’s drop-off location.

The Changelings had each been paired with a Special Technology officer, and appeared to everyone as normal P.C. bobbies making enquiries. The photo from the camera at the Leaky Cauldron had been grainy, but the picture was clear enough to show the people they met. The Changelings had been carefully monitoring every house they passed for any signs of troubled, anxious, or scared people, with no success. The businesses were vacant, and the people in the flats were sleeping that early in the day.

Now that it was getting into the workday, things had picked up in the flats, and some people were already heading for their offices.

Castor walked in the front door of the hotel and looked around the small check-in area. This hotel was clearly a repurposed flat-house from the last century. The clerk behind the desk looked up, and straightened quickly on seeing their uniforms. Castor didn’t need Debby to signal him that the man was slightly alarmed at their entry.

Castor smiled broadly and walked over. “Top of the morning to you, gov’ner,” he said jovially. “I wonder if you could help us.”

Debbie quietly held out the photo they had.

“This gentleman,” Castor continued, “is a possible witness to a crime. We are trying to locate him to ask a few questions. Have you seen him?” He paused, then added, “He would have checked in yesterday at about noon.”

The man took the photo and studied it carefully, frowning. Then his expression cleared. “Why, yes,” he said, “I think I do.” He looked up smiling. “He’s in room twenty-four, I believe.” He glanced over down at the guestbook on the desk. He flipped it open and ran a finger down the page. “Yes,” he said, looking back up. “He’s in room twenty-four, and he’s booked it for a week.” He looked over at the staircase and frowned, then looked at the clock on the wall opposite the desk, behind Castor. “You could go right up, but since its seven-fifteen, I believe he’ll be down shortly. He told me yesterday that he expects to take breakfast before eight, at the Chislehurst, in the Chislehurst Clinic building, up slightly beyond the post office. Just like he did yesterday. I recommended it to him when he asked.” The clerk returned his attention to Castor. “He spent all day yesterday in his room. He said he has some work to do and expects to spend most of his time in the room.”

Castor gave a sidelong glance at Debby. She just maintained an even expression of polite interest, but she did touch her belt with one hand. That was the signal that the man wasn’t stressed or upset. He was probably telling the truth — as he knew it.

Castor hadn’t missed that slip about the man taking breakfast at the Clinic as he had yesterday when he hadn’t arrived until lunchtime. Tom was definitely here.

Castor nodded genially, and glanced back at the staircase. “No need to disturb him, just yet. We’ll wait outside. Thank you for your help.” He turned and led P.C. Debby back out the front door.

He signalled across the street as they exited. One of the two pairs crossed to meet them to one side of the hotel. The second pair moved down the street so that they could watch the hotel without being obvious about it.

“I think we found him,” Castor said. “Call the others here. You watch the front-counter for our man to appear. He’s apparently upstairs at the moment.” The front windows gave a clear view of the front room and the bottom of the staircase.” He looked at the other Changeling, Ally. “You keep alert for any signs of panic, anger, anything out of the ordinary.”

She nodded and fixed her unblinking gaze on the second floor. Debby softly sighed. Allie blinked, then pretended to examine the brickwork along the roof’s edge.

He turned back to the other agent. “Make sure we have several teams covering the back, and the others, the front. We don’t want this to go tits-up.”

Castor had led Debby down the street to an alley, where he pressed the panic button Twilight had supplied.

The response was gratifyingly quick. A team of six Aurors popped in beside them. The one taking the lead was a large, bronze-skinned man with bronze-hair and an exaggerated widow’s peak. He glanced at Castor, who was holding up the panic-button box in one hand.

“I’m Auror Savage,” he said, nodding to Castor. Castor introduced himself as a Chief Inspector and Debby as his P.C. for the day. There was a brief series of introductions for the rest of the aurors, then Castor told them what they had so far.

He did not tell them about the special technology pistols the other “constables” carried, nor the one he had been cleared to carry. If things went well, they would never be used.

If things did go tits-up, they would find out if bullets carrying blasting curses could punch through the shield that this wizard would undoubtedly be using. He doubted the wizard would be expecting magic-enhanced bullets, and would put up a shield to stop ordinary ones. It might be their only trump-card.

“There haven’t been any signs of a vampire, here,” Castor said, maintain the fiction that the “boy” was being remotely controlled. “But the one we think is his renfield was identified by the clerk in the hotel just down this way,” he pointed. “We have agents covering the back,” he gestured, “as well at each end of the street.”

Savage nodded. “That’s good,” the wizard said. “We’ll take it from here. Your people can be our backup in case he manages to slip away from us.”

Castor stepped in front of the man when he started to move. “No,” Castor said coldly.

The Auror stopped and raised an eyebrow.

“If he sees any of you, he’ll either flee or start fighting. So, first, we’ll evacuate the civilians from the ground floor so he won’t be able to take any hostages,” Castor said flatly. “We’ll use the excuse that the IRA has a bomb nearby. Then we’ll do the buildings to either side. You can seal off the second floor while we pull everyone from the first. If we can, we’ll get everyone from the second floor, too. Then you can move in.”

They stared at each other a moment; the Savage sighed. “My orders are to work with you, so we’ll do this your way.” He shook his head, clearly disagreeing with what he had to do.

Castor nodded, and pulled out his radio. He clicked it twice, the said, “Team five, evacuate the building on the east of the hotel, Team seven, the building on the west. Use the excuse of an IRA bomb in the hotel. Teams One and three will take the hotel. Teams two and four, send the civilians east on the street.” After getting the acknowledgements, he turned to Savage. “P.C. Debby, here, will signal you to come into the hotel when we’ve cleared the ground floor.”

Savage nodded, frowning slightly, and clearly unhappy at not being in charge. But at least he was willing to follow his orders from the Ministry.

Things went surprisingly smoothly. Castor re-entered the hotel and corralled the desk-clerk. “We suspect there is an IRA bomb in the hotel, please go outside and follow directions.” The man gaped at him, and then looked past the four out the door to see the waiting officer and his P.C., Ally.

The man looked back at Castor, then hurried out. It took only a few minutes for the Castor, Debby, and Team three to clear everyone out of the ground floor, not speaking in anything over a whisper. Castor kept a close watch on Debby, who was on alert for any changes from the rooms above to indicate alarm, or even curiosity. When Team Two started clearing the first floor, Debby signalled the aurors. They quietly took positions on the staircase.

Once the first floor was finished, Castor went to Savage. “Now put up your anti-portkey and anti-apparition spells.”

Castor and Debby went to the far end of the floor and started knocking on doors. One of the wizards went with the two and surreptitiously cast a silencing spell on the civilians’ shoes as they came out of the rooms. Team Three handled hustling the civilians by room twenty-four and started them down the stairs.

Just as soon as the last person disappeared completely down the stairs, Savage cast a silencing charm and blasted the door open, his team-mate following that up with stunning jinxes as fast as possible.

Goyle’s lifeless and cold body told them that their quarry had probably fled long before Castor’s people had even arrived on Bexley High Street. The condition and placement of the body convinced the aurors that they really were dealing with a rogue vampire.

Castor was quick to send the alert that their target might be attempting to flee the country, if he hadn’t already done so.

^-_-^

Ch. 41. Preparations

Elly was more than a little bit startled when a school owl landed in front of her on Sunday morning. After offering the owl a banger, she took a quick read of the message. It was addressed to her “adult” persona and invited her to visit Hogwarts this Sunday or Monday, if she was concerned about the news regarding Saturday’s events and wished to check up on her “charges.”

It took only a few moments to lay out a plan. She would have one of the lings stationed nearby impersonate their “adult” guardian. To her knowledge, no one at Hogwarts had ever seen her “adult” persona, so that wouldn’t be a problem. With no contact between the muggle government and the magical regarding the lings, it would be safe for them to arrive as their real self, so they didn’t have to worry about any ling-magic detecting spells in Hogwarts. Minor face manipulation magic would take care of their “family” appearance.

It had only been a little over a week, but the lings had already established an underground hive in the Forbidden Forest beside Hogwarts. It wasn’t very far from the manicured grounds, but it wasn’t close enough for anyone to stumble across its entrance by accident. Nor was it near any of the trails Hagrid or any of the other professors used when they went into the Forest. So, no one watching the Forest would notice the lings using the entrance. It was disillusioned and hidden with wizard-, muggle-, and animal-version spells, as well.

Not that they needed to use that entrance point. Its primary purpose was for emergencies.

The tunnellers had made an extension from that Forbidden Forest Hive most of the way to Hogsmeade. Once they had a house in Hogsmeade, that would be the terminus. For the moment, though, there was a surface entrance in the middle, just outside the wall surrounding Hogwarts. The wall around Hogwarts concealed it from the view of anyone on Hogwarts grounds. It was far enough from Hogsmeade, the Hogwarts Entrance Gate, and the road between them, to be out of their view, as well.

There was a second tunnel from the hive that ran right up to their estimated-edge of the spells protecting the castle, and close to the road to the gates. The entrance was still inside the Forest far enough to easily conceal any of the lings venturing out or sneaking in, but a spur of the tunnel ran right up to the edge of the spells protecting the castle. That spur ended in an unfinished emergency exit/entrance that was only a short distance from the surface. It would be nymphsplay to finish the opening from either direction. In the meantime, there was no physical evidence on the surface that needed hiding, or spells that might be be detected and reveal its presence.

Elly and her lings had questioned different Prefects about the reach of the spells that watched Hogwarts, using the excuse of “monsters attacking from the forest.” It had been disappointing to discover that the spells covered a good part of the grounds around the castle, extending as far as the Whomping Willow, but not as far as the Quidditch stadium, fortunately.

Hence, the hive’s location in the Forbidden Forest. It was a location of practicality. It was deep enough in the Forest to escape both the spells and direct line-of-sight from Hogwarts. Plus, it was a reasonable distance from Hogsmeade for easy movement of lings and supplies. And it provided her easy access to her lings and an emergency place of refuge, if she needed it.

No one would ever suspect that there was a mini-hive at the edge of Hogwarts, although it was more of an outpost, in truth.

Forewarned by the owl’s letter, the Headmaster’s announcement at the end of the owl parliament that the parents would soon be here did not surprise her in the least. That the ponies’ parents were coming, too, however, was a surprise.

The joy, happiness, and love that generated from the ponies, was a very pleasant bonus. Enough so that she decided the best thing to do was to have them all unload their reserves and prepare a couple of bottles for later that day. She knew the emotional outpourings from the ponies meeting their families would be quite generous, in that regard. They should probably place at least two on each floor.

While the Hall celebrated, Elly made plans. She and the others would head for the hidden hive’s closest approach to Hogwarts’ protective spells. It was purposely situated to be close to the road that led to the Front Gates. From there, any ling on the road would be able to “touch” any hive lings in the spur-tunnel with their magic. They could talk without anyone else having any clues a conversation was taking place.

Once in contact, Elly would instruct Abby to act as their “relative” to visit, as well as bring the other lings up to speed on exactly what had happened yesterday. The four lings would wander up and down the road, waiting for their relative to arrive at the Gates. No doubt plenty of other students would join them — most of the ponies, for sure. The perfect camouflage.

They would collect as much as they could from the pony families reuniting, in the meantime. Then, when there were five of them and most of the ponies had joined their families, they would head back to Hogwarts to maximize their collecting for the rest of the day.

That the Prefects made the excited ponies finish their breakfasts wasn’t a surprise. After finishing their breakfasts, the ponies rapidly escaped from the Hall to accompaniment of myriad “Oi’s!” and “Blimey’s” echoing around the hall. If she hadn’t known better, she would have suspected the ponies had their own version of mind-talk that allowed for the almost coordinated dash for freedom.

The Prefects astonished expressions as the ponies fled before they could react was vastly amusing. She was sure a few of them would have said very unkind words if the Professors hadn’t been watching.

Unfortunately, the Prefects did manage to prevent the rest of the student body from following the ponies. Closing the doors after the ponies escaped proved very effective, if cliched. They even went so far as to organize them to leave in escorted groups for the Common Rooms. The Prefects prevented an open revolt by telling the students that they would notify them as soon as their parents arrived at the school. Still, there were quite a few sullen expressions and stomping of feet by the younger students at being held back.

The older students understood that staying in their Common Rooms would make it easier for their parents to find them.

It didn’t take too long for the four lings to finish their preparations. They snuck out of their dorm using the notice-me-not and confusion spells. Despite the Prefect standing almost directly in front of the door, with his arms folded, and scowling into the room. Illusion and silencing spells over the Common room door prevented him, or anyone else from noticing it opening and closing.

It only took a few minutes to hide their emotion containers, with each ling taking two floors. They had to use the door that led to the Greenhouses when they finished, to avoid all the Prefects at the front doors to the castle.

Soon, the lings were about a quarter of the way down the road to Hogsmeade, halfway to the Gate House and just past Hagrid’s Hut. The Forbidden Forest was as close to the road as it ever got. But they strolled along the road, not even looking at the Forbidden Forest, so that Hagrid wouldn’t think they were trying to sneak into it. They were far enough away, they hoped, to not draw attention.

Not that he would notice them. Elly could easily see the thirty-nine First-year ponies who were pronking, bouncing, and whirling overhead and by the gates in anticipation of seeing their parents and showing them the school. A number of younger human students were with them, having managed to elude their respective Prefects. The older students were “more mature,” in their own minds, too dignified for such a childish display of their emotions. They remained in their Common Rooms.

As soon as she detected her, Elly gave Abby a complete recap of what had happened the day before. Abby would pass it on to the others hiding here, and one of them would take it to Brunton Hive. Then Abby would impersonate their “English” relative, exit the Hogsmeade tunnel, and come through the front gates with the other parents.

“I’m sorry . . . Elly,” Abby was finding it difficult to refer to her Queen so familiarly. “But we saw no students or adults leave the castle yesterday. If Goyle left the castle, it was by one of the secret tunnels.” She shook her head. “Based on what you’ve said of Tom Riddle, he probably didn’t even leave the tunnel, he just followed it outside the school boundaries and teleported.”

Elly sighed. “I thought as much.” She looked down the road towards the Gates. “And the humans have deployed almost all the lings to the airports and ferry locations?”

She felt Debbie nod. “They rousted us at midnight, last night, and gave us the information on Goyle and Riddle, along with pictures. We are paired with the Special Technology officers all over the country, and most of us were in position before dawn in every location. Almost every ling they could, they used.” She shook her head. “They only left behind twenty-three.”

Elly was surprised. While easily almost eight out of ten lings had made the transition to Infiltrator status, and were training with the humans, that was because surviving outside the hive in a hostile Equestria after the failed Canterlot attack had greatly reduced the . . . more specialized . . . lings. The remainder, here, were considered too old or unsuitable for a variety of reasons, including not being very good at imitating humans. They couldn’t seem to completely internalize the needed behaviours, and made many mistakes that would ruin any infiltration they were assigned. To put it nicely, they also weren’t what one would call quick at understanding any given situation. Some of the ones she had met in the Hive before the invasion she doubted could reliably finish any task that wasn’t their specialty without being confused unless it was very simple. That hadn’t really mattered in the old hive, though.

Of course, the original number Debby had given her didn’t count the new lings that had been arriving for the last few months. There hadn’t been a reason for her to want to know, it wasn’t her responsibility. Debby’s earlier numbers had been a drastic understatement when they made an actual count last weekend.

In a situation where any tiny mistake could end in disaster or death, either others or their own, those lings simply couldn’t be trusted out of the hive. The human government also didn’t want to attract any attention to the lings. They must be truly desperate to dive that deeply into the numbers.

However, pairing them with magicals, and explaining that they were Equestrians, would help cover for any mistakes the borderline lings made. Or so Castor and his superiors hoped.

Elly was impressed that Debby and Abby had managed to hide the fact that there were lings absent from Brunton and hiding in Hogsmeade in view of the emergency need for lings.

“I think they are underestimating Riddle,” Abby said with a sigh. “Debby said that if he had any sense at all, he would act just like any other non-magical. His information may be out of date, but he has lived in that world and knows the mannerisms that will and won’t draw attention — better than some of our infiltrators! If he is a good enough, he could submerge himself in his role as an average person travelling.” She snorted. “He certainly fooled everyone in Hogwarts into thinking Goyle wasn’t possessed. If he has the discipline, he could hide his emotions behind a wall of being someone concerned only with their own business.

“Without broadcasting anxiety, fear, or any other emotional triggers, he would be difficult to detect.

“He wouldn’t cast any magic unless absolutely necessary. The one thing he is certain to do is to cast an illusion that he is an adult, probably a random person he saw on the street.

“In short, if he is at all competent, he could walk right by one of us and we’d never notice him.” She again shook her head. “I’d be surprised if he hasn’t already slipped out of the country. Debby says she would have been on the first plane leaving England in any random direction before noon, yesterday.”

Elly internally grimaced and agreed.

Abby took a deep breath and let it out. “Next, I think I’ve found a house in Hogsmeade.” She shared her visions of the building and its layout. Its dirt basement, an unattractive feature to most Wizards and witches, would be perfect for the lings. They could connect the tunnel directly from the house to the Forbidden Forest base, small as it was, and thence to one of the other secret tunnels that riddled the castle.

Elly agreed. It seemed to be a reasonable location. She would send an owl to the Goblins to see about purchasing it under a fake name.

“The government doesn’t suspect any lings are missing?”

“The four of us here were declared ‘unsuitable’ for espionage work.” Abby made a wry expression. “They still don’t seem to understand that a ling will do what she’s told. The other three here were farmers and they were scared of the humans, at first. I’ve . . . gotten used to humans. As far as the government is concerned, they think we are on housekeeping duty somewhere inside the hive with the other “unsuitables.”

“Excellent. I’ve discovered that there is a trunk-maker in Diagon Alley selling trunks linked by Floo. This summer, I’ll get two. One we can keep at Brunton, and the other here. That should make things much, much easier.”

It would, too. No more time-wasting long flights to throw-off suspicions. They could move lings back and forth at their leisure. No one would guess the ling they were seeing in the Brunton Hive had been in Scotland just a few minutes ago. She could even have Essie, Ellis, and Earl each purchase a set. That way they could have three locations in Brunton, so no one trunk got all the traffic. It would also let them have a trunk in the de Rippe House — when it was ready.

Elly shared a bit more of what they had learned this last week in Hogwarts for Abby to share with the other Brunton lings later. With the instruction that the most accomplished infiltrators were to practice the wand movements and incantations. They would be getting wands this summer and she expected them to be proficient in all the basics.

Elly stopped and looked at Hagrid’s hut. Hagrid wasn’t there, of course. He was at the Hogwarts Gates, waiting to let in the humans and pony parents.

That entire conversation had taken only a few moments.

Whatever the situation was with Riddle, it was out of her hands. If he had fled the country — most likely — there was nothing she or her lings could do. If he hadn’t fled, then only constant vigilance would be the correct answer. They would have to wait to see if they could find him first, or if he acted out against the magicals or them.

^·_·^

Albus took only a brief look at The Daily Prophet that the owl at the end of the owl parliament had dropped into his breakfast. Just long enough to realize that he needed to take the children’s attention off that. They didn’t need to see the bold headlines decrying his incompetence, and demanding his removal from the school, and his positions in the Wizengamot and the International Council Wizards.

He had the perfect distractions though. He had planned to wait until the first guests had arrived at the gates, but now would do just as nicely.

He stood and tapped his goblet. The room fell silent and waited. Before the good news, however, he told them of the two students due to arrive back from St. Mungo’s later that day.

His following pronouncement that their parents would be visiting set off a storm of joy that he was in no way about to curtail. He just smiled with the grandfatherly aura he liked to project, and calmly retook his seat. Whatever the Prophet had to say, no one who was at Hogwarts today or tomorrow would pay any attention to it. It would give him just a bit more time to rally his supporters.

With exceptions of Severus and Horace, Minerva and the other professors all had sour or resigned looks. He had warned them of the parental visits, beforehand, but that didn’t mean they were looking forward to it. It was difficult enough dealing with parents one-on-one, but en-masse? Never something that you would look forward to doing. Especially as they had never had all the parents at Hogwarts at the same time.

Especially after a disaster like yesterday. In fact, the number of parents who usually came to Hogwarts in any single year, after their own graduation, he could count on his fingers.

He could see from his expression that Severus was both annoyed at the prospect of meeting parents and relieved that all his students this year were either sixth- or seventh year students. A situation in which the number of parents he had to meet was drastically reduced from what it could have been. Even better, he wasn’t Slytherin’s Head of House, either.

Horace, on the other hand, looked delighted at the prospect of meeting so many influential people, especially influential Atlanteans. As far as he was concerned, He was getting two Christmases this year.

In the next faculty meeting both would no doubt be gloating over how they had weathered the parental tide.

The Atlantean aides looked quite pleased, on the other hand, — or should he say hoof? — and seemed eager to meet the parents of their students.

The children, themselves, could barely contain their enthusiasm. The pegasi were flitting around the hall at speeds that most wizards would be afraid to try on brooms. The unicorns and earth ponies were treating their benches and tables as trampolines — and getting an impressive amount of height out of them, too!

The excited reactions of the English children, which would have been considered outrageous displays under normal circumstances, were almost placid by comparison.

The difference was only natural, after all. For the human children, almost all of their parents had all attended Hogwarts for their magical education, so seeing the Castle was nothing new. Seeing their parents here, however, was exciting.

The Atlantean children were overjoyed at the opportunity to show their parents what before they had only been able to inadequately describe. Pictures were not the same as actually showing your parents the insides of the castle and your House Common room.

It would be an excellent opportunity to introduce both sets of parents to each other, though. Who knew what wonderful contacts the two groups would make once they met in such a casual setting? Maybe he should plan such a visit — what did the muggles call it? Right, an “open house” — each year? Perhaps he could also have a . . . what was the term? Oh, yes, an orientation day, the day before Hogwarts officially started the new year. All the new students, not just the Atlanteans, could come with their families for the day to familiarize themselves with the school and to meet the other parents. It could top off the Equestrians’ “pre-Hogwarts” class that Minerva had suggested.

They could have that class in the morning.

That had some very good possibilities.

Considering it, however, maybe they should set aside the week before Hogwarts started for the Atlanteans. They could cover the puberty issues, behaviour expectations of the other students, the “common” rules that students on this side of the portal took for granted (such as always wearing clothes), how the pass/fail system worked, and quillmanship. Perhaps they could end the week with all the new students’ parents arriving the day before the train ride?

Being able to personally meet them, and their parents, would also allow him to impress them and gain their trust before school started in earnest.

Definitely something to consider this summer.

As for today, he wouldn’t have that much time to impress on them that he had their children’s best interests in mind. However, being able to explain that their Princess, herself, had examined the school’s protections would be a big boost in getting them to support him.

He would have to warn the house-elves to stock up on vegetables and be careful where the meat platters appeared on the tables.

The First-years were all for heading to the Gates immediately, but the Prefects were quick to respond and sent them back to their tables to finish their breakfasts. Not that that took long. The entire group seemed to almost inhale their food. There weren’t any leftovers at that end of the tables.

It was quite a rush to the doors, but the pegasi were long gone by the time the unicorns and earth ponies galloped out behind them — yes, they had all transformed as soon as they finished, despite the Prefects futile attempts to get them to be more orderly.

It was a bemused, but excited, group of wizards and witches that started to follow. However, the Prefects managed to corral most of them and send them to their Common Rooms. Otherwise, the crush at the Gates would have been as bad as that at the train King’s Cross in London, except the children would have no idea when their parents would arrive. They would get bored and disappointed if their parents didn’t arrive quickly. At least, if they kept them in their Common Rooms, they would be under better supervision.

The Prefects promised to alert the students as soon as the parents made their appearance at the castle. And emphasized that it would be easier for their parents to find them than if they were scattered all over the castle and its grounds.

He headed up to his office. He needed to study what the Prophet had printed and marshal his arguments. Yesterday’s late-evening edition had been bad enough. Today’s articles just threw more fuel on the bonfire.

Being so far north meant the owl-deliveries in England and Wales of the Saturday Prophet had finished long before his own had arrived, yesterday. He had known almost immediately when the Prophet’s Special Edition had hit: The number of incoming calls was so great that the castle spells had decided the floos were being used to attack the school, and shut them down completely.

Considering the situation, he was in no hurry to reopen them.

The only saving grace to Rita’s very thorough and accurate summation of the events was that she had pointed out that the floo network would probably shut down due to the number of concerned parents attempting to contact Hogwarts. The article suggested, instead, that the parents should arrange to visit the school on Sunday, via either apparition, the Knight Bus, or the floo at the Three Broomsticks, although there would probably be a long wait for the floo to be open.

It would be easy to point out that he had hired a reputable and famous Dark Arts expert in Lockhart. It wasn’t Albus’ fault that the wizard hadn’t shared his suspicions. And if they attempted to blame him for possibly ignoring the warning spells in the castle of a Dark Magic artifact or magic? He could quite reasonably point out that if he had strengthened the spells to that level, none of the parents who were unfortunate enough to have made a mistake when they were young would be able to visit the castle.

The next two days would be a wonderful opportunity for him to connect with his supporters and those who were fence-sitters. Much simpler than waiting for dinner-parties, or trying to arrange luncheons or dinners

^·_·^

After hearing the Headmaster’s announcements, Scootaloo, along with almost every other pegasus in the First-year, rocketed off their benches as if they had been launched by the Trebuchet! Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom were hugging him and each other to point where he squeaked. The rest of the hall was just as chaotic. Well, at least at this end of the hall. Both Hermione and Ginny were bouncing up and down in their seats, squealing and clapping their hands excitedly. The muggle-born students seemed especially happy out of all the other students.

It was the Prefects, naturally, who brought things back under control. The seventh years had apparently mastered the cannon-blast charm. Percy, and the others, insisted that the First-years had to finish breakfast before they could leave. The pegasi, reluctantly, were coaxed into landing and changing back into humans.

Suddenly, the entire First-year was vying with Ron for seeing how much food they could pack away in the shortest amount of time possible. The ensuing inhalation of the food on the table was amazing to behold.

The ponies, or at least First-years made sure to polish off everything within reach, then, almost as one, piled from their seats, changed to ponies, and headed for the doors. By the time the Prefects caught on that the Firsties had finished, the pegasi were already out the door. Percy was wide-eyed and slack-jawed. He quickly recovered with a loud, “Oi!”

The unicorns and earth ponies were not far behind. The Prefects managed to catch a few with spells. But they quickly realized they only had few ponies. Faced with the weaponized versions of puppy-eyes that the ponies had somehow developed, the Prefects released them and turned to keeping the remaining students under control.

The three fillies were not about to leave Harry and the two girls behind, so they reluctantly remained seated and stared wistfully after the vanished ponies.

Harry didn’t expect to see his mum until late today. He knew she would be the one at the portal helping the ponies who crossed to revert to the pony forms. It would be much easier for them to be ponies than spend hours and hours practicing walking on two legs before going to Hogwarts. However, he was sure Applejack, Dash, and Rarity wouldn’t miss the opportunity to check on their sisters. Scootaloo’s aunts might visit, but they also just might ask Dash to convey their concern. That Molly and Arthur would show was a given. Hermione’s parents, too, would love the opportunity to see the castle.

Supporting his herdmates would help take his mind off his . . . concerns. He was Harry, and Harry looked out for his herdmates — nothing else mattered. Without the fillies he knew he would be dead. So, he would live for the fillies and girls. If he followed their lead, then he didn’t have to worry about Tom.

He blinked, staring at his empty plate.

That was his solution. He didn’t need to worry about being Harry or Tom or Harry-Tom. They would be his measuring stick. His guide-phrase would be, “What would the girls do?”

Unless they were threatened. Then the guide-phrase would be, “Whatever it takes to keep them safe.” No holds barred. Or was it, no spells barred?

Yes, he nodded too himself. Just as they had saved his life, they would save his soul.

He looked up from his plate to the Hufflepuff table, or, more specifically, Elly. He needed to talk with her. She seemed to be quite . . . sensitive to important events.

First, last year, and then again this year, she had noticed things that had slipped by everyone else. He and the others in the herd should have realized that her concerns regarding the Dark Trio had to involve the Diary. He needed to thank her, and properly

He felt so stupid for not realizing that the odd behaviour she had noted had to be the Diary. If they had told her about the books, she probably would have made the connection immediately. They had been too close to the problem — they couldn’t see the trees for the forest.

He would make sure to give her the complete set before they left for the summer.

She didn’t seem to want to join his herd — thank Celestia for small miracles! Still, he would let her know that if she needed any help, in any way, he and the girls would be ready to assist.

It was odd that she wasn’t interested in visiting Equestria, but then again, she and her cousins came from the other side of the world. England, by itself, was probably enough of an adventure for them.

He should invite her to join them in their spell practice. Her background might give them a different way to look at what they were doing. She might suggest things they hadn’t thought of trying or doing.

Then everyone was getting up and the Prefects were organizing them for the trip to the Common Rooms.

A little judicious use of his mum’s don’t-see-me spell at one of the “secret” passages to the seventh floor saw the entire herd left behind.

“Quick,” he whispered, “in here,” and led them into an empty room. He closed the door and put a weak “witch-aversion” spell on it to discourage anyone looking for them.

He turned and looked at the others, who were watching him with curious looks. “Well,” he said, a bit sheepishly, “How do we want to do things today? I mean, obviously my mum, Rarity, and Apple Jack don’t need a tour of the castle. Neither do Ginny’s parents. Hermione’s parents have never been here, though, and probably want to see everything. The same for Scootaloo’s aunts.”

Hermione sighed. “Plus, we don’t know when anyone will show up.”

“Whomever arrives first, we can spend some time talking about what we’ve learned since Spring Break,” Apple Bloom suggested looking around hopefully. “Maybe the other’s will show up while we’re doing that?”

“Well, if it’s Scootaloo’s aunt’s, the fillies can show them how they look as humans. Maybe help them change back and forth and get a feel for what it’s like. That’ll certainly take some time,” Hermione suggested.

“And if the Hermione’s parents get here first, we can show them the Gryffindor Common Room, and Scootaloo will know to check there first,” Sweetie Belle said.

After a few more minutes discussion, they decided to just go with the flow of circumstances. They headed for the front doors, but quickly realized they wouldn’t make it past the Prefects waiting for the parents, to direct them to the different Common Rooms. They ended up sneaking out of the castle using the door to the Greenhouses, then transforming into ponies to run, and fly, around the castle to the road to Hogwarts’ Gates.

It was a wonderful Scottish Spring day. Harry knew, though, even if it hadn’t been such a nice day to begin with, Scootaloo and several of the other pegasi would have quickly cleared the skies over the castle for such an important thing as a visit by everypony’s parents.

Already, they could see a stream of parents in the distance making their way up the road to the castle. The parents were usually couples walking together; sometimes with their other, younger children. Rarely, they were with a child that had managed to escape the Prefects.

^-~-^

Ch. 43. Meet the Relatives

The Sunday Daily Prophet was usually just a recap of the previous week’s events, most of the articles were run verbatim, with small additions to flesh them out or provide a bit more information that hadn’t been available in the original. Not this Sunday’s, though. Above the fold, one half said, “Lockhart the Blackheart?” and the other said, “Dumbledore Flails Again!”

Anne was quite pleased with the newsparchment.

It also went into the details that hadn’t been available before Saturday’s Special Edition hit the owls.

The real blockbuster was the discovery that Gilderoy Lockhart, the darling adventurer and heart-throb of many a witch, was a charlatan, a scoundrel, a fake! Jameson had sent a reporter to Wagga Wagga in New South Wales, Australia. As the location for one of the adventurer’s books, it was early morning there, and not the afternoon or quickly approaching night as it was in most of the rest of his adventures. The reporter had had a full day to do his research — and what profitable research it had been.

It turned out, after a few short background interviews, that the description of the town’s saviour, as told by several witnesses, didn’t match Gilderoy — not at all. In fact, quite a number in wizarding enclave of several hundred didn’t remember seeing him until well-after the incident, itself.

Diligent investigation had quickly unravelled the story as more and more details failed to match the book. Some townswizards, important to the published account in Lockhart’s book, remembered Lockhart as their saviour. Others remembered it as being an Armenian warlock who was in town at that time.

The primary witness, however, did insist it was Lockhart. A visit to a healer had quickly determined that he had been obliviated. The Healer placed it as happening sometime after the time the werewolf was a problem, but suspiciously close to when Gilderoy had arrived on the scene, according to other wizards and witches.

The Daily Prophet was paying the Healer to see if she could reverse any of the obliviated memories. Even one reversed memory that contradicted the book would be sufficient to prove the fraud.

That one group of interviewees remembered the flamboyant Gilderoy being in town for a week about a month or so after the incident, while the others only remembered seeing him during the incident, was pretty damning evidence. If he was only in town once, which both groups agreed was the case, then how could they remember it as being at different times? One person might make a mistake, but dozens? Not bloody likely! The Daily Prophet editors were convinced that the book was a fraud, the story stolen from the trues saviour of the town.

Jameson had a second reporter attempting to track the Armenian. Several reporters were checking out the witnesses in the other locations mentioned in his books. Preliminary reports from them also found discrepancies. There would be follow-up stories for weeks! His fame would push their revenues higher, and spread the reach of the newsparchment to overseas markets. Maybe she should . . . wonder . . . if an international section might be interesting — within earshot of one of the reporters returning from the continent, of course. Then act supportive when Jameson mentioned it.

The second headline went after Dumbledore, portraying him as a great wizard getting on in his age and slowly failing in his pursuits. As the leading figure in the English wizarding community, he should have detected Lockhart’s fraudulent claims before hiring him for Hogwarts!

Didn’t he do any research on his professors before hiring them? Even a cursory examination of Gilderoy Lockhart’s exploits would have revealed something wasn’t right! Just his demand that all of his books be purchased should have set off alert spells! Not to mention that there were no spells in the books for the students to learn. Plus, two of the books took place at the same time, which would have been impossible for even the most powerful of wizards to use apparition, or required a ridiculously large number of expensive international portkeys — which neither book mentioned him doing.

Then the editors roasted the old wizard for his failure to detect the vampire months before now. Not to mention protect Gregory Goyle from the vampire’s evil schemes and depredations! Plus, were there other vampires near Hogwarts? Everyone knew Vampires moved in covens! Were their children really safe at Hogwarts?

There were more than a few outraged quotes from the pure-blood families, both liberal and conservative, over the fact that it was a pure-blood scion who had been abducted! What was Dumbledore doing to find the missing teenager? He was the greatest wizard in the country! What was he doing, in his position as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, to find the boy?

How many other students at Hogwarts had been victims of the vampire, and no one knew it? Had he done anything since the attack to search for such victims? Did he even care?

Another article brought up his past mistakes, such as never bothering to check on an associate in Azkaban, nor catching the real culprit even though he had been in Hogwarts for seven years. The recent updating of the protective spells around the castle simply proved their point! He had been in charge for decades, and not once had he tried to get the spells updated. It had taken the pressure of the new Equestrians to get that job done.

How was it possible that foreigners were more competent than the great Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore? Despite that, they still hadn’t detected the Vampire! The Ministry needed to go over the spells protecting the castle, immediately, to prevent this from happening again.

After dragging the wizard’s name through as much mud as they could, they then went into detail about how he had let himself be distracted at the Ministry, yesterday, while there was a major disaster happening at the school he was supposed to be protecting!

People said Hogwarts was the safest place in England because Dumbledore was there. By allowing himself to be distracted by the politics at the Ministry, he was not safeguarding their children as was his job.

He needed to make a choice.

Either focus on the children, or focus on his political aspirations!

Inside the newsparchment were many more details about the events of yesterday, going into far more detail now that the Healers and Aurors weren’t scrambling to solve immediate patients and problems. This time, the list of injured, their treatments, and final conditions was far more complete.

The Minister even came in for some criticism for delaying Dumbledore’s return to Hogwarts after Dumbledore had been messaged by his Deputy Headmistress, Professor McGonagall.

All-in-all, a satisfactory take-down on the old-guard leader in British wizarding society. Whatever he did next, would be closely watched and questioned. Her off-hand comment that a regular column on the wizard’s actions might be interesting had had Jameson chortling for joy, and ordering one of the string-reporters to do just that. If they couldn’t find anything recent, well, then, they would just have to start examining his past decisions, wouldn’t they?

Altogether, it was a satisfying piece of work.

Just as gratifying had been her visits to various personages in the wizarding community. Madam Longbottom, the MacDougals, and the Turpins had been especially grateful of her dropping by and telling them of the danger their children had been in. That their children had weathered the incident with scraps and cuts — and no permanent injuries — had been a great relief. She left them wondering if Dumbledore would have bothered with telling them anything before the story was printed by The Daily Prophet.

Anything she might suggest in the future, she knew, would be looked on favourably by them. A few minor conversations over lunch or at a dinner party would have them pushing ideas she had led them to, as if they had thought of them all by themselves.

Then she had visited a few of the more conservative families, those considered somewhat neutral, like the Bulstrodes and the Corners. Hearing how their children had been attacked by Draco Malfoy and Vincent Crabbe had not been a pleasant conversation for them. That their children already had been treated and returned to the school was gratifying to them. Especially as they knew from personal experience when they were in Hogwarts that parents were rarely advised of many of the incidents in Hogwarts.

They, too, would listen to her political hints in the future. Coached, of course, as mild comments on things that had Sirius Black’s interest, or one of his other supporters. Always, as if the subjects at hand were vague gossip she had heard.

Just as she passed on her observations, and the comments of the editors at The Daily Prophet, as if she were merely passing on interesting titbits of gossip. That they assumed she had met with those reporters and editors over lunch, or accidentally in Diagon Alley, instead of being in their offices as they discussed the stories, she never corrected.

Dumbledore was being side-lined on the political front. He was putting the blame on the conservative families, his old foes, not realizing there was a new player on the field. That her goals and his coincided, for the moment, helped mask the disquiet and disloyalty she was fermenting among his allies. He had no idea that he was slowly losing all his pawns and followers, incorrectly assuming they were following his lead, when it was her to whom they ultimately were listening.

Hopefully, he wouldn’t realize it until it was way too late for him to regain them.

This latest fiasco wouldn’t be enough to make him relinquish any of his present seats of power, not yet. His position in the Ministry, however, was weaker than it had been a week ago. By next Christmas, she hoped to have forced him out of his position as Supreme Mugwump of the International Council of Wizards.

Plus, in all that, she hadn’t had to cast a single spell, yesterday, on a single wizard or witch! It was almost refreshing, in its own way.

^-~-^

Elly realized, on second thought, that she shouldn’t be as surprised as she was when she saw Harry and his herd headed towards her, and the Hogwarts Gates. With three ponies in the herd, it was clear they wouldn’t desert their herdmates in the Great Hall. It should have been just as clear that the whole group would endeavour to sneak out.

Just like the lings did, but with different motives.

That they had managed to succeed without getting caught, or using the more advanced sneaking spells the lings knew, was mildly impressive.

Their timing was excellent. The two pegasi rocketed up to overlook the wall separating the school grounds from surrounding land just as the first group of ponies arrived at the gates.

The reunion was just as fulfilling as she had hoped. In fact, that first group delivered almost as much as she had gathered at the King’s Cross Station at the end of last year, only this time the other three gathered just as much. They would have to off-load into the disillusioned spare jars they had brought after the next group. A silencing charm and don’t-see-me charm, with the others standing close, and they could each fill their respective jars. Their new body-changing abilities, which they had finally identified it as being metamorphmagi, made it simple. They just repurposed their fangs, canine teeth, the wizards and witches called them, to funnel their harvest into the jars with minimal noise or effort. Much easier than when they had been on the other side of the portal.

If there had been boarding schools in Equestria with large groups of parents meeting their foals at the train station, instead of families by the ones and twos scattered across the entire country, the whole fiasco with Canterlot would have been unnecessary.

Unfortunately, by her count, just under one-third of the student ponies had remained at the gate, with the rest following the guards to head back to the castle to wait. She sent Essie with them with instructions to wait outside the castle for the reunions that were sure to take place there.

Harry startled her when he came over to where the lings were. There was no need to hide that reaction, however, nor her nervousness. Her worry over precisely why he was doing so, on the other hand, did need to be buried deep. She looked at him anxiously, worrying her lower lip in her teeth and shifting her feet.

He tasted of confidence in what he was doing, but there was an undercurrent of fear and determination about something else. Whatever it was, he was doing his best to ignore it.

The moment he started to thank her she realized she should have expected that, too, from him. Well, in a way she had. But she had expected the thank you to happen only after the Princess had arrived, and only tomorrow, at the earliest. That he would take it upon himself was surprising. What was truly astonishing was that he made a magical vow to help her and her family in the future.

And it was a magical vow. She felt the magic roll over her and her lings, she didn’t bother to hide her wide-eyed, slack-jawed reaction. She just stared at him. This was totally unexpected, and she knew the lings in the hive in the forest had felt her reaction.

She had done a lot of reading about the magical culture she had found herself in, last year. As an infiltrator it behoved her to know as much about the society as possible. She had spent many nights reading the books in the library on that. The goblins had even suggested a few, although those were rather uncomplimentary, and difficult to find, on the whole.

With that simple sentiment, and knowing how serious he was about it, it gave her a considerable amount of influence. She would have to think carefully on how she could take advantage of his offer.

In the meantime, though, she could use his promise, and meet with them for studying — and to gather emotions more efficiently.

When he asked Hermione to distract the First Years that had remained, she sent Emmie off to join them in “practice.” All the lings knew that spell quite well, as useless as it seemed, it would make for an excellent distraction in certain circumstances. Emmie would pretend she wasn’t familiar with it, while using her “discoveries” about it to help the others and gain a bit of trust.

She knew this was the perfect opportunity to question him about his teleporting in the Great Hall. She looked at him, then flicked her gaze to the side of the road, a bit further from the others, and nodded her head slightly. He took the hint, and followed her with Earl. She walked until she could just barely detect Debbie.

That he then so willingly shared his teleportation secret showed how much he had meant what he had said.

Earl warned her just as Harry was about press his forehead against hers, so she didn’t jump back as she might have done without that warning. His clumsy attempt to “see” into her mind was doomed to failure. She had never heard of such a thing from the ponies. Certainly, none of the hive’s trainers had mentioned the possibility. Could it be something that only the more skilled ponies could do?

She wouldn’t have permitted it at all if she hadn’t felt his groping for a specific image. Realizing what he was trying to do in his own inept way, she had quickly introduced a few errors into her perfect copy of his drawing. Then she gradually allowed his to sense it by pushing it through her barrier that separated her “student” thoughts from reality.

She had read about legilimency and occlumency last year, and realized that her secrets were at risk of discovery from any sufficiently trained wizard or witch. She had quickly built up a barrier in her mind to block any such attempts. Her experience with maintaining her own mind separate from the communal mind in the old hive had been invaluable. Keeping innocuous thoughts in the forefront had become a habit they all practiced. She had made sure to pass on her knowledge to the Brunton Hive. Having them all prepared for any attempt to discern their thoughts could only be a good security procedure. No ling was to leave the hive who couldn’t master it, unless they had no choice.

And under no circumstances were any of her lings to look a wizard or witch in the eyes!

His rudimentary skill at making corrections to the image had surprised her. He must have experienced this frequently enough in the past to have some familiarity with the technique. Still, compared to her, or any of her lings, he was as inexperienced as a month-old nymph. But with time, and a decent trainer, he would be as skilled as could be expected from a pony.

No doubt Princess Twilight had done it many times with him

Maybe, under the pretext of him teaching her how to do this, she could bring up the subjects of legilimency and occlumency? Then teach him some ling techniques under the guise of, “Let’s see if this works?” If she actually helped him, he would be even more indebted to her, counteracting any suspicions he might have about mistrusting her if he should discover her real identity.

The teleportation spell would be a game changer for the lings, much better than the apparition she had read about — safer, too. The others, the older, more experienced infiltrators, could pick this in only a few days, once they had wands and learned how to channel their magic properly. By the end of the summer, the entire hive would be able to escape, at a moment’s notice, if something went wrong.

She would have to dramatically increase the size of the Hogwarts location to handle a large number of lings in the event of an emergency. That would also be true of the new De Rippe estate. They should probably establish a fourth location in Ireland, too.

It was still far too early to worry about raising nymphs, but it was better to start planning now for their space, than to put it off.

Hagrid interrupted their conversation, what there was of it, but that was alright. Harry headed off to see what the half-giant wanted, and Earl went with him. She stepped a bit further away from the gates and closer to Debbie, still in the tunnel. The other lings would be thrilled at the possibilities of this spell. She wanted to make sure that Debbie had managed to get a clear copy of the spell from her nascent hive memory, here, before following Harry to the Gates.

She would have to drop some of her “shyness” around the herd, but now there wasn’t the worry that they might question or misinterpret her motives. It would be easy to hang around them without them thinking she wanted to join the herd. After all, he had pretty publicly proclaimed her family to be a protectorate of his.

Plus, she could work the guise of a “ditzy” blonde, even if she wasn’t blonde. That way she could make suggestions or point out things they needed to know without them becoming too suspicious. She could make her suggestions appear as “dumb” ideas, that the others might take a serious look at, later. Or do something, then give them a totally ridiculous reason for why she was doing it that way. A “you were right, but for the wrong reasons,” kind of situation.

Madam Longbottom, as Harry addressed her, was not in a happy mood. Elly didn’t have to be a ling to figure that out! Her tight lips and disapproving stare communicated it quite well — as well as the tapping foot. Yes, couldn’t forget the tapping-foot of impatience. She was . . . angry with someone, but not Hagrid. Him, she regarded, as merely an annoyance, a minor obstacle, based on her emotions.

Probably the Headmaster, Elly deduced, was at the root of her ire. He had invited all the parents to visit, and yet had not told Hagrid to have the carriages prepared? Madam Longbottom was going to share her opinion of that mistake by him, at her earliest opportunity, Elly didn’t doubt.

The Sergeant and his two corporals returned at this point. Elly made sure she, Earl, and Emmie were not close as the Guards made their way to the Gates and took over from Harry and Hermione. The Pegasus Guard took off to intercept the diving pegasi students who, apparently, had spotted their parents — and whose parents were rising to meet them.

She had moved up beside Harry when Scootaloo slammed into the ground hard enough to almost bury her hooves. Elly took a step back, but Harry seemed to take in stride. More than a few of the watching wizards and witches raised an eyebrow at a landing that would have seen one of them seeking out a Healer. Two adult pegasi were close behind her, and landed much softer. Ginny arrived a few seconds later, and hovered a moment before touching down.

Harry and the others dropped back into their animagi forms to make the newcomers more comfortable. And so they could recognize them.

Breathlessly, babbling in her excitement, Scootaloo almost shouted, “They’re here, they’re here, they’re here! My mom and dad are here! They’re really here!” She laughed as she threw herself at one of the pegasi mares. The mare had a pinkish coat, pale with a light greyish-gold and goldish-white mane. Her cutie mark was compass with a white swirl up the left side.

Scootaloo rolled herself over the mare from one side to the other, as the mare smirked and grinned at her antics.

The other pegasus mare had a pale-yellow coat, a moderate dark- and light- aqua mane and tail, with light-opal eyes. Her cutie mark was a needle and blue thread. She was shaking her head and grinning. “Hiya, Harry,” she said.

Harry grinned back at her, but his eyes and curiosity were on the other mare. “Hiya, yourself, Lofty.”

The mare laughed. “Scoots is too excited to say anything more coherent, but this is her mom, Mane Allgood.” She shook her head at the two pegasi who were too involved in cuddling each other to pay much attention to anything else. “Holiday is coming up the road with Scoots father, Snap Shutter. He’s her younger brother.”

Harry nodded as did his herdmates, who had all gathered together on seeing Scootaloo and Ginny headed to the ground.

From their emotions, Elly was startled to note that they had never met either of Scootaloo’s parents. They were more familiar with Lofty and, apparently, Holiday.

The magicals were all trying to listen in without appearing to do so. Their curiosity was easy to taste. Still, it was almost buried under the love that was wafting from the three ponies unless she moved away. And lose all that lovely emotional food? Like she would do that without a good reason!

Harry tasted . . . envious. Not badly so, not bitter, just a mild sort of envy, a deep longing for the same as what Scootaloo had. Ginny tasted, embarrassed. The others varied in happiness and joy, probably in anticipation of their own reunions.

After a few moments, Allgood looked up at them and smiled, “Sorry,” she said apologetically, “We, her father and I, study exotic plants and creatures for the advancement of science and medicine.” She wagged her head to the side, “As a result, we’re gone for years at a time. It’s much too dangerous to take a foal along. Holiday and Lofty usually take care of Scoots when we’re out of the country.” She glanced at Scootaloo who had a grin that almost stretched from ear-to-ear. “But when Princess Celestia asked if we’d like to visit another world through the portal, well, we couldn’t very well say, ‘No,’ now could we? Especially if it meant we could see the cutest pegasus in all of Equestria!”

Scootaloo blushed pink, but didn’t object.

Harry stepped forward. “Hello, I’m Harry Potter, and these are . . .,” and he proceeded to introduce the rest of his herd. He included Elly and her cousins in the introduction, which surprised her. He did say she wasn’t part of the herd, but a good friend who had helped the whole herd avoid a catastrophe. At their raised eyebrows, he concluded, “I’ll explain it all later, when everypony is here.” The two adults nodded in understanding.

The rest of the ponies in this group finally arrived at the gate, about ten minutes later. What was unusual were the two humans with them. From Hermione’s excited call of, “Mum! Dad!” and her waving her arm, Elly knew whose parents they were. It also explained why they were with the ponies. The Princess had probably fetched them, not trusting the wizards to actually help the two muggles get to the school.

Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle were not disappointed; both their sisters showed up. Sweetie Belle’s parents came, too, as she had hoped. Hondo Flanks, her and Rarity’s father, was a unicorn stallion with a light-grey coat, dark greyish-brown mane, brilliant light-blue eyes, and a cutie mark of three Equestrian hoofballs. He was clearly a sports nut. Cookie Crumbles, their mother, was a unicorn mare with greyish light- and dark-purple mane, pale-pink coat, very light-blue eyes, and a cutie mark of three crumbling chocolate-chip cookies.

The real surprise for Apple Bloom was that her brother, Big Macintosh had come with Apple Jack. Big Mac, as she called him, was quite likely the biggest pony that Elly had ever seen! He towered over the other ponies by at least a full head, he had to lower his head even with his back to look another pony in the eyes.

He had a brilliant orangish-red coat and mane, soft, sap green eyes, and a cutie mark of half a green apple.

The wizards and witches waiting for carriages watched in gobsmacked wonder as the ponies celebrated their reunion with a frenzy of pronking unicorn and earth foals, and swirling pegasi foals. The parents were all unabashedly cuddling their foals as soon as they got close enough, with the foals happily reciprocating, in displays of affection that no pure-blood, or “proper” half-blood, would ever deign to show in public — and probably not in their homes, either!

The emotions she was absorbing did not prevent Elly from monitoring the humans, though. Their surprise was clear, as were the slightly bitter feel of scheming just below the surface. Most were exchanging what she felt were derogatory comments behind their hands as they whispered to each other. A couple even openly sneered.

That the adult unicorns were not shy about levitating and catching their foals in magic fields — without wands — also held their attention. That the pegasi foals were occasionally clinging to the walls of the Gate House, and the “common” earth ponies were bouncing to ridiculous heights in their pronking, also drew a few . . . more contemplative . . . looks. That the humans were scheming was evident in the furrowed brows and pursed lips, and emotions.

Scootaloo’s father, Snap Shutter, turned out to be an earth stallion with a grayish brown coat, dark-purple mane, light raspberry eyes, and a cutie mark of a camera partially on a slightly-folded-up map. Aunt Holiday was an earth mare with a pale, grayish-amber coat, brilliant scarlet and light tangelo mane, and moderate scarlet eyes. Her cutie mark was of a sailboat under the sun.

Joining the group, a moment later, was a tall woman with long black hair, fair skin, and blue eyes. To any else, she was a normal, nondescript English witch, neither strikingly pretty nor ugly. She would disappear in a crowd, and people would call her a wall-flower at a party, if they remembered seeing her at all.

To Elly, she was Debbie in disguise.

“Miss De Rippe,” Elly greeted her formally. She was, after all, only a distant relative to the adult. Plus, they were in public. For the next few minutes, they all played their roles splendidly, attracting attention from none of the humans, nor from the still-excited ponies. She made sure that Debbie was introduced to the Grangers. Having a safe contact in the muggle world could only be an asset to the hive.

She would have some of the infiltrators check out where they lived, maybe remove a few problems before they became problems for the Grangers.

Then it was time for her to introduce her “guardian” to Harry’s herd.

The Sergeant slowly managed to get the rambunctious reuniting group back under control.

With no sign, yet, of Hagrid, and Harry gave a quick explanation of, “He’s getting carriages for the more . . . elderly.” He gave a sly, but significant, glance at Madam Longbottom, who was watching in wonder at the slowly calming ponies.

The Sergeant raised an eyebrow and said, “Mr. Sparkle, would you watch the Gates until Mr. Hagrid returns?”

Harry was quick to agree. “Yes, Sir,” he barked out, straightening up and snapping off a salute that would have done a Guard proud.

The Sergeant narrowed his eyes, and Elly could taste his suspicion that he might be being mocked, then it dissipated as he realized Harry wasn’t like the Canterlot nobles. He nodded, and turned back to the group of ponies. He welcomed the group to Hogwarts, and was soon leading the second group to the castle, giving his prepared lecture about the grounds and school.

Hagrid finally made an appearance just as things were starting to get awkward between them. He was leading one carriage and several others were following. “Sorry ’bout that, Madam Longbottom,” he said when he got closer, with an apologetic look, waving one arm back at the carriage.

“Humph!” was her only response as she swept pass him, giving him a disdainful glance. He opened the door to the carriage and offered her his hand to help her up, so he clearly wasn’t a total buffoon when it came to manners. Two of the other couples — they had been at Neville’s birthday party, but Harry didn’t remember their names — quickly followed her.

As soon as they closed the door, after they got in themselves, the thestrals started off and another carriage took its place. In short order, all four carriages were on their way to the castle.

“Thanks for the ’elp, ’arry,” he said, coming over and looking out the gate. He paled. “ Er, would yer mind doin’ it agin?” he said, turning back to Harry.

Elly could taste his worry.

After a quick glance at his herdmates, Harry said, reassuringly, “Not a problem, Hagrid.” The three ponies were still excitedly greeting their relatives.

Hagrid headed off, again, this time a bit faster.

Curiosity rolled off the boy, and she went with him to take a peek down the road to Hogsmeade. A rather large crowd of parents were clearly on their way from the village.

Harry gulped. “I hope Hagrid hurries!” he said.

Elly could only echo his sentiment.

^·_·^

Author's Note

I will be skipping next week's chapter posting. It's a holiday in the US.

Ch. 44 Welcome to Hogwarts

Fortunately, Hagrid did not let them down. Only moments before the first couple reached the gates, he arrived leading a long train of carriages. He must have drafted a few house-elves to prepare the rest of the thestrals and carriages, because he couldn’t have done it so fast by himself.

The thestrals were well-trained, after decades of practice, to present an orderly row and patiently wait for their carriage to be full. As far as they were concerned, it was just another day to haul students to the castle, only from the Gates instead of the train station. Or the other way around, depending on the time of year.

They probably even recognized some of the parents as former students.

“Well done, ’Arry,” Hagrid said as he “parked” the first carriage, smiling at the boy as he hurried past.

Harry and the other students stood back as the arriving parents began selecting carriages and getting in them. They gave curious looks to the small mob of ponies surrounding Elly, Emmie, Earl, Debbie, Hermione, and Hermione’s parents. As before, some of the were frowning, some were not.

Hermione had enthusiastically greeted her parents by hugging them both. Then she had segued into introducing them to all the ponies they hadn’t met at the train station at the beginning and end of summer hols. She had then taken on the position of tour guide; “The Gate House and Hogwarts walls were built in about 950A.D. after an attack by muggles. Being the first thing muggles see, the spells on it make them see ruins and warning signs that area is too dangerous to explore,” she explained. “They also have a mild aversion charm that gets stronger the closer you get to the walls. The longer you stay, the more you feel and thing that there is nothing of interest here.” She continued to enthusiastically explain everything she knew about the Gates, their history, and the Gate House beside them.

Her audience was paying rapt attention.

Her parents were nodding and smiling at her enthusiasm.

The ponies who hadn’t met her previously were more than a bit wide-eyed at her non-stop recital of facts with almost no noticeable breathing. Harry heard Lofty murmur, “Is she related to Pinkie?” to Holiday.

Harry, still a pony to reassure the new arrivals, gently pressed against her hip and began herding her down the road, after the departed coaches. Once they were past the Gate house, and the line of carriages, she started talking about the forest and grounds, just as the Sergeant had.

Snap Shutter, Mane Allgood, Lofty, Holiday, Hondo Flanks, and Cookie Crumbles were suitably appalled at hearing about the centaurs in the forest. Big Mac had a ferocious frown. They all stopped dead and stared at the forest, then moved to the side of the road furthest from the forest and herding the foals before them.

Harry could see Elly hiding a smirk. Then she spoke up, “You needn’t worry about the centaurs,” she said seriously. “They have no interest in ponies. Plus, Princess Twilight met with several of them, and she reportedly got along quite well with the ones she met.” She shrugged. “If anything, we,” she waved a hand at her cousins and guardian, Miss De Rippe, “have more to fear from them that you do.” She shivered. “Because of the way past wizards have treated them, they are quite hostile to wizards and witches.”

The ponies eyed her uncertainly, but calmed down a bit.

Hermione picked up the story. “Yes, last year while Harry was on a detention in the forest, at night, he met a centaur.”

The ponies winced and stared at Harry.

He shuffled uncomfortably.

“Remembering Tirek, he immediately alerted Princess Twilight and the Guard that a centaur was by the castle. The Guard took the alert seriously, and sent a company of Guards here. They quickly set up a defensive line between the castle and the forest, and went to where Harry had said he met the centaur. They captured the centaur and brought him to Princess Twilight, who had just arrived.

“It took her only a few minutes to determine it was all,” she stretched out the word, and rolled her eyes, “a misunderstanding. The centaurs don’t like or use magic the way wizards and witches do, or even unicorns.” She looked at each of the unicorns in the group.

The unicorns in the group exchanged uneasy glances.

“Instead, they spend their time reading the stars and protecting the unicorns in the forest.”

All the adult ponies startled at that declaration, except Rarity and Applejack, and stared at her. If their foals had mentioned the forest unicorns, they hadn’t realized they weren’t talking about other Equestrians.

Hermione sighed and shook her head. “The unicorns, here, are nothing like ponies in Equestria. First of all, they can’t seem to cast magic like Equestrian unicorns can.” She paused and frowned. “Although some of the First Year unicorns did manage to teach a forest foal how to shoot sparks from her horn earlier this year,” she said in a contemplative tone, staring into the forest as if she could see the foal in question. She turned to look at Harry, “And there have been a few rumours that people have seen sparks at night in the forest from the Castle windows — in several places at the same time, more than could be cast by a single wizard or witch, soo . . . maybe that’s changing?” she finished uncertainly.

Harry ducked his head slightly in an abortive effort to shrug. “My mum did say that one centaur she spoke to said the unicorns here could only cast modest healing spells, and only when touching somepony.” He looked into the forest, frowning. “Maybe all they needed was a bit of an example?”

Hermione slowly nodded. Then took a deep breath and restarted her tour-guide impression. “Naturally, students are not allowed in the Forbidden Forest . . ..”

Harry tuned her out and followed the rest as they made their way to the castle with coaches periodically passing them, the people inside staring at them.

Elly and her family kept pace with them.

The newcomers were as impressed as the students had been with the castle as they slowly got closer. Snap Shutter, though, had a slightly different impression. “It must have been quite wild when they first built it, right?” he said. “It’s not exactly a . . . welcoming presence.” He took another picture, as he had been doing ever since they had arrived in Hogsmeade.

He hadn’t been taking nearly as many photos as Colin Creevy did, but the ones he took seemed to be more very carefully considered.

Hermione nodded, sighing. “Yes, Hogwarts was built as a defensive redoubt first. Besides being a school, it was seen as a . . . refuge should the wizards and witches of the time need it.” She looked back at the castle and her face reflected her serious mien. “It was very dangerous then. Magic could make it several times larger inside, too, had that become necessary. It could probably have held almost the entirety of the wizarding population of the time, if it had had to. As it is, now, there are far more empty rooms than occupied.”

The ponies nodded in understanding. Canterlot had been built on the side of a tall mountain for the same reasons. Only Canterlot was very crowded as the ponies of old had wanted to be as close to safety as possible, and their descendants saw no reason to change that. Plus, it was close to their monarch.

Soon enough, they arrived at the front doors to the castle. There were several pony-students either playing or sitting around waiting for their parents. The prefects had clearly given up trying to chase them back to their common rooms, especially given how nice the day was outside, so far.

Several of the remaining pegasi students were perched on the ledges above the entrance.

Harry waved to them as they waved back. Most had never seen Big Mac and their astonished expression were easy to see. He was an imposing pony.

They had barely reached the stairs on the left side, inside by the entrance to the Great Hall, when a voice rang out. “Oh Merlin, more of these animals!”

Several of the ponies shrieked, joined by Mrs Granger. Mr. Granger gasped. Applejack, Rarity, and Big Mac turned to face the possible threat.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Ignore him,” he said loudly to the group, pointing at the portrait not far from the staircase. “He’s a bigot.” Harry glared at it with narrowed eyes. “If he doesn’t shut up, I’m sure the Headmaster will find a nice, dark, storeroom for him.” Harry felt a slow incendio would be more fitting, but the girls would object, he was sure.

The wizard in the portrait lifted his nose and sniffed, then ostentatiously turned to the side.

Hermione looked upset, at first, putting her hands on her hips in outrage, but then she smirked. “I’m sure you heard about the moving pictures and talking portraits,” she confidentially said to the ponies, leaning towards the group and crossing her arms. “They’re a lot more surprising to see in person, aren’t they? Took me several days to get used to the fact that every portrait here could answer any questions I had.” She frowned, pursed her lips, and put her hands back on her hips. “Unfortunately, as you just saw, not all the people in the portraits were nice people when they were alive, and that carries over to the portrait itself.” She sighed. “Most of the pure-blood portraits are the worst if they think you aren’t a pure-blood like them. Some will even purposely misdirect you, or lie.” She scowled at the silent portrait-wizard ignoring them. “Unfortunately, too, they are difficult to teach anything new, so telling them that you all have magical ancestors going back several thousand years won’t make much of a difference. They’ll either deny it is true, or, if they do believe you, will soon forget and revert back to their previous behaviour in a few weeks or days.”

“However,” Harry interrupted her, “If you tell them you are animagi, they act very different.” Suiting action to words, he transformed back to a wizard. The rest of the herd quickly followed. Applejack and Rarity joined them. Most of the rest of the ponies were too unsure of their abilities to change.

The wizard in the portrait was now staring at them in astonishment.

“You should know better,” Harry reprimanded him, shaking a finger at him. “Animagi were around when you were a student, here. They might have been rare, but they were real.” The others all nodded.

The wizard looked them all over, including the ones still as ponies. “You are correct,” he said reluctantly. “I apologize for my rudeness.” He bowed. “Welcome to Hogwarts.”

Hermione nodded back. “Just try to remember, every pony you see today and tomorrow can change back to a human any time they want. They just might not want to at the moment.” She frowned in thought. “Maybe you should try to write that down in somewhere in your frame so you can’t forget. I’m sure I saw a frame, somewhere, where there were quills and parchment you could use.”

He nodded silently and just watched them as they turned and started up the staircase to head for the Gryffindor dorm.

Harry noticed that Elly, her cousins, and her guardian went downstairs to the Hufflepuff dorm.

“Don’t be startled if the armoured suits you see suddenly move.” Hermione started to tour-guide, again. “They, too, are animated. Their real purpose is to defend the castle in the event of an attack . . ..”

Harry let her voice wash over him as he followed the pack back to their Common Room. Watching his herdmates being cuddled by their parents gave him a good feeling inside, and he couldn’t help but grin as he remembered how it felt when his mum did that. Plus, everypony’s reaction to the various secret passages was entertaining. He could hardly wait to introduce them to the slide from the seventh floor to the basement, nor the return slide, as well. He could just imagine the shrieks.

It was from the corner of one eye as he walked by the landscape in one frame on the third floor he saw a unicorn in the distance who was actually grinning. But, when he took a closer look, he saw nothing. Then, on the seventh floor, just down the corridor, in a moonlit meadow painting, he thought he saw the silhouette of an Abraxian horse landing behind some trees. But, again, when he looked closer, there were no signs of the horse.

He decided he would investigate that later, after all the parental adult ponies had gone home. He had more important concerns right now . . . supporting his herdmates.

After exploring the dorms, they went to their charms class to introduce Professor Flitwick. The rush had not yet started, so there were only a few other groups of parents and students. The human parents finished quickly, they merely wanted to verify how their children were doing. They stood back and watched though, as the Professor greeted the ponies. Amusingly enough, Professor Flitwick asked as many questions as he answered.

“You mean none of you went to a school for magic?” he said, looking at Hondo Flanks, Cookie Crumbles, and Rarity eyebrows raised in astonishment.

“No, dear,” Rarity said. “The . . . magic school is only for those that excel at magic. My innate talents, and Sweetie Belle’s and my parents’,” she glanced at them, “are quite all we need for our day-to-day requirements. Daddy, for example, works for the railroad ticket office. Mummy works for the Ponyville Portal Palace of Provender, a restaurant, cooking human, pony, and griffon foods.”

Each nodded as they were mentioned.

“And I am the premier fashion designer of Equestria,” she concluded. She looked around the room at the students. “Seeing what you all do with wands and magic is interesting, but, for the most part, not anything I would find useful.” She frowned. “For example, I knew and used fire and shield spells before I started school.” She nodded over to Sweetie Belle, “As did my sister.”

Sweetie grinned up at her.

“Did you now?” Flitwick exclaimed excitedly. For a moment it looked like he would clap his hands in glee.

She nodded gracefully. “The other two tribes, however,” she glanced at the other adult ponies, “will find the use of wands a wonderful expansion of their own innate abilities.”

The others nodded their agreement.

“The cleanin’ charms, alone, save me hours of work!” said Applejack.

“Eyup,” added Big Mac, sagely, and nodded. Lofty and Holiday were also nodding.

“What spells do you find yourself using the most?” Flitwick asked.

The two quickly descended into talking shop. Rarity was soon showing off how many items she could simultaneously, and individually, control, to the Professor’s delight and the other wizards’ and witches’ amazement. All without using a wand.

Then Hondo and Cookie showed off some of the spells they frequently used in their jobs in Ponyville.

It was only when Flitwick sighed and announced that they needed to stop because lunch would soon be served that they managed to get out of the Charms classroom.

The great Hall had clearly been expanded, either by the professors or the castle, itself, as the huge mob that was nearly three times larger than normal filled the hall. Harry was relieved to see that the house-elves were on the spot with a large vegetarian selection of thick broths, salads, and chili. Pizzas also appeared, for the first time. Down towards the First Year’s end of the tables, there were several platters of sandwiches, all clearly labelled as for the ponies.

And pastries. There were a lot of cakes, cookies, and other things the humans considered dessert items.

The expressions of the humans as they watched the adult ponies tear into the pastries as if they were a main course had Harry and his friends laughing. Even though the most conservative humans were trying to hide their reactions, their wide-eyed stares and exchanged glances gave away how astonished they were at seeing the ponies eat double or triple what they would expect a human to eat.

Most of the students were staring, gobsmacked, at the display. Before now, all the Equestrian students and adults had taken their meals as humans. The difference in volume needed to feed an herbivore versus an omnivore was revealed for the first time.

The house-elves were probably thrilled, Harry thought, at how well-received their food offerings were to the ponies. New platters appeared almost as fast the present ones were emptied.

For once, Harry and his herd were not the centre of everypony’s attention. That honour went to Luna Lovegood. For most of the human parents, almost two-thirds, this was the first time they had the opportunity to see the crystal pony. Most had written-off the stories in The Quibbler as yet another fantasy creature. To see her walking, talking, and eating was quite amazing to them. Some of the ponies who hadn’t seen her at the portal station or in Ponyville were equally intrigued — and not shy about walking up to her to ask questions.

He was pleasantly surprised, however, when his mum walked into the Great Hall with the last pony parents. Rainbow Dash hovering just over their heads was . . . not really a surprise. That Dash came was certainly unexpected, given that Scootaloo’s parents and aunts had come, but she did consider herself to be an older sister to the filly, so, there was that.

Scootaloo was beyond happy.

As soon as his mum saw that the Headmaster was present, she flew directly to him, attracting everyone’s attention. She settled behind him and he turned to converse with her. Harry could see the faint shimmer as a silencing spell took effect, and their figures blurred slightly. After a few minutes, the blur disappeared. The Headmaster was shaking his head and looked sad. He turned to the other professors, and cast another silencing spell as he told them whatever he had been told.

They, too, did not look happy.

His mum, in the meantime, had taken wing again. After greeting him with a mighty hug, she sat beside him and started in on the selections before her. “Don’t ask,” she said sternly, frowning, before he could say a word. “The Headmaster will make an announcement at dinner.”

Harry nodded slowly. That meant it could only be bad news, and they were waiting for dinner so as not to spoil the day for everypony. They were both quiet as she filled her plate and started eating.

“By the way, mum,” he said a few minutes later. He loved saying that word, and grinned widely before continuing, “I thanked Elly for her warning. It really did make a difference,” he said earnestly. “I told her I greatly appreciated it, and that without the warning I or Hermione might have been badly hurt. We definitely wouldn’t have had shield spells ready to cast!”

His mum nodded, still chewing.

“Anyway, While I was thanking her, I told her we, me and the girls, owed her a debt, and that if they every needed help, we would do what we could.”

His mum nodded, and frowned slightly, listening closely.

“And there was this weird magical . . . pop . . . we all felt.”

His mum widened her eyes and sat straighter. She gave a hard look at the girls. Scootaloo was practically glowing, with her parents and aunts seated on both sides of her. Sweetie Belle was enjoying having her whole family here, as well, pointing out things all around the Hall. Ginny had been roped into sitting with the whole family and appeared a bit put out by it. Sharing her parents’ attention with the four boys was a bit vexing, for her. Apple Bloom was sandwiched between her sister and brother, and enjoying describing all the food on the table to her siblings.

It was the same for practically all the ponies in the Great Hall.

Only Hermione was looking at them, past her father on the other side of Harry, and apparently listening. She nodded vigorously.

The purple princess slowly nodded. “We’ll have to talk about that later,” she said.

Harry shrugged. “Well, it’s not like we didn’t make her a friend of the family last year. I can’t think of anything she would have realistically expected us to do if she asked, anyway.”

His mum pursed her lips, then nodded. “I would still like to meet with her and convey my thanks for her timely warning,” she said quietly.

They turned their attention back to their lunches.

Only minutes later, it seemed, people were starting leave the Great Hall. Without a doubt, a large number of the humans’ parents would be leaving, now. They had done their familial duties, they were well familiar with the school itself, and they had other business to attend to. By dinner time, Harry expected that the only visiting families would be the muggle-borns' parents, a scattered few with a muggle mother or father in the family, and the ponies.

He was lucky in that the De Rippes did not seem to be in a hurry to leave. Despite their “pure-blood” status, the four students were doing a poor job of disguising how happy they were that their guardian was here. He could tell by the occasional goofy smile they would develop before suddenly shaking their heads and looking stern for a few minutes. Their guardian, Elinora, kept glancing at them, her own lips popping into a smile before shaking her head slightly.

It gave him all the opportunity he needed to guide his mum over to them as they were nearing the Great Hall doors. “Mum, I would like to introduce Elinora De Rippe. She is the official guardian for Elly and her cousins,” he pointed at each in turn, “Essie Pauncefoot, Emmie Pauncefoot, and Earl Pauncefoot.”

His mum nodded at each.

Then he introduced her to them, “This is my mum, Princess Twilight Sparkle.”

His mum rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I hate that title,” she said without any heat. “If you have a moment, could I have a word with you?” she said looking at Elly, and then Elinora.

It was Harry’s turn to roll his eyes. Like anypony in their right mind would say “no” to a princess of Equestria.

They moved to a nearby conference room — actually a repurposed classroom — although it took a bit of wrangling to get all the participants involved. With the girls and their families, it made for a lot of ponies and humans, twenty-three, counting Harry and his mum. Including Elly’s relations, it made for a full classroom.

His mum placed several spells on the door, windows, walls, ceiling, and floor. Then she turned and cleared her throat. Everypony turned to face her.

“There are some facts you all need to know, either because your sister, daughter, or niece, are involved with my son, Harry,” she glanced at all the ponies. “Or your niece or cousin helped Harry.” She looked at the De Rippes and Pauncefoots. She had their full attention.

She shuffled on her hooves awkwardly for a moment, then took a big breath. “Last year, one of the teachers here was carrying a mental parasite. This parasite goes by several names, Tom Riddle is one, Lord Voldemort is another.” None of the adult relatives of Harry’s herdmates looked surprised, although they did take on stern expressions, frowning and straightening slightly. They had all been briefed when they had visited Equestria in the summer.

This was news to Elinora, based on her sudden gasp, clutching at her chest, and rapidly paling face. Elly and her cousins look worried, but not too disturbed.

“Tom attempted to kill Harry on the day his class took their Defence Against the Dark Arts exam. Thanks to Elly’s timely alarm, we were able to stop Tom and capture him.”

The adults nodded. Elly and her relatives were listening with rapt attention.

“This summer, the Ministry threw him through the Veil in the Ministry building, which supposedly sent him directly to the afterlife.”

Elly and her cousins exchanged looks while their guardian looked vastly relieved.

“Unfortunately,” she continued, shaking her head ruefully, “Tom took the extraordinary step of creating several devices that could hold part of his soul.”

Elly and her relatives were again stunned, and all took a step back.

Twilight paused and sighed. “We thought we had destroyed them all, but we must have missed one.”

There were more than a few narrow-eyed glances between them all. Elly and her relatives all shivered and looked scared, biting their lips or taking shaky breaths and looking at each other for reassurance.

“This year, Tom again managed to infiltrate the school. This time he used one of those evil artifacts, the one we missed. We believe, based on what we have been able to learn, that he intended to slowly takeover the soul of another student, and return to living.” She sighed sadly. “Gregory Goyle was not possessed by a vampire, but by Tom Riddle. Based on how little Gregory’s actions behaviour changed, we believe he was a willing host, much like Quirrel was.”

Harry blinked as he saw a hand-sized bundle come out of the saddlebags he hadn’t noticed his mum wearing. The bundle floated over to Elinora, who took it in one hand. His mum spoke straight to her, glancing at Elly occasionally. “You know of the portal to our world,” she said. “Well, we have other portals. One of them leads to a parallel-world that is very much like this one, except there are no magicals. The natives are bereft of magic, with only a rare few exceptions. However, in a coincidence that beggars the imagination, they have a series of books about a magical world that is hidden in theirs. A magical world where there is a magical school called Hogwarts, where the non-magicals are called muggles, and the headmaster is a wizard by the name of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.”

Elly and company looked speechless.

His mum looked directly at Elly. “Because you spotted something before anyone else was even aware of a problem, here are a complete set of the books for you to read. I imagine that if we hadn’t come on the scene, things in real life here would have played out almost exactly as they did in these books.” Elly stared at the small bundle in her guardian’s hand.

“Most of the problems in the books have been solved, I included a paper listing each one we removed,” his mum continued, “But maybe you can spot something we haven’t noticed, yet. Or, if you are forewarned to possible dangers, you might detect them first.”

She was silent a moment, then sighed. “Next, Harry told me that when he said he owed you a debt, there was a pop of magic. Did you feel it?”

Elly paused a moment, then slowly nodded. One by one her cousins nodded, even her guardian, which surprised him.

His mum glanced at her herdmates, who also all nodded. Scootaloo said, “So, that’s what that was?” as Ginny said, “Oh, I wondered what that was.” Both gave curious glances to Harry and Elly.

The older Weasleys looked surprised, and worried, Arthur especially.

His mum looked thoughtful, her brow furrowed and ears laid back. “As I recall,” she said slowly, “It isn’t anything that will make you do something you don’t want to do, it’s just a nudge that tells you to do what is asked because your debt needs to be redeemed.” She looked back at Harry. “It’s just one way for magic to help you do the right thing, and maintain harmony.” She turned back to Elly and her family.

Magic, after all, had acknowledged that they were all her family. Just as it had acknowledged Hermione and Ginny as part of Harry’s herd.

She smiled. “As he did, I say thank you for your help. If we can do anything to help you, when you need help, please don’t hesitate to call on us. If you don’t know where we are, drop into any of our Embassies and they will put you in touch with us, no matter where we are in either world.”

They glanced at each other, then Ellinora curtseyed and said, “Thank you, your highness. If we ever find ourselves in need of assistance, we will come to either Mr. Potter or yourself. Not that I expect us to need your help.”

His mum grimaced. “Please, none of those silly honorifics. In view of the debt, I think just Twilight is more than sufficient.” She paused a moment. “Also, as I offered Elly last year, should any of you wish to visit Equestria, just ask and I will expedite the paperwork — plus, I expect you to stay at my palace in Ponyville, or my home in Canterlot, should you visit either location.”

She smiled at them. “In the meantime, go ahead and read the books and let Harry know what you think of them.”

Elinora nodded, murmuring, “Of course . . . Twilight.” She looked distinctly uncomfortable at the familiarity. Elly merely nodded beside her, keeping silent.

“Well,” his mum said, “That’s pretty much all I wanted to talk about. Any questions?”

Ron slowly raised his hand.

His mum nodded at him, “Yes?” she said.

“Er, do you know what happened to Goyle?”

She sighed and glanced around the room at them all. “I’ll have to ask you all to keep this quiet until dinner tonight. The Headmaster will make an official statement then.” She stopped and shook her head. “Gregory’s body was found this morning in a bed and breakfast inn just outside London. He apparently died sometime yesterday, around two-o’clock. Tom apparently left sometime early this morning, but to where, we haven’t a clue.” She sighed again. “Unfortunately, the Ministry won’t believe us if the Headmaster and I try to say this is Tom Riddle’s work. They firmly believe it is a vampire at work.” She shook her head ruefully. “Lockhart’s insistence that he was searching for a vampire inspired Tom to arrange things to reinforce that impression.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “We just have to be on the lookout for him.”

The others all nodded in agreement, still a bit shocked that what they had read in the books, and seen in the movies, especially the second one, seemed to be true.

It was a quiet group that filed into the corridor.

Elly and her family went off towards their common room again. Arthur headed off, back to work, while Molly hovered around Ron and Ginny, most especially Ginny.

Twilight gave Harry another tight hug, then said, “Sorry I can’t stay any longer. There’s much to do.”

Harry nodded. “That’s okay. I appreciate you took the time to stay here this long.” He gave her a shy smile, “Besides, I’ll see you in a few weeks, anyway.”

They hugged again, then she took wing and flew down the hall. She would be at the Gates to teleport faster than if she tried to use the Headmaster’s floo. Even assuming he was in his office to let her in.

That she did so instead of teleporting directly told Harry that his being able to teleport in the Great Hall was either a fluke, or she was trying to conceal that ponies could teleport in the castle. He would ask Sweetie Belle to try, later, when they were alone. If she couldn’t, then he knew he was to only one who could.

^·_·^

Ch. 45 Hidden Frenemies

Rather than head back to their common room, considering they had already shown that to the relatives, the herd decided to give everypony the grand tour of the castle, and perhaps visit Professor McGonagall’s classroom and the Greenhouses. Hopefully, Professor Sprout wasn’t too overwhelmed with earth ponies inspecting her work areas to talk to them.

The rest of the afternoon promised to be rather pedestrian for Harry, but he didn’t mind. He knew he would quite enjoy watching the fun the others had introducing their relatives to the Castle’s quirks. Ginny probably felt the same way, based on her grin at their reaction to the shortcut slide from the basement to the seventh floor!

The moving stairs in the main stairwell were startling, but the stairs that you went up one flight to go down two had even the unicorns scratching their heads. Most hadn’t heard, yet, of some of the “improvements” Luna had made to Canterlot castle. The nobles were trying to pretend they didn’t exist.

The slide to the pool was an instant hit.

Considering the age of Hogwarts, a thousand years, the moving classrooms, staircases, walls that pretended to be doors and doors that pretended to be wall, passages you could only use on certain days or certain times, and the length of time Discord spent as a statue in Equestria, Harry had to wonder if Discord might have been here, instead. Or, considering some of the things they had seen in the Two Sisters’ Castle, maybe Nightmare hadn’t been as stuck on the moon as everypony thought. It would have been easy for her to escape Luna’s attention. Although, her “fun” seemed to have been more cruel than confusing, so maybe not.

Several times they ran into Elly and her guardian or her cousins. They seemed to be acting as tour guides for some of the groups of exploring ponies. They even pointed out one or two hidden rooms or “secret” passages no one else knew about.

Elly told them about one passage that seemed to be no longer than a classroom, but it put them on the other side of the castle! She said several Hufflepuffs liked to use it to get to the common room faster after their last class.

They arrived at the Room of Requirement just in time to see a seventh year put the room through its paces. He happily demonstrated that you didn’t need a wand to use the room by having one of the earth-pony parents recreate their living-room in Equestria.

By the time dinner came around, they were all a bit hoofsore, especially Hermione’s parents. The ponies, at least, were used to walking everywhere, just not going up and down so many stairs.

Towards the end of the meal, just before dessert, the Headmaster stood and tapped his goblet to bring everypony’s attention to him.

“It is my pleasure to inform all the parent’s currently present that if you desire to stay the night instead of going home, quarters for you have been arranged just down the hall from each of the four Common Rooms.”

A cheer went up from the ponies, and quite a few of the muggle-born’s parents, too. The Headmaster let it continue for a few moments, then raised his arms to attract their attention.

“Plus, in view of classes being cancelled tomorrow, the Hogwarts curfew tonight has been changed to ten o’clock.”

Another cheer went up, this time from all the students. Again, the Headmaster let it continue for a few moments, then raised his arms to attract their attention, again.

“Naturally, for all the adults, there is no curfew. So, if you wish to talk with the other parents, feel free to visit each other.”

There wasn’t any cheering this time, but the parents appeared pleased.

Harry could tell that the Headmaster was milking the good feelings he was creating for all the good will it might create for him.

He lowered his arms, took a theatrically deep breath, and slowly let it out. “Unfortunately, it is my sad duty to inform you that the body of Gregory Goyle has been recovered by the aurors.” He paused for a minute at the many expressions of shocked outrage. “The one responsible for his death has not been found, but the Ministry assures me that they will put all available resources into tracking down this wanton killer.” He paused.

“Might we have a minute of silence to reflect on what we have lost in our deceased friend and student.” Dumbledore folded his hands, and stood quietly with bowed head.

Many of the students emulated his bowed head.

There was dead silence. While many might have had a problem with the boy’s bullying, none of them had ever, seriously, wanted to see the boy dead.

After the minute had passed, the Headmaster sighed. “It is my sad duty to inform you that Professor Lockhart, while he has fully recovered from his injuries, yesterday, is currently being held in the Ministry for ‘irregularities’ regarding the events he has recounted in his books. The Ministry has requested, and I have agreed, that the former Auror, Alastor Moody, will take his place in his classes, starting Tuesday.”

Harry nodded to himself. That explained why they had Monday off. Professor Moody would be settling in and it would unfair to expect him to immediately begin teaching classes.

The Headmaster sat back down. As he did so, the main meal-dishes were replaced with desserts. Truthfully, though, at the pony-ends’ of the tables, the dessert selection presented differed from the main dishes only in that there weren’t any soups or platters of vegetables.

Knowing they could stay longer made a difference to many of the visiting parents. Feeling re-energized, they returned to exploring. Harry and his herdmates were surprisingly tired by the time they did head inside the dorms for curfew that night.

The next day was just as much fun, they all thought. Most of the adults tried out the trebuchets by the lake, having heard the stories from the foals and rumours back in Equestria from the Guards. Most also weren’t from Ponyville and hadn’t had the chance to test the entertainment devices installed at the lake.

To the surprise of everypony, a small herd of unicorns, no more than seven, appeared along the edge of the Forest, and watched the ponies playing on the lawns. What attracted everypony’s attention, at first, was that three of the foals were shooting sparks. The Equestrian unicorns quickly congregated and started showing off some of the very basic spells they had learned as foals, themselves. It wasn’t long before the wizards and witches were watching from a short distance away.

The cheer that went up when the first foal levitated a leaf startled the Forest unicorns away. That earned a disapproving glare from the others. It took another hour to coax the horses back to the lawn’s edge.

Many of the older wizards were making serious efforts to meet with and talk to the parents. They were feeling out the possibilities for business connections and possible employment. Many of the Seventh Years were definitely planning on taking the next year off and visiting Equestria. Having a close understanding of just what the ponies did in their daily lives would be a big boost to any careers they might choose to pursue in the witchery world. The insights into how they think would be invaluable.

However, as all goods things did, the day came to an end and the parents and siblings all went home.

For the ponies, the glee from seeing their parents at Hogwarts carried over for the next few days.

Professor Moody was as different from Lockhart and Quirrell as anypony could imagine. His first class was revising every spell that they should have learned in First Year. His second class, he promised, would have them doing the entire Second Year, as well. Harry thought he and the girls had done quite well, as did the rest of the Gryffindors — they had worked quite a lot together last year. Plus, the book-walking spell had made a big impact in internalizing their study of magical theory. The only one who felt she could have done better was Hermione, of course.

To say Moody was surprised at the book-walking spell was an understatement. It took him only a few minutes to master the spell — he swore his assistant to guard him while he experimented with it the first time. He gave Harry ten points for telling everyone about the spell when he could have kept it secret and given himself a big advantage.

To which, Harry responded, with a blank stare. Like the others would have let him keep it a secret? The only way he could have kept it a secret would have been to not use it! The wizard was clearly as idiotic as all the other wizards and witches. A lot more paranoid, but still idiotic.

However, at least this wizard was competent, he had to admit. The urge to hex him when he wasn’t looking was strong, however, just to see if the wizard’s reaction time was anything like his paranoia seemed to suggest.

But he wouldn’t do that. He knew his herdmates would disapprove. Only if the not-quite-incompetent wizard looked like he was going to attack any of them would he act.

Besides, if he hadn’t shared book-walking spell, then they wouldn’t be able to surprise the Professor next week. Harry was looking forward to watching his expression when he discovered that they had already mastered Second Year. And then started on the Third Year’s material back in March.

Despite the . . . inconsistent . . . methods of Lockhart, they had spent more than an hour a week going over The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 2) and, more lately, The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 3). Those books were on the official Hogwarts List for those years, after all. Fortunately, most of the sixth years, and a few of the seventh years, had been more than happy to tell them the books their DADA professors had liked. Those, with what the older students had told them about their OWL DADA tests had been a big help.

That information had let them look up the books left to the library after each previous year, which had the other spells they needed. With the OWLs being administered by the Ministry, and not their Hogwarts’ Professors, knowing what they might find on the tests was vital.

Seeing how much damage resulted from the previous Saturday, both to the building and other students, there was a heightened interest in protective spells. As a result, Harry and the girls found themselves as temporary unofficial instructors in the different shielding charms, and non-lethal methods of stopping an assailant. It made for rather busy afternoons after classes let out.

Their expertise in the Great Hall had not been missed by everypony.

Professor Moody probably would approve when he learned of that, if he hadn’t already.

This Saturday, though, just as breakfast was ending for Harry and his friends, Elly came over from the Hufflepuff table and asked if he could help her and her cousins with a certain spell.

It was rather anticlimactic, actually.

The fillies all knew how to teleport with their wands, they had practiced assiduously in Equestria over the summer.

As a result, Ginny and Scootaloo took off for some recreational flying. Scootaloo was determined to match Rainbow in some of her stunts, with Ginny as a willing and supportive critic of her attempts. Hermione took off for the library — she wanted to research what spells they needed to detect possessions, and their drawbacks. She knew Lockhart had to have only been mentioning a few of the ones available.

This was the second time this had happened to Harry, and she was determined that it wouldn’t happen again!

So, accompanied by Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom, he went with Elly and her cousins as they led the way around the lake.

“How do you know we’re far enough,” he asked when they finally stopped in a clearing beside the lake.

Elly shrugged. “We asked the seventh year Prefects where the detection spells stopped, so we wouldn’t accidentally wander into unsafe territory,” she said, looking back in the direction of the castle. It was hidden by the trees, at this point. “They told us how far they reached.” She grinned mischievously. “One of them suggested we check out a book in the library that dealt with detecting stationary ‘freestanding’ spells.”

Earl, beside her, smirked. “It was a book on curse-detecting for aspiring Curse-breakers,” he said.

“We checked this location out yesterday,” Essie said smugly. “Not only can’t we been seen from the castle, the trees hide us from anyone who isn’t close enough for us to easily see them.”

“The castle’s spells peter-out about ten yards that way,” Elly said, pointing.

Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle looked as impressed as Harry felt. “Any chance we can see that book when you’re through with it?”

Elly smirked, “I thought you might be interested,” she said as she took a book out of her rucksack and handed it to him. “Because you’re teaching us this teleportation spell, I figured I should at least share this.”

It was an old book, Curse Detecting and Breaking For Fun and Profit, its condition betraying that it clearly had been donated by a former curse-breaker.

Harry popped the book into his robe’s inside-expanded pocket.

“So,” he said, “Are you ready?”

Elly nodded nervously.

“Like I said last time, picture the spell matrix in your mind.”

She nodded again.

He moved up in front of her and stood up on his tiptoes as she bowed her head to press his forehead against hers. She didn’t close her eyes this time. For a moment he was confused, then he realized the other time they had been standing on an incline, and she had been at a lower level than he had been at.

Quickly enough he was studying the matrix and comparing it to his. They were an exact match. He stepped back. “Okay, now,” he pointed at a tree. “Imagine you are beside that tree.” He paused. “That is, you are beside that tree, not beside me. Make it real. Push your magic into the matrix, and let it go.”

There were the soft, tinkling sounds of tiny bells, and Elly was standing by the tree. She stared at them, blinking. Then there were the sounds of bells, again, and she was beside Harry.

He grinned at her. “With enough practice, and more power as you get older, you won’t have to hold your wand to do that. By the time you get to be an adult, you might not even need the wand, anymore.” Then he frowned, thinking, “Unless that’s something only the unicorn tribe can do . . ..” his voice trailed off as he thought about it.

She was fairly bouncing with glee at her accomplishment. Her cousins were clapping their hands and praising her.

Harry turned to Essie. “Let’s see how you are with your matrix.”

“Me?” she squeaked, pointing at herself with one hand, and looking incredulous.

He nodded, and a minute later he was pressing his forehead to hers. Her image of the matrix needed a bit of tweaking, so he told her to work on it, like he had Elly the previous Sunday. Earl and Emmie received the same advice.

He reached into his pocket and took out several pages of parchment. He handed them to Elly. “These go into far more detail than I gave you, telling where the safety routines are, what each routine does, and how to disable a routine and what the risks are for doing so. If you disable them all, it is very possible to teleport inside a solid object, or leave parts of yourself behind.” He pursed his lips. “My mum was worried that somepony could cause a tremendous explosion if one of their atoms coincided with another. However, when she did the numbers with the magic, she discovered that magic won’t let that happen. They would simply be interposed between the other atoms in the object they intersected.” He took a deep breath and let it out. “Death would probably be nearly instantaneous as the extra material would immediately disrupt your brain’s connections.” He paused and thought a moment. “If only part of your body intersected, you might be able to teleport out. But, then again, the teleport might consider whatever you intersected as part of your body and try to bring it with you. If it were something big, you’d be stuck, unable to teleport.” He shook his head. “Obviously, no one wants to experiment with that, so, nobody really knows. So, don’t disable all the safeties.”

Everypony was staring at him in shock.

“Twilight never told me that!” Sweetie Belle exclaimed.

He looked at her. “Would you ever want to experiment with the teleport?”

“No!”

He shrugged. “There you go,” he said simply.

He looked back at Elly. “When you think they have the spell-matrix suitably memorized, we can do this again.”

She slowly nodded.

“Well, we’ll head back now,” he said, starting to walk back to the castle. “The spell is a bit tiring, at first, so make sure to rest for a while after each teleport. There’s no reason to push it, it’s not like you can use it in the castle.”

Sweetie Belle had been unable to teleport any distance at all, no matter how close. He could, but he still didn’t understand why. Everypony in the herd agreed that that was one secret they wouldn’t share with anypony, as frustrating as they’re being unable to do it was. Based on what had happened to Harry, twice now, having that secret could save his life — and possibly theirs.

“Plus, you’ll have plenty of time to practice it over the summer.”

Elly and the others nodded. “I’ll take it easy,” she promised.

The Hufflepuff girl was turning into an interesting person, he decided.

He gave a casual wave as they left her and her cousins behind, and headed back to the castle at a trot, not even really noticing he was now a pony.

There was a certain book in his pocket that he wanted to wander through.

As would all of his herd.

^-_-^

Major Searle was waiting patiently in the meeting room at Number 10 Downing Street. He was meeting with The Foreign Secretary, Douglas Hurd, the Home Secretary, Kenneth Baker, Sir Patrick Walker, head of Military Intelligence Department Five, Sir Colin McColl, head of Military Intelligence Department Six, and the Prime Minister John Major. It was a briefing for the Secretaries and Prime Minister, to bring them up-to-date on the Riddle situation, and a few other things.

Walker and McColl arrived first, one after the other, and quickly took their seats, each setting a stack of folders on the table from their briefcases. Hurd and Baker arrived next, conferring about the successful Mars Mission.

The Buran had performed flawlessly, Castor knew, having landed back at Heathrow the previous Wednesday, to great fanfare.

The Yanks were apparently chomping at the bit to put an entire research base through the “special technology” transport system. The landing site was quickly turning into a boom-town, almost as fast as the two bases on the Earth’s Moon had grown.

Every scientist with even a casual interest in off-planet sciences was in the queue to stay at one of the three bases, if not already scheduled to visit all three.

Terra-forming was even under discussion.

The U.K. had edged the U.S. out as the country that the rest of the world was watching for new innovations. While the bases were all “international” in scope, everyone knew that without the U.K. none of the bases would exist.

And no one knew what was coming next, in engineering, astronomy, physics, or commercial applications that threatened to revolutionize entire industries.

The U.K universities were drawing the most promising of graduates in the sciences to the U.K. for their post-graduate studies, especially in the mathematics, high-energy, and theoretical physics fields. For the first time in decades, the so-called brain-drain had reversed. It was almost like the sixties and seventies all over again. Only this time it was the sciences that put the U.K. at the forefront of the world’s consciousness, not rock-and-roll music.

Plus, Castor had recently heard of a student at Cardiff University, in Wales. Miguel Alcubierre Moya was in its graduate school, and his professors had brought him to the attention of the physicists in the BNSC. He was in the process of putting together a paper proposing a “warp” drive that would allow the equivalent of faster-than-light travel between stars. There were just as many physicists ridiculing the proposal as there were who were praising his preliminary calculations.

The Special Technology people, and the Equestrians were extremely interested.

Alpha Centauri and its sister stars might not be as far away as everyone thought. Was it a race to see which would get there first? The as-yet unbuilt, warp-drive-equipped ship or the Bristol Bloodhound, Ad Astra II?

He idly wondered how long it would take to retrofit the Buran, once they moved out of the testing phase for the warp drive. Or would it require a completely different physical design? Something purpose built, but which could land like a plane?

The fight to be on that ship, whatever it’s configuration, would be legendary.

The Prime Minister finally made his appearance. He didn’t wait to mince words. “What’s the status of Project Gilgamesh?”

Walker sighed and tapped his stack of folders with one finger. “He appears to have either slipped out of the country, or gone to ground so thoroughly that we can’t find him.” He slid a folder he had over to the Major and the two Secretaries.

“The full report is in these.” He shrugged. “I believe he left the Leaky Cauldron at ten-thirty hundred. He took a cab and checked into a small bed-and-breakfast off Bexley High Street at about eleven-thirty hundred. He took a room and wasn’t seen until the next morning at zero-six hundred hours. He used ‘specialty tech’ to confuse the on-duty clerk, walked out, and wasn’t seen again.” He looked at each of them in turn.

“Major Castor and his teams arrived at the Bexley High Street Post Office Building at roughly zero-six hundred, and it took them the better part of an hour and a quarter to locate the bed-and-breakfast where the suspect had overnighted, another seventeen minutes was lost planning and evacuating that building and the ones on either side.” He shook his head. “The boy, Gregory Goyle, was inside, dead. The coroner put the time of death as the previous day, sometime between noon and fifteen hundred. Princess Twilight, using special technology, had managed a brief contact with the boy at about fourteen hundred, but the contact cut off before she could get a location. She believes that that was his time of death.”

He paused and looked around the table, again.

“I had teams of our Special Technology people working with our new Infiltrator Specialists at all the major ferry terminals and airports in England, Scotland, and Wales. Most were in position by zero-five hundred. None of them detected the presence of our target.” He gave a wry shake of his head. “We did catch twenty different attempts to smuggle cash and goods out of England on Sunday, alone, though.” He flashed a brief smile. “The Infiltrator Specialists were the only reason we caught any. They picked them out almost as soon as they saw them.”

His audience was not happy at the revelations, so far, as their scowling expressions indicated. The Prime Minister was leaning back in chair, one arm across his chest, his other elbow resting on it while his index finger covered his mouth.

“I had to curtail the patrols as we had insufficient personnel to maintain a watch at all locations during all their hours of operation, primarily the airports. The Infiltrator Specialists were willing to stay at work the entire time, most said they could stay awake for days without a problem. However, we discovered they had burned through their rations because none were available for food runs. There was some danger of collapse if we continued past Tuesday if some weren’t released to collecting more.

“If the target hasn’t already fled the country, then he probably won’t, based on the personality profile we were able to work up. It’s in the folders.” He stopped and looked down for a moment. “We will continue to monitor the ferry crossings for the next few weeks in case he does try to flee. Those are, after all, the methods the target is most familiar with, and most likely to use. Plus, they require the fewest resources.” He shook his head. “We simply don’t have the ‘special’ resources to cover the airports twenty-four hours a day.”

Then it was McColl’s turn. “I managed to get agents to all the ferry crossing by zero-seven hundred,” he said with a sour expression. “I also had agents at the five largest airports in Western Europe, but they were unable to detect our target.” He slid three folders down the table. “No one matching any of our photographs was seen at any of the locations we monitored.”

Walker resumed speaking. “The Invisible World’s agents believe that a,” he stopped and cleared his throat while saying, “vampire,” he cleared his throat, again, and continued, “was responsible, because of what happened when the target was revealed. The target took advantage of that mistaken belief and arranged the crime scene to fit their expectations. They believe the boy was killed in the night, and the suspect fled before daylight, confusing the bed-and-breakfast clerk into believing that he hadn’t yet left.” He shook his head. “Because the Headmaster has not confided his suspicions to the Ministry regarding the suspect being the terrorist surviving the 1981 attack, there is no way to convince them of either their error or the danger this target presents to both our worlds.” He glanced around the table. “The only bright side to this is that the Equestrians have promised us assistance should we ask for it. The Princess has said they have around five hundred trained Guards who will be ready to go on patrols with our own people in another month. In addition, she is working on a . . . special technology that should be able to detect our target if he comes close enough. When she finishes it, she thinks that we should be able to find him if he is still in England. Or be able detect him when he tries to sneak back in.”

He shifted forward and put his folded hands on the table.

“We are carefully monitoring unusual incidents across the country, in case he hasn’t fled.” He shrugged. “It’s a small hope, but one we can’t overlook.”

The Prime Minister slowly nodded and pursed his lips. “And we can’t warn our allies that he is on the loose.”

“Not without breaking the Statute of Secrecy the Invisible World hides behind,” Walker said, shaking his head.

Hurd leaned forward and pressed his forearms against the table’s edge. “Could we say a criminal or enemy of the Equestrians managed to sneak through the portal, and use that to disclose some of this man’s abilities?”

Walked and McColl exchanged a quick glance. “I’m not sure that would be wise,” McColl said slowly. “It would tip-off both our allies and enemies to abilities we have at our disposal that we wouldn’t want them to realize. The yanks, especially, would have problems with their version of the Invisible World, who are even more reclusive than ours! As it is, their Invisible World is already very put-out with our Special Technology devices being on that borderline. The only reason their . . . Congress . . . hasn’t interfered on the international scene is because we have done such a good job of disguising what we’re doing as just advanced science. For it all to suddenly disappear would raise more curiosity about why than just keeping quiet about what we’re doing.

“We can’t even warn them of the truth about our suspect,” McColl continued, “The British Ministry for the Invisible World would just contradict us.” He huffed, “And all of them are notorious for not having believed anything our non-special techs have said in the past, so why should they believe us now?” He leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling.

Major sighed. “Do your best.”

Castor leaned forward. “Princess Twilight wanted me to pass on that the Blackpool facility is going through final testing procedures. They’ll use a standard-sized shipping container on rails that can be lifted directly off flatbed railcars. She has built a series of special technology devices that scan for, and remove, any living matter bigger than a bacterium. The devices will then sterilize the container and its contents. If anything magical is detected, they will seal and quarantine the container and alert the operators.”

Major was nodding approvingly, as were both the Home and Foreign Sectaries.

He looked around the table. “She said they have something similar on their end. She also asked if you wanted to make this an official inauguration of the facility. If so, the earliest would be Wednesday next, although she thought doing it the following Friday next or on that weekend might be better. She could even put it off for another week or two. She will gladly coordinate with whomever the Home Office sends to arrange the details. She did suggest the first official shipment both ways be books, records, and movies, as a symbolic representation of the intellectual growth this will bring to both cultures.”

He coughed with his hand covering his mouth, and looked at the Prime Minister from under his eyebrows.

“She also said that they intended it to be a big open-house celebration for the city, with an extensive party planned for the workers and their families. She thinks it would be a big morale booster for the region. Plus, the Equestrian Embassy will be escorting several other Equestrian races to examine the facility for their use, too. She said that would include Zebricans, Saddle Arabians, Griffons, and Minotaurs.”

Major stared at him with wide eyes and raised eyebrows, then he smiled broadly.

Castor ducked his head down, then took an envelope out of his expanded coat pocket. He slid it across the table. “That is Princess Twilight’s invitation to the Queen. She wanted me to ask you to pass it on to her.” He took a small bundle of envelopes out next. “These are your invitations,” he said sliding the five envelopes to their respective personages. “If there are any others you think should receive invitations, she said to contact the Embassy.”

The Prime Minister pursed his lips. “I’ll contact the Embassy about what protocols we will need to put in place. Pull some of the personnel from the Embassy in Canterlot for more direct information on what to expect.”

Castor nodded.

Walker spoke up. “One thing we need to consider is how to reward our Special Investigators. They are integrating nicely into my department, and as soon as Colin’s department finishes their training, I think they will be an invaluable aid there, too.” He exchanged a glance with his foreign service counterpart. “The usual rewards of bonuses and time off just don’t work for them. Most don’t know what to do with money, they don’t seem to understand the concept of personal possessions beyond a few trinkets, and they get quite uncomfortable and nervous if they haven’t an assignment.” He sighed. “I’ve been told by one of them that not having an assignment was usually a sign of coming punishment from their queen.”

The meeting lasted the rest of the morning.

^-_-^

Ch. 46. Friends With Secrets

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

Ch. 01. Summer Hols

Professor Lupin was Sirius Black’s best friend, and had a pale face with premature lines, and light brown hair. He was also quite tall, standing six feet, two inches. While Sirius had accompanied Harry and his herdmates over to Equestria at the end of their first school year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Remus had stayed behind to finish off some the loose ends regarding grades, schedules, and planning for the next term. He also had to make more permanent arrangements for being absent from his home not only for most of the summer hols, but also for the coming school year.

As a result, he was delayed until the middle of July, almost in time for the full-moon.

Full-moons were a problem for Remus Lupin — he had a “condition” that made it very difficult for him to function at those times. The days before he was always more irritable and touchier about what people said or did around him. The days after, he was usually very tired and depressed. The night of the full-moon could be quite violent, if he wasn’t extremely careful.

Not much unlike what most women go through once a month, but much, much worse.

That had been lessened, somewhat, by him finally having access to the new potion that held those things to a minimum — Wolfsbane Potion. It tasted terrible, and had a regimen requiring its use for a full week before the full moon. Missing even one dose made it useless.

Remus was, to his misfortune, a werewolf.

The professor had been one of those invited to visit Ponyville over the summer hols. Mainly, so he and Sirius could work out a few of their differences in a neutral location.

Sirius had spent almost ten years in Azkaban, the terrifying wizard prison, without being charged with a crime. He had been thought to be guilty of betraying his best-friend and his best-friend’s wife in service to a Dark Wizard. Remus had been convinced of his guilt, and never sought the truth.

Sirius, despite being good friends with Remus, had thought him in service to the Dark Wizard.

Their first meeting, months before, in the wizarding world had started awkwardly, moved to yelling, and ended with both sobbing on each other’s shoulders. The only reason their reunion hadn’t dissolved into spell fire had been because their friends had relieved them of their wands.

However, Sirius had many medical appointments with mind healers. His long imprisonment in Azkaban, the wizarding prison staffed with creatures that inspired despair and hopelessness in the prisoners, had done untold damage to his psyche. It would take years of therapy before he could be said to have recovered — not that he wouldn’t have lingering effects for the rest of his life. Long-term false imprisonment took a toll no matter who one was. Especially in Azkaban.

Complicating things since then, of course, had been that Remus had to live at the castle during the school year, and his duties there severely limited his opportunities to meet with his old friend.

Which was why they wanted to get together over the summer.

Remus had prepared as well as he could for travel to Equestria. His luggage consisted almost entirely of a small bag that fit easily in his pocket. He knew that clothes would not be a problem, as most ponies in Equestria never bothered — and why should they? They were already wearing fur coats!

So, he packed his toothbrush, a camera, a few other incidentals, and that was it!

Passing through the Equestrian Embassy, and the three security checkpoints, he found very interesting. Most of those in the Embassy were ponies, with a smattering of those in human form, plus human visitors and employees. The checkpoints to the Portal, however, each had six well-armed guards, three human and three pony.

It was rather intimidating, actually, especially as the ponies were all equipped with saddle-mounted mini-guns. Astonishingly, they had managed to make sure every traveller, muggle or magical, was discretely scanned for illusions, poly-juice, animagus, and other magical methods of fooling people into thinking you were someone you weren’t. No one would be sneaking in or out of Equestria. The scans were extended to their clothes and possessions, too, and included a few spells he had never heard of or seen before.

There was even a checkpoint immediately before the Portal, itself!

The muggles never noticed the magic.

The equestrian scheme to hide all their magic use under the term of “highly advanced technology” was paying off, as the non-magicals uniformly misinterpreted the magic they did see. The “pretend” tech devices they waved around or had people stand in front of were more than enough to fool the muggles. It was quite clever, he had to admit.

To his dismay, however, his arrival in Equestria, was not without drama. He had collapsed almost immediately after transiting the portal, convulsing on the ground, for several minutes. Then he had passed out. As he was now a unicorn, like all the other wizards and witches to come through the portal, no one knew what the problem was.

Their doctors did the best they could to stabilize his condition, and quickly moved him into quarantine in the Portal Hospital. He had awoken briefly, in his room, only to once more go into convulsions just moments later. Before anypony could get into the room, he had passed out, again.

Sirius, Harry, his herdmates, and his friends had all gathered in the waiting room for news on the wizard who was either a friend or their Professor.

By this time, they had both doctors from Equestria and healers from the wizarding world on-site trying to determine what had and was happening.

It was one of the healers who noticed that his second set of convulsions just so happened to coincide with moonrise. Not hard to do for the healer once they knew their patient was a werewolf and that the full moon was due back at their home.

Luna had decided to synchronize her moon’s phases with that of the Earth’s moon, so it was a full moon she brought up.

Once the connection was made between the moon and Remus being a werewolf, word was sent to Canterlot. Luna was quick to respond, and for the first time in centuries, Equestria, and the rest of their world, had a moonless night.

No doubt there would be complaints from the neighbouring countries about the Royal Sisters playing games with the celestial bodies, again.

It was another hour before Remus settled into a deep slumber that appeared to be natural. The doctors discussed waking him, but decided it would be better to let him wake naturally. If he woke up at all.

In the meantime, the wizarding healers cast spells and dithered over the results. They showed Remus to be a normal wizard, but they weren’t sure if the spells were performing correctly in the magical environment of Equestria. Having the moon pop up and down like a yo-yo was not normal, as far as they were concerned, and who knew what that would do to their moon-based spells?

It wasn’t until the next day that Remus sluggishly rolled over and weakly said, “Where am I? What happened?” He stared at the doctors, healers, nurses, friends, students, and Princesses. Princesses! They stared back from the other side of the reinforced glass window separating the quarantine room from the observation room.

All he could remember was stepping through the portal, seeing the sun low in the sky, and then a pain that encompassed his whole body had hit him, and he had collapsed to the deck under his hooves. He remembered briefly opening his eyes, but being almost immediately overcome with pain once more.

Which is what he told them after getting a drink and taking a few moments to finish waking up and gather his thoughts.

The doctors then told him of what had happened, and what they had done. On hearing that he had gone into convulsions when Luna rose the full moon, his eyes shot wide open for a moment. He should be a werewolf, right now, not a pony! He tightly shut his eyes and frowned as he thought.

“I can’t feel the wolf!” he suddenly exclaimed. “He’s gone! There’s nothing there!”

Sirius, and several of the students, were gobsmacked.

“Are you sure? No sign at all? Maybe it’s in a deep sleep?” one of the healers said almost in sync with Sirius.

The healer then moved to casting their diagnostic spells, again. They all returned the same answer. Remus wasn’t a werewolf.

Except for Sirius, his visitors headed for home. It had been a long, sleepless night and they were exhausted.

Remus, on the other hand . . . hoof . . . had had a good nights sleep. Much better than anything he had managed as a werewolf on a full-moon night, that was for sure! He spent the rest of the day in the quarantine room, probing his mind, trying to see if it was a trick — and talking things over with Sirius.

He also spent some time adapting to walking on all fours. While the werewolf was based on wolf-like attributes, werewolves spent most of their time on two legs, not four.

Partway through the day, the healers and doctors came to him and told him what they thought had happened.

His “furry problem,” as Sirius liked to call it, had been responsible for his first collapse at the outside of the portal. His new body, a unicorn, had tried to adapt to the problem of being magically required to transform into a non-pony at some point. The animagus, the wizarding ability to change to another animal, was not available to ponies.

Oh, they had spells to change into other animals, just as the wizards and witches had spells to do the same thing.

But being a werewolf was different. That was now a part of his animagus magic.

That had been responsible for his first collapse at the outside of the portal. His unconsciousness had been the result of his magic and the unicorn body’s magic working at that problem — attacking each other viciously, trying to drive the other out. Or, perhaps, merely subjugating the other. No one knew.

The full-moon rising, which should have triggered a wizard-to-werewolf transformation on the other side of the portal, came into an immediate conflict with a unicorns’ nature of not being able, innately, to transform in such a manner. It simply didn’t have that native ability. The werewolf curse tried to use an ability that wasn’t present. The werewolf curse, though, now had to devote part of its magical energy towards accomplishing that transformation. The unicorn magic just continued trying to evict the foreign curse.

If not for the full-moon that night, who knew what the unicorn’s magic might have come to as an accommodation? Perhaps it would have kept the curse subjugated as a potential problem that didn’t need a solution. The full-moon, though, in the midst of the conflict, had required a complete resolution.

Wizards and witches have the ability to transform into a specific animal as a part of their nature. Those wizards and witches that are infected with the werewolf curse have their animagus form replaced with that of the werewolf. Otherwise, those wizards and witches would have an animagi form in addition to the werewolf — and they don’t. Even if they had had an animagus form before getting the curse, afterwards, they only had the werewolf form once a full moon.

The werewolf curse, on the night of the full-moon, takes advantage of the wizarding animagus ability to force the wizard or witch to transform into the werewolf form. It traps them like that until sunrise by submerging their reasoning ability. The curse replaces their reasoning with rage at the humans who had done this to them. Which spread the curse, if the wizard or witch didn’t isolate themselves in time to prevent them from hunting down and attacking the humans they hated with such passion.

Ponies don’t have the animagus ability. While they do have spells to transform into other creatures, they don’t have an innate ability to do so. In Remus’ case, the curse tried to force a change with a magical ability that didn’t exist in the pony. It had destroyed itself in the ensuing fight with Equestria’s unicorn magic.

They verified the curse was gone the next night, when Luna rose a full-moon as a test and Remus had failed to react at all. They had even let him out of the room into the grassy area that fronted the hospital. He had spent hours staring at the moon and stars.

Then, the next morning, he and Sirius had gone back through the portal and went to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Once there, they went to the Werewolf Registry of the Beast Division to perform the official check on his werewolf status. After three tries, the last by an Unspeakable, the Department Head was forced to conclude he was no longer a werewolf. The next full-moon on that side of the portal, only a few weeks later in July, would be conclusive proof that he wasn’t a werewolf.

Sirius got Lyall Lupin, a member of the council in charge of the department to agree that an official statement to that affect would be published in the Daily Prophet, and a letter officially declaring his status as “not a werewolf” would be issued at that time.

Had he, inadvertently, discovered a cure for the werewolf curse? It was painful, true, but not nearly as painful as the transformation into a werewolf was itself.

He spent the remaining weeks of July back in the wizarding world contacting a few of the more trusting werewolves and telling them what had happened. Because they knew he had been a werewolf, yet the werewolf-detection spell now indicated he wasn’t, they were willing to give it a try.

^-_-^

The explosion caught them all off guard. The Unspeakables were quick with their magic shields, as were Headmaster Dumbledore, Princess Twilight, Magical Law Enforcement Department Head Amelia Bones, and the three aurors that were with them. Fortunately for Harry, Twilight’s shield covered both of them. However, they were all still momentarily blinded by the flash.

Dazed, Harry sat up from his new position on the floor. He blinked furiously, trying to see what had happened. His ears were still ringing when Harry’s eyes started to recover from the brilliant blast of white light. The room slowly emerged from the white fog that seemed to surround him. He took a quick look around to see if anything had been damaged.

They were in a large, rectangular, dimly lit room, with a sunken circular stone pit in the centre about six yards deep, just like before. So, they hadn’t been transported to anywhere else — which is what probably would have happened if they had been in Equestria. That was just the way his and his mum’s luck worked back home.

The pit was lined with stone benches and descended in steep steps toward a raised stone dais at the bottom. On the dais was a free-standing ancient crumbling stone archway. The archway appeared to be hung with a tattered black curtain. The curtain was fluttering very slightly as though it had just been touched by a faint wind, the explosion not even disturbing it. The air in the room was still and cold.

As Harry’s eyes recovered and he began to recognise more details, everything in the room looked exactly as it did before, except the people were half-crouched and blinking in reaction to what had happened. There was no sign of the box he had just thrown into the Veil.

The Unspeakables had been in the room for at least an hour before he had arrived, making unspecified “preparations.” Harry, and those accompanying him, had arrived only a few minutes before the explosion. As the adults had planned a month ago, the Headmaster Dumbledore and Twilight had brought Harry directly from the Weasley homestead to the so-called Death Room, where they had met the Unspeakables, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and her aurors.

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, also known as Voldemort but actually named Tom Marvolo Riddle at birth, had been captured by Dumbledore and Twilight in a tremendous battle weeks ago. They had kept his spirit — the wizard he had been possessing had died — in a special “spirit trap” in the Headmaster’s desk. They had had to wait this long because they had wanted to make sure that they had destroyed the things that Tom Riddle had created to ensure his survival after death — his immortality. Those horrible items, called horcruxes, anchored him to this plane. As long as one of them existed, he would be held back here.

The hunt had been difficult, but they thought they had destroyed all of the monster’s soul anchors: the Gaunt family ring, Ravenclaw’s tiara, Slytherin’s locket, and Hufflepuff’s cup. They believed that Lord Voldemort had rendered his soul into five pieces, counting himself, a magically powerful number.

Harry’s desperate parents, knowing that the evil wizard wanted to kill their son because of a prophecy, had used old, ancient, nearly forgotten to create a protective spell for Harry. When the evil wizard had tried to kill the helpless infant that fateful Halloween night, that spell had reflected the wizard’s killing spell back at him, instead. Unfortunately, his spell had accidentally fractured his soul a sixth time when it did that. To avoid dissipating, as it should have, that piece of soul had latched onto Harry as the only living thing close to it. Weakened by the attack, the protective spell from his parents couldn’t eliminate the intruder, but it had prevented that soul-piece from harming Harry.

Ironically, the soul-piece had been accidentally destroyed by a magic-consuming villainous centaur in Equestria, Tirek, over a year ago.

Now, with all his anchors destroyed, they had thought they could safely pitch the box containing Lord Voldemort through the veil. The Unspeakables believed the portal led straight to world of the dead, and that someone who went through the Veil would be forever trapped in the world of death.

Well, at least, nothing thrown through had ever come back.

Some people, Harry had been told previously, could hear voices from behind the Veil. The Unspeakables claimed that the voices were the whisperings of the dead, trying to talk to their loved ones still living.

Harry was one of them, he had discovered on entering the room. The had the urge to go closer, that maybe it was his parents trying to talk to him, had been powerful, indeed. He could almost make out the words he heard. However, Twilight, his adoptive mother, was right at his side. She had put her arm around his shoulders to help him resist the temptation.

As planned, Harry had approached the Veil. After a quick look at his mother, who nodded, he had tossed the box in an under-handed throw at the curtain in the archway. He had been confident that evil Lord Voldemort would be no more.

The explosion had occurred at the very instant the box had touched the non-corporeal curtain.

“What happened?” Harry said hesitantly, standing up, still blinking and rubbing his eyes.

“I’m not sure,” Twilight said, just as hesitantly as she, too, regained her feet. She looked around suspiciously. “Based on the lack of debris, I think that either the box has been destroyed entirely, or it has gone through the Veil.” Copying the Unspeakables and the Headmaster, she, too, began to cast spells trying to determine what had happened.

After several minutes, she sighed and looked over to the Headmaster. “Well, the spells sealing the walls against spirits seem to be intact. And my spirit detection spells merely cause the arch to glow. Which they did when we first came in here.”

One of the Untouchables nodded in agreement.

“I guess the explosion was the result of the spells on the box coming into conflict with the Veil’s curtain.” She worried her lower lip for a moment. “Perhaps spells can’t cross the boundary. Or, at least, those spells can’t.” She shook her head and frowned worriedly. “I can’t detect any signs of Tom Riddle’s soul in the room, though.” She sighed and stared at the arch. “That thing is so magically bright it’s hard to tell.”

Again, one of the Unspeakables nodded his head in agreement. “There are permanent spirit detection spells in this room,” he said. His despondent tone, made it sound like he was disappointed at that fact. “Should it have remained outside the Veil, and escaped our detections at the moment, the instant it tries to move from wherever it might be hiding, we will know it.”

She nodded her head. “There is the distinct possibility, too, that lacking the soul-anchors, unless it can possess something soon, it will just fade away, anyway.”

The Unspeakable nodded a third time. “I believe that Tom Marvolo Riddle, also called the Dark Lord and Lord Voldemort, is no more.”

It was her turn to nod, as did the Headmaster.

“I agree,” Dumbledore said. He smiled at Harry. “A job well done, my boy. The prophecy is fulfilled. Tom Riddle, the self-styled Lord Voldemort, has been vanquished by your hand.”

Harry wasn’t so sure, but let himself be reassured. He smiled up at his mother. She was still worrying her lower lip and looking around the room with narrowed eyes. He could tell she wasn’t nearly as confident as the Headmaster. She slowly turned and headed for the exit. Harry followed her off the dais.

The Untouchables wandered around the room and continued casting spells.

“Princess Sparkle, Mr. Potter,” Miss Bones said as they approached. “I don’t believe either of you have visited the Ministry before. Would you like a tour?”

“That is an excellent idea!” said Dumbledore. “Twilight was here, briefly, regarding Mr. Sirius, but she didn’t see much more than a quick glance.”

Harry sighed heavily. Wizards. Can’t live with them, can’t live without . . . well, actually, he could live without them. Much as he might want to hex them . . . he was a good pony. He glanced up at his mum and smiled.

That took care of the rest of the morning. While superficially interesting, after the fourth office that looked exactly the same as the others, Harry was ready to go home. Unfortunately, as Twilight had told Harry before they had left Equestria, part of the mission for the day was to make a production out of showing that Harry was not leaving the witching world. As a result, he was introduced to every department head and given a tour of each department. Somewhere along the line, a photographer had appeared. Every Department Head, and every self-important employee who could brow-beat his supervisor, had his or her own personal photograph with Headmaster Dumbledore, Twilight, and Harry. The only bright spot was meeting with Mr. Weasley.

The wizard was in a bit of a rush, though. He was still settling into his promotion from the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office to The Improper Use of Magic Office. With the Equestrians on the scene, the decrees on the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and the International Confederation of Wizards’ Statute of Secrecy were going to get quite the workout. No to mention that the department not only had a bigger staff, but had also been given a sizeable increase in budget, too.

Unfortunately, Mr. Weasley was an easy-going manager. Even the janitor succeeded in sweet-talking Arthur into letting him get his picture taken with the famous Boy-Who-Lived.

Before they were halfway done, Harry could feel his hand twitching to pull his wand from its holster. He was getting a headache from resisting the temptation. That, and his face was hurting from all the smiling.

On the other hoof, the lower-level employees were always so grateful he felt like a fraud. He really hadn’t done anything. It had been his parents. He was starting to feel a bit resentful about the whole thing. Stupid wizards.

Minister Fudge, and his Undersecretary, the “pink blob” as Harry dubbed her, were not pleased at being left to the last. However, Mrs. Bones pointed out that portly wizard had far better things to do with his time than act as a tour guide. He was somewhat mollified when she told him that the photo of him with Harry Potter, Headmaster Dumbledore, and Princess Sparkle would be on the front page of the Daily Prophet.

Harry didn’t like being a political toy. However, the Princesses had given him the illusion that he could say no, and that they wouldn’t bring up the subject again if he did. As if.

Harry thought he had met every employee in the Ministry by the time they left. On the other hand, he’d never have to go through that again.

۸-~-۸

Twilight and Harry returned to a very quiet Weasley residence. Molly was in the kitchen, preparing lunch for her brood. The twins, she explained, were in their new building opposite Arthur’s work shed. They spent most of their time working in their new laboratory and supervising their two employees. The employees were fulfilling the many orders for their products in the witching world, while they worked on perfecting the processes for mass-producing Sweetie Belle’s other innovative “discoveries.”

Percy had locked himself in his room. Based on his ink-stained fingers, he was apparently writing the next bestseller novel. Ginny was stretching her wings by the family’ Quidditch half-pitch. Ron was in the orchard exploring his new “green” magic abilities.

After greeting Mrs. Weasley, Twilight declined her invitation for lunch and popped off to the embassy. While her schedule had allocated enough time for the trip to the Ministry, that hadn’t prevented a backlog of work piling up for her in her office there.

Harry looked around the sitting-room. He had been with his family in Equestria for the last several weeks, and hadn’t visited the Weasleys since Easter. The room looked quite spiffy, he had to admit. The shabby and worn furniture had been replaced with new. The walls, ceiling, and floor had been given a good once-over, as well. The new wallpaper and rugs made the room bright and cheerful, and the fireplace fairly gleamed. The twins new income had gone a long way to improving their lives, he could see. Ron would no longer have to make do with hand-me-downs. For anything.

Of course, that didn’t include the few gemstones the fillies had shown the Weasley brood how to collect when they were visiting Equestria earlier that summer. Ron, himself, had a sizeable nest-egg as a result.

Well, he decided, he might as well take a look outside and track down Ginny. He hadn’t seen her in several days. She was one reason Twilight had suggested visiting the Weasleys. The other was, of course, so he wouldn’t be underhoof, as Twilight put it, while a birthday party was prepared for tomorrow. It left him feeling quite strange to know that someone was preparing a birthday party for him.

It was while he was headed for the Quidditch pitch that a house-elf popped up in front of him. For a moment, they eyed each other. The creature was barely as tall as his waist, had large, bat-like ears, and bulging green eyes the size of tennis balls. It abruptly bowed so low that the end of its long, thin nose touched the carpet of grass that covered the ground. Harry noticed that it was wearing what looked like an old pillowcase, with rips for arm- and leg-holes.

۸-_-۸

Author's Note

Welp, here it is. Hope you like it.

Ch. 06. Once More, Into the Breach . . .

The Headmaster sighed, putting down the Daily Prophet. It could have been worse, he knew. All told, he was rather grateful the parchment had been so positive. The shopkeepers were ecstatic about their sales and profits from that day. The Equestrians easily had doubled the sales the shopkeepers had expected for this year.

Next year, based on what the Equestrian escorts had let slip in conversation, they expected to be a repeat of this year. The shopkeepers would be much better prepared. Most of the shopkeepers indicated that they would be hiring extra staff to handle the anticipated crowds.

The reporter had been surprised at how polite and respectful all the Equestrians were, despite their unusual hair colours. In the muggle world, only teenagers rebelling against their parents would colour their hair so outrageously, Albus knew. Rebellious teenagers were rarely polite.

The most astonishing part was that none of the adults, except their escorts, carried wands. An astounding number did, however, use silent, wandless magic. The reporter had been amazed to note that almost a third of them used their magic to pick something up rather than their hands!

The Equestrians had also admitted that every single one of them could transform into a pony animagus — even the children, who were happy to demonstrate, usually with a giggle. They also admitted that that each of them could trace their families back a thousand years or more. Several proudly claimed double or triple that. When asked about squibs, they had explained they had never heard of the concept before coming to England. Plus, to the best of their knowledge, there had never been an Equestrian who didn’t have magic, although a few of the adults thought it might be possible. Then they had shrugged and said, in an off-hand manner, that they expected that Princess Celestia would have taken care of the problem.

Oddly, the reporter said, they seemed to divide themselves into three tribes: unicorns, pegasi, and earth, based on their animagus forms.

The blockbuster question, though, had been when the reporter asked how their school in Equestria would fair with so many students going to Hogwarts instead. That had led to a discussion about how they had been chosen in a lottery of the best thousand volunteers out of forty thousand students of the right age. Which brought up the fact that there were six million Equestrians on the other side of their portal.

A separate article delved into the implications of an island with more magic users than in the entire rest of the world. An island where the ratio of witches-to-wizards was three-to-one.

That it had to be the lost island of Atlantis was without question, the parchment concluded, based on how many animals were common between their home and Europe.

He sighed and stroked his beard, reflecting on what he had learned over the summer.

The population for Equestria, the Atlantis of ancient legends, dwarfed that of wizarding England. The photos he had received of Manehattan, Fillydelphia, and Seaddle had left him gobsmacked. There were more unicorns in just one of those pictures than all the wizards in Britain. In fact, all the wizards in Europe and England would not amount to the unicorns in any one of those cities.

It was an unprecedented opportunity for someone bold enough to seize it.

While he had considered the possibility that the “portal” they used truly did go to another world, he had discarded that as unlikely. The commonality of soo many magical creatures, alone, indicated otherwise.

The ancients must have worked great and powerful magics to bury the island-nation of Atlantis under the sea, given that Plato’s account made it as large as Great Britain. Then they had expanded it into something that rivalled the continent of Australia, with its own oceans and islands! He knew that with powerful enough expansion spells, in theory, it was possible to contain a continent in an island under the sea.

If they had done so, it would also explain why they “manually” moved the sun and moon.

They needed an artificial magical sun to make up the difference between what would normally be sufficient sunlight for a large island and the amount required to cover an entire continent. Otherwise, the continent would be in a perpetual near-twilight as the sunlight that was brilliantly-bright on a winter day in England was stretched to cover a much bigger continent! A dilution of over thirty-five times he estimated. While overly bright for a room, it would be totally inadequate for your average farm. And the forests would be an almost impenetrable darkness, even at noon. Especially in the northern and southern sections of the expanded island.

Well, then, if you had to have an artificial sun, then you must have an artificial moon, too, wouldn’t you? Stars would be needed, as well, or it would be immediately obvious that they lived in a cave under the sea, an uncomfortable situation for most people.

Supporting his conclusions were the statements that in ancient times teams of unicorns were needed to move the sun, moon, and stars. The numbers varied from a mere ten to a hundred or more, depending on how old the legend was, with the smaller numbers coming from more recent authorities. The older legends also said that many of the team members died early deaths from magical exhaustion. The very fact that those histories existed proved that Equestria had to be a construction, a hidden undersea continent. Otherwise, how could that world have existed before there were unicorns to move the sun?

Then there were the maps. The Equestrians clearly had the ability to map their entire world, and they had. Except those maps showed their world to be round! How could that be possible and still have Celestia and Luna move the Sun, Moon, and stars? Not to mention being in a cavern! If the world were round, the world would rotate and remove the need for Celestia to do anything — making her a fraud.

Yet, all his sources confirmed that Celestia routinely made the sun rise and set, as Luna did the moon and stars. The variations in time between sunrise and sunset did not progress evenly and smoothly, as they would if Atlantis were a separate, rotating, world orbiting a sun. Not to mention the time she had shown-off to him her control of the Sun, making it dip and move about in ways that would be impossible for a planet orbiting a sun.

Atlantis, therefore, was flat! Magic made it appear as a globe, just as his world had been thought to be flat by many when it was really a globe. It would take a lot of magical power to warp light to give a semblance of a horizon to everyone, no matter where they stood, but not too tremendous an amount of magic. For Poseidon, an ancient god, it was probably a trivial exercise.

As for the “edges” of the giant cavern that held the island? Wizard-repelling-style charms could handle that, easily! It should even be possible to construct a spell on the inside of the cavern’s walls that would act as a portkey. Should someone attempt to go around the world to prove it round, the portkey would activate on touch to send that person to the exact opposite side of the cavern. Combined with a confundus and the proper illusions, they would never suspect they hadn’t gone around the world!

Merlin! Leave off the wizard-repelling charms and there could even be a town at the cavern’s edge that was actually split to opposite sides of it. The inhabitants would never notice!

As far as the inhabitants of Atlantis were concerned, by everything they could perceive and measure, they lived on a separate world, far from Earth.

Clearly, Poseidon had done this. What Albus had seen and heard about the one they called the God of Chaos when he had visited Equestria had shown just how powerful that ancient being was. The histories in the books about the Princesses’ conflicts with him merely backed up that fact.

That the two were the same being had been proven to him during that one Royal Equestrian Ball he had attended. It was possible that Poseidon had had the help of some of the other ancient “gods” in creating Equus, but, still, he appeared more than powerful enough to do it himself. The other gods were probably still in Equestria, but not as visible to the inhabitants for various reasons.

Which, in turn, gave a clue as to why there were no muggles or non-magical plants and animals. The powerful magics needed for the continent’s creation and continued existence permeated the land, sea, and air in vast quantities. There was so much magic that non-magicals would turn into magicals after only a generation or two!

Which brought him back to his new students.

That so many were girls would pique the interest of the old families with unmarried heirs. The Atlanteans might be foreigners, but they were all from families with a pedigree that stretched back well for over one or two thousand years. Poseidon had implied that it might be as far as six thousand years ago! That would dwarf the conservative families’ own lineage. And with nary a trace of a squib!

That they would all have animagus forms, already, would enhance the conservatives’ interest greatly. Yes, it would be quite interesting to see how those old families dealt with the possibility of adding such a magical heritage to their own. They would have to revise, severely, their pure-blood pretensions when they were the ones who would be considered half-bloods! Especially as every pure-blood family in England had more than one squib in their family tree, unlike the Atlanteans.

Of course, that the Atlanteans had no problems with polygamy would draw interest even from the Heads of families, not to mention their Heirs! It might require a minor adjustment in Wizarding society, but with the magical heritages at stake? The mother or father might be a squib, but the grandchildren? Ha! Those would make the changes imperative. The Wizengamot would fall all over themselves making it not only legal, but expected!

He wondered, would spending part of a pregnancy in Atlantis be able to prevent a squib? Would it boost the power of what would be a wizard or witch? Would it be better to spend the first few months there, or would the last few be sufficient? Should they try to conceive there? With aide of a fertility potion, a honeymoon in Atlantis would always end with a pregnancy. Would that be a sufficient boost?

Some experimentation would be required, and careful study of the results.

He would leave a few hints to Sirius that he should build an exclusive resort in Atlantis to cater to pure-bloods who wanted to take advantage of that possibility. It would also expose them to the innovations the Atlanteans were adopting from the muggles. Spending a few weeks immersed in a society that mixed technology with magic would go a long way towards lessening their objections to adopting some of the same advances the muggles were making.

With everything happening in Hogwarts, he would have unprecedented control over the future of the United Kingdom’s wizarding world. Every pure-blood family, whether Light, Dark, or in between, would have to follow his lead or worry about being frozen out of access to the Atlanteans. With a few words, he could cast doubt on any family and steer the impressionable young Atlanteans in the direction he wanted.

However that turned out, getting closer ties between England and Atlantis would be a long-term boon to England’s prestige. Not to mention trade, which would enormously benefit the economy. Businesses in Diagon Alley, and a few other, were already seeing vast sums of galleons being spent.

England would, once more, be the country to whom the entire world looked for leadership and knowledge. And, because he led England, they would be turning to him. He would be in the history books as the one who had led the wizarding world into a new era of prosperity and peace. His name would be ranked right beside Merlin’s. He smiled happily at the thought.

Yes, the coming school year was going to be quite interesting. He quite looked forward to it. The First Years’ Sorting would be . . . interesting.

^-_-^

After their experiences last year with the Weasleys, the herd made the sensible decision to travel with the other Equestrians from the Embassy to King’s Cross Station on September First. Ambassador Blueblood had engaged a bus transport with sufficient room for the students and escorts. The students said their tearful goodbyes as they boarded, with many promises to write on both sides. The children wouldn’t be seeing their parents until Hearth’s Warming vacation in Equestria.

Harry had discovered there was a reason for not simply flooing or teleporting to Hogwarts. The spells that protected the castle needed time to adjust to the sudden influx of hundreds and hundreds of students. The students being on the magical train, the train’s magical links and approach to the castle, and the students then taking carriages or boats to Hogwarts, allowed the spells a chance to process the returning and new students without being overloaded.

It was an eye-opening experience that morning for the students to see London getting so much bigger as they approached. While they had been taken on short excursions in Little Whinging, those had been in smaller groups and on foot. Even seeing the pictures on the television and in magazines couldn’t prepare them for the reality. Knowing that a city has a population of six million, the same as all of Equestria, and actually seeing it were two different situations entirely.

Plus, the ride drove home just how big this world was, in terms of population, and how the humans had conquered distance with machines that made everything they knew out of date. The bus, certainly, was much more luxurious than any trains or carriages back home! It rode smoother, faster, and travelled a road crowded with other vehicles. With multiple lanes each way, no less! A truly eye-opening experience for the students and parents, alike.

His mum, in her role as Princess Sparkle, had given them a pep talk before they had left, which basically boiled down to: “We’re proud of you! We know you’ll work hard, but don’t forget to play. There are counsellors available for you if you need somepony to talk to, or help with any problems. Make lots of friends, and have fun learning magic!”

The ride itself was noisy as the students moved around constantly, too excited to stay in one seat for more than a few minutes. Or the same form. They couldn’t help wondering if Hogwarts would match up to their expectations. Just from what they had seen so far, magic spells didn’t just meet those, but exceeded them!

At least, Harry reflected, they had a much better idea of what they were getting into than he and his three herd-mates had had a year ago. It was also so much safer, too. His mum had made sure of that. She had also confided in him this morning that there were three heavily armed EUP squads camping in the forest, just in case. And made sure he and his herd-mates all had a communication crystal. But they weren’t supposed to mention that to anyone, it was a secret.

King’s Cross Station was much busier than the previous year, when it had been a Sunday instead of Tuesday, a workday. As a result, no one batted an eye at the large group of children being shepherded through the terminal by a dozen adults. To avoid the non-magicals notice, they had temporarily cast colour charms on their hair. They didn’t want anyone asking questions about why so many Equestrians were at the station, nor where the children were going in such a large group. Especially as this would be the first time Equestrian children had been seen in public outside of Little Whinging. That they were carrying their shrunken trunks in their pockets helped. They would restore them to normal size with a wand-tap once they had a cabin in the train. They had all been told that their trunks would be taken to the dormitories when the train arrived at Hogwarts.

The crowd of students formed a barrier around the entrance to Platform Nine and Three-quarters, making it easy for the students to cross without being observed. The notice-me-not spells on the area prevented any overt reactions from the muggles. As the group got smaller, six of the Guards formed a loose screen — the other six were already across keeping the students there under control.

Harry, his herd-mates, Ginny, Hermione, Ron, and Myrtle decided to wait until last. They planned to go straight to the last car and avoid the crush that had formed at the first few cars last year, and was sure to form again this year. That they had arrived an hour early helped.

There was some confusion when Harry tried to transit the platform gate, as it suddenly was solid, causing him to crash into the barrier. His herd-mates were also unable to cross the gate. That it was only those six was confusing until Hermione made the connection that they were the only ones out of the entire bus that had had a run in with Discord. Why that should be a problem now and not last year made no sense. After that thought, it took only a few moments to teleport the group to the other side. Harry, Hermione, and Sweetie Belle did it, and took the others as passengers. If anyone noticed and complained, they would just claim a Guard had side-along apparated them. Two of the guards stayed outside to warn the other Weasleys and the Quidditch team animagi of the problem. The Guards would teleport them.

Being so early made it easy for their escorts to check the train and help the Equestrians settle into their cabins. There was some discussion as to whether they should pack them all into one carriage, which normally seated forty-eight in eight cabins of six, or spread out a bit more to meet their fellow students. They decided to take over two carriages with three students per cabin. Hopefully, that would get a few others to sit with them, jump-starting their friendships.

Not that Harry or the Guards expected the students to stay in those cabins. The new ponies were already exploring the train in twos and threes, comparing it to the coach they had taken to London, and the trains in Equestria. Several had reverted to their pony forms and were exploring the exterior of the train and the station, itself. The annoyed Guards had their hooves full chasing down the curious Equestrian students and herding them back to their “assigned” cabins. Unfortunately, there were more doors and windows to the carriages than there were Guards. As fast as they returned one wayward filly into the train, another snuck off elsewhere. The parents were of only marginal assistance, being nearly as curious as well as proud of the fillies and colts getting such a privileged education.

It reminded Harry a great deal of Mrs. Figg’s complaints about herding kneazles, and was highly amusing.

Unfortunately, Harry and the others’ plan to take a cabin in the last carriage didn’t pan out. Their escorts had other ideas. The Guards put them in the middle of the second carriage. Harry and his herd-mates were not about to split up, though. Fortunately, because they were still small children, they had plenty of room instead of being crowded. Scootaloo wanting to hover as a pegasus just made things roomier.

On the other hoof, it was also entertaining to watch the arriving regular students come through the barrier and trip over their own feet at the scene they saw. The older students expected to see the normal chaotic mess of children and pets running around, and families exchanging their goodbyes. To see ponies running and flitting around the train station with adult ponies, and humans with outrageous hair colours, chasing them back into the train was . . . unique. Their astonished parents at first thought they were seeing pets until they saw them change into humans, and vice versa. For wizards and witches who had only ever seen Professor McGonagall change into an animagus, the sight of so many students doing the same was down-right amazing.

Harry could see more than one parent casting an evaluating eye on the ponies and then on their own child. Several corralled their children and he could see orders being issued. Almost always, these were the parents with aloof attitudes and tailored clothes that bespoke wealth and privilege.

He couldn’t help but smirk. This year, his status as The-Boy-Who-Lived would take second-place to the attentions drawn by the other Equestrians. He was all for that.

Just as funny was seeing the same students’ expressions as they walked past cabin after cabin half-filled with students with brightly coloured hair, and realizing that the ones they had seen outside the train were only a few of the ones present.

The First-year muggle-borns were instantly curious and asked if they were Equestrians. Getting a “yes” answer saw them quickly taking the opportunity to sit with them — and the chance to talk with the aliens from another world. Before long, Harry knew, the Equestrians who weren’t already showing off their pony forms would be doing so in the cabins, and proudly showing off their cutie marks, if they had them yet.

Last year, the Cutie Mark Crusaders hadn’t had any cutie marks. Fortunately, everyone in their compartment had been shown the Crusaders’ cutie marks earlier in the month. If they hadn’t, he had no doubts that they would be shoving their flanks in people’s faces to show them off. Or, more likely, lifting their dresses and dropping their pants.

Just thinking about it made him shake his head. They hadn’t been home in Equestria all that long before they became embroiled in schoolhouse politics and helping a friend get elected school student president. That he had been running against Diamond Tiara merely made them more determined to win.

^-_-^

“We did! We did it! We did it!” The three Cutie Mark Crusaders carolled as they danced in front of the school. Harry sat quietly, at first, but then the Harmony song drew him into the celebration as it made its way through town, getting the attention of their sisters.

It had taken them years of hard work, but they had finally succeeded in getting their cutie marks. The ironic part of the whole thing was that they got their marks after helping their perennial enemy, Diamond Tiara, defy her tyrannical mother, and not their friend who won the election. With their help she had asserted what she wanted to do! Their success had shown them that their talent was to help others get their cutie marks — to help them succeed in life!

All three cutie marks featured a shield split vertically into three colours — red, pink, and purple — to match their manes. Apple Bloom’s had the silhouette of an apple with a heart inside it. Sweetie Belle’s had the silhouette of a five-point star with a musical eighth-note inside it. Following the theme, Scootaloo had a silhouetted wing with a lightning bolt in it.

The next day, Pinkie Pie threw a cute-ceñera that lasted almost all day. With Harmony songs. And another filly getting her cutie mark! Helping others get their cutie marks had taken most of the fours’ attention the rest of the hols.

Harry thought that all the cutie marks on his herd-mates were rather predictable.

The best part was that they ended up with far fewer incidents of being restricted to home for their disruptive antics. Harry appreciated that.

^-_-^

The older Hogwarts’ students also noticed the large number of firsties, and the smarter ones took quick advantage of meeting the new Atlantean students. They hoped to convince them to join their Houses, so that Gryffindor couldn’t continue their monopoly on pony-petting! Or, at least, get in on the ground floor of making connections for the future. While they might be too old — a fifteen-year-old courting an eleven-year-old? Ugh. — many had younger siblings. Better to plan now then scramble later.

The wizards and witches also noticed that the Atlantean students were taller than their eleven-year-old human equivalents by nearly a head. They were closer to third-year or fourth-year students in size. A few seemed actually to have rather curvaceous figures! On the other hand, the adult Equestrians were all taller than the adult wizards and witches, and generously built, too, so maybe it was an Atlantean trait . . ..

Of course, they didn’t realize they were dealing with Equestrian eleven-year-olds, all of whom were more like thirteen or fourteen years old in outlook. Many of the older students would find themselves caught flat-footed when the eleven-year-old Equestrians started chasing them!

The older Ravenclaw students, and a few from other Houses, observed the number of students with such brightly coloured hair. It didn’t take a genius to see that the incoming class was much larger than any in recent memory, which would have a great impact on the school. Not to mention the rest of their society in the not-too-distant future if the numbers stayed the same for following years.

The fact that the Equestrians had all arrived so early in the morning, compared to the others, had another effect, too. All the older students, who traditionally liked to congregate in the front carriages, were displaced. Having three firsties in your favourite cabin meant you had to move on. One upper-year couldn’t force three other students out of their cabin, that was bullying, plain and simple.

So many adults wandering around was a deterrent for the more brazen students.

Malfoy, with his two boyfriends, might have done it, but by the time his and their families arrived, the first four carriages, not including the carriage for the Prefects, were nearly full. And as the morning went on, the rest of the train rapidly filled.

Harry had noticed on the train ride home at the beginning of summer hols that many students visited between the cabins, saying goodbye to friends and arranging meetups for the summer. The train ride to the castle was similar, except friends were bragging about what they had done over the hols.

He was surprised at the number of students who dropped by their cabin to say hello. There were quite a few from the upper years, such as Bole and Derrick, the Slytherin Quidditch team Beaters. Many he barely recognized. He definitely didn’t remember most of their names. But they all said hello, made some small talk, and then asked why there were so many students from “Atlantis.”

He explained that the Princesses wanted to learn more about magic and had asked for volunteers. Out of the many thousands, these were the ones selected. With both adults, as Professorial Aides, and children learning the magic, the Princesses hoped to have an adequate understanding of wanded magic and how to teach it back in Equestria. Which meant these students were almost universally the absolute best students in Equestria, and definitely not just the richest or most influential. Which was unlike the witchery world, where it wasn’t your skill, but who your parents were that determined if you got a promotion or job.

He didn’t say it, but he expected that the Equestrians would dominate all the test scores at the end of the year. Which would either infuriate the conservative wizards, or drive them to be more determined than ever to add that prowess to their families.

Hermione had to clue him in that they were fishing for information on the new students, such as who was rich, or who had powerful parents. Yes, any Equestrian might enrich the family lineage, but it was just as easy to fall in love with a rich person as a poor person! So why not make sure you hang around with the rich ones? Only if none of them seemed worth your while should you consider one outside the group.

It put a big damper on his mood and they finally just locked the door and refused to answer until the trolley lady stopped by. Still, by the time they played a few games of gobstones he had restored his good humour.

^-~-^

Author's Note

The Earth receives about 49,000 to 98,000 lumens per square meter from the Sun, depending on the time of the year, at thirty degrees latitude (outside the Gates of Hercules). Great Britain is about 209 thousand square kilometres, the estimated size of Plato’s Atlantis. If the Headmaster’s suppositions are correct, then Australia, at just under seven and a half million square kilometres, is about thirty-five times larger (which would include the oceans and islands around Equestria, like Griffonstone, Dragon’s Lair, and lands we haven’t seen in the official maps. From the show, Equestria, alone, isn’t nearly as big as Australia, based on the travel times between the coasts of country).

Cutting the sunlight reaching any given square meter of the enlarged island by thirty-five gives 1,400-2,800 lumens per square meter at the Atlantean equator (remember, there are seasons at thirty degrees latitude), less to the north and south of the island where there’s ice. For growing indoor plants, by comparison, it’s recommended that you use 20,000 lumens per square meter as the minimum, with 70,000 lumens considered optimal.

With tree leaves blocking up to 78% of the light in a forest, it would be too dark for undergrowth, except moss.

So . . . kinda really dim without an artificial sun embedded in the ceiling and dragged around by Celestia on pre-set tracks. These would be the same tracks that Luna uses to move around the moon and stars.

If Equestria is an island under the sea, that is. Given Dumbledore’s suppositions, how would you prove him wrong without resorting to space travel? And the wizards would probably discount that, anyway.

Ch. 10. They Should Have Expected It

Friday afternoon, after lunch and before Charms, they had a free period. Harry decided to take advantage of that and went down to visit Hagrid. Ron, Neville, his herd-mates, and Luna went along.

“Harry,” the half-giant delightedly said as he came around the edge of his wooden cottage. “You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he continued genially. “Like a spot of tea?”

Once they were all settled in a row on his bed — he didn’t have nearly enough chairs for nine visitors — “Have a good summer, did ya?” he asked as he set the kettle on the fire.

After bringing him up on their adventures over the summer, and their classes so far, Harry asked, “Hagrid, can you get acromantula silk?”

The wizard shrugged his shoulders, “There’s plenty about Aragog’s abandoned nest,” he said.

Harry explained how there was a shortage of the product in Equestria, and how Hagrid could make some extra galleons.

Hagrid glanced around his cottage. “Don’ really need a lot of galleons,” he said, thinking on it. “I don’ spend most o’ what I earn, already. Got pretty much all I need, right here,” he waved his arm to indicate his cottage, “already.”

“But you need to save some for the future, when you retire,” Hermione piped up, and sipped some tea from her cup — more of a bowl considering it was a teacup for a half-giant.

Hagrid nodded, furrowing his brow. “Tha’s true, I suppose.”

“Well,” Harry said slowly, musing, “You could make a deal with Aragog on behalf of the school. You could use the funds to help fix up some of the things here at the school. Surely there’s stuff that needs to be replaced or fixed, or even just touched up a bit.”

Hermione nodded. “There seem to be a lot of unused classrooms in the school that are in dreadful need of a cleaning. Obviously, there’s too much work to be done for the house-elves to manage everything, and heaven knows that Mr. Filch is overworked with what he does. Perhaps you could use the extra income to hire additional help for the school?”

“My mum mentioned that the Headmaster told her the budget was tight at Hogwarts,” Harry said earnestly, “which is one reason why they don’t offer more electives and have a bigger staff.”

Hagrid slowly nodded. “Tha’s true. I’ve heard the perfessers ask fer more funding in staff meetin’s more than once.”

“Besides,” put in Apple Bloom, “Someday you might get married and you’ll need a lot of galleons to expand and outfit the cottage for two.”

Hagrid gave her a surprised look. “Me? Married?” He looked wistful for a moment. “Naw,” he said, “Witches ’ave never given me a second glance.” A sad expression drifted momentarily across his face.

“You cannot tell the future,” Sweetie Belle said. “It is better to be prepared for the future than be caught out.”

Scootaloo smirked, then snickered with a sidelong glance at her herd-mates. “I think you’re underselling yourself, Hagrid.”

The others looked at her.

She shrugged, “According to my aunts, regardless of what mares tell stallions, size matters.” She narrowed her eyes and looked up at Hagrid. “If you’re as big as you appear, once the witches discover you’re available, there’ll be a line out your door all the way to the Hogwarts gates!”

““““Scootaloo!”””” came the scandalized responses from the other girls. Hermione and Ginny were blushing furiously, the other two were more surprised just to hear her be so . . . outspoken . . . on this subject. Innuendo was not a specialty for the pegasus — quite the opposite, in fact.

On the other hoof, the fillies thought, maybe with her new, bigger wings, to attract attention, her aunts might have been a bit livelier when talking about stallions, and what she might want to do? Or with whom?

Harry, Ron, and Neville stared at her, gobsmacked.

Luna merely looked intrigued.

Having seen a few copies of the newsparchment her father printed, The Quibbler, Harry had a horrible feeling that a future article would cover the sizes of the various talking-species’ willies. And the mating habits of pegasi.

“You need to stop in at the Three Broomsticks and tell Madam Rosmerta that you’re looking for a little companionship. She might have a few suggestions,” Scootaloo continued earnestly. “The twins say she knows practically everyone in Hogsmeade.”

It was Hagrid’s turn to blush red. He ran a rough hand through his hair. “I don’t know about tha’.” He said quietly.

“Stop in at the bookstore in Hogsmeade and ask the bookseller if he has any books on meeting witches,” said Hermione, startling herself, and blushing a bit redder. “I’m sure a book would offer many suggestions on how to present yourself without being discouraged or embarrassed.”

The boys exchanged horrified glances. What was going on? How had they gotten from there to here?

“Anyway,” Sweetie Belle said, “Just because you don’t need galleons today doesn’t mean you won’t need them tomorrow.”

Desperate to get the topic to safe ground, Harry put it, “Yeah, just send an owl to Filthy Rich, in Ponyville, Equestria. Tell him I suggested you two get together about a deal with acromantula silk. Then, take along a couple of pounds of silk as a sample, and an estimate as to how much you can salvage.

“If he’s interested in a long-term arrangement, maybe you could work out a deal with the spiders? Trade them sheep or cows for quantities of their silk? I’m sure they’d be happy to give you their excess in exchange,” he said, “for an assured method of getting plenty of food in the future. That way they won’t come into conflict with the others who make their homes in the Forbidden Forest simply because their nest got too big,” he concluded.

The conversation sort of petered out after that. The boys and Hagrid were getting embarrassed about the topic they were on, and the girls were not doing much better.

Then Hagrid said, “I hear you’re an animagus?” to Luna.

Silently blessing the half-giant, the boys quickly dove into an explanation of what had happened on the train, and what Harry’s mum had discovered.

He had never been soo happy before to leave a conversation behind. He couldn’t help looking at Scootaloo with a new awareness. He uncomfortably wondered how he measured up — and if he could do anything about it if he didn’t. Would they have a book in the library? Where would he even look!? He could feel himself blushing and the fillies giving him occasional curious glances.

From their expressions, Harry thought Neville and Ron were similarly perplexed.

That was one topic he would never ask Hermione, or any of the others in the herd, for help in searching the library!

Fortunately, Luna was soon showing off her new and beautiful form to Hagrid’s admiring examination.

“I ain’ ever seen anything like that,” he said, studying her from every angle as she stood on his table. “I ‘spect it mus’ be yer magic that be letting people see thru ya, bu’ not revealin’ yer insides,” he mused. “ ’Em wings is a pretty piece o’ work, too. Bet there’s tiny hairs on ’em tha’ helps yer actually pick up on wind currents to ‘elp yer glide and fly — like bats do.” He studied her wings for a moment. “Yer lack o’ feathers means yeh aren’ as noisy as birds in flight.” He pondered for a few seconds. “Yer probably as quiet as an owl in flight,” he stated. “Real good a’ stealth.”

Luna wasn’t quite preening, but she was soaking up the attention he was devoting to her.

Harry didn’t notice the displeased expressions his herd-mates were giving him as he stared at the glittering pony.

Then she started asking questions, and the two of them quickly left the rest behind as they started talking about rarer and rarer creatures.

Harry and the others left the filly and the half-giant deep in a discussion about snorkacks and where they might be found. Luna was saying they lived in the north, but Hagrid suggested, based on what she had described — small, purple, four-hooved, twisted horn on the forehead, and a long tail — that they probably lived much farther south.

^·_·^

Headmaster Dumbledore genially looked over the professors in their meeting room as they settled down into their seats. The new professors were fitting in nicely, he observed. It was the first Friday of the month instead of the usual second. He wanted to nip any problems in the bud. A more thorough professorial assessment of their new students, the new Aides, and the returning students would be next week.

Sometimes, early acknowledgement of possible issues could prevent severe problems, later. An ounce of prevention, and all that. Especially with so many foreign First Years.

The Aides were scheduled for a meeting on Saturday morning, to get their views on how the first week of school had gone.

Remus, he was pleased to see, showed none of the signs that he had been a werewolf, or that a full-moon was even coming next week. The wizard had already explained to everyone that traveling to Atlantis seemed to have driven the werewolf curse out of him. He had spent the last full-moon in a Ministry holding cell to prove to the nay-sayers that he wouldn’t transform — he had played poker with the Aurors all night, as a wizard!

By every measure and test the Ministry could apply, Lupin was not a werewolf. The only sign he might have been one were the scars that decorated his body. Fortunately for him, and unfortunately for them, many of the older aurors had quite a few more scars. If no one told them beforehand, the typical wizard, or witch, would assume that had been, or was, his job. Or possibly a Hit-Wizard.

The Ministry had reluctantly removed his name from the “Known Werewolves” list. Even more reluctantly, they had issued a letter stating, unequivocally, that he wasn’t a werewolf.

The Atlanteans had already conducted a second trial in which seven other werewolves had been cured. It was conceivable that within a generation, or two, the werewolf curse would become a thing of the past. Something truly to look forward to happening. At the very least, the numbers would fall to the point of being nearly a non-issue.

“Thank you all,” Albus said jovially, “for your hard work so far this year.” The murmured conversations quickly ceased. He shook his head wryly. “I know I had warned you that we would be getting a few students from Atlantis this term, but I have to say that I did not expect the number of students who did arrive. I doubt that since the founding of Hogwarts have we seen the incoming class double from one year to the next.” He smiled as they all nodded, except Severus Snape, the newly promoted NEWT-level Potions Professor, who scowled.

“On that note, have we noticed any issues with the Atlanteans?” He looked expectantly around the room.

“They seem to be most curious,” said his Depute Headmistress, Professor McGonagall. “They are very attentive in class, and not shy about asking questions. The non-unicorn assignments are very messy, however. I suggest we set up a class on weekends in the art of writing, as most of them are unfamiliar with how to use quills. I’ve seen many actually using their mouths to manipulate their quills, and doing a much better job of writing than using their hand.” She looked a bit perplexed at that issue, as most of them were. How do you manipulate a quill that way? “The unicorns use their magic to manipulate the quills,” she added.

She shook her head slightly, to get herself back on topic. “Being foreigners, their spelling and grammar leaves much to be desired, so perhaps a dictionary of the words they can be expected to see might be in order, as well.” She paused a moment. “I suggest we put together a ‘pre-Hogwarts’ class in August for the next incoming groups of First Years where we could concentrate on writing and grammar. It could be held in Atlantis for their convenience, or we could hold it here, in Hogwarts, to make it easier for them to adapt to their new forms and being in a new world.” She frowned, thinking. “I know it took me several months to truly get comfortable with my animagus form. I can’t imagine the pressure of also dealing with learning an entirely new society so different from their own.”

Professor Pomona Sprout, the Head of House for the Hufflepuffs, snorted. “That they don’t really understand our society is evident. I’m still hearing from my Prefects about finding them wandering around sans clothing, or running around in their animagus form and when told to revert to human it turns out they never dressed before leaving their dorm room.”

Professor Flitwick, Head of the Ravenclaw House, sighed. “One of my Prefects, Miss Penelope Clearwater, told me she found one of the Atlantean First Years wandering around the common room and lifting her robes to show she wasn’t wearing anything underneath because she thought it was funny the way the older students would turn red and run away. The girl simply did not understand why Miss Clearwater was upset. She was, as she put it, ‘Just showing off my cutie mark.’” He shook his head. “She claimed there wasn’t anything unusual about that at home, and she wasn’t showing off anything that was private. Besides, she wouldn’t be in-season until spring, anyway.”

Poppy Pomfrey, the matron in charge of the Hospital Wing, sighed and buried her head in her hands. “I’ll schedule a puberty class for the Atlanteans for tomorrow, and explain that humans don’t have seasons — they are always fertile unless they take a contraceptive or use a contraceptive spell,” she said dejectedly. “Please tell all the First Year Atlanteans that attendance is mandatory. Girls will be in the late morning, at ten, and boys in the early afternoon, at one.”

“Shall I inform the Atlantean Aides?” asked the Headmaster.

Poppy gave him a startled look. “Yes, they might be able to help explain the differences between here and there. And clear up any misunderstandings they might have, too.”

“I’ll add that lecture to the ‘pre-Hogwarts’ class schedule,” Minerva added dryly.

Albus nodded and looked over to Professor Horace Slughorn, the Slytherin Head of House, raising his eyebrows inquisitively.

Horace cleared his throat. “Ignoring the aforementioned issues . . .,” he shook his head. “Discovering that all the Atlanteans can trace their families’ histories back at least a thousand years, if not double or triple that, has even the most conservative upper-years reconsidering their families’ position.” He chuckled. “Most can’t go back more than four or five hundred years. My Slytherins have been forced to rethink their entire position on pure-bloods, half-bloods, and muggle-born. By the conservatives’ own logic, the Atlanteans could consider almost everyone in Slytherin House to be a ‘new’ half-blood.

“Fortunately, the Atlanteans don’t even seem to understand what the issue is, much less why it should matter.

“Also confusing the wizards and witches is how the Atlanteans are so cheerful and forthright,” he concluded. “They almost seem incapable of the cunning and plotting that have been the mainstay of the Slytherin House for generations.” He smiled. “Except they were sorted into the House by the Hat. That has the upper-years in a quandary. Are the Atlanteans really that naïve? Or are they playing a long game that the non-Equestrians can’t fathom, as yet?”

Albus nodded his understanding and leaned back in his chair.

“As you have probably noticed,” he said conversationally, “That there are only nine boys and twenty-eight girls in the group, matching the original one-to-three ratio of Harry and his . . . herd-mates.”

The group exchanged looks and their brows wrinkled, thinking over the possibilities. Severus gave him a steady look, then suddenly his eyebrows rose in surprise. A moment later, a couple of others saw to the centre of the subject.

“Precisely,” the Dumbledore confirmed, nodding. “According to the books I’ve had purchased and returned from Atlantis, the ratio of males to females in Atlantis is one to three.” He smiled softly. “I suspect that for most of the girls, their long game is tilted more in the direction of acquiring a capable husband, one that compliments their own skills or goals, than any other single aim. After all, what the Princesses want from them is a record of their experiences so they can design their own schools of magic. With the . . . correct . . . partner they could propel themselves into the top ranks of their society.”

He looked at his professors with raised eyebrows. “I suppose it would be like scheming to find the right potions partner to help you get the attention of the Flamels as sponsors to your research.”

More than one person looked startled at the thought.

He leaned forward. “Our society, where the ratio of male to female is equal, must seem like a paradise to them. A witch can marry a wizard, and not need to share.

“As a result of that inequity of the sexes, their society is a matriarchy. An inverse of our own society. The males are more likely to find themselves in charge of the children while the women are at the forefronts of those duties we, here, consider wizard’s work. From my readings, they view the males as vain, impulsive, emotional, and illogical. It is their job to watch over their men, to save them from their own follies, if you will. It is not by accident that their two rulers are women, that the mayors of their cities are women, that the heroes of the nation are all young women.” He chuckled. “The males seem to spend most of their time getting into predicaments that require a mare to rescue them.

“One of my informants in Equestria told me that he frequently ran into the men, the stallions, being at the forefront of the business, issuing orders and running things in general. However, the truth, he said, was like the husband who says, ‘I wear the trousers in this family, don’t I honey?’”

The witches in the room were all smirking.

“On the other hand, I’ve noted that their Guard, the equivalent of our Aurors, seems to be heavily invested in men. Plus, many of their . . . villains . . . are men, as well.” He paused. “It’s an odd dynamic.” He shook his head.

“The Atlanteans also seem to mature faster. Both sexes, actually, seem to be about two years ahead of where wizards and witches are in relation to puberty. Which means that even though they are eleven, the age I told the Princesses was the usual lower limit to begin a magical education, they are thirteen in mental and physical growth and outlook. They will act far more mature than their age-mates in the dorms.”

He sighed. “They also seem to prefer their pony forms in Atlantis over their human forms. Being quadrupeds, and furred, they are far more . . . blasé . . . about nudity. Hence, their . . . proclivity for failing to dress in the mornings. And disrobing in public without a thought.”

The professors exchanged evaluating looks.

Pomona looked over to Filius. “That one girl Miss Clearwater mentioned may not have been as innocent as she claimed. She could have been gauging the reactions of the wizards in the House with an eye towards who to watch in the future as a potential boyfriend.”

Albus stared at the table-top for a minute before looking back up. “We shall have to monitor things closely, hmm?” He stroked his beard.

“Additionally, Princess Twilight has informed me that these thirty-nine are . . . the most curious, the bravest, and among the smartest students they have.” He glanced around the room.

“Obviously,” Severus said snidely. “They want to make an impression.”

“Most certainly,” said the Headmaster softly. “These were chosen out of the one thousand volunteers they had that were the appropriate age.” He looked at their stunned faces. “I suspect you will find them at the top of every class in a few weeks.” He smiled genially. “After all, if we could choose thirty-nine students out of a thousand eleven-year-olds to send to a foreign school to learn a new magic, wouldn’t we choose the best?”

His eyes were twinkling as he said, “I imagine that setting up a school system to handle the many thousands of students they have will take a few decades. In the meantime, Hogwarts will be the school for their elite as we have the best magical Professors. With a bit of work, we can make Hogwarts into the school that everyone, and everypony, looks to when someone mentions the premier magical school of the world.”

There were several moments’ silence as everyone considered the issue.

“Now, that that’s sorted,” he prompted, looking back up with a twinkle in his eyes. “How are our new wizards and witches settling in?”

The discussion continued for another hour. Before they broke up, however, the Headmaster had one more announcement.

“On Wednesday, as you no doubt remember, we were graced with the presences of Princesses Luna and Twilight. Both were here in response to an action by the Equestrian they refer to as the God of Chaos. It seems he made an appearance on the Hogwarts Express just as it left the station for Hogsmeade.”

The other professors sat straighter and focused a bit more on him.

Dumbledore smiled gently. “Apparently, the God of Chaos is a bit of a prankster, and was offended that neither a Crystal Pony nor a Night Pony had been included in the allotment of ponies to attend Hogwarts. He took it upon himself to remedy that oversight.” He sighed. “One would think that the easiest way to disrupt things would be to bring in two more students.”

He had their full attention.

“Instead, he chose a witch, and bestowed upon her an animagus form that was a blend of the Crystal and Night ponies, just as he gave the Weasleys animagus forms.”

The staff exchanged incredulous looks.

“A Night Pony, I’ve been informed, is a basically a Pegasus, but with enhanced night-vision, enhanced hearing, and leathery wings.”

The incredulous looks increased in amplitude.

Eyes twinkling, Albus continued. “A crystal pony is the same as an earth pony, except their fur appears crystalline, and they are translucent.” Minerva nodded as Snape scoffed. “I saw the pony in question. Her wings are membranes, not feathers, and covered in tiny hairs you can barely see. If you look at her, you can see the background through her. Interestingly, there are darker areas on her body, but her internal organs are actually invisible to the eye. The darker areas appear to both random in shape and placement, and move about. What that means, I don’t know.”

“Who is it?” interrupted Filius, the Charms professor.

“Luna Lovegood,” Minerva answered. Everyone in the room except the Headmaster gave a longsuffering sigh. “Her father has been informed, and will be here this weekend to meet with her.” She shook her head wryly. “I imagine she will be the cover of his next Quibbler.”

They were silent, considering what that would mean for the small conspiracy-oriented publication.

“The reason I bring this up now,” Albus picked up the conversation, “is because of what Princess Twilight did when she came on Wednesday.” He looked around the room at each of the professors. “For the moment, I must ask you to keep this quiet,” he said slowly.

“As you know, Harry Potter and his friends went with Miss Lovegood and the Princesses.

“Princess Twilight cast several diagnostic spells on everyone in the room, myself and Minerva included. She did this on both our normal selves and as animagi. She later told me in a letter that having a spread of the animagi magic in Equestrians and wizards allowed her to see what the God of Chaos had done, and how.”

Everyone leaned back in surprise, before leaning forward to listen even more intently than before.

He sighed. “She then offered Miss Myrtle Warren a choice of unicorn, pegasus, or earth pony forms for her animagus. Miss Warren chose winged.”

He was silent a moment, thinking. They waited impatiently for him to continue.

“Princess Twilight then cast a spell that turned Miss Warren into a pegasus animagi. With several of us coaching her, she was able to transform back and forth in about an hour.”

The professors were staring at him, gobsmacked.

He nodded slowly. “There is now a spell that can be used to turn almost any wizard or witch into a pony animagus.” He paused. “Regrettably, it is not a spell that anyone but the most powerful wizards can cast. Princess Twilight fell asleep immediately afterwards, exhausted, and Princess Luna had to carry her home.”

He shook his head. “Based on what she told me, even I would have a difficult time casting the spell.” He paused again. “She did mention that she was exploring methods that might make it easier, even possibly making it a ritual that could use power-crystals instead of drawing from the castor. The simplest would be to activate the innate animagus form instead of imposing a pony form. That had the potential of being the easiest spell for her to create, she said.”

“My word,” half-whispered Horace. “Anyone?”

The Headmaster nodded. “Anyone capable of becoming an animagus could benefit from the spell.” He sighed again. “She said she hoped to have it complete in a week. She wanted to run the calculations by one of the professors at their magical school.”

“My word,” Horace repeated, stunned.

“Quite,” Albus said. “I’m telling you all this so you may answer any questions the students might have, and in an attempt to forestall the worst of the rumours. Should any parents ask you about this, you can tell them that yes, such a spell exists, but it is of such difficulty that I, myself, would have reservations about doing it.”

They were silent for several minutes, and then the meeting began to break up.

^-~-^

Ch. 27. Change is on the Horizon

Albus made himself comfortable in the private dining room at the Three Broomsticks. His appointment should be arriving at any moment. He had arrived several minutes early so he would have time to settle himself and review what he needed to accomplish.

It was a rather delicate matter.

He did not have to wait for long. Soon, Rosemerta opened the door and ushered in his guest. The witch she brought in was obviously nervous and unsure of why she had been invited to have lunch with the great Albus Dumbledore. Of course, she had met with him before, in the Ministry. But that was usually in his official capacity as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. Lately she had met with him as Headmaster of Hogwarts, in meetings along with Ludo Bagman, head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports and her boss.

She had changed from the slightly plump girl she had been in Hogwarts, and was now a slim young witch. The surly girl he had seen had changed a bit, although the surly part might have been because she was complaining to him about various situations in Hogwarts, at the time.

She had had a reputation of not being very bright, and very nosy. Sirius remembered her and had told him, “She was a few years above me, but I still had a few run-ins with her. She was an idiot. Very nosy, but no brains, none at all. She was constantly complaining about one thing or another. Especially things she had in which she had reason to involve herself!” The wizard had shaken his head ruefully. “If she had kept her nose out of other peoples’ business, she wouldn’t have had half the problems she did.”

Which pretty-well matched his own recollections of the witch.

Her reputation, now, of being forgetful was something she had not been in school. He hadn’t noticed it himself, but a few casual conversations over the last few weeks with some of his more approachable graduated students in the Ministry had confirmed the change. That was not a good sign, based on what he had been told by the Princess.

Standing, he swept his arm towards the chair opposite his. “Good day, Bertha,” he said jovially. “It is good to see you, again. How have things been for you in the Ministry?”

She gave him a nervous look and patted her right hand on her hair. “Oh,” she said quietly, “Quite well.” Then she frowned. “But I seem so forgetful, lately.”

“Ah, yes,” he said consolingly, “It comes from being overburdened. You have so many things to keep track of that you’re bound to let a few slip by.” He settled back down as she took her seat. He didn’t look at his menu, instead giving the waiting Rosemerta a plowman’s platter order. “The fish broth is quite good,” he gently suggested. “I found it very filling, the other day.”

She gave the menu a quick scan, then said, “I’ll just have the fish and chips, please.”

Rosemerta closed the door with a promise to return shortly.

Albus smiled at the still nervous witch. “There’s nothing, really, to worry about, my dear,” he said. “I just wanted to get your impressions on how the Tri-wizard Tournament is shaping up. I thought this might be a more relaxing venue, where we wouldn’t be interrupted. When I’m at the Ministry, people just can’t seem to stop themselves from seeking me out.”

She stared at him, blinking. “The French seem to be in favour it, the Bulgarians are a bit more reserved,” she said cautiously.

He asked questions about the Tournament, her interactions with other witches and wizards in the Ministry, and some of her conversations with the foreign Ministries. He probed her surface thoughts lightly with his legilimens ability, listened carefully, and compared her answers with conversations he had had in the Ministry with the same people. Several times he had to prompt her response, or correct a detail here and there. They had finished their meals and were just talking when he said, “When you first started working the Ministry, you were moved around through several departments, correct?”

She nodded, “Yes, it was quite confusing at times. Sometimes I mixed up which department I belonged to, and who the head was!” She shook her head ruefully.

He nodded understandingly. “Yes, I’m rather familiar with that problem. My Chief Warlock aides seem to change every time I walk into the Wizengamot.” Watching carefully, in several meanings of the word, he said, “At one time you worked in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, with Bartemius Crouch, Senior, correct?”

She blinked rapidly, but nodded and took another drink of her butterbeer.

“Did you ever have cause to visit him at his home?”

She cocked her head sideways, and frowned. “I want to say yes, but . . . I can’t recall ever doing that.”

He caught a brief flash of her standing in front of a Ministry floo with a folder-full of parchments, then stumbling out without them. Then it was gone.

“No,” she said more firmly. “I’ve never been to his house. I did have some urgent parchments, once, but he came to the Ministry before I could go looking for him.”

In her mind was the stern visage of Bartemius, very angry, almost in a rage, his wand in his hand at his side.

He asked a few more questions, but felt he had enough evidence to proceed. He sighed sadly. He said, “Now, Bertha, I have something a bit more personal to ask you.”

Her relaxed state vanished rapidly. “Yes?” she said nervously, picking up and putting down her utensils, then taking a sip of her butterbeer.

“A friend of mine has heard a rumour that you might have been obliviated of something, several years ago. She fears that your apparent forgetfulness, today, is merely a side-effect of that.”

She gave him a horrified, disbelieving look.

“And, I must say,” he continued, “That some of the things you’ve said today seem to support that.” He paused. “I remember how you were in Hogwarts, and you weren’t nearly as forgetful as you are now.”

He gave her a steady look. “I’m sure it’s nothing, but with this Tri-wizard coming up, it’s better to be safe than to take a chance on such a serious allegation from one of the foreign Ministries derailing everything.”

She mutely nodded, eyes wide.

“I am a quite accomplished legilimens,” he said soothingly. “Rather than make a big deal out of what is probably nothing, may I take a quick look at your memories to see if there’s anything that isn’t as it should be?”

She stared a moment longer. “Is it really necessary?”

He stroked his beard. “Yes, my dear, I truly think this is the best way to handle the situation. I promise not to look at anything personal, only the issue as it was described to me.”

She stared at him a bit longer, then blinked. She took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Well, if you truly think it is necessary . . .,” she said reluctantly, her voice trailing off.

He nodded.

After another few moments thinking about it, she said, “All right.” She nodded and straightened herself in her chair. “Let’s do this. What do I do?”

He smiled gently. “Just relax, and stare into my eyes. Don’t think of anything special, just let the memories come as they may.”

She closed her eyes, took another deep breath, then let it out. She opened her eyes. “Okay,” she said quietly.

His wand was in his right hand, under the table. “Legilimens,” he said softly. He pulled gently on that image of the stern Bartemius with his wand at his side. The first few images were of the wizard in his office, in meetings, greeting her and dismissing her at the end of the day, and a myriad of others. However, every time the stern, very angry visage started to appear, it dissolved. However, there was enough to the image that he could get the impression of a non-Ministry location. While Barty had been angry with her before, regarding details of Ministry business, they had always been in the Ministry. That particular memory was not.

He slowly withdrew and looked out the lone window in the room that overlooked the street in front of the inn.

He reached inside his cloak and handed her the small potion bottle. “For your headache, my dear,” he said, contemplating what he had seen and what he should do next.

“I am afraid,” he said gravely, “That it appears you were memory charmed.”

She burst into tears.

He smiled. “However, I don’t think it was for any nefarious reason regarding yourself. I think you just happened to witness something you weren’t supposed to see and someone decided that an obliviation was the proper course of action.” He sighed. “Unfortunately, they were not a master Obliviator, and therein lies the root of your forgetfulness.

She looked a little relieved, as she wiped her tears away with her hands.

“While I’m an accomplished legilimens,” he said regretfully, “I am not a Master of the craft.” He smiled encouragingly at her. “However, Professor Snape is. I would like for him to give me his professional opinion, if you don’t mind?”

She gave a slow, hesitant nod.

“In the interests of keeping this out of the public eye,” he said consolingly, “and to not warn the perpetrator of our suspicions, I think we should handle this at Hogwarts. Should my suspicions prove true, Madam Pomfrey can call for any Healers she needs and maintain your privacy.”

“But . . .,” she said hesitantly, “I need to return to the Ministry, there is so much to do!”

“Yes,” he agreed, “There is much to do, but in my opinion, as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, getting this settled is of higher importance.” He slowly stood. “I will notify Ludo that I have need of your services for the rest of the day.” He paused. “If longer is needed, we shall say you are in Bulgaria, dealing with an unexpected problem for the next week.”

He escorted her out of the room, and they set out for Hogwarts. He decided that while Poppy was getting a proper Healer to look at Bertha, he would inform Amelia that he was issuing a search warrant for Barty’s place. He would tell her that she needed to conduct the raid, herself, and to take a team with her. The details would be in the warrant that Barty was concealing someone or something important in his home, perhaps under an invisibility cloak.

^·_·^

“We don’t really have a choice, do we?” said Sir Walker, the Director General of MI5. “We have to contact the ling. That the ling is obviously entrenched on the wizarding side is unfortunate. Our Special Technology people have given us no signs that the wizards are aware of the ling, at all. Neither has either the wizarding government, nor Dumbledore,” he said glumly.

He huffed morosely. “That ling has been inordinately well-behaved and hidden.” He unhappily shook his head.

Castor shrugged. “The changelings did manage to hide from the Equestrians for well over a thousand years.” He shook his head wryly. “That means they do have more than a little talent at blending in and being invisible while in plain sight when they need to be. It’s probably instinctive, by now.” He sighed.

“If we can bring her into our control, however, that will solve our problem, won’t it?” he said. “Plus, with her being well-established in the wizarding world, no one will suspect her of being an agent for us. She could be invaluable to us, in that respect, keeping an eye and ear on the wizards and what they are up to.”

“And we can’t flood the area with agents as she would be able to pick them out of the crowd by their non-typical feelings for the setting,” his superior said glumly.

“We wouldn’t even know she had come close before she ran,” Castor said, nodding. “It has to be all above-board with one contact ling — no other agents of either species. Not even at a distance, because we don’t know how far her emotional reach is, nor which direction she will come from.”

Patrick gave a slow nod. He didn’t like the situation they were in, but they really didn’t seem to have any other choices.

^·_·^

Elly was in a bit of a quandary. She had finally narrowed down the identity of the discordant student. The problem was, how could she convince anyone that something was wrong? She had conclusive proof that the student in question was under some kind of mental control from someone, but it was proof only acceptable to a ling.

The four lings had just finished the fourth-year spells and were getting books from the library to start fifth-year. * With access to Elly’s hive mind — a wonderful resource for storing and sharing information — the three first-year lings didn’t have to research their assignments, just query the hive-mind and it would offer up what was known on the subject that Elly had already researched. The more one concentrated on a subject, the more material that became available. It saved them hours of work every day. They still listened in to their classmates conversations, of course, in case someone found something new. But still, a great time saver.

That freed them to work on the new second-year spells, with each tackling a different spell. As a result, they had finished the second-year spells by mid-October, and third-year spells by Christmas, with the fourth-year taking until now. Once they completed the seventh-year curriculum, they would concentrate on becoming masters at the spells they knew they would need for instant casting.

Unfortunately, they hadn’t learned any spells capable of detecting mind magic. At present, it was all theory.

Which was why she was standing outside the door to Professor Lockhart’s office. He had probably forgotten more spells than the lings knew, and still readily knew far more than they did. Plus, being a very famous, incredibly flamboyant, and an adult, he would distract the attention from her when the story came out. After all, which was more likely — that a student detected a possession? Or the Professor of the Defence Against the Dark Arts?

From what Hermione had discovered, he was probably a fake. However, based on what the older Hufflepuffs said, he was still a good improvement over some of the DADA professors they had had in the past.

Elly could certainly say he was an improvement over last year’s professor, that was for sure!

It was rather sad that a fraud was better Professor than someone who was actually competent in the subject!

All she had to do was convince Lockhart to take action. Considering his fame for being an adventurer, and loving being the centre of attention so much, it shouldn’t be that difficult.

“Come in! Come in,” came the cheerful response to her hesitant knock.

The professor was at his desk. He was autographing pictures for his fans, judging by the two stacks of photographs on either side of him. He set the photograph he had just finished signing onto the bigger of the two stacks.

For a fraud, he worked quite hard, not even slacking off over the Easter holidays. If only he put that much effort into the DADA, he could be the best teacher for the DADA that Hogwarts had had in the last twenty years.

He tasted of happiness and mild curiosity.

He was, as always, it seemed, immaculately dressed in baby-blue robes, with his hair perfectly coiffed, and just the barest traces of makeup highlighting his best features. He grinned happily at her. “What wonderful timing! You’re just in time, Miss De Ripp, for one of my new personalized photographs!” He pulled a photo from the smaller stack, signed it with a dramatic flourish of his favourite ostrich quill, and held it out to her.

She took it and simpered as she had observed the older witches do when the Professor gave them his undivided attention. “Thank you, professor,” she gushed, and admired the photo as if it were something precious instead of just a piece of paper. “I don’t know what to say!”

The photograph was of the professor standing in a dramatic pose with a unicorn foal at his feet, as if he were protecting the small horse that barely reached his waist, horn included. The filly was looking up at him in wonder, with Hogwarts in the background. It was really quite stunning, in fact. The professor looked down at the unicorn with a loving smile, then gazed fiercely off the photograph as if something were threatening the foal. The filly looked up at him, amazed, then gazed at the castle for a moment, before returning to him.

Elly wondered who had doctored the photograph for the man, as she knew the foal would have bolted for freedom the moment he came with her sight. All unicorns, here, did that when adult wizards or witches approached, she had been told. Only the presence of virgins was tolerated, and certain other individuals such as Hagrid.

Colin had probably taken the photograph when the Equestrian unicorns had smuggled the filly inside the castle earlier in the school year. With a copy of the negatives from him, and a skilled developer, it wouldn’t have been difficult to merge the picture of Lockhart in front of the castle with the one of the filly staring in wonder at the sparks the unicorns had been casting with their horns to entice it into following them.

“That’s perfectly alright, my dear. It is a rather spectacular picture of me, I have to admit. I dare say, you’ll be the envy of your dorm when you come in with that!” He paused a moment to gift her with one of his award-winning smiles. “You can tell everyone that they are available for only fifteen knuts each! A special deal for students of Hogwarts only.” He pulled another photo off the pile, signed it with a flourish, then looked back up at her. “Was there something else I could help you with? Did you have a question on any of my books?”

She looked at him, and bit her lower lip lightly, as if indecisive. “Well, you see, professor, I’m a bit worried about one of our classmates.” She hesitated. “He’s been acting strange.” she paused, then hurriedly said, “That is, one moment he’s acting normal, then the next he’s acting in a way very unlike normal, then he acts normal, again.” The professor was tasting, feeling, more of caution and doubt.

The professor gave her a condescending smile. “All of the students in Hogwarts are at that age where their perceptions and reactions to those of the opposite sex, and sometimes the same sex, are undergoing dramatic changes as they get older. I’m sure there’s nothing wrong,” he said in a conciliatory tone. He pulled another photo from the unsigned stack.

She shook her head quickly. “No, that’s not what I mean.” She paused again. “It’s whenever he’s around Mr. Potter, you see. He looks at Mr. Potter, he gets a really odd expression, like he’s about to fly into a rage, then he’s suddenly calm, and he ignores Harry. Then, a bit later, the whole sequence repeats.”

Lockhart gave her a disbelieving look. He was clearly perplexed and wary. And interested now that Harry had been mentioned. The feeling of greed began to edge into his emotions.

“Well, you see, it reminds me of what happened at the end of last year — did anyone tell you about that? Someone cast the imperio on a student, and kidnapped Mr. Potter with the intent to kill him. And this classmate . . . well he’s acting a bit like that student did back then. Erratically, I mean.” She stopped and liked her lips nervously. “It turned out the wizard who cast the imperio on the student was possessed by an evil spirit.”

Lockhart leaned back in shock. “Possessed? Imperio?” His emotions were in turmoil, with hint of greedy anticipation.

“Uh-huh,” she said. “You can ask the Headmaster for details, if you want, or even Professor McGonagall. He’ll explain everything to you.” She nodded earnestly, and continued. “So, is there a spell that you can cast to check for that? Check to see if someone is possessed or under an imperio?”

The professor had a very thoughtful expression. “Hmm,” he said softly. There was more than a bit of greed in the mix of his emotions. He blinked. “Yes, yes, there is.”

“Oh, good,” she said, acting relieved.

He took a deep breath and looked at her. “But it is far out of your current capabilities, so I won’t try to teach you,” he said firmly.

She shuddered. “While it might be nice to know, I’m not about to confront a possibly violent fellow student!” She paused. “But don’t take my word for this,” she warned. “I could be, as you suggested, mistaken.” It was her turn to take a deep breath.

“You should watch how Mr. Goyle reacts in the Great Hall at meals when Mr. Potter is there. Especially when he’s at the Slytherin table and sees Mr. Potter come in. It might not happen that first time, but I’m sure if you watch him for a few days, you’ll see what I mean.”

She suddenly straightened up as if she had had an idea. “You know . . . you could come up with an excuse to cast the detection spell by bringing up Voyaging with Vampires.” She could see he was intrigued at her idea. She could taste his greed rising as she enticed him into her plot. “You could demonstrate the spell on a couple of students and “accidentally” select Mr. Goyle as one of the targets! That way, if all this is my imagination, no one will suspect a thing is out of the ordinary! No one will be able to criticize you for suggesting something was wrong when it wasn’t. It would just be something you were doing as a part of the class.”

She could feel his excitement growing as he listened.

“If I’m right,” she went on, “then Mr. Potter will owe you quite the favour, won’t he?” She bounced happily on her heels. “And because you’ll be prepared, if Mr. Goyle is possessed, you’ll be able to subdue him before he has time to react.” She grinned happily. “The Headmaster will be delighted with you!”

She gasped, then said, “Oh, oh!” excitedly. “I bet this would make a great book for you, how you saved Mr. Potter from an evil plot! I bet, I bet, with both of you in it, the incomparable Gilderoy Lockhart and the Boy-Who-Lived, it would be a bestseller! It would put all of your other books to shame!”

His eyebrows shot up.

She had him, she could tell. She buried the urge to grin.

She put on a pleading expression. “Oh!” she exclaimed hesitantly. “But please don’t tell anyone I came to you!” with bit of begging in her voice.

He gave her a startled look.

“Well, after what happened last year, I don’t want people to think I’m stalking Harry.” She made herself blush. “I only happened to notice, that’s all.” She worried her lower lip with her teeth. “He’s nice and all, I don’t want to cause problems with his . . . herd-mates, as he calls them.” She forced a deeper blush.

A slow grin stole across his face and he gave her a smirk. “I understand, my dear. Ah, to be young again and in love!” He clapped his hands together and adopted a dreamy look.

“Oh!” she said quickly, almost tripping across her words, “I’mnotinlovewithhim! . . . He’s not nearly as impressive as you!” She clapped her hands across her mouth as if she had said something she regretted saying out loud.

He smiled broadly, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Oh, of course, Miss De Ripp. But give the boy a few years, and I’m sure he’ll give me a run for my money, should he so choose.” He paused. “But I assure you that I’ll keep your assistance private. No one shall ever know what you’ve confided in me.”

“Thank you, thank you,” she said gratefully. She sighed happily. After a moment spent staring at each other, she said, “Well, I best be going.” She turned and started for the door. She couldn’t believe how easy that had been.

However, just as her hand touched the doorknob, she heard the word, “confundus” come from behind her, then “obliviate.”

Elly’s hand on the doorknob to leave Professor Lockhart’s office helped her keep her balance as she swayed slightly. She felt something change, and the last few minutes became a blur. For a moment, nothing happened. Then a voice said, “You don’t need to worry about your classmate, Miss De Ripp. Enjoy your new autographed photo, and be sure to tell everyone they are available at a special Hogwarts discount of only fifteen knuts!”

She shook her head to clear it of the fog that seemed to be there. Yes, that was why she had come to the professor’s office, to tell him of her suspicions about Goyle. But the boy wasn’t really a problem, as the Professor had said. He might be a bully, but he wasn’t anything she needed to worry about. She had been spooked for no real reason.

Plus, he had given her this wonderful autographed picture of himself and a unicorn foal!

“Thank you, professor, I shall treasure it forever!” she said enthusiastically.

Out in the hall, when she met with her lings and started to their dorm, the other three went into an uproar. Seconds later, she knew that the Professor had just tried to erase her memory. He had taken everything following his statement, “I’m sure there’s nothing wrong,” after she had first expressed her doubts about a classmate.

His assurance that, “No one shall ever know what you’ve confided in me,” was certainly true! Not even she would have remembered!

That the shared hive-mind had protected her memory was not as surprising as it felt. After all, now that there were four of them in close proximity, it was the sum total of all their experiences. Normally, unimportant details in their shared hive-memory would be discarded after a day.

However, with them just a few steps away in the hall, waiting, they had felt him tugging at her memory. He would have had to obliviate all of them for the hive-memory to be affected.

The professor’s actions threw everything they had thought they knew about him into discord. The only reason they could come up with for his actions was that he intended to do something about the situation. When he did act, he wanted everyone to think he had acted alone, that he had been the cautious, suspicious one — as a good DADA professor should be!

Unless he was in collusion with the one controlling Goyle. She doubted it, though. She knew he wasn’t the pulling the strings of the puppet, his emotional reactions would have been completely different. He had been surprised, but not alarmed at her for discovering a possible plot. His primary feeling at the moment he cast those spells had been greed.

She almost went into a rage at what he had done, but she knew she needed him to take care of this problem. She wouldn’t retaliate until later. Maybe she could subvert him to her advantage? Her trainers in the hive had made it quite clear that blackmail could be an important part of infiltration, giving a ling powerful protection in pony society.

In the meantime, she would make sure she and her siblings were never alone with the untrustworthy wizard. She would warn a few others to be careful in his presence. Currying further favour with the Potter herd could be useful. She might never need it, but should she, then it would well worth the effort.

In addition, she had to consider how rapidly he had reacted to her suggestion that he take credit for discovering the threat to Harry. He had obviously done such things before. How many of his adventures in the books were stolen?

The four spent the next day looking up and practicing the obliviate and confundus hexes. The three new lings didn’t yet have the familiarity with magic, nor, apparently, the power and focus needed for the obliviate. However, the confundus was another story. That spell made the victim confused, befuddled, overly forgetful, and prone to follow simple orders without thinking about them.

The four had great fun making each other do silly things. Surprisingly, Elly had the most resistance to the spell, and recovered the fastest. Then Elly would practice the obliviate to make them forget what they had done. By the time the train arrived a few days later, after sundown, Elly expected to be reasonably proficient in both spells. Collectively, though, they intended that she become more than simply proficient!

They wanted her to be as accomplished in the skill as their wayward Professor, if not better.

If she became adept enough, then she could reverse a simple obliviate. She needed that skill. The fate of her hive might depend on it! It would take a lot of practice, though.

Fortunately, there were a lot of students in Hogwarts. None of whom would miss a few minutes out of their day, every once in a while.

In the meantime, however, the four would take a very close look at their professor’s books. She wanted to see if they could gain any insight into his true character by comparing what he wrote with what they had seen in the classroom. Just how many of his actions were a façade?

^·_·^

Author's Note

* In canon, they seem to learn about a spell a week in charms and Transfiguration, but only twenty-six are specifically mentioned. Removing the summer hols, ten weeks, a week of revision in September, two weeks out for Christmas, two weeks off for Spring Break, and three weeks for testing and recovery at the end of term, that means they learn, on average, thirty-five spells a year in each class. Defence seems more about creatures, and thus not as many spells are taught. Transfiguration appears the same as Charms. However, some spells seem to take more than a week to master. So, maybe eighty-to-ninety spells a year, or each student learning two and a half spells a week. Four lings could learn ten spells a week (sharing mentally what each learns) and cover a year in ten weeks. With Elly already knowing about a third of the second-year spells from her previous year’s study, that would leave them with six weeks (September to October) to cover the remainder of the second-year spells, and nine weeks for third year (November to December, assuming they didn’t stop for Christmas and could study without the interruption of classes). Fourth year would take them from January to mid-March, with Spring/Easter Break starting in the first two weeks of April in 1993, the fourth through the eighteenth (Sunday to Sunday).

This assumes, of course, that the lings are used to working when they are awake, pausing only to eat. Without being distracted from learning by games, hobby interests, or being slowed down to the rate of the slowest learner in class, as happens to the humans, the lings would tend to advance quicker in their studies than the others. Sort of like having four Hermiones working together (only not as smart) without Ron or Harry to slow them down.

Their only breaks would be for emotional food gathering.

Ch. 42 Opportunity in Adversity

The lings had moved to the Gates where the crowd of ponies and students were standing and excitedly waiting to see their parents. Elly and the other three made a point of waving to the parents as they passed, and said they were waiting for their own relative to arrive.

That they planned on soaking up ambient love from the pony reunions when the pony parents arrived, too, they didn’t mention.

It was worth waiting for the ponies to arrive, given how much more effusive they were than the humans. It was almost as good as when the Hogwarts train returned to King’s Cross Station at the end of term. Only it would be longer, more sustained, and over a smaller area. They wouldn’t lose out on any simply because they were too far away.

For the humans, though, most of those reunions would take place in the Common Rooms, and the lings were cut off from three of the four. Hence their concentrating on the ponies here at the Gates.

They would need a few more jars, Elly realized. They might be able get an entire year’s worth of love for the four lings just from the next two days. The extra beyond their needs would, of course, be put in stasis for emergencies.

The Brunton Hive lings had their own supplies, and any dipping into those by four at Hogwarts might be noticed. Although, it really shouldn’t be that difficult for the gatherers to reserve a bit of what they had collected from the official tally.

In the meantime, she planned out the letter she would send the goblins. She wondered if she could get the goblins to teach her apparition instead of waiting another four years.

Maybe she could ask Harry about that teleport spell he had used in the Great Hall? If he could do it, then they should be able to do it, too. It would be a powerful tool in the future. Especially for her lings working for the government. No one would ever suspect they could use “wizard” magic as easily as the “official” Technical Specialists. Especially given that the lings had been very upfront with the government that most lings’ skills with Equestrian magic were on par with what the average unicorn mastered. Teleportation was one skill only the most advanced of their unicorns and Infiltrators could master. Plus, it was very much a short-range skill only. Short-range as in only a few tens of miles, not hundreds!

Only their Queen-mother had skills that approached those of the wizards — and she had usually relied on simple brute-force instead of finesse. Elly had promised herself that with the magic provided with wands, she would never resort to such unwieldy tactics. Subtle was so much better.

Elly was curious how he had done it, though. It was supposed to be impossible to use apparition on school grounds. That would come in handy if she and the lings could do it, too. Even if it was a cut-out that Princess Twilight had put in just for the ponies, the teleport would be useful outside the school. Obviously.

She wondered if a ling would be able to use her magic abilities to hide a wand in one arm, like they used to do with other things in the holes in their legs? They could still cast with their innate horns, but it was so much harder and their spell repertoire was so much smaller. Which made a wand extremely attractive and versatile to use. If they could hide one in one of their arms, it would be impossible to find by anyone, magical or not, without a special wand-detecting charm — and yet it would still be instantly available.

She didn’t know if there was a wand-detecting charm, though. She would have to scour the library. Plus, see if there was an anti-summoning charm they could permanently cast on their wands so that they wouldn’t have to worry about that being issue even when they had their wands out.

^-~-^

Harry had to admit, he was not surprised that one of the first couples rushing up the road from the gates were Arthur and Molly Weasley. They, along with the dozen or so other couples behind them, must have been waiting at the gates for Hagrid to open them!

He was surprised that that the thestral carriages weren’t being used.

“Ginny!” Molly loudly called as soon as she saw them, and almost ran to the group. The others quickly stepped away from Molly’s victim, abandoning the girl to her fate. At the last second, Ginny tried to evade what she knew was coming, but it was in vain.

Her mother picked her daughter up into a hug, showering her with kisses as her husband caught up and gave them all a careful look. “I was so worried!” she exclaimed.

“Mom!” Ginny belatedly complained, squirming as she struggled to escape, which made her mother hold the pegasus that much tighter. After a few more moments of theatrics, Molly grudgingly allowed the girl to return to the ground. Ginny pouted at her treatment.

“Now, Molly,” Arthur said consolingly as his wife carefully inspected Ginny for any signs of bruises or cuts. “The Headmaster assured us that none of our children were harmed.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Ginny said quickly. “But you might want to see Ron and the twins. They were in the thick of it!” She clearly was more than willing to throw her siblings under the bus if it saved her from her mother’s overbearing attention. “They’re all waiting for you in the Common Room,” she concluded.

Her father raised his eyebrows, just as clearly seeing what she was attempting to do.

“Ronny? The twins?” their mother gasped, staring up at the castle. She snatched up the small pegasus a second time, hugged and kissed her again, then set her down. She gave her daughter a quick glance, then looked at the rest of them. She nodded. “Well, stay out of trouble, dear.”

She turned and started off for the castle with a hurried stride. “Come alone, honey.” She called over her shoulder.

Arthur smiled at them, “I’m glad none of you suffered any injuries,” he said kindly, then hurried off after his wife.

Ginny looked at the others, who were all not-too-successfully hiding smirks, and huffed. She glanced at Scootaloo and smirked. “Race you to the gates,” she said, flapping and lifting off the ground, already starting to turn.

Scootaloo squawked out a “Hay! You cheater,” and transformed leaping into the air, beating her wings hard to catch up to the other, quickly accelerating, pegasus.

Harry and the other three just shook their heads and started down the road.

They met several other couples already almost at the castle as they started down the road to the gates. The wizards and witches gave the ponies an evaluating, curious glance, but didn’t slow down or stop to talk. They did nod as they passed, though.

They weren’t people any of them recognized. Not surprising since the only parents they had met were all their year-mates, and, as Hermione put it, “Most of them seem more concerned about their dignity than their children.”

That was an attitude the fillies still had a hard time wrapping their minds around.

Harry was surprised, at first, to see Elly and her three cousins already at the gate. However, on reflection, maybe it wasn’t that much of a surprise. Elly was surprisingly on the ball, despite her appearing to be in the middle of their year, academically. He had to smile at the thought that while she might not be the smartest in class, she had what he had heard other kids in primary call street-smarts. From what he remembered, they claimed that street-smarts frequently trumped book-smarts. Knowing what the books say about pugilism versus knowing when to simply run.

Ginny and Scootaloo had been sucked into a pegasus game of some sort, which seemed to be who could spot and name the Equestrians on the road to Hogwarts, first. Of which the very first group had just reached the gates.

Just as Harry had expected, the Equestrians were all ponies. Their escort of six EUP guards probably shouldn’t have surprised him as much as it did — it only made sense considering how unfamiliar with the world the pony parents were. As soon as the ponies passed onto Hogwarts’ ground, three of the guards turned and headed back to Hogsmeade.

All the guards were wearing mini-gun saddle-harnesses, with a six-barrelled gun on each side of the saddles. Oddly, to Harry’s eyes, there didn’t appear to be a box of ammunition. He wondered if the ammunition boxes were hidden using witchery expanded-spaces. The barrels were shorter, too, barely reaching their shoulders. Wouldn’t that be a hazard? Did the barrels telescope forward when used?

In any case, the new arrangement made each team of three ponies a veritable powerhouse. Anyone crossing one of the EUP would immediately regret the experience for the rest of their very short lives.

Harry doubted anyone who saw the guards would realize just what they were seeing.

The sergeant looked around at the clustered foals whose parents weren’t in the group that had just been brought over. The pegasus guard had already taken off for the foals flying overhead.

It took only a few moments for all the ponies to be on the ground, or perched on the roof of the gate house.

“Alright,” the sergeant bellowed loudly. “We’ll be bringing your parents over in groups. We expect all the parents to be here in the next two hours. The next group will be here in thirty minutes. It would be better, and more efficient, if you waited at the castle.”

“Aww,” came the disappointed responses of the gathered ponies.

The sergeant frowned as he looked them over. “However, you are all old enough to make your own decisions. If any of you decide to wait here, which I guarantee will be very boring, stay out of the way of the other parents who will be arriving. They are all as anxious to see their foals, as you are to see your parents. That is all.”

The ponies were exchanging guilty looks. Most hadn’t considered that.

The sergeant walked over to Harry. “Princess Twilight said I might see you here. She told me to tell you that she doesn’t expect to be able to come, herself, until noon, or maybe later.”

Harry nodded. “That’s what I expected,” he said quietly.

The sergeant nodded at him approvingly, and turned to Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle. “Your sisters are helping organize things and expect to be here before noon.” He turned to Scootaloo, “Your aunts should be in the next group.”

Having delivered the messages he had been given, he looked over at the adults. “Gentlestallions and gentlemares, if you are ready?” At their nods of ascent, he nodded to his compatriots and started trotting off up the road to Hogwarts, saying, “If you’ll follow me, please?” The pegasus took up station circling overhead while the earth-pony followed the group so they didn’t lose any stragglers to curiosity.

The parents were caught between staring around at the new world, and their hyperactive foals clamouring for attention and desperate to show their parents everything about the castle that they had learned in the last nine months. From the sounds of it, the slides were very popular.

“On our left,” the sergeant continued, “the cottage you see is the home of the human who let us through the gates, Rubeus Hagrid, behind it is the Forbidden Forest.”

A good portion of the waiting pony students turned and followed the guards, including one of Elly’s cousins. The pegasi returned to flying, but most seemed to be headed to the castle. They probably would lurk around the front doors instead of going to their Common Rooms.

The sergeant’s voice slowly faded out as he gave the parents a summary of the creatures found in the forest — to many gasps — and that it was off-limits to all students. There was a collective shudder from the parents when he mentioned the centaurs. He made sure to add that even the parents should not enter the forest without one of the Hogwarts’ Professors or an EUP escort.

Harry glanced at his herdmates. “I think we should stay here and help Hagrid,” he said. The girls looked a bit sceptical. He shrugged. “Maybe show the others the Dancing Feet Spell? Or one of the other Shield Spells to keep them from pestering Hagrid too much?” he said looking at Hermione. Hermione was only paying him part of her attention. She was looking at the open iron gates and worrying her lower lip in anxiety waiting to see if her parents would soon be here.

However, she perked up at his suggestion. After a moment to think, she called out to small group of ponies left, “Who knows the Dancing Feet Charm? Who would like to learn it?” In short order, she had the eight remaining ponies surrounding her, transformed back to children with their wands in hand, slowly copying her wand movements.

Sweetie Belle joined her a moment later.

Ginny and Scootaloo had already lifted off to take advantage of their ability to coast and watch both the village and the castle. And, of course, to fly.

Harry trotted over to Elly, who was watching him while pretending not too.

“Good morning, Miss De Rippe,” he said formally, bowing, after returning to being a human. Apple Bloom, who had come with him, startled at his action, but quickly caught on and copied him. She eyed him curiously as she straightened.

Elly blinked at him for a moment, then said, “Good morning, Mr. Potter-Sparkle,” with a small curtsey of her own. Her three cousins watched, heads tilted slightly, curiosity evident in their expressions.

Keeping his posture correct, Harry continued speaking. “I thank you for your warning after Spring Break. I don’t know if you noticed during the initial attack, but Goyle, or whomever was possessing him, once his ruse was uncovered, made an immediate move against me and mine with a powerful blasting curse. Without that warning I am positive I, or one of my herdmates, would have suffered grievous harm or death. If there is anything you require in the future, ask. If it is within our power, we will assist you and your family, Elly De Rippe. We are in your debt. This I declare in the name of the House of Sparkle.”

The small group felt a small pulse of magic flow through them. Hermione and Sweetie Belle both looked over at them, frowning, and Harry knew the two pegasi who were suddenly arrowing towards them from above were Scootaloo and Ginny. He wasn’t as surprised as he thought he should be, almost as if he had been expecting it. Another memory from Tom? He suppressed a shudder. At least the knowledge was useful — this time.

Apple Bloom and Elly and her cousins stared at him, eyes wide, but not quite gaping slack-jawed in astonishment. Elly dropped into a deep curtsey, bowing her head. “I am honoured at your offer, Harry Sparkle. I provided that warning simply because I felt that to fail to do so would be remiss on my part, not for any reward to myself or my family.”

Harry nodded his understanding. “Which makes your reward that much more deserved.” He grinned at her. “Last year you saved my life, this year you saved my life and Hermione’s . . . . I wonder what you will do next year? You are much more observant than anypony else I know.” He sighed and looked around. “My mum invited you to visit us in Equestria, and I’d like to repeat that invite. Should you or any of your family like to visit Equestria, just say the word.” He stopped and gave them a wry grin. “I’m sure you find the change from your home in Papua New Guinea to England enough of a challenge for the moment, though.”

Scootaloo and Ginny had landed beside them, now, and were looking around with puzzled expressions. Harry glanced at them and shrugged again. “You go on back to what you were doing. I’ll explain later.”

They both gave him uncertain looks, then Scootaloo nodded. “Okay,” she said happily, and launched herself upwards. “Race you to the castle and back,” she called to Ginny as she started that way.

“Hey! You cheater!” cried Ginny, lunging upwards and flapping her wings furiously.

Fading laughter was her only reply.

“So,” Harry said, after shuffling his feet awkwardly in the silence, “Are you planning on waiting here for your guardian?”

Elly looked at the gates, fidgeting self-consciously with her hands. “Oh, yes. She should be here this morning.” She looked up at the pegasi whirling and swooping overhead. “It’s too nice a day to just sit around in the Common Room waiting, anyway.”

“I know what you mean,” Harry agreed. “My mum and my herdmates’ sisters are going to be busy helping at the portal. My mum will be lucky to get here before dinner, if something else doesn’t drag her away.” He sighed. “But that’s okay. She’s visited me here several times and the others haven’t had that opportunity.”

Apple Bloom nodded, but was already looking at a nearby tree that seemed a bit sickly compared to the others. She began to slowly drift closer to it.

Essie, at least Harry thought she was Essie, walked over to the gate and started asking Hagrid some questions about the unicorns in the forest. There had been quite a few more sightings from the castle of what looked like magic-sparks being cast in the forest at night — more than could be accounted for by one unicorn foal.

Emmie had already joined the other students clustered around Hermione and Sweetie Belle, and trying her hand at mastering the Dancing Feet charm. She seemed to be picking it up a bit quicker than the others. Was she better at magic than Elly?

After a few minutes of more awkward silence Elly looked over at the others, then looked at him. She slowly nodded her head sideways, back towards the castle, then slowly started moving that way.

Harry kept pace with her, as if they were aimlessly wandering. He was well-acquainted with the signals the fillies sometimes had used in the past when they didn’t want anypony to know they were about to go off cutie mark crusading. That others used such signals wasn’t a surprise.

Once they were several dozen yards from everyone except Earl, who had accompanied them, she stopped and faced the forest.

Hesitantly, looking at him from the corners’ of her eyes, she said, “Um, well, there is one question I do have . . . ,” her lips were barely moving, and her voice low. “You teleported from the Head Table platform to the wall.” She looked directly at him. “That’s not supposed to be possible, I’ve read.”

He looked around carefully, then used his wand to cast one of the privacy spells Blueblood had insisted he master. It wasn’t perfect, but no one would be able to hear them without being obnoxiously close.

“I didn’t tell anyone, not even the aurors, it’s not their business,” she hastened to add as he did that. “Anyway, I was wondering if you could teach me how to teleport. There are a couple of spots close to the edge of the lake where the school’s spells don’t reach and we can’t be seen.”

He hesitated, thinking. “I haven’t a problem teaching you the teleport spell, it depends on a number of factors. It took me months to master it properly in Equestria. Sweetie Belle was still struggling when she tried it with a wand and got it to work immediately. Hermione spent like five minutes studying it, then did it last year.” He frowned and pulled his lips to the side. “If you aren’t familiar with Equestrian spell patterns or a genius like Hermione?” He shrugged.

“I don’t know why I was able to teleport in the Great Hall.” He shook his head and pursed his lips. “It might have been just fluke, maybe whoever was possessing Goyle did something. I don’t know. In any event, I’m not sure I want to try that again.”

He looked over at Hermione. The firsties would take a bit more practice to get the spell, but they appeared to have the wand movements, and the incantation right. Now it was just a matter of getting enough magic in it to get it to work as more than an impulse to dance in their victim. He idly wondered if it would be possible to make the spell a specific dance. It would hilarious to cast the tango on someone and have them grab anypony nearby and start dancing.

He motioned Elly with his head, cancelled the spell he had cast, then turned and walked over to the girl.

“Hermione?” he said when he was close enough.

She looked over at him, eyebrow raised in question.

“Could I borrow a parchment and quill?”

She shrugged off her rucksack — she almost never went anywhere without her bottomless bag — mumbling, “Sure!” She rummaged around in it for a moment then stood up with both a self-inking quill and a sheet of parchment. “That enough?” she said with a quirk of her eyebrows.

“Thanks,” he said, taking the proffered items. He led the other two away for more privacy, then recast the silence charm he had used before. He tapped the parchment with his wand, using a spell Hermione had found that stiffened and locked it in place in the air as if it were on a table, at the height he wanted.

He quickly started drawing out the improved teleportation spell his mum had designed. In a few moments, he was finished. He tapped the parchment again, this time with a spell to instantly dry the ink, then cancelled the other spell holding the parchment in place. He turned and motioned Elly and her cousins, who were watching carefully, closer.

“This,” he said, pointing, “is the basic form of the spell. First and foremost, see this line of numbers and symbols? Memorize it. Don’t even think of doing anything else until you can instantly recite it forwards and backwards without stopping to think.” He looked at them, alternating, until they had nodded their understanding.

“Second, look at this diagram. Memorize its every detail.” He gave them another look to make sure they understood how serious he was. “See how the numbers and characters loop around and back to here? And the rest of the numbers and characters loop over here? And that symbol is in this circle where they both end?”

He spent a few moments highlighting different sections of the diagram. “This section is for your safeties. This one checks if the destination is blocked, This one, if there is room for you at the destination. This part checks if it’s safe at the destination — not on fire or collapsing or something, for example.” He pointed a finger at a section on the parchment, and looked at Elly to see if she was following along. She was, frowning intently. Earl wasn’t as intense in his examination of the diagram.

“Here’s the integrity routine, beside it is the power required versus your power available. Over here is the section the looks for anything that might interfere.” He gave them all another steady look, trying to impress upon them how important this was.

“If you’re thinking of teleporting, close your eyes. When you close your eyes, you have to see this diagram floating in front of you. Just thinking of teleporting should make it pop up — complete and ready to use. If this image isn’t floating in front of you, you haven’t memorized it. You have to picture this in your mind, every detail,” he said forcefully.

Elly nodded solemnly, eyes on the parchment and brow still furrowed in concentration. Harry was rather impressed, actually.

Earl was clearly following along, but wasn’t as . . . fervent.

“Stop and go back to revise it until it does appear that fast, complete and detailed.”

They again nodded.

“When it’s an instinctive image, picture your destination. It has to be somewhere you have been, so you know everything there is to know about where you will appear. Your wand has to be in your hand, or you firmly pressing on it. Keep a clear image of what you want to take, too. It is possible to leave your clothes or wand behind, or bring along something you didn’t mean to bring. Contact isn’t always necessary once your accomplished at it.”

He smiled, reminiscing, “My mum has teleported several others with her, even though they weren’t touching, but running from a hydra at the time.”

“Then, set your safeties. Next, with all those in mind, push your magic into the spell. Lastly, release the spell! Nothing happens until all the safeties are satisfied, which takes almost no time at all. Then, if you’ve done everything right, you teleport. If not? Nothing happens.”

They nodded as one.

“Oh, and you have to want to go. Just picturing you destination, laclusterly, isn’t enough. You have to want to be there instead of wherever you are.”

Elly reached over and took the parchment as he held it out to her. She looked at it, still frowning and studying it.

“Before you actually do it the first time, though” he cautioned, holding a hand up as if to halt someone, “Come to me or Sweetie Belle to check that everything is correct.”

Elly tilted her head questioningly. “How will you check?”

Harry smiled. “Like this . . .,” he stepped closer. “Close your eyes and picture the diagram in your mind.”

Hesitantly, looking him intently in the eyes, first, she complied.

Surprisingly, she didn’t jerk back as his forehead touched her. He closed his eyes and . . . pulled with . . . something in his magic.

It was foggy, at first, but a shining version of the diagram slowly became visible. He studied the vision carefully, then overlaid the one he used, tweaking the other until the two matched perfectly. He straightened.

“Very good,” he said softly as he straightened, impressed. Based on what he knew of her academic record — rumour, in other words — he had expected it to be only vaguely close to what was needed. “You’re almost there.”

She had a startled expression, and was blinking rapidly.

“If you work on it tonight, then tomorrow I can check again,” he said. “If it matches mine perfectly, then you can give it a try.” He paused. “If you want to, that is.”

She slowly nodded, still thinking on the experience.

He smiled. “It’s something my mum taught me. If we were in Equestria, I could cross horns with you and do a much better job of transferring information. But most unicorns don’t like to do that. It’s too, um, intimate, I think I heard one say. Plus, you have to be really organized in your mind and imagination for the images to form right.”

She again slowly nodded. Earl didn’t seem that passionate about learning it. Perhaps because he was a firstie?

“ ’ARRY,”- he heard from the gates. Looking over, he could see Hagrid waving to him. He waved back, then turned back to Elly and bowed slightly, “If you’ll excuse me?” and headed for Hagrid.

As he drew closer he recognized Madam Longbottom, the Dunbars, and the Macmillans. He had met them all at Neville’s birthday party in the summer.

Hagrid grinned widely as Harry got closer and the rest of the herd, except Scootaloo and Ginny, quickly joined him.

“ ’Arry,” Hagrid repeated. “Would ya watch the gates fer a few? I gotta get a carriage fer these folks.” He gave the adults an apologetic look.

Madam Longbottom raised an eyebrow and stared down at the half-giant imperiously — Harry wondered how she did that being half his size. “I’m too old to walk up to the castle with the floo’s down,” she stated in the sort of voice that had Harry suppressing the urge to head for his cupboard under the stairs. The tone promised that whomever had shirked their duty was going to receive a right taking-to, if not the application of a belt.

The only reason that Harry didn’t immediately retreat was because she was staring at balefully at Hagrid.

“I’ll be right back,” the half-giant mumbled as he quickly lumbered away to harness a few of the thestrals and carriages. There was no way that every parent seeing the carriages on the road wouldn’t ask for one, too.

Harry had the impression he was rather glad to be out of the old witch’s sight.

Madam Longbottom stared after the half-giant until he disappeared around a bend in the path. As soon as she did, she turned to look at him. He quickly bowed as Blueblood had taught him to do when meeting mares, especially important ones.

“I hope you are well this morning, Madam Longbottom,” he said on straightening. “I can tell you that Neville is well and waiting in the Gryffindor Common Room for you.” He turned to the other adults, “As is Faye, Mr and Mrs Dunbar.” He turned to more directly face the other couple. “Ernest is waiting for you in the Hufflepuff Common Room, Mr and Mrs. Macmillan. He too, is uninjured.”

Both couples looked relieved, but they were also half-watching the pegasi wheeling overhead.

“If you wish,” he added, “You can walk on up to the castle.” He looked at them hopefully.

Madam Longbottom shook her head. “They will be riding with me,” she said, quietly.

Harry nodded and moved over to the gates, chasing a few of the ponies who were edging outside back through the open gates. “School rules,” he said as he waved them back. “Gotta stay within the walls.” He pulled the gates until they were only wide enough for one person at a time to make it through. He could push them wider if needed.

Several of the pegasi overhead suddenly went into dives. Several larger pegasi rose up from the ground to meet them.

Apparently, the next group of ponies were being escorted from the Three Broomsticks. And one of the diving ponies was Scootaloo, so that meant she had spotted her aunts.

^-~-^