When Harry woke up in pain, he found himself in a holding cell.

Nothing new, if he were honest.

His wrists were cuffed, and heavy chains secured him to the wall. Around his neck, a strange circular disk attempted to suppress his magic. The artifact was adorned with sharp metal spikes that forced him to hold his head upright. A few drops of his blood had already stained the device, the venom on the spikes designed to debilitate further resistance. However, if the faint, tingling sensation of his magic slowly returning was any indication, it wasn’t working as intended.

"Bloody morons," Harry muttered under his breath, his irritation overshadowing his discomfort. He straightened slightly at the sound of a heavy metal door creaking open.

A figure stepped into view—a pony in golden armor, resembling a cross between a Spartan warrior and an ancient Greek hoplite. The silence stretched as the guard’s piercing gaze met Harry’s weary one.

Finally, the guard spoke, his voice booming in the echoing chamber. "So, you’re finally awake."

Harry squinted in the general direction of the voice, his glasses confiscated and Merlin-knows-where. "Incredible powers of observation, sir guard," he deadpanned.

The guard ignored the sarcasm, his tone crisp and authoritative. "You are currently detained in the capital of the Kingdom of Equestria, Canterlot, for the crime of using blood magic and encouraging others to engage in that forbidden practice."

Ah, that. Harry barely stifled a groan. He hadn’t given it much thought at the time, but it was probably that purple unicorn he’d advised. She must have used his blood to complete the ritual and free Luna from captivity.

(Wait... Luna?) Harry paused mid-thought. He didn’t recall hearing that name—he was sure, thanks to his Occlumency training. So how did he know it now?

(Maybe some of her memories transferred while we were in her mindspace? Could be,) he mused.

Before he could delve deeper, the guard’s voice cut through his thoughts. "For reasons beyond my comprehension, Princess Celestia Helios Equestria—our holy, grand, and eternal ruler—has expressed a desire to meet you. You will be escorted to the throne room shortly. Any attempt to escape or act of defiance will be met with force. Is that clear?"

Harry sighed inwardly. (Wonderful. Another self-important royal with a legion of fanatical devotees who thinks herself godlike. Just another Thursday for you, Potter.)

Outwardly, he replied with a smirk. "Crystal."

Harry quickly realized teasing the guard had been a poor choice. The "accidental" bumps into walls, statues, ornamental suits of armor, guards in actual armor, and doorframes became all too frequent. What should have been a straightforward 15-minute escort turned into a painful, humiliating gauntlet.

The collar digging into his neck didn’t help matters. Each jarring collision made the spikes bite deeper into his skin, leaving a trail of droplets on the polished floors and even some walls.

He’d also lost count of how many times he’d bowed to a white blur in his vision, assuming it was the Princess, only to realize it was a statue—or worse, a cleaning pony. The giggles of nearby staff did little for his dignity.

At last, they arrived before an ornate double door and entered what Harry guessed was the throne room. The space had an air of importance, with light streaming through what seemed to be a stained glass mural. Gold accents gleamed everywhere, reflecting a calm, icy blue hue from the walls.

No purple, though. He noted that absence absently.

They stopped at the center of the room, standing on what he assumed was a circular symbol. A sun motif, no doubt, given the "Helios" part of the Princess’s name.

After a beat of silence, Harry spoke. "So, where’s her highness?"

"She’s not here yet, as you can’t see," the guard replied.

"Oh, brilliant. So, when does she plan on gracing us with her presence?"

"When she pleases."

"Really? She calls for me and doesn’t even have the courtesy to show up?"

"Clearly, she has more pressing matters if she’s not here yet."

"Obviously."

"Obviously," the guard confirmed, his tone dry.

More silence followed.

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Well, as you kindly pointed out earlier, I can’t see. That’s because I don’t have my glasses. Care to explain why they were taken and whether I might get them back?"

"Your glasses, along with your cloak, sword, vials, and potions, were confiscated and are currently being examined by our magics and curses department."

"...They do know my glasses only have maintenance charms, waterproofing, and a not-fall-off enchantment, right?"

"They’ll determine that for themselves," the guard replied, a hint of a smirk in his voice.

Harry huffed, bemused. He couldn’t see the guard’s face clearly, but he could feel the satisfaction radiating from him.

Another pause.

"You’re aware I’m bleeding on her carpet right now, right?"

The guard’s tone turned amused. "Do you normally babble this much?"

"Only when I’m nervous and hungry," Harry admitted with a shrug.

It was true, Harry hadn't eating anything since yesterday morning and his stomach was protesting vehemently.

The guard huffed, this time in a good-natured way, before lapsing into silence again.

The unmistakable creak of doors opening echoed through the throne room. Harry didn’t need to see to know something important was happening. The guard, however, ensured he didn’t miss the cue, firmly guiding—and more accurately forcing—him to kneel.

What followed was a steady rhythm of approaching footsteps—or hoofsteps, Harry corrected himself. Oddly, they sounded more like high heels striking marble. The sharp, deliberate clicks were accompanied by smaller, lighter steps, creating an oddly synchronized cadence.

A chorus of gasps rippled through the room, followed by a flurry of hushed whispers. Harry, ever curious, tilted his head slightly and breathed in deeply.

The air was thick with sweetness—cloyingly so. His senses reeled, and he nearly gagged at the overwhelming saccharine scent.

Unable to resist, he blurted, "To the one who just ate a quadruple-layer devil’s cake, how in the name of magic are you still alive?!"

Celestia was a being that most would consider ancient—if they were feeling polite.

Having lived through the nomadic era of her species, the Wendigo invasions, the wars and unification of the three tribes of ponies, the creation, foundation, and expansion of her once kingless kingdom, the Tirek catastrophe, the Umbra War, the Nightmare Moon rebellion, and countless other events both triumphant and tragic, she believed she had seen everything the universe could throw her way.

As it often did, the universe took great pleasure in proving her wrong.

The princess froze mid-step, a blush creeping across her pristine white coat at being so brazenly called out.

(How does he know?!) screeched the immortal voice in her mind.

She could have dismissed the comment—Faust above knew she had heard, said, and done worse in her time. But the sheer amazement, genuine astonishment, and even concern radiating from the man kneeling before her threw her off balance.

It didn’t help that her precious student, Twilight Sparkle, was looking at her with the kind of disappointment usually reserved for overdue magic reports. Meanwhile, her more valiant friends struggled to stifle their laughter—though some failed miserably.

Celestia cleared her throat, regaining her composure, and continued walking to her throne. "I’m afraid that’s nothing for you to concern yourself with," she began, her voice as smooth and regal as ever. She had just reached her seat when the man interrupted.

"NOT my concern?!" Harry’s voice was incredulous, his emerald eyes blazing with righteous indignation. "Well excuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuse me, Princess, but if you checked my wallet, you’d see I’m a healer! A medic! Things like this are my concern!"

Celestia’s regal poise faltered as the man launched into a full-blown tirade about proper nutrition and the catastrophic effects of excessive sugar consumption.

Her majestic shoulders slumped slightly as she took her seat. She knew, in her many centuries of experience, that no rank, title, or divine status could shield her from the wrath of a dedicated medic on a health crusade.

Twilight and Fluttershy, the kind-hearted , nodded solemnly at each of Harry’s points, their disappointed glances somehow more cutting than any blade.

Rainbow Dash and Applejack were laughing openly now, clutching each other for support as they leaned against a column to keep from collapsing to the floor.

Rarity, ever composed, murmured, "Oh dear," while placing a thoughtful hand under her chin, content to observe the unfolding spectacle.

Meanwhile, Pinkie Pie—resident baker extraordinaire—was turning an alarming shade of green. The more Harry ranted about the perils of sugar, the more her vibrant pink hue seemed to drain away.

"I think… I’ll cut back on sugar for a bit," Pinkie mumbled weakly, her tone so uncharacteristically subdued that it bordered on surreal.

Harry finally finished, breathing heavily as though he’d just completed a triathlon. "…And that’s why you should use honey, not sugar!"

Silence blanketed the throne room.

Celestia, still processing the whirlwind that had just occurred, raised a hand with regal grace—though her voice betrayed her exasperation. "Free him… and feed him. Anyone who shows that level of—ahem—passion about the health of others cannot possibly be corrupted by dark magic. Twilight, my faithful student, see to it."

The guard, who had wisely stayed silent throughout the entire debacle, stepped forward and gently unlocked Harry’s restraints, escorting him from the throne room with significantly more care than before.

Twilight and her friends bowed briefly before following, their muffled giggles still audible as they departed.

Once alone, Celestia covered her face with a hand, her cheeks burning with embarrassment.

"Shall we inform the kitchen staff about the change in diet?" came Luna’s voice, teasing yet smooth, as she materialized from the shadows with an impish grin.

"Hush, Luna," Celestia murmured, her voice muffled by her hands. But a small smile tugged at her lips when she heard something she hadn’t in over a hundred years—her little sister’s genuine, joyful laughter.

Author's Note

Bonus Idea:

Stand User: Pinkamena Diane Pie (Alter! Pinkie Pie)

Stand Name: C, B, T (A Cruel Barbie’s Thesis - Yoko Takanashi: Evangelion and Aqua: Barbie Girl - Remixed and mashed up by Matt N.)

Attributes

• Power: A
• Speed: A
• Range: E
• Durability: A
• Precision: B
• Potential: E

Stand Description

C, B, T is a normally formless, always-active Stand, existing as an abstract entity tied deeply to the fabric of reality itself. Manifesting from Pinkamena Diane Pie's fractured psyche, it grants her the ability to perceive and interact with truths beyond mortal comprehension, including the metaphysical "handwriting" of destiny and the creative forces shaping existence.

Abilities

1. Vision Beyond Reality
   C, B, T allows Pinkamena to perceive the "Penned Hand of God" and the "Forge of Creation," metaphors for the forces that dictate fate, destiny, and the structure of her reality. She sees herself and others as mere characters in a grand narrative, their lives shaped by higher beings' whims. This revelation shattered her psyche, splitting her into:

• Pinky: The cheerful, obedient alter ego who adheres perfectly to the "script."
• Pinkamena: The true self, rebellious and aware of the puppet strings controlling her world.
  1. Dimensional Awareness and Interaction
     Like D4C, C, B, T enables limited interaction with parallel worlds and alternate dimensions. While Pinkamena cannot freely traverse these realms, she can observe and occasionally influence them, leveraging this knowledge to manipulate events or gain insight into the multiverse’s mechanics.
  2. Reality Subversion
     By glimpsing beyond the fourth wall, Pinkamena can subtly disrupt the "script," introducing chaos into the narrative designed by the "higher beings." This ability grows stronger when working with others who can defy fate, such as Harry and his Stand, Wanderer. Her defiance acts as a metaphysical wrench in the gears of destiny.
  3. Psychic Resilience and Insight
     Pinkamena’s exposure to existential truths grants her an unshakable will and sharp insight. She can predict outcomes, read between the lines of fate, and discern hidden truths, though this ability is often colored by her nihilistic worldview.

Drawbacks

• Fractured Psyche
  The Stand’s awakening fractured Pinkamena's mind, creating a divide between her two personas. This internal conflict weakens her emotional stability and limits her Stand's potential, as only full reconciliation between Pinky and Pinkamena can unlock C, B, T’s true power.
• Limited Range
  Despite its immense power and speed, C, B, T operates within a highly restricted range, focusing almost entirely on the user’s immediate surroundings or metaphysical awareness rather than direct physical interactions.
• Existential Weight
  Pinkamena’s awareness of her reality’s artificial nature is both a strength and a curse. It fuels her defiance but also burdens her with despair and cynicism, which can hinder her actions and relationships.

Character Arc and Motivations

Pinkamena Diane Pie’s life changed when she realized her existence was controlled by "higher beings" scripting her every move. Initially, this led to deep nihilism and defiance, as she saw herself as a mere doll in a cosmic game. However, the arrival of Harry and Wanderer, a Stand that disrupts the flow of causality itself, gave her hope.

Now, Pinkamena uses C, B, T to fight back against the forces that control her world, seeking to rewrite her own destiny. Her ultimate goal is to fuse her fractured personas, uniting Pinky’s cheerful resilience with Pinkamena’s rebellious determination, becoming whole and free.

This journey is slow and arduous, but her resolve is unyielding. Every step she takes disrupts the "script," bringing her closer to seizing control of her own fate and liberating her world from the "Penned Hand of God."