//------------------------------//
// 83 — Hidden Objectives 
// Story: If Wishes were Ponies . . . . 
// by tkepner 
//------------------------------//

It wasn’t until the Slytherins and Gryffindors started to approach the Great Hall that the results of Sweetie’s potion became apparent.

“Watch where you’re going,” an outraged Slytherin said to a Hufflepuff Second Year witch who had just deliberately walked into him.

The Hufflepuff jumped back and knocked into another Slytherin. That Slytherin shoved her off with a disgusted look. The Hufflepuff looked around in fright, then said, “What? Who said that? Who pushed me?”

The Slytherins looked surprised at that response, as did the Gryffindors further behind. The purple students were rather obvious.

“I said it,” growled the first Slytherin, turning to face the Hufflepuff.

The witch looked around in panic, then screeched, “Eek!” and quickly ran ahead, leaving them all puzzled.

As they reached the clump of students at the Great Hall doors it only got worse.

“Hey! Watch where you’re going! There’s someone here!”

“Can’t you use your eyes, you oaf?”

“Move you great lump!”

“Hey! Who’s pushing me!”

“Cut it out!”

By the time the Gryffindor and Slytherin Firsties had seated themselves it was obvious that while they could see themselves just fine, no one else could.

Harry watched a couple of the Slytherins smile broadly, then start pranking anyone close to them — tapping their victim on the shoulder, whispering behind their back, tripping the students they didn’t like, spilling their juices in their laps. All while knowing they, as invisible First Years, were safe from retaliation by their victims. After all, no one but their fellow First Years could identify them. And if they were sneaky enough, even their friends wouldn’t know for sure.

Snickering, the Gryffindors quickly followed suit.

Things were quickly descending into bedlam when Professor Snape made his dramatic entrance, as usual. He walked straight into Professor McGonagall and then, stumbling, tripped over Professor Flitwick as those two worthies walked directly in front of him trying to restore order to the Hall.

Harry and the fillies watched, shocked, as both Professors McGonagall and Flitwick shot off stunners at Professor Snape, Their Potions’ professor had fortunately fallen to his hands and knees and the spells went over his head, although Flitwick’s barely missed the tall wizard’s back

It was amazing to watch the three professors firing spells off at each other, and brought the students to a halt in their own activities. It took a moment for the Firsties to realize that the two professors could not see Professor Snape, and that he didn’t realize that fact. The two professors were at a distinct disadvantage at not being able to see the third except for the flash and colours of his spells.

It stopped when Professor McGonagall said, “Severus? Is that you?”

“Who else would it be?” he snarled back, quickly moving so she couldn’t track his voice.

“I don’t know, we can’t see you.” She still held her wand at the ready. She twisted her head back and forth to take advantage of her superior hearing. She re-aimed her wand at him as he took another quiet step sideways. Professor Flitwick watched from his position on the floor, wrapped up in ropes as the result of a powerful incarcerous.

He looked at her, then the wondering faces of the students. He glared at Harry and the fillies. “How many students can see me?” he asked. “Raise your hands,” he said even as he again moved sideways.

Only the First Year Slytherins and Gryffindors raised their hands.

It took him only a few moments to explain the situation to the other professors.

It was a most memorable lunch, even if no one but the Slytherin and Gryffindor First Years could see Professor Snape glaring at Sweetie Belle through the remainder of the meal.

The rest of the Great Hall did note his thunderous expression when he became detectable just as everyone finished their meals. Over the rest of the afternoon the First Years slowly returned to visibility, based on how far they had been from Sweetie Belle in the potions’ classroom.

It was strange, Harry thought, to hear Sweetie Belle and Neville without being able to see them, as they were the last two to become visible shortly before dinner.


۸-_-۸


Elly stared at the owl on the other side of the window. She knew, of course, that owls were the preferred method of mail delivery for wizards — the ponies used postmares and hoof-delivered the mail. Still, that left her puzzled as to why the silly thing was delivering a message to her.

Perhaps Gringotts had information for her?

She made her way to the window and opened it slowly so as not to frighten the bird. Not that she really thought the bird would suddenly leave. It had been tapping on the window for several minutes. She could sense its growing impatience at her delay. It was quite clearly communicating, “Come on, hurry up! I don’t have all day.”

When the window was open, the bird petulantly stuck out its leg with the shrunken letter rolled up on it.

The changeling carefully detached the letter, then said, “I’m sorry, but I haven’t any treats for you. Would a sickle do? You could buy your own treat.”

The owl tilted its head, considering, then gave a graceful acceptance bob.

Elly hurried to her bag beside the bed’s side-table, took out a sickle, and then gave it to the bird.

Nodding several times as it took the coin, the bird quickly flew off. Elly watched briefly as it angled towards Eeylops Owl Emporium.

Sighing, she examined the letter carefully. It was clearly addressed to her:


Elly De Rippe, The Leaky Cauldron, Second Floor, Room #3.


She broke the seal and was astonished to see what was written on the first page.


۸-_-۸


HOGWARTS SCHOOL


of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY


England’s Premier School


Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore


(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,


Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Miss Rippe,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Because term began on 1 September, you will need to bring this letter with you to the school as soon as possible so that you do not fall any further behind in your studies.

Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress*


۸-_-۸


She stared at it, stunned. Could she work that to her advantage? Being in a school could potentially be of great service to her. It eliminated problems and provided a cover for her lack of knowledge about the culture.

First, though, she would need to get her supplies — the letter provided a list of necessary items. Most of them would be useful in blending in, no matter what she decided. 

After acquiring her books and other things, and storing them in a trunk, she hid herself in an alley. A unique alley, from her point of view. It was beside a place called Madam Puddifoot’s in a wizarding village named Hogsmeade — she thought floo-travel was remarkable for the distances it covered. And scary for how quickly and easily reinforcements could arrive at a beleaguered town or village.

She transformed into a brick overlay and waited for the ambient love to start slowly refilling her reserves as she again considered what she knew. And what she should do.

Wizards and witches — unlike ponies, she had discovered — did not congregate in public places like parks. Finding a place she could lurk, as she had in the Ponyville playpark, was almost impossible. Wizarding children and their parents, it appeared, were mostly solitary individuals. They stayed close to their families and rarely ventured in public in groups. The floo-network and apparition allowed them to live anywhere they wanted. The services ponies normally needed close at hand were mere steps away for these wizards and witches, even if they were on the other side of the country. There was no need for them to live in any given location such as a village or town. She hadn’t seen any foals just playing in groups while their parents watched. She hadn’t seen any place where that could even happen.

She had discretely asked in the tavern where young people met, and been answered with Hogwarts. It seemed Hogwarts was where young witches went to get their husbands. OWLs and NEWTs were secondary for most witches. The OWLs only proved they were competent house-keepers.

Wizards and witches, besides having an almost equal number, were the reverse of Equestria, she had discovered. Mares in Equestria ruled the homes and courted the stallions. And the stallions raised the families and actually ruled the homes. Here, the wizards courted the witches, and the witches were expected to care for the families — raising little wizards and witches was quite time consuming. Without a primary school, much of the education was left to the mothers or tutors.

When she had asked elsewhere about where unmarried wizards and witches went for some time together, the answers had been, naturally, sports, theatre, and restaurants, just as the ponies did. Parks and recreational areas like circuses were not mentioned, unfortunately.

The restaurants and theatres were what she wished to know more about. The restaurants first, as they were open daily. Theatres sometimes closed for weeks at a time, and had a limited amount of time they were open each day or night. Trying to hang around discretely at a theatre would be difficult. 

Then she had discovered that Madam Puddifoot’s was popular with the courting crowd.

Hence her current position. On a weekday, it wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. The weekends were what filled her reserves. Once she had the requisite skills in using a wand, she had planned to get a job as a server in that restaurant. That would put her closer to her food sources, and increase her take.

Once she understood how things worked in this world she would start a restaurant of her own using her Gringotts account. She didn’t care about making a profit, only enough to continue operations. Her real goal was acquiring the love she needed.

That had been her plan.

But this Hogwarts appeared to be an easier way, now.

Especially as her default form was no longer that of a quadruped changeling, with both horn and wings. That she was a biped sort of made sense, based on what the pony teachers had said. She just hadn’t expected to be considered so young.


۸-_-۸


Astonishingly, there was a new student at dinner on Saturday. 

Elly De Rippe was sorted into Hufflepuff. She was a quiet and bland girl, with black hair and blue eyes. She was, apparently, the last descendant of an ancient house that everyone thought had disappeared. At least that’s what the more knowledgeable pure-blood students claimed in the Common Room that night. But not a member of the Sacred Twenty-eight, as one snobbish Pureblood said, sniffing in disdain. 

Harry, and the other non-pure-blood students, learned that Hogwarts almost never had late arrivals. The girl must have only recently returned to England where the school could detect her, and the owls reach her. If she had been a week later, she would have had to wait until next September.

It was quite a noteworthy event. The gossip mill shot into full speed as they speculated on her history. For the pure-bloods, a lot of owls went out that night.

The Gryffindor Firsties were grateful that the school’s attention was no longer focused on them!

The following Monday, Harry learned from Parvati, who heard it from her sister Padma in Ravenclaw, who heard it from Sally-Anne in Hufflepuff, that Miss De Rippe’s parents had lived in Papua New Guinea and had planned to home-school her. In some areas, she already had a start on the practicals and was ahead of her peers. 

“Papua New Guinea is a notoriously difficult country for wizards and witches,” Susan had said, Parvati told them. “My Aunt, who is Head of Magical Law Enforcement, gave me a thorough world background before I came to Hogwarts,” Susan had informed everyone. “While the muggle native peoples there believe in magic, the muggle settlers do not.”

Miss Bones had continued, “Unfortunately, the natives frequently make accusations based on greed and local land politics. And mob rule frequently drives people from their homes. Being a non-native is not protection. Living there is like living when the Statute of Secrecy just started — wizards and witches are always at risk. I don’t know why any wizarding family would live there!”

She had added, “Of course, a real wizard or witch would never interfere if a muggle were to be falsely accused. It would only make him or her stand out. And break the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy.”

Elly had told the other Hufflepuffs, Parvati explained breathlessly, “A powerful and jealous wizard wanted revenge on his ‘intended’ for refusing his advances. He revealed her family as witches to the natives. He told them that that family was responsible for their poor crops the last two years — and not the poor weather.” The poor witch, according to Sally-Anne, had almost broken down in tears. “That condemned our entire wizarding village! The native muggles attacked and burned us out in the middle of the night. It was horrible!” their informant said the new witch had wailed.

“The Ministry Aurors arrived much too late,” Elly had continued. She had wiped her tears away and then blew her nose. “They were only concerned with hiding the event from the rest of the muggles, afraid the non-native muggles would realize that there are real wizards and witches. And break the Statute of Secrecy.” 

She had suddenly been mad. “Not that we could prove the wizard and his friends had brought down our protective charms and blocked our escape via floo or apparition. No, there was no evidence he had done anything illegal,” She had said bitterly, tears again running down her face.

“I left by muggle means,” Parvati had told them the Hufflepuff had said. “A friend of my parents helped me. She didn’t trust the ministry to not use me, the only child to survive, as a scapegoat. She thought they would say that I had let slip we were witches. That they would blame me for all the deaths and destruction.”

And that was why she had no records, belongings, or other adults with her. Her parents’ friend had used a wand Elly had found in the village’s wreckage that night, as the Aurors were obliviating everyone in sight, muggle or wizard. Poor match though it had been, the adult had been able to use the confundus charm on a couple at the seaport and on some papers to get her past customs. The friend didn’t dare do anything more. She was afraid if she did that the Ministry would notice and that they might link her to the incident.

Elly had only made it to England last week, and after weeks of travel with the couple, who thought her their niece. Her parents had claimed family lived in England. “She told me,” Elly had said, “To go to The Leaky Cauldron and then to Gringotts, and ask about my great-great-grandparents.”

All this, of course, was told to the Gryffindors in the most dramatic way possible by Parvati and Lavender.

And had garnered the little Firstie much sympathy from her dorm-mates, who had given her hugs and cuddled her all Sunday as the story slowly came out.

And they continued to cuddle the quiet girl and console her on her losses. By the end of the week, though, most of the school barely noticed the subdued new witch always in the middle of the Hufflepuff pack. 

Harry did notice, though, that she always sat with her back to them at the Hufflepuff table — which was beside the Gryffindors. She was always almost close enough to touch whichever of them sat across from him. 

The Ravenclaws had the dubious honour of being beside the Slytherins. That put the Slytherins and Gryffindors at opposite sides of the Great Hall. 

The Firsties were always seated closest to the Head Table, with the senior Prefect for their House beside them. The better for the adults to keep an eye on the excitable new students, Harry thought. Still, rather than seating at random, the new Hufflepuff sat close to them. He couldn’t help but wonder if she wanted to be near The-Boy-Who-Lived, but she never seemed to acknowledge him. She never even looked at him directly.

And in their shared classes she had eyes only for the three fillies.


۸-~-۸


On Thursday afternoon the magistrate repeated what he had said at the beginning of the trial, “At the Her Majesty’s Government’s request the evidence and testimony for this Crown Court trial will be held private for the protection of both the accused and the victim. The victim, as the court understands, is an under-age boy currently under the protection of Her Majesty’s Government at an undisclosed location.” He looked sternly at the two people in the dock. “Is that clear? The charge and the verdict will not be made public for a time of not less than twenty years.” 

He scanned the nearly empty court-room. The only people present were the defendants, lawyers, Harry’s Social Services caseworker, and Castor, who was sitting quietly in the back. And the courtroom staff, of course.

“Do you have anything to say before sentence is passed?” The magistrate stared at the couple.

Castor hoped and prayed that the oaf in the dock and his wife would keep their silence.

In an effort to save time, and prevent publicity, the two accused were being tried at the same time. Fortunately for the wife, the cases were to be judged separately.

The woman, Petunia Dursley, glanced at her over-weight husband and nervously licked her lips as she shook her head. Her solicitor had insisted that she not object to the sentence. He had managed to secure what he considered a very generous plea deal, given the rather convincing evidence. A deal that included her getting to see her son on a regular basis. And the possibility of an early release if she behaved properly and showed contrition.

Both she and Castor, though, were worried about Vernon’s reaction. Vernon had a very quick temper, and tended not to keep it under control. Her husband had agreed to shoulder most of the blame for the boy’s treatment. He did love his wife and son, after all. It was just that freak that upset him so, didn’t he? If it would help her and his son, then he would gladly take the brunt of the sentencing. But he didn’t have to like the situation, did he now? It was, as he said, “All that freak’s fault!”

The couple had listened to the evidence the Crown prosecutors had placed in front of the magistrate for the last week. It had been very damning. Vernon had looked close to exploding several times, his complexion approaching that of a beet at times, but he had held his tongue.

If you considered her nephew as a normal boy, it was looked very bad for the two Dursleys, didn’t it? And she could see how others who didn’t know the truth would consider them to be awful parents.

Castor hoped his presence at the back of the court would remind the man of the stakes and mitigate his temper. It had worked, so far.

The defence barristers had cited the stressfulness of the situation and the lack of oversight from the government. They had tried to place the blame for the two’s abusive treatment of the boy on the government’s ineptitude. Their argument was simply that the government had failed in its charge of making sure the boy was in a proper home. He should never have gone to the Dursleys’ home. A casual interview any time after the first month would have revealed the situation before it escalated, and there should have been a stipend provided. The situation was entirely the Social Services’ fault and not their clients’.

In other words, they tried to claim mitigating circumstances.

Unfortunately for the defence, the prosecuting barristers had easily rebutted that argument — the Dursleys’ had, after all, signed the paperwork, hadn’t they? They had never complained to the Services, had they? They had never even complained to anyone other than their neighbours! And the couple had lied to their neighbours constantly about their nephew, Harry Potter. They had blamed him for things that clearly were the fault of their own child, Dudley.

The Crown had pointed out that the circumstances did not excuse the couple’s behaviour in the slightest. Many families were stressed with too many children and insufficient income, yet they did not take out their frustrations on one of the children in the manner the Dursleys had.

And the Dursleys had never contacted Social Services with the complaint that the child was a problem.

Vernon slowly stood up. 

Castor, already leaning forward, sat on the edge of his chair.

Petunia sighed and slumped in her chair.

“It was that freak’s fault,” he thundered. “That Dumbles freak left the boy on our doorstep like the milkman leaving a bad bottle of milk! He had no right to interfere in our lives! I wanted to take the boy immediately to Social Services! But ’Tuny was too soft-hearted, she convinced me we should keep the boy.” He said ‘boy’ as if it were worthy of his utmost disgust.

Vernon’s solicitor had moved to the dock in front of the custody officer and was pulling at Vernon’s arm frantically, trying to get him to shut up and sit back down. The over-weight man was clearly contradicting the verified paperwork submitted by Social Services. Vernon shook him off.

“Then it was too late, we couldn’t go back. The freaks wouldn’t let us! It’s not our fault at all. He’s a freak and the freaks wouldn’t let us go! We didn’t have a choice no more!”

Fortunately for everyone, Castor believed, Vernon’s solicitor finally got his attention. He urgently told him to shut up or he’d screw the whole deal for himself and his wife and son.

The grumbling and red-faced man sat back down. He stared at the magistrate mulishly, arms crossed angrily.

The magistrate frowned intensely. “Are you through?” he asked frostily. He knew the evidence clearly showed the despicable man to be lying.

Dursley gave him a clenched-teeth nod.

“Will the defendants please stand,” he said. Once they were, he said, “Mr. Vernon Dursley, I have never seen a case like this in my time on this bench. The sheer length of time the abuse occurred and that no one noticed it at all is breath-taking. Instead of being ashamed of your treatment of your nephew, you seem proud.” He continued in this vein for several minutes, outlining what he thought were the most damning pieces of evidence. He stopped and stared at the clearly unrepentant man. “In view of the circumstances and your refusal to acknowledge the wrongfulness of your part in it, I sentence you to the maximum of ten years. I wish it could be more, as you clearly are not a fit father or husband.”

Castor could see that Vernon could barely hold himself back as his face turned purple and his fists clenched. But he did.

The magistrate turned his attention to the other defendant. “Mrs. Vernon Dursely, Petunia Dursley, your part in this tragic situation is that of a facilitator. You allowed both your son and your husband to abuse your nephew when you could have reined them back. However, there are mitigating circumstances.” The judge glanced at the size difference between the two. “Your sentence is not more than four years.”

Petunia’s shoulders slumped, and she barely held back the tears and as she struggled to maintain her equilibrium.

The custody officers were already moving their charges out of the room. Mr Dursley was glaring at Castor hatefully. He clearly blamed the former sergeant for his predicament and had no intention of forgiving or forgetting.

The magistrate glanced at the Social Worker. “I sincerely hope that the services involved will take a good hard look at their procedures to prevent this sort of abuse in the future.”

Harry’s Social Worker nodded, but said nothing.

Castor leaned back in his chair, monumentally relieved that the case was finally over. They had dodged that bullet.

Now he only had to worry about the walrus of a man sounding off while in prison!


۸-~-۸


The weeks began to go by and the Gryffindor and Slytherin Firsties returned to their normal skin colours. The weeks were punctuated by either Neville’s melting a cauldron, three times, or Sweetie Belle’s potion doing the impossible, twice — once both at the same time. 

The first time, Sweetie Belle had given everyone donkey ears. Two weeks later it was squid tentacles for their tongues. Which scared the tartarus out of the other students every time the Firsties opened their mouths and hand-length tentacles shot out! It was loads of fun, especially at dinner, Harry thought.

Although, after coming over and carefully inspecting Harry’s set at their table, Myrtle had sighed and stepped back. “If only you were a few years older,” she had said, leaving them all puzzled. Several nearby older girls had spat out their pumpkin juice or started choking when she had said that. And then got some very creepy expressions, Harry thought.

The twins had exchanged startled looks, then grinned, and started looking out over Great Hall with even creepier expression.

The ears and tentacles, each, had even lasted through the change to ponies. That day Scootaloo had been especially fond of sneaking up to him and wrapping her tentacles around his pony ears — both sides at the same time. Finally, in the evening, he’d jumped up and hissed at her. And a tentacle war had erupted between them all. Five-to-one odds had ensured he lost. 

The other Gryffindors, and Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw witches, in the Common Room had all laughed hysterically at the sight.

A rare few had been creeped out at the cute little ponies with long tentacles shooting out of their mouths.

Afterwards, they had all collapsed into a pile in the middle of the Common Room. The witches had quickly taken advantage of their state by piling in, too. And appropriating a pony to pet and comb — not that any of the ponies minded the attention. It was very soothing, after all.

It had been fun, even if the entire school learned just how ticklish he was — and where.

Both changes had not lasted past Saturday’s breakfast. Which was kind of too bad for the tongue-to-tentacle change, Harry thought, as the way the older girls had jumped would have made for an ace joke for Halloween, which was coming fast.

On the other hoof, the twins seemed especially interested in the tentacles and spent hours making sure they understood what Sweetie Belle had done . . . .


۸-_-۸