I woke up cold—well, colder than I was used to. Lifting my head from the pillow reminded me that I was definitely still a little not-unicorn. The only light in the room came from repeated flashes from my left.
"Loo-mos!"
My head snapped around, following the path my ears had taken. It was definitely a spell, though I couldn't feel any magic being expended.
"Very good, now try it with your will." Hermione's voice was clear as day. She was teaching someone magic, and I could guess who.
"Loo-mos!" Addera's voice was clear and warm, and this time I felt a tingle run through me from my tail to my horn—definitely in my horn. Silver-white light filtered into the air, though if I had to guess there was something smothering it.
Hiding under your blankets and casting spells was probably something every witch and wizard has done, if only so as not to annoy others with flashes of light.
A shiver ran through me. If I was cold, everyone was probably cold. Shoving and bucking my way to the edge of the bed, I dropped to the floor with barely a clatter of split hooves on hard stone.
The room was a blur around me, and the light of Addera's spells was tempting to approach, but I doubted either of them would notice the cold until they were frozen. So I made my way to the end of the ward and looked at the fireplace. Possibilities swarmed in my head. I could cast a big fire spell, but with nothing to burn it would only last as long as my magic did—and I didn't want to risk hurting myself again for something stupid.
The woodbox beside the fireplace held a few small pieces, but they wouldn't do much good for long. I needed a big fire. Big… fire…
"You're an idiot, Harry Potter," I said. "Couldn't even stop Voldemort and Sombra? Never mind almost dying at least half a dozen times."
Opening wounds was easy, getting angry at them was harder. None of the jabs really held the fire I needed to become a fire… horse. Then a face came to me, and with that face I noticed the brickwork I could actually see became crystal clear.
"Dudley, you stupid, ignorant, useless waste of food." I stepped into the fireplace and watched a flicker of blue-red light illuminate it. "And Vernon! Just one birthday present that wasn't Dudley's old socks would have been nice. A closet under the stairs? What kind of idiots think—"
A rush of power engulfed me and I watched light splash out into the room. Okay, getting angry was the easy bit. Now I just needed to stay angry.
"And Marge!" I could remember her beating me with her walking stick. Fresh anger filled me to the point where I had to move. Pacing back and forth in the fireplace, I barely noticed the movement of little shapes approaching.
"He's the one who saved you all!"
Tourmaline's voice caused my vision to snap around and focus on her. Everything was so perfectly sharp in such a little pool of vision.
"Is he meant to be on fire?"
"He's really warm. Warmer than the beds here."
"Of course he's meant to be on fire. He probably came up here because he was cold." Tourmaline curled up and folded her legs as she lay down close to the hearth. "He zapped all those nasty helmets off you. Zap! Zap! Zap! Zap!"
"Really? Cool!"
I could feel my anger simmering down and my fire waning. "A cupboard! But that wasn't the worst of it!" I stomped around in a circle and turned my anger in on itself. "Mr. Peters! What was so special about algebra? I don't even have to do maths now!"
The teachers from primary school were an endless source of anger. I paced back and forth chanting a litany of names and ascribed all of my life's problems to them.
I can't remember the exact person I was ascribing my problems to at the time, but as I turned I saw a bright flicker of color play on the walls of the infirmary ward. Yellow, red, blue, even orange flickered and glowed. It took me a few moments to connect the pretty display to my flame refracting through the foals' bodies.
They hadn't seemed so crystal-like before, but now I could practically see the facets in their bodies catch the light. I was so surprised about it that my anger cooled along with my coat.
That's when I noticed one of the foals had a tiny pair of wings on their back. My flames completely snuffed out as I became more curious than upset.
The filly (not sure how, but she definitely had an air of female to her looks) lifted her head and looked back at me. "Did you run out of fire?"
It was a simple way of looking at it. It was easier to get angry than stay angry, and both were easier to do than stop being angry. Life was going to be complicated. "Yeah, but the stones are still warm here."
When she fluffed her wings and stood up, I saw shimmering blue light play through each crystalline feather. She walked closer and sniffed at the hearth of the fire. "It's a bit hot for a normal pony, but it doesn't bother me. I'm Tanzanite."
I was about to reply when another foal stood up. Like me, the colt had that look of maleness that made it impossible to call him anything but colt. "I'm Zircon."
Having just spent a good ten minutes cursing how useless my geology class had been, I now found a use for it. "Are you all named after gemstones?"
"Well, yeah. All crystal ponies are. My mum said I could pick a new name when I'm bigger and know what I want to be." The colt looked up at me (which wasn't hard given he wasn't too much smaller than me) and tilted his head to the side. "You're warm. Can you lay down?"
The renewed darkness of the room made the prospect of more sleep a tempting one. I carefully folded my legs and sat, then lay down. Tanzanite and Zircon were quick to cuddle up against me, and it seemed to startle the others awake too.
With the warmth of stones heated by my own flames, I felt sleep rushing back up to me. The added warmth of five smaller bodies crowding around me made my decision to get some more rest easier still.
Tourmaline lifted a forehoof up and pressed it to my nose. "Thank you, Harry Potter."
Percy Ignatius Weasley was not sleeping well, and by not sleeping well he was staring at the ceiling of his single room, as was afforded to students in their sixth and seventh years.
Clammy skin, fast breathing, and wide open eyes were not quite characteristic of someone trying to seek sleep. Fortunately for Percy, he wasn't. The whole day had been wasted without any work done at all, and he'd had to ask to be excused from hallway monitoring because he feared the darkness.
For the first time in the young man's life, shadows were a thing of terror. Every time he looked into a shadow—into darkness—he saw those eyes staring back at him.
There were two candles burning in the room, and Percy stared at the light pattern they made on the ceiling above his bed. Each flicker and twitch of the flames made his pulse quicken in fear that they would go out—that's why he had two.
His rest the previous night had been non-existent, despite his actually having been asleep, and now it was the early hours of the morning and he still had no surcease from panic, but something started nibbling at his resolve.
Percy's left eye twitched, then the right. From one harried breath to the next the unconscious part of the man's mind twitched and finally managed to pull him under.
"There you are. You've been avoiding me."
The words were like fire in Percy's mind. He felt them scorch his thoughts and rip at his attention. "W-W-What do you want?" Pain lanced through Percy. Dark flames licked around his face and neck and he barely managed to shout, "Your Majesty!"
"Good. You have much to learn. You know why I found you, don't you, Percy Weasley?"
"B-B-Because I—" Percy struggled for a reason that would appease The King. He shook his head. "I don't know, Your Majesty."
"Knowing when to admit failure is an admirable trait in one who serves. I wouldn't know when to correct you if all you spouted was platitudes. Percy, I chose you because I smelled desire for power."
"N-No! I don't want power!"
"Oh no. I know that. You want to serve power."
The truth of the words stung Percy's consciousness. He wasn't the greatest wizard in the world and never would be, but if he found someone who was, if he aligned himself with the powerful, he would be powerful too.
"Well?"
"Yes, Your Majesty." The words cost Percy Weasley everything to say. It burned at parts of his soul he wasn't aware he had. It stung, but it was the most wonderful feeling to finally be able to admit it. "I want to serve someone powerful. I want that power. I want—"
"You are safe, Percy Weasley. I am power. There are things I want, however. Things I need."
The eyes looked deep into Percy and he felt them see everything—as they had the previous night. "A-Anything! Anything, Your Majesty!"
"A book. I need it. It has words printed on it in your language, but those are unimportant. It is very magical, and you will know it because a soul inhabits it. Find that book, fetch that book, bring me that book. Once you do, Percy Weasley, you will know power unlike any you have seen before."
Percy jerked awake with the feel of something wrapping around his head—straps. "What was that?"
Laying in bed—laying in a sweat-soaked bed—Percy felt the dream play out in his mind. Whenever he thought of the book The King needed, an image of it danced through his mind. The book throbbed more and more.
Percy lasted nearly a whole minute with the drumming need in his head before he jerked out of bed and stumbled upright. "Book." Moving helped lessen the pain. Percy pulled on his uniform and stumbled out of his room.
The halls and stairs of Gryffindor tower were tricky to navigate at the best of times, but something about the book in his mind's eye made it easier. Each step he took—a moment before he took it—felt either closer or further away from the book. Every step he took closer meant the throbbing in his head got weaker. Percy made haste through the tower and out into the common areas of Hogwarts.
Each right step made Percy's head ease, but each wrong one cast him back into the most blinding of pain. With barely any light coming through the windows of the castle, he managed to stumble and stagger all the way to the hospital wing of Hogwarts castle.
Taking a deep breath and shoving the pain in his head away as best he could, Percy stepped into the hospital wing with as much of the prefect he was as he could muster.
"What do we have here? What have you done, young man?" Madam Pomfrey asked.
Percy froze like a deer in headlights. He stared at the woman and lost most of his swagger. She knows, part of Percy shouted, She knows and she'll—
"You're Percy Weasley? I expect you'll want to see the book." Dressed impeccably in her nurse's uniform, Madam Pomfrey almost decided that Percy was meant to be a patient. "Are you alright, dear? Had a rough night's sleep? I can give you something to help with that if you'd like?"
"B-Book…"
"Of course, you must be stricken. Follow me."
Percy felt the most wonderful relief when he followed the nurse. Every step was bliss, and more since he could feel the book was close. He wanted it, his king needed it. King? No. Book.
"Just in here. I believe Miss Granger is taking care of her. Poor dears. Make sure you don't use any magic now." The moment Madam Pomfrey turned around, she started her watch counting.
Waiting for the moment the nurse was out of the room, Percy stumbled the last few steps toward the bed she'd indicated. Everything felt right. The image of the book was huge in his mind—crowding out other thoughts. Reaching down, Percy began to search the bed while avoiding its occupant.
All sorts of contraband that Percy would normally confiscate without question was scattered among the young woman's robes hanging beside the bed, but he ignored it all when he felt his prize. An almost opiate bliss settled over Percy as his fingers felt the shape of a small book in one of the pockets.
Quickly, Percy rifled through the robe to find the pocket that contained the book and he had it. It was in his hand and everything became clear. His king wanted the book—such a simple task. Percy smiled as all the pain eased and he could think clearly again.
Touching—feeling—the book revealed something curious. It had the words his king had mentioned, but the letters felt familiar. G I N E V R A—
Percy froze.
Looking down at the book in his hands, Percy read his little sister's name on the cover.
"…a soul inhabits it."
"G-G-Ginny." The book fell open in Percy's hand. He stared as ink began to flow over the blank page.
Who's there? Hermione? Harry? Ron?
Percy dropped the book, closed on the floor, and turned away.
The pain was blinding. Percy almost fell into his bedroom with a crash as all the books in his arms hit the floor. "Book—"
Pulling the door closed behind him, Percy quickly covered the windows with his heaviest curtains and collapsed onto the pile of literature he'd scattered. The pain was burning a hole in his head now, but he couldn't follow it, he wouldn't follow it.
The eyes were back.
"The book."
Percy was awake, but the voice of his king was impossible to resist. He bit into the meat of his hand to not scream in fear.
"You didn't bring it, yet you are alive. Why?"
"The book's Ginny! The book's GINNY!" Tears poured down Percy's face and he clamped his eyelids closed, yet still he could see the glowing orbs of his king's eyes. "She's my sister!"
"Percy?"
Sombra crushed down on the ghost in his own head. He slammed her away from all her senses and locked her in a box again.
"Ginny?" Percy's head jerked up and his eyes scanned the dark room for his little sister. "Ginny was that you?"
"I assure you it was not. This, Percy, was a test."
Percy stared ahead, his eyes full of red, green, and black flames. "A test? I failed?"
"No. This was a test of loyalty, there was no way to fail it. You chose the loyalty of another, but it showed me that you have that quality at all."
Hope rekindled in Percy's heart. He lifted his head and managed a smile. "I didn't fail?"
"No, Percy, you just revealed what loyalties I need to fix."
"I didn't need your help, but your knowledge is proving useful, Ginevra. Not only is your brother proving quite malleable, but he has a core of loyalty that will prove advantageous once I twist it a little." Sombra stood barely a hoofswidth from the barrier ward.
With all his magic bent toward controlling the helmeted crystal ponies currently blasting the wards from within, he had nothing to spare on either the banishing of Ginny's ghost or adjusting her former body more to his liking.
"Not talking?" Sombra asked.
Ginny wasn't sure when the cage around her mental self had eroded enough for her to leave, but it was now. "What are you doing to him?"
"Your brother has four wonderful traits that put him above those other two-legged beasts. He is smart, he is loyal, he is ambitious, and he is mine." Sombra turned side on to the wards and started pacing slowly. "The fact that he is inside these wards only makes things better. My minions will rip this wall down eventually, and when they do nothing will stop me remaking all these two-legged beasts into fine warriors."
"Why are you doing this? And how did you find out about him?" Ginny felt cold. The chill of Sombra's mind was the kind that burned, and the realization she was being used as a weapon against her family made it burn colder still.
"You know, Ginevra, the little voices in your head that debate the proper course of action? We all have them, but since you are in here with me I can hear yours." Sombra turned and paced back the opposite direction. "As for why? Why does the flame burn but to burn more? Power derives from power."