//------------------------------//
// 102 — Deceiving Appearances 
// Story: If Wishes were Ponies . . . . 
// by tkepner 
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The Searles had just finished breakfast with the Royal sisters. They also had watched them switch the Moon in the sky for the Sun — again — and it still left them thunderstruck. There was no slow gradual dawn here. It went from the dark of night to early morning in a few moments. How the ponies had even developed the concept of twilight, the soft glowing light from the sky when the sun is just below the horizon but full night is not in place, they could not figure out.

The physics of the situation left Castor gobsmacked. He knew a bit about astronomy, enough to know that flat worlds were impossible. Anything natural over a certain size, a hundred kilometres or so, would collapse to a globe shape. Gravity did not allow any other choices. 

Unless it had been built. 

And the science to do that might as well be called magic. And then moving the Sun and moon to create night and day? It made his head hurt just to contemplate it.

There were two ponies waiting in the corridor for the Searles when they returned to their rooms.

It was Prince Blueblood and . . . Castor had to think a moment. Then he realized it was a pony named Fancy Pants, whom he had met the night before. And he was as pristinely dressed now as he had been then, if a bit less formal.

“Good morning, gentleponies,” the fancily outfitted stallion said as they approached. “I’m Fancy Pants. You might remember me from last night?” He smiled, his thin moustache quivering slightly. “I was hoping I might be able to meet with you this morning, if you aren’t already engaged?”

Unsure of what was going on, Castor said, “Of course,” and nodded back at the monocle-wearing white unicorn. “We hadn’t anything planned except to perhaps take a bit of a walk around Canterlot. It looks absolutely beautiful.” His wife and daughter nodded.

Fancy Pants exchanged a look with Blueblood. “Why, I would be happy to show you around our beautiful capital, if you don’t mind.” He actually looked like he would be happy to accompany them.

The Searles exchanged looks. Milada just shrugged ever so slightly. Castor looked back at Fancy and said, “I don’t see why not. It would save us having to ask the concierge about a guide. Just give us a moment or two to grab our saddlebags.”

“And freshen up,” added his wife.

“I want my camera,” said Thalia.

The Searles entered the main part of their suite. 

Fancy Pants, still in the corridor, turned to Blueblood and said, “Thank you for escorting me, Prince Blueblood. I am in your debt.”

The blonde-maned unicorn nodded. “Nonsense. You would have done the same for me. And I am Ambassador to the United Kingdom, so it could be considered one of my duties,” he said, with a slight sniff at the end.

Fancy Pants tut-tutted, “Don’t be like that Prince Blueblood. We are friends, after all.”

“Hmm, yes,” Blueblood said with a slight smile. “Well, I will see you later, Fancy.” He turned and trotted off.

Fancy Pants shook his head slightly. “That stallion,” he muttered. He turned to look at Castor inside the suite. “I will wait out here until you are ready.” His magic grabbed the door and pulled it closed.

It was almost fifteen minutes later when they re-joined the blue-maned unicorn. The Searles all had their saddlebags. His daughter, on a whim, had decided to wear her necklace from last night. His wife had decided to continue the match with the bracelet. He refused to let them put the hair-band on his tail.

And Fancy Pants was as good as his word, giving them a delightful guided tour of the interesting and magnificent parts of the city. While he might not have been a practiced guide, he certainly knew the history of his city. And where to find the most picturesque parts, for which Thalia was quite pleased and thankful.

Castor was glad he had brought so much film!

The pictures his daughter was taking would be treated as gold, he knew, by the intelligence agents at home. And he would spend hours being grilled on each of them.

They were having lunch at a restaurant that Castor knew was far out of his price-range as a Warrant Officer in Her Majesty’s service. It wasn’t that he was an expert at translating pounds to bits, but the décor of the place just screamed money. That and the fact that the menus didn’t display prices — at all.

He watched as Fancy Pants delicately suggested plates that he thought they might like. And that didn’t require a lot of dexterity to consume. It was quite thoughtful of him. And showed that he had done more than cursory research before approaching them. Castor would need to watch what he divulged.

For someone Castor had expected to be a stuck-up gob, the pony was actually quite warm and personable. Ponyable?

After the waitress took the order, Castor turned to the unicorn and said, “So, what was it you wanted to discuss with us?” He raised his eyebrows.

Fancy Pants smiled. “Ah, yes,” he said, sitting back. The pony studied him for a moment. “You aren’t a diplomat, are you?”

Castor snorted as his wife smirked. “Not hardly. I earn my pay.”

Fancy Pants smirked back. “I’m sure you do.” He paused. “You strike me as someone who is or was in the military.”

Castor smiled back. Fancy Pants wasn’t a poof in a suit pretending he did useful things. He was an astute observer, and had the brains to know what he was seeing. Which reinforced the point that Castor needed to be careful what he said.

Castor leaned back, too. “Twenty years on both ends of the pointy stick.”

“Hmm. Yes. I can believe that.” His eyes flicked over him. “Even being a stranger to wings and four legs, you carry yourself well.”

They stared at each other. His wife and daughter watched. His daughter very interested because she had never seen her father like this, and his wife because she had rarely seen it, as well.

“To the point then,” Fancy Pants said leaning forward. “Your daughter’s necklace. Is that what it looks like? Aluminium? Might I inspect it?”

Startled at where this was going — aluminium? — Castor looked at his daughter. She looked back, just as surprised, but then took off the necklace — which was really weird to watch when she didn’t have fingers. She draped the necklace across her hoof and held it out to him.

His magic lifted it up and brought it close to him. He studied the wire-work carefully through his monocle. “Such intricate work. So light.”

“Yes, it is aluminium,” Castor said, confirming the stallion’s guess.

His wife put her hoof on the table, the bracelet very visible above her hoof. “As is this,” she said.

Fancy Pants leaned across the table, then said, “May I?”

At her nod, he unclasped the bracelet and studied it up close.

He sighed, and looked at Castor. “And such things,” he waved at the bracelet and necklace, “are common?”

Castor nodded, still not sure what was going on.

Fancy Pants looked at him very seriously. “Pure aluminium is very rare in Equestria. And expensive.”

Castor felt his eyebrows go up. He saw his daughter’s and wife’s eyebrows go up.

“I take it you aren’t wealthy?”

Castor shook his head mutely.

The unicorn sighed. “These two pieces are worth double your per annum.”

The Searles stared at him in shock.

“How much are they in your world?”

He and his wife looked at their daughter.

She stared back, then said, shakily, “Ten pounds.” She looked at the pony. “That includes the hair-band.”

He tilted his head at her.

“Mane or tail piece, I guess you would say,” Castor put in. “And make that ten bits instead of pounds. Maybe twenty if my per annum is lower than the normal yearly-wage for a worker here in Equestria.”

Fancy slowly nodded. “If I wanted to import, say, your weight in aluminium what would it cost me?”

Castor shrugged. “As ingots? I weigh about ninety-one kilos, so maybe three or four hundred pounds.” He sighed. “Given that your bits are solid gold, from what I’ve seen, and the current price of gold in my world? About three or four bits.”

Fancy Pants swayed where he sat, and for a moment Castor worried he would faint.

After a moment of blinking his eyes and staring out the window, he turned back to Castor’s daughter. “So if I offered you a bit for these two pieces of jewellery . . . .”

“Three,” she said automatically, “they’re a set with the hair-band.”

He stared at her a moment. “. . . three pieces of jewellery, you would consider that a steal as it would be two-hundred and twenty of your pounds?”

She nodded, stunned at the amount.

He looked at Castor. “I wanted to verify my suspicions, and ask you, if it was feasible, to arrange to sell me some aluminium directly. But this!” He leaned back. “An unscrupulous individual could make millions off the price discrepancy between our worlds.”

It was at that moment the waitress returned with their food.

Not a word was spoken until she left.

He stared at Castor. “How do we do this without either of us looking like we’re cheating each other, or the government?”

He turned and stared out the window. Then started to absentmindedly eat.

They slowly started on their own lunches, each lost in their own thoughts.

Finally, after the waitress asked them if they wanted a dessert — they didn’t — Fancy Pants said to Castor, “If I offer you twenty-seven bits per . . . kilo?” He tilted his head slightly in query.

Castor nodded.

“. . . which would give us both the same profit margin,” the pony continued, “at the current prices for the metals — nine-hundred and ninety-eight percent. If your numbers are accurate.” Twenty-seven gold coins drifted out of a pocket in his coat and formed three stacks in front of Thalia.

He looked at Castor. “We shall call this a proof of concept. A trial at metal trading across the portal.”

Castor nodded as his daughter and wife stared at him, wide-eyed.

“As aluminium becomes more available, the price will drop precipitously, so every exchange we do will have to be recalculated. But I think the price will go up before it comes down,” Fancy Pants continued.

Castor nodded again. “I think we need to get the governments involved in this. There may be other repercussions of which we know nothing.”

Fancy Pants nodded. “Yes.”

“In the meantime,” Castor said, “Why don’t you consider the two pieces here and the one back in the room as presents, and a down payment on the kilo of aluminium you just purchased.” He looked at his daughter, who was still staring at the twenty-seven gold coins as if mesmerized. “You don’t mind, do you, honey?”

She shook her head wordlessly.

There were only a few more places Fancy Pants felt they should see. And with business successfully concluded, to both their profits, he thought, it was as an even more cheerful guide. It wasn’t until mid-afternoon that they returned to the suite at the castle. And delivered the third piece of the set to their new owner.

And even if the rest of the deal fell through, neither party would feel cheated.


۸-_-۸


The last Wizengamot of the year was normally a deadly-dull event. Usually, one after another of the aged members stood up. Each old fart talked about all the great things he had accomplished in the Wizengamot that year. And how wizardkind simply would not have had such successful a year without his inestimable and vital assistance. And so on, and so forth.

If it weren’t for the time-limit of ten minutes, the unstoppable train of member-after-member would have lasted well into the next day! If you included time-outs for dining and sleeping, it would easily have consumed the rest of the year, as well! As it was, it would take nearly all day.

This Monday, however, Dumbledore threw the train entirely off the tracks with the announcement of Sirius’ trial, and the reasons for it. There was some resistance, but as the trial was so sudden, those who were opposed to his release did not have the time to organize an effective campaign to declare him guilty, outright. And given the probable consequences described by the Chief Warlock if they tried to delay, the others were not of a mind to try to postpone the trial until next year. After all, they were convinced that Sirius Black was guilty of murder many times over. To let him go was unconscionable!

And, for almost all of the Wizengamot members, the spectre of a hostile Ministry imprisoning themselves or their heirs without a trial, or any legal recourse, was a weapon they did not want to hand to their enemies. Meaning, the trial had to be held immediately.

As Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Amelia Bones had had the remainder of Saturday and all of Sunday to marshal the evidence against Sirius Black. To say it was not much was a drastic understatement. Looking only at the evidence gathered at the scene, and discounting “popularly known” facts, it was clear that they had arrested Black simply because he was the only wizard in sight when they arrived. She, naturally, picked the best defence solicitor she knew and asked him to represent Sirius.

The sheer lack of evidence was a fatal flaw for the prosecution. The prosecution could only show that the wizard was at the scene, laughing, and seemed to be confessing to killing the muggles. The weight of the defence’s arguments — his wand having only miscellaneous spells, no wizard witnesses, the victim leaving behind only a finger — raised the bar even higher. Having him swear on his life and magic that he was not a Death Eater and that he had never supported the wizard known as Voldemort had been particularly convincing.

There could only be one decision from the court, despite Sirius Black’s opponents. The vote for his innocence was, for once, clearly based entirely on evidence and for the common good of all wizards. The more cynical observers noted that it was probably more of the old families trying to protect their own interests than any real belief in the accused’s innocence or guilt. In any case, the vote was nearly unanimous. The only guilty votes were from members that everyone knew hated the wizard, or his family, and who didn’t care what the evidence said.

A substantial amount of galleons were given to the wizard as compensation for his sufferings while in Azkaban, with the additional promise that all medical expenses would be covered by the Ministry for as long as necessary.

After the trial, no one was interested in making speeches to the other members. They only wanted to spin the story to the press that they had known all along of the wizard’s innocence, but that no one would listen to them. Or decrying how corrupt the Ministry was in allowing an innocent wizard from such an old and noble family to be sent to Azkaban.

Sirius, himself, was not heard from afterwards, as he was hustled directly from the courtroom to a private room at St. Mungo’s.

Albus and Twilight joined him a bit later, to assess for themselves his mental and physical state. And to bring him up-to-date on Harry Potter’s situation.

And, for once, the Daily Prophet printed the entire transcript of the trial, with wordy descriptions and pictures of his pensieve memories of what had happened.

The whole country, indeed, much of the world, was appalled at the injustice that had been dealt the poor wizard.

Naturally, there were those on both sides of the political spectrum who were unhappy with Sirius Black’s release, Albus knew. He could only hope his more stubborn allies would gradually understand that the wizard was not his parents. And that he wouldn’t necessarily follow the path his family had staked out over the centuries.


۸-_-۸


On Monday, Bright Star told Top Marks that a favourite aunt on her late father’s side had taken ill and was in a Manehattan hospital. She wanted to take several weeks off. Naturally, he gave her the leave of absence. “Are you sure you don’t want to go immediately?” he said.

“No. She’s quite old. We think it’s her time to go. The doctors say it will be several weeks, so I have time to set things here in order. No reason to leave you in the lurch.” She had smiled sadly.

He took it hook, line, and sinker.

Late that afternoon, she went through the portal. The guards were used to her carrying almost everything she owned when she travelled. They didn’t notice that this time she had only a fifth of her savings with her, and a fifth of the gems.

She went to Diagon Alley via the Embassy floo. Instead of heading directly to Ollivander’s — she had told Top Marks she wanted to discuss something with the old wand-maker — She ducked into an alley between two shops and changed her hair colour while darkening her skin to a nice tan. She took out two bits and concentrated, wand in hand, slowly changing the bits into galleons, and siphoning off the excess gold into a ring.

Then she headed a bit farther into the Alley, and rented a room for a month. As soon as the landlord left, she emptied her saddlebags of the bits, gems, and some of her books. A notice-me-not kept them out-of-mind. Then she went back into the alley, pausing to revert her appearance.

A few minutes later, she was inviting the old wand-maker to dinner to discuss wands.

It was a delightful dinner, if more than a bit different from what she was used to eating. But she needed to adapt, and she took careful note of how Ollivander ordered and what. He answered many of her questions about dining before they segued into wand lore.

Several hours after the shift-change, she returned to the portal. The new guards never noticed her saddlebags were quite a bit lighter than they had been. It helped that most of her trips were during the day-shift and these guards were unused to her habits, although they knew of her.

On Tuesday afternoon she again visited Diagon Alley. This time she visited the Truckle’s Trunks. And, over dinner and after several hours discussing expansion charms and their little quirks, she suggested Truckle contact the Equestrian Embassy about setting up a shop in Ponyville.


۸-_-۸


Harry stared at his mum from his chair at the table in the kitchen. 

For once, he was alone. It was several days after the Ball. Ginny and Myrtle were off somewhere talking about, as Myrtle had gigglingly put it, “girly stuff.” Apple Bloom was helping her sister, just as Sweetie Belle was helping her sister. Scootaloo was off helping Rainbow Dash perfect her latest manoeuver. Percy was in his room, making notes, he said. Ron had decided to visit Fluttershy because he missed his pet rat, Scabbers. 

And no one knew where the twins were. Or what they were doing. It made Harry a bit nervous when he thought about that, so he tried not to think about it. It was a lot like trying not to think about an elephant. 

Harry was polishing off an afternoon snack.

He was just glad the four hadn’t been grounded for trying to get their brewers’ cutie marks. It wasn’t even their fault, really. They had been helping Berry Punch prepare her latest batch of beer for the tavern. Nobody had ever told them you could over-brew beer enough for it to catch fire. The sap sealing the barrels staves hadn’t helped.

Berry had taken most of the blame, saying that she had miscalculated the time the beer had been fermenting. The adults had mostly managed to disguise their dismay at that admission, which lessened the CMC’s planned punishment. Harry had been looking at Applejack at the time, and she was always just a bit slower at hiding her true feelings where the Cutie Mark Crusaders were concerned. The adults must have been hoping to give a punishment that would prevent any “crusading” until the students returned to Hogwarts.

The fermentation had been a bit longer than Berry had thought — by a month. Or maybe two. She couldn’t decide if the date on the side of the barrel they had decanted was ten, eleven, or twelve — she had been a bit less than sober when she had written it.

Fortunately, they had managed to save the barrels they had set aside earlier that day to start fermenting. And Sweetie Belle, cold sober, had written the date on them.

Well, at least the fire had happened before Berry Punch could salt the beer, so they hadn’t wasted any ingredients. And only one of the storage rooms had been a complete loss.

And they did get a stomping ovation from the Weasley twins. Ginny, Percy, and Myrtle had merely been stunned silent at the sight of the conflagration.

The speed with which mum had put down their next cutie mark crusade suggestion, to set up a foundry, had been truly impressive. And loud. And seconded by the other adults even louder. 

That had led to mum declaring Wednesday as a “day to relax instead of crusade.”

Several ponies had asked just when it was that the students would be returning to their school. Hearing that it was less than five days away had made them inordinately happy. He knew there were at least two intending to celebrate the event.

But, at the moment, Harry was staring at his mum, who had a most curious expression. She hadn’t been in the kitchen a second ago. In fact, he had thought she was on the other side of the castle. Then she had slid past him from behind, slowly spinning while sitting. He turned and looked behind him. Nothing but an apparently solid wall. The door to the side was still closed. He looked back at her. She had stopped spinning.

She looked at him, and frowned.

He raised an eyebrow.

She shrugged. “I was in the Map Room, on my throne,” she said thoughtfully. “There’re two gems on the arm that didn’t used to be there. I pushed one. The throne slid back a bit and dumped me on a slide.” She blinked. “And here I am.”

She stood and started for the door. 

Harry quickly followed.

Ten minutes later Harry bumped lightly against his mum, stopping the rest of his spin.

They were both sitting in the kitchen, again.

He looked up at her. “I wonder where the other button goes?”

Harry might have had a chance at keeping up if she hadn’t flown up the staircase. As it was, he reached the door just in time to see her disappear into the floor, again.

He had barely sat in the throne before he punched the other gem — and landed with a plop in his mum’s lap on the library reading couch a few seconds later.

They looked around the room, contemplating. He leaned back and looked up at her. “Do you think the other thrones all go to the same places?”

It was another race to the throne room. This time they both teleported. She still beat him.

Rainbow’s throne had a single button. Fortunately, mum decided she should go first. She was hovering, ready to catch him, when he shot out of a wall into the air three stories up.

Pinkie’s had two buttons. One went to the kitchen, and dropped them right in between the baking supplies and the oven, in front of a table. The other went to the deep end of a swimming pool. 

Harry didn’t even know they had a swimming pool in the castle. Neither did his mum, apparently. The castle was still evolving, it seemed. Maybe. Perhaps. 

But why did this make him think of the Sisters’ Castle and the twins?

Applejack’s led to the kitchen and the front door. Fluttershy’s led to the garden. Rarity’s, naturally, went to a sewing room — which was how they discovered the castle had a sewing room. Spike’s ran to either his room or the kitchen.

“Well,” his mum said, and slowly walked around the table and looked at each throne carefully. “That is certainly new.” She looked up at Harry who sat on Pinkie’s throne. “I wonder why those were added?” She glanced around the room. “Those buttons weren’t on the thrones before today or we would have noticed.”

Harry just grinned at her and punched the button. He heard her sigh as he disappeared into the tunnel on his way to the pool.

That evening, after dinner, Filthy Rich arrived with a contract. And a bag of bits.

When he left, the twins were more than a tad gobsmacked. And two thousand bits richer.

A thousand of those bits gave Rich exclusive marketing rights in Equestria to the twins’ gender-changing candies. With a pre-paid order for a thousand pieces that lasted for an hour each. As the first order.

With the hint that the next order could be ten thousand pieces if sales took off as he expected.

The twins were having problems believing there were that many pranksters who would be interested in their candies. They were thrilled at the order, but still puzzled.

Myrtle just laughed at them, and refused to explain. They were, after all, only thirteen and just discovering that girls could be interesting outside of the Quidditch field. Myrtle, naturally, had almost fifty years’ experience as an “observer of the human condition.” 

She laughed louder and longer each time they asked.

Twilight, who was over-seeing the transaction, turned bright red during the discussions after Rich left. She, too, refused to explain why the candies could be so popular. She just muttered, “You’ll find out when you get older.”

And Sweetie Belle, when she was given her percentage the following day, realized she — and by extension, Apple Bloom, Scootaloo, and Harry — were rich. The CMC would never have to worry about needing a job.

She knew exactly why the candies would be popular. And she, too, refused to educate the twins on why their candies would make them rich beyond their imaginations. 

Which made Myrtle laugh even harder.


۸-_-۸