//------------------------------// // Ch. 1 — Where AM I? // Story: The Triwizard Pony // by tkepner //------------------------------// The Triwizard Pony Ch. 1 — Where AM I? It was Nightmare Night and Harry and his herdmates were doing their best to entertain Ponyville’s colts and fillies. The four of them were dressed, appropriately, in costumes of Nightmare Moon, with her cutie mark proudly displayed. Only these costumes were special. At Luna’s insistence, they wore proper hoof shoes and leg guards, saffron — some called it a helmet — peytral, crinnet, and crupper. And not simply coloured cloth in the cornflower/royal blue of the originals. They weren’t wearing real armour, of course. What they were wearing lacked the many enchantments that Guards’ armour carried. Their “armour” was simple and cheap painted cardboard. But, all told, a much better replica of what Nightmare Moon wore. They had only had to make minor adjustments to them, from when they wore them last year, to get them to fit comfortably. In addition, Twilight had cast the “wings” spell on the three fillies and colt, so the wings they sported were real. Unlike the first time she had used it, years ago, these were the bat-style wings the night-guards had, not butterfly wings, and blended well with their costumes. Either Sweetie Belle or Harry could have cast the spell, but it would have exhausted them to do it more than once or only lasted a short time and not all night — and left them exhausted after several repetitions. For Twilight? It was a minor effort. A simple illusion gave the non-unicorns a horn, and coloured the four of them appropriately — black as night. Their shorter, teenaged-sizes, and lack of floaty night-star manes and tails, gave a clue that none of them were really Nightmare Moon, herself. Of course, Harry’s glasses were another sign that he wasn’t her. Plus, their stern expressions quickly broke down into giggles as they chased the happily screaming foals to and fro. That Sweetie Belle and Harry used teleportation to appear suddenly in front of the colts and fillies simply added to the foals’ fun. «Remember this day, little ponies, for it is your last,» Scootaloo cried as she swooped over the heads of six screaming foals. «From this moment forth, the night will last forever!» She cackled evilly and leered at the scampering ponies as she landed before them. The small group stampeded down the street and hid ineffectually behind and under a cart, laughing and giggling. The night was young, barely started, and their candy and treats scarcely covered the bottoms of their saddlebags. Harry suddenly appeared on the other side of the cart. «The night will last forever!» he yelled, then looked around. «Where are those pesky ponies!» he said looking past the giggling foals. «You shall not escape my night!» he called, looking over their heads and pretending not to see them. He stomped heavily and dramatically away and into an alley, giggles sounding behind him. Other groups of foals crowded the doors of the houses on the street, collecting their treats and tittering excitedly at the four’s antics. He heard another batch of screams come from farther down the street — either Sweetie Belle or Apple Bloom doing their part. He laughed happily. This was fun! And so it went. The four met back at the carnival an hour later. They were on a break, and were enjoying ice-cream treats before resuming their play. «Ya know,» said Apple Bloom, «Ah never thought it’d be as much fun as it is, ya know? Doin’ this? Ah think Ah like this more’n getting the candy!» The others nodded their agreement, their mouths’ too full to say anything. Harry looked back over his right wing and cleared his throat. «Yep, Flyin’ is so much fun. I almost wish I were a pegasus.» He shot a look at Scootaloo to see how she took her teasing. She proudly glanced at her steadily flapping wings, hovering beside the table. «Yeah, pegasi are the best!» Then gave her ice cream another lick. The others giggled. She’d been in the air practically non-stop since her visit to the Cloud-city clinic three years before. They finally had been able to diagnose and fix the problem with her wings. Harry swore she would fly in her sleep instead of using a bed, if she could figure out how to do it without getting wing-cramps. Or ending up lost somewhere in Equestria. There was a musical chime, and a flash of light overhead. A moment later his mum glided into sight and lightly touched down beside them. «Having fun?» she asked. «Even more than last year!» declared Harry. «That teleportation spell we finally mastered last month is really neat!» «Just don’t go and overdo it, Harry,» she said, draping a wing over him and hugging. Abruptly, Harry curled over, his forelegs grabbing at his stomach. He felt as though an invisible hook just behind his navel had suddenly jerked irresistibly forward. «URP!» he said. His hooves left the ground, and he skidded forward and up, out of his mum’s hold. He began to hurtle forward in a howl of wind and swirling colour. The carnival disappeared in flash and only darkness surrounded him. He screamed in shock and terror, but heard nothing. He saw nothing but blackness. He felt his wings flare wide. The wild wind buffeted him around, but his wings failed to catch any air. How long it lasted he couldn’t say — a second? Ten seconds? Longer? Shorter? Suddenly there was light ahead. Wind whistled around him, whipping against his wings, but without direction. It looked like a room of some kind was flying at him. He tried to brake, but the wind pushed and pulled at his wings, sometimes on both sides of his wings at the same time. He had as little effect on his speed or direction as spreading his wings in the carriage of a train slowed the engine or changed the direction the tracks led. At the last moment, his wings filled with air. He hung a moment, suspended, almost touching a table lined with minotaurs. He scrambled to get a decent stance and not fall. He kicked at the plates, utensils, and cup. There was a large flaming goblet centred on the table not more than a yard away. He knocked many of the things over or off. He gave a hard flap, then another, and shot to the ceiling so fast he almost hit a rafter. Seeing the rafter just below him and to one side, he barrel-rolled sideways and landed atop it. He crouched down low, and reflexively cast a don’t-notice-me-field. The fillies’ spur-of-the-moment wanderings in the Everfree had instilled in him a rather valuable set of survival reactions. He tried to calm his panicked breathing as his eyes sought a way out of the brightly-lit hall and back home. He realized he was unharmed, nothing hurt. He was just a little shaken up, and bewildered. Teleporting was right out. He didn’t know where he was, nor anywhere that he could reasonably reach. Especially, because his range was not bigger than the hall below him, he realized. He looked down at an angle, at the table below and to one side of him. And watched, amazed, as one of the minotaurs behind the table stood and waved a stick, putting out the inadvertent fire Harry had started on the table. That was a shock. Minotaurs were incapable of direct magic. Yet, here one had used magic to put out the fire, straightened the still smoking cup, and restored the utensils, plates, and cups to their proper places. Another wave cleaned up the spills, leaving the table as pristine as it had been before he appeared. Except the plates and cups now were empty of their contents. An excellent demonstration of the fail safe spell if he ever saw one, even if it did take more than one casting. Incredibly, the empty vessels disappeared and new platters and bowls of food appeared on the table, as did filled cups and pitchers. The room below was in an uproar. It was bigger than the Map Room his mum’s castle! Maybe even bigger that the Twin Sisiters’ Throne Room in Canterlot Castle! Four tables ran the length of the hall, candles in great numbers floated above them. He noticed that the walls were lined with torches instead of the crystals he was used to seeing. What held his attention, though, were the hundreds of minotaurs down there, he now noticed. The younger minotaurs were closest, and increased in size and age toward the large doors he could see on the far side of the hall. A fifth table was below him, and a half-dozen pony-lengths to one side. It was raised and crossways to the other four. Only adults were seated at that table. To better keep watch over the young ones? There were clearly three groups in the hall, as they seemed to all be in uniforms. Glancing around, he noted the myriad banners on display behind the head table and on the other walls. Right, so this was a military camp he had arrived at, with three separate groups. The group that wore all black was the most populous and seemed mostly young ones. The other two were matched in that they had much smaller numbers, were older, and sat at only two of the four tables, grouped together, for the most part. One group wore light-blue robes and the other looked to wear heavy fur cloaks — the fillies would have freaked out at the sight of fur as clothing. That they wore fur in such abundance told him he was far from Equestria. He couldn’t discern any rank markings on their clothing, although the black-robed ones had patches on their chests. Four different kinds he could tell. And they were organized by table. Wherever he was, it was outside the borders of Equestria. What kind of magic was this? He had to get back and warn his mum that some minotaurs could do magic! And were quite good at it. He didn’t understand what was being yelled below him, but his sensitive pony ears twitched madly. But then he recognized a word — wings. Then he picked out another — flying. And a third — black. He knew this language! He bit his lower lip lightly, to keep himself silent. He hadn’t heard this language in years — five and a half years, to be exact. He started to hyperventilate. How could he be here? He stared down at the minotaurs . . . no, they had to be people. He had heard the minotaur language, and English wasn’t it. They were people like he used to be. People like the Dursleys. They were looking all around the room below him, as they tried to find him. Something about people who waved sticks was oddly familiar. No. Maybe not like the Dursleys, because these people could clearly do magic! Just like he could. Except he didn’t need a stick. He could pick out what some of them were saying, the louder ones, now that he realized what language they spoke. And his swivelling pony ears made it much easier to pick out voices. “Did you see that?” “It was a tiny horse, I tell you!” “No, I saw a horn, it was a unicorn, and it —!” “It flew up there!” “It was all black!” “No, it was blue!” “It was wearing armour! I saw the —! “That was blue, it was black!” With each exclamation he shrank closer to the rafter until his chin rested on the wood. It was difficult to move quietly in the fake armour. The cardboard crinkled and creaked rather loudly, he now noticed. But at least it wasn’t heavy like the real stuff. Although, he kinda wished it was real right now. He looked at the adults at the front of the hall. The one with a beard so long that it could be tucked into his belt seemed to be a leader, as the others looked to him and asked questions Harry couldn’t hear. The man was tall and thin, with silver hair. He had a very long and crooked nose that looked as if it has been broken at least twice. He stared directly at Harry, and the other adults began to copy him! Harry cast another, stronger don’t-notice-me-field. Several of the adults examined where he was carefully, and began to look elsewhere, but the bearded man didn’t take his eyes off Harry. Harry began to slowly inch his way forward, sweating. While no one else seemed to notice, the bearded man watched him closely. Tartarus! The man had enough magical prowess to pierce his spells without effort, just like his mum. Harry almost wet himself in dread. Harry decided to project a personal shield. It wasn’t that great, not nearly as good as a solid sphere or wall, but then it didn’t glow light-blue like those did. And it was mostly hidden under his “armour.” But both of those wouldn’t stop this man, anyway, should he attack. He clearly had more power than Harry in order to see through his spell, but the personal shield would soften the blow and give Harry a chance to escape. And it might stop any magic shot at him from the others below. The man lifted his right hand, a stick in it, and pointed straight up. Suddenly there was an explosion from the man. Harry almost hurled himself off the rafter in panic. The bearded man below had caused the explosion. But he hadn’t been attacking Harry. Harry glanced at the open doors at the front of the hall, calculating if he could teleport close enough to charge out the doors before anypony could react. He wished he could double-teleport like his mum, but he had to rest between them, at this stage. He gathered his hooves and tensed, his rear end shifting back and forth like a cat preparing to jump. The doors suddenly slammed closed! He turned his head to stare at the man with the stick, who smiled at him and nodded. “Your attention, please,” he said sternly, dropping his gaze to those in the hall. The room quickly quieted down. “The Goblet of Fire,” he said genially, and looked at the cup on the table. The flames had gone out — there wasn’t even any smoke evident. “Has done something truly quite extraordinary. It has, apparently, summoned someone into our presence.” He didn’t seem that surprised at that, though. He looked back across the hall. The room broke out into whispers. The man spoke a bit louder, driving the whispers into silence. “I can only presume that the one summoned is Harry Potter, as it says on this slip of paper that the Goblet ejected and I announced.” He held up a paper with its edges burnt black. Harry huddled closer to the rafter. He stared at the man, and wondered how he would escape this mess. From the man’s words, Harry’s appearance in the hall was unexpected to the occupants. If so, then why was he here? And how had that cup known his name? The bearded man looked up into the rafters at the pony. “You are Harry Potter, are you not?” Harry blankly stared at him, much in the way that he had seen Opal stare at Rarity when she wanted to pretend she didn’t understand an order. The room below him again broke into whispers, many craning their necks, pointing their fingers, trying to see what the bearded man saw. All the adults at the head table saw Harry, he had no doubt. Except for the very big man sitting at one end of the table. He appeared at a loss as to what the others saw. “Ah,” the man said. “Yes.” He nodded. “Where are my manners? I am Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster of this fine school, the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” He nodded again. “Perhaps you have heard of it?” he said hopefully. This was a school? Harry glanced at the people below him. Yes, that did make more sense than a military base. There were far too many children. And no military pony would show such a lack of discipline as the older people below did. Of course, it could still be a military school. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Albus,” one of the others grumbled loudly. Harry looked at the speaker. Thankfully, his wings-spell-enhanced vision made it easy to see details. The man looked pieced together. Not like Discord, but more like some of the really old Guard veterans, especially those who had served on the borders, but much, much worse. His face appeared carved out of old barn-wood, by someone with only a distant idea of what a face looked like — and who wasn’t very talented with a chisel. Scars seemed to cover every inch of his skin. A large chunk of his nose was missing, and the mouth was more of a diagonal slash. It was one of the man’s eyes that made him frightening, however. The left eye, a vivid, electric blue, was much larger than the other. It moved ceaselessly, up, down, side-to-side, without blinking. It moved separately from the other eye — and then he saw it roll around completely, pointing into the back of his head! What could it possibly be looking at? Then it focused on Harry. He had a mane of dark grey hair. He pointed a stick at Harry, his hand as badly scarred as his face. He said something while pointing the stick at Harry. Harry didn’t hesitate. He jumped up to his hooves. A light burst from the stick. Harry ran across the length of the rafter to the other side of the hall. He saw the light strike where he had been perched. “Alastor!” called the bearded man in alarm. Something about people waving sticks at him and shooting out coloured lights was oddly familiar. And it made him very, very angry. It even overcame his fear. Harry leaped sideways to a new one rafter, farther away from the head table. He didn’t stop, but leapt again, and kept moving, searching for a safer position. He kept his eyes on the people at the head table, though. He wanted all the warning he could get if any of them tried that again. At the third rafter he magically-silenced his hooves and fake armour, and moved to the opposite side of the hall. The ones tracking him by the thuds of his landings continued to stare at where he had apparently stopped. He wondered if he should hide his scent magically, then did so, anyway. He wished the fake armour he wore had been enchanted with more than just Nightmare Moon’s colours. He knew the runes to use, his mum had shown him the Guards’ armour, and the spells on them, as examples while he was studying runes at Celestia’s school. He resolved to add them to this armour just as soon as he had a spare second. When he finally stopped, he had substantially increased his distance from the head table and was almost to the doors. He was seriously considering a blind teleport to outside the doors. The bearded man, Albus Dumbledore, walked down the hall, between two of the tables. He obviously could still clearly see Harry. Most of the other adults had stayed at the table. Harry could see one tall man with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and pale-white skin berating the scarred man, Alastor, Harry presumed, as they followed the Headmaster. “Please excuse my friend. I assure you the spell he cast was quite innocuous, nothing dangerous. He merely wanted to calm you down,” Dumbledore said. Well, Harry thought, he hasn’t succeeded had he? Just the opposite, in fact. But Harry was in a quandary. He didn’t know where he was, nor how to get home. Nor did he know anywhere safe. He was stuck here, in this hall, until he could get out. He suspected that their patience would not last much longer. If this Albus Dumbledore started flinging spells, Harry had no doubts he would end up roped and tied quicker than an angry Applejack could catch a fleeing Apple Bloom. “If you will come down here, I would be most happy to explain what is going on.” Harry studied the man carefully, while the people in the hall whispered and watched raptly. He seemed earnest. And Harry couldn’t detect a dark aura around him. Not that he was really good at that sort of thing, anyway. Not like his mum. But still, unlike some of the villains he had met in Equestria, the friendliness this man projected seemed real. And yet, something told him that these . . . people . . . were not to be trusted. They were only concerned with themselves and how they could use others to their advantage. They could be summed up like the griffons, with a single phrase, what’s in it for me? “I promise you, you will be safe and unharmed.” The question was, how much could he trust the man was telling the truth? Harry desperately wanted to teleport away. He eyed the wooden roof overhead. If he were his mum, he would chance teleporting straight up to the clouds and then glide to safety — if there was any place he could call safe, here. As long as he wasn’t an equal distance underground, he could escape. But he wasn’t his mum. He could barely teleport the length of the Map Room back home. Far too dangerous to attempt such a blind teleport — they might be underground or a bridge overhead. Or this could be the ground floor of a really tall building, like those he had seen on the telly. And who knew what was on the other side of the walls and how much space he had? They could be empty, or packed with supplies with little room to stand. And if he did that, and the teleport failed because of the safeties, it might give away a secret that he might need later. And while he knew his mum and the Princesses would be working to find him, he knew he was much farther away than any of them suspected. It might take hours, days, or even weeks for them to track him down. And he had to stay somewhere while they did that. Besides, if these people knew how he got here, they might be able to help him get back. If they could be trusted. If they thought they could get something in return. He took a shaky breath. “Promise?” he called down. The hall erupted into chatter. “Quiet!” came the loud order from a woman with square glasses at the hall’s head table. Just as quickly, silence fell in the room. Dumbledore smiled and stroked his beard. “Yes. I promise that if you come down, I won’t let anyone harm you.” Harry stared at him. “And you won’t either?” Blueblood had taught him always to be cautious about promises to unknown individuals, either pony or not. What they said and what they meant could easily be two different things. Especially when words in one language didn’t always have the exact same meanings in another. The room burst into objections at his questioning the man. Harry ignored them. Just because he promised others wouldn’t hurt him didn’t mean he wouldn’t. King Sombra, Queen Chrysalis, and a few others his mum had told him about had illustrated that lesson. The man nodded, unfazed by the reactions of the people around him. “I promise you won’t be harmed if you come down,” he said loudly over the noise of the students. Harry looked around the room. No one seemed to be pointing a stick at him, but that didn’t really mean anything. They could have their sticks hidden in their sleeves. He sighed, and took another shaky breath. Well, at least this time, when trouble struck, his herdmates would be safe and not involved. He strengthened his shield to the best he could manage. He extended his wings and stepped off the rafter. The entire room gasped as he suddenly released the don’t-notice-me-field. Not that they didn’t suspect where he was. All they had to do was look where the bearded man looked. No one raised a stick, for which Harry was thankful. He glided in a tight spiral, and landed in the open space in front of the hall doors. Now that he was on the ground, perspective suddenly became apparent. His back was barely as high as the bench seats in front of the tables, and he could barely see over the table-tops! What the tartarus was this? That certainly hadn’t been the case at the Dursleys! He was even tinier than the smallest person he could see! “He’s so cute!” came a breathless female voice from one of the tables. A dozen more chimed in with their agreement. Harry stepped back, alarmed. His wings flared out in an attempt to make himself look bigger. All that happened was he heard more exclamations on how pretty and cute he was. Dumbledore came from between the centre two tables and slowly walked up to Harry. Students, at least Harry thought they might be students, if this was really a school, were crowding close behind the man. They were also standing on the benches and tables to see him. Dumbledore leaned forward slightly and adjusted his glasses as he examined Harry. “Is that your animagus form?” he said softly. The closer students gasped and hurriedly informed their friends what they had heard. This was Harry Potter’s animagus form! “It’s unheard of for anyone not an adult to do that!” he heard one loud voice say. Harry stared at him silently. He hadn’t any idea what the man meant. He heard the word, but it had no translation available, His gaze darted around the room, watching the many, many people watching him. After a moment, Dumbledore frowned slightly and said, “Are you fixed in that form?” Harry tilted his head questioningly, then shook his head, no. His wings would vanish in another couple of hours, as would the colours of Nightmare Moon “Ah,” said the man, nodding his head wisely. “You feel more comfortable in that form, at the moment?” It certainly gave Harry more options than just being a unicorn. He narrowed his eyes slightly, then said, “Yes.” He flapped his wings and rose up to hover vertically at eye-level with the bearded man. It gave him a bit more confidence to be eye-to-eye to the people around him. It also gave him better possibilities to dodge. The room gasped and then sighed at the sight. “That’s impossible!” a girl’s voice loudly said. “If you would come with me to that room up there,” the bearded man pointed at a closed door at the other end of the hall, by the head table. “I would be happy to explain what is going on here, today.” “Okay,” Harry said nervously, glancing around the room. Dumbledore nodded and started towards the back of the hall. Harry tried to pace him, but there wasn’t sufficient room. Then he tried just to follow him. When he saw more than one person start to reach for him, he rose higher until he was above the people standing on the benches. Dumbledore stopped and looked around. “It wouldn’t do to annoy our guest, now would it?” he said reprovingly. “Besides, I believe there are desserts waiting for you to finish.” The closer students looked shamefaced. Several older students with two badges on their robes began ordering people off the benches and tables. The others quickly sat back down. Those standing on the tables just as quickly relinquished their positions and returned to their seats. They still craned their necks to watch Harry, though, ignoring the food on the tables. Harry hated the attention and wanted out of their sight as fast as possible. He gave a few hard flaps, and shot across the hall to the gasps and exclamations of his audience. He came to a stop beside the door Dumbledore had indicated. He hovered, waiting. He saw the hook-nosed man and the scarred one both fingering their sticks. He watched them closely, and prepared to project a shield, if needed, as he waited. It wasn’t long before Dumbledore reached him and opened the door. He congenially waved the hovering black pegacorn into the room. ۸- ̰ -۸