A very frazzled Madame Pomfrey was glad to have the unanticipated company when she finally woke her patient. Had this been a normal procedure, the patient would have been given a simple analgesic potion or have been struck with an anesthetic charm. However, she had been dealing with a heretofore unseen physiology and a completely new procedure. She simply could not have afforded the risk of having anything interfering with her procedure or with her ability to monitor her patient.
She shuddered as she reflected on how painful it must have been. It had been far worse than her extemporaneous stint as midwife in her teens. Had anyone been listening, they would have accused her of torture. The screams had been undeniably soul-wrenching. They had stopped only when the patient had fallen unconscious when her pain threshold had finally been overwhelmed.
Pomfrey had taken advantage of the respite to summon another medwitch. The procedure had taken much longer than Pomfrey would have dared for a human patient. While she was confident that there was neither physical nor magical damage, memory of the procedure could cause irreparable harm to her patient's psyche. Luckily, in the wizarding world, memories could be selectively tempered, or even erased. By law, she needed concurrence from another medical professional to proceed with that remedy.
St. Mungo's had personnel on call for just such a contingency. When Pomfrey had explained the situation, the psychiatric healer had summoned the two available experts on the patient's physiology. Thus, five minutes after Healer Nightingale had started her examination of the comatose patient's psyche, the experts had crowded into the ward.
The small brown unicorn introduced as Dr. Splint muttered, half to himself, as he scanned the patient with his horn. "So, Miss Fizzlepop Berrytwist, unicorn mare, horn regrown." Looking up, he asked, “How much of her horn was present when you started?”
“About this much.” Madam Pomfrey held her thumb and forefinger two centimeters apart to demonstrate. “I gave her three times the prescribed amount of Skele-Gro, and it took one and a half times as much as a normal bone would have needed.”
“That couldn’t have been pleasant,” Healer Yates said, doing a scan of his own with his wand.
“She was in intense pain,” Madam Pomfrey acknowledged. “That is why I am recommending an obliviation before I wake her.”
“I concur,” Healer Nightingale said. “It would be for the best. I detect some sanity slippage that will revert if we act quickly.”
“Do you have any objections?” Healer Yates asked Dr. Splint.
“I am going to defer to your judgment in this matter,” Dr. Splint said. “The idea of erasing memories to circumvent the psychological shock of major traumas has never occurred to us. I can already think of several cases where it would be beneficial.”
“Something else for our ‘to do’ list.” Healer Yates grimaced.
“Uncountable ponies and humans are already benefiting from our efforts,” Dr. Splint said as he nodded in agreement. “It will be worth the lost sleep.”
“Since we are all in agreement.” Healer Nightingale pointed her wand at Fizzlepop. “Scopum Obliviate.”
“Erasing memories shouldn’t be that easy,” Dr. Splint commented.
“It only looks easy; this is one of my specialties,” Healer Nightingale said. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”
“Shall I wake her now?” Madam Pomfrey asked.
“Here.” Dr. Splint floated a thick ring over to her. “Place this on her horn. If we want the pegasi to wait a week before using their newly grown wing bones, then preventing our patient from using her magic for a like period would be advisable.”
Madam Pomfrey nodded as she placed the ring on Fizzlepop’s horn. She then pointed her wand and said, “Rennervate.”
The results were instantaneous. Fizzlepop leapt to her hooves and almost toppled off as a forehoof missed its landing and slipped off the bed.
“Calm yourself, Miss Berrytwist,” Pomfrey said, soothingly. “No one here will hurt you.”
“What happened?” Fizzlepop asked. “Is everypony here to watch me regrow my horn?”
“What is the last thing you remember?” Dr. Splint asked.
Fizzlepop scrunched her muzzle for a second as she thought. “Madam Pomfrey was hoofing . . . handing me a goblet.” She then crossed her eyes and tried to see her own horn. “Did it work?” she asked with equal parts hope and dread.
Madam Pomfrey summoned a mirror, which Fizzlepop snatched out of the air with her hooves. She said nothing as she stared at the reflective surface and saw her fully restored horn for the first time. A hoof was brought up to prod the suppressor ring.
“That stays for a week,” Madam Pomfrey said firmly.
“Three weeks, actually,” Healer Yates corrected.
Fizzlepop nodded but didn’t tear her gaze away from the mirror.
“We are also compelled to inform you that we decided to remove your memories related to the regrowth. By law, those memories will be returned if you so request,” Healer Nightingale said. “I will warn you that memory of that sort of pain would most likely damage your sanity. I would strongly advise against that course of action.”
“You are the doctors,” Fizzlepop said, attention still fixed on the mirror. “I would be a fool to go against your advice.” She took a deep breath. “Thank you.”
“You are welcome, Miss Berrytwist,” Madam Pomfrey said. “I should also mention that Miss Weiss sat with you through the night and only left when duties called her away.”
“Duties?”
“I’ll explain in a short while,” Madam Pomfrey said. “But first, why don’t we all head down to the main hall for a meal? I can hear your stomach grumbling from here, and the nutrition potion works best when taken with food.”
The Pearl Suite was nothing short of magnificent. Any and all expectations of being the guests of royalty were met. The furniture was of a higher quality than imagined in either the muggle or the wizarding worlds. The view from the attached balcony was breathtaking. A quick scan had revealed that the intricate crown molding along the ceiling was solid gold, rather than simply gold leaf. The casual display of wealth was not lost on the Greengrasses. They could not have asked for finer accommodations.
The ponies were allies to be valued, in terms of both wealth and power. The swell of magic during both sunset and sunrise gave credence to that assertion. It was disturbing how nonchalant the nurse had been when she had explained it was just the princesses raising and lowering the sun and moon. Grindelwald, Dumbledore, and He-Who-Must-Not-Be Named couldn’t begin to dream of matching such a feat, even working together. Anyone stupid enough to regard the equines as nothing more than insignificant, if intelligent, animals was in for a rude awakening.
The power that the ponies could bring to bear was staggering, even if one were to discount what a simple school mom from their herd had done to the mighty Dumbledore in a fit of rage. It would be best not to forget that. Only a fool would refuse the opportunity to extend an olive branch to the ponies. It would be much better for the wizarding world to cultivate friendly relations with their equine counterparts, much better.
More astonishing than their power was their sheer generosity. They had saved Astoria from a lifetime of wasting away simply because she was a child in distress. They had shown no thought of recompense, only a thirst to see justice served against anyone who would dare harm an innocent.
Thus, Lord Greengrass was somber as he shared an early lunch with his wife on the grand balcony of their suite. They had been served bowls of rich fish chowder that was teeming of neat cubes of root vegetables and aromatics. The delectable white broth was indescribably delicious, as were the fluffy biscuits that were served on the side. He didn’t need to exchange words with his wife; they both knew that it was imperative to stay in the good graces of their hostesses. The potential rewards were immeasurable.
An owl that seemed to fly in from nowhere derailed his train of thought. It dropped off a single sheet of newsprint before flying back into something he could not perceive. The familiar masthead of the "Daily Prophet" surprised him; he had already received the morning edition, and the infrequent extra editions were traditionally distributed in the evening. A midday issue would surely contain earth-shattering news.
Tentatively, Lord Greengrass reached for the lone sheet to see what could warrant the apparent waste of paper.
A rare gasp passed his lips as he read.
In ninety-point font, the headline screamed, "WIZARDING WORLD SECRET NO MORE!"
In the large luxury apartment, the children collectively groaned when yet another newsflash took a bite from the cartoon that was projected on the wall. It seemed as though every five minutes, another snippet of information about the discovery of magic preempted their program. This time, however, they found something that was actually interesting.
“Wow,” Abigail said, leaping from the couch. “They are suspending the Statute of Secrecy and underaged magic laws. That’s great!”
“Not much point for either now, after what just happened in New York.” Dean shrugged. “I’ll bet that was some kind of record for summoning noodles.”
“They need to stop breaking into the cartoons for stuff like that,” Eva complained.
“It was funny.” Rosie smirked. “Like when that thing broke from that thing and hit the other thing.”
“Yeah, someone was really using their noodle,” Abigail agreed. “I’m glad the news managed to catch that on camera.”
“I don’t know,” Dean wavered. “It might have put me off spaghetti for life.”
“I know what you mean,” Eva said. “I’m never going to be able to look at a plate of it again and not think of screaming cats.”
“It was funny though,” Rosie insisted.
“I’ll bet Diagon Alley is all in an uproar,” Dean said.
“We should go check,” Abigail replied.
“There’s an idea,” Dean said. “We could floo over for a look.”
Abigail tapped her chin. “I feel like flying. We could see how the muggles are reacting while we're at it.”
“Me broom is back at me house, in me trunk.”
“Like you need your broom to follow me,” Abigail scolded. “I, on the other hand, wouldn’t be comfortable out there without my broom right now, even with my welding goggles.”
“True enough.” Rosie perked up.
“No, you’re staying here,” Dean insisted. “Remember what happened last time you tried flying in windy conditions?”
“That’s no fair,” Rosie protested.
“Tough,” Dean replied. “We won’t be long; just watch telly.”
“I’ll tell mum you weren’t watching us,” Eva threatened.
“Abigail’s mum is just in the other room,” Dean countered. “I’m just going to nip off and have some fun with my friend for a bit. Besides, I got you all that candy and mince pies yesterday; you owe me.”
“Now that that’s settled,” Abigail said. “We won’t be gone long.”
A few minutes later, Abigail was on her broom, reveling in her newfound freedom. Next to her, Dean flapped his wings, easily keeping pace. Laughing, Abigail added a clockwise barrel roll around him to make things interesting. In response, Dean completed the rolling scissors, winding around her with a counterclockwise barrel roll.
Normally, crowds did not gather on the sidewalk on the day after a major snowstorm. The risk of freezing off body parts would normally prompt people to seek shelter. This crowd was far from normal as they huddled together, bundled up, sharing hot tea from flasks. Normal people did not just gather just to stare resolutely between a bookstore and its neighbor, a nondescript record store, when the cold would leave a penguin begging for relief.
Every now and then, someone would start to wander off, only to be nudged by their neighbor who would then jerk their head in the direction everyone was staring. That person would then shake their head dazedly before rejoining the group effort.
“What cha doing?” a little girl’s voice asked with curiosity that only the young can manage.
Instead of answering, the crowd turned their heads upward as one to face the disturbance. There was no way a little girl should be so tall. To their collective surprise, the girl was looking down at them in confusion. The shock of seeing her standing on what appeared to be a broom was only compounded by the fact that she was standing upside down.
On any normal day, her sudden appearance would have been what grabbed everyone's attention. Today, however, she was upstaged by her friend, who was perched normally, on top of the broom.
“It’s a pretty pink pegasus pony!” some lady in the crowd declared.
“I’m fuchsia!” insisted the pony.
Xenon lights temporarily lit the gloomy morning with stark white light as dozens captured on celluloid what was destined to become an iconic image -- the first muggle-confirmed pony sighting.
“Please don’t get him started on his color.” The girl grinned. “You have no idea how hard it is to get him to stop.”
“I’m fuchsia!”
“I know, why don’t we get the mandatory little horse joke out of the way instead?” the girl continued.
“Don’t change the subject and don’t ignore me! I'm a bloke, darn it! I’m fuchsia!”
“How are you managing that without having the blood rush to your head?” someone asked.
“Blood rushing to 'er head?” someone else snapped. “Cannot yeh see that she considers gravity optional?”
“It’s not optional,” the girl protested, pointing straight down. “It’s always that way. I’m just ignoring it for nooooooooooow!”
At that point, the girl decided to show off her aerial prowess by rushing through the air in the direction of the very interesting bookstore and the not so interesting record store, only to disappear from view between the abutting buildings, midflight. It was even more impressive because she left her broom behind.
“What?” A colorful head watched his retreating friend.
“Accio pretty pink pegasus pony!” someone called out.
“I’m fuchsiaaaaa!” the pink blur heading toward the bookstore cried out in protest, his voice fading in the distance.
All that was left was a strangely-shaped broom defying logic and floating above the heads of the gathered people, until it, too, suddenly zipped toward the bookstore only to disappear between the buildings like those who went before.
“I’ve never seen a broom hover for so long after losing its rider before,” a wizard in red robes said as he caught the object in his outstretched hand. “What kind is it?”
“That’s a Nimbus 2000,” his partner said from his left.
The first wizard glared dangerously at the two children in front of him. “What did you two think you were doing?”
“Since the Statue of Secrecy was lifted, we just had to go see some real muggles for ourselves,” Abigail said, looking back innocently.
“That was stupid.” The wizard shrunk the broom he was holding. “You had no way of knowing how the muggles were going to react. If it weren’t for the fact that we are stretched thin, I’d haul you in for a good talking to. A night in a cell has a special way of teaching brats like you to look before they leap.”
“You can’t do that,” Abigail huffed. “We didn’t break any laws.”
“Watch me,” the wizard said.
Dean hovered between the two. With his forelegs crossed, he glared at the wizard. "Where do you get off threatening little girls?"
The wizard started to raise his wand.
“Stop it,” the other wizard said. “These two are obviously Gryffindors; you’ll just make it worse if they think you’re offering them a challenge.”
“Humph!” The wizard handed Abigail the shrunken broom before jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. “In with you, then.”
Outside the Palace of Westminster, a pair of Life Guards, dressed in their traditional red tunics and polished, plumed helmets flanked the door at the Norman Porch. While they still wore their sabers, the SA80 rifles they wielded and the bandoliers they wore showed that this was anything but a typical day. Their orders had been specific; only the foreign diplomats were to be admitted. Unfortunately, the only description they had been given was that women with gaily-colored hair would be visiting. Only the guard behind the counter had been told how to definitively authenticate the ambassadors.
Under the vaulted ceiling of the entryway, the guard behind the counter groaned to himself as yet another headache headed his way. This would be his fifteenth encounter since the building officially opened. It was only a pair this time, and they looked like they had put in some effort for their appearance, which was more than could be said for the last group. They had been in such a hurry that they hadn’t fully cleaned the dye from their faces, leaving streaks that easily identified them as fakes.
With a plastic smile, the guard greeted his newest annoyances. “Ladies, how are you today, and how may I assist you?” He studiously ignored the women’s vibrant hair colors.
The purple-haired woman with a greenish tinge in her face replied, “We were fine right up until we decided to ride the Knight Bus here.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” the woman with teal hair stated.
The guard looked again at the women; both sported two-tone hair. At least they had studied the news photos carefully.
“Not that bad?” the purple-haired one cried incredulously. “Spinning around like that almost gave me a heart attack.”
“You heard the driver; he hit a patch of ice. Besides, they are supposed to have potions in case of heart attacks,” the teal-haired one stated.
“And having to be resurrected makes me feel better how?” The purple-haired one sighed.
“You’ve been through worse,” the teal-haired one scolded.
The purple haired one sighed again before addressing the guard. “My friend here has just been appointed ambassador to the human world. She is here at the request of the Minister of Magic Xephilius Lovegood.”
“Her and the dozen who came before,” the guard said. “What paperwork do you have to support your claim?”
“Paperwork?” the teal-haired one asked. “I left my scroll at the Granger’s; I didn’t think I’d need it.”
“I’m afraid I can’t let you interrupt the first meeting between the magicals and non-magicals just because you arrived with a good hair job,” the guard said professionally. “I can, however, get someone to talk to you. Dyes show up remarkably well under a microscope.”
“You like our hair?” the teal-haired one breathed. “T-Thanks.”
It was now the guard's turn to sigh. This was the clumsiest attempt to flirt so far. He said, “You clearly put a lot of effort into it. I must admit I’m impressed.”
“Really?” The teal-haired woman’s eyes were round with surprise. “I can’t say that I put much effort into it today.”
“Lyra,” her friend interrupted.
The teal-haired woman waved her hand absently in her companion’s direction. “Just a minute Twilight. So, um, what’s your name?”
The guard stared at the purple-haired woman. Something about her was definitely different. “Um,” he said, distracted. “Greenhill.”
“Well, Greenhill are you doing anything tonight?” Lyra asked.
“Um.” Greenhill did not take his attention away from Twilight. He had heard of radiant women before, but this one was glowing. He gave his standard reply for over-enthusiastic women. “I’m in a relationship; his name is Steve.”
“That’s great!” Lyra said. “Bon Bon and I would love to take the two of you out for supper and a show.
“Lyra,” Twilight repeated with a hint of resignation.
“Um, I’d have to talk to him about it,” Greenhill said. Twilight was beginning to look long in the face.
“I’m sure we could show the two of you a good time.” Lyra puffed up and thrust her chest forward, showing off the exquisite workponyship that Rarity had put into the décolletage. “After all, I am the newest ambassador of Equestria.”
“Lyra!” Twilight snapped.
Greenhill boggled at Twilight. He was now convinced she was telling the truth. “Just a second,” he said, picking up the receiver of a phone. After pressing a few buttons, he spoke into it. “Sir, the pony ambassador is here and is requesting an audience. Yes, sir, this one is authentic.”
“So . . .” Lyra hummed. “Dinner?”
“I’ll talk to . . . um, Steve about it,” Greenhill said.
“Lyra.” Twilight slammed her hooves on the counter in frustration.
“What?” Lyra snapped.
“Ambassador work now. Chase stallions later,” Twilight said.
“You’re one to talk.” Lyra hadn’t taken her eyes off Greenhill.
Greenhill gulped under her smoldering gaze and wondered if he even knew someone named Steve.
The circus atmosphere in the Leaky Cauldron continued unabated as three apprentices to the Hogwarts's potions master managed to steal a well-deserved break. A new distraction had appeared on scene, and the children who had been swarming them had gathered in the middle of the pub to behold the new spectacle. With the enthusiasm of the young, they had thrown themselves headlong into the new game. The adults all smirked as the youngsters all looked straight up and declared in one voice, "Pink!"
“Fuchsia!” came the predictable reply from the rafters.
“Pink!”
“Fuchsia!”
“Pink!”
“Fuchsia!”
“Pink!”
“They’ve been at it for ten minutes now,” Resonant Wave said. “How long do you think he can keep it up?”
“Hopefully long enough for us to finish our butterbeers,” replied Eutectic Bond.
A triple decker purple bus lurched to a stop in front of a supermarket, somehow not drawing any attention to itself.
Grace Granger commented over her shoulder as she staggered off the vehicle, “Okay, I recognize this store. It is literally less than two miles from my brother’s house. How did we end up dropping Twilight and Lyra off in London first?”
“Is that a problem?” Luna asked from directly behind her.
“It just seems like extra work.” Harry wobbled slightly as he followed Luna.
“We are strictly first come, first served,” said the driver as he watched his passengers leave his charge. “You all got on together but they declared their destination first.”
“Your service was perfect,” said the last woman to leave; her hair was variegated in equal parts of purple and white. “I, for one, found the trip well worth the time. It is now my favorite form of transportation.”
“Let’s just get those oranges and lemons,” Harry said as his stomach caught up with him.
“And mangos,” Luna added, unaffected.
This was the ultimate nightmare scenario. Her cover had been blown. It was time to pay the price. The relationships she had so carefully cultivated would be disavowed. Every infiltrator had, from the time they were grubs, been taught that the safety of the hive was the top priority. Non-viable covers had to be abandoned, lest harm come to the infiltrator, or, worse, the hive.
There was a bitter irony to a changeling's existence. They fed on love, but their personal feelings meant nothing. Infiltrators were not supposed to grow attached to their targets. How could she have feelings for the ones who were supposed to be mere food? Was it truly happiness that she had found wearing the skin of a stranger? Why did her pony form insist that now was the time for water to leak from her eyes?
Her queen had gone silent after ordering her to go to ground. She could still feel the monarch's presence in the hivemind, but all queries had gone unanswered. Although she was a mere nymph, she knew her hive was counting on her to return for another mission. As soon as Spike's back had been turned, she had slipped out to the busy street. It would only take a moment's distraction, and Clouded Hope would be no more. She would shift to her default identity and await reassignment.
The knowledge that she had helped secure the future of her hive brought little comfort. Her top priority was to find a place where she could change unobserved. She had to get off the busy street so that she could move on with her next life. If only the water in her eyes didn't make it so hard to see where she was going.
She stumbled as her forehoof somehow missed the ground. To her surprise, she no longer felt anything solid under her hooves.
“Where do you think you’re going?” came the voice she least wanted to hear. The magic spun her so that she now faced the pony she least wanted to see.
She gulped before replying, “Why do you care?”
“What kind of question is that?”
She lowered her gaze, unable to look him in the eyes. “You know it’s a lie.”
He shrugged.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Don’t be.”
“Why don’t you hate me?” she asked.
“You’ve done nothing to deserve my hate.”
“I lied to you.”
“Fillies lie. It’s a fact of life. I’ll let you have a talk with the Element of Honesty.”
She snapped her head up to look at him. “You don’t understand. It’s all a lie. Everything is. All of it.”
“Maybe a lot of lies were told.” He smiled, bringing her close so he could nuzzle her. “My feelings tell me what is true."
"They lie. You are just a victim of deception."
"No. I am your father”
The rosy glow of twilight welcomed the vanquished to the world of the waking. With a groan, she brought a pink forehoof to massaged the point beneath her horn that screamed for relief. She clenched her eyes shut as the light sent needles of pain into her brain.
“You’re awake,” came the voice she had stolen. A hint of menace promised an unpleasant conversation.
“Could I get some aspirin before you start yelling?” she asked.
“Here, let me take care of that.” This time, it was the voice of Celestia. A wave of magic drove the pain away.
She opened her eyes and beheld three alicorns. One still seemed to be irate while the other two looked on with amusement.
“A changeling?” Princess Luna asked, studying the imposter.
“Would you believe I’m a magical accident gone rouge?” she asked.
“Chrysalis,” Princess Cadance growled.
“Fine.” Chrysalis found she was lying on a comfortable bed in a well-appointed suite. “You got me. Why am I still alive? Or at least not imprisoned on the moon?”
“Neither punishment is warranted,” Princess Celestia stated. “We can hardly fault you for taking care of your subjects. Nopony was hurt after all.”
“You ponies are a forgiving lot,” Chrysalis said, letting her head plop back down on her pillow.
“We do try.” Princess Celestia smiled at her encouragingly.
“You won’t hear me complaining,” Chrysalis said. “So, what happens now?”
"As you sow, so shall you reap," said Princess Luna.
Princess Celestia said, “Since you saw fit to imprison our niece and impersonate her, you will be likewise incarcerated”
Princess Luna decreed formally, “Thou shall be restricted to these chambers for the duration, isolated from all whom thou might hold dear.”
“Wait.” Chrysalis lifted her head again. “You’re telling me that you are going to keep me locked in here for the same amount of time I held the Princess of Food?”
“Yes. That is correct.” Princess Celestia said. “That is our judgment.”
“Princess of Food?” Princess Cadance asked.
“Here, where nobuggy can visit?” Chrysalis continued.
“That is the idea.” Princess Luna confirmed. “A period of isolation to consider thy crimes.”
"And the Princess of Food here is going to take over all of my duties?"
Princess Cadence snarled, "You took over my life; it's only fair I take over yours."
Chrysalis sat bolt upright. "A vacation?" She leapt from the bed and started pronking around the room. "Yes! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! . . . "
Princess Cadance turned to find that both of her aunts were smirking. The junior princess said, "Somehow, I think I overestimated the impact of this punishment."