Sweetie Belle - Hogwarts Exchange Student
Ollivander’s Unexpected Surprise
Books, books, and more books. Twilight Sparkle liked to keep her library stocked, but wizards seemed to like their bookstores stacked. In addition, there were a number of fat cats who lounged around Flourish and Blott’s bookstore like they owned it, draping across tall shelves or above the doorframe with only their twitching tails hanging down to show their location. Sweetie Belle had the utmost respect for all of the relaxed cat rear ends, because her sister’s cat had taught her that the other end had sharp claws.
After due consideration and considerable effort not to lose her composure at the sight of all the wonderful books, she put exploring that side of the bookstore away for the moment and turned to the section where Wycliffe was directing Sparrow, under a giant banner that proclaimed ‘Student Sale.’
All of the books for Hogwarts students had been pushed to one side under the banner and seemed sadly neglected, like Hearth’s Warming decorations sitting in the store until Winter Wrap-Up sales. Wycliffe deflected the sales clerk who bustled up to them, then selected out the First Year books Sparrow and Sweetie would need from the new pile, still with that freshly printed scent about them.
“I’ve already purchased mine,” he explained tersely. “My father got them last year when he was hoping to get me into Hogwarts early. The letter didn’t come.”
“That’s probably a good thing,” said Sweetie. “Since last year was so dangerous.”
Miss Selkirk did not say anything, but she was looking through a stack of adventure books by a handsome wizard named Lockhart, with her back turned to the school books. Both she and Wycliffe seemed eager to leave while Sparrow was engrossed in a selection of broomstick reviews, but Sweetie Belle wanted to make at least one pass through the whole collection. What she wanted to do was buy them all, which would have been wildly excessive because the school undoubtedly had most of them. Then again, the store had a large number of used books at remarkable markdowns, so it would be fiscally prudent — a phrase that Rarity used frequently around sales — to stock up on the ones she found most interesting, because they most probably could not be found at home in any case.
Maybe if she came through the bookstore before she went home to Equestria at the end of the school year. But then she’d have to share them with Twilight, and Twilight did not share books well.
Decisions, decisions.
As a representative of Equestria, it was Sweetie Belle’s responsibility to learn all about her host world. The works of Gilderoy Lockhart that Miss Selkirk was looking through seemed to be a good place to start since he was a famous wizard who had been all over the world. Plus, they were marked off at half-price twice, so she could buy four times as many of them. Then a few travelogues about places called Romania and Canadia, a book on British Muggle government, a collection of cartoons that made no sense at all to her…
“Can I help you with that, Miss?” A young red-haired witch managed to get underneath the stack of books before they collapsed, although she staggered a little under the load too and several of the books slid off anyway. “Oh, my!”
“Sorry!” blurted out Sweetie. She had tried to catch the books with her unicorn magic, which she had forgotten did not work in this form, and unfortunately she was not nearly good enough with changing in order to try turning into a unicorn before the books hit the floor.
...where she found another one that had been kicked under some bins, and covered in dust.
“I just wanted some books to read at school,” continued Sweetie as she wiped some of the dust off the tattered cover. It did not help much, since the lettering on the front had been nearly worn off. “Moste… Potions! Ohh, Applebloom would like this,” she added, dumping it into the wicker basket that the young witch had brought over. All combined, they probably went far over her original budget, which made Sweetie glad she had brought more money.
“You must be one of the First Years,” said the red-haired witch.
“Yes, I am.” Sweetie groped under the bin to see if the dusty book had any friends. “Are you another one of the Weasley family?”
“Um… Yes. How did—”
“Got it!” Sweetie pulled another dust-covered book from under the bin and peered into the darkness for any more. “Sparrow said that every human we’ve met so far with a red mane has been part of the Weasley family.”
There were still several books out of reach of even her long human arms, which frustrated Sweetie. She kicked off her shoes and concentrated since she was down on all fours anyway, and switched to her natural form. A quick burst of green hornlight showed three books hiding in the darkness away from her shopping spree, making it trivial to grab onto them from this vantage point.
Or at least if she had not been grabbed around the middle and squeezed.
“Dad was right!” squealed the bookstore clerk. “You’re a unicorn! A real unicorn!”
Through the girl’s crushing grip, Sweetie could see her two friends scurrying through the rest of the bookstore patrons in her direction, but before they reached the scene of the squeezing, it stopped with a loud gasp.
“Oh, no!” Sweetie was dropped onto the floor, where she managed to make a vaguely cat-like landing most likely because of so many cats in the store. The clerk promptly bent over her and began petting, apologizing just as fast as she could push the words out. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry! Dad said there was an exchange student coming to Hogwarts this year and that I wasn’t supposed to wig out and here I am doing just that oh I’m so sorry! Oh, and I’m petting you too and you’re so soft but what if that offends you and I… I’m sorry! I’m Ginny Weasley.”
“Sweetie Belle,” said Sweetie, sticking her hoof out for a shake, which triggered another muffled squeal of joy from the young witch and several curious looks from some elderly bookstore customers. “Oops, sorry,” she added, biting her bottom lip and concentrating until she was back in her human form.
“Awww!” Ginny still shook Sweetie’s hand and got introduced to Sparrow and Wycliffe, after which they all picked up the stacks of books and paid for them, with their new best friend chattering all the while. Sweetie was not really expecting to find any human who was as energetic and talkative as Pinkie Pie from back home, but Ginny was close, and she was going to be a student at Hogwarts too, only in her seventh and final year, and she had a pet named Arnold and was going to be captain of the Hogwarts quidditch team and if Sweetie ever wanted some lessons on how to ride a broomstick she would be more than happy to help and even loan her a broom and did she know First Years were not supposed to own brooms but the school had a bunch of them and it was too bad they had to leave to get their wands but they were free to come by the Burrow any time before school started and talk to her mother because she would just love to meet them all and goodbye!
“Are you all right?” asked Sparrow once the three of them had gotten a safe distance away from the book store, each with a trunk full of books bumping and thumping along behind them and Miss Selkirk in the lead. “You faded out on us a little at the end there.”
“She seems like a very nice girl, but my throat’s dry,” managed Sweetie Belle. “I haven’t talked that much in ages.”
“So you’re a little hoarse?” asked Wycliffe.
Sparrow shot him a puzzled look, but did not say anything else as they continued to walk down the crowded street. It did make a good excuse to stop at a small shop for a fruity raspberry ice before going to Ollivander’s wand shop for what was probably going to be a few more hours of wand waving. Horns were so much easier to use, but if she was going to go to a human school and learn human magic, the discomfort was something she could tolerate so she could be like the rest of the students.
Thoughts of the other human students were still whirling around her head when they finally got to Ollivanders and met a familiar couple going inside at the same time.
“Hello Miss Granger. Mister Weasley.” Miss Selkirk nodded at each of the teenagers. “Are you in need of a wand this evening also?”
“Ronald lost his,” said Hermonie Granger before her coltfriend could say anything. “And I strained mine over the summer.”
“That’s one way to put it,” said Ronald nearly under his breath. “We just need to pick up our wands and we’ll be out of your way.”
“That’s fine,” chirped Sparrow, who had regained a lot of her sugar-fueled energy. “We’ll probably be waving wands until it’s dark.”
Miss Selkirk let them go in without her, but with the five of them waiting in Ollivander’s front room, it was just slightly crowded. The old man came bustling out of the back with a happy smile for his customers and carrying a wand.
“What a wonderful day to find so many beautiful women in my store,” he said, producing the twisted wand, handle first. “First, the lovely Miss Granger. I was able to repair your wand this time, but if you continue using it in this fashion, I’m afraid it may break for good.”
“What did you do with it?” asked Sparrow
“It’s nothing,” said the young witch, giving the wand a quick flick of her wrist and producing a candle flame on the end, and then extinguishing it with another flick.
“She slammed it in an automobile door,” said Ronald with the air of somepony who had been holding back a secret for far too long. “All the things we did when trying to fight… Voldemort, and she catches it in a muggle car door when we go to fetch her parents.”
“Ronald!” scolded Hermonie. “At least I managed to keep my wand. This will be what, your fourth?”
“Don’t be so harsh on your young man,” said Ollivander, producing two additional wands and placing them on the table. “He showed remarkable fortitude during our rescue, and many times since. It has changed him considerably since his youth, and I was wondering if perhaps that change reflected in his magic. Try this one first, sir. Eleven and a half inches of oak with a unicorn tail hair core. An extremely difficult combination to master for one so young as yourself.”
Ronald picked up the pale wand and turned it over in his hands. “Oak? I’ve never really liked oak wands. They’re… finicky.” With a swish and flick of his new wand, Ronald made the pillow on the table float up, turn once around, and descend back to its original position.
A bare hint of a smile graced Ollivander’s slender face as he accepted the wand back. “And yet you’ve had a different wand every time I’ve seen you. All of them have performed well, to one degree or another, even the one you took from Master Pettigrew. May I see it, please?”
Reluctantly, Ronald removed a twisted stick from under his jacket and passed it over. Sweetie was getting used to how each wand looked so different from each other, but this one felt… wrong, somehow. Like it had been sprayed by a skunk that she could not smell. Ollivander took the stubby wand in his long fingers and turned it several times, eventually giving it a flick of his wrist and creating a slimy black toad which sat on the counter and croaked.
“Short, brittle, and warped,” he said. “Much like its owner. He had it for such a short time, and yet managed to do such squalid and disgusting things with it. The man had no redeeming characteristics at all. At least when he was a rat, he provided some rudimentary companionship for your family. And yet I wonder, if the Dark Lord had never returned, would Peter have remained loyal to you as a rat until his end days?” Ollivander’s hands tightened, and the wand snapped like a twig. Sweetie should have been discouraged since it was the only wand in the shop she had not waved, but then again, she really would not have wanted to use it anyway.
“My father claimed Peter Pettigrew was a faithful servant to the Dark Lord,” said Wycliffe. “I doubt if he had the capacity for any other loyalty at all.”
“Perhaps.” Ollivander stashed the wand fragments behind the counter and produced yet another wand. This one was long and swishy, and he used it to banish the croaking toad into a puff of violet smoke.
“That’s better,” said Ronald as he accepted the wand and gave it a slow wave. A bouquet of colorful flowers sprang from the tip, and his marefriend caught them before they fell on the floor. “Actually, that’s odd,” he said with a frown. “I was only trying for one flower. It seems much easier to use.”
Miss Granger stopped trying to put away the flowers and made them vanish instead. “You’ve been using a number of wands that were not your own, Ronald. It only makes sense that your own wand would be easier to use.”
“Indeed, Miss Granger.” Ollivander seemed suspiciously smug. “A properly balanced tool will naturally perform in ways that can utilize your full potential. A fourteen inch willow wand with a unicorn tail hair core seems to be where you naturally fit in the balance of things. Flexible and strong, yet pure at heart.”
“Wait a minute,” said Sweetie. “He can use any wand, and I can’t? I thought it took a special wand for every wizard?”
“Even wands that are much alike act in different ways for their proper wielders, Miss Belle,” said Ollivander. “Ronald’s friend Harry Potter had a wand with a phoenix feather core just like… Voldemort.” The last word escaped Ollivander with a great deal of released tension, as if a weight had been removed from the old man’s back. “They both did amazing things with their magic, but their lives could not have been further apart. There are many factors involving how a wizard’s new wand works. Ronald is not the young boy who broke his first hand-me-down wand, after all. He is older and has seen more terrible things than wizards many times his age. The wood of his new wand is from a different tree, and the unicorn tail hair from a much different creature. As he grows old, his wand will continue to grow with him, and someday when he has grandchildren, it shall be a wand that they look upon with fascination as he tells them the story of how he met the Boy Who Lived, and helped him vanquish the Dark Lord.”
“It won’t be the same wand,” said Mister Weasley, sounding a little perplexed. “I have no idea where it went, and I’ve used several over the last year.”
“Ah,” said Ollivander with a twinkle in his eye. “But they don’t have to know that, do they? And for you, young lady.” Ollivander took Hermione's hand and raised it to his lips for a brief kiss. “When the time comes, I am looking forward to finding wands for your children also. Now you two hurry off. I’m certain you have things to see, places to go.”
“Thank you very much, Mister Ollivander.” The young man reached into his pocket, presumably for some bits, only to have the shop proprietor shoo him toward the door.
“There will be none of that, Mister Weasley. As long as I live, your money is no good here. I owe you and your family a debt far greater than mere coin. Now, be off, the two of you. I’ve got customers to deal with. Paying customers,” he added.
Despite Ronald’s faint protests, his marefriend hurried him out the door, with the both of them leaving considerable thanks in their wake. Mister Ollivander’s piercing blue gaze lowered, catching Wycliffe apparently by surprise when he handed over the pale wand that Ronald Weasley had rejected.
“It’s too long,” said Wycliffe, passing the wand over to Sweetie Belle, who gave it an ineffectual wave out of reflex.
“And since when have you studied wand lore?” asked Ollivander right back, not taking his eyes off the small boy for a moment. “You are not your father, or your brother. Eleven and a half inches of pure oak heartwood, white as you can plainly see. Give it a wave and see.”
Looking very much like Sweetie imagined herself looking when she had been waving a wand to no avail, Wycliffe took the pale stick back and gave it a brief flick of the wrist. At first, it did not seem as if anything had happened, but as the wind rose inside the shop and began blowing small pieces of paper about, she started to detect the odor of sandalwood and myrrh, mixed with a number of floral scents and the fetid tang of swamp water. Then things settled back down, and Wycliffe placed the wand back on the counter with a sharp click.
“No,” he said simply.
Ollivander had been watching with intense focus, and reacted much as if he had been poked in the ribs. “No? My boy, do you have any idea how few wizards can use an oak heartwood wand?”
“My great-grandfather had a white oak wand,” said Wycliffe. “It killed him.”
“Ah, yes.” Ollivander gave a slow nod and turned the long wand in his fingers. “Backfire Nott. One of your more notable ancestors. As I recall, he exploded while mixing potions. Not something which a cautious wizard uses a wand for.”
“He was stirring with it,” said Wycliffe reluctantly. “He says so every time we see his ghost.”
Ollivander said nothing. After a time, Wycliffe picked the wand back up again and gave it a longer flick. The air in the stuffy shop changed, with a faint breeze smelling of pollen and the distant call of frogs, then the small boy put the wand into a pocket in his jacket.
“Eight galleons, I presume,” he added while opening his coin purse.
“Actually…” Ollivander reached over and held one hand over the purse, “I owe House Nott a finders fee for the unicorn hairs we harvested today. As well as you, young lady.”
“Oh, I don’t need paid,” said Sweetie.
“Never say that to a wizard.” Ollivander looked quite serious. “In the wizarding world, everything is an exchange.”
Sweetie Belle shook her head. “You would not accept money from Mister Weasley.”
“Mister Weasley and his friends saved my life, young lady. It is a debt which may never be repaid.”
“Twilight Sparkle says that friends don’t have debts,” countered Sweetie. “My sister is the Element of Generosity, and she taught me to help anypony who needed it, no matter what. You needed help, so I helped. I won’t take your bits for my tail. Or galleons,” she added.
Wycliffe considered for a moment, then took the coin purse out from under Ollivander’s hand and counted out eight golden coins. “My father caused much pain through the years, even before the Dark Lord returned. With the pain that you were put through, I honestly expected you to throw me out of your shop. It is only fair that I give something back, no matter how small, to make up for his transgressions. Just—” he lowered his voice “—don’t tell anybody.”
For a long moment, Ollivander merely stood there with the gold coins in his palm. Then he closed his hand, opened it again, and the coins were gone. “I’ve seen a lot in my years,” he started, slowly. “Every time I think I’ve seen it all…”
“Princess Celestia says that she learns new things from her students all the time,” said Sweetie Belle. “It keeps her young.”
“Indeed.” Ollivander straightened up with a distant smile. “I do believe you are correct, young lady. I too have found inspiration in the words of children many times over my span of years. And with that in mind…” He turned back to the counter and produced another shorter wand, this one a smokey red in color with dark patches along the sides.
“Ha!” declared Sparrow.
Ollivander passed the wand to Sweetie.
“Hey!” protested Sparrow.
Sweetie Belle gave the red wand a tentative wave, expecting nothing.
At first, it seemed as if the wand were just as ineffectual as all the other wands she had tried. Then a massive blast of wind filled the shop, blowing papers and broken boxes in all directions as it swirled around in a growing tornado. Rainbow light blazed from the end of the wand, flaring so bright that Sweetie could not see, although she still kept a firm grip on it just the same as she held onto the wagon whenever Scootaloo tried a ‘radical’ stunt. The roar of wind only lasted for a moment before it died down with the crash and thump of relocated wand boxes and other things in the shop that were not in their original place any more.
In the relative calm that followed, Sweetie could not help but admire Sparrow’s quick reactions. The tall girl had rolled under the chairs in the waiting area, and had dragged Wycliffe there by one leg to keep him from being likewise pelted by boxes and sharp wooden splinters. The two of them looked out now, pushing aside the pieces of boxes and other debris before Sparrow fairly chirped, “I think you found your wand, Sweetie.”
The old man straightened up from where he had taken cover behind the counter, and from his smile he was thinking much the same. “In all my years of wand making, I have never failed to match a wizard or witch to their wand. Yours was a tricky one, since you are not from our world. I used your book—” he passed Sweetie Belle’s diary back to her “—to send word to your friends. Raindolph, could you bring out our other guest please?”
“Ow!” sounded a noise from the back of the shop. “Geroff! Stopit, you stupid bird!”
In a few moments, the source of the complaints became obvious as an oddly familiar young man made his way up to the counter from the back of the store. He was fairly distinctive with long, ungainly limbs that seemed to be all elbows and knees, so he should have been easy to remember from all of the people she had met in the last few days, but she just couldn’t put a hoof on where she had seen him. If nothing else, his dark green robe should have made him stand out even more than the tufts of untamed red hair sticking out from under his cloth cap. Still, he did not look like one of the Weasleys, and she really did not think this was a good time to ask, mostly because of who he was carrying.
Philomena was perched proudly on one of the man’s scrawny arms, preening to herself. From the swollen peck marks on Raindolph’s pockmarked face, she was being her regular mischievous phoenix self, or maybe a little more than Princess Celestia would have approved.
“Here you go, Mister Ollivander,” said Raindolph. “And good riddance,” he added under his breath.
Philomena took to the air almost at once, making a lazy circle around the wand shop’s narrow confines before dropping onto the counter with a scratching of claws and a faint delightful waft of hot phoenix feathers that filled the air. She gave a soft trill when Sweetie Belle tickled her under the chin, then reciprocated with a warm brush of feathers against Sweetie’s bare human cheek.
“Oh, Philomena! I didn’t mean for you to be running things back and forth every day,” said Sweetie. “Thank you for your help, but I hope you’re not taking it out on Mister Raindolph.”
The answering chirp was very conciliatory, and indicated that the trips between dimensions were actually quite enjoyable. With an additional chirp, she rubbed her beak against Raindolph’s cheek and took a playful bite at his ear.
“Philomena,” chided Sweetie Belle. “You bit him.”
Celestia’s pet phoenix lowered her head and chirped again, a low note deep in her oropharynx.
“Still not good enough.” Sweetie brushed down Philomena’s crest like Fluttershy had shown her, and was rewarded by a low growl, much like a purring noise. Displaying her flexibility, the phoenix bent backwards and rooted around in her tail feathers with her beak, then gave her whole body a shake as three glowing golden tail feathers floated to the counter.
“That’s better,” said Sweetie, giving the mischievous bird a few long strokes and a scratch. She picked up the feathers, blew air across them to keep from scorching her fingers, and passed them to Raindolph. “She says she’s sorry.”
“She has also been quite useful,” said Ollivander as Raindolph scurried off to store the feathers somewhere. “The wood for your wand came from your friend’s orchard in Equestria. I asked for the most magical wood they could find, and your friend Apple Bloom sent a branch from one of their Zap Apple trees almost at once. Then your Scootaloo sent several of her feathers without me even asking.” Ollivander produced some soft, almost downey plumes which were just a little shorter than Sweetie Belle liked to use for quills, but she had never complained since Scoots had been willing to contribute them.
“Did you use her feathers for my wand’s core?” asked Sweetie, giving the reddish wand another swooping swish and enjoying how light it felt.
“Yes, but I was busy with Mister Nott’s wand, and my apprentice Raindolph was working on Miss Lilley’s wand, a rather tricky piece of work if I do say so myself. So my granddaughter constructed your wand. She’s a very talented young lady, much like your friends.”
“What about my wand?” asked Sparrow.
The smile faded, and the old man reached behind the counter again. “I want you to try this one first,” he added cryptically as he passed over a thick wand, about as large around as his thumb, and only half the length of Wycliffe’s. “Seven inches, hickory with a unicorn tail hair core. Your tail hairs in fact, Miss Belle.”
Philomena vanished in a burst of fire.
Sparrow snatched the wand out of his hand but paused in the middle of her fencing pose to see Sweetie and Wycliffe dive under the chairs again. “Guys!” she protested. “I blow up one wand and everybody overreacts. Isn’t that right, Mister—”
“Go ahead,” called out Ollivander from behind the counter. “It should be perfectly safe.”
“What fun would that be?” muttered Sparrow before raising her voice and getting poised again for a dramatic thrust with the wand. “Ka-ZOT!”
With a sharp crack, bits of wand went zinging around the shop. Several struck the chairs and knocked out tufts of stuffing, chunks of the ceiling light fixture rattled down with musical tinkles of broken glass, and when Sweetie poked her nose out to look, the end of the wand was stuck in the shop’s front window, still vibrating from the impact. “Two wands now,” Sweetie added. “Do you have another one?”
“I was afraid of that.” Mister Ollivander came out from behind the counter, holding another wand that looked vaguely blotchy with patches of dark red and light tan on it, resembling Miss Holstein over at Applejack’s farm. He plucked the wand stub out of Sparrow’s hand and replaced it with the mottled stick. This wand was just as long as Wycliffe’s, but thick around the handle and tapering to a blunt, rounded point, looking vaguely like a club or baton.
“It’s heavy compared to the others,” said Sparrow, getting a good grip on the wand.
“Is it safe to come out?” asked Wycliffe from under the chairs.
“Absolutely,” assured Ollivander. “You are quite fortunate, young lady. I recently acquired an assistant wandmaker with a most unusual talent. That hickory wand you are holding is Unbreakable.”
“And red!” Sparrow drew back and held the wand like a sword, then darted forward and swung down at one of the chairs. The strained stitching on the seat ruptured like a bomb with a loud thunking noise, and the chair legs sunk into the floor until they were almost all buried. Little twinkles of light illuminated the falling stuffing like huge flakes of new snow with the faint sound of sleigh bells drifting through the suddenly chill air of the shop. It was all very impressive magic, and Sweetie clapped her hands together and gave a little cheer.
Wycliffe came scrambling out from under one of the other chairs, waving a hand to clear some breathing space in the flakes of loose stuffing with his eyes wide and white.
“Ahem.” Ollivander took back the wand and turned it over in his long fingers. “Unicorn hairs mix oddly with hickory, as you have noticed.” He gave the wand a brief wave, since it was probably too heavy to do a good flick.
The snow vanished while scattered pasteboard boxes, scraps of wands, and bits of paper began to scurry around the floor as if driven by a low breeze, then each of them darted and fluttered to their original positions while he continued to talk.
“We really did not want to put the True Ownership charm on it, because that can cause interference with certain spells. If you misplace it, you will simply need to have one of the teachers cast a Locating Charm like the rest of the students. Hickory heartwood can splinter under strong magical fields, which is why this wand was made from where heartwood and sapwood meet in the core of the tree. Notice the brass bands around the handle and a metal ferrule on the base of the forearm veneer for additional strength.”
“What kind of core does it have?” asked Sparrow, entranced by the way the wand shop was putting itself back together, the boxes regaining their contents and stacking on the shelves, with the chairs returning to their original stuffingness.
“A trio of tail hairs similar to before, only woven and treated. And that should do it,” said Ollivander with one slow wave of the thick wand as one final box floated onto a tall shelf and nestled in with its pasteboard brethren. Last but not least, the broken stub of the previous wand wiggled free of the hole in the store window, which sealed up behind it with a sharp popping noise, leaving the window just as before.
He passed the wand back over to Sparrow, who took it and swished vigorously. The smile on her face did not fade, although there was some obvious disappointment at the relative lack of explosions.
“It’s… real,” she finally said. “I’ve actually got a wand.”
“We have wands,” corrected Sweetie with a giggle. “Oh, this is going to be so much fun!”