Monday, Harry finally noticed that the First Years had been divided into two groups, Orange and Brown. They had separate classes at the same time. One class had the Professor in charge, the other had a Professorial Aide. The two teachers alternated classes so both classes had the same amount of time with their professor.
It made sense. Otherwise, the combined classes had forty-some students. Why they didn’t split them into just the Houses, though, Harry was unsure. Hermione set him straight, naturally.
“It’s for socializing,” she said officiously, and smiled. “This way the different Houses get to meet each other somewhere other than at meals.”
“Ah!” Harry nodded in understanding. That also explained why Gryffindor had classes with Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and Slytherins, both last year and this. That way they could make friends and connections with students in all the houses. At least, he assumed, that must be their theory. In actual practice, the different Houses stayed mainly together in their own groups and didn’t spread out. The professors shouldn’t have allowed them to self-isolate like that.
It wasn’t his problem. He didn’t give it another thought, except to mention the House system based on personality “features” was a failure.
After having consulted with the different team captains on Sunday, Monday afternoon the fillies sent off the owls ordering the different brooms, just before dinner. While the Nimbus brooms were good for the Seekers, the other positions needed brooms that were better at instant starts, cornering, and overall nimbleness. Which meant everyone having the same broom was actually not a good idea and showed one’s ignorance of the game. It also meant that buying everyone on the team the same broom was a waste of money, especially given the high cost of the Nimbus 2001!
^-~-^
Then someone taught one pegasus the paint-shot spell. By dinnertime on the same day, the outside of the castle had been redecorated in as many colours as you could imagine. The pegasi took the game of dodge-spell to the extreme, using the crenelations and decorative stonework as cover, and to snipe at their opponents from above. They demonstrated, unintentionally, that many of the manoeuvres the students had seen the Royal Guard pegasi use were common as these pegasi practically danced in the air with spell dodging, attacking, and retaliating. Cheered on, naturally, by their House mates.
More than a few students grabbed their brooms and joined it. They quickly learned that having wings gave an enormous advantage to the ponies. But the human students, for the most part, were much faster and more accurate at spell-casting, so that almost evened-out the playing field.
A very tired group of students came in to eat that evening.
And would for several more afternoons after that.
Professor Flitwick hunted down the student who had taught the spell to the firstie, and the pegasus herself, awarded both five points.
^-~-^
Then the pegasi were discovered in the Great Hall on a rainy day having a “levitation jousting” tournament with padded spears — it seemed they had hard heads as people, too. The twins had set up a betting booth. Significant numbers of non-pegasi from each House were cheering them on from the House tables below.
The pegasi couldn’t fly in the Great Hall, Rule 5, again. But what if they merely used their wings for control while someone else threw them through the air? That didn’t violate the rules, did it?
Harry had to shudder at that. He had had enough of “hostile” levitation last year.
The professors apparently decided that the “tournament” was a bit over the top and quickly shut it down. They claimed it was inappropriate for wizards or witches — especially in the Great Hall!
Just as quickly, the first rule of the Levitation Jousting Club became, “you do not talk about the Levitation Jousting Club.”
^-~-^
Harry wasn’t sure who started it, but Cloud Dancer and Clear Skies ended it. Someone had apparently been giving a long, snooty diatribe about how “inferior” ponies were to people in regards to magic. The two pegasi took offense to this, and dragged a cloud in from outside. The two carefully positioned the dark cloud over the heads of their unsuspecting targets.
It was amazing how infrequently witches looked up.
Cloud Dancer stood on the cloud, as Clear Skies guided it from below with wingardium leviosa. Once in prime position, Cloud Dancer started jumping up and down, and proceeded to pelt the offensive person, and his four supporters, in alternating blasts of rain, hail, and lightning.
She peered down, over the edge of the much smaller cloud, at her singed and astonished victims. “I’d like to see one of you ‘superior’ wizards do that!” she said smugly, giving the cloud one last kick so that it dissolved into a short burst of rain.
Her friend floated her back to the floor.
The professors were not amused.
Neither was Filch when he saw the giant puddle in the corridor.
“No using spells in the corridors!” scolded Professor McGonagall, first on the scene.
“I wasn’t using a spell,” said Cloud Dancer self-righteously, offended at the suggestion she had somehow cheated. “I was cloud-walking!” she said with a virtuous indignation.
This necessitated a demonstration.
Cloud Dancer retrieved another cloud while a feather-weighted Professor Flitwick rode her. The pegasi then showed how they could stand, walk, and even lay down on a cloud. Then she made a chair, table, and bed out of the fluffy white stuff, and demonstrated using them as intended. The professors, and non-Equestrian students, were gobsmacked. Harry and the others had, by this time, been fetched for support, and with his use of the wings spell from last year, showed the professors that such things were possible for any wizard or witch with the proper spell.
They agreed, she had not cast a spell to create the miniature thunderstorm. The use of the levitation spell, however, was a borderline issue. But so many students had been using it to explore the public areas of the castle that to declare it forbidden at this stage would cause a great deal of unrest.
The saying “Never give an order you know will be disobeyed. It undermines your authority,” was apparently one that both Professors Flitwick and McGonagall were well-acquainted with. Wisely, they decided that because both the caster and the recipient had agreed prior to the casting, neither would be charged with rule-breaking.
The five disgruntled students — soaked, slightly-singed, and still smoking — were not pleased at this outcome.
The pegasi ability to manipulate weather quickly came to the centre of the discussion. And buried any objections the five, or their shyer supporters, might have had that the ponies should be punished.
Watching the thirteen pegasi clear the sky of clouds that afternoon left every non-pony slack-jawed.
The Quidditch captains were nearly drooling over the prospect of perfect weather for every game.
^-~-^
Filch stared up at the pony on the ceiling.
The pony stared back.
“Yer not usin’ a spell, are you?” he asked gruffly, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
The pony shook her head.
“An yer not a pegasus?”
The pony shook her head.
“How?”
“Well . . . um . . . I walked.”
“You walked,” he said flatly.
“Yes.” She lifted — lowered? — a hoof from the ceiling. “You see, I can grip the walls and stuff real tight to hold on.”
She shuffled awkwardly and turned to face him a bit better, although still upside down. “Earth ponies are really strong,” she said proudly. “And I wanted to see a couple of these sculptures the pegasi and unicorns have all been talking about.” She looked away. “I’m an Earth pony, so levitation makes me real nervous. I like to keep all four hooves on the ground, thank you very much.” She looked at her front hooves. “Or at least connected to the ground,” she looked around, “. . . eventually,” She looked back at him. “Don’t like the brooms, either.”
He threw his mop on the floor and put his hands on his hips and glared at her. “How the bloody hell am I supposed to clean HOOFPRINTS OFF THE CEILING!” he bellowed.
“Sorry?” she said meekly, ducking her head down . . . up?
The Headmaster thought it quite amusing when he heard about it, later.
Later, after hearing of the confrontation — Filch complained about it to anypony who would listen — Harry was not surprised to discover a new rule.
14. Ponies are not allowed to walk on the walls or ceilings inside or outside of any building on Hogwarts’ grounds without getting permission from a professor, first. For the purposes of this rule, Hagrid cannot give permission.
Harry noticed an earth pony, with a contemplative expression, over by one of the walls. As Harry watched, the pony tentatively placed his hoof against the wall, and then grinned widely.
He suspected that Rule Fourteen was going to be ignored — a lot. A new dimension had been opened in the tag-spell games — the earth ponies were not self-restricted to the ground!
^-~-^
It was a Double Potions day, Thursday. They were finally finished with the safety and proper preparation classes. This was the first day they were to do an actual potion.
They were working on a rather simple potion, today, the Blemish Blitzer. It was an acne cure someone earlier in the century had created. Myrtle would have loved to have that back in her first life.
To Professor Slughorn’s mystification, everyone was nervous and kept glancing with trepidation at Sweetie and her partner, Neville.
After a full year of always being paired up, the two had just continued the seating through habit. Professor Slughorn, new to Hogwarts this year, apparently had assumed they were dating and wanted to sit together. As long as it didn’t affect their work, he didn’t care.
For some reason, Professor Snape dropped by to have a few words with Slughorn. He took a long careful look across the class, sneering, of course, when he left.
Those closest to the pair were especially nervous, jumping and grabbing for their wands at the slightest noise or sudden movement from the two. While they knew they really had no way to prevent being affected — there were simply too many transmission methods to cover all the bases — many still cast bubble-head charms. They hoped they would be able to dodge anything thrown by an explosion.
Others cast spell shields against splashes. The later assumed that they were safe from explosion, and would have time to cast the bubble-head charm if they needed it. The shield-users didn’t understand how fast Brownian motion could move a tiny airborne particle from one side of a room to another. The shields were only effective from splashed material and didn’t give them time to switch to a bubble-head charm before the fumes from whatever had caused the explosion reached them.
The herd didn’t bother with any of that. They took the fatalistic approach that no matter what they did, they would be involved in the result. Plus, the fillies had years of experience as Cutie Mark Crusaders. They understood the futility of trying to anticipate all the possible outcomes of any single escapade. Whatever outcome they hadn’t anticipated would be the one that happened. It didn’t take a lot to convince Hermione and Ginny the futility to trying to prevent the inevitable.
Besides, at least with these accidents they weren’t lectured for hours and then grounded for a week or three.
Professor Slughorn, and his Equestrian Aide, Zecora, didn’t understand the students’ nervousness and seemed to decide their actions were a reaction to their first potion attempt in his class. He approved of the bubble-head charm, used by professionals to avoid fumes, and awarded the users a point at being so safety conscious without prompting, which puzzled the students. They weren’t being safety conscious. They were preparing as best they could for a known disaster that was approaching at full speed, like the Hogwarts Express returning to Hogwarts — Sweetie Belle was brewing a potion!
It was with a sense of palpable relief, which, again, puzzled their Professor and Zecora, when the class saw Sweetie and Neville carefully pour the contents of their cauldrons into vials. No explosions, no melted cauldrons, no mysterious, weirdly-coloured clouds of smoke, or oddly-smelling fumes. Or, rather, none that were unexpected.
That Professor Snape was waiting outside the classroom was unusual. That he demanded a memory from Sweetie Belle as she left had some of them rethinking their relief. What had they missed?
The more cautious ones remembered well some of the incidents from last year. They did not remove their bubble-head charm until they were far out of the dungeons, on their way to back to their dorms, and had scourgified their clothes several times. Fortunately, Potions was their last class of the day so they had plenty of time.
Those few were the lucky ones.
The witches were the first to discover something was wrong. After the double-period class, most headed for the toilets. Once there, they planned to check themselves in the mirrors before heading out into the corridors, again, as most people do. There was much lamenting as each girl saw how she looked a little . . . not quite right.
As one girl said, later in the Hospital wing as she waited for the hair-restoring potions to work, “That eyelash just would not stay straight. So, I plucked it. Then I saw that the other eye’s lashes didn’t balance it. So, I plucked one hair from there. Then I realized I should have taken another one instead.” She sighed despondently, “Now I don’t have any eyelashes . . . or eyebrows . . . and I look like I have a receding hairline!” She burst into tears.
The lack of almost half the Second-Year students was very noticeable at dinner. To quell the alarm, the Headmaster explained, “I’m sure you’ve noticed that a number of our Second Year Gryffindor and Slytherin students are absent. It appears our Miss Belle, of Gryffindor, has managed to brew a new potion.” *
There was a loud, “Oh!” as the students realized what that meant. Quite a few started laughing.
His eyes twinkled merrily. Those students were all in the Hospital Wing, and not all of them were witches. “If one looks in a mirror, the potion makes the viewer see that they're not perfectly groomed and coiffed, no matter their true state, and they feel compelled to correct that.” He hummed. “Some feel that the resulting fashion statements are best left unmentioned.”
He turned to the side slightly, “Professors Slughorn and Snape,” he turned back, “have concluded that the fumes settled on the students’ exposed skin while they were brewing the Blemish Blitzer potion.” He stroked his beard. “The effects should wear off tonight. In the meantime, for the remaining Slytherin and Gryffindor Second Years, I suggest that the prudent action would be to avoid mirrors for the next few hours.”
Several of the more astute students noticed that both Professor Snape and Slughorn seemed to be wearing glamours on their faces.
^-~-^
Castor stared, perplexed and amazed, at the two changelings sitting on the pillow-couch. The Ambassador stood beside him, relieved that the blame for the coming shite-storm wasn’t going to fall on his shoulders. They were in a waiting room in the United Kingdom Embassy to Equestria, in Canterlot.
The two changelings placidly stared back him. Although, with chitin faces, it was rather difficult to discern emotions, so he just assumed they were placid. What he knew of pony mannerisms would indicate they weren’t panicked or nervous. Except changelings were supposed to be masters of deception, weren’t they?
Castor was, according to Sir Patrick Jeremy Walker, KCB, — who was the Director General of Military Intelligence Five, the United Kingdom’s internal security service — the best available authority on ponies. As such, the theory went, he would have the most likely chance of settling the situation without ruining their relationship with the Princesses. “Sure. Right.” was Castor’s wry thought on the matter.
The two changelings had, according to what the Ambassador had told him, flown down in front of the Embassy as Gryphons They had landed in the area reserved for flying arrivals, beside the normal crowd of pony pedestrians. They then walked up to the Embassy doors, and asked the two human soldiers guarding it if this was the official Embassy of the United Kingdom to Equestria. Upon hearing it was, they asked permission to enter. Naturally, as this was an Embassy, they were told it was open to anyone who wanted to talk with a representative from the United Kingdom.
Clearly pleased at the answer, they had then walked inside and over to the receptionist’s desk. After greeting her very politely, they had then asked for asylum from those that would arrest and kill them. Upon being queried why, they both had dismissed their disguising illusions to reveal their true forms — and once again declared they wanted sanctuary and that they meant no harm.
Hence his presence here.
He moved over to the pillow-chair and sat. The Ambassador sat in a human chair brought in earlier for that purpose.
Castor took a breath and slowly let it out. This had the makings of the worst-possible snafu he could imagine, or the greatest intelligence coup in history. With his luck, it would be both, each at the most awkward of times.
“I am Captain Castor Searle. I’ve been tasked with resolving this situation.” He paused and waited.
The one on the left said, “I am Worker Infiltrator Three Hundred Seventy Thousand Four Hundred Fifty-one DB. You may call me Debby.”
“I am Worker Harvester Three Hundred Seventy Thousand Four Hundred Forty-three AB. You may call me Abby.”
Interesting names, Castor had to conclude as he nodded slowly. “Alright. You wish asylum in the United Kingdom, correct?” he said quietly.
The two changelings nodded.
“Please explain your circumstances, and why you think we should grant that.”
The changeling on the left, Debby, spoke first. “Decades ago, our Queen-Mother declared that the hive was slowly dying. While our infiltrators and harvesters were bringing back food, it wasn’t in sufficient quantities. Between losing lings to predators attacking the hive, disputes with other hives, and the ponies becoming more difficult to infiltrate, we were slowly shrinking in number. Increasing the take from the ponies would inevitably lead to our being discovered, and the ponies blockading us, wiping us out in a generation. Her advisors provided the proof.
“At that moment, the decline in numbers was slight, only a few every year, but it was clear that eventually, in a century or two, maybe three at the very most, we would go extinct.”
She sighed.
“Our Queen-Mother decided that the only solution was to secure a large pool of food that would not run out.
“We couldn’t seize a large town and hold it against the ponies, they outnumbered us by thousands to one, militarily. We could not win a war,” Abby said anxiously, glancing back and forth between her companion and Castor.
Debby continued. “Our Queen-Mother decided that a surprise attack on their leadership, Princess Celestia, had the best chance of success. While the pony army was much larger than our entire hive, it was also spread out over the entire country. If she took over Canterlot, which had a much smaller garrison than our army, and captured the Princess, she could secure control of the country. The ponies wouldn’t attack for fear of what would happen to Princess Celestia. Princess Celestia wouldn’t retaliate against the lings for fear of the harm we could do to her ponies, or the significant numbers of collateral pony deaths as she confronted our Queen-Mother, which were estimated would have been in the tens of thousands.”
“With a such a vast food source,” Abby said quickly, “the hive would be secure and could finally grow.
“She would keep the pony army to protect the ponies from their enemies and keep Equestria intact,” Debbi went on as if she hadn’t been interrupted. “Which would also keep us safe from our enemies and predators. For the average pony, nothing would change.” She wagged her head back and forth. “They would simply be changing one nobility for another, one Princess for a Queen.
“So, Our Queen-Mother began preparations.” Debby sighed. “Discovering Princess Food, was a miracle. She, alone, could keep the hive alive. It was to get her that Queen-Mother earnestly started planning to conquer Equestria, moving the attack date almost a century sooner.” She shook her head. “Simply capturing her would draw the attention and wrath of the other Princess. That would lead to standoff between the Hive and the Equestrian army — one we would lose.”
She sighed. “Then Princess Luna came back.” She shook her head wryly. “From one Princess to three in such a short time made our Queen-Mother desperate. If another alicorn arose, her plans would necessarily fail. The attack date was moved up.”
Abby hung her head sadly and half mumbled, “The rest you know.”
“Most of the hive died in the failed attempt,” Debby continued. “There were less than a thousand survivors scattered across the country, mostly at the outskirts of Equestria. They had to avoid notice and to secure food — many failed. Most of the survivors were not trained infiltrators, who were at the head of the attack and bore the brunt of the shield. Plus, it is much more difficult to hide among the population with that Changeling Spell the unicorns are using. All that remain are starving.
“There are no nymphs, no caretakers, no organization. Queen-Mother has a gathered a small number, a few hundred, to her in an attempt to make a new hive. The rest of us have been discarded. She does not have the resources for all of us to join her,” she said sadly. “Only the strongest and brightest were called to her side. Those not of immediate use . . ..”
Abby glared sadly out the window at the city beyond, her lip quivering. “The rest of us have been discarded. . .. We are starving. We have no hive.” She blinked rapidly for a moment. “We have nothing to lose. If we get asylum, at least we have a chance at living until next month.”
Debby, obviously the emotionally stronger one, looked at Castor hopefully. “We will Pinkie Promise to never work against the people or government of the United Kingdom.” She looked at the Ambassador. “We will gladly work with you in any capacity you ask, except to betray each other.”
“We could be a valuable resource in your intelligence operations,” she added slyly a moment later, looking back at Castor.
The Ambassador looked over at Castor. “Pinkie Promise?”
Castor was rather surprised the changelings were aware of that. He had learned about if from his association with the six Elements. He glanced at the Ambassador and nodded.
He leaned back and ruffled his wings in thought. That this could work for MI Five and Six was without question. Both would jump at the opportunities for the ultimate spies. The problem would be selling it to the ponies. There was no way they could sneak the changelings through the portal. It had to be all above board.
“You are emotivores, correct?”
They nodded. Abby’s eyes looked suspiciously damp.
“Explain how that works.”
They did.
“So,” he said, “Summarizing, you can absorb the emotional food you need for magic just by being close to ponies, plus you have to eat regular food to sustain your bodies, just as we and the ponies do?”
“Yes. But we need the emotional food or we will die as our magic fails. Just as we need normal food and water, or we will starve. We only captured ponies because of the need for emotional food for those lings who never left the hive.”
“The best sources for our food are weddings and foal nurseries — those have the ponies in the best of moods,” Debby said. “Unfortunately, pony wedding are usually small affairs, so we can’t get to many of those. Princess Food’s wedding was unusual in being so public and large. Only a very few of our infiltrators were able to maintain positions in hospitals.”
“Just by being there you can absorb the emotions?” he said cautiously.
“Yes, without anyone noticing or caring. It’s like standing in a rainstorm with your mouth open, drinking the rain. What you drink doesn’t impact the cloud in the slightest.”
That . . . was an interesting concept. It opened up many more possibilities. He leaned back and considered what Twilight had told him in view of this new development.
That the two changelings had managed so handily to sneak through all of Canterlot’s defences, in broad daylight, was testimony to their abilities. How they had evaded the Changeling detection spells was a study all by itself.
They presented quite the conundrum, however. Such a golden espionage opportunity to have agents who could get almost anywhere, impersonate almost any foe. Balanced by a dangerous ability to inadvertently, or not, cause massive destruction on people’s psyche. An ability they had no qualms about using. For them, nothing was off the table to accomplish their goals.
Controlling such amoral agents would be difficult. They would be like double- or triple-agents — you were never really sure of their loyalty, no matter what they said.
Finally, he leaned forward intently, ruffling his wings again. “Can you store this ‘food’? So, one of you could work at a church, during weddings, while the other is in the field?”
“Church?” they looked at each other and back to him, questioningly.
He smiled. “Churches are where we gather to pray to our God. They are also usually booked quite heavily in the spring and summer with weddings, sometimes as often as one every hour in a single building, with dozens or hundreds of attendees. Weddings during the rest of the year are not as frequent, but still daily.”
Churches, he thought, would be better than maternity wards in hospitals, if the manner in which the changelings fed did cause difficulties. New-born infants would be most susceptible to mental damage, considering their poorly developed brains. The adults at wedding would weather a single exposure with much less chance of anything causing permanent damage.
The two changelings’ jaws dropped and their eyes shot wide open in surprise. They looked at each other and then back at him. Debby started drooling, but caught herself and shut her mouth with a click.
“Yes, yes!” they said almost in chorus as they nodded. “Even if we only get a fraction of food from humans that we do from ponies that would work out very well!” They had both perked up considerably.
He shifted from hoof to hoof and narrowed his eyes in deep thought.
“I will run this by my superiors. As long as you swear not to hurt our citizens by your ‘foraging’, and promise to obey legitimate orders from your superiors, I think we have an accord.”
They nodded eagerly.
“The only sticking point will be getting the Equestrians to agree.”
“We will not betray our brothers and sisters.” Both were shaking their heads.
“We would rather die.”
He nodded slowly. He could understand that. “We can sell this to them as removing a problem from their country — permanently, without violence. Do you think you could somehow notify other changelings of this accord? Get them to come forward? Assuming we get permission, of course.”
They sat silent for a few moments. Then Debby said, “If we were provided an escort to certain areas so we could operate without interference from the locals, we might be able to gather some. We do still have a loose infiltrator network we can access.”
“It would take a few months,” slowly added the other.
“To ensure her ponies weren’t being preyed upon by rogue changelings, I think we could get the Princesses’ cooperation. If a male and female changeling were to agree to a thorough physical examination by Princess Twilight — nothing harmful — I’m sure we could get her cooperation in this.”
“But only if we get an accord, first,” firmly stated Debby, narrowing her eyes while Abby nodded rapidly.
Castor glanced at the Ambassador and raised an eyebrow. The ambassador gave a nod. “In the meantime,” he said, “while you wait to hear from our government, we have two rooms on the third floor you can stay in.”
“Do you have a space in the basement?” said Abby, looking a bit queasy. “We would prefer to be underground, if it’s all the same to you.”
The ambassador was a bit taken back at that. “We only have a few storerooms down there, but you’re welcome to use one if you want. Just give us a few hours to clean one out.” He paused a moment. “What about bedding?”
The two changelings rolled their eyes. “We are not spoiled as are the ponies,” Debby said derisively. “We have no need for such silliness. We don’t even need a room, a closet will do just fine.” Abby was nodding agreement.
“A closet?” asked the ambassador incredulously.
“I’ll sleep on the floor,” Debby said.
“I like sleeping on the ceiling,” Abby said. “A closet reminds me so much of my berth in the hive, only taller.” She looked wistful at the memory.
“Ceiling,” the ambassador said flatly.
Abby nodded distractedly while Debby laid a hoof on her side.
“Right!” Castor said decisively. “I’ll head off immediately. With any luck I’ll be back with a decision in a few days.” As he closed the door behind himself, he heard the ambassador asking the changelings if they needed anything to eat or drink.
^·_·^