If Wishes Were Ponies, Book II

by tkepner


Ch. 17. Realizations and Negotiations

“Excuse me,” Harry said hurrying to catch up with Parvati Patil. Parvati, Lavender Brown, and Lily Moon were headed for the Great Hall doors, having left the Gryffindor table after dinner.

The three fillies stopped and looked at him curiously.

“Parvati,” he said. “You have family back in India, right?”

She nodded. “My father, mother, and sister are the only members of my family in England, at the moment. Padma and I usually spend our summers at the ancestral home in India.”

Harry nodded. “Good.” He straightened up and his tone and posture became more formal. He took a deep breath. “Her Eternal Majesty, Princess Celestia, Mistress of the Invincible and Unconquered Sun, Bringer of the Day, Destroyer of Monsters, Bane of Evil, Guiding Hoof of the Realm, Monarch of Unicorns, Councillor of Earth Ponies, Commander of Pegasi, Matriarch of Night Ponies, and Co-ruler of Equestria and Their other Realms and Territories,” he said loudly. He had the attention of the entire Great Hall at this point. “Her Eternal Majesty, Princess Luna, Mistress of the Stars and Moon, Bringer of the Night, Guardian of Dreams and Destroyer of Nightmares, Bane of Evil, Defender and Grand General of the Realm, Matriarch of Night Ponies, Monarch of Unicorns, Councillor of Earth Ponies, Commander of the Pegasi, and Co-ruler of Equestria and Their other Realms and Territories; and Her Royal Highness, Twilight Sparkle, Princess of Friendship, Mistress of Magic, Bearer of the Element of Magic, Saviour of Equestria, Liberator of the Crystal Empire, Biggest Egghead Ever . . .,” his lips quirked as he suppressed his smile at that last one. Several in the hall broke into snickers. It still infuriated his mum that the Royal Sisters had made that last bit part of her official title. She still muttered about Trollestia whenever it came up. “. . . would like to inquire if your family would be willing to assist them in opening an Equestrian Embassy to the Indian Magical Government. The purpose of the Embassy would be primarily cultural, as the culture of India appears to be a rich and diverse one. The Princesses expect that the exchange will be interesting, profitable, and delightful, to all parties.”

He reached inside his right pocket — it was expanded — and pulled out a golden tube that was three fingers thick and as long as his forearm. It had the Equestrian seal, made from hundreds of tiny jewels, repeated around it so that at no time could you not see the seal and not know the tube’s origin. Larger gems decorated the ends, and were embedded throughout its length in geometric patterns.

“Should your family feel that this is a task better suited for another,” he continued in the same formal tone, “the Princesses request that your family pass this missive on to the most appropriate personage or authority.” He held out the tube to her in both his hands. “Your family, of course, will be generously compensated for their assistance in this matter.” He bowed, still holding the tube out to an astonished Parvati. “Please convey this message to your head of family, at your earliest convenience.”

The witch hesitantly took the tube, staring at him and his herd, who were also bowing — except Ron. Ron wasn’t in his herd, although he was with them.

The tube had the heavy feel of pure gold. The gems which decorated it were worth a king’s ransom, and the artistry of the inlaid seal and the other designs was breath-taking. The end-cap had something written in Hindi on one line, then “Bharatavarsha Confederation” on two lines, and “India” below that. All were written with tiny inlaid rubies.

Harry and the herd straightened. “The Princesses eagerly await your family’s response.” He paused a moment as she stared at the tube in wide-eyed wonder.

He grinned and relaxed. “The end with the emeralds unscrews, although it has a wax seal, too, right now. The message tube’s also indestructible, and becomes light-weight and shrinks when you tie it to a bird’s leg.”

Parvati looked back up at him. “I’ll, uh, send this out immediately,” she said.

He bowed briefly, again. “You don’t have to rush off, it’s not urgent or anything like that,” he said. “Mum said any time before the end of the year is fine. Oh! I almost forgot. The tube is a portkey for itself. So, when they’re ready to respond, put the answer in the tube, tap it with a wand, and say, ‘Return to the Equestrian Embassy’ and it’ll go. That’s in the letter inside, too.” He smiled again. “Thanks for your help.”

“Sure,” she said uncertainly, looking at her friends.

Then he added, “The Princesses also told me to mention that any witch, wizard, or squib can visit any Equestrian embassy and request asylum. Any. Equestrian. Embassy.” He stared at her intently until she nodded. He nodded and smiled back. “Thank you,” he said.

He turned and looked back out into the Great Hall. “Is Su Li still here?” he said quietly.

Apple Bloom, the tallest, went on tip-toes and looked at the Ravenclaw table. “Yep. I kin see her.”

The Indian witch, seeing him turn away, started back out the Great Hall doors. Her friends went with her, all chattering excitedly, and studying the message tube with oohs and ahhs.

The rest of the hall was also chattering excitedly.

Everyone had expected something all day. Harry’s Phoenix, at least they thought Philomena was Harry’s, had flamed into the Great Hall at breakfast and delivered a package to him. When nothing more momentous had occurred immediately after that, they had assumed something would happen later. This exceeded their expectations: a diplomatic mission that involved the Atlanteans reaching out of England! No doubt there would be a rush on the owlery this evening.

Harry nodded. “I think we should wait here instead of interrupting her dinner.”

The others nodded.

It wasn’t a long wait. Su Li had noticed that they were watching her. Lisa Turpin, Mandy Brocklehurst, Isobel MacDougal and Padma Patil all accompanied her, their curiosity clearly aroused.

As soon as Su Li stopped in front of him, Harry stiffened up, and delivered almost the same message. The only differences were, naturally, that he mentioned China’s long cultural history. The message tube had the first two lines in Chinese, and “China,” in English, as the third line on the cap.

By this time, the Headmaster had made his way to them, and stood nearby, quietly listening and observing.

Harry sighed after finishing his spiel with Su. The Headmaster should have waited, according to Blueblood, if it concerned him. If it didn’t, then coming to meet Harry was inappropriate. Unfortunately, the Headmaster’s curiosity had gotten the better of him.

Harry had planned to go to the Head Table anyway.

He turned to face Dumbledore. “Princess Twilight asked me to tell you that asking for the Ministry’s help in contacting the magical governments of India and China might imply that the English Ministry had some sort of influence over Equestria’s actions. She also said that asking for your assistance as the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards was considered.

“However, given your position as Headmaster of Hogwarts and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, that might give the same impression, anyway. Hence, the Princesses’ decision to use this approach. No slight or insult was intended towards your person or positions.” Harry bowed.

The Headmaster inclined his head. “No insult taken,” he murmured softly. “Please tell the Princesses that if there is anything in which I might be of assistance, to please contact me at their convenience. I would be happy to help.”

Harry nodded again.

The Headmaster nodded back and turned to head out of the Great Hall. No doubt he was headed to his office.

Harry sighed again.

“So,” he said, turning back to the herd and Ron, “Shall it be the library or the dorm?” He looked at his friends inquisitively.

“Library,” said Hermione, Sweetie Belle, and Neville, who had joined them.

“Dorm,” said Scootaloo, Apple Bloom, and Ginny.

Ron groaned. “Library,” he said dispiritedly.

Harry stared at Ron, stunned — as did everyone else.

“I gotta Transfigurations paper due tomorrow morning.”

Hermione stared at him, aghast. “That paper was assigned a week ago!” she said accusingly.

He shrugged.

She rolled her eyes, and started for the library. The rest followed.

^-~-^

Anne Bourchier slowly closed the book after re-reading it and stared out over Diagon Alley. It was an interesting read. She looked back at the cover and studied the two names written there: Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels. It reminded her tremendously of what that evil mare had stolen from her — which still made her grind her teeth. However, it concentrated on the concept of socialism as a natural result of the conflicts inherent in the capitalist system instead of the inherent conflicts of cutie magic as practiced by ponies.

She had discovered the topic during one of her excursions into Knockturn Alley, into one of the bars. She had been visiting each gathering place of workers, trying to determine their opinions of the current governing system.

None of them liked the Ministry. They all complained about the corruption, favouritism, cronyism, discrimination, and prejudice patently obvious in its everyday operation. A half-blood had jokingly said, “It’s time to overthrow the bourgeoisie . . . it’s time for a Communist revolution. The proletarians have nothing to lose but their chains!” A loud cheer had erupted from those closest, followed a moment later by louder laughter. Then more grumbling about how it would be an improvement, impossible though it was.

It had confused her at first, and she had pretended to be an ignorant half-blood, asking for more information. Which had led to this book, and another, Das Capital, and a few more besides. She had found the books in the convenient bookstore just outside the Leaky Cauldron.

His theories, while interesting, had only a small impact on magical beings. While the magicals did work on a mostly capitalist system, it was far more feudal in actual operation and governance. The seats on the Wizengamot were, for the most part, hereditary. Except for Department Heads and winners of the Order of Merlin, First Class, medal.

Old families, like the nobility Marx railed against, wanted to keep the status-quo. They would resist changing unfair laws and rules, simply because, “That’s the way we’ve always done it.” This also meant the laws were heavily biased in the favour of those same old families — the members were not about to pass a law that disadvantaged themselves or their families!

It reminded her quite a lot of how the Sisters ran Equestria.

Using her native pony magic had made it easy to establish close friendships with the secretaries who really ran the bureaucracy. After an accidental meeting at a store, they would tell their new best-mate everything they knew about the Ministry. They were more than happy to air their gripes about their jobs. With their input, it was foalishly easy to map out the politics and power-blocks. And determine who would make for a steadfast ally or opponent.

She found herself enjoying the challenge.

She would use her limited influence behind some of the efforts of the Princesses’ pawn, Dumbledore. Much as she hated the three Princesses, in this case, through Dumbledore, they were trying to correct injustices. It would be hypocritical of her to oppose them simply because she hated the way the Princesses treated the ponies, Equestria, and Equus in total, as their toys.

On the other hoof, the discrimination in Equestria was more of social standing than anything else — except for those hated cutie marks. Not like here where personal pedigree mattered the most. Muggle-borns and half-bloods were frozen out of many positions simply because of their birth. Their abilities, intelligence, and knowledge had no impact on their acceptance or advancement.

The discrimination against those who were not a witch or wizard was even worse. Entire classes of beings were excluded, and treated as no more than animals! Their treatment of werewolves was simply criminal, for example.

However, that last would soon be a non-issue, given the discovery that visiting Equestria during full-moons was a cure.

Although the witches and wizards preferred to call it Atlantis, for some bizarre reason. The Daily Prophet was in the habit of starting every story about them with, “The Atlanteans, who prefer to be called Equestrians, . . ..”

The concentration of wealth in the hands of so few in magical England was an accurate reflection of the situation in Canterlot. While the ponies and magicals were not like the destitute peasants mentioned in Marx and Engels’ book, they were disadvantaged and kept downtrodden by those that thought they were superior.

The ponies living in the countryside were much more egalitarian, in that respect. In this witchery world, hiding as they were, that wasn’t a possibility.

Marx’s theories on the equal division of labour and profit were fundamentally flawed, unfortunately, she could see. Just because he and Engles loved the work they did, didn’t mean every pony did. If given a chance, many ponies would do the minimum amount of work possible, regardless of their own potential to do more.

She had seen that in her town, Equality. Some ponies worked very hard, others in the same field of endeavour, as little as possible. She hadn’t cared. If they were happy with the earnings they made, she wasn’t about to criticize their work ethic. It was none of her business.

Marx’s socialism, however, was a different beast. It was unfair to take the total of the result of the people, combine it together, and simply divide it equally. The hard worker would become disillusioned at being punished for her consistent labour by receiving less, while the slacker would be rewarded for doing little. The result of such an approach would be poor yields and shoddy products. No pony would be happy with the outcomes.

One book, The History of the Communist Soviet Union, had explained how Stalin, in post-Imperial Russia, had originally imposed true communism on the farmers in the country. He had established large collective farms where hundreds worked together to grow crops. Six months later, he had had to abandon that plan in the face of open revolt by the entire farming community — eighty-percent of the total population! It seemed people did not like seeing slackers take advantage of their hard work. The hard workers felt they should get more of the bounty they produced.

Imagine that. What a surprise. Who would have thought that?

Only a rich bourgeoisie would not realize this. Which described both Marx and Engels — the literacy rate was extremely high at the time in their homeland compared to other countries. Unfortunately, only the rich could afford advanced schooling in Imperial Germany! Who also excluded most mares.

Stalin had changed to a hybrid system where farmers were allowed large “gardens” of their own that they could tend to when they weren’t working in the collectives’ fields. They were allowed to sell and trade from their gardens without interference. The only “rule” was they couldn’t have employees. But having a “friend” help in exchange for food? That was alright.

Those gardens, it turned out, usually out-produced the collectives’ fields, even though the gardens were much, much smaller.

Marx’s pure communism, predictably, was a failure.

On the other hoof, his idea of worker-owned businesses, and labour unions, wasn’t.

So, her solution was to have the workers own the large businesses — the small ones were not an issue as they were usually run by the ones doing the work, anyway!

Which reminded her. She needed to give her workers in the Daily Prophet a bonus. She had given them a raise when she had hit fifty-one percent of the stock ownership and taken control of the company. The remaining stock owners had immediately complained about the decrease in their earnings. She, in turn, had then offered to buy their stock. Several had been foolish enough to agree. With her current fifty-seven percent ownership, none could deny her the improvements she sought.

Reporting the news and not the slander pushed by the Ministry had garnered the newsparchment much attention. A few discrete spells that pushed for accuracy in the stories, and loyalty to her, had been a help.

Inspired by the raises, the staff worked harder than before to bring in interesting stories.

Revenues had risen as a result.

It was only proper that the staff should share in the additional profits.

She would make it a regular, monthly, pay-out, with the rewards slanted towards those on the bottom — they needed the extra more than the ones at the top. It was amusing that what she earned in stock dividends from the business wasn’t even half of what the Editor-in-Chief earned. But it was more than sufficient for what she needed for necessities, as well as a few luxury items when she wanted to spoil herself.

In the meantime, she needed to do a bit more research on which businesses belonged to which old families. Then she would either purchase the business and sell it to the workers, or blackmail or magic the owner into paying fair wages and offering bonuses for business improvements.

Sirius, she figured, would be a good ally in that he didn’t care about money. She could convince him to join her in setting up independent businesses.

She might even be able to start up competition, and hire away the owners’ employees. She was sure they would abandon their employer for better paying jobs doing the same thing. To prevent her competitor from simply hiring new employees, she would begin spreading the idea of unions the next time she visited Knockturn Alley.

After all, if it is right and proper for a businesspony to maximize their profits by efficiently organizing their business’ resources, both physical and labour, then it is also right and proper for the labourers to maximize their wages by efficiently organizing themselves in return.

In the meantime, she needed to start work on undermining some of the Ministry blockades to her plans — such as the odious toad-like Senior Undersecretary to the Minister. Umbridge would fight every advance, Anne could see.

There were others who were objecting to the reforms the Chief Warlock was pushing through the Wizengamot. It was time for the Daily Prophet to start a campaign to bring those dissident voices under control.

^·_·^

Tom found himself in a quandary. Not the possession, that was proceeding apace quite nicely. No one suspected a thing. His host was a bit surly, but then he was always a bit surly. As long as he did what he was told, the soon-to-be-restored Lord Voldemort was satisfied.

The switch from a firstie Hufflepuff to a second year Slytherin had gone off without a hitch. The firstie had been a good choice, in the beginning, but getting close to his former lieutenant, Malfoy, was a better ploy.

A confundus at the right time, a silver knife from his potions kit for the blood-letting, and a mild command to write in the diary the first time had been all he needed. The plus to it all, which he hadn’t expected, was that having blood from both his victims linking to the diary meant he was getting a flow of soul energy from both! True, the flow from his first victim was small, but it was there. If he could get several others as donors, he wouldn’t need a sacrifice to get embodied. But where was the fun in that?

It would be so much more satisfying if he could drain this fool dry. The fool’s father would mourn his death, searching endlessly for his killer and vowing terrible vengeance. He’d never suspect that the one he served, the one whose feet he kissed in supplication, was the very one who had done the deed. Ah, delicious irony!

For now, he could pick up from Malfoy’s spawn what was happening among his Death Eaters. The boy knew far more than his father expected. An occasional confundus made the intelligence gathering something anyone could accomplish. Torturing him afterwards, healing the damage, and obliviating him of the incidents was ever so much fun. The incurable brain damage of too many obliviations would slowly accumulate over the year. A fair punishment for his father having deserted the Dark Lord eleven years ago, seeking only his own glory.

Those scum had abandoned him! While Tom had been sleeping as a horcrux, his original had been wandering the mortal plain as a wraith. They should have been easily able to track him down and restore him. His Dark Mark would have been a guiding beacon to anyone with the brains god gave a goldfish.

And yet, his loyal, faithful, devoted followers hadn’t bothered. Traitors!

Unless his other self had been stupid and not warned his closest lieutenants what to do should he appear to have “died.” After all, if they didn’t know he was a wraith, how would they know to look for him? Telling them he had gone further down the path to immortality than anyone had ever done before wasn’t telling them anything useful!

Then again, maybe he had told them and they had decided to abandon him. His followers should have known he wasn’t gone, in any case. Their Dark Marks hadn’t disappeared!

The biggest mystery was what had happened all those years ago. How had a toddler managed to defeat the greatest wizard of all time? Truthfully, he doubted the toddler had done anything except make a mess in his diapers. His parents had, undoubtedly, laid a subtle trap for him. The problem was, how had they known he was going to attack them? Why had he specifically targeted a toddler in the first place?

The boy wizard did have impressive control of his magic — an animagus before even coming to Hogwarts! Plus, he had been the centre of a number of massive changes in Hogwarts — including removing problematic professors and instigating a complete overhaul of the spells protecting the castle!

Yes, he would keep the boy under as close observation as possible. It would be child’s play to subvert a few Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs to report on the boy.

He would find the truth and exact his revenge in both cases.

However, his current host was more than happy to help the Dark Lord regain power. It was just too bad that the fool didn’t know it meant his life was forfeit . . . nah, no need to worry about that. It was fitting that the son of a former Death Eater would be sacrificed to bring him back. It showed such dedication to his master.

He snickered quietly to himself.

No, the problem was with the Atlanteans.

By all that he had read in the Daily Prophet — stealing the newsparchment after Malfoy discarded it was child’s play — Atlantis was a paradise compared to Britain. So much magic was there that they had never heard of a squib! Magic permeated everything to the degree that they had never needed to invent wands or any other magical foci!

The flood of first years had seemed to indicate that their population was similar to England’s — a potentially rich source of new followers. Especially those that felt disadvantaged. But then his former host had talked with several of them. Discovering that they had been chosen from among a thousand others of the same age had been earth shaking! Simple math had told him that meant they had a population eight times that of wizarding England! Which meant they had more magic users than all but two countries — China and India. Then another had told him that the thousand were the volunteers out of the total forty thousand eleven-year-old students! Again, simple math had told him that that meant they had more magic users than all the countries on the planet. One country, with more magic users than the rest of the planet. It was mind boggling.

His old plan of destroying the pure-bloods, while milking them of every galleon they had, was passé. Oh, he had not doubt they would flock to him once they discovered he was back. However, the Atlanteans had changed the whole dynamic. The younger adults might want to “restore” the old ways, but not the older adults. The family heads would be more interested in adding the Atlantean magical heritage to their lines — no squibs for the last thousand years, minimum! What old family wouldn’t want that for their heirs? Not to mention that every single one of the Atlanteans had managed an animagus form before he or she arrived at the school!

The Atlanteans were the envy of every old family in the United Kingdom. Probably the world, once the other countries heard the stories.

The next generation, after one of their parents married an Atlantean, would demonstrate to the muggle-born just how out-classed they were in the wizarding world. That would quickly set things to the right, as far as the family-heads were concerned. There was no need for a rebellion, especially when it might result in the death of a child of theirs. Not when that same child could be gaining a new magically-powerful husband or wife from Atlantis!

If he were to go back to the old tactics he had apparently used — which several books in the library dissected in exquisite detail — the Ministry might ask for the Atlanteans’ military assistance.

If the ratio of Aurors to public was the same in Atlantis as it was in the rest of the world, it meant they had nearly twice as many aurors as England had wizards!

Any attempt to foster rebellion would be crushed by the sheer military presence brought to the battlefield. He wouldn’t be able to bribe them, nor entice them, to support his efforts from inside the Ministry. With an independent force in the Ministry, any operation he tried to implement would quickly get a response that far outnumbered any he might be able to field.

Just look at how they had responded to a threat to just one of their students at Hogwarts last year. They had fielded a force beyond anything the English Aurors could have. And they did so in a matter of minutes — with a competence that put the Aurors to shame, according to the second-year and older students.

He didn’t dare attract their attention unless he had an army at his beck and call.

Making matters worse, from his point of view, was that the Atlanteans didn’t even understand what the issues of pure-blood, half-blood, and muggle-born were about. As far as they were concerned, everyone could do magic, so what was the problem?

Plus, with such a huge population, if someone felt they were being discriminated against in one location, they simply moved somewhere else where they weren’t!

He would have to rethink everything.

He wouldn’t get financing from the old families because they wouldn’t want to “rock the boat” while things were in a state of flux with the Atlanteans. In ten years or so, after things had settled down to routine, he might garner some interest if things weren’t working out as the family heads had imagined. But it was just as likely that they would be pleased with their efforts so far and not inclined to back him.

He had no idea of the political and social situation in Atlantis. The students from there were remarkably close-mouthed. He had learned that they were a theocracy of some kind, with a Royal family of three Princesses being in charge. Two of the Princesses, the students claimed, were over a thousand years old!

They had nothing but praise for the one they called Celestia, and even used her name the same way some wizards and witches called on Merlin. The one called Luna wasn’t nearly as well-liked.

There was a bit of mystery about the second one. He had heard one student say she had been banished for the last thousand years and only recently returned. A thousand years!

However, they had nobles who ran the country somewhat like the Wizengamot ran England. Having what appeared to be a monoculture — no muggle-born, half-bloods, or even ones that they would consider foreigners — Atlanteans appeared quite happy with the status-quo. Which meant he had no hope of gathering followers and power from ponies discontented with the status quo.

On the other hand, . . . Princesses who were well over a thousand years old? That bore some serious contemplation.

While he was a horcrux, and thus had the potential to be immortal, the body he lived in wasn’t. It would grow old and die, he assumed. It would live a long time, sure, but eventually it would die. Would he be able to switch to a new body? If he was killed in battle or his body died, would he survive death as the original soul had? Or would he just dissipate? The purpose of a horcrux was to enable the primary soul to persist in this plane, not the other way around.

Being a Horcrux, he wasn’t sure if he could use the soul-ritual again to create another. If he could, would it protect him? Or only the original? Did he dare take the chance? In both cases the downsides far outweighed the upsides.

Once he was embodied, he should visit Equestria. It wouldn’t hurt to spend a few years investigating how those two had achieved their apparent immortality.

Yes. First, he would embody himself. Then go to Atlantis to learn what he could of immortality. Then return here and retrace his original’s travels to learn the magics he had learned. Once that was done, he would decide what to do next.

Maybe he should also explore using the blood-ritual to secure a few more donors? If he could re-embody without leaving a dead wizard behind, it would make it much harder for anyone to realize he had returned.

Increasing the number of donors, however, might make it easier for the castle spells to detect him.

That, too, required serious study.

^-~-^