"Are you ready for your day with the Wonderbolts?" Twilight asked in a chipper voice.

He knew any other pegasus would be thrilled, but honestly, spending a day with celebrities didn't sound like a worthwhile experience. He'd rather spend the day with Professor Book; it's Sunday, so this 'amazing outing' would take the place of one of his lessons. He hadn't really cared for this reward when he signed up, but as Professor Book had said last night, he should use the opportunity to his advantage, not complain. Especially since he voluntarily chose to earn it for himself.

"Okay," said Twilight, "here we- OH!" The horn glow that typically preceded teleportation cut off abruptly. "Would you like to wear the Flight Suit you got from Rarity?"

Silver tilted his head consideringly. According to Mr. Book's recent non-magical lessons... "You know what? That's a good idea."

Silver nodded and flew up to his room, dumped his saddlebag on the ground, and opened the closet. He felt a slight tinge of irrational apprehension upon seeing the apparel.

There had been a minor hiccup with the flight suit, one he should have seen coming. A big part of pegasus magic deals directly with the air via skin and fur. The suit completely covers skin, fur, and hooves. He'd had the wonderful idea to try the suit for the first time when he was already on a cloud. Therefore...

A flash of panic.
Activation of a portkey (which ate all his momentum).
A few minutes to calm his racing heart.
A decision to get broomstick enchantments on his bones the next time he met with Mr. Book.
A march to a certain boutique.

Rarity had cried for a long time, then re-made the suit free of charge (after researching the Wonderbolt suits to learn how to make it properly), then declared that Silver would get anything he wanted from her store for free for the rest of his life. Not that Silver would or even wanted to abuse that offer; he didn't care for clothes, he just wanted not to die. Though apparently, ponies (and especially pegasi) were resistant to falls, same as wizards. Even terminal velocity isn't a guaranteed death sentence for a pegasus, so he probably wouldn't have died, or even been permanently maimed.

Ignoring the memory, he threw the suit onto himself as quickly as possible, not caring whether it looked good, simply getting his limbs and wings and head through the right holes. When his tailored and now-enchanted suit was on – for a stretched definition of 'on' – he said "Emergus", pointed his wand at himself, and spoke the words of a charm he'd learned from Mr. Book.

A certain noble friend on the other side of the mirror had used it every day, apparently. It ensures that one's clothes and general appearance are as presentable and proper as possible. The spell had been created by a Malfoy who married into the family, a respectable witch who had gone to Ravenclaw instead of Slytherin, and she had named it the 'Prim and Proper' Charm. It was a spell the Malfoys kept only in their own family, teaching it to no-one else. That is, until the day Voldemort had demanded his Death Eaters divulge all their personal secrets, especially those pertaining to magic.

With the charm cast, Silver grabbed his other outfit (which Rarity had also re-made to be flight-capable as part of her apology) and stuffed it through the widening lip of one of his bag's pockets. Silver decided that would be his 'clothes' compartment.

He then levitated the saddlebag onto his back and charmed himself once more to properly orient the saddles. With that done, he used a different charm to straighten out his perpetually messy hair into a flowing mane – a charm which had a sort of amplified effect on ponies compared to humans, affecting his fur too. He said "Vajinus" to dismiss his wand and flew back down to Twilight.

Which is part of why Mr. Book had taught him the two seemingly useless charms. Those charms made presentability a matter of seconds, not long minutes. Minutes each day add up to hours each month and days over the course of a lifetime.

"Like a brand new kind of Wonderbolt," Twilight said, eyes gleaming. "You look like different pony! Here," she summoned a large mirror. "Look!"

(A/N: Ignore the armband. This picture's from back before I thought to make her stasis form Tungsten and hide it under an armband that looked like his other three portkeys. You know, the sensible thing to do. And now you know how the cover page of this fic was made.)

"You're right," Silver said. "It's like the Wonderbolt uniform, except it matches my own colour scheme. I wonder what that would be called. A Whitebolt? A Wondercolt?"

"Silver Wing the Wondercolt," Twilight said, brushing his mane with her hoof. The charm kept it from getting wild again. "I like it."

That's not bad, actually, Silver thought. Probably because it reminds me of Robin, Boy Wonder. "We ready to go?" he asked, glancing at a wall clock.

"Oh! Yes!" Her horn began glowing again. "Just give me a moment to get the spell ready-" without any sense of disorientation or nausia that sometimes comes with portkeys, they were suddenly standing on a stratus "-and we're here. Hi Rainbow Dash!"

Their instant appearance astonished the assembly of assorted pegasi, though not- "Hi Twi." -Rainbow Dash, who was used to it by now. She gave him a once-over. "Lookin' good, squirt."

Emotionally, he didn't care how he looked. Beyond the basics of cleanliness and not being naked, he had never cared. But according to his noble friend, and more recently Mr. Book, appearances are one of the most important things in politics. Good arguments and charisma do help, but looks matter more to the general public. If Silver wants normal ponies to see him as a competent pegasus, he needs to dress the part first and foremost and then act like it.

And so, with his head held high, a young pony of interest looking to all the world like a future Wonderbolt said to the gathered contest-winners and Wonderbolts:

"Silver Wing the Wondercolt, at your service. Pegasus magic lessons are ten bits an hour for young ponies, fifteen for teens, and twenty for grown ponies. Mondays and Fridays from four to six PM, starting tomorrow at the school stadium."

She still didn't approve of privatising knowledge. She had only reluctantly relented when Silver related Mr. Book's research about unicorn privatisation, like of...

Twilight nodded. "Remember to tell everypony you got your flight suit from Rarity's Boutique in Ponyville. I know they're going to ask."

"You just took care of it," Silver said, no longer able to suppress his grin. "Thanks for that, too."

Twilight sighed again, said "You're welcome. See you tonight," then teleported away.

The group of twenty-one pegasi – eighteen victors and three Wonderbolts – flew through the air in a V formation. Stronger pegasi flew up front, weaker ones flew in back, following the following order:

"Are you really gonna teach us how to air buck?" asked the pegasus that was closest to his own age, the one who had won the aerial performance, from behind and to his left.

"Only the ponies who sign up for my lessons," said Silver, punctuating the last word with a kick. Not a buck, a kick. This was followed by another kick, then another, with feet alternating up and down like a swimmer's. Air-bucking would have sent him out of formation, as it had done when they set out, so he'd had to improvise. He was the only one in the group who wasn't flapping his wings from time to time.

"Can anypony sign up for lessons?" a different pegasus asked from a bit further up.

"Ten bits an hour if you're younger than me, fifteen if you're older or the same age. That's either twenty or thirty bits for the first lesson."

Born as the seventh month dies, and it's currently the eighth. Not that he needed a prophecy to know his own birthdate, but there is something captivating about the phrasing.

"I can't afford thirty bits," said the colt behind him. "I only get five for my allowance each week."

"Just tell your parents you want to take extra flying lessons," he said with a conspiratorial grin. "They'll probably cover the cost if they see you're eager to learn... unless they don't like me." His speech had ruffled a few feathers, according to the newspapers. "In which case, don't ask. Or ask for a bigger allowance instead. I'm not changing the prices... though I guess I'd be up for barter if you had something valuable to trade."

Silver snorted. "Can't, since I don't have any. And even if I did, I don't cheat on homework. And even if I did, I think my grades would get worse if I let somepony else take over." The colt seemed about to object, but Silver continued before he could. "Unless you also tested out of twelfth grade maths."

One of the adult pegasi ahead of them, nearby enough to have overheard, seemed to suffer from a sudden bout of turbulence that didn't hit anypony else.

"Okay, now I know he's full of it," one of them declared confidently from the other side of the V. "There's no way a sixth-grader tested out of three twelfth grade subjects. There's no way anypony does that."

"No, I heard it's true," said another, a young mare who looked and sounded like she was fifteen years old. "My parents are friends with the superintendent, and they say he won't stop talking about it."

"I don't buy it," said a third. "Athletes don't get good grades. It's, like, a fact of life."

"I have good grades," said the pony who initially asked Silver about his lessons.

"I'm actually not much of an athlete," Silver said before an argument could break out. "Or a flyer. I won because I can figure things out. As soon as the actual athletes take my lessons, there goes my chances of winning. Not that I intend to compete again. I only got to the root of pegasus magic in the first place because I hated doing laps the normal way, and I only joined the race so I could give that speech at the end."

Many of the older pegasi were now staring at him like they couldn't believe that had been his motivation.

One of the relatively younger pegasi giggled. She was the race winner of the age group directly above his – a thirteen-or-fourteen-year-old – and thus she flew directly in front of and to his right. "I hate laps too." She flew closer to Silver, nearly threatening to break the formation. "We sure do have a lot in common, don't we?"

Subtle, Silver thought. "Not in the slightest," he said, re-establishing the distance between them and reforming the V proper. His not-pegasus magic flowing into the transfigured metal band around his back left fetlock was particularly noticeable in that moment.

"Dude," whispered the colt behind him. "That's High Flyer. She's a looker and her parents are loaded. At least think about it."

Not to mention evolutionary psychology suggested that he, a born human, wouldn't ever find ponies attractive; not unless the Mirror changed his brain too.

"And even if I was going through puberty," he added, "I don't care about money or status." A memory about a certain shallowness in one of his family members rose to the surface. "I also don't think I'll care that much about appearances when I am an adult. Or I'm going to try not to care. My own mum was somewhat shallow when she fell for my dad, once upon a time, and I don't plan to follow in her footsteps in that regard. What I will care about is depth and mind."

(A/N: This is me facepalming as I realize I hadn't explicitly thought of the British accent until just now.)

Silver weighed his potential responses. He shouldn't risk getting caught in a lie, so he only had seconds of inference to work with. Twilight didn't share his accent... so maybe it was only high society unicorns?

They arrived at their destination before more could be said, and he let out a sigh of relief.

He'd been a bit of a social recluse until now; this was his first time being confronted about the issue. He'd just assumed ponies were used to varied accents. He should have known better, and prepared.

He'd have to consult with Mr. Book for a more comprehensive cover story. Come to think of it, why hadn't Mr. Book already sat him down and described what they would tell others? Was it really just ignorance about what would stand up to scrutiny as a serviceable lie?

An orange-and-yellow-maned Wonderbolt, standing in front of the entrance to a cloud structure reminiscent of an airfield, cut off further introspection. "Welcome to the Wonderbolts Academy," she announced.

"I fully expect to see some of you flying here in the future, so get used to it. We're going to sit in on a class, then watch some recruits in action, then stop for lunch. Any questions?"

Soon after their group was seated in the academy's only classroom, Silver said, "Paper and pencil." The two items jumped obligingly out of his saddlebag and into his hoof. He set them on the desk and got ready to take notes – only to realise that many ponies were staring at him, including some of the Wonderbolts.

"Correct," said Silver. "I'm not a unicorn, but the pony who made this pouch is a unicorn, and the pony who enchanted this pouch is also a unicorn." Then, Silver realised something. "Oh, that reminds me."

Since they wouldn't be flying until at least after lunch, he shouldn't need his flight suit for a while (not that he needed it in the first place). May as well look the part of a smart young pony, rather than a skilled young flyer. Appearance matters.

"First outfit," he said, drawing his 'smart' clothes from a pocket that should not have been large enough to hold it and causing the stares of the nearby ponies to widen.

"Bigger on the inside than it looks on the outside," Silver explained as he unzipped and shrugged off his flight suit.

It was rather convenient that an absence of clothes can't be considered indecent. You could change anywhere, even in the middle of a public classroom. Though he couldn't use the Prim and Proper charm without excusing himself to privacy, so it evened out.

They were soon introduced to a series of speakers, each having some title or other related to the Wonderbolts. As the minutes and the lectures dragged on, Silver came to a conclusion. The class isn't all that interesting. Well, actually, it is interesting, but not in a good way.

"...and the Wonderbolts have been the strongest and most active part of the Equestrian Royal Forces ever since," proudly declared the instructor, a retired Wonderbolt named Strong Wing.

"Are there any prominent Pegasi institutions besides the Wonderbolts?" Silver asked politely.

"Well," said Silver, "The unicorns have Canterlot University, Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns, the Grand Dueling Circuit, the High Spell Society, the High Mind Society, the Best Books Club, and a bunch of others that I can't remember off the top of my head. I'm asking if Pegasi have anything roughly equivalent to those. Or is it just the Wonderbolts?"

"Ah... yes... good, ah, question." The old pegasus coughed a few times. "Well, pegasi have the Aerial Division of the Equestrian Guard. And there's always the Weather Factory, of course, and our mail delivery services..." The old stallion trailed off, as if he couldn't think of anything else to add.

Silver shook his head. "That's not what I meant. Businesses are important, but they don't have the same cultural impact as... say, controlling every book-publishing institution, or being and educating the country's most eminent scholars, or filling every major seat of power in Canterlot except the Princesses themselves. And even the princesses have horns. Plus, all it takes is one unicorn inventing a spell to teleport letters back and forth-" that doesn't involve dragons, anyway "-to completely undermine our delivery services. Isn't there something other than the Wonderbolts and the Weather Factory and the post office that will come to your typical pony's mind if you asked them why pegasi are important to pony society?"

"Nevermind," Silver said in a deliberately dejected tone of voice. He wrote down weather factory, guard, post office onto the paper in front of him, more for show than anything else.

Hopefully the gears are beginning to turn in the heads of at least a few nearby pegasi of note.

Star athletes aren't the most influential ponies; if he really wants change, he'd need the ears of the wealthy and/or politically powerful. But celebrities are a good start.

Silver finished chewing the hay that constituted his lunch, swallowed, closed the book he'd been reading, returned it to his pouch, and looked up. He beheld the orange-maned Wonderbolt who'd ushered them into the academy.

It was hard to read her facial expression beneath the flight suit, but Silver thought she might have looked worried. "You... don't seem all that excited to be here," she said at last.

"I know," the mare sighed. She removed the hood of her suit, as well as her flight goggles, allowing her to look into his eyes without obstruction. "Princess Celestia told me about you."

Princess Celestia... ruler of Equestria... whom he may or may not have insulted by implying right under her nose that her schools aren't all they're cracked up to be.

Rule of conversation: never volunteer vulnerabilities. Especially not until you understand the motives of the prober.

"She... said..." The mare seemed to be having trouble getting the words out. "You don't have a foalhood anymore."

"Oh, that," Silver said, breathing a silent sigh of relief. "She's right. I don't."

Silver tilted his head at the question, wondering what to do. He couldn't just say, 'I had a mysterious dark side which used up my childhood as I used it to solve difficult problems.' He also couldn't say, 'It ended when I killed the thing that was killing my best friend,' nor could he say, 'The death of someone close to you will do that to a person.' He couldn't say those things for reasons beyond that they would reveal too much information.

The mare's frown morphed into a scowl. "Financial stress isn't usual for a colt."

"It is for a colt who lost his parents and is therefore somewhat in control of his own bank account," he replied. Technically true, even if it was pushing the truth to its limits. He did have enough control to willingly go into debt to Lucius, even if he had to get permission first. But to make it fit the current context... "Twilight might be looking after me now, but that won't be true forever. I'm not charging money for my pegasus magic lessons because I want to."

More like, because Mr. Book had heavily advised he should. Things that are freely given are sometimes perceive as valuable commodities, but that is the exception, not the rule. If he wants others to see his lessons as valuable enough to attend, counterintuitive as it may seem, he must put a price upon them. Though not so great that it would actually discourage ponies from coming.

"Suit yourself," Silver shrugged. Then, he had an idea. "How long until lunch is over?"

The Captain of the Wonderbolts took out a pocket watch. "About fifteen minutes. Which means we should start heading back in ten."

"I want to go racing," Silver loudly declared, drawing the gazes of a few nearby pegasi. "Now that I've finally got somepony who can race me."

"A race?" asked Rainbow Dash, who appeared in an instant as if summoned by an Accio. "Sign me up, cause you're goin' down! You too, Spitfire!"

Silver grinned and walked over to the edge of the cloud, Rainbow Dash trotting right by his side.

The orange mare followed behind them, looking hesitant. "You two do realize I'm much older than you, right? And that I'm Captain of the Wonderbolts?"

"I heard you the first time," he said. "Last one to the colosseum and back is a rotten egg?"

Silver lowered himself into starting position – well, his starting position: a buck's wind-up. "Guess you're the rotten egg then."

And he kicked the air, accelerating to near-supersonic speeds in a fraction of a second. Then he continued bucking the air, maintaining that speed as he shot towards the race's only checkpoint.

"YOU'RE, *pant*, the, *pant*, rotten, *gasp*, egg," the Wonderbolt wheezed as Silver came in for a landing. Rainbow Dash didn't even manage a response, splayed on the stratus cloud next to Spitfire and looking too tired to talk.

The two mares had done the pegasus equivalent of all-out sprinting to catch up to his admittedly unfair start, then continued their sprints to surpass Silver, then kept continuing like that to keep their lead. Rainbow Dash had just barely managed to come in first with a Sonic Rainboom, but it was a close call. And Silver wasn't far behind either.

When he spoke again, it was with an evil grin. "That was a good warm-up. I wonder though. If we had time for another race, would either of you able to beat me again? Or would you need a minute to catch your breath first? Or thirty?"

"Oooooh!" said one of the nearby colts, a sound which prompted several more colts to join in.

The mares glared, but instead of sparing more breath in his direction, they just kept panting.

Silver took a moment to take in the rest of Cloudsdale's best flyers without making it obvious he was looking at them. A few nearby Wonderbolts had the decency to look embarrassed for their Captain. One with a blue mane and white coat came forward with a cup of water. Everypony else ogled and murmured – because Rainbow Dash had won, or because he had kept up, he couldn't automatically tell. It wasn't surprising to him that a 19-year-old athlete capable of breaking the sound barrier would beat all other pegasi in a straightforward race. And he was fairly sure that the adults thought the same, so their surprised gazes were probably directed more at himself, even if the younger ones were looking at Rainbow.

The key to doing the impossible, Silver had once told his best friend, is being selective about which impossibilities you choose to tackle, only trying when you have a special advantage.

An eleven-year-old colt challenging the Captain of the Wonderbolts to a race and almost winning would certainly sound impossible, but Silver had invented the rules of that race. Not the Wonderbolt Captain. Not Rainbow Dash. He was a poor acrobat even in his own age group. His technique is terrible for rapidly weaving and bobbing around obstacles in smooth motions, which is the sort of thing that any adult pegasus would require in a race. But since he set the rules, he didn't require anything fancy. He didn't add any complex flight patterns. No aerial slaloms, no barrel or aileron rolls, no flips or loops. He only required two things: a single pivot point, to minimize his weaknesses as much as possible, and long-distance flight, to play up to his own advantage.

Under those specific circumstances, the 'impossibility' of a colt beating a Wonderbolt wasn't as out of reach as it might sound to the unimaginative ear. Though it was still out of reach in the end, if barely.

"My offer's still open," said Silver. "Twenty bits an hour for lessons if you're an adult, fifteen for teens, ten for ponies younger than I am. Four to six, Mondays and Fridays. First lesson starts tomorrow at Cloudsdale High's flight track. Think about it. And think about this too: if all the best flyers learn something new and useful, it won't be long before everypegasus else is left in the dust. You can't win obstacle courses if you refuse to learn how to slalom. You can't win aerial performances if you don't learn loops. And you won't win future races if you don't know how to air-buck. Unless a bunch of whiney, stubborn, stupid spoil sports decide to ban it, that is." Something Mr. Book had suggested as a possible annoyance, though Silver had already thought of it himself. "But even if that happens, the other things I know also help with racing. I'm eleven, I've been practicing for a little over a month, and that makes me competitive with the Wonderbolts on raw speed. On long distance, I certainly have you beat. Just imagine how much an adult pony could do if they practiced all their lives."

"Well enough," shrugged Silver, closing it behind him. "I think a good number of students will show. You're still going to help with the lesson, right?"

"Of course!" Twilight enthused. "Here, I made this necklace for you. It's got that enchantment you asked for. Oh! And here!" She handed him a letter of high-quality parchment, cursive handwriting, and fancy wax seal. "You've been invited to a party!"

"Two little fillies named Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon are having a Cute-ceañera. I'm so glad you're finally making friends!"

"I don't recognise those names," said Silver with scrunched eyebrows. "They don't even sound familiar."

"Well... why don't you go anyway? Maybe you'll recognize them when you see them. And even if you don't, just... socialize, okay Silver? Take it from me, it's important to make friends."

In response to his question, Twilight immediately asked if he'd ever had one, then looked sad, then said that if he didn't know, he should go with her to the party and find out. That was one way to manipulate a Ravenclaw into getting out more, Silver supposed.

"I got my cutie mark just the other day," said a pink earth pony filly. "Isn't it the best?"

(a) The pink filly's "daddy invited every pony in town!"
(b) The pink filly was like Pansy Parkinson, except spoiled by wealth and power, not just an unhealthy political ideology, bad work ethic, and poor personality. And...
(c) The party was extremely boring, for all the obvious reasons that would follow from points a and b.

"Blank flank!" he heard the party stars shout in unison, seeming to crowd around a yellow filly with a red mane.

The word entered his mind, followed by a healthy amount of anger. Hot, not cold, and not nearly as much as that first time with Neville, which is why it was a 'healthy' amount. Going through Azkaban had taught him the hard way how much mere bullies deserved his emotional outrage. But he did still feel the indignation.

Before he could even formulate a plan, two other fillies came to the rescue, followed by Twilight Sparkle, followed by the entire party crowd. Things seemed to be wrapping up nicely... but Silver's anger did need an outlet. Just as the party stars had their final exchange-

"We still think you're losers, right Diamond Tiara? Bump, bump, sugar... lump..."

"Losers, huh?" he said loud enough for those two to hear, and thus loud enough for a few others to hear as well. "I guess it would be pretty awful to have special talents that only involve being spoiled rotten."

"I mean, really," Silver continued, "What were your parents thinking? Didn't they know that the phrase, 'she's eaten from a silver spoon all her life' is an insult?"

"And Diamond Tiara? As in, a gift for daddy's little princess? Even your names prove it."

"No." He was wearing his 'smart' outfit, which currently covered his cutie mark. "I'm one of this party's many invitees who had no idea who you are but got invited anyway. And my flank isn't blank." He lifted the cutie-mark flap on the side of his outfit – a standard addition to most pony apparel. "See? Name's Silver Wing, by the way, first place winner of a Flight Week race, pegasus magic pioneer, scientist extraordinaire, et cetera et cetera."

Silver raised his eyebrows, then raised a forehoof, then punched the air. This created a breeze strong enough to knock the crown from her head.

"MY TIARA!" the filly shouted, dashing down and scrambling to see if it was scratched or damaged.

"Woah!" shouted an orange pegasus filly who'd helped the yellow earth pony from earlier. "How'd you do that?"

"Pegasus magic." Also, he'd been practicing his aim. "Like I said, I discovered some magic fundamentals. I'm teaching a class about it, starting tomorrow-"

"-Er... one moment," said Silver, realising he hadn't put the final nail in the coffin. "Let me finish what I was saying first." He turned back to Diamond Tiara, who had just managed to put her namesake back on her head. "Point is, all the things I've done, I did for myself. Daddy didn't do them for me. And look." He pointed to the open flap. "Pegasus magic doesn't even have anything to do with my cutie mark." He turned to the yellow earth pony – the original subject of the bullying, and the reason he'd spoken up in the first place. "So yeah, don't let anypony tell you what you can and can't do. Don't even let your cutie mark tell you what you can and can't do, once you get it. It'll be like a symbol that represents who you are, but you can always change. Don't be like them," he tilted his head at the bullies, "who are their parents."

"That's quite enough," said a wealthy-looking pony with a moneybags cutie mark, emerging from another room with drink in hoof. "I think it's time you leave."

"Daddy to the rescue?" Silver guessed with a smirk. "I was leaving anyway. This party... what's the word I'm looking for? Blows?" He bucked the air again. Twice.

Pinkie didn't look happy at that comment, but she didn't seem to have an immediate comeback either.

Silver left, followed closely by Twilight Sparkle (who had a stern look on her face, directed squarely at Silver, he was probably in for a lecture), then by the bullied blank flank trio, then by a large number of bored ponies, taking this as their cue to leave.

Almost no ponies remained in the party after that. The prestige of the invitations and the promise of fancy food had brought them there, but nothing could keep them once the underlying reality of the situation had been laid bare.

Harry Potter and the Prancing of Ponies

by The Guy Who Writes

Chapter 16: Invitations