//------------------------------//
// 14. Home Sweet Dormitory 
// Story: Sweetie Belle - Hogwarts Exchange Student 
// by Georg 
//------------------------------//


 Sweetie Belle - Hogwarts Exchange Student
Home Sweet Dormitory 





Deep beneath the Crystal Empire, in hidden places where nocreature dared to travel, the darkness moved.  Bereft of the spells that had held it imprisoned and secure for so long, small flecks and drips of shadow flowed along channels familiar to the darkness, some blocked by the pestersome ponies, while other paths had burned and decayed beyond use.  There was no intelligence in their motion individually, but as they combined in small clumps and dark pools like tar…

“I don’t like it,” muttered Theodore Nott, trying to pin down two sets of notes written in the scratchy script of griffons.  He finally dropped an empty potion bottle on one to keep the page flat while digging out the supposed same notes from one of the unicorn cursebreakers.  Whatever translation spell that had been on the portal was an absolute godsend to his task of finding whatever bits of dark magic remained in the Crystal Empire, but it did not make the chicken-scratches of the griffons or the swoopy cursive of the unicorns less of a headache to compare.  Still, he had insisted on an early start to his project, so there was only one wizard in the room to blame for his throbbing temples and no coffee to deal with it.

“Leaf, I want you to read these to me.  There’s something I’m not seeing.”

The timid green unicorn took the sheets of parchment in his magic and read down through them, moving his lips as he went.  He nodded at times, seeming to agree with whatever words he was seeing at the moment, and looked back and forth to compare as he went.  Eventually, he put all three sheets down on the table and scowled at them, much like Theodore had been doing for the last few minutes.  “You’re right.  There’s something in there.  They didn’t see it, so we can’t see it from their observations.”

“You didn’t read them out loud,” said Theodore.

“Oh. Sorry.”  The unicorn picked the sheets up in his magic and read through them again, still silent.  This time Theodore could feel a slight chill travel up his spine, the light touch of dark magic seeking a target that it could not identify.  It felt strange compared to his experience with wizard magic, and several silent spells only confirmed the faint threads of power woven into the parchment that the unicorn was holding in his unicorn magic.  Undoubtedly there was some sort of curse being powered by the unicorn magic of the holder, and the realization that it had affected him despite his different wizard magic gave a twist to his guts that had nothing to do with the strange foods he had eaten for breakfast.

“There,” said New Leaf as he put the parchments back down on the table.  “Still nothing.”

“I am so glad you’re helping me,” said Theodore as he scribbled on a small scrap of parchment, eventually attaching it to the notes with a bit of adhesive gum instead of a spell of any type.  A brief wave of his wand confirmed that only those particular sheets of parchment had the tricky touch of something dark on it, which at least was something positive to his morning activities.  Theodore placed the parchments at the far end of the table by hand, then looked around the room.  “I would have thought Granite Peaks would be back by now.  Any idea what he is doing?”

“Cleaning up a few of the minor half-done sites out in the city,” said Leaf as he picked up another sheaf of notes with his magic.  “Shouldn’t be dangerous and he’ll be done in a few days, or at least that’s what he said.  Why?”

“Because the problem is going to be more difficult than he said.”  Theodore waved his wand at a nearby city map with colored pins making a strange pattern in shades of puce and lime-green.  Specks of orange light crept between pins, mirroring whatever Theodore suspected was happening out in the sparkling city.  “The pattern changed again.  I wonder if these curses or whatever you ponies call them also change by the phase of the moon or time of day.”

“That’s bad,” said Leaf.  “We could clear out an area only to have it be dangerous again an hour later.”

“It’s worse,” said Theodore.  “The changes change, like they’re trying to hide.  The only bright spot is Sombra had a spell to deal with any of the curses that tried to attack him instead of whatever they’re supposed to be doing.”

“Nemusul?”  Leaf dug through a stack of parchment and emerged with an Equestrian spell.  “I’m not going to try it,” he stated firmly.

“I should be able to adapt it to a wand.”  Theodore gave the parchment a long look, taking a few guesses on the direction of magic flow and deciding a test would wait for later.  “Should, that is.  If so, you’re next.  Between the two of us, we should be able to stop even an active curse.”

“Should.”  Leaf fixed him with a rather insecure look, much like a quidditch keeper with only one hand on the broom and a long drop below.

“I’m starting to get an inkling of why I’m here.”  Theodore picked up another set of notes and sat back in his chair.  “Perspective.  You’re seeing what you expect to see.  I’m new to your world, so my expectations are different.”

“That’s good. I suppose.” New Leaf scratched his chin and picked up a different stack of reports with his magic, then unexpectedly asked, “Do you suppose the Equestrian in your world is getting along well?  I mean away from everything she’s grown accustomed to.”

It took a little time for Theodore to consider just how large a step a young unicorn would be taking to go into a school like Hogwarts unaware of its history or social barriers.  “There have been other, non-humans who attended the school and got along just fine.  Professor Flitwick for example, not only attended but is now one of the finest Charms instructors in our world, despite being part goblin.  And there were some Beauxbatons students several years ago who were part vela, but just as skilled as any witch or wizard in our school.”

It was difficult to admit, but at least there were no pureblood wizards around to hear.  Claiming the supreme power of pureblooded wizardry was to carefully ignore several quite contrary examples, a process far easier to do in a group of one's peers.  And there had been a quite disturbing rumor going around about the Dark Lord’s own father, who might have been a muggle of no particular bloodline or importance in history.  Smart wizards ignored such rumors if they wanted to live.  Even though the Dark Lord was dead and a dimension away, Theodore still found it difficult to voice his opinion.

“You’re worried about your brother in the school, aren’t you?”  Once New Leaf determined that Theodore was not about to say anything in response, he continued, “I wish I had a sibling to be worried about.  I’ve been alone for so long that I’ve forgotten what it was like to have anypony else who cares.”

“I care,” said Theodore quickly.  “My brother is in the safest place he could possibly be.”

“Do you think he’ll find friends, too?”  New Leaf had a particularly wistful look on his equine face that Theodore could not quite place, although his confidence in the Equestrian value of friendship was sorely misplaced.

“As the son of a Death Eater, he won’t find any friends in Hogwarts.  He’ll be safe, and that’s all I can hope for.”


 * * * 


The Great Hall was momentarily silent except for the rapid footsteps of their smallest student as he fled the Sorting Hat as fast as he could run.  In the wizarding world, there were very few incidents without precedent⁽*⁾ but running away from a Sorting at Hogwarts was certainly quite rare.
(*) The only other event of this type was in 1247 when Abacrombie Cornelius Burke was the first student to be Sorted and therefore the first student to find a spider that had made the hat its home for most of the previous year. Rules were established every year since to ensure the incident would not be repeated, mostly by Headmaster Burke several decades later.
—

“For a shrimp, he’s darned fast.”  Sparrow sprinted from the Gryffindor bench in pursuit of Wycliffe, calling out over her shoulder in a loud voice to be heard over the growing hubbub of alarmed students and teachers, “Go ahead and start dinner.  We’ll catch up.”

Sweetie was right behind, awkward in her clumsy human shoes and unpracticed limbs, but she knew stopping to change would only put her further behind so she made the best of her two-legged speed.  Most of the students she passed remained seated at their tables out of shock, but several dressed with gold and red ties had gotten to their feet to follow, only to be held back by other older students.

Wycliffe had already vanished out of the big wooden doors at the back of the Great Hall without even pausing, but Sparrow was quick as a wink and was through the doors before they swung back.  Behind her, she could hear Headmistress McGonnagal calling out for order, but it was always easier to get forgiveness than permission when friendship problems like this cropped up, so Sweetie sped up as fast as she could run.  She hit the doors with a solid thump, but when she emerged into the antechamber with all the tapestries around her, there was no sign of her small friend running down the stairs in front of her.

Until she looked up.

“I think he made it further up than you got,” said Sparrow in a most unhelpful fashion.

Wycliffe did not respond, and from Sweetie’s recent experience, he was probably concentrating enough on gravity that he should not be disturbed.  He was further up the old tapestry than Sweetie had managed.  All she could see of Wycliffe was one foot that stuck out of the shadows enough to expose the smooth surface of his shoe’s sole and the small hole that seemed to be developing in the middle.  

The tapestry waved a little with his struggle to keep from falling, making the pastoral scene of woven students out on some sort of hilltop look like they were experiencing an earthquake, or perhaps some sort of bizarre dance.  Several of the tapestry subjects were hanging onto cloth trees or bushes to keep from falling down to the bottom of the cloth where several of their peers were piled up, and two of the upper characters seemed to be unicorns.  Still, it was not important right now.  She had a whole year to explore the castle with her friends… Well, as soon as they got Wycliffe down and Sorted into Gryffindor so he could run around with them.

“Did the hat want you to be sorted into Slytherin?” asked Sparrow in an upward direction.  It really was the question Sweetie wanted to ask and was holding back because she dreaded the answer.  The old hat had been very stubborn in a way that really reminded Sweetie of Starswirl and his perpetual grumpiness, but Wycliffe must have been even more stubborn, or perhaps his fear had contributed to his young willpower.

“Yes,” sounded a very small voice in return.  “I’d like to go home now.”

“You need to go to school so you can control your magic,” said Sparrow just as quick as she could make the words.  “My uncle avoided the point like a bath whenever I asked him, but I saw this thing in History of Magic about what happens if you don’t.  Not sure what it’s called because I didn’t turn the page there and I was just skimming, but it sounded bad.  Really bad.”

“I’d become an Obscurus,” said Wycliffe.  “I can get a tutor to prevent it.  Maybe.”

Sweetie wanted to ask what an Obscurus was, but the answer was in a book and Wycliffe didn’t sound like he wanted to dwell on the possibility, so she decided to look it up later and be supportive instead.  “The Hat said it never was wrong about where it Sorted students, but maybe it really doesn’t matter where you wind up as long as you do.  Like Apple Bloom said about tree seeds.  It don’t matter where they get put in the field long as they’s put,” she added in her best imitation of her friend’s voice.

“I’m not going into Slytherin.  I’ll die before I go there.”

A low groan from behind Sweetie made her freeze in place.  The open chamber was lit by two large pots of fire on opposite walls, but a faint silver glow began to throw shadows against the wall, many shadows that danced in the darkness and brought an arctic chill down the back of Sweetie Belle’s neck.  The ghost who stepped into her vision first was most certainly not the friendly but still frightening Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington.  He was taller and gaunt, with a massive curly wig but covered from head to feet in ghostly chains that dripped silver, much like the endless drops of spectral blood oozing from his bloody fingertips.  He groaned again, sounding like a huge rusty door and clanked his chains as he moved beneath Wycliffe’s trembling tapestry.

“Baron!” chastised another ghost, a fat fellow with a large bald spot on top of his head that only left a fringe of silver hair around the outside edge.  “The child does not need admonished for his actions.  He has not even been sorted into your House yet.”

Sweetie was not particularly keen on having a ghost in the vicinity, double-particularly the terrifying gaunt spectre dripping ghostly blood on the floor.  Having one in Gryffindor… Then again, the rather polite Sir Nicholas had been introduced with that association, and other students had lived just fine with ghosts around school for centuries, so she should be able to enjoy the experience also.  

Of course, it would have been far easier to enjoy if there had not been so many ghosts sweeping into the entryway, fading in through the walls and ceilings until practically every standing and floating space was occupied, some twice.  Sweetie was still getting used to humans in large numbers, so to have that many dead humans surrounding her was really pushing all of her panic buttons.  Thankfully, they did not seem angry, but more confused and concerned, which allowed Sweetie enough self-control to actually breathe instead of jumping up to the tapestry to huddle with Wycliffe.

“What’s going on?” hissed Sparrow under her breath as she edged her way closer to Sweetie.  “I didn’t skim through the whole book, so did I miss something?”

“Terribly sorry, young ladies.”  The fat ghost gave a cautioning look at the rest of the ghosts, who faded back a few steps to give them some breathing space.  “Mister Nott has disturbed the castle residents in an unusual way.  Most of them have never seen a Sorting go wrong in this fashion.”

Skipping over the question that ‘most’ really needed, Sweetie gathered her courage and  tried her best to smile.  That required her to really look at all of the ghosts surrounding her, and an encouraging realization soaked through her fear.  “You were all students at one time,” she said.  “You were Sorted too, and were just as afraid when the Hat decided which House you belonged in.  Well, maybe not quite as afraid,” she corrected when Sparrow snickered under her breath.  “You were right where we are now, entering into a new experience with new friends.  Isn’t that right?

The proud expressions on their faces struck a chord in her heart, although she kept the music within because this did not seem like a good time.  The fat ghost merely nodded with a smile.  “Nearly all of us went through Sorting,” said the fat ghost.  “The Baron is from a time before the school existed, and there are a few more from distant lands or earlier eras,” he added with a glance at an older lady-ghost who shimmered with a faint green glow across her full dress and antique fashion accessories.

With a sniff, Wycliffe rearranged himself so he could peek out of the shadows above the tapestry.  “I’m afraid,” he managed.

“You are here to learn,” said Sir Nicholas, who floated forward next to the fat ghost.  “In Gryffindor, you will learn to fight your fears.”

“Use them to gain power,” rasped the bloody Baron.

“Our house learns to accept our fears with the help of others,” said the fat ghost with a rather discouraging glance at the Baron.

“or find out what lies beneath their false guise so they lose their power over you,” whispered the green lady.

“See!” declared Sweetie.  “No matter where you’re Sorted, you don’t have anything to be afraid of.  And we’ll still be your friends.”

“Yeah,” said Sparrow, who looked as if she was only vaguely following the conversation and more like she was counting ghosts.

“Besides, did the hat say he was going to put you into Slytherin?” asked Sweetie. “Or did he just say that was what he saw as the best choice?  Because he knows you don’t want to be in their House because you’ll be picked on by the older students—”

The blood-covered Baron seemed particularly incensed at that admission and gnashed his ghostly teeth with a fierce glower, as if any student in his House who dared to unleash their ire on a younger child was not going to appreciate what they got in return.  It startled Sweetie enough that her train of thought was derailed, but Sparrow had bounced back from her initial fear of ghosts and promptly took that train down an entirely different set of tracks.

“Anybody picks on you, we’ll beat ‘em up,” said Sparrow, smacking one fist into another.

The ghosts looked universally shocked.  “You are going to be respectable young witches and wizards,” exclaimed one with a gasp.  “Physical violence is totally unacceptable.”

Sparrow looked pointedly at the bloody knife sticking out of the Baron’s chest, then at several other obvious ghostly weapons sticking out of various spectral vital organs and heads all around them.

“Allow me,” said Sir Nicholas, pushing his way forward and looking upwards, which let Sweetie see a long silvery gash that cut all the way across his neck and had been hidden by his ornate ruff until that moment.  “Our existence here is both a positive and a negative example for the students, and you should be aware of the difference by the time you graduate.  Why I’ve seen dozens of your ancestors pass through these hallways, and they’ve all emerged the better for it.  Well, except for your grandfather, who was abysmal at potions.  He has kept us informed of your progress at home, and I rather think he would be severely disappointed if you were to return so soon without seizing the opportunity to learn as much as you can about a subject which he knew so little.”

There was an exceedingly long period of silence, broken only by the quiet clinking of the Baron’s immaterial chains. Remaining quiet seemed to be the right thing to do in order to convince Wycliffe to come down.  She could see the trembling of the tapestry begin to subside and Sparrow likewise started to settle down and look like she was thinking about her next words before she said them.

There was still some commotion coming from the Great Hall and Sweetie really expected one of the teachers to come bustling in at any minute, but perhaps they did not want to disturb the ghosts either.  After all, several of the ghosts around them were only partially inside the room, which meant anybody from the Great Hall who came to disturb them would have to pass through one or more ghosts to open the doors.  Sweetie did not even want to think about how that would feel.

“That hat didn’t seem too scary to me,” Sparrow admitted to Sweetie under her breath.

“It’s really old,” said Sweetie, pointing up.  “It asked about Starswirl the Bearded.  That’s him up there on the tapestry, right under Wycliffe’s foot.  Princess Celestia said they contributed to the school’s founding together.”

Wycliffe’s curiosity momentarily overcame his fear and he peered over the edge at the wooley unicorn and his pale green assistant a few inches below his vantage point where they both were clinging to a moth-eaten tree and looking upset.  The boy looked for a time with the cloth image of Starswirl looking back, then shook his head.  “Maybe I’m just not ready for school yet.”

“My dear boy!” exclaimed Sir Nicholas. “You received a letter, therefore you are ready.  The school has never made a mistake in that regard.”

“Maybe I’m the first,” offered Wycliffe in a very small voice that competed with a faint sound of tearing cloth.  “Uh-oh.”

Sweetie kicked off her shoes and shifted into her more shock-absorbant form.  “Let go, quick!” she called upward.  “I know that sound.  I’ll catch you!  Oomph!”

Wycliffe would have made a good Crusader, because he had excellent reactions.  He dropped off the tapestry hanger almost immediately after Sweetie had called out, and managed to land on her back instead of her horn before the two of them went spilling out across the floor and rolling up against Sparrow, who promptly fell down also.  It was just like being home again, only without tree sap.

“I thought you were going to catch him,” Sparrow said while standing up and offering a hand to Wycliffe.

“I did.”  Sweetie managed to roll over, changing forms in the process, and began to look for her shoes.  Wycliffe helped, fishing one out from under a thin lady-ghost while Sparrow retrieved the one that had fallen down several steps on the staircase.  Rather than put her shoes on right away, Sweetie nuzzled up to Wycliffe’s face, which seemed to be quite a shock to the young boy.  She really did not know very many human ways to express reassurance, but it seemed to help slow down his panicked breathing.

“I know it can be frightening to face something new,” she said once she was done nuzzling and resisted an urge to lick his ear as perhaps a bit too Equestrian.  “That’s why we have friends to help us.”

“But I don’t want to go into Slytherin,” said Wycliffe weakly.  “I’d die.  I know it.”

The Baron spoke again, something that seemed to cause the ghost great pain.  “No student has ever died because they’ve been placed in my house.  Some of the greatest wizards in the world have proudly worn our colors.”

The fat ghost added, “All of the Houses in Hogwarts are protected places where we guard—”

Wycliffe interrupted sharply. “Last year, Voldemort himself killed students and teachers in this protected place.  My father killed people here.  Why would you care about protecting me?  I’d be better off in my family House, guarded by our house elves.  Nobody wants me here.”

“I do,” said Sweetie.  “You’re my friend, Wycliffe.”

“Mine too,” said Sparrow, pausing just a moment before admitting, “I don’t have many friends.  I think I intimidate ‘em.”

“Really?” said Wycliffe flatly.

“See!”  Sparrow rubbed the top of Wycliffe’s head, making his carefully combed hair stand on end.  “You talk back.  Everybody else just ignores me or treats me like a jerk.”

“You are a jerk,” said Wycliffe, although he paused a moment also before adding, “At times.”

“So?”  Sparrow brushed some of his hair back down into a more respectable appearance.  “You’re an unbelievably stuck-up twit at times, acting like you’re the only one who was hurt by Voldemort.  Do you think running away from your problems and hiding in your big empty house is going to solve anything?”

“Friends help each other fix all kinds of problems,” said Sweetie.  Twilight Sparkle her friends had taught her that lesson, and the words just flowed out of her heart as she continued, “I came here to make new friends, so what kind of friend would I be to let you run away?”

The green lady ghost at least seemed proud of Sweetie, and so was the fat ghost.  Wycliffe seemed less than convinced, but Sweetie Belle could remember when Twilight Sparkle first came to town and gave every indication she was going to vanish into the library and never come out.  If a hopelessly introverted bookworm like Twilight could blossom with new friends and new wings, a small and rather nearsighted human like Wycliffe could also.  Well, without the wings.

“It’s only a hat, I suppose,” muttered Wycliffe into the stone floor of the entryway.  

“And I don’t think they’ll let anybody eat until you’re done because I haven’t heard anybody start up yet,” said Sparrow.  She took Wycliffe’s pointy hat from the pale green lady ghost and brushed off some dust before putting it back on his head, where it promptly dropped down nearly over his thick square glasses.


 * * * 


The second walk down the center aisle of the quiet Great Hall was far slower and much more tense without all the rest of the First Year students around them for support.  Sparrow and Sweetie each took one side of the trembling boy, moving in short steps to stay even with him as the students they passed watched.  There had to be something, anything Sweetie could do to calm his nerves, so she whispered as she walked, putting her whole heart into the words.

You’re okay.  You’re alright.  We will stay beside you.

From each of the tables as they passed, she heard a near echo from several voices, rising up through the silence of the Great Hall like bell chimes.

I was there.  Where you are.  You’re going to do alright here.

Then several more voices from all around the hall joined together, deeper voices from the older students mixing with the younger in a blend of perfect harmony, growing louder and louder with each word.

Such small steps.  Into our school.  A world of magic awaits you. 

Sweetie could feel the emotion rising as she lifted her voice together with the other students, the resonant voices of the Frog Choir, the happy clusters of Gobstones players, and rising even higher, she could hear Ginny Weasely and the rest of the Quidditch team captains in four-part harmony fairly burst into the lead.

It was impossible to stand still with the song whirling and spinning all around them.  Students danced around in circles, holding hands regardless of their House colors.  Somewhere, several of the Quiddich team members had gotten broomsticks and were throwing a big red ball across the vast open area of the Great Hall vaulted ceiling while other students seemed to be replicating Wycliffe’s launch through the air by propping benches up and jumping on them.

In an eyeblink, Sweetie felt more at home than ever.  This place needed her.  The students, the teachers, and even the castle.  She danced through the music with Sparrow and a reluctant Wycliffe, feeling the towering emotion of friendship and joy grow with the song until it fairly filled the Great Hall to bursting.  There was a brief moment where the song threatened to drop into a minor key but Sweetie put her magic against the change and pushed the way Pinkie had taught her, overjoyed at the way the whole hall swirled even more energetically around them with Wycliffe in the middle.

Then the Sorting Hat was caught up in the whirl of music along with Wycliffe, dropping onto his head as the entire school held hands to dance and sing.  The small boy was the center of the vortex, the focus of the song, and every student and teacher exalted in the life he would start here among his fellow wizards, even the old man with the broom who danced as if he were very rusty and probably needed more practice.

There was so much magic around Sweetie now that she could taste it, like the greatest cake and ice cream party ever, or an enormous storm of happiness and joy that flung her around in perfect circles.  The music rose to a powerful crescendo, every human in perfect harmony as Wycliffe rose higher and higher on the shoulders of his fellow students until he reached the peak of the Great Hall’s ceiling timbers and the Sorting Hat called out in a voice like a thunderclap.

“GRYFFINDOR!”


 * * * 


It was not the end, of course.  They still had to get all the students down off the tables and the one or two stuck in the rafters.  Even the old man with the broom had to be picked off the ceiling beams by a student on a broomstick because it did not look like he could fly by himself.  The aura of gloom and tense nerves had vanished totally, and several of the older students even hit Wycliffe on the back with their hands and told him how frightened they had been during Sorting.  It was a happy buzz that continued all the way through the meal when food magically appeared on the tables and the students dug in with an intensity that had Sweetie remembering her own pony friends and their rather intense table manners.

The food was quite heavy in meat dishes, which Sweetie mostly avoided because of their unpleasant parallels, but the chicken drumsticks were every bit as delicious as the chicken at Miss Selkirk’s boarding house.  Then there was no end of cake, cookies, pies with strange contents, fluttering pastries that had to be caught before they flew away, and candied fruit that was actually on fire.  It was going to take a lot of running to work off these calories, much like Rarity always complained about every bite of Pinkie Pie’s cooking, although her sister kept biting. 

Before dinner was all the way done, Sweetie was comfortably round and fairly immobile like the rest of the students. That did not keep them all from chattering away about the upcoming school year and constantly asking Sweetie if there were going to be any more songs and if so could they be given a little notice, please.

Even Wycliffe ate well, to the point where he looked a bit disappointed when all the dirty dishes vanished and Headmistress McGonagall took her place behind a wonderful podium that looked like an owl, even with wings that spread out to hold her notes.

“Your attention, please.  As you can tell already from our memorable Sorting, this year at Hogwarts promises to be anything but ordinary.”  There was continuing laughter among the students, a joyous change from the sense of tension that filled the Great Hall such a short time ago, and Headmistress McGonagall let the laughter and giggles go on beyond what Sweetie expected for such a serious and intense human.

“Settle down, please.  You have a lot of studying to do over the next year, some of you more than others.  Several students are repeating their Seventh Years because of the disruption caused by—” her lips noticeably thinned “—several poor professors who are no longer welcome here, nor are their teaching methods.  With these changes, schedules may need to be modified mid-term as needed to accommodate a proper educational experience, and I am certain you will all contribute to a successful year.”

The weight of her years seemed to press down upon the old human for a moment, mostly hidden by her stern expression and rigid stance, but Sweetie could see the tiny creases at the corners of her eyes as they flickered to empty seats among the gathered students.

“Hogwarts will go on despite the tragedy of last year,” she continued in a controlled voice with only a hint of tremor.  “Miss Pomfrey has approved several medwitches from St. Mungos to bolster her staff, and any student who feels the need to speak with them about anything at all is encouraged to do so.  There is no shame in seeking out comfort in times of stress and depression.  In fact, I will be dropping by the hospital wing on occasion, and I will be most disappointed if nobody is there to keep me company.  Our loved ones will always live on in our memories, and it is our responsibility to live our lives in a way that would make them proud.  With that in mind, after the end of the year exams we will be having a school memorial for those who we have lost.”

A brief darkness seemed to sweep through the Great Hall, but not the bad kind.  It was as if every student was thinking of a friend or relative who had been involved in the last battle against Voldemort, a darkness of remembrance for good times that would never be again, and a determination to keep it from ever happening again.

It was a sensation that Sweetie had never really experienced before.  Nopony close to her had passed away, although Granny Smith had her bad days at times, and Apple Bloom had confided that she did not really know what she was going to do when the old mare finally faded away.  The thought took the sharp edge off her energetic enthusiasm, although she was still overjoyed to be in this new school with so many new friends.  Headmistress McGonagall continued to speak about important school things but Sweetie could not concentrate on listening.  She had never really thought about death, and being at a place where death had happened so recently brought it home. The Hogwarts ghosts only made the metaphorical fear into metaphysical reality, but even they were friends to the students in ways that Sweetie could not comprehend.

They were difficult thoughts to think when the Headmistress quit speaking and all the students gathered together before their Heads of House.  Percival led the Gryffindors while McGonagall was otherwise occupied with important human things.  All the students lined up for the walk to their dormitories, First Years in front and Seventh Years in back because they most likely would not wander off during the trip.  

It let Sweetie get a good look at the rest of her class with the rest of the students in Hogwarts spread out among the Great Hall, which was a little discouraging.  Seventeen First Year students out of all of the country, and only four other young humans in her House.  The brief glimpse she had gotten of London made her expect far more students, and if this was an example of how few wizards there were compared to ordinary humans, it was no wonder they kept to themselves instead of vanishing into the millions of their less-magical people.

She almost did not notice the rest of the amazing castle as they marched along, four other young First Years in a neat line before the rest of her House’s students, all filled with joy and chatter.  It was a new beginning, a school so much different from Twilight Sparkle’s School of Friendship and far more exciting than Princess Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns.  New magic among new friends, picked from every other young unicorn in Equestria to help.  It was a staggering responsibility which she had to carry with half as many legs, but she had so many new friends to help carry the load.

That invigorated her steps, which was a good thing because they reached a staircase which stretched upward with many of its friends, some of which were changing positions as she watched.  The walls were covered in moving paintings, humans posing for portraits, wildlife galavanting around in nature, two old humans hunched over a chessboard, and a flash of darkness in one of the busy paintings that Sweetie could have sworn she had seen before.

“Please be careful of the stairs,” announced Percival.  “They like to move around on you.  Now pay attention.  This is the entrance to our House dormitory and the common room that joins both the girls and the boys wings, and is only accessible by way of a password.  Remember this, and don’t share with students from other Houses.  Acta non verba.”

The fat lady in the painting peered down at the tall young human, giving him a discouraging squint.  “Are you certain, Mister Weasley?  I didn’t know you had returned to the school.”

“That’s Associate Head of House Weasley,” said Percival with a quick touch to his pointed hat to make sure it had not shifted position.  “Now please open the portal.”

There was a clanking noise and a skinny older knight dressed in ornate armor came running into the painting.  “One moment, My Lady.  I have word from the Headmistress.  Percy Weasly is the new Hogwarts Associate Head of House, and should be given all the courtesies of his position.”  The painted knight turned and gave Percival a deep bow.  “Sir, we stand ready to defend your House and students as always.  It is an honor to serve.”

“The honor is all mine, Sir Cadogan.”  Percival returned the bow even lower.  “And a heavy responsibility, trying to keep all these rascals out of trouble for a whole year.  I’ll accept any help I can get.”

“Very well, sir.”  The knight moved to one side and seemed about to ask the fat woman to open whatever portal they were guarding when he paused and looked down at Wycliffe.  “A Nott?  Here?  Boy, are you certain you are not in the wrong House?  Every wizard and witch in your family, all the way back to my time—”

“Were in Slytherin,” finished Wycliffe.  “I know.”

“We know,” said Sweetie, putting one hand around the trembling boy’s shoulders.  “It’s a big change, but sometimes we need really big changes in our life.  Like Miss Selkirk picking up her wand again, or Percival becoming our househead.”  Sweetie let out a gasp, which seemed to spread excitement in the rest of the students like growing wildfire.  “We should take a picture, like we always did for our newspaper articles back home and everypony… I mean everywizard can send a copy of the picture to their parents to put up on the icebox!”

One small hand raised up in the crowd of cheering Gryffindor students.  “I’ve got my brother’s camera in my luggage.”

“I can do the developing and the copy spell,” said another older student through the noise.

“Let’s do this!” called out Ginevra.  The huge painting swung open, revealing a richly decorated huge room beyond while she stood off to one side and motioned the rest of the students inside.  Percival had to scoot over beside her to avoid being trampled, and Wycliffe obviously wanted to ask a question, so she stuck right with him.

“Percival… I mean Associate Head of House…”

“That’s you, brother.”  Ginevra elbowed Percival solidly, which seemed to bring him back to awareness.

“Oh!  Yes, Mister Nott?”  Percival looked down and forced a smile.

“I was just wondering if you told your mother about your position yet.”

“Well, actually…”  Percival blinked several times.  “Uh…”

“That normally means ‘no’ in more words,” said Sweetie Belle, getting a good grip on Wycliffe’s elbow and pulling him along with her into the chaotic Gryffindor common room.  “Come on. We’ll get the picture and send it to his mother along with a letter telling her all about our first day here.  It’s going to be so great!”

That left the newest Associate Head of Gryffindor House standing alone out in the hallway blinking furiously like an owl exposed to unexpected sunlight.  “Oh, bother.  I never told mum.  She’s going to go sparse when she gets the letter, I just know it.”

He did not notice the ghostly shade of a pale green lady watching from a distant corridor as he eventually managed to stagger into the Gryffindor common room and close the portal door.