7. The Grim Gathering Storm
Harry Potter and the Little Pony Problem
The Grim Gathering Storm
- - ⚡ - -
It was still raining the next morning. The clouds had a solidity to them which made Harry think it might still be raining next month. He suspected that if it was still raining in Little Whinging next year when he returned from Hogwarts for summer… No, the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes would have certainly cleaned it up by then, and if… When Twilight Sparkle sent all the ponies home this morning, that would keep the Ministry of Magic from blaming him.
When. When. When. Harry Potter was determined to stay positive, and that included his homework. He had spent extra time last night pouring over the pending pile of purple pedagogy with the assistance of Lyra, and the constant rain had kept any school owls from bringing him more assignments, so he had made positive progress. Aunt Marge’s train was not due at the station until around noon, which gave him an hour or two bent over the desk this morning to put a few more sheets of parchment into the completed stack. He actually was starting to look forward to a few days from now when he would return to Hogwarts just because of the reduction in workload.
“Boy!” Uncle Vernon sounded more angry than usual as his voice drifted up the stairs. “Get out to the car or we’ll be late picking Marge up at the train station!”
“And that will have to do it, Lyra,” said Harry, shoving his last sheet of homework into the pillowcase with the rest, then stuffing it under the bed despite the pony protests from the sleeping nighttime guards that emerged from the shadows afterward. “Sorry, guys. I have to help bring Aunt Marge’s luggage back to the car. I guess this is the last time I’ll be seeing you, and… um…”
He hesitated with one hand held out to shake, only to have Lyra wrap her entire body around his fingers and squeeze. “It’s been a lot of fun to work with you, Harry,” she said while hugging. “I hope I remember this after Twilight sends us back home.”
“I hope so too,” said Harry. He ruffled the little unicorn’s pale mane before heading for the bedroom door. “Keep an eye on Twilight when you get back,” he added in a low voice. “She needs all the friends she can get. Um… But don’t let her summon any more ponies. Or send any here when she’s in Ponyville. Or—”
“Boy!” blasted Vernon’s voice again.
“Take care,” whispered Harry before slipping out the door. “Coming, Uncle Vernon.”
Unnoticed behind him, a blank Hogwarts permission slip for Hogsmeade trips drifted off the desk and silently to the floor.
* * *
Rain was a multiplier, or at least that was what Harry was starting to think.
It certainly multiplied Vernon’s usual mood with constant complaints about the blasted road and the blasted rain and the other blasted drivers who did not have a clue on the proper driving technique during a rainstorm. Proof of that was the way they refused to get out of his way when he honked the horn, and took all the good parking places at the train station. It turned out to be quite a stream of vitriol, and Harry was thankfully not the focus, leaving him to wonder if perhaps prolonged exposure to the Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes Muggle-Repellent No-Blotch No-Snoop Spell Ink was rubbing off. Or maybe all the times Harry had used his invisibility cloak at Hogwarts had something to do with it.
It was not as effective as the real invisibility cloak, unfortunately. He still had to endure Aunt Marge’s sulfuric glares where she took out her frustrations about the long train trip on the most convenient Harry Potter nearby, and he still had to struggle with the luggage cart piled high with Aunt Marge’s paisley suitcases, and topped with several huge boxes for Dudley’s birthday long past. At least it kept him out of biting range of Ripper, the overweight and cranky bulldog which Marge was carrying to keep his delicate paws away from the dirty train station floor.
Personally, Harry knew most bulldogs were supposed to be affectionate and loving. He suspected that Aunt Marge’s not-so-secret affections for her next-door neighbor at home made it so she kept the worst-tempered of the chubby dogs with her when she traveled.
“Watch the presents, boy!” For a moment, Harry could not tell which of the chubby Dursley’s had snapped at him. He had been distracted by some sort of… movement in the rainy parking lot, a shadow that was where it did not belong and was not there when he looked again. A cold prickling ran up his spine that had nothing to do with the rain, right before one of Dudley’s presents began teetering on the edge of the luggage pile.
He grabbed for the colorfully wrapped box and pushed it back on top of the luggage trolley before checking again, but he still could not see anything. Dodging a halfhearted snap by Ripper, Harry kept pushing the trolley in the direction of the car.
It had probably been a stray dog.
The strange feeling made Harry think of Hogwarts, for some reason. Perhaps it was the burst of energy from being in danger without a wand to defend himself. The Dursley house was many things, but a place where he could die at any minute… no. Going back to Hogwarts made riding in the back of the car with the drooling bulldog tolerable, because in a few days, he would not have to worry about annoying relatives or angry dogs. Well, angry dogs with less than three heads.
After facing Lord Voldemort, the least Harry could do is tolerate Aunt Marge for a few days. Even if he no longer had a whole horde of tiny ponies to reassure him, he could hold that warm feeling inside, just like he held onto the feeling of his friends from school. The look on Ron’s face when he first got a look at Harry’s scar. The squinched-up expression on Hermione’s face when she was correcting a particularly horrid section of Ron’s homework. The absolute forced innocent expressions on Ron’s brothers when they were hatching up some new scheme. Trying to figure out just how Neville managed his latest potion disaster. The prospect of holiday weekends in Hogsmeade with all…
Oh, bugger it.
The timing could not have been worse. He could not bring up the subject on the way home because Aunt Marge knew nothing about Hogwarts or Harry’s magical background, and Uncle Vernon was in a steaming mood, as if he was blaming the rain on Harry.
Well, admittedly that was something Harry was indirectly responsible for, but it was not important at the moment.
In the odd times on the trip to the train station when he was not complaining about other drivers, Vernon had lectured Harry about making sure nothing strange would happen while his sister was visiting. There had been the normal threats, spiked with the possibility of keeping Harry out of school if the worst happened. That was unlikely, with all the trouble of Harry’s first Hogwarts letter, but not an impossibility. After all, Harry had nearly been killed twice at the school, and the wizarding community might be familiar with the phrase ‘Third time’s the charm’ and just decide it was safer to leave him with the Dursleys.
The thought made Harry’s breathing more difficult, until he touched his sodden, oversized sweatshirt and felt the plastic-protected crinkle of his third Hogwarts letter, listing all the books and materials he would need for his upcoming year. Just a few more days until the Weasleys’ traditional trip to Diagon Alley to buy supplies for their own children. Uncle Vernon would be overjoyed to dump Harry out by the Leaky Cauldron where he could meet with them, and it should be no great difficulty for Harry to wheedle out a stay at the Weasley house for the few days before the school term began.
Maybe even Hermione would be there, and she could help get Harry’s backlog of holiday homework flogged into submission. Ron, Hermione, and Harry, all together again. It was so close, although the warm feeling of reunion with his friends did not damp the chill of the unsigned Hogsmeade permission letter.
- - Ω - -
Dinner was… strange. Again.
Harry had some experience with Aunt Marge during her previous visits, so he was used to a certain degree of icy contempt from her. Thankfully, she spent so much time doting on Dudley and trying to spoil him rotten-er, that she seemed to forget all about Harry when he was not directly in her line of sight. And since Uncle Vernon put on a fine spread for dinner with great stacks of roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, buttery mashed potatoes, enough thick gravy to float a raft, and three kinds of pie, even Harry had enough to eat without needing to pick through the leftovers.
It was a trade-off. He had to put up with the verbal abuse that made his stomach turn in order to eat his fill, or at least as much as he was able. Hogwarts seemed so far away, even if it was only going to take a few more days of this misery for him to be once more on the train headed for the welcome school. Uncle Vernon had turned Harry down cold when he had asked about signing the permission form earlier, although it had been a fairly oblique approach to the matter. Maybe if Harry implied that these trips to Hogsmeade were dangerous, and that students could be severely injured during their visits?
“Still here, are you?” Harry had been lost in his own mind while Marge was talking, and looked up to see the bothersome old woman eyeing him suspiciously over the dirty dishes.
“Yes,” he replied, because he really did not think he could say “No” without some energetic verbal maneuvering and his invisibility cloak.
“Don’t say ‘yes’ in that ungrateful tone, boy.” Marge’s chubby lips pulled back in a sneer, although Harry could not hear a word she was saying, because his eyes were drawn to where Ripper was rolled over on his chubby back under the table…
…and was having his tummy rubbed by a tiny yellow pegasus.
“Why didn’t you go home?” he hissed before looking up and recognizing the startled gazes of the gathered Dursleys. “I mean…”
“Speak up, boy!” snapped Aunt Marge. “What kind of behavior do they teach you in that school? Where do you send the boy, anyway?” she added, turning her scowl in the direction of Uncle Vernon.
“St. Brutus’ home,” said Vernon with a furtive look at Harry. “It’s a fine institution for hopeless cases.”
I need him to sign my permission slip, I need him to sign my permission slip…
Harry managed a brief nod when Aunt Marge turned her piggish dark eyes back in his direction, although he nearly choked when he saw Fluttershy’s huge eyes staring at him from under the table, as if she believed Uncle Vernon, and that she had befriended some sort of insane monster by accident. What was worse, Harry could see other ponies hiding out in the dining room, behind potted plants and under bookshelves where they had undoubtedly been snacking on leftovers from the massive meal. In fact, several of them were under the table with Ripper, which led Harry to suppose that some of the bits of ham Aunt Marge had been slipping to the dog had been misdirected to a more equine destination.
“I said, do they use a cane at St. Brutus’, or are you deaf too?”
“Oh!” Harry tore his eyes away from the betrayed looks of the hidden ponies. “Yeah, they do. I’ve been beaten loads of times.”
I can explain to the ponies later. And they can tell me why they’re not gone yet!
“Excellent.” Aunt Marge settled back into her chair with a faint creak of stressed wood and more than a little smugness. “I won’t have this namby-pamby, wishy-washy nonsense about not beating children who deserve it.”
That changed the expressions on all of the hidden ponies. If they were real-sized, Marge most certainly would be in danger of getting a hoof-massage in the worst possible way.
“You’re a good man to be taking care of this wastrel, Vernon,” she added, picking up her empty wine glass. “If he had been dropped on my doorstep, it would have been off to the orphanage in a jiffy.”
“We considered it,” said Uncle Vernon, who had made his way over to the liquor cabinet and was getting the good bottle out, which was an indication to Harry just how much shouting he was in for later. “Can I tempt you with an after dinner nip?”
“Just a small one,” she said, holding her glass out. “A bit more, come on,” she added after Vernon had put in a short splash, not stopping her intent observation of the pouring process until the glass was half-full. “Excellent nosh, Petunia. It’s usually just a fry-up with me, what with twelve dogs.”
Harry tried to blend into the background while he was picking up more of the dirty dishes. After all, the colorful little ponies managed to hide, and he had spent most of his early years at Hogwarts trying to blend in like a chameleon on a plaid skirt, that is to say rather poorly.
“Do try a little drop of brandy, Rippy-pooh?”
Harry whirled around, nearly upsetting a stack of dirty dishes. Aunt Marge was leaning down, tipping her glass of brandy to be sloshed into Ripper’s bowl, only the bulldog was still on his back getting a tummy-rub, and another pony had taken his place. Although the mulberry-colored mare was drinking as fast as she could, all it would take was Marge looking down and—
“Blrregfast,” said Harry in a rapid burst of syllables that bore no connection to his scrambled mind. “I mean… breakfast! I should know what you want for breakfast. For tomorrow.”
Marge tipped her glass back up, and nearly had the little pony drinking out of it fall in face-first, before her equine friends dragged her further under the shadows of the dining room table. Aunt Marge shook her head so hard her jowls trembled, then lifted her glass to take another drink… only to find it empty.
“Trouble you for a bit more?” she asked, holding the glass out to Vernon, who was staring daggers at Harry. “Oh, don’t be troubled about how this one turned out. It’s all to do with blood.” She licked her lips while the brandy was being poured and added, “Bad blood will out, after all.”
Harry did not dare say anything in return, even if he could unclench his jaws.
After a brief sip of brandy, Aunt Marge asked, “What is it the boy’s father did, Petunia?”
“Nothing.” Petunia had the most peculiar expression, which was difficult to see because she had turned away from Harry. “He didn’t work.”
“He was unemployed,” added Vernon while corking what little was left in the brandy bottle.
Marge scoffed. “And a drunk too, no doubt.”
“That’s a lie,” snapped Harry, who would have instantly regretted it if he had not been so angry. Every eye in the room was on him, both large and small.
“What did you say?” Aunt Marge rose from her chair, much the same way a giant might rise from the forest floor.
“My dad wasn’t a drunk,” shot back Harry. The anger felt good. Warm. Comforting.
The wineglass that Marge was holding shattered, spraying shards of glass all over the table. Petunia lunged forward with a napkin, although thankfully the only thing dripping from Marge’s thick knuckles was spilled brandy.
“Don’t worry,” chided Marge while trying to fend off Petunia’s napkin. “I have a very firm grip.”
“I think it’s time for you to go to bed, boy.” thundered Vernon, who looked as if he were about to come around the table and drag Harry upstairs.
“Quiet, Vernon,” snapped Marge. There was only one creature in the world that could cow Vernon Dursley from angry action and that was his older and slightly larger sister. Harry would have appreciated that more if Marge did not enjoy pushing Harry around more than the rest of his obnoxious family. “You, clean up this glass.”
It beat being dragged upstairs by one ear, although not by much, so Harry grabbed the dustpan and broom anyway. Unfortunately, it put him close to Marge when she spoke rather directly to her brother.
“Actually, I’ve seen this kind of behavior all the time when breeding dogs. It has nothing to do with the sire. The female is always to blame.”
Harry bent to his cleanup task with as much concentration as he could, despite grinding his teeth. If there was ever a time for Petunia to stand up for him, this was it. His mother had been her sister, after all. They may have fought, and Petunia certainly resented it when Lily received her Hogwarts letter, but they shared the same bloodline. The wizarding world put such emphasis on family and blood. Voldemort even made it the centerpiece of his movement. Only Pureblood wizards were selected to become Death Eaters, after all.
The silence from Aunt Petunia was deafening.
Marge had paused in order to take a deep drink from the replacement glass of brandy that Vernon was quick to produce, and when she resumed speaking, it was with a wide gesture.
“If there’s something wrong with the bitch, then there’s something wrong with the pup—”
“Stop it! Shut up!” Harry jumped to his feet and glared at the quarrelsome old woman
That did not discourage Marge at all. Poking at him with a sausage-like finger, she took a step forward. “Right. Let me tell you…” She jabbed the finger again at Harry, only stopping when she saw just how large it had become.
One at a time, Marge’s fingers expanded, then the rest of her hand, then her arm.
“Vernon!” Aunt Petunia cringed away from their rapidly expanding houseguest. “Do something!”
Pearls shot across the room as Marge’s expanding neck broke the whole string, and contrary to Harry’s expectations, the subject of his accidental spell actually was rising up into the air.
“Stop!” commanded Vernon, although it was not completely obvious if he was ordering whatever it was turning his sister into a balloon to cease, or was directing the order in Harry’s direction. It certainly did not work, because Marge bounced once off the ceiling and began to drift in the direction of the open patio doors leading to the back yard.
The warm glow of revenge began to fade away from Harry, replaced by a deeper chill. All of the effort he had expended in the last months to keep from using Wizard magic had all just been blown straight to Azkaban, which was where he would be headed if he did not get away from this cursed place before the Ministry of Magic showed up!
While Aunt Marge bounced along the ceiling and the Dursleys chased after her, Harry bolted.
Have to get my trunk! Can’t leave anything behind!
He barely noticed the padlock on the cupboard under the stairs fall away when he yanked open the door, and the wooden splinters from the doorframe crunched under his trainers when he dragged out his trunk. Heavy as it was, it felt practically weightless as he dashed upstairs. All he could think of was grabbing his school things and flinging them inside
Only to find his empty bedroom less empty than his wildest nightmares.
It was a town. An entire town of tiny ponies crammed into his room, like a plague of rats, only cuter. There must have been hundreds of them, packed in under, over, and around every bit of the Dursely’s discarded junk and household furnishings. Blue ones and pink ones and orange ones and more colors than one of Fillfast’s Polychromatic Bubbling Fireworks. What was worse, groups of the ponies were the same as if they had been run through a duplicating spell.
In particular there was a yellowish group each bearing the most extravagant pink and blue curled manes that bounced in time with their aggravated pace while a greenish unicorn chasing after them protested, “But Bonny! I didn’t know Twilight had already done the spell to summon you when I did it! Besides, you’re all Bon Bon! Can’t we just… share or something? Oh, come on! It’s not that bad!”
“Spike,” he murmured out of the corner of his mouth, trying not to release the anger he felt bubbling up from inside. “Where’s Twilight?”
Somewhere in the sea of ponies, a small purple arm reached up and waved. “I tried to stop her,” called out the little dragon from under the herd. “She gets all frantic when things go wrong, and I don’t think they can get much wronger.”
“Marge!” called out Uncle Vernon from the back yard! “Come back!”
“Look at her gain altitude,” said one of the tiniest ponies from her perch on the windowsill as she hopped up and down while buzzing her wings in the middle of a group of other flightless pegasi. “I didn’t know humans could fly.”
“I’ve never blown up a human before,” said one of a group of tiny unicorns next to her. “Do you think we can get him to tell us how he did it?”
“But we ain’t got nopony to blow up!” protested a third group in unison. “‘Asides, Applejack would just yell at us.”
“It’s magic I’m not supposed to use outside of school!” fumed Harry while grinding his teeth. “The Ministry of Magic is going to send me to Azkaban! And expel me from Hogwarts! I’ll never see my friends again!”
“I thought we were your friends too,” said Fluttershy, who had moved over to pat him on the laces of his trainers in what was supposed to be a sympathetic gesture. “Twilight meant well, and I’m sure she has a plan to fix things.”
“She most certainly does.”
Two larger ponies came striding out from under Harry’s bed, and from the immediate reaction of the surrounding ponies, they must have been incredibly important. The herd fairly divided in front of them as they walked, giving Harry Potter a good look at the new arrivals.
One was as white as snow, with a literally flowing mane drifting along behind her, while the other was so dark blue she was nearly as black as her own flowing mane, which seemed to be made out of the darkness of space and the glittering of minuscule stars. Both of them had the wings and horns of Twilight Sparkle, but bore them with the casual confidence of someone who had lived with them for their entire life.
They stopped a short distance in front of Harry and regarded him with a mixture of amusement and compassion that quenched the fire of rage in his heart, then each gave a short bow.
“Ah, you must be Harry Potter,” said the taller of the two ponies. “I am Princess Celestia, and this is my sister, Princess Luna. Twilight explained your situation in her letter, or at least as much as she knew. Allow me to apologize for the actions of my student.” Her eyes slowly traced the room from side to side, then looked back up at him. “But I think there is another who needs to apologize first. Luna, if you may.”
The shorter of the two alicorns made her horn glow brighter, and a struggling house elf began to emerge from under Harry’s bed. A familiar house elf, wearing more socks that seemed as could fit on his body and with tears pouring out of his enormous tennis ball sized eyes.
“Dobby,” said Harry as realization swept over him.
“Dobby is sorry,” sobbed the despondent house elf. “Dobby only wanted you to have a friend while you were away from school. You always looked so happy there with your friends, working on your lessons.”
“So you were behind my receiving so much homework too?” Harry waved a hand at the stack of assignments teetering on the nearby desk. “If I hadn’t been so busy, I wouldn’t have accidentally— Wait,” he added. “You summoned Twilight!”
“It is all my fault,” admitted Dobby. “Harry Potter was supposed to write your friends for help every day, but that did not work! Then you spilled your ink and Dobby thought bringing just a tiny piece of a new friend would help you make more friends.”
“I…” Harry could not help but look around at all the sad ponies surrounding him. “You did, Dobby. But now they need to go home before I get into trouble. Into more trouble,” he added as the distant cries of his ascending aunt drifted in through the open window. “If that’s even possible,” he added in a low mutter.
“Dobby understands.” The house elf stood up as a smile began to emerge out from under his tears. “Dobby is just glad Harry Potter was able to find so many new friends this summer.” The general depression filling the room lifted, and a few small cheers could be heard in the herd. It warranted a response other than just feeling sorry for himself or snapping at the sniffling house elf who had only wanted to help.
“I never would have made so many friends without the Princess of Friendship.” Harry Potter reached under a nearby chair that several ponies where pointing at and removed a cringing tiny alicorn, who looked as if she were going to melt away from embarrassment. “Thank you, Twilight Sparkle. And thank you, Dobby. Now,” he added with a quick glance at the dark window where Uncle Vernon could still be heard cursing out in the yard, “please send them home.”
“Very well.” Dobby snapped his fingers, and the tiny alicorn that Harry Potter was holding vanished. Only Twilight Sparkle disappeared, and none of the others.
“Dobby?” Harry looked around the room at the suddenly confused ponies. “They’re not going home. Uncle Vernon will be up here any second, and they’re not going home.”
“Dobby is trying!” The house elf snapped his fingers several times with increasing frustration.
“That is because they were brought here by pony magic,” said Princess Celestia as she lit her horn. “Allow me.”
The tiny white alicorn grew as light filled the room, and when Harry could see again, both Celestia and Luna were taller than he was. Between the three of them and the Dursley’s closely stacked rubbish, the room was getting even more crowded.
Thankfully, all of the tiny ponies were gone.
However, there still were two much larger ones remaining.
“Ah, much better,” said Celestia, looking around the floor and seeming glad that she had not squished one of the tiny things with her now-large hooves. “Now, Dobby, was it?”
The house elf appeared, looking considerably chagrined although at least he was not crying anymore. “Yes, ma’am?”
Celestia smiled. It was as if the sun had risen in the room, and everything was going to be all right again. Even Dobby perked up and blinked away the last of his tears when the winged unicorn brushed her nose against his long hairy ears. “You are a good friend, Dobby. I am proud that you selected my student to bring her friendship to Harry Potter. He is fortunate to have you as a friend in his school.”
“And now you have to go too, Dobby.” Harry took a glance out the window where Uncle Vernon was still shaking his fist at the vanishing dot that was Aunt Marge. “And take the homework too, please.”
“Oh, of course, Harry Potter.” Dobby snapped his fingers and vanished, along with nearly all of the uncompleted homework on the desk.
Which only left one problem in his room. Well, two, if the few pages of homework did not count. Ok, three if one were to count Aunt Marge floating up into the sky outside.
Princess Celestia gave Harry’s room a long, quizzical look before shaking her head and turning back to him, while Luna had not stopped looking Harry in the eyes since they had arrived. At their full size, or at least what he hoped was their full size, they were an impressive pair of alicorns, and heavy enough to make the floor creak under their weight. They certainly had a powerful magical nature to capture a house elf and solve Harry’s little problem with such ease, but he found himself hoping the two extradimensional alicorns would finish whatever they had left to do and depart before the Ministry of Magic showed up.
Taking a half-step forward, Celestia announced, “Now my sister and I shall return to Equestria, and leave you with a lesson well learned.”
“What would that be, sister?” asked Luna, who cocked her head and looked up at her larger sibling even as Petunia’s downstairs shrieks of anguish floated up the staircase.
“Um… Well, there’s certainly a lesson in there somewhere,” said Celestia, looking a little less confident. The bellowing of Uncle Vernon in the yard seemed to give her an idea, and she moved forward with hollow clomps of her hooves on the wooden floor and a distinct number of creaks from the support timbers.
“Very well, Luna,” said Celestia with a short snort. “Since you seem to have things well in hoof here, discuss the lesson while I go downstairs and calm the young Mister Potter’s relatives. It is the least we can do for having caused him such problems.” The sharp thump of the closing door made Harry turn to the shorter princess and regard her skeptically.
“Does she know what she’s doing?” asked Harry. “I mean—”
“My sister has spent many of your lifetimes dealing with troublesome diplomats, quarrelsome nobility, and upset idiots of all types,” said Luna. “I’m sure she will be able to handle your aunt and uncle with her usual aplomb.”
There was a piercing scream from downstairs, sounding very Petunia-like, followed by the sound of a shattered vase.
“So when does your school start?” asked Luna, edging toward the open window.
“In just a few days,” said Harry. “What about your sis—”
The sound of another vase breaking filtered up the stairs, followed by what sounded like a plate and the water pitcher from the kitchen, along with other breakable items. “Vernon!” shrieked Aunt Petunia. “Get in here and stop this… thing!”
“I assure you, madam— Watch the salad bowls! If you would just stop— Be careful with that! Oh, nonono!”
“Not the telly!” screamed Dudley.
A terrible crash followed, much as if a china cabinet had been upended, and it was soon followed by Vernon’s angered bellow and even more crockery breaking.
“Would you have someplace away from your home to stay while waiting for school to begin?” asked Luna, who began to conjure a stream of silver sickles out of thin air and stuff them into Harry’s pockets as the cacophony of sound from downstairs rose.
“The Leaky Cauldron has rooms to rent,” said Harry rapidly. “But I would need to put my books into my trunk from—”
There was a flash of blue light, Harry’s trunk in the middle of his bedroom floor popped open, and all of the books that Twilight Sparkle had hidden around the room converged on it like some sort of bibliographic tornado.
“—and I need to let Hedwig out—”
The snowy white owl gave out a startled hoot as the cage door flew open, and a moment later she had vanished out the window in a flurry of wings while Luna was attaching the cage to his closing trunk and talking as rapidly as she could.
“Anything else Harry Potter no very well then let us be—” There was another sharp flash of blue light just as Harry grabbed his wand, and the two of them were outside on the sidewalk by the street, surrounded by the flutter of falling pages of homework.
From where they stood, he could still see the open patio door of his house. Both Vernon and Petunia were flinging themselves into defending their household from the strange winged unicorn that was trapped inside with them, who was making calming gestures with her hooves and giving out sharp yelps of pain whenever a Muggle missile struck her. Thankfully for the outnumbered alicorn, the battle did not involve Dudley, who appeared to be climbing the dining room light fixture in an unusual display of dexterity and unexpected athleticism.
“Luna!” called out Celestia as she grabbed a couch cushion in her magic and used it to fend off Vernon’s fireplace poker. “A little help here?”
Luna merely shook her head and turned back to Harry. “Do be careful at school, Harry Potter,” said the dark alicorn. She had to bend down just a little in order to look him right in the eyes, and the smile that followed seemed as inevitable as the moon rising. “I see great things in your future, young human. You and your friends will change the world.”
“Not the tail, Ma’am!” echoed a distant shriek. “Luna!”
“We shall see you in your dreams.” There was a soft flash of blue light and Luna was gone, although he could hear her contribution in the ongoing fight back at the Dursley residence while he scrambled to collect the loose pages of homework still fluttering down around him.
Then as the volume of the ongoing muggle/pony battle rose behind him, he dragged his trunk along the damp sidewalk at a brisk pace, trying not to look as if he were running away, and most of all, trying not to look guilty about the fat woman flying high in the sky above him.
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I’ll have the epilogue in an hour or so.
Riiiiight.
9674330
I feel this story can definitely lead to a good two or three sequels.
Well, he isn't wrong per se...
Ah. Well, that explains a fair amount. Though I do have to wonder how Dobby knew about ponies in the first place. Just what are they getting up to in the Malfoy household?
As for Celestia... Yeah, the Ministry is going to be dealing with one heck of an outside context problem.
Trouble is, most idiots of the equine variety dare not attack her.
The Dursleys have no such reservations, and we all know how Celestia fares in combat situations.
9674405
the likelihood that he knew about them is slim. more likely his magic saw a need, found a solution, and brought that solution into existence all without any conscious comprehension on the magic user's part. basically he used accidental magic.
Well, that sure is a scene to leave the house on. I'd forgotten the inflation.
Here's hoping Harry gets to check in with some of his new friends soon.
Oh no.
Of course.
She may still get it in the tiniest possible way.
Twilight, what did you do?
Bon Bon Bon Bon Bon Bon Bon
The Princesses, this escalated.
The deep unfairness of reflexively blaming Twilight for magical mishaps.
Celestial diplomacy in action.
I hope you have more than an epilog in the works. Like a sequel?
9676068 A sequel would basically involve rewriting *all* of JK Rowlings' third book. I have a different unicorn at Hogwarts to work on, placed in the year after the last book so I don't have to go back over well-tilled soil.
Yeah, Celestia is going to pay for that at some point
The more you ignore it, the cooler you look.
This was funny and the fact that Dobby was responsible for everything made it even better.
Maybe that ink IS imbuing him. It's just not as potent with the other three Dursleys because they've been exposed to so of magic.