> Master of Death and the Equestrian Adventure.
>  by aliengirlguy
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> I hope you don't have Equinophobia...
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Harry was not one who was overly surprised anymore, of course being a several millennia old immortal could have that effect on one.

Lord Harry James Potter, Master of Death grunted as he dusted off the ash that was falling from the sky again. He hated these dust storms, it always took forever to get the remnants of a long dead civilization out of his hair, though he supposed that was what he got for strolling through the remains of where the last gathering of humanity had once stood.

Decades, centuries of warfare and pollution had done a number on the planet to the point where the air had become increasing harder to breath and there was less and less food.

Many plants withered and died, soil became infertile, and in some cases even poisonous, hence the dust storms, and as a result the creatures the depended on the plants to live, and the creatures that depended on those creatures to live, died out.

Fish might have been an alternative if most aquatic life had also not been rendered nearly extinct thanks to climate shifts and waste dumped into their waters. What survived was likely more deadly then a knife to the jugular.

Harry had watched as Magic was the first to flee from the world. Unable to compensate for the muggles increased need to shat on where they lived, Magic had taken all those creatures, places, people, and things touched by its force and resettled everything likely on some other cozy planet or dimension somewhere. Of course, it left a little something, or someone, behind and to this day there was a bitterness in Harry towards Magic for it.

Despite the bitterness, he also couldn't really blame it, no matter how much he would have liked to. He had channeled magic true, he had been born a wizard after all, but the moment he became master of those blasted Hollows, he came under the purview of Death, and Death was a possessive bastard.

So he was left behind, no longer able to draw on his magical core, but at least spared some of the hardships of the planet around him in the beginning, thanks to a manor that Death had set up somewhere in the Himalayas for him, a place that would normally be inhospitable if it weren’t for he fact that he no longer needed to do such paltry things as breath, falling rather out of the habit in the high altitude as soon as Death had deposited him there.

There was only so long you can remain locked away on a mountain of course before you go stir crazy, and he had occupied himself by occasionally venturing off the mountain and wandering around the planet as it lay in its death theores.

He had tried to help humanity of course, some part of him was still young enough to not have the idealism of his saving people thing completely wiped out, back when there was still plenty of humans still around to save.

He had observed the muggles as they at first turned their efforts to trying to fix agriculture and trying to work whatever they could from the failing soil, but eventually the blight that had infected flora all over quickly worked its way through that plan into failure. Seeing where this would lead early on, some ingenious muggles managed to actually build a space ship, and upon completion the technological marvel had taken all they could of whoever was left to try their chances in the stars.

Those left, mainly adults by this point as fertility was low, and what few children there had been were the first on board, went crazy and either fought with each other and killed each other, or committed suicide.

The smart ones were the ones that chose the later option.

Harry had, a time or two, considered going with the muggles into space. After all, being part of such a venture was bound to be interesting, but in the end, perhaps some fool nostalgia for Earth, pity for those left to die, he had stuck around to see the end of it all.

“You are such a moody flesh bag aren’t you?” a grumbling voice commented behind him, drawing him from his maudlin trip down memory lane.

Harry huffed a laugh, snorting a wad of dust out of his nose, “Well, I am an old man you bleak arsed specter.”

“So rude,” Death hummed, flowing around the immortal in formless folds of darkness, “and here I was going to give you a present, but if your going to be that way…” Death’s voice trailed off suggestively.

Harry knew he was being baited of course, Death often did this, but he was so desperate for some sort of distraction that he was willing to play into Death’s non-existent hands for now.

“Alright oh glorious one, whose countenance brightens up my day, what did you bring me?" Harry intoned mock-grandly.

Death snarked something about cheeky brats, but eventually gave over, never able to keep a secret for long and always eager to gossip.

“I’ve decided that since you’ve been so bored lately, and with all your little mortal pets now gone, you would be interested in a do-over.”

“A Do-over?” Harry asked suspiciously.

“Oh Yes!" Death clapped its shadowy folds delightedly, "a chance to have a go at...well, living once again, growing up, having new adventures, etc. Though in a New World of course, since I can't go back in time, its really great fun!...Unless you enjoy this pleasant vacation spot that is?”

Harry rolled his eyes, beginning to lose interest again.

“If I wanted to go to a new world, I would have left with the muggles. You know how I feel about humans now after everything that has happened, it would just be the same thing over again, eventually. Like watching a re-run that last a few more centuries, if they last long enough that is.”

Death laughed, amused by Harry’s rather correct assessment.

“No, nothing so mundane my dear Little Master,” Death put the usual amount of amused emphasis on Harry’s so called title. It was considered a bit of an inside joke that anyone could consider themselves the master of Death of all things, no, his vaunted title was more along the lines that Death couldn’t bring Harry over to the Otherside. Harry’s body could be torn to pieces and spread all over the universe for good measure, and he would have poofed back into existence long before they finished.

Harry had tried a few times to kill himself, first out of desperation, then for the sake of boredom. Honestly, he never felt a thing if it was quick enough. From his perception, it was like he merely blinked.

“Well, being the classy personification of universal balance that I am, I have taken that into consideration,” Death declared grandly, "which is why I have decided to send you to spend some time in another reality as well as another world. One completely without humans, one that evolved along a rather different path then what you are used to... oh and is teeming with magic.” He added the last part more as an after thought.

Harry’s interest perked.

It had been along time since he had known the touch of magic. Which Death, the jealous (because of Harry's love of magic) but cunning twat, knew very well.

“Alright, it sounds interesting…so whats the catch?” Harry asked, with suspicion.

“My you’re a paranoid one,” Death teased.

“I’m an old man," Harry reminded him, "I’m entitled to paranoia.”

“Your hardly old,” Death poked at his youthful features and pinched his firm backside with figurative cold fingers.

Harry yelped at the cold and slapped the mist away, “stop that! Its not my fault that the package doesn’t match the soul you idgit!”

Far from being insulted, Death chortled. It was a sore point with Harry that he had retained his scrawny looks from when he obtained his dubious status at the ripe old age of 17 years old. It made it tricky doing things in the days when humanity was less worried about the world ending and more worried about this or that actor's/politicians sex scandals.

He’d also had the Department of Mysteries chasing his backside for decades, when they figured out he wasn’t aging, and were rather stubborn on the issue, not giving Harry much of a moments rest, the persnickety gits.

Now of course he somewhat missed the chase, it made for some sort of amusement at least.

“Well, you should be pleased with this one little stipulation,” Death purred into his ear, making Harry temporarily deaf when his ear froze solid.

“Stop that!” Harry groused, snapping off the damaged appendage, and grunted when a new ear took its place, “you know that hurts you moron!”

Death chuckled into his other ear, just to be a douche, causing a repeat of events and enjoying the rather colorful cussing before getting down to business, finally.

“Magic has...regrets about leaving you my little laster," Deaths tone was both pleased and pouty, "It and Life were agreeable to you entering this new reality, but they specified that you had to give up something, permanently. A sort of symbolic “death” if not a real one. Life is rather fond of the notion of rebirth, and has been annoyed with me for not being allowed to play with your soul.”

Harry snorted.

“Anyway, the two jumped at the chance when I asked them. Life to symbolically get what it wants in the end, even if not in the traditional sense, and Magic just wants you back in its clutches," the last rather sourly said.

“So, what is it that they want me to give up?” Harry asked, though he thought he could guess.

“Why that firm buttocks of yours of course,” Death purred, slapping said globes, and laughing hysterically when Harry cussed Death profusely.

“At this point, gladly,” Harry grumbled heatedly, glaring daggers at Death, “hopefully you wont shatter my new buttocks when I get it.”

Death hummed idly, not promising squat of course.

Harry groused to himself, then after a moment of silence as the dust continued to fall, Harry finally snapped “Well? are we getting on with it then?”

“Oh, well, alright then,” Death replied lazily, then floated over and suddenly began to move around him, circling. It began whipping around Harry faster and faster like a mini-tornado of blackness, as it was doing this Death added conversationally, "Oh I forgot to ask, I hope you don't have Equinophobia, or this will be an awkward transition," all the while unrepentantly reaching out with figurative hands and tendrils, feeling up the outraged Harry and touching him all over, who didn't get a chance to answer as his body was frozen solid.

Then the old fleshy shell of one Harry James Potter, Master of Death, shattered to a billion pieces and Harry’s seething soul disappeared into the dark folds, leaving nothing but dust behind him.

ooo ooo ooo

A/N: Equinophobia is a fear of horses, but can also transfer onto things like donkeys and Ponies.
> Mortis
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

 When Life had stipulated that he had to be reborn, Harry had perhaps not really took into consideration the details of what that precisely meant.

Harry’s immortal soul, currently being kept in a limbo state between flesh and spirit as his new body was still developing, was not amused as he realized that even after all these centuries there were still times his Gryfindor hot-headedness still shone through.

He was currently in some sort of tight, fleshy cave that was somewhat womb–like. It didn’t take him long to realize that he actually was in a womb and upon that realization, he experienced his first bout of mortification, something he hadn't felt since he turned 122 years old when he walked around for days with that gopher in his hair without noticing. Though this was a decidedly more uncomfortable, if novel experience.

Further, watching a baby grow, and being the baby growing in the womb was not as interesting as it sounded, as he quickly discovered. In fact it was even more boring then being stuck in his mountain manor.

He often tried taking advantage of his partially disembodied state and tried to at least spiritually leave the womb of course, maybe go for a spectral stroll, but something, most likely Death or Life, was keeping him tied tight to his new body, so all he got was dark enclosed flesh and the gruesome sight of his own growing body.

As his body further developed overtime however, he became steadily more integrated with it, and his perceptions of the fleshy surroundings grew more dim.

Finally, the day came when he was fully ensconced in his new body and he was able even to move his new limbs in the cramped space marginally, but everything else was primarily warm, wet and dark, and not for the first time during this unpleasant period of his new life, he wondered how the Weasley Twins, the Patels, or any other multiple-borns could have withstood the accommodations, when he as a solo resident found them tighter then a yeti's arse.

Finally the day came when he couldn’t take the boredom anymore and began to fidget determinedly.

ooo ooo ooo

Nook had been preparing tea leaves for an order in her cozy kitchen at the back of her prosperous little tea shop, which was currently closed, for an elderly relative of her husband Caboose who was currently working a long shift at the train yards, getting as many bits as he could towards their impending foal, when the first labor contraction found her.

The light yellowish pony with grayish orchid purple mane dropped the mortar and pestle with a loud clatter and gasped as her round belly, heavy with her foal, shivered and clinched painfully.

She managed to get herself to a nearby couch, only just in time for her legs to give out.

Nook was frightened, she was alone, as it was the Summer Sun Celebration and everyone was attending the festivities, and with everyone else out preparing for the or taking advantage of the work holiday, there was no one around to help and her foal was coming early.

Things began progressing faster then she was able to really process. She would later reflect how her own mother often bemoaned how Nook and her siblings all took ages to be born, but her foal was already beginning to crown before she could think coherently enough to reach for the phone, the headphones dropping from her mouth as she gave one unholy shriek and unable to help it, began the business of pushing with all her might.

ooo ooo ooo

Thus the glorious, messy, painful and terrifying experience of being ushered into the world called birth happened.

Harry never, ever, wanted to experience female anatomy, or any anatomy, from this angle ever again.

With one more near crushing push, Harry arrived into the world wailing his displeasure at the experience and cussing Life and Death both into oblivion.

Then all thoughts of his unpleasant experience was wiped away as the wonderful, beautiful, amazing first touch of Magic fell over his body, welcoming him back.

Magic! Great glorious Magic!

Magic was just as happy to have one of it’s children returned to it after being denied for so long. It crooned lovingly at him as it swaddled him in its invisible clutches and Harry was whirled around and around hazily in a happy dance.

He was vaguely aware of screams of fear and “Great Celestia! My Foal! My Foal!” being shouted in the background, but he was to busy enjoying their reunion.

Then Magic’s air-based cartwheels settled and he felt it gather at some point near his forehead , flowing deep down into his newly formed magical core, settling with a contented purr.

Harry would have been smiling like a fool if he had control of his new facial muscles.

With Magic done gallivanting, he was returned to the hold of something that felt distinctly hoof like.

No matter, as he turned over into his shaken mother's (at least he assumed it was her, since he couldn't really see anything but blurs at the moment) chest, he was already asleep, his little body exhausted by the ordeal.

Ooo ooo ooo

In Hayview hospital, a small service that catered to the Northern outlining village communities north of Vanhoover one hour later, a frantic stallion tore through the quiet halls of the maternity ward.

“Nooook!” the frantic stallion hollered, “Nooooook!”

A nurse stuck his head out of a hospital room giving the frantic Earth Pony a death glare and shushed him.

“But…but…my wife just gave birth!” he tried to explain, hopping from one hoof to the other.

“So has every other mare in the ward,” the nurse Band Aide replied dryly, “Now just take your flank to the welcome desk and someone will direct you to your wife sir.”

With that, the nurse returned to his duties while the thoroughly chastened stallion did as he was told.

10 minutes later…

“Caboose!” Nook sighed in relief, giving her husband a relived smile when she saw him barreling towards her hospital bed, then squeaked when he pulled her into a great hug.

“Honey Bear!” he groaned in relief, “ your alright and…your skinny!”

Caboose, a large burly stallion with dark blue pelt, train track cutie mark, and short brown scruffy mane and tail, was then whacked by his wife’s hoof as she huffed “of course I am you lummox! I just gave birth!”

“Are you alright? The baby…?” the stallion asked her, his voice going even more frantic, “isn’t it to early?”

Nook sighed and patted his mane and got him to set her back in bed with a relived sigh.

“I’m fine and our new little colt is fine as well.”

Caboose perked up at that, his short tail waving happily.

At his wife’s odd expression though, his relieved excitement at being told everyone was fine and that he had a son, quieted.

“Honey Bear? What is it? If everything is fine, then why do you look worried?”

Nook bit her lip explaining, "Well, something happened soon after I gave birth...”

An hour later…

It was some time after his wife had explained things, the unusual and very fast birth, the unprecedented evidence of magical manifestation, which while wasn't unusual in infant unicorns was never quite that...intensely magical as soon as they popped out! And then her worries about his premature state. Both were troubled by this, but Nook's husband eventually pointed out that, while unusual, as long as their little colt was relatively strong and healthy, they would deal with things as they come, while Nook sighed at the eternal pragmatism of Earth Ponies, but otherwise agreeing.

After that, the attending Ponyatric came in and Caboose was finally ushered to the nursery.

He stepped inside, weaving his huge muscular figure around the occupied cots full of newborns of all flavors.

When he found the cot that held his son, he couldn’t help but feel whatever trepidation at the startling news leave him as he beheld the tiny wrapped bundle and felt his heart melt.

The colt was tiny, tinier then most, considering that he was a few weeks early that was to be expected, though he was assured that the maturation magic that had been cast on his son would help speed up the rest of his development. At the moment though, he had to remain in the isolation bubble for another few days until the magic finished it’s work.

He was an adorable little thing, with fluffy stark white pelt, and a tuft of frizzy pitch black mane that stuck out from under his swaddling, framing a tiny white horn. he had definitely taken after his Wife for the most part, though the black mane was more akin to his own father's mane, since Nook's family were all mostly pale.

"Oh, aren't you the cutest ball of cotton, yes you are, yes you are! your daddy's little colt, yes you are..." he cooed.

Then his son opened his tiny, startlingly bright green eyes, looking around himself muzzily, before locking onto the large bluish blob above him and suddenly glowered.

"Aww...look at those eyes! Just like mine!" the stallion declared happily, his own green orbs filling with happiness.

The baby glowered more, a tiny little hoof working itself out of the swaddling, and flipped off his new father, or at least tried to, the lack of opposable fingers making the insult rather hard to get across, and thus went unnoticed as such by the proud papa who thought his brilliant little darling was waving hello.

ooo ooo ooo

The Master of Death perhaps shouldn't have been surprised at the fact that he was reborn as something else.

He had figured during the initial deal about the stipulation about not wanting to be reborn into a world of humans. This meant he would be reborn as something else of course, but it seemed that Death and Life had conspired to make sure his rebirth would be as far from his expectations as possible, who had at least thought he might be bipedal.

They had succeeded. Harry could safely say he would have never suspected in all his 1000+ years that he would be born into a world of colorful talking ponies.

He could have been reborn as an elf, or a mermaid, or a talking ape that ruled the world...but no, because not being human seemed to nix the whole bipedal formula right out the window! Tch!

The Ponies he found himself a part of now did appear to be the dominant species on this planet, and since he assumed that Death, Life and Magic were not likely to make him something that was less then superior in this new reality, that meant he better get used to walking on all fours.

Well…he never thought that those words would ever enter his brain unless he stumbled on something kinky.

He took a wary look up at the faces staring down at him grimacing, which just made them coo more at his “adorable look.”

It was currently a week since Harry's birth, and he was now officially released from the hospital into his parents care.

As was tradition for his new father's family apparently, a naming ceremony where he was presented at a gathering of close family and friends and his name was declared and recorded by an officiate of the town simply must be done, a celebration in which there was much dancing, feasting, more dancing, a shower of presents, then more dancing...yeah fun had by all.

The latest batch of ponies to stick there heads into his tram didn’t take him long to realize that these particular ponies were not the regular variety such as his father and his family, but were more unicorns, like his mother.

Hadn't that been a surprise when he had first got a good look at his mother and a few of the medical staff at the hospital?

Unlike the unicorns from his old world, they were definitely not skittish, though a few of the upper crust, he would soon learn, had a certain untouchable (or never touch me uncouth ruffian) quality about them.

It didn't take him long to learn that there were three major species of pony in this world.

Earth ponies, like his father, Unicorns like his mother and himself apparently (no surprise really), and Pegasi whom he'd seen flying in the sky while being carried around by his mother.

No wonder Magic loved it here! it was practically poring out of everyone’s pores!

Judging by the posh way that the unicorns were dressed and acting, they were very well off unicorns, and their similar coloring and his mother's strained expression, meant that these were likely well off relatives invited out of courtesy.

Harry didn't like the speculative looks shot his way, nor the expression of disdain shot towards his happy go-lucky lunk of a father, who laughed tiredly with some co-workers from the train yard that the stallion worked at. He knew that his new father had pulled a double shift the previous day, hence the tiredness.

"Goodness, he's a scrawny little thing isn't he?" one of the unicorns hummed, unfurling a fan with her horn as she stared down at him.

"Though at least he isn't likely to be some unruly behemoth," another elderly unicorn drawled, eyes snapping to Caboose.

"He is a unicorn at least," agreed another unicorn, younger but still slightly older then Harry's mother with a sour and pouty expression, "at least our genes bred true in that quarter, though he will likely not be anything to sniff at magically, given his sire."

"Indeed," said a stout male unicorn, adjusting his monocle, "powerful unicorns only breed true from a long line of pure unicorns after all."

"Yes," said the fan waver, "If you hadn't run off with...him," she addressed his strained mother, a nod at Caboose, "you might have taken a better, more refined and proper stallion, and the little one here would have had a better chance, but alas!"

Harry glared at the uppity creatures, a little amused, a little annoyed. It seemed some mentalities really were multi-universal.

His mother looked upset though, Harry could see how much their comments hurt her, and was pleased to witness that she had a bit of a back bone as she snapped and told them off bluntly, but politely, to stuff their elitist attitude up where Celestia never shines, an interesting feat of politely strained verbosity that not many could do in Harry's experience.

He let out a happy chortle at the virotol, his first in this new body, and not the last he was sure.

After the unicorns wandered off, looking scandalized, and joined the few others standing apart from the rest of the predominantly Earth pony gathering to brood and gossip in a corner, it was finally time and all attention turned towards him.

Harry was lifted out of his tram in the yellowish cozy warmth of his mothers magic, so he was at relative eye level with the gathered collection of ponies.

'Egads! they really were all colors under the sun weren't they?' he thought as he got a good look at the group at large.

Then the officiate, an elderly old pale brown Earth Pony with the amusing name of Dimples, strode forward solemnly, a scroll unfurled with his teeth under a hovering Harry, and with a quill resting in his hoof (Harry was still trying to figure out how the ponies did that without any magic) and awaited the words.

"Greetings to our family and friends who could make it this day to welcome the newest member into our fold," Caboose began to intone solemnly, "We have thought long and hard about a name that best suits both our new son and honors both families and tradition..."

"So without further ado," Nook took up her part, "We present you the newest member of our family, our son Mortis!"

Harry sensed the not so subtle (to him at least) figurative hand of Death in that choice.

Of course, the happy couple were perfectly peachy with the name, and no matter what anyone said to them in later years they would always wave it away without concern, a little hazy eyed, and Harry now Mortis wasn't overly bothered by it himself, though in later years, once he was able to properly articulate, told everyone around him he preferred the less refined version of "Morty" instead. 
> Morty Meets Sunbottom.
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

 Nook sighed as her little colt glowered ahead of them as if his surroundings had mortally offended him.

“I don’t see why I have to go,” her son whined, showing his age for once.

She ruffled the colt's messy mane, making him squawk indignantly, “Mum! Your messing up my mane!” (1)

Caboose chuckled, “I think all your mother's styling spells and all the mane gel in the world can't fix that, now trot along, It’s spring cleaning…again, and we need to get a start on it without a certain little pony getting under hoof,” Nook said, chuckling at her son's affronted look.

Morty grumbled but grudgingly shifted his saddle bag and reluctantly slunk towards the open doors of Hayview Elementary.

2 hours later...

Morty glowered at the happy frolicking foals as they played in the large open play ground behind the school. So much...youth! Glah! He hadn't been around this many children in centuries! and here he was, trapped as one for the next few years, surrounded by them.

“Awww, whats wrong junior, you should be out playing with your fellow fillys and colts,” a voice chortled to his near left.

“Shut it Death,” the green eyed colt grouched then turned a baleful eye on the amorphous cloud of darkness that only he and those just about to die could see, “and it certainly took you awhile to actually stick what passes for a metaphorical muzzle in my sight since my traumatizing birth, its been what? 5 years? Not counting the time I was an embryo.”

“Life and Magic were rather insistent that I not be around during your first few formative years, and Time was pouty over your future lack of wrinkles...something about my bad influence and establishing connections in all the wrong ways and all that rot…muzzle huh? Started using the local lexicon I see, should I give you a hand…or is that hoof now?” Death cackled.

“Smart arse,” Morty grumbled, “so what do you want?”

“What, no how are you? How’s business been in the other-realms? *Sigh!* kids...I mean, foals these days, no manners.”

Harry snorted and returned to sipping his drink box and taking voracious bites of his daisy sandwich. Being in a body that hungered again, among other things, lead to a continual need to stuff his face, it was one of the more enjoyable distinctions of this new life.

His mother often joked that he had a hollow hoof.

Speaking of which…

“So, just to clarify, am I mortal again or something? I happen to notice that I have been aging, eating, breathing, and…other things.”

Bathroom time was something he had not missed and was an altogether different experience as a pony.

Death sniffed, “As if I would make you something as boring as mortal again. No, no matter the form, you will always be beyond the grasp of the Hereafter. Though I admit that your body is currently developing at a rate expected of mortals your age and species if you were a mortal, so i can't blame you for the confusion, that’s mainly to age your body to the pony equivalent of the age that you first became immortal. It was Life’s idea I believe, give you a chance to properly...ug! "Experience living" my sibling is so sentimental.”

“So if I were to fling myself off a cliff…?” Morty drawled.

“Other then giving some poor nearby pony a heart attack, the same as before, your body would continue to go along the path it is as if you hadn’t snuffed yourself in a dramatic cliché.”

"So the appetite and all that?”

“Oh, to help your body along, but I am willing to let it remain as long as you want since it seems to amuse you if you like.”

Morty grunted, but otherwise was relatively satisfied with the answer.

Death eventually wandered off to terrify some other pony who was about to be crushed horribly by a falling piano down the street.

Morty sighed and cleaned up his lunch before pulling out a book and settled in for the rest of recess, hopefully uninterrupted by anymore immature nonsense again.

Ooo ooo ooo

6 years later...

Morty eyed the dessert table hungrily.

The Master of Death had developed a sweet tooth over the years by this point, and was especially keen on pastries.

Morty was currently dressed up in a smart little suit, balancing a tray of sparkling apple juice and healthier edibles on his rump with a little discreet magical assistance.

It was the annual Winter Wrap up ball in Hayview, and his Mother's recent expansion of her tea shop into Canterlot had earned her attention from the local high-hoofs. She and a plus one were invited to the latest high end shindig as a result. Unfortunately for Morty, his father had managed to make his escape by declaring a sudden emergency trip to visit uncle Steamboat, thus Morty, the faithful son that he was, was left the only one to escort his mother.

He was considered old enough at 11 for such esteemed events, though still to young to enjoy a good hard cider, and generally was there to be the cute factor of the evening, much to his annoyance.

Death who was paying a visit had nearly burst a metaphorical gut with laughter when he was refereed to as that “adorable fluffy little gentle-colt,” by a robust pegasus mare in a fine turquoise gown.

He was not fluffy! Even if his tail looked like black cotton candy!

Death, who was around a lot more often as he got older, left him to his fixation on the pastries and long suffering mane ruffling, to hover menacingly over an old-timer in the cigar room. Morty knew he would be dead within moments, though when he overheard the old stallion greet Death amicably and asked him if he would like to hear the story of his trip to Trottingham before getting down to business, Morty reassessed his internal estimation. Death liked socializing those rare times it was offered so in its usual moment of randomness, agreed, and the two actually shared various stories of the place while sharing a fine cognac (yes Death can be solid enough to enjoy such things if it wants, this time taking the form of an all black pony) before the old fellow slumped over comfortably and didn’t wake up.

Death always did appreciate courtesy, so rare in its line of work, and sometimes awarded a painless comfortable ending upon occasion when it was offered.

Harry turned his attention back to the most important matter at hoof.

His mother had made him promise to be polite to the other guests, and Morty prided himself on keeping his promises over the centuries, the few times when he gave them anyway.

Unfortunately, that meant, as both politeness, and his current status as the cute factor, the dessert table, groaning under Major Soufflé’s excellent baking, was being continually cake-blocked by the guests.

He eyed the large plate of treacle tart, something he was glad had evolved into being in both worlds, as it glistened at him in the magical candle light, taunting him from where he was sandwiched between two old madams gossiping about some race or other in Cloudsdale.

He licked his lips, and hoped that the upper crust weren’t going to eat up all the good stuff before he had a chance for a go.

He was eventually released and Morty knew that it was now or never!

He looked around himself furtively, ducking low to the ground, slithering from one support post, to flowing skirt, to another, and was within inches of that rich sticky goodness...

“Well your certainly the smallest escort I’ve ever seen,” an amused female voice declared.

Morty turned away from the table with a thwarted sigh and came muzzle to leg with the speaker, then looked upwards.

She was a tall pony, very, very tall, with flowing pastel rainbow mane and tail that floated in a wave of her own power, she wore a golden crown on her head and had a large prominent horn and a set of majestic white wings furled neatly against her haunches.

Morty didn’t need to see the awe filled adoration directed the mare’s way or see her cutie mark of a blazing sun motif to know who this mare was.

Princess Celestia was just as grand as she was whispered about, and from what he understood from Death, was semi-immortal. Ageless, able to transcend certain physical bounds, stupid powerful, but her body was able to be injured and could be killed.

Said Death was completely absent for this meeting between two powerful sort of gods at the dessert table though, figures.

He dragged up his small modicum of etiquette and bowed smoothly, taking the princess’s hoof in his smaller one and kissed it grandly, “your highness.”

The fact that it came out less grand and more prepubescent squeaky with a slight lisp (he was losing a baby-tooth) was beside the point.

The Princess chuckled in amusement, “such a little gentlecolt,” she declared.

“That’s what I’m here for milady,” Morty declared blandly, straightening, “I’m the cute factor at this event, so take your shots now.”

The Princess actually snorted inelegantly at his dry cheek, but managed to control her amusement.

“Yes, well, many ponies have many duties they must fulfill in their lifetime,” she replied seriously, though with twinkling eyes that suddenly reminded him strongly of Dumbledore.

“Now,” she turned to the dessert table with a look that Morty had worn moments before her arrival, “being a worldly colt such as yourself, it would behoove you to be gentlecoltly and help me eat my way through all this dessert!”

Morty reasoned that it was still technically fulfilling his promise. So not bothered at all that he was essentially plunking himself on a stool beside the ruler of Equestria in a manner that might be a little less reverent then many ponies would be comfortable with, he dug in.

The Princess watched him with a considering eye as she hogged the Banana Cream pie and the Chocolate covered bananas, though Morty was oblivious to her growing scrutiny, blissed out on treacle, he didn't notice the increasing intrigue on behalf of the princess, an intrigue that began from the moment she had spied the unusual darker tone of green of his magic, almost black even, when he had been levitating his snack plate, or the rather easy way he acted around her.

In fact he had nearly forgotten her presence, as they were both busy eating (a few other, braver ponies taking something from the opposite end of the table gamely) that he didn’t notice her sharpened gaze when he unconsciously conjured a clean fork when his own dropped onto the floor and continued eating.

“You are very skilled in magic,” the princess commented in a casual manner suddenly.

Morty paused mid-chew, then swallowed and gave her a weary look, “I suppose,” he said, inwardly cursing his obsession with dessert.

It was not normal for a foal his age to be able to conjure solid objects, even if it just happened sometimes to unicorn young, the pony version of accidental magic in this world, one his age was by this point was usually a bit more settled magically by now. He blamed Magic, which so loved it when he used it, whether consciously or not, and was always looking for an excuse to show off.

That’s what happens when you put an old man with centuries of magical knowledge, deny him use of magic for centuries, then reacquaint him with said power, and both had a habit of making up for lost time.

“I’m nothing special really, just a spell or two here and there,” he stated hastily, suddenly not so hungry.

For a moment the two exchanged eye contact, and Morty was for a moment reminded that this pony was the ultimate authority on this planet, the sun and moon literally revolved around her, and a fellow immortal to a certain extent.

She looked at him as if she knew that he was lying, but didn’t’ call him on it thankfully.

After wiping her muzzle politely, the two exchanged goodbyes, and she went off to another part of the party to wow upper-crust there, her belly full of banana and her mind considering.

Ooo ooo ooo

Morty eventually forgot the incident with the princess after a week or two had passed, though Strawberry Lime and Sweet Dream, his mother's friends and coworkers, still gushed at his supposed honor and all that trot.

His mother thankfully only indulged in one gushing moment and one near conniption that he had been so forward and familiar with the proverbial god of ponies, but soon dropped it, bless her, after the lecture about proper decorum.

Weeks passed and eventually he dismissed the incident from his mind, turning to the more important business of sneaking hard cider from the local tavern, and telling dark and depressing haiku's to other colts and fillies in school when they ventured to close, scarring them mildly for life.

It turned out that he had dismissed the incident prematurely though as a certain letter came in by special delivery one morning during breakfast, the sparkling letter dropped from the talons of a phoenix of all creatures directly into his morning honey porridge.

His mother had snatched up the letter after cleaning it from his breakfast, staring bug eyed at the royal seal, and hastily opened it when Morty showed no inclination to, busy glowering at his ruined meal.

His mother began to gush at the contents and, after passing it to his father, the stallion gaped then looked quite proud, his chest puffed out.

“I can’t believe it! A letter to be tested for admittance into Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns! Oh great Celestia!” His mother exclaimed, picking up Morty and whirling him around.

Morty grunted noncommittally, eyeing the phoenix that had delivered the letter, which was currently preening itself from its perch on the counter.

He knew that there were a lot of magical creatures similar to what was once found in his old world in this place, but this was the first time he was getting a chance to meet one since Hogwarts days.

Like Fawkes, this bird was filled with elegant flaming plumage, obviously fresh out of a burning day and fully grown again.

Death and Life loved these birds in equal measure, from what he understood of Death's rambles as the dark specter currently cooed over the bird, which fluffed its feathers in annoyance and subtly upped the wattage of its flames to ward off a premature burning day in Death's presence (2). They were the closest thing other then himself to immortality, especially now that he was going through the business of aging again, if even briefly, and after his bouts of bodily reconstitution and his own actual more recent "rebirth." he shared some similarity to the birds.

In a sense, Death had told him once, the flaming turkeys were the closest to kin the Master of Death would ever have, like some sort of cousin or something.

He managed to give the bird a nod and a polite “cousin,” before he was dragged off to go shopping for his new school things.

When they were gone, Philomena fluffed her feathers importantly, cocking her head after the odd pony-not-pony that had addressed her familiarly had disappeared out of the modest cottage doors, the oppressive presence of one of its creators had also eventually drifted away, bored.

She had never meant a cousin other then the Sun Bottom that was her companion, and the Night Mane from long before.

An interesting day it seemed.

Then she teleported out and went to be fawned over and given lots of candied pecans as was befitting one of her status. 

> Morty in Canterlot.
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cutie Marks.

Now there was a rather disturbing concept.

Morty remembered one particular mark, which thankfully had not followed him into his new body, that had defined him because of a singular moment in time, a rare instance of surviving a Death Curse and defeating, temporarily, the Dark Lord who cast it.

Harry James Potter had been defined by his mark, the boy-who-lived, more then the boy attached to it. It had molded him into a warrior, a leader, a sacrifice.

It was not amusing that he was going to have to deal with that nonsense again.

Still, he found that being without a cutie mark defined you even more, the term Blank Flank began being tossed his way by other foals when he reached the age that every little pony does when they started getting their mark (a little young in Morty’s opinion to discovering your special talent that played a big role in defining what you did with the rest of your life) he was one of only a few that had yet to discover their talent already, though as time passed, and time was drawing closer towards when he would have to leave for the next term at Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns, Morty’s fellow outcasts eventually discovered their talent, and soon, by the time he was waiting for the next train to Canterlot, his father tearfully giving him crushing hugs and his mother instructing him, yet again, on the directions to the campus, he was still bare-rumped.

Not that he overly minded he supposed.

"It's not that hard to find mum," Harry sighed, rolling his eyes, "its bloody part of the palace, its kind of hard to miss that," his mother, who had for the gazillonth time reiterated the directions to the school from the map that had been provided with his letter.

His mother huffed softly and gently ruffled his permanently ruffled mane, "alright sweetie, just remember to..."

"-write you every week," Morty finished, "and there's bits in my saddlebag for something to eat if I get hungry, and to make sure that I don't over exhaust my magic during classes...I know the drill."

Eventually, the train arrived with a cheerful whistle, It wasn't the smooth red steam engine of Hogwarts, but it had its own head-on-collision-with-a-candy-factory appeal he supposed.

he turned back to both his parents, and felt his demeanor soften at the proud look from his mother and the tearful eyes of his father, before he heaved up on his hindlegs and gave them both a hug. He wished them a fond goodbye and boarded the train, levitating his trunk behind him, his new chestnut brown saddlebags bumping on his flanks as he practically skipped aboard and found a seat.

When Hayfield and his waving parents were a long distance behind him, Morty pulled out the latest Daring Do, and settled in for a good read, alone this time since Death was currently already in Canterlot, circling a pony about to die of alcohol poisoning.

As he read, his mind occasionally drifted back yet again to cutie marks. Death had been to amused by Morty’s blank flank teasing, and had been vastly unhelpful in the matter, stating that it was not up to him if he had a cutie mark or not, when he had broached the matter with the entity, curious if he would even have one, given his unconventional background, his companion stating, "it's so obvious what your mark is going to be, and even when you do get it, these little ponies still wont know what it means!" Death'd had a good cackle at that.

Morty had nothing to say on the matter, and wasn't bothered at all by the teasing as his centuries of being stared at as an immortal being back on Earth had long inured him to the fickle gazes of others, one of the benefits of old age he supposed. Still at some point he supposed he was going to have to do something or other about it, after all there was no such thing as as an adult blank flank when your a pony.

Another problem for another time, he decided eventually, and turned his brain back to his book.

ooo ooo ooo

Harry's first impression of Canterlot was that this was definitely a place for the elite.

It was a busy city, but at the same time there was a sedateness to it that comes from a predominantly upper-class neighborhood on the level of an entire city in this case instead of just a section of it. Pony's, mostly unicorns, wandered from shop to shop, muzzles occasionally in the air, or dinning on expensive foods in little outdoor cafe's that held velvet cushioned seats and gold or silver wrought frames.

The place was also rather clean, ridiculously so, with near by trash can's gleaming in the sunlight, looking more decoration then anything, and sidewalks so sparkling it looked like you could eat off them.

There wasn't a cobble out of place or a smudge to be found, which was both fascinating and disturbing on various levels for the young Master of Death.

There were many ivory towers with golden spires that rose majestically along Harry's path, becoming more predominant the closer to the castle he came, and many waterfalls and rivers in small parks or under elegantly curved bridges with jeweled filigree through it.

There were old matrons in soft angora shawls encrusted with diamond beads feeding the many fat colorful fish and elegant sweeping cranes and swans that swam through out, or young couples enraptured more with each other kissing and snuggling.

There coffee shops where the delicious smells of freshly ground beans and hot pastries filled the air tantalizingly, a high-class restaurant in which Harry swore he spotted the infamous rising star Sapphire Shores, still so young to have become so famous already, dining on spaghetti, sports arenas were excited sounds of some sort of event or other was taking place, a theater, currently closed in preparation for a show later that evening featuring a mare in a half mask and a faint stallion in her grasp, and art galleries of every imaginable art form sowed through out every corner.

Not to say that it was all dreamlike utopian excess, there were a few things that did remind one that this was the royal seat of the country, such as the occasional patrols of winged or hoofed royal guard sighted on the streets, the shadows of the many matronly statues and busts of Princess Celestia, diplomats, wizards, or a few war heroes from bouts of half-forgotten turbulent times in history.

Then of course there was the castle itself.

During his first decade while on the run from the Wizarding World, he'd had a chance to come across both the books and the movies based on the books, by J. R. R. Tolkien called Lord of the Rings and thought that if it weren't highly impossible, that the architects of the castle that stood before him had read those books and kept them in mind during its construction. It reminded him strongly of the depictions of Minas Tirith, with its sprawling glowing white walls and spires, though this one was perhaps more colorful with its etchings of purples, golds, pastel blues, and pinks, big enough to fit several Hogwarts comfortably, and it was was even carved into the side of a mountain!

On his way up towards the castle, there were a couple of times in which Morty had to get through the various check points at the entrance to the inner walls. The lands surrounding the Castle was divided into three sections separate from the outermost ring of Canterlot:

The first outermost area being the various businesses and parks that catered to the elite of the elite and high end merchant class, as well as where the libraries, museums, primary schools, non-magic academies, and grand parks existed. Then the second tier, where the distant royal families and few notable elites had properties. Then the third tier where the castle entrance was, including the courtyard, banquet halls, seat of parliament, labyrinths, and personal quarters of the immediate royal family as well as the Guard barracks resided.

Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns straddled the second and third tier, as it was literally built part-way into the dividing wall, with the front most in the second tier. This was in part, according to the book Morty had perused about it, so that Celestia herself could easily traverse from the castle proper to the school, as well as for the ease of the occasional foal from the immediate royal family, who automatically attended without need of going through the application processes that many unicorns have to go through.

"Great Me! what is this place and its obsession with purple?!" a voice groaned from Morty's immediate right.

Morty snorted as Death pulled a face at the decor, "nice of you to join me," the colt huffed, though he could see Death's point. The school was almost entirely purple, and had a look like a cross between a mini castle and the birthplace of William Shakespeare from his previous life.

"Well, someone needed to see you off to your first day of magic school," Death hummed, its dark smoky body vibrating with amusement.

Morty huffed again, neatly sidestepping Death's half-hearted swipe at his vulnerable fluffy tail (hair usually came back slower then a bit of flesh and bone for some reason), as being tailless was certainly not the image he wanted to present in this posh place as a first impression and walked up to the imposing steps to the dark violet doors with the name of the school etched in gold and silver, and rang the door bell with a flick of magic at the amethyst handled silver pull chain.

There was silence from inside of course, obviously the door bell was spelled to alert the proper heads further inside without disturbing the rest of the school.

A few minutes later, the sharp clip-clop of manicured hooves approached the doors, and they opened.
> Hello My Baby
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Morty didn’t know what he expected when the door smoothly opened (not having the decency to provide a nice ominous creak even), but he had a sudden, fondly nostalgic flashback to the first time he ever stepped foot into Hogwarts, how he met Old Professor McGonagel, his head of house for the first time, with her stern pinched features and severe bun setting the no nonsense tone the deputy headmistress doubtlessly wished could've remained in effect after the first few days of the start of a new term before it wore off in the face of all the wondrous delights of Hogwarts in the minds of the jangle of precocious first years. he chuckled fondly in remembrance, he'd been no different.

Morty shook his head, amused at his own nostalgia and perhaps somewhat surprised by the the sudden trips down memory lane he had been having lately, he hadn’t thought of her in centuries!

'My this rebirth stuff really hits a guy in the ol’ golden years,' he thought to himself bemusedly.

Though the fact that he was once again attending a magic school after so long, coincidentally at the same age he had been when he was Harry Potter, he supposed that drawing the long dead past into the present was going to happen from time to time, especially with someone as old as him.

Of course, the figure that answered the door now wasn’t a stern Scottish witch, it was a stern and very burly royal guard in golden armor combined with the dark grey pelt and mane/tail of the Personal Royal Guards, a flavor of the Clone Guild -he liked to think of Equestria's guards pretty much in that light for obvious reasons - and was not just any ordinary royal guard, but the small selection of military that catered directly to the personal protection of the Princess of Canterlot herself.

The stallion snorted down at him once, unimpressed at the sight of the squirty fluff tail, but was duty bound to question him anyway, so Morty quickly pulled out his letter of admittance which contained the royal seal of acceptance for candidacy into the prestigious school.

Morty was not put off by the guard, since it was likely that the Princess might be lurking about the school she had founded personally. it was only logical that from time to time the royal was inclined to visit what she founded, as well as look around to take a personal student under her wing from time to time, something he had read about when looking into the school, though of these lucky students, there was usually only one every 10 years or so.

The guard huffed to himself "another student, oh joy," but let him through and as his letter was ogled, Harry mentally dubbed him Captain Crankypants, and considering the naming trend in this world, it may have even been his or some other pony's name for all he knew.

The guard eventually directed him to walk further down the hall and take the first right, and continue walking until he reached a set of large oak doors with the bust of Star Swirl the Bearded on either side, apparently it was not that hard to miss.

Morty’s hooves echoed loudly in the silent arched hallways as he looked around himself curiously, noting the white and purple checkered floor tiling, the pale lavender marble pillars spaced evenly in rows, the various portraits of important looking ponies that were obviously alumni or prominent donators or teachers at one point or other, and he noticed display cases with various academic awards, photos, and the occasional art piece.

The classrooms meanwhile were evenly spaced along either side much like a regular school, though the doors were somewhat uniquely designed, and were the only non-purple structure to the building. He paused outside one door which was covered in trailing vines and the occasional star shaped white flowers giving off a faint scent of something sweet and spicy. There was a little plaque, barely discernible, that declared “Herbology Magics.”

“Huh,” Morty mused, at least he didn’t have to worry about getting lost in this place.

He finally managed to reach the imposing doors framed between the two busts, which bore the crest of Princess Celestia’s Cutie mark and politely knocked on the well-polished hardwood.

The door opened a few minutes later and revealed one of the oldest ponies Morty had ever seen (or at least looked her age).

“So, you’re the latest newbie huh?” The old mare huffed, her thin dark grey mane was pulled back in a bun, and her knobby old body was a faded grayish blue with a few threads of white here and there. Despite her apparent great age, the mare that sat behind that large claw footed mahogany desk nearly overwhelmed by her paperwork, showed a level of sharp alertness in her one good grayish-blue eye that spoke of taking no poop from anyone.

She gestured him forward with one gnarled hoof, her forelegs encased amusingly enough in a bright purple and black striped set of leg warmers.

The headmaster, for she could be none other, took his acceptance letter, giving it a brief perusal before impaling it on a giant metal nail with a bunch of other similarly worded fancy acceptance letters and grumbled to herself nonsensically as she pulled out a small stack of files, muttering about paper work and something about her dinner and an apple cobbler with a decidedly suspicious air.

Eventually the mare, who had not bothered to introduce herself, though he was aware of who she as of course from the preparatory pamphlet that had been sent with the letter, pulled out one file and after opening it, the contents levitated around her head swiftly until she found what she was after before packing themselves away after she gave an amused, but satisfied snort, turned her attention back to Morty and said.

“Since it is already passed our morning and afternoon testing period, you’ll get to enjoy a bit of a more prolonged state of escalating anxiety over your admittance until tomorrow afternoon where you will be taking your entrance exam in Class room 12d in front of a selection of faculty who will determine your final admittance. In the meanwhile,” The Headmaster levitated him a card, “here is the name of a small Inn that is across from the school’s main doors, The Dainty Dive, which offers rooms to waiting applicants. I take it your family’s not with you?”

Morty shook his head, pocketing the slip in his saddle bag.

“Well, all the easier gettin’ a room then. See you at an hour after high-noon tomorrow. Don’t be late.”

The last held a dire warning to her tone.

Morty hastily bowed his head and left the mare to her business, musing that she was definitely as impressive and intimidating as her reputation painted her. Headmaster Inkwell (1) did not suffer fools, and was perhaps a bit...well, alright, more then a bit, senile, but definitely cut a figure that demanded respect, even if it was creaky and old. Morty rather liked her.

ooo ooo ooo

The Inn/Tavern that Morty ended up staying at had the air of every other countless thousands of taverns that he had stayed at in his long existence, though he had to admit this place had perhaps the best Sweet n' Spicey haydogs he'd ever tasted.

After a hearty meal, he meandered through the area a bit until he found a small out of the way park that didn't look like it saw much hoof traffic, and settled in, pulling out the latest tell all autobiography of Metallicolt (2).

He was just at the part where James Hoofield was recounting his first Hearth's Warming concert, when Morty was brought out of his read by his horn dinging repetitively, an alarm spell he had set to alert him 20 minutes before his entrance exam.

When he got to the examination room, He wasn't the only one of course, there were three other unicorns ahead of him, standing with their parents or by themselves as they shifted from hoof to hoof, looking nervous, or muttering various bits of magical theory under their breath.

He stood in the back, slightly apart from the group, and pulled out his book again.

He wasn't nervous. After all, it was no skin off his muzzle if he got in or not. The only reason he had decided to attend in the first place was because he had yet to travel outside of Hayfield, and he was somewhat bored waiting for his Pony majority so he could leave home without alarming his parents or being sent back by concerned ponies.

This was also an opportunity to kill time that had fallen into his lap, and some of his fondest memories were from his times attending magic school, so why not?

Of course it would be disappointing for his parents, and going home after just getting here would not be fun, but still, it wasn't the be-all end-all that the other fillies, colts, and their parents seemed to be treating it as.

Morty had just finished another chapter when his name was called by a stallion in a green plaid jacket with short swept back black mane.

The exam room was a standard lecture hall that could be found in any university, though the sunlight filtering in through the purple windows added a certain ambiance.

A group of four stiff necked ponies with clip boards were seated in the middle front row, looking distinctly bored and disapproving all at once.

He was presented with a wooden cart filled with various objects from stuffed toys, to bits of machinery, gleaming gemstones, seeds, to even a few live creatures.

Morty was told to do something creative, whatever he wanted with anything in the barrel.

Morty eyed the collection considerately as the adults began to scratch at their clipboards already. In the far corner under a teddy bear, he happened to spot a large green frog in a small aquarium that croaked up at him nervously, which no one could blame the frog for, as the colt looking down at him had a sudden distinctly mischievous/evil look in his eye as a brilliant idea, induced from his still nostalgic mood, popped into his noggin.

The pony levitated the frog out of it's shelter and onto a near by desk. Then there was a poof of dark green smoke and a tiny black top hat and a smart shiny black cane came into existence next to the frog. The frog then began glowing eerily for a moment, before suddenly standing up on it's hind legs, picking up the hat and slapping it on its head, then picking the cane up in it's hands and suddenly began to dance while singing in a surprisingly good voice.

"Hello my baby! Hello my honey! Hello my rag time gaaaal! Send me a kiss by wire

Baby, my hearts on fire..."(3)

The frog began a series of high-kicks.

Except for the frog, the room was dead silent as the examiners stared.

The number was relatively short, and when it was done, the frog bowed and suddenly returned to acting like a normal frog again, croaking rather confusedly and still wearing its top hot.

The group of assessors blinked as one in unison, having been collectively transfixed by the...display, before they shook themselves out of it and began writing furiously.

Morty was dismissed for the day, which was the norm, as the assessors usually took about 24 hours to come to a decision and inform the potential applicant by mail the next day. Since he was literally just across the way, he would find out likely by tomorrow afternoon.

ooo ooo ooo

The next morning, Morty spent in his room, enjoying a game of chess with Death.

“You are so cliché you know that?” Morty commented idly, "Why do you always want to play chess?" he hummed as he eyed his knight’s precarious position.

“Says the mysterious magic boy going to prestigious magic school,” Death retorted, then gave a battle cry as his queen descended upon Morty’s knight victoriously.

Morty pouted, then said with a sniff "well I think you just like how Bengt Ekerot played you in that Ingmar Bergman flim that you've made me watch a few gazillion times." (4)

“So anyway, since you’re going to be occupied with all that boring learning stuff, “ Death continued, ignoring the comment about his favorite film as he eyed Morty’s trembling bishop considerately, “I am going to be scarce for a while.”

Morty chuckled, “What? You don’t want to wile away the time watching me take exams and wade through the social awkwardness of little pre-teen pony drama?”

Death pulled a face, or as much as a relatively formless black cloud could, “Ick no! any way Life has been getting on my case about my bad influence again, something about you using me as a crutch to be antisocial.”

Both beings rolled their eyes (literally and figuratively).

After Death had trounced him in both chess, twister, and Mario Cart 3 (popped out of one of Death’s little dimensional closet bubbles), Morty got his letter of acceptance before he was even finished his onion rings.

Death teased him a bit more, then faded out of existence without even a goodbye, something that was fairly common between the two of them, as both were not much for niceties.

According to the letter, Morty was due within 3 days time for the beginning of the semester and it was advised he move in a bit early if he could so that he can get used to the school’s lay out.

Morty shrugged, tossed the letter into his saddlebag and pulled out a book, deciding he would do it all tomorrow.




> The Roommate
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Morty had often heard Death refer to Life from time to time as something not unlike itself, a sort of primal sentient entity. Morty himself had often considered Magic rather close to the same state, though Death never much confirmed either way, because Death liked a little mystery, while Morty was of the opinion that he was just being a dick for the pleasure of it. As such, these 3 beings were prone to enjoying moving Morty between them like a favorite toy or possession and Morty had eventually accepted this fact to a degree, after all how could he not after so many centuries?

It was because of this that Morty had often wondered if Fate, something he was acquainted with since he was in his mother's womb, was a hidden fourth player in the game of his existence (not that Death would tell him either way anyway). This opinion of Morty's usually came about because of little moments such as now popping up from time to time, there had at least to be something out there getting some sort of amusement at his expense.

Morty stared at the filly unpacking on one of the lavish beds, chattering excitedly with the same grumpy royal guard from the previous evening, who shot him a glower and another snort. Just his luck! Out of all the partnered rooms, in all the magical schools in all the kingdom, he had to get the one with the only bloody school aged alicorn princess on the entire planet!

Couldn't he go through one reality without brushing shoulders with some sure to be popular and important mucky-muck?

If your roommate was a princess, it put you in a whole lot of potential for attention from others, and Morty had long lost the stomach for such nonsense ages ago, even if it was only by association and not being one of said mucky mucks himself.

Morty sighed. Well it could be worse, he could be rooming with someone who snored like a dying whale, talked in their sleep, or tried to leap tall buildings in a single bound while sleep walking (all of which he had experienced at one time or another), though the night was still young, and they hadn't climbed into their skivvies yet (metaphorically speaking of course, he had yet to see ponies wearing any sort of sleepwear, kind of pointless when nudity was a standard practice).

As those thoughts went through his brain, said little princess finally took notice of his gloomy presence at the entrance to their shared dorm and bounded over, her wings flapping happily, and her big amethyst eyes shinning with excitement.

"Oh my Equestria! isn't this so exciting?!" she gushed.

Morty shrugged, squeezing past the looming bulk of her bodyguard who snorted down at him in a manner that promised nothing good for Morty if he didn't hoof the line, and started setting up his half of the room.

"Its a change of scenery I suppose," Morty grunted, as he un-shrunk his trunk, setting it at the foot of his nice looking oak bed with its soft pale lavender blankets and creamy silk sheets.

"Oh I know!" the princess continued to chatter, bouncing next to him and unapologetic stared at his meager possessions (or at least meager to her point of view, considering there appeared to be a modest selection of formal gowns hanging in the wardrobe across from her identical bed and a mountain of bright pink luggage).

"OMC! is that the latest Daring Do?!" she gasped, spotting the spine of the book he had pulled out and lay on his bed, swiping it from the messy pile with a flare of magic.

Morty snatched the book from the Princess's hooves and levitated it protectively close to his chest, "Yes, but I am not finished yet," he stated primly, as he tossed the last of his things off his bed with an errant flick of a hoof, sending the small pile of clothing to the floor and kicking it under. Somewhere in the room a maid unseen behind the luggage whimpered at the disorder.

Morty, who had been looking to relax a bit before the fracas of the first day of classes the next day, mentally sighed as that little plan seemed to have gone out the window. The filly, whose color scheme matched the school's decor quite well by the way, just pouted at him, stuck her muzzle in the air and fell back onto her own bed, shooing the help away.

Morty had five minutes of blessed silence until a voice piped up "You know, the book only came out today I hear. I didn't have enough time to send someone to pick up one for me, and the first shipment is likely to be sold out by now..." her voice trailed off expectantly, eyes directed at him big and shinny and oh so puppy dog.

Morty, rolled his eyes, turning his muzzle back to said book, and licked the tip of his hoof, turning the page (even though he didn't have to) in a dramatic fashion.

Another few minutes then..."You know, my cousin Blueblood is attending this year as well, just five minutes with the book and I could introduce you?"

Morty had no idea who Blueblood was, and lowered his book to tell her so. He was meant with even bigger shining eyes, trembling bottom lip in full perfect pout, she had even managed a slight tear to hang from the corner of an eye.

He blinked and then turned back to his book, saying casually with reluctant manners, "so, my name is Morty by the way, yours?"

The look went up another notch, "Princess Mi Amore Cadenza," she introduced herself, still managing something of a regality when saying all that formal nome de plum and still maintaining the puppy dog look. Huh, guess he could give her one reluctant point for some how managing that.

"Well, that's a mouthful," Morty hummed, "listen Caddy,"

"Cadence, actually."

"Whatever, now since we are likely to be roommates for a good long while, let me clarify something with you."

He leaned forward, gesturing with his hoof with an shifty look.

She also leaned forward expectantly, looking intrigued.

He cleared his throat, still with that pleasant tone, "Never ask me for anything, and I wont tell thee to shove thy royal horn up thine royal rump."

Cadence blinked, and Morty had to admit that her flummoxed, then scandalized look when she realized what he said sunk in was far more enduring.

Morty chuckled, amused, as he leaned back against his pillows, "I don't share princess, and the only thing I would even consider sharing is advice in never asking me for anything."

Morty laughed as the princess spluttered in confusion (over the later comment) and outrage (over the former).

"Well...Well fine then! see if I care!" she huffed, puffing out her cheeks in displeasure and sulked on her bed while Morty enjoyed the return of his uninterrupted blissful quiet.
> Morty's First Pony Friend.
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

To say that his relationship improved with his royal roommate would be something of wishful thinking.

Morty did everything within his power to avoid encouraging any sort of friendly contact with the young alicorn. He took the Ignore-it-and-it-will-go-away approach that had been successful in his youthful years after Voldemort fell, and had found that it was a surprisingly effective tactic, since, eventually, most gave up after a certain point.

Cadence meanwhile had never before been around another pony who didn't love her. Every one she came across in the castle, in Canterlot, the occasional time she traveled with her aunt Celestia to other parts of the country; every pony gazed upon her with reverence and adoration. The only being to be even more beloved by ponydom was Celestia herself.

She didn't understand it! She was the Princess of Love after all, with a sweep of her horn, the most sour of relationships could brighten and bloom into joy in her presence!

In fact, she'd even had a chance to demonstrate her ability to Morty when an arguing couple, who had been dropping off their colt on the first day of classes, had passed them by, and with a wave of her horn the two were suddenly all smiles and planing a trip to Las Peguses to renew thier wedding vows.

When she had turned to her roommate, who was not a morning pony thank you very much and had been stumbling by her, to see if this might have at least impressed him, the colt had looked at her with such...well, she hadn't known exactly what the expression was, having never seen it before, particularly directed at her, but when she described it to one of her maids after dinner, the earth pony had tsked and said "well it sounds like he plum doesn't like you miss, though I can't understand why?"

Cadence was rather shocked by this revelation. Certainly others experienced such things of course, but Princesses like herself and her Auntie Celestia were adored by other ponies. Never had she been personally hated before. Her distress gave way to confusion, how was she supposed to deal with this?

ooo ooo ooo

Morty grumbled into his coffee which was magically hovering near his muzzle as he moved his heavy feeling hooves towards his usual seat in the darkest part of the cafeteria.

'Ug, I hate Mondays,' he growled mentally, pulling out his homework with his horn and looking down at the open scroll with disinterest.

Name at least seven uses for a transformation spell.

Harry was not feeling particularly inventive so he just pulled some stuff from his World War 4 days (he had been rather good at transfiguring forks into knives and mushrooms into grenades) and called it done, before shoving it back into his saddle bag.

Harry took another draw on his coffee and was about to dig into his grilled cheese sandwich when something caught his attention.

There was a group of upper year colts and filly's surrounding a smaller colt who looked to be a first year as well. He was white with the slightest blue tinge, with short blue and turquoise mane and tail that was all the rage among young colts right now.

"Your such a nerd Shinning Armour!" one of the biggest colts sneered, "all you talk about is playing Ogres and Oubliettes all the time! who wants to play some stupid dinky adventure game when they can play hoof ball or learn cool powerful spells?"

The others nodded.

"I do so know spells!" Shinning Armour huffed, sticking out his little chest, ears going back.

"What? a shield spell? that's nothing special!" the head bully sneered, "Do you think that will be enough to get you into the Royal Guard? I doubt they wont even let you in the door!"

The bully pony snorted in disdain, shoving the other colt and sending him sprawling.

The groups laughter suddenly stopped with yells of shock as every single one of them found themselves with a tomato impacting their eyes with deadly accuracy.

"Ah! the seeds!" one colt screamed, "the seeds! their in my eyes, Ahhh!." (1)

"The acidic juice, it burns!" another whimpered.

When someone had the presence of mind to cast a cleaning spell from the gaggle of wide eyed onlookers, the enraged ponies turned to trample whoever dared mess with them, only to freeze when they saw a large swarm of ripe plump red tomatoes buzzing around a baggy eyed, white flanked colt with dark messy mane.

"Can't a colt enjoy his morning coffee in peace?" the youth sighed to the frozen bullies, "is is to much to ask?" Morty held a hoof aloft dramatically, before lowering it and shooting a glower at the perpetrates of the disturbance to his morning routine, "Now clop off and go harass ponies somewhere else!"

The swarm of tomatoes began swarming the bully ponies, sending them screaming from the cafeteria, followed by a goodly portion of the rest of the student body to watch the spectacle or head to class.

It took a day or two for the spell to wear off...or more likely for Morty to lose interest in the whole matter, but afterwards, he found himself with an unintentional seat mate during lunch in the form of Shinning Armour, and eventually his first real friend.

ooo ooo ooo

A month into their schooling, and Cadence had run out of ways to get her roommate to talk to her. She had first tried giving him space, then she had tried walking with him to classes. She had offered to help him with his homework, only to find that Morty was doing very well, so well in fact that she had actually been forced to ask him for advice from time to time, which he at least gave grudgingly if she didn't talk about anything but homework. She had even tried giving him some of her favorite candied apple, but he just grumbled about his waist line.

Eventually she grew so frustrated she had cracked and demanded of him to tell her why he didn't like her.

Morty had blinked at her from the edge of his book, and shrugged his shoulders saying rather disinterestedly, "because I don't," and not elaborating further before returning to his book while Cadence screamed into her pillow.

Out of ideas Cadence finally decided to write to her Aunt for advice.

ooo ooo ooo

It was the end of the semester and Celestia settled into the throne-like chair at the head of the round table where the various faculty of the school had taken their seats.

"Sorry I'm late, I had to deal with a small matter of state," Celestia apologized, then perked when she spied a banana cream pie among a variety of others making the rounds.

The monthly school faculty meeting came to order, and Celestia rubbed her hooves together eagerly when she saw that, as usual, she had the pie mostly to herself. She didn't understand why many of her subjects didn't like bananas overly much, but it wasn't something she was going to complain about since it left her with all the banana pastries she could eat.

There was some general chit-chat, such as a few reports of homesick ponies, and some minor illnesses and a few magical accidents, but nothing overly concerning or interesting as a group at large, until they began talking about individual students.

Some ponies were showing remarkable progress and talents, such as young Sunset Shimmer, a young filly that Celestia had been keeping her eye on as a potential new protege. There was also reports of her niece, who was doing well in her studies with many friends, and a positive personality. Her power of course was applauded by the staff, but also not much of a surprise, given that she was an alicorn after all. Other then some difficulty with the theory end of some of her classwork, Celestia was pleased with the reports so far.

There was also the students of concern among the staff. The two biggest of which was Prince Blueblood, Celestia's distant nephew, and another colt that had the ruler's interest, Morty.

Blueblood was outgoing and social, but was often a bit arrogant, and other then a surprisingly good grasp of international relations, the prince was rather narcissistic. He had reduce one poor student to tears after they had accidentally spilled ketchup on his immaculate white coat during supper a week ago.

Celestia sighed, she really needed to have another chat with that colt's parents. They spoiled him much to much. If they didn't stop nurturing that behavior, she sensed he would be a pain in the withers when he was older.

Morty meanwhile was rather opposite of Blueblood in that he was heavily anti-social, looking perpetually unkempt, and seemed perpetually bored most of the time, and harbored a rather strong and alarming morbid streak. One teacher nervously presented an assignment on transforming spells that had been answered with a rather disturbingly large assortment of imaginative and deadly weaponry transfigured from random objects.

"I'll never look at a carrot the same way again," the teacher, Frosty Oats moaned.

Celestia hummed thoughtfully, setting down the assignment, and tapped a hoof on the table top as she thought.

She recounted the letter that her niece had sent her. Cadence's frustration and confusion over Morty's attitude towards her. Though by the sound of it, it looked like it was something isolated between the two roommates. She remembered her own encounter with the colt. He had been rather blunt and wryly amusing, but it hadn't escaped her notice, that odd foreign dark tint that surrounded him and imbued itself as part of his magic. And that was another thing, his magic.

"Tell me, in your personal opinions, what do you all make of his magic?

The professors as one turned to Inkwell, after all they had all commented on the matter to her more then once.

"If I didn't know better, I would have thought him a full grown and graduated unicorn. The magic comes to 'im easily, there is no seeming needed effort made on his part to get anything done. The only odd thing about it is that he can't seem to make anything grow, in fact, we had to take 'im out of herbology because the plants kept up and dying on 'im," The old mare nodded, "no doubt about it, that colt will be something spectacular when he's all properly grown up, baring that black hoof of his of course."

Celestia frowned worriedly. She had read the subtle warning in that last part. Something "spectacular" could be either very good or very bad for others. The anti-social behavior and the many ways that this colt seemingly knew how to kill a pony was also rather alarming as well. Combined with the dark tint of his magic, well, she couldn't afford to have another King Sombra on her hooves.

"Are you sure that he hasn't been hanging around with anypony?" Celestia asked the others, who all wore considering expressions.

"Oh! I just remembered!" chirped up Sunnilee, the earth pony that taught potions, "There is a young colt that he has been following him around and sitting with him in class since the tomato incident a few weeks ago."

Celestia decided to save the questions about THAT for later, instead asking, after all the others nodded their heads in agreement, "who is the colt?"

"Oh that would be young Shinning Armour, Twilight Velvet and Night Light's eldest, if I remember correctly," hummed Inkwell, "bit obsessed with board games, average student really, but got in with an impressive display of shield magic. When he finally gets his growth spurt and bulks up a bit, wouldn't be surprised if he tries out for the Royal Guard, got the cutie mark for it, and the analytical mind for strategy, probably all those board games of his."

"What about Morty? what is his attitude towards Shinning Armour? has he obtained his cutie mark yet as well?" the princess asked.

Inkwell shook her head, "No, his flank's as bare as a new born. Would have pegged him for magic as his special talent, but he doesn't seem interested in studying it. As for Shinning Armour...well, the colt seems to tolerate his presence at the moment, an I've even seen young Shinning teaching him about RPG a week back in the cafeteria, and the boy didn't look like he was about to rip his tail off with a butter knife."

"Urg! please don't reference number two on the assignment," Frosty Oats groaned.

"Hmmm...I would like for you all to encourage that pair a bit more if you can. Assignments, seating and so forth. Also, I would like you to encourage Blueblood within those two as well."

Several teachers raised eyebrows, Inkwell asked bluntly, "Why?""

"Oh, just a feeling I have, nothing concrete so far, but if it works, we may be able to hit to parasprites with one note," and privately in her thoughts, 'and I will do something behind the scene from my end as well, this may even help Cadence in the long run.'
> Conspiracey.
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Morty could appreciate the skill behind the odd maneuver behind the  scenes directed at his person that managed to get by his many centuries  of experience in such matters. Mainly because, unlike in his youth, he'd  been around long enough to see such paltry endeavors coming a long way  off, and it was always a rare treat, whether enjoyable or not in its  happening, to be surprised upon occasion.

Harry eyed his current  seating partners with a considering eye and could only say that yes,  this was one of those times. He had perhaps become complacent under the  influence of his second childhood, or perhaps it was all the cheerful  pastels and bright smiles and helpful hooves, lulling him into a false  sense of security that he was of no consequence enough in his second  time around, or at least blended in the shadows enough, to avoid well  meaning intervention on his behalf.

Color him mildly surprised, and lesson learned, no matter how old the soul.

Morty  concluded it might have, perhaps, that magical ponies that broke out  into song upon occasion for some reason, might make trying to slip into  the shadows a tad more noticeable then if he had done a solo during the  aptly named "Its a New Day, New Things to Learn" number that had broken  out among his fellow newbies on the first day of classes.

Currently,  the Master of Death was sitting beside Shining Armour to his left, the  colt he had assisted a few days ago in the cafeteria, Cadence across  from him, and a colt he had never met before but could single out his  ego from a long way off and thought that his introduction, Blueblood,  the cousin that he vaguely remembered Cadence mentioning, lets just say  he well lived up to his name.

His language was impeccable, his  posture perfect, his straight teeth shone whiter then his pelt, and  while he still had a touch of the gangliness of youth, carried himself  like a model about to step out onto the runway, with a healthy helping  of diva.There was lots of "Well my Father said..." and "of course, they  are just envious" and "Of course! I'm perfect!" through out his  interactions with the unicorn. It made the cantankerous colt wonder if  both Malfoy and Lockheart had been reborn in this universe as well, in  the same body.

He glared down at his ball of clay, part of their  assignment was to use magic to mold the clay into anything that they  wanted without outright transforming it.

They were all currently  in Visual Magical Arts Class and presently his erstwhile roommate was  crafting what looked vaguely like a pony who'd eaten to many water  melons trying to body slam a rock, though she had crisply informed Morty  after his opinion had been asked by the eager filly, who had given him a  sniff of disapproval over his frank appraisal, that it was actually two  ponies slow dancing.

Cadence may be the Princess of Love but it certainly didn't translate into artistic talent, much to her dismay.

Shining  Armour meanwhile was doing a bit better, having stuck to something  simple, in this case a simple rounded vase for his Father and much to  Morty and Cadence's jealousy was nearly done, carefully, with his tongue  between his teeth, putting in the last etched spiral before he cast the  glazing spell.

Morty meanwhile let his magic amuse itself by  molding the clay into whatever it felt like, not really caring either  way, busying himself in pondering what the potential motivation behind  this shift in seating was.

He knew why Cadence and him were being  forced to work together. It was no secret that the two of them didn't  get along, with most of the fault laying admittedly on Morty's  shoulders. Shinning Armour meanwhile was his friend, sort of, and wasn't  to great at socializing with his other schoolmates, though unlike  Morty, who was more apathetic, for completely different reasons, mainly  that he was shy and tended to trend towards complex role playing games  that were not very popular.

Blueblood meanwhile had his copious  admirers and a small cluster of minions. He was rich and part of the  Royal family, and while one could argue that his connection through the  royals to Cadence might be a reason, it was no secret that Cadence  thought her cousin was insufferable, one of the few things that he and  the Princess agreed upon.

thus Morty concluded that this was  perhaps an attempt by the staff to foster better relationships and  personalities (Blueblood) by making the various problem students come  together through seating arrangements and group projects like some sort  of ponified Breakfest Club.

Morty was brought out of his internal musings when Blueblood suddenly exclaimed.

"I say...Mortimer is it?"

"Morty," he corrected.

"...Ah yes, I was just inquiring as to where you get your mane cut? It is so...delightfully bohemian."

Morty  frowned, running a hoof in his roughly cut short dark mane. His father  had done it before he had left for school using garden shears from the  shed. He said as much to Blueblood.

Blueblood looked appalled, "Goodness! Did your father overindulge his Mead? Your stylist must have been so distraught!"

Morty raised a brow, "my stylist? I don't have a stylist."

"You...You  don't have a Stylist?!" Bluebood looked faint, actually swaying a  little in his seat, "but...but every gentlepony has a stylist! How would  you get dressed, or do your mane and tail, or put on your foundation  or..."

Bluebloods withers twitched all over in horror at such a contemplation.

Cadence face-hoofed and Shining Armour was trying, and failing, to hide his amusement in Morty's shoulder.

By  the end of class, Blueblood had declared his determination to drag the  dour colt, kicking and screaming, into haut de culture. Shining Armour  had managed to escape only because he wasn't idiot enough to say he  didn't have a stylist either (he went to a regular barber pony, and wore  a perfectly serviceable manecut) and Cadence, by virtue of being who  she was, had her own stylist for her gloriously flowing mane.

As  everyone lined up to hand in their submissions, the art teacher, a  stallion by the name of Red Clay, both carefully praised and critiqued  each piece as they were laid on the display table. The stallion 'eeped'  when Morty's sailed from the back of the class and embedded itself in  the worn wood of the desk, a perfectly formed and glazed stiletto  resting inches from his hoof.

"Er, Thank you Morty, excellent...urm, aim," the stallion credited nervously.

Morty muttered parceltounge cusswords as he was gloomily dragged out of the classroom by his self proclaimed 'Fashion Savior.'

Yes,  Morty would find out who was behind this conspiracy and give them a  little...gift that truly exemplified his appreciation for their efforts.
> The Royal Decree
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Blueblood, to give the colt credit, was surprisingly determined when it came to his beliefs, no matter how shallow he seemed on the surface. One of his beliefs was that everypony should do their upmost to put their best effort forward. In your interests, your goals, and above all, your self presentation to the world, especially if they were a (forced) part of his entourage.

His cousin was a princess, thus he knew she was already set, and Shinning Armour was from a modestly connected family, and while somewhat lacking more agreeable hobbies, was moderately attractive and even tempered fellow without being shy.

Morty on the other hand, while coming from a simple village, was tied quite substantially to a very elite blood through his mother (a connection that was almost on par with Blueblood's parents he was distantly horrified to find out), and was exceedingly powerful, a combination that spoke of a grand future indeed.

Blueblood felt that it was his duty, neigh, a necessity! To bring the poor soul into proper decorum.

The first time he dragged the colt into a chic salon, he had snapped out a flurry of confident orders that had the salon ponies scrambling.

10 minutes later the walls had turned into sticky taffy that formed gooey jaws of eldritch horror and ate half the clientele and workers. it would take a few days to work the traumatized ponies out of the digestive tract of the bright blue building through the diligent efforts of several powerful unicorns after heroic showdown between the stuff of sweet nightmares and the captain of the guard, Upright.

That didn't bring down the young prince meanwhile, who tried another tact and invited a renowned fashion designer to the school during lunch break the following day.

Le Chiffon had agreed with his favorite client when he beheld Morty, who glowered in High Definition, the stallion nearly fainted at the disaster that was the grumpy colt and promptly dragged him off for an emergency fitting in the lush appointed rooms that Blueblood held alone (no one really wanted to share a room with the prince full-time for some reason).

No one saw Le Chiffon again, at least until next Wednesday after the incident where the unicorn was found up in a tree in the castle gardens under that impression he was a squirrel preparing to hibernate for winter.

Word quickly spread and no designer, stylist, or hooficurist would go within 30 feet of the sour colt, and had come together in a secret summit, and grimly established an Equestria wide ban on treating in anyway with one Mortis, The Dire Designers Doom.

Blueblood was distraught for his companion when he heavily informed the other unicorn, showing him the richly appointed scroll barring all the signatures of the summit attendees and many official seals, one of which was the Captain of the Guard, a rare time of unity between to different fields.

Morty had grunted non-commendably into his morning coffee, his attention on the latest homework, cooking with magic. It was a second chance for him, since the teacher had not been amused by his Spaghetti and Scream balls. Morty was thinking of a black forest cake that transported one to an actual dark forest...

Evidentially (to Blueblood anyway) the situation had become dire indeed. It was time for the most drastic of measures.

Ooo ooo ooo

On the night of a full moon, the reflection of which hung in a perfectly still mirror smooth pond framed by perfectly polished dark blue stones (as was the current trend) Blueblood, dressed in his most upscale garden suit, pulled out of his crisp pocket a perfectly symmetrical pure blue Lilly (as was the current trend) and levitated it carefully under his eye, allowing one perfectly formed tear drop on each petal, before setting it in the moons reflection on a pond's surface without a ripple. Finally, he pulled out a preserved Emperor Blue Butterfly (as was also the current trend) and settled it in the center of the Lily. The befuddled insect was released from the spell, fluttered its beautiful wings a few times, coating them in the tears and flower pollen before flying away.

Blueblood gave a regal half bow, striking a truly magnificent tragic pose of woe (as was the current trend) and slipped back towards the Dormitory, knowing it was only a matter of time now.

Ooo ooo ooo

2 weeks later...

It was a relativity quiet morning in the luxurious summer home of Blueblood's esteemed parents. it was a place that was not given to grim drama. Dramatics yes, but not the kind that deeply troubled the rich souls who dwelled there during the country ball season.

But one particular morning, after pride and joy had been attending school for a few months, his parents Highblood and Bluemoon, two mares of severe countenance and slightly upturned muzzles, awoke to the scream of their chamber pony screaming outside their bedroom.

Upon awakening, they stumbled to the door in unusual haste to see what all the unruly ruckus was about, only to find their servant in a dead faint on the floor and four impeccably groomed mice in tiny magenta ninja uniforms sat huddled in the center of a tasteful gold filigree cage on the doorstep of Highblood and Bluemoon's bedroom door with a message displayed on expensive parchment with beautiful ruby red ink swirls.

Your son's next.

A few days later, Blueblood was called into a meeting with Aunt Celestia and told in no uncertain terms to give up trying to give his friend Morty a makeover for the sake of the kingdom and his parents nerves.

Blueblood pouted at this royal decree for over a week.