30 — Who Wants to Meet Who?

Unfortunately, all was not fun and games for Harry.

On Thursday, he had the most uncomfortable conversation he had ever had.

Ever.

Without reservation.

Most.

Uncomfortable.

Conversation.

Ever.

It wasn't the material, so much — although that was tremendously embarrassing by itself. No, it was having to learn all that from Blueblood. The only worse source would have been his mum.

^·.·^

It was just as they were finishing breakfast that Blueblood walked into the dining room. After greeting the Princess and the others, he turned to Harry. "If you have a few minutes, I'd like to talk with you." He had raised his eyebrows, which was his way of letting Harry know it was more of an order than a request.

Harry looked at his blushing mum and received a small nod. He shrugged and stood. "I'll see you guys in a few minutes, I guess," he said to the others.

Blueblood immediately turned and started out. Harry hurried after him.

A short walk later, they entered what was obviously a small study. The wall to their left had a fireplace, which came to life with a flump — probably Squeaker at work. Bookcases to the sides framed the hearth. It faced two armchairs angled towards each other. They were reminiscent of those at Hogwarts, only lower and designed for a pony, with a big soft pillow and wings on the back-rest that projected forward enough to rest your head against if you wanted. Between them was a table with two bottles and two glasses, one small and the other large.

The far wall had a bookcase built around a large window with Ponyville as a background and the right wall had a wide desk in front of it.

Blueblood closed the door behind them and led him to the armchairs. As he seated himself, he poured a small amount of an amber fluid into the small glass and a fizzy drink into the large one from the other bottle.

Harry hesitantly took the other seat and looked at the aristocratic pony.

Blueblood looked at his glass as it hovered in front of him. "It's a bit early for this," he said dryly, and took a sip of his glass. He closed his eyes for a moment, then breathed out a small flame, startling the colt.

He looked at Harry intently. "Tell me, Harry, has anyone bothered to explain to you about stallions and mares, and where foals come from?"

Harry's mouth fell open in shock.

Harry learned many things that afternoon, the least of which, at the end, was that Firewhiskey was an acquired taste. With only one small glass of it, he decided to withhold final judgement.

The most important was that a certain three fillies had already filed an intent to herd with a certain colt. They wanted first dibs, it appeared, as Blueblood explained.

The second most important were the two spells that Blueblood claimed were the most significant spells he would ever learn — a contraceptive spell for himself and another for his partner. He wasn't allowed to leave the room until he had mastered both to Blueblood's satisfaction.

Blueblood insisted he keep and study diligently the full-colour, illustrated, moving-pictures book he used as a teaching aid that afternoon.

When Harry left the study, much later, he wasn't sure if his shaky legs were from the Firewhiskey he had sampled or the subject matter they had discussed. In either case, no one saw hide nor hair of the gold-and-red colt at dinner or afterwards.

Book-walking had never been so interesting — or disconcerting. Harry now knew far more about mare anatomy, seasons, and bearing foals than he had ever wanted to know. He knew the signs to look for and when to expect them. He also knew the sorts of things adult mares liked, from what they expected on Hearts and Hooves Day to the more age-appropriate gifts and actions fillies expected.

He wasn't transformed into a mare's stallion by any stretch of the imagination. On the other hoof, now he knew the minefield he had been blithely walking through for the last three years. He was extremely grateful that the fillies had been so patient with him, waiting and not pushing for what they wanted, things that older colts and young stallions would immediately have picked up on. They had known he was clueless and oblivious to what was going on.

He missed the last two Harry Potter movies that evening.

Several days later, he watched them, and learned why the Weasleys, especially Fred and George, had been so shaken the morning after viewing the last movie.

۸-_-۸

No pony saw him the next day. His bedroom door remained resolutely closed with a small sign pasted to it, scrawled with "DO NOT DISTURB!" Twilight blushed when the fillies questioned her, and told them not to worry, and just to give the colt some space.

Unfortunately, though, this new information left the poor colt in a permanent state of awkwardness every time he saw a mare or filly for the rest of the holidays, short though they were. He was blushing almost constantly when he was with them, especially if any of them were in front of him. Which, outnumbering him five to one, there was always at least one, if not two or three, of them leading the way when they went anywhere in Ponyville.

He refused to talk about why he had secluded himself, blushing a deeper red than he already was whenever they asked him.

Ginny and Hermione were quite annoyed when they discovered that there would be no more pony-piles in his bedroom at night. Nor in theirs when they tried to get him to join them.

Luna was merely disappointed. She hadn't had much experience with ponies sleeping together and the first few times, here in Equestria, had been relaxing and comforting. She kept sneaking into bed with Ginny or Hermione.

The other fillies never said anything, but Harry got the impression that while they were unhappy at missing out on the pony piles, they were relieved that the crystal pony wasn't in Harry's bedroom with them.

If the fillies' parents had been trying to force this on them, there would have been many loud arguments. However, it was Harry that was refusing the group sleeping arrangements. That he also refused to explain his reasoning was frustrating to the fillies.

The various human parents, however, were relieved when they heard the girls grousing about that fact. They no longer had to worry about their girls disappearing from their rooms in the middle of the night. The ponies seemed to have a very "it's perfectly harmless" attitude towards the subject that didn't sit well with the humans. Except Mr. Lovegood, he didn't seem to think anything of it, saying only, "She's learning to be a pony. I expect she'll write an article for The Quibbler."

That it was Harry raising objections restored some of the parents' faith in the colt.

۸-_-۸

One morning, later, he woke after a terrible dream. A group of older fillies were playing games with him. That is, they were trying to get a reaction by showing things they weren't supposed to. For him, it was horribly embarrassing. For them, they laughed at him a lot, and made crude jokes about how he was disappointing.

The girls in the wizarding world couldn't do that. The trousers guys wore hid their reactions to visual stimulation. It was only colts and stallions that had this problem.

That was when he had his brainstorm.

It took a bit of finesse, and liberal use of the wizarding notice-me-not charm to sneak out of the castle and over to the Carousel Boutique without any of the fillies noticing.

After carefully opening the door just enough to slip through, he looked back out through the curtains to see if anypony had noticed the door mysteriously opening and closing by itself.

"Hello, Harry," Rarity said, almost at his side.

He screamed and jumped, falling to the floor. He hurriedly scrambled to his hooves. He put one hoof on his chest as he tried to get his breathing back under control.

Looking at him quizzically, she said, "I'm sorry to say, Sweetie Belle has already left with Apple Bloom and Scootaloo to help a colt get his cutie mark."

Harry took a deep breath and slowly let it out.

"Trousers," he said, nervously, "Shorts." He cleared his throat. "I've noticed that while you design dresses, vests, jackets, and robes for fillies and mares, for colts and stallions you only make collars, vests, jackets, and robes — no trousers or shorts. Why is that? I think having trousers and shorts would be a nice option."

She stared at him and slowly raised an eyebrow as she thought on what he had said. She nodded slowly. "Yes, my main clientele are mares and filles."

"Well, maybe you should make a new line for colts and stallions that uses trousers and shorts," he suggested hopefully. "I know I wouldn't mind having some." He glanced out the window nervously. "I know having pockets on trousers is real convenient, not as good as saddlebags, of course, but fine for the small stuff." He looked at her half-pleadingly, half earnestly. "The Guard can wear trousers for additional protection and carrying more stuff."

He swallowed. "In fact, I'd like to order several of each for when I come back in the summer."

Rarity was pacing now. "A new line of clothing for colts and stallions?" she said slowly, nodding her head. "With pockets for when you don't want to wear saddlebags," she said a bit more excitedly.

"There's a whole bunch of different styles in the human world," he added hopefully. "I'm sure you'd find plenty of inspiration, there."

It went back and forth for several more minutes.

When he left, Rarity had promised him three sets each of shorts and trousers, after taking his measurements. "Don't worry dear," she said, "I'll compare these with my last measurements and adapt them for what you'll be when you come back in summer."

He reapplied the notice-me-not spell so no pony would suspect he had visited the talented unicorn. *

۸-_-۸

Castor stared, stunned, at Sir Walker. "Two hundred, you say?"

Sir Colin McColl, Director General of Military Intelligence Six, which handled intelligence gathering from outside the United Kingdom's borders, pursed his lips. "Two hundred and seven. It was a bit of surprise to us, too."

Walker nodded. "They've been popping up at the Ponyville Embassy almost daily for the last two months." He sighed and shook his head wryly. "Whatever method Debby and Abby used to contact their sisters certainly worked." He paused. "It's interesting to note that the only ones who showed up were their sisters. No brothers."

Castor sighed. "It was a bit distressing to learn that they had so few male changelings in the hive. Abby was not hopeful that Chrysalis had missed gathering any of the surviving males."

After a moment, Castor ventured, "Are we sure that they're all from the same hive? Debby did mention that there was more than one."

"Yes," Patrick said. "We had Debby and Abby, independently, verify the identity of each one. There were no queens or proto-queens trying to sneak through. They are all average workers. No drones, though." He sighed. "The oath wouldn't have let them lie to us . . . I hope."

"We have quite a selection, too," put in Sir Colin. "They range from almost every job skill you could imagine. Creche nurses for the nymphs, farmers for their normal food, tunnel borers, tunnel repairers, ventilation experts, soldiers, infiltrators, the whole gamut of their society."

Patrick shook his head. "The infiltrators, the ones that actually went into pony society to gather emotional food, made up about a third of their workforce. Unfortunately, they were on the front lines and most perished."

"We didn't get a handful of special agents as we had thought, but an actual small village, with a smattering of those with the skills we were expecting," concluded Colin.

"On the other hand," Patrick said, "Debby is an infiltrator. She told us that we could easily train as many of the workers as we wanted for whatever activity we desired. So far, it appears that she is correct. Unlike bees and ants, while the changelings do specialize in certain jobs, they are not physically locked into such jobs." He shook his head.

"Unfortunately, it appears the average changeling is not all that bright. However, with a sufficient number in any one location, it seems that what one knows, they all know. It's simply a matter of physically training them how to use what they know."

"Also," Colin said after a moment of silence, "What we consider a decent amount of training in espionage, they consider piss-poor performance. Passing information between agents is as simple as being in the same building, for them. They seem to have an instinctive ability to mimic their targets — and I don't mean just physical appearance. They must be using some sort of innate magic to gain the skills they need for a successful impersonation. It seems to be nearly instantaneous." He sighed and shook his head. "In one of the trials we did, Debby was able to replace a woman and fool her husband for an entire weekend." He looked at Castor intently. "She had only spent ten minutes with the woman.

"She didn't gain any direct knowledge or memories, however, she just . . . knew . . . how to act to allay any suspicions."

"I think, all things considered," Patrick said, "that you can tell Princess Twilight that we are well pleased with what we have gained with the changelings.

"With a minimum of thirty wedding every day in London, and an average of over a hundred and fifteen, we'll have no problem with keeping them well-supplied in their needed food source without causing any problems with our citizens, or our superiors.

"That collection activity is where we will put the less skilled and older ones to work."

"Even if we only manage to use the talents of twenty or thirty for intelligence gathering, it is well worth what we'll get in return to maintain the entire population of changelings," Colin added. "Although it will probably take a year for us to train the first ones in what we need. Their 'hive-mind' as they call it, will considerably shorten the time to train the remainder."

"The consensus is," Patrick said, "that this is a satisfactory solution for the United Kingdom. You may inform the Princesses that we will happily give sanctuary to any other changelings that they might acquire, as long as they will take an oath not to betray us."

۸-_-۸

There was one surprising bit of information on the day before they were to head back to catch the Hogwarts Express. In the morning, after breakfast, his mum told him that he shouldn't panic if he came across a changeling on the other side of the portal.

The muggle government had made a deal with the changelings and the Princesses. The changelings were emigrating to the United Kingdom as official citizens. They were giving magical promises as they did so to obey the laws and not harm humans unless in self-defence or in the defence of someone else who was being unjustly attacked.

It was, she happily proclaimed, a win-win-win situation for all three parties. Equestria was safer, the changelings were safer and not in danger of starvation, and the United Kingdom gained some extremely loyal, and useful, spies.

The result of that deal was that should he meet a changeling, he was not to react in any way. The changeling might be on a mission from the muggle government and for him to loudly announce that it was a changeling might jeopardize its mission. Maybe even its life — and possibly his own and anypony with him.

In other words, play it cool.

On the other hoof, they knew that a changeling had already gone through the portal. If there was any indication of hostility from the changeling that seemed out of character for the situation, he was to flee and immediately seek assistance.

She didn't think he would meet a changeling, though, because he and the other Hogwarts students would not be venturing into the muggle world. She just thought he needed to know because he was familiar with the muggle world and might, in the future, need to go there for one reason or another.

۸-_-۸

Harry only had thought it couldn't get worse. He was wrong.

Sirius pulled him aside after dinner that night and told him that they needed to talk about something very important.

Ensconced in Harry's bedroom, door closed, Sirius began to take various items out of his saddlebags, including two bottles of Firewhiskey. Harry almost crawled under his bed when Sirius told him that, "It's time for me to give you the benefit of my extensive and valuable experience in dating, snogging, and shagging."

Sirius managed to get hold of a hoof and pulled him back out.

Then Sirius sat on him after he tried to escape to the closet.

It was nowhere as clinical and detailed on the physical end of things as Blueblood's lecture. Black concentrated more on how to seduce a girl and leave her with a good impression, both mentally and physically. What tactics to avoid and what would work. Charts were used, with many warnings on the pitfalls of dating. One such piece of advice — or warning, Harry was unsure — was, "Going up to a girl and asking, 'Wanna shag?' will get you slapped nine times out of ten. But the tenth time," he said smiling broadly, "oh, is that worth the pain of the other nine."

Then he had frowned. "But becoming known as that kind of horn-dog is the sort of reputation you don't want to have."

His most valuable piece of information was, "Never ask a girl for a date with a yes or no answer, always give her a graceful way out. So, no 'Wanna go to Hogsmeade with me?' Instead, it should be, 'If you haven't made other plans, would you like to accompany me to Hogsmeade?'" He had paused. "That way, if she's not interested, she can decline by saying she had already made plans and avoid making a scene. If she is interested, and she really has made plans for that day, she can counter offer with another day, or say, 'Maybe next time.'" He had paused again. "Plus, that takes the sting out of rejection . . . she's not saying 'No' to you, but saying your timing is off!"

Then he shrugged. "Unless she hates you. Then you're likely to get a 'No, you gutless toe-rag! Now get out of my sight!' like you mother used to tell your father, James. Then she'd chase him out of the room with a dozen or two hexes." He had shaken his head sadly. "That boy had a will of steel — or a head as thick as a rock — he never let the rejections faze him."

He looked back up with a wide grin. "I, on the other hand, never had that problem. Rejections, I mean."

He looked sternly at Harry. "I never asked Lily for a date, or tried to snog her." He sighed. "She'd've hexed me to the moon. And then James would have done me to Mars."

There were also two more spells he had to master, with many warnings on the consequences of failing to use them properly.

The only true benefit to the night, from Harry's naïve point-of-view, was that Sirius managed to get them both legless. So much so that much of what was said later that night he never remembered — thankfully. He did discover that Firewhiskey was quite tasty after a couple of glasses, in contrast to his first glass with Blueblood the other day.

Harry's mum was not pleased when the two came down the next morning, Sunday, for breakfast with massive hangovers. The herd wasn't too pleased, either. For some reason they insisted on talking too loudly.

On the other hoof, his head hurt so much he spent most of his time in misery. With his eyes closed, he wasn't constantly staring at the fillies' flanks and blushing madly. His mum refused to give him a headache potion, unfortunately. "This way you won't forget the lesson! Getting drunk, especially with Firewhiskey, is not for colts!" she had concluded icily.

He sadly agreed with her.

۸-_-۸

The new school year was off to a good start, Harry thought, almost as soon as they passed through the Portal — the fillies were wearing clothes! Plus, his eyes weren't anywhere near the same level as their tails and flanks! If he wanted to stare at their butts — which he didn't, right? Right? — he had to look down. If he looked straight ahead, he saw the backs of their hair cascading down their backs to their . . . butts. He no longer blushed every time he happened to catch a glimpse of one of the fillies.

Although, he did notice that Hermione's robe had a nice sway to it — when she was far enough ahead with her parents for him to see her entirely.

Unfortunately, as his headache slowly wore off, his partially remembered "lesson" with Sirius had his eyes drifting to other parts of their anatomies.

In the next few days, he found that he tended to drop his gaze a bit lower than the fillies' chins when he was talking with them. Something about the way their robes bulged out slightly just drew his eyes. Except Ginny, her robes in front were rather . . . flat.

He knew from their experiences with the various castle slides, and when she hugged him, that she wasn't . . . flat. She just didn't seem to be as buxom when wearing school robes.

The robes did an awful good job of hiding what was underneath them. It was both a relief and a disappointment.

Not that that mattered, really, breasts were pretty much a non-issue in Equestria — unless a foal was feeding. Which was usually ignored by the stallions as nothing important.

However, for some reason, Hermione tended to be blush when he noticed himself staring at her like that, and Ginny got mad that he wasn't doing the same to her. The other fillies really never noticed. Or if they did, it didn't bother them nearly as much as it did the other two.

Plus, he caught himself staring at other fillies in Hogwarts whose superstructure — Sirius' word — was rather impressive. None of his fillies were pleased with that new interest of his.

Especially when they saw him staring at Luna.

Myrtle kept looking over their way during meal times and snickering.

Fillies . . . were weird.

۸-_-۸

Now that the new term had started, she would be merely one in the crowd. With her siblings providing secondary coverage, she should be able to see if the Slytherin was sneaking out at night. The trio's daytime activities the Lings had watched over the hols with liberal use of the book-walking charm and her stolen portraits. Now, such wanderings were curtailed by classes, unless he cut them. Something his friends would notice and remark on.

The Lings would keep a careful eye on the three until she had evidence that didn't depend on their Ling ability to discern a target's feelings.

Speaking of which, the returning ponies were a mixed lot of depressed at leaving their families and overjoyed at learning more magic. Harry Potter-Sparkle's herd, especially, had apparently had an interesting time over the previous two weeks. They were a positive roil of emotions, mostly delicious ones. The main feeling from the boy himself was of embarrassment, and a bit of suppressed lust, which periodically spiked, and then was followed by a wave of guilt.

From what she remembered of her training, now over two years old and with no hive memory to back it up, only her own limited one, that meant a colt, or filly, going through the very first stages of puberty. It was just as confusing a set of emotions between ponies as her instructors had told her.

Rather typical, then.

They were realizing for the first time that the opposite sex, the same sex, or both, were actually attractive in a certain way that they had never noticed before. The physical responses they now experienced as a result of that realization, was more than a little disconcerting to the uninitiated. Not to mention embarrassing to both parties when the physical reaction became a little too apparent. Fortunately, the heavy robes they wore now that it was winter tended to hide such things.

The Lings' mind-link bypassed that stage rather well, she was happy to realize. There was none of the fumbling that plagued the non-lings so badly. With the hive-mind, all the physical knowledge was there for perusal at any time, with none of the embarrassment. The physical reactions, rare though they were, were no more surprising than walking, flying, or casting magic to the Lings.

It was merely finding out what worked best for a specific Ling. Not that that happened often. Only the infiltrators, harvesters, and scouts really had exposure to such activities on a regular basis — and those were only when they were in disguise as ponies. Most workers had little to no interest in sexual relationships.

The Potter-Sparkle herd was happier now that the boy/colt was finally beginning to notice them in that way instead of just as friends. It was, Elly thought, an interesting dynamic. The boy was older than the fillies by two years, on average, yet he was only now coming into the realization that there was more to his pony friends than sharing interests and having foal-like fun.

She was quite pleased at the increased "love" that now surrounded the herd, especially because the last few weeks had been a bit lean. The sour Slytherins in an almost empty castle hadn't exactly thrown around much love.

Next time, she decided, they would go "home" and work in her restaurant as adults to help maintain their reserves. Plus, there would be the bonus of the students meeting and leaving their parents at the train station in London at the beginning and end of each holiday to look forward to. They had missed out on that this time.

۸·_·۸

Harry wasn't sure when he first noticed it, but the twins were conspiring with the fillies, mostly Scootaloo, Sweetie Belle, and Apple Bloom. When he asked about it, they said they were just asking for help with spells.

No. There wasn't a single thing suspicious about that, now, was there?

He started casting detection spells on his clothes, books, desk, and bed. And under the bed, just to be sure. His paranoia infected the rest of the school, too, as he saw more and more students checking their food at mealtimes.

۸·_·۸

Author's Note: * peter (FIMfiction) suggested Harry panicking about trousers. And, darn it, he's right!