Albus was sitting at his desk, reviewing the book loaned to him by Hermione, when his fire suddenly turned green and a melancholic voice came forth as a familiar face appeared in the flames.

“Are you there, Headmaster Dumbledore. May I come through?”

“Most certainly, Broderick,” the Headmaster replied, recognizing the distinctive voice and gloomy appearance of the Unspeakable.

“Thank you,” the other said morosely, before withdrawing and then stepping into the Headmaster’s Office.

Broderick Bode worked in the Ministry of Magic’s Department of Mysteries. He was a tall, thin, sallow-skinned wizard with an exceedingly mournful face, and dreadfully serious about his business. Not that anyone knew what his business was. Unspeakables never spoke about what they did.

Dumbledore did have his suspicions, though, that it was mostly in the area of dying, death, and the undead. His presence today helped to confirm a bit of that — if they hadn’t just handed the assignment to the nearest Unspeakable in the office. Which was always a possibility with them.

His cheerless expression remained unchanged as he walked over to Dumbledore’s desk and held out a long thin box. “Madam Bones requested I give this to you,” he said in a gloomy tone.

“Ah, thank you for your promptness,” the Headmaster said, “Miss Warren will be delighted that her wand wasn’t mislaid after all this time.”

As he had expected, Amelia, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, in addition to retrieving the girl’s wand from Auror evidence storage, had informed the Unspeakables. And they had decided that one of their people should deliver the wand instead of a lowly Auror, as the D.M.L.E. would normally send to return a wand from their storage lockup. After all, it wasn’t every day that a dead person asked for their wand. Usually, it was just the family of the victim asking for a memento.

“Yes,” said Broderick quietly, “about that.” He stared at Dumbledore, his expression becoming even more melancholy, if that was possible.

“I’ve been examining the ritual the children used,” the Headmaster said, not bothering with the usual chit-chat he gave most of his visitors. The Unspeakables had no patience for that sort of thing, especially Bode. He handed the other wizard the book, open to the chapter in question.

“It’s rather unusual in that it implies that it requires that a unicorn cast the spells. In fact, the preface in the book states that the author expects all unicorns attempting these spells to abide by the principles of Harmony.” He raised an eyebrow at the other wizard.

The tall wizard tilted his head questioningly.

“Yes,” Dumbledore said, “And the ritual itself requires nothing onerous beyond a few drops of unicorn blood, which must be freely given during the ritual.”

He sighed. “There is no taint of evil anywhere in the ritual. Nor in the subject afterwards, as my spell scans showed.” He proceeded to name the spells, getting a nod of recognition from the Unspeakable at each. “It appears, in giving Myrtle a body, that the ritual actually re-ensouled her.” He looked levelly at the wizard. “The only requirement seems to be that a ghost be available. No ghost, no resurrection.”

The Unspeakable arched his eyebrows. “That shouldn’t be possible.”

The Headmaster just stared back at him. “And yet, it appears to be so. It seems our current theories on the soul, what a ghost is, and their possible connections, are in need of revision.”

Broderick nodded at him, then sighed softly, “But unicorns? They neither speak nor read. And how would they hold a wand?” He paused a moment, “And casting a spell such as this shouldn’t be possible for them. It is necromancy, after all. The exact antithesis of all that they stand for.”

“I’m not sure if you know this,” the Headmaster explained, eyes twinkling in amusement. “But we have three foreign students who are very powerful magically, one of whom is a unicorn animagus.” He stopped and gave the Broderick a level look. “The other two’s animagi are a pegasus and what they call an earth pony.”

The Unspeakable nodded slowly, his dour expression unchanged, but his mind clearly racing through the implications of having a unicorn as one’s animagus — a magical unicorn and not just a horse with a horn on its forehead.

“Since their arrival in England, they have taught several other students, mostly the Weasley family, how to become animagi, of which four of the group are unicorns. And they all have the power of speech while transfigured. And can cast spells with wands while in that form.” He paused again and stared at the Unspeakable significantly.

He knew that the Unspeakables would be paying a visit to Arthur, he would have to remember to give the wizard and his wife bit of a warning. “The Weasley family now has two boys who have unicorn animagi, two who are what the foreigners call earth ponies, and their daughter is a pegasus. Molly Weasley is also, now, a pegasus animagi.”

“Three of the students — all First Years — Hermione Granger, a muggle-born witch, Sweetie Belle, one of the foreign witches, and Harry Potter — yes, that Harry Potter — performed the ritual while the rest of the Gryffindor First Years watched. All three are unicorn animagi. And they performed the ritual while in unicorn forms, using their horns as the magical transmission device. Several of the other students participated as well, adding a bit of magic to help the ritual along.”

He stroked his beard. “Unlike the unicorns in the Forbidden Forest, or anywhere else that I am aware of, they can actually cast spells through their horns. I have seen them do it myself.”

The two wizards spent the next half-hour discussing Hogwarts’ foreign students and what the public knew about them. And their possible origins. Dumbledore reluctantly revealed his suspicions that they came from Atlantis, and how he had come to that conclusion. He was sure that the Unspeakables already suspected as much.

“You know more,” stated the Unspeakable sourly, after a few minutes reflection.

Dumbledore nodded his head gently, “Yes. But I wish to maintain my good relationship with them and there are some matters which they do not want to officially disclose to the public yet. I am holding this information back in my capacity as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot.”

The old wizard smiled congenially, “Unofficially, though, I can say that the adults are all exceptionally powerful witches — easily the most powerful witches I have ever seen — and use wandless silent magic almost exclusively. They do not use wands and expressed surprise that we did when I met them.”

A slight raising of his eyebrows was the only sign of surprise from the other wizard.

“The new apparition spell at the ministry was provided by one of them, as a casual modification of a spell they use constantly. I saw both versions demonstrated — their wandless spell and the new one modified to work with a wizard’s wand.”

The Unspeakable nodded his understanding. “I have seen that spell. An interesting approach to the problem of transport. It doesn’t seem to have the range of apparition, though.”

“But its lack of side-effects more than compensates for that deficiency,” said Dumbledore. “And it uses less power, which means one can make more jumps, achieving the same range with less magic, but slightly more time.”

They both sat for a moment thinking.

The Headmaster narrowed his eyes slightly and added, “One thing I have noticed is that out of the nine adults that accompanied the children over here from their homeland, only one was a wizard. And the one in charge of the group is . . . ,” Dumbledore paused a moment, carefully considering, then said, “Princess Twilight Sparkle. This book is also hers. And she had no qualms about sending a book that should be shelved in the restricted section of the library to First Year students. Make of that what you will.”

After a few minutes of silent contemplation, Broderick slowly said, “I wish to interview Miss Warren. There is still the question of how she died and if she knows who did it.” Unstated was that the Unspeakable wished to conduct a few diagnostic scans of his own to determine if the girl was really Myrtle Elizabeth Warren, something else entirely, or even a blend of the two.

“Of course. We can get that cleared up right now.”

“And I would like a duplicate of that spell book,” Broderick said.

Nodding and smiling, the Headmaster stood and ushered his guest out of the office and to the Hospital Wing.

The Dining Hall that evening was equally split between gossiping about and gawking at the Gryffindor First Years and Myrtle Warren — who was sitting at the Ravenclaw table.

Harry could see that the poor Slytherins didn’t know what to do. Raising the dead was supposed to be the most evil of necromancy, not to mention that only the most powerful wizards or witches could attempt it. And that only after many years of intense study. An accomplishment that ordinarily would have drawn the Slytherins’ awed respect and fear. But . . . Gryffindors!? FIRST YEARS!? Seriously?

What was wrong with the world?

He couldn’t help but snicker at their expressions.

The Slytherins’ hated enemies were dabbling in magic that only the darkest of Dark Lords and Ladies explored. The kinds of wizards and witches who snubbed their noses at the rules and regulations of the pathetic squibs who ran the Ministry. The ministry that was too scared of true power to allow anyone to explore that realm of magic for fear they might be overthrown. Dark Lords and Ladies who usually came from Slytherin, sometimes from Ravenclaw, and rarely from Hufflepuff. And none in history had ever hailed from Gryffindor. And here was an entire Gryffindor First Year cohort playing with necromancy!

Only the most accomplished Dark wizards and witches knew such magic intimately. Only the most powerful Dark wizards and witches attempted such evil magic. Only the Darkest of wizards and witches dabbled in the realm of true necromancy.

Gryffindors? Seriously? What was wrong with the world?

And then there were these fourteen Gryffindors in particular! The ones with seven cute and cuddly pony animagi. Not exactly what one would call promising Dark enthusiasts.

Should they be impressed and fearful of these new Dark Lords and Ladies in training? Or offended and contemptuous that it was Gryffindors, those . . . those . . . uncouth, bleeding-heart, charge-ahead-without-considering-consequences ruffians, who had done this remarkable and nefarious deed?

How was it that Gryffindors were pushing the boundaries of Dark magic while the Slytherins were left behind, watching? Stuck wondering what the Gryffindors were going to do next that would upset the status quo. So far, they had an unparalleled record of turning everyone’s expectations upside down. In the first week of school!

The arguments were fierce, Harry saw, and even some of the Ravenclaws were brought into the “discussions.” Several appeared ready to descend to physical violence, based on how red some of their faces were.

And how could anyone whose animagus form was a unicorn — that symbol of all that is good and pure — manage to do that without bursting into flames at the evilness? And three unicorn animagi had participated in the ritual! The Slytherins were alternately horrified, terrified, perplexed, and disgusted.

Gryffindors? What was the world coming to?

And what were they to make of Myrtle, herself? That evil undead abomination now wearing her freshly laundered robes and spotlessly clean glasses? They all knew — well, those in Second Year and above knew — just what sort of unpleasant and ridiculous joke of a ghost she was. Not that any dared say that to her face. Stories still circulated among the witches of how she had terrorized her classmates by drifting through them in the dead of night, waking them by nearly freezing them. And leaving them unable to warm up or sleep the rest of the night. That she had spent most of her pathetic ghostly existence crying in her toilets had been a true blessing, otherwise she could have been a terror on equal with Peeves!

She was laughing and gorging herself on the food on the table as if she were starving. On the other hand, as she frequently rebuffed her critics, “It’s been forty-eight years, two months, and twenty-five days since I’ve tasted fried chicken, steak, or truckle pudding! I’m allowed to make a pig of myself — don’t you dare try to stop me! And take your hands off that mince-pie, it’s mine!”

The rate at which she was devouring her food was truly prodigious. Even Ron was impressed, and wondered if she was hollow inside. Harry suspected that her new body required a tremendous amount of fuel after the ritual — she was, after all, replacing a conjured body with real mass. The three unicorns were also starving, and already on their thirds, having lost a bit of weight in bringing Myrtle back. A number of the other Firsties in Gryffindor were also showing an unusual appetite. The spell hadn’t mentioned that it was taking some mass from the casters.

Her seat-mates on either side of her were careful to keep their fingers well out of range of her knife and fork for fear of losing something to the meat grinder that was Myrtle. Nor did they allow their hands or arms to stray between her and any of the platters she was raiding for food for fear of being stabbed with a fork or knife. Or both.

It didn’t hurt that the Gryffindors backed her completely, with the twins taking bets on how much she would be able to eat and whether she would keep in down. The house-elves were apparently thrilled to see someone so focused on their offerings, as new platters appeared as fast as she emptied them.

Myrtle, though, certainly wasn’t acting like an evil abomination! Nor did she give off any impression that evil lurked in her heart. Sitting or standing nearby did not give one the shivers of fear that such evil was said to spread by its mere presence. Nor did she glare malevolently at anyone — unless they came between her and a food platter. And her blissful expression at every bite was more than a bit disconcerting.

Food didn’t taste that good, did it? More than one person was regarding the food on their plates with uncertain expressions, and chewing a bit slower than usual.

There was no feeling that something wasn’t right with her — except maybe her pimples. She did have any awful lot of them. But pimples, despite how many witches felt about them, were not inherently evil, or life consuming atrocities.

She should have been moody, easy to upset, and on a hair trigger for a tantrum. At least, for those that had met her as a ghost, that’s what they all said. Instead, she was downright giddy with happiness. Could that be an after-effect of the ritual?

And she would occasionally stop and just stroke her hands on her clothes or face. Or through her hair. And her eyes fairly sparkled as she looked around the Great Hall.

The most evil thing she had said so far was that all the girls who had tormented her in Hogwarts all those years ago were now miserable ugly old hags with teats down to their knees! And she had laughed uproariously at that thought. She had had her revenge.

And her plans for the evening, to all who would listen, was to spend the entire evening in the hot tub that her new Gryffindor friends had generously invited her to use. Her first real soak in, again, forty-eight years, two months, and twenty-five days.

Maybe something in the spell itself had made her so cheerful, the students concluded — outside of the obvious result of her not being dead anymore, of course. Although a few maintained that not being dead was a more than sufficient reason to be in joyous celebration.

Harry could see several Ravenclaw girls eyeing their new Housemate suspiciously. They seemed especially perturbed by the way Myrtle was eyeing the boys at their table, whenever she stopped eating for a moment. And she frequently looked over at other Houses’ wizards as well. The looks she gave certain male prefects were not only inviting, but down-right fiery.

Harry had seen looks like those only in movies that he had managed to catch a glimpse of through the tiny holes in his cupboard door at the Dursleys’ house. Usually ones that Aunt Petunia had rented and played only when she knew both his uncle and his cousin were not going to be about for several hours — and she had forgotten that her husband had exiled Harry to his cupboard yet again.

He wasn’t sure, exactly, what those looks meant, except that many of the witches in the Great Hall seemed to take offense at seeing it directed towards the wizards they were sitting near. And the wizards, when they noticed, almost always looked away while they blushed. A very few wizards returned her looks with what Harry thought was an odd expression.

So, even though Myrtle Warren was definitely not an evil abomination bent on world domination, eating others’ souls, or destruction in general, she did manage to put a certain kind of fear into a large portion of the female population at Hogwarts.

And Headmaster Dumbledore watched everything with twinkling eyes while Severus scowled at the Gryffindors — Sweetie Belle seemed to be the main target of his displeasure. Filius and Minerva alternated between being pleased at how their respective Houses were reacting and worried at what might be coming in the future — albeit for different reasons. Quirinus devoted his time to closely studying both Myrtle and the Atlanteans.

Minerva had complained to Albus earlier, as they discussed the latest incident in his office with the other Heads of Houses. They had been hashing out how they were going to handle the situation with the newly-reborn Myrtle. “This year’s Gryffindor Firsties are showing an unusual aptitude for inventing entirely new areas of professorial concern,” she had complained. “I have already forbidden Gryffindor House from exorcizing or assisting any ghosts to their next great adventure — which includes leaving Peeves alone — to my personal regret. On the other hand, that pronouncement has apparently earned my House a reprieve from his pranks.” She had sighed. “But who knows how long that will last!

“The Atlantean girls, however, have expressed disappointment at losing their chance to be Cutie Mark Crusader Necromancers,” she had continued, shuddering.

“And now, this afternoon, I had to extend that ban to include returning to life any ghosts, or other deceased individuals, whether human or not. Peeves is apparently currently in hiding, wanting no part, it seems, in being turned to corporeal form.”

The list, prominently posted beside the Common Room door so that it could not be missed while exiting the room for the rest of the castle, now had two new rules:

3) Students are not allowed to manifest, materialize, restore, or otherwise turn or return to life any ghosts, or other deceased or non-corporeal individuals, whether human or not. Period.
..a) This includes, but is not limited to, banshees, dementors, draugrs, ghouls, inferi, jiangshis, liches, mummies, phantoms, poltergeists, revenants, shadow persons, skeletons, spectres, vampires, wights, wraiths, and zombies.
..b) Yes, this includes Peeves, no matter how much he deserves hexing.
4) Students are not allowed to attempt spells or rituals from household grimoires or books from home without FIRST getting permission from their Head of House OR the Headmaster. Preferably BOTH.
..a) Individual spells brought or sent from home are included in this.
..b) As are any spells from a source not in the Hogwarts Library.
..c) As are any spells from books in the Hogwarts Restricted Section.
..d) And book, for the purposes of this list, shall be construed to be anything with a spell written on it.

“And they haven’t even been at school for a full week, yet!” She had concluded, shuddering to think at the mischief they would get into once they had settled in and had become used to the Castle and its foibles.

“I never thought I would say it, but I miss when it was just the Weasley twins I had to keep an eye on. Now it’s the entire Gryffindor First Year class!” She had buried her head in her hands.

Severus had looked almost pleased to hear of her difficulties.

And the past day had distracted her from any more surprise hexing, to Dumbledore’s relief.

Just as dinner wound down and students began to stand and leave, there was brilliant flash of light near the ceiling. A beautiful melody trilled out across the Hall. A phoenix had just flashed into the Hall and was circling the room.

It was a beautiful bird with a golden-feathered head, wings with leading edges of red-feathers and trailing gold-feathers, and a gold-feathered breast and red-feathered back. Its long trailing tail was a mixture of both and seemed to leave a trail of gold and red shimmering behind it.

The Headmaster looked up and said, “Fawkes? I wonder what brings him here?”

As the bird spotted its intended target and dove straight down to Harry, Dumbledore corrected himself. “Oh, that’s not Fawkes,” he said, surprised. Almost as soon as he said that, another phoenix flashed into the room and circled.

It had a red-feathered head with red feathers leading its wings. The body feathers were similar to the other phoenix. Its song, as it circled, watching the other bird, was a gorgeous and soothing counterpoint to the first one’s.

“Ah, that’s Fawkes,” the Headmaster needlessly said.

The first phoenix came to a gentle landing between Harry and Sweetie Belle’s plates and dropped a scroll from one claw. It still held another.

Harry looked at the scroll beside his plate and saw the Equestrian Royal Seal. He paled significantly. Sweetie Belle saw the seal, too, and looked at the bird. “Philomena?” she asked. The bird gave a soft trill of acknowledgement and leaned into Sweetie Belle’s hand as she hesitantly started to stroke it.

Fawkes began a slow glide to the backrest on the Headmaster’s throne.

“Well?” asked Apple Bloom, “Ain’t ya gonna open it?”

Slowly, Harry picked up the scroll and unrolled it. The girls crowded close and he held it so all three could easily read it. Sweetie Belle offered a large chunk of roast to the phoenix before turning her attention to the letter. Hermione surreptitiously, or so she thought, vainly tried to peek.

Dear Harry Potter, Sweetie Belle, Apple Bloom, and Scootaloo,

We recently received a letter from your Headmaster asking if certain stories you’ve recounted about your experiences in Ponyville are accurate. We are writing you to let you know that We are confirming those stories so you needn’t worry about being in trouble for talking about things you shouldn’t.
.
They exchanged glances. That was one bolt they had managed to dodge. Although how their relatives would enforce a grounding was an interesting question.
.
You may tell the truth to anyone who asks about your lives in Ponyville, just so long as you do not reveal that Equestia is a different world, or that your normal form is as a pony. While Our plans for an embassy are proceeding quite nicely, We are not yet ready to announce Our presence publicly.

On a different topic, my faithful student has told me of some of your experiences — We were quite startled and pleased to discover that you can change back to your Equestrian selves while in that world. That you were able to coax the Weasley family into resuming the pony forms given to them by Discord — whom no one has seen since, except Fluttershy — speaks well of your teaching abilities.

We are proud to hear that you assisted a lost soul to his final journey on the other side of the veil. Even if it was accidental, it still shows great strength of character and kindness to a creature rarely seen in Equestria.

We are delighted that you met one of Woofy’s counterparts. Woofy does enjoy his tummy rubs. And when he’s being temperamental, nothing soothes him better than a nice lullaby — puts him right to sleep.
.
Written in small letters that curved up the side of the scroll, someone, probably Luna, had added:
.
Which is why his post at Tartarus’ gate has a sound-proofing magical shield around it!
.
And what did you think of being the opposite gender for a day? Was it interesting? And all completely by accident! What a great prank that would make. Did you manage to save any of the potion? Could you send Me . . .
.
Beside the crossed-out “Me,” and slightly above it, was written “Us,” underlined twice.
.
. . . some? You must tell Me Us all about it!

Twilight tells me your letters to your relatives are always the high points of their days, even if they are a bit startling. Your first week has certainly been exciting, hasn’t it? We can hardly wait to hear what new experiences come your way in the next few weeks.

With all Our love and support,
Princess Celestia
Princess Luna

After scarfing down the chunk of meat provided by Sweetie Belle, Philomena took to the air again and headed for the Headmaster. She swooped low over his plate and dropped the second scroll into his soup, then flew up and around to land on his backrest beside Fawkes, where the two birds began a softly-trilled conversation.

The Headmaster gave Harry and his girlfriends a quick smirk, then turned his attention to fishing the scroll out of his dinner and drying it off with a spell. Harry found that watching the old wizard’s eyebrows work their way up to his forehead as he worked his way down the scroll was quite amusing.

That evening, the Owlery was depopulated as wizards and witches sent missives home with the latest exploits of the mysterious foreigners, rumoured to be from Atlantis, and the Gryffindor Firsties — with many owls carrying more than one delivery! And not all the mail was fixated on the Harry Potter’s phoenix and Myrtle’s resurrection, except as asides to their main topic, the Gryffindors later surmised.

Harry and the fillies, reluctantly and with Philomena’s assistance, sent a short scroll to the Princesses detailing today’s successful experiment in materializing ghosts. The only down side to the whole affair was that they hadn’t gotten Cutie Marks for raising the dead.

Then they sent their owls to their relatives and Harry sent Hedwyg to Twilight. “Take your time,” he said, stroking the Snowy White owl gently. “No need to hurry.”