I own neither Harry Potter nor MLP. I also don't own a fez, unfortunately.

Harry Potter had never been good at magic. He wanted to be, of course, but he simply couldn't get his power to do what he wanted.

It had been two years since he had first gotten that letter, delivered to him by a humongous man named Hagrid. A lot had happened in that time, such as overpowering Quirrel at the end of year one, helping Ron, Neville and Hermione brew Polyjuice Potion in an abandoned girls' bathroom, and fighting a basilisk using the sword of Godric Gryffindor.

One thing stayed the same though; Harry couldn't use magic. He felt it, he just couldn't do anything with it, like it was locked away under his skin.

Madam Pomfrey had told him that he lacked an aura, which meant that his magical core simply couldn't release his energy. If he tried to force it hard enough, his skin would burst, according to her.

She had blamed it on years of obvious neglect, but although she made many attempts, she couldn't stop Harry being forced back to his so-called relatives this year.

Harry had had enough. He was tired of the newly reinstalled bars on the window, tired of not being able to fly (brooms were the only magical item that seemed to work for him), and even tired of the lack of a certain Potions teacher.

Snape had sneered at Harry the first time they had met, and his hostility had doubled when the man found out about Harry's lack of magic.

When Harry shot up to the top of the class, didn't get annoyed by Snape's comments, and payed the most attention in class, Snape had slowly dropped his prejudice, stealthily awarding points to Gryffindor and so on.

When Harry's detention with the Professor turned out to be secret one-to-one sessions, Harry had nearly keeled over.

So now, with nothing to eat, drink or do, Harry missed everything that Hogwarts stood for, and wished with all his heart that his magic would help him find a new place to sleep.

Dumbledore sat in his office, in the comfy rocking chair that he kept disillusioned. Although it was soothing, rocking back and forth, he didn't want anyone to think he had aged enough to need this stuff.

He didn't need it, he simply... liked it.

A faint whirring sounded in the room, and Dumbledore glanced around to find the source. It wasn't the lie detector, nor the Legilimency ward. It wasn't the magical disturbance tracker, nor the earthquake detector, nor even that strange 'Poke-Man' game that a friend's friend had given him, which he had no clue how to play.

The old man's failing ears took a fair while to zero in on the noise, and it took even longer to finally recognise it.

What had once been a muggle gyroscope, but was now a detector, was spinning in place, so rapidly that it seemed to be standing still. The problem was what that whirring meant.

A Mental Storm had begun.

Nobody knew what a Mental Storm was, but every hundred years or so, one young witch or wizard, with no Occlumency skills, simply vanished off the face of the earth. They reappeared under certain mental circumstances, only to vanish again when these were broken.

The latest case, other than this unknown one, was that of one Rebecca Smyth. When she became angry, she would return to this world, and when she once more became content, she would disappear again. She had never explained where this strange phenomenon had taken her, by the time she died in July, 1980, but as she only returned around every ten years, it was speculated to be a place of wonder and plenty.

Only one thing was known for sure about Mental Storms, and that was that it was impossible for anyone who caused one to learn Mind Magics, thus the name.

So Dumbledore sat, leant over the strange device, which hadn't gone off in thirteen years, and sighed deeply. If the person behind this Storm went to Hogwarts, it was going to be a fun year.

Harry woke up.

He rubbed the sand out of his eyes, yawning widely, and stretched out on the grass.

Then his eyelids ripped themselves open, disbelieving his own thoughts. Grass? He was on a bed, right?

Apparently not; he was now gaping at a bright sunrise, which shone over the field of green, peeking out over the distant mountains. To his right was a large clump of trees, looking suspiciously like the forbidden forest, and to his left, a curved bridge led to a rather cute little cottage, in the boy's humble opinion, with a roof covered in leaves and several birdhouses.

Harry raised an eyebrow at what seemed to be a red stable door, the top half open but the bottom shut. He made his way over to this strange cottage, and knocked on the door.

Except that he didn't. What he did instead was stand up, then immediately fall backwards and roll over his head to lie dazed on his belly.

It was around this time that he noticed the snout. It wasn't much of one, sure, but there was a distinct blob of grey fur in his sight, around where his nose should have been, so he took it for a snout.

The Boy-Who-Lived closed his eyes and pulled a checklist into his mind's eye, the one that he used every time he was inevitably transfigured by a backfiring spell. He then went through the list, feeling rather than looking for the body parts.

Head, check. Body, check. Legs and arms, check. Hands and feet, sort of check? Fingers and toes, uncheck, he seemed to have hooves. All senses, check. Tail, check. Fur, obviously check. Bipedal, apparently uncheck, what with the hooves. Extra limbs, check, somewhere on his back were wings. All that was left to check were visible things, like eye colour and shape, lightning scar and so on.

Harry was dreading this part, because he still didn't know what he was. After all, what had fur, hooves and wings? Care of Magical Creatures had taught him about Hippogriffs, but they had beaks, not this strange snout.

He slowly struggled to his four hooves, planting them firmly in the soft earth before taking a few steps toward the stream and peering in.

A grey thing stared back at the boy, and he finally noticed something; namely that he didn't have glasses on. He focussed as best he could on the blurred reflection, and managed to pick something up. A grey... horse? Pony? Yes, a grey pony was peering back at him. His snout was short, and almost looked more like a nose. His emerald-green eyes were more rounded than they had been, and Harry liked it better. His messy hair and translated into a pitch-black mane, which he felt suited him much better than the old style. The ears stood straight, and Harry had far too much fun twitching them in random directions. A white lightning bolt stood out over his left eye.

His eyes moved along his slim body to a pair of folded wings, and with a little concentration he fluttered them slightly, enjoying the breeze created. It was like a broom had come pre-built onto his body! Behind those were his back legs, as skinny as the rest of his body, but built for speed just like his old form. At the end of his body was a tail, as dark and shaggy as the mane, and almost reaching the ground.

Having confirmed that his appearance wasn't even as bad as his human one, Harry relaxed his eyes, and finally felt the brunt of his eye strain. Wobbling slightly on his legs, the boy (or colt, he supposed) stumbled towards a cluster of blurred shapes, vaguely reminiscent of buildings.

Walking awkwardly through the village, Harry listened rather than watched for obstacles, using his hoofsteps as makeshift sonar, like he had taught himself after his glasses had shattered. What was surprising was that apparently all ponies here could speak; other hoofsteps could be heard, with voices coming from slightly above each set. Harry heard a pair talking about the latest fashion, and the colt was suddenly self-conscious, being nude and all. He once again focussed his eyesight, and breathed a sigh of relief as he only saw hats and the occasional scarf.

The two that had been chatting were a white pony with curly purple mane and what looked like a horn, who spoke in a posh manner, though Harry found her easily likeable; and a butter-yellow winged pony with a pink mane, who seemed to listen rather than speak.

Harry's thoughts backtracked through the conversation as he remembered something.

He wanted to fit in, not be stared at for some reason beyond his control. Would 'Harry' be too unusual a name around here?

Seemed like it. Every pony seemed to be named to fit their personality or looks, like Rarity, Fluttershy or Rainbow Dash. He would need to come with a new name, and fast.

Harry didn't have many specialties to get his name from. He wasn't good at magic, literature or anything like that, and he didn't want to name himself for his flying ability, as he wasn't sure he could even fly properly. Herbology was a no-go, as he was fairly certain that plants here would be rather... Delicate for his hooves. He was fairly certain that Potions existed here, however, and he always did have a keen sense of right and wrong when it came to ingredients and methods. Harry took his colour into account, too. His mane was black, but it kind of sparkled, even in the shadows, like tiny stars.

The newly named Starlit Cauldron manoeuvred himself blindly towards the pair of white and yellow ponies, and called out for them.

"Excuse me, please could you point me over to a place that sells glasses?"

Rarity spoke up first, with Fluttershy scooting behind her and peering through that pink hair. "Of course, dear, that would be the Carousel Boutique, and I just so happen to be the owner! As you don't seem to have any glasses at this point in time, I'll accompany you and fix you up a pair right away!"

And thus, Starlit was forcefully dragged towards an exceptionally pink building and made to wear many, many outfits. Around halfway through, Rarity let out a shriek, and the tape measure floating next to the colt suddenly dropped to the floor.

"Dear me, you're still a blank-flank! Whatever shall I do? I simply can't make an outfit to go with just grey and black! I need a bit of colour for this to work!"

Harry, or Starlit now, was fairly confused, so he tried to play the part of a foreigner. Which he technically was, so that wasn't too difficult. "Excuse me, but did you call me a blank-flank? What would that mean? I'm not exactly from around here."

Rarity gasped dramatically. "Oh my, you don't know? A blank-flank is somepony who doesn't have a cutie mark yet! And if you're wondering, a cutie mark is a design that appears on your flank when you find your special talent!" She turned slightly, revealing a pattern of three diamonds. "For example, mine appeared when I used gems in one of my... earlier masterpieces."

Starlit nodded thoughtfully, then grinned. "So I suppose my talent isn't Potion-making, then... Wonder what it'll be?"

Rarity bobbed her head distractedly, already pulling out a metric tonne of hats from various chests with her magic. "Now which one would work..?"

The grey colt's eyes wandered over the many hats, then came to rest over an intriguing design. He bounded up to it while the mare's back was turned, and pulled it onto his head with no small amount of difficulty. He looked in a mirror, beamed at his reflection, then asked, "What about this one?"

Rarity swung over to see the hat, then snorted. "My dear, that's a fez." And indeed she was right; perched on his shaggy mane, at a slight angle, was a bright red fez, complete with black tassel. Harry grinned like an idiot, turning to face her "I simply can't believe- oh, that actually works," she noted in surprise, finally getting a proper look at him. "Well I must say, you do have a taste for this, don't you? Now, might I ask your name?"

Over an hour later, Rarity finally left Starlit, muttering something about a crazy party pony and decorations. The grey pony now wore a simple light grey cloak, which was tied with a light green scarf, and which covered his lack of cutie mark. He didn't want to stand out, after all. He also wore thin, round glasses that fit him perfectly, and that rather stylish fez. He was quite a sight, but still didn't draw much attention to himself.

Starlit Cauldron (he was proud he had thought of that name) ambled through the streets, finally able to see without a distracting headache, and came across a pink pony, with an even pinker cotton-candy mane, and three balloons as a cutie mark. She seemed to spot the new colt as he approached, and took great care to announce that fact to the world with an incredible gravity defying gasp, before zooming off towards a treehouse of some description, disappearing inside.

That was another pony that Starlit liked. He always had hated the laws of physics, ever since he had tripped trying to get in the flying car last year, only to break his wrist. That pony wasn't a unicorn, but could still do magic of some description, and Starlit just had to learn how.

The green-eyed pony turned his attention towards his suddenly groaning stomach, blushing slightly and glancing around to make sure nobody had heard. Nobody had, so he went through a list of places in his mind. He didn't know of any cafes or restaurants yet, and he didn't feel he could fit in well enough to ask for directions again without breaking his cover.

That only left the farm on the outskirts of the village, Sweet Apple Acres from the sign.

With a jolt, Starlit realised that he didn't have any money to pay with, and Rarity had completely forgotten to ask for any, so he already had a debt of twenty bits. Judging by the price of tomatoes (two bits each), a bit was worth around fifty pence, or one fiftieth of a galleon. Not that it mattered, because he had no way of getting money, but it was nice to know exactly how much he needed to work off.

Trotting into the farm, Starlit could only pray that whoever owned this place was as helpful and understanding (or forgetful, at least) as the white unicorn had been. He spotted an orange pony and hurried to meet her, as she seemed to run the farm.

"Excuse me, I'm Starlit Cauldron and-" Starlit didn't know what he was about to say, but he was saved by a powerful handshake.

"Well howdy, Mister Cauldron! Pleasure meeting y'all this fine morning! What can ah do you for?" Suddenly a loud bang sounded from the barn house, and Applejack winced slightly. "Sorry 'bout the noise, Rainbow Dash is tearin' down the old barn so we kin rebuild before the Apple family reunion!"

Starlit followed the mare's gaze toward the rotting barn, out of which flew a faint ring of rainbow coloured dust. Protected by his new glasses, the grey stallion could just about make out a pale blue pegasus pony, who seemed to be attempting some sort of aerobatics. Applejack cleared up his unspoken question.

"Dash's been trying ta do a Sonic Rainboom, where she flies faster than th' speed of sound and makes a rainbow at the same time. It's-" she ducked as Rainbow dove down for a second attempt, and Starlit followed hurriedly. "It's not working yet."

Over three hours later, Starlit reluctantly followed Rainbow Dash to the pegasus' home in the clouds, where he had been invited to stay for the night. He had much to think about, such as weather magic, which Rainbow hadn't even come close to perfecting yet. All pegasi could walk on the clouds and fly, thanks to weather magic, but very few could create tornadoes and such at will.

Starlit's problem was with that 'magic' part. He couldn't do magic! He would step out onto the cloud, only to fall straight through it, and he wouldn't even be able to save himself with his wings, which were far too small for sustained magic-less flight, as he now realised.

So when Rainbow got fed up with the concrete-coloured pegasus and nudged him onto the cloud, Starlit snapped his eyes shut and braced himself for the fall that would come.

But it didn't.

Starlit opened one eye, to find his hooves firmly planted into the fluffy ground, giving him much more support than he would have thought possible from a house made of water. He opened the other eye and straightened his fez with one leg, chuckling sheepishly. "Sorry about that, I've never been able to use pegasus magic before. Guess I just needed a shock."

Rainbow just laughed it off, then straightened up and pointed borderline-arrogantly at herself. "Then how about I teach you the basics tomorrow? As the fastest flyer in Ponyville, I need someone as fast as me to race!"

Starlit nodded gratefully, and the rainbow-maned pony (he still couldn't believe it was natural, but hadn't said anything) led him up to the unused guest room. He collapsed on the bed, exhausted by the day's events, and was asleep instantly.

Then he woke up.

Looking around, Harry saw his human hands and legs, fingers and toes. He glanced at the barred window, and groaned when he remembered what today would be.

He discarded his adventure in Ponyville as a dream, not noticing a certain object sitting atop his head.

Yes, this is quite confusing, but all shall be explained in next chapter's time skip. Or maybe the chapter after next will be the one with the time skip. Who knows?

Until then!