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Some time ago there was in the city of Exeter a school of magic.
The students woke up every day at seven o’clock, broke their fast in the oak-panelled common room and then went upstairs to listen to their schoolmasters reading aloud long, soporific treatises upon the history of English magic.
The Learned and Illustrious School of Theoretical Magic was, depending on who was describing it, the most respectable, decorous, scholarly academy in the whole British Empire or, quite the contrary, a reactionary, stifling prison full of pompous little frightened men wearing dusty wigs that had already gone out of fashion at least twenty years prior. The most vocal representative of the former opinion was, of course, sir Luke Dauruch, Headmaster and known essayist – having published numerous articles on illustrious magazines such as Traditional Minds and The Truth about magic.
Sadly, teaching had always been a noble yet thankless job, and the fiercest supporter of the latter theory was nothing less than one of sir Dauruch’s students, the young Sirius Black. Mr Black’s favourite pastimes were gambling at the Freith Coffee Shop, riding at full gallop in the misty midlands at the most extravagant hours – causing all the maids and at least one of the stable-boys to swoon – and arguing with his teachers to the point of utter disregard for their educational approach, his own parents’ narrow-mindedness and all the “bloody English magicians cowering like rabbits, afraid of causing a leaf to tremble ”.
Mr Black had - like many nineteen-year-old young men born wealthy, handsome and well-educated - the arrogance of claiming to teach to his own teachers; he longed to spread his radical opinions, mainly consisting in mocking all the theoretical magicians who relentlessly discussed and argued about the true nature of magic instead of practising it.
Every afternoon he held court with his fellow classmates while they drank tea and ate scones in the drawing-room, perfect white rings of smoke curling up from his pipe, and said something on the lines of “How logical and sensible, to relentlessly argue about magic without ever even attempting to perform it. Because Heaven knows how undignified and childish it would be for a respectable gentleman-magician to do magic!”
Sadly all the respectable gentleman aspiring-magician students of the school were tired and by now impervious to Mr Black’s tirades, and his speeches were met with meaningful looks and quiet, scathing remarks. (Quiet because Mr Black was known to have a temper and the rumour had spread that, back at Grimmauld Place, he challenged a distant cousin to a duel. The students of the Learned and Illustrious School of Theoretical Magic might have been “dull, conservative Tories” but they certainly weren’t foolish enough to anger Mr Black.)
So when, one perfectly dull and conservative March morning, Mr Black didn’t turn up at breakfast nobody complained – maybe Mr Black had a cold, since he entertained the unusual habit of wandering away at the oddest hours of night, one of his classmates said, and another added, “believing himself as romantic as Byron but proving to be only a fool as Byron”, causing more than a couple of laughs.
But later, Mr Black was absent during Mr Ennotus’ lecture on The wicked nature of Fairies according to Richard Chaston and also during Reverend Lewis’ seminary on the Meraudian Heresy, so Mr Pettigrew and Mr Snape, respectively an honest admirer of the Black’s family fortune and a notorious snoop, decided to ask Mr Wood, the vice Headmaster, to check on Mr Black. After all, they explained, it wasn’t like him to lose an opportunity to shock poor Reverend Lewis and turn his usually slow, sleep-inducing speech into an outraged stutter.
So around midday the maid discovered that not only Mr Black wasn’t in his room, but his bed seemed unslept! They immediately sent Francis to check the stables and he made the strangest, most alarming discovery: Mr Black’s horse was there, happily chewing on fodder.
That sent everyone, from the Headmaster to the kitchen maids, from the cooks to the teachers, from the footmen to the groundskeepers, into such a state of worry that the lessons were immediately suspended and all the students sent back to their rooms. Mr Snape could have sworn he heard poor Mr Wood loudly complaining – “but I can assure you, it was more like crying” – to the Headmaster about the real possibility of Mrs Black withdrawing her generous funds because of their negligence. Apparently, the generosity of Mrs Black was well worth suffering her ill-mannered and hot-headed son, no matter how much all the teachers longed to hit him with a stick.
To aggravate the already dire situation, all the bells in the Mansion began to tinkle; now, these were nothing more than the usual bells placed in the stairwells, outside the servants’ quarters or, in some instances, inside the servant’s rooms, and in the turmoil following the discovery of Mr Black’s disappearance, servants were being called and then sent away to fetch this or find that, only to be called again after a few minutes. But it seemed that the bells inexplicably carried an odd echo, like they were somewhere else entirely, far-away in a distant country. It was a strange, sad reverberate, that sent inexplicable chills down everybody’s spine.
All the students and the teachers knew that bells were often linked with magic, and in particular with the magic of Faeries; in the old days of magic, silvery bells would often sound just as some Englishman or Englishwoman of particular virtue or beauty was about to be stolen away by Fairies to live in strange, ghostly lands forever.
Mr Snape attempted to lighten the mood and deal with the issue from a logical point of view. He declared – sat in the velvet armchair where Mr Black usually sat and coughing a little because he was not used to smoking – that if himself or any other sane man had the power to seize by magic any person that took their fancy and keep them through all eternity, well, he certainly would have chosen someone a bit more fascinating than Sirius Black. But this argument didn’t soothe his classmates’ worries at all: Fairies were known for their whimsical, irrational nature and not for their logical reasoning – on the contrary, they replied, Mr Black’s rebellious streak was exactly the kind of quality that might attract those wicked creatures. They all began to be truly frightened and convinced that they were all going to be stolen by Fairies soon, and it never occurred to any of them that the only rebellious action they ever perpetrated was sneaking into the kitchen when Sally, the cook, was asleep in front of the fireplace, and steal a couple of biscuits.
All that disruption and fear would have been a source of the highest amusement for Mr Black himself if he wasn’t currently otherwise preoccupied with being utterly lost in Faerie with no idea of how to return to Exeter.
Of course he would scoff at the notion that he was stolen by an evil Fairy – as if anyone in the world could force Sirius Black to go somewhere he didn’t want to go to (with the notable exception of Mrs Black, of course) – but venturing willingly into the King’s Roads that led to Faerie and failing to find his way back wasn’t, in retrospect, the wisest decision.
But nineteen years old gentlemen extremely full of themselves couldn’t carry too much blame for wandering, ill-prepared and rash, into Faerie; how could a student, hungry for real magic and first-hand experiences, resist the temptation of a well-executed spell? As soon as Sirius discovered, elated, that he could flawlessly cast all the spells he had tried in the secret dark glow of his rooms, he started to grow bolder and bolder. Listening to Mr Ennotus endlessly droning on about the mortal risks of accessing the King’s Roads had put in his heart the restless yearning for adventure, for unknown and mysterious places.
“The King's Roads don’t obey any rules of normality, as they link places not only in England but in other worlds, for example, Faerie. They lead everywhere, and anything capable of offering a reflection – mirrors or even puddles – can act as a gateway to the King's Roads, if only a person is irresponsible enough to open the gates.”
And how could a man not desire to court danger after that speech?
It appeared that Mr Black was more than irresponsible enough to open that gate – it was as simple as casting a Spell of Dissolution so that the solid glass of the mirror hung beside his bed became loose and pliable as warm butter. He followed through with Master of Doncaster’s spell of Revelation that easily allowed him to step into the mirror and set foot into the King’s Roads.
Sirius had studied the Roads, but books didn’t prepare him for the infinity towards which they stretched. They were a rocky, serpentine path flanked by unending dark bridges covered with moss, rutty pebbles and blood-coloured mushrooms, so vast his eyes couldn’t reach the end of them. Canals of water gently rippled in stone embankments and crumbling spiral staircases rose so high in the sky they disappeared in a cloudy mist. Every now and then, half-hidden by ivy and weed, statues and carvings of the Raven King stood at the sides of the road, the decayed, pitted stone not dimming the forever young features of the man who once was King of England and Faerie. But that was a long time ago, before magic disappeared and the King’s Road had fallen into disuse, before the magicians who restored English magic were deemed dangerous and untrustworthy, before young magicians like Mr Black were forced to perform spells in secret without truly knowing the extent of human magic.
Sirius was tirelessly attempting to cast the Pathfinder spell to find his way back home, or at least to understand where the North was, but it was to no avail. He closed his eyes, breathed the wild, unknown taste of the foreign Faerie magic, so foreign from the familiar, comfortable flow of his own magic, and a line of trembling white light glittered at his feet, flickering shyly on the grey limestone bedrock and then disappearing. A crude, very ungentlemanly word escaped his lips.
It was an enchantment that worked flawlessly whenever he took his long, nightly walks in the midlands and wished to return to the Mansion, but nobody warned him that, apparently, certain spells couldn’t be cast in Faerie. It was likely that nobody knew, since respectable magicians steered away from the Other Realms and the few who ventured into it – Jonathan Strange or John Childermass – were considered mad, or worse, low-born men.
Sirius might have fancied himself an adventurer, the first of a new brand of magicians, and vowed to write a detailed book of magic about his little impromptu trip, if he ever managed to leave. He began to be alarmed when he tried to cast the spell to find his bearings, but to no avail - and now, after a vain attempt to retrace his steps and find the way from whence he came, worry was spreading its roots at the pit of his guts.
What were, at first, wonder, self-satisfaction and hunger for discovery now were almost fear – except Sirius Black didn’t get scared, not even alone and lost in a foreign realm – and a healthy dose of apprehension.
He had been walking for a very long while – he couldn’t guess the hour because the sky was a dreary grey slate, seamlessly blending in at the horizon with the vast, cracked pavement of cliffs and caves – and his best riding boots were covered with specks of mud, his coat wasn’t much better and his usually immaculate cravat was now ruined after he brushed past a gnarled willow and the snag of a branch caught the delicate silk.
Moreover, he was cross because he missed Sally’s excellent breakfast and found himself quite hungry and thirsty, not to mention he had not encountered a single living creature, not a Fairy, not a bird, not a raven, not even a rat – Sirius seemed to be plagued by misfortunes today: not only had he not the faintest idea about how to return to England, but he chose the most desolate, abandoned part of Faerie to step into.
He trudged along, gloomily, thinking and rethinking of spells that might be of use. He could easily enchant a silver basin to show where his teachers or classmates were and what they were busy with, or increase the light in a dreary room, or even disguise himself as a shadow, but none of those seemed useful at this point. Sirius didn’t blame himself for his shortcomings, not fully at least: he must blame first the worthless school he was forced to attend, his pompous teachers who never, ever caused a particle of dust to fly by magic, his family who denied him the chance of enrolling in the only real magic school of England, Starecross, and, at the end, the two gentlemen-magicians who revived English magic before disappearing into the darkness, leaving nothing but an obnoxiously long array of unanswered questions behind them.
He was quite ready to curse the Raven King himself, despite his unwavering admiration for the man, because leaving England into the hands of theoretical magicians and never coming back? What kind of King could desert his people in such a manner? Although, considering that the current king of England’s main occupations were his growing debts and his mistresses and that the previous one was a raving madman-
“Er- pardon me, sir…?”
Sirius stilled. Then turned, sharply.
A man was drawing nearer, panting slightly and stumbling over the uneven, rocky pavement, looking nothing at all like a Fairy – except Sirius had never met one so maybe Fairies did, in fact, resemble twenty years old or-so men with unkempt hair, patched coats, cracked work boots and faded scarves. The stranger tripped over a fissure in the uneven limestone bedrock, the most astonished expression brightening up his wide eyes, bowed rather awkwardly and asked: “Forgive me, sir, but are you…? Are you the King? The King, sir, John Uskglass?”
Sirius burst out laughing.
He couldn’t have restrained himself if he tried, really. Maybe the stranger was indeed a powerful Fairy and it was all a wicked test, or maybe he was the Raven King, but what a man ought to do when asked such a ridiculous question?
The stranger blushed and shuffled his feet, looking more and more embarrassed, so Sirius decided to remember his manners and bowed.
“I’m afraid not, sir. I’m merely a visitor, passing by.” He didn’t reveal his name, obviously – clever magicians must be rightfully reluctant to allow potential Fairies to know their true names, for names hold power and reveal secrets.
“Are you lost? How long have you been travelling? Oh, but I’m being terribly rude, sir, I haven’t even introduced myself. Remus Lupin, at your service.” The man – Mr Lupin – bowed again, this time a bit more gracefully.
Sirius studied him. Wordlessly, he focused on the spell, the magic tingling under his skin, the fine hair at the back of his neck rising up. Far away, at the corner of his eyes, dancing barely out of sight like shy butterflies, wan white lights flickered, faintly, far away like distant stars. Lupin remained firmly unlit. If the spell worked correctly, the place was quite predictably brimming with magic, but not upon Lupin.
“Glad to make your acquaintance, Mr Lupin,” Sirius replied, and then he couldn’t resist asking: “Forgive my lack of manners, but may I inquire if you belong to the noble Fairy er- dynasty?”
It was Lupin’s turn to chuckle – such a shockingly human, honest sound that somehow warmed Sirius’ heart, even if he suspected he had just made a fool of himself.
“I’m afraid not, sir,” Lupin smiled. “I’m from Smethwick, a small village near Birmingham.”
How awfully mundane, to meet a stranger in Faerie and discover he was from Smethwick near Birmingham.
“Are you, er- enjoying your stroll in the Other Lands, sir? The weather is quite dreadful today,” asked Lupin, as politely as he had been chatting about horses or politics.
“Indeed! What a pity!” Sirius played along. Maybe Lupin wasn’t of sound mind. Was he one of the many humans who had been lured into Faerie and lost his mind? Or was he, like Sirius, a magician? Lately they seemed to be either dull or mad and to be frank Sirius preferred the latter.
An awkward silence fell between them, and they both regarded each other - studied each other. Lupin cleared his throat and broke the silence with another strange question: “I’m aware it might sound bizarre, sir, but could you please be so kind as to tell me what day and month it is today? Maybe what year as well?”
Well, at least it was only slightly less bizarre than asking if he was the Raven King, but Sirius supposed one mustn’t be too surprised by conversation topics with strangers he met in Faerie.
“But of course. It’s March the third of the year 1821.”
A noticeable sigh of relief escaped the bow of Lupin’s lips. “Oh! It’s been four months I’ve been here, then. You see, sir, it is true that one loses time here in Faerie – I’ve read that a magician came across a young girl washing dirty pots in the castle of a fairy prince and Anne, the girl, was under the impression she had been working there for two weeks, but actually two centuries had passed!”
Sirius looked at Lupin with far more wonder than if he had sprouted black wings and started to crow like a raven. “Four months! Why on earth have you been here four months? Is it truly impossible to leave this place?” he cried. And then: “You’ve read Martin Pale! Are you a magician yourself?”
At this, Lupin blushed and looked down at his scuffed shoes. “Ah, not at all, sir. I’ve read a lot about magic but I am, well, I was, only a worker in a button factory.”
That reminded Sirius that not all people were gentlemen and ladies, a fact that he often forgot, so sheltered in Grimmauld Place first and in the Exeter Theoretical Magic Institute later. But a more pressing matter was at the forefront of his mind. “Forgive me if I insist, but why have you been here four months?” he shivered a little, for it was getting colder and darker and scarier. “You never found the way out?”
Lupin shook his head, his eyes huge, burning with barely suppressed hope. “I was hoping you might help me, sir. You have to know I am cursed. I cannot leave this place!”
Of all the copious question that crowded Sirius bewildered mind, none managed to be heard.
Daylight wavered like a flickering candle and the empty air was suddenly haunted with ravens, obscuring Sirius’ vision like an angry black whirlwind. Struck at from every side by wings and claws and by deafening croaks, Sirius covered his head with his cloak but Lupin screamed something, grabbed his hand and they started to run.
---
The Fairy’s brugh was in the Forest Without Return, or at least Lupin assured so – Sirius might have not been sure about the man’s sanity, but not being battered anymore by evil ravens was quite an improvement, even if a place named “without return” didn’t bode very well.
“Fairy names are strange, but it’s just a name. It has nothing to do with my curse, and this part of Untold Blessings is safe from the battles,” explained Lupin, as they trudged through the deepest, densest forest Sirius had ever been in. Trunks as white as bones and as thick as mill wheels lay on the marshy brushwood, their gnarled dead roots curling up like ghastly spires, and tall, dark oaks loomed over them, murmuring in the secret language of trees, long branches shifting to make way for them like inviting hands, brushing their clothes with leaves and dewdrops.
The air smelled of rain and earth and magic.
“May I ask about the nature of this curse? And pray tell, what the hell is Untold Blessings and why are there battles?” snapped Sirius who, at this point, was miserably plodding behind Lupin in a shocked stupor, with his best cloak torn and covered in feathers, his boots smelly and his woollen trousers speckled with mud. His only solace was that Mr Snape and Mr Malfoy couldn’t see him in such a state.
“Oh, yes, of course – I understand all must seem terribly confusing sir, and I wanted to offer you some tea first, but I’ll explain right away. Untold Blessings is one of the many kingdoms in Faerie and, unfortunately, it is on the grip of a civil war: there are twenty-four rival claimants for the throne – two were killed in the battle of The Gardens of Tombs. But we’re safe here, we’re in the realm of the Blue Fairy, one of the pretenders to the throne.”
Sirius raised his eyes heavenwards, bewildered. “I’m afraid I’m ill-informed about Faerie politics,” Sirius said, and then, still in doubt about Lupin’s sanity and the truthfulness of his accounts, he added: “but it appears I should regret Lord Liverpool and the Six Acts.”
“Ah, indeed, sir, it is a dreadful ordeal when one is forced to regret Lord Liverpool and his fear of people meeting and, God forbid, thinking.”
Finally, at least, Lupin said a sensible sentence, something that might prove that he was who he claimed to be – an Englishman who was living in Britain at least until 1819 – and also that he wasn’t a conservative. Sirius Black wouldn’t have blindly followed a right-wing Tories supporter into a cave that descended, as far as he knew, down into the womb of that enchanted earth, half-hidden behind the pendulous green curtains of a weeping willow.
Sirius had read of the Fairy dwelling called brughs, of course, but as it was plentifully proven that day, books weren’t very useful in the Other Lands and they certainly didn’t prepare him for the sight in front of his eyes. As soon as he was accustomed to the dim light, he realised the brugh didn’t bear the slightest resemblance to a castle or even a mansion; in fact, the country manor that housed his wretched school could be, in comparison, worthy of the refined tastes of King George himself. The walls and floor of the room were of plain grey stone, worn and uneven, and small windows looked out upon a blue starry sky – without so much as a scrap of glass in it, but not a gust of air blew into the room, not to mention the bizarre light blue sky was quite an incongruous sight, since they were supposed to be underground. Lupin led him through another room, almost as empty as the other one: there was an unlit stone fireplace, a pockmarked mirror, a rocking chair and a wooden three-legged little table where a comb, a pair of hair curling irons and a jewellery box were placed, but he didn’t linger.
A bell started to toll, a woeful, slow chiming that filled Sirius’ heart with an unexplainable, sudden sadness, like all the sorrows he had ever felt in twenty years were peeking out from the recesses of his soul. Everything came back to him, Lord Black freshly returned from the war against Bonaparte and whiling away the days sat in the velvet chair in front of the fireplace without acknowledging anyone except a bottle of sherry, his cousin Andromeda leaving and never coming back, Bellatrix breaking his toys when he was little, Regulus sniffing because he missed their father, Lady Black’s dark face when he caught him kissing the son of one of the farmers…
Remus placed a hand, surprisingly delicate, on his forearm, startling him from his melancholy. “Sir? I’m afraid we must go downstairs – the ball is starting and the Blue Fairy will notice if I’m not there – just let me talk to him first. Please, just say you’re a magician and you want to learn about the superiority of the Fairy magic and don’t strike deals with anyone who talks to you.”
They climbed down a dilapidated staircase, the stone dusty and crumbling under Sirius’ shoes, who was feeling more and more irritated and confused. “But what about your curse? I am a magician, I can try to break it!” he complained. “And I don’t want to go to any ball, I loathe balls and if you don’t introduce me I won’t have to talk to no-one!”
They crossed a little rusty door and stepped into a huge, dark ballroom, where a lively fire was crackling in the heart, but overall the furnishings were few and shabby, the mirrors dirty and cracked and the candles were of the poorest sort. Only a sad, lonely viol and one fife were playing and overall it would have been the bleakest party Sirius had ever attended if it wasn’t for the guests. A crowd of people were dancing and they were all Fairies; now Sirius could realise how foolish his doubt whether Remus had been a Fairy was. There was no possibility of not spotting a Fairy at once – everyone seemed to glow like the pale moonlight and had hair and clothes and eyes of colours that Sirius couldn’t remember having seen before. They were all dressed in what seemed to be the height of fashion in the Renaissance or so, the ladies with gowns and trains that fluttered after them like the gentlest breeze was following their graceful steps, the gentlemen in knee-breeches and white stockings and doublets of forest green, blood red, coal-black and sparkling blue.
Of course their regal appearance only deepened Sirius’ dislike with the party: he wasn’t accustomed to gatherings where he wasn’t the most handsome and finely dressed amongst the gentlemen. But deep down, his back shivered with a secret thrill: he was one of the few magicians to step foot in the Other Lands after centuries. He was on the other side of the rain. Now he mustn’t be outwitted – like many men and women before him.
“Lupin, won’t they notice that I’m not… one of them?” whispered Sirius.
Lupin looked at him, his brown eyes huge and anxious. He had, Sirius observed, a smattering of freckles dusting his nose. “Oh, they will notice you indeed, sir. Please, let me speak with the Blue Fairy, wait here and I beg you, don’t approach anyone!” and with that, he disappeared into the crowd.
Sirius made his way to a pointed arch window and stared at the dark woods under starlight, still not understanding how the sky could be seen if they were underground.
“Magic shall be written upon the sky but they shall not be able to read it,” said a melodious voice close by. A lady was smiling at him.
Sirius bowed, unable to tear his eyes off her: she was the most beautiful creature he had ever gazed at, her long, loose hair the same deep auburn of the autumn leaves warmed by cold sunlight, her eyes unfathomable like a cloudy sky. She wore the most exquisite gown, of the liquid colour of a clear river and a necklace of prey's blood killed by the predator.
“They being you, English magician,” she added, still smiling, even if from the way she spoke, it seemed being an “English magician” wasn’t exactly a compliment.
“Indeed,” Sirius replied, with a lot of confused ideas about what that meant. Then the Lady with the Autumn Hair inquired if he would dance with her and Sirius could only say: “Gladly.”
He wasn’t ignoring Lupin’s advice – she had approached him – and Fairy or not, he couldn’t resist dancing with a beautiful lady.
They took their places in the set and stood for a moment. Sirius had only a moment to notice, with the utmost bewilderment, that a lot of gentlemen were dancing with other gentlemen, and the same happened with ladies.
“Did you understand what I just told you, Magician?” She had a strange way of articulating the word “magician”, similar to the way Lady Black said “servant” or “maid”.
“Well, I suppose you wanted to tell me that English magic is nothing but poor tricks and kid’s trifles compared to Faerie magic, but if you wish to expound on the topic I would be most honoured, Madam,” Sirius replied, with barely a hint of sarcasm tinging his voice. He spun her around, since everyone seemed to dance in their own style, with no discernible steps or footwork, and she glided on the ballroom like a swan in a pond.
“You are quite bold to come here after what happened with the other two magicians,” she said. Sirius nodded, not sure about what linked him to the two madmen that were Strange and Norrell, except that they were both magicians as well, but bold he usually was. “But of course your noble birth makes you quite different from them.” Her cloudy eyes sparkled like a ray of sun suddenly passed through.
Sirius was perplexed again. The noble and most ancient House of Black was a renowned family, but Strange and Norrell had been gentlemen as well, even if not as rich as he was.
The Lady with the Autumn hair laughed, a sound not unlike the whoosh of a waterfall hitting the stones.
“You don’t know?” she laughed again, twirling around him.
Sirius turned, grabbed her outstretched hands and they spun like a loose wheel. He didn’t like to be played with, not even by beautiful Fairies. “Apparently not, but I’m sure I can count on your kindness, Madam – I’m nothing but an unlearned magician, after all, and there is hardly anyone here that knows me.”
She threw her arms around Sirius’ neck and he lifted her up grabbing her small waist – it was the wildest dance party he had ever attended.
“You are wrong to say no one knows you,” she said, placing her hands upon Sirius’ cheeks. They were as cold as ice and as soft as wet grass. “Your ancestors origins are plainly written on your face, Magician: of course it is quite rare for Fairies descendants to exhibit magical talents, and we shall see how powerful – or weak – your magic is.”
And at that, she twirled away and disappeared into the dancing crowd.
Sirius blinked in astonishment. What? Surely the Lady with the Autumn Hair was lying. He thought about the Black family tree, placed in Grimmauld Place’s drawing-room, starting in the Middle-Ages and dutifully showing the dominant line up to the present days – Lords, Ladies, Vicars, Knights, Abbesses. He thought, also, about the burnt spots in the tapestry, that little featureless, nameless brown dots no-one ever spoke of. But no, she must be lying! He suddenly remembered all the well-meaning warnings of the Headmaster against Fairies and their infamous wickedness; if Sirius was honest with himself, he has often quarrelled with his classmates about it, asserting that a race couldn’t be inherently good or bad, but just like mankind itself, Fairies must have both light and darkness in themselves. In that moment, though, nothing in the world seemed true and unassailable – the world itself was upside down, the ball itself seemed a sad parody of a true ball. And Sirius was alone.
He danced with a lot of people – a lady wearing a crown of hissing snakes, another with a gown covered with sun rays and clouds, and a bold gentleman who told him he was almost as handsome as a Fairy before letting him go abruptly – and then he found himself with Lupin in his arms.
“I talked with the Blue Fairy, sir! You don’t have to worry for now, he assured me you’ll be his honoured guest for tonight-”
But Sirius was only half-listening. Lupin wasn’t wearing his ragged coat anymore: now he wore a sleeveless doublet as green as a spring field with an overdress of tiny diamonds that glittered like dew. In his brown hair there was a sprinkling of glossy, dark green leaves and red berries.
“Lupin, pardon my frankness, but what are, exactly, your relationships with this Blue Fairy?” whispered Sirius, clasping one arm around Lupin’s waist and grabbing his hand with his other arm, moving clockwise around the dance floor.
Lupin blushed rather violently and shook his head. “You mustn’t talk about this now, sir! The Blue Fairy has graciously allowed you to stay in his brugh because of your Fairy heritage but-”
“My Fairy heritage ?” hissed Sirius. “How do they even know, I wonder!”
Lupin squeezed their joined hands and shrugged in a rather helpless manner. “They’re Fairies, sir. Their knowledge takes different paths than ours – everything about them does. And their magic is… well, I’ve never met an English magician before you, sir, but I’ve been here four months and I can promise you, their magic is beyond our understanding.”
Sirius didn’t really have the spirits for defending English magic or himself at the moment – he felt as lost as a pebble thrown inside an impetuous river. Lupin seemed to be his only friend but he barely knew him – could he be trusted? He still hadn’t explained his curse or how a factory worker from Birmingham ended up in Faerie.
“Alright, forgive me but I think I’ll leave this wretched ball to try-”
But Remus wasn’t attending to him anymore, he was gazing to his right. A gentleman with white-silver hair and the most extraordinary eyes – blue and gleaming like sapphires – was standing next to them. He smiled at Sirius with the perfect, smouldering smile of someone who owned the entire place, maybe the entire crowd too, and, in his mind, the whole kingdom as well. Sirius bowed slightly. He didn’t like at all that Lupin withdrew his hand from Sirius’ grasp and immediately put a few steps between them.
“Sir,” Sirius said, politely but coldly. He couldn’t help a certain amount of childish satisfaction in noticing that, even if the Blue Fairy possessed pleasant features, fine silk breeches and a cloak as blue as midnight and as starry as the clearest night, he wasn’t nearly as tall and broad-shouldered as himself.
“Ah! The young English magician! We must expect plenty of those now, mustn’t we?” he chuckled. It was a deep, not quite happy but not yet malevolent sound made to feel people uncomfortable. But Sirius wasn’t one to be intimidated and held his gaze with a smile: if he was keeping Lupin prisoner Sirius would find a way to free him. Even if at the present moment he hadn’t the faintest idea of how to free himself and it wasn’t very wise to behave in a distasteful way in front of an aspiring Faerie king, but Sirius had always possessed more bravery than common sense.
Besides, the Blue Fairy had other matters in that unfathomable mind of his than young English magicians crossing the border between England and Untold Blessings. After all, it was a known fact that magic had been revived in England, and it was only a matter of time before those noisy, irksome but overall inoffensive mosquitoes would fly into his lands. If they became too annoying one could always squash them and let their blood drip into the stones already soiled with their ancestors’ blood.
(Young English factory workers, maybe, were in his ancient, crowded mind quite often, though.)
“My dearest Remus,” the Blue Fairy started to say, beaming at Lupin with a very different smile from the one he sported before. Sirius, a man that fell in love quickly and started to despise even quicker, loathed him with a passion at once. “Would you be the kindest boy and show our guest his rooms?”
Remus bowed in the usual clumsy way and the Blue Fairy snapped his fingers.
The light flickered violently, just as it did before, out in the open. The sounds of music, laughter and conversation vanished. Remus grabbed him by his arm and tugged, but Sirius resisted, so that they were dawdling – most of the dancers were gone. The Lady with the Autumn hair was still there, and five other Fairies as well.
Lupin managed to shove Sirius towards the small door through which they arrived, but here he stopped, hiding behind the dilapidated stone – Lupin might have been strong, but Sirius was tall and broad and curious. All the Fairies raised up their hands and the great hall was filled with a flock of ravens swirling, cawing, wings flapping madly like black banners in a battlefield. They struck Sirius with their beaks and claws, stealing his breath, but they were gone after a moment. When he lifted his head, he glimpsed the Blue Fairy and the others, raising their hands again, their beautiful features twisted by some kind of rapture. Suddenly, they weren’t handsome anymore: they were terrible, and they were covered by rain that wasn’t rain at all. It was thick and dark and it stained their fine clothes with long, red stripes. Sirius couldn’t have torn his eyes off the Blue Fairy even if he wanted to: he fell on the stone floor, rocking his body and screaming in some unknown language, hair spread out like a silver fan. Sirius watched as he began to lose his resemblance to humankind, his eyes morphing into to two gleaming buttons, his skin flaming up like timber and burning like ashes, until he was nothing but a dark shadow on the ground and Lupin pleaded: “Let’s go!” This time Sirius didn’t even think of lingering and they ran upstairs, stumbling, both hearts thumping as one.
–
“Are they?” gasped Sirius, leaning against the wooden canopy of a four-poster-bed.
“Dead?” supplied Lupin, whose face was pale but overall, he looked far more put together than Sirius, considering the circumstances. “No, they’ll recover – in fact, they’ll be ready for battle tomorrow morning. This Summoning ceremony happens quite often, twice or thrice a week… I understand it might appear quite shocking the first time-”
Sirius sat on the bed. He didn’t even know whose bed it was, but at the moment he couldn’t care less. “A fine euphemism. What the hell they were Summoning? The devil himself?”
Lupin sat next to him, even if at a respectable distance, and shivered, rubbing his bare arms with his hands. Outside of the great hall, he only looked like a sad young man dressed in a bizarre costume; Sirius, ever the gentleman even in extreme circumstances, removed his tattered cloak to drape it on Lupin’s hunched shoulders.
“The King,” Lupin replied, staring at his pointed shoes and not at Sirius. “John Uskglass. But he never comes – I don’t think he ever will.”
Sirius blinked. “The Raven King? But… why?”
Lupin shrugged and raised his big brown eyes to meet Sirius’ gaze. “The Blue Fairy hopes he will come back to legitimize his claim to the throne. But all the other twenty-three pretenders are trying to Summon him as well – a rumour spread that he made an appearance in Lost-Hope, another Faerie realm, and everyone went into a frenzy. It’s a trying magic… they’ll faint and wake up at dawn. And do it all again in a couple of nights.”
Sirius shook his head. Whenever he was in a frenzy he spurred his horse to a gallop or found someone to have his fun with; he certainly didn’t catch fire and turn into a human-shaped coal. But then a detail that, in the frenzied agitation of the previous hours, had slipped out of his mind resurfaced at once.
“Is that why you thought I was the Raven King? Earlier when we met?” he asked.
Lupin blushed under the moonlight seeping through the open window. “I apologize, sir, but all we know from the books is that he is human, young, wears dark clothes, has long black hair and is quite-” his words tapered off, but Sirius, who remembered all the Raven King’s scarce description by heart, knew that the word Lupin didn’t utter was “handsome.”
For a moment they remained silent, both absorbed in their thoughts. And they were quite simple, ordinary thoughts, given the strange events unfolding around them: one wanted his mother, another missed his younger brother, one was fascinated by a handsome magician, the other was interested in a lonely, strange boy, both were lost and longed for a friend.
Sirius broke the silence first. “Is that their true appearance?”
Remus only sighed. “I don’t know – I never dared to ask… he usually returns to his human-like form in the morning. I don’t know anything about how magic works, sir… I’ve read all the books of magic I could back home, but I’m afraid they’re quite useless here.”
Indeed they are, thought Sirius, darkly. But there was another situation he wanted to shed light on, something that Lupin had said but never explained.
“I believe that, at this point, you can call me Sirius, if you’d like,” Sirius offered.
Lupin almost smiled and bowed his head, but he quickly replied: “I would like it very much, and you might call me Remus, of course.”
“Well, then, Remus,” Sirius started. “I think you should tell me about your curse if you want me to help you.”
Remus sighed but he nodded. “There’s not much to tell, I’m afraid – even my curse is ordinary. After the Revival of the English magic, the King’s Roads were opened, and apparently there was one near my mother’s cottage in Smethwick… one day I was in a… rather melancholic disposition and I found myself drawn to it, like I was tethered to an invisible rope that pulled me in, an irresistible force… I found myself in Faerie and I couldn’t find my way back. You must understand, I was hungry and cold and alone and when I met him – he was kind. He offered me a place to stay and told me that humans were blind and cruel because they made me feel lonely and... different. The moment I tried to ask him if he could shew me the way home he told me I was too good for England, that I was wasting my life here; in practice, I can’t leave. I swear I tried, I’ve been trying for four months, but the only two times I was able to find the King’s Roads by sheer luck, I couldn’t cross the bridge that leads to England. You must believe I’m the worst fool that ever walked the Earth… but look,” Remus turned his head and with his fingers, he pushed aside a lock of hair near his temple.
Sirius cursed in the crassest, ungentlemanly way. Underneath the wavy and quite long brown hair, where an ear should have been, there was a jagged silvery scar.
“He took this from me when I was asleep. I didn’t feel a thing, but… can it be tied to the enchantment he cast on me? Because I remember reading something about it in Martin Pale’s work and...”
But Sirius stopped listening to him, stood to his feet and started to pace in the little, dark room, raising puffs of dust whenever he stomped his feet on the ground. “Wicked, wicked creatures! I refuse to descend from them! Bloody monsters. I could bet the Black’s fortune it’s that wretched imp’s magic that prevents me from finding my way home-”
“Actually, sir-Sirius, he told me that you attempted a, er, foolish spell; since you are of Fairy ancestry and you are currently in Faerie you can’t perform a spell to find your way home, because you are… well, he said you are already there.”
A colourful string of obscenities filled the room again until Sirius fell silent, struck by an idea. He observed Remus, still sat on the bed, wrapped up in his too-long, too-big ruined coat. “You said they will all be unconscious soon, won’t they?”
“It’s possible they already are, but-”
Sirius took two steps towards the bed, until he was standing in front of Remus, their feet almost touching. “We could...” he said.
“No,” Remus interrupted him, voice firm, holding his fiery gaze. “I shall never. I don’t have the heart for it – I may not be a gentleman, but I’m not a killer,” he explained, simply. “You might think I’m a fool, but I’ve known him for four months and I can swear, for whatever it counts, that he means no harm to me, he intends nothing but kindness. He truly believes he freed me and before, back home, I was nothing but another unnamed servant of men who couldn’t care less about my well-being.”
Sirius spread his hands in frustration, bewildered. The remark about not being a killer stung quite a lot – of course he wasn’t a killer either! But the rest of Remus’ argument made very little sense, in his mind.
“Forgive me but I do not know a world where cutting off an ear and preventing you to leave might be called kindness,” he argued, raising his eyes heavenwards.
“Forgive me, but you do not know Faerie very well,” Remus replied, voice low and tired.
That stopped Sirius’ next words on his tongue. People didn’t contradict him often – people of lower class never did – but it was a sensible argument: Remus did understand Faerie far better than him. What they shall do was exploit that knowledge.
“But you do wish to leave?” he asked.
Remus nodded. “I miss my mother! And I miss… I must confess that I do not know what I miss, but I’m not... free here. Maybe I never will be, but I’d rather suffer at home than here. Are you familiar with my curse?”
Sirius regarded him, half-formed thoughts crossing his unquiet mind. “I’m afraid I’m not, but magic never failed me so far. Now tell me, have you ever performed magic, Remus?”
His question was met with a scoff and a humourless chuckle. “You already know I haven’t – I’ve read so many books about magic, but never a book of magic, and I’m just a factory worker, I can’t even say I’m a theoretical m-”
“Theoretical magicians can go to hell! My dear Remus,” Sirius sat on the bed and put a hand upon his shoulder. “You’ve read Martin Pale. You’ve read Ormskirk. I bet you’ve even read all of Mr Segundus excellent works, haven’t you?”
Remus looked away but nodded, quite embarrassed.
“Then you’re as much of a magician as everyone in Exeter; but unlike them, you’ve seen magic England hasn’t dreamed of in centuries. You’ll do the magic: you’ll bring us home and I’ll break the curse. Now, could you fetch me a silver basin filled with clean water, a spoon, a bodkin and some ribbon?”
As it happened to many great thinkers, Sirius’ plan was more easily said than executed.
Remus did fetch him all he asked for, but soon they started to discuss the timing of their plan, and some time passed before Sirius explained every detail of the magic they both – both! It was quite an ambitious plan – were to perform and they decided the best way to proceed.
At first, Sirius said, they must find out where the ear was kept, hence the silver basin.
They both sat on the bed and Sirius lowered his head, staring fiercely at the water. Then he raised a finger and divided the surface into quarters with glittering lines of light.
“The quarters represent Heaven, Hell, Earth and Faerie,” he explained. “I must choose Faerie, of course.” He made a gesture above one of the quarters, and stars dotted in a light blue sky appeared, and then more lines, a pattern of veins and webs like rivers and rocks. He tapped again, and the other three quarters disappeared, stars and filling lines filling the surface of the basin.
Remus was observing Sirius more than the water, supremely curious but trying to conceal his growing interest with a mild, polite expression. He had lived amongst magic for four months now, but it was quite different from the magic Sirius performed; magic came naturally to Fairies, so they could effortlessly cast the most complex, powerful spells. He had seen the Blue Fairy stop rivers and crack open hillsides and turn raindrops into arrows.
But he had never seen Fairies exert themselves except for the Summoning spells: and whenever they attempted it, they failed miserably. Mr Black – Sirius – on the other hand, was applying himself to the task with a passion and it was a joy to watch him work.
(It didn’t hurt that he was quite handsome, either. It didn’t hurt at all that he looked like a romantic hero ought to look.)
Sirius divided the water into quarters again and repeated the process several times, the lines growing more and more intricate, like a maze. After several minutes, he declared:
“It is inside a black snuff-box placed on a wooden table decorated with carved ravens. The table is inside a bedroom full of torches and floating candles, with an arched window with latticework and a dead white tree planted in the middle of the stone pavement.”
Remus exhaled a wary breath. Just like he suspected. “It is his bedroom. I’ll take it.”
Sirius arched an eyebrow. “You have permission to come and go from his bedroom?”
Remus felt his cheek heat even if he had expected this question – he was mortified that Sirius, at this point, could guess the nature of his relationship with the Blue Fairy, but he was sure Sirius couldn’t understand. How could he? Sirius was handsome and rich and couldn’t have felt the hunger for love, the empty loneliness that Remus had. But he was even more ashamed, a secret, unspeakable shame, to have loved the Blue Fairy, even if for a fleeting time.
He understood now it had been foolish to love him – he only hoped it wasn’t more foolish to leave him. He wanted romanticism. He wanted magic. He wanted danger and maybe sin, as well. Now he could have it all, but he lost his freedom.
“No, but I can go whenever I’m summoned,” Remus explained. And I’m summoned quite frequently, he didn’t add.
Sirius’ lovely mouth twisted in a grimace and even if he looked angry, he didn’t utter a word; instead, he struck the water with one hand, droplets spilling on the floor and on the front of his rumpled shirt.
“You must know I’m reconsidering murder as a perfectly viable solution, given the circumstances,” Sirius said, darkly.
“I’m not. I can assure you I never did anything I didn’t wish to,” was the simple and yet, to Sirius, very unsatisfactory answer.
A dim, shy ray of light shimmered in the gloomy, grey room, and Remus stood hastily. “It’s almost dawn, I should go and attend him. Usually I help him dress in the morning, so I can take a look at the snuff box.”
Sirius regarded him with a peculiar mixture of displeasure and pity that made Remus blush.
“Remember, though, don’t steal it, not yet,” he warned him, before Remus left the bedroom.
Sirius, now alone, felt suddenly drained: every fear, every worry, every excitement departed from his body, leaving him tired and exhausted. He hadn’t slept in many hours, hadn’t eaten in even more. As soon as he collapsed on the bed he fell into a fretful, dreamless sleep.
–
“Sirius?”
Sirius opened his eyes, grabbed Remus by the wrist and blinked once before releasing him. “I’m still in this dreadful place, then. I had hoped it was a nightmare.”
“I’m so sorry to wake you, but I reckoned you might be hungry, so I brought you something to eat,” Remus gestures towards a tray placed on the little rickety table beside the bed. “And I saw the snuff box last night, it was placed on the table, exactly where you said it would be.”
Quite refreshed from the sight of a steaming cup of tea and a plate of sweet buns, Sirius devoured everything in a few minutes, listening to Remus explaining that he could always find any food he wanted in the kitchens, at every hour. If either of them found it strange to sit in the same bed, Sirius still under his covers and wearing only his undershirt, they didn’t say.
Notably more cheerful after he placated his hunger, Sirius asked where the Blue Fairy was.
“Fighting the war,” Remus replied, before standing up to open a dusty wooden trunk placed on the floor.
“Well, we shall be optimistic and hope someone spears him with a Fairy sword or something equally deadly,” Sirius half-joked.
Remus didn’t reply but informed him he drew a bath for Sirius in the next room, if he wanted, and he shewed him a long black coat, a pair of dark breeches and a white shirt.
After that, they started their lessons.
Contrary to Sirius’ beliefs, it wasn’t an easy task – it had been easy for him to successfully perform magic without having even tried the spells before – but, in fact, even the infamous Mr Norrell cast his first spell after a long time spent practising.
Contrary to Remus’ imagination, it wasn’t this thrilling, exhilarating experience – one had to memorise the exact pronunciation of the letters and words (there were a lot of those, and the Fairy language wasn’t an easy one), then understand the meaning of every sentence and every pause and every gesture. What was effortlessly said and done by Sirius, Remus repeated clumsily, lacking confidence and weighted by the responsibility of failing. It was vital that he learned the spell before retrieving the ear; they must be able to leave at once Sirius broke the curse. Otherwise, they would face the Blue Fairy’s anger.
When the sun was high in the sky and Remus still hadn’t conjured the tiniest speck of light, they climbed downstairs and ate steak with ale for lunch.
“Oh, do cheer up, my dear friend!” said Sirius, who, after washing, shaving and eating, was in a much more pleasant mood than the evening before. “After all, who is the magician who succeeds after the first try? Well, I did – and Jonathan Strange did, too, but I believe we’re the exceptions.”
It didn’t really cheer poor Remus, who tried and tried and tried all afternoon until Sirius declared he needed to rest. “Magic is like wine," he said, "if you’re not used to it it will only make you drunk.”
Remus sat in the middle Sirius’ bed, dejected.
“When will he come back home?” Sirius asked, absentmindedly playing with the light of the candles, changing the position of the shadows once, twice, thrice.
Remus shrugged. “Who knows, sometimes later, sometimes earlier.”
Their shadows were now long and huge, an eclipse blackening the entire room, but Sirius fixed him with an even darker stare.
“Will he not be jealous of finding you in my room?”
Remus laughed quietly, an incredulous, melancholic chuckle. Sirius wondered how his real laugh sounded.
“Forgive for saying this, but you don’t understand Fairies, I’m afraid. The thought of jealousy wouldn’t ever cross his mind – he adamantly believes he gifted me the most perfect life! Doubts aren’t in his nature – he’s convinced I love him and worship him and I’m nothing but grateful and happy – he would never suspect I could want to betray him.”
Sirius swore, and the room was suddenly full of light again. (For being a gentleman, Remus reckoned, he swore quite a lot.)
“Then why the hell, pray tell, would he prevent you from leaving?” he cried out.
Remus looked away, like he did whenever Sirius’ grey eyes burned too bright for him to bear their sight. “To protect me, he said, from nostalgia.”
“What a bunch of – !”
Remus startled, shocked. Such an unrepeatable word on a gentleman’s tongue!
“Forgive me from my manners, my friend – my only wish is to free you, and sometimes I get carried away with anger – but to be frank, I can hardly bear the thought of-”
Remus never heard what thought Sirius couldn’t bear (even though he had a theory) because faint, distant bells started to toll. The Blue Fairy was soon to return.
“I must go to attend to him,” Remus said, quickly crossing the room. “I’ll call you before tonight’s ball, but you’re free to go eat-” Sirius grabbed him by the arm, his hold strong, his hand warm, and pulled him back until they collided together.
“What if you don’t go? If you tell him you don’t want to go to him? If you ask him to leave?” Sirius pressed him, his breath suddenly close to Remus’ mouth, so close that talking wasn’t an easy task. Bells kept tolling, louder and louder.
“I- I don’t want to find out,” Remus whispered. He needed to go, but he didn’t have any desire to – he desired to stay here, in that room, with Sirius close…
“Why?” hissed Sirius. “Afraid he’s not that kind when you prove to him that you have free will, after all?”
Remus raised his chin, closed his eyes and pressed his mouth to Sirius’.
“There’s a courtyard in the north wing, next to the armoury,” Remus explained, his calm voice not betraying the turmoil in his heart. “The grounds are scattered with broken bones, skulls and rusting weapons. I don’t want to join them – and I don’t want you to join them.”
Sirius released him from his hold and watched him disappear, untold words dying on his lips.
–
Sirius crossed the little threshold that led to the ballroom, dressed in the simple clothes Remus had given him that morning, his black coat and plain white shirt contrasting with the refinement of the other guests; like the previous night, a fire was merrily rustling in the heart, but overall the lighting was dim, the candles floating mid-air casting gloomy shadows above the dancers. The music was still slow and lugubrious, but Sirius asked the Lady with the Autumn hair to dance as soon as he spotted her. She laughed, maybe a bit mockingly at first, but took the hand he held out for her.
“Still here, Magician. How do you find our lands compared to dull England?” she asked.
Sirius took a step forward to lean closer and smiled. “Interesting,” he smiled back. “But not nearly as captivating as you tonight, Madam.”
She smiled, and this time it was quite less ironic than before. He danced with her and fed her innocuous stories of how dull England was compared to Faerie, and how much he was grateful for his host. Then he danced with a gentleman and another lady before pretending to cross the entire room to find the Lady again and have the pleasure of another dance, and within an hour he had danced and flirted with half the people in the room, and most of them flirted back – proof that even Fairies weren’t immune to flattery. He barely paid attention to Remus, only bowing slightly when they almost collided, and kept dancing and smiling until his feet were tired and his cheeks hurt – until the Blue Fairy grabbed his hand.
“Good evening, Magician.”
He wore a crystal crown of twigs that matched his silvery hair and his long cape was the colour of the ocean during a tempest; a lesser man would have felt as dowdy as a goat herder next to him, but if there was something Sirius wasn’t lacking, it was pride, and he held his gaze and smiled back.
“And the name of the other shall be Arrogance.” The Fairy laughed. “I wonder if a prophecy can count twice… probably not, but I quite prefer Arrogance to Fearfulness, so you have nothing to fear from me, Magician.” For now went unspoken, but the words hung clear in the air between them.
Sirius, who had absolutely no idea what the previous sentences meant apart from a veiled insult, spun him around so that his long cloak spread out like a giant wing.
“You are too kind, sir,” he said. But you have a lot to fear from me, I can assure you, he thought. “Your hospitality leaves me speechless,” he added, hoping he didn’t sound as sarcastic as he truly was.
The Blue Fairy bowed and started to whisk away from him. “Ah, but you shall stay a hundred years if you only wish, Magician!”
They parted. Instantly Sirius turned, heart beating madly in his chest. You shall stay a hundred years.
He felt, for a second, alone in a twirling madness of faceless, hostile, spinning tops.
Until someone grabbed his hand. It was Remus – sweet, lovely Remus, dressed in frosted leaves, icy beads on his cloak twinkling as he moved.
“Is my ear missing? My little finger? A tooth? A lock of hair? Ah, I’m not sure I can feel my toes,” Sirius whispered.
Remus’ brown eyes widened in fear, his face pale in the dim light. “No! Have you – have you explicitly told him he was free to do whatever he wanted with you?”
“Of course not!” Sirius hissed. He pirouetted around Remus. “I’m not that foolish!”
Remus cast his gaze on the floor. “Then he has not cursed you – he can’t place the curse until you consent, until you place your life in his hands. But I believe he is playing with you- we’ll talk later!”
Remus stepped to his right and went back to the Blue Fairy. Sirius, fuming inside but smiling outside, went looking for the Lady with the Autumn hair again, pretending to be thoroughly enamoured with her.
He danced and laughed emptily and watched Remus with the corner of his eyes, waiting for the Blue Fairy to end the dance, like the previous night, to Summon the Raven King.
He hoped he succeeded, wished for John Uskglass to return and punish his cruelty – but the Raven King wasn’t called tonight.
The Blue Fairy left the ball hand in hand with Remus, and one by one the guests disappeared, leaving Sirius alone in the empty, now silent and ghastly, ballroom.
He retired into his room, wishing he could smash and break and fight, his magic threatening to spill from his fingertips, like the stuffing inside of a too shaken toy.
Remus asserted he never did anything he didn’t wish to do, but did he ever had a choice? He couldn’t withdraw from the Blue Fairy, but he wanted to.
And then he had kissed him. Sirius, who read Don Juan too many times, desired nothing more than storm into their room, grab the Fairy and challenge him to a duel – pistols, swords, magic, fists – any weapon; instead he must wait and follow the plan.
What an awful, horrible, sleepless night he spent alone in his bedroom, pacing the dusty floor, rehearsing in his mind all the spells he knew. For a fleeting moment, he thought about casting the Lancashire spell to Discover what the enemy is doing presently, but immediately dropped the idea: it wouldn’t be respectful towards Remus.
He endured the night instead, feeding his rage, reviewing the plan and suffering, for the first time in his life, the bite of jealousy – the lingering doubt that Remus somehow had feelings for the Blue Fairy elicited in him pity and envy, longing and outrage.
He fell asleep still in his clothes and dreamt of Remus kissing him, then sliding away in the darkness, leaving him alone once more.
–
Sirius was awakened by a gentle voice calling him. He sat up at once, pulling away the covers.
Remus was already dressed and stood by the bed, twisting his hands nervously. When Sirius attempted to take him in his arms, he took a step back. “I – I believe I cast the spell. Look!”
Sirius looked at his feet and gaped: in front of his work boots twinkled indeed a straight line, steady and bright.
Sirius opened his mouth to congratulate him but Remus spoke again, his voice steady, but his trembling hands betraying his nerves. “And I took this.” He pulled a tiny black snuff-box out of his coat pocket.
“Good Lord! How on Earth and Hell did you manage? I’ll get my cloak, let’s run whenever that line leads us – Heaven forbids I forget the spoon, the bodkin and the ribbon! Could you grab the basin? We could employ it to supervise what he is doing and where he is!”
Sirius, magic tools in his hands, was shaking from agitation: he could free Remus and return home!
It turned out they had to run very little: the glowing path led them downstairs, in the little room after the main entrance of the palace, just in front of the pockmarked mirror Sirius had observed when he first entered.
Remus cried out in delight. “It’s my mother’s kitchen!” He touched the glass with his fingertips, his breath fogging up the mirror.
“You did the magic,” said Sirius, still bewildered that Remus managed such a difficult task and, even more, he did it by himself.
Remus turned towards Sirius; his eyes were bright. “I- This morning when I raised I felt the magic inside of me. I woke up and I discovered I truly, honestly wanted to leave.”
Sirius, who was fabricating a makeshift cross, tying spoon and bodkin together with some ribbon, swore loudly. “I barely slept all night, thinking about that hideous creature – give me the box, please?”
Remus opened the little box. Inside there was an amputated ear, so pale and drained of blood that it seemed almost blue. Sirius touched it and held it between thumb and forefinger, horrified by its waxy, lifeless texture. “I swear I’ll return here with an army of magicians only to destroy-”
But Remus covered his own face with both his hands. “Oh, Sirius… I fear you might think badly of me. But I must confess I’m quite incapable of thinking him a monster! I don’t hate him at all.”
Sirius took Remus’ calloused hands between his own and brought them to his mouth, brushing his mouth against the rough knuckles. “I would never think badly of you.”
Remus threw his arms around his neck and kissed him sweetly.
“And now I’ll cast the spell,” Sirius promised.
He looked Remus straight in the eyes, laid the ear near his temple, against the empty place, while holding the makeshift cross with his left hand. Sirius exhaled a breath.
He had never attempted to cast Pale’s Restoration and Rectification spell; it was advanced, difficult magic and he couldn’t afford to fail. And fail he shall not.
Before being the heir of Lord Black, before being the rebellious son and the unruly student, even before being the adventurous young man and the smitten boy, he was a Magician. So he said the words.
The ear slowly morphed into the flesh, and Remus gasped like a man kept underwater for too long who could finally breathe freely again.
Far away, the Blue Fairy, marching with his army, suddenly stilled. He screamed with such violence as if he had been struck by a poisoned arrow. “The Englishman!” he cried out. “A thief, like every Magician!” He raised both hands to the sky, calling out the air, the earth, the trees, the bones and the water beneath the ground, asked them to bend the fabric of the world for their Lord.
Far away, Sirius waved his fingers and the mirror became liquid like water as they stepped into it.
The glass shattered in hundreds of tiny pieces, blasted away violently and then lying on the floor, silent. Not a single soul was trapped inside them.
Far, far away, in another world, Mrs Hope Lupin was walking in her tiny garden, looking for Mab, the cat, who usually hid beneath the shrub roses; it was about to rain and she wanted to bring the poor stray inside the cottage. It was the only creature that could bring her a bit of solace after the sudden disappearance of her dear son.
She heard movements from the inside of the tiny cottage instead, followed by a most beloved voice.
“Mother!”