October 30, 1998

Calandra went back to the flat and searched through her books. She went down the list she'd made while in the Malfoy library and was pleased to see that she had about a third of the books she'd made a note to re-read. She'd forgotten about most of them.

She sent off an order to Flourish and Blotts for the rest of the books, promising extra money if the books could be sent to her the same day. It had taken an extra twenty galleons, but the books arrived late that night. Five owls carried the boxes between them and sat them on the windowsill.

Calandra tore open the box and immediately set to reading through the books about the veil. She immersed herself in the old texts, reading and re-reading the books written by magical philosophers and explorers. There were clues everywhere. Hints of it; a spell here, a reference there. But try as she might, Calandra could not piece it together.

She poured over the books Sirius had gotten her for her birthday. They were the reason she'd thought of it in the first place. Lorenzo had tried painting his fiancé back to life but couldn't because she had died. He seemed so sure that he could do it though, if she hadn't actually died. How did he know?

She stared down at her notes and rubbed her eyes. Focus. She had to focus. The answer was here, she just had to find it. Go over the facts and work from there.

Mellifluous. A Book of Poetry:

Turas Máthair

"And they take you to the shadow place.

Where death does naught to hide his face.

I suffer through that great divide.

Long it may take, my time I'll bide.

That realm may hide you, but do not fear.

Mother comes, her way is clear.

Your hand I take and lead you home.

Safe, secure, no more to roam.

We shall sing back in the sun.

This breath you'll breathe, my little one.

Gone you were, yet here we are.

The brightest light, my morning star.

Remember this, my love so true.

For half of me, is all of you."

-Niamh Byrne

Mother went to the shadow place to rescue her child. I can't do that. They shielded the fucking veil.

La vita Nell'arte: "When one knows completely that which they create, they bring them forth; both in medium and in life."-Michelangelo

If you know every single detail you can paint them. But what brings them to life?

Magical Paintings; A Guide to Italy's Greatest Treasures of the 15thCentury: "Some wizards claimed Lorenzo's portrait to be so lifelike, that she actually got up and stepped out of the frames, onto the ground." -Guiseppi

I don't even know. He states clearly in his book that he isn't able to bring his love to life. But the portraits are more lifelike than anything anyone has ever seen.

To Péplo: "Though the veil has never been confirmed to exist, wizards and witches across the world hold true that the barrier between this world and what is beyond the veil is thinnest on All Hallows Eve."-Adamos

Ok. So if I ever figure the bloody thing out, I'll do it on Halloween for best chances. I've got about two days to figure it out, then. Also, you twit, the veil exists.

Axis Mundi: Wizarding Edition: "Few have lived to tell the tale of the great between. Travelling through the misty land is treacherous and most do not come out alive. It is for this reason wizards create their own doors to the abyss."-Meru

It's dangerous beyond the veil. Who would've ever thought? But you don't have to actually go beyond the veil to reach it. How do you make the doorway?

The Oracle. A Guide to Divination: "That which was once sealed, is unlocked. It is now to converse with them, those spirits who whisper beyond the fabric of now."-Bouier

I don't even know. It sounded like the veil.

Anima Nell'arte: "Death is final. That is my only regret. That death is final."-Lorenzo.

Right. Death. Sirius didn't actually die.

Anima Nell'arte: "The soul is there, ready for new breath. But Death guards her; Death always guards her. Had not Death come for my love she would be here. I would make it so."-Lorenzo

He knows! He knows how to do it. He as good as says so. If his love had not died, he'd bring her to life. But she died, and he didn't bother writing it out for anyone else. Bloody git.

Michelangelo Romano. Pittore Straordianrio. Magical Edition: "I found the answer as a child. My mother told it to me in the sweetest voice. But the answer is not that to my own question. If it only were."-Michelangelo

So his dad and gran knew, too. This whole sodding family knows, but no one else does.

Nexum Magicae (Most Ancient and Powerful Magical Tethers): "It is unknown all the different links magic creates; passing through time and not bound by death. Bonds of blood are strongest, but magic is not limited to only one bond. Unity ties, marriage, inter-species bonds, emotions, and shared magic all create ties that transcend the basic rules of magic."-Suarez

Shared magic. Interesting.

Anima Nell'arte: "I cannot go to the place where Death abides, but that matters not. One does not have to seek Death to seek life. Life is creation. So is my work." -Lorenzo

Ok. So you don't have to go past the veil if you can create what you want to bring back. I can do that. I can paint him. If they'd just spell it out!

Lorenzo Romano (Lorenzo di Michalangelo) Famiglia di Artisti. Magical Edition: "It is there though," I asked him, plainly. "It can be done."

"Always." Lorenzo said. "I have found all the keys. I have painted with my soul. My tether is secure. I have made magic from the hues. If I could, I would summon life from my own lungs. But these keys do not unlock my prison."-Vassar

Once again, he knows how to do it, but his love is dead!

Calandra leant back against the sofa and rubbed her temples. Michelangelo knew how to do it. So did his son. Lorenzo tried over and over again to do it but couldn't get it to work because his love had died. He knew all the steps, and he as good as laid them all out except one. Paint the person and bring them back. What was the spell that did it? Calandra scanned the notes and scratched her head. Something was here.

She grabbed a pen and circled all the words that were similar.

Paint. Create. Hue.

Tether. Link. Bond.

Children. Mother. Child. Little one.

Breathe. Breath. Lungs.

She tilted her head and looked at the words on the page. Something sparked in the far recesses of her mind. She almost laughed when she realized what it was. This was almost exactly what she'd done when she'd tried to figure out the meaning behind her Patronus. She smiled and thought back to Sirius telling her stories from his childhood, trying to reassure her.

A chord of recognition struck deep within her. Stories from his childhood. He'd told her stories from his childhood. Michelangelo's mother gave him the answer when he was a child. She'd told him when he was a child.

Children's stories.

It was preposterous. The answers she needed wouldn't be in a story book.

Would they?

She stood and stomped to the bedroom. She dug in boxes under the bed until she got to the box she wanted. The box that held Sirius's life from Grimmauld Place. He hadn't opened it in years, back when they lived here together. He told her that he already got the important stuff out of it. Calandra pushed aside everything in the box and pulled out the books that lay inside.

She walked back into the living room and brushed the dust off the small books. One was an old spell book, but two were story books. Fernsby FantasiesandSullivan Scéalaí: Truest Tales of the Emerald Isle. She sat the fantasy book down and opened the other. Calandra sat absorbed in the book, feeling like she was seven years old again listening to her mother read her a bedtime story.

She found what she was looking for four stories in.

Spiritus Vitae

One snowy winter evening, a young mother sat rocking her child to sleep in front of the hearth. The child nodded off as the mother sang, so she put him to bed and tended the fire. When she turned back to the bed in the corner of the room, the boy was gone.

The mother ran to the door and what she saw struck her heart. The Fae had come. They had taken her son. The mother cried out to them, but they ran with the child, still peacefully a slumber.

The mother ran with them. She followed as the Fae twisted and turned through the countryside. Her hair caught and pulled in the brambles. Her feet cracked and bled in the bitter cold. Still she ran.

She followed the Fae to the Saolbás. The misty place that mortals fear. The shadow realm of Fae and creatures of the between. The resting place of Death himself.

The mother begged. She pleaded with the Fae. She offered herself but it was not she they wanted. The Fae passed through the Arch of Yew and took the boy with them.

The mother soon followed. She crossed the threshold between the trees and sought the Fae which had her son. For days she walked, bloody footsteps painting a crimson path behind her. She sang for her son, sweet lullabies to call him to her.

She found him there among the shadows. Her heart cried out in thanks as she cradled him to her bosom. He was there and he was hers. She carried him through the mist and back to the threshold. It was Death who stopped her there.

He wore no cloak and hid beneath no hood, here. His words weren't riddles and he put on no airs. In this shadow place, Death was himself. He stood before the mother, blocking her path.

She bid him to move aside, but Death there remained. He reached a hand toward the boy, but the mother clutched him close to her and stood up to Death.

"He is mine!" she said. "Stolen from me and brought here."

Death considered the mother in front of him. Somehow alive and mortal and bleeding in this shadow place. He nodded to her and held out his hand.

"He shall be yours again." Death said. "But he comes at a price."

"Name it." The mother said without hesitation.

Death was surprised. Never before had anyone who passed through his shadow land and faced him without fear. Never before had one so boldly addressed him.

"Half your life." He said solemnly.

"It is yours." The mother said and took Death's hand.

He led her through the threshold and brought his hand up to her mouth. Death plucked the mother's breath from her lungs and split it in half. He sent half back to her lips and instead of taking the other half for his own, he placed it in her hand. Then Death stepped back and watched the mother.

She knelt to the ground and cradled the boy to her chest. Tenderly and carefully she placed her breath to the boy's lips. She whispered a prayer over him.

"Spiritus Vitae." Her soft voice floated on air. "Spiritus Vitae, my little one."

The boy's sleeping form stirred, and he woke. The mother cried tears of joy and thanked Death profusely.

Death bid her goodbye and stepped back into the mist, watching as the mother carried the boy towards home.

Just this once, Death mused, he'd not take them for his own. Not yet. They would be back, soon enough.

Calandra sat there, numb.

She could do it. Her hands started shaking and she burst out in hysterical laughter. She could do it. Her breaths came in short gasps. Tears ran down her cheeks. She could do it. She could actually do it.

Spiritus Vitae.The Breath of Life. Half her life.

She flipped back through the Nell'arte books, scanning for details. She'd have to paint him. Lorenzo said he painted every detail of his love and she was ready for life, but Death guarded her. She could do that. She could paint him. She flipped further into the book, eyes darting over the words. She would paint him and use the incantations. The painting was the doorway. That was what he'd been talking about.

She could do it.

She stood at once. Books tumbled out of her lap. Calandra strode toward the door. She had to go get supplies. She'd need canvas and fresh paint and new brushes. Diagon Alley would have most of it. She'd check Hogsmeade, too. Hell, she'd go to Italy and buy it all if that's what it took. She flipped the lock and turned the knob, then stopped.

What time was it?

She glanced out the window and disappointment welled in her chest. It was nighttime. She looked at the old clock on the counter. She tapped a finger to it, and its hands whirred around, settling on a quarter past three. She'd have to wait.

Calandra was almost furious; she was a breath away from being catatonic with frustration. Then she paused and looked around the flat. She could do it. She finally knew she could do it. She breathed a sigh that was almost content. She'd waited seventeen years; what was a few more hours?

She was nervous with excitement. She kept pacing the flat reaching out and touching mementos from her former life. She passed the bookshelf by the fireplace and an old leather-bound journal caught her eye.

The edges of the pages glowed the faintest hint of blue. Calandra swallowed and reached for it. She didn't know what Alice had done that day or any of the days after it. All of her questions were unspoken whisps of regret and if Alice had any of the answers, they were buried under years of confusion and fog born from the pain of dark magic.

Still, Calandra wanted to know. Did Alice blame her for what happened? Did she think Calandra had a part in it? Did anyone, anyone at all, believe Sirius was innocent? Did her father lie to them about her?

Calandra stroked the leather binding. She rested her hands on the old book and breathed a deep, steadying breath. Calandra flipped the book to the bookmark she'd placed in it. The last time she'd talked to Alice. The day it had all happened. She closed her eyes and tried to gather herself. Then, like she'd done so many times before, looking for answers, she read.

We're fine. Frank's mum keeps popping in to check on us. She seems to think we're on the run from someone, even though we've told her time and again that we're just laying low for a bit.

Callie! Floo to me as soon as you get this!

There was an attack! Please write back.

Something's happened, Callie. Something bad. They haven't told us what yet. Please let me know when you get this. Please floo as soon as you can.

Callie, where are you?

Please let me know you're safe.

CALLIE! YOU HAVE TO COME TO MY HOUSE NOW! YOU'RE NOT SAFE!

DON'T GO TO POTTER! COME TO ME! PLEASE!

PLEASE CALLIE! WRITE BACK! PLEASE TELL ME YOU'RE SAFE!

Callie, please tell me where you are. I'll come get you if you're scared. He can't get to you now. He's locked up. We'll go to Frank's mum. We'll keep you safe. Please write me, Callie.

I'll help, Callie. It's not your fault, ok. If he made you do something, I won't blame you. I'll help. Whatever happened you don't have to hide from me. I love you, Callie. Please write. I just want you back.

Frank's turned the garden shed into a guest house for you. We extended it and shielded it. It's got every charm on it that Moody knows. We've made it unplottable and silenced it. It's yours, Callie. It's got great light for painting. We put a gramophone in it. Come back to me, Callie.

Please Callie. Please write to me. Please. I'm begging. I've looked everywhere. I went to the lighthouse. I even went back to Hogwarts. Please.

Remus said you went looking for him that day. No one has any idea where you are. Please tell me you're alright. Please tell me you didn't find him.

CALLIE! COME TO MY HOUSE RIGHT NOW OR I'LL NEVER SPEAK TO YOU EVER AGAIN.

I lied Callie. I lied. I'll speak to you. Please. Please just write. I'll talk to you, I promise.

You won't be in trouble. I'll take care of everything. No matter what happened. No one thinks you were part of anything. The Wizengamot didn't even know you were with him. It's ok. I promise you don't have to hide.

Please write back. Just let me know you're safe.

Why'd you go after him, Callie? Why? I tracked Remus down again. He said you were going after him because you love him. Why? Callie, please. Why did you go? You knew what he did…

I know you're out there, Callie. I know it. I know it.

Please be out there.

I don't know how to make you talk to me. Please talk to me, Callie.

If you don't talk to me, I'll never let you see Neville again! I'm serious Callie. If you're there and you don't answer me, you are gone from his life. I need you to come for Neville. He needs his Aunt Callie. I'll give you two days.

Please.

No No No No No

Please No.

Callie, Please.

Frank wants me to stop writing. He says that it's wrecking me. Maybe it is. But what if you're there? That's what I keep asking myself. I pack this stupid thing with me everywhere I go, hoping and praying that it glows. But it won't will it, Callie? I knew it as soon as the sun came up that second day and your handwriting wasn't under mine. You always come for Neville.

I miss you, Callie. What happened? Did you find him? Did he hurt you? I petitioned to visit him, but it's been denied every single time. I'll get to him. I'll make him pay. Moody is going to try to pull some strings to get me in to see him. I need to know, Callie.

I love you, Callie. I'll find you. I promise. I'll bring you home. You can be here with us; in my family plot. It's where you belong. You're my sister. You always have been. No boxes, I promise. I know you don't want to spend eternity in a box. Charmed silk sound nice to you? Hand painted by yours truly. I painted it. It looks a mess, but it's yours. I love you.

I'm sorry, Callie. I'm so so sorry. I should have never told you to go back. I should have fought and begged you to stay with me. It's my fault you're gone. I told you to go back. After what he did to you. I'm so sorry, Callie. I'm so sorry. Please. Please forgive me. Please be there. Please come home.

I want to stop writing, but I can't. I just can't bring myself to say goodbye, Callie.

Calandra shut the journal and curled up on the couch, pressing it against her chest. Tears ran down her face, but she didn't bother to wipe them away. She let them wash over her. Let them fill the empty places in her where joy used to reside.

"I love you, Alice." She whispered to the journal. "I'm so sorry."