Even though I should probably be working on the stories that I already have in-progress instead of starting a new one, this plot-bunny just wouldn't leave me alone, so... here we go!

Sirius blinked and raised one hand to shield his eyes as he emerged from the cave. It had been too long since he'd last paid a visit to Alma's time-loop, and he had almost forgotten that the weather was always perfect here. Back in his time, it was a cold, cloudy February, with patches of snow still on the ground. But here, it was eternally a warm, late-summer day bathed in cheery yellow sunlight, the sky a candy blue – no trace of winter, no signs of Dementors or Death-Eaters, nothing at all of the war-weary world that he'd left behind him.

He stretched his arms wide, his back sore from walking in a crouch through the cave that lead into Alma's loop, and took a deep breath, soaking in the salty sea breezes and the sound of the surf. "Way too long," he muttered.

The path that led out to Alma's house on the edge of the island was still there, not far from the cave. Sirius was tempted to run the whole way, but he forced himself to walk, rehearsing what he would say and trying to imagine Alma's reaction when they saw each other again. Dumbledore had suggested he send her an owl that he was coming, but he was glad now that he hadn't. She would be so surprised at seeing him, and her children would be glad to have a visitor. He must remember to call her Miss Peregrine in front of them, and to not answer any questions they might ask him about his time. Alma didn't allow her children to discuss the outside world.

He wondered how many children Alma might have now. Let's see, Molly Weasley's got seven, and Alma probably has at least that many.

His breath caught in his chest when he rounded a corner in the path, the trees parted, and Alma's house came into view. It was as just as he remembered – as big and grand as Grimmauld Place, but far more welcoming, in cheery red brick with wide windows to let in the sunshine, surrounded by a garden of blooming flowers. He could practically hear the ticking of the gold Time-Turner that Alma always wore around her slender waist.

He had planned to surprise her, but Sirius was the one who was surprised, as he was walking through the garden towards the house and a boy suddenly sprang out from behind a bush. "Delighted to meet you, sir," he said, sticking out one scrawny hand. "I'm Horace. You must be Sirius Black."

Sirius startled, unable to hide his surprise. Alma didn't even know he was coming. How on earth could one of her children be expecting him by name?

"My peculiarity is having prophetic dreams, you see," Horace went on. He had a posh way of speaking that made him sound like a forty-year-old, even though he only looked old enough to be in his second or third year at Hogwarts. "I had one about you coming here a few nights ago."

Horace had a pale complexion and was dressed in knickerbockers and a bow tie, clothes that were old-fashioned even for a time-loop eternally set to 1943. He looked, Sirius realized with a pang of guilt, exactly like the odd sort of boy that he would've bullied back in his Hogwarts days, and he made up his mind to be as nice to Horace as possible.

"Right useful peculiarity," Sirius smiled, shaking Horace's hand. "Glad to meet you, Horace."

Another child joined them as they walked towards the house – a girl with rosy cheeks and two long braids. Her face was smudged with dirt, and her clothes were covered in grass stains. "Fiona," Horace called to her, "this is Sirius Black, the man from my dream."

"I remember," Fiona nodded. "Our ymbryne Miss Peregrine said you two were old friends."

Sirius stopped short. This was an even bigger surprise. "Your... ymbryne?" he repeated, wondering if he'd misheard her.

Horace frowned, puzzled. "Of course," he said. "Who else would be taking care of peculiar children but an ymbryne?"

Fiona narrowed her eyes and looked at him sideways. "Aren't you peculiar?" she asked suspiciously, but before Sirius could answer, Horace scoffed and said, "Don't be silly, Fiona, he has to be peculiar, or he couldn't have entered our loop."

"Well," Fiona huffed, "he acts like he doesn't even know what ymbrynes are."

"I know what ymbrynes are," Sirius said quickly. "I just... never mind."

He couldn't tell these children that what he didn't know was how they believed that Alma was a mere ymbryne, not a witch. Had she been living a lie all these years, passing as peculiar instead of magical? Had she never done any real magic around these children? The thought made him want to punch something – Alma Peregrine, one of the most talented witches in Britain, giving up magic just to masquerade as an ymbryne and take care of a bunch of peculiar children that nobody else wanted.

He was distracted from his thoughts when he noticed Horace and Fiona both staring at him, and he realized that he was brooding and making them suspicious. He quickened his pace and said briskly, "It's been too long since I paid a visit to Al – to Miss Peregrine. How many children has she got now?"

"There are eleven of us," Horace answered. "Me, Fiona, Enoch, Olive, Emma, Hugh, Millard, the twins, Bronwyn, and Claire."

Sirius just nodded, but inside, he was reeling. Eleven children! He knew Alma, and he had no doubts that she ran a very tight ship with them, but personally, he would rather take his chances with Dementors and Inferi than have sole responsibility for eleven children.

As they came closer to the house, Sirius noticed the abundance of flowers. There were blossoms in every color, everywhere – overspilling boxes at the windows, climbing up the walls of the house, filling the flowerbeds outside. Sirius's head fairly swam with the rich scent of them. His old Herbology professor at Hogwarts couldn't have grown more.

"Somebody's peculiarity," he said slowly, looking around at the rainbow of flowers, "must be gardening."

Fiona grinned and gave a little jump, her braids bobbing. "Mine is!" she exclaimed, flattered. "Do you like my flowers? I've grown topiary bushes too, shaped like animals, and a great vegetable garden on the side lawn, and an orchard in the back."

Sirius had a sudden idea. "What's Miss Peregrine's favorite flower? Is it still purple heather?" He had given a bouquet of purple heather to her once – years ago now, but he could still see the tall stalks of deep purple flowers in his hand as he held them out to her.

"White heather," Fiona corrected him.

Sirius's memory seemed to flicker, and he frowned, puzzled... but quickly dismissed it. "Can you grow me some of those?" he asked Fiona. "I really shouldn't have shown up here with nothing to give her."

Fiona didn't answer, but she smiled and spread one hand out over the ground. Even Sirius, who had seen and done more magic than he could remember, was impressed by how quickly a white heather plant sprang up out of the grass and into bloom. He made a note to ask Alma later if she was sure that this girl was only a peculiar, and not a full-fledged witch. But how in Merlin's name would he ever get a word alone with Alma if she had eleven children now?

The flowers trembled slightly in his hand as he mounted the steps to the front porch. What if Alma wasn't happy that he had come? After all, he had so many enemies in the magical world – he was the blood-traitor that all the Death Eaters hated – and the safety of her children was more important to Alma than anything. She was more protective of them than Madame Pince was of her precious library books. Besides, the two of them hadn't seen each other since before he was imprisoned, and even though they'd been exchanging owls since he escaped, Sirius was painfully aware that he wasn't the same person he had been before Azkaban.

Sirius was suddenly so nervous that his voice deserted him, but Horace pushed open the front door and called, "Miss Peregrine, the fellow from my dream is here."

There were footsteps, then the door opened wider, and there she was, exactly as he remembered – the same dark blue dress, the color of a peregrine falcon, the same long black fingernails like talons, the same sharp black eyes, the musky smell of her tobacco pipe still clinging to her. Alma.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other. Sirius knew that he was still handsome, but he also knew that he had a few more wrinkles, a few more gray hairs at his temples, a little more sorrow in his eyes, while Alma's face showed none of the weariness of a magical world at war. One of her children, a little girl with perfect curly ringlets, was clinging to her skirt and peering curiously at Sirius.

Then she smiled, and his nerves vanished. "It's nice to see you again, Sirius."