I worry that this chapter is kinda boring, but I thought it was important to lay some foundation between these two fandoms and explain how the magical and peculiar worlds coexist.

"It's nice to see you, too," Sirius answered, holding out the flowers and smiling back at her. It really was nice – nicer than he could ever put into words to know that no matter how many horrible things happened in the magical world, here in Alma's time-loop, things were always the same, always safe, always perfect.

It was nice, but it was frustrating too, because there were so many things that he wanted to say to her, yet so little that he could say in front of her children. All eleven of them were in the front hall now, jostling each other to get a better look at him and whispering excitedly. "Is that Sirius Black? Finally! Horace had a dream about him days ago." Visitors were a rare treat in their time-loop. The youngest children were two curly-haired little girls who couldn't have been more than six, and the oldest ones were two girls and a boy who looked about Harry's age, fifteen or sixteen.

"Children, don't crowd Sirius, please," Miss Peregrine said, waving her hands, and they all sprang apart. Sirius couldn't help startling when he noticed the two little ones in strange white costumes. What in Merlin's name was their peculiarity?

"You picked the perfect day to visit us!" said one boy, about ten, stepping forward again. "Miss Peregrine is taking us all down to the beach today, to go swimming. We're still going, aren't we, Miss Peregrine? May Sirius come with us?"

Sirius tried not to grin. "Yes, may I, Miss Peregrine?" he asked slyly, as if he was one of her children now, too.

Alma's smile had a hint of sadness in it, and as her black eyes rested on his face, he suspected that she hadn't missed those signs of the damage that the war and his time in Azakaban had done to him. When she answered, "Well, I think you could use some fun, Sirius," he knew that she hadn't.

She turned to her children and asked briskly, "Have you all finished packing lunch?"

"Yes, Miss Peregrine," they answered almost in perfect unison, and Sirius raised his eyebrows, impressed. Alma ran a tight ship, all right.

"Go and get changed, then, and we'll go to the beach," she said, and they all bolted upstairs, cheering and chattering. A few of them shot curious glances at Sirius over their shoulders.

"Well, that's quite a brood you've got, Alma," he said, after the last of them had disappeared upstairs. "Eleven children – how do you manage so many by yourself?"

She smiled, but a look of sadness flickered in her dark eyes. "I used to have thirteen," she said quietly, "but I lost two."

His brow furrowed, concerned, but he could tell that she didn't want to talk about it, so he didn't ask. They went into the kitchen, where a huge packed picnic basket was waiting on the table, and she put his heather flowers in a glass of water.

"How are things back in your time?" she asked, and her voice was a bit hesitant, afraid of bad news. "How's Remus?"

"He's doing as well as he can. He wanted to come with me, but we didn't know what phase the moon was in here. He said to give you his regards. Dumbledore did, too. He said to tell you that if you ever want to come teach at Hogwarts, he'll – "

Alma's laughter cut him off. A warm, pleasant feeling spread through Sirius at the sound of her laughter, as if he'd just drunken Butterbeer.

"Hasn't Dumbledore given up on that yet?" she asked. "I told him I've no interest in teaching at Hogwarts."

"Actually, I think he's really hoping you'll join the Order of the Phoenix."

Alma's smile faltered at this, and she looked at Sirius sharply. He could see a shadow of the falcon in her now, just as he could see the wolf in Remus whenever he was very angry. He knew that he was approaching a dangerous subject, but he added recklessly, "We're at war, Alma. We need you."

"My children need me, Sirius," she answered with an edge of warning in her voice. "If you've come here to try to recruit me–"

"I haven't," Sirius interrupted quickly. "I'm sorry." He sighed and fell silent for a moment, frustrated. Alma could do so much for the Order. Unlike with him, her Animagus form wasn't known by all their enemies. But he had told himself again and again, all the way to the island, Don't give her an ultimatum. Don't ask her to choose. And now, right after arriving at her house, he had nearly done just that. He was still as impulsive as when he was a teenager. He clenched his fists and leaned back against the kitchen counter, and he could feel Alma watching him, though he couldn't bring himself to look at her.

"I'm sorry too, Sirius," she said, very quietly. "You know I've missed you. You know I would join the Order if I could, but I can't leave my children."

Sirius nodded. He knew. Oh yes, he knew full well that if she ever had to choose between him and her children, she would always choose them. But still... I've missed you, she'd said. The words echoed inside his head, and an old, familiar feeling stirred warmly inside his chest.

"Miss me enough to – "

To let me spend the night? he'd intended to ask, but he was interrupted when the kitchen door swung open and a large striped beach towel floated in by itself, folded in half in mid-air.

"Miss Peregrine," a boy's voice asked out of nowhere, "may I go swimming naked, please?"

"All right, Millard," Alma sighed, "but I expect you to put your clothes back on as soon as we get home, and don't try sneaking around." She gestured to Sirius, whose eyes were probing the empty air around the towel, curious. "Introduce yourself to Sirius before he thinks I've taught you no manners at all."

The towel came closer, then Sirius felt the boy's hand brush against his. He found it and shook it. "Nice to meet you, I'm Millard and I'm ten," his voice said. Sirius guessed from the placement of his towel that he had it draped over his shoulder. "You can see what my peculiarity is – or rather, you can't!"

Sirius chuckled, then looked at Alma. "He's invisible? Really?" he asked, impressed, and Alma smiled and nodded. Sirius couldn't imagine being invisible all the time, without even needing James's old invisibility cloak.

"It's jolly fun being invisible," Millard said. "If I go about naked, nobody knows I'm there at all. I would do it all the time, but Miss Peregrine won't let me." His towel twirled as he spun in a circle, showing off, and bragged, "Witches and wizards have spells and things to make them invisible, but none of them can do it as good as me."

Sirius almost startled at this, but he caught himself. Alma's children had no idea that he was magical; they'd assumed that he was peculiar, like them. He glanced at her, and though no words passed between them, he could tell from her face that this was the cover story he should maintain for now.

"How do you know about witches and wizards?" he asked casually, as if this weren't a surprise.

"I've taught the children about magical society," Miss Peregrine explained. "I think it's important that they know the basics. We aren't Muggles, after all."

She glanced upstairs, then pulled her Time-Turner from her pocket and studied it. It glistened in the sunlight, catching Sirius's eye. He hadn't seen her Time-Turner in many years, but it still looked new. It was one-of-a-kind, designed to resemble a pocketwatch, rather than a hourglass like Hermione's, made from gold and engraved across the bottom with her full name in elaborate script. Alma LeFay Peregrine.

"Another eighty-six seconds," she murmured, pocketing it again, "and everyone else should be ready to leave."

"Miss Peregrine said being peculiar is like a cross between magical and muggle," Millard explained to Sirius. "But it's the best thing to be, because we peculiars can do more than muggles can, and we're more special than witches and wizards."

Now Sirius gaped, unable to hide his surprise. Magical society had a very low opinion of peculiars; there was almost as much prejudice against them as against centaurs and goblins. In rare cases, peculiar children were born to magical families, but they were almost always scorned and sent away, like squibs, and many witches and wizards called them one-trick ponies – or worse things, names that Sirius would never repeat to Alma's children. That was why most peculiars lived in time-loops like this, apart from society. He never in a hundred years expected a peculiar child to say that being peculiar was better than being magical.

"And how do you reckon that, Millard?" he managed to ask.

Millard laughed, as if this were a silly question. "It's obvious, isn't it? Any old witch or wizard could cast a spell to make fire or grow plants, but with us, only Olive can do fire, and only Fiona can do plants. Only I can be invisible, and only Horace can see the future, and only Enoch can make Inferius."

Sirius stared at Alma. Had the woman gone mad, taking in children whose peculiarity was dark magic? "What?" he asked, alarmed. "You've got one who makes Inferius?"

"Yes, his name is Enoch," she answered calmly, smiling. "My oldest boy. But I don't allow him to reanimate dead humans, only animals and objects. He can't do it for very long, but it does frighten some of the younger children, so I've told him to keep it the attic."

"Miss Peregrine says we're irreplaceable," Millard added, and even though Sirius couldn't see his face, he could tell that the boy was smiling.

At his words, something cold suddenly lodged itself in Sirius's chest, as if a Dementor had just passed by. He had never thought about it, but in a way, Millard was right. There were many common spells that nearly all witches and wizards could perform, but peculiars were much more unique. They only had one ability, but that ability was often theirs alone; it was difficult to find two of them who had the same power. Irreplaceable – likely Alma had only said it to her children to make them feel better about themselves, but he knew that in her heart, they truly were irreplaceable, while Sirius... well, he was just a common wizard. He could be replaced.

"That's right," Alma said, smiling back at Millard, as if she knew exactly where he was. Perhaps she did, somehow, for she placed one arm perfectly around his shoulders, put her other hand on Sirius's arm, and led them back into the front hall, where, just as she'd predicted, the rest of the children were now descending the stairs.