I'm sorry that this final chapter has a kinda sad note to it, but I wanted to keep this story canon-compliant, and that unfortunately means that Sirius and Alma couldn't get a happy ending. Thanks so much to everyone who's read and reviewed.
Alma, of course, didn't betray that anything had happened last night, either. Sirius ate breakfast with her and the children that morning, and she down at the table looking completely prim and proper, not one hair out of place. There was no sign at all of the wanton who'd clawed his back just a few hours ago.
The younger kids tried to convince Sirius to stay longer, or even indefinitely, but Alma reminded them, "Children, we've spoken about this. Sirius is just visiting."
"I suppose you have to be getting back to your own loop," Olive said, buttering a slice of toast. "What's your loop like, Sirius? Are there many peculiars there?"
"No, I don't live in a loop," he answered without thinking. He didn't realize until he saw the surprise on the children's faces that this must be unusual for their kind.
"Really?" Horace asked. He leaned forward, curious. "I thought all peculiars lived in a loop. Where do you live, then?"
Sirius hesitated. If he answered that with a lie, it would only lead to more questions from the children, and more lies that he'd have to make up. How much longer could he keep up this cover story that he was peculiar? Sirius had never been good at thinking on his feet – but he had always been good at acting on impulse.
He set down his fork and took a deep breath. "Actually, I'm not peculiar," he said, his voice slow but clear. "I'm magical."
Emma's eyes bulged wide. Hugh choked on his orange juice. Fiona and Olive dropped their forks. Bronwyn's mouth fell open, and some of the scrambled egg that she'd been chewing nearly fell out, before Alma said, "Bronwyn, close your mouth, please. Hugh, here, you need another napkin." Alma's tone was normal – she probably didn't ever let her children see her unruffled, no matter what happened – but she shot a quick, furious glare at Sirius that was almost as bad as facing down a Dementor. He knew that she hadn't wanted him telling her children this.
The shock of this revelation stunned the children into silence for a moment, then several of them began talking at once.
"Sirius, are you really? You're a wizard? I never knew a wizard before."
"But – but you can't be a wizard! You're too nice!"
"I thought witches and wizards hated peculiars."
"Yes, I thought they called us one-trick ponies."
A flush of shame crept up Sirius's neck. It was true that magicals and peculiars had a bad history between them, and he wasn't about to discuss that Alma's children, no matter how many questions they asked. He glanced at Alma for help, but she glared daggers at him and said nothing. You made this mess, Sirius, now you can bloody well get yourself out of it, he could almost hear her thinking.
Sirius shifted uneasily in his chair, as all the children watched him, waiting for an answer. "Well, witches and wizards aren't perfect people," he said carefully. "Some of them get very full of themselves, just because they can do more than one kind of magic. And some of them don't think very highly of peculiars, that's true, but we aren't all like that."
Olive tilted her head thoughtfully, then nodded, but some of the children – Fiona and Enoch worst of all – were still looking at Sirius very warily, as if he weren't the same man that they'd had such fun with just yesterday.
There was a moment of silence, then Claire spoke up, "I didn't know witches and wizards could turn into animals."
"Most can't. I'm one of only a few who can."
"Do you have a, you know... a-a wand?" Millard asked, hesitating as if wand were a dirty word.
"Yeah, I've got a wand. All witches and wizards do. It's how we do magic."
"Miss Peregrine, is he putting us on?" Horace asked.
Alma decided to help him out, finally. "Of course not, Horace. I wouldn't let him do that."
She's the one who's putting you on, Sirius thought, and he had to jam his lips together to keep from saying it. She's the one pretending to be an ymbryne when she's actually bloody witch herself.
The rest of breakfast passed uncomfortably, and after they'd eaten, Alma assigned a few of her children to clear the table, a few more to wash the dishes, and told the rest of them to give Sirius some time alone to pack. Sirius returned to the parlor, where he'd allegedly spent the night, grateful for that. He didn't need time to pack – he'd brought very little with him – but he did need some time alone. Time to brace himself for leaving this idyllic loop to return to the war-torn magical world. Time to figure out how he was going to say goodbye to Alma.
Inside the parlor, he let out a deep sigh, but almost as soon as he'd closed the door behind him, it opened again. Sirius turned to see two of the kids, Fiona and Bronwyn, sneak inside after him. Bronwyn looked anxious, and she tugged on Fiona's arm, whispering, "Fiona, we oughtn't, Miss Peregrine said to leave him alone." Sirius could tell that this was daring for them, disobeying one of Alma's orders.
But Fiona was looking hard at Sirius, her hands jammed in the pockets of her gardening clothes. She had been looking at him strangely ever since he blurted out that he was magical, but she hadn't said a word. Now, she asked suddenly, "Did you go to Hogwarts?"
She said the school's familiar name like an accusation, and Sirius sensed that she hadn't learned it from Alma. "How do know about Hogwarts, Fiona?" he asked quietly.
Fiona bit her lip, then began talking very quickly, as if she'd been wanting to say this for years. "I was supposed to go to Hogwarts. My parents were magical. When I started being able to control plants, they were so proud of me. They said I'd make a very fine witch and when I went to Hogwarts, I'd graduate top of my Herbology class."
She paused, her expression darkening. Bronwyn looked at her, her brown eyes full of worry, then turned and slipped out of the room. "But then... they started trying to get me to do other sorts of magic, and I couldn't. I could only do plants. My mother didn't—" But Fiona stopped short. She still couldn't talk about the worst of it, at least not to Sirius.
"I don't understand it," her mother had said. "Why would she only be able to do one sort of magic, unless..." Fiona would never forget the horror on her mother's face, the disgust in her voice, the way she took a step back, as if Fiona had some horrible, contagious disease. "...dear God, she's not a witch. She's a peculiar."
Fiona drew a shuddering breath and went on, her eyes smarting with tears, "They said having a peculiar daughter would be even worse than having a squib."
Sirius grimaced. Fiona had no idea how well he could relate to being unwanted by your own parents. It sounded like she came from one of the old Pure-blood families, which meant... Sirius almost gasped. Merlin's beard, this girl was probably related to him.
"What was your family name, Fiona?" he asked urgently, but she shook her head.
"They did a spell on me so I'd never be able to say it again," she choked out. "They didn't want anyone ever finding out about me. I don't remember how they found Miss Peregrine. They – they put an advertisement in the The Daily Prophet for an ymbryne, I think. B-but I remember she came to our house, and m-my father shoved me at her and my mother said, 'Sh-she's yours now, don't try to give her b-back,' and..."
But Fiona couldn't talk anymore. She was crying too hard. Sirius didn't know what to do, but luckily, just then, Bronwyn came back into the room with Alma. Alma didn't even say anything. She just held out one arm, and Fiona went to her and buried her face in the front of Alma's blouse, sobbing. A wave of guilt washed over Sirius; he wouldn't have blurted out that he was magical if he'd known that it would bring back memories like these.
But Alma seemed to perform some special magic of her own. She held Fiona against her and let her cry for a while, cupping the back of her head, then crouched down a bit to whisper in her ear. Sirius couldn't make out the words, but they clearly had the right effect; the girl had seemed utterly heartbroken, but within a few minutes, she was calm again, and Alma was wiping her face. When she asked her if she was feeling better, Fiona actually smiled and nodded.
"Good girl," Alma said, wiping her face again. She shot a furtive glance at Sirius over her head, then added, "Why don't you go outside to your garden and see what you feel like growing?" As Fiona left the room, Alma gently shooed Bronwyn out after her, whispering, "Bronwyn, stay with Fiona for a while, all right?"
Sirius let out another deep sigh once they were alone again. "Merlin's beard," he muttered, still a bit shocked. "I'm sorry, Alma. I didn't know – "
"It wasn't all your fault, Sirius," she interrupted him, looking a little guilty herself. "I keep them so sheltered here, I... I fear I've made it hard for them to cope whenever anything different happens."
Sirius couldn't help his curiosity. "What's Fiona's family name?"
"I'm her family now – the other children and I."
"But is she related to me?"
"Sirius, practically every Pure-blood family in England is related to you." Alma paused, then added sadly, "And if she is, what difference does it really make?"
"Well... none, I guess," he admitted. Still, he racked his brain, trying to remember any rumors of a Pure-blood couple who'd had a peculiar daughter and given her away. But he couldn't remember hearing any. Fiona's parents, whoever they were, had done too good a job at hushing it up. Likely they'd burned her name off their family tree too, just as Sirius's mother had. He had a sudden feeling that he should leave this loop before he did any more damage here.
Alma's children all gathered in front of the house to see him off. They'd apparently been talking amongst themselves about him, because Horace stepped forward and said, "We've decided we still like you, Sirius, even if you are magical."
"Yes, you're the good sort of magical," Hugh agreed, a few bees flying from his mouth as he spoke.
"Thanks," Sirius grinned. "I think when I get back to where I'm from, I'll work on convincing all the other wizards and witches that peculiars are all right." And he decided that he really would, too. If he lived to see the end of this wretched war and became a free man again, he would take it up as his cause, just like Hermione and her crusade for House-Elf liberation. He would form a Society of the Respect of Peculiars, or something like that, so help him.
Alma surprised him by actually hugging him before he left – even if it was only a quick, one-handed hug around his shoulders – and as she did, she whispered in his ear, "I'll miss you, Sirius. Next time you come, bring that godson of yours."
Sirius grinned brighter. "Yeah, I'll do that, Alma," he whispered back. How he loved the thought of bringing Harry to this loop and introducing him to Alma. Alma hadn't seen Harry since he was a baby, before Lily and James were killed. Sirius would tell him all about Alma, how she'd been a friend of his parents, and her history with Sirius – although perhaps he'd omit a few details there – and they would come back to this island together and have a fine holiday. Harry would love this loop, if only because it was 1943 here and nobody knew who he was.
That vision danced in Sirius's head like a perfect dream, and it kept him smiling as he walked across the island back to the loop-entrance in the mild September sunshine. He had no way of knowing that it would never be.