This is where we start to really delve into what the hell's going on in this story. Not just the fact that Sirius was sent back in time, but why. Those of you who wonder who Kafell is, and what the fuck he's been doing this whole time … well. Here's where I begin to answer that question.

I will freely admit that I had no idea what I was doing when I started.

But I have answers now, and I think they fit neatly into the mythology of the franchise.

One.

Sirius Black sat next to Remus Lupin, as he ever did; they both sat near the Weasleys and Longbottoms, as it just seemed like the right thing to do. Minerva McGonagall was watching after Harry this evening, leaving them both free to attend this meeting. It was strange to see so many people in the Hog's Head, of all places, and Sirius wondered how many of his compatriots were asking themselves why they weren't at the Three Broomsticks.

"Many of you will recall the last time I called a meeting like this," said Dumbledore, standing near the bar, "but there are plenty of new faces here tonight. For that, I am eternally grateful." He bowed his head solemnly, like he was praying. Indeed, not only were Molly and Arthur here, but so were their two eldest sons. Molly didn't seem pleased to have Charlie sitting beside her, given that he'd only just graduated.

Then again, she probably didn't want Bill here either.

But they were both adults now, able to join the cause if they so chose, and there was only so much she could do.

"What have you learned, Albus?" Frank Longbottom asked, gently. "You'd not have called us all without dire cause." He turned to glance at his wife, who looked ready to march to war; there was a deep anger in them both, something they'd been nursing ever since that night with Bellatrix, and sometimes Sirius wondered if they weren't meant to be a cosmic lesson to him, personally.

One day, these two were going to cross a line; the results were going to be disastrous.

Sirius could only hope that he was there to witness when it happened.

"When last we came together," Dumbledore said, "it was to face an existential threat to our community. I have called you here tonight for the same reason." He held up a hand at the murmurs and gasps that fluttered through the group like anxious birds. "I do not speak of . . . him." This was as close to decorum as the old wizard was likely to give; he'd always hated his peoples' refusal to speak Voldemort's name, and Sirius didn't think he could blame the man. "I speak of something else entirely, but it is no less vital that we—dedicated and singular as we have come to be—see to it."

Remus leaned back in his chair. He looked like he wanted to ask a question of his own, but he stopped himself. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest and waited. He was studying Dumbledore's face, searching for something; Sirius couldn't tell what it was that his friend wanted to see, nor if he saw it.

"Reality is . . . fraying." Dumbledore gestured, causing the lights overhead to flare up; they all watched as shadows dance across the walls, and then . . . something else. It was like each individual shadow was carved out of something else, and none of them fit where they were supposed to; they were sitting on top of reality, shifting, fluttering, like a cork that didn't fit over an overflowing bottle.

Just as soon as it happened, it stopped dead.

"You are the best of us," Dumbledore declared. "There are no people in all of Wizarding Britain more dedicated to the protection of us all, of our world, of this land that we share with all people—" this, he seemed to direct specifically at Sirius, as a matter of professional courtesy "—than you. I call upon you all, here, now, to do what you do best. Protect this country. Protect her people. Use every skill you possess, everything you have ever learned, to weave this magic stronger. We like to style ourselves as magic's guardians. Now we must prove ourselves to be guardians of all things."

He turned his attention to Moody, who stood and stomped over to take Dumbledore's spot; he began explaining, in exhausting detail, exactly what it was that their leader wanted them to do while drawing diagrams in the air with his wand.

Dumbledore, thus afforded his freedom, approached Sirius.

"I should like to have a private word with you, Sirius."

Two.

While walking through Hogsmeade, not quite quickly, not quite slowly, Sirius felt the wind snapping around his head and was reminded of the death-rattle gasping of the Dementor from his—well, what was it? A vision? It hadn't been a dream; he was quite sure of that. There was no way that had been a dream.

That wasn't possible.

"You have the bearing of a man struggling with something, Sirius," said Dumbledore. "Perhaps this old man could offer his assistance. What troubles you?"

Sirius grunted. "I wonder if that fraying of reality you were talking about is the explanation," he said, "but I . . . I had a nightmare. A vision. Something like that. I can't figure out what to call it. Calling it a dream feels like lying. I ought to know. I've been lying my whole life. But . . . it's as close as I can get. I woke up this morning—or was it last morning?—and . . . I was . . . I was in . . ."

"A cell?" Dumbledore guessed.

Sirius flinched violently. "Come again?" he asked, sharply, suspiciously. "How did you . . . ? Listen. I know you're a genius, but there's no way for you to have pulled that out of thin air. You aren't digging around in my head, are you? You'd better not be."

"No," Dumbledore said, holding up a hand. "You are correct, Sirius. I did not guess. Not in the way that you think. This is what I must discuss with you. I know the reason for this trouble, and I can put a name to it. I wished to approach you privately because . . . I think you will be instrumental to any resolution we're going to be able to make use of. Perhaps you would be willing to indulge me, by way of explaining: what do you know of fae magic?"

". . . Faeries? Pixies?" Sirius's eyes narrowed. "I'm not sure I know much of anything, to be honest. I'm pretty sure I slept through those classes."

Dumbledore chuckled lightly. "I suppose it's much too late to go reprimanding you for that," he said. "The most important pieces of this puzzle at the moment are as follows: one of the fae courts, the Seelie, also called the Court of Summer, is ruled by a king and queen. Oberon and Titania are their names."

"Uh-huh," Sirius said.

"While our government speaks of faeries in much the same way that we would animals, creatures of near-human intelligence, I find that to be rather disingenuous. I'm sure you will be hardly surprised to hear that there are those in our community who regularly underestimate all non-humans, even when that is quite catastrophically dangerous."

Sirius quirked an eyebrow. "No," he said, "I don't think I'm surprised at all. Let me guess: faeries are an example of this underestimation."

"That it is," Dumbledore said. "Fae magic, at its heart, is many orders of magnitude more potent and powerful than our own." Dumbledore gestured randomly. "You have spoken to your students about stage magic, have you not? Sleight-of-hand and misdirection techniques, used by non-magic peoples to entertain?" Sirius nodded. "Consider the difference between what they do, mere smoke and mirrors, compared to what we do. The fae are to us as we are to them."

Sirius was nodding halfway through Dumbledore's explanation. "I don't think I'm surprised to hear that, either," he said. "House elves are immensely powerful. Unicorns, giants, sphinxes. No, no, I don't think I'm surprised at all. So, what's this about Oberon and Titania?"

"Do you remember when you approached Severus and myself with a book written by a gentleman called Labeau?" Sirius nodded again. "It turns out that the author of that volume is one of the Summer Court's princes. He took on the name Labeau to masquerade as a man, here in Britain and all across the magical world. Anyone involved in magical history with that name is, more likely than not, this very prince." Dumbledore paused, possibly for effect. "His true name is Kafell."

Sirius stopped dead in his tracks.

Three.

"Hello, Professor Black."

Standing in the presence of the creature responsible for the course of his adult life, Sirius found himself all at once in possession of every memory he'd ever held in his mind. Every puzzle piece fell neatly into place. He shook his head, sat down, and stared across the headmaster's office to the suited man leaning against Dumbledore's desk.

"Kafell," said Sirius. "You're a prince, from the Seelie Fae."

"Guilty as charged," said Kafell, with a deep bow.

"When I woke up just recently," Sirius said, "I was in Azkaban. I was my old self, wasn't I? that was my old life, from back when I . . . when I tried to . . . failed to . . ."

Kafell nodded amicably. "When you were incarcerated for a murder that you failed to commit. Correct."

Sirius stared down at his lap. "Good God," he whispered. "All that's happened, all these things, all the dreams and . . . talking to myself. All the times that intuition guided my most important choices. It's all because you sent me back to that night, isn't it?"

"I don't think I'm comfortable with taking that much credit away from you, dear boy, but . . . in essence, yes."

"This fraying of reality, as Dumbledore calls it," Sirius went on, "is because the timelines are merging back. Time is trying to repair itself. Isn't that right?"

"Most likely."

"Did you know it would happen?"

Kafell's face screwed up. "Did I know? I don't think so. I've been warned against intervening directly in the world of mortals. There are strict rules about how my magic functions, and I've always wondered why that is. It's always felt so stifling. I am beginning to believe that this is the reason for those very rules. I hoped very much that I would be able to stem the tide, but I must admit that I have been rather fabulously less than successful."

Sirius frowned thoughtfully. "Is there anything to be done?" he asked. "Aside from what Moody has the Order doing, I mean."

Kafell leaned back in Dumbledore's chair and tented his fingers over his lap. "You ask much more pragmatic questions than Albus, I must say." His face split into a beaming grin. "I like that about you." He cleared his throat. "The removal of Tom Marvolo Riddle has become what we in our court call an anchoring point. It was the primary motivation for my intervention in your life, and unless I am mistaken . . . it is a guiding mission for yourself as well. Is it not?"

"Uh . . ."

"Voldemort," Kafell said.

"Oh!" Sirius blinked several times. "Yes. Yes, I think that's . . . yeah."

"The anchoring point must be maintained for the magic to stabilize," Kafell said. "Which is to say, as things stand currently, the likelihood of that happening is small. We must correct the course for this trouble to end. This man who has come to be so notorious to your people . . . he must die, as surely as he dies in the future of the timeline from which I plucked you."

Sirius's eyes widened, and his mouth twitched upward in a slight smile. "So, he does die. In the end, we win."

"You do," Kafell admitted, "but the cost is . . . great."

"It can't be too much greater than what we've already lost."

Kafell's eyes flared. "Do not be so quick to say such things," he said coolly. "I am not beholden to your understanding of time. I can name every corpse delivered to this war, every bloodline cut short, every child who will never be born, every child who became an orphan, all sacrificed at the altar of that man's ambitions."

Sirius's face went slack. ". . . Sorry," he said.

"Good boy."