Sons & Daughters of Magic 4

The concluding bits!
== La Lune ==
Date: 9 July 1998
At Mister Fairbairn's dining table, Ken folds ... realigns the edges, tangles his fingers, hisses.
Murron stops working on her perfect origami fish, glances over.
Ken sucks blood from his injured thumb, glowers at his own crooked attempt.
"Are you hurt?" she asks.
"Only a paper cut."
"Do you need a sticking plaster?"
Across the table, Mister Reid looks up from the paper he and Kris are colouring with chunky crayons.
Kris yawns, takes hold of the green, layers in what might be a tree.
"Nah. Thanks." Ken inspects the damage to his skin: a neat split, nearly an inch long and perfectly straight, sighs, "This's gonna bug me all night. Stupid thing." 
Murron makes a sad sound and returns to creasing her envelope, humming a quiet tune.
"'scuse me for asking," says Mister Reid, "but why don't you heal it?"
"'cos I'm a crap wizard."
"He can't Focus this close to the moon," corrects Murron.
Mister Reid nods, switches to the red. "Must be tough concentrating with everything going on."
Ken shrugs stiff shoulders.
"It can't be easy—I mean, once my Edan got distracted by the radio and coloured his sister instead of his Easter egg."
"Her clothes?"
"And her hair, and her skin ... basically everything but her eyes was purple."
Ken cringes in sympathy.
Murron giggles.
"How'd you fix her?"
"McEwan was in the neighbourhood and put her right."
Ken's chest tightens.
Beside him, Murron goes still mid-fish.
Kris switches crayons and to a new bit of paper, squiggles away.
"I miss him. And Ailsa." Mister Reid exhales a shaky breath. "They were great people."
"Yea, they were. The best."
Murron nods, sniffles.
"You know, we put him—Beathan—on a crew once, before we knew about the magic, and every single thing he touched started misbehaving." Mister Reid shakes his head. "Things we didn't think it was /possible to break, he broke."
"Bwoke," grumps Kris.
"What's that, son?"
He offers his crayon. "Bwoke."
"Hmm ... let me try it." Mister Reid plucks it, presses it to a sheet of scrap paper. "Seems to work for me."
Kris scowls, yanks it away, scribbles violently on one of Murron's fish. "/Bwoke!"
"I see the problem now! It's not the crayon: it's the /paper. See, kiddo? Mister Fairbairn's put a spell on the coloured bits so marks won't stick. Clever, aye?"
"It's waterproof, too!" adds Murron.
"Not bwoke?"
"Nah! Only, use these big white ones for your art." Mister Reid pushes a sheet in front of Kris.
"Okay."
"That's the way." Mister Reid ruffles Kris' hair, says to Murron, "So yours are waterproof like real fish."
"Fiss!" chirps Kris, grabbing the blue and adding one to his drawing.
"Yes! Exactly!" Murron grins. "It's so they don't get wet when Ken has them in his mouth."
Ken rubs his neck.
Mister Reid nods. "The whole plan is brilliant, honestly."
"Yes!" Murron lunges—
Ken startles.
—wraps him in a tight hug. "It's all Ken's idea!"
"It's no—"
Murron gives him a little shake, then lets him go with a Look.
Ken focuses on the wall.
"I'm curious how you came up with it."
Ken traces woodgrain with his fingertip. "Well, uh ...." Clears his throat. "We—me and Murron—were out fishing for some lunch for her and Mister Fairbairn said I reminded him of these wolf-people called Wulver in Shetland who catch and give fish to hungry folk. I thought it might be good to see if I could do it, too, since we're gonna have more wolves here in the fall."
"And this'll help?"
"Umm, I think so? I mean, we're a /lot wolf even with Wolfsbane ...."
"Wolves like fishing?"
"Fiss!" sings Kris.
"Fish!" echoes Murron, folding another.
"It's not just ... like, last time you were here? Me growling at you?"
Mister Reid nods.
"Wolves need a pack and something to do or we go a little, uh—" Ken waves near his head. "—mental. We'll do almost anything to belong."
"Even Turning kids."
Ken swallows. "Yea ... even that. But Kris has me and Murron and you guys so he won't get into anything bad." A deep breath. "So, running the collections and delivering the 'fish'll give us something to do together that's good for everyone, even when we're wolves. Keep us out of trouble"
Mister Reid blinks at him, eyes shiny.
"Did I say some—"
Mister Reid waves him quiet. "I'm so ... I'm /proud of you, Ken, and I'm /beyond happy you're here for Kris."
Ken flicks one of his crappy origamis across the table.
"McEwan and Aisla'd be over the moon with you for this, too."
"Wish ...." Ken swallows. "I wish they were still around."
"Me, too, lad." He picks up the trash, fiddles with it. "They'd be right here helping."
Ken keeps his eyes on the tabletop.
"This's exactly the sort of thing they always thought wizards should do: use magic to help people."
"This isn't magic, really," rasps Ken. "It's—"
"You're a wizard and you're taking a chance to make someone else's life better, lad."
Ken rubs his neck.
Murron leans into his face, brows lowered. "Lessie and I've been /telling you—"
"I'm barely more magical than Kris is," Ken grumbles.
"Exaggeration doesn't suit you, Mister Gorman," says Mister Fairbairn as he wanders in, settles himself into the chair beside Kris'. "That is a lovely loch-scape you've created, Master Reid."
"Dank you~!"
"Your use of pink to highlight the kelpies' splashes is especially impressive."
Kris preens.
"Don't let it go to your head /too badly, Master Reid."
Kris /hmpfs, pulls over a fresh sheet of paper and the yellow, sets to work.
"On the topics of colours and heads, that is a most lovely bit of neckwear."
Ken's eye drifts to the collar in school tartan at the center of the table.
"I picked it out!" brags Murron.
Ken grumps.
"It not to your taste, Mister Gorman?"
"I just ...." Ken huffs, crosses his arms. "I'm not a bloody pet."
"It's /camouflage!" insists Murron, rolling her eyes. "Dreamboy has the same one now, too!"
"Yea, but ... I ...." Ken sighs to a stop.
"You're not a dog or even a wolf. You're a wizard in wolf's clothing," says Mister Fairbairn. "Even so, the costume will a long way toward assuring folk they needn't worry about the strange 'deerhound' in their garden."
Ken growls.
"Getting in character early: good, good."
Murron snickers.
Ken sulks.
"Let's see how you two have been getting on with your folding." Mister Fairbairn gathers the paper fish scattered on the tabletop, examines each in turn. "Lovely work, as always, Miss MacDonald."
"Thank you, sir."
"You, Mister Gorman, have definitely improved over the course of the evening."
"They're awful," translates Ken.
"You have a lot on your mind and muscles just now for fine hand-work."
Ken rolls his eyes.
Mister Fairbairn pulls out a thick packet, sets it on the table, extracts four slips of paper—fifty-pound notes!—from it, then picks up a fish, presses it open, and slides the banknotes inside.
"That's a rather tasty 'fish'," drawls Mister Reid as Mister Fairbairn prepares another in the same way.
"Mister Gorman and Miss MacDonald have quite a talent for fundraising and our esteemed Founder requested matching funds be provided from a certain school account."
Another fish joins its full fellows.
"Your founder seems to have left a lot of money lying about."
A fourth.
"It turns out being skilled at Divination and having access to a trove of fairy gold allows one to make some /very shrewd investments over the years." Mister Fairbairn smiles. "Such as bankrolling the very first teahouse in Scotland /exactly as the cuppa became the drink of the Empire."
Mister Reid snorts a laugh.
The fifth and final fish lies stuffed in the center of the table.
Ken shivers, chafes his arms through his jumper sleeves.
"It's about that time, aye?" Mister Fairbairn stands, thumps him gently on the head.
">Yea," croaks Ken, pushing to his feet, ">might as well get it over with."
"That's the spirit~! Now, your hand, please, Mister Gorman."
">Wha?"
Mister Fairbairn gently takes Ken's hand in his, runs his thumb along the paper cut, leaving healed skin behind.
">Thanks."
"You're very welcome."
Ken rounds the table, opens his arms. ">C'mon, Kris. Let's get situated."
Kris whines, but drops his crayon, takes a grip on Ken's jumper, and lets himself be carried to the reception.
Murron follows close; Mister Fairbairn and Mister Reid trail behind.
Ken eases to the rug, Kris snuggled up tight to his chest.
"You've got a knack with kids, lad," says Mister Reid, perching on the sofa. "It's not just anyone he trusts like this."
">'s a wolf thing, I think."
Murron shakes her head.
">Wha?"
"You haven't changed," she says. "Wee ones've always loved you."
Ken shrugs-sorta.
Mister Fairbairn tugs Murron down to the couch between himself and Mister Reid.
Kris shudders, whimpers.
The skin across Ken's stomach crawls and his joints throb.
">I hate this bit."
"We hate it right along with you," says Mister Reid.
Ken grunts. ">See ye on th' other side."
"We'll be waitin' fer ye, laddie."
.
=== Tagged ===
Misterfairbairn drops his hands and the collar, chides, "Ye agreed t' this, lad."
Ken puts his ears back.
"'s fer yer own good."
Ken growls.
Murron kneels in front of him, expression stern. "Ye promised an' it's tae keep ye safe."
He shifts his paws.
"Ye /promised me ye'd wear it."
He looks away, yawns.
"Thank ye~!" Murron cinches the collar around his neck, hugs him about the shoulders.
Ken whines.
Murron pulls away.
He whines again.
"That wasnae so hard, was it, Mister Gorman?"
Ken huffs, batters at it with a back paw.
The tags jingle-jangle.
"We cannae have that sorta noise, can we?" Misterfairbairn pokes the metal chips.
Ken keeps scratching.
The jingle-jangle stops.
"Much better, aye?"
Murron nods, eyes a little sad.
Misterfairbairn raises an eyebrow.
"A like the sound a bit? 's musical."
Ken shakes his head hard, ears flapping.
Silence from his neck.
"Ready?" asks Misterfairbairn.
Ken stands, gives himself a good shiver, whuffs.
Murron scoops up Kris, waves to Ken with his paw, chirps, "Good luck t'night!"
Ken wags his tail.
"Let's be off, then!" sings Misterfairbairn and he bows Ken toward the door of his flat.
Ken hunches his shoulders, leads the way out.
.
== Awkward Duet ==
Date: 16 August 1998
Ken wanders into the reception, passing Mum triple-checking her makeup in the washroom mirror.
Da's in the stuffed chair behind today's /Daily Prophet.
Ken glances at the coffee table—
The Muggle newsrag screams,
- BLOODY SATURDAY
IRA splinter group kill 21 and maim over 100 shoppers in bomb blast -
—goes dead still.
Paper rattles.
"Horrible, isn't it?" says Da.
Ken swallows the lump in his throat. "I, uh, thought they were done with all the bombings? The Troubles were over?"
Da sighs. "Someone decided they're not done just yet."
Ken shudders, stops beside the front door, stuffs his feet into his shoes.
"You cold?"
"No, I'm ...." Another shudder and he chafes his arms. "Da?"
"Yea?"
"Could ... could you have done anything? If we were there? I mean, I know /I couldn't 've. I couldn't stop the wer—"
"Stop."
"Sorry. I—"
Da tosses the fish wrapper aside. 
Ken perches on the edge of the sofa, drums his heels against it.
"We'd be just as dead as them if we'd been standing there." He spreads his hands. "I honestly don't think /any wizard could've done anything."
"Th-then what good's magic?"
"Speak up, son."
"What good's having magic, then, if you can't save people?"
Da leans forward. "Well, there's a bit on the bombing in the /Prophet, too."
Ken blinks. "Why do /they care 'bout what happens to Muggles?"
"Apparently, some Muggles who were there're telling stories about strange lights and a ginger 'miraculously healing' people."
"A wizard? Helping Muggles?"
"Seems so."
Something niggles.
Da neatens the /Prophet.
Ken sits straighter. "Oh shi—"
"Language, sweetie," says Mum, plopping beside him.
"If-if Muggles saw him doing magic, he's in trouble, aye?"
"Deep trouble," agrees Da, nodding. "/Auror trouble."
Ken cringes. "What'll they do if they find him?"
"/When they find him, they'll put him on trial and stitch him up for breaking the Secrecy."
"They should give him a [medal," blurts Ken. "For saving lives--for] doing /something to help."
Da sighs, "That's not how things work."
["Yea." Ken rubs the back of his neck. "But] don't you think it should be different? Like, we should help if we can?"
Mum makes a surprised [noise, then, "You] know who that sounds like? In Northern Ireland?"
["It sounds like Rory Fegan," replies Da. "He's not ginger, though, and couldn't be bothered to colour his hair."]
Mum deflates.
"It can't be Rory."
"Why's that, sweetheart?"
["He wouldn't try to hide at all, not after something like that." Ken scuffs his toes against the rug. "Wouldn't give a toss about Secrecy if people—Muggles /or wizards—were hurt."]
Da leans forwards, clasps his hands between his knees. "Son, please don't start idolizing a mad rocket like Fegan: you've got enough problems without taking that on."
"I don't even /like Rory, really—he's ... he scares me—but he would've done the right thing." Ken shrugs. "That's all I'm sayin'."
Da shifts like he's realized something.
Ken's heart urks to a dead stop against his ribs.
"Ken ... you wouldn't know anything about the mysterious giant dog scaring chickens and farmers around your loch, would you?"
"Oh, uh, Dreamboy? Mister Fairbairn's dog?"
Da nods.
"He's gotten kinda sneaky and keeps breaking out at night." 
"Huh." Da sounds skeptical.
"So ... where'd you hear about this, uh, 'mystery dog'?" Ken asks over the pounding of his heart.
"There was a mention in the back pages of the /Prophet a few days ago about the Scamanders heading to the forest park to investigate 'possible cryptid activity'."
"Seems like a lot of bother over a dog? They could just ask Mister Fairbairn." 
"Maybe, but if it's something /other than a loose deerhound, it'll be fairly big news." He gives Ken a Look. "I really, /really hope it's just a runaway dog."
"It's a dog ... but we'll find out, I guess?"
"Guess we will." Da flicks the edge of the front page.
Ken runs a hand through his hair.
Mum bats at him. "Ken, sweetheart, don't!"
"Wha?"
"You're messing up your hair!"
"Like it matters. Murron knows—"
"You should—but her parents—!"
"It's /fine, Mum. She's seen it worse." 
Mum keeps fussing.
Ken leans away. "Leave it. /Please."
"Well," she huffs, "this's so /exciting! Meeting your friend's family! And them not human!" She goes still. "How're we supposed to act? I don't know—"
"Murron said they're just like anyone ... only a little old-fashioned?"
"Old-fashioned? Old-fashioned how?"
Ken shrugs. "That's all she said. 'Old-fashioned'."
Mum makes a high-pitched whine, flutters.
"I-I'm sure it'll be fine. She's, uh, pretty understanding."
"But her parents?"
"They're her parents? Shouldn't they be like her?"
"Are you the same as us?" says Da.
Ken ducks his head. "N-not r-really. I'm not as—"
"Ken. Stop."
"S-sorry."
"Well, I for one, don't think I could manage what she does. Cut off from her family so permanently."
"She's got—I'm her—" Ken takes a breath. "The School's like her family, too. It's not like she's all alone."
"But she can't go /home," Mum insists.
Ken chews his lip, mumbles, "Maybe the /School's her home now."
"It'd be wonderful if it could be," says Mum.
"But—"
"We should get going if we don't want to be late."
"I'll get our things!" Mum jumps up.
"I've already got it, Aileen-love." Da pats the big duffel beside his chair, eases upright, bag straps in hand.
Mum exhales. "Thank you, Fraser-dear." To Ken and pulling his arm, "C'mon, sweetheart."
Ken groans, shoves to his feet.
Da pats his shoulder. "It'll be alright, aye?"
"S-sure it will."
Da sighs, links their arms. "Everyone ready? On 'three'. One—"
Ken braces.
"—two—"
Everything /shifts and there's pebbles crunching underfoot.
"—three. Everyone intact?"
"Perfect!"
"'m fine."
Da grunts. "The spot we're meeting should be at the end of that little trail there."
Ken takes a deep breath, steps off—in the lead.
He tops a little rise, the grass opens out, and Murron races up, polka-dot sun-dress ruffling.
Ken swallows, cheeks heating.
"You're early!" she says, leaping—
Ken staggers, hugs back. "W-we didn't want to keep your family waiting."
—touching her bare feet to the sand, arms still tight around Ken. "They'll be back in a moment: they're catching a snack before Changing."
"O-okay." Ken releases her, clears his throat.
"Hello, Mister Gorman, Missus Gorman." Murron gives them each a curtsy.
"Hello, Murron," greets Da.
"You're /adorable in that outfit," squees Mum. "Isn't she, Ken?"
His face flames. "Y-yea. It's really cute."
"Thank you~! I made it myself!"
"Really? You're so talented!"
"You know how to sew?" 
"Missus Galloway's teaching me. She says I'm a natural at it."
"That's, uh, cool."
"Thank you~!"
A honk somewhere between a dog's bark and a trumpet blare rings out.
Murron spins. "They're back!"
A pair of seals, spotted and sleek, flollomp out of the surf, then step out of their skins.
Ken lowers his eyes.
Murron grabs his hand and drags him across the strand to a blanket spread on the sand well away from the water's edge. "Mummy! Daddy!"
Fabric and something leathery rustle.
"Thank you, daughter," purrs a voice.
Ken risks a peek.
Two people, tanned and lean, wearing housecoats but barefoot stand beside Murron and study Ken with dark, unreadable eyes.
"You are Mackenzie Neil Gorman?" says the taller.
"Y-yes, sir. But I go by 'Ken', please, though, sir." He offers a hand.
Murron's father shakes, grip firm. "I am pleased to finally make your acquaintance, Ken. You may call me 'Suibhne' and my wife 'Caoimhe'." 
"These're, um–" Ken waves vaguely at Mum and Da. "–my parents, sir."
"It is our pleasure to meet you, Mister and Missus Gorman."
"'Fraser' and 'Aileen' for us, please," greets Da exchanging a handshake with Suibhne.
Mum shifts her feet, smiling nervously.
"Let us sit and talk," says Suibhne.
Caoimhe smiles, then gestures to the blanket. "Shall we?"
Ken flops, Murron drops, Suibhne and Caoimhe flow, and Da pulls cushions from the duffel, sets them out, and he and Mum settle down.
Quiet moves in.
Mum breaks it: "So ... you're selkies?" 
Ken winces.
"Indeed," says Suibhne. "We have been selkies since there became selkies. Our lineage was the first to reach Bute."
Da chuckles. "We're not nearly so ... /historic. Mostly Scots, a few Englishmen, Germans, and Norwegians in the gene pool over the generations: mix of Muggle and wizard."
"Purely human?"
"As far as the family tree knows."
Suibhne nods, exchanges a look with Caoimhe.
She says, "You have trades?"
"Fraser's a book-binder, but I'm just a maid. A job's a job, though, aye?" Mum giggles in her anxious way.
"Aye," agrees Suibhne. "Your son will follow you into the work?"
"If he wants to. The firm'll have a place for him."
Ken shifts.
Murron laces her fingers with his, squeezes.
"You live near water?" asks Caoimhe.
"River Clyde's a few minutes walk from our flat."
"You roost in a city?"
"Port Glasgow's more of a town and a small one, too," explains Da.
"This is good. It is easier for us to visit places outside cities," says Caoimhe.
"My wife does not enjoy remaining in her human form for extended periods."
She hugs herself. "I feel naked without my fur."
"I sorta know how that feels?" hazards Ken. "Right after I Change back, I'm always so /cold. Like, there aren't enough jumpers in the world t'make up for my fur."
"That is precisely how I feel." Caoimhe glows at him. "You understand us."
Ken ducks his head.
"He really does, Mummy! Better than anyone else at the School," says Murron, snuggling against his side.
Mum coos, "You two are so sweet together!"
Ken's ears catch fire.
Suibhne leans close to Caoimhe, murmurs something in a language Ken's only heard Murron sing before.
Mum looks to Da with an anxious expression.
Da shrugs.
"Pleasepleaseplease say 'yes'," mumbles Murron.
"What was—"
Suibhne grunts, snaps a nod.
Ken attends.
"Very well. Fraser and Aileen, we consent to this betrothal."
Ken's heart smashes itself against his ribs.
Murron gasps, crushes Ken's middle with another hug.
Da stammers, "This what now?"
"Betrothal. The marriage of our daughter and your son," explains Suibhne.
"/Marriage?!" shrieks Mum.
"But—" Da snaps his mouth shut.
"I'm so happy," Murron whispers against Ken's ear.
Suibhne frowns, brow wrinkling. "Times past, human males would fight each other for a selkie wife."
Da flutters. "It-it's not that we disapprove of your daughter. They're just so /young! Ken's /fourteen!"
Caoimhe blinks, tilts her head. "Have human standards changed? It has been so long since we have mingled blood this way ...."
"Yes! That's it! Most people wait 'til their twenties now to choose partners and it's not legal to marry 'til sixteen, anyway."
"I was so scared they'd tell us 'no'."
Ken wheezes as he remembers how to breathe.
"Ah. Your forgiveness, please. When one of our lineage last took—"
"/Willingly took."
"—willingly took to land, she was Murron's age and her groom, Ken's. We forget human traditions drift over time, as ours do not."
"Ah ... yea, things /definitely change 'round here." Da bows his head. "When I was at school, a werewolf couldn't live openly, never/mind have a girlfriend and now Ken, well ...." Rubs his neck. "Now there's Murron."
"We see the same rapid shifts whenever we spend time ashore. It is very disorienting, even when the change is for the best," assures Caoimhe.
Da laughs, some tension oozing out of his posture. "Guess we have more in common than just teenagers, aye?"
Suibhne's lips curve up as he says, "We are not so very different: selkies and wizards are all sons and daughters of magic."
"True enough."
"This is why we are not surprised our littlest one would find and love the Shifter in her new rookery."
"L-love?" squeaks Ken, glances—
Murron, eyes bright and shiny, nods. "Since we first met."
—swallows.
Caoimhe says, "Like attracts like."
Ken swallows again. "Y-you know I'm not a /real Shifter, right? I don't have a choice about Changing?"
"Yet you Change and use both of your shapes to your benefit and others'." Suibhne smiles. "That is the mark of a Shifter to us."
"O-okay."
The little hairs on Ken's neck prickle. 
He turns—
Da gives him a Look that's at /least half disapproval.
—back to Suibhne. "I, uh, try to make the best of it, sir."
"A wise approach." 
"Thank you, sir."
Suibhne smiles, full of warmth. "You will make a good husband for my daughter when you are ready."
Murron buries her face in Ken's neck.
"Uh, r-right," he croaks. "When I'm ready."
"Do not worry. Your father is correct that you are very young. There is plenty of time for marriage and children."
"R-right." Ken presses his nose to Murron's hair, inhales a deep, apple-scented breath. "Plenty of time."
Category:Hogwarts!AU