Part 16: August, 1992 (i)

Tuesday, 1st August 1992,
The Burrow, late morning.

Harry lay on the cot they’d provided for him in the sea of orange that was Ron’s bedroom. At the moment, the only other occupant of the room was Scabbers, dozing in his cage as usual — Ron had gone off to “fetch something”, leaving Harry alone with a sleeping rat and his own thoughts.

And said thoughts currently centered around one subject: Sirius Black. 

Harry wondered why Hagrid hadn’t mentioned Sirius Black last year, when he’d told Harry about what happened to his parents. The man had been heavily involved in their deaths, after all; he was the reason why Volde… why You-Know-Who had even found them.

Of course, there had been an awful lot to talk about that night: Harry had in short succession learned that he was a wizard, that his parents had been murdered by a Dark Wizard that Harry somehow got the credit for vanquishing, and that he was owed seven favours by a Lady of Faerie. Hagrid could simply have thought that “oh, by the way, you have a godfather who’s in prison because he sold your parents out to You-Know-Who and then committed mass murder“ might be a little much on top of all that.

Or, who knew, maybe he’d thought Harry would get really upset and swear vengeance somehow.

Harry thought about it. Would he have done that? He felt like maybe he should have. With his betrayal, Sirius Black was at least indirectly responsible for the fact that Harry never knew his parents and had grown up with the Dursleys. But… Harry could feel the shape of the grief and rage, could imagine himself screaming about how he was their friend and he betrayed them … but he couldn’t bring himself to feel the actual emotions. Oh, what Black had done was bad, worse than bad, it had been utterly and inconceivably despicable. If anyone deserved to rot in jail for the rest of their life, he did. Harry knew that intellectually, he just didn’t feel it.

Could he perhaps ask Lady Vidia to find Black and bring him to justice? She could count it as one of his remaining favours… he still had four, after all, and he could very well argue that he was in danger from Black. If the man had really been in You-Know-Who’s inner circle, like Lupin had said, he’d probably want revenge on Harry.

Besides, if he was a Black, he was probably part of the same family that Lady Vidia had transformed into Fae as a punishment for mistreating their house-elves… she probably wouldn’t mind too much getting him as well.

Too bad he didn’t know how to contact her. The Mirror of Erised was still at Hogwarts, and he had a feeling that trying the trick with a different mirror wouldn’t help much. And he was probably safe here at the Burrow anyway, with an entire Summer Court liaison close by.

He’d ask Hagrid about it when he came back to Hogwarts. Even though Hagrid had complained that Lady Vidia was difficult to contact, he would at least have some way of trying. And besides, he owed Harry for not having told him about Sirius Black…

Harry’s musings were interrupted by the sound of someone coming up the stairs. He didn’t have to speculate for long about who it might be, because almost immediately the sound of footsteps was accompanied by Ron’s voice:

“I said you’re not allowed in my room! C’mon, Mrs Figg said you were smart, you understand what I’m saying!”

“I think he wants to be with me,” came the voice of Princess Aurora Maluna. “He’s been following me around all morning.”

“He only met you yesterday, he can stand being apart from you for five bloody minutes. Ginny, you take him!” 

“Come on, Crookshanks.” That was the voice of Little sister Ginevra, also known as Ginny. “Ron’s being a mean old grouch. You won’t touch that silly rat of his, will you?” 

“Meow, meow.” (That did not sound like a cat promising to cooperate.)

Harry got up from the cot and looked over at the cage with Scabbers. The rat had woken up and was sniffing cautiously out in the air. Maybe he’d heard the meowing. He should be safe enough from Crookshanks in that cage, but… Harry grabbed the blanket off his cot and placed it over the cage to cover it up. Then he went to open the door.

Outside, just about to enter, were Ron, Ginny and Princess Aurora Maluna. All three of them were carrying something — Ginny was carrying a grumpy-looking Crookshanks, while Ron and the Princess were both carrying packages wrapped in silvery blue cloth.

Ron and Ginny both looked startled, clearly not having expected the door to open, but the Princess just looked at Harry with her normal expression of mad amazement. “We come bringing gifts in honour of your day of birth,” she said. “They are freely given with no obligations. Daddy was very clear that I should say that because mortals can get a little odd about Fae gifts.”

“Er… gifts?” said Harry.

“Birthday presents!” said Ron. “We were going to give ‘em to you at the party yesterday, but then, you know, stuff happened…” He interrupted himself. “You’ve had birthday presents before, right?”

“Oh, er, of course!” said Harry. Last year, Hagrid had given him Hedwig. This year, Mrs. Figg had given him a copy of Quidditch Through the Ages, and the flitlings  — what else? — a jar of honey. And of course, there was the party yesterday; that was a gift in itself.

But Ron frowned slightly. “Cos I remember you getting all surprised when you got presents at Christmas, and —”

“It’s fine,” said Harry hurriedly. He wasn’t about to talk about his lack of experience with gifts when two girls, one of them a Princess, were listening. “Why don’t you come in? I’ve hidden the R-A-T C-A-G-E under a B-L-A-N-K-E-T, so… oh, don’t tell me you know how to spell, too!” he added as Crookshanks looked at him from Ginny’s arms. 

“He is very clever,” said the Princess seriously as she stepped through the door and into Ron’s room. “This is a very orange room, Ron! Is it because you’re hoping to entrance the spirits of Autumn so they’ll bless your garden?”

“Er, no, I just like the colour,” said Ron. If he felt at all awkward about having a Princess in his room, he didn’t show it. “Ginny, don’t let Crookshanks go!”

Ginny giggled as she carried the enormous ginger cat into the room. Harry noticed at once that Crookshanks’s eyes were on the covered-up rat cage — but Ginny seemed to have him under control, so it was probably all right.

“Anyway, here,” said Ron and handed the small, cloth-wrapped package to Harry. “This one’s from me.”

Remembering Yellow’s warning about watching his language around the Princess, Harry was careful not to say thank you. Instead, he gave Ron a grateful look that he hoped would suffice. Then he unwrapped the gift to reveal a small cloth pouch, like a coin purse. There seemed to be a coin inside it already — and when Harry looked, he was surprised to see that it was a Muggle coin. A shilling from 1960, in fact. Harry had seen a few of them, but not many; up until a year or so ago you could still use one shilling instead of five pence, but they were old coins and not much in use.

“It’s a Messaging Coin,” said Ron. “Got some help from Uncle Xeno to make it. We used a Muggle coin so you wouldn’t get it mixed up with your Galleons or Sickles. You hold it up to your lips and speak my name, and I’ll hear whatever message you’ve got for me! You know, in case something mental happens again.”

Harry looked at the coin. “So, next time I get kidnapped by a mad teacher, I can let you know what’s happening?”

“Exactly!” 

Ginny looked at Ron. “Are you making one for that girl, Hermione, too? You said she got kidnapped as well.”

“Already made it!,” said Ron. “She’s got her birthday in September, so I’ll give it to her when we return to Hogwarts.” He looked back at Harry. “Trusting neither of you gets kidnapped again before that.”

Harry couldn’t help but smile. It was actually kind of touching that Ron was so worried about him — and about Hermione. “We’ll try not to be. That’s very thoughtful of you, Ron.”

Ron’s ears turned pink. “It’s nothing, really…”

“So what if I get kidnapped?” said Ginny. “Do you have a coin for me too?”

“You don’t need a coin,” said Ron. “Anyone stupid enough to kidnap you would be lucky if they could count to ten on their fingers afterwards.”

“Prat,” Ginny huffed… though Harry noted that she did look rather pleased.

“I’d save you from the kidnappers, Ginny,” said Princess Aurora Maluna solemnly. “And then I’d curse them and their descendants for seven generations for the insolence against the Weasleys and the Summer Court.”

“Luna!” Ron and Ginny both groaned.

Harry blinked. Luna?!

“You can’t say things like that when we’re at Hogwarts,” said Ginny. “People would take it the wrong way!”

“What if I specified that it would only be a mild curse?” said the Princess. “Like making it so they could never eat chocolate again?”

“That doesn’t help!” said Ginny. “Wizards don’t threaten to curse people’s families for several generations. It’s… it’s just not done,” she finished lamely.

“Oh, I see.” The Princess nodded. “I still have a lot to learn about wizard etiquette. Oh, speaking of which!” She suddenly smiled at Harry. “This present is from the rest of the Weasleys, and from Daddy and me!” She held out her own cloth-wrapped gift. “That’s why I asked to be the one who gave it to you. I never get to give presents! Especially not ones where I’m not supposed to take anything in return!”

Harry hesitated. The sudden shift in mood was, as he had come to understand, pretty typical of the Fae… but it was still probably best to be careful.  “Er, I’m very honoured — um, I mean — Princess.” He cleared his throat. “Or, um, Your Highness? Er… apologies… I forgot to ask what’s the correct way to address a Fae Princess…”

She tilted her head at him. “Oh, there are many ways. ‘Your Royal Highness’, or just ‘Your Highness’. ‘Princess’ is fine too, especially for less formal occasions, or ‘my Lady’… but in our case, I think you’d better just call me ‘Luna’, like Ron and Ginny do.”

“Er, okay… Luna.”

“It’s the name I’ll go by at Hogwarts,” she explained. “I’ll call myself ‘Luna Lovegood’. It’s got a very nice ring to it, don’t you think? It was Ginny’s idea. Well, it was really her uncle Billy who started calling me ‘Luna’, but it was Ginny who suggested I should use it when I go to wizard school, so that I don’t frighten the other students. And Daddy said I should use his surname, since I’m his daughter and all, and I have a right to use it.”

“You know how wizards are about Fae,” said Ron, as Ginny blushed at the praise. “Seamus is already losing it over Lavender, and she doesn’t even have any actual Fae blood. Imagine if he, or the other students, knew that Luna’s half-Fae, and a Princess of Faerie at that…”

“Oh,” said Harry. “I didn’t realize you were half-Fae… Luna. Er, so you’re like Hagrid, or Jenny?”

“I don’t know who Hagrid or Jenny are, but if they’re half-Fae like me, then yes, I’m half-Fae like them.” Luna smiled brilliantly. “Daddy’s a wizard, Mummy’s a High Elf.” 

“Wait — Sir Xenophilius is a wizard?” said Harry. “I thought he was a Fae.”

“He practically is one, after having lived in Faerie for so long,” said Ron. “But yeah, he was born human and never officially transformed. We call him ‘Uncle Xeno’ because he was… er… it’s kind of a long story, really.”

“A story that you can ask your gift to tell!” said Luna. “Go on, open it!”

Harry looked at the package in his hands. The silvery blue cloth was wrapped around something hard and flat, with a long handle. Either it was a hairbrush, or…  he carefully unwrapped the item, and found that his guess had been right: It was a handheld mirror. It wasn’t particularly big — small enough to fit in a robe pocket, really — but its design was ornate and elegant. The frame was silver, etched with delicate swirling patterns, and the glass itself had an odd, almost liquid depth to it. He looked at his own reflection, who looked back at him with curious green eyes.

“It’s a storytelling mirror,” Luna explained. “You ask it for a story, and it tells you one.”

Harry’s fingers tightened around the frame. A mirror that told stories, and that came from Faerie… that did inevitably bring his thoughts to the Mirror of Erised. “So…” he said. “This would be the Mirror of Gnille…tyrots, then?”

“The what?” Luna blinked in confusion.

“The Mirror of Gnilletyrots.” Harry looked back at his reflection, feeling silly. ”Oh, it’s nothing. Just something I, er, thought of.”

Luna seemed to consider this. “I suppose mirrors do inspire a lot of thought,” she said. “Looking in one does tend to make you reflect on things… ooh, is that why they call it reflecting, do you think?”

“I… really wouldn’t know,” said Harry, still looking at his reflection. His hair really needed combing.

Luna paused briefly. Then, she said with what sounded like genuine cheer: “Well, the mirror doesn’t have a name, but as its new owner, you have the right to give it any name you like. Many Fae give their possessions names, after all… it makes them more special. So, the Mirror of Gnilletyrots it is!” She pronounced the word flawlessly on the first try. “Would you like to learn how to use it? That’s considered part of the gift, by the way, I’m not going to ask for anything in return for teaching you,” she added hurriedly.

“Er… yes, that would be most helpful,” said Harry, handing the newly-dubbed Mirror of Gnilletyrots over to her.

Luna held the mirror up and spoke:

“Mirror, mirror, hear my rhyme;
Be prepared for storytime!”

Her reflection seemed to come to life. It stopped copying her movements and looked at her with the same wide-eyed expression Luna always wore. “What story would you like?” it said in her voice. “I tell stories new and old. All of them true and none of them accurate.”

“Tell us the story of Xenophilius Lovegood and Pellias Weasley!” said Luna.

“That’s a good one,” said the reflection with a sudden casual informality. “Why not?” And it started to speak.

The Mirror of Gnilletyrots
Once upon a time

Long ago, in the days before wizards hid themselves from the world and magic was still known among all mortals, there lived two young wizards; Pellias Weasley and Xenophilius Lovegood. They both attended the same school of magic, and though they belonged to different houses — Pellias to the noble lions of Gryffindor and Xenophilius to the wise eagles of Ravenclaw — they were the best of friends and as close as brothers.

When their days of school were over, the pair decided to travel the world together and seek all that was wondrous and strange. Pellias, bold of heart, longed for daring deeds — to strike down the wicked and bring justice to the downtrodden. Xenophilius, keen of mind, longed to uncover lost knowledge and solve forgotten mysteries, that he might return with wisdom to share with all mankind.

Three years they travelled the world; seeing much, doing much and learning much, and their brotherly bond grew ever stronger. 

One fateful summer, their travels led them to the now forgotten island of Sarpedon. This island, or so it was said, was the very place where once lived the feared Gorgon Medusa, whose gaze could turn any mortal into lifeless stone. On this island she lived with her Gorgon sisters, and on this island she met her end when the hero Perseus slew her and cut her head off. Neither Pellias nor Xenophilius knew whether this story was actually true, but they were both eager to explore the island where such a mighty battle may have been fought.

But no sooner had they set foot on the island, when they came upon an unexpected sight: On the rocky shore lay a young maiden, bound in chains of iron. She was the most beautiful woman they had ever seen; pale as moonlight and fair as the summer sky, but she lay still on the ground as if she was dead.

The wizards rushed to her side, and discovered to their great relief that she was alive and breathing, but in a deep sleep that they could not wake her from. Deciding that at least they could make her more comfortable, they raised their wands and Vanished the iron chains that bound her. And as soon as the links disappeared, the maiden stirred and opened her eyes. But as soon as she was awake, she sat up and wept bitterly.

The wizards, being kind men, knelt beside her to offer comfort. “Fair maiden, do not weep,” they said. “You are free and may go where you please.”

The maiden lifted her tear-streaked face. “Oh, kind sirs, I am in your debt for freeing me,” she said. “But ask me not to stop weeping, for my Mistress has been taken from me.”

“Tell us what happened,” they said. “If there is anything we can do to help you or your Mistress, we will gladly do it. If there is nothing we can do, then we shall grieve with you — for grief shared is grief lessened.”

The maiden dried her tears. “As my liberators, you have the right to my story,” she said. “I am Thalia, Maiden of Summer, and handmaiden to the Princess Pandora of the Summer Court. Three years ago, my Mistress and I left the Lands of Perpetual Summer to explore the mortal world. We traveled many places, staying where our fancy took us and journeying on when we pleased. 

“One late night we came to this island, and we were tired, so we laid down on the shore to sleep. But as we slept, a foul Gorgon came upon us, and she woke us with her infernal screams. ‘I am the last of the Gorgons of Sarpedon, and this island belongs to me!’ she cried, ‘Leave now, or be stone forever!’

“But when we woke up and met her eyes, she faltered. ‘Why are you not stone?’ she said. ‘All mortals who meet my gaze must turn to stone!’

“I was still sleepy, and as such I did not think when I answered her: ‘We are not mortal. A woman of the Folk may look upon a Gorgon’s eyes and suffer no more than if she looked into her mother’s eyes.’

“The Gorgon’s scowl turned into a wicked smile. ‘So you are of the Fair Folk,’ she said. ‘I have not seen your kind for hundreds of years. But I have long wished for a lover who will not turn to stone when looking upon me. And now that you are here, I will have the prettiest of you!’ 

With that, and before the Princess or I could wake properly, she conjured up chains of irons that bound us both. You see, our people cannot touch iron; it weakens us and blocks all our power and magic. And so we were both helpless as the Gorgon picked up my poor Mistress and carried her off towards her lear. I was left behind here on the shore, too weak to free myself or even cry out. Grief and exhaustion claimed me, and I slept again — until you freed me.”

Hearing this story, Pellias and Xenophilius were troubled. They had not known that this beautiful maiden was one of the Fair Folk, who are often cunning and seldom to be trusted. They had both grown up with stories of wizards who had been tricked or seduced by the Fae, who stole them away or cursed them while delighting in their torment and confusion. Yet such was the depth of Thalia’s grief that they could not find it in their hearts to turn away.

“After all,” they said to one another, “we made a promise, and a promise must be kept.”

And so they began planning how to free the Princess. They knew they would have to use their wits, for they themselves were mortal and would surely turn to stone if they should meet the Gorgon’s gaze.

“We dare not look upon her,” said Xenophilius. “So let us take inspiration from Perseus when he fought Medusa. He carried the shield of Athena and used it like a mirror, so he could tell where Medusa was from her reflection and as such avoid meeting her gaze. We have no goddess to lend us her shield, but we have our wands to conjure up shields just as reflective.”

“An excellent plan!” cried Pellias and clapped his friend on the back. “Let us set forth without delay!”

With a flourish of their wands, the wizards summoned great silver shields, polished so they gleamed and shone like mirrors in the sunlight. 

“Do you know the way to the Gorgon’s lair?” they asked Thalia.

“I have not been there,” the maiden replied, “but I can sense where it is. The Princess is trapped inside… she is caught in iron, but she is alive.” 

And so, she led them through whispering groves and over rugged hills, to the mountain and the Gorgon’s rocky cave. It turned out not to be very hard to find, for as they drew near, they came upon many figures of stone — men and women with fearful expressions, warriors frozen with swords half-raised, even beasts caught mid-leap, all of them solid stone. 

A hush fell upon them as they approached the entrance of the cave. Then, from the darkness, came a voice, slow and silken: “Come closer, mortals, if you dare. But be warned — one glance at me, and you shall stand among the statues of those who came before you.”

The Gorgon stepped forward, half-shrouded in shadow. The wizards knew not to look directly at her, but in the reflection of their shields they beheld her — a tall and serpent-like woman, her skin as dark as midnight and her eyes like burning embers. But it was her hair that made her frightening; it was a nest of living snakes who writhed and hissed towards them.

Pellias did not waver. Though he could not look directly at her, he stood in front of her boldly and declared: “You have stolen what is not yours! Release the Princess Pandora, or face the might of wizardry.”

The Gorgon laughed. “The Princess is mine. She is the first to meet my gaze and live. I shall keep her here until she loves me in return, even if it should take a hundred years.” 

“Then you leave me no choice,” said Pellias, and with a cry, he cast forth a wall of fire. But the Gorgon was swift — she leapt aside, her serpents surging forward in a writhing tide, with fangs gleaming like polished daggers. Pellias did not falter; with a flick of his wrist, he threw a silver dagger at the serpents and spoke a word of command. Instantly the blade sprang to life, striking down serpent after serpent with unerring precision. Yet the Gorgon only laughed, for as each severed head fell, it twisted into a silver bullet and shot back toward him. Pellias raised his shield, deflecting them with a clash of sparks. Fire met shadow, silver met stone, and still neither could gain the upper hand.

But as the battle raged on, Xenophilius and Thalia slipped unseen into the Gorgon’s cave. 

To their great surprise, the inside of the cave was like a grand palace; the stone walls were smooth and curved as though sculpted by hand, and elaborate, dark tapestries draped the stone. From a high, vaulted ceiling, light streamed down and shone down upon vast riches; ornaments and trinkets of gold and silver, ornate weapons displayed like trophies, and — and in one corner, a luxurious bed of silken furs and pillows lay beneath a canopy of twisted stone vines. 

Princess Pandora was lying on the bed, wrapped in iron chains, and as soon as Xenophilius laid eyes on her, his heart beat ever faster — for while Thalia was fair beyond measure, the Princess was fairer still, and he thought he had never seen a lady more beautiful. She was awake, but much weakened, and when they approached her she barely had the strength to lift her head and look upon them.

Thalia ran up to the bed with a cry of joy, though she dared not touch the Princess for fear of getting too close to the iron chains. “Vanish her chains, I beg you!” she cried out to Xenophelius.

The wizard grabbed his wand and did as she bade him; the iron chains faded and disappeared, and the Princess was free.

They helped her to her feet, but she was still weak and stumbled. Xenophilius caught her in his arms, and for a moment, they could do nothing but gaze upon each other.

But then, a terrible cry of triumph rang through the cave. Fearing the worst, Xenophilius and Thalia supported the Princess as they hurried outside to see what had happened — and as they emerged from the cave they saw the Gorgon standing triumphantly over a stone statue that had once been Pellias Weasley. She had made a cunning feint so that their eyes had met, and in an instant, he was stone.

Xenophilius cried out in despair and wanted to rush out towards his friend, but Thalia held him back. “Not yet,” she whispered.

For Princess Pandora, freed from her iron chains and feeling the summer sun on her skin, now stood tall and proud as her power and strength returned to her. 

As the Gorgon turned to see her prisoner freed, her triumph turned to anger. “How did you escape your chains? Let me conjure up new ones to bind you again!”

But the Princess spoke. “You will not. You will stand perfectly still and take the punishment you deserve.” And the Gorgon stood perfectly still, unable to move even a finger.

“You sought to rob me of my freedom,” said the Princess. “You bound me and my servant in iron, and you turned one of my saviours to stone, as you have done to any mortal who set foot on this island. For your crimes, I shall unmake you. Your body, your soul, even your name will be destroyed. Never again will anyone remember you as anything but the wicked Gorgon who stole the Princess of Summer and was unmade.”

She lifted her hands, and the light of the Summer Court blazed forth, a fire that held no smoke, only brilliance — the pure, golden radiance of Faerie itself. The Gorgon recoiled, but there was no escape. The island trembled and shook as if the Earth itself was to tear apart as the light consumed the Gorgon, who let out a final cry — one of rage, of sorrow, and perhaps of regret — before she was no more. Her name vanished with her, which is why we no longer know what it was.

But Xenophilius fell to his knees next to the statue of Pellias and wept bitterly over his fallen friend.

Princess Pandora placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You have saved me,” she said, “and I owe you everything. There is yet hope for your friend, who fought so bravely for my sake. We shall take him to Faerie, to the waters that run beneath the silver trees. For seven days and seven nights shall he lie in their embrace, and if fate is kind, the stone shall fall away.”

When he heard this, Xenophilius looked up in hope. “What of the others?” he said “The ones we saw on the path to the cave, also turned to stone? I fear Pellias would never forgive us if we saved only him and ignored them.”

At that, the Princess laughed. “I am still in your debt, kind wizard. If you wish me to take them all, I shall gladly do so.”

And so, Pellias and all those who had been turned to stone were carried to the Land of Perpetual Summer. There, beneath the trees of silver, ran waters older than time, waters that healed all wounds and washed away all curses. And the Princess called upon all her powers, the powers of the realm, and of her mother the Queen, to aid in restoring the Gorgon’s victims.

For seven days and seven nights, Xenophilius kept vigil on the shores of the water, and the Princess and Thalia both sat with him. And on the eighth morning, just as the Princess had foretold, Pellias climbed out of the waters, living flesh once more. All those once cursed by the Gorgon rose beside him; men and women, warriors and beasts. Many of them were greatly confused, for they had been stone for many years and did not know what had happened in the meantime.

When Pellias learned what had happened, he praised Xenophilius for his actions, and bowed in gratitude to both Thalia and Princess Pandora for having restored him to life.

But as he did so, forth came the Summer Queen herself, mother to Princess Pandora, and she was clad and crowned in summer flowers and shone with the radiance of the brightest summer days. “My dearest Sir Pellias,” she said. “You bow to no one in this Court. You risked your life to save my daughter, and the Summer Fae shall forever be grateful. If we may grant you a boon, you have only to ask.”

Pellias stood up then, and after a moment’s thought, he said: “Your majesty, I am not worthy of such honour, for I see my friend Xenophilius was far more vital in saving your daughter than I. Still, if I may ask one thing, I would like to take all my fellow victims of the Gorgon’s curse back to the mortal realm. They have been stone for too long and deserve a chance to live.”

“It shall be as you say,” the Queen smiled. “Return with them to the mortal lands, with my blessing. And know that ever more, you and your kin shall be friends to the Summer Fae.  When your line calls, the gates of Summer shall open.”

And so it was that Pellias returned to the mortal lands, taking with him and caring for the many men and women who had been freed from the Gorgon’s curse. 

But Xenophilius stayed behind in the Lands of Perpetual Summer, where the seasons never changed, and where age and death deare not tread, and where he and Princess Pandora were wed underneath the silver trees and lived happily ever after.

Pellias did not grieve for his old friend, for he knew they had both found their paths had diverged, they would forever be tied by their bond of brotherhood. 

His descendants, too, carried that bond, and as they looked toward the summer hills, they felt the gentle warmth of Faerie watching over them, a reminder of their “Uncle Xeno.”

So it is told, and so it shall be remembered.

Tuesday, 1st August 1992,
The Burrow, late morning.

Harry blinked as the Mirror of Gnilletyrots stopped talking and Luna’s reflection grew silent again. Despite the weird archaic language, the story had sucked him in from the very start, and he’d seen the events for his inner eye in vivid detail… the young version of Sir Xenophilius, the tall and redheaded Pellias, the various stone statues.

“What a story,” he said, looking at the Mirror, and then at Ron, Ginny and Luna. “Was it true?”

“Almost true, anyway,”  said Ron. “I don’t think they actually talked like that. And things weren’t quite as nice and easy for everyone. But yeah, the part about the Gorgon is true.”

“Even the part where Pellias was turned to stone and then revived?” said Harry. 

“Oh, yeah, lots of monsters who can turn a poor bloke into stone,” said Ron. “Gorgons, basilisks, and cockatrices are the main ones, they’re known for it. But there’s lamias and dhrakos and indus worms… most of them are some kind of snake, come to think of it. No, wait, I think there’s some kind of magic buffalo over in Africa that can turn you to stone as well.”

“It’s not a buffalo, it’s a wildebeest,” said Ginny.

“I’ve heard both. Anyway, not a good idea to get into a staring contest with one.”

“And the Princess really just… unmade that Gorgon?” said Harry. He knew the Fae were powerful, but the thought that they had the power to just erase someone from existence like that was more than a little unnerving. Could the flitlings do that…? No, probably not. But could Lady Vidia do it…? 

“I think so,” said Luna. “My parents don’t like to talk about it. Well, Daddy doesn’t. I think Mummy wouldn’t mind, but she doesn’t out of concern for Daddy. They’re still very much in love, you know.”

“Oh,” said Harry. And because he couldn’t think of anything else to say, he added: “Bit of a raw deal for them if he has to stay here for seven years then.”

But Luna giggled. “Seven years is nothing. As mortals reckon time, they were married for at least two centuries before they had me. And they courted for many years before that. And before that they were just lovers… for almost a hundred years, I think.”

“Oh,” said Harry again. While he’d had some limited experience with how time tended to flow differently in Faerie (he was still certain he and Hermione had stayed in Dewberry Grove for at least one day and one night, but back at Hogwarts only a couple if hours had passed), it was still hard to get used to just how different the Fae attitude towards time was. 

“The story simplified things a little,” said Luna, who seemed to misinterpret his expression. “Listening to that story, you’d think my parents got married straight away, but they didn’t. They had to convince the Court first. Grandmother was happy to let Daddy stay in Faerie as an honoured knight of the Court, and she didn’t even mind if Mummy took him as a lover… lots of Fae take mortal lovers, you know.” (Harry felt himself blush at this, but she didn’t seem to notice.) “But it took a long time before they were allowed to get married. And I think the main reason why Grandmother decided to allow it was because, you know, Faerie was stagnating since no new children were being born, and then…”

“Wait, what?” said Harry. “No new children? Stagnating?! What are you talking about?”

Luna, Ron, Ginny and even Crookshanks looked at him.

“You don’t know?!” said Ginny.

“He doesn’t know,” said Ron. “I would’ve told you, Harry, but I thought you knew. Like, the flitlings would have told you.”

Harry didn’t even try to hide his confusion. “Told me what?!”

They exchanged glances. “Well… you know there are a bunch of half-Fae around, right?” said Ron. “Luna, Jenny, Hagrid, I’m pretty sure Flitwick…”

Harry nodded.

“Well, the reason why is that full-blood Fae don’t get born anymore,” said Ron. “Nobody knows why. Few hundred years ago, the Fae just… stopped being able to have children. I think the last full-blood Fae to be born was a huldra from the Autumn Court.”

“It was,” said Luna. “I’ve met her. She’s almost three hundred by mortal reckoning, but she’s the youngest full-blood Fae alive. That’s why the Fae started having children with mortals. We may be immortal, but no new births means no new life, and no new life means stagnation. It means…” She seemed to struggle to find the words. “It means that the spark fades. Faerie begins losing its passion. The forests go to sleep and never wake up. The Folk starts losing their passion. Everything sinks into apathy and just… stops.”

Harry blinked. “No, I’m pretty sure nobody told me about that!” he exclaimed. “You mean to say that Faerie is dying?!”

“Not dying. Stagnating,” said Luna. “It almost did, for a while. That was when the Folk started abducting mortal babies to raise them as Fae.”

“They abducted babies,” Harry repeated. He remembered Hermione mentioning she’d read about that, how in the old days the Fae might take away a human baby and leave a changeling in its place, but he hadn’t been certain if he believed it.

Luna nodded. “Not a very nice thing to do, I admit that,” she said. “But they were desperate. And it did work, at least for a time. The new babies stopped the stagnation. But then the mortals caught on, and all of a sudden there was iron all over the mortal realms.”

“And wizards got all defensive too,” Ron shot in. “Part of the treaty between Fae and wizards stated that the Fae weren’t allowed to kidnap human children anymore. But then, about a hundred years ago, someone discovered that the Fae could still have children if one of the parents was a mortal. That’s why you get all these half-Fae now.”

“Yes, but we’re still pretty rare,” Luna said. “Enough of us are born that Faerie isn’t stagnating anymore, but it’s not thriving either. I’m actually the youngest person in Faerie right now.… at least I think I am. I haven’t heard of any new births after mine.”

“And that’s why there weren’t any other Fae kids at my birthday party,” Harry realized. “There aren’t any.”

“Not that I know of, anyway.” Luna frowned in thought. “Let’s see. The youngest before me was this half-Pooka from the Autumn Court, but I’m not sure what happened to him… he left Faerie before I was born. Oh, wait, there’s this rumour that there are some half-bloods in the Winter Court, too. I don’t know how much older than me they are, but they might still be there.”

“If they even exist,” said Ginny. “And I don’t think they do. Everyone knows the Winter Court hates mortals. Why would they have children with mortals at all? Especially if everyone else is aready having enough children to keep Faerie from stagnating?”

“I suppose it doesn’t make sense, does it…” Luna murmured.

Harry looked at them, trying to process all this new information. Luna looked to be about eleven, though of course it was hard to tell with Fae. If she was right and there hadn’t been any new births in Faerie since her, that would mean that the place only saw about one birth every decade or so. Even for a place where everyone was immortal, that wasn’t a lot… and some of those rare births, like Hagrid, or that half-Pooka, chose to leave Faerie and stay in the mortal realm instead… 

He frowned. All of a sudden, Lady Vidia’s decision to transform all those Blacks into Fae, and even the Dursleys into flitlings, seemed to take on a new context. Had it just been about punishment… or had it also been a way of getting some new blood into Faerie? Did transformed Fae count as full-blood Fae? No, probably not… but the thought remained. 

He really needed to talk to Lady Vidia. Or at least have some serious talks with the flitlings.