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A Magic Beyond All We Do Here	By : NormanCharles Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female Views: 4225 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Okay, okay. I'm NOT JK Rowlings, I do not own Harry Potter. I make no money from writing these stories, I do it because it's fun and other people seem to enjoy what I write - the best of whom write review and tell me when I get it right and

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
A Magic Beyond All We Do
Here - Chapter Five

Lessons

Mundanes and Muggles and
what constitutes magic

Sinestra and OMC

�I�m a what?�� Charles
asked, looking more confused than scruffy, which for him was an accomplishment
this early in the morning.� He turned down the fire on the kettle.

�You are a wizard Charles,
or at least I think you are.� You can do magic with music.� It�s possible that
you are a grown, untrained wizard or you may be a true magician, a mug- no,
over here it�s mundane,� she corrected herself, �a mundane person who can
manipulate magic through music, a music-magus.�

�Sid, it�s a little early on
a Saturday for this, I was looking forward to sleeping in today.�

�It�s not a joke,� she said
as she pulled what looked like a conductor�s baton from the lining of her
jacket.

�Going to conduct a
symphony?� he chided.

�Excellent idea.� She said
and tapped her wand three times on the kitchen table and directed her attention
to the china cabinet.� The cabinet doors opened.� She waved her wand in short
syncopated movements and from the cabinet the wine glasses began to play
Tchaikovsky�s �Dance of the Sugar Plumb Fairies.�� It sounded nice, like a
symphony played on glass bells.

Charles moved quickly over
to the cabinet intent on finding the hidden wires and strikers that would be
involved in such an elaborate gag, or maybe it was a simple remote-controlled
recording.� Imagine his chagrin when he picked up a still vibrating glass that
continued to ring a C sharp in its turn in the tune.� He cautiously replaced
the ringing glass and sat down, without realizing that the chair slid under him
of its own accord preventing him from sitting on the tile floor.

�Look Charles, I know it�s a
lot to take in, but think about it, a lot of what you do everyday would have
been considered magic three hundred years ago.� Very few witches and wizards
can use a cell phone, or a microwave, but both of those things would have been
considered magic even a hundred years ago.� A simple book of matches would have
had you hung as a witch here in Salem in the late 17^th century.�

She lowered her wand causing
the music to stop; sat down at the table and asked, �Could I have a cuppa?�

He got up mechanically,
finally registering that the chair had mysteriously appeared under him.� He was
trying to figure it out as he went about preparing the tea.

�Trying to figure it out?�

He looked startled and
asked, �You read minds too?�

She smiled, �no, it�s just
what I�d expect from you about now.��

�Ah, well.�� He said as he
put the fire back up under the kettle stove and reached for the teapot; then
reached into the tea box for some Turkish chai, a strong black tea good for
jump starting your day.

�There�s a whole branch of
magical study that tries to explain how it works, and why it works only with a
small percentage of the human population.� Haven�t you studied quantum
physics?�� She asked.

�A little, I love to explain
to my friends that their every lottery ticket is guaranteed to be a winning
one.�� He went on to explain, �You buy a lottery ticket and place it in a
sealed envelope; it can only be one of two things, a winning ticket or a losing
ticket.� The funny part is that it is both.� The act of buying the ticket
creates a whole set of possible futures and in one of those possible futures
you will wake up the next morning a millionaire.� The hard part is waking up in
just that reality.�

He handed her a cup and
saucer.� The cup was empty but for a single sugar cube.

Sidra nodded
appreciatively.� �I knew you were a clever one.� By the way, Schr�dinger�s cat
thanks you.�

�Yeah, well.� I like cats
and don�t like the idea of even a theoretical feline being sacrificed to the
gods of quantum physics.�

She chuckled at this, �I
like you; you make me laugh.�

��I like you, you appreciate
my inane humor.�

The teakettle whistled in
agreement.

�Well if you think about
it,� she asked, �isn�t it all about matter and energy?�

He poured water into the
teapot then looked up contemplatively.

She continued, �What we do
is convert and direct energies, and manipulate matter.� The best of us can
transmute non-living and even living matter into something else, and back
again.�� With that she tapped his teacup which transfigured into a turtle.

�Somehow I knew you�d be one
of the best.�

She shrugged.

�So what does that make me?�
he asked as he poured her cup; then looked at the turtle, which looked back
balefully.

�A bit of an enigma really,�
she said as she re-transfigured the turtle back into a teacup so he could pour
his own.� He was a little hesitant to do so.

�Most magical folk exhibit
their gift in preadolescence; there are teams of witches and wizards whose only
job is to detect the magical signatures that result from these displays of
power.�

�Is that why you came to the
Willows that first time?�

�Yes, there were a series of
noticeable spikes in the grid centered on or near your house for about three
weeks; this was how we narrowed the surge to either you or your daughter.�
Frankly, at first no one even considered you as the source; it�s extremely
unusual for a mundane to start demonstrating magic after passing through
adolescence.� When we were sure it was you we started to identify the source of
the magic and found it was musical.� When an even bigger spike radiated from
the girls dormitory we assumed that it was one of the children so I apparated
to this campus and followed the energy.� I wasn�t that surprised to see you
were the source.�

�Apparated?�

�Disappearing in one spot
and reappearing in another.�

�Ah, beam me up Scotty.�

�My father was Scottish, how
did you know?�

�You don�t have Star Trek in
the magical world?�

�We study the stars, but we
can�t trek through them.�

About this time Charles
realized that there were probably as many things about his world that she didn�t
understand as there were about hers that he didn�t.

�The Guitar laute plans;
your idea?�

�Right in one, Mr. Norwood,�
she smiled, �we made sure that President Fowler got them, and surreptitiously
suggested that it would be a good project for you.�

�And is there anything
magical about the Lautar?�

�The saddle on the bridge is
from a unicorn�s horn.�

�Do I want to know where the
unicorn is?�

�Not really, as you are an
adult male the unicorn would have an irresistible urge to impale you.�

�Okay, scratch that, no
unicorns.� There is so much that I don�t understand; hell, I�m not sure I�m
even awake.�

She reached over and covered
his hand with hers.

�Are you familiar with the Aslogian
philosophy?�

He shook his head.

�In Aslogian shamanism
dreams are considered real, as real as this table,� she knocked on the wooden
surface, �because you can feel hear and perceive this table it�s real.� Tell
me, do you dream in color?�

�Yes.�

�Then you perceive that
world, so it is also real.� You just have a difficult time retaining your
experiences from the dream state to consciousness.�

�Am I dreaming now?�

�Would it help if I said
yes?�

�No.�

�Then no, you�re not.�

�Daddy?� Amber�s sleepy
voice came from the base of the stair.

�I�m sorry Sweetheart, did
we wake you?�

�I heard music.�

�Ah, that was Miss Sid.�

�Oh, hi.�

�Hullo Miss Norwood.�

Amber crawled into Charles�s
lap and glanced suspiciously at Sidra.

�Would you like some tea
Sweetheart?�

Amber nodded, and then
turned around so that she was still in his lap but facing the table.� She
poured a half-cup of milk into the cup that had been a turtle just moments
before, dropped in two sugars and filled the rest of the cup with tea.

�What can I tell her?� he
asked indicating his daughter.

�Everything, it�s never a
good idea to try to keep secrets from family, especially one as close as
yours.�

�Sweetheart, Daddy�s a
witch.�

�A wizard,� she corrected,
�and I know.�

It was the first time
Charles had seen Sidra visibly flabbergasted.�

�How could you know?� I just
found out myself.�

�When you play music, I see,
well, movies in my head, not just my imaginings, I see pictures of things I
know I�ve never seen before, places I�ve never been.�� Her eyes narrowed at
Sidra, �people I�ve never seen before but know anyway.�

�You saw me,� Sidra said, it
was not a question.

�Yes.�

�Curiouser and curiouser,�
she thought aloud; then added �Mr. Norwood, I stand corrected; I believe you
will be receiving an invitation on your daughter�s behalf to attend the Salem Institute.�
Meanwhile we have to decide what to do about you.�

Amber slid down from her
father�s lap and stood beside the table, equidistant from the two adults in the
kitchen.

�What do you mean?� Amber
asked anxiously.

Sidra decided to respond
directly to the precocious second grader.

�Your father is magical,
you�ve seen that.� But he�s never been taught to control his craft.� Can you
imagine fire in the hands of a child who doesn�t know how to control it?� It
doesn�t take much skill to pick up a burning branch, but think of the
consequences.� Your father is like that child; but what he has to control is a
hundred times more dangerous.�� He could be a danger to himself and to everyone
around him, including his students and even you.�

�I would never. . .�
Charles started to protest.

�I know you would never intentionally
harm Amber or any child for that matter; but you are like the proverbial Dragon
in a crystal Shoppe, you have tremendous power and potential and it is
untrained and uncontrolled.�

�My �craft� as you put it
seems to only be good for putting people at ease, or to sleep.� How is that a
danger?�

She smiled, �that�s because
it was you intent to put people at ease or to sleep; do you begin to see?�

Amber looked at her Daddy
and said �you wanted the girls to go to sleep, you wanted me to feel better
when Mommy died; you wanted me to remember her but not be sad.�

He looked thoughtful, �it
worked because I wanted it to?�

�Tell me, have you ever
played while angry or frightened?� Sidra asked.

�No, that would be kind of a
mood buster.�

�And you shouldn�t, not
until you learn to control your gift.�

�Does the Salem Institute
provide extension classes for adult learners?�

�In a way, yes.� She
answered

�How so?� he asked.

�We provide a tutor.�

�And that would be?�

Sidra took a deep breath,
let it out halfway and said �that would be me.�

She was waiting for the
inevitable explosion from the little lady of the house.

It never came.

Amber sat back in her
father�s lap and sipped her now cold tea.�

�Could you warm this up for
me, please?� she asked of Sidra.

Sidra tapped the cup with
the tip of her wand and whispered �agui calori.�

�Thank you, was that Latin?�

�Yes, we tend to use dead
languages for spell work.� That keeps us from accidentally casting spells.� Can
you imagine telling someone, �come here� and having them fly toward you as if
shot from a catapult?�

Amber nodded and said
�you�re really here to help Daddy; you�re not here to change him or take him
away?�

Sidra placed her wand on her
left breast then crossed her other hand open palmed on the upper part of her
right breast and intoned; �On my oath I mean no harm to anyone in this home, I
will neither harm nor by my inaction intentionally allow harm to befall this
family.�

There was a blue glow
surrounding her for a moment, after which it seemed to be absorbed into her.

Amber was impressed by the
display.� The solemnity with which the woman had recited the ritual seemed very
significant.

�That, Miss Norwood, was a
magically binding oath.� I cannot break it.�

�What happens if you do?�

�I die.�

The next month found Sidra
and Charles trying to define and refine his craft.

��Picture cool water flowing
through a brook; now play with that image in the front of your consciousness.�
Think of how it makes you feel.�

They were in the kitchen.�
They had played music in every room of the house including, of course, the
music room, but they always seemed to come back to the kitchen.� It was just
the natural place to spread out the newspaper, or music, or homework and have a
cup of tea and just be.

Charles played a descending
scale all the way down the neck and stopped when he heard a gentle rain against
the window.�

�Were you imagining rain?�
she asked.

�No, not really,� He sounded
annoyed �I don�t suppose the rain is just a coincidence; that it was going to
rain anyway?�

�I would accept that as a
possible explanation but for the fact that it�s only raining on your kitchen
window; and nowhere else.�

�Why didn�t it stop when I
stopped playing?�

�Do you still have a clear
mental image of that brook?�

�Oh, yeah I do.� He said and
strummed a C major seventh and the rain stopped.

�I noticed that you end
nearly all of your tunes with a major seventh.�

�Yeah, if just feels right,
like closure, y�know?�

�I think I do.�

She pulled a large white
plume from her briefcase and said, �Let�s enjoy a bit of success.�

He smiled at this.� His
first magical achievement had been the simple levitation of that same feather,
he remembered the lesson well.� It was just two months ago, and they had been
trying for a week to do simple spells with a wand without any success.� In
Charles� hand a wand was just a stick.� His magic was in his music, this much
was obvious.

�Normally we would use a
wand and you would incant �wingardium leviosah� to levitate the
feather.�

�But I don�t seem to be able
to do magic with a wand.� He muttered darkly.

�Precisely, but the concept
is the same; the �swish and flick� and the incantation have less to do with
levitating the object than the intent.�� First you picture in your mind what
you want the feather to do, which is to rise from the table; then you feel the
magic flow through you and the Lautar as you play a rising tune.� A simple
arpeggio should do the trick.�

Charles screwed up his face
in concentration then played a simple scale of chords starting on the first
fret in E then up the neck ending on the same chord at the 12^th fret
albeit one octave higher.� The feather trembled but stayed put.

�Hmmm,� Sidra thought aloud,
�let�s try a duet, see if you can accompany me on this,� and she lifted her bow
to her violin and played Vivaldi�s �Spring� from the Four seasons.� He
recognized the tune immediately and began to pluck the melody, then embellished
an accompaniment that complimented Vivaldi's piece nicely.�

Without pause she asked,
�What do you want the feather to do?�

�I want it to dance,� he
answered.

�Then will it and it
will be so.� She said.

He closed his eyes and
pictured the feather standing on its quill, moving about the table, then
leaping in the air as he played the melody.

�Keep playing when I stop,�
she instructed; then put down her bow.� She listened as he played; still with
his eyes closed as he imagined the Terpsichorean feather pirouetting about the
room in the air.

�Keep playing, Charles, and
open your eyes.�

When he did he was astounded
to see the feather exactly as he had imagined it, spinning and bobbing as it
floated around the room.� He smiled broadly as he called �Amber!� Sweetheart,
come and see!�

His daughter clomped down
the staircase and skidded to a halt on the kitchen tiles, then stood stock
still as the feather danced around her head. She broke into a huge smile and
then squealed in delight.

�Daddy, how are you doing
that?� she asked.

�Magic,� Sidra answered for
him.

Some days were more
successful than others, but Charles was a good student and very motivated to
learn.� Amber was very encouraging; letting her father have the time he needed
to practice his �music craft� as she dubbed it.� She was very polite to Sidra
once it had been established that she wasn�t trying to take Daddy anywhere.�

One afternoon just before
Sidra was due to arrive Amber asked, �Daddy, what instrument should I play?��

�I don�t know Sweetheart, do
you have any favorites?�

�I like a piano, but my
fingers are so small.� She pouted.

�They may be a little small
now, but you�re growing so fast, it won�t be long before your fingers are as
long as mine!�

Sidra walked in, she no
longer needed to knock; she just came at her appointed times or called ahead to
make sure someone would be home.

�Miss Sid,� Amber asked, �do
you teach piano?�

Sidra was surprised at the
question, but said �I can, do you want to learn?�

�Miss Sid is awfully busy;
she may not have time for yet another student� he almost said �in this house,�
but changed at the last second to �in her schedule.�� He said this to offer her
a way to refuse gracefully if she so desired.

�Not at all,� she said, and
was pleased to see that both father and daughter were delighted with the idea.

That was how it came to be
that Sidra Sinestra became firmly established in the Norwood household,
Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays with Charles and Tuesdays, Thursdays and
Saturdays with Amber from three thirty to five, although more often than not
she was already ready by the time father and daughter came home from school at
two-thirty.� Charles and Amber always insisted that she stay for dinner before
rushing off to the Salem Institute for her Astronomy classes or home for the
evening.� She gratefully accepted partially because she was a mediocre cook at
best, but mostly because she enjoyed the company.� This arrangement lasted for
the better part of a year.

Charles never knew who the
anonymous donor was who presented Joseph Fowler with a baby grand piano, but
was more than willing to �store� it in the family room of the townhouse until
it could be installed in the cafetorium at some later date �to be announced,�
as there was already a Steinway grand in the cafetorium the TBA date was
indefinite.� Charles had the piano installers set up the baby grand while the
ladies were out shopping for sheet music, he couldn�t wait to see their faces
when they came home.� He had speculated aloud that they could afford an
electronic keyboard, or possibly a secondhand spinet, so his little one didn�t
have high expectations for her first piano.� He met the girls at the door and
escorted them into the family room where he presented the gorgeous shiny ebony
instrument with great flourish.

�Ta-da!�

Amber was thrilled and Sidra
was, to use her own Briticism, �gob smacked.�

One Saturday afternoon while
Charles was in town shopping Sidra was helping her student work on left-hand
technique.

Without preamble Amber
simply said, �You don�t have a boyfriend.�

�Oh, I wouldn�t say that,�
she countered, �I have many gentlemen friends.�

�Maybe, but no one special.�

�Why do you say that?� Sidra
asked, intrigued.

�Well, you are here almost
every day; and you teach at night at least four nights a week and you never
talk about anyone special.�

�I am a private person;
perhaps I have a �special� someone and just choose not to talk about him.�

�Daddy doesn�t have anyone
either.� She said in a small voice.

�Nonsense, your father has
you and you love each other very much.�

�You don�t have to spend so
much time with us,� Said Amber, changing tactics.

�I enjoy the time we share.�
said Sidra who was taken aback to realize the truth of what she had just said.

�Me too, but if you had a
boyfriend he would be jealous of you spending so much time over here.�

�I keep forgetting how smart
you really are.�

She shrugged, �can�t help
it.�

�Amber,� the witch took a
deep breath; then released it, �my life is very full, very rich.� I don�t need
anything more than what I already have and being a witch I can have pretty much
whatever I want.�

�Even love?� Amber asked.

How could an eight year old
girl know so much?� The one thing that magic cannot do is make someone else
fall in love.� Oh it can provide some powerfully irresistible aphrodisiacs, but
once the desire is sated there�s nothing left, and the witch or wizard is worse
off than before.� The loneliness is like a crushing weight.� And Sidra had been
without someone special for a very long time.

�Why do you ask, little
one?�

A small tear appeared and
ran unnoticed down the girl�s cheek.

�My mama,� she choked out.�
�Mama used to call me . . .�

�Little one,� finished the
woman.

Amber squeezed her eyes
tightly shut as the tears flowed freely; her body convulsing in grief as she
cried silently.

Sidra enveloped her in a hug
and stroked and soothed and cooed until the child was spent.� Charles Norwood
loved his daughter completely, but was that enough?� Sidra thought, perhaps she
might find someone who could add a mother�s touch, she thought of her friends
and acquaintances at the Institute and no one came immediately to mind.�
Everyone she thought suitable was already married, or completely unsuitable.�
In fact, no one was good enough for these two lonely souls.

After a few minutes Sidra
asked, �Would you like a cuppa?�

Amber blinked and looked up
at the older woman, then nodded her head.

�Daddy said that if a meteor
was about to smack into the Earth and kill everyone that you would want to sit
down and have a �cuppa� before it hit.�

Sidra chuckled at this,
�he�s right you know; come on, let�s have some tea and sympathy.�

Amber insisted on playing
the hostess, that she prepare the tea.� She was as accomplished at tea as her
father.

While the little girl bustled
around the kitchen Sidra asked, �What brought this on then?�

�Well, Daddy spends a lot of
time with his music; and that�s good, but don�t you hear the stuff he plays?�

�Yes, well, a lot of minor
chords.�

�Moody music,� Amber
offered.

�That�s a good description
for it, I swear if I have to listen to �Greensleeves� one more time I think
I�ll scream.�

�That�s the one,� Amber
agreed.� �And when he thinks I�m not watching I see him look sad and lonely.�

�He hides it well, but yes,
he has a deep melancholy that surfaces from time to time.�

�So?� prompted the little
hostess.

�So what?� said Sidra,
refusing to rise to the bait.

�I know you�re not that
dense, Miss Sid, so what do you think about the idea of dating my Dad?�

Sidra knew, of course, where
the precocious girl was leading, and she thought of Charles as a good man and a
good friend, but romantically?� She�d never really considered it.� There was
the fact that he had a growing daughter that would be, too soon, entering the
adolescent world; did she really want to be the de facto parent to what would
indubitably become a sea of raging hormones?�

She thought, �What would my
life be like with them?��

Then she thought, �What will
my life be like without them?��

Sidra realized that she
didn�t want to think of a future that didn�t include both of them.

�What does your father think
of the idea?�

�He doesn�t know yet.� Amber
answered, knowing the hook was set.

�Why am I not surprised?�

�That�s why we have to make
him think it�s his own idea.�

�Poor sod,� Sidra sighed,
�he hasn�t a snowball�s chance in hell.�

A/N: Next chapter this tale
will live up to its NC-17 rating.
- 4
- 5
- 6
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A Magic Beyond All We Do Here