Protecting a Magical World

Ned Flemming was a man who understood magic.

He had been born in a part of Britain where the old traditions still inhabited the unswept corners of the hearth and the space behind the church door.

Indeed, he routinely watched his mother perform magic in his youth. On stormy nights when his father was out in the boat, his mother would sit anxiously staring at an egg she held above an open flame. In time she would relax when she had divined her man's safe return home. On the night of a great storm, the egg scorched her hands and she dropped it to the ground where it shattered. Later that night the men who fished with Ned's father came to the cottage with heads hung low. The body washed ashore two days later.

When he was eighteen he found magic of his own in the form of Margaret. She was beautiful and vivacious and the world seemed to sparkle around her. They spoke together of brownies, and spells, and witches, and the little elves who lived in places where one never looked. They would often sit at a fairy mound on the hill near town, quietly basking in each other's company, until forced by the chill air to return to their homes.

Not long into their courtship Ned presented Margaret with a ring. It was old and had been in his family for generations. It was also a charm - once a bond was sealed with it, no man could break it. In return she gave him a small triangular stone she had found after a storm. It was Elfshot. The little rock never left his pocket.

They spent over fifty years together, growing old and happy, protected by the magic of the other's love.

And then one day, after Margaret had been feeling a little low for some time, she visited the doctor. He saw no magic in her, but rather found a cancer. He ordered tests, tests, and more tests. She was now under the eye of science.

Ned watched as she grew weaker and more lethargic. He awaited the results of tests and treatments, confused and always hopeful. She did not get better, and finally science decided to move on.

On a night that was very hard for Margaret, she told Ned a secret. It was the last magic that passed between them. She told him that she would not truly die, but rather she was going to go join the fairies. Her body might be buried, but her spirit would be laughing and playing with the fairies in their secret world. And if Ned ever needed to speak to her he could just go to the fairy mound where they used to sit and she would be there with him. She died peacefully that night.

Ned visited the old fairy mound every day. He would sit and smoke his pipe and talk to the air and he knew she heard him. Sometimes he would doze off and wake with the rain.

One day he was jolted from his nap atop the hill by a strange noise and voices. It was a high-pitched whine, mixed with a buzzing.
"There 'e is. And a right lil' bastard."

"Oi! 'E's comin' 'round again, Ralph."

Ned saw two men in robes standing next to the fairy mound, pointing thin sticks into the air. They were following something with their eyes. "Li'l brute. Wonder they don't jes' let us blast 'em."

A small winged creature - it looked like a miniature person really - flew into view and swept down at the two men, who ducked. It was the source of the whining noise, or its little wings were.

The first man pointed his stick at it and said, "Apprendo," at which a thin whip-like gossamer thread flew from the tip of what could only be a wand and wrapped around the little flying beast.

The creature was quickly entangled and fell cursing to the ground. Ned stood up.

"Aye, good show laddies! Ye've caught a fairy!" He clapped his hands and prayed he wasn't dreaming.

The two men were a little taken aback by his presence. The one called Ralph came towards him.

"'Allo da'," he said, "You didn't see anythin' jes' now did ya?" But Ned could not be contained. "Ye've caught a fairy. Now make the beastie show us his gold!"

As Ned danced and rubbed his hands and called upon Margaret's spirit to witness his wonderful circumstance, the two men spoke quietly to one another. When Ned looked back to them he saw one had disappeared with the little creature.

"Laddie, yer friend will be wantin' some iron to be stoppin' the poor fairy, lest he get away."

"Now don' ya worry da', Dave knows all about these things. Ya jes' sit down for a minute, and me friends will be along direct like."

Sure enough, from behind a tree walked two men, also in robes. One was an old pinch-faced man, the other was much younger and still a bit of a boy. The two men consulted briefly with Ralph out of earshot as Ned, still dancing, squeezed the little elfstone in his pocket. After a few minutes the three men seemed to agree on something, and the older man, obviously in charge, sent the boy over to Ned.

The young man introduced himself and offered Ned his hand, which the old man shook excitedly. Ned had many questions, and began to ask them.

At first the questions were answered with a bemused look and a shaking of the head. So Ned tried to explain that he knew about fairies and all about magic. He told him about his mother, about Margaret and even showed him the Elfshot.

The young man excused himself and went back to the two other robed men. There was a disagreement, that much Ned could tell, and when the young man returned, his face was red.

It was suggested that they walk a bit together and the young man would tell him about everything he had seen. As they walked, the he told Ned that he was with the "Ministry of Magic", and they were all wizards. He told of fairies and spells and a world existing in Ned's own. A world in which magic was used for everything; a beautiful world of magical creatures and enchanted children. Ned wept to think of what Margaret would have done had she known this. If this was a dream, he prayed he would never wake from it.

After a while the young man looked back up the hill to his superior and sighed. He told Ned it was only his second day on the job and he couldn't afford to make any mistakes. He took out a cigarette and proffered it to Ned. Ned took it in his lips and began to search his pockets for his matches. The young wizard saw this and smiled. He lifted his wand and a little flame sprouted from the top. Ned laughed at his new friend's showing off like this. The wizard laughed too, and for a few moments they just stood staring at each other, connected in a little happiness.

Then the man asked Ned to close his eyes for a second so that he might put a charm on him. Before Ned could object the wizard whispered a few words and his wand glowed brightly.

When Ned awoke in his bed the next day he couldn't remember how he had gotten there or anything about the events of the day before. There were some things he did know though, and these he now knew very well.

He had come to a new understanding, and quickly dressed himself and marched out of his house. He walked purposefully towards the fairy mound and, when close enough, he threw at it the little rock he had kept in his pocket for over half a century. He had realized there was no such thing as magic.

There were no fairies, no spells, just sad and lonely people wanting to believe in them. His mother had dropped an egg and blamed herself all her life for her husband's death, the poor stupid woman. His wife's spirit was in no fairy mound, but in the ground of the churchyard, rotting, waiting for the day he would be dumped in next to her. He had been living a life based on a lie. The world was what he had seen - tests and treatments by doctors concerned only with their statistics, and pointless deaths that left broken people missing the other half of their hearts.

Ned Flemming died a little over a month after the day he saw the fairy and the robed men atop the hill. His funeral was a very small gathering; most of his friends and family had passed on years before.

One man stood by the graveside after all the mourners had left. The operator of the backhoe, eager to fill the grave, asked if he was ready. The young man looked down into the hole upon two oblongs side by side, Ned and Margaret. He dropped a small triangular rock into the grave and it bounced on the wood coffins, making a hollow sound.

He looked to the backhoe operator and said, "Ready." And turning to go, Arthur Weasley readjusted his hat.