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Out Of Reach by CanisMajor

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Chapter Notes: The line about dwelling on dreams and forgetting to live is, of course,
Dumbledore's, from Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone.

Early the next morning, all three members of the Jones household were waiting by the garden gate; none of them had even thought about breakfast yet. Griff Jones was digging over an unused piece of ground, having apparently forgotten how to bewitch his spade to make it do the work on its own. His wife sat on a flat-topped granite boulder, engrossed in the Prophet crossword. Their son stood, shifting his weight occasionally from one foot to another. All three of them cast frequent glances at the pale blue sky.


–Feline's joints: will we hear?” Phoenix's mum queried, breaking the silence as she looked at him hopefully. –Seven letters.”


–Kneazle,” Phoenix replied at once. She hadn't really needed the help with that one.


Phoenix was just beginning to wonder how long they would all be there, particularly if there should turn out not to be any post that day, when a sharp turn of his mother's head indicated that she had seen something. He followed her gaze, and after a few moments saw them too: a pair of dots, approaching at speed. By the time the two big tawny owls were fluttering in towards a landing on the wall, they had an attentive audience of three. One owl bore an envelope: purple ink on yellow, just like yesterday's. The other did not appear to be carrying anything.


Phoenix clutched his father's arm. –Dad --”


His dad didn't shake him off, exactly, but he wasn't distracted, either. As soon as the owl with the envelope came within range, he reached out with his wand hand. –Evanesco!”


It took Phoenix a few moments to work out what had happened next. The letter was gone, its bearer squawking indignantly; his parents were looking around, squinting into the newly risen sun; then the second owl flew back into view, now with an envelope in its beak. The same envelope, as far as he could tell. Neither owl seemed much inclined to settle; both circled, awaiting the Jones' next move.


–Evanesco!” Again the letter vanished; again it reappeared, now back with the owl that had first brought it. –Evanesco!” Now the second owl had it again. Was it possible for owls to have smug expressions on their faces? If so, this pair certainly did.


–Wait,” Phoenix's mother interposed. –Try something else. How about” -- she raised her own wand -- –Glisseo!”


The owl flapped its wings furiously; for half a moment, it seemed to be losing its grasp on the letter. But just as it slipped out of the bird's beak and began its fall to the ground, it disappeared. Four pairs of eyes turned to the other owl, and noted the yellow envelope, firmly in its clutches.


–What do you reckon, Phoebe?” Griff Jones cast a worried and frustrated look at his wife.


Phoenix's mother was concentrating; the owls might have been a particularly unyielding crossword clue. –Switching Spell. It would be simple enough to do: the birds aren't even swapping beaks. Or perhaps they are; it doesn't matter.”


–It matters to them, I'm sure,” her husband admonished her.


She ignored him, and frowned. –It isn't true invulnerability, nothing like it, but there aren't many spells that will work properly on an object that's already halfway to being somewhere else.” She thought for a while. Phoenix thought about it too, unable to help himself; only in the back of his mind was something reminding him that he'd much rather the conundrum was never solved at all.


–Vanishing Spells,” his mother decided. –You had the right idea to begin with, my dear, we just need to do them together. You do that one -- she waved vaguely at the owl with the letter -- and I'll do the other. One, two --”


A moment after –three”, the two Vanishing Spells reached their targets simultaneously. His father's struck the letter; it seemed to flicker uncertainly for a moment, then it was gone. His mother had been aiming for the other owl, which now looked surprised to find itself as empty-beaked as the first. The two owls turned towards each other in mid-air and hooted noisily; each seemed to be reproving the other for misplacing a valuable piece of wizard post.


–How did you do that?” Phoenix was no less amazed than the owls; he even forgot, temporarily, what it was that had just been lost. –You Vanished a thing that wasn't there!”


–But it would have been, without the spell,” his mother explained. –Vanishment merely denies the possibility of being. This object's enchantment gave it two ways to be; two spells sufficed to drive it into non-being.”


–Right, that's that then, at least for today.” Phoenix's dad looked relieved. –Phoenix, I think you should --”


–We're not finished yet,” his mother interrupted. –Look at the owls: they're not flying off.” And nor were they: both remained in flight nearby, as disinclined to depart as they were to land.


–Can't I at least read my letter?” Phoenix asked plaintively. –I'd like to just look at it. Please?” He felt as if he were addressing the world in general; one of the owls gave a sympathetic hoot.


–You can wait inside if you'd rather,” his mum told him, still scanning the sky distractedly. –I know this can't be any fun for you. We'll make it up to you, I promise.”


But a warm, reassuring thought was germinating in the back of Phoenix's brain. Someone at Hogwarts wanted to make sure he got that letter, had taken considerable trouble to post it again today. Someone was on his side! And that meant that not everything was decided after all, not at least to the satisfaction of -- did he dare think it? -- Albus Dumbledore. There was still a chance he would see Hogwarts Castle; he would not give up.


He was returned to the present by an awareness that the local owl population was increasing again. Four more tawnies were approaching; they were still too distant to be seen clearly, but his mother was already indicating one of them with her wand.


–That one has it, see, dear?” she said over her shoulder.


Griff had excellent eyesight; he nodded immediately. Phoenix squinted at the new arrival and spotted the odd bulge by its head: the bird was carrying something in its beak. Something rectangular, something that apparently had more than two ways of being.


–What are we going to do now, Phoebe? There aren't six of us.” Phoenix had seldom seen his dad sounding so unsure of himself.


His mother was stumped as well. –I don't know,” she muttered. –Perhaps -- but no, that would just -- how many more of them are there, I wonder?” Phoenix watched her thinking, fascinated despite himself. His mum could solve any magical puzzle, but would she find a solution for this one before the owls arrived?


–Got it.” His dad was beaming; as the owl with the letter came diving steeply towards them, he took careful aim at it. –Geminio!” The owl sheered off as the Duplication Spell hit, but it was only surprised; the envelope was still firmly clutched in its beak. And not only there: quickly scanning the small flock of owls now circling the cottage, Phoenix saw that two of them now carried letters.


–What?” Phoenix's mother sounded confused.


–Allow me.” Her husband looked pleased; he didn't often get the chance to enlighten his wife on magical technique. –Geminio! Geminio!” And within a few moments, all of the owls bore envelopes. –Right, I think that's all taken care of.” He lowered his wand, and motioned to his wife to do the same.


–Ah.” Now Phoebe Jones appeared deeply impressed. –That's clever. Playing to your strengths, so to speak.”


It was still a mystery to Phoenix what was so clever about Duplicating a letter one wished to be rid of, but he didn't care to ponder the solution. All six owls were now settling in a rough circle on the ground around him, proffering identical-looking yellow envelopes. Without further thought, he seized one and tore it open.


Inside was a piece of the same thick parchment that the envelope was made of. Phoenix had turned it over in his hand five or six times before his brain, eager to start reading, caught up with what his eyes were seeing. He'd known what to expect, of course: a brief note, signed by the Deputy Headmistress, informing him that the school term would start on the first of September, and listing the books and other items that he would need. What he hadn't envisioned, not even in his most dreadful imaginings, was a sheet of parchment blank on both sides.


He would not look up, he wouldn't. He knew his parents were watching him, but he refused to meet their eyes. Instead, he peered desperately at the parchment he was holding, willing it to explain itself. It was rather grubby, he noticed; not so much an unwritten page as one which appeared to have been written on, and then greasily rubbed out. There were, in fact, some faint markings that might have been quill-strokes, but even in the bright morning sunlight he could not make them resemble letters, let alone words. His eyes felt hot; did Hogwarts not want him after all?


–Phoenix,” his father was saying to him gently; it was an effort to start listening. –I'm going up Llyn Draig this morning. I think you should come with me. All right?”


–All right.” The disappointment would probably have sent him brooding in that direction anyway. Having his dad with him might not make things any worse; at any rate, it was the line of least resistance. He put the letter that said nothing in his pocket, and made an effort to smile at his dad.


The track that led up the valley was narrow and rough; no Muggle vehicles ever came this far up. Phoenix and Griff trudged it on foot, the son following his father, watching the haversack swinging on his back. Brian the border collie trotted along behind them. Their way followed a stream, which it crossed at one point on a rustic bridge made from two planks. Phoenix's dad waited on the other side for him to catch up, regarding the trickle in the streambed with sad interest. –Could all do with some rain,” he remarked laconically, once Phoenix had safely crossed, before walking on.


As they skirted the flanks of Bryn Gwyn, the last of the scrubby hedges flanking the path disappeared. The day was becoming warm, even though they were travelling high enough now to see the tops of all the green hills around them, like folds in an immense rumpled blanket. At length Griff stopped again, took out a battered old tin cup, and used magic to fill it with water. Nearby, a rock with a slight concavity served as a ready-made water-dish for Brian. Wordlessly, all three of them drank.


As they reached the higher slopes, they passed the place where Phoenix had got lost when he was seven. He hadn't panicked -- he seemed to remember just sitting on a rock for ten minutes or so, and thinking about what a fine spot this was, and how warm the sunshine -- but eventually he'd decided that he'd really like his dad to find him again soon, and with that thought a shower of red sparks had shot skywards with some quite impressively loud bangs. His first involuntary magic. Naini Jones' old wand had chosen him shortly after that.


Llyn Draig lay in a small glacial valley, with a steep rocky outcrop rising behind it. Its shores were an upland meadow filled with wild flowers. It was one of Phoenix's favourite places; some of his earliest memories were of roaming the nearby hillsides with his mother or father, looking for rare plants that might enable the brewing of some worthwhile potion, returning always to this calm, untroubled pool. He sat with his dad, Brian lying on the ground beside them, gazing at a single cloud reflected in the surface of the water.


–This is how magic used to be,” said Griff quietly, after a long while. –A wild place with power, quiescent for years perhaps, waiting, until a wizard or witch should come to work their art with it.” He paused, reflecting on his own words. –With it, not on it, you understand?”


Phoenix nodded. He loved to hear his father talk like this; it sent a shiver up his spine, as though he were being vouchsafed some ancient, secret wisdom. A light gust of wind rippled the surface of the tarn, adding to the effect.


–They were your ancestors, and mine,” his dad went on, –some of those old sorcerers. All this was the Kingdom of Gwynedd, in the days when they did their magic; the old kings knew what they did, and the hills knew it too. It's only in modern times that wizards have started to congregate, hiding in crowds in the great Muggle cities, enchanting cars and plugs and what-have-you. There's a lot to be said for exchanging ideas with other magical folk, of course, but it's not the natural order of things, not the way the magic wants to be. The profoundest wizards always stayed in touch with the high places, the sources of their power; they didn't spend much time teaching tricks to each other. Owls don't flock, my granddad used to say, and I reckon he had it right.”


–Is that why you don't want me to go to Hogwarts?” Phoenix still had all his longing to do just that, but at the same time, he felt a kind of detachment. His dad had that effect on him sometimes: it was worth something just to listen to him.


–Yes. You can learn wand-waving anywhere, but to truly make the magic your own, you need to know your place. This place, where you were born. To hear the wind in the hills, smell the life forces in the spring, feel the thunder.”


They sat for a while. Phoenix didn't respond, and his father didn't need to say anything further. Out on the tarn, the cloud's reflection was starting to resemble an awkward face; it was smiling slightly. He watched as it drifted across the reflected sky; his troubles not forgotten, quite, but diminished for the moment.


–Dad,” Phoenix ventured at length, –why can't I at least read the letter?”


His father sighed. –It would be better not to. It's not wrong to want things, but there's no wisdom in filling your head with what you can't have. Try this: imagine there's some wizard, somewhere, who already has everything that you're pining after, but he's unhappy” -- he paused, for just long enough for Phoenix to begin to grasp this -- –because he desperately desires the things that you're lucky enough to possess. It does neither of you any good to dwell on dreams, and forget to live.” He waited a few moments before adding, –So I got rid of it for you.”


–How did you do it, though?” Phoenix's curiosity got the better of him. –Where did you learn to do Geminio like that?”


–I can show you that one.” Griff drew his wand. –Almost any single thing has the potential to be two, in the presence of a wizard; you just have to challenge it. See that cinquefoil?” -- he pointed the wand at a tiny plant growing within easy reach -- –Geminio!” Instantly, there were two bright yellow flowers on a stem that had borne only one before.


Feeling determined, Phoenix took out his grandmother's wand. Perhaps he couldn't have Hogwarts, but he was still a wizard. He glared at another of the yellow flowers, and growled –Geminio!” Nothing happened.


–Your pronunciation's spot on, first try,” his father praised him. –Try cupping the flower in your hand, like this...”


He spent the next hour trying, unsuccessfully, to duplicate wild flowers. At times a sharp breeze set the meadow fluttering, but the number of flowers in it did not increase as a result. Once, a solitary butterfly drifted along the shore, and Phoenix wondered if it might be any more susceptible to magic than the flowers seemed to be, but it was gone before he could try. The spell seemed to be a difficult one, but he didn't mind -- feeling the magic flow spurred him on, and his father appeared content to encourage him for as long as he was willing to keep trying it.


Every so often, Griff performed the spell himself, by way of demonstration, and after a while Phoenix noticed something interesting. Not only did each stem now carry many flowers, instead of its original one, but the yellow petals had become paler and paler with each replication, until now they were almost white. He could hardly help mentioning it.


–They aren't really supposed to fade like that,” his dad admitted. –I never quite mastered the spell well enough to produce perfect copies. But it comes in quite handy sometimes.”


–Like with my letter, you mean.” Phoenix pulled out the crumpled envelope, noticing for the first time that the address had faded to illegibility as well. Not wanting to spoil his dad's mood, he stuffed the envelope back into his pocket, and poked at one of the plants with his wand. –Geminio!” The stem shook as the spell hit it, and suddenly there were more white flowers on it than there had been, two or three more. Success!


–Well done, mate!” His dad beamed and slapped him on the back; Phoenix found himself grinning too. –That's real magic -- took me weeks of practicing to pull that one off.” They stood up, both pleased with themselves. –Well, I think it's time we started heading back; don't want your mum to worry.” He took up his wand again and began to reverse the enchantments, returning each plant to its pristine state, with a single yellow flower. –All these flower heads on one stalk aren't natural,” he explained, –they'll die if we leave them like this. And that wouldn't do, because they're fairly rare around here.”


–What are they good for?” Phoenix asked. –I mean, what magic can you do with them?”


–None that I'm aware of,” his father replied. –But they've been in these hills for thousands of years, season after season, ever since the ice retreated. Theirs is a magic even older than wizards'; the likes of you and I owe it some respect, don't you think?”


As they tramped back down the valley, Phoenix felt a glow of contentment. He had mastered a new spell -- a really hard one, from all he could tell. And what was more, as they left the uplands he had spotted a genuinely magical plant, and sneaked a few of the petals into his pocket. He had a feeling he was going to get to read that letter after all.