The Head In The Fireplace

There's Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, Godric's Hollow, and plenty of other wizarding settlements around the country. But have you ever wondered how magical folk in remote areas live?

 Ormerod Windmill was the residency of a family whose secret would have doubtlessly unnerved those of Breezy-Tops a whole lot more than their tame stories. A family, to be precise, called the Fernsbys. Mr Fernsby was a tall, well-natured man who despite his encroachment into middle-age had managed to retain a full head of brown hair. He was neat, rarely forfeiting his immaculate robes and polished shoes. But despite his attention to appearance, to anyone he happened upon it would be his beaming smile they’d remembered him for.

 By contrast, his wife Caelia was short and spriteful. If the simple villagers at the bottom of the hill had ever seen her in a frilled and flowing dresses, never of a single colour or pattern, they would have likely fled at full speed in the opposite direction. But what she really prided herself on, and what the braver of the children caught whiffs of as they ventured into the windmill’s vicinity, were her aptitudes for cooking that wafted up, out, an over the hill, and many a child still blamed the irresistible scent whilst being chided by worried mothers for venturing up there.

 And then there was Felix, their fourteen year old son. Of the three of them, Felix was the only one whose face was somewhat recognised about the village. He was, after all, a school child of similar age as many of the other children he knew as The Mob. But the school he attended was nothing like St. Levan’s High in the middle of Breezy-Tops. For Felix went, as his parents had, to a school of magic.

 Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was largely regarded as the best magical academy one could earn attendance to. Despite being from a long line of witches and wizards, Felix still remembered the elation he’d felt upon receiving his acceptance letter on his eleventh birthday. The school was accessible only by riding an enchanted train, and was surrounded on one side by a deep lake and the Forbidden Forest on the other. 

 The building itself was a great castle quite beyond the means of non-magical- or muggle- architecture, and held within its walls halls as tall as the sky, great staircases that moved between the many, many floors, buttressed courtyards with marble statues, and classrooms full of more strange and fascinating equipment than any of the residents of Breezy-Tops could imagine.

 And taught at Hogwarts were few of the lessons the children in Breezy-Tops would monotonously sit through. Hogwarts pupils didn’t learn Shakespeare, or algebra. No, instead there was Transfiguration and Defence Against the Dark Arts class, Potions and Flying lessons. Felix’s favourite subject was Charms, where they had spent the end of the previous year practicing the Freezing Spell, the Full Body-Bind Curse and the Banishing Charm. He had practiced these into the summer holidays, much to the annoyance of his parents, and had even gone as far as to start practicing the Summoning Charm, which was a fourth year spell. Professor Flitwick was the Charms teacher at Hogwarts, as well as Head of Felix’s house, Ravenclaw.

 There were four houses at Hogwarts. ‘Whilst you are here, your houses are like your family’, Felix remembered Professor McGonagall telling his cohort on his very first evening at Hogwarts. They were Gryffindor, for the brave and chivalrous, Slytherin, for the cunning and ambitious, Hufflepuff, for the hard-working and loyal, and Ravenclaw, for the curious and creative. There was a passage which again he remembered from his first night at the school as sung by the Sorting Hat, a magical artefact which decided which house the prospective pupils would belong to.

‘Or may you go in Ravenclaw
Where quests of wisdom stir the heart
To seek the strange and foreign
There’s no better place to start.

Here you’ll grow your knowledge
Break misconceptions right apart
For once known all there is to know
It’s your job to impart.

Some may shun or scold you
Call you ‘Bookworm’ or ‘Old fart’
But jealousy will come to those
Who know they’re not as smart.

For vision is the greatest thing
If you’re so wise to take your part
For here in dear old Ravenclaw
All dreamed is nought but art.’

 Felix had indeed been a curious student, and his curiosity had got him into trouble on more than one occasion during his first three years at Hogwarts. It was only in his second week when he and his friend Oscar decided to see for themselves what sorts of weird and wonderful things lived in the Forbidden Forest. Not that they’d ever got that far.

 Hagrid, the huge and towering Gamekeeper had caught them before they’d so much as crossed the treeline and handed them over to their respective heads of houses. Another time, they had sneakily tried to follow a couple of Hufflepuffs behind a secret portrait, only to be attacked by a host of angry house-elves. But no adventure, no escapade, had ever been fruitless, for in breaking rules Felix always had the hindsight to see reward in his endeavours, and no reward was greater than the alliances made in such mischief.

 There were five of them. Oscar, whom Felix had tried to sneak into the Forbidden Forest with, was a Gryffindor, and the two had met on the Hogwarts Express on September the first almost three years ago. Eliza, the third member of their group, was the one who had called off the house-elves after they’d followed her and her friends into what had turned out to be the Hogwarts kitchens, and their friendship had been cemented when they’d promised not to tell the teachers in return for the password.

 The final two members were Slytherins. Cora and Augustus were two of the most impish pupils in the year, and it was in fitting circumstances, in a detention with Argus Filch, that they properly met, and spent a happy hour tormenting the cantankerous caretaker by making bees fly out of his ears and nose. And after going five weeks on his own in his windmill, Felix was ready to see them again.

 

 Mrs. Fernsby was perhaps the earliest riser in the entire village. Even Felix, who liked to be up as soon as possible, wondered how his mother did it. It was a rare day indeed when he was woken by anything but the savoury aroma of pastries baking from the kitchen. That morning Caelia Fernsby dressed quietly, momentarily bemoaning the absence of her husband abroad, and skirted silently down the spiralling stairs that lined the interior of their conical abode. Fido the barn owl hooted softly as she past his window-side perch.

 “Good morning, Bramwell,” she said as she past a smartly-dressed ghost on her way down.

 “Good morning, Mrs. Fernsby!” the ghost replied jovially, tipping his phantom top hat to her as they passed. “And may I say what a fine dress that is.”

 Bramwell was perhaps the main reason the locals perceived the hill as haunted. It was his howls that kept trespassers away during the weeks the mill lay empty, which was often when the three occupants were a boy in boarding school, a wild herbalist and an international sporting panellist.

 “You’re too kind!” Mrs. Fernsby curtsied the green and white fabric.

 “And Mr Fernsby? How’s the old man doing? Still in Finland?”

 “Still in Finland. If it hadn’t have been so close to term-time we might have gone out with him, But with Felix starting school again next week it’s not really worth the trip.”

 “”A good shame, too. I could’ve done with letting off a bit of steam. Keep those villagers in shape, what to. They’re getting a little brave for my liking.”

 “You’ve noticed, have you?”

  “I’m not as busy as the two of you, you know. I’ve got time to spare a gaze towards the road. One of these days, Caelia, one of these days they’ll see something they really shouldn’t.”

 “But Bramwell,” Mrs. Fernsby laughed, “they’ve seen you several times! And if they haven’t seen Sir Mortimer, they’ve probably heard him rattling around.”

 “I know, I know, but the less they know about us, the easier life will be. Believe me, these aren’t typical city-goers. These are country folk. They aren’t as educated. They’re perhaps not as far from a witch-hunt as you’d think.”

 “Perhaps not, Bramwell, but I think you do our charms an injustice. It's not just fear that keeps them at bay, you know. But give it a week and Felix will be at school, and I’ll hopefully be meeting up with Cecil in Marseilles. And then you’ll have all the time in the world to renew trepidation of this place in the children.”

 “Very good, Ma’am.”

 Bramwell drifted directly upwards and disappeared through the ceiling above. Mrs. Fernsby continued down to the kitchen and saw Kazoo and Baskerville, the family cat and dog, snuggled together on a chair. Kazoo jumped up as she approached. She was chocolate brown apart from her white fluffy feet which made it look like she was wearing slippers. 

 Once the animals were fed, Mrs. Fernsby pulled out her wand and with one swish she summoned a dough ball towards her, and with another rolled it flat. Then, as though she was having an imaginary swordfight, she flicked her wand rapidly and the dough leapt into the air and braided itself. Finally, a golden liquid fluttered from her wandtip and laced itself onto the pastry.

 But before she could send it over to the stove the kitchen was disturbed by a clattering that, if it wasn’t for the soundproof enchantments cast around the windmill, may well have woken the muggles down in the village. And Mrs. Fernsby wasn’t in the least bit surprised when the suit of armour walked through the scullery.

 “And how are you, Sir Mortimer?” Mrs. Fernsby asked.

 “Very well, thank you, Sire,” he echoed, the sounds ricocheting off his tinny, hollow insides. Not even the Fernsbys knew whether he was merely an enchanted suit of armour, or an unusual form of ghost or ghoul, or something entirely different, but he insisted on called everybody Sire.

 “It’s such a shame his Lordship is still away,” Sir Mortimer said. “But where is the Prince?”

 “Where would you normally find a teenage boy at this time of morning in the summer holidays?”

 “Ah! A snoozer! I’ll go and see to him, if you will. You just say the word, Sire, and I’ll go and retrieve the lazy scoundrel!”

 “There’s no need for that, Mortimer. My shortcrust has never failed to do the trick. Though is he’s not up in the next ten minutes, a jog around the second level might be enough to make him stir.”

 “Sire, your wish is my command,” the night in no-longer shining armour saluted, and left the scullery.

 And that was Ormerod Windmill. There were Mr and Mrs. Fernsby, their son Felix, Bramwell the ghost and Sir Mortimer the suit of armour, Fido the barn owl and Kazoo the cat. But that morning, that chilly August morning, Bramwell’s observations began to come to light, and the children of Breezy-Tops got closer to the Fernsby’s Windmill than they ever had before. And again, it was with tales of something uncanny and macabre that they fled the Ormerod Hill for the safety of their quite quaint and ordinary village. And by that afternoon the only thing on the mind of every child in Breezy-Tops was the image of a severed head in the fireplace. But so aghast they were at the apparition, and so fast they scarpered, that none of them lingered long enough to see the head actually talk.

 With another twitch of her wand Mrs. Fernsby turned the stove on with her pastries inside it. Then she strode over to the cold and open fireplace the residents of Breezy-Tops had so often seen smoking. She took a handful of powder from a pot on the mantle and without so much as looking at the hearth tossed the residue in. Immediately, green flames leapt from the smouldered logs, flames which leapt high and noisily, but which gave off no heat, and did not consume the logs. Mrs. Fernsby took a seat across the table, and watched.

 The first scent of glazed shortcrust had just reached her when the crackling fire coughed and spluttered, and it quivered as though there was a strong breeze in the room. But when the fire settled and resumed, there was a head shimmering between the flames.

 “Well, hello, Caelia!” it said cheerily. “How’ve you been keeping? Why, it’s hard to believe we’ve only got a week left!”

 “Believe me, Garrick,” Mrs. Fernsby said, “the summer’s had me so busy it’ll be a blessing when it’s over! How have things been in Lavenham?”

 “Lavenham?” Garrick laughed. “We’ve hardly seen it. Went on what was supposed to be a ten day hiking trip in the Himalayas. You know, on one of our muggle adventures. But we got lost near the basecamp, that’s where they all rest and stock up on supplies before climbing the main mountain. Eventually we had to resort to getting our wands out and levitating ourselves off an icy precipice. I’m still not sure where we went so wrong, but we started out in Kathmandu and came down in south Tibet. Apparently the Himalayan Rescue Association- that’s what they call the muggle emergency people on mountains- were having a nightmare once we’d been reported missing by some of our party. Said there was no record of a family of four by our name or description in that area, which,” he said under his breath, “there wouldn’t have been. Anyhow, enough about our vacation. Oscar tells me you’ve been to Africa?”

 Just then, there was a scream, and a clatter of feet from the yard outside. Both heads whipped towards the kitchen window.

 “I say, what was that?” Garrick started, unable to peek past the protruding stonework of the fireplace.

 “It’s just the villagers, I expect,” Mrs. Fernsby said with an amused tone. She stood and leant over as to angle a view down the driveway, and sure enough she saw four children scarpering down the hill as fast as their legs would carry them.

 “You do well living so close to those folk. It’s a wonder they never catch you at something you ought not be caught at!”

 “Oh, you should hear the stories they tell of us down in the village. Bramwell and Sir Mortimer keep away the braver ones, but the stories keep away the rest. Mind you,” Mrs. Fernsby mused, “using a ghost and a suit of armour to chase them away is hardly likely to put such rumours to rest. Now where were we?”

 “Africa!”

 “Africa. Well, we managed to get away in July, spent a week in Morocco. It all worked out quite well in the end. In my new book, yes,” Mrs. Fernsby smiled proudly, “I’m getting a third one out, there’s going to be a section on magical plants of the desert and their abilities to survive in arid conditions, so it was the perfect getaway.”

 “Congratulations! Doesn’t sound much like a holiday, though!” Garrick laughed.

 “Oh, we managed to get much more in than my research. We took Felix to see the ancient settlements of Ait Benhaddou, and the restorative charms that keep the ruins standing. And we even saw a nundu leopard whilst riding abraxan in the Sahara. But it feels like only last week when Cecil was on his panel wrapping up the last season’s duelling, and now he’s in Helsinki trying to negotiate amendments to the European game.”

“And how is Cecil?”

 “Busier than ever with it being only two weeks until the start of the new season.”

 “Ah, of course! Not a bad dueller himself in his day. I bet it’s felt like you’ve not even had a holiday!”

 “Hopefully I’ll be meeting Cecil in Marseilles when we get Felix shipped off to Hogwarts, and then I’ll be able to get some sun to myself.”

 “I say, you should persuade the old man to move some fixtures around, postpone the season. No one better to suggest such a thing than someone on the committee itself. But I imagine it’ll be more complicated than that. I was always a Quidditch man, myself. Although, you know how we do love to play muggle, I have rather got into the spirit of something called football. It’s a game they play where players have to try and kick a ball into a sort of upright basket, and lo and behold it’s actually pretty good fun. Had to go all the way to Ipswich to find folk interested in that sort of thing, though!”

 “Well it sounds riveting,” said Mrs. Fernsby in a voice that made it quite clear the idea of playing muggle wasn’t for her. “As for Cecil, I don’t think my husband holds that much sway on the division. But the south of France is something to look forward to if nothing else.” Mrs. Fernsby glanced over at the shortcrusts to make sure they were glazing evenly. “Finland would have been nice, though.”

 “Well, well listen here. Seems like a waste us both going up or down to London, and as pleasant as a get-together would’ve been, we can always arrange something for Christmas, or even Easter. No, you should send Felix to us for the last week of the summer. We’ll be going down to London on Friday to get there ahead of the usual bustle, so he can spend a few days here with us, and then we’ll find a place in Diagon Alley until… is it Thursday?”

 “That’s awfully kind, Garrick, but it would be unfair to take that time away from you, especially with the ordeal you’ve been through this summer.”

 “It would be no issue! As I said, we’re going to London in three days anyway, and what’s one more body with us when were in Diagon Alley? No, I insist. Besides, I think Oscar’s reached that point where the novelty of having nothing to do has turned into boredom. It’d do him good to have someone to help him aggravate the Barb-ecue.”

 Just then came the sound of footsteps, and they both looked up, Garrick once again able to stair only at the stone pillar of the mantle. At the bottom of the stairs stood a tall boy of fourteen, and if Cecil and Caelia had been standing next to each other, Felix would have been a near-perfect mixture of both of them. The full and cheerful eyes and wide beaming smile he had inherited from his father, whilst his stance and gait, free and jaunty, were from his mother. He was tall, at least for a boy of his age, with blonde and curly hair. And he loved the smell of Shortcrust.

 “Is that the man, himself?” Garrick called, seeing Mrs. Fernsby’s head turn and hearing the footsteps cross the kitchen.

 “Hello Mr Skipton,” Felix said, smiling to conceal his yawn.

 “We were just talking about you.”

 “Mum!” he sighed. “What have you been telling Oscar’s dad this time?”

 “No, no, dear boy,” Garrick laughed. “I was just wondering if you might help me persuade your mother of something.”

 Felix looked puzzled.

 “Mr Skipton was considering inviting you to spend the rest of the summer with them. Of course, I told him that wouldn’t be possible, with this, that, the cleaning that needs doing, your chores, the-”

 “Mum!”

 “You’re a cruel, cruel woman,” chortled Garrick.

 “Well who else is going to tidy your room? It can’t stay in that state until Christmas.”

 “I can do that now!” Felix insisted, and grinned as he saw the flicker of a smirk escape onto his mother’s face.

 “Mr Skipton tells me they’ve had quite the holiday.”

 “I know. Oscar told me about it in a letter.”

 “And you didn’t think to tell your mother this?”

 “Um…” Felix stammered. “No.”

 “Well there’s only so much you can put in a letter,” Garrick chortled. “If it’s still alright with you, Mrs. Fernsby, and if Felix wants to, of course, we can arrange to receive him later this evening.”

 “I’m not sure he’s really too interested in going. He hasn’t told me he’s interested.”

 “Mum!” Felix said again. “Mr Skipton, I’d love to come and visit!”

 “Well them it’s settled! As long as you get that room tidied and keep on your mother’s good side for the next few hours, we can have tea ready for you.”

 “Or if I upset her enough she’ll be glad to be rid of me.” Felix ducked to avoid a clip round the ear.

 “Oh, he’s his father’s son, alright!”

 “He might not be for much longer if he keeps this up!”

 “We’ll call it five o’clock. Does that work with everyone?”

 But before he could get a reply, the image of his face shimmered in the flames and disappeared, and all that could be heard was, “Oh, get off. Not now. Oh, alright!” And then a different head appeared in the grate, a much younger face.

 “Hello? Hello! Mrs. Fernsby, how are you?”

 It was, of course, Oscar.

 “I’ll be good, thank you Oscar, once I’ve whipped some manners into your friend before I let him loose on you. I hear you’ve had a rough trip this summer.”

 “Rough? Nah, it was awesome!” he beamed. “We blew up a mountain! It was all dad’s fault we got lost. I kept saying ‘follow the guide, the guide knows where we’re going’, but he was all like,” he made a cruel imitation of his father’s voice, “‘I think it would be better if we went this way instead, yes, it’s far less crowded on along the edge of that crevasse’.”

 “That is not what happened!” came Garrick’s muffled and indignant voice from somewhere in the background.

 “But anyway, is Felix allowed to come and stay? Where is he? Still in bed? I’d have thought you’d have got Sir Malleable or whatever he’s called to go and jump on him and joust him into shape.”

 “He’s here,” Mrs. Fernsby said. “He’s wisely staying out of arm’s reach of his mother.”

 “Felix!” Oscar cheered as Mrs. Fernsby beckoned him into the picture. “How are the muggles? As fun as ever?”

 “He missed them earlier,” Mrs. Fernsby said. “I think Mr Skipton gave them a fright when his head appeared in the fireplace. Good lord, Baskerville gives them enough to think about when he starts barking.”

 “Aw!” moaned Felix. “I wanted to try and hypnotise them with my Zonko’s goggles.”

 “Oh, they’re great!” Oscar laughed. “I’ve been trying my pair on mum when she threatens to make stew for tea.”

 “How many times, Felix, you are not to enchant the muggles!”

 “I think the quicker I’m removed from the temptation, the better.”

 “I think you’re right. Well, Oscar, you tell your father that we’ll bring him round around five. I’ll send a letter later in the week with Fido and all being well we’ll catch up later in the year.”

 “Brilliant. Thanks Mrs. Fernsby. See you later, Felix.”

 And with that the fire died and the grate was as empty as it had been ten minutes earlier. Mrs. Fernsby took the shortcrust off the stove, but Felix was no longer interested in breakfast. He was already back upstairs enlisting the help of Sir Mortimer to make sure his room was tidier than it had ever been. He couldn’t believe it. He loved their windmill, but a whole week back in the real world! It was going to be the perfect end to the summer.

Author's Note

Once again, any/ all feedback greatly appreciated, and thank you again so much for taking the time to give my piece a read :)