Englishman in the Encanto

Inside the house, a lot of people were hurrying about.

All these voices talking Spanish quickly and all at once, gave Sirius a headache, because it was difficult for him to follow all the conversations. He was glad he was following Mirabel and he could focus on that.

Sirius saw the burly Luisa running around with a few barrels but then her grandmother shouted something about a piano and the girl left the barrels and ran to comply, though she almost crashed into Mirabel, who moved away just in time.

“Sorry, sis!” the big girl shouted, though she didn't stop to check on her younger sister.

Sirius wondered if she’d gotten a breather all day. He’d seen her frequently during his day in town and she’d always been running about. Sirius was a very energetic person - he had to be especially now considering his life as an escaped convict - but he thought even he would have keeled over to the ground in Luisa’s place. And that would be regardless of his present status of recovering wizard.

He watched Mirabel’s aunt Pepa, the red-haired woman in the yellow dress that at breakfast had just told him to eat, walk around in a panic, literally forming a tornado. Sirius didn’t understand very well what she was saying as her frantic speech was too fast for him but since Félix, her husband, was trying to calm her down telling her that she was ruining the flowers or something along those lines, Sirius didn’t think the issue was that important.

Still, her powers were impressive and quite different than any Sirius had ever seen. All of these people had different abilities than he was used to.

“Did somebody say ‘flowers’?”

Sirius stared unimpressed, as the girl in the lilac dress, Isabela, he believed, descended from the second floor in a swing made of vines with a swift movement. True, her powers were very interesting as well but he didn’t think there was a reason for everyone to fawn over her as if she was some kind of…

“Our angel!” Félix was praising, “Our angel!”

Ugh, Sirius thought, making a face. Sure, the display of her materialising a bouquet out of thin air was fascinating but nothing the common wizard couldn’t easily whip out with a flick of the wand on a first date to impress a witch. He didn’t see people fawn that way over – well, Pepa, for one, whose powers were much more impressive in Sirius’s eyes. Or that poor girl Luisa, always running about.

And truth to be told, he didn’t like that princess-like attitude. It reminded him too much of his own mother’s ‘etiquette’ lessons when he was a boy because “the Blacks make their family proud, Sirius, wherever they go!” God, he remembered her shrill voice as if she was screaming at him right now.

Sirius knew that face that Isabela was making. His own cousins had gone through those ‘etiquette’ lessons as well, even more so, because, as women, they were supposed to find nice pure-blood wizard husbands to continue the bloodline. They’d all grown up and the oldest, Bellatrix, had ended up locked up in Azkaban after having tortured people into insanity, then Andromeda had run away with her ‘improper’ non-pure-blood husband – to Sirius, that was the real accomplishment – and Narcissa had followed the lessons to the letter and now she was married to a prominent pure-blood man, a lady of the house looking down on people she didn’t consider to her level – so basically everyone else.

It was a pity if Isabela ended up like that but Sirius didn’t see it going any other way with the way everyone fawned over her.

Under Sirius’s hard gaze, everyone had clapped in awe at Isabela’s display of power and even Félix and Pepa were looking at her and thanking her as if she’d just hung the moon but Sirius noticed Mirabel looked as unimpressed as he was feeling and wasn’t that odd, when she’d spoken so fondly of all the family members.

"Please, don't clap!" Isabela told the crowd with a pretty smile.

Sirius wasn't clapping.

Isabela flipped her hair over her shoulder, right in her sister’s face, not even caring to check if there was anyone behind her, and she groaned when she saw Mirabel.

Ah, that was why Mirabel wasn’t impressed.

“A little sisterly advice,” Isabela said in a false sweet tone, as she looked around kindly at anyone else, “If you weren’t always trying too hard, you wouldn’t be in the way.”

Mirabel didn’t take the ‘sisterly advice’ lying down, “Actually, Isa, this is called helping,” she said, turning to leave, “And I’m not in the way, you are.”

So they loved each other as much as Sirius and his brother Regulus loved each other, nice.

Nevertheless, Sirius admired Mirabel's spunk and winked at her when she almost crashed into him. She smiled back.

Seeing the interaction, Isabela noticed him with the basket and gasped, horrified, “So this is helping for you?” she reprimanded her sister, “Letting our guest hold your things?”

Mirabel blushed furiously and sputtered but Sirius frowned openly at Isabela, “Actually, princess," he snapped sarcastically at her, "I offered to hold this. Come, treasure, you still have to tell me where I put this.”

Mirabel nodded fervently and rushed forward, leaving Isabela to be the one who was blushing this time: clearly, she wasn’t used to being spoken to that harshly.

Sirius followed Mirabel to the kitchen, where Julieta saw her daughter dislodge the huge basket from Sirius’s arms with a baffled look. Before she could say anything, Sirius told her he’d been the one to insist on carrying the basket.

“Oh, I am sure, Sirius, and thank you for being kind to her,” Julieta said, holding out a cup to him, “But we don’t want you to go backwards with your recovery. Here, chocolate santafereño.”

Sirius blinked as she shoved the cup to him, then grinned, “Hot chocolate? Just what I need!”

It had been a long time since anyone had been kind to him and he was flourishing in the kindness he was receiving, like a dog falling in stride with its new owner.

Julieta snorted, amused at his clear happiness with such a simple gesture as an offering of chocolate santafereño.

Mirabel feverishly started to unload the huge basket on the kitchen counter and her mother sighed at the sight of the thing, “Woah, Mira, you ok? You don’t have to overdo it –”

“I know, Mamá,” said Mirabel immediately, “I just want to do my part, like the rest of the family.”

Sirius snorted in his hot chocolate. This must be the first teenager ever to want to help the family with chores.

He almost choked when he saw Agustín enter the kitchen, with his face and hands all swollen, “Merlin’s beard, mate! What the hell happened to you?”

Agustín waved him away with a bulging red hand, “Ah, it’s alright, it happens all the time,” he grinned, missing Sirius's shocked frown, then turned to his daughter, “She’s right, amor,” he added, peering closely at her. Sirius couldn’t blame Mirabel when she yelped, horrified, “First gift ceremony since yours, a lot of emotions –”

“Bee stings!” Mirabel warned her mother while Sirius wondered if a cure for boils would be enough for the... bee stings? Really? That was his reaction to bee stings?

Julieta, who’d turned to the stove again, glanced at her husband and rolled her eyes with a sigh, “Ay, Agustín!”

“– and I have been there!” Agustín continued, completely unfazed, “When me and your Tío Félix married into the family, outsiders, who had no gift, never ever would, surrounded by the exceptional, it was easy to feel – unceptional.”

Julieta shoved some food in his mouth.

Sirius had no idea what the man had just said. Was that supposed to make his daughter feel better? Or was he just pointing out her feelings? He didn’t feel like the two situations could compare at all. He thought of when the Muggle Bob Hitchens married his ancestor Iola Black and then of his great-uncle Marius Black, a child in a wizarding family finding out they were a Squib. One was a grown adult with a start on life already the other a child who got his hopes up and then crashed. Really, two completely different situations.

“Ok, Papi,” Mirabel said, clearly having decided not to hear a word.

“I’m just saying I get it.”

Mirabel had finally finished gathering stuff to decorate the house, and Sirius decided that since he was done with the hot chocolate, which did make him feel a lot better, his memories much less fuzzy, he would go to his room. It seemed that this party was going to be a loud affair and even Julieta agreed that it was better if he lay down for a while before the party, though Sirius thought she worried too much.

He did manage to get a little sleep, as it turned out he was more exhausted than he thought. He reckoned that walking around so soon after his injury in the smouldering Colombian heat hadn’t been a great idea. Julieta had talked about a short walk but he’d spent most of the day walking around while Mirabel tried to fend off the town's children.

He hadn’t worried about waking up late, because he had been a light sleeper long before Azkaban and the nightmares the prison had given him, but he was glad he’d thought of closing the door of the room, because he woke up as a dog. He’d probably tried to fight off another nightmare and transformed in his sleep.

He supposed he would have to come clean with the Madrigals about being a wizard, though he still wanted to understand what they knew about magic. They didn’t seem too knowledgeable about magic, not much over what they needed to know for their everyday life. Sirius reckoned he could help them understand it better, though he would have to understand himself to see how he could do so.

“One thing is for sure,” he pondered out loud, putting on the clothes he’d discarded to rest, “It looks like familial magic.”

He wished he could consult with someone else on the matter, Remus maybe or better yet Dumbledore, but for now he was on his own. Maybe the Madrigals would be open about him contacting someone else if it came to understanding their ‘miracle’?

Pushing his wand in his sleeve, Sirius made his way out of his room and up the stairs to check out the magical doors Mirabel had told him about, ignoring the curious glances from the townspeople that were around to help with the decorations of the house. He’d received his fair share of looks while he was around town with Mirabel and he didn’t mind: he was never shy and he was a novelty for the people here, not only because he looked like shit and he’d arrived suddenly. He gathered from the Madrigals that they rarely saw outsiders, so it was natural for people to be curious about him.

“Hola, Señor!”

Sirius turned to see Luisa carrying a piano on her shoulder with the ease one would hoist up a sack of potatoes. Well, her super-strength was unusual even for a wizard like Sirius, leaving him impressed.

The girl smiled at him. She towered even over Sirius and was brawny but she was clearly a very kind-hearted person – Sirius saw a lot of Julieta in her, and her impressive stature and figure wasn’t threatening at all when one saw that smile.

“Oh, hello, dearie,” he greeted easily, then he saw her shifting her weight awkwardly, “Oh! Sorry, love, I’m in the way!” she smiled apologetically at him as he scrambled out of the way to let her through. He paused as she carefully manoeuvred the piano so that it wouldn’t catch the wall or the ceiling, “Have you taken a break at all since I saw you this morning?”

She averted her eyes, her right one twitching, and kept smiling at him, “Er – gotta go, this piano will not move itself! Gracias, Señor!”

“Call me Sirius,” he said automatically as she finally passed him and fastened her pace, blushing profusely, “And take a break, love! You don’t want to be tired at the party, right?”

She pretended not to hear him as she hurried away and he snorted in amusement at her awkwardness.

He walked around that floor of the house, trying to stay out of the way. Here, the magic of this house was even clearer with all these glowing doors, if the house moving and welcoming people like Dumbledore at the beginning of the school year wasn’t enough.

He’d asked if he could be of help but the Madam had told him in a very pleasant and condescending tone that he was still recovering. Sirius couldn’t understand her: she seemed a nice woman, a kind woman, but she had a sternness to her, and she was uneasy around him, though he couldn’t say why. The house itself had been more welcoming, flipping its shutters and tiles at him in a greeting so obvious it had left Sirius baffled by such a warm reception. So why would the Madam be so unsettled by him? Was it only because he was an outsider? But if he made her so uneasy, why would she accept him in her house?

Sirius glanced at the doors on that side of the first floor of the building to check out the design: next to him was a room with a door that depicted – and illustrated with beautiful carvings the name of – Dolores with opened eyes as she held her hands behind her ears to hear better. Next to that, was Camilo’s room which showed him grinning with his eyes closed in the act of shapeshifting and then there was Pepa’s door, with her surrounded by the sun, the clouds and even lightning.

Everyone was fussing around the door-shaped magical glow of where Antonio’s door would appear if what Dolores and Mirabel had told him was correct.

Further down he saw the doors to Isabela, Luisa and Julieta's rooms.

He caught sight of Mirabel placing some of the decorations around the house and decided to approach her to see if she needed some help.

Sirius’s heart clenched at the aura of melancholy that he could feel coming from her as she looked with clearly mixed feelings at the photos on display by her grandmother’s door. Sirius approached her discreetly. This girl was about Harry’s age and looked just as troubled – well, maybe not quite as troubled, she was not a world-wide hailed orphan of parents murdered by a Dark Wizard like Voldemort but Sirius thought she might as well have been because of how she was treated.

He’d received a letter in response to the first one Sirius had sent him with a permission slip for Hogsmeade’s visits next school year and Harry hadn’t sounded pleased at the idea of going back to his Muggle relatives.

Sirius had been moved at how vocal his godson had been with his disappointment that they hadn’t managed to capture Pettigrew: Harry had kept apologising for not being able to help Sirius getting his name cleared and though Sirius could feel the sincerity in his godson’s written words, he knew that the boy was grieving also for the chance to leave his relatives’ house and go live with Sirius.

Sirius didn’t take offence. He knew very well what it was like to live with someone who doesn’t like you – and that was a euphemism when it came to his mother – and he knew that blood didn’t necessarily make a family, so he related and really didn’t blame Harry. Sirius himself had felt such conflicting feelings when he’d been welcomed by the Potters at age sixteen, after he’d run away from home. He’d been very happy both of being welcomed by his best friend’s family and to have a place to call home away from his own family but he'd still mourned at the realisation that he wouldn't get the love and warmth he got from the Potters from the Blacks.

Harry had just seen him after twelve years, he’d been barely a toddler the last time Sirius had seen him before prison, so Harry couldn’t remember him from before Azkaban. They’d bonded a lot in those few very adrenaline-fuelled hours they’d spent together, but Harry’s enthusiasm in getting to know his godfather was genuine and Sirius shared the sentiment.

Sirius glanced at the photos Mirabel was looking at. He wasn’t in the best position to see them clearly but he could see that they were pictures of the members of the family with gifts. They were carefully arranged as if to form a specific pattern that Sirius didn’t understand, but he could see that it was always Madam Madrigal with a child around Antonio’s age. And Mirabel wasn't there.

Highest were three pictures of a young woman resembling Isabela a lot – clearly Madam Madrigal – with a different child and it took Sirius a moment to figure out from the name on the doors in the picture that the two girls were Julieta and Pepa. Between them there was a third photo of a little boy with a green… ruana? (Camilo had called it as such when Sirius had asked him about his outfit) and a shy yet excited smile. Between Pepa and Julieta, huh? Sirius wondered if this was the elusive Madrigal uncle no one talked about. It must be, Sirius pondered: Julieta and Pepa’s brother, the children’s uncle.

The boy had dark curls and green eyes that held a kindness Sirius had rarely seen in his life. Sirius smiled back at the boy in the photo, even though it wasn’t a magical photo that moved like those back home, and he checked the name on the door in the picture.

“Bruno,” Sirius tried the name on his tongue and it felt sweet to him. Huh, it was the same name as that person’s name, he thought with a smile. What a welcome thought…

Mirabel hadn’t noticed him and he watched as she placed a hand-made purple candle-holder in front of the door that depicted Madam Madrigal holding a candle, the name ‘Abuela’ carved over her head like on the other doors.

“One hour!” came Madam Madrigal’s voice, startling Mirabel enough that she stumbled, making the lit candle fall.

Oh, what a pity. Sirius thought as the pretty purple candle-holder caught fire. She had obviously made those decorations herself.

He looked for his wand in his sleeve, figuring that repairing what looked like Mirabel’s own hard work was the least he could do.

“Perhaps you should leave the decorations to someone else?”

Madam Madrigal had appeared as Mirabel fumbled to put out the small fire, looking down at Mirabel with gentle concern. Sirius could see that she was harder on her than all the other children – was this because she didn’t have a gift?

Sirius clenched his jaw.

Madam Madrigal reminded him of his own grandmother Melania, who had been kind about it but just as gaslighting as the rest of the family on him for being different from the Blacks. He would have hardly seen the difference, if after he’d made his stance about blood purity and all that rot known, the cookies and sweets and hugs hadn’t completely disappeared. He remembered he’d be lucky to get a tremulous ‘Sirius, me lad’ by his grandmother instead of the loving pat on the head and the affectionate ‘Sirius, my little rascal’ she’d used when he was a child.

Still, her quiet complaining was much better than his mother’s abuse and his father’s cold indifference.

“Oh, no!” Mirabel told her grandmother, pulling Sirius from his thoughts, “I actually made these!” she explained, confirming Sirius’s guess that she’d made the candle-holders herself, “As a surprise for you!”

She said excitedly, holding up the half-burnt candle-holder to show her. Of course, she thought that it wouldn’t help her case and she chuckled, clumsily putting out the fire.

“Mirabel,” said Madam Madrigal with a disheartened tone, “I know you want to help but tonight must go perfectly. The town relies on our family, our gifts. So the best way for – some of us – to help is to step aside. Let the rest of the family do what they do best. Okay?”

Sirius froze at hearing those words. It was how it had started for him after he’d gotten into Gryffindor. Those pitying expressions by his grandmother Melania and the excuses for why he shouldn’t be allowed gifts, sweets, affection or even attention, whereas Regulus…

Sirius felt his face harden at the mere memory of his brother and crossed his arms as if the gesture could vanquish his brother’s face from his mind.

“Okay,” Mirabel was answering with sagged shoulders.

“Why?” Sirius asked sharply, calling their attention to him, “Does she need a magical gift to hang a few decorations? Isn’t she as able-bodied as all the people from the town who are helping out right now? They don’t have a gift! You don't have a gift! But if you want a gift…” he retrieved the half-burnt candle-holder Mirabel had made and noticed she’d even embroidered her grandmother’s name. He waved it until the flames were extinguished and shoved it in Madam Madrigal’s face, “Look at this, Madam! It’s beautiful work and she did it without magic! Looks like a gift to me!”

He challenged Madam Madrigal with his eyes, not at all apologetic. He knew it was disrespectful to address the old woman like that in her own house, especially when the Madrigals had taken him in as injured as he was and in need of a place to hide. They could have easily turned him in to the Colombian authorities so that he could be shipped off back to Azkaban – wait, they didn’t know much about magic, so maybe they didn’t know about the Ministry of Magic?

And yet not only did he find Mirabel’s situation so unfair in itself but it brought back horrid memories and what infuriated him the most was the thought that even Harry had to suffer a similar situation given what he said in his letters. God, these two would get along fine.

And if the woman thought he didn’t notice that she didn’t want him in the house, well, in that case she was a fool. Sure, his mind was just a little bit burnt out (much like the candle-holder) after Azkaban but he wasn’t an idiot. Sirius knew how this kind of people worked: the first layer of the Blacks – and in general, pure-bloods – was reputation, reputation, more reputation, even more reputation. And add even more reputation for good measure. She wouldn’t dare challenge him with all these people in the house preparing for a party.

“Careful, Señor Black,” Madam Madrigal told him haughtily, “You forget yourself as a guest in this house.”

“I don’t want to be disrespectful, Madam,” Sirius replied, though he didn't care if he was, “But it seems to me you are the one forgetting. You’re forgetting that this is a fifteen-year-old girl who seems very creative and crafty to me.”

Thunder rumbled as if to give dramatic tension to his words but it was only Pepa, who was on the other side of the first floor, looking around in a frustrated panic.

“Pepa!” called Madam Madrigal, “You have a cloud!”

“I know, Mamá!” shrieked Pepa at her, “But now I can’t find Antonio! What do you want from me!?”

Madam Madrigal rolled her eyes, frustrated, as her daughter quite literally stormed away. She took a deep breath and turned to Mirabel, taking the ruined candle-holder from Sirius’s hand and examining it.

“Señor Black is right, Mirabel,” she said after a moment of silence, returning the candle-holder, “It is beautiful work,” Mirabel immediately perked up at the compliment, even in her startled state brought by someone speaking that harshly to her grandmother, on her behalf no less, “Continue and be ready for the ceremony.”

Mirabel blinked and opened her mouth to thank Abuela for the unexpected compliment but her grandmother had already turned to leave.

Mirabel closed her mouth and turned her attention to Sirius, whose jaw was clenched, feeling a mix of anger and sadness that was very intense.

“Señor Sirius,” she called shyly, “Gracias. She means well –”

Sirius snapped out of it and turned to her, smiling a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “I know,” he said, as if reading her mind, “It’s easier when they hate you.”

Mirabel looked curious but she was obviously polite enough to know not to ask. She swallowed and looked down at the ruined piece of decoration mournfully. It was clear that she’d put a lot of effort in making those candle-holders and it had to be ruined just in front of her grandmother.

“Here,” said Sirius gently.

Mirabel looked up at him and he pulled a long, wooden stick out his sleeve and with it tapped the ruined fabric in her hand. Mirabel’s mouth hung open as she watched the object in her hands repair itself and turn back to what it was a little while ago, when she’d pulled it with the others from the nursery where she’d kept it. Her purple candle-holder was as good as new, even the embroidery that said ‘Abuela’.

Sirius took it from Mirabel’s hands and retrieved the purple candle that Mirabel had been lighting up when Abuela had startled her, tapping it with the wooden stick too, and it lit up.

Mirabel was too gobsmacked to say anything and Sirius reached out with a hand on his forehead as if he was fighting a headache but he smiled and winked at her when he saw her staring at him with wide eyes. He put a finger on his lips.

“Ssshhh.”