Chapter 31 — Celebration of Mother Magic
Ragnok watches me from across the polished stone desk. His eyes are sharp, as if they weigh every word before I even say it. We have been talking for a few minutes, long enough that I know I cannot hide behind polite phrases anymore. Goblins never waste time.
He tilts his head at me. "What exactly do you mean by that question, Arthur Dursley? What is it that you want to know?"
I breathe out slowly. "I want to know about magical celebrations. The real ones. Festivals, rituals and their original forms."
Ragnok's eyebrow rises. "Why do you want to know?"
I pick my words carefully and slowly. "I heard about them from my friends, and read a little in some books. But the details weren't very clear." It sounds believable enough, but even I can hear how thin it is.
Ragnok stared at me for a long moment. He was neither angry nor suspicious, but just far too knowing. "That," he said at last, "is not the whole truth."
His eyes narrow as he continued. "You are asking about wizard festivals, yes?"
Instead of answering, I shift the question. "Are there differences between how wizards celebrate magic, and how goblins or magical creatures do?"
His expression softens just a little, the way someone looks when a puzzle piece finally clicks into place. "Yes," he says. "Many differences."
He leans back, fingers tapping the desk. "Wizards worship Mother Magic, but they follow their needs and their ancestors' customs. But over the centuries they have changed many things. Simplified others. And some they totally forgot."
He lifts his chin. "Magical creatures like us still follow the old, original ways. We have not forgotten what these festivals originally meant."
My hands tighten on the armrest a bit. I hesitated, then said, "I want to learn the original way. And the meaning behind it."
A slow grin spreads across Ragnok's face. . Confirming something he already knew.
"I knew it," he says.
That was the moment he grinned, sharp and delighted, confirming every suspicion he had held since I walked in. It was not mocking grin. It seems he was pleased "I thought so," he said. "Mother Magic did speak to you."
I blurted in confusion and shock. "What?"
"Oh, don't pretend otherwise," he said lightly. "Let me guess. Was it Samhain? Or"—he waved a hand—"for your people, Halloween something?"
I stared at him. "How did you know?"
Ragnok laughed, a rough, bright sound that made the nearby braziers flicker. He even clapped his hands once, like someone who had finally solved a long puzzle. "Because of your questions and old actions. You sensed Horcruxes, and then also got gifts for cleaning the filth. It happens that way for those she favours. And she favours people very, very rarely."
I swallow. "I did feel uncomfortable that night. The celebration felt… wrong. Like the noise didn't match the day. Something was off."
His grin softened, almost proud. "You are truly blessed by Mother Magic. She is so close to you that she whispers directly to you!"
I stare at him. "I don't understand what that means."
"You will," he says, his voice gentler than before. "When Mother Magic wishes you to understand, you will. She reveals in her own time." He folds his hands. "But if she has touched you already, then this is the right time for you to learn the festivals in their proper form. I will teach you the major festivals of the year. The true ones. Their meanings. Their purpose."
He leans forward slightly. "There are eight."
I nod and listen with all my attention.
"Listen closely," Ragnok said. "These festivals are not only dates. They are the rise and fall of magic itself."
He took a slow breath, then began.
---
"The first is Samhain," he says. "The Unveiling of Shadows. It falls around or mostly on 31st October."
"It marks the end of the old year, the night when The Veil between Worlds thins. Magic breathes in the dark.
Wizards today carve and light pumpkins, dress up and laugh. But Samhain is a night of respect. Fires must stay lit. Wards must be renewed. Ancestors are honoured not in fear but in understanding and respect. A night to honour the dead, to listen to their silence, and to thank Mother Magic for carrying us through another year."
"Next comes Yule," he continues. "The Longest Night, which falls on 21st December."
"It is celebrated in deep winter when the sun almost disappears.When the night is the longest. Yule is a promise. It reminds the world that even when everything seems dead or frozen, light and warmth will return. The ancient spirits walk more freely then. Forest spirits. Snow spirits. Creatures drawn to fire and song. We keep the Yule flame alive, burning from dusk until dawn, not just as celebration, but to guard against the despair that prowls in winter and to guide the returning Sun."
"Wizards hang baubles and decorate trees, but they forget the heart of it. Even the muggles celebrate Yule as Christmas. They cut trees but what they should be doing is to preserve the trees. Because it shows that even in deep winter, when snow blankets everything, when darkness is longer than the light, life still thrives. It represents that life still fights, struggles, even if it is difficult."
---
"Then Imbolc," he says. "The First Stirring, falls at the beginning of February.
"There is a moment in winter when life moves again very softly. Imbolc is that moment."
"A festival of first light. A time when magic begins to stir again. The first stirring of life under ice. Creatures honour it with water, snowmelt, and simple offerings of grain. Wizards see it as a spark of creativity, but originally it was the cleansing of winter's weight."
"After that is Ostara", he said, "The Balance of Light. It falls around the 20th or 21st of March.
Ragnok's voice softens slightly. ""At Ostara," he said, "day and night stand equal for a breath. Magic becomes restless. Growing things rush upward in a hurry, and the land shifts all at once."
" It is a festival of balance. Wizards paint eggs and joke about rabbits, but the true meaning is renewal. Growth is fresh and magic feels young and energetic. The world wakes fully at Ostara."
---
"Then comes Beltane," he says with a small nod. "The Kindling. It is celebrated on 30th April or 1st of May.
"Beltane is a festival of fire. Pure and bright. Life is at its strongest again.
"Wizards treat it as romance and dancing, but the first Beltane fires were lit to strengthen magic in the land. To drive out sickness, darkness, and ill will. We leap through flame to bind themselves to the turning year."
"Next is Litha," he says. "The Crown of the Sun which falls on the 21st of June."
"It is the height of summer. Magic is strongest. It's the Summer Solstice. Wizards call it Midsummer and feast loudly. But Litha's core is protection. Strength. Warding the land. Magical creatures walk under the full sun to show gratitude for long days and safe nights."
"Then Lughnasadh," Ragnok continues. "The First Harvest. It is celebrated on 1st August.
"The first harvest. Wizards treat it as just another feast. But its true meaning is labour and sacrifice. It's gratitude and reckoning. Magical creatures teach their young that nothing grows without cost. It is a festival of effort, gratitude, and shared work. Even the greatest witches and wizards once bowed their heads at Lughnasadh, because the land remembers everything."
---
"And the last is Mabon. The Emptying of the Fields. It is celebrated around the 21st to 24th September.
Ragnok breathes out slowly.
"Another balance. Day and night even once more. The world tilts toward shadow again. Mabon marks the second harvest. A quieter one. Wizards see it as a gentle autumn celebration. But its heart is in reflection. Looking back at the year. Preparing for Samhain again. Magic folds inward."
"We pour offerings to spirits of earth and sky to thank them and ask for protection. The air grows still. Wards whisper. Everything prepares for the long dark."
He finishes speaking and lets the silence settle. The chamber feels fuller somehow, as if the festivals themselves linger in the air like soft lights.
I leaned back and said "This is… very different from what books say."
"Books," Ragnok huffed, "tell what humans wish to remember. I told you what magic feels."
I sit quietly, letting it all sink in. The meanings feel heavy but familiar, as though I already knew them in pieces but never had the words.
I couldn't stop thinking about Samhain though. And about the way Ragnok immediately knew something had happened to me.
He studied me again. "You said you felt uncomfortable on Halloween. Please describe it."
I tried. "It was like everyone else was cheerful, but there was something missing. Something in the air didn't match the decorations. It felt more like a warning than a celebration. My magic felt tight. Like it rejected the cheers and joy and wanted me to be quiet and solemn."
Ragnok nodded in complete satisfaction. "Yes. That is Mother Magic speaking to you. She actually speaks to everyone but rarely does one have the ability to listen to her."
I blinked. "I didn't know Mother Magic worked like that."
"Oh, she does. Mother Magic speaks through the soul. The body feels the weight of the world shifting. The mind notices what others ignore. That is why the manager and I know since last year that you are blessed by Mother Magic. For this reason, you felt all three, and that is why the celebration of Halloween felt wrong."
"So it was wrong?"
"Modified," he corrected. "Not wrong. But changed. Watered down. Humanised to be safer. Easier. Less true."
I nodded slowly. The heaviness of Halloween makes much more sense now.
Ragnok leaned back, watching me with a thoughtful expression. "There is something else you want to ask, isn't there?"
I took a breath. "Yes. Why is there such a gap between wizard families and Muggle-borns? It feels like they don't understand each other. Or maybe they don't want to."
His face changed. Not angry—just clearer, sharper.
"Old families," he said, "carry old traditions. Some real. Some inherited. Some invented. Traditions become boundaries. And boundaries become pride."
He tapped the table once.
"Muggle-borns arrive without that history. Or they have forgotten their roots. They have magic but not the weight of ancestry. Some old families feel threatened by that. Others simply forget that magic does not belong to bloodlines."
I thought of his words but some memories suddenly from my past life. I asked, "But some muggles do have similar celebrations. From what I know there are festivals of similar meaning and in similar time in Indian community and in East. I don't know about Africa much but I think they would have some of these."
Ragnok raised his eyebrows and his smile became more genuine and proud. He said, "You are correct. People in South East Asia and East Asia, not just those two countries, have similarities because they are the few remaining old civilizations. Their origin is thousands of years back and they also treat magical people differently than here. There, the muggles revere the magical people as someone who are more blessed by the World. They don't fear it so much here. That is why there are many stories there common in muggles which have their origin in magic. You will find that the struggle between muggles and magic creatures is much less."
I thought about it. "So the conflict isn't really about magic. It's about the story and history. The roots. And then the story is told by people in power who gets to say what's old or real."
Ragnok nodded approvingly. "Yes. Exactly. They fear losing their place in the world and their dominance. But remember this"—he pointed lightly to my chest—"Mother Magic does not care for bloodlines. She cares for intention."
That settled warmly inside me.
He stood, signalling the end of the lesson. "You have taken the first step. When Mother Magic wishes, she will open the next for you."
I rose too. "Thank you. Truly."
Ragnok gave a small bow—almost respectful. "Blessed child," he said. "Do not fear her voice. Fear only the day you stop hearing it."
I thank him, and as I leave the office, my thoughts run ahead of me.
End of Chapter 31 — Celebration of Mother Magic