It was always there; Peter had just never known how to look for it before they'd gone to Narnia. English magic was rarely flashy, but he found it when he hopped on a certain set of stones in the street, in a certain pattern, that a certain wall became a door to a strange shop. He found it when their elderly neighbor accidentally left her shears to do the trimming of her back hedge before she realized he was watching and ran over, insisting he saw nothing.

He certainly hadn't expected to find it when the swan who'd been about to beat him around the head for stepping too close to her nest suddenly transformed into a woman, shedding a cloak of feathers. "Oh! So, you're a king then? Fancy that. Stay away from my eggs then, majesty, or you'll be short an arm."

Sometimes, he thought as he scrambled away from the grouchy swan-woman, he really wished English magic was more like Narnia magic. No swan in Narnia ever threatened to maim him, after all.