DISCLAIMER: J.K. Rowling owns most of the characters and settings here—I own the rest.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story is the final one in the story arc that contains "Dark Redemption" and "Date with an Executioner."
SPELL-LESS IN SEATTLE
Chapter 1 – It's Always a Dark and Stormy Night
September 30th, 1998, Seattle, Washington
I pulled out of the parking garage at around 8 pm. The project was finally over, all the coding done, everything shipped, no more QA, no more endless meetings. The Volvo's headlights revealed wet streets, which was very normal for my adopted city. I punched in some numbers on my cell phone and Maria picked up on the first ring.
"How's he doing?" I said, after we had exchanged pleasantries. I used my private school Spanish; she pretended not to understand me. We were friends, even though I paid her a handsome salary to clean my tiny house and baby-sit my son, who was almost three, and very precocious. She was the only luxury that I allowed myself, other than the expensive (but safe—all the commercials said so) car.
"OK, Mrs. R. He's looking kind of tired so he'll probably be going to sleep soon."
"That's cool. Look, I'm going to go do some shopping. I'll see you in a couple of hours." I hung up. I felt the need to reward myself a bit. An espresso and a few mystery novels sounded good. Since the new software release efforts had begun about eight months ago, I had not done much reading for pleasure—other than the occasional hastily-read and even more hastily-discarded copies of The Stranger.
In about a quarter of an hour, the massive chain bookstore loomed ahead of me out of the gloom. I truly hated shopping at these book emporia—they would, eventually, along with the online stores, probably put independent booksellers out of business. Although I had been out of the retail world for a few years now, I still sympathized with small shop owners everywhere. It was a curse—and I winced as I used that word mentally. No, it was a virus. Scientific-sounding terms were always better. I must not think bad thoughts, as X, the old LA punk band, once sang during the 80s.
I parked the square, silver Swedish sedan, attempting not to think of the implications of the alliteration of that phrase, in the middle of a row of towering SUVs. Most were probably being driven exclusively on well-paved roads and parked next to manicured shrubs and chemically-enhanced lawns at night. Oh tempora, oh mores. I really was no fan of the Latin language. I locked the car with the little electronic alarm device and tottered off toward the store on my medium-height heels. Corporate culture had dictated that I show up today for the final round of meetings in a suit, so I had.
I observed myself in the mirrored store windows as I walked in. Reflected back was a mid-30s female corporate drone, medium height, with brown hair in a neat, chin-length bob from which no hair strayed out of place. (I actually did pay a fair sum of money to keep it looking that way, and did not consider that a luxury.) I was wearing wire-framed, oval glasses. I had a young-looking and very non-descript face, two and only two pearl stud earrings, a gold-colored Timex watch, and absolutely no jewelry with symbols or motifs of any kind. I was clad in a raincoat (although it was technically the summer, said coat was a year-round accessory here), the aforementioned boring shoes, a dark blue suit (which consisted of a skirt and blazer), and a silk blouse. Dangling from my hands were a Coach purse and my cell phone (iterations of which had mysteriously gotten smaller and more Star-Trek-like over the years).
And underneath it all, if one were to look, one would find several tattoos (most acquired during the 1980s), and a few exotic piercings. If one were to push up my suit jacket sleeve and examine my left arm carefully with the edges of one's perception, one might find a magically glamoured and disguised skull-and-snake brand, courtesy of the former Tom Riddle. When it hurt, which it hadn't lately, I covered it with an Ace bandage, took a lot of Advil, and claimed it was an old sports injury. I would, however, not, not, absolutely NOT think about any of that.
I walked into the store. Stacks of the latest hardcover novels loomed before my eyes, and remainders forlornly lurked near them, as if hoping to be asked to join the team after years of waiting. I walked past them to the Mystery section. After a few minutes of browsing, I found a stack of likely prospects and lugged them over toward the coffee shop. But the abundant coffee that I had drunk that day at work suddenly took its toll, so I found myself handing the books to the sullen, blue-haired barista for safekeeping and running toward the ladies' room.
When I emerged, I found myself near the children's section, so I thought I'd see if maybe I could find a little literary gift to bring home to Eddie (short for Edward Andrew). He loved books and reading even at his young age. This thrilled me and thus I took every opportunity to encourage it—which usually meant that I sent Maria off with loads of cash to buy the latest kidlit offerings. I loved children's books, even though I hadn't shopped for them in ages. Maybe I'd even buy him some of my old favorites, like Charlotte's Web and the Narnia books-
And then I saw it. There was a huge cardboard display of what seemed to be two different titles, and there were—there were…no, there couldn't be, but there were….merchandising shelves next to it, and they had-
I walked slowly toward the merchandising display. As it was late, and a weeknight, there were no children in the section. I was glad of this, because they might have wondered why the lady in the business suit had dropped her purse and cell phone on the floor and started to cry. And if their parents were around, they would have definitely called security at the sight of a grown woman, seated on the floor, clutching a holographic mouse pad from which an animated sneering professor/wizard glared. Said wizard was looming over a small boy with messy black hair, glasses, and a lightning-bolt shaped scar on his forehead, who was mixing a gloppy green mess in a cauldron.
When I finally pulled myself together and made it back to the barista, I had a stack consisting of both Harry Potter books (although I was unsure what, exactly a "Sorcerer's Stone" could possibly be), the aforementioned mouse pad (turned over so I wouldn't have to see the picture), and a stuffed three-headed dog (which I was certain that Eddie would enjoy). The blue-haired kid actually smiled at me when I sat the items next to the stack of mysteries and ordered a mocha.
"You like Harry Potter?" he asked.
My ex-husband apparently dated his mother, but I never met him…but I'm really not supposed to talk about that…I started to say—but thought better of it. "Uh. These are for my son," I said. "Have you read them?"
"Oh, yeah. They're great. The second one just came out, and the third one's coming out next year, you know. It'll be out in England first. I read about it on a Web site." He expertly manipulated the espresso machine. As the steam hooted, I smiled. Seattle was one of the most wired communities in the U.S. "It's called Prisoner of Azkaban," he continued. "Lady, are you all right?" he added a few minutes later, when I didn't reply to him. "Excuse me, lady?"
"Oh. I'm—I'm sorry," I said. "I've been working really long hours and I guess I sort of drifted off there for a moment. You didn't just say, um, Azkaban, did you?" Although I knew he had, of course.
"Yeah, that's the new Harry Potter book," he said, "Coming out next year! Do you work at MegaSoft?" he asked, as he handed me my mocha.
"Why, yes I do. How did you know?" I said, accepting the beverage and handing him my credit card to pay for all the items. Look for MegaOffice Ver. 7.0, coming to your computer soon, I thought. Pay no attention to the blood, sweat and tears—the shrink wrap will protect you.
"We get a lot of MegaSoft employees in here, and they all look just as whacked as you do. And most of them order mochas," he said, swiping my card through the reader. He waved an electronic wand over my purchases, flipping the mouse pad over as he did so. "Cool! Professor Snape! He's my favorite character in the books," he remarked, holding up the pad and examining the picture.
Oh kid, if you only knew, I thought. Rather than asking him what he thought of, say, Lucius Malfoy, who I fervently hoped was not mentioned in these books, I considered the picture. Severus' nose looked squashed (in real life, it wasn't), and I had never seen him wear purple nail polish. Otherwise, it was a remarkably close likeness, for a cartoon image. "He looks kind of Gothic," I said. I heard the chattering noise that indicated that my credit card was approved and the purchases were being racked up on it.
"I think he's a vampire or something, but my friend Eric says I'm full of shit—oh, sorry, lady," he said. I fervently hoped that my friend Erik was not tracking my credit card purchases. Come to think of it, why hadn't I been informed about these books? What in the hell was going on? And who was this 'prisoner of Azkaban', anyway? I knew of more than a few wizards who sure as hell belonged there.
"Maybe only part-vampire," I said, not able to resist.
"You think?" he said, handing me the credit card slip to sign. I handed it back. He gave me the bag with my purchases. "Thank you, Mrs. Richards," he said. I was technically a single mom, but I didn't correct his mistake. My credit card (American Express, gold) read "Mary H. Richards." The "H" didn't stand for anything, sort of like President Truman's middle initial. I had come up with the name on the spot when Erik asked me if I had a preference, as I had been a big fan of the Mary Tyler Moore TV show in my youth and I kind of liked the irony of that, plus it used my actual initials, but backwards.
My real name, of course, was Rowan Hawthorne Macnair, but it had been Snape, once. I wondered what the blue-haired barista would think of that. In the parking lot, I noted, in my PalmPilot, to visit this particular bookstore when the new book came out.
On the way home, I called my boss and told him I wouldn't be coming in the next day, as Edward (his real name was Evan Allister, as you've probably figured out by now) was ill. As I never took time off, I hoped this wouldn't be a problem.
What I was really going to do, of course, was read those damn books. And I did, all night long, stopping only to take the occasional bathroom break and comfort Eddie when I heard him crying because of a nightmare. I had my suspicions that the nightmares and my reading might have been related, but I let this thought pass. By the time of my second perusal of "Chamber of Secrets," I knew that I'd have to visit Vancouver Island that weekend.
When I had activated the Auror's Portkey in 1995, I had been instantly transported to NYAF Headquarters, specifically the Magical Witness Protection Program Office. Oddly enough, Erik happened to be there on an errand for his boss. He had not seemed surprised to see me, even though I had a baby wrapped in a tartan in one arm and a Dark Mark on the other arm. That night, while various Program functionaries comforted young Evan Allister, fed him from bottles, and even sang him to sleep, Erik and I had formulated the details of my new life.
To Erik's credit, he didn't make any judgmental comments (in my presence, at least). First, Auror Silverman attempted to mitigate and conceal the Dark Mark. He was not entirely successful—the damn thing burned almost constantly for a year—but we were, at least, reasonably confident that I couldn't be traced through it. I had, after all, not been initiated, although I certainly had betrayed Voldemort…not that I had ever considered myself to have been loyal.
As I said before, I had come up with my name, and the Program secretary who watched Evan had given him his new name (which I thought was rather boring, but so be it). A low-level job at a software company and a furnished apartment in a faraway city were provided, and multiple semi-permanent Appearance Charms were performed. After that, new identification (including a secured Muggle credit card and bank account) was created. The next afternoon (the Program offices actually contained sleeping quarters), Erik and I had completed a rather lengthy debriefing session, during which I told him everything I knew about Voldemort and his henchmen. I supplemented the interview with my Pensieve—the one that I had bought through Inanna's store, which, by the time it arrived on special order, she had sent right to Erik rather than me—but I did not go into it with him when he watched the Samhain Revel part.
Finally, I gave the bracelet that Walden had given me and instructions on how to access my wizarding gold to Erik. He had the gold exchanged for dollars, which I eventually invested, and the bracelet was sent to the same NYAF high-security vault where my old Pensieve resided.
Erik transported us personally to Seattle later the next day. We set up a location, on Vancouver Island, where he could send owl posts. Rhiannon had been notified as to my whereabouts and put under a Fidelius Charm, and truly important news from my friends, covenmates, and others could be sent through her and then on to Erik. I had the suspicion that the extremely vague news sent to me by Erik was heavily edited, as I was never told the whereabouts of Walden and Lucius. And I had no way of finding out, either, as the conditions of my acceptance of asylum through the Program included my complete isolation from the wizarding world (other than Erik's updates). I was to maintain said isolation until Erik had determined, categorically, that Voldemort had been destroyed and peace had been attained. As of the last time I'd checked the owl post earlier, this unfortunately had not yet happened. The last reports I received had not been very promising.
Frightened of the repercussions should I lose my asylum, I had not even attempted to contact anyone in the large Seattle Muggle Neo-Pagan community, although I saw evidence of their existence nearly every day.
As I considered all this, I realized that I hadn't been to the owl post drop for nearly a year, since before the Version 7.0 project had started at work. And then, Edward had gotten the flu, and Maria's grandmother had gotten sick and she had taken two months' leave, causing me to have to employ a series of unsatisfactory au pairs. I tried my best to balance the demands of work and motherhood, so that one day Edward wouldn't turn dysfunctional, because the Gods only knew he'd had a very rough start of things. So I had let my only source of wizarding news turn stale. For all I knew, Erik might have sent me copies of the books already.
"Mommy, are we there yet?" Evan had taken remarkably well to his "new" name—he insisted, in fact, that I use it as much as I could. I wondered if he thought it was some kind of game. I had decided to give him his real name back, as the release of the books seemed to indicate that things had changed in the wizarding world. Maria had not been surprised when I informed her of the name change, either. I had my suspicions that she might have a bit of psychic ability. I had also told her, in secret, that Evan's father had not been a very nice man (I grimaced as I remembered exactly how not nice he had been on that October night), and that I was not planning to reveal any more about him until I was ready.
"No, Evan, we're not—but we'll get there real soon now," I replied, and was rewarded with a large smile. Evan looked an awful lot like his father—the same black hair, same blue eyes. He was also, according to the pediatrician, large for his age. And this morning, while he had been putting on his sweater, its color had changed from orange (which he hated, but it had been on sale) to a shade of green that I had hoped I would never see again. I stepped on the gas. That fucking island couldn't get there fast enough for me.
"Cooooooooool!" he exclaimed, as he heard the turbocharged engine rev. He had the stuffed three-headed dog clutched tightly in his arms. I had learned that its name was Fluffy, and that it had been one of Hagrid's pets; thus, it was only logical that Evan would treasure it. In fact, I thought, it had almost seemed as if he recognized it when I handed it to him. I had stuffed the mouse pad into the back of my filing cabinet.
As the events of the first Harry Potter book had occurred in 1991 and early 1992, which was before I had met Severus, I hadn't been completely aware of all of them. I did remember him mentioning something about the doomed Professor Quirrell once, come to think of it. As far as the second book had been concerned, I had a lot of trouble reading it, because I remembered that year all too clearly, of course—it was, of course, set during the year I had met and fallen in love with Severus. (And, sadly, Lucius was in it.) As for the upcoming third book, I was now completely dreading it. Hagrid (who was depicted quite accurately) was an integral character in the books, and I was almost positive that the hippogriff incident would be in the new one.
How on earth had these books come to be written?
At last, after an interminable ferry ride, we drove to the remote location and made the short hike to the owl post drop area. To the Muggles, it looked like an abandoned shack. Evan had never been here with me. Nevertheless, he ran toward it as if it was his second home.
"Mommy, is this our new house? Are we going to live here now?" he asked, excitedly. In addition to being an owl post drop, it was also a safe house. I reached in my pocket for the transfigured key (it looked like a crushed soda can) and opened the door. Evan ran in the minute I did, just as I was saying, "No, we're just visiting."
"Mommy, there's a bird outside! A big bird!" yelled Evan. Indeed, a large, snowy owl fluttered there, in the process of dropping a package into the drop-slot built into the window. I opened up the sealed tin of owl treats and then opened the window. The owl flew in. "Here, give the bird these," I said to Evan, handing him some of the treats, as I untied the letter from the owl's leg. There was also a rather large pile of letters and a couple of book-shaped packages under the drop-slot, just as I had expected.
The owl hooted at Evan, who giggled, and then it exited the window. Both of us watched as it flapped away. I then walked over and touched a hidden panel in the wall, from which a drawer protruded. In the drawer lay my wand. Within the walls of the safe house, and within reason, I was permitted to use magic, on a very limited basis.
