One
Ferdinand sat forward in his chair and rolled his brass-handled wand back and forth across his desk. His long beard was caught in his sash again, and tugged uncomfortably on his chin. He had wanted to shave the damn thing off years ago, but his wife insisted he keep it. She wanted him to look the part of a grand wizard, a wizard essentially in charge of the country's magical defense force. Ferdinand considered how many political occupations relied on appearances.
Sitting before him between the two flaming, golden lamps were Morgan Westerling and her Muggle partner and cousin, James McBride. In Morgan's emerald lap was a small, silver circlet. Morgan was one of Ferdinand's best Aurors, and he did not enjoy having one of his best Aurors look at him so gravely. Ferdinand pinched the bridge of his weathered nose.
"You did well to come to me with this."
Ferdinand was hoping his comment would brighten up Morgan's face. With her large, brown eyes, graceful chin, and ravishing red hair, Morgan, in addition to being a great Auror, was attractive, at least in Ferdinand's opinion. Her husband, Confessor, was a lucky bastard. Ferdinand fantasized briefly about coming home to Morgan every night instead of the wrinkled jowls and thinning, colorless hair of his wife, Truda.
"Thank you, sir." Morgan replied seriously.
Ferdinand had listened to Morgan and James' story. About how Morgan's daughter, Circe, had stumbled upon a Dark artifact, had illegally employed it, and had tortured her family members. Ferdinand remembered a conference where a Muggle cyber-terrorist expert complained to him about computer viruses and why on earth people created them. The Wizarding and Muggle worlds in so many ways were reflections of each other, he concluded.
Ferdinand let his thoughts phase in and out of logical sequence. He unconsciously smiled.
"You can put the item on my desk."
Morgan obeyed and sat back, looking up from the cursed circlet.
"Xema's grandfather, Mr. Chavez."
Ferdinand nodded. "A full investigation is underway. Right now we need to consider Circe." Ferdinand paused, as if expecting Morgan to continue giving voice to his own thoughts. "Well, Captain, how do you want to handle this one?"
Morgan kept her shoulders stiff, but Ferdinand watched as something tender blossomed in her eyes. He decided right there and then, no matter what she said, he wasn't going to allow the cold, rigid, due process of law take its unfeeling course. Witches and wizards were human, dammit, and we deserved our flexibility.
"I don't want to lose my daughter, Chief."
Ferdinand nodded. "You won't, Morgan. We'll set up a hearing and counseling sessions. Obliviators will be assigned to assist the Muggles. ."
"Excuse me." James interrupted.
Ferdinand looked next to Morgan at her cousin, James. With his fine, light-brown hair, rich, blue eyes, and wide, handsome jaw, he resembled a movie actor. Hell, the both of them sitting here with their starry looks could have had their own primetime drama on Muggle television. Ferdinand took in James' sober face and realized his nose and Morgan's were similarly shaped.
"Yes, Agent McBride." Ferdinand acknowledged.
"I object to memory modification."
Ferdinand looked at James shrewdly.
"Obliviation is the surest and quickest means to pacify your mother."
James nodded slightly but did not appear satisfied.
"Surest and quickest, yes, but not the correct means."
Ferdinand was pleased to see Morgan glance over at her cousin; perhaps she disagreed. If the Muggle was going to fight him on this, he might at least be in the minority. He recalled that James also had similar reservations when Obliviators were assigned to the three Muggle men who were subjected to slavery a couple weeks ago.
"Why is Obliviation such a problem for you?" Ferdinand asked pointedly but he hoped not petulantly.
James' jaw hardened.
"Because victims deserve to know what crimes have been committed against them."
Ferdinand considered the justice of James' words. He hated to admit it, but law was so much easier to enforce without Muggle reservations. Too easy, in fact. Morgan and James' partnership was giving him a new perspective on old, probably decrepit, customs. Ferdinand looked at the silver, crescent moon above Morgan's eye. James was right, victims deserved to know. They also had a right to remember.
"I take it you're in agreement with your cousin, Captain?"
Morgan glanced over at James and back at Ferdinand.
"I am, sir."
Ferdinand sat back against his chair.
"There of course is the small possibility Mrs. McBride will victoriously battle for a full-scaled trial."
Morgan's eyes widened. "Putting Circe in the box will satisfy nobody. It will only drive her further into darkness."
Ferdinand hummed his assent. "And Obliviating Mrs. McBride would be the easiest way to avoid that."
Morgan appeared to struggle with something. She replied after a pause.
"No, sir. Even if we pretend otherwise, it won't be that easy."
Ferdinand looked down the desk at his white knuckles. He hated abstractions, almost as much as he hated being corrected.
"Why not?"
To Ferdinand's surprise, it was James who answered.
"Because justice is never easy."
Ferdinand scratched his head. He thought about Truda; at least she could still sing, bless her.
Two
James and Morgan entered their office and sat down at their respective desks. James was saddened at how fatigued Morgan looked. The fire in her eyes had recently burned too brightly. The possibility of her daughter standing trial and possibly facing jail time was poisoning her spirit. James understood why all the old-timers around Auror headquarters had so many lines knifed into their faces.
"Can I make you a potion?" James asked lightly.
Morgan lowered her head and rubbed her temples. "No, thank you."
"How 'bout a beer?"
Morgan laughed silently and shook her head. She let her hand drop on her knees.
"James, maybe we should consider Obliviation."
James took a deep breath.
"It's not the answer, Morgan. It never was."
James saw his cousin's exhaustion solidify. Her eyes didn't waver as she responded.
"You know better than anyone what Circe means to me, to our family. A trial is not the answer, either."
James folded his arms. He took another deep breath. "She's underage, with raw, unripe emotions. A jury would never convict her of anything."
"I know that! But a trial, for a ten-year-old witch? Your mother might be the only person on the planet who thinks it's a good idea!"
James' heart beat quickly. "She was attacked, Morgan, willfully and maliciously. I don't think Circe should go to jail, but she knew what she was doing."
Morgan stood up. "She does know, and feels terrible about it! I made sure of that!"
James saw her hands were trembling. He thought of all the memories Morgan had of her daughter. He had the unique and wondrous ability to see the situation from her angle, and yet he knew he would never completely agree with her on the issue. There was a bright sliver of pure, parental love that James must not have had access to when he bonded with his cousin. If he and Jaime ever had kids, maybe then he could relate. Maybe.
"You're not going to want to hear this, but you punishing her and telling her she was wrong is different than if she were actually to confront her victim." He said finally.
Morgan stared hard at James. Her eyes faltered. She whipped around and faced the bookcase behind her.
"You're right, of course." She admitted quietly. "You can imagine how difficult it is for me to be impartial in this instance."
James stood up and went over to Morgan. He gently touched her arm. As she turned towards him, he embraced her in a hug. He hoped to not feel a sob spasm his shoulder. She needed for a moment to stand tall, even if she was standing against him.
"Morgan, we'll get through it. You know we will."
"Yes, James." She touched her head to his. "You are a great comfort to me. Thank you."
James looked at her and was happy to see a smile sprout on her lips.
"Why don't we go meditate? I don't have to be back at the office until this afternoon." He suggested.
Morgan nodded. "I have to read a couple scrolls first, and then I'll join you."
James patted her on the cheek and left the office. He suddenly thought of how his mother hated giving and receiving gifts for Christmas. Despite this aversion, James decided this year to ask her for something special.
Three
Morgan walked into the house. She wasn't sure if she was happy that all seemed peaceful. She swept into the hallway past the dining room and knocked on Circe's door.
"Circe? It's almost twelve-thirty. We should be going."
There was a thumping movement from the room, and a second later Circe swung the door open. She was wearing a pair of jeans and a sweater. She looked miserable.
"Do I have to wear this?"
"Yes. Let's go, I have to be back at work in a half-hour."
Circe exhaled loudly and followed her mother back through the dining room and out the front. Morgan allowed the blunt, gray cold of the day to pierce her. She looked down at the part in Circe's black hair and felt sorrowful. Only when we make restitution do we realize just how much we take our equilibriums for granted.
Morgan steadied her forearm, Circe grabbed it tightly, and together they Disapparated away from their home.
They rematerialized inside an office bathroom with light blue tiles. Circe steadied herself against the sink and Morgan took her cell phone from her pocket. She punched in a name.
"Dr. Desai's office." Jaime's voice echoed through the small device.
"Hi, Jaime. It's Morgan."
There was silence. Morgan was not encouraged by it.
"Listen, I'm in the bathroom with Circe. We're going to come out, so don't be alarmed." Morgan looked at her daughter leaning tensely against a stall. "Circe has something she wants to say to you."
"Okay."
Morgan took Circe's hand and together they walked into the waiting room of the doctor's office. Soft holiday music was playing, and an old man sitting in a plastic chair looked up at them from his magazine. He glanced confusedly at the front door and then returned to his reading.
Morgan saw Jaime sitting behind the counter at the front desk. She was staring at them. Morgan knew Jaime had a terrific smile and was disturbed it was not on display. Morgan decided to try her own smile first.
"I hope we're not completely interrupting you."
Jaime laughed awkwardly and softly. "No, it's fine. I'm going on my lunch anyway."
Morgan pushed Circe in front of her. Jaime blinked as she looked down. Morgan heard Circe swallow.
"Hi, Ms. Jaime."
Circe's mournful tone seemed to reassure Jaime.
"Hi, Circe."
Circe looked up at Morgan and then back at Jaime. Morgan wished there was magic that would allow her to will courage into her daughter. She reflected how making mistakes in life at least allowed for a chance at bravery down the road. If we were lucky.
"What I did the other night was really wrong, making you hang upside-down from that mountain in my dream." Circe admitted sheepishly. Morgan looked over her shoulder and saw the old man staring at them spectacularly.
"I didn't mean to hurt you at all, I swear. I'm really sorry. ." Circe quickly caught Morgan's eye. "And if there's anything I can do to make you feel better, just let me know."
Morgan relaxed when she saw Jaime finally grin.
"It's fine, really. It was just unexpected. I guess it goes with the magical territory and all."
Circe brightened up.
"When I get my wand, I'm going to make you a great, big teddy bear!"
Jaime laughed, this time naturally and beautifully. Morgan patted Circe on her head.
"We'll have you and James over for dinner this week. Thank you for being understanding."
"No problem!"
Morgan pressed her hand into Circe's shoulder.
"Come on, Circe. Let's allow Ms. Jaime to enjoy her lunch."
Morgan led Circe to the door. She saw the old man gaze at them with his mouth open as they exited the office.
Four
Rose reviewed the summons on her computer. Everything appeared to be in order. Order was an incredibly underrated state of being, Rose thought. People talked so much these days about spirituality, psychology, positive and negative energy. It all meant nothing without the foundations of an anti-spirituality. Civilization thrived on correct management, where everyone, down to the last lowly sweeper of dust, prospered. These hipsters with their cosmic intuitions were only relevant because they fit into a hipster-sized hole created for them by their betters. If people failed to conform to their places, and became sociopathic, they could be dealt with quickly. Quickly, and, if needs be, ruthlessly.
A dark shape formed in Rose's open doorway. She looked over and saw her son, James, standing just inside her office. She took off her glasses as she considered him. She remembered her husband holding his neck at the same angle.
"Yes, James?" She asked impersonally.
James folded his arms across his chest. "Can I sit down?"
Rose put her hands on the desk. She enjoyed being surrounded by wood and wires.
"For a minute."
James sat in the chair before her and crossed his legs. Rose admitted to herself that she was pleased with her son's discomfort.
"You know why I'm here." James began. "I don't want you to push for a trial."
Rose smirked and hoped her wrinkled cheeks provided her face with an edge.
"A trial? For Circe? Now that would be a waste of time, wouldn't it? She being so young, I know she would never get a conviction."
Rose watched as her son grew at ease. This was turning out to be a great afternoon for her.
"What did you have in mind?" James asked.
Rose opened her drawer and lifted an immensely thick, immensely old, book. She placed it before her and opened it to a specific page. She knew the day was won, and yet she did not have the yearning to keep smiling. The moment had come to slash through her enemy's vanguard, and what soldier truly smiled as he did that?
"It just so happens, James, I have been doing some research into magical law. In the early eighteenth century, there was a spat of Muggle torture committed by some deviant wizards. A law was created that allowed Muggles to receive justice through the authorized use of something called the Cruciatus curse, which is a form of magical torture."
James stood up. Rose continued speaking dispassionately.
"I don't think lawmakers intended to actually apply the punishment, but instead they hoped it would make wizards think twice before hurting their poor, helpless, non-magical counterparts."
Rose turned the book towards James, who was very close to the edge of the desk. Rose pointed her gnarled finger at the passage.
"You see, James? It's still in the books!"
James shook his head. His face was white.
"Mom, please don't."
Rose's mouth trembled as she stood up from her desk.
"You are bent on seeing me as the bad guy, but you should know me better than that. I fully intend to forgive my niece's daughter. But first, she will truly know what it was that she did! Only then, will her behavior be corrected."
"She's just a kid, for Christ sake! Please, just let it go!"
Rose sat down and put her glasses back on. She gestured at the door with her head.
"Close the door on your way out. I have no doubt I will see you soon."
James whipped around and let the door slam behind him. Rose suddenly remembered something she read in MobyDick, something about the guilty craving their punishment. If only the condemned wouldn't squirm so much and make such a fuss, the gray areas of life would vanish all the quicker.
She returned to examining her computer screen. Before she registered a sentence, she heard a small pop. She looked across her desk; she saw that a round wizard with a rind of frizzy, white hair on his face had Apparated into the office. He grinned at Rose and made her a bow. Rose grinned back.
"Merry Christmas, Walter. I trust you come bearing gifts?"
Five
Jaime took James' hand as Morgan explained to her the Cruciatus curse. James enjoyed the warmth of his fiancée's fingers, even if they dampened incrementally with each word Morgan uttered.
"It's torture magic, originally created thousands of years ago to punish criminals. Naturally, casting instructions leaked from the authorities, and Dark witches and wizards have been having fun with it ever since."
Morgan sat down in her chair in the living room. Confessor, her husband, stood behind her. Both looked somber, but James was a little surprised they were not more unraveled at the news he gave them. Rose successfully fought to have Circe, their daughter, tortured with a Dark magic spell, and they acted as if the boy next door had broken their window with a baseball.
Jaime looked from Confessor to Morgan. "This is terrible! There's no way that's legal. ."
"It is. I checked it out myself. However old and inappropriate the law is, it is still part of legal canon." Morgan stated.
Confessor folded his arms. "Your mother is very shrewd, James."
James was irritated. He knew that Confessor was baiting him into siding against his mother. James by no means agreed with Rose's tactics, but he did not wish to throw his lot in with anyone at the moment. It was funny how so many complexities evolved from a single, small seed of evil. He glared at Confessor without responding.
"So, what? You guys are just going to hand Circe over to the authorities? Honey, what do you think about it?" Jaime asked.
James leaned forward and let his head fall close to his knees. He noticed how the carpet under his shoes was very clean. Magic would be priceless to Muggles for its domestic convenience if for nothing else.
"It's not up to me. If the curse was used, it would last less than a minute. Circe would. ."
"The curse shall not be used." Morgan stated imperiously. James looked at his cousin's face. The exhaustion was present under her eyes and in the hollow of her cheeks, but she was resolved, James knew it. He could have made a counter-argument, but for the moment he did not desire to debate with anyone over anything. For the first time he wanted to erect the world's magic above him like a shield and let those who harnessed it make the tough decisions. He wanted to be a kid again. He knew he was being preposterous. He again took his fiancée's hand.
"So what's going to happen?" Jaime asked.
Confessor paused before he answered. "We're going to Obliviate Rose."
It was Confessor using the word that brought life to James' ire.
"So that's how it works in the Wizarding world? When things get too screwed up you just hit the 'Obliviation' button?"
"James."
When James met Morgan's gaze, he was surprised at how peaceful she was. He knew whatever she was going to say next would calm him.
"It is the only way left now. As we speak Circe is at her first meeting with her counselor." Morgan looked out the window behind James. "You said it yourself; justice is never easy."
James looked at Morgan curiously. "You talked to Glover about this, haven't you?"
Morgan produced a strained smile. "I'm sorry to say Confessor is right; Aunt Rose is shrewd. It pays to stay a couple steps ahead of her."
James leaned back against the sofa while Jaime put her head against him. Even if it pained her, James prayed she would always have the courage to touch him.
Six
"Circe, whenever you're ready. Remember, we're not going to harm you or take you away from your family."
"Okay."
"Tell us again about the dream."
"It was a different place. The sky and the earth were different colors, and I didn't see any animals. There was a big rock and my family was hanging upside-down from it. They were scared, and I wanted to help them, but I didn't know how. I knew I had power, but I didn't know how to use it."
"Did you want to help Aunt Rose?"
"No. She wasn't being nice to us, even after we invited her over for dinner. She was real quiet all night, and I could tell she didn't like us. It made me mad to see her hair as she hung from the rock."
"Why didn't you like her hair?"
"Because it looked perfect. Mom and Dad tell me all the time no one is perfect, and Aunt Rose has no right to pretend to be."
"What did she say to you when you went to her?"
"She told me I couldn't hurt her, but I knew I could, because I was the one in the sky and she was the one on the rock. I knew she wasn't magical, and that made me happy."
"Why did that make you happy?"
"Because it would be easier for me to punish her, for her messing up the dinner."
"Is that why you hurt her? Because you wanted to punish her?"
"Sort of."
"What do you mean, 'sort of'?"
Circe looked at Dr. Wiggins and didn't blink.
"I just didn't like her hair."
Seven
Morgan held Circe's hand as they stood before the stone doors, behind which a wizard's voice was faintly heard. She felt sweat in her palm and wasn't sure if it was hers or Circe's. Everything had been arranged. Everything would proceed in order. It just wasn't the kind of order she was used to, or comfortable with, for that matter.
"Mommy, I'm scared." Circe stated softly.
"It'll be okay, sweetheart. This is only going to take a minute, and then we'll go home."
Circe looked down at her small boots. Morgan wished she could fit her daughter inside her robes and whisk her away. She never liked the sentencing chamber at Law Enforcement, even when she was there to watch her prey receive their punishments. It was the only chamber in the complex that truly made you feel you were far away from the sunlight.
"Do you think I should be hurt, Mom?"
Morgan looked down and had the unpleasant sensation she was seeing Circe through an unmovable grate in the ground. She had never feared the shadow of her daughter's eyes. She hated herself for doing so now. Maybe it was the stone of the walls, or the distracting flicker of the torches, but at that moment Morgan had a cold desire to know just how far Circe's darkness extended. Everything could depend on what Circe was feeling, what she was expecting, what she was hoping to expect.
"Circe, look into my eyes."
Circe looked up at Morgan without trepidation. Morgan willed the magic within her and pushed gently into the brown she beheld. She stilled herself just beyond the verge and squatted down next to Circe.
"Do you think you should be hurt?"
Circe's eyes shifted for a second. Morgan felt her confusion, her search for the right answer. She saw Circe remember the winter solstice dinner, remember throwing the pink teddy bear across the bedroom. She saw Circe remember staring at Aunt Rose at the dinner table, as the old woman unashamedly ignored everything Circe asked her. Circe remembered hovering around the rock, seeing Aunt Rose hang upside down. She remembered torturing Rose with magic, magic a ten-year-old could not possibly be held accountable for wielding. She felt Circe' rage, and then she felt her remorse. Circe sank from the weight of it. Morgan saw Circe look at Mommy as she crashed. The look on Mom's face was terrible and would in all likelihood always stay with the girl. Morgan had seen enough, but before she ended her Legilimency, Circe answered.
"Yes, Mom. I deserve it."
Morgan pulled Circe into her robes and embraced her. The wizard behind the door had stopped talking.
"Trust Mommy, darling; everything will be fine."
Eight
The stone doors swung open. Morgan stood straight and grabbed Circe's hand. Together they stepped into the sentencing chamber.
All around the dark, gray walls of the room were levels of seats. Most were empty. A single black chair was positioned in the middle of the room in front of a tall platform where an old wizard wearing black robes was standing. He nodded to the mother and daughter.
"Captain Westerling, good morning. Hello, Circe. Please step forward and take the chair before me."
Morgan let go of Circe. She felt as if she were releasing a balloon into a windy sky. Morgan watched as Circe briskly walked up the aisle and sat in the black chair before the wizard. Circe kept her back straight, and only when Morgan noticed this did the pride swell into her eyes.
"Mrs. McBride, are you in a position to witness the sentencing?" The old wizard asked.
"I am."
Morgan glanced at the seat along the wall where the voice emanated from. There, next to her son, James, was Aunt Rose, wearing a white jacket and dark glasses. Morgan saw she had decorated herself with a bright, silver wristwatch for the occasion. Morgan beat down the urge to strike her with her wand. Circe may be filled with remorse, but Morgan wasn't anymore. She knew Rose as she really was. Morgan remembered feeling horrible when Rose stormed out of her house Saturday night, but now she was hopeful the woman would never enter it again.
Morgan caught James' eye. From his memories she knew his feelings for his mother were complicated at best. He loved her, wished to care for her as she became enfeebled with age, and did not wish her harm. However, he understood how cold and cruel the old woman could be. James tried to humor her most of the time, but there were still conflicts. Morgan realized her aunt had suffered greatly in her time, which might explain her coldness. Her cruelty, however, Morgan did not wish to make an excuse for. Perhaps cruelty sprouted in souls as weeds do in gardens. Morgan directed her attention back to the platform where the adjudicating wizard continued.
"Circe, do you understand what you did wrong?"
"Yeah."
"And do you understand that when you willfully do wrong things, you have to be expected to answer for them?"
Circe looked back at Morgan. "Yes."
The wizard drew his wand. Morgan instinctively grabbed hers. The sudden silence in the chamber pressed in on Morgan's ears like water. She tensed as the wizard readied his wand. Morgan knew what was about to happen, and yet she hated the sight of that wand. She wished she could crush it in her fingers.
"Circe, you shall now receive your punishment."
Circe closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Morgan's heart broke as she listened to her daughter breathe. Today was the first in a long, disjointed series of days where Circe would journey towards womanhood. Morgan thought of a waning moon; when you directly looked at it, you never had the impression it was moving, and yet you knew before dawn it would exit the night sky like magic. Morgan wished Confessor was by her side so she could hold his hand.
"Are you prepared, Circe?"
"I am." Circe replied.
Morgan's neck throbbed; she was holding her body up with incredible intensity. The old wizard pointed his wand, but not at Circe. He gave Morgan a look before he spoke.
"Obliviate!"
Morgan lowered her head and didn't bother to witness the blankness form in Rose's eyes. There was no cry or gesture of shock from the witches and wizards present. They all were conspirators together, summoning their combined magic to bend the arm of law in a favorable direction. Morgan shook her head. Power created too many opportunities for convenience. Justice on the other hand, despite its complexities, could never grow weak like power could. Justice applied to all, because its strength allowed it to. On many levels, magic made cowards of those who possessed it. Muggles, with all their brutish, plodding ways, were at least given a clearer chance to act legitimately, authentically. Muggles were lucky.
"Guards, see to it that Mrs. McBride is returned to her office." The old wizard commanded.
Morgan walked over to Circe and put her hand on her shoulder.
"You did great today, honey. Fantastic. I'm so, so proud of you."
Circe smiled and made to stand up, but Morgan restrained her.
"No, Circe. Sit still for just one more second. Turn your head and look at the torch on the wall to your right."
Morgan drew her wand as the guards escorted Rose from the chamber. When Circe's face was turned, Morgan cast her spell.
"Confundus."
The spell hit Circe's profiled head. She turned back and looked at Morgan with befuddlement and wonder. Morgan heard James speak behind her.
"What are you doing?"
Morgan kept her wand directed at her daughter as she responded.
"Circe knows she did wrong, that she shouldn't have done wrong, and that there are consequences to her actions. I am making sure she remembers those consequences."
There was a thoughtful pause before James answered.
"She never received her sentence, so you are making sure she at least remembers she did. You might as well have let him curse her."
Morgan furrowed her brow. "No, James. The law in the book is wrong. The curse should never be used. It probably should never have existed in the first place."
James laughed to himself. "You witches and wizards are strange folk, anyone ever tell you?"
Morgan finally lowered her wand.
"All the time."
Circe looked up at Morgan with fright. Her mouth trembled.
"Mommy!"
Morgan stowed her wand and reached out to Circe.
"It's okay, pumpkin. Come to me."
Circe stood up from the black chair and Morgan hugged her. They stood together for more than a minute. With a deep pain Morgan reminded herself she couldn't stop Circe from suffering, but at least she would always try to be there to dress her wounds. It was perhaps the one and only thing parents could truly do for their children.
"I'm here, Circe. I'm here."
Nine
Rose Apparated into her office with the security wizard. She allowed him to release her arm. She hated him touching her so firmly, but she only had to hold out for a few seconds. Once she was steady on her feet, the wizard stepped back and Disapparated away. Rose felt her wristwatch buzz. Suddenly it spoke to her.
"You are now out of danger." It mechanically notified her.
Rose smiled. She loathed walking through the tunnels of the Wizarding complex. With all their powers, it was amazing witches and wizards did not install electrical lighting in their confounded labyrinths.
Rose reached up and removed her gold, garnet-studded earrings. They were still warm from the magical wards they summoned. Rose had a great desire to laugh when that foolish Wizarding judge cast his memory charm at her. She distinctly felt the curse hit her and fade away harmlessly. Maybe she would send Walter a Christmas card, thanking him for his gifts, but then she considered what she paid for them, and dismissed the idea. She hated Christmas anyway.
She was not surprised by the turn of events in the sentencing chamber. After all, witches and wizards were human just like everybody else, which meant they lied, cheated, and manipulated situations to better satisfy themselves. She almost was proud of them; she at last felt she could relate to them.
Rose moved behind her desk and checked the messages on her answering machine. Life, for the moment, would resume normally. She would tackle her case load, James would go off with Morgan capturing evil-doers as best they could, and Circe would go back to school and put the whole incident behind her. Rose saw in her mind Morgan approach her daughter in the black chair. They would comfort each other, undoubtedly, but Rose knew it was a false comfort, because no matter what they believed, what they were convinced of, Rose herself was still there, on the board, untouched. Rose would always remember what transpired, despite their pathetic attempts to wipe her memory. Rose would one day have her revenge.
.