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 2 – News of the Wyrd
I slowly picked up my wand. "What's that, Mommy?" asked Evan, almost immediately.
"It's my wand," I answered, absently, as I looked at it. 10 inches, rowan wood (what did you expect?), dragon heartstring. Severus had taken me to purchase it not long after I had begun seeing him. I had actually expected that Eric would confiscate it before he had transported us to Seattle, but he hadn't. He had told me that the Department of Magic trusted me. After all, I had dropped the dime on Voldemort, and I hadn't actually been one of his followers—I had just been married to two of them. Sigh.
"What does it do?" asked Evan. He had been at the "question-a-minute" stage in his development since he had been able to speak. My take on child rearing was that I should be as honest as possible to him, within reason. Of course, prior to this afternoon, I had not exposed Evan to anything having to do with the wizarding world.
"It does magick," I said. "Watch." And I levitated one of the rickety chairs that sat in the corner of the shack next to an equally rickety table. Then, I levitated the stack of mail off the floor and moved it over so that it sat on the table.
Evan giggled. "Can I do that?" he asked. Oh kid, I am sure you can, and a lot more, I thought. Unfortunately, I had left all of the books I had purchased about raising wizarding children behind at Walden's lodge. I had hoped that seeing the books after I left would make him mad.
"Well, yes, when you get older and after you learn how," I said. There was to be no going back now, I thought. I sat the wand on the table, out of his reach. "Would you like to see a picture of—of your dad?" I asked. He had asked me about his father for the first time last year, when he had been exposed to other children at an afternoon play group. I had told him that we were divorced (unfortunately, this was a lie), and that he lived in another country (as far as I knew, he still did).
"Yes," he said, looking up at me soberly. I almost expected him to say "Aye," as he bit his lip just as Walden had, I thought. I turned back to the compartment in the wall, and withdrew a small box from it. I sat the box on the table and tapped it with my wand. It grew larger. I opened the top of the box. Evan watched all of this silently.
I pulled out a framed wizard photo of Walden and handed it to Evan. In the picture, Walden was holding the bridle of one of his horses (who was named Salazar) and standing next to his barn. I had taken it about a week or so after I had moved to his lodge, when I had been happy, although magically manipulated.
"Mommy, he's moving! And the horse is moving!" I looked at the picture and sucked in my breath. As we watched, Salazar tossed his head, and Walden fed a sugar cube to the stallion. Then, Walden turned toward us and nodded and smiled. I had forgotten how good-looking he was. Oh Gods. I had been working far too hard and far too long. And, although the terms of my exile didn't specify it, I had decided to remain single and celibate. I was seriously reconsidering that choice at the moment. Unfortunately, the men at MegaSoft, as I'd observed, were all either married, gay, hopelessly wimpy, or too young for me…not to mention that none of them could stand up to the memory of Walden—or Severus, for that matter. (And let's not forget Lucius, my mind added, although I had certainly attempted to.)
"The man smiled at me, Mommy!" exclaimed Evan, whose eyes were glued to the picture.
"That's your dad, Evan," I said, feeling as if perhaps this outing hadn't been such a good idea.
"What's his name?" he asked. I told him. "Is that going to be my last name, now, too?" he asked. I explained that we used my last name now, as Walden and I were no longer together. "Do you have a new name, like my new name?" he asked, after musing that one over for a bit.
"Evan isn't your new name, it's your real name. And yes, I have one, too," I said, and I told him what it was.
"It's pretty, Mommy!" he said, and then asked, "Why are you and my dad not together any more?"
"Well, Evan, sit down for a minute," I said. He walked over to one of the chairs and sat down. I sat next to him, paying no attention to the abundant layers of dust that covered the furniture. Then I picked up my wand and conjured two glasses of lemonade. "You see, your dad had some ideas about the way the world works that were wrong. And he did some bad things because of those ideas. Do you understand?" And the Goddess help me, I thought, when he actually finds out the specifics.
"Like the bad guys in 'Star Wars'?" he asked. Out of the mouths of babes, is that what the expression was, I thought. I had passed my love and enjoyment of science fiction movies on to Evan. He especially liked the robots C3PO and R2D2.
"Yes, just like the bad guys in 'Star Wars.'" I said. Evil hooded overlord, check, I thought. Slavish follower who eventually redeemed himself, check. Young kid who saves the galaxy, check. Joseph Campbell, please pick up the courtesy phone in the lobby.
"What did my dad do?" he asked.
"Evan, ask me that again someday, and I'll tell you," I said. This had worked before, and I hoped it worked again.
"OK," he said. "Can we go outside?" I glanced out the window. Black clouds were looming. "Well, you can, until it rains, but then you have to come in." I went out with him and cast a protective circle around the perimeter of the area. "Don't go any farther than that tree," and I pointed. "I'll leave the door open. Do you have to use the potty?"
"No," he said, and ran outside. He loved the outdoors and was very active, just as I imagined Walden must have been as a child. I watched him as he ran happily through the grass for a moment, and then I turned my attention to the pile of mail.
There were two packages, both from Erik. He used his own name, and my name, as the shack was considered secure. He had also sent three more letters. There were four large packets that contained copies of the Salem Enchanter, sent by Rhiannon.
I decided to tackle the two packages first. The one dated earlier, as I suspected, contained a copy of the first Harry Potter book (the British edition, which was titled "HP & the Philosopher's Stone," which made a lot more sense to me.). A letter, dated September 1997 (right around the time when I had started the Version 7.0 project, I noted), accompanied the first book.
Dear Rowan,
Since you have a kid, I figured I'd better send this book to you right away. You'll probably be hearing about it soon enough.
Anyway, last week, I saw Rhiannon, Inanna, Michele, Bryan, and one of Bryan's friends at the Institute. Bryan's friend, Charlie, is Arthur Weasley's son, and he told me that his dad had come up with this nutty idea to help with the defeat of Voldemort.
Basically, without breaking any of the Statutes of Secrecy, the idea is to make the Muggles aware that Voldemort and his crew are obviously the bad guys, so maybe they'll help us kick their worthless asses. (I've already given copies of the book to some of my buddies at the NYPD, so I'm doing my part.)
One of the Hogwarts teachers wrote outlines for seven books (one for each of the Potter kid's school years). Then, using some kind of time-travel device from the Department of Mysteries, she gave the notes to a distant Muggle cousin of hers who was traveling by train.
Then, this teacher did a very limited and specialized Memory Charm on the Muggle woman, so she'd think that the books were all her idea. Well, the Muggle wrote the first book (as it turned out, she's a good novelist), and sold it to a publisher, and what do you know, it hit the top of the bestseller charts over in England, and now it's being published here. I think maybe that some of those Ministry wizards had something to do with a lot of that, but the book is pretty damn good, really. And I'll send you the next one when I get it.
Be warned, the Count is in it!
Blessings of the Ancestors, from your pal,
Erik
The second package was dated May 30, 1998. I ripped open the brown paper and lifted the lid of the box. A postcard, depicting the Statue of Liberty, lay on top of a New York Yankees baseball cap, which was wrapped in what I recognized as touch-resistant material—hence, it was a Portkey.
I turned the card over slowly. The message was very short and to the point.
Rowan,
The bastard's finally gone for good.
It's time to come home.
Your pal,
Erik
