DISCLAIMER: J.K. Rowling owns most of the characters and settings here—I own the rest.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story is most DEFINITELY for adults. See Chapter 1 for an explanation and synopsis of the Story So Far.

This is another long chapter, so enjoy. Remember that "Review" button down in the lower corner of your screen. Please make sure the tray tables are in their fully upright and locked positions. Thank you for shopping Cid62 Mart, and be sure to come again!

DATE WITH AN EXECUTIONER
Chapter 14 – Please, Mr. Post-Owl

Once I was safely ensconced on the convertible sofa that took up most of the space in Rhiannon's office (where I had been staying during my time in Massachusetts), I sat the box on the table and began sorting out the letters. There were four from the Ministry (or, rather, from Walden's office there). He had apparently gone home at some point, because there were also three with a return address of "Macnair Lodge." Then there were four—no, five ones on grey parchment with no return address that I assumed were from Malfoy. The latter one was quite large and appeared to contain something more than just a letter. Hmmm. There was one with the return address of the Hogsmeade store—it looked like it was in Ruthven's handwriting. And then there was the one from Severus, at Hogwarts.

I stopped for a moment to take a bathroom break, change into some of my wizarding robes in order to get more comfortable (Erik and I had worn Muggle clothes to New York), and brew some coffee. Glancing out the kitchen window, I noted that the NYAF car had departed, presumably with Erik at the wheel. Inanna had, as she'd mentioned, obviously gone back to the store. Nobody else was around. The Institute was closed this week and the next for winter break. After last night's ritual, everyone had departed for his or her respective holiday destinations. Michele and Bryan had taken a Portkey back to England. I had considered accompanying them when I had first heard about it, but the appointment with the curse breaker had taken precedence. Rhiannon had taken off for California this morning. Inanna was going to stay above the store for the duration of the break and perform her Astral Duty from there. I had told her before I left this morning that I wasn't sure what I was going to do yet, and would probably see her at the store later.

Turning my attention back to the letters, I noted that the Relay Service (Goddess bless them) stamped each parchment envelope with the day of the week, time, and date that they received them. Using this handy information, and Rhiannon's Astrological Calendar for last year (which was still open on her desk), I sorted the letters. The first one, from the store, was dated on the Sunday after I had left for Massachusetts, last month.

"Dear Mrs. Hawthorne, A strange thing happened at the store last night," I read. The day I had left had been a Friday, so I had an idea what that event might be. "I decided to stay late to do some Potions experiments." This one had to be from Ruthven, then. Knowing what I knew now, I wondered if perhaps he was Severus' illegitimate son. That was entirely too much to think about at the moment, so I bravely forged on. "At 6:30, a large wizard in a long black cloak with a hood came in the door. He had short black hair and a mustache. He asked where you were. I didn't think it was a good idea to tell him. He tried to cast the Imperius Curse on me, but due to my ancestry, I am not susceptible to it." What did that mean—was it a vampire thing, perhaps? "He then asked me again, and threatened me with his wand. He also had a big axe, and he scared me. He put a Full-Body Bind on me and said I'd regret it if I didn't tell him where you were." Always the charmer, aren't you, Walden? I thought. "I couldn't fight him. I gave him the address and told him you'd be back in a month or so, like you said. I'm very sorry. I hope this doesn't mean you're in any trouble. Also, the Professor came in yesterday as well, and Morgaine told him where you were, but I figured that was all right. Happy Yule, from your employee, Ruthven."

I sighed and looked at the next consecutive letter, dated the next day, with a return address of the Macnair Lodge. It began with "Fiat Obscurus," presumably to put me under the Imperius variant again, as otherwise I probably wouldn't have known who the letter was from. It went on to say that he missed me, and he understood why I had left without notice, of course. He would write back when he had more time, as he had to go and visit his family for the holidays. He had been hoping that I could have joined him on that visit. Also, he had been considering visiting America again. And he signed it "Yours, Walden." I sighed again.

The next letter was dated the following Wednesday, and was from Malfoy. It, too, began with "Fiat Obscurus!" I chuckled at that, as I was reminded of Auror Silverman and his story of the Imperius variant billboard. The letter, however, was not amusing. "Dear Moonchild, Imagine my surprise when I arrived at your home yesterday evening to find that you were not there, but Walden was. After a prolonged and rather unpleasant conversation, we came to a mutual agreement. At this point, I now release you from the secrecy aspect of our arrangement and of the arrangement between you and Walden, in order that you might remember both of us."

Great, I thought. Awfully nice of him to do so. What a shame I've already done it myself!

"I must say that I would not have given you up as quickly as he seems to think I would have. I have, in fact, become quite attached to you. In the letter following this one, you will find enclosed my Yule present to you." I looked at the larger package and noted it was indeed dated the same day. And another present, how marvelous—I suppose Walden had been wrong about that. I decided to open the envelope, which contained a small box. Inside was a necklace, and it did not involve a snake. It was a silver chain with a pendant—a green stone, set in a bail. I wasn't even going to bother guessing what the materials were. I sat it back in the box. "I do hope that you like it, and will wear it while you are in Massachusetts, and think of me. At any rate, I have no objections to you and Walden making your relationship more permanent. I would like to facilitate such by suggesting that all of us meet at my Connecticut estate in a month, when you are done with your Institute business. If you would do me the honour of replying as soon as possible, I will then write back with a date, a time, and the location of my estate. Yours most affectionately, Lucius."

Well, how completely Slytherin of him, I thought. He made the entire thing sound as if it was his idea! What, was he planning to perform a marriage ceremony for us, too?

The next two letters were from the Macnair Lodge. Neither began with "Fiat Obscurus," thus confirming Malfoy's story. One essentially reiterated what Malfoy had said in his letter. The second, clearly written after Walden had drunk several whiskies, detailed exactly what he was going to do to me when next he saw me, and for how long, in extremely graphic detail. And it was signed "Love, Walden." Wow. He wasn't a bad writer either, I thought. I fanned myself with the letter after I was done reading it, and reached in my pocket for the bottle of Imperius Arcanum-resisting potion I had gotten at the Apothecary. I took one swallow, as directed, and then I read the letter again. My reaction to it was even more profound, involving a long sigh. Great.

Then, dated three days later there was a short note from Malfoy, wondering if I had received his first two letters. Then one of Walden's letters on Ministry letterhead was next, asking me essentially the same thing. Two weeks had passed, according to the calendar. The next week's letters were from Walden first, then Malfoy, then Walden again. The tone of each became progressively sterner, wondering why I hadn't replied. The last letter from Malfoy was rather terse, saying that he had heard of the Relay Service strike and that he was taking steps to ensure that I would be receiving my mail. He also left the address and directions to his Connecticut estate in that letter. The last letter from Walden said that he, through his Ministry connections, was taking his own steps on the Relay Service problem. I grimaced at this, hoping that whatever steps he took wouldn't involve a bunch of executed owls. These last letters were both dated five days ago.

I put the stack of letters and the necklace back into the box, and then all that was left on the table was the letter from Severus, dated three days ago.

I stared at it and took a long sip of coffee. I had just started to open the letter when I heard noises from down the hall. It sounded as if the door was being opened. Someone had managed to breach the wards, then. "Erik! Erik, is that you?" I yelled. Perhaps he had come back to apologize. I stood up. Well, I was certainly willing to speak with him if he could keep things civil. Or maybe it was Inanna? Either way, they both had bad timing. I really wanted to read Severus' letter. I sighed and walked toward the door. "Hello? Who's there?" I said. Footsteps were coming down the hall, and I hadn't heard a voice yet. OK, now I was a bit worried, and I held up my wand. Who in the hell had gotten past those wards? I thought. Why, they were some of the strongest—

"Fiat Obscurus!" came a voice, in a very strong Scots accent.

"That won't be necessary," I said. That explained the breaking of the wards. I had learned them from him, after all.

"What do ye mean?" said Walden, stepping into Rhiannon's office and looking around with a disdainful air. "Good heavens, I can see why ye moved," he said. I attempted to look at the room through his eyes. Environmental and social activism posters covered the walls. The convertible sofa, on which I had been sleeping for a month (and my back protested about it nightly) was a product of the Muggle 1970s. There was a handmade rag rug on the floor. No part of the shabby desk was truly visible under the prodigious pile of parchment that covered Rhiannon's desk (although to her credit, she knew exactly where everything was). And the whole place smelled like stale patchouli. For a man who was used to seeing either stuffed animal heads or ancestral portraits (or both!) gracing solid stone walls, the Institute's appearance must have come as a shock.

"This wasn't my house, Walden." I said. I wasn't fond of Rhiannon's lack of housekeeping, either, but as a guest, I didn't think it was polite to complain. The Institute didn't have house-elves; very few Americans did. The cleaning women who came weekly, and who were under the impression that they were working for "The Salem Women's Institute," were not permitted to touch Rhiannon's office, lest one of her precious papers vanish.

"Ah," he said. "Now, what's this about the curse not being necessary? Did ye get the letters, or did ye throw it off by yerself, then?" I looked at him. He was wearing traditional Scottish winter dress, kilt, hat with cockade, and all. I was impressed at his obvious foresight. Odd as Salem tended to be, it was still, on the whole, a Muggle town. However, dressed as he was, the most attention he might get would be if a hapless tourist stopped him and asked him directions to the bagpipe concert.

"I threw it off," I said. No point in going into details at the moment; there would be time to discuss things later. He backed me gently toward the sofa. I knew what was coming and I didn't try to stop him.

He chuckled. "I figured ye would eventually even without the letters. Lucius underestimated ye. Ye've got a very strong will," he said, coming closer to me and tossing his heavy outer cloak to the floor. "I find it to be one of your most attractive characteristics, actually," he continued, as he sat down heavily and pulled me down next to him. "It feels so damn good when I take ye—it's such a sweet victory when I have to fight for it a bit," he growled. "I've missed ye," he added, right before he kissed me and slid his hand under my robes. "Those were me wards on the door, aye?"

"They were," I said, arching into his touch.

"I taught ye well; they were damn hard to break! And this place is the devil to find," He grabbed my hand and guided it under his kilt. The stories I had heard were all true.

"The Institute is deliberately hard to find," I said. And so was he. "My goodness, I think you win first prize," I said, giggling a bit.

"What?"

"I'll tell you later," I said, although I wasn't exactly sure how I'd explain a bawdy Muggle song about Scottish schweens from my long-ago Renaissance Faire days. I sure as heck wasn't going to sing it to him. "Don't you get cold under that kilt?"

"I'm hardly cold now, as I'm sure ye noticed. I canna wait to have ye any more, either….get on top of me," he said, grabbing me about the waist. "Yes, just like that, right there—och, ye're so sweet, so wet and hot," he groaned, as he impaled me. He moved his hands down to grab my wrists. "Ye're wearing me bracelet," he gasped, as he began to thrust his hips up to meet my movements.

"Yes," I moaned. "Oh Gods, Walden, harder, it's so good—" He felt incredible. He was like a force of nature, like the tropical storm I alluded to earlier. My mind went blank and I succumbed to the pleasure. I writhed on his lap in a primal dance.

"Mmmm," he growled, and then he shuddered and moaned incoherently. I convulsed around him. We remained locked together for a while, recovering. He eventually kissed me, murmuring, "I love ye, lass…do ye love me?" I didn't know what to do. Did I love him? Oh Goddess. I looked at him and said, at last. "Yes." Damn. If this was a curse, then cursed I clearly was. I loved him, and I no longer loved Severus. I wasn't going to say that last part aloud, though.

He smiled, then he lifted me up, seemingly effortlessly, and sat me down on the couch next to him. He then muttered and flicked a wand over both of us, returning both our clothing and us to a clean and unwrinkled state. Then he stood up and began pacing—as much as he could, given the lack of floor space and the fact that he was rather large.

"Rowan, this room is every bit as horrible as the Claw and Stang…it might be a bit less dusty. Are there no better accommodations in this blasted Colonial town? And where can a wizard find a decent meal here?" He picked up my coffee cup and drained the remainder of it. "Horrid! I've never understood why ye Yanks drink this shite!" His words were harsh, but he was chuckling during this recitation. He never took himself entirely seriously—which made him, I thought traitorously, a welcome change from Severus.

"Well, geez, I've been staying here because it's free, Walden. This is the—well, the Headmistresses' office at the Institute," I began. He snorted. "There are better accommodations, of course. And there's a—well, you would call it a pub, I guess, a bar and grill, not far from here. No Muggles go there. It's called the Cloudy Crystal," I said. "You haven't eaten since you got here? When did you get here, anyway?" The man could eat more than any three people I knew.

"About three hours ago. I took the Ministry Portkey to Boston, and then some dreadful sort of transport here. And I did eat at some Muggle place, and it was wretched, even though it had a Scots name," he added.

Oh Gods, he couldn't have. "You came here on the bus from Boston?" It was called the Salem Flyer, and it was roughly equivalent to the Knight Bus. Very roughly. It did not come anywhere near the Institute, either. Typical Massachusetts efficiency. And I was fairly sure of the identity of the Scottish-named restaurant. I giggled, thinking of him ordering a "Big Mac"—or probably three of them, knowing him. "You have Muggle money?" I managed to sputter.

"Yes, of course. I've been to America before, ye know. I was in New York City, a few years back. The Auror Force hired me on to help with a creature problem they had down in the sewers. That was a hell of a lot of fun," he said.

In for a Knut, in for a Galleon, I thought. "Right, so I heard. Auror Silverman says to tell you hello," I said.

"My, ye have been a busy lass, haven't ye? Aye, I shall say it again-Lucius definitely underestimated ye. Silverman's the best curse breaker I've seen, outside of the Ministry, o'course," he added. "And damn, we need to go and get that food now. Unless you have some here," he finished, looking around disdainfully.

I thought of the microwave vegetarian meals in the tiny (but clean) kitchen down the hall. For some reason, I thought of the tag, which now resided in a small box in my suitcase. After Silverman had done his magic, I had checked the tag and it had come away in my hand—but it did have Severus' name on it. "Just let me put on my cloak and we can go," I said. I opened my magically-expanding suitcase and rummaged about for my cloak. The only one I found was green with a serpent-shaped clasp. I sighed and put it on. I wasn't escaping this stuff even in Massachusetts.

"Do you want to use one of the Institute's brooms…" I began, as he picked his cloak up from the floor and shook the dust off it with a grimace.

"No. We will Apparate, of course. What—don't ye know how?"

"I never learned. It—well, it kind of always weirded me out…"I let my voice drift off. The Apparition teacher at the Institute, when I had attended, was rather flaky and I hadn't trusted her methods. Frankly, the whole concept of squeezing through a wormhole rather bothered me. Severus had repeatedly asked me to learn, and I had refused.

"Look, if Crabbe and Goyle can do it, ye can!" he said.

"Those two…er, bruiser guys?" The names sounded vaguely familiar.

"They're large and strong, but they're extremely stupid, and they got into the Death Eaters because of the former," he said. I decided to keep my opinions to myself on the latter part of his sentence.

"They were there, you know—" I pictured a large, dim wizard who had problems hooking Severus to a wall, from my Pensieve memories. (At Erik's suggestion, yesterday we had taken my Pensieve to NYAF headquarters. It was currently being stored for safekeeping in one of the Force's high-security vaults.)

"At me hunting lodge? Aye, they were there that night. Ye should be glad Lucius didn't invite them in as well…but they probably wouldna even have known what ta do! And as I said, if they can Apparate, ye can. Hold me hand and picture this pub as clearly as possible in yer mind. When ye have it clearly, nod, and I'll Apparate us."

I nodded and we appeared in the street in front of the Cloudy Crystal. The establishment was located in downtown Salem, on a side street not far from the famed House of the Seven Gables, and also not that far from my former store, the Flying Witch. I had spent many happy hours there. Much like the Leaky Cauldron in London, Muggles were not able to see the place…it looked like a row of abandoned buildings to them.

Walden opened the door for me and in we walked. It was very crowded and I suddenly realized that it was Saturday night. I had become disoriented without my regular weekly routine to ground me. Music played, smoke billowed, and happy voices chattered. The kitchen stayed open until all hours. "Verra nice. This is rather like the Leaky Cauldron," Walden remarked.

"Umm-hmm, thought you'd like it," I murmured, as I glanced around for an empty table. None seemed to be in evidence. Then, I heard someone calling my name, and a hand waved from across the room. I looked closer. Oh Gods. I couldn't remember the wizard's name, but he was one of those Massachusetts weenies that I had briefly dated, back in the pre-Severus days. Moon-something, or maybe it was Star-something. Oh no, he was coming closer. I could feel Walden bristling behind me.

"Rowan! Rowan Hawthorne! How wonderful to see you again!" burbled the wizard. He was dressed in a long blue caftan with a moon and star pattern on it. His thinning hair was pulled back in a ponytail. He wore tiny, round wire-framed glasses. He resembled an aging Muggle hippie, not least of all due to the giant silver peace sign that hung around his neck (along with about fifteen other necklaces of varying design), although he was only a year older than I, as I recalled. And he was holding his arms out for a hug. Please, Goddess, no, I thought. I held my hand out to shake, stopping him in his tracks. He shook it, looking a bit perturbed. I suddenly remembered his name.

"Moonwillow, how are you?" I said. I heard a not-very-quiet snort from Walden, behind me.

"Excellent, as always! Why don't you and your…er, friend come and sit with me? I heard you moved to Scotland," he said, glancing at Walden with both curiosity and obvious alarm. I started to reply but Walden stepped around me.

"She did. I'm her intended, Walden Macnair," he growled, and he didn't hold out his hand for a shake, either.

This was already getting way out of hand, I thought, searching around in vain for an empty table.

"Well, well, how—how, uh, wonderful," said Moonwillow, in a quivery voice. "You're obviously from Scotland," he remarked. I recalled now the particulars of this wizard. He had driven me nuts, and not just for his annoying statements of the obvious. Michele had fixed me up with him. She was sure we'd be perfect for each other and had gotten annoyed when I said I'd dumped him after a month. I had spent the night with him once, mainly out of curiosity, only to discover that I had no physical attraction to him whatsoever. Plus, he was whiny, patronizing, and extremely opinionated, and he was—oh Goddess, no, he was—

"And what do you do, Mr. Macnair?" Moonwillow was asking. I could see the approaching lights of the conversational train wreck at the end of the tunnel. The whistle was blowing, and Casey Jones wasn't watching his speed. You see, Moonwillow was an animal rights activist, and a vegan, and a very strident one. He had been so annoying that I had refused to eat while with him for fear of an unappetizing lecture with my meal.

"Well, Mr., er, Willow," sneered Walden, in a very exaggerated tone—and Moonwillow didn't correct him, "I am an executioner," and he paused after that. Moonwillow's mouth gaped. I recalled that he also spent his spare time protesting against the death penalty (which was a rather pointless pursuit in Massachusetts). Walden forged on. "I work for the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures at the Ministry of Magic in London." I dropped my head into my hands and groaned. Nobody noticed. "And I am very much in need of dinner," he continued, with a smirk that implied that dinner would most certainly involve a large portion of some kind of dead animal flesh. "So you will excuse us now," and with that, Walden pulled out a chair from a table that had miraculously cleared right next to me. I watched as Moonwillow scuttled away, no doubt to alert all his friends so they could come over and picket us, or something.

"I hope that Mudblood git isn't an example of the rest of the wizarding community here," began Walden, as he removed my cloak from my shoulders, draped it over a nearby chair, did the same with his cloak and hat, and assisted me into my chair. Only after all this did he take his own seat. (As I recalled, Moonwillow practically pushed me out of the way when we sat at tables together, perhaps in an attempt to prove that he wasn't patriarchal.)

"He's not," I interjected, in an attempt to defuse the situation, because I really hated that horrible word, Mudblood. Unfortunately, though, Moonwillow was indeed Muggle-born, and quite proud of it, too. When the waitress, Cerridwen, came over, I ordered a large draft beer and a lobster roll. The Crystal prided itself on serving Massachusetts specialties. And it was not a vegetarian restaurant, although there were more than a few meatless entrees available. Walden ordered a bottle of whiskey and two steaks, very rare. I thought of suggesting snail darter or perhaps baby seal in honor of Moonwillow, but neither were on the menu. "You really should try the lobster," I said. "Very well, I'll have two of them as well," he added.

"Now what's this 'intended' business?" I said, picking up my napkin and placing it on my lap. Cerridwen returned with the drinks. After she had departed, Walden poured himself a glass of whiskey and said, "Well, I partially said it in order to make that repulsive git leave, and partially because I'd like it to be true."

"Oh. I was afraid it was a forgotten memory-part of the curse that hadn't gotten broken, or something."

Walden laughed. "I can see how ye'd think that, but I havena gotten round to asking ye; if ye dinna mind, though, I'd prefer to do it someplace more suitable," he said, making the final word into a potent insult. "Although I would like ye to know that my divorce has finalized," he said, reaching into his cloak and withdrawing a piece of parchment. I examined it. It was on Ministry letterhead, and it did indeed seem to state that fact. There was a large gold seal at the bottom. If it was faked, it was a very good fake.

"I also note that ye're nae wearing any sort of ring. Nor did I see a tag hanging off ye, or tha' damn necklace," he continued, pouring himself another drink. Just then, I glanced over his shoulder and saw Moonwillow, standing with a group of other witches and wizards, gesturing wildly in our direction. I hoped they weren't going to get pitchforks and torches and picket our table. On the other hand, this was Salem and we did have a history of witch hunts.

"How do you know about the necklace?" I asked. He was very observant.

"Snape wore his to the Revels. He was always going on about how he was in search of the perfect woman to wear the other one, or some such rot. Nae sure where he got the thing, maybe it was from his mum's side of the family," he said. The food arrived and we stopped talking for a moment while Cerridwen sat down the plates.

Another illusion bites the dust, I thought, as she did so. I was obviously not the perfect candidate for Severus' affections. He had certainly never said any such thing when he had given me the necklace on the first weekend we had been together. I suppose he'd bought it for the mysterious Mrs. Potter to wear. "Well, I took the necklace and my handfasting ring off before I left Hogsmeade and gave them back to Severus." I said. I thought sadly of Severus' letter, sitting in the box at the Institute. Goddess only knew what it said. Should I excuse myself to go and read it?

"Good. I'm going to take ye to a proper room and give ye my wand," he said, winking at me, "…and then I shall offer ye my ring. And I might add that I'll give ye no reason to ever remove it," Walden said, as he sliced into his steak with obvious gusto.

"Which one?" I said, taking a bite of lobster roll. "Your…er, wand, or the ring?"

"Why, both, me dear lass," he said, laughing. "Ye're the best I've ever had." He took a few bites of steak and sighed with pleasure. Then he frowned. "Salazar's ghost! Here comes that git again." I looked up. Three wizards, one of them Moonwillow, were approaching our table. Walden sat down his knife and fork and stood up. He was far taller than all of them.

"Walden, I think this is my problem," I said, and stood up as well. I walked over and intercepted them before they reached the table.

"Moonwillow, what is this all about?" I said, in my best Priestess-in-Charge voice. As I recalled, he paid a lot of lip service to women's equality.

"Um, well, Rowan, it's not about you, it's about your—"

"Look. He's not from this country, and he's not interested in a damn thing you have to say to him, believe me." And you dorks don't even know the half of it, I thought. Can you all say "Avada Kedavra"? And kiddies, please don't try that one at home.

"We were just going to give him some information," one of them whined, weakly.

"You have no idea how stupid that would be," I sighed. "Why don't you guys just go plan the next revolution, or start a commune, or something. This isn't a fight you want to start." I didn't agree with either side, I thought, grimly. I was a weirdo even amongst the weird.

"We don't want a fight," whined the third wizard. "We just feel it's necessary to inform your friend about his options and choices," he finished, waving a pamphlet with a picture of a bunny on it at me.

"Look. First of all, the creatures he executes aren't peaceful little bunnies, they're dragons and manticores and hippogriffs who have injured witches and wizards!" I said. I didn't like his job much either, but these guys were seriously out of line. I had to make them shut up somehow. "And secondly, he's not only my friend, he's my fiancé, and we came here to have dinner, not a freaking whiny boring lecture, so why don't you all just cram it and get the hell out of here?!"

The three wizards, shocked into silence, were just about to turn and leave when we all heard a noise that sounded like hundreds of coins dropping on the floor. I looked around for its source.

"Fiancé! What in all of the Goddess' names is going on!?" said Inanna, who had just dropped the envelope with the night's receipts from the Flying Witch onto the floor. She clearly came in here to total up receipts on Saturday night, just as I had used to.

I motioned to Cerridwen, who was approaching the table with two lobsters on a tray. "Can we get the rest of our dinner to go?"