Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Other Magic	By : starry-pseudonym Category: HP Canon Characters paired with Original Characters > Het - Male/Female Views: 962 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This story - my very first - is compliant up to the start of the Half-Blood Prince. I do not own Harry Potter or any canon references. The story within is purely for entertainment, noncommercial purposes.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
Author’s Note: I know I have a few seeming discrepancies to clarify in the next chapter or two. It’s all sort of falling out of my head. Anything I can do to address issues please let me know. Cheers!
“Please, sit.” Lady Scabior gestured to the luxurious, tufted chaise by the window while she lowered ever so lightly onto her own winged-back chair. Alison was in awe of her otherworldly elegance – she moved like a feather in the air, but she was certain this stately matron could snap like a viper.
Scabior was silently fuming, and Alison didn’t blame him – being hexed by one’s own mother? She couldn’t know the extent of what she cast at him, but as she held onto Scabior as they walked, one arm wrapped around his back, she tucked beneath his injured side to shoulder his weight with her right palm gently steadying by his chest, she guessed it was the equivalent of a bitch slap.
Once in the other room, he separated from her, and winced in doing so. Alison waited for him to take a seat, but he stood there still holding his sore shoulder by the cream-upholstered furniture (was he concerned he’d muddy it up?), and after several tense moments of stillness, she realized he too was waiting – for her. He cleared his throat, which prompted her to quickly shuffle and sit down.
“You will have to excuse me, my dear, but I haven’t seen my son in nearly a decade, and truth be told, I wasn’t ever thinking he’d return. For obvious reasons,” to which she cocked a thin eyebrow in his direction, appraising him with pent-up disdain that only a mother of unconditional love could express. Alison was finding it increasingly difficult not to smirk as out of the corner of her eye she could see Scabior scowling.
“No, ma’am, I actually don’t know much about your son,” she confessed – aside from a name, undefined but dubious sources of income, and a shithole for a residence, she knew nothing.
“Yes well,” she sighed and eased backward, as if she sensed – POP – Drazz’s arrival with the tea. She was already reaching for her porcelain saucer and cup, intricate peach and pale leaf colors painted upon the china. “You are better off. My son is nothing but a criminal of the lowest sort. You know I once caught him pilfering my great grandmother’s pearls, and of all things, at a Society party I find them on the neck of a huss---”
“Thank you, mum,” he quickly completed. He took his tea, then watched to make sure Drazz didn’t unintentionally forget to serve their guest. When Alison accepted the tea, going so far as to quietly offer a thank you to the elven servant, he shook his head. “Glad to see some things have changed, aye?”
“Don’t regress, Conall. I loathe it when you speak like that,” the older woman said as she raised her teacup to her pursed lips.
“Don’t change the subject,” he inched closer to the edge of the chaise. “Why are you acting civilized? If’n I was eighteen, you’d be spittin’ acid at the poor girl,” he turned briefly to Alison who, he noted, had been conspicuously quiet for being a foul-mouthed American. He wasn’t sure what overcame him, but instead of giving this stranger a chance to speak up, he charged on.
“And here I tell you she is a muggle, and you’re ready to have her o’er for a garden party with your friends!”
“Quiet down!” Lady Scabior demanded. “You and I may be reasonable, but I tell you the Bulstrodes next door are not.”
Scabior couldn’t help himself – he set his tea down on the small table by his side. He needed to point at her to, well, make a point.
“Weren’t you the one to tell me that muggles are, and I quote, grimy vermin the likes of house elf dung on your shoes? No offense, Drazz.”
From where he stood in the doorway, Drazz bristled with a squeak.
“You forget, Conall, I said that in front of the Malfoys, and all manner of high society families, at one of their council dinners.”
Scabior straightened a second, but then in true fashion to his own comfort, placed his forearms upon spread knees. “You’re pullin’ me. So, what then, muggles … Rachel here … she’s not elf shit?”
Alison was about to intervene – they had greatly digressed – when Lady Scabior furrowed her brows. “Who is Rachel?”
“I told you, mum, this is---.”
“No, dear, her name is Alison.”
“…what.”
“Alison. Is that not right, Miss Hayes? I saw you in the Daily Prophet this morning. I thought … I thought that’s why you are here.”
Scabior shifted to look at Alison, an accusing scrunch of his nose delivered – then pivoted on the cushion to address his mother with an agitated rise in his voice: “No, we came here to ask you something.”
“Oh, do spit it out then, Conall. Drazz, bring me this morning’s paper.” The elf disappeared, and then reappeared with the folded parchment presented to his mistress.
“See? It says you have gone missing, and that the muggle Prime Minister has been notified. It’s quite the gossip, though I couldn’t tell you why we’d care. I just assumed you came here to ask for my blessing.”
In unison, Scabior and Alison leaned forward, “Come again?”
“Well with your father gone, and the way you two were in the hall just now. No?”
“Are you mad, woman?” He didn’t let her answer. “We’re here because Rach—I mean Alison came through the mist on her own! That’s why she’s in the paper. That’s why we’re here!”
He launched off the chaise to snatch the newspaper out of his mother’s hand. She huffed in indignation but went ignored, by both of them. Alison wasn’t long in joining his side, scouring the headlines for what was printed: Muggle Missing: Return to Ministry.
“For fuck’s sake,” Scabior groaned. There, boldly looking at them, was a moving photograph of Alison. He kept reading to see his name near the top. He grumbled the words, “Miss Alison Hayes was last seen with the wizard Conall Scabior in Knockturn Alley.” At least they hadn’t been spotted since.
Bellatrix is going to have my dick for this.
Alison turned back to look at the Lady Scabior – she had her hand around the charcoal-pigmented scarf about her neck, undoing it in apparent distress and stymied wheezing.
“Are you all right?” Alison stepped closer, catching Scabior’s attention to angle and look as well.
“Mum?”
“The article,” she breathed, “it didn’t say anything about the mist.”
Scabior let down the newspaper onto the table where he left his tea, then returned to his mother’s side. “That’s because they don’t want people to know ... but someone already does, and they put this out to start a manhunt to bring her in.”
“Who, who knows?” she was regaining her composure, finding comfort in her momentarily abandoned tea.
“Selwyn.”
Alison’s hand flew to her mouth, but then slowly as the revelation wore on, her fingers fell. “The man in the alley?”
“He must’ve let on to Yaxley, that ponytailed cunt in the law enforcement offices. Has his eyes and ears on every investigation, and the muggle prime twat what’s his face led ‘em straight to her.”
There was a clearing of throats. Both Lady Scabior and Alison, once Scabior looked at them confusedly, nodded to him with subdued grins that they just as quickly hid.
He sneered, making to grab for the thin shred of cloth that bound his unkempt nest of dark strands in a ragged tail. But then he winced again, the concentrated pain from earlier setting his teeth on edge.
“So then, you’re here to hide?” There was nothing apologetic about the Lady Scabior, so when she watched her only son fuss in discomfort, she did as any woman of her status would do. She changed the subject again.
“That wasn’t the objective, no, seeing as we just found out – keep up, woman! No, I needed to ask you about the mist. That story you used to tell me … we need to know if …”
“If it’s true? Why of course it’s true.”
This was the first Alison was hearing of a story, and this mist. By now the rain had stopped outside, leaving a midsummer humid haze to linger upon the streets. The sun had begun to set, and the three of them in the parlour were suddenly very aware of the light dying out in the room.
“Then how could she walk through the mist? I thought you said it could never be broken.”
“That’s because I didn’t tell you everything.”
- 9
- 10
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Other Magic