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
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It was nearly dark outside and there was no telling when this Scabior person would return – later that night or just before dawn, it was all added to the tome-sized speculation swarming in her mind. In the first five minutes of her being in his presumed home, Alison had checked out the small kitchenette area – a gas stove, mid-century icebox, and a few mismatched plates and utensils likely scrounged together from a thrift store. Nothing personal.
The same was deduced from the rest of his belongings. Enough clothes for a few days were thrown in piles on an old leather chair. The only real evidence of his use of this place existed in the half-empty bottle of, “Firewhiskey?” she uttered as she lifted the glass and read the faded label.
There was no television, no microwave; the only artifact of modern times appeared to be the shotty electricity pulsing through the solitary floor lamp in the corner.
She wasn’t doing much better in that regard. As soon as he disappeared she had checked her Nokia, thinking albeit naively that she could call someone for help. Even if there was somehow cellular service, her 90s era mobile device held a few hours of battery at best, and those hours were long gone.
Alison prided herself on her creative nature, it was what gave her pockets of enjoyment at work, but in situations like this, her primordial brain switched on for the sake of survival, and it was nothing but analysis of options from here on out.
I am being held hostage, couldn’t tell you why, or by whom, or where I am. What I do know is my flight back to Dulles leaves in two days. I either make it back in time, or if I don’t then my parents will know I was involved in the attack in the west end today, or something happened to me, and they will contact the government.
Problem solved. She could either find a way out, or let the authorities handle her rescue. Either option landed her safely home, with the potential for personal calls from President Bill Clinton and Prime Minister Tony Blair.
The timeline of her salvation now rationalized, Alison returned to the bed and slowly sat back down. All the scenarios she could ponder to keep her troubled mind busy could not keep out that one burning question still left unanswered.
What the hell is going on? All things considered, if the simplest explanation was the most likely, then she was on the verge of discovering something world-changing. If magic actually existed, what were the implications of telling the rest of humanity? Governments would vie for dominance in the first year, then regulation shortly after. Seeing as this man she encountered could disappear and reappear with a flick of his wrist, there was no telling what that would mean for immigration policy. And what about counter-intelligence agencies? What was the true extent of this magic – could it cure disease, solve the world hunger crisis, eliminate poverty, or topple the fragile pillars of society as she knew it? Was magic contained to just England or how many more magic-users were there?
Scabior didn’t seem the sort to have answers to any of these questions, or if he did, he’d be less than forthcoming. Even if she asked, she’d be painting a target on her back for even caring about what was to happen if she told the public at large. Best not even let him know I thought about any of this.
But that was the trouble, wasn’t it? The only person she could talk to about this was him. A stranger who in five seconds of looking at her had taken her against her will. Though, again she regreted, she was too much in shock to put up much of a struggle. She was still convinced he brought her along in part because of her own safety.
Stupidest … how dumb can you be?
She didn’t want to be caught off guard again. By his spells, by his … what? You are hard up if you are thinking any of this is charming. It would be best to see this in black and white and keep it that way: she was abducted, and he was the abductor.
Maybe I can offer him cash. She had fifty-four dollars in her bag, and another twenty already converted into pounds. With a tired groan, Alison fell back onto the mattress to stare at the disintegrating, water-logged yellow and brown paint on the ceiling. She was resolved not to fall asleep, there was no assurance that his return would be soon or by himself, and she wanted to be alert. She kept her flat, slip-on shoes on despite the ache from that day’s cobbled adventure, and laced her fingers together atop her stomach in silent, bored wait. It felt like Christmas morning before daybreak and she had caught Santa Claus as he was about to climb back into the fireplace, but he hushed her to secrecy.
I won’t tell, was her last innocent thought as she succumbed to sleep, head rolling to the side as the weight of the day's discoveries fell heavy on her surrendering eyes.
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