Far From Home

Waking up in the morning is never comfortable, and Andrea found it worse to wake up in the uncomfortable hotel beds. Her eyes were too heavy to open, her head pounded, and she could feel the imprints her clothes left on her body. Simply by shifting the tiniest bit, she realized that the clothing she lay in was not her sleepwear but the same clothes she wore the day before. Laying in the dark, she tried to remember falling asleep last night and found that she could not. Obviously, the long plane ride had impaired her memory.

With a heave, Andrea finally found the strength to lift her body off the bed and open her eyes. What met her sight was not her hotel room. It didn’t look like a hotel room at all. It looked like someone’s bedroom.

The first thing that stood out to her were the bookcases. Shelves upon shelves of books littered the walls of the room, the titles too hard to read in the dim lighting from the curtain-covered window. The curtains matched the dark green bedspread she laid on. Across the room from the bed was a small wood-lit fireplace and a dark green armchair. A single book laid on the side table next to the armchair. The scene reminded her distantly of her home back in Seattle, curled up in a dark blue armchair next to the fireplace with her newest novel.

Unlike her house, however, there were no pictures on the walls or on the mantelpiece above the fireplace. It seemed so alone.

Andrea was the most level-headed person she knew. Being the only 13 year old in college, she had to grow up fast. She didn’t have the luxury to act childish like kids her age did. Because of this, she perfected the art of keeping calm. Even in this confusing situation, Andrea managed to sit up and calmly attempt to remember how she got in this room. That is, she kept calm until the covers next to her in the queen-sized bed started to shift and she saw a head of black hair.

She let out a squeak and slid far away from the emerging head of hair. Groggily, the black hair picked its head up and stared at the source of the noise.

She recognized that head as well as the dark eyes that bored into her sleepily.

“Alan…Rickman?” Andrea asked, just to be sure it really was the man. He looked like Severus Snape, that was for sure. Same long black hair that shined in the small amount of sunlight streaming in through the dirty window; same crooked nose inhaling harshly as if he were about to reprimand Hermione Granger for being a know-it-all. He even had that cold, hard look to his eyes that was seen in every Harry Potter film.

The man didn’t hesitate when he saw her. In seconds, he had jumped from the bed and stood dangerously over her. His right hand was clenched at his side as if he was grasping something tightly, but the black button down night shirt he wore covered it from view. “Who are you?” he questioned, his anger evident. “How did you get in here?”

Good question. How did she get into Severus Snape’s bed? Sleep walking?

She gaped and had to remind herself how to speak. “You’re Alan Rickman.” And I’m in your…” She looked around stunned. “…bedroom. Oh my God, I’m in Alan Rickman’s bedroom. I am so sorry. I don’t know how this happened. The last thing I remember is going to bed in my hotel room after Sharon…Oh no, Sharon! What time is it?” She checked her watch which said it was eight in the morning. Her eyes bulged. “She must be so worried about me. I’m sorry but I have to go.” Quickly, she jumped from the bed and hurried towards one of two old doors in the room – the one she hoped led to the outside world. “I honestly don’t know how this happened and I promise it will nev—”

She wasn’t able to finish her rambled apology before she had fallen flat on her face and found herself unable to move. No matter how hard she tried to wriggle out of what her hazy mind assumed was the sheets, she couldn’t escape the body bind curse that Severus Snape had placed upon her.

“What the—what is this?”

“Who are you?” was Snape’s only reply, his voice cool for a man who’d woken up to such a strange predicament. In a normal situation he would have seen her as a danger and gotten rid of her immediately, but his body was still recuperating from the rude awakening and was attempting to come to terms with the racing thoughts in his mind. No matter how fast the reasons in his head swam by, he couldn’t conceive why anyone – on either side of the war – would send this woman to his bed .

Seeing that she was unable to move, he swiftly made his way towards her prone position and began checking the usual hiding spots where she could conceal her wand.

Squirming even more, she finally realized that there was, in fact, ropes covering her and controlling her movement, not sheets. She also felt the man kneel next to her. He was thrusting his hand into her pockets, as if he were trying to feel her up. Oh goodness, she was being felt up by Alan Rickman. “Don’t touch me. What did you do to me? Let me go.” She squirmed more, but the ropes stayed in place.

Finding no wand, Severus turned the girl so he could study her face but did not recognize her at all. He also didn’t notice any glamour that might change her facial features nor any polyjuice potion on her breath. “What is your name?” he again asked.

More questions flitted through his mind. He couldn’t see why either side would send a clueless, wandless girl to his room. What was the hidden agenda?

“Wha—” Obviously this man was not going to answer her questions without her offering answers of her own. “My name is Andrea Barrow. I’m visiting London with a few friends of mine.”

“You’re American.” It wasn’t a question.

She nodded despite herself. “My friends all went partying last night. Or, well, I think it was last night. Is today August 2nd?” He didn’t respond, but merely analyzed her more. Andrea had to fight down the shudder rolling through her at his intense stare. Trying to stay pleasant and not piss him off further, she said, “Well I guess it doesn’t matter. But how did you tie those ropes? Is that some sort of theatre trick?”

Again he didn’t answer. “How did you get in here?” he asked.

She breathed slowly, trying to calm her racing heart. “I haven’t a clue. The last thing I remember was drinking some water and sitting down to—Mr. Rickman?” In the time she was speaking, he had moved to the door opposite the one she was at and opened it, revealing a long hallway of neutral brown colors. Obviously, the door she had been heading to was the bathroom door.

At this name, Severus Snape swiveled towards the girl and eyed her closely. “…That is not my name.” In fact, Severus could not recall any mention of that name anywhere and could not fathom why this girl was calling him it.

“…It’s not?” Finally an answer to one of her questions at least. “Oh, I’m so sorry. You look so much like him, though. Is he your brother or something?” She tried to remember any interviews she had seen where Alan Rickman mentioned having a brother – none came to mind.

Snape did not answer and instead yelled down the hallway: “Wormtail!” Far off, fidgety scuffling could be heard.

“Timothy Spall?” Andrea muttered to herself, recalling the actor’s name who played Peter Pettigrew.

“What did you say?” Severus asked, having heard the mumble but not making sense of it.

Her question was answered when Timothy Spall dressed as Peter Pettigrew came pawing up the stairs, his back hunched more than she remembered and his eyes shifting as if he couldn’t recall what he had done wrong.

“How did this Muggle get past my wards?” Wormtail’s eyes landed on the girl, but even he seemed at a loss for words on what she was doing there.

Muggles? Wards? Andrea’s head hurt. Were they practicing for the movie? No, that wouldn’t make sense. The last movie came out weeks ago.

“I-I don’t know, S-sir,” he stuttered. “The wards are in tact.”

“…Oh, I get it,” Andrea finally said, her head banging against the floor as she threw it back and laughed. The two men turned to her. “I’m being punk’d, right.” It was the only possible conclusion, though they must’ve hidden the cameras fairly well since she couldn’t see them anywhere. “Did Sharon set you up for this? That’s so something she would—”

Snape wasn’t very accomadating of her constant blabbering. “Silencio.” All speech left her throat and she struggled to inhale without the ability to feel the air in her lungs any longer. Was this what a panic attack felt like, her mind raged.

“Leave us, Wormtail. Check the wards again. I will decipher what I can from her.” With a final look at her, Wormtail left the room, the door closing behind him. Severus waited a few seconds until he could no longer hear the footfalls of the rat, before stalking towards Andrea. “Let us see what you know.” He bent down close to her head and in the corner of her eye she could see what it was he was holding. But that didn’t make sense. Why would Alan Rickman’s double be holding a wand? “Legilimens.”

If she thought her head hurt before, she was in for even more torture when his spell came barreling at her head. Flashes like gunshots of actions flashed through her mind, and she found herself unable to truly comprehend what she was seeing. One second it was her graduation day in Seattle with the class of 2010. That image blended together with her class of 2011 in Los Angeles, where she got her Master’s degree in Education from Stanford University.

The image flipped to her and her friends dragging themselves off the airplane and arriving at the hotel. Then it moved backwards in time to when she was five years old and she recited a Shakespearean sonnet for her parents from memory alone. If the image had been slowed down, she would’ve smiled, recalling the first moment her parents realized she had photographic memory and could memorize everything she saw or read instantly.

But the image moved again and now her brain truly was on fire. She could now distantly hear herself screaming, but the images wouldn’t stop. Now she was in Seattle again, getting off the phone with her mother before attacking that unknown, invisible assailant.

The image shifted in rapid procession. Her 8th birthday party, her first school dance, being shipped off to a school for gifted students because her memory made waiting around in school too much of a burden. Her mom crying when she decided to start college at 13 rather than wait through four years of high school.

She new she was begging the man to stop whatever he was doing to her, but he ignored her. He finally came to her night in the hotel, sitting down with her favorite book.

“Do you mean to tell me you came all the way to London to re-read Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows?” she heard Sharon’s voice ask while she moved to open the book and begin reading. She watched entranced as her image stared down at the innocent cover. When she felt the image attempt to zoom in on the book, that pressing force in her head which took her from place to place was suddenly gone. The images all disappeared and she finally came to, seeing only the enraged, dark eyes of Voldemort’s number one servant. Without her painful screams, the room got suddenly very quiet.

What had just happened? Spells were being cast, her mind was under attack, and in front of her was Severus Snape. The Severus Snape.

I think I’m going to be sick, Andrea thought.

Severus Snape had mistakenly believed that by reading this woman’s mind he would gain some insight into how she arrived in his bed; but no knowledge came to him. In fact, only more questions arrised.

He sat back on the floor, himself tired from delving into this woman’s thoughts and his ears ringing slightly from her deafening screams. “Where are you from?” he asked, hissing the question at the still tied down girl. “When are you from?”

Her head hurt but she could still hear the question clearly. “Please,” she begged him. “I won’t say anything until you undo my binds.”

A smirk shifted across his face. Well at least the girl was still able to think rationally. And it was obvious she was no threat. Still a clueless, wandless child. With a wave of his wand, the binds were undone and vanished.

With nothing holding her down, Andrea raised herself up and rubbed at her once-tied down areas; strangely, there were no rope burns or any sign of soreness at all. Her head swam again. “August 2nd, 2011,” she replied to his earlier question, still trying to gather her thoughts into some semblance of normality. “‘The Muggle World.’ Seattle. Washington. United States. Earth.” Okay, maybe the Earth comment was going a little too far.

Severus Snape was starting to catch a headache of his own because of this girl. “You are a long way from home,” he said calmly. “Today’s date is July 29th, 1997 and you are no longer in the Muggle World. You are in the Wizarding World. My name is Severus Snape.”

She looked sharply at him. “This isn’t funny. It’s not 1997. Severus Snape is a character. He’s not real. You’re not him. Are you even Alan Rickman?”

“I do not know any Alan Rickmans. But I am Severus Snape. And it is 1997.”

“Not possible. Severus Snape is a shitty professor in Rowling’s fairtytale Hogwarts school. He is a character in the Harry Potter series” Severus clenched his hand tighter at the boy’s name. How did this Muggle know Potter? Now he was on high alert once more. He had calmed slightly after searching her mind and finding no trace of knowledge about the upcoming war. Obviously, he had missed something. “You can’t be real,” she continued. The books aren’t…real.”

Books like the one in her last memory? Snape wondered. “What books? What are they?”

She gave him an exasperated look. “7 books and 8 movies, describing Harry Potter’s 7 years of Hogwarts from 1991 to 1998.”

“It is only 1997,” was Snape’s only reply.

“So then Harry hasn’t defeated Voldemort yet?” Snape gave her a scathing look at using the Dark Lord’s name so carelessly. “Wait, what am I doing?” she asked herself. “The books aren’t real. This isn’t 1997. It…can’t be.” Unfortunately, after all she had seen this morning and all the spells used against her, she couldn’t very well deny it.

Snape was a little more levelheaded than her. “Do you know how the Dark Lord will fall?” he questioned harshly, afraid to know the answer. She nodded slowly, unable to explain away this predicament. He hissed lowly through his teeth. “This makes things complicated. How could you have come by such knowledge?”

“I told you, it’s in a book series. Where I’m from, none of this is real. This story is thought of by a brilliant author and she makes millions of dollars writing and selling her Harry Potter world to people. People know and love Harry Potter. Where I’m from, you’re just characters in a book. You – your character or whatever – is a very prominent figure in the books.”
He got up stiffly from the floor and went to lock the door and silence it from prying rat ears. “Are you a Muggle?” he asked with his back turned, as he performed the spells.
She wanted to throw something at him. “…We’re you not listening? We don’t have magic where I’m from, so we don’t have muggles.”
“That’s what the muggles believe,” he replied simply.
Okay. He had her on that one. “Well…yes, I suppose. But in my world, you are an actor who portrays Severus Snape in the Harry Potter movies. Your real name is Alan Rickman.” The man – I refused to call him Severus Snape – didn’t respond.

“Alan. Rickman.” He tried the name on his tongue. It didn’t sound right to his ears. He turned to look at her, his eyes more tired and downcast than normal. One more thing to worry about, he thought severely. “Tell me something only I would know,” he challenged. “To prove you speak truth.”

She stared at him for a few moments more, still not quite comprehending what he wanted her to say. “You murdered Albus Dumbledore so Draco Malfoy wouldn’t have to,” she began slowly. He nodded. “You knew Harry Potter was there, watching. But you didn’t tell anyone. You saved his life. You, the Half-Blood Prince.”

Things couldn’t get any more complicated, could they? he asked himself, his body on auto drive, moving to the armchair to sit and massage his temple slowly. “This is very dangerous information,” he said calmly.

Andrea jutted her chin out, trying to show a brave face to hide the quaking fear she felt. “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” she asked, knowing the answer already.

He exhaled slowly, before explaining, “I’d rather it not come to that, but it seems the only plausible answer. By now, Wormtail has most likely made the Dark Lord aware of a muggle intruder who bypassed our wards. The wards I set for my home are the same I have used to protect the Dark Lord’s residence. If a muggle can break through them, he will be very interested in meeting this muggle. Hiding you away would prove…difficult. And I no longer have Order contacts that could help me.”

“You could wipe my memory of any wizarding knowledge,” Andrea suggested, though that was most certainly not an option she prefered.

“Impossible,” was his reply. “I could not even see the information when I read through your mind. Even if I could get the information out, you would no longer have control of your mind. The force it would require would leave you in a catatonic state. No, it would be easier to kill you.” And they were back to discussing her death.

“But if you couldn’t see it in my mind, then he’d not be able to either, right?”

Severus gave her a scathing look. “A single drop of veritaserum would change that quite easily.” Oh. Right. “It seems there is no easy answer to your predicament. And I can think of only one man who could possibly have an answer, but he is, unfortunately, not speaking at the moment. Or any moment.”

“Dumbledore? What if we were to ask his portrait?”

“Impossible. I know of only two portrait locations. Both are impossible to reach.”

“Where?”

“The Department of Mysteries.” He wasn’t kidding when he said impossible.

“That won’t work. Voldemort practically owns that by now,” Andrea replied. “And the other?”

Severus winced at her casual use of the Dark Lord’s name, but didn’t comment on it. “The other is in the attic of the Weasley’s household, a place I am not welcome at the moment.”

“The Burrow? That’s even less ascessible than the Ministry.”

“Exactly. I can attempt to quietly get early acces to his portrait before they hang it with the other past Hogwarts headmasters, but there is a very slim chance I will obtain it.” He gave her a look that screamed, ‘We still have one other option on the table.’

“Severus, I’m 17. There’s no way I’m dying right now,” she explained, exasperated. “We’ll have to reach the Burrow’s portrait. But how?” Andrea thought for a moment and a brilliant idea flashed in her mind. “Have Bill and Fleur had their wedding yet?”

He was confused. The wedding would have even more security than the house already had. Calmly, he said, “Not that I know of. I believe the wedding will be the first of August – this Thursday.”

She got up, her energy shifting into gear as it always did when she finished formulating a plan. “Then we need to go to Hogsmeade. Immediately. I need to visit Fred and George Weasley.”

He gave her a sharp look. “This is hardly the time for simple toys and cheap tricks. And I will kindly remind you that I am not on good terms with the Weasleys.”

“No. You’re not. But we won’t have tickets to the wedding if I don’t get on good terms with them.” He seemed confused. “I’ll explain on the way. In the meantime, what will you do about Spall – I mean, Wormtail?” Though her mind had given up on any of this being reality, she wasn’t going to let her dreaming state forget any important details.

“I will speak with him,” Severus explained, lifting himself from the seat and making his way slowly to the bedroom door. “Do not leave this room. I will be back shortly.”

Yeah. Like she had anywhere to go. It was only the world of Harry Potter.