A/N: I own nothing, save for my small collection of words and phrases. It all belongs to the creative goddess of our generation, which is sadly, not me.
Please remember, while Hermione is in the past, pretending to be Morgan, I will refer to her as such. So when "Morgan" wakes up and I'm not saying "Hermione," know that they are still the same person. Alright, that's it.
This is un-betaed, so any mistakes are my own. See one? Please let me know.
=========MM/HG=========
The cold blue eyes stared her down, his wand in hand. "May I ask who you are and how you got onto school grounds without permission? I think we can both tell why you're here, although that begs the question of how you knew there would be a dead Basilisk tonight." His voice, while still calm and pleasant on the surface, had an undertone of hard anger.
Hermione kept her eyes from staring directly into his, avoiding any attempts at Legilimency on his part; her Occlumency shields were passably good, but she didn't know if they would stand up to a healthy Albus Dumbledore's attempts to break through.
"Sir? You do know me, only not quite in this form. I believe I am currently upstairs enjoying the mid-night feast after having been awoken with the Mandrake juice." She could see him frowning as he mentally ran through the list of people who had been petrified. "I am Hermione Granger, sir, and I'm here from the year 2005."
Recognition flashed in his eyes, the twinkle making a limited appearance. "Miss Granger. Of course. I have to say I'm disappointed in this blatant misuse of a Magical Artifact. However, you said you come from twelve years in the future? That's quite impossible with a standard Time-Turner, and so I'm curious as to how you came to be so far in your own past." The angry undertone was gone, leaving his voice the same quietly calming baritone it had always been.
Faced with a friendly Dumbledore once again, Hermione was torn. She wanted to rush forward and embrace the man who would be dead in just four years, but she needed to keep the future under a tight lock, and if she gave in to the desire to hug him as tightly as she wanted to, she might give away too much. She was ashamed at having been caught, but at least being discovered by the king of secrets was better than having been found by Minerva.
"There's a great deal I would like to tell you, sir, but you know that I cannot. I must uphold the timeline as much as possible. I already knew the Basilisk had been stripped for parts from another trip down here in the future, and I found myself with a desperate need, and the ability to get myself here and back home, so I took the opportunity. I apologize that I can't tell you any more than that, but I … I can't." Her eyes were so sad that she wouldn't be able to save him, and although he didn't know the reasons behind the strong emotions, he could respect that she couldn't tell him anything more.
"I see, and I understand. However, Miss Granger, I will be waiting for you once you return to 2005 to come and see me then, so that you can explain all of this. Can you at least promise to do that?"
She swallowed past the lump in her throat and nodded silently, knowing it was an oath she'd never be able to fulfill. In a moment of impulse, she stepped forward and reached up to cup his cheek with her left hand, pressing a kiss to the other. "Be careful, sir. There are dark times ahead, which I think you already know, given what Harry destroyed down here tonight. Trust him more, if possible. He will surpass everyone's expectations in the end, even your own." She stepped back and made sure her little bag was safely tucked into her pocket. "I will probably not see you again before our scheduled meeting, but I think the school is very likely in need of its venerable Headmaster at the feast right now. Goodbye, Albus." She stumbled a little over his given name, and his eyes widened in a bit of surprise before the twinkle took over his clear blue eyes.
"Until then, Miss Granger."
She whispered Arj under her breath, and to his great surprise, disappeared silently.
"How very interesting," he murmured to the empty room. "She shouldn't have been able to do that."
=========MM/HG=========
Hermione reappeared in Myrtle's restroom with a jolt. She hadn't expected to see Dumbledore; she hadn't expected to see anyone. She lurched and swayed her way out of the castle and down to the gates, finding them open and waiting for her, as they'd been when she'd arrived. She apparated back to her flat and collapsed into the bed, squeezing back hot tears.
It had hurt to experience first-hand her inability to save anyone with this miracle she'd created. It would have been so easy to tell him what was coming. So easy to prepare him, to allow him to make better choices, but she knew she couldn't. If things had been different, she might not have made such fast friends with Minerva. She might have never created the Crystal. She might have deprived herself and Minerva both of the chance to fall in love and have that in their lives. It was an impossible situation.
Minerva.
Her tears began to dry up as thoughts of her witch floated through her mind. She had everything she needed to go back and finally see her Min again. She would be much better prepared this time.
Sitting up with a jerk, she decided not to wait. She jumped out of her bed and dug around to the very back of her closet, pulling out the vintage-looking dresses and robes she had fashioned after looking through magazines of the day. She threw the lot onto the bed and knelt down to pull out the boots and sturdy shoes she'd likewise found and put together, tossing them on the bed with the clothes. Digging through the bottom drawer, she selected some tights and stockings, and panties and bras that were true to the period. They all joined the pile of clothes and shoes.
Remembering her sleep attire from the last trip with a smirk, she added a couple pair of long pajama bottoms and matching button-down tops. Having gotten everything from the closet, she then chose an outfit to put on and packed the rest neatly away in a small suitcase, shoving it down into her beaded bag.
She stripped and all her modern clothing flew into the hamper, quickly replaced by the old-fashioned underwear. Leaving the skirt and shirt, she went into the bathroom and cast a detangling spell on her hair before pulling it back in the simple, timeless bun, again leaving a few front strands free to arrange in loose curls away from her face. She then cast the series of glamours that would turn her from Hermione into Morgan. Stepping back from the mirror, she appraised herself, looking for any identifying marks that might set off warning bells if Minerva ever made the connection.
The only thing she could see was the ropy scar across her chest from Dolohov's attack in the Department of Mysteries. It wasn't very large, curving along her ribs, nearly reaching her left breast before stopping. After the series of potions Madam Pomfrey had forced down her throat for those ten days, and the years that had passed, it was thinner and lighter than when it had been fresh. She skimmed her fingers over the smooth scar tissue, and decided that it wasn't distinctive enough to worry about. Minerva had never seen it, anyway, having been in St. Mungo's dealing with her own injuries when Hermione had been brought in.
And it wasn't as though she was planning on Min seeing the area. However, she thought it best to be prepared… just in case.
She dressed quickly, slipping into the stockings, admiring the way the rear seam set off the shape of her legs as she clipped them in place. She tucked the white silk button-down shirt into the long black skirt, and slipped into the slightly heeled, but sensible shoes she'd left out. Pausing for a moment to admire herself in the outfit, she pressed her fingers to her mouth and winked cheekily at her reflection, blowing it a kiss while popping one leg up behind her like they used to do during a good kiss in the old Muggle films she used to watch with her dad.
She laughed throatily in Morgan's slightly deeper voice as she went into her little office, pulling out the parchments containing Minerva's timeline, the list of businesses in which she wanted to invest, and some forged identification documents, again on a just in case basis.
According to the timeline parchment, Morgan was supposed to appear the afternoon of the Fifteenth of November, which was a Friday. Hermione decided to go ahead and arrive the night before, and spend it at the Three Broomsticks with Mairead and Rosie. She had some business to which she needed to attend before seeing her Min, as once she met back up with the younger – at least at that time – woman, she wouldn't want to let her out of her sight for some time.
She tucked the bit of parchment back into her desk, unwilling to take that kind of information with her to the past. The other papers were shoved into a manila envelope, proofed against intrusion by water or other liquids. She was confident that the Basilisk parts would stay inside their sealed glass containers, but she had always believed that it was better to be safe than sorry.
Shoving the envelope into her little bag, she took a quick inventory and decided that she needed just one more item before she was ready to go. She went back to the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. There were five little bottles lined up, filled with a viscous liquid, swirling green and purple and red, and occasionally flashing brightly as though lightning was striking inside. She removed one of them, and felt the heat of the potion through the unbreakable glass vial. This was an emergency-only measure, and one she sincerely hoped never to have to use.
Magical Replenishment Serum would restore forty percent of her magical reserves if the trip took her too far down, but the side effects were debilitating, causing intense nausea and vomiting, stomach cramping so hard that if the user wasn't hanging their head over the toilet, they were sitting on it, helplessly emptying their system into it from the other end. The effects lasted for two days, and could cause death if one didn't stay properly hydrated during the assault.
The little sparking bottle was tucked securely into a padded box that locked securely with a hiss when closed. This last item was carefully stowed in her bag, and after swapping her Walnut wand with the Apple one, she was ready to go.
She threw her cloak over her shoulders, buttoning it up against the cold November wind she would soon be facing. The bag was stowed in a deep inner pocket of the cloak, and she reached up to grip the Crystal where it rested against her chest. "The Three Broomsticks, Hogsmeade, Scotland. Six o'clock PM. The Fourteenth of November, Nineteen Forty-Six. Ausafr!"
Fifty-eight years earlier, she appeared in the main room of the Wizarding Pub. She was steady on her feet for a minute, smiling at a surprised Mairead and raising a hand in a friendly wave. Then the room began to spin, and as she fell to the floor, she mumbled out "Bother" before succumbing to the darkness.
=========MM/HG=========
Blurry images began to surface, and cool hands were smoothing red hair out of her face, murmuring gentle words of comfort. "Minerva?" she managed to scratch out questioningly.
"Nay, lass. It's Mairead." The innkeeper's voice was soft and gentle. "You may want to rethink all this long-distance Apparation, Miss Stewart. It's really not very healthy."
Morgan's eyes began to focus, and she noticed she wasn't in the back room like the last time. "Where…" she was hit with a coughing spell that lasted several long seconds, "am I?"
"Upstairs, in the room you had last time. I figured you'd be needing a room for the night again to recover, so I went ahead and brought you up here." Her hands were still softly stroking Morgan's face and carding through the loose front strands of her hair. "Are you feeling better, then? Do you need anything?"
She wheezed out "Water" in the middle of another coughing fit, sitting up to alleviate the pressure on her chest. A cold glass of water was pressed into her hand, and she took a couple small sips, feeling blessed relief flood her throat with the cool liquid. The coughing having stopped, she took another, larger sip from the glass, feeling about a thousand percent better. She breathed in deeply and faced the older witch sitting on the edge of the bed. "Thank you so much, Madam Mairead. I am in need of a room for the night, and I'm thankful to you for it. I'll be able to pay you for its use tomorrow."
"Of course, dear one. There's no rush." She smiled warmly at Morgan before adding, "At least you didn't lose your memory this time." Morgan chuckled lightly, joined by the musical laughter of her companion. "Being serious, dear, you do need to be careful with the long-distance Apparation. Your core gets drained so badly every time you make a big jump like this. You don't want to empty it completely. It's quite dangerous."
"I know, but I'm careful to make sure I'm fully charged before I go so far, and if there was any other way to do it, I would. Unfortunately, I don't have any alternative." She tried justifying her actions, hoping her new friend would accept the excuse.
"Aye, well, just you be careful." Mairead's finger affectionately chucked under Morgan's chin. "I don't like seeing you collapse every time you come for a visit, young lady."
"I will," Morgan beamed up at her new friend.
Having made sure Morgan was going to be fine, Mairead stood and shook her robes straight. "I need to get back downstairs now. Do you need anything else? Something to eat or drink?"
"No, I'm fine, but I do have a question. If you had some rare potions ingredients to sell and wanted to get the best price with the most privacy, where would you go?"
The wispy blonde stood and looked down at the redhead earnestly, trying to judge her character. "You realize you'd have to patronize Knockturn Alley for that kind of discretion, don't you?" Morgan nodded her assent. "You could do worse, I suppose, than Hackney's. The old fellow's been in business for ages, and if I recall correctly, he doesn't keep records so that he can offer the silence it seems you require."
"Do you trust him to give a fair price if the product is of good enough quality?" She needed to get as much as possible to jump-start her 'get along in the past' fund.
Mairead's eyes narrowed a bit, "Of course. I wouldn't have mentioned him if I didn't believe you'd get what whatever you have is worth. May I inquire as to what you're trying to sell, dear?"
Morgan began to shift uncomfortably on the bed. "I'm not sure I should tell anyone. It isn't that I don't trust you, because I do, but … it's a volatile product that I hope I will no longer have in my possession after tomorrow morning."
"No, I insist. I assume you have it here with you somewhere, and if it's something that rare and volatile, that usually means it's dangerous, and I won't have anything that dangerous in my inn overnight." Her normally pleasant voice now had a razor-sharp edge to it at the thought of protecting not only her patrons and guests, but also her young daughter.
"I…"
"No, Miss Stewart, you don't understand. Rosie sleeps downstairs with me. I will not have whatever this thing is on my premises unless I at least know what it is."
Morgan gave in, knowing she had nowhere else she could go until she had some money in her pocket. "It's Basilisk parts. Skin, Venom, Fangs, and various organs used for some rare and valuable potions."
The violet eyes widened exponentially, as she breathed out incredulously, stepping back, "You … you killed a Basilisk? And you have all its valuable bits here with you? Where?"
"Safely packed away in sealed, unbreakable containers, and stowed in a bag with an undetectable extension charm on it. There's no risk of anything here getting damaged, and no danger to anyone." Morgan was getting worried about Mairead's reaction. "As to your first question, no, I didn't kill it. Someone else on my team had that dubious pleasure, and we all shared in the spoils for tracking it down. They're quite rare to find fully grown."
"Indeed, they are." She stammered out her next words. "Well, if you're certain it's absolutely safe, then I'll bow to your judgment on the matter, but I don't want it back here after you leave with it in the morning. It's too dangerous to keep around. I don't even want to think about what certain people would do if they heard you had it up here." She shuddered uncontrollably. "I'll be downstairs for some time if you need anything. Otherwise, I'll see you in the morning."
She crossed to the door, opening it.
"Good night, and thank you for the room and the information. All the …stuff will be gone tomorrow."
"Good night, Miss Stewart." The door snicked closed behind her, and Morgan was left alone with her thoughts. She cast a quick diagnostic spell, seeing that her reserves were at forty-five percent. Five percent better than my first jump. That's good.
Still feeling very sleepy and not wanting to get up, she transfigured her clothes into loose-fitting pajamas, her cloak having already been removed and hung from a peg by the door. Another flick of the wand and her hair was freed from its bun, resting in the magically secured braid she normally slept in. She pulled the blanket and top sheet down and snuggled into the bed, stashing her wand under the pillow. A wave of her hand doused all the hanging lanterns, plunging the room into darkness.
Lulled by the magical depletion, the warm comfortable bed, and the thought of seeing her Min the next day, Morgan fell quickly into a deep sleep.
=========MM/HG=========
She woke early the next morning, staring at a pair of big blue eyes. "Hi. Mo'gan. Hi!" Her childish voice dragged out the second hi for several seconds.
"Rosie, my lass! Good morning!" She smiled brightly at the toddler, pushing herself upright in the bed. Rosie climbed up into the bed, giving Morgan as tight a hug as she could, her soft baby curls brushing Morgan's cheek as she tucked her head into Morgan's shoulder. The hug was enthusiastically returned and held until Rosie started wriggling around. "I didn't think I'd see you so early, sweetheart, but I'm awfully glad I did. That's the best way to wake up in the whole world." Morgan drawled out the 'o' sounds in whole and world, emphasizing them for the little tot.
"Now, I bet your Mummy doesn't know you're up here with me, so why don't we go find her before she gets worried, hmm?" Morgan grabbed her wand and quickly untransfigured her clothes before smoothing her braid down quickly. Holstering the wand at her waist, Morgan bent down and scooped Rosie into her arms, settling her gently on her left hip, opposite the wand holster. The two of them babbled their way downstairs, Rosie shrieking with laughter when Morgan would grab her belly and tickle it. At the bottom of the stairway, she started wiggling to get down, and once she gained her feet, she ran off giggling toward the back room, yelling "Mummy! Mummy! Mo'gan here! I find her, Mummy!"
Morgan could make out Mairead's voice from the back, frantic with worry. "Rosie! Where were you? Mummy was worried sick!"
Morgan made her way toward the sound of their voices and apologized. "I'm sorry, Madam Mairead. I guess I forgot to lock my door last night. She was staring at me when I woke up, but I brought her right back down."
As she turned the last corner, she saw Mairead kneeling on the ground, arms tightly wrapped around her daughter, violet eyes wet with tears. "Miss Stewart. Thank you! I didn't know what to think when I woke up and she wasn't there."
"It was no trouble. She's very sweet." Morgan smiled down at the toddler, safely ensconced in her mother's arms.
"She's a holy terror is what she is. Always running off to Merlin-knows where. What if it had been someone else in that room?" The worry was washing off of the innkeeper in waves.
Morgan thought about how Muggles kept track of their children during the day when they were busy back in her time, and began planning something in her mind, putting her wand into her hand. She visualized very smooth, very dark wood, polished to a high shine. Four long, thin, but strong legs, connected by two rounded pieces, surrounding the legs at the top and bottom, fastened together by permanent sticking charms. The bottoms of the four legs were extended and rounded out to form sturdy feet.
Thinking about the available materials of the time, she decided to use the same thin silk used for the pretty stockings she had brought, and surrounded the inside of the wooden frame from top rim to bottom, again using permanent sticking charms to fix the strong see-through material to the wood. She visualized more of the polished wood in slats, fitting tightly together to give a sturdy bottom. She made sure the legs and material were tall enough that Rosie couldn't easily climb out, but short enough that Mairead would have no trouble leaning over to pick the child up if she was sleeping.
Everything perfectly visualized in her mind, she closed her eyes and started swishing her wand around in the appropriate motions to conjure the creation into being. Once finished, she opened her eyes and saw the perfect combination of Muggle and Wizarding worlds in this wood and silk playpen. Another quick wave of her wand put a dirt and water-repelling charm on it, protecting the materials from accruing dust or food and drink particles, as young children tend to get their things very dirty.
For the last bit, she visualized a thick, cushy quilt in a mixture of bright primary colors and soft pastels, put together in a beautiful design, imitating a bright sun above a busy meadow on one half, while the other half had a midnight-blue background with a full moon and several twinkling stars, set above the same, calmer meadow in the night-time scene. Again closing her eyes and swishing her wand around, the quilt appeared in the bottom of the playpen, softening the bottom's cold, hard wood.
To make it easier to move around as necessary, she cast a permanent feather-light charm on her creation, and permanent cushioning charms on all the hard pieces to prevent injury from inevitable falls.
Her golden-brown eyes opened and surveyed what she'd wrought from nothing. It was perfect. She grinned as she looked down at the quilt. The day-side had butterflies fluttering around and little bunnies hopping around, munching on clover. The night-side had fireflies and deer, doing much the same animation as the day-side.
Satisfied with what she'd made, she turned and squatted down in front of it, holding her arms out for Rosie, who ran willingly over to her. "Now, precious, this is a present for you and for your Mummy, yeah? It's a place you can nap and play without the risk of you running off to someone who isn't as kind as your Mummy and I are." She stood and set the child down into the playpen. Rosie was entranced by the animated quilt for a moment before standing and yelling, "Mummy. Toys? Bring me toys? Peeze? I play good."
Mairead stood and walked over to inspect the …thing that had been made for her child. "She won't get hurt in this? It feels a bit like a dog cage without a top." She frowned a bit at the thought, but her eyes were soft as she ran her fingers over the flawlessly smooth wood of the upper rim.
"No, there are permanent cushioning charms on anything hard, a feather-light charm so you can move it wherever you need it without throwing out your back, and dirt and water repelling charms to keep it clean, even if she eats inside it. Anything she spills will divert to the garbage can for disposal." Morgan explained the details.
Surprise lit up Mairead's face at the intricacies of the charm work done, the frown disappearing. "You must be very advanced to create something so beautiful and functional. Thank you. This will be immeasurably helpful in keeping her corralled."
"You're very welcome. I do hold Mastery status in both Transfiguration and Charms, and my work allows me a great deal of freedom to exercise both disciplines. I've seen several of my Muggle neighbors use a similar contraption and thought it might be useful, especially with the magical additions I made." Her actual work with the DRCMC allowed her no such freedom, but her assumed job as an Unspeakable would probably have done so.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to wash up and go see Master Hackney. I have a promise to fulfill." Morgan nodded to the older witch and went back up to get ready for her day.
Mairead watched her go, feeling badly for the way she'd acted the night before, but still wanting the bits of Basilisk out of her establishment.
"Mummy? Toys? Peeze, Mummy?" Her daughter's sweet voice floated up to her, softening her features to a smile.
"Of course, darling. Mummy will bring them right back." She turned and summoned Rosie's two favorite soft toys from their room, placing them into the playpen. Rosie sat and babbled with her toys, completely consumed by the novelty of the quilt and her toys.
Mairead shook her head happily and set about starting breakfast for both her family and for the guests in residence.
=========MM/HG=========
Morgan showered, brushed her teeth, and set about fixing herself up to look publicly presentable. She added a tint of red to her lips, and a touch of black around her eyelashes. She put her red and blonde locks back into the same bun with loose strands she'd been using, and chose an outfit that was tasteful, and more on the Wizarding side of fashion than the Muggle. Her robes were fitted at the top, sleeves reaching her wrists before coming out onto the back of her hand in a vee-shape, flaring out in the skirt, the whole thing a deep shade of blue. She laced up the low-heeled boots, and topped it with her heavy cloak, adding a loose cowl to the back that she could drape over her head to protect her ears from the wind and her hair from the snow.
She made sure the beaded bag was securely tucked into the inner pocket of her cloak, clipped her wand into its holster, and manually buttoned up the front of the cloak, using the cleverly hidden reversed buttons. Properly covered and ready to face her day, she made her way down the stairs and outside, apparating away to Diagon Alley with a quick turn.
Appearing seconds later just outside the back entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, she carefully walked through the center of the Magical world in Great Britain, stopping at the entrance to Knockturn Alley to breathe deeply, preparing to enter the shadier side of her world.
Where Diagon Alley had been bright and cheerful in the frosty early morning, Knockturn Alley was darker, dirtier, and had a seedier aura. Not wanting to give anyone the idea that she didn't belong there, she kept her face forward and down a little, her eyes wandering without giving any hint that they were doing so. They raced over signs and windows, searching for the name Mairead had given her, and finally happened upon it, about halfway down, close to Borgin and Burkes. She stepped through the door and pushed the cowl away from her face, allowing it to fall down her back. She didn't see anyone at first, so she hesitantly called out, "Master Hackney?"
The shelves around her were filled with bottles and jars and vials, containing either ingredients for potion-making, or already completed potions to remedy common ailments: Headache Lifter, Pepper-Up, Burn Paste, Boil Cure, and Calming Draughts. There were some not so common potions as well. Prepared Polyjuice, ready for the user to add hair into and become someone else for an hour. Flesh-Eating Slug Repellent. This must be where Hagrid bought his the day he found Harry outside Borgin and Burkes. Dreamless Sleep, inky black in its small bottles. And Doxycide, very helpful when cleaning houses which had sat empty for some time.
There were more prepared potions, and loads upon loads of various ingredients, all waiting for the discerning customer to purchase, but as Morgan had something to sell, she needed to find the proprietor. She called out again, "Master Hackney? Hello? Is anyone here?"
A rather wizened old fellow, thin as a rail, with no hair left on his head, but still maintaining an impressively long white beard, popped up from behind the counter, his back still hunched just a little from old age. "I'm sorry, dear. Didn't hear the bell ring when you came in."
"There wasn't a bell." Morgan offered.
"Ah, that'll be why I didn't hear it then. In any case, what can old Hackney do for you?" He pulled himself up into a backed-stool and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the glass case which made up the counter.
"I have some ingredients to sell, and I was told you might be able to take them off my hands." Morgan inserted a bit of haughtiness in her voice, trying to impress an air of pure-bloodedness onto the old man, hoping for a better price if he thought she wasn't a Muggle-born. Knockturn Alley wasn't the best place to find pro-Muggle sentiments.
"Of course, of course, Miss…?" There was a gleam in his eyes at the thought of negotiating a good deal.
"Stewart. Now, before I go to the trouble of bringing everything out, I need to know if you trade in Basilisk. If not, I'm wasting my time." She sniffed indignantly, trying to sound like she'd always heard the Malfoys speak when doing business.
"Basilisk, Miss Stewart? It's not an ingredient we get often, but yes, we deal in the material when it's available." The golden gleam in his eyes expanded, stretching his thin lips in a broad smile. He never expected that kind of windfall to come his way.
"Fine then." She drew her wand and undid the buttons holding her cloak closed with a gentle tap to the top one. The little bag was pulled from her inner pocket, and at its appearance, she could see a frown cross his face. "Appearances can be deceiving, Master Hackney. Don't discourage yet."
Holding the bag open with her left hand, she used her wand to wordlessly summon the containers, watching as his frown disappeared and his eyes widened as each container stacked on top of his counter. His tongue darted out to moisten his lips as he thought about the profit contained in these glass bowls. He could see several packages of properly-cared-for skin, one large container holding stacks of proofed vials of venom, and another few holding pristine fangs.
There was the liver, the heart, the kidneys, even the damaged eyes. The bounty of parts and pieces of Basilisk on his counter was worth thousands upon thousands of galleons, if stored correctly to maintain the freshness. Oh, goodness, was that the brain? He started internally calculating the profits he could make, and his eyes threatened to roll back in his head as the toll rose and rose. He only hoped this snobby witch was stupid and didn't know how much it was all worth.
Finally, all the containers were laid out, and he estimated that the cache was actually worth about twenty thousand galleons, and his profit would be far, far above that. If he could get it for the right price, he would never have to work again, although boredom would probably keep him here until the end of his days.
"Now, Master Hackney, I'm sure you recognize the true value of what I'm presenting to you, and I'm willing to part with every bit of it, if you're willing to not only pay me what it's worth, but also to never reveal where it came from. I came to you because I was told you keep no written records, and would never divulge my name as a source. I trust this is the case?"
"Of course, Madam, of course. On first glance, I would estimate this is worth about twelve thousand galleons to you, leaving myself enough profit to counter the risks of selling it."
She could see in his eyes that it wasn't nearly enough. "Master Hackney. You are insulting me with that lowball price. We both know that nobody else has anything to do with Basilisks on their shelves right now, and you can charge whatever you want for every little piece, every little crease of skin. Now, give me a reasonable offer, or I'll pack it all back up, obliviate you, and leave. I'm sure Mister Slug or Mister Jigger would be happy to have this, and willing to offer a fair price as well." There was ice in her voice. Yes, twelve thousand galleons was a bloody fortune, especially in 1946, but she would not be cheated.
His face fell with her biting words, quickly stammering out, "No, Miss, no, you don't want those upstarts to get their hands on this! They'll fill out paperwork! Your name would be all over everything! Old Hackney knows how to keep things quiet, you ask anyone. But, Miss, you can't fault me for trying, can you? Now, I can offer you eighteen thousand, and that's the most I can pay. Even with what I'll end up making, I don't have any more than that."
"Eighteen." She let the number roll off her tongue, assessing his body language and seeing that it was probably worth just a bit more, but eighteen thousand galleons was roughly ninety thousand Muggle Pounds, and with inflation to 2005… It was a small fortune, even if she didn't go through with her investment ideas. To think, she'd been worried about paying back the cost of her Apprenticeships.
Eyeing the nervous man, she extended her hand toward him around the stacks of containers. "I believe we have a deal, Master Hackney. Eighteen thousand galleons will be adequate." She paused for a moment. "And you may keep the glass containers. Each one is charmed to be unbreakable, and has a permanent Stasis Charm to prevent the precious ingredients from spoiling."
He eagerly shook her hand. "Will a draft from Gringotts be sufficient for payment? For obvious reasons, I don't keep that kind of cash on hand."
"I suppose that will do, then." She pursed her lips tightly, looking down at him over her nose. His exuberance seemed to wilt away under the glare, as he reached into the drawer under the till for some parchment.
"And to whom shall I make out the draft?" He looked up at her, readying his quill.
"Just make it out to the bearer of the note. I shall assume they will be able to contact you to confirm the validity of the cheque?" She had shifted her gaze to her hand, inspecting her fingernails, while she waited. Morgan was inwardly very nervous about the persona she had adopted, but seemed to be pulling it off flawlessly.
"Of course. No written records." He bent his head back to the parchment, the quill scratching away. After a moment, he set the quill aside and dried the ink with a quick spell before folding it, dripping a bright yellow wax onto the seam, before pressing his seal into the molten glob, marking it as officially having come from him. Another charm had the wax cooled and set, and he handed the folded parchment over into her waiting hand.
"It was a pleasure doing business with you, Miss. Thank you for choosing Silvanus Hackney as your Apothecary today, and I trust that if you ever have anything else you need to sell, you'll remember that you got a fair deal?"
She tucked the letter into her pocket along with her bag, using her wand to button the cloak back up before clipping it back in place.
"Of course, Master Hackney. Thank you." She nodded imperiously and turned to leave. She made her way directly to Gringotts and asked to speak with someone in charge of opening new vault accounts.
She hadn't dropped the persona since leaving the apothecary, finding that her confidence increased by its use. It was just another layer to her glamours, allowing her to pass unnoticed through the Wizarding World of sixty years before her time.
She waited only a couple minutes before a tall Goblin came out to meet her, his nose long and hooked. He spoke with a clear, deep voice, free of the snarls and growls one normally associated with bank employees, though there was still an air of hauteur about him. "I am Ragnok, and I have been told that you wish to open a vault today?"
"Yes, Master Ragnok. I am in possession of a sealed draft which should provide me with more than enough to justify the stellar security for which Gringotts is known." She saw surprise slightly register in his dark eyes at her form of address, making a note to continue using it. She hadn't meant to, as he hadn't introduced himself with a title, but after dealing with the Apothecary, it had been on the tip of her tongue.
"Very well. May I see your draft, Madam?" He held a hand out to receive the bit of parchment. She passed it to him, and after breaking the seal and reading through its contents, a feral smile showed his sharpened teeth to her. "There is no name on this draft, Madam, so we will need to contact the issuer to ensure its validity, and send someone down to verify the availability of the funds. After that, I see no reason why we shouldn't be able to set you up with a vault. Do you know what security level you are seeking?"
"I would like something a bit better than the Blacks or Potters, but perhaps not quite as deep as the Dragons' lairs. Will that be possible?" She began slowly dropping the pureblood persona. The Goblins of Gringotts would know her blood status if she didn't already have access to a family vault.
"Of course, Madam. May I have your name to begin the paperwork while we're waiting for the verifications?" He was still greedily looking at the amount written on the letter she'd handed him.
"Stewart. Morgan Stewart. Thank you, Master Ragnok. It means much that you are willing to help establish my account."
"Madam Stewart." He nodded respectfully, returning her titled address. "If you could just come this way, we have a private waiting room for you while we complete the requisite paperwork and security steps." He held a hand out simply to gesture in the correct direction, and was again shocked when she rested her hand on his arm to be escorted. This was not normal behavior for witches of this time, although it was not unwelcome. He bent his arm, tucking her hand into the crease of his elbow, their heights being nearly the same, making the process easy and the look seamless.
He escorted her into the same private waiting room where he would meet Minerva fifty-three years in the future, and left her with a pot of tea, every courtesy being extended to this most polite of witches Ragnok had ever met in his long life.
From the moment he closed the door behind him, he was running and snapping, trying to get everything done as quickly as possible. One junior-level Goblin whose name Ragnok couldn't remember was sent over to Hackney's Apothecary to verify the draft. Another, who Ragnok thought was Grip-something, was sent down to assure that the funds were available to be transferred. He climbed into his own desk and began searching for open vaults he could assign to her. More secure than the Blacks and Potters would mean something lower than the 700s, as the Black family owned Vault 711, and the Potters were up in 825. Ah, there was a recent opening on the 600 block, and another down on 500. The Dragons' lairs began in the 400 block, so she might pass on the lower of the two, but he would give her the choice between Vault 600 and Vault 540.
He picked up a self-inking quill and began filling out the request forms, skipping over the portions he didn't know, but filling in the rest. Grip-whatever came back, verifying that the funds were there, although it would nearly clean out the man's own vault. That, he told the younger Goblin, was none of their concern, as long as the draft was valid. A moment later, the other Goblin returned and said that Hackney had confirmed that he had written out the note.
Everything was now in place, and Ragnok shoved the mostly-completed papers into a folder, snapping the folder to a clipboard. He took the clipboard and his self-inking quill with him as he rushed back to where he had left Madam Stewart. He paused outside the door for a moment, calming himself. He ran a hand over his hair, slicking it back down, then opened the door.
Morgan had waited patiently, sipping at her cup of tea, and was surprised to see the tall Goblin return so quickly. "Has everything been verified already, Master Ragnok? I admit I expected it to take a bit longer. I have always been told of the slow and surly nature of Goblins, but I'm finding this an extraordinarily pleasant experience."
He stopped inside the door, closing it behind him, his eyes blinking incredulously at the statement she made. "We are happy that you are pleased with your Gringotts experience, Madam Stewart. We have just a few things to cover and then we can take you down to your new vault." He climbed into the second chair, propping the clipboard against its arm as he removed the papers from the folder.
"Of course. Would you like a cup of tea? It was brewed excellently by whomever provided it."
He found himself again surprised. Witches and Wizards didn't offer to share food or drink with Goblins. "No, thank you, Madam Stewart. I prefer coffee when I can get it, and do not care for tea as a substitute."
She was sitting back in her chair, posture relaxed as she sipped at the tea. "Now, what do we have left to do? I assume everything checked out."
"Indeed it did, Madam. Before we can go any further, we will need for you to choose your new vault number. I have two available that fit your security needs. Vault 600 is spacious, and two levels below the Black family vault. Vault 540 is two levels further down, but our Dragon-guarded vaults begin just one level below, and as you stated that you did not care for quite that much security, I thought you might prefer Vault 600."
"I think you'll find that you're correct. I don't want to be so close to the Dragons, so Vault 600 will be perfect." She was completely relaxed, which was the antithesis of how most people approached business with Goblins. Ragnok was finding himself completely enchanted by this unique witch.
"There are yearly fees associated with vaults that deep, and for Vault 600, the fee is fifty galleons per annum. Is that acceptable to you?"
"Oh, no, that's not acceptable at all."
He could feel his dander rising, and started to speak, "Now, Madam…" He found himself cut off before he could finish.
"No, that's not enough for what you're doing to ensure the safety of my money and valuables. No. It must be seventy-five. I won't pay a knut less."
His jaw snapped shut. She was offering to pay more? "This is highly irregular, Madam."
"Irregular or not, you will make it happen, won't you, Master Ragnok?"
He shook his head lightly. Witches were crazier than he'd thought. "If that is what Madam wishes."
"It is. Now, is there anything else?"
"No, Madam. It will take only a few more moments to transfer the gold from one vault to the other, and then we can take you down to set your key."
"I do have one tiny request, Master Ragnok. By necessity, I wear a series of glamours, and I will require the ability to keep them as I go down into my vault."
"I believe that can be arranged."
"Thank you. I believe I'll just have another cup of tea while you finish up."
He bowed deeply before leaving the room. As it closed behind him, Morgan snickered softly. She was hopelessly manipulating the poor Goblins so that she could ensure her later reentry to the bank as Hermione. In her own time, she was under a permanent ban for breaking in to steal from the Lestrange's vault. However, if she built a good enough relationship with the Goblins, she might be able to eventually use the Morgan persona and fix that.
It wasn't all manipulation, of course. She really did respect the Goblins as one of the intelligent races that were normally subjected to horrible discrimination. She didn't agree with their treatment of the Dragons they used to guard the high-security vaults, but she couldn't do anything about that in this time. The Dragons had to still be in use when she did eventually break in, so they could free one and escape.
She had just finished off her cup of tea when the door opened again, admitting Ragnok, who bowed again after closing the door.
"Is everything set?" She asked cheerfully.
"Yes, Madam. If you would just sign these documents, your gold has been added to the vault, and we can head on down."
She signed her assumed name with a flourish, and the sheets of parchment disappeared, automatically being filed away upon completion.
"Very good, Madam. Now we can go down and affix your magical signature to the key and the door, establishing entrance protocols." He hesitantly offered his arm as she stood, and she accepted it gracefully, the two falling into step together as they made their way to the cart station. A hair-raising ride later, they arrived at the platform bordering Vaults 600 through 609. He stepped out first, offering his hand to help her out of the cart.
"Thank you, Master Ragnok."
He was still adjusting to the respect she was giving, and couldn't formulate a response. He led her down to the door of the vault, the stone that made up the door crumbling in places, not looking like it would hold up to much if someone tried to break in.
Her lips twitched in a very Minerva-like manner, and she murmured, "Oh, this just won't do." He was startled when she pulled out her wand, and stood still for a moment before closing her eyes and waving her wand in complicated swirls and patterns. Before he could interject that magic was impossible this far down, he saw the crumbling stone begin to solidify again, becoming strong before it started to change from stone into a matte-finished dark metal. If not for the curve of his nose, his jaw would have hit the ground as she not only did magic, but did very advanced magic on Gringotts property.
After just a moment, the old crumbly stone was gone, replaced by strong, thick metal. The numerical marking on the door had also disappeared, replaced with glittering golden script, spelling out Vault Six-Hundred. There remained under the script, a small keyhole, glowing as it waited for the key to be set.
He watched as golden-brown eyes opened and surveyed her work. He wordlessly handed over the blank key, and she inserted it into the lock, completing the required steps to take ownership of the vault. At her gentle touch, the doors swung noiselessly open. There was a golden hoard waiting inside on the stone floor. She nodded. This would do. Reaching down, she counted out fifty golden coins, throwing them into the bag she'd pulled out of her pocket. Now she had some pin money, and there was only one thing left to do.
"Master Ragnok?" She called back to the door, where he was waiting.
"Yes, Madam Stewart? Is everything satisfactory?"
"Oh, yes, this is all perfect. Thank you, again, for getting everything done so quickly. I just have some investments I'd like to make, and I wonder if you could help me. If that's not within your purview, I understand, but perhaps in that case, you could direct me to a solicitor who could do so?"
His chest swelled up in pride. "I would be happy to make whatever arrangements you need, Madam."
"Oh, Master Ragnok, I believe you're my new savior. You've done so much for me today. Thank you!" Before he could think to try and stop it, she had crossed the room to where he stood and wrapped her arms around him in a hug. Unused to this type of behavior, he awkwardly patted her back, not knowing where to put his hands or what to do. After a moment, she released him and began striding back to the cart. He was about to remind her to lock the vault back up when she stopped, grinned at him, and snapped her fingers, the doors swinging back out to seal themselves with a flash of light. She stepped into the cart and sat down, waiting for the Goblin to join her.
No, Ragnok had never met a witch like this before. He found he quite liked it.
=========MM/HG=========
Forty-five minutes later found her vault a bit emptier, but still comfortably full, her financial future all but assured. If she kept researching the business world from a future stand point, she would take it all by storm. Invest in things when they need the startup cash, requesting a small percentage of all future profits, then sit back and enjoy the good life once all the time travelling was over.
Having to fill out the paperwork with her assumed name earlier, she realized that she'd just taken for granted that she was the only Morgan Stewart. What if she'd interrupted Minerva on her way to meet the real one? She knew somewhere inside that it was difficult to think that way, because of her experience with Time Turners in Third Year. She'd seen the effects of her trip back with Harry before she knew she'd be making it. Harry had assumed when he first saw the Stag Patronus that it was his dad's, and had been bitterly disappointed to find that it had been his own as a result of a short jump back. That was how time travel worked. You couldn't really change anything, because if you decided to go back, you had already seen the after effects.
But… if she was the only Morgan Stewart, where had the name come from other than Minerva's admissions? Stewart could be a play on her dad's real name, Gilbert Stuart Granger. It's possible she would have used that, to give herself some semblance of a Scottish background and a closer tie to Minerva, but Morgan? The only thing she could come up with was Merlin's female counterpart, Morgana, or Morgan le Fay. It was a name so steeped in Wizarding history, nobody would ever think to question her magical abilities.
She left the bank and stopped by a fresh flower stall to pick up three pristine red roses before apparating back to Hogsmeade. She hurried up to her room, dropping the roses on the end of the bed, and hanging her cloak up. She pulled the little bag from the cloak pocket and went back down to the main dining room. She ordered a bowl of stew and some warm, soft bread with a glass of Gillywater, the drink a nod to her time spent in the inn with Min on her last visit.
After her lunch, she found Mairead and pulled out enough to pay for both stays, along with extra for the care she'd been given, the bottle of Gillywater they'd been handed on the last visit, and her meals. Then she gave the stunned innkeeper another five galleons and told her to put it away for Rosmerta.
Morgan then found Rosie sleeping in the new playpen, snoring lightly, and making Morgan laugh at the cute factor of a snoring baby. She reached down and brushed the back of her index finger across the soft cheek just once before going back upstairs to gather her things. It was time to find Min.
=========MM/HG=========
On Hermione's scars: No, she doesn't have the word "Mudblood" carved into her arm. That was a movie invention, and I'm doing my best to stay in book-verse. The only mention I could find of an injury bad enough to scar was Dolohov's attack in the DoM in OotP. I don't think it's explicitly stated that even that injury caused a permanent scar, but I think ten potions a day for ten days might still render a scar, even under Madam Pomfrey's capable care.
From this point on, any time Hermione is in the past as Morgan and she's with Min, there is the possibility for explicit sexual content. I'm not terribly confident in my ability to write it well or convincingly, but the story is telling me that it's coming. So if you open a chapter and see the warning, "Here, There Be Dragons," be forewarned. I give you this subtle warning so that if you're reading at work or somewhere it wouldn't be appropriate, you will know to save it and read later.
Also, some people are prudish about smutty content, so while I would hate for anyone to skip an entire chapter for the sake of one or two scenes, I can't stop you if that's how you feel. Just remember this is an M-rated story.