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 – sadly enough – isn't me.
This is un-betaed, so any mistakes are my own. See one? Please let me know.
=========MM/HG=========
"Rob?" A low but feminine voice called out, tearing his gaze away from the not-too-distant coastline, where he'd been staring for the last couple of hours, lost in deep thought.
When he saw Minerva and Morgan coming out of the Apparation shack, his features brightened at the sight of the woman he considered his sister-in-law. "Morgan! I didn't know you were back. It's good to see you." He crossed the short distance quickly to give her a brief, tight hug.
"Oh, and I'm chopped haggis, am I?" Minerva feigned being hurt at his greeting of Morgan, but was inwardly pleased that they got along so well.
"Of course you are. You're only my sister, whereas Morgan here is my one true love." His green and brown eyes twinkled merrily, in direct contrast to the dark sadness that had filled them before Morgan had called out to him.
Minerva looked around quickly, making sure nobody else was close enough to hear. "Hands off my woman, you scoundrel," she teased back.
Morgan laughed gaily at their antics, happy to be back amongst her lover's family. She hadn't missed the darkness that had shrouded Rob when they arrived, but was heartened to see how much lighter he was with them. She made a mental note to keep an eye on him in the quiet moments to see if she could suss out what was bothering him.
=========MM/HG=========
The sounds of coughing and wheezing surrounded them as they made their rounds to spoon thin broth into waiting mouths, hoping it could be swallowed through the pain and swollen tissues. Hours passed, and days, the group cooling fevered brows, emptying refuse buckets, and comforting the sick and the family members who came to visit, noses and mouths covered by cloth masks in an attempt to prevent themselves from falling ill as well.
Thankfully, Minerva and her brothers had been treated with the Muggles' new vaccine just before Minerva had left for Hogwarts, and of course Morgan had received hers with the standard run of pre-school shots in her childhood, so they felt reasonably safe in being part of the team caring for those in the village too poor to afford treatment for the deadly Diphtheria at the hospital in nearby Wick.
Morgan wished she could use Magical means to ease the suffering of her would-be father-in-law's parishioners. It would be so easy to pour a single vial of a simple potion into the large vat of broth that was kept simmering on the hearth and help relieve the labored breathing surrounding them, but Isobel had already warned Minerva and Morgan against such actions. She didn't want to see any of them incarcerated in Azkaban Prison for violating the Statute of Wizarding Secrecy, no matter how much good the vial of potion could do.
Minerva lightly touched Morgan's shoulder, jerking her head toward the door when Morgan looked up, and the two stepped out of the stuffy room into the fresh air of an early summer evening, dropping their cloth masks into a basket set aside for collecting them.
Morgan sighed tiredly, wanting so badly to help, but knowing that she couldn't. Not only was there the Statute of Secrecy as a concern, but there was also the idea of meddling with time. What if she somehow affected the timeline by helping someone she wasn't meant to save? She tried to accept that whatever happened already had happened in her own future, so that she wasn't crushed with anxieties over shopping for groceries while in the past, but when it came to something this serious, it was much harder to maintain the laissez-faire attitude.
As they did most days upon leaving the sickroom, Minerva locked their arms together, the two leaning on each other as they trudged up the hill to the parsonage which had been her childhood home.
"Miss McGonagall?"
Minerva's eyes screwed tightly shut for a moment when she heard the soft call from behind them. She gathered her courage and her composure and turned, squeezing lightly to Morgan's arm as she did so.
"Mister McGregor. What may I do for you?"
Morgan inwardly giggled at how much Min reminded her of Professor McGonagall when she used to get onto the trio for whatever mischief they had been up to, but outwardly offered a smile to the man who, like she, was in love with Minerva.
He refused to look either of them in the eye, crumpling his hat in his hands and worrying a rock against the dirt with his booted foot. Swallowing past an almost visible lump in his throat, he spoke. "There are actually a couple of things I wished to discuss with you if you have a moment."
"I'm listening," she said with sincerity.
His gaze slid up to her face before cutting back and forth between her and Morgan. "Might I have that moment with you alone? I…"
"Have you met my friend from London? This is Miss Morgan Stewart, and if your concerns over the privacy of a shared moment have to do with our past, then you should know that Miss Stewart is fully aware of it. She is my dearest friend." Minerva interrupted, trying to head off the offer she knew was forthcoming while remaining within the bounds of social propriety.
His blue eyes widened and he stammered out a greeting to Morgan. "I was unaware that you had told anyone. I … haven't done the same." Minerva nodded, and he continued. "Of course, that was part of what I wished to discuss – a renewal of the offer that you once accepted – but I also wanted to inquire as to the health of my sister before I go in. She was showing no signs of improvement when I came to visit last evening, and I was hoping…"
"Dorothea is the same. While her condition has not deteriorated, neither has it advanced. She will be happy to see you."
"I thank you for the update." His focus moved back to Minerva's face, as though drinking in the sight of her, healthy, even if deeply tired from a day of nursing those who would more than likely succumb to the disease. "And as to the other?"
Minerva sighed. "My answer remains the same, Dougal. I am sorry, but it is still a no."
He could see the sadness in her eyes as she again rejected his proposal. "Will I ever be given a reason, Minerva?"
"Perhaps someday, I shall be in a position to grant you the knowledge you seek, but for now, I am not. I am sorry." She inclined her head in his direction and bent her knees in a brief curtsey. "Good day, Mister McGregor."
"Right. Good day, Miss McGonagall, Miss Stewart."
"Mister McGregor," Morgan replied. "It was a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance."
He nodded tersely, shoving his mangled hat on top of his head. "You as well, Miss Stewart. Good-bye." He turned and made his way back to the makeshift hospital ward, disappearing inside to sit with his ailing sister for a while.
"I wish I could tell him why. I wish I could tell him all of the reasons why a match between us is impossible, but I know I never can."
"I know, Min, I know."
They turned back and silently resumed their close walk up to the Manse, both heads filled with thoughts.
=========MM/HG=========
Five days later, dressed in solemn black dresses, Minerva and Morgan descended the hill with the rest of the McGonagalls to attend the last round of funerals that the diphtheria outbreak had wrought.
Morgan was quiet and thoughtful as Robert preached the sermons, and the gathered congregation sang the songs. Each person's life was celebrated in turn, the whole village mourning their losses.
Robert's voice rang out with the final name of the day, "Dorothea McGregor," causing Morgan to cast a glance at the deceased woman's brother. Dougal was standing, shoulders hunched over, at the end of the front row of gathered mourners, tears streaming unchecked down his cheeks.
She could sense how much it was hurting Min to not go and comfort him, but it wouldn't have been appropriate to make such a move, her relationship with Morgan notwithstanding, unless she had some sort of favorable understanding with the young man. Instead it fell to the mourner standing beside him to pass a handkerchief into his clenched hand so that he could attempt to regain his composure.
Morgan reached down to clasp her hand tightly with Minerva's, taking advantage of a situation where many friends were doing the same to help support each other in what had turned into a dreadful time for the community to be able to publicly show a bit of affection in solidarity.
Min squeezed back, reaching up with her free hand to remove her own tears with a gloved thumb.
After the service was complete, the couple moved to where he remained standing stiffly, clean handkerchief still tucked into his fist, unused.
Minerva tried to console him with a soft voice. "I am so sorry, Dougal."
"You…" His red-rimmed eyes glittered as he looked up accusingly. "You said she wasn't getting worse. You said…" He stopped to swallow and to finally swipe his cheeks with the sleeve of his coat, the scrap of fabric from his neighbor fluttering unheeded to the ground. "You said she wasn't deteriorating, Minerva, but she was; she did, and now she's dead. I would have stayed longer, talked to her more, held her hand in mine and told her everything would be alright!" His grief was pouring out as anger, raising his voice and his fist to the air. "There was so much I could have done in her last few days, but you lied to me, Minerva McGonagall. You stole those last moments from me, and I will never be able to forgive you for that."
He spat on the ground by her feet. "I don't know why I expected the truth from you. You've been lying to me for the last five years. Why not lie about this as well? Take away yet another thing I love, you do that well."
"Dougal, I…"
He interrupted the apology he knew was coming, doubting its sincerity. "Just stop. Your words are false and I have heard enough." He turned to go, head down and tears flowing once again. "I've heard enough," he whispered. With that, he walked away.
Minerva, face streaked with tears, took a step to follow him, but was stopped by the gentle pressure Morgan applied to their still joined hands.
"Stay, Min. You would only do more harm if you went after him right now. He's hurt and angry and your words would mean nothing but more pain."
"But I…"
"I know, love, I do. One of my friends used to be the same way over a perceived slight, but if left alone to think about things, he always got past it. Give him time."
Minerva sniffled and accepted the lacy handkerchief that Morgan had quickly conjured in her skirt pocket to avoid notice by the Muggle villagers, using the soft square of fabric to clean her face and blow her nose before handing it back to Morgan, who pretended to shove it back into her pocket while Vanishing it back into the ether.
In comforting silence, they began the walk up the hill towards the Manse atop it. When they were well past the reach of anyone's eyes or ears, Minerva leaned her head down and over onto Morgan's shoulder, speaking in a small voice. "I am so ready to get back to our flat."
"As am I," Morgan replied softly.
"I am sorry so much of your visit has been taken up with caring for the ill." She frowned. "How much longer until you must go?"
"I have another week."
She sighed. "It isn't long enough."
"It never is."
=========MM/HG=========
While Minerva slept on unawares, Morgan slipped down toward the sharp scent of brewing coffee, hoping for a moment alone with Isobel.
Luckily, the McGonagall matriarch was the kitchen's only occupant when Morgan came through the door. "Coffee? Or would you prefer tea this morning?" Isobel sounded tired.
"Coffee today," Morgan replied, reaching for the heavy stoneware mug she'd taken to using in the mornings and filling it.
"I take it my daughter will be sleeping in?"
"I thought I would give her a bit longer today before we head back to London." She took a sip of her coffee, closing her eyes and savoring the heat and the flavor of the brew. "Merlin, that's good coffee."
Isobel muttered her thanks while continuing to prepare breakfast.
"I also wanted to speak with you concerning the cottage," Morgan stated after another sip.
"Yes?" Isobel's hands didn't stop their work, but she spared a second to look at Morgan questioningly.
"Will it be ready by this time next year? Have there been any problems? I don't want to step on your toes at all; I'm simply curious as to the progress of getting it ready for Minerva to be able to move into once her Mastery program is finished and she no longer has the flat."
"Oh, is that all? Yes, the repairs should be completed well before then. I don't anticipate the work taking more than another three months."
"That soon? That's great!"
"Aye. Did you want me to see about furnishing it for you?"
Morgan took a moment to contemplate the question. "No," she drew out the word before continuing thoughtfully. "I wouldn't mind some basic items being stocked up – firewood and the like will be needed, and maybe a few kitchen necessities – but as this will be Min's home, and I'll be here to move her into it, I'd like to let her pick out her own furniture."
Isobel nodded, hands still in perpetual motion. "Understandable."
"Have you had any issues with funding?"
Isobel huffed good-naturedly. "Oh, heavens no. There shall be far more left in that account than I could ever use for the work that's left to be done. I told you when you made the deposit last year it was too much."
"You did, but I maintain my position of preferring there be too much in there than not enough." Morgan drained the last sip of coffee from her cup and washed it out in the sink, leaving the clean mug to dry on the draining board. "Thank you, Isobel, for taking care of this for me. I really appreciate it."
"It's nothing, Morgan," Isobel replied. "There isn't much I wouldn't do for my children."
"I know." She rounded the island and pressed a quick kiss to Isobel's cheek. "That's how mothers should be, but I thank you nonetheless, because there are too many mothers out there who wouldn't accept someone like me into their families."
At this, Isobel's hands finally paused, one reaching up to pat Morgan's cheek lightly. "Someone like you? Any mother would be lucky to have you as a daughter-in-law, even if you can't take the official title."
Morgan swallowed past the lump in her throat as Isobel returned to her work.
"Now, get back upstairs and wake my daughter up. Everyone else is already up and about," Isobel ordered with a ghost of a smile on her face.
"Yes, ma'am," Morgan replied, cheekily saluting her de facto mother-in-law as she left the room, causing the older woman to laugh under her breath.
Once upstairs, Morgan began her trek down the hall to Minerva's room when she saw Malcolm's door open, its occupant slouching against the bed, sitting on the floor, a crumpled piece of parchment in his hand. "Malcolm?" she called quietly.
He reached up to quickly swipe at his face, startled by her voice. "Who… oh, it's you." He breathed in raggedly, trying to regain his composure. "Can I help you with something?"
"I was going to ask you the same question. May I come in?"
"Oh, erm, sure." He drew his legs up, preparing to stand.
"Don't bother getting up," she said as she entered the room. "I'll join you."
He seemed surprised, but relaxed his legs again, one remaining bent in front of him as she slid down the side of the bed to sit beside him.
"Now, what's wrong? I admit I don't know you very well, but in all the times I've seen you, I've never noticed you to be of the habit of sitting slouched on the floor."
A dry puff of air passed his lips, masquerading as a laugh. "No. No, it isn't something I do often. It's just… I've gotten a bit of bad news." He passed the parchment to her.
Morgan smoothed the wrinkles from the thick paper and read its contents. "A wedding invitation? How is that bad news?"
"I'm rather madly in love with the bride." His gaze moved to her briefly before returning to studying his shoes. "Have been for some time. I thought perhaps she felt the same way – we dated for a few months since leaving Hogwarts – but she has apparently decided to go back to her previous beau."
"I'm so sorry, Malcolm." She reached over to put her arm around his back, rubbing it soothingly.
"Yeah, so am I," he remarked. "It wouldn't be so bad to be thrown over, you know, but it might have been nice for her to tell me first."
She didn't know what to say in response. She knew from her own timeline that the marriage in question was successful, but had been unaware of Minerva's brother's involvement with her friend's grandmother.
"I'll be alright. Not right away, I don't think… it'll take some time to get over her, but eventually, I'll be," he inhaled sharply again, "okay. I don't know that I'll ever love anyone else the way I do her, but time's supposed to help with these things, or so they say." He looked over at her, pain etched on his features. "Right?"
"That is what they say." She pulled him into a sideways hug.
Malcolm nodded. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For … I don't know, for noticing me sitting here and for listening to me."
"Of course."
He stood and reached down to help her back to her feet. They dusted themselves off in silence. Morgan was nearly through the doorway when his voice stopped her. "Morgan?"
"Yes?"
"You're a good friend, you know. I know this is going to sound odd, but I'm glad you injured yourself that day."
She arched an eyebrow, not verbally replying.
Malcolm's face colored. "Not… I'm sorry you were injured, but I'm glad that as a result, you and my sister became friends. You're good for her, and I'm happy to have gotten to know you."
"My life would be poorer for never having met her, for sure, and you all as well."
He smiled at her and bowed at the waist.
She returned the gesture with a curtsey and stepped the rest of the way through the doorway, finally finishing her trek to Minerva's room and slipping inside, closing the door behind her.
She leaned back against the door, hands behind her, her head thunking against its surface. Lies, lies, and more lies. I'm not a good friend at all, Malcolm. Her thoughts were loud in her head. At least I can be honest with Isobel about my relationship with Minerva, but still, I must lie about every other part of myself with everyone here, including the person I'd most like to be completely honest with.
Across the room, Minerva began to stir to wakefulness. Leaving her thoughts behind her, Morgan crossed to sit on the edge of the bed, fingers running through silky black strands.
=========MM/HG=========
Minerva's eyes fluttered open, wincing against the late morning sunlight rushing through the half-open curtains. She burrowed her head into the pillow, a low grunt escaping her throat, and flipped over to curl into Morgan's side. Though she was still deep in sleep, Morgan's arm curled around Minerva's waist, nestling her body more firmly against her own, a smile ghosting across her lips.
Normally the last to awake, Minerva decided to take advantage of the opportunity to observe her lover in such a state of repose. When they'd first met, there had been the haze of missing memories keeping Morgan on edge, and ever since, there was something behind her eyes that Minerva couldn't quite put her finger on. She knew that with a job as an Unspeakable, there were parts of Morgan's life she would never have access to, and although she trusted her completely, she knew there were lies and hidden truths behind much of what she was able to say.
In this moment, however, while relaxed and sleeping, there was a complete lack of artifice present in her features, and this made Minerva feel giddy and in awe of the beauty. It was a revelation. Unable to stop herself, she reached up and traced her fingers over Morgan's brows before coming back to the curve of her nose and across her cheekbones. Her thumb brushed across velvet lips, causing them to turn up at the corners into a smile.
"Good morning, Min." Her voice was low and husky, thick with sleep.
"It is a good morning," Minerva replied, moving her hand back down to curve over Morgan's ribs, tightening her hold on the woman she felt incredibly lucky to have in her life.
Morgan's fingers sifted carefully through Minerva's hair, relishing the soft feel of silk as it rushed along the sensitive digits, bringing the other hand up to scratch at her nose before rubbing lightly over the rest of her face, Minerva's grazing touches having caused an itch under the skin.
The two women lay there for several minutes, absorbing the simple pleasure of bare contact and the warmth and comfort of a lover's presence, unrestrained in their own bed and away from the restrictions of a parents' home. Soon enough, however, it was no longer quite enough, and the lazy morning gave way to gentle caresses and soft brushings of fingers and tongues across familiar skin.
Later, after showers, they worked together to fix breakfast so that their other hunger might be as sated as well as the carnal had been earlier. Over porridge with fresh fruit and tea, plans for the day were made.
=========MM/HG=========
The Three Broomsticks was busy, but not overwhelmingly so. There were still several empty tables, but most had at least one occupant, and the long row of bar stools were mostly filled. Two gentlemen, one fair-haired, one darker, seated on a couple of the stools, were sipping at tumblers of firewhiskey as they talked in low voices.
"It isn't right."
"I never said it was," replied his friend. "I only meant it wasn't their fault."
"How could it not be their fault? If it hadn't been for them, my family might have a future!"
"If you're going to blame the Muggles for being sick, you might as well blame those who tried to save them and brought it to us."
"Aye, I blame the damn Muggle-loving bastards, too," the fair man sneered as he tossed back the rest of his drink, slamming the empty glass on the bar. "I'm going home."
"You sure you won't have one more?"
"I've better in my cellar, and I can drink in peace there."
The darker man nodded and finished his drink as well, throwing some coins on the bar to pay the tab. "Sounds like a good idea. See you next Tuesday?"
"I'll be there."
Mairead cleared the vacated section of the bar, putting the coins in her till and banishing the dirty glasses to the kitchen before moving to the next seat down. Smiling broadly, she inquired, "Another?"
Morgan turned back toward the wispy blonde. "No, I'm okay," she answered, gesturing with her half-full glass of Gillywater. "Any idea what those two were talking about?"
"I'm not sure. What did you overhear?"
"Sick Muggles being to blame and something about his family not having a future?"
"Oh, that. It's an old prejudice gaining new ground. In the Muggle Great War, there were several groups of Witches and Wizards who decided to help out. Many of these groups camped with groups of Muggle soldiers, helping where they could by use of subtle magic and shield charms to protect against the rifles and bombs. It wasn't a perfect system, but slowly, the tide began turning in the Allies' favor.
"There was a lot of illness in the trenches and camps, and where some of the Muggles would get sick and quickly recover, we began noticing the Magical population wasn't getting better as quickly. When the war finally ended and our people came home, many were ill. Our best healers couldn't figure it out, but they did eventually recover," Mairead continued her explanation, Morgan nodding where appropriate.
"In the aftermath of a great turmoil like that, it's common to see a jump in the birth rates."
Morgan interrupted, "Post-war babies, yes. We're starting to see the population boom at home as well."
"Indeed. Well, after that war, we were expecting that swell, and were shocked that it didn't happen. What happened instead was a lower number of babies born, especially amongst those who had been ill. The mysterious ailment had caused a large number of those infected to become sterile, or near enough."
Morgan inhaled sharply.
"The Pure-bloods were hit the hardest. The purer the blood, the more problems we tend to have with conception in the best of times, and with this new turn of events, there are more than a few of the old families on the verge of dying out. Many of them had only one son and heir to begin with, and if that heir was suddenly rendered completely unable to reproduce… because of a Muggle illness… well, you can see where there might be some tensions there."
"Merlin."
"So the old tensions between Pure-bloods and Muggles were made even tighter. There was a mass withdrawal of Wizards from the Muggle world, and old hatred was made worse as the supremacists were, in a way, proven right; The Muggles may well turn out to be the end of the Wizarding world, without ever even knowing about it."
"That's ridiculous," Morgan muttered under her breath. "The supremacists are more responsible for the losses we've suffered than the Muggles."
Mairead looked around surreptitiously. "In your time, perhaps. Here, though unwitting, the Muggles did, in fact, cause it."
"All they did was become ill and pass it to those with a weaker immune system!" She hissed sharply.
Mairead shrugged. "I don't disagree with you, dear. But you asked what the gentlemen were talking about."
Whatever Morgan might have replied to that was swallowed up by a loud shriek from across the room. Minerva and Rosie had been playing a haphazard game of tag, and Minerva caught Rosie, ending the round by picking the little girl up and swinging her around in circles.
Momentarily forgetting the conversation, Morgan relaxed back against the bar, smiling at the spectacle the two of them were causing.
"What are your plans regarding Minerva?" The innkeeper's question surprised Morgan, bringing her attention back from the woman she loved. Her jaw fell slightly, mouth opening as she tried to formulate an answer.
"Oh, I know that the future you knows exactly where Minerva ends up and mostly how she came to be there, but I'm talking about the time in between now and then. From what you've told me, you have a constant presence in her heart over the next half-century, but a rather spotty physical existence, only popping in once a year or so as you have been doing. Will Minerva have her own family at some point? If not, is she happy with that decision, or was it something she felt coerced into because of your inability to be there for her? How exactly can or do you provide for her? The two of you are young, Morgan, but there is decidedly more to building a life together than yearly bouts of sex and romance."
"I… don't have all the answers. To my knowledge, she never has children, at least by the time we reach my current 'present.' I don't know how she feels about that; it's not a conversation that I've had with her as either Morgan or my future self. As far as providing for her goes, I have ample financial means, and plans are underway for a house for after her Mastery is complete and Professor Dumbledore's patronage is over. If I have my say, she will never want for anything, but as you've stated, my physical presence in her life will be spotty enough that some things may fall through the cracks. She's proud enough to not tell me all the things she lives without when I'm not around."
"You're buying her a house?"
"Yes, a cottage near her parents."
Mairead hissed sharply. "Do you have any sort of formal relationship agreement with her, Morgan?"
"How do you mean?"
"Has there been a proposal of marriage? Any sort of formal definition of who you are to one another?"
"Formal? No. It's not possible for us to marry in this time, not legally, and until the secrets are all aired between us in the future, I wouldn't be comfortable asking her under a pretense."
A string of Gaelic curses was muttered under the older woman's breath. "Morgan, you have to understand that while such a gesture may be acceptable to people who aren't formally committed to one another in your time, it is completely inappropriate in this one. If you offer her a house without having defined exactly who you are to her and who you plan to be to her in the future, she won't be able to accept it."
Morgan's brows drew in. "Isobel's in on the plans though. Wouldn't she have said something if it was going to be a problem?"
"I don't know Minerva's mother very well, so I can't speak for her, but perhaps given that she thinks you are of this time and would know the social stigma this could cause for Minerva, she assumes that some sort of formal agreement is in place."
"Maybe," Morgan sighed.
"I'm not trying to step on your toes, Morgan. Merlin knows I have no place in your relationship, for all the love I have for the both of you, but knowing what I know about you, I felt it was prudent to at least mention these things." Mairead reached across the bar to place her hands atop Morgan's where they were clasped tightly together in front of her.
"No, I know. It's just given me a lot to think about."
"That's all I meant to do." She squeezed Morgan's hands and stepped back to take care of a couple customers further down the bar, giving Morgan a moment to think.
Head swirling with thoughts, Morgan turned back to watch Minerva and Rosie playing. She smiled softly and sadly, knowing that Minerva would never have children of her own, as much as she loved them. She would make an amazing mother, Morgan supposed, blinking back hot tears, and I've taken that away from her.
=========MM/HG=========
"Min?" Morgan's quiet voice rang through the silence of the room.
"Yes?" Minerva sat her fork beside her plate, picking her napkin off her lap to wipe a bit of sauce off her lip.
Morgan sighed deeply, unsure how to approach the conversation that needed to happen.
"You've been awfully quiet since we left Hogsmeade earlier. Is everything alright?" Minerva had been worried at Morgan's demeanor following a hushed conversation with Mairead while she had been chasing Rosie around the tavern.
"There's nothing … wrong, per se," she began. "I just have some questions for you and I'm unsure how to ask, really."
Minerva's brows drew in. "I won't lie; that worries me a bit, but the only way to find out the answers is simply to ask."
"Just rip the plaster off, right," Morgan mused, taking a deep breath to steady herself. "Where do you see yourself going in life?"
Minerva stared at Morgan quizzically. "Where did that question come from?"
"I can explain after… can you answer the question?" Morgan's eyes were downcast to her plate, picking at her food with her fork, free hand in her lap, fidgeting with a loose string in her skirt.
"I'm not sure how to answer it, honestly. Are we talking about my career or my personal life or … are you talking about our life together?" She stopped for a moment, lungs filling erratically. Was Morgan planning to leave her?
"All of it, really. Where do you see yourself – or us – in five years? In ten? I need to know what you want out of your life, Min."
Minerva took a moment to think about the question, the silence thick between them. Where was a magical knife to cut through the tension when she needed one? "I…" She swallowed heavily. "In terms of my career, I envision a life of research and development of new Transfigurative Magics and Spells, probably within the Ministry, although if the right offer came from a private firm, I would give that the same consideration as whatever I could get at the Ministry. I know myself well enough to know that I need to continue learning, or whatever job I have will become unbearably stifling. I don't foresee myself trying to play the political game enough to ever run for Minister, but I don't feel like a position as Department Head would be too much to aim for, although I know that may take several years."
She picked up her water glass and took a long sip before continuing. "As far as my … or our … personal life is concerned, my goals are simple. I want you. I want you to be here all the time. I want to build a life with you. I know that constant presence is something you cannot currently offer me, but I am willing to wait until the Department of Mysteries doesn't take up all of your time so that you can spare more of it for me."
"What about marriage? Children?"
Minerva scoffed lightly. "Marriage? Is that your way of proposing, Morgan, because it's a miserable one."
Morgan sputtered over the sip of water in her mouth.
"To answer those questions though…" she paused for a moment, "of course I would like to get married someday. To you, ideally, but that isn't an option at this time, and it's not a problem I see being rectified any time soon." She reached a hand across the table to grip tightly to Morgan's fingers. "I am as committed to you as any married couple I know, and I believe that you are just as committed to me. That's good enough for me… at least until the legal circumstances are more favorable."
Releasing Morgan's fingers with a squeeze, she sat back in her chair. "As far as children go," she stopped to sigh deeply, averting her gaze over Morgan's shoulder, not really looking at anything. "I am unable to have them, and so that point becomes a nonissue. I love children, I really do, but I will never bear one of my own."
Morgan looked at her quizzically. "Why… how…?"
"The same way many of the magical families now find their heirs unable to conceive."
"The illness from the Great War?"
Minerva nodded solemnly. "Aye. Mum and Dad were just a bit too young to have served then, but Mum's family hosted a few recovering soldiers when Mungo's filled up, and she was infected. It didn't impair her own ability to have children, but as far as I know, Malcolm's the only one of us unaffected. Both Rob and I are all but sterile."
"Oh, Merlin, Min. I am so sorry. I didn't know." Morgan was aghast.
"Tis alright, Morgan. Truly. It isn't as though the two of us could have children together, anyway."
Color rushed into Morgan's cheeks. "That isn't strictly true, Min, but I concede the point as moot."
One dark eyebrow arched sharply, Minerva's nose twitching side-to-side in amusement and curiosity. "Indeed."
"And if, for some reason, I wasn't in the picture, would your wants and plans change?"
Minerva paled at the thought of Morgan not being part of her life, and thought about the question. After a long moment, she spoke, slowly and with consideration. "No," she drew out the word, "I don't think the plans, at least, would change. I would still want the same career path; that was never dependent on your presence in my life anyway. As far as my personal life goes… who could measure up to you if you weren't around, a rúnsearc? If you left tomorrow and never came back, I'm not certain I could ever love anyone else the way I love you, and anything less would be unacceptable."
Her words tugged at Morgan's heartstrings.
"What are your expectations of me in the years to come, Min?"
Again, she took a moment to carefully think about her response. "I want you, here, as often as possible, and for as long as you can stay. While you are away, I would like a way to get in touch with you. I know you said before that with the way the Department of Mysteries works, owls cannot reach you out in the field, but there must be some way for us to keep in contact. There will doubtlessly be times when I need you between visits, and I need to know that if push comes to shove, that can happen."
Morgan inwardly panicked at this request. Yes, there were ways to contact someone in deep hiding if need be – the Protean charm she had mastered for the DA was the basis of many of them – but none of them, to her knowledge, worked across the fabric of time as well as simple space.
"I'm not sure that's a request I can grant, Min," she said regretfully.
"At the very least, you must promise to try and find a way. Talk to your supervisor and the other Unspeakables. See what's out there that isn't common knowledge." Minerva pleaded with Morgan, eyes shining and luminous.
"I will do all I can to come up with something. I simply cannot promise anything on the communications front. I can, however, promise to be here as often as is possible; to be more committed to you than any other married couple I know, and to be there to hold your hand as you turn, oh, I don't know, eighty years old."
Minerva smiled softly. "Eighty? Morgan, really. Why not eighty-five, or ninety? Who knows if we'll even live that long?"
Morgan pulled out her best Dumbledore eye-twinkle and teased, "Of course you will. I'll predict that at eighty, you'll still be better-looking than most fifty year olds have a right to be, and I will be there to celebrate with you."
Minerva's cheeks filled with color. "Yes, well, moving along. I have nothing further to discuss of our future at this time. Have you any more concerns?"
Sobering her expression and losing the twinkles, Morgan replied, "I do have one more issue that needs resolving."
Minerva nodded, "Go ahead then."
"Finances," she sighed. "I know that there are things you do without when I'm not around, as evidenced by the state of your larder when I show up, though it is not the only sign I see of expenses outweighing income. I, on the other hand, have a bit of a surplus when it comes to income, and a decided lack of normal expenses."
Minerva shook her head defiantly. "I don't do without many things I need, Morgan."
Morgan moved to kneel in front of Minerva and reached up to gently palm her cheek. "Maybe not, but you do live without the things you want, and I can help take up some of the slack in your budget, if you'll allow me to, at least until your Mastery is complete and you have a job with a more stable income than the stipend you get from your patronage."
"I cannot accept your charity, Morgan, no matter how much I love you." Minerva's gaze was pointed at the floor.
"How is it charity to help support the woman I love while she gets her education? Is it not common practice for husbands and wives to take part of the financial burden off the shoulders of a spouse who is pursuing a Mastery?"
"Aye, but we aren't married."
"Haven't we both just discussed the fact that were it not for the legalities holding us back, we would be? Aren't we both committed to each other just as much as – if not more than – other legally married couples?"
Minerva sulked. "Yes."
Morgan used the hand cupping Minerva's cheek to turn her gaze back to her own face, looking steadfastly into her eyes. "Then how are we any different from them, Min, that I cannot be allowed to offer you the same financial support?"
"We aren't," she sighed.
"So you'll allow me to set up a monthly transfer from my vault to yours?"
"If you must," she conceded. "But I won't accept too much! I won't feel like a kept woman."
"Of course."
"Is that all then? Are we done with this dreadful conversation?"
"I think so, yes." Morgan stretched up and kissed Minerva's lips. "However, I reserve the right to bring any of this back up later if need be."
"Fine." Minerva stood up, pulling Morgan with her. She waved her wand, and all of the dinner dishes were cleaned and put away. She waved it again, and with a quiet word, both women were stripped down to their underwear, and the sudden drop in temperature caused Morgan's nipples to tighten. "For now, there may be more … pleasurable pursuits to pursue."
Morgan smirked. "Pursuing pursuits?"
"Shut it," Minerva snarked, closing the distance between them and using her lips to silence Morgan.
=========MM/HG=========
Thursday the First of July, a mere two days later, the two ladies made a trip to Diagon Alley to take care of some business.
They took a taxicab to the Muggle entrance at the Leaky Cauldron, said their farewells with a brief discreet kiss before tapping the bricks to open the passageway to the Alley, and Morgan headed off to the Wizarding Bank, Gringotts, while Minerva made her way to run her own errands.
Upon reaching the bank, Morgan requested to speak with Ragnok, and was escorted to the little antechamber she'd been taken to on previous visits with the Goblin Official. As the future President of the Bank entered the room, she smiled broadly and greeted him, "Master Ragnok! How pleasant to see you today."
He bowed at the waist. "The pleasure is all mine, Madam Stewart. How do you find your health?"
"I am quite well, thank you, and yourself?"
"I find myself healthy indeed for one my age, Madam Stewart. How may I assist you?"
"I am glad to hear it. As for business, I need to set up a monthly transfer from my vault to another."
"I see. Into whose vault will these deposits be made?"
"Minerva McGonagall," Morgan stated matter-of-factly.
"McGonagall? To my knowledge, we have a yearly stipend going from you to a Mister Malcolm McGonagall for a Patronage already. Is it your intention to be a Patron to Miss McGonagall as well?" Ragnok looked at her questioningly.
"Not exactly, Master Ragnok," Morgan replied. "Miss McGonagall will be the recipient of the cottage I purchased in Scotland last year, and while she is currently under the patronage of Albus Dumbledore, the stipend she receives from him is not quite enough to cover all of her monthly expenses. As the two of us are setting up house together once the cottage is ready, I would like to ensure that she can make all the purchases she needs to get through the month, even after her monetary compensation from Professor Dumbledore has ended."
The elderly Goblin didn't blink an eye at her mention of the relationship between two witches. "I see," he intoned. "Have you considered simply adding Miss McGonagall as a signatory on your accounts? If the two of you plan to cohabitate, it would be the wiser choice than a monthly transfer of funds."
Morgan sighed. "At this point, I do not think she would allow such access to my money. She is quite proud, and hesitant to even accept a small stipend from me."
He nodded. "Very well. I will retrieve the requisite records and return momentarily." Making his way to the door, he stopped and turned to face Morgan once again. "Am I to assume, Madam Stewart, that I should exercise utmost discretion in setting these transactions up? You'll pardon my impertinence for asking, but I am assuming that the nature of your relationship is less than purely professional, and these kinds of relationships are not well-received by Wizarding Society as a whole."
Morgan colored a bit, stuttering, "Erm, yes, Master Ragnok. Your discretion will be greatly appreciated."
"Then I assume correctly?"
She smiled softly. "You do."
"Then I offer my felicitations on the coupling. She is a lucky woman to have garnered your interest."
"Thank you, Master Ragnok. I believe I am actually the luckier woman. She is truly extraordinary in every way."
Ragnok nodded again with a small curl to his lips and turned back to the door. "I shall return as quickly as possible."
He opened the door and passed through, off to weave through the back corridors of the bank to bring back the necessary records.
After the door closed behind him, Morgan expelled a long breath from her lungs and sagged back into her chair. That wasn't an awkward conversation at all, she thought, feeling decidedly uncomfortable with having revealed her feelings for Minerva to the Goblin who would be handling her finances for the next fifty-five years – if not longer – but knowing what she knew of the future; knowing that he would continue to look after her accounts after being promoted to President of Gringotts, and would ensure her financial stability even through two rounds of war with Voldemort and the Death Eaters, she felt there were few others she trusted with that information as much as she trusted him.
Having come to that realization, she was completely comfortable with his knowing about the two of them, and thus settled more easily into her seat, pouring a cup of the excellent tea the bank always provided to her when she showed up.
She'd gotten nearly to the bottom when the door reopened and Master Ragnok strode back in, a troubled look on his face.
"What has you so concerned," Morgan asked, setting her cup to the side.
"I apologize, Madam Stewart, but I cannot seem to find any record of a Minerva McGonagall having a vault with us, and therefore cannot set up the transfers you requested."
Morgan sputtered again, "But … that sneaky witch. She failed to mention that when accepting that I planned to offer her this assistance." Her lips quirked up on one side. "Merlin I love her."
Ragnok watched this byplay curiously.
"Is there a way I could have the arrangement settled by a monthly removal of the requested amount in currency and sent to her via Owl Post?"
"I am unsure if such a system is currently in place, but I do believe we can accommodate your request," Ragnok replied, a glint in his eye at the prospect of subverting a potential future customer.
He left the room again, returning quickly to inform Morgan that her request had been approved by the current President, a positively ancient Goblin named Nagnok, and Ragnok's great-grandfather, named for his own father, whose death preceded one of the Goblin Rebellions. Ragnok was his heir apparent.
From then until such a time that Morgan deemed necessary, reviewed on her first visit of each year to account for inflation, a changing economy, and Minerva's own need for the funds, ten Galleons, ten Sickles, and ten Knuts would be placed in a courier sack and sent to Miss McGonagall via a Post Owl who had been bred and trained to carry heavy packages for the Post Office on the first of every month. As today was the first of this month, the parcel was weighed out and sent, a note from Ragnok having been included.
"I wonder," Morgan mused to Ragnok as she watched the owl wing its way out of the bank, "If she has no vault or account with Gringotts, how does she receive her stipend from Albus?"
=========MM/HG=========
As Minerva left Morgan at the entrance to Diagon Alley, she watched her lover saunter toward the bank before shaking her head and stepping away to get on with her own errands. She would never get used to the idea that Morgan was hers, and nobody else got to see was underneath the tailored robes and dresses that her lover wore.
Going about her way, Minerva thought about Morgan with a wistful smile on her face as she popped into Scribbulus to pick up a new pot of ink, into Madam Malkin's to pick up the regalia she'd be needing once her Apprenticeship's final year began – the color on the edge of her robes changed with her achieved Mastery levels as she advanced her knowledge – and finally into Flourish and Blotts to pick up a Transfiguration text she'd ordered. Her purchases all made, she had one final errand to complete.
Several minutes later found her seated at one of the outdoor tables of a small café, awaiting her early lunch companion. She was engrossed in thumbing through her new book, and therefore missed the quiet throat-clearing that accompanied the auburn-haired wizard who was set to meet her.
"Ah, Umfraville's Definitive Guide to Gamp's Laws of Elemental Transfiguration. I can see how you are so enthralled." Albus Dumbledore was amused as he sat in the opposite chair.
"Oh, Professor!" Minerva put the book away quickly. "I didn't see you arrive."
"That's quite alright, my dear," the Transfiguration Professor replied. "It's an interesting look at Gamp's Laws and their exceptions."
"I haven't gotten very far into it yet, but it certainly seems fairly revolutionary on the surface."
"I picked it up last month. It doesn't cover as much as it could, but it does expand upon the general face of the research which came before." He smiled at the waitress who came to take their orders, putting in his request for some sugary confection that made Minerva's teeth hurt just to think of it, while she ordered tea and a simple sandwich. She may have gone for something heavier, but as the meal was his monthly treat, she never tried to take advantage of his generosity, always choosing something on the lower-cost end of the menu.
They discussed Gamp's Laws while they worked their way through the meal, eventually moving onto another treatise on the rules of elemental transfiguration which had predated Hesper Gamp's completely innovative look which had changed the way the world saw the subject forever after.
The waitress cleared the table and Albus settled the bill before reaching into a deep pocket of his robes to retrieve a small sack of coins. Minerva pulled the pouch over in front of her, opening it to confirm that it contained her monthly stipend. As she uttered her genuine thanks for his monetary Patronage, a large owl flew overhead and dropped a somewhat larger bag on the table as well before leaving without expecting an owl-treat.
Surprised, Minerva opened the second bag and nearly had a heart attack when she saw the amount of money it contained.
Albus peered over the edge, eyes widening when he saw the small fortune inside. "Well, well. It seems I am not the only one giving you money today."
Minerva flushed lightly, reaching in to pull out a small scroll, sealed with heavy wax and the imprint of Gringotts. Cracking open the seal, she read through the short missive.
Miss Minerva McGonagall,
I am sending to you an amount I am told was agreed upon as a monthly transfer to you from a valued customer. The request was initially meant to be transferred between vaults, but as you are not currently a customer with Gringotts Wizarding Bank, we have come to this alternate method of settling the debt. If you choose to open an account with us at some point in the future, these monthly transactions will be handled with the utmost discretion as a simple movement of monies between the two vaults as originally planned. Until such time, you will receive the agreed-upon sum on the first of each month via Owl Post.
Morgan Stewart, the transferor of funds has asked that I include a personal note in their stead.
"You are a sneaky, cheeky witch, and we shall discuss this further tonight."
Hopefully we will see you soon to set up a vault lease. Until then, I remain your humble servant.
Ragnok
Chief Goblin in Charge of New Accounts
Minerva couldn't help but smile at Morgan's insert, garnering further attention from Dumbledore.
"From whom have you received such wealth, Minerva," he queried, that damnable twinkle appearing in his eye, as though he knew everything when he knew nothing at all.
"Just a … friend," she replied cryptically.
"A mere friend having so much money sent to you directly from Gringotts? Who is this … friend?" He repeated her stutter over the honorific.
Her face reddened, and she found that she was unable to speak.
"Have you met someone and formed a romantic attachment?" He forced the issue, making her feel slightly uncomfortable.
"Perhaps, Professor, but nothing is yet set in stone." She blew off the seriousness of her relationship with Morgan, deciding to avoid gender-specific pronouns when speaking about her. It was a fairly neutral name, and it was none of her patron's ability with whom she was forming relationships, romantic or otherwise.
"Well, once things are more firmly set upon, I would love to meet your young man," he said, pressing his luck.
"I'll pass the request on … if things get to that point, sir," Minerva replied tersely. She had no intention whatsoever of sharing Morgan with anyone she didn't have to, even if Dumbledore had been a great benefactor to her. She would accept his meddling – to an extent – when it came to her educational career for which he was paying, but her personal life was just that – personal. Deep down, she also worried that he might lose some of his esteem for her if he found out that she preferred a female partner. Rumors had abounded regarding his former relationship with Gellert Grindelwald, but from everything he'd said, they were unfounded lies, drummed up by the media to explain how he'd chosen to deal with the megalomaniac, and she accepted that as the truth. She had no real reason to question it.
She tucked the little note into her pocket, and combined the two bags of coins together, pocketing the larger one and tossing the smaller back his direction to be used the following month.
"Thank you once again, Professor, but I really must be going now." She stood and drew her light-weight cloak around her shoulders.
"Same time and place next month, Minerva?" She missed as he had made a surreptitious copy of the scroll and summoned it into his own pocket.
"I will see you then." Forcing a smile, she turned and Disapparated back to her flat, leaving him to stare at the empty space for a moment.
"How very intriguing," he mused before leaving himself, choosing to Floo back to The Three Broomsticks from The Leaky Cauldron rather than Apparate such a distance back to Hogwarts.
=========MM/HG=========
Later that night, Morgan did have a brief chat with Minerva about her attempted subterfuge, and Minerva simply shrugged and blushed, saying that Morgan couldn't blame her for trying.
Initially she was upset over the amount, citing her previous lack of desire to be a "kept woman," but in the end, she capitulated, thinking of all the things she could do to help her family with the extra money, as well as the saving she could do toward a place to live after her stint in the flat was up.
Having settled their minor dispute, the two lovers settled into bed, taking comfort in each other while they could. Morgan was scheduled to leave again for work in a couple of days, and so the rest of Thursday night, as well as all day Friday was spent in whatever pleasurable pursuits they wanted.
They stopped to eat, to shower, and to read together from Minerva's new book, as well as from the books of poetry that Morgan had gifted her for Christmas. Another book of poetry had been bought on this trip to the past, and had been given to Minerva as an early birthday gift, knowing that Morgan would be unable to be present on that day.
When Saturday came, they moped the morning away, avoiding sexual contact, but keeping as close as they could to another physically, trying to memorize the way their skin felt against the other's, and how Morgan's hair tickled at Minerva's cheeks as they snuggled together, and how nice it felt for Minerva's fingers to wrap over the ends of Morgan's when they clasped their hands tightly together.
Around noon, Morgan summoned her belongings, stuffed them all into her little beaded bag, and with a tear-filled good-bye, she departed from the past, returning yet again to her future.
=========MM/HG=========
A/N: Well, it's been 20 months since I last updated. 20 months to the day. I am so sorry it's taken this long. I can't make any guarantees on how quickly the next one will be done, but I sincerely hope that the PA winter and this bit of momentum will help motivate me to write more and faster. Special thanks to Jen and Sierra and Bethany and Violeta and Christine. You guys are who keep me going. Happy Holidays, guys, from me to you.