Ch16
The lessons of Hogwarts were, it seemed, a bit of a hit-and-miss. None of them were bad, exactly, but… Herbology? Astronomy? She just couldn't care less, not when she had so much to do. Sure, there were interesting things, like plants needing to be grown in magically-rich soil, and the effect the stars could have upon a plant at the moment of harvesting, but overall it wasn't what she was interested in.
History and potions she found more interesting, but still rather pointless for her. Snape was… a decent teacher, despite his personality. The lesson seemed to focus more on the practical skills of making a potion, with theory being set as homework. Given the explosive results of some students, it wasn't hard to see why he seemed so stressed.
Likewise, Binns wasn't anywhere near as bad as she had expected. She found his lessons rather interesting, though the other children seemed… less than enthusiastic. The novelty of being taught by an actual ghost had worn of rather quickly.
Transfiguration, while useful for revision, was simply behind where she was. She practically lived with her wand in her hand. If she had a free moment, she would be trying a spell, or reading up on magic.
Transfiguring a match into a needle? Something that took Hermione a couple hours to do in canon, when she had barely any training in magic? Please, give her some credit. She had already gone beyond that from her own practice.
Hufflepuff shared transfiguration with the Gryffindors, and Morgan had found herself sharing a desk with Hermione at the front of the classroom. It seemed that whenever Hufflepuff and Gryffindor were paired together, she and Hermione would be partners.
Well, it wasn't as though she had a problem with that. She hadn't exactly been socialising with her House much, given that they were eleven. Leanne and Megan had paired together, so she would have had to pair with a boy if she wanted to work with someone from Hufflepuff.
But, well, girls have cooties, obviously. The boys preferred to work with other boys, even from other Houses.
She watched the cat sitting upon the teacher's desk with amusement. Black, with white marks around the eyes resembling McGonagall's glasses. It was a wonder no one had noticed.
"This can't be right" mumbled Hermione. "It doesn't seem like Professor McGonagall to be late for class."
"Oh, I wonder. Wherever could she be? I'm sure she's around here somewhere." She raised her eyebrow at McGonagalls animagus form. Really, it was hardly subtle.
McGonagall had evidently decided it was time to reveal herself, jumping into the air and morphing into a human mid-leap, landing upon two legs.
The surprised gasps from the children were rather amusing, she had to admit.
"Welcome, students, to Transfiguration. As you are all aware, I am Professor McGonagall." She looked similarly amused, her usual stern expression softening as she looked over them all. No doubt one of the little things that made teaching more bearable.
Hermione's arm shot into the air, the girl practically bouncing in her seat.
"Yes, Miss Granger?"
"What was that? How did you do it? Will we be learning how to do that?" she asked, words tumbling from her lips in her excitement.
"That, Miss Granger, is called the Animagus transformation, and is very advanced, complex magic. Should you become skilled enough, then it is possible you may learn how."
Hmm, Morgan had to wonder exactly how skilled you needed to be if Pettigrew could become one in his fifth year.
"I'm gonna be a Nundu…" she heard Hannah whisper from behind her, followed by Susan's dreamy whisper of "Unicorn…"
McGonagall flashed them a small smile, before her expression firmed. "Now, students, before we begin, it must be made very clear that transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts." Holding up her hand for them all to see, a match shimmered itself into a needle, before the tip suddenly exploded into long spikes of metal, bristling as they watched. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."
Then the lesson began, McGonagall explaining some of the basic theory. A match was distributed for each of them, with the task to try and turn it into a needle by the end of the lesson.
One of the rather more… interesting aspects of transfiguration was what made some things easier or harder to transfigure something into. It didn't just rely upon the material similarities, such as the shape of a match and needle. There was a more… metaphorical aspect.
Turning a quill into a pen would be much easier than turning a quill into a pencil. A match could be turned into a needle more readily because of the pricking of the flame, or even from the forging of the steel from fire.
She waved her wand and muttered the incantation, watching in fascination as the match became silver and pointy. Ah~, but magic would never get old, that was for sure.
"How did you do that so quickly?" asked Hermione, peering at her needle with wide, curious eyes.
"Oh? I'm just that good, Miss Granger." Unsaid was the insinuation that Hermione therefore wasn't that good. And… yep, there she went, back straightening as she bristled, lips firming stubbornly. Rather competitive then.
McGonagall came to stand next to her desk, looking down upon her work with an inscrutable expression looking down at her work with an unpleasant look behind her glasses. Oh my, doesn't she know that if the wind changes, she'll be stuck like that? She gave her a wink, causing McGonagall's face to tighten. She still wasn't used to how young McGonagall looked. "One point to Hufflepuff, Miss Fay" she said, before stiffly walking away, pacing the aisle between the two rows of desks.
Ah, how amusing. She was so high-strung around her, it was hilarious. "Only one point? Take note, Miss Granger. It's not only Professor Snape that shows blatant favouritism." If her voice had been a little loud when she said that… Well, the slight pause of McGonagall and the sound of a deep breath being taken was something she enjoyed immensely.
Hermione's eyes flashed. "Hogwarts professors would not show favouritism!"
Morgan chuckled slightly, which seemed to upset Hermione further. "How cute. I'd have thought you'd be a little wiser, given your upbringing." But no, even being an orphan in a world heavily anti-muggleborn had not seemed to cut down her view of authority figures. She must have gone to a better orphanage than her own. Only a fool of unseen calabre would idolise authority if they had those workers looking over them.
Hermione narrowed her eyes at her before turning away in a huff, jabbing her wand and chanting the spell. Over time Hermione was slowly becoming better, the wood shaping itself into a pointier and pointier form.
But she had a flash of amusement, watching her make the movements. "You're doing it wrong" she said, leaning her head onto her hand.
Hermione seemed to jerk, looking at her angrily. "And how would you…" she trailed off as her eyes flicked from Morgan's needle to her smiling face.
"Oh, I don't know. Why, it's almost as though I know how to perform the spell." She was enjoying prodding Hermione like this. She just seemed so tense, Morgan couldn't resist. "Here, it's like this." She grabbed Hermione's hand, taking her slowly through the wand movements.
The next time Hermione tried the spell, it was a lot better, which just seemed to rankle Hermione more, the poor dear. "No thanks, Miss Granger? How rude."
For a second, she was quiet, staring down at her half-match, half-needle. "Thank you" she mumbled, before going back to ignoring her, working on her match with a sour expression. She really didn't like being second best, did she?
Truthfully, she didn't really know how to treat Hermione. She probably shouldn't be jabbing at her like this, but really, how could she resist? She could befriend the lonely girl, but… Well, Harry needed to be her friend, she didn't want to risk ruining that. And if canon went as planned, then she would have her chance to acquire Hermione.
But that was if. A gamble, one that may not work out. For all she knew, Hermione might be crushed like a grape. Perhaps it would be better to befriend her, before anyone else.
But she wanted something a little more… concrete. Hermione was her primary recruitment target, if she had to take risks to get the girl more permanently, then she would. If she planned to take the world, then taking chances was necessary.
Eyeing Hermione, she took a moment to marvel at just how different she looked to Emma Watson. Her hair was very bushy, spiralling in tight ringlets, frizz marking a significant lack of care. And, though she couldn't see them at the moment, she knew her front teeth were simply too large for her small mouth. And her clothes…
Her skirt seemed too big for her, going below the knees and fraying at the edges. The red lining of her robe seemed muted, washed out in a way that, say, Harry's didn't, with its vibrant crimson.
Everything was just… shabby. There was potential there, should she shrink her teeth, fix her hair and start wearing decent clothes. But at the moment…
Ahh, but she wanted her now. The things she could do when she was still so young. It would be so easy to twist her into what she wanted her to be, to control her and make that potential hers. Oh well, she would just have to wait...
Hermione was practicing the spell with vigour, seemingly encouraged by her taunting. Morgan, however, would just have to do as she always did and teach herself, since it seemed extra material wasn't forthcoming. She would just have to get creative with this spell, maybe try to create a fancier needle or something.
As she and Hermione worked in silence, her eye caught on something. Hermione's wand looked… wrong. She couldn't remember what her wand actually looked like, but she was certain that wasn't it. Wasn't her wand made of vine wood? "Hmm, what wood is that?"
"Poplar" came Hermione's reply, short and clipped as she focused on her match, having it about halfway turned into a needle.
Hmm, so was it her personality that changed, or...
"Ah, did you get it from Ollivanders?"
Hermione stiffened, turning a baleful eye on her. "I hardly see how that is any of your business."
With a prickly reply like that, she hadn't gotten her wand from Ollivanders. She probably hadn't been able to afford one. Her wand didn't look bad, far from it, but…
Well, the lesson was coming to a close soon, and by Morgan's estimate, Hermione would need an extra half hour to complete the spell, when in canon she'd gotten it in class. She might be misremembering, but it was better to assume she wasn't, in this case. And the most likely reason was the wand.
That said, Hermione still seemed to be in the upper tiers of the class, in fact she was still better than everyone else. Zacharias and Parvati seemed close, but that was it. Mildly depressing, actually, since it meant the next lesson would probably be similar to this one.
And really, Hermione. With replies like that, it's no wonder she was forced to sit next to Morgan.
"How are you so far ahead? No one else even managed the spell" asked Hermione as they packed their books away. She was eyeing her multicolour needle with suspicion, eyes flicking to the half-match, half-needles of the other students.
Morgan sighed. Well, she supposed she should give a serious answer, lest the girl blow a fuse. "Practice, Miss Granger. I've had my wand a month now, you don't think I left it lying around, do you?"
Hermione straightened up, clutching her bag to her chest. "We're not allowed to use magic outside of Hogwarts."
She raised an eyebrow at the statement. "Yes, we are. Who- Ah, of course, you're a muggleborn orphan. Miss Granger, you really should learn not to trust what people say like that. This world is not kind to muggleborns."
"What would you know about that?" snapped Hermione.
"Oh Miss Granger" she said, shaking her head. "I know plenty, because I am one."
A frown pinched Hermione's face as she looked her over. "You're an orphan? But…"
"Surprised? Think I was some pureblood, coasting on my parents' money?"
A slight flush appeared on Hermione's face. Well then, at least Morgan knew for sure that all her money had been well spent.
"Then how…" Hermione gestured at her attire.
"Didn't I say it before? I'm just that good, Miss Granger." She gave Hermione a smug smile, before leaving her to stew in her annoyance. As she walked away though, she spotted something… Infuriating.
Harry's match. His match, that was barely beginning to make its transition into a needle. He would have been better spent sharpening the thing with his teeth, such was the change in shape.
Was… was this canon? Did Harry ever even use a transfiguration spell in canon? He passed his OWL's, so surely he couldn't be this bad.
Yet here the evidence was, one barely pointed match sitting on his desk. Jesus, the only one who could potentially kill Voldemort was scarcely better than Neville, a joke who clearly got accepted on his family name only.
Clearly, he wasn't taking this seriously, but she was inclined to let it go for now.
There wasn't much point worrying over someone who might be dead by the end of the year.
She had to admit, she was surprised to find that Filch was still alive. Pleasantly surprised, actually. He would be the first muggle she had seen since their genocide.
It was late evening and a quick word to the black bird that had taken a liking to her had it leading her to Filch's office, flitting from painting to painting.
Unsurprisingly, his office was located in the dungeons, the door almost hidden in the gloom of the corridor, lit by only a small lantern. It looked beaten, ugly, out of place amongst the grandeur of Hogwarts; dark, gnarled wood surrounded by pristine walls.
Fitting, really.
The door opened with a simple touch of her fingers, the unlocking charm opening it with ease, the heavy creak of old wood filling the air and revealing the room beyond.
It was dark, only the light of the corridor to bring some illumination. A fireplace took up a spot on a wall to the left, cold and unlit. With a flick of her hand and some power, a small flame rose up, soon crackling along the wood and casting warmth and light across the room.
It was actually rather comely, once she got a good look at it. With a beaten but comfortable looking couch, desk and chair, as well as various personal items. A poster here, a photograph there, they served to give the room some character.
Pausing, she took a moment to look at the photograph within a beautiful silver frame upon the fireplaces mantle piece. A younger and more handsome Filch, head full of hair, stood smiling at the camera, a woman held in his arms and gazing at him with tender love. Below there was a cat, winding it's way between her legs, its fur a motley collection of brown stripes.
Even Filch had someone, once upon a time.
Well, she supposed there was no point standing around. There were a few trunks scattered around the room, and those were her first target. Searching them revealed various odds and ends, prank items and other such things, no doubt on the list of banned items.
But no map. A quick search of the desk left her similarly unsatisfied. Sighing, she sat upon the couch, contemplating.
If the map wasn't here, then the twins had it. That meant she'd have to steal it, another annoyance she couldn't be bothered with.
Or maybe buy it from them, but she was loath to part with gold when she need not, especially considering all the hard work and care that went into acquiring it.
She was distracted from her thoughts by a cat jumping up onto the couch, meowing at her. A mix of dark and light brown stripes, similar to the one in the photo, it purred as she rubbed its head, frowning at it.
Well, Miss Norris was hardly the evil cat she had expected, but she couldn't even be sure if that was actually a thing in canon.
On the other hand, all cats were secretly evil, plotting to ruin her sofa with their sharp claws, to terrorise her with their wailing at five in the morning, and their attempts to poison her with their diseased little 'treats.'
No, she wasn't bitter, at all. She didn't care how adorable its purring was, or how much her sister-
She cut off that thought, sighing as Miss Norris climbed into her lap, stroking her behind the ears, the thick fur warm between her fingers.
She'd left the door open, allowing the cat in. And where Miss Norris went, well…
From the hallway, she heard the heavy footsteps of Filch approaching the room.
Morgan merely waited, scratching Miss Norris behind her ears. Filch was hardly a scary person, unless you were twelve.
"Oh? What's all this then? Another student, poking their heads where they ought not?" he said, his voice a rough timbre. "Well?! What excuse will I hear this time?!" He stepped forcefully into the room, eyeing her balefully. Between his hands was strip of leather, twisting and stretching between his hands.
"Mr Filch." She inclined her head, not moving an inch, an easy smile on her face. Filch looked… worn, standing there in an old, grey-blue coat. Thin hair covered the top of his head and fell to his shoulders in limp, grey strands, his face lined with weary wrinkles. It bore no remnant of the handsomeness within the photo, his patchy stubble a testament to his lack of care.
"Breaking and entering, is it? Back in my day, that would have gotten you whipped…" he growled, stepping towards her slowly, sneering at her. "I think I still have them around here somewhere…" The strip of leather creaked with an extra-strong twist, punctuating his words.
Such a pity, he'd gone senile. Only dementia could explain his belief that she would be scared of him.
"Well? What do you think you're doing, girl?" He was looming over her now, a menacing figure in the firelight.
She scratched Miss Norris more sharpy, causing her to mewl. Filch finally seemed to take notice of her, eyebrow twitching slightly in surprise.
Morgan merely raised an eyebrow at his towering figure. "Oh my, the caretaker has caught me, whatever shall I do? Someone save me, he's so menacing." Her sarcasm could cut steel, such was its strength.
He frowned slightly, before his face was back to sneering. "Think this is some game, eh? Oh yes, I know just the thing for cocky girls like you. Hang you by the wrists for a few days, that's what I ought to do…"
She couldn't help it, she laughed, high-pitched and mocking. Truly, did he think she would be scared? By him? How hilarious.
His face turned furious. "Think this is funny, do you!? Think I'm joking, eh? Look over there" he said, pointing towards a dark corner, where Morgan could see the dull iron gleam of chains nailed to the ceiling. "I make sure to keep the chains well-oiled, just for kids like you…"
A sharp smile spread her lips, teeth showing faintly. "Kinky. But I do wonder…" she paused for a little dramatic effect, "how on earth will a powerless muggle get me into said chains?"
Shock reflected in his dull grey eyes, the skin around his eyes tightening and his face turning a shade paler. She could almost hear his heartbeat, alarm lending it strength.
"You… What are you-"
"Come now, do you think me so blind?" she asked, cutting him off. "You use a mop, Mr Filch. Only a muggle would do that."
For a moment, they just looked at each other, orange eyes into his dull grey. Then, he grimaced. "Blasted kids these days" he grumbled, placing the leather strap into a pocket. "Guess there's no point keeping this act up then."
Act? Morgan watched in frank bewilderment as he walked away, throwing his coat onto a peg nailed into the door. Underneath was a sleeveless suit jacket, covering a white shirt and black tie. It was actually rather smart, especially compared to that ratty coat, dispelling the dark air he'd held.
So all that, the threats, the menacing, it was all an act? Why-
"Ah" she let out as the revelation hit. "You've got to have some way of keeping students in line, don't you? And without a wand, that just leaves…"
Fear.
How… delightful. It had been such a long time since she'd seen a decent bit of theatre. It might not be a grand play or anything similar, but it was entertaining all the same. To think that no one noticed what he was…
"What did you come here for, girl? Come to taunt me that you'd figured it all out?" He asked, a bitter tone to his voice as he sat in a chair he placed across from her.
Morgan's lips twitched as she examined him. "Taunt? No, the fact that you are a muggle is a good thing, I rather like muggles. Perhaps I came down here merely to meet one."
"And perhaps I'm Gilderoy Lockhart" he grunted. "Now what do you really want? I don't have the patience to play zoo animal."
Oh well. It was actually a reason, but it wasn't surprising he didn't believe it. It had been so long since she'd seen one, so long since she'd had any connection to muggle civilisation that wasn't the remains of a dead city, she'd been rather eager when she learned he was still alive. And to learn that the scary janitor was merely an act, well, that just made everything better.
"You seem awfully unconcerned, are you not worried I'll tell everyone what you are?"
"I wouldn't be talking to you if I wasn't. To be found out because of a mop…" He shook his head, grimacing. "And I'm a squib, not a muggle" he said sharply.
She waved him off. "Technicalities." She considered him for a moment. Having his identity as a squib being revealed would no doubt cause him some trouble, not that she actually had any intention of doing so. It would ruin the fun of seeing her peers get frightened by a powerless old man putting up an act.
She sighed, standing as Miss Norris jumped to the floor. "I don't suppose it matters since it isn't here, but I was looking for an item. A piece of parchment, that probably insulted you a lot." A look of recognition flashed on his face. "Hmm, so I was right, it was here before. If it's not here, then there's not much reason for me to stay much longer tonight. Although..." she paused, thinking. "Perhaps you'd like to help me acquire it? In exchange for my silence? I'm fairly sure I know who has it, and you may not even need to do anything if things go well."
"Do I get a choice?" he asked grimly.
She laughed, standing up and walking next to him. "That's up to you" she said, patting him upon the head in the most condescending manner she could. Ah, it was so nice to have people under her thumb, it just did things for her. "I'll see you around, Mr Filch."
But, as she was about to leave the room, a hand grabbed her by the head, holding her in place. "Hold it" he growled. "You don't think you can just walk in here without punishment, do you? Come on, let's go get you a detention."
He- he ruined her dramatic exit. You can't just do that. What was even the point of blackmailing someone if you couldn't act it up a little?
Well, evidently he could, given the way the uncultured savage marched her to Professor Sprout, ignoring her threats.
She was living amongst barbarians. Next thing you know, they'll be interrupting her gloating when she's grinding an opponent beneath her feet.
It was official, decent civilisation was truly dead.
Wow, it's been long time huh? I've just been really busy lately, kind of killed my motivation for a while, but hopefully I should be back to normal now.
Not really happy with this chapter, I feel like I could do it a lot better, but I just want to get it out at this point and move on. Maybe in the future I'll go back and edit it more to my liking, but for now it will do the job, it gets the point across.
