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For copyright and disclaimers, please see chapter one.
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6 – Fifth week, Third Year
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Sunday, September 24, 2000: (Gregorian)
Hogwarts, Slytherin common room: 08:44
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With a heavy heart, Karen Bundy pinned the tryout notice on the board. "All right you lot!" she called. "Tryouts for this year's Quidditch team, we need a Seeker and a Beater for the primary team, Chaser and Keeper for the reserves."
"We have a Seeker, it's Mattie," Sprink called.
"But she's not here now," Karen said. "We don't know where she is, so we've got to plan as if... as if she's not coming back."
Graham Pritchard masked a smirk of triumph behind his textbook.
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Monday, September 26, 1379: (Julian)
Hogwarts, Front lawn: 07:22
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With a low whine, the small white ship banked over the Great Hall, coming to a gentle landing and causing the stablehands to calm the horses.
"So this is Hogwarts," Cassidy said as she shut down systems.
"Yes, and I really wish you could tell me how you know," Mattie said, rising. "You want to come in?"
Cassidy shook her head, "No thanks. I'm risking enough with you, with those people? I don't dare. I'll be fine; I'll take the first mate's cabin. Later, now shoo, Mistress." She flipped a toggle, and the boarding ramp lowered with a whine.
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Mattie touched the control on the landing strut, the ramp raised to the astonishment of the onlookers. Mattie smiled, asking, "Did I miss anything?"
"There's someone inside!" Mattie turned to see Cassidy on the flight deck, who waved at the crowd.
"Yes, she was in trouble, I picked her up and brought her home. She'll be making a jump after me; Cassidy's originally from the twenty-fourth century." She grinned wryly, "So now I know what it's like when you want to know, and can't." Waving people on, she asked, "Leave any food for me?"
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Tuesday, September 26, 2000: (Gregorian)
Hogwarts, Muggle studies: 13:10
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"...and I see that once again Miss Wayne couldn't be bothered to show for class," Professor Carstairs sneered. "She doubtless feels this class is beneath her."
"She's MISSING, you... twit," Sprink said, blushing as the tiny Professor rounded on her. "Did I hear you correctly, Miss Tonks? Did you just call me, your learned professor, a... oh, what was that word? A twit, I do believe you said." She tisked, "You came from SUCH a fine family, the Blacks. Your dear, dear auntie, Bellatrix, and her in-laws, the Lestranges. Such a fine family, still, you can't be blamed for your mother's mistake in marrying so far below her station." She tisked again, "Marrying a filthy muggle, gutter trash, the lot." She smiled, "Go ahead dear. Draw your wand on a Professor. Do it, I'll have you expelled before the day is out. As it is, you've two week's detention with me for backtalking and disrespect to a professor, and fifty points." She raised her voice, "Pass up your essays on Muggle stupidity, and Miss Tonks, yours had best be the full two feet in length."
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Wednesday, September 27, 2000: (Gregorian)
Hogwarts, Headmistress' office: 08:44
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"So how do we find Miss Wayne through all of space and time?" Filius asked. "I confess, I am at a loss as to the method."
Alastair sighed, "Filius, I had such high hopes for you. I thought for certain this would be a snap for the clever house. Very well, one more clue. She's at Hogwarts."
"WHEN?" Severus thundered. "There is no way to go forward..."
"Severus, I've spoken to her, she passes on her best wishes, and that is really all the clues you'll get from me."
"You said 'spoken'," Lara said. "Past tense. She's in the past at Hogwarts."
"Jolly good!" Alastair said. "It only took you four weeks and three very broad hints from me. Disappointing, but you got the job done eventually, in your slow, plodding way. Speaking of which, how is your investigation, Miss Tonks?"
"I know Malfoy did it, I just can't prove she did it," Tonks said, banging her head on the chair back. Remus reached over and rubbed her hand.
"Perhaps you ought to dig for a bit more evidence," Alastair said. "I can't believe I have to lead you lot by the nose. Miss Wayne already has a solution and is making her preparations to return, and you are all sitting about like headless chickens! This is allegedly the finest wizarding school in Europe, when you can't solve a simple puzzle like this? Shame on you. Go on, meeting's over, hopefully your students will have the answers you lack."
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Friday, September 29, 2000: (Gregorian)
Gotham City, Hawking, Conner, & Schwartz office: 08:33
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Callista stepped out of the cab after Hermione, wondering what to do next. She started when a voice said, "You look a bit lost, Ms. Vector."
"Oh, Mrs. Grayson!" She smiled in relief, lowering her voice, "Lara and Harry sat me down to brief me, and I've been relying on Hermione. This isn't at all like London, I thought I was prepared, but..." she looked about, "I've heard stories, is this a safe neighborhood?"
"Until about seven tonight, or after dark, whichever comes first," Dick said. He grinned, "Don't worry, you're with us, Gotham is our town." He opened the doors to the lobby, "Ladies?"
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"Good morning, everyone. This session is recorded, this is the reading of the last will and testament of Mr. Bruce Wayne. Today is September 29, 2000, at nine am, and my name is Andrea Conner, of Hawking, Conner, and Schwartz. I will now open the sealed will." The older blonde took a letter opener, efficiently slitting the seal on the cardboard box.
"I, Bruce Wayne, of Wayne Manor, Gotham City, being of sound mind and body, do establish this as my Last Will and Testament." Mrs. Conner cleared her throat, "To my beloved wife, Selina Kyle Wayne, if she has not predeceased me, I name as my executrix, and leave my estate, excepting those items which I specify below. There is a separate, sealed letter I leave for her." Mrs. Conner found the letter, passing it down the conference room table to Selina.
"To my beloved son, Richard Grayson, I leave the Wayne Corporate tower, land therein, and all rights so attached. I leave with him 100,000 shares of Wayne stock, and five million dollars. There is a separate, sealed letter I leave for him."
"To my beloved daughter, Helena Martha Wayne..." Mrs. Conner looked about, "Is Miss Wayne present?"
"She is ill, and her physician did not want her to travel," Selina said.
"Hopefully it's nothing serious," Mrs. Conner said, "I have a sealed letter for her, will you accept it, Mrs. Wayne?"
"I will, Callista, do you mind delivering it?"
"Of course not," She took the letter as it was slid to her, Mrs. Conner continuing, "To my beloved daughter-in-law, Barbara Gordon Grayson, I leave the Gotham Clock tower, land therein, all rights so attached, the amount of five thousand shares of Wayne stock and one million dollars."
"To my good friend and private attorney, Sheila Hawking..."
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"You've a hundred thousand pounds and land in the heart of London, Hermione," Callista said. "Why were you so excited about that?"
"It's the building where my parents have their dental practice," she explained. "I'm their new landlady!"
"It's not like Bruce to hand out money like that," Lois asked. "How did you merit it?"
Hermione blushed, "Ah, I developed a potion that..."
"That fixed a marital problem Bruce and I had," Selina said. "Shall we grab lunch, and then go shopping?"
"Sounds good to me, but..." Hermione looked about.
"Don't worry, ladies, you're with us," Selina smiled. "Gotham is our town. I'm a bit depressed, I need a bit of retail therapy, I suggest we do it up right, a fabulous Italian meal and then we hit the shops!"
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Friday, September 30, 1379: (Julian)
Hogwarts, Modern Languages: 09:32
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"Now then, Miss Wayne, your translation of the seventh chapter of Book Three?"
Mattie stood, cleared her throat, and recited, "These things being achieved, while Caesar had every reason to suppose that Gaul was reduced to a state of tranquility, the Belgae being overcome, the Germans expelled, the Seduni among the Alps defeated, and when he had, therefore, in the beginning of winter, set out for Illyricum, as he wished to visit those nations, and acquire a knowledge of their countries, a sudden war sprang up in Gaul. The..."
"Very good, Miss Wayne. Your interpretation?"
"Caesar believed that after he had defeated the French and thrown out the Germans, his troops could relax in their winter quarters." She asked, "Sir, who are the Seduni, the Swiss?"
"No, they are a tribe in the upper Rhone valley." Professor Burkhart smiled indulgently, "How are things done, Miss Wayne? Isn't Latin the lingua franca of business?"
"Er, no, sir." Mattie paused, and the professor chuckled, he had grown used to these pauses. "Latin is only used by priests, for church services, and for spellcasting. English is the common tongue, or professional translators are hired for critical business meetings and legal documents." He made a small motion, and she continued, "A phrase might be misunderstood as insult by one party, but have a common meaning in the original language. A translator bypasses that problem."
"Bypasses?" he asked.
"Sorry, sir. A bypass is a road that diverts from a main road."
"Ah, thank you, Miss Wayne. Please be seated. Mr. Thompson, the next?"
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"All right, I can understand Latin. I mean, we cast spells in it. I'd hardly call it a 'Modern' language, though," Mattie groused, "There's that famous saying about Latin, and Greek?"
"Peas?" Anne asked, adding, "What saying?"
"Thank you," Mattie said, spooning some on to her plate. "Latin is a language, as dead as dead can be. It killed off all the Romans, and now it's killing me!"
Anne stifled her giggles, adding, "You're so mean..." She looked up, "Hullo. Aren't you..."
"Cassidy. Oh, lord, fresh food..."
"Please, join us," Augustus said. "We've plenty. Haven't you anything to eat?"
"Fresh versus replicated? There's no bloody contest. It keeps the body going, but not the soul, y'know?" She glanced at Mattie, "I was going stir-crazy, and I was hoping for a little company tonight."
"A bit lonely?" Melanie asked, and Cassidy nodded. "My family, well, they're a thousand years away, and Wayne over here is as close as I have to a friend. Talking to a textbook just isn't the same."
"Talking to a book?" Augustus asked, waving his hand. "I know, you cannot answer." He sighed, "Would that you could."
"Nothing we would like more," Cassidy said, and Mattie nodded fervently. "For us, it's the fear that what we say would affect those we know and love. If you were to return home from school, and find that your brothers and sisters no longer knew you, how would you feel?"
"But if we tell you, they would no longer know you," Mattie said softly. "Cassidy knows my future, and I would love to know it. But I can't ask her, and she doesn't dare tell me. I have two brothers, and I lost my father just before school started." Cassidy's head snapped around, her mouth opening and slamming closed. "Oh, my," she whispered. Mattie nodded, "She knows my future, my history, and I can't ask her, I don't dare."
"I never thought about your worries," Augustus admitted. "I was filled with my own concerns. You do not even know if you can return home, do you?"
"No, we don't," Cassidy admitted. "We've both worked out what we think is a good plan, but there is only so much we can do. We can build a machine to connect, to send us..."
"... to send us upstream, but we don't know if they can do it," Mattie said. "There's the further hop for Cassidy..."
"... three hundred ninety years farther on. If something goes wrong, then, 'poof', we disappear into eternity. History rewrites itself without us. We would never have existed. Pass the bread, please."
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Saturday, October 1, 1379: (Julian)
Hogwarts, Front lawn: 08:48
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"A bit more, that's it, then it's 'Lefty Loosey'..." Cassidy said.
"'Righty Tightie'," Mattie said, trying to shove the part into place. "I can't believe you're still using that phrase."
"Oldie but a..."
"... goodie?" Anne asked. "I came to see if you needed help."
"Sure, but no spells, please," Cassidy said from above. "Get down there with Mattie, shove up and then twist it right." With a final grunt, it went home, Cassidy calling, "Ten millimeter wrench, please."
Mattie passed it up, "I thought your brother was the one that worked on these things."
"Never said I didn't help him!"
"I still cannot believe I am on a starship," Anne said in wonder, Cassidy calling, "It's an antique pile of junk!" She dropped down from above, dressed in a jumpsuit, collar glowing on her neck. "You help us get these other two converters in place; I'll pay you off with six hundred sheets of parchment. That gives everyone at Hogwarts two sheets for letters to your kin. Deal?"
"A bit more than four, there are only one and fifteen here, but 'tis a deal." She shook hands, Cassidy muttering, "Sorry about the greasy hands."
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"So what (grunt) does a 'converter' do?" Anne asked.
"Take a step backward, please, you're out of alignment. It converts one form of energy to another."
Mattie said. "Like a waterwheel's mechanical energy being used by a sawmill. She looked at Anne, "You do know what that is, don't you?"
"Of course I do," she replied tartly. She froze, "A waterwheel can drive a ... saw, instead of a grindstone..."
"Welcome to the Industrial Revolution," Cassidy said with a chuckle, Mattie shaking her head, "You're confusing water and steam power, but look at her face, and we didn't tell her!" Cassidy looked down, "Anne does a waterwheel freeze in the winter?"
"What?" Anne shook herself, "No, of course..."
"Why?" Cassidy asked. "A true pity I can't take her back with me."
"That's the question you need to ask, Anne, 'Why?' Mattie said. "Can you imagine her at MIT?"
Anne shook herself, "What, pray tell, is an 'MIT'?"
"One of the finest universities in the world," Mattie said. "Only the best and brightest go there, you would do magnificently there, except..."
"Except that I am stuck in the 'Dark Ages'," Anne said with disgust.
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"Ah, Miss Wayne, I was hoping to see you," Headmistress Oldridge said. She cocked her head, asking "What is wrong, child?"
"Anne," Mattie said, carrying the sheaf of parchment. "She was helping us aboard earlier, and we started to talk." She shook her head as she walked, sighing, "Like a fool, I said she'd do well at MIT, which is a very prestigious university, one of the finest on the planet."
"And she will never see it," the Headmistress said, "Nor will I, more's the pity. What is the parchment for? It's a goodly amount."
"Six hundred sheets, we thought that everyone here could take a sheet or two and write a letter to their descendants. Since you don't know their names, you are not risking the timeline."
"I will distribute them. Can you tell me the name of that person that sent you back to us? I promise you I will not speak of the name," the Headmistress promised. Mattie looked at her, eye raised, then said, "I'll think on it."
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"Anne? Come on, I'll scrub your back," Mattie wheedled.
"Go away, Miss 'I'm so much better than you!'," Anne snapped.
"Anne, I'm truly sorry. If there was any way to take you, I would."
"A way for what?" Melanie Snape asked.
"Take Anne to the future," Mattie sighed, "Or even just to see it, but it's too risky."
"Risky!" Anne shrieked. "What do you know about risk?"
Mattie threw down her towel. "I know that every word I say, everything I do has to be weighed in terms of how many millions of people might die. Is that enough risk for you? How about this? I would dearly love to sit down with you and tell you everything! Every single war, every single invention over the next six hundred years! There's a girl on that ship from MY future, don't you think I know what you're going through? How I'd dearly love to know MY future? I know she'd like to tell me, but SHE WON'T! Just like I CAN'T ASK, because she might TELL ME!" She snatched up her towel, "I was trying to be nice, I was trying to apologize for hurting you, Anne, because I consider you a friend." She stalked off to the tub, adding over her shoulder, "I gave the Headmistress the parchment, by the way."
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"Mattie?" She ignored the voice, chin resting on her forearms, feet idly kicking in the warm water. "Mattie?" and she rolled over.
"Sorry, Melanie, I was thinking. Any brothers, by the way?"
"Three. You know of my relatives?" Mattie nodded, "I see his nose in yours."
"This ugly old thing?" she squawked. Mattie grinned, "No matter how much he tries, he can't get his hair clean, but don't tell him that."
"How would I tell him?"
"Anne didn't say?" Melanie shook her head, then dunked her black hair. "We gave the Headmistress six hundred sheets of parchment in payment for her labor. We thought you all could write your descendants a letter, there's enough for each to have one or two sheets. We hope to have our device ready no later than Easter, then we'll carry them through."
"But... 'tis a wonderful idea! Whom shall I write to?"
"I'm not comfortable with releasing names, perhaps you should just address it to 'My beak-nosed descendants,' and go from there," Mattie grinned.
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1 October, 1379
Dearest Father,
My apologies for not writing sooner. I am in receipt of yours of the fifteenth, and I am pleased with the harvest. Hopefully, we shall have enough to carry us through the winter.
I apologize for not mentioning this earlier, but I wasn't sure I ought. Please keep this in strictest confidence. The Lord has seen fit to visit us with two young ladies, both from the distant future! One is from the earliest years of the twenty-first century, the other from even further afield, the twenty-fourth!
They have been reluctant to disclose the future, and have given good and sufficient reason – that if they were to do so, they would kill many millions yet unborn, including their own kin. I cannot fault them this, I wonder if I might have the strength of character to do so in their place. Still, I confess to jealousy, and shall pray on this.
The one, a Miss Wayne, was apparently sent here by cowardly attack when she was ill prepared to repulse it. Whilst she has not said so, and indeed has been naught but gracious to me, it shames me to understand that the culprit is one of our future kinfolk, one Miss Lucille Malfoy.
My information comes from the Headmistress, who without Miss Wayne's knowledge, picked up a surface memory when she was newly arrived and still somewhat odd in the mind. As you know, it is a skill newly developed, and while I question the morals of reading another's thoughts, I will not gainsay the knowledge. The Headmistress confessed that she had considered long on informing me, in the end deciding only to release the identification of the villain. Sadly, with the description, it is indeed one of our Clan; Miss Lucille hath our characteristic nose and snow-white hair.
The reason for this missive is to inform you that, if all prove correct, and God is merciful, these two young ladies will journey back about Eastertime. They have offered to take letters to our future kinfolk, a most generous offer. I shall pen my own missive to Miss Lucille, and am inquiring if you wish to do the same. If so, please limit yourself to one sheet of parchment. They have asked us only to restrain ourself to two sheets per person. In the event you do write to Miss Lucille, I shall include mine with yours.
Once again, please keep this information in the strictest confidence!
Augustus Malfoy
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1 October, 1379
Greetings, Father and Mother!
I am well, and hope you are the same. I am enclosing a potion which should help to heal Grandfather's foot, one drop in pure water to be soaked for at least an hour each eventide. Please continue for a week past the wound healing, I know how Grandfather is!
I have most interesting news which must be held in the tightest confidence! We are guesting two young ladies from the future! One, whom apparently knows our distant kin, even joked of our chronic hair problems, saying her friend has the same problem!
Whilst they cannot inform us of the future, they did offer to transport letters to our kin. Most kind of them, she even suggested in jest I address it to 'my beak-nosed descendants'! I am allowed two sheets of fine parchment, but I cannot think of what to say! I have until Easter-time to pen this missive, so if you can think of something my poor excuse for a mind cannot, I shall be grateful.
Augustus Malfoy offered to deliver me home for the Christmas holiday, I of course insisted that he at least spend the night. Whilst his team is fast, the roads are not safe, and he has far to go to Wiltshire. I shall discuss this more, in confidence when I see you in six weeks.
Your loving daughter,
Melanie Snape
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