Chapter 5: The Hag

As hag abodes went, Emily had seen far worse. There was a faint scent of cinnamon in the air-as if the hag had been brewing something that wasn't just a disgusting potion. In fact, the whole place seemed remarkably un-haglike. There were scattered books and diagrams everywhere: even some muggle tools, like clocks and even an old machine gun. Dangling from the ceiling were the tell-tale hag charms though, twinkling and glittering with hag magic, which doubled as a powerful shield against unwanted intruders. This hag was either a nostalgic nut, or there was more to it than met the eye.

While they looked like kindly old witches, hags were anything but. Theirs was a foul breed of raven, witch, and griffins. Devised by a dark wizard several thousand years back, hags had long since found the ability to reproduce using their obtuse magic and potions. They could induce pregnancy on themselves, and the child would fester in their wombs for decades until their deaths, where they would then hatch from the belly, like a chicken's egg. As a fully formed hag, the child would then continue where her mother had left off.

They had little in the way of social skills, but frequently traded with their magical betters, as their magic was limited and diffused through centuries of potion-breeding. Which wasn't to say they weren't dangerous-their destructive magic could level an entire block if sufficiently angered enough. Their poisons were equally harmful: if infected, one would become a brain-dead follower of the hag. They were a plague and danger to society, tolerated only for their ability to brew things that wizards and witches would otherwise find impossible to do.

Not that the Ministry hadn't tried purging them. They had-sometimes employing Lord Voldemort himself against several covens. But for every felled one, another took its place. And besides, no one had ever done a full accounting of the beasts. As they loved living in swamps and otherwise dreary, mal-populated areas, the eventual conclusion resolved to be that it was impossible to fully wipe them out. And so, hag and human co-existed, sometimes uneasily, sometimes in outright warfare.

Emily hated the things. They gave witches everywhere a bad name. They were the ones that caused the witch burnings. They were the ones that birthed the Statute of Secrecy, and in the end, the Master himself. If time travel were possible, she'd kill the first one and end the infernal cycle before it could ever start. As for this hag…

The abode seemed empty. Ron pulled back some coverings on a table, and they both saw potion preparations scattered about. Emily walked over and picked over them. She'd been one of Slughorn's favorites her seven years at Hogwarts. She could brew a mean potion with the rest of them, and would've been a master potioneer, had all the good available apprenticeships not been sealed behind a thick Ministry wall, where her name did her negative favours.

"What'd you reckon she was brewing?" Ron asked. Unlike her, he didn't share her enthusiasm for the mystic arts.

She thumbed over the ingredients closer, stretching out the marks on some of the bottles. "Lacewing flies," she said, pushing the bottle away. Picking up a discarded leech corpse, she added, "Leeches." She sniffed at another bit of dust. "It can't be… bicorn horn? And this… boomslang skin."

"What does it mean?" Ron asked.

"She was brewing-"

"None of your business," a sharp, nasally voice said behind them.

They turned around sharply, and saw themselves staring face-to-face with the hag in question. She looked like a standard hag, well enough: small, greyish eyes, dragged and stretched skin, back bent over backwards, feathers protruding from her pores, and long, dagger like claws. Her teeth were like knives by themselves, her tongue licking through them. To their credit, they didn't immediately draw their wands and start casting-though Emily could personally feel the itch.

"I don't like folks rummaging through my things," the hag said.

"Where the hell did you come from?" Ron asked.

"Upstairs. Even us hags need rest, from time."

"You're well-spoken for one," Emily said.

"Bah! What do you humans know of hags?"

"Quite a bit, actually. But I don't personally care all that much. You know why we're here?"

The hag snorted. "You want something. They all do. That's all you purebloods ever want. This knick, that knack."

"I'm not a pureblood," Emily said. "Well, he is. But he can't help it."

The hag snorted again. "So, what'll it be? Need something to help getting it up at night, boy? Something to cure the boils, girl?"

Emily crossed her arms, trying to not to seem too put off by the loud-mouthed hag. "You seem to be doing well for yourself."

"I get by."

"You know who owns this part of town?"

"Some Ministry knob," the hag said, waving her arm.

"Griphook. Y'know? The Goblin whose enforcer you burnt to a crisp."

The hag stood up straight. Well, that was weird. Hag spines made it physically impossible to stand up straight. Ever. Emily uncrossed her arms. With a glance to Ron, she saw him get in a comfortable battle position. Great.

"I won't be extorted, not by a Goblin, not by you," the hag said.

Emily raised a cautious hand up, looking at the hag charms dangling from the ceiling. With a simple finite, she'd disable the home field advantage. "We're not here to extort you."

"You're not?" the hag said.

"We're not?" Ron said.

"Look!" Emily said. "You're running a very successful potion business. All Griphook wants is in."

"I'm just a simple hag, minding her business."

"I've never seen a hag brew Polyjuice before," Emily said.

It was, apparently, the wrong thing to say. The hag, already unnaturally standing up straight, leaped backwards and knocked over a table. Emily took the brief respite to cast the finite on the charms and found something strange in them as she did. They had no magic. They were just there for show. Ron, with his wand already out, set about casting a defensive shield, clearly ready for a fireball. The hag instead curved herself over the table, wand in hand, and launched a cutting curse.

Ron barely side-stepped the curse before it slashed straight through his shield. "A wand!" he said.

"I know! Ask questions later!'

Trying to block out of her mind how hags just simply, literally, could not ever never use wands, Emily instead cast a reducto at the table. Splinters went up everywhere, but the hag (was it even a hag?) had already jumped over it, and launched a colourful variety of stunners, hexes, and some minor curses. She was fighting like a witch.

Emily dispelled some of the oncoming fire, redirected a few others, and dodged the rest. Ron, having regained his footing, transfigured a nearby cauldron into a cannonball and launched it towards the hag. The hag simply fell forward, the ball barely missing her, before continuing straight towards Ron. Ron destroyed just in time, but before he could cast again, the hag had already fired a red stunner at him. Emily just barely deflected it with a hasty shield over her own.

And the hag had already refocused on her. It cast some spell, missing Emily entirely, aiming instead directly above her head. She was about to cast a powerful banisher when warm, black liquid splashed her head. Oil, she realized in a panic as the hag fired a simple flame charm at her.

Fire leapt all over her, covering her entire body. At least she was unharmed-casting the flame-freezing charm just in time. It wasn't powerful enough against cursed fire, but thankfully, it was just the normal variety. Extracting the fire and oil into a malice-shaped orb was easy enough-and with her vision clear, she could see Ron and the hag continue a spellfire duel.

Emily launched the fireball just as Ron cast a piercing shadow. Between burning and having her skin flayed, it looked as if the hag preferred the flames, as the shadow was quickly dealt with and the fireball collapsed onto the hag. It screeched, in a very human-like voice. Emily launched quick Expelliarmus, and seeing the wand fly towards her, caught it in a triumphant sweep. Ron meanwhile removed the flames with a casual flick. Before the hag could do anymore damage, Emily cast Incarcerous and chains sprung out from the ether and latched themselves all over the hag.

"Bloody hell," Ron said, panting. "One mean hag."

Emily wiped the sweat from her brow. "Revelio," Emily cast, twisting her wand as she did.

The hag started changing immediately, the glamour vanishing with a powerful glow of magic. The wisps of rooty hair disappeared, replaced instead with a mangy bush, kept tidy by a ponytail. The feathers, the drawn skin, the teeth, the fingers: all of it went away. Instead, the hag became very human-like, very quickly. Even the clothes-nothing more than rags, were replaced with what one might consider muggle wear-pants and a white shirt. The woman-probably not much older than herself-huffed an angry blast of hot air, shifting the rogue strands of hair away from her.

"Fucking hell," Ron said.

Emily knelt down to face-level with the woman. "I'm going to ask you one question: why?"

"I don't have to tell you anything," the woman spat.

"Ron, you ever see a witch wanting to pass as a hag?"

"Master as my witness, never."

"Colour us surprised then, when we see a witch pretending to be a hag, then," Emily said, finishing for him. "Look at where you are. How you got there." Emily pointed the witch's own wand at her. "Explain. Quickly."

The witch huffed once more, but this time, looked somber, staring down at the ground. "Trying to keep a low profile."

"As a hag?"

"Better than this face."

"It's not a bad face," Ron said. Emily shot him a death glare. "Right."

"You're a criminal then."

"You could say that," the hag-turned-witch said.

"Wait…" Ron said. "I know you! Yeah, yeah, your face! You're on some wanted posters, for theft and Master knows what else."

Emily hadn't seen the same posters. "What's her name?"

"Hermyown something or other," he said.

"It's Hermione," the witch clarified.

"Well Hermione something or other, I'm afraid I got bad news for you," Emily said. She turned to Ron. "We'll get the gold for Griphook, and then we'll take her to the Ministry for the bounty." Ron nodded.

"Wait!" Hermione said. "You can't."

"Are you seriously telling what two well-armed people, one of whom disarmed your wand, mind you, what they can and can't do."

"They'll kill me."

"Not our problem."

Hermione bit her lip as Emily readied her wand to cast a bevy of charms: full body bind, stunner, and muffliato, in that order. "I'm a Mudblood," Hermione said before the first spell could shoot out.

"You're a what?" Emily said.

"A Mudblood."

She looked at the wand in her hand. There was a pause, a hesitation.

"Impossible," Ron said. "No way a Mudblood survives long enough to learn magic, much less survive directly under the nose of the Ministry."

"Why?" Hermione said. "Why would I lie about that? Even telling you is a death sentence."

Mudbloods, or those with magical talent but not born from magical blood, were highly illegal. The theory went, magic had to come from somewhere. Halfbloods-those who had either at most one direct magical parent, or a magical great-grandparent at worst, got it from their blood. Purebloods the same: they just got it from both their parents. Mudbloods however, were supposed to be an aberration of nature. When a Mudblood was found, the father was killed, the mother sent to the breeding pens, and the child burnt alive on the Ministry steps. It wasn't something you bragged openly about.

But… Emily knew it was possible to hide blood status, and magical power from the Ministry's watchful gaze. Her own mother was testament to that.

"How?" Emily asked.

"The Ministry doesn't kill all Mudbloods that are born. Some are… experimented on."

"You got away, then. Turned to a life of crime to survive? Makes sense." Hermione's lack of response confirmed what she suspected. "Polyjuice, huh? That's a smart brew. Who taught you?"

"Myself."

Emily was inclined to believe her. Pulling off a full-time glamour and lie about being a hag wasn't easy.

"Em-" Ron said.

"We're not turning her into the Ministry to be killed!" Emily said.

"You're not?" Hermione asked, as if not believing it herself.

Ron nodded, an understanding glimmering in his eyes. "I know. But we've still a job to do."

Emily pinched the bridge of her nose. "Listen, Hermione, I don't want to hurt you. To be fair, you did cast some pretty nasty spells at us. In normal circumstances, you'd be feet first into a Ministry cell. But…"

"You knew someone who was a Mudblood," Hermione said. Emily didn't respond. "I didn't choose to be born this way. Magic is such a blighted curse."

"I know," Emily said. "Look, we still got Griphook to deal with. Just give us whatever Galleons you have, plus your word that you'll brew him some potions from time to time."

"I don't have any Galleons left," Hermione said. When she saw Emily and Ron's disbelieving glare, she followed it up. "Look, Polyjuice ingredients aren't cheap. I had to spend almost everything I had to make a brew."

"What are you planning on using it for?" Ron asked.

"She's going to steal something, obviously," Emily said.

As potions went, there were few more useful than Polyjuice. Unlike transfiguration or glamours, they couldn't be dispelled by anything. For an hour-you became the person you were trying to copy: voice, walk, even a bit of their personality. The possibilities were endless: you could become Minister Malfoy if you had one of his golden locks. Or even the Master himself. It was the perfect crime. Become the right person, and all of a sudden, all the doors opened up for you. Hermione's glare confirmed what she had suspected.

"We could give Griphook the Polyjuice, should be sufficient," Ron said. Polyjuice was extremely expensive and worth far more than what Hermione the hag owed him.

"I'm not-"

Emily cast a privacy charm and looked directly at Ron, who looked back at her, when he noticed Hermione's voice suddenly silenced. "We could do that."

"We should, Em. I don't want to get on a Goblin's bad side."

"Or," Emily said, continuing, ignoring his warning, "we could use the Polyjuice."

"To steal something ourselves?" She nodded. "Are you mad?"

"It's the big break we've always wanted Ron. You know how hard Polyjuice is to brew, to even get the ingredients for? In Hogwarts, only person who had access to it was Snape, and even he couldn't access it without direct written approval from the Minister himself."

"I know… but what would we even steal?"

They both looked back at Hermione, then back at each other. "Seems like she had a plan," Emily said. "We team up with her, she can pay the hag's debt, then we go our separate ways."

"Team up with her? You are mad! Cavorting with Mudbloods is the death sentence." Ron immediately bit his lips. "Sorry. Didn't mean it like that."

Emily took a deep breath. "It's alright. So, are you in?"

Ron scoffed, then nodded. "Lord knows you'll go ahead and do it anyways. Might as well join in, keep you from doing anything too stupid. Potter, you're one day going to be the death of me." She smiled.

Uncasting the privacy charm, Hermione continued mid-sentence, "-and even if you did give Griphook Polyjuice, what would he use it for?"

"He's not going to use the Polyjuice," Emily said.

"He's a Goblin, it won't-oh," Hermione said. "If not him, then who?"

Emily dispelled the chains, then handed Hermione her wand back, handle-first. If there a time to stun or kill her, it'd be now. Instead, Hermione took the wand in rapt silence-clearly stunned herself.

"We are."