Chapter Eleven

Helen Magnus smiled as Hermione came into view at her front gate as expected, with her two Godsons, along with Newt and Tina Scamander each having a hand on her person for the side along apparation.

"Pretty!" Filius exclaimed, looking up at her home. "Isn't the castle pretty, Caelum?"

The younger of the two boys nodded, causing Hermione to chuckle as she kept hold of each of the children. "Come along you two," she ordered. "Hello Helen."

"Hermione, boys," Helen greeted. "Newt, Tina. Welcome, all of you."

Newt grinned. "I'm looking forward to the tour," he said. "James says your facility is nearly twice the size of his."

"He's been gushing for weeks, is what he means," Tina remarked with a wry grin.

"Which is precisely why we get on so well," Helen countered.

"And precisely why I introduced you," Hermione remarked.

"You never said who it was that you knew who suggested we meet, Hermione," Newt said, suddenly remembering that Hermione had told him it was at the request of a third party that she introduce the pair of them.

"Nobody you know, Newt," the Mage replied. "I had a chance meeting with Nikola Tesla some years ago, who Helen knows quite well. He knew you by reputation, although you've never met him, and while his work at present keeps him fairly isolated, he knew that I was likely to cross paths with both Helen and with you in due course, and suggested when that happened I make the introduction."

"Nikola Tesla, as in the inventor?" Tina inquired as the group moved forward and into the Sanctuary together.

"The very same," Helen replied. "Also, point of interest, my brother through Kinship. We met in college, at Oxford."

Conversation about Nikola halted as they made their way into the foyer, and she snapped her focus on the task of the day - a tour of her Sanctuary for Newt and Tina. She showed the couple around the various levels, outlining long term plans for the facility as technology advanced to allow for things, stepping in to assist Hermione with the boys as needed, not wanting them to get into trouble, especially once they entered the high security level.

Filius held tightly to her hand as he stared in wonder at the Fire Elemental, and Helen absently glanced back at Hermione, noting that Caelum had seemingly fallen asleep in her arms, his little head of curls lulling on her shoulder, eyes closed and while one arm swung limply at his side, the other was up around his Godmother's neck, fist tightly gripping Hermione's hair.

"Let's move back upstairs to my office now, shall we?" she suggested as they finished the tour in her lab. "My Dear Friend will likely have tea set out by now."

The group moved back toward the elevator, taking it up a few floors and then down a long hallway to where her office was, timing things quite perfectly, as her Dear Friend was just finishing with setting things up for tea. "Thank you," she said to him.

"Of course," her butler replied.

"Meamica," Hermione greeted, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to her Dear Friend's cheek. "How lovely to see you again."

"Meamica?" Newt inquired. "Is that your name, sir?"

He laughed heartily. "Hardly. It is not the custom to share our name to those outside our race. Doctor Magnus refers to me as Dear Friend. Most around here call me Biggie, or Big Guy. Lady Black, however, resorts to the Latin equivalent of my friend."

Newt nodded in understanding. "Mea amica. Not a name, but a descriptor, and therefore not a violation of your customs, even if it comes across as a name verbally. Hermione, you really do love loopholes, don't you?"

"Very much so," she said, offering a wide grin. "In my defense, I asked Meamica permission to address him as such before I started doing so."

"Which he gave," Helen said with an annoyed huff, "to her and only her."

"You're just sore I found a loophole before you did," Hermione teased.

"Mernte," Filius said suddenly, tugging at her shirt. "I have to use the loo."

The Mage turned to Helen. "Here, take Caelum for a minute, will you?"

As Caelum fell into her arms, Helen guiltily thought about her choice, so long ago, not to have a child when she'd fallen pregnant. There had been a time when the notion of having a child with John Druitt had been a lovely dream, but when it had become a reality waiting to happen, it was a nightmare she simply couldn't abide. Abortion had never been something she could stand for, but neither could she bring herself to go forward with the pregnancy. So, she'd done the only thing she could do; she and James had worked together to remove the fetus and put it into stasis.

She could of course resume the pregnancy at any point. There were moments when she felt the urge to. Feeling little Caelum Flitwick cuddled up in her arms reminded her that it was possible that she could have a son or daughter of her very own in her arms if she wanted to, and it was tempting at moments like this, but there remained this coiling sick feeling in her stomach at the thought of carrying a child that would be half her, and half the greatest mistake she'd ever made.

Could she honestly love the child of a cold blooded killer?

Helen knew that until such a time when she could answer that question with a firm yes, that she had no business whatsoever carrying John Druitt's child to term, because while logically she knew that their child was innocent of his or her father's crimes, emotionally speaking at this point she was still uncertain she could look at John's child and see past the fact that it was his child. Absently, she wondered how Hermione managed to love Filius and Caelum so completely, knowing they were one part the man she loved, and one part his dead wife's, who had for quite some time been one of the primary reasons they couldn't be a couple themselves. How did Hermione look at these boys and not resent that they were the sons of Genia Flitwick?

She was drawn back out of her thoughts as Hermione and Filius returned from the restroom, and conversation continued between the three adults. The boys, while not engaged in the conversation, seemed to relish in the time spent with Hermione, given it was Jeanette's day off, even if Filius was babbling on a bit about how he would have liked for Anna to have seen her Sanctuary.

"Perhaps Anna can come visit another time," Helen said kindly to the boy.

"And Aunt Jeanette?" he asked.

"Of course," she replied with an easy nod. "You are all welcome here anytime. It isn't as though it's difficult for your Godmother to transport the lot of you."

"Our Mernte," Caelum corrected her with a petulant look.

Having learned the Goblin tongue a few decades ago, she was well familiar with the meaning of the word, and raised an eyebrow at Hermione. "How long has that been going on?" she asked.

"A while," Hermione admitted softly. "It's gotten more and more adamant these last few months since Melok left, however, and I've about given up arguing with them on the matter. Not sure what Melok will say about it when he comes home, but…"

"Father can stuff it," Filius grouched, curling up against Hermione, "if he cares at all."

"Enough of that, Filius," the Mage chastised gently. "I've told you, your father would be here if he could, and will be home as soon as he's able. He misses you and your brother terribly."

"Does he miss you, too, Mernte?" Caelum inquired.

"Likely to his annoyance," Helen mused.

"That's not helpful," Hermione grumbled.

"It is, however, honest," Tina inputted. "It isn't as though it's a secret how close you two are, Hermione. You are raising two children together, after all."

"Quite," Newt agreed. "Doing a fine job with that, I'd say. The lads are lucky to have such dedicated parents."

"Lucky!" Caelum said excitedly. Then, the younger of the Flitwick boys frowned. "Hungry."

Helen laughed. "Well we can't have that, now can we?"

With that said, she picked up the phone on her side table and dialed a sequence that would put her in touch with her Dear Friend, and then softly instructed him to prepare a midday meal, before returning her attention to the group for a few more minutes before they would all head down to the dining room to eat.

"Ten minutes," Gorik stated in his usual monotone voice.

Melok looked up from his research. "Thank you," he responded, beginning to stack things up neatly.

He was in Germany now, and nearly finished here. He hoped to conclude his time at the German Library in the next day or two, after which he'd be off to the Italian one. Melok had been gone researching in the Goblin Libraries for three months now, and while he'd hoped to be home by now he was only half way through the circuit of places he'd planned to stop.

On the upside, as expected each location he'd visited had been met with a contingent of Goblin guards, so he'd never been in any sort of danger to speak of. When at the French Library there had been a day when a nest of Redcaps had breached containment and gotten up to the level the library was on, but his guards there had taken care of the issue and he hadn't needed to lift a finger.

About the worst that had happened to him was the first day he'd arrived here at the German Library and en route through the Catacombs he'd been stung by a Moroccan Cave Scorpion. That had just been shite luck, and he'd of course been treated right away. The German Goblins admitted that years ago they'd introduced the species to one part of the Catacombs as an obstacle and they'd bred out of control and now roamed freely throughout the cavernous system. They'd had to develop special wards to keep the Scorpions out of the bank vault levels.

Melok set aside his research neatly to continue the following day, and followed Gorik back out of the Catacombs and up to the main level of the bank. From there he exited to the German equivalent to Diagon Alley - Geschäft Zentrum - where he made the short walk to the hostel he was staying at for the time being, offer a nod of greeting to Hans, the proprietor, before making his way up the stairs to his room. Hans, as usual, had told a House Elf to bring him his supper directly as soon as he walked in the door, so a meal was waiting for Melok as he entered his room.

Silently, he ate the food, ringing the provided bell when he was finished to signal the House Elves that they could take the dishes away at their leisure. After that, Melok went into the bathroom and showered, getting the grime of the day off his skin, before returning to the room and sitting down at the small desk for a moment, resolving to write a letter home before calling it a night. He tried to do this about once a week, give or take, and while it had only been six days since his last letter back to London, if things went as planned he'd be caught up in the transition between Germany and Italy in a few days and likely would not have time to write in the next three or four days, so resolved it was best he write home now.

Melok dipped his quill into the inkwell and began to write.

Dear Hermione,

My latest research has indicated that Riddle has been to Germany in recent years, and that his time here was spent less in research like myself, and more in recruitment. We can firmly say at this point that he has been consolidating what remains of Grindelwald's forces, although from those I've spoken to, fiscally speaking many have turned him down because they simply cannot afford to be caught up in another war, win or lose. The cost of supporting Grindelwald cost many of the older, Pureblood, German families a great deal, both financially and in loss of life.

What little research Riddle did while he was in Germany had more to do with Wandlore than Dark Arts. I expect you'll have some idea what that's about, although I'm unsure what the tie in is about that. He did take some time, according to my sources, to visit with Gregorovitch, the wandmaker, while he was in the area. I'm uncertain if he had business with Gregorovitch specifically, or needed the insight of a wandmaker and knew Ollivander was already pledged to the Resistance, at least informally, via Elise and Marius' marriage.

I'll be moving on to Italy in the next few days, and you can expect my next letter to come from there. I still have a few more stops to make before coming back to London. It'll be another month, at least, before I'm home. I wish this was going faster, but I am turning up a great deal of good information that will be of use in the long haul. Yes, I'm staying out of trouble.

Tell Filius and Caelum that I miss them very much. I trust they are behaving for you, Sirius, and Jeanette.

I remain yours,

Melok

With a heavy sigh he blew on the parchment to dry the ink, then folded it up carefully and stuffed it into an envelope. He would not say he missed Hermione in a letter. He would not say he loved her, although Gods knew that both of those things were true. He knew that, and so did she, but putting that to quill and parchment served neither of them. Half the point of going away was to put a distance between himself and Hermione, and reminding her of his love was counterproductive to that end. Melok addressed the envelope to Hermione Black, Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, London, and then set it aside to drop off at the Owlery in Geschäft Zentrum on his way into the bank in the morning.

After that, he crawled into the bed, waved his hand to douse the light, and closed his eyes, sleep finding him nearly at once, and hating himself for dreaming of Hermione.

Minerva glanced at her watch as Orion slid into the booth at the diner they were meeting at in Muggle London. "You're late," she said softly.

"Sorry," he replied. "Walburga was… well, she's a bit of a mess. Normally I couldn't give a toss but this time it was my fault in a way and I sort of felt I owed it to her to try and be a supportive husband. Not that she was appreciating it in the least."

"What happened?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Miscarriage," Orion admitted with a heavy sigh. "Her third at this point. She was almost six weeks this time. She just can't seem to hold a pregnancy very long. She hasn't been able to hold one past two months."

Minerva drew in a sharp breath. "Orion, if you and Walburga are actively trying to start a family, then perhaps… perhaps it's time we stop seeing one another. If you two have children, your priority should be with them. When it was just Walburga versus myself, that's one thing, but stepping out on a whole family is an entirely different animal."

He laughed. "Oh, don't say that, Min. Being with you is what keeps me sane! Walburga only lets me touch her now and then, when she's actively trying to get pregnant, and I guarantee once we produce a healthy heir she won't likely let me touch her ever again. For the moment while she's recovering from the miscarriage, unless I want my bollocks severed off, I'm not to go near her in any case. What's the harm in having a mistress when my wife doesn't want anything to do with me most of the time?"

Minerva was torn. On one hand, she could see Orion's point of view, and selfishly she was loath to give up her lover, but guilt tore into her nonetheless. It was a rare thing for her to feel sympathy for Walburga Black, but no woman should have to go through the loss of a baby, much less repeatedly like that, and she couldn't help but feel pity for Walburga as she faced such grief without a husband supporting her through it. Orion clearly wasn't there for her the way he ought to be, his priority being with herself. That thought made her feel guilty about the affair in totality, which was a sensation she hadn't felt since the beginning of the thing. The fact that she was still struggling with the issue of sexual diversity between Orion and Hermione didn't help matters in the slightest.

"Who else knows you're trying for a baby?" she asked.

"Walburga's parents know," he replied. "I've mentioned it to Aunt Cor. By the by, Aunt Cor agrees with me that having a baby with Walburga shouldn't impact our relationship."

"I'm still boggled that your aunt knows about us and supports it," Minerva admitted. "She's a bloody Slytherin. There has to be more to the story than she's letting on. There has to be more to her reasons for supporting it than just her fancying the idea of us as a couple."

"As I've said," Orion smirked, "it could simply be an interest for my happiness, Minerva. Aunt Cor is basically my Mum. She's the only mother I've ever known. Hell, Lucretia even calls her Mum sometimes."

"You don't, though?" came the obvious question.

He shrugged. "A part of me always figured at some point Father would remarry, and it would be expected of me to address his new wife as Mum or Mother. I didn't want to get used to addressing Aunt Cor as such and then have his new wife feel insulted by it. Granted, at this point it seems unlikely he'll ever remarry, but I suppose it could still happen, especially now that Aunt Hermione and my Grandfather have opened the door to more unconventional marriages. Father could marry whoever he liked."

Minerva looked thoughtful. "So, would your children call Lycoris Aunt Cor, or Gran?"

Orion sat back in his seat. "Bugger, that is a question. I'd have to think about that. I imagine Walburga would say it was proper for them to address her as Aunt Lycoris, but the twins, Molly, and Bilius do call her Gran, so it would make sense for me to follow suit. In fact, it would seem odd if I didn't."

"If you tell Walburga that Lucretia set precedence," the Scottish Witch reasoned, "then she may be swayed on the subject. Granted, this is all speculative. She's clearly struggling to get pregnant. She may not be able to have children at all. Have you both been checked over at Mungo's for fertility?"

He nodded. "Yes. I'm perfectly fertile, although they did tell us that Walburga might struggle to conceive. She's on the same Potions regiment as Dorea. The Healers say it will work, although it may take some time."

"I'd heard the Potters were struggling to produce an heir," Minerva admitted.

"Years of Pureblood inbreeding," her lover said with a sigh. "That's just how things go sometimes, unfortunately. That said, shall we order? I'm starved."

With a soft smile, Minerva nodded, pushing her concerns about all of it into the back of her mind. The idea of alcohol making her queasy for some odd reason, she asked for a glass of water instead when the waiter inquired what she wanted to drink, and when it came time to order food, she decided that the pasta sounded absolutely divine.

Chelsey Keating wasn't Head of Ravenclaw for nothing. He was intelligent, observant, and more than able to see the forest through the trees, even when the forest happened to be a time traveling Witch, and the trees happened to be a well liked wife of a Pureblood Lord. Honestly, he thought ruefully, how had Hermione Black thought for a minute he wouldn't see through her? The clues were all there, plain as day, if one cared to look for them. Mostly, it was in how she carried herself, and what she looked at and how she looked at it. It was the little things, like staring at a space on the Hogwarts grounds as if to her memory, something belonged there, when at present it was nothing but empty space, or taking special interest in a person who was decidedly uninteresting, as if she somehow knew that one day they would be quite special.

He was a patient man. A bull-headed Gryffindor or an impatient Slytherin might have confronted Lady Black by now, eager to confirm his suspicions. He was content to wait, however. At some point, their paths would cross in a more concrete manner and there would be a time and place more appropriate for serious conversations. Trust had to be earned, after all, and at this juncture all Chelsey felt he had with Hermione Black was an amicable relationship in the few encounters they'd had. That was a basis to build trust, but it wasn't trust itself.

Chelsey had also sorted out that either she was close to the Head of the Resistance, or she was the Head of the Resistance. She knew far too much about the movements of the Death Eaters and their leader for one of those two things not to be true, and honestly he was inclined to believe the latter. If she truly was a time traveler and knew what was to come, it made perfect sense that she'd lead an offensive against an enemy who, in her time, was an issue of the past. She'd be the best qualified and anyone following her would know that. The only way that could be incorrect would be if she wasn't the only time traveler.

He suspected that her husband might also be one. While possible that Sirius Black the second had truly undergone such a drastic change of heart as to have gone from a Pureblood bigot known for dabbling deep into the Dark Arts, to an equal rights activist married to a Muggleborn, it was unlikely. It was, however, feasible for a time traveler to have used advanced Transfiguration to appear in the likeness of that same man and take his place. For that to truly have worked, however, the time traveler in question would have to have been born a Black in all honesty, but to be frank that family was quite large and so it was distinctly possible that someone of the bloodline was still living in the future, however far ahead they'd come from.

They'd still have needed some help getting established, however, Chelsey mused. The last several years of watching Hermione Black had led him to suspect Aberforth Dumbledore, Cedrella Weasley, and the Goblin called Melok of being in the proverbial loop. He thought there might be a few others, but those were the three he was almost certain of, aside from her husband. Fellow time traveler or not, he was fairly certain that Sirius Black was in the know about his wife's past, or rather, her future.

"Keating," a voice said beside him, taking a seat in the chair to his left.

He turned his attention to the woman who'd just sat beside him in the Hog's Head. "Madam Filch," he greeted. "What brings you by the Hog's Head?"

"Oh, just finished at the bookshop," she said, pointing to a package on the table in front of her. "Thought I'd pop in and get a drink before walking back up to the castle. Less chance of being accosted by students here than in the Broomsticks. That said, did you hear that Rosmerta and her husband just took over there? Vera and Primus finally retired."

"Rosmerta married one of my Ravens, didn't she?" Chelsey asked. "Edward Dobbs, I believe."

"Yes, she did," Agatha reported. "Of course, Rosmerta was nearly a Ravenclaw herself. That Weasley blood won out, though, and the poor girl went with Gryffindor like her father and his family. The Corners were Ravenclaws though, so she could have gone either way. We'll see which way Rosmerta and Edward's children end up going."

He chuckled. "If memory serves, Vera's mother, Alisa, was born a Smith. Our luck Edward and Rosmerta's children will end up in Hufflepuff."

"Or," Aberforth said, setting down their drinks and sitting with them, "they'll end up in Slytherin and you'll all be fucked."

"Nosy bastard," Agatha teased. "I trust you're making Rosie feel welcome."

The barkeep scoffed. "Hardly need to. Rosmerta more or less grew up at the Broomsticks. She knows the shopkeepers in Hogsmeade just as well as I do, and she has the advantage of the fact that half of them are sweet on her. Did you know that Dagworth's gives her ten percent off Potions just because it's her? Of all the…"

"Dagworth's is run by Jeremy Corner," Chelsey said with an amused look in his eye, "who is Rosmerta's first cousin. He's not giving her a discount because he likes her tits. He's giving her a discount because she's family."

Aberforth groaned. "Merlin, I need to keep up with my Wizarding genealogy better. How do you do it?"

"I have no life," he admitted readily.

"He really doesn't," Agatha confirmed. "When not in class, he's in the Library, his office, or occasionally, here all alone, usually thinking about something he's been studying. Speaking of, what was it that you were pondering on today, Keating?"

He offered a sly look at Aberforth. "Quantum theory."

To the barkeep's credit, his expression gave nothing away. Bloody Slytherins. "Fairly useless subject."

"Typically, yes, but one I've not made time to study thus far in my life, and I figured there was no time like the present," Chelsey mused. "You never know when any sort of information will come in handy, and the calculations for Quantum theory are actually quite challenging, which I enjoy. Even upper level Arithmancy doesn't get quite that heady. Speaking of Arithmancy, did I hear correctly that young Miss Lestrange resurfaced recently?"

"Svetlana Lestrange?" Agatha asked, raising an eyebrow.

Aberforth nodded. "Had a falling out with her family. I arranged for her to be taken in by a friend and Arithmancy Master, allowing her to actually pursue a mastery of her own finally. Merlin knows she's got the talent for it."

"Anyone we know?" Chelsey inquired.

"Do I look like I know everyone you've ever crossed paths with, Keating?" the cantankerous man snapped. "Besides, her life is worth more to me than to disclose that information lightly."

"Slytherins," the Latin teacher grumbled. "Honestly, Aberforth, must you be so…"

"So Slytherin?" he grumbled. "Lay off, Aggie. I'll not compromise Lana's safety. End of story."

Chelsey leaned back in his chair, eyes darting between Filch and Dumbledore, new understanding forming. He'd heard rumors that they'd been close once upon a time, but evidently there was more to that story than he'd heard, and now he was officially intrigued. Of course, curiosity killed the cat. That was a well known fact.

Luckily for him, he wasn't a cat. He was a fox.

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