MOP

Harry Potter and the Myriad of Possibilities: Neophytes

Chapter 7: The Sorting

Disclaimer: This is solely a not-for-profit fan activity and does not intend to infringe on copyrights held by Time Warner, DC Comics, Bloomsbury et al, and JK Rowling. Any characters that are original to this work remain the property of the author.

A/N: The Myriad of Possibilities Series primarily uses the background from the Harry Potter books but some elements and scenes have been borrowed from other sources – including the movies, Pottermore and my own headcanon – that will be covered where they fit into the narrative. The timeline of the DC Comics elements borrows heavily from Young Justice (2011) and may adapt elements and characters from the comics and several additional other media instalments – including but not limited to Smallville (2001) and Superman and Lois (2021) – and relocates events of Young Justice to the Eighties and early Nineties rather than the New Tens and Twenties as screened and includes several 'legacy' and original characters as a result. Any other recognisable characters belong to their copyright holders.

A/N: There are two 'timeline mistakes' in this chapter, these are intentional and part of this AU.

A/N: The previous chapter has been modified.

A/N: Thanks to Jon and 6f5e4d for their help on this chapter.

Lochaber.
September 5, 20:30 BST.

Hermione joined the crowd as they surged out of the entrance hall and into what appeared to be a large dining hall. It was a strange and splendid place, even compared to the highlights of Diagon Alley. The room was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in mid-air over tables laid with glittering golden plates and goblets.

Professor McGonagall led the first years up to the teacher's dais, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them.

The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. When she saw Hank glance at the ceiling – which was an inky black and studded with stars – Hermione whispered. "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History."

He nodded, then turned his attention to Professor McGonagall as she silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool, she put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. Her mother would have thrown a fit if she'd seen it.

For a few seconds, there was complete silence as the crowd stared at the hat. Then it twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth - and the hat began to sing:

"Welcome all to Hogwarts School.

Where work and fun are both the rule...

A thousand years and more ago

Four Wizards did this place make known

A place of learning of many kinds

A House for each, of different mind:

The daring Gryffindors, whose

Bravery you may well choose.

The clever Ravenclaws, where

Wit and learning is the fare.

Kind Hufflepuff of forest soil

May bring fun, but also toil.

The sly Slytherins, you may to depend

Use any means to their own end.

Now put me on,

I'm never wrong,

For I'm the Sorting Hat!"

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

"We've just got to try on a hat!" The Weasley boy whispered from behind her. "I'll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll."

Hermione glanced back at Hank who was smiling weakly. She agreed that trying on the hat was a lot better than having to do a spell — although she had been looking forward to trying — but she wasn't sure about trying it on without everyone watching.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment. "When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be Sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. After a moment, the Hat declared. "Hufflepuff!"

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down as the ghost of a rotund priest — presumably the 'Fat Friar' that Hogwarts, A History talked about — waved merrily at her.

"Bones, Susan!"

"Hufflepuff!" shouted the hat again and the girl scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.

"Boot, Terry!"

"Ravenclaw!" The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry Boot as he joined them.

Mandy Brocklehurst followed Terry Boot into Ravenclaw to a similar reception, but Lavender Brown became the first new Gryffindor and the table on the far left exploded with cheers. A pair of twins who Hermione guessed were probably also Weasleys catcalled until she was settled and the next Sorting began which named Millicent Bulstrode – a stocky, squared-jawed girl about six inches taller than her – became the first Slytherin of the year, and Justin Finch-Fletchley joined Hannah Abbot and Susan in Hufflepuff a moment later.

The first sign that the process wasn't a smooth one came with sandy-haired Seamus Finnegan who had to sit on the stool in front for the crowd for almost a minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor.

Then it was her turn.

She ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head.

(Hmm,) said a voice in her ear.

It took a second to realize it was the Sorting Hat.

(What an exceptionally bright young lady… you're a shoo-in for Ravenclaw and will do well… but…)

Hermione's heart sank. Not Ravenclaw… Please! I be better off in Gryffindor!

The hat made an agreeing sound and then fell into silence. Hermione waited as the minutes ticked by until it spoke up again. (You're right,) admitted the hat. (You're intelligent, but you want knowledge for the fame, not for its own sake. That's brave for a Muggleborn… so, I will sort you into…) It paused for a moment for effect, then declared. "GRYFFINDOR!"

Hermione hopped down off the stool and headed it off to a blond boy, before heading towards the Gryffindor table and slipped onto the bench next to Lavender Brown.

20:50 BST

As the last first year — Blaise Zabini — made his way to the Slytherin Table, Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and then picked up the Sorting Hat took it out of sight.

Albus Dumbledore got to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there. "Welcome," he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"

He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. Hermione heard Hank ask the tall, black girl next to him whether the headmaster was a bit mad, which struck her as somewhat disrespectful, she was about to speak up to tell him off when the older girl replied that Dumbledore was a genius, the best wizard in the world, but to Hermione's surprise and dismay agreed with him that Dumbledore was a bit mad, then she offered him potatoes as if she hadn't said anything unusual.

After starting a little at the 'potatoes' comment, Isn't the table empty? Hermione turned her glaze to the table and to her surprise found that it wasn't.

The dishes in front of her were now piled with food. He had never seen so many things he liked to eat on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs.

Hermione helped herself to an appropriate selection and began to eat. A moment later, her attention was draw to a conversation between Hank, Ron Weasley and one of the ghosts.

"I know who you are!" said Ron suddenly. "My brothers told me about you… you're Nearly Headless Nick!"

Nearly headless, thought Hermione. How can you be nearly headless? She was trying to remember whether Hogwarts, A History had said anything about the ghost when Seamus Finnegan echoed her own question.

Hermione glanced over and in her opinion Sir Nicholas looked extremely miffed, as if their little chat wasn't going at all the way he wanted. "Like this," he said irritably. He seized his left ear and pulled. His whole head swung off his neck and fell onto his shoulder as if it was on a hinge. Someone had obviously tried to behead him, but not done it properly.

Hermione grimaced in disgust. A feeling not improved by the pleased expression on Sir Nicholas' face when it returned to his neck. The ghost coughed and continued speaking. "So… new Gryffindors! I hope you're going to help us win the house championship this year? Gryffindors have never gone so long without winning. Slytherins have got the cup six years in a row! The Bloody Baron's becoming almost unbearable… he's the Slytherin ghost."

Hermione followed Hank's gaze over at the Slytherin table and saw a horrible ghost sitting there, with blank staring eyes, a gaunt face, and robes stained with silver blood. He was right next to Malfoy who didn't look too pleased with the seating arrangements.

"How did he get covered in blood?" asked Seamus with great interest.

"I've never asked," said Nearly Headless Nick delicately.

The talk died down for a while after that as the students applied themselves to their meals but picked up again over desert. "I'm half-and-half," announced Seamus. "Me Da's a Muggle… Mam's a witch… didn't tell him she was a witch 'til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock for him when he found out."

The others laughed. Hermione didn't think it was that funny.

"What about you, Neville?" asked Seamus.

"Well, my gran brought me up and she's a witch," said Neville. "But the family thought I was a Squib for ages. Great Uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me… he pushed me off the end of one of the piers in Blackpool once, I nearly drowned… but nothing happened until I was eight. Great Uncle Algie came round for dinner, and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when Great Auntie Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go. But I bounced all the way down the garden and into the road. All the family were really pleased, Gran was crying, she was so happy. And you should have seen their faces when I got in here… they thought I might not be magic enough to come, you see. Great Uncle Algie was so pleased he bought me my toad."

Hermione turned to the black girl and – after establishing that her name was Angelina, that she was one of the third-year Prefects and that she was one of the Gryffindor Quidditch team – commented that she was anxious to get started due to how much there was to learn, particularly in Transfiguration which she thought might be her favourite subject.

Angelina told her that they'd be starting small initially and gave her a few helpful hints of what to look at for extra reading, then returned to her dessert.

At last, the desserts too disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again.

The hall fell silent.

"Ahem… just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well. I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. Finally, I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to our ranks this year: First, Professor Bhaala Singh of the Jaadoo Ka Sarasvatee Skool has agreed to fill the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."

There was some scattered, rather unenthusiastic applause, that quickly faded.

"As to our second new appointment," Dumbledore continued. " I am sorry to tell you that Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, retired at the end of last year in order to enjoy more time with his remaining limbs. However, I am delighted to say that his place will be filled by Professor Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank."

The elderly woman was greeted with a similar level of enthusiasm as her peer, and the students' attention quickly returned to the headmaster that it was time that they heading off to bed.

The Gryffindor first years followed Angelina and her male counterpart — a stocky, brown-haired boy called Kenneth Towler — through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and up the marble staircase. Hermione was tired enough that although she noticed that the people in the portraits along the corridors whispered and pointed as they passed, or that twice the prefects led them through doorways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries.

They climbed more staircases, yawning and dragging their feet, and Hank was just wondering how much farther they had to go when they came to a sudden halt.

A bundle of walking sticks was floating in mid-air ahead of them, and as Angelina Johnson took a step toward them, they started throwing themselves at her. "Peeves," Angelina Johnson whispered to the first years. "A poltergeist." She raised her voice, "Peeves… show yourself!" A loud, rude sound, like the air being let out of a balloon, answered. "Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?"

There was a pop, and a little man with wicked, dark eyes and a wide mouth appeared, floating cross-legged in the air, clutching the walking sticks.

"Ooooooh!" he said, with an evil cackle. "Ickle Firsties! What fun!" He swooped suddenly at them. They all ducked.

"Go away, Peeves, or the Baron will hear about this, I mean it!" barked Angelina Johnson.

Peeves stuck out his tongue and vanished, dropping the walking sticks on Neville Longbottom's head. They heard him zooming away, rattling coats of armour as he passed.

"You want to watch out for Peeves," said Angelina Johnson, as they set off again. "The Bloody Baron's the only one who can control him… well maybe the headmaster was well. Nobody opposes him openly if they can avoid it. Here we are."

At the very end of the corridor hung a portrait of a very fat woman in a pink silk dress. "Password?"

"Caput Draconis," said Kenneth Towler, speaking for the first time since introduced himself, and the portrait swung forward to reveal a round hole in the wall. They all scrambled through it — Neville needed a leg up — and found themselves in the Gryffindor Common Room, a round room full of squashy armchairs with two sets of stairs branching off, both heading upwards.

September 6, 16:00 CEST.

Artemis, Linda, and the rest of Gamma stood at the loading dock, watching as Adam Neilsen escorted the group's leader, Gennifer Deveraux, and her 'enforcer', the light-manipulating Dongji, to unmarked BIS cars, while an entire platoon of Vlatavan Police officers loaded the unconscious bodies of their monstrous minions into a cab-over truck and a series of police vans.

"Can we do now?" asked Eddie. "I'd like to catch at least a bit of Labor Day celebrations if I can."

Artemis paused for a moment, then nodded. "Violet, take us home."

September 8, 01:28 BST.

"Two minutes, students," announced Professor Sinestra, as Hank was checking his chart to make sure he hadn't missed anything.

Well, I don't think I'm going to get them all, Hank concluded. I guess I should probably check what I've already got instead of pushing on: Cassiopeia, Perseus, Draco… narrated Hank to himself, then paused for a moment at that one, thinking of his bigoted Slytherin counterpart. Ursa Minor… Hercules… Corona Borealis, Ursa Major, Cancer… well, that's only a fraction of them, but it's a start… and maybe enough for now. He stepped away from his telescope, removed his scroll from the frame and rolled it up, then walked over to where the professor was standing to hand it in.

"Thank you, Mr Lang," said the professor as she took it from him, and added it to the basket attached to her own telescope. "You can go."

"I'll wait for the others," he replied, turning and glancing around at the class, most of whom were still glued to their telescopes or scrolls.

The professor nodded and then turned to accept a scroll from Hermione as she passed them on the way to the stairs.

September 9, 10:45 BST.

Hank's initial impression of Minerva McGonagall had been that she was not a person to cross, and this impression was reinforced by her brisk manner as she ushered Hank, his dorm-mates and their Ravenclaw counterparts into her classroom and took the roll, then stepped away from her desk and launched into what he suspected as a prepared speech. "Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts, anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back," she declared, as she drew her wand and pointed it at her desk. "You have been warned."

Seconds later, she cast a spell at the desk, transforming it into a pig.

Interesting… thought Hank to himself as the class murmured appreciation.

The professor paused for a moment, then returned the desk to its natural state. "Transforming living beings, even temporarily, is a complex endeavour requiring considerable precision and a certain amount of power," she declared. "So, it will be a while before you are ready for that. We will start on something a little simpler… transforming a match into a needle."

The class subsided into mute disappointment, but picked their quills as the professor turned to the board and began writing out some diagrams and formulas.

11: 16 BST

When Hank received his match, unlike many of his peers he didn't immediately pick up his wand and start trying to cast the spell that the professor had been teaching, but instead picked up the match itself and considered it for a moment. "Turni alumeton en kudrilon," he whispered, watching as it shimmered and turned into a needle. He was still examining it, when the professor noticed him doing so and came over.

"Congratulations, Mr Lang," she said. "Was it your first attempt?"

"Yes and no, Professor," Hank admitted.

"In what way?"

"I did transform it, but I didn't use my wand…" he continued, nodding to where it was sitting on the desk-top. "Or the spell that you showed us."

"Then how?"

"I only got my first wand a few days ago," Hank reminded her. "So, your techniques are still brand new to me…"

Professor McGonagall nodded her agreement.

"But my mentor, Zatanna Zatara, has been training me in her family's style for years… so I thought I'd try doing it that way first to get a 'feel' for it."

McGonagall wasn't easy to read, so Hank couldn't tell whether she was intrigued, frustrated, annoyed… but he thought it might be combination of all three. "Can you reverse it?"

"I think so," Hank replied, and turned his gaze back to the needle. "Reiru al kongruo."

The needle shimmered and slowed reverted back to its original form.

"Impressive, Mr Lang," allowed the professor. "But I would prefer if you could complete the actual assignment?"

"I'll get on that, Professor," Hank assured her.

The professor nodded, then moved onto another student who was asking for help.

September 10, 08:16 BST.

"What have we got today?" Hank asked the group as he poured sugar on his porridge.

"Double Potions with the Slytherins," replied Ron, after a moment. "Snape's Head of Slytherin House. They say he always favours them… we'll be able to see if it's true."

"McGonagall certainly doesn't favour us," noted Dean Thomas, a long-necked, easy-going black boy who was even taller than Ron.

Hank said nothing, like Hermione he'd done well enough on the matchstick to needle exercise that he'd avoided the pile of homework that the rest of the class had been assigned.

Just then, the mail arrived. Hank had gotten used to this by now, but it had given him a bit of a shock on the first morning, when about a hundred owls had suddenly streamed into the Great Hall during breakfast, circling the tables until they saw their owners, and dropping letters and packages onto their laps. His own owl hadn't had anything for him yet, but had come to visit every morning, so he was a little surprised that she was carrying a note today.

"Who's sent me a note, Ukpik?" he asked as he accepted the scrap of paper, which prompted the majestic bird to throw him a look that he easily translated as 'well, if you open you'll find out'. Agreeing that she had a point, he tore it open and unfolded it:

Dear Harry,

I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have

a cup of tea with me around three?

I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with

Ukpik.

Hagrid

Harry burrowed in his bag for a moment to find a quill, then scribbled 'Yes, please, see you later' on the back of the note, and sent his owl off again.

09:01 BST.

"Ah, yes…" said Professor Snape softly. "Harry Potter, our new… celebrity."

Hank considered correcting him while Draco Malfoy and his friends Crabbe and Goyle sniggered behind their hands, but decided to pick his battles for the moment.

Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class. His eyes were black like Hagrid's, but they had none of Hagrid's warmth. They were cold and empty and made you think of dark tunnels. "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making…"

Isn't the other way round? Hank thought. Art is subtle, science is exact…

"As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses. I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory and even stopper death… if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

This statement was met with mute silence from the entire class, a movement out of the corner of his eye showed Hermione Granger on the edge of her seat, clearly desperate to start proving that she wasn't a dunderhead.

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Asphodel and wormwood, mused Hank, as Hermione's hand had shot into the air. That sounds familiar, but… "I don't remember any potion with only those ingredients, sir."

Snape's lips curled into a sneer, ignoring Hermione's hand. "Tut, tut… Fame clearly isn't everything."

"However…" Hank continued, ignoring the Potions Master. "… wormwood has a number of different applications, so asphodel is likely the more indicative ingredient. Folklore around asphodel typically associates it with death and sleep, so I'm guessing some form of analgesic, poison or both."

Snape paused for a moment, "Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

A glance to the side while he was considering his answer showed Hermione stretching out her hand as high into the air as it would go without her leaving her seat, and a glance to the other side showed Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were shaking with laughter.

"Bezoar, from the Persian word pādzahr meaning 'antidote'," Hank replied promptly. "I don't remember where it comes from but I would imagine the school nurse has one in her kit and it wouldn't surprise me if you do as well."

Snape snorted at that. "What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

At this, Hermione stood up, her hand stretching toward the dungeon ceiling.

Hank smiled at that moment, while not an expert he'd spent enough time around florists – both the Lances and the Wus – to know the answer to that one. "Very little, Professor. They're both aconites… monkshood typically has indigo-blue petals, whereas wolfsbane's are more commonly white or straw-yellow. There are other varieties."

Professor Snape's impassive expression broke for a split second. "Sit down," he snapped at Hermione. "For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death and a bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment as the students rushed to obey his instructions.

09:16 BST.

Hank's opinion of the Potions Master didn't improve as the lesson continued. Hank and Ron were paired together and were making decent progress on their potion, when they were distracted by a commotion a couple of tables over.

Snape was in the middle of praising Malfoy's stewed horned slugs when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon, as Neville and Seamus' cauldron melted into a twisted blob, sending their potion flowing across the stone floor.

Within seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools, nursing burnt shoes while Neville, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.

"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"

Neville whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose.

"Take him up to the hospital wing," Snape spat at Seamus. Then he rounded on Harry and Ron, who had been working next to Neville. "You, Potter… why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's five points from Gryffindor."

Hank was about to open his mouth to argue, but Ron kicked him behind their cauldron. "Don't push it," he muttered, "I've heard Snape can turn very nasty."

As they climbed the steps out of the dungeon an hour later, Harry's mind was racing, there was something about what Snape had been talking about that was tickling the back of his mind, but he couldn't quite remember what… other that some sort of connection to flowers…

"Cheer up," said Ron, "Snape's always taking points off Fred and George."

"That's not what I'm thinking about," Hank countered. "There's something that's bugging me about his first question. Like there was some sort of undercurrent to it."

"You mean like a hidden message?"

"Exactly," Hank confirmed. "But I can't figure out what."

14:45 BST.

Hagrid lived in a small wooden house on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside the front door, and when Hank knocked he heard a frantic scrabbling from inside and several booming barks. His big, hairy face appeared in the crack as he pulled the door open. "Hang on… back, Fang," he said as he let Hank in, struggling to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous black boarhound.

There was only one room inside. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling on the open fire, and in the corner stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it. "Make yerself at home," Hagrid suggested and let go of Fang, who bounded straight at Hank and started licking his ears. Like Hagrid, Fang was clearly not as fierce as he looked.

"Thanks for the invite," Hank said to the oversized man, who was pouring boiling water into a large teapot and putting rock cakes onto a plate. The rock cakes were shapeless lumps with raisins that almost broke his teeth, but Hank pretended to enjoy them as he told Hagrid all about his first lessons. Fang rested his head on Hank's knee and drooled all over his robes.

Hank was amused to hear Hagrid call Fitch 'that old git'. "An' as fer that cat, Mrs. Norris, I'd like ter introduce her to Fang sometime. D'yeh know, every time I go up ter the school, she follows me everywhere? Can't get rid of her… Fitch puts her up to it."

Harry told Hagrid about Snape's lesson. Hagrid, like Ron before him, told Harry not to worry about it and confirmed that Snape liked hardly any of the students.

"But he seemed to really hate me."

"Rubbish! Why should he?" said Hagrid, unconvincingly, and quickly changed the subject.

Did Hagrid know something about Snape that he doesn't want to tell me? Hank wondered but decided not to push the issue until he had something more to go on.

Smallville.
September 10, 23:00 CDT.

A sharp crack woke Linda from a particularly pleasant dream, reaching out psychically she clicked on the bedside lamp and regarded the diminutive, pointy-eared being that stood in the middle of the room.

"I have a letter for Linda Lang?" asked the being.

"That's me," confirmed Linda as she tried to rub sleep from her eyes. "Couldn't you have waited to a more decent hour?"

"Neither rain, or snow, nor death of night, can keep us from our duty," insisted the diminutive being, dogmatically.

"Fine, whatever," Linda conceded with a sigh. "Hand it over and get out of here."

The being nodded and drew a thick envelope from his satchel and handed it to her, then disappeared again with a snap of his fingers.