Against the Tide

Morag could feel that someone was staring at her. The hairs on the back of her neck were standing on end and a lump had formed in her throat.

Conquering the urge to turn and look, she gently lifted her cup and took a sip of strong Kenyan coffee. The aroma and taste and texture were exquisite, and she had been enjoying them immensely. Until someone had begun to stare at her.

Setting her coffee down, she listened intently to the sounds around her. Nairobi was not the nicest place her parents had ever worked, but it was certainly interesting. All the people looked fascinating, and those that spoke English had the most superb accent. But right then she was listening for a loud noise behind her so she could turn and look without alerting whoever's fancy she had caught. Voldemort was still out there, and so were his goons.

However, this sensation didn't seem malevolent, it seemed- curious? Maybe something a bit stronger, maybe it was probing. Yes, she thought as she tucked her dark loose hair behind her ears, enjoying the way the sun glinted off her silver bracelets and freshly varnished nails, it's more of a probing sensation. Ron would be laughing at her just then.

Of course, just two nights ago, Ron had been laughing with her. They had been out celebrating Harry and Neville 'Captain' Longbottom's seventeenth birthdays. Breaking out into the Muggle world, they had invaded a dirty little pub, nearly twenty-five seventeen-year-olds. Earlier that day they had gathered to witness Neville being awarded the Order of Merlin: Third Class, for his work in dispelling the Death Eater attack on Hogwarts.

Morag had opined that the Death Eaters had fallen back much to easily, and discussion on the event had nearly ruined the celebrations. Only nearly, though, since they'd all managed to get nicely drunk before swaying their way back to Diagon Alley and Flooing or riding the Knight's Bus home.

Finally, behind her, a car honked its horn and swerved violently. A stream of language burst out as Morag spun her head around. Ignoring the scene completely, (it looked like a lorry filled with chickens had overturned), Morag scanned the area, eyes squinted behind her nicely tinted glasses. Then her body gave a jolt, whoosh.

There he was. Tall, blonde, well made: Adam Scratch. He smirked that stupid smirk (that sexy smirk!) the moment she made eye contact, although he couldn't know she'd made contact, not through her glasses.

Could he?

Morag took a deep breath and continued to scan the area, as if looking for her parents. He was leaning against a door-jamb at the Hotel across the road. Refusing to look at him again, hoping he'd disappear (but not hoping to hard, unfortunately), Morag turned back to her Kenyan coffee, which had been filled by the sweet little girl waiting on her.

One- two- three- four- (he's crossed the street now, I'm sure) five- six- seven- (wending his way through the crowds) eight- nine- ten- !

"Morag," Adam said as he slipped uninvited into the chair across from her. "You never actually introduced yourself, of course, but I found out later."

With anyone else, she would pretend not to remember him, but he wouldn't believe it for a moment. So she sat across from him at the tiny little table in a suddenly very big square in the wild capitol of a foreign land. She slowly slid her sunglasses down to the tip of her nose (so he'd see how very unimpressed she was), and smiled politely.

"Mr. Scratch," she replied. "Have you had a nice summer?"

He gave a full smile this time, a smile she'd never seen before on anyone. The force of it would have knocked her breath away if she'd allowed it.

"It's looking much better suddenly," he said, his smile changing slightly into a grin. His eyes crinkled a bit. "My name's Adam, though."

"As in the first man?" Morag asked. It wasn't until after the comment floated into her brain that she realized her mistake. Quickly deciding not to stutter out an explanation but rather to let him deal with the question, she sat back in her chair and cocked her head to one side. Cocking her head let her hair fall nicely against her ghastly pale skin and created a good contrast.

Scratch raised his eyebrows and stuck his tongue into his top molars, judging what she had said. His tongue (oh!) pulled his bottom lip (oh!) into his mouth and released it quickly. Instead of touching the mistaken flirt, he turned to the waitress and asked for a cup of coffee.

"Been in Nairobi long, Morag?" he asked as he turned his attention back to her.

"No, only arrived this morning. I don't remember inviting you to sit."

"No, and you never introduced yourself, either," he replied. "Your manners are quite appalling."

Morag could feel her shoulders tighten with anger. Why, this- this- Malfoy bastard! Chiding her for her manners, when his were far worse? "I do remember being very busy at the time," she said woodenly.

"Indeed, and you handled the situation quite brilliantly. Gryff tells me- sorry Professor Gryffindor to you, I suppose- she tells me you did very well that day." He showed nothing outwardly, but his familiarity with Professor Gryffindor was telling. He was obviously dangerous, volatile, and extremely clever if Gryffindor would have anything to do with him.

Another thought ran through her head. How well did Scratch know Gryffindor? They had been talking to each other in the Room of Requirement, the last time she had seen Scratch.

"Yes, alright I suppose. Neville Longbottom was awarded the Order of Merlin on his birthday, two days ago." She would have said Captain Longbottom, but she was sure that would sound childish.

"I heard. But Gryffindor mentioned that you particularly did very well. I'd go into detail, but you did swear you'd kill me if I said anything," he said with a cute wisp of a grin.

"I don't recollect the circumstances," Morag said, an edge to her voice, "but, yes, I will kill you if you breathe a word." And she could hardly breathe, actually. Her clothes weren't tight at all, either. The back of her neck was prickling with sweat from the heat of the day and his gaze. She reached up to pull her hair up and off her neck, let the breeze cool her skin (it felt so good). As she did so, Scratch's eyes took inventory of her body (as he was supposed to).

"You've lost weight," he claimed in an almost accusatory tone, though his eyes held appreciation.

"What of it?" Morag drawled, again showing how unimpressed with him she was.

"Hmm? Nothing, it's just an observation that you've lost weight." He blinked thrice rapidly and shook his head a bit. He seemed to be watching something behind her.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Nothing. Don't draw your wand, it's nothing," he replied tightly in a near whisper.

"My wand? I'm taking a look!" she warned. Scratch grabbed her hand to stop her and it was all she could do not to gasp. No one had ever touched her without a clear indication that they may, and that Scratch would touch her, no matter the danger, while she was trying to control herself...

This was too much for her. "No, you're right. I shan't look. I'm leaving," Morag said as she stood. Scratch was staring up at her with an eager look, shot another glance behind her and stood as well.

"I'll pay," he muttered, drawing out a wallet and opening it.

"You certainly will, since I've paid my charge already."

At that Scratch looked up with a grin. "Yes, ma'am." Morag left the table and stepped from the awning into the sunshine. Looking down the street into the direction Scratch had watched, she could see nothing out of the ordinary, but it seemed wrong somehow. It was off.

"No one's speaking," she whispered to herself.

"That's right," Scratch said into her ear. "Sometimes it's the absence of a dog's bark that's suspicious."

Morag nodded and turned to walk the opposite direction. Scratch fell into step beside her. She cast him an annoyed look, although she had to admit (to herself and to no one else) that she was quite anxious, and if her papa wasn't beside her, why not Adam Scratch?

"Who were they?" she asked after they'd turned the corner onto a wide boulevard.

"Local nasties. I'm here to make sure they behave," he replied evenly, like the job was nothing out of the ordinary.

"Did you actually choose this job?" Morag asked incredulously.

"Well, not really," Scratch said, leading her by the elbow down a narrow side street. "I was nineteen and had just ran out of my inheritance from Auntie Dottie when I went to look for work. This was all that interested me."

"You're joking?"

"Yes, nearly," he said drawing a stop outside a small bungalow. He fished in his pocket for something.

"Where are we?"

"This is my house. Would you like to come in?" he asked. "For a cup of tea, of course."

It was an out, she knew. She'd been offered them by other blokes, so she knew it really meant 'come in for sex, but if you're not comfortable you can claim you only came for tea'. It was an odd gesture for someone as forward as Scratch.

"You do know I used to date your brother, right? That I slept with him?" she asked worriedly. It made her sound tarty that she was about to sleep with Draco's brother. No, that I may sleep, but probably will not sleep with Draco's brother.

"So I'm not really the first man?" he laughed, opening the door. He gestured that she should go through first. Removing her sunglasses, she stepped through the threshold.

"Maybe just for tea." She didn't need to look to know Scratch was smiling.

The inside was dark and cool, and her eyes took a moment to adjust to the light but her skin felt lovely. The interior was two rooms, one she supposed was the bath, and the other, the room she was in, was a kitchen, dining room and bedroom in one.

"Don't pay you much, do they?" she said.

"No. Will you get the tea?" he asked as he walked towards the fire to check a Potion. He sniffed the fumes, nodded, stirred it a few times, and hummed a little.

Morag cleared a spot on the table, pushing books and parchment and rubbish and rubble out of the way. She tapped the table once and jabbed the air with her wand, concentrating on conjuring a teapot and steaming water.

A jet of fire exploded from her wand and crashed towards Scratch, who had turned to face her. With reflexes that betrayed his profession, he bent backwards, pulling a hand on the ground for balance. The stream of fire went straight for the gully between his legs, and just missed.

"Shit!" he yelled.

"Sorry, oh sorry! I should have mentioned Transfiguration isn't my best subject," she cried. She rushed towards him and pulled him up and began stamping on the flames. Her cheeks were burning with embarrassment. "I'm so, so sorry. I can't believe I did that. How stupid! It's a circle, not a jab!" she babbled.

Scratch took her shoulders. The fire was out but she was still stomping on the scorched spot, trying to stop the humiliated tears that were welling in her eyes.

"Stop, Morag," he said kindly. Great, now he thinks I'm a child. I'm not a child, I'm not! she raged at herself. Taking as deep a breath as she could, she looked up into his eyes.

There was no patronizing laughter in those gray eyes. There was no anger or disgust. There was amusement, but more, there was desire.

It was then she realized he was touching her again, uninvited again. And it was then she realized she didn't care.

"I don't want tea, Adam."

"Me neither," he mumbled as his eyes drifted closed and his mouth drifted closer.

Adam was furious!

Too be honest, he was frustrated, anxious and confused, but he could deal with anger much easier.

Morag had not been to see him for three evenings in a row. She had come every evening since they'd met in the square, three weeks ago. But she had not come since Friday night, when he'd lost his temper and shouted at her.

It was so stupid of him! He knew she wouldn't spend the night, she'd refused every other night, and he just had to push her. And he'd never bothered to tell her why it had been so important that she stay that particular night; Friday was the anniversary of his mothers death, the day he'd been sent to live with Lucius.

Morag would have understood, he was sure, if he'd only just told her the truth. Thank Jupiter she hadn't cried, that would have made him even angrier.

And the worst part was, he was angry with himself, not Morag. She was confusing him, probably on purpose, too! He had a sick feeling she was counting the days before she returned to England, and she could brag about her dirty, dirty summer.

But, at the same time, he knew that wasn't so. Morag wasn't like that; she didn't need to brag, or tell tales. She probably wouldn't breathe a word of their sleeping together to anyone, and that alone chaffed more than the thought of this whole thing being a good story. Why wouldn't she just tell her parents they were seeing each other and then be able to spend the night?

She didn't want to, of course. And why would she? After all, he wasn't the type of person you take home to meet your father. 'So, Adam, how did you met Morag?' 'Well, after I did a little dance over my father's dead body, I came on to her in a cloakroom while Hogwarts was still under attack and made a complete fool of myself, as she was just broken up with my little brother.' 'Er- yes. So, Adam, what do you do?' 'Well, sir, I'm an Auror employed by the International Confederation of Warlocks. Yes, it's rather nasty business, I have dozens of life-threatening situations a year. And now, every Dark wizard in the country will probably be after your daughter, too.' 'I need a drink, damn it. Would you like a drink, Adam?' 'A drink? As in only one? How quaint.'

Yes, it would be a wonderful introduction, knowing his ability to say the wrong thing at the worst moment. Like coming on to Morag in the cloakroom. What an ass he had been! The idea that someone like Morag was with him, or rather had been with him, boggled the imagination.

And at that moment, Morag opened the door to his home.

"Just where the hell have you been?" he shouted. "Three evenings, three, without a word? I thought something horrifying had happened!"

"Like what, Adam?" Morag asked, non-plus. So controlled, like he usually was. What is happening to me?

"Like you were hurt, dead, splinched!" Adam ranted. He finally managed to really look at her. She looked so edible and sweet. She had quite clearly not been dead for three days. "Where have you been?" he asked again, in a more controlled tone.

"Cairo," Morag said whilst wrapping her arms around his neck and making him a happy man. "My parents were waiting up for me when I returned on Friday, and they were not impressed with how late I'd been. I told them I was just out for another walk, but they didn't believe me. By the way, it was a nice touch, the heart-shaped hickey, but as it was my father who noticed it first, the effect wasn't what you intended."

Adam smiled ruefully and kissed her with everything he had. When he drew away, it was reassuring to see how cloudy her eyes had become. "And how does this take you to Cairo?"

"My parents went mad, absolutely. Sprang a trip to Cairo to get me away from whoever you were, to have nice long one on one chat's with my mum. It was awful, really."

"Did you miss me?" he asked, running his hands up her arms. Morag had very sensitive skin. "Are you wearing a new scent?" he added, catching a new earthy scent about her.

"Yes, it's orange and tea. Nice, isn't it?" she said, smiling in a way she knew made him want to do nasty things to her. Speaking of which... "And yes, I missed you. I got you a present!"

She handed him a book. "1001 Housekeeping Aids and Spells? It's not that messy in here!" he cried. It was, of course, positively filthy. "This is not a present for a lover, Morag. Presents from a lover make one want to rip the givers clothes off and ravage them," he said nuzzling her neck.

"So you're not interested in the other gift I brought you?" she asked coyly as she moved away from him.

"Don't be stupid, I love presents. What is it?"

"You'll have to unwrap it."

"Where is it?" he asked. Morag didn't move, just stood there with a grin on her face. "Are you my present, Morag?"

"For tonight," she said stepping up to him.

"All of tonight?"

"If you manage to tire me out."

"Adam?" Morag asked several hours later. He managed to slit an eyelid open but otherwise he was much to liquid to move. "Adam, what was Friday about?"

Damn. He had avoided discussing his life with her. She knew about his job, his relationship with Draco and Sam, and she knew about his need, desperate need, for space. And maybe she knew a little more.

"What do you mean?" he asked, ducking the question. Morag merely raised her eyebrow, completely unimpressed, as usual. Sighing, Adam told her the truth. "Friday was the anniversary of my mothers death. Saturday was the anniversary of the day I went to live with Lucius, his brand new wife, and their brand new baby boy."

"Oh. It was horrible, I suppose?"

Adam snorted. "Barely worse than with my Mum." Seeing the look on her face, he explained. "My mother didn't love Lucius, he was an assignment. She was supposed to investigate him, find evidence of him supporting Lord Voldemort, that kind of thing. She did so as his fiancée."

"So, when she became pregnant-"

"No, her assignment ended just after I was born, a little before a year of marriage. She took me with her."

"You make it sound as if she didn't love you."

"She loved me. She hated me too, just like she had hated Lucius. Anyways, she died when I was six, which was terrible at the time. I hadn't even heard of Lucius Malfoy at that point, everyone told me my father died during the war."

"Oh. How long did you live there?"

"Technically eleven years, but really only five. At Hogwarts, I begged my friends to stay with them for the summer. That's how I met Briar, staying at Rory Flynn's house for the summer. She was unwanted as well."

Morag didn't say anything for a while, until finally she gave him a sweet kiss. How did she know I needed that?

"Morag?"

"Yes?"

"Why are you spending the night?"

"My parents have decided to send my back to Scotland tomorrow. I wanted to spend the night with you."

"Tomorrow? As in tomorrow or today?" Adam demanded, sitting up in the bed. Morag squirmed under the bed sheets, trying to avoid his eyes. "Morag!"

"As in today."

"Were you going to tell me, or were you just going to leave?" He wasn't going to play this one cool. He had abandonment issues coming out of his ears. This is why I don't get attached.

"Adam, you knew I was going to leave in a week, anyways. So this is a few days earlier, so what?"

"You really are a child, aren't you?" he snapped, his hands in his hair. Seeing Morag's hurt expression, he felt his anger at himself grow. Of course she was going to leave, she was right. He had just forgotten that. "Morag, you shouldn't hide things like that. There are things that need to be discussed."

"Discussed?" Morag demanded. "Like how childish I am? Hmm? Is that something we need to discuss?"

Adam had no idea what to say. He actually had no idea what had happened. "No Morag, not like that. I meant what we are once you're back in Scotland."

"You mean, if we decide to be friends?" she asked, her eyes slitted with Slytherin cunning.

"Friends?" he asked incredulously. "No, Morag, we'll never be friends. I meant, what level of involvement do we have."

"What do you want?"

He wanted not to demand too much of her. She was only seventeen, too young for him. Well, too young for the relationship he wanted to have with her. Forever was sounding good.

"I want you to-" he had no idea what to say. "I want you to be able to do well in school. You can't let anything get in the way this year, relationship or not."

"What about... what about what I want, Adam?"

What she wanted? Morag had rhapsodized for hours on laws, and lawmaking, about the loopholes and cubbyholes of law. She would have bored him to tears if she hadn't been so enchanting.

"You know what you want, Morag. You want to be on the Wizengamot, and you need to get top marks to do that."

"So this is it? You want to stop seeing me?"

No!

"No," he said cautiously. "I don't want to stop, but you have goals, and let's face it, I'm not going to help you very much. Even if I tried, I'd still hold you back. So, you have to live your life, Morag."

When he turned to face her, she had that inscrutable shield covering her face- the very one he was wearing just then. This isn't going to work, is it?

"There is another choice, Morag." Her eyes turned inquisitive and he took both her shoulders. She made his heart ache, and he never wanted to let her go; he couldn't let her go.

"Marry me, Morag!"

Her eyes turned from curious to shocked. "Adam, are you mad! We can't get married!"

"Why not?" he begged, realizing this was what he wanted. He needed Morag. "Why can't we?"

"We're too young! Me, especially. And, and I have my future to sort out. I mean, I couldn't go back to Hogwarts engaged."

"Not engaged, Morag. Married!" he said desperately.

"Married would be out of the question!" Morag looked around furiously. "Where are my clothes? I need to go home."

"You were spending the night, Morag."

"Not anymore. No, I can't. Where are my trousers? Adam, are you mad?" she asked, tugging her legs into the cream coloured trousers. "Does it have to be all or nothing with you, Adam? Do you have to be so intense, so- so extreme? Don't you ever have any half-done feelings? Any thought out and practical ideas?"

"Oh, yes. It all has to be practical for you, doesn't it, Morag?" he hollered bitterly. "It all has to make sense in a nice sanitized way, doesn't it, Morag?

"Well, I can't help it, Morag! I want to be with you," he said, his voice falling into a whisper. "I don't want to say good-bye, and maybe never see you again. How can I deal with that?"

Morag stopped in the act of snapping her bra. She looked more disordered than he had ever seen her, more than when she was in her moment. She was staring at him in an odd way. "Say it, Adam. It will help."

Say it? How the hell could he actually say it! And what if it made her stay with him? Marry him, and leave school, never become a master at Law. They'd have a dozen children, they'd probably be poor, and Morag would be bitter. How could he let that happen?

"No, Morag. You're right. It isn't for us to be together," he said, collecting her in his arms and kissing her forehead. "Not yet, not now."

"Maybe tomorrow," he promised.