Metamorphome

Chapter Two: What to Do With Flaherty?

Draco spent the rest of the week avoiding the rest of the inhabitants of Grimmauld Place. He read from Self-Transfiguration: A Guide to Changing One's Appearance, looked at the Black family heirlooms--a source of disgust and shallow pride simultaneously--and mostly tried to stay out of the way. Granger continued her weak attempts at peace, while everyone else, including Draco, sneered behind her back at her naïveté. Draco overheard Ron and Hermione arguing over it one night in Hermione's room, the couple either forgetting or uncaring that the walls were rather thin.

"Hermione, have you forgotten all those times he's called you Mudblood? Or doesn't that matter to you?"

"Of course it does. But I'm not going to let a school feud get in the way of being friendly to an ally. That's what you're supposed to do, Ron. Make friends and strengthen connections."

"Malfoy only quit You-Know-Who because he didn't have the stomach. Have you noticed he's been specializing in retrieval jobs?"

"Have you noticed that he had to stand by Voldemort as he and his minions tortured innocents?"

"Why are you defending him, Hermione? He's a snobby ass, and he's nowhere near worthy of your pity."

Draco stopped listening then, rolling over on the bed and placing a pillow over his head. He didn't have to listen to their self-righteous bickering. He knew himself, and their limited understanding of him was irrelevant. So what if the Weasel didn't like him? Life goes on, et cetera.

At the end of the week, the Burrow was once again safe for occupation. The Order convened to discuss what was to be done with Flaherty, as the current inhabitants of Grimmauld Place were to leave the next morning. Alastor Moody led the meeting with Lupin beside him (no doubt to keep him in check). Tables were erected around the room so as to leave space in the center for the prisoner.

Ginny was exempt from the meeting, although she was the only person at number twelve to be excluded. The twins arrived a few minutes before the meeting, as did Tonks (of course setting off the picture frame of Mrs. Black), Mr. Weasley, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Elphias Doge, Cara Collins, and Lucrete Sorens.

Morrigan sat in the center of the room, bound to a chair, her eyes fixed pointedly on the floor, her face once more dispassionate. Mad-Eye began the meeting, his magical eyes surveying all members of the meeting.

"Would you stop doing that, Mad-Eye, it's disgusting," Tonks said, revolted.

"Got something to hide, Tonks?" Moody growled, surveying her closely.

The Metamorphmagus simply rolled her eyes and said, "Do continue."

"The main question of this meeting is what to do with the prisoner?" Mad-Eye said loudly, but no one stepped forward with any ideas. "Anyone?"

"We could turn her into the Ministry," Kingsley offered.

Harry shook his head. "Voldemort's lot will do anything to break her out--she's a high level Death Eater, she is. I don't want to chance her getting away. Besides, she's got information on the Order, now. The Ministry can't know anything about it." He took a swig of tea, his eyes daring anyone to disagree with him.

"Harry, we can't just keep her prisoner forever," Remus reminded him.

"Sure we can," Harry said with a shrug. "She's not terribly difficult."

"You say that now," Ron told him. "I'll bet she teaches herself martial arts and escapes!"

"Ron, you've been reading Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle again, haven't you?" Hermione accused. Ron's ears colored, and the members of the meeting laughed heartily. "Ronald, I've told you a thousand times that none of that is even accurate--"

"Moving on," Lucrete said loudly, her eyes flashing. Lucrete was a large witch with multiple chins, brown hair, and tiny eyes. She worked as a facilitator for interdepartmental activities. Mostly it involved breaking up the fights of department heads that believed their work on particular subjects was more significant than their peer's. Lucrete despised conflict of any sort and was known for her incredible Polar Magnetism charms, which either caused the subjects to stick together or be pushed apart. Her confrontational issues aside, Harry couldn't look at her without reminiscing vaguely about his Uncle Vernon.

"We can't just let her go," Kingsley said. "And we can't kill her, either."

"Why not?" Cara Collins (a young woman whose parents had been personally killed by Voldemort while she was at school) asked in her surly voice. "I'm sure no one would mind if there was one less piece of vermin on earth."

"We're not killing her," Kingsley said in a firm voice, reprimanding Cara. He was currently training her to be an Auror, and he'd had quite enough of her provoking nature over the past two months.

"Yeah, but she does know a lot," Hermione added. "Perhaps if we waited until they thought she was dead...?"

"That would be a lot of waiting," Moody put in. "And we'd have to put someone trustworthy and capable with her. That would require a lot of time and, if I guess correctly, patience. Patience I doubt many of us have."

"We've all got jobs, too," Doge said. "We can't stop everything, just to guard You-Know-Who's pet."

"What about Draco?" Hermione said nervously, and he turned to scowl at her. "He can't spy on the Dark Lord anymore, because they know he's a traitor."

Moody turned and said gruffly to Draco, "You think you can handle her, kid?"

"I don't want to handle her," Draco protested icily. "I don't want to baby-sit her for a month."

"You won't be here for a month," Remus said grimly. "You'll probably be here for months."

"Look, I have a life outside the Order," Draco said heatedly. "And she's not it."

"You're the only capable person available," Shacklebolt said, his voice irritated at Draco's irrationality. "You're a risk out in the open, and you don't have another job. Besides, we'll be providing you with room and board."

Draco looked angrily from face to face, when a voice said, "What if someone else helped him?" Mrs. Weasley had spoken up, and Draco turned bright pink, trying to seem respectful and at the same time feeling extremely violent toward the woman. "Someone to keep the house in working order, and help him if things get a bit difficult."

Moody and Lupin exchanged looks and said immediately, together, "Hermione."

"WHAT?" Draco bellowed, standing. "If I have to do this, I'll do it on my own, thanks."

"Sorry, Malfoy, you're not accountable by yourself," Moody told him bluntly. "You need someone here, and the best candidate is Granger."

Hermione had been, until now, speechless. Finally she spoke up, "I'll do it."

Draco glared at her fiercely. "Shut up, Granger."

"Sorry, it makes sense," she said meekly, then turned to Moody and Lupin, who smiled at her proudly. Draco stormed from the room, his face red.

"Done. This meeting is concluded. Do you have anything to say, Flaherty?" Moody added, and everyone who had been standing sat promptly, interest apparent on their faces.

Morrigan looked at Moody with blank eyes, and he stared back, thoroughly repulsed. She looked back down, her body slack. The group exchanged inquisitive looks. Moody picked up the useless papers before him, tapping the stack smartly at their bottoms to keep them organized. "Dismissed," he grunted, and the room emptied. Before Moody left, he called out, "Malfoy, get this monster back in the basement." Malfoy entered, scowling, and unbound Morrigan, then muttered, "Mobilicorpus." She was snapped straight out into the air. She threw him a nasty look as he transported her body into the dank basement.

At the bottom, he dropped her promptly, and she landed awkwardly on the floor. She stood slowly, then stalked to the corner, her eyes on him, her hands across her chest. He smiled cattily at her, then said, "Seems we're to see a lot of each other the next few months, Flaherty."

She sniffed, looking away.

"That's right, this is all my fault you're a wretched baddie, and now you're being held accountable for your actions."

"The Darkness will overcome," she hissed, her eyes filled with an animalistic rage.

"Oh spare the bull shit for Potter," Draco drawled lazily, sitting on the stairs. "You've been so blinded by the Dark Lord, you don't even know how to think for yourself."

"You're not supposed to think for yourself!" Morrigan snapped. "The Dark Lord knows all. Following his bidding will bring us each freedom."

Draco gaped at her. "You're so deluded. How can you possibly believe that?"

"Because it's true."

"Who told you that?" Draco demanded.

"The Dark Lord," she told him, as if it were too obvious.

"So, by your reasoning, you're using the Dark Lord's word to justify the Dark Lord's work?"

Morrigan didn't say anything but merely raised a condescending eyebrow.

"You're impossible," Draco muttered, standing and ascending the stairs.

* * *

Draco entered his room to find Hermione and Ron snogging on Ron's bed. He rolled his eyes in disgust, waiting for them to leave. When they showed no inclination of doing so, he cleared his throat loudly. Both jumped, pulling apart immediately. Ron's ears colored, and Hermione looked at the floor. "I'm not your mother," Draco snapped. "Get out if you're going to make out."

Ron stood, fists clenched, but Hermione put a hand on his arm. "It's a reasonable request, Ron," she said timidly. "Leave him alone." She stood and they exited the room quickly, away from Draco's cold, sickened eyes.

Draco sat on his bed in the corner, his mind bitterly settling upon his new lot in life. Spending any amount of time stuck in a house with a surly, animalistic Death Eater appealed to no one, but having to spend that time with Granger, too...he might as well kill himself now. He knew precisely why she had been appointed to "help" him--the Order still didn't entirely trust him, and Granger had a history of stepping in when he was involved. After all the things he had done for them, it wasn't enough that he had proved himself time and time again. True, bringing the Death Eaters into Hogwarts had been an unwise move; and most still blamed Dumbledore's death on him, despite the fact that Snape himself had actually done the Headmaster in, but he had been younger and stupid. Now, more than a year later, he had repented and volunteered for an extremely dangerous job.

Still, they couldn't trust one former Death Eater with a strongly ideated Death Eater, could they? Perhaps she would convince Draco to go back to the Dark Lord--offer him her help, if he would just let her escape, let her have her wand. Draco wouldn't do that whether he was loyal to Voldemort or not. No matter what he believed morally, she would always be a bloodthirsty fiend and he would by no means help her escape any captors.

His anger increased as he thought through his own self-justification. How dare they presume I would defect, he thought angrily. I picked their side and I've done a bloody good job at helping them.

What would you expect from Mudbloods and bloodtraitors? a nasty voice answered him.

For all their self-righteousness, a bit of consistence as to their moral qualms, he replied bitterly.

Draco pushed his indignant thoughts from his mind, instead settling on his book. He opened it to the page he had been reading, and once again began his perusal of shape changing.

* * *

The Weasleys spent two more days at the Burrow, as opposed to the planned one. Ron and Hermione found a new place to snog--the library. Although devoid of books, it held a great deal of extra household items--such as cleaner, Potion ingredients (moved from the basement), and bedding. Thus, almost every person in the house managed to walk in on them. After they victimized Draco, he wondered angrily if they could possibly find somewhere else to kiss.

For meals, Draco scooped his food into a bowl or on a plate and immediately snuck quietly up to the room. He didn't want to be involved in their "happy family"-ness, and he didn't want to listen to them avoid certain subjects altogether, due to his presence. He solved this problem, and truthfully, every diner felt relieved.

Finally, one morning at five a.m. so they wouldn't have to sneak about the neighborhood, Hermione saw everyone off, with a hug for her friends, a warning of caution from Harry, and a quick kiss on the lips from Ron. They waved at her as they exited, someone calling that they'd see her at Christmas. Hermione closed the door behind her, and turned to see Draco leaning against the wall with an amused expression on his face. Hermione jumped about a foot, placing a hand on her heart. "Draco! You startled me."

"Really," he said sarcastically. "And call me Malfoy," he added, turning and walking back up the stairs. Hermione frowned after him, unsure of what to say. Instead of saying anything, she collapsed on the new couch (bought due to the smell emitted when one sat on the old couch) and slept for a couple hours. She woke to the smells of breakfast.

She ambled lazily into the kitchen, finding Draco at the stove, frying bacon and eggs. Kippers sat on a plate at one of the places. Hermione reached a hand out to try one but Draco snapped, "Don't." She scowled at the back of his head.

Hermione put her hands on her hips and asked, "Why not?"

"Because it's my breakfast. Make your own if you want some."

"It wouldn't kill you to make breakfast for all three of us."

"Yes, it would. I made some for Flaherty and myself. You can make your own breakfast."

Hermione glowered at him and sat down.

Draco didn't say anything, simply stared into space as he waited for his food to finish. Finally, it seemed done and he grabbed the plate from the table, flipping half the contents onto the plate, then turned off the stove and left the kitchen to go to the basement. He descended and saw Morrigan sitting in the corner, dozing quietly with her head against the wall. "Wake up," he said loudly, and Morrigan stirred. She sniffed the air, then stood and approached the table on which he had placed the platter.

"Is there a fork?" she asked him, and he handed it to her promptly. "And some milk or something?" she asked tentatively.

Draco rolled his eyes, left, and returned with a glass of milk. Morrigan had already consumed the entire breakfast and was waiting for him expectantly. He handed her the glass thanklessly, and she gulped it down within seconds.

"That was really good," she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Who made it?"

Draco smiled nastily at her. "Me."

She turned a humorously nauseated shade of green, and then resumed her place in the corner, glaring ferociously at him. He shrugged, picking the plate up and leaving once more.

Hermione had boiled oats in hot water to make a nice bit of hot cereal. She put cream and brown sugar in it, much to Draco's disgust. "Brown sugar is an ingredient, not a topping," he said, entering the room and looking down at her. "How Muggle-like of you, Granger."

"If it's good, who are you to judge it?" Hermione protested. "Anyway," she continued, "You'll criticize anything I do, so it's useless to try to appease you."

"Yes, but more entertaining," he said, and Hermione could hear the smirk in his voice. Breakfast was finished in cold silence; afterward Hermione began a rigid cleaning raid upon the house, going from room to room and figuring out what needed to be done. She wrote it all down on a very elaborate list, omitting not one detail. She sat in the kitchen, poring over books left by Mrs. Weasley during past stays. She had discovered that nearly every curtain and corner of No. Twelve housed a nest of doxies, and what she suspected was, as of yet, a small Bundimun infestation in the sitting room. Hermione was muttering over the list, trying to think of an alternative to the spray form of Doxycide. She was having ill luck, and her muttering became mutinous about having been given the thankless job of ridding the house of scum and pests. Her muttering must have been quite a bit louder than she had intended, because Malfoy called from the drawing room, "Don't forget about the Chizpurfles in the attic."

She threw a menacing look towards the door, putting "Chizpurfles--cursed antiques in the attic; needs PestsGawn" resentfully at the bottom of the list. Hermione finally set to work, starting in the drawing room first, so as to irritate Malfoy to the fullest. She walked in the room, noticing the intensity of his study. He was leaned forward from the couch over the coffee table, his hand under his chin, his eyes intent on the page before him. He didn't even notice her. Turning back to her work, Hermione held up the mostly-empty bottle of Doxycide in distaste, and then wrapped a scarf around her head. She turned to Malfoy and said, "I'd advise you cover your orifices with something, but it would be too fortunate if you died due to a tragic Doxycide poisoning."

Malfoy glanced at her distractedly and asked, "What's that?"

Hermione sighed dramatically and held up the bottle of Doxycide with a sarcastic expression. His eyes widened in understanding, he closed his book, and fled the room. Hermione smiled with satisfaction, then sprayed the curtain once. Five or so Doxies flew out immediately--the remaining survivors of the last attack. This time, they surely reasoned, they'd get that evil woman and her minions. Hermione sprayed each in the face promptly, one-by-one falling to the ground heavily. She fluffed the curtains uncertainly, and when sure that there were no more Doxies, proceeded to the next curtain and thus repeated. Hermione was forced to check every curtain and cranny in the house, and managed, with the very little Doxycide she had remaining, to get every Doxy.

Any strength she had possessed at the beginning of this chore was soon sapped away, and at three, she was forced to take a break. To her surprise, Malfoy had made her two cheese sandwiches and handed her a bottle of butterbeer when she had entered the kitchen fully prepared to begin preparations for lunch. "Thanks," she uttered gracelessly. "Where'd you get the butterbeer?"

"Lupin left some. There was a note in the cabinet."

"Ah." Hermione took a swig, delighted with the taste after a bit of hard work.

"It'll be your job to make dinner," Malfoy told her.

"Sure. What do you want? I'm pretty good at spaghetti. Or, if you'd like--"

"I don't care, Granger," Malfoy cut her off. "Just make enough for Flaherty, too."

Hermione looked disappointed. She had hoped that his thoughtfulness in providing lunch was an indication of an attempt to be friendly, but he had simply wanted to make the easier of two meals. The thought filled her with cold fury at his apathy and laziness, and she wanted to lash out at him, but stopped herself. He's just trying to get you to lose control, Hermione. Get a grip.

Malfoy smirked. "Go ahead and say it, Granger. Your self-control is going to give in soon anyway, with me around."

"Why are you being such an ass?" Hermione shrieked suddenly, even shocking herself, but she continued. "I'm just trying to be civil. It's not that hard to just let people like you. It makes life a hell of a lot easier, and if you keep pushing people away, you're just going to end up alone and friendless."

"Granger, I don't need friends to feel 'fulfilled,' or whatever else you types are so obsessed about. What I need, to feel fulfilled, is peace and quiet, with as few responsibilities as possible--and maintaining friendship requires responsibility. So thanks, but no thanks, for the offer."

"Everyone needs friends," Hermione scoffed heatedly. "A man without friends is hardly a man at all."

For some reason, this irked Draco more than anything else she had said, and he rolled his eyes exasperatedly. "You're the last person I want to be friends with, Granger."

"I'm the only one who wants to be your friend because I'm the only one unafraid of being double-crossed by a double-crosser," Hermione retorted, standing and getting ready to leave.

"I'd rather be Flaherty's friend than a snot-headed Gryffindor who can't mind her own business," Draco snarled, his face turning a bright red. Hermione jumped, stung by this remark. She dropped the plate of half-eaten sandwiches and fled the kitchen.

Draco rubbed the back of his neck. I shouldn't have said that, he said to himself. Geezus, Malfoy, how many people are you going to push away for your own self-loathing?

Unsure of what to do, Malfoy picked up the plate of sandwiches she had dropped, then grabbed the other and headed down the stairs into the basement, feeling rather pathetic for going to the only other person that was more of a vermin than he was.

Morrigan sat, her back quite stiff and turned towards him. Malfoy didn't doubt that her eyes were closed. Some Dark Wizards believed that with proper meditation, one might figure out how to use wandless magic equivalently with wand magic--something wizards had been trying to find a way around for thousands of years. Draco placed the plate and bottle of butterbeer noisily on the table, causing Morrigan to jump and turn on her backside to view him irritably. When she saw that he came bearing food, she immediately leapt to her feet and bounded to the table, wolfing down the sandwiches. Malfoy watched her amusedly, and sat on the stairs.

To his surprise, Morrigan, once finished, sat cross-legged on the table, watching him in the same manner he was watching her--appraisingly.

"Yes?" she asked him, her voice bored.

"Just trying to figure you out, Flaherty," he told her.

"Go ahead and try. I'm not going anywhere."

"Think you'll make it easier on me?" Draco asked, his voice probing.

"No," Morrigan informed him with a cocky smile, shaking her head. "I'd prefer to frustrate you senseless."

"Don't worry, you're not that interesting," he said with a well-aimed leer.

Her smile quickly evaporated. "What about you, Malfoy? What's your story? Surely it must be good, if you'd prefer the company of Mudbloods and bloodtraitors."

"You think I'm going to tell you a damned thing?" Malfoy sniffed. "You're far too cocky for your own good."

"At least I'm trustworthy," Morrigan snorted.

"It's not a question of why Voldemort trusts you," Malfoy retorted patronizingly. "It's a question of why you trust Voldemort. Why would you trust him if pain is the only reward you ever get for your loyalty? That's not the point of life."

"Maybe it is for some people," Morrigan piped. "If a few sacrifices are made for the good of many, fine then."

"Yeah, but how's it good for many, Flaherty? Voldemort's chosen group of men and women are inbred purebloods--a dying breed. When the Death Eaters can't kill Muggleborns and blood traitors, who are they going to kill? Themselves. And when the Purebloods are the only ones left, whom are they going to mate with? Their cousins? Their parents and siblings?"

Morrigan opened her mouth, then closed it again, unsure of how to respond to this, and so didn't speak at all.

"You don't realize that it will cost a great deal to do what is ultimately right."

"What's right, Malfoy?" Morrigan cried, standing and beginning to pace, arms waving about animatedly. "We have a set of rules that some person came up with thousands of years ago, which set a boundary between good and bad. Those that pick to follow the rules stay on the 'good' side of the boundary. Those that pick to follow their own rules are placed on the 'bad' side. But 'bad' and 'good' are just words. They don't mean anything. Basically, putting names to definitions is pointless, and defining anything at all is pointless, because no one's ever going to agree."

"In a perfect world, that's relevant. But this isn't perfect, and in this lifetime you have to pick before you're run completely over."

Morrigan stopped, placing her hands on her hips. "Then what's wrong with picking whichever side you want and sticking to it? If you're the one holding the wand, why should you care who's on the other end?"

"Because stepping on others' rights isn't the right way to live," Draco said with a shrug. "Because eventually only one person is happy, and it defeats the purpose in the first place."

Morrigan sneered. "You care far too much for the word 'happy.' Your argument lacks refinement."

"And yours lacks common sense," Draco snapped, standing. "Have a miserable day." He turned and climbed the stairs, slamming the door at the top.