Metamorphome

Chapter Eleven: Settling Into a Strange Environment--Girl Town

Morrigan had only been to Diagon Alley once, but she managed to Apparate there with no problem. "It's only three blocks from here," Hermione explained. "We can walk from here."

They exited the Leaky Cauldron, and hurried to Hermione's apartment though the lovely London weather--a freezing drizzle that settled in their bones and chilled them unpleasantly. When they finally entered the apartment building, their bags had been soaked. The elevated to the fourth floor, then walked all the way to the end where Hermione opened the door and they finally entered her flat.

The walls were a nice cream, while the carpet was white. She had furnished with wood and brown furniture. The kitchen led into the sitting room, where Hermione had a television and tape player. Morrigan stared at it for a few minutes, then returned to examining the rest of the apartment. The fireplace had pictures of friends and family on the mantle, each of them grinning up at the viewer cheekily and waving. The kitchen peninsula was miles high in envelopes and papers, although it seemed to be extremely organized. Each appliance seemed brand new and new tech. Hermione led the way to her bedroom, which had previously been guest quarters.

"Feel free to decorate however."

"With what?" Morrigan asked wryly.

"Good point," Hermione said thoughtfully. "Well, if you ever need to put something on the walls, you may."

"Okay, thanks."

"What do you want for lunch?" Hermione asked, leading her out of the bedroom.

"Can I dry off first?"

"Oh, yes, of course." Hermione pointed a wand at Morrigan, and instantly she felt warm and dry.

"Thanks."

"No problem. Now what would you like for lunch?"

"What's available?"

Hermione exited the room into the kitchen and searched through the cupboards, frowning. She opened the refrigerator, but found nothing there, either. "Hmph. Nothing is available. I suppose we could go shopping."

"Sounds fine," Morrigan said with a shrug. "But could we Apparate? I'm not particularly fond of the weather. It made me feel like a drowning cat." She made a face.

"Yes, yes, of course. Do you need anything in Diagon Alley?"

"Well, I left quite a bit back at Parselart, clothing and such. But since you gave me back my money, I have my key now, so I can extract some from my safe."

"Sounds good. I need to restock on Potion supplies, anyway. And I do love shopping." Hermione's eyes took on a frightening gleam.

"I'm sure you do," Morrigan said, alarmed. "Just restrain yourself, all right?"

Hermione laughed, then walked to the bathroom where she began to mess with her hair. "What are you doing? Aren't we going to go?" Morrigan asked, following her.

"Morrigan, you may be all right going into public looking like you just rolled out of bed, but I'm not. I barely even brushed my hair this morning. I'm going to put it up."

Morrigan leaned against the doorframe and watched her. Hermione meticulously brushed her locks and then pulled her hair back into a high ponytail. She added earrings, eyeliner, and mascara. The change in her face was rather strange, which Morrigan commented on. "You look weird."

Hermione looked at her in horror. "Does it look that bad?"

"No, it's just strange seeing you with that stuff on your face. You don't need it, you know."

Hermione smiled benignly. "That's sweet of you, but I feel more confident with my makeup on."

"Why?" Morrigan asked disdainfully.

"I know exactly how I look, and I have control over how I look. It's easier to change your appearance when there are variables. Otherwise I'd always look the same."

"Why do you care, though? I mean, if other people think your face always looks the same, why does it matter? Why should their opinion matter to you? If you're happy with your appearance, you shouldn't care what other people think."

"That's very easy to say, but it's much harder to live. The bottom line is that I feel more comfortable with this control over how I look. I don't worry about it as much."

Morrigan shrugged and turned to leave. "Wait, aren't you going to...?" Hermione trailed off.

"Didn't our conversation just indicate what I think of messing with my appearance?" Morrigan said scornfully.

"Yes, but it's still fun. And I bet you'd look awfully nice with eyeliner on."

"No," Morrigan told her flatly. "You're not putting that crap on my face."

"Please?" Hermione begged.

"Absolutely not. I don't need it. People have commented on how pretty I look before. It was the Dark Lord. But still, I don't need a crutch to feel confident. With my wand at my side, people have never questioned me before."

"That was when you'd curse them if they disagreed with you," Hermione pointed out.

"So?"

"You're not going to do that now, though."

"Well, there's a war going on right now. People can't be sure. Besides, some of them might recognize me."

"All the more reason to fix your appearance," Hermione told her.

Morrigan snorted. "If they attack me, I will curse them into oblivion. Right or wrong, I will defend myself. And I'm not afraid of people seeing my face. I never wore the Mask for a reason. I won't wear one now."

That was the end of it.

After Hermione had fully prepared herself to go, they Apparated to Diagon Alley. Morrigan's key sat in her pocket. They first went to Gringotts, which was an experience within itself. Morrigan read the doors with amusement. "For those that take but do not earn. Thief, indeed." Hermione rolled her eyes.

Morrigan had only once encountered goblins, and that hadn't been very pleasant. The beasts had tried to push her down a well for making fun of their noses. Mind, she had deserved it, but the experience had been rather unforgettable.

Hermione pushed Morrigan toward the teller desk, where she handed her key to a goblin and said, "Vault 347, please."

The goblin leered at her. "Turnrook will assist you. Turnrook!" Another goblin, no doubt Turnrook, bowed deeply to the teller and went around the counter.

"This way," he called, and leapt nimbly into a cart.

"We're expected to get into that?" Morrigan asked, alarmed.

"Yes, it's one of the perks of a wizard's bank," Hermione told her sarcastically.

Morrigan gulped and followed the goblin into the cart. Hermione got in last, clutching her moneybag to her body. The cart started slowly, but soon was careening at breakneck speeds down the old track that led down into the ground. They stopped suddenly and Morrigan felt like she was going to fly onto the track, but managed to seize the rail on time to bring herself to a stop. "Vault 347," Turnrook called, climbing out. He held out his hand and Morrigan placed her key into his waiting hand, and then clambered out shakily herself.

The goblin stuck the key in its hole, and then turned the lock. The vault door swung open heavily, and the light from the torches illuminated the contents of the vault. To one side laid a large pile of gold and silver, and to the other sat every bauble and gift the Dark Lord had ever given her, aside from books. She looked down disgustedly at these and began picking them up with an unconcealed sneer. She put each of them in her bag, which was bulging from the various objects. Hermione stared at the bag and Morrigan's lip curled slightly. "Blood money," she growled in a low tone. "I'm selling it all."

"To whom?" Hermione hissed. "No one would buy all these."

"Borgin and Burkes will," Morrigan told her. "We're going to stop in Knockturn Alley."

"Absolutely not!" Hermione snapped. "I don't belong there."

"No one will touch you," Morrigan assured her. "Not with me around. Besides, people don't murder you in the middle of street."

Hermione muttered darkly, folding her arms over her chest.

At the top of the track, they got out and thanked their guide, then exited the bank. Morrigan led the way determinedly to the side alley connecting the two major alleys, then down the street of Knockturn Alley.

She entered Borgin and Burkes, Hermione behind her. Morrigan rang the bell smartly and waited for the greasy salesman, Borgin, to come out of his office. He first laid eyes upon Hermione and his face of gracious anticipation became that of sneering distaste.

"What do you want?" he snapped.

"I'm selling," Morrigan told him coolly, and Hermione noticed how she behaved around Borgin. She was haughty and disconnected, her eyes coldly appraising, and her manner arrogant. If Hermione had been Borgin, she would have immediately known that Morrigan meant business.

But Borgin remembered Hermione from a previous encounter and this impression shone darkly on Morrigan. However, the girl acted as calm and collected as Hermione had ever seen her. This must have been how she handled her fellow Death Eaters, Hermione marveled. It was no wonder why she she'd had a formidable reputation.

"And what, pray tell, would that be?" Borgin snapped.

Morrigan pulled her bag out, and opened it, pulling out first a large ruby necklace with bone fingers clutching the jewel from the chain. Borgin's eyes widened slightly.

"This is an exquisite piece, and unless I am quite mistaken, was once part of my collection," he breathed, glancing up at Morrigan.

"Yes, the Dark Lord gifted this upon myself," she told him with a smirk. "Blood money."

Borgin's face drained of the little color it had previously displayed.

"Your discretion is, of course, requested."

"Of course, Madame. How much?"

"Seventy galleons," she said. "That's a low price."

"Yes, thank you, Madame." He pulled out a box, which was filled to the bursting with galleons. He pulled out three other identical boxes, tall and wide. He pointed his wand at the open box and the allotted Galleons flew out to place themselves in a stack in front of her.

The next item was a ring of emerald, which Morrigan would not touch directly, instead picking it up by the chain. "The Ring of Beauty," she told him.

"Ah yes! Renders the wearer beautiful in whatever way the viewer finds most appealing. You do not wish to keep it, Madame?"

"Do I look as if I need such a ring?" Morrigan asked coldly. Hermione felt a shiver go up her spine. Morrigan was exceptionally good at this, which was rather scary.

"No, no, of course not."

"Good. I also have a cursed hairbrush, a talking mirror, and a poisoned lipstick," she added, putting each jeweled piece onto the corner with little ceremony.

"Poisoned lipstick...?" Borgin asked.

"It's not toxic to the wearer. Kills whatever or whoever the wearer kisses."

"Ah, I see."

Morrigan pulled piece after piece out of the sack until finally she had sold every piece to a very enthused Borgin. When they finally left, he bowed them out of the shop, smiling greasily and asking Morrigan to come back soon.

As they left, Morrigan handed Hermione two handfuls of Galleons wordlessly, but Hermione tried to shove the Galleons back, protesting.

"I don't want it," Morrigan said, shaking her head. "It's blood money. You may not have noticed this, but Borgin didn't even blink at every price I set--because I set every one way lower than it should have been. I wanted to get rid of it. Borgin is, of course, used to this and accepts nearly every price given him."

"You didn't want to get your money's worth?" Hermione asked with a frown. "It may be a terrible source of money, but it still was yours."

Morrigan stopped and looked at Hermione, her eyes hard. "Hermione, at the risk of sounding a bit like an insolent student, I really don't like the idea of keeping that money around as a reminder of why I have it. You are holding the pain of good people in your hands. Don't hesitate to get rid of it. I'm giving it to you because you've given me what no other person could, but I was given this money for killing innocent people. It is far better that you use it for the reason I gave it to you than why I was given it. Besides, I really don't want to walk around with five hundred galleons."

Hermione looked down at the bulging bag. "That's enchanted, isn't it? If there were truly five-hundred Galleons in there, you'd be holding something far bigger."

"Yes, it's a bottomless bag," Morrigan told her. "It's a lot easier when you're trying to carry a large sum of money, which I used to do when I didn't withdraw my own money." They resumed walking, and soon found themselves back on the street. It wasn't crowded, as most feared going out during the War. Hermione led the way to the Apothecary first. She and Morrigan browsed the ingredients, and finally they picked what they needed and wanted. Morrigan grabbed an order from a stack by the door as they walked out. "In case I need any more."

They headed across the street to Flourish and Blotts, where they split up. Hermione went searching for an updated book of Emeric Switch's Advanced Transfiguration, while Morrigan drifted into the Dark Arts section. She found a book of rather amusing prank hexes, while another was on how to effectively defend oneself in difficult times such as these. They recommended immediate Apparition if one could, and there was an entire section on Apparating, at which point Morrigan closed the book with an impatient snap and put it back. She found another that discussed magic sentient creatures, ranging from elves to vampires. It belonged to a three-volume set, which Morrigan rather liked. The author obviously knew what he was talking about, and the information on vampires was mostly accurate. Morrigan had done an independent inquiry for her graduating year at Dirving, which was required of students that completed the courses in certain areas before graduation. Morrigan had done inquiries for every class her last year, as she'd studied with teachers over the summers. She'd lived at Dirving, since she'd had nowhere to go.

Morrigan made up her mind to buy the set and pulled them off the shelf, holding them under her arm. She browsed more, finding a book of counter-curses and hexes that she liked, and another devoted to human transfiguration for defense. She lugged her finds to the front desk where a cute younger wizard was checking the books for customers. When he finally came to Morrigan, she placed every book on the counter, the books slamming heavily. He smiled at the selections. "Studying up?"

She didn't smile back, feeling nervous and shy. "It's a subject of interest," she told him with a shrug.

The smile faded and he checked the books for problems or torn pages. Finally he gave her the price and she handed him the money. He bagged the books then gave them to her. "Have a nice day," she muttered, and joined Hermione at the door.

"I was watching," Hermione said with a grin. "Terrorizing the poor clerk?"

"Well, he made me feel stupid," Morrigan whined jokingly. "I hate that."

Hermione laughed then led them on down the street toward Madame Maulkin's. Morrigan stopped in front of the brooms, and Hermione turned around to see what she was looking at. Morrigan went into Quality Quidditch Supplies to get a better look at the Firebolt in the window. She couldn't take her eyes off of it, and it was mightily tempting to buy it. She did, after all, have more leisure time now, and it would be nice to have a racing broom. She couldn't play Quidditch, of course, but it wouldn't be terrible to buy one. She had her heart set on the Firebolt. She walked up to the attendant and asked, "How much is the Firebolt?"

"One hundred and twenty-five Galleons," he told her promptly. "Sale for brooms has gone down since the beginning of the war. Used to be a lot more expensive."

"I'll take it," Morrigan told him. He nodded, went to the window, and reverently picked the broom off the stand. Morrigan pulled all 125 Galleons out of her purse and then piled them on the counter. The attendant counted them, and with a smile, said, "You're ready to go. Would you like me to wrap it up for you?"

"Sure," Morrigan told him. "Why tempt thieves?" He grinned and took the Firebolt from her hands.

"Accio!" he called, and the paper flew onto the counter where he wrapped and tied it. Morrigan thanked him and left. Hermione was waiting, once again at the door, her lips pursed.

"Why on earth did you feel the need to get that dreadful thing?" she asked.

"I have time to ride it now. Might as well."

"Hmph." Hermione led her into Madame Maulkin's. The witch was busy with another customer--a mother and her very young son. He was currently trying to poke Madame Maulkin back with her own pins, but his mother slapped his hand, yelling, "No, Ramón! Sorry, Madame Maulkin..." Hermione grinned and began browsing the clothing.

Morrigan found a nice set of robes that were practical but attractive, and she set her heart upon that design. Hermione called her to come look at a set that she herself liked. They were green with red hems. Morrigan cocked her head to the side. "I think it would clash with your boyfriend's hair," she teased.

Hermione shoved her and said, "I'm buying them."

Morrigan put her hands up. "Fine, fine, it's your choice."

"I mean I want to buy them for that reason. I get sick of hearing people tell me we look cute together."

Morrigan began to laugh. "What's so funny?" Hermione asked with a frown.

"Nothing," Morrigan told her, straightening her face with great effort. "Just the implications..."

"Oh shut up," Hermione snapped, shoving her again.

Madame Maulkin approached them, while the mother and her son walked out onto the empty street. "Is there anything I can do for you, dears?"

"Yes," both said simultaneously, then Hermione went ahead. "I'd like to buy these--the Holly set?"

"Of course," Madame Maulkin told her with a smile. "I just hope you're easier to please than that dreadful little boy...." She led Hermione to the fitting station where Hermione stood on the stool and allowed herself to be measured while Madame Maulkin picked out the fabrics. "I'll be right with you, dear," the witch told Morrigan briskly, who smiled back at her and nodded quietly.

Morrigan browsed the robes more, finding a pair of ridiculous bright orange ones that were rather tempting for the silliness, but she knew that she wouldn't ever wear them, so discarded the idea. She was looking over a pair of cream ones when Madame Maulkin finished and called for her.

"Which were you wanting?" Madame Maulkin asked Morrigan. The girl pointed at the pair she wanted and the witch gestured to stand on the stool.

Morrigan did as she was told, then stood very still as the tape measure took her measurements. Madame Maulkin brought the robes over and began to fix them to her measurements. Twenty minutes later, they were leaving with their new robes.

"Is there anything else?" Hermione asked. "We've got books, potion supplies, robes...Oh!" She hit herself on the forehead with her free hand. "I almost forgot the groceries!"

"Is there a grocery store here?" Morrigan asked. "It doesn't seem grocery-store-esque."

"No, there's one beside the Leaky Cauldron, though. I figured we would just stop there on our way home."

"Hermione, we are going to look ridiculous," Morrigan said. "How are we going to carry everything? And how on earth are we going to Apparate out of there with Muggles around?"

Hermione bit her lip. "I didn't think of that."

"Of course not," Morrigan said, rolling her eyes. "We'll eat first, then we'll grocery shop. My treat."

Hermione beamed at her. "I accept."

The two friends moved on to a coffee shop of Hermione's pick, called "Donna's Coffee Shop." Donna was a tall, thin witch who was very fond of the color yellow. The seats were yellow, the walls were yellow, the uniforms on the waitresses were yellow, the menu was yellow (and barely intelligible), and the décor was all yellow themed. Morrigan was almost blinded when she opened the door, and she squinted against the bright lemony light. "I guess I'll bring sunglasses next time," she told Hermione. Amusingly, a couple in the corner was wearing sunglasses.

Hermione sat in a corner booth, placing her shopping bags beside her. Morrigan sat across from her. She looked down at the menu and narrowed her eyes at the lettering. "I can't even read that!" she muttered.

Hermione sighed and said, "They have sandwiches, coffee, and tea. Take your pick."

"Black tea?" Morrigan asked.

"Of course," Hermione told her. "Traditional, lemon, or flavored."

"Which flavors?"

"Berries."

"Ah, I see."

Donna approached their table and said, clearing her throat, "Hello, I'm Donna, your hostess. What can I get you ladies today?"

Morrigan racked her brains for a sandwich and blurted, "A Reuben, on wheat."

"And what can I get you to drink?"

"Black tea, please. A spot of milk and two lumps of sugar."

"And you?" Donna turned to look at Hermione, her pen pressed on her notepad.

"A butterbeer and a corned beef sandwich. Rye bread, please."

"Thanks, ladies. I'll have your orders in about five minutes."

Morrigan leaned back as she left. "Well. This has certainly been fun. Do you do this often?"

"No," Hermione told her, shaking her head. "Not too often. Usually only when I need something."

"Of if you have an excess of money," Morrigan added with a grin.

"Yes, that, too. Sometimes I come with Ginny or Ron. Occasionally Harry. I don't really have a whole lot of time to just do this on whim. It's usually planned."

"Oh. What do you usually do, then?"

"Sometimes I take odd jobs at the Ministry. I was thinking about training as an Auror, but I rather enjoy my freedom, and it would mean keeping one job a secret from the other. I'm not too sure I like the idea of that."

"Why isn't the Order public now?" Morrigan asked.

"Too penetrable. And if the Ministry knew, they'd try to control it. Rufus Scrimgeour has tried interfering in Order affairs before, even when he hadn't a clue of its existence. It's safer to just keep it a secret. Many of the Order consider the Order the thing that keeps the Ministry running. Kingsley runs the Auror department and takes intelligent reports to the Aurors from the Order. Arthur Weasley's new promotion gave him full access to the Department of Ministries, so he can catalogue new finds on Voldemort's power, and even help Harry access some of the information. We're more powerful than Voldemort can guess and we're right under the Ministry's nose."

"What does Voldemort know about the Order? I mean, fully?"

"He knew what it was called, and that Dumbledore started it. He doesn't know who the members are, doesn't know where headquarters are, and hasn't a clue what we're up to, although he might think he does. We pick our members so well it's nearly impossible for him to penetrate it. After the last war we have to be especially careful."

"The Potter slip," Morrigan said with a nod.

"Yes, the Potter betrayal," Hermione agreed.

"How do you usually get members?"

"They're recommended and slowly brought into the group. Usually only intimate acquaintances are allowed in. If we need someone, we usually have a look-see into their thoughts then take them based on what we see."

"And who usually does this?"

"Moody. He's the only Legilemens. I think Draco is competent, but they don't trust him enough, and no matter how good he is, Moody's better."

"Makes sense," Morrigan said with a shrug.

"I suppose. It's better than Veritaserum." Hermione shuddered.

Frowning, Morrigan asked, "What do you have against Veritaserum? It gets the job done."

"In high amounts, it's extremely toxic," Hermione told her. "I've seen what it can do to a person, and it isn't pleasant."

"And what's that?"

"Their vital organs begin to shut down one by one. The brain tries to prevent its owner from revealing more secrets, so it shuts down the body for that person. If the brain isn't stopped on time, the body will die."

"That must be awful to watch," Morrigan commented carefully.

"It is."

They waited silently for their food to come. Donna brought it out on a tray and placed it all on the table. "Enjoy your lunch, ladies."

"Thank you," Hermione told her with a smile.

Morrigan pulled the Reuben towards her and took a sip of the tea. It burnt her tongue and she choked slightly. "Ouch," she said, and ran her tongue across the top of her mouth."

"It's hot," Hermione told her.

"Gee, thanks for the warning, Hermione," Morrigan snapped.

They talked briefly about Hermione's jobs at the Ministry, eating their sandwiches slowly. They paid the bill and left, lugging their bags behind them. They Apparated to Hermione's, dropping their purchases off. The rain had ceased and Hermione suggested they walk. Morrigan paused at the door. "Shouldn't we perhaps take off our robes?"

"Oh, yeah." Both took off their robes, revealing their clothing underneath. While Hermione had chosen a sweater and jeans, Morrigan was wearing black slacks and a long-sleeved t-shirt. She left to grab a hooded sweatshirt to keep her a bit warmer.

"How are we paying?" she asked upon return.

"With Muggle currency. I have money."

"Oh."

When they entered the grocery store, Morrigan felt rather uncomfortable. She hadn't been around a whole lot of Muggles for quite a long time, and any interaction had ultimately resulted in death--not her own. Hermione browsed the shelves with Morrigan trailing behind, feeling awkward and useless. "Is there anything I can get?" Morrigan muttered.

Hermione looked up at her and squinted thoughtfully. "Eggs and cheese."

"Milk?" Morrigan asked.

"Yes, that too."

Morrigan left the fruit aisle and wandered toward the refrigerated area. She found the whole milk easily, although she wasn't sure what sort of cheese Hermione had in mind. Swiss? Cheddar? Mozzarella? Morrigan decided upon all three. She grabbed a carton of eggs and traveled back to the fruits. Hermione was leaning over bananas when Morrigan sidled up beside her. "I couldn't figure out which kind of cheese you wanted, so just brought all three," Morrigan told Hermione.

Hermione looked up and smiled. "All three will do."

"Anything else?"

"Go to the deli and see if they have my cold cuts ready. Ask for Kelsey Smith's."

"That's not your name, though."

"The Order doesn't want me to give out my real name to the Muggles for security reasons."

"Well, if the Dark Lord asks these specific Muggles about you, I'd assume he would already know you live less than a mile away."

"Just go get it!" Hermione fussed, and Morrigan, shaking her head and muttering, tromped off to the deli.

The woman in charge looked up at her when she came to a stop at the counter. "Wot do yeh wont?" she barked in a strong accent.

"The cold cuts for Her--uh, Kelsey Smith."

"You ain't Kelsey Smith."

"I'm her roommate," Morrigan said shakily.

"Eh, foin." She barked out orders to an underling to bring out Kelsey Smith's cold cuts. The woman nodded her head quickly and scurried to do her bidding.

The woman in charge turned back and looked Morrigan up and down. "It'll be just a momen'."

"Thanks," Morrigan said quietly, averting her eyes while she waited.

"Here." The woman handed the packaged meat over and Morrigan took it in both hands.

"Have a nice day," Morrigan said quietly and the woman grunted.

Morrigan walked back to Hermione. "Ready?" Hermione asked. "I've got all I think we need."

She pushed the cart forward and Morrigan followed her to the checkout. The youth on duty looked younger than both. He had rather bad acne, a bulbous nose, and watery eyes. He grinned at Hermione in such a manner that Morrigan almost laughed out loud.

"How are you today, Kelsey?" he asked Hermione who smiled genuinely.

"I'm good, Davy. And yourself?"

"Oh, you know, the usual. Are you sure you don't want to go out sometime?"

Hermione laughed. "The boyfriend is still around, Davy."

He looked disappointed. "All right, if you insist. Who's your friend?"

"This is my roommate, Morrigan," Hermione introduced.

Morrigan smiled a tiny smile. "Hello," she said. "Davy."

"Shy?" he asked, squinting at Morrigan, who flushed.

"Sort of," Hermione said, glancing at Morrigan. She thumbed through her pocketbook, counting out her money in pounds. She handed it to Davy who counted the change and gave it back to her with little ceremony.

"Have a nice day," he told them with a leery smile. Relieved, Morrigan helped pick up the bags and carry them out of the store.

"So you're a regular," Morrigan affirmed rather than asked when they exited the store.

"Yes, it's so close it's easier to come biweekly than to stock up."

"Well, either we're going to change that or you'll shop alone," Morrigan warned. "Don't forget there are two of us living together. We'll also need to come up with a payment plan. I'll pay half of everything, but I'm only going to be able to pay in wizard currency so you'll have to foot the Muggle parts of the bills. I'll reimburse you, of course, but I won't be able to do so in Muggle cash."

"Sounds good to me," Hermione agreed.

They climbed the stairs of the flat, feeling rather than seeing the eight landings.

Inside, they put away the groceries and settled down into the sitting room where Hermione turned on the T.V. Old reruns of Monty Python's Flying Circus were on, and Morrigan watched with fascination. She barely remembered television from her youth. John Miller had, of course, had one, so she used to watch it, but she couldn't remember what she'd viewed, and it seemed like it had been hundreds of years ago. As she watched, she wondered vaguely if it might have been hundreds of years ago, indeed.

* * *

In the course of a week and a half, Morrigan and Hermione became quite used to their coexistence. They interchanged meals every day. The same person that had lunch had supper, since lunch was easier to make. Whoever didn't cook cleaned up. No wandwork was required, besides putting the dishes in the dishwasher, for washing the dishes. They lived quite peaceably with each other. Morrigan's room stayed unadorned, although it was comfortable. Hermione had at one point set a sofa in that room, since she'd nowhere to put it. The bed was against the wall in the middle of the room, and Hermione's bookcase was in that room as well. Morrigan put her name inside her own books but put them in the bookcase for the time being.

Her coverlet was dark blue, as was the dust ruffle. Hermione, apparently, liked blue décor before she decided that white looked better. Morrigan's room became something that her Parselart one had never been--her own. She'd never felt quite at home like she did here, and she was surprised at the difference the feeling made. She rested easier, had an easier time falling asleep, and had good dreams. She never could remember what those dreams were of when she woke up, but she always had the distinct feeling that she had wanted that dream to keep going.

After hearing that Hermione was living back in her own apartment, Ginny and Ron decided to make a call one afternoon, walking from Diagon Alley to Hermione's. Morrigan was sitting cross-legged on the floor in shorts, socks, and a t-shirt, her hair back in a ponytail, creating a pyramid out of Exploding Snap cards. Someone knocked on the door and her four-level pyramid exploded with a bang. Scowling, Morrigan stood and went to the door. She swung it open and instantly regretted having opened it herself.

The two youngest Weasleys were staring at her in shock while she stared back. She flushed and raised a single eyebrow. "Can I help you, or did you already get lost?"

"Wouldn't that mean you would help us if we were lost?" Ron asked, squinting stupidly.

"She was being a bitch, Ron," Ginny snapped at her brother. "And no," she said to Morrigan. "We're here to see Hermione. If, that is, she still lives here and this apartment hasn't been entirely taken over by scum."

"Well, if you step on the premises it will have," Morrigan retorted breezily.

"Funny. Is Hermione here?"

"Yes," Hermione said, coming from behind Morrigan and giving her a stern look. "It's good you're being social with my new roommate," Hermione noted nastily to Ginny and her brother. "You've gotten off on such a lovely start. Why don't we make it more fun? Do you want poleaxes?" She scowled spitefully at Ginny and Morrigan.

Both looked ashamed and Morrigan backed away into the flat. Ginny and Ron entered, pulling at their cloaks and shrugging them onto an armchair. "There's a coat rack for that," Morrigan snapped, bending to pick up her cards.

Ron meekly picked the cloaks up and hung them on the coat rack, and Morrigan felt a twinge of regret for being nasty to Ron. He'd never really said anything bad to her or about her.

Of course, her regret was instantly gone when she heard him whisper to Hermione, "What are you doing Hermione? Why'd you let that thing stay with you? She'll murder you in your bed!"

Morrigan straightened and glared at him foully, causing him to take a step back. "See!" he said loudly.

"I don't have a problem with Hermione," she told him. "It's just jerks like you and your sister I can't abide."

"Then go somewhere else," Ginny snarled.

"I was here first. This is my home. You're only here on the faint chance I don't blast you out the door."

"I thought you were changed," Ginny said coolly.

"I have no moral qualms against cursing you if you're a pain in the ass," Morrigan snorted. "Which you are, so don't tempt me."

"Oh dear, I'm so scared," Ginny returned sarcastically.

"Remember what I did to you last time you were on the other side of my wand," Morrigan hissed murderously. "You're only alive because I was ordered to leave you alive."

"And you think she's reformed?" Ginny said, turning back to Hermione coolly. "Gee, Hermione, your judgment is dead on."

"Ginny, despite Morrigan's...brutal phrasing, I'm going to have to remind you that you are insulting her in her own home. She might be a bit defensive," Hermione sighed. "And Morrigan, try to relax. No one is going to be cursing each other here."

Morrigan harrumphed and stalked into her room, slamming the door angrily.

In the absence of Morrigan, Ginny began to attack Hermione. "What the hell are you playing at, Hermione? She's a killer. I don't know why you think she's okay, but your reasoning can't be worth shite because she's exactly the same. Did you see how she acted? Is that not indicative of her past nature?"

Morrigan threw herself on the bed, listening to Hermione, Ron, and Ginny go at it. She stared at the ceiling.

"Ginny, you provoked her! Besides, Moody trusts her, and so I trust her."

"Why the hell would Moody trust her?" Ron asked curiously.

"He used the Legilimency test to see whether she could join the Order."

"Malfoy said she's a great Occlumens! So what? She let him see whatever would make her look good. That's the only way she could have possibly passed."

"That's not how it works," Hermione snapped. "But that aside, it's more that she's actually changed and you just don't want to believe it!"

"Want? Want? What does that have to do with anything?"

"You tell me, Ginny, since you're the one bent on hating her."

"If I don't trust her, that's my business Hermione."

"Then stay out of mine! I believe her. The end. Finite. Your voice has no influence over my decision. I know she's a good person, and whether you believe it or not is totally irrelevant."

"Fine, Hermione. I'm leaving."

A crack heralded Ginny's Disapparition. Ron's voice floated through the walls. "Hermione, are you sure about this?"

"Ron, I am totally sure. I know you side with your sister, but honestly, I don't give a damn what you two think. I am surer of this than anything lately, and I'm sticking with it. If it comes down to picking, I'm going with Morrigan, because she alone has been completely loyal to me over the past month. And she's only been my friend for that long. Seems I'm a better judge in new friends than old."

There was a long silence and then Morrigan barely picked up, "Is that so? Well, if you're going to pick the girl that hurt Ginny like that, then I don't want anything to do with you."

He, too, Apparated from the flat. Hermione sat on the sofa with sigh, worn out by her conflicting friends.

Morrigan crept out her door and Hermione saw her immediately. She flushed. "You heard that whole thing, didn't you?"

Morrigan nodded silently. "Look, Hermione, I really don't want to be the reason you three aren't friends anymore. I'll just find another flat and things will even out in time."

"No!" Hermione said fiercely. "After this war is over, you are going to be met with some severe opposition. When people hear that you turned sides, that you're free...they're not going to be too happy. But you can't change your life just because they don't like you. Morrigan, there's a difference between being humble and being abused. If you change what you like doing just because some people dislike you, you're letting them be the bad guy and yourself the victim. You might have oppressed people in the past, but you can't let other people do it to you in the future. You will handle your guilt in your own way, and it's not their responsibility to punish you. People cannot take justice into their own hands because nothing but the law is nearly objective, and even that was written by men."

Morrigan's shoulders slumped and she said, "I just wish it was easier."

"So do I," Hermione sighed. "So do I."