Metamorphome

Chapter Thirteen: Venturing to the Burrow

Mrs. Molly Prewett-Weasley was, as the cliché would have it, a very sweet woman. She could not abide selfishness, rudeness, immodesty, pride, or sloth (which is quite high on the list of traits to abolish in some of her sons). Motherless children simply cried out to her to be adopted, and she could spot them like a Healer can spot Dragon Pox. You had her sympathy, whether you like it or not.

The point is that when planning the luncheon on March first, she was simply obligated to invite Morrigan and Draco.

Any woman other than Mrs. Weasley might believe this an unwise decision. Besides Hermione, no other individual wished to curse the rest of the table with the two Death Eaters (current member or not). However, Molly could not help herself. When her mind rested upon Draco's own familial losses, she felt a quiver of pain in her own heart. The poor dear was lost in the world that he had most certainly not been born into--a world where your name is irrelevant compared to how kind your parents have been to your fellow man. And even being a member of the Order of Phoenix cannot help you there.

Mrs. Weasley had a different reason for inviting Morrigan. Truthfully, Molly was tempted to leave Morrigan out of the invitation. However, this would seem tacky to invite Hermione and Draco when Morrigan was not invited herself. How would the girl feel? And if Hermione had, indeed, changed her, this would most certainly not help the girl. Besides, the rest of them would have to get used to the girl's presence sooner or later, and sooner was preferable to later.

Morrigan was positively thrilled to receive such an invitation, and threw herself headlong into finding the perfect gift to bring to her first invitation-luncheon. Hermione watched as Morrigan practically burst at the seams with enthusiasm, planning to make some lovely sourdough bread that would impress all at the table.

Hermione woke that morning, listening to Morrigan, clanging in the kitchen as she baked, with a growing dread. Sitting at a table with the Weasleys, Harry, Draco, and Morrigan would be a great challenge. There would be Mrs. Weasley, taking great pains to be civil and keep the conversation going. Mr. Weasley would be trying to cover up for his wife's overzealous attempts with his wise, measured manner. Fleur would be viewing Morrigan and Draco with ill-concealed curiosity, and the twins would be showing off and using little discretion--perhaps joking around with Morrigan about being Voldemort's favorite. Morrigan, she was sure, would take it in stride. However, it would be rather awkward for the rest of the table. Then there would also be Ginny, grinding her teeth and her eyes narrowed to slits for her anger.

Then what about Ron and Draco? Although Harry kept his past prejudices in reserve, Ron still hated Draco passionately. Any little remark from Draco would mostly likely set Ron off, and the boy would be flying across the table to punch the living daylights out of Draco. Even worse would be Draco proving his no-doubt amazing reflexes and humiliating Ron in front of Hermione and Fleur, therefore incensing his anger.

All Hermione could see was Ron leaping across the table and then suspended in midair, every face at the table a mixture of amusement and horror. She shuddered and sat up in bed, stretching her limbs. With a sigh, she swung her legs out of bed and went immediately to the dresser, where she dressed in comfortable, attractive black slacks and a light sweater. She put on her shoes and then exited, walking down the hall and stopping in the kitchen to laugh hysterically at the sight that met her eyes.

Every surface of her orderly kitchen had been covered in flour--including Morrigan. She was covered in the white, powdery substance, looking very alarmed at Hermione's sudden appearance.

"I'm just about to--" Morrigan started, but Hermione shook her head (with some great difficulty) at the baker, chortling to herself as she retreated to the sitting room where she watched over the counter as Morrigan shuffled around with flustered movements, trying to clean and at the same time watch her dough rise.

At the end of two hours, both girls had finished their dishes and had thoroughly cleaned the kitchen, only leaving for the Burrow when Hermione was good and satisfied with the way it looked. She held her dish of Yorkshire pudding aloft, turned once, and felt herself compress at all sides until she landed softly on the grass of the lawn of the Burrow, Morrigan right beside her. She, too, held her bread up and looked around at her surroundings, clearly unimpressed. "This is certainly...charming."

"Don't say a word," Hermione warned her, but Morrigan shrugged innocently.

"I didn't."

They went to the door and knocked, where Mrs. Weasley asked the security questions in her high, inquisitive voice used when interrogating visitors.

They were let in, where Mrs. Weasley hugged Hermione and let Morrigan in awkwardly. Morrigan handed her bread to the woman, who took it with a small smile. Hermione exchanged small talk before she retreated to the sitting room where her friends were. Morrigan knew what to expect there, and she didn't want to go in with the redheaded girl. Before resigning to an hour or so of such torture, she looked at Mrs. Weasley almost pleadingly and said, "Do you need any help, Mrs. Weasley?"

Molly shook her head. "I appreciate the offer, Miss Flaherty, but I've quite got it under control."

"You're sure--?" With a resigned sigh, Morrigan exited the kitchen and into the sitting room, where she sat on the stairs with her chin in the palm of her hand, watching Hermione, Ginny, Harry, Ron, Fred, George, Bill, and even Fleur converse rapidly, joy written on their faces as they spent time with their closest friends. She found herself somewhat amused by the twins. Once she giggled aloud at their antics, and one of them turned to wink at her kindly.

Occasionally she tried to put in her two cents, but her own efforts were met with silence or a change of subject, usually led by Ginerva Weasley, who would not discuss anything civilly with Morrigan. When the subject turned to vampires and their allegiance to Voldemort, Morrigan shifted in her seat. This is it, she thought to herself. I'll finally be included on this one. She looked for an opening, but there didn't seem to be any, until a debate rose on whether or not a cross could kill a vampire or not. Ginny was of the opinion that it couldn't, while Harry steadily disagreed and thought that yes, a cross would burn a vampire. Finally, after a bit of "Yeah huh" and "Nuh uh"'s, Morrigan piped up, "Actually, a cross has no effect upon vampires whatsoever. The Christian church started that belief upon Roman expansion into Romania. Vampires have been existent for far longer than the Catholic Church, and such an evolvement would take far longer than the length of time they have been exposed to Christianity."

A long silence ensued, and Morrigan thought that, since she had defended Ginny, she would surely be a bit kinder to her. Instead, the girl said, "You know, Harry, I think you might be on to something. I bet the cross can hurt vampires, if not kill them."

Morrigan flushed angrily, feeling a bit hurt that this time, Hermione didn't defend her. But the more righteous part of Morrigan scolded her for such a thought. You can't depend on Hermione all the time. Besides, Ginny is her priority as a friend. You, my dear, are not. Still, Morrigan couldn't help but to feel that little pang of pain when she thought of Hermione's blank expression as she looked away and out the window, searching for something to look at--anything else but Morrigan's stricken face.

Luckily, just on time, someone knocked on the door and Mrs. Weasley called out for the security question and a quiet voice answered her. Morrigan and Hermione's hearts soared simultaneously, when a blond head of hair entered, the silvery blue eyes just beneath it following. He, too, handed a dish of something indescript to Mrs. Weasley, then went to the sitting room with a murmured thanks. He sat immediately next to Morrigan on the stairs, who looked relieved at his company.

Draco knew immediately what situation he had found Morrigan in, instantly pitying the poor girl for her lack of decent company or at least conversation. Morrigan now sat beside him in silence, but it was measured and comfortable. Both of them felt content in that simple bond between them. It was friendly, but not charged with romance, as once it had been between Draco and Hermione. Now they just felt like old chums, and some part of both of them wanted it to be like that forever. There were no extra words to be tacked onto "friend" such as "boy," "girl," or "with benefits." It was simpler that way, and somehow they felt it would always be that way.

"How've you getting on with this lot?" Draco asked her quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Morrigan sighed, but smiled. "Oh, barely. Or not at all, based on whatever scale you're using."

"Probably not at all," Draco said, smirking typically. "But I understand how it is. They're quite a clique, this bunch. Sure they're 'kind,' and they're the heroes of Hogwarts. But if you're not one of them from the beginning, the likelihood of getting in with them is near impossible. Might as well face it now, Flaherty--they don't want us, never have, and so we'll never be one of them." He sighed as he looked at the crestfallen expression on her face. "You shouldn't even want to be in with them. Some of us can't be most popular Quidditch player that couldn't save a Quaffle or the Boy Who Might Not Live." His face was twisted with bitterness, and Morrigan felt a stab of pity. "Not all of us got to do what we wanted to," he whispered, and Morrigan put a comforting hand on his.

"There will come a time when they will envy," she told him. "We can't always be the ones envying them."

"Sure," Draco said sarcastically. "That split second before that jet of green light hits them full on, they'll wish they weren't going to die before us."

Morrigan sighed. "We shouldn't wish for that kind of envy."

"I don't," Draco told her. "I just think that's the only time they'd ever envy us."

"There's going to be something," Morrigan reassured him.

"Don't hold your breath," Draco muttered.

"Enough about this," Morrigan commanded him sharply. "Let's move on to something more pleasant. How is the Animagus process coming? Hermione told me that you're going to proceed whether or not the Ministry processes your request positively or not."

Draco went into a lengthy explanation of the process, which Morrigan followed in fascination. She had often imagined herself becoming an Animagus, although she wasn't entirely sure she could pick an animal to become. She also didn't know if she could go through the process herself. She had heard that there were certain parts that quick wandwork and thinking was necessary, and she wasn't sure if she had what it took to go through that process. She'd never been good at thinking on her think. It took a long time before she was sure of what to do, and almost none of what she did on impulse worked out positively.

"The potion is a branch of the Polyjuice Potion, only there are added ingredients, such as the heartstring of a horse, which makes the potion permanent. The boomslang isn't added, because it makes animal transformation difficult."

"Ah, yes, you're not supposed to use Polyjuice for animal transformation."

"Exactly. After you take the potion, there's a combination of spells you have to use, which have to be done in a precise order, and one right after the other."

"I suppose it's to make transformation instantaneous and painless," Morrigan ascertained confidently.

"Yes, but it's also a ritual. Animal transformation was considered a sacred change by the Ancients, and therefore, when they were writing the rules of magic, they made sure to make it a difficult and significant process."

"Dinner!" Mrs. Weasley called from the kitchen, and with a rush, the entire bunch bustled into the kitchen where the table had been extended toward the dining room. Morrigan and Draco stood awkwardly, Draco allowing Morrigan down the steps before he followed her into the dining room.

Draco sat at the end, across from Fred, Morrigan beside Draco, across from George, Hermione beside Morrigan, and Ron across from her, as the table extended on. Fred and George provided some end-of-the-table entertainment by making their food put on a magic show, pulling potato rabbits of hollowed out okra. Morrigan began to laugh loudly, causing Mrs. Weasley to glance toward the end of the table. The twins' food immediately stopped its movement and ceased cutting each other in half.

"How are you two doing in that apartment of yours?" Mrs. Weasley asked, her eyes shifting between Morrigan and Hermione. Morrigan looked at Hermione, eyes wide, unsure of what to say.

Hermione chewed her food and then said slowly, "It's lovely. We're getting along quite well, so it's actually a lot of fun."

"That's nice to hear. What are you planning to do as a profession, dear?" Molly asked Morrigan, who was frozen, her mouth slightly open.

"I haven't thought about that yet," Morrigan told her carefully. "I'm very interested in inter-creature politics."

"Ah, you might want to work in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, then?" Mr. Weasley asked her.

"Maybe," Morrigan said with a shrug. For some reason, talking to Mr. Weasley was a bit more comfortable.

"Any specific reason?" Mr. Weasley asked.

"It's just interesting. I know a few things about Dark creatures, and I assume they're going to need help in that apartment when the war concludes."

"You're very right," Bill said, nodding his head. "Specific groups such as giants or werewolves have their own hierarchy. The werewolves picked Greyback as their leader, and the giants each have their own chief. Once You-Know-Who's gone, we're going to need to ascertain they won't continue his work without him."

"We might even have to offer them some of the same things that You-Know-Who offered them," Arthur added. "Such as Wizarding privileges, or stricter governing to their rights. The Ministry isn't very good about enforcing the laws for non-wizarding creatures, but they do like to enforce the ones against."

"The Dark Lord created his own doctrine for the Dark Creatures. It allowed them free reign under Him, which included jobs, money, food, and room," Morrigan told them, putting down her fork in favor of an interesting conversation.

"Did you read it yourself?" Bill asked with a frown.

"Not all of it," Morrigan admitted. "Some of it was written in strange tongues. I didn't understand them. They were probably written for the benefit of Seth Ammut."

"Who's Seth Ammut?" Harry asked curiously.

"I can't believe you haven't heard of him, Harry," Hermione said amazedly. "He's the spokesman of the vampires--the oldest one in recorded history. Supposedly he's from Egypt, but no one really knows because he claims to be over nine thousand years old."

"Why haven't I heard of him?" Harry asked, frowning. "Surely he's a pretty big name."

"Actually, he's not. He likes seclusion. He doesn't even talk to the Dark Lord," Morrigan told him. "Only a few vampires actually took the Dark Lord up on his offer. They're usually pretty independent."

"And that's why we haven't been able to convince any to come to our side," Harry determined questioningly.

"Yes, Harry."

"They also like to stay away from the battle of good and evil," Morrigan quipped. "Most are of the opinion that when they are...created, they lose their souls, and are therefore beings of complete neutrality. They have the capability to make the choice, but they drink blood, which wizards have historically considered indicative of evil. There are some that consider themselves as 'good,' and only hunt beasts, but most choose human prey. Fortunately, they don't have to eat but once every month."

Ginny finally exploded with a malicious comment. "Oh, yes, fortunately. It would be too bad if they fed any less infrequently."

Morrigan turned a blank stare at Ginny, devoid of emotion but full of cool disregard. The red-haired girl felt a shiver travel down her spine and a feeling of cold dread filled her body. At that moment, Ginny could see the same woman who had tortured her without so much as a flicker of emotion. "I'm sorry, Miss Weasley, if you think that my phrasing displays any lack of feeling or esteem for my fellow humans, but that is not what the intent was."

Hermione felt proud at Morrigan's reply and couldn't help but to be a bit smug at the expression of irritation on Ginny's face. Morrigan herself was satisfied with her response. The first thing that Morrigan had wanted to do was whip out her wand and curse the girl into tragic oblivion, but she had desisted, thanks to Draco's steadying hand on her left arm which reminded her to keep herself from using magic. If not for his presence, Morrigan was sure that she would have resorted to habitual violence.

"I'm glad we have that cleared up," Ginny said stiffly, her eyes equally cool after she had steadied herself.

Arthur turned the conversation to a more comfortable mode, lightening the mood almost immediately. On a more boring topic, Fred turned to Morrigan and said, "So, bet life as a goodie is way more boring than as a baddie."

Morrigan smiled easily, wiggling her eyebrows. "Hell yeah," she snorted. "It was way more interesting. Even though there were a lot more rules. I mean, they were different. There were a lot of manners rules."

"Are you serious?" George asked incredulously, jumping into the conversation.

"Oh yeah. You know Purebloods. They're really into the whole manners and who's-who stuff. Depending on your rank, you sat farther up the table, with Voldemort at the very head." Morrigan thought to herself, Just as well. They knew better how to conduct themselves around the Dark Lord. "I myself, despite the Dark Lord's personal liking towards me, didn't even sit all that close to him. I was fifteenth from the top. Young member, and all."

"That's boring," Fred said loudly. "If you're going to be bad, you might as well be able to get away with loads more, you know?"

"Ha!" Morrigan laughed. "There's just as many rules under the Dark Lord. Maybe more."

"I'd never thought of that," Draco said quietly, "but I think you're right. I'm far more at ease with everyone here, and you know how well we get on...."

Morrigan nodded and took a bite of her food. The levity of the subject had quickly gotten dire, and therefore was no longer of any interest or worth in pursuing.

By the end of the meal, Morrigan was sure she had proved herself to most of the table members. Fred and George thought she was interesting; to Harry she was even more knowledgeable than before; Ginny watched her harder than before, unfortunately; Mr. Weasley rather liked her; and Mrs. Weasley decided that she needed to reevaluate her previous thoughts. Morrigan wasn't sure Ginny would ever be dissuaded from her current position, but she hoped time would help.

After dinner, Hermione and Morrigan offered to clean up, and Mrs. Weasley accepted gratefully. Morrigan levitated the dishes to the sink where she charmed the dishes to wash themselves in organized turns. Hermione began to cover the leftover food for later. "Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," Morrigan said, wiping the table off with a wet rag.

"Oh, you're welcome, Morrigan," Mrs. Weasley said hesitantly, unsure of whether to call Morrigan by her first name or surname.

"It was really nice. I've never been to a family dinner before, so it was different," Morrigan continued.

"Oh, really?" Molly asked faintly.

"Yeah. My parents died when I was very little, so I never had a whole lot family around." Morrigan said this matter-of-factly, not looking for sympathy. She received it, however.

"Oh you poor dear," Mrs. Weasley simpered. "How sad! Did they--?"

Morrigan turned her head questioningly.

"Did they die in the war?"

"Erm, sort of," Morrigan said tentatively. "I don't really..."

"Oh, of course you don't want to talk about it," Mrs. Weasley said quickly, resuming her work.

"Anyway, thank you so much for including me. It was truly lovely."

"Oh, that's all right, dear," Molly told her. "We'll have to do it again for your benefit."

Hermione rolled her eyes from her side of the kitchen. Morrigan was drinking in the attention like wine, which irritated Hermione slightly. She didn't need it, and Molly was easily suckered into sympathizing. Still, Hermione thought lightly, she never had an aunt to do this for her, so I suppose she'd ought to get some sometime in her life. She shrugged to herself and then finished up her work.

When both girls had finished, they retreated to the sitting room where the rest of the group were huddled around two games--Exploding Snap and Gobstones--and talking quietly amongst themselves. Harry and Draco were talking quietly in the corner their heads bent so as to not share their discussion with the other members of the room. Morrigan excused herself and sat down next to them. "What are you discussing so diligently?" she asked in amused tones.

"Morrigan, can you tell me the exact layout of Voldemort's Keep?" Harry asked abruptly.

Morrigan winced at the name, but ignored Harry's roll of the eyes. "Yes, I can. I half grew up in it. Why?"

"Morrigan, do you know what a Horcrux is?" Harry asked her, and Draco's head snapped to look at him in horror.

"No," Morrigan said unsurely. "I've never even heard of it."

Draco had, though. "Why are you talking about that, Potter? You don't think--?"

"Voldemort has, in the past, created seven Horcruxes," Harry told him grimly.

"What's a Horcrux?" Morrigan asked.

Draco turned a pasty white, all the blood draining from his face. "You must be wrong, surely. I--the implications..."

"What's a Horcrux?"

"Malfoy, Voldemort has created seven Horcruxes and dispensed them across Europe. Dumbledore knew it, I knew it, and Slughorn, to a certain extent, knew it," Harry told him, his mouth set firmly.

"What's a Horcrux?"

"But that's impossible! Seven Horcruxes...that's...."

"What's a Horcrux?" hissed Morrigan angrily. Both boys turned to face her, Harry's expression grim and Malfoy's horrified.

"Since Malfoy is too shocked to answer you, I'll tell you. When a person murders another being, their soul is split. It is at this time that the person to whom that soul belongs may take that portion of the soul, attach it to an earthly object or creature, and thus attain immortality."

"Voldemort's immortal?" Morrigan asked with a frown, obviously misunderstanding the implications of such immortality.

"Yes, but it's far worse than that," Draco snapped impatiently. "He split his soul," he emphasized. "It's...so evil and horrible. A broken soul is wrong, an abomination against nature. Worse than that, if Potter's right, and the Dark Lord has broken his soul not once but six times, it's the most evil and deformed--"

His face turned a pale purple as he struggled to put into words Voldemort's precise detriment to humanity.

"Easy, Draco," Morrigan said, putting a hand on his arm. "It's all right. What I'm really concerned about now is how are you going to kill him if he's immortal?"

"You have to destroy all the other six Horcruxes, and then you can kill the bodily Voldemort," Harry told her tersely.

"And how do you go about doing that?" she asked.

"You have to hunt them down and tear them apart."

Morrigan grimaced. "That's going to be a pain in the ass."

"Yes, it is."

"You mean you've already destroyed some?" Draco asked quickly, having retrieved his ability to speak.

"Yeah. Two have been destroyed thus far. I destroyed his school diary in our second year when the Chamber was open and I saved Ginny. Dumbledore destroyed the ring of Slytherin the summer after our fifth year."

"And you're sure there are seven?" Draco asked.

"Well, five now. I'm sure about three of them, though. We can count of Voldemort's body in itself, because that's not one we have to track down and kill until the very last. We're near positive that Nagini is another, since Voldemort likes to keep her extremely close to him, and he has an extraordinary amount of control over her."

"He's a Parselmouth," Morrigan told him, shrugging. "No surprise there."

"Parseltongue doesn't give you control over snakes, it just allows you to converse with them. I would know--I am one."

Morrigan lifted her eyebrow but said nothing.

"And the third?" Draco asked.

"Hufflepuff Cup," Harry told him.

"Ah," Morrigan said. "That explains why you were so ecstatic when I told you."

"Precisely. But now I need a means to get into Parselart and you seem to be the only means."

Morrigan and Draco exchanged a look. "We might never get out of there, though," Morrigan said. "I can tell you where to find it and how to get in, but I can't guarantee you safety."

"Of course not. I just need to know where to find it so we can get in and out before we get killed. And I was hoping you might be able to create a distraction long enough for me to do that unnoticed."

"There has to be more to it than that, though," Draco said. "We need to plan this out in precision."

"We?" Morrigan asked.

"I'm going with," Draco told her shortly. "I'm keeping an eye on you."

Morrigan smiled at him, her heart leaping in her throat. "Okay."

"We need to meet sometime to plan it other than here, though," Harry said. "We can't do it with all these other people. If Hermione and Ron knew, they'd want to go along, and I'm not allowing them to do that."

"Okay. So keep it a secret then?" Morrigan asked.

"Yes," Harry told her.

"When are we meeting?" she asked.

"Tomorrow night sound all right to you?" Harry asked.

"Sure, but where?" Morrigan asked. "You can come to my place, since Hermione is going to be out."

"And she won't walk in on us?" Harry determined.

"Nope," Morrigan said, shaking her head.

"It's settled then. I'll see you two tomorrow."