Metamorphome

Chapter Sixteen: The Hardest Path and the Best Path Are Often The Same

Two months passed, and for Morrigan, they felt like years. She became active in the Order, going in and out of the Ministry and the Weasleys', occasionally Grimmauld. Mostly she filed paperwork on certain Death Eaters, writing down a variety of information that the Ministry had forgotten. Marcus Flint: Currently at large. Morrigan added, Responsible for the deaths of Cecil Adams and his wife Stephanie.

Although she very deliberately avoided him, Morrigan couldn't completely circumvent Draco. They saw each other at meetings and occasionally bumped into each other walking in and out of those three places they commonly had business in. They would nod civilly at each other, trying to forget the clenching in their stomachs and those many months as close friends.

He didn't care for me the way I cared for him. That's not healthy for a relationship. It's better this way, Morrigan tried to tell herself, but she still missed him. It still hurt every time she was reminded that he broke his promise. Here they were, both quite alone, and she needed him more than ever. Can he protect me from himself, though? Morrigan asked herself bitterly. Of course not.

Draco's own reasoning was far different. She can't forgive me. I've done the ultimate evil; broken the circle; I've held one friend over the other, made one more important. She doesn't want anything to do with me. He refused to acknowledge that maybe Morrigan was jealous of Hermione, that she wanted to be in Hermione's position. That's ridiculous, he would tell himself, and then forget about it forcefully.

In Morrigan's heart, she couldn't acknowledge that she should just forget her pride, forget that Draco couldn't love her like he loved Hermione, as she assumed he did. She should, she told herself. Any friendship with Draco should be enough. But the agony of being second best was too much for her. She had never in all her life been second best, so she wasn't sure how to handle being second best in the life that was better for her. She could argue that there would always be someone better than her in some things, but she remembered...

She had been an expert follower. She'd never questioned an order, always following the Dark Lord's teachings with welcome. She never stepped over the line, never pushed him. She knew what his limitations of patience were, and she never even began to try them. She had been the perfect torture artist, as well. She could make her victim quiver in pain before she turned her wand on them. Her cold, merciless eyes damned, as she looked down her nose at the Mudblood or bloodtraitor at her feet. She wouldn't flinch at their pain, acknowledge their pleas, or their cries of agony. What a perfect inhuman monster. And she'd been so good at it. Superior. The best. Unparalleled. Peerless. Paramount. Every one of those words had been used to describe her emotionless flawlessness.

She would dwell on this, and for awhile, she was almost tempted to leave the apartment and all her possessions, turn her back on the battle of good and evil forever--because she couldn't use the love she had. What did it matter anymore? Then she would give herself a good shake and turn on the television.

At the end of the second month of hell, Morrigan received a letter from Hermione.

Morrigan--

Hello there. I would have written sooner, but we haven't had time to rest, hardly, and we've been moving so frequently it just doesn't seem possible. I hope this letter finds you quite well, and that you've been well-occupied over the past two months. I know how bored you can get without anything in particular to do. Ron has grown a bit of a beard because he's had no opportunity to shave. It looks hilarious on him, and I tease him mercilessly. It's quite strange, though. He's been acting odd since we left. He barely acknowledges my presence, and isn't nearly as intimate with me as we used to be. He won't tell me what's wrong, and Harry won't either. I won't even bring it up anymore, because they both get so angry when I speak of it. I'm sorry I can't tell you more, but if this gets in the wrong hands, Harry thinks our location will be immediately pinpointed. We are all quite well, and say hello to Draco for me, as I have decided to write only you and Ginny. Stay well!

Hermione

Morrigan read and reread the letter, then put it away on her bookshelf, once again trying to forget the dramatic incidents surrounding Hermione's departure.

* * *

Remus Lupin visited the apartment one day in the middle of June, knocking on the door quietly. Morrigan answered almost immediately; she'd been pining for visitors. "Hello, Mr. Lupin. Can I help you?"

"Yes, I believe you can, Morrigan," Lupin said wearily, and Morrigan stepped aside to let him in, closing the door behind him. "I'll get straight to the point. St. Mungo's is running dangerously low on their antidotes. The supply isn't fitting the demand, which is making the healing processes impossible or slow for many of the patients."

Morrigan waited for him to continue.

"We need someone to brew some new antidotes."

Morrigan sat back stiffly, her face frozen in surprise. "Why do you trust me with this job, sir?" Remus looked deeply uncomfortable and Morrigan could guess immediately why. "I'm the only person available," she answered herself flatly.

"It's true," he admitted, his voice laced with relief and guilt. "Draco recommended you. He said you seem to know what you're doing."

"Yes, I do, but how do you know that?" Morrigan asked, her tone facetious.

"Look, I'm deeply uncomfortable with this situation, but if your antidotes are found poisonous or unacceptable, it won't make the situation any worse if we test them beforehand and find them wanting."

"Which antidotes do they need?" Morrigan sighed in defeated tones. She didn't have it in her to argue for her innocence.

Lupin threw her an uncomfortable look. "You might want to write this down."

Glowering, Morrigan stood and grabbed a notebook and pen off the counter, clicked once, sat down cross-legged in the armchair, and looked expectantly up at Remus.

"The Wolfsbane Potion." Morrigan scribbled this down. "Menseisia. Nervorum. Immunus Sumbolon. And Contradius."

"Er...why not use a bezoar?"

"They're a bit expensive, Morrigan."

"Since when?" Morrigan challenged.

"Since the Dark Lord started massacring goats across the country," Remus responded shortly. "That list shouldn't take you too much more than a couple of months, if you do two at a time. Have a nice day."

Morrigan watched him leave.

When she was alone, she gazed back down at the list. At the moment, she had enough Nervorum, a drug given to patients in an extreme amount of pain, and Menseisia, a potion for mental ease, to heal an army. She hadn't thought at first that she could create it, but had proved herself wrong. Belatedly, she realized that she should have given him what potions she'd already had. Oh well, she thought, shrugging to herself. Apparently she didn't understand what "dangerously low" meant.

With her new chore in hand, she began to feverishly put her mind to brewing the potions. The tasks were so blissfully difficult that she no longer had to deal with that terrible hole in her chest.

It had been growing for so long, and she wasn't sure how much physical pain she could honestly take. The Hole, as she liked to call it in her mind, was less emptiness and more nothingness, a significant distinction. While emptiness was a lack of anything positive, nothingness was a whole lot of something negative. Every day it grew a bit more. Every time she thought about Draco pressing his mouth to Hermione's, she could feel her stomach clench, and she would uncontrollably wrap her arms around her waist, sink to the floor, and rock back and forth, squeezing her eyes shut and muttering her mantra under her breath. From whence came you? The Tuatha De Danann. And then? The Druids. And? The advisors of kings, warriors, and bards, all touched with magic. And...She would continue in this method for as long as she could remember. Sometimes she could alleviate the pain. Other times, she was not so fortunate. Every time she imagined his perfect blue eyes, his chiseled features, or the coolness of his hands, she would be sent into fearful convulsions. She refused to cry. That would be the absolute worst. If she allowed herself to cry now, she mightn't be able to resist when Draco was near her.

Still, concentrating on these potions became such a distraction, sometimes she almost felt like she used to. She could close her eyes and imagine that she was standing in the potions laboratorium, inhaling deep breaths of monkshood for the sentry werewolves. She could pretend that the Hole was simply emptiness, as it had once been. Nothing had changed. She didn't have anything to worry about. She was just working. Following orders. One job at a time, right?

The harder she lied to herself, the easier the lies came. She almost believed these little logical half-truths. They made sense, why shouldn't they be true? After the war, I will have more friends, and my regards will be spent upon someone who returns them. Lie. I don't really need Draco. Lie. I've been doing fine without him. Lie. I don't need anyone. Lie. When those lies didn't work, You misinterpreted the kiss. Lie. What you told Ron was probably true. Bigger lie. Maybe Draco actually does care. Biggest lie.

She had another game that she'd come up with when shopping for more ingredients. Bite down hard every time you blink. It was simple and stupid, but the concentration needed to create a bodily habit in synchronization with a congenital one was all the brainpower she needed when she waited for the time to pass. It was rather difficult to think, I should you blinked now bite try to figure out a pattern you blinked now bite in the days I bump into you blinked now bite Draco at the Ministry you blinked now bite. The thought would stay incomplete due to incessant interruption, so even when she managed to think about Draco, the thought wouldn't even fully process. This game worked until she realized that she didn't need any thought any more. The new game became how to stop biting when you blinked. And that wasn't nearly as hard as the original.

In this way Morrigan passed the time for another month. With three crates of boxes stacked magically in her arms, she went to the Ministry in hopes of finding Lupin. She was not disappointed when she found him visiting with Kingsley, as she was told by the helpful recording in the phone booth.

Morrigan knocked on the door of the Auror's office, and Shacklebolt answered her, looking at her in apprehension. "Yes?"

"I--" Morrigan faltered. Kingsley's eyebrows rose. "I need to talk to Mr. Lupin, please. I have the antidotes he wanted."

Kingsley stepped aside and allowed her entrance. Lupin was leaning against the edge of a desk with his arms folded over his chest. Currently, he was appraising her coolly.

"The--the antidotes, sir," she stuttered, cursing the nervousness in her voice. She knew she hadn't poisoned them, and she knew that she'd dotted every "i" and crossed every "t."

"Kingsley, do you have any poison tester?" Remus asked, his voice clear.

"Yes, one moment." The tall man left and came back a moment later with an empty cauldron and a large beaker of poison tester.

Lupin opened one box and began to pull out the vials of Wolfsbane Potion very carefully. One by one he tipped them into the cauldron until they were all empty and the cauldron was full. Lupin dumped a small bit of the tester into the cauldron, waited five seconds, and then smiled satisfactorily. "Good."

With a flick of his wand, the contents of the cauldron leapt into their vials and sealed themselves as well as Morrigan had by hand. She scowled at the trick and made a mental note to research that spell later. Lupin pointed his wand at the cauldron now and muttered "Scourgify!" The cauldron now looked cleaner than it had when Kingsley had brought it in. "Better safe than sorry, you know," he muttered.

Every potion was tested similarly, and at the end, Lupin packed them all carefully into their boxes and stacked them as Morrigan had done. "Very good job, Morrigan," Remus said kindly. "All satisfactory. I'm glad we can finally truly trust you." He took a piece of parchment, wrote a note on it and signed it, then taped it to the top of the boxes.

"Me, too," Morrigan muttered, but her scowl had lightened considerably.

"Well, I suppose some form of incentive is in order," Remus said, gazing at Morrigan closely.

"That's not necessary," Morrigan rushed in saying, but he shook his head.

"Deliver these to St. Mungo's. It'll be a great feeling to know how much these will be appreciated."

Morrigan stared at him for a moment, then nodded silently, picked up the boxes, and left. St. Mungo's was a relatively short distance away, and she entered the building with more patience then when she'd left the Ministry. She wasn't nearly as anxious to get back home as she was now. More than anything, she was curious. At the front desk, the witch gazed at her. "Parcels can be handled in the mail office," she said bossily, pointing in the correct direction.

"Actually, I have antidotes. The note on the top of this, it's been signed by Remus Lupin. He sent me over to give these to you."

"Hm, yes, take it to the Care Supply Office, will you? Third floor, left from the stairs, and sixth door on the right." Morrigan nodded quietly.

As she climbed the stairs, she tried to remember ever having been in St. Mungo's. It seemed familiar, and she thought that perhaps she'd been here before, but then again, all hospitals looked the same. She climbed the stairs, leaning to the side when another witch met her going down. At the sixth landing, she turned left and counted the doors on her right side until she came to a heavy, windowless door that could only be the Care Supply Office. She knocked twice, and when no one came, she showed herself in.

She found herself in a large closet-like space, metal shelves on both sides. Every once in awhile, they branched in another direction, but Morrigan could hear muffled voices toward the end of the closet. She followed the aisle until it turned left and came upon two young witches, bent over broken vials and trying desperately to remember the right spell to clean the spilt potions.

"Oh! If only I'd paid attention," one whined gloomily.

"Hello," Morrigan said uncertainly. The two girls looked up at her with fear on their faces.

"We're so sorry--"

"It was an accident--"

"We were trying to clean it up--"

"Can't remember the spell--"

Morrigan set the boxes down. "It's okay!" she told them, her voice rising over theirs. "I'm not an administrator. And I'm not going to tell on you."

The two girls exchanged similar expressions of relief. "Thanks," one said. She ran her fingers through her hair. Morrigan noticed her nails had been painted bright red. "We just started and nothing seems to be going right."

Morrigan smiled warmly, extending a hand. "I'm Morrigan Flaherty. The Ministry sent me to give you these antidotes."

The girls' faces brightened. The more assertive of the two said, "I'm Carol, and this is Melody. We're in charge of handing out the antidotes."

Melody nodded quietly. Carol continued, "Do you want to help? It takes awhile, but you might be interested in helping us..."

"Sure," Morrigan said with a shrug. "I have Wolfsbane...." They organized the beakers for each ward, Melody checking them off their list of patients.

"We weren't expecting them this soon," she explained quietly. "The Ministry said it would take another month. Now we can send some of these people home to their families early."

Morrigan beamed at her. "I'm so glad I can help."

Melody flushed then the three girls put the vials in boxes and began their circulation of the third floor.

An entire ward had been devoted to those intentionally poisoned. Morrigan saw in horror that they'd pushed the beds together to accommodate as many as possible. "There are so many," she whispered.

"I know," Carol said slightly louder. "It was even worse yesterday. An entire banquet was poisoned with this rare potion. We didn't have the right antidote, so we had to use the rest of the bezoars. It was horrid. They're still in the next room, screaming at each other. They think that the house elf did it, but the Ministry has reason to believe it was Imperiused, because she can't remember anything happening."

"How ghastly," Morrigan murmured. "Do you often get the first information on Ministry cases?"

"Well, we have to, don't we? I mean, how else are we supposed to calm our patients?"

"Sometimes it's best that they don't know," Morrigan muttered. "Are we getting to work, then?"

"Yes, you can go ahead and give this side Immunus Sumbolon. They've been healed already, but they're susceptible to any of the potion ingredients. Then give the last five Contradius."

Morrigan began to work immediately. Most of the patients barely registered she was there, but a tiny little boy refused to take the potion. "Come on--" Morrigan searched for his name and found a tiny piece of paper taped to the headboard "--Charlie, you need to take this or you can get extremely ill."

"It tastes nasty!" he protested loudly. Morrigan sighed and sat down.

"I realize you're probably very scared. You miss your family, and you want to go home, but you have to eat this first."

His eyes got very wide, and his mouth was slightly agape. She took the opportunity to shove the vial in his mouth, pull his head back quickly but gently, and plug his nose. He swallowed in a panic, and the potion went down.

"You forced me!" he spluttered, and Morrigan smiled wryly.

"Sorry, I have to do my job. Have a good day, Charlie." She left him muttering mutinously and moved on to the other patients.

The last five were slightly more interesting, and certainly more grateful. They took the potions immediately and without complaint. Each had a similar scar on the teardrop above their mouth, making it look as if the teardrop had been cut in half. Morrigan tried not to stare, but instead finished her work and waited at the door for the two Healer Trainees. When they finished and met her at the exit. "Did everything go well?" Carol asked her brightly.

"I had a bit of trouble with Charlie, but he should be better soon."

"Ah, yes, Charlie. It's a shame about him."

"What do you mean?" Morrigan frowned.

Carol leaned in and whispered dramatically, "He's the only one that survived the poison."

"What do you mean?" Morrigan gasped.

"You-Know-Who poisoned their pipes. His whole family--two sisters, mother and father--died. They found him shivering with a one hundred and fifty degree temperature in a corner in his home. His parents were dead in their bed."

"How did he survive?" Morrigan hissed, horrified.

"We don't know. Child's immunity or something like that."

Morrigan mouthed wow, and the witch nodded matter-of-factly. Morrigan followed them as they led her on to the next room.

The final round led them to the fourth floor. Carol stopped at the door, over which a plaque read "Janus Thickey Ward," and said, "This is basically the loony ward, so I thought I'd warn you. Some of these people are pretty far gone, so just be careful." Morrigan paled, remembering that she could herself be lying in this very room. She took a deep breath and nodded, following Melody and Carol in.

Morrigan looked around gloomily. It was quite obvious of the permanency this ward displayed. Each bed had about two and half feet on both sides, which were littered with personal effects. "Oh, look, more fans!" said a cheery voice to her right. Morrigan turned and stared into the cheeky face of Gilderoy Lockhart.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, stepping back. She remembered reading his books a few years ago and thinking about how exceptionally brave he was, if a bit vain and certainly not as great as he could have been helping Dark wizards instead of fighting them. She had even found him remotely attractive. "Hello, Mr. Lockhart," she said, smiling at him, wondering what on earth had happened to him.

"Hallo. Whom shall I sign it to?" he asked. He reached for a picture of himself, the topmost of a large stack. He held a child's quill in his fingers, and he reached across the table, putting its tip in the childproof inkpot.

"Oh, er..." Carol saw her and headed in her direction.

She smiled grimly at the expression on Morrigan's face. "This one was trying to Obliviate someone and their wand backfired. Blew his brains out. Figuratively, of course."

"Wow, he really used to be famous, too."

Carol shrugged. "Just goes to show, fame can't buy safety."

"I guess so." Morrigan turned to Gilderoy, deciding to humor him. "My name's Morrigan," she told him.

He began writing on the picture, and then looked up at confusedly. With a shrug, he turned back down to the photo and finished scrawling something out. He smiled at her brightly, handing it to her. She saw, in amusement, that he had spelt her name quite wrong. She couldn't be sure, but it might have said, "kzTTjV," instead of Morrigan.

"Thanks, Mr. Lockhart," she said, and he smiled at her. "Come back soon!" he called as she walked away.

"This is who needs to be healed," Carol said, looking down at the man in the bed.

He was wearing silky green pajamas, his hair disheveled, and his face far healthier than Morrigan had ever seen, but she would recognize him anywhere.

It was Lucius Malfoy.

"Lucius!" Morrigan gasped in horror, staring down at him. She'd only known that the Dark Lord had punished him, and that Lucius was now incapable of ever joining their ranks again, but she'd no idea what it was that Voldemort had done to him. She could now see that he was incredibly insane.

He looked up at her as if he recognized her, and shrunk back in horror. He recognizes me as a Death Eater, Morrigan thought, tugging guiltily at the hem of her sleeve. She sat down on the bed with him, and he began to whimper. She could feel Carol's eyes, wondering what was going on.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Lucius," she whispered. She felt the most horrible connection to this man, for several reasons. First, she, too, had been victim to the Voldemort's Cruciatus. He had, also, been a Death Eater. But first and foremost, he was Draco's father.

Morrigan put a reassuring hand on his, staring into his face. He seemed to calm at her touch. She wondered at how his eyes had changed so much. Once, she knew, they'd been cold and unforgiving. Now they were just...lost. There was hardly an expression, and it seemed to change him entirely. No pride, no hatred, just survival. How curious, Morrigan thought.

"Morrigan!" Carol exclaimed. "How do you know him?"

"I--" Morrigan started, but shut her mouth promptly. She didn't want to lie, but she didn't want to tell the truth, either. "He was a friend of my father's. I don't know him all too well. I'm...I was close with his son."

Carol giggled abruptly, surprising Morrigan. Insanity was probably the least prompting subject for a giggle, and she turned to look at Carol sharply. The girl didn't seem to notice.

"Oh, Draco? He's so cute. I can't believe you know him! He's really dark and introverted, but oh dear..."

"Carol, his lunatic father is sitting in this bed," Morrigan snapped, sobering the girl up a bit.

"Yeah, I know," she muttered guiltily.

"What is it I'm supposed to do for him?" Morrigan sighed.

"Well, the hospital was supposed to charge the Ministry worker making the antidote to make a very strong remedial potion for him, but we haven't got a set recipe. You're supposed to figure it out yourself."

Morrigan turned to look at Lucius, staring at him before turning back to Carol. "Yeah, I think I can do that," she murmured, and the girl beamed.

"Good, we're looking forward to hearing about your progress soon."

Morrigan helped administer the potions and left.