Metamorphome

Chapter Eighteen: Welcome Back...?

Morrigan continued to bring antidotes to Lucius, but she made sure it was when visiting hours were over. Lucius would, of course, remember that he had a son named Draco and a wife named Narcissa for about twenty minutes before he would slip into unrecognizing silence. Every night she went home, more disappointed than the last. Unfortunately, she was no closer to finding a better potion, as she was currently stuck. What bad luck, she thought to herself every time she left.

After the seventh day he checked antidotes for poisons, Remus finally said, "Morrigan, I think I can trust you not to poison them anymore. I've wronged you. You've done an excellent job."

"Thank you, sir," Morrigan said stiffly.

"Have you heard from Hermione lately?" Remus asked, his voice weary.

"No, sir, I haven't," Morrigan told him.

"Just as I thought," Remus said. "Harry had been certain they'd be back by now. I think I'm going to send someone out to look for them soon. Frankly, I'm worried."

"How can you know where they've gone?" Morrigan asked with a frown. "They didn't tell us."

"That's the problem," Remus sighed. "I have no idea where to begin."

"They'll show up any day now," Morrigan assured him. "Don't lose hair over it, I'm sure they're fine together. From the sound of it, they've gone through quite a bit together."

"Yes, they have, but they've been lucky. Who knows how long this luck will hold out?"

"Don't worry about it right now. Worry about it when we haven't heard from them in six months. That's the time when you're sure something went horribly wrong. Hermione said they would be back a fortnight ago, and anything can happen to lengthen that time. Maybe they haven't found it yet."

"Do you know what they were looking for?" Remus asked piercingly.

"Yes, I do," Morrigan admitted. "But I can't tell you. It's not my secret to tell."

"I suspected as much. Well, I have work to do, Morrigan. I'll see you soon."

"See you, sir."

She left, wondering if Hermione would indeed be coming home soon.

* * *

Morrigan Apparated straight into her home that night and noticed immediately she wasn't alone. The lights were on and there were voices coming from Hermione's bedroom. She recognized them immediately and practically leapt through the door.

"You're back!" she shouted excitedly, only to be hushed by Ron and Harry.

"She's sleeping!" Ron hissed, taking Morrigan by the arm and dragging her out.

"What's wrong with your eye, Ron?" Morrigan asked, staring at his face in horror. A dreadful scar ran from the top of his forehead to the bottom of his jaw. His eye was a milky blue.

"I can't use it anymore," he said, looking the other direction. "I'm blind."

Morrigan gasped in horror. "What happened?"

"We can't tell you about it now," Harry said tiredly. "Right now, you just need to be happy that we found the Horcruxes."

"All of them?" Morrigan asked excitedly.

"All of them," Harry affirmed grimly.

"And?"

"We destroyed them. Voldemort's mortal."

Morrigan crashed into him, hugging him tightly. "I knew you would do it!" she cried. Harry patted her awkwardly on the back.

"That's, er, nice," he said. "But we have to go back to the Burrow now. Hermione is...she's really scared right now. She's actually suffering from hysteria."

"What do you mean she's 'suffering from hysteria?'" Morrigan asked, her eyes narrowing.

"She's a bit...insane," Harry told her. "She will get better in time, but she's going to need a lot of help. And maybe a Calming Draught when she wakes up. We picked some ingredients up when we came back. You should have enough to make the Draught in the next eight hours, and she should probably sleep longer than that."

"Okay," Morrigan confirmed, nodding her head. "Welcome back," she added before they Apparated. Harry waved at her once and then left.

Morrigan crept into Hermione's room to watch the girl. She had scratches on her arms and face, and she was sleeping fitfully. Morrigan frowned. What precisely happened? she wondered, and left to make the Calming Draught.

* * *

When Morrigan finished the Calming Draught, she woke Hermione up promptly. Sitting on the edge of Hermione's bed, Morrigan shook the sleeper's shoulder gently. Hermione began screaming, and with perfect precision and a fair bit of strength, she punched Morrigan in the nose.

Morrigan could feel it break, and she shrieked, standing up and running to the bathroom. Sure enough, it was positioned in such a way that she couldn't doubt Hermione had broken her nose. Morrigan pointed at her own nose and muttered, "Episkey." Her nose resumed normal shape and stopped bleeding at once.

Morrigan determinedly walked into Hermione's, but the girl was already sitting up in bed.

"Good afternoon, Hermione," Morrigan said curtly, but the girl jumped at her voice, shivering obviously. She scanned the room nervously. "Are you okay?" Morrigan asked, and Hermione seemed to just notice her then.

"Morrigan," she whispered, flinging herself out of bed into Morrigan, who hit the bureau with a grunt. Hermione hugged her tightly, and Morrigan could barely breathe.

"Hermione," she groaned, "I can't breathe."

"Oh, sorry," Hermione said, backing away. Morrigan got a good look at her. Besides the scratches, a lot had happened to Hermione. Her face was gaunt and pale, her eyes dull. Morrigan was very alarmed. She took Hermione by the hand and led her to the kitchen. The girl was shivering, so Morrigan grabbed her own housecoat from the hook on the door and put it on Hermione, whose limbs were limp and lifeless. Morrigan was truly terrified.

She sat Hermione down at the table and forced the Draught into Hermione's hands. The Draught was warm and Hermione immediately brought it to her lips. Morrigan had lowered the dosage to make sure Hermione didn't fall asleep. Hermione's shivering stopped, and her face took on some light. "How have you been?" she asked Morrigan, who looked at her worriedly.

"Fine. I'm more worried about you, though." Hermione didn't respond. "Hermione, what happened?" Hermione looked up at Morrigan with a haunted look in her eyes. "Fine, fine," Morrigan said hastily. "I'm calling your parents, though. They have to see you."

"Not like this!" Hermione cried, suddenly passionate.

"I'm sorry, Hermione, but they haven't seen you for awhile, and they need to."

Hermione didn't protest again and remained silent until she finished her cup of Draught.

Morrigan led her to the couch where she turned on the television, allowing Hermione to watch some daytime soap opera. Morrigan went to the cupboard and found her box of cordial cherries. She had been saving them for a rainy day, but knew that Hermione not only needed the sugar and the caffeine, but the chocolate in itself. So, wistfully, she brought the box to Hermione. "Eat," Morrigan ordered.

Hermione began to eat mindlessly, putting one in her mouth, chewing slowly, then swallowing, and would mechanically pick up another. Morrigan watched her despondently. Hopefully Hermione would get out of this soon, or else Morrigan would go insane from fixing her potion and trying to help Hermione.

"Morrigan?" Hermione asked.

"Yes, Hermione."

"I missed you," Hermione whispered, just loud enough to hear.

"I missed you, too, Hermione," Morrigan said. Hermione didn't ask her what she meant.

* * *

Two days later, at twelve of the clock, noon, there was a knock on the door. Morrigan went to answer it. She was dressed in her best red robes, her hair pulled neatly back into a ponytail. She was rather nervous meeting Hermione's parents. It had been a long time since she'd had personal contact with Muggles, and she wasn't entirely sure what to expect.

Morrigan opened the door and viewed Hermione's parents with a nervous disease. Hermione's mother had the same brown, curly hair and brown eyes, while Mr. Granger's facial shape and nose were more reminiscent to Hermione's. "Hi, Mrs. and Mr. Granger," Morrigan greeted. "I'm Morrigan." She held her hand out to Mrs. Granger, who shook it daintily. Morrigan shook Mr. Granger's hand briefly, as well, surprised by the strong grip. "I'm going to warn you, your daughter's been through...a lot. She's quite ill at the moment. She will get better, though, I promise." Morrigan led the way through the apartment to Hermione's room.

The television had been moved into Hermione's bedroom, where Hermione laid on her stomach on the bed in pajamas watching old Fawlty Towers episodes, laughing quietly to herself. Due to good food and better rest, Hermione had gained a bit of color. Her dreams were terrible and Morrigan found herself giving Hermione several different potions to chase away the nightmares.

Both of the Granger parents sat down on the bed, forgetting Morrigan's presence in light of their daughter's haggard appearance. Morrigan watched for a moment, rocking on the balls of her heals, before saying a quiet good-bye and leaving. She made a cold lunch and lemonade and put them in the refrigerator. She wrote a note and put it on the cupboard where the Grangers would see it, then left for St. Mungo's, grabbing her potion on the way out.

* * *

"Hello, Mr. Malfoy. Would you please drink your potion?"

Lucius seemed to be actually making progress in one area--he began to take the potion when she asked him to. Surely this was some indication that a bit of his memory was coming back, she thought. However, she couldn't truly consider it any real progress, due to the triviality of the advancement.

Lucius drank from the vial and went back to coloring. Morrigan watched his face contort slightly and then he turned to look at her. "Who are you?" he asked, looking at her politely. Morrigan, who was used to this routine, answered him truthfully.

"Morrigan, Mr. Malfoy. Morrigan Flaherty."

"Flaherty? Are you related to Ciaran Flaherty, by chance?"

"He was my father."

"Ah, good man, Flaherty. Had him for dinner last week, you see. Have you met my son Draco?"

Morrigan's heart clenched, and she gulped. "Yes, sir, I have."

"A very strapping boy, is he not? He will not follow in his father's footsteps, do not doubt that."

"No, sir."

"No, I'm waiting for the opportune moment to move to America. He won't find us there." Morrigan didn't need to ask who "he" was. "He won't ever find us. We shall assume different names, and pose as rich American bankers. No one will ever suspect."

"No, sir."

"Do you know my son Draco?"

Morrigan wished he would stop asking. "Yes, sir."

"Good boy. Looks very much like his mother. Many think he has my eyes. No, those eyes are his mother's. He will grow into them."

"Of course." Morrigan's throat constricted. This had happened so many times, and yet every time she wanted to cry. This must be some sort of repeat of past thoughts and actions. She had no doubt that Lucius had invited her father to dinner, or that he had wanted to desert Death Eater ranks. As "faithful" as he had been to the Dark Lord over the years, Lucius probably couldn't help but sigh in relief when he heard that his Master was gone, possibly for good. In fact, Morrigan might go as far as to guess that he had been actually planning an escape when he had heard of the Dark Lord's disappearance. From what she had heard of Mr. Malfoy, he was a leader, not a follower, and obeying orders from anyone didn't really suit him. Only the most obeisant rose in the ranks of the Dark Lord. Although Lucius' ambitious mind had allowed him to suffer a great bit of humility, the name of Malfoy would rise and he would be forced to act on nature occasionally.

"My wife is, of course, quite supportive of our Draco's education. His name has been down for Hogwarts since birth. Do you attend Hogwarts?" Lucius asked shrewdly, appraising Morrigan's distant expression.

"No, sir."

"Where, then, did you attend, girl?"

"I attended Dirving, sir," she said, her eyes remote.

"Dirving is a fine school, although with a bit of a nasty reputation. Only school brave enough to concentrate on anything important."

"Yes, sir." Morrigan was barely paying attention.

"Was your experience pleasant with Dirving?"

"Quite," Morrigan intoned.

Lucius continued to ramble, but Morrigan wasn't listening. He wasn't saying anything interesting, or of any import. Her eyes found the corner where Alice Longbottom was sitting, rolling a large ball of chewed Drooble's in her hands. Morrigan could almost imagine that she had once been beautiful, or at least pleasant. Alice's face was gaunt and haggard, now, her expression vacant. Sometimes she felt incomprehensible shame, simply by looking at the Longbottoms. She had once done that to people. She had been looking at the list of past patients who had died while in the ward and had come across a few names that she had recognized. Amora Thomson. Morrigan had herself put Amora to the wand, while Bellatrix had tortured Alfred, Amora's husband. Amora had died here, after living the rest of a hollow existence, devoid of meaning or comprehension.

It was like trying to complete a procrastinated project before the deadline, knowing that there was no time to actually finish it. Morrigan had waited too long in her life and had precluded herself so often that she didn't have enough time before she died to make up for all evil deeds she had committed before her twentieth birthday. Imagine, seventy more years to make up for nineteen years of evil--which encompassed murder, torture, and malice. It was impossible.

"Please sign in, Mr. Longbottom," a voice said from the entrance. Morrigan turned and saw that the boy, Alice and Frank's son Neville, was visiting today.

Perfect, Morrigan thought. Because I needed to add more to my moral anguish.

Neville passed by Morrigan, glancing at her briefly, then looking away. It must be humiliating, she thought. Even worse, to live his entire life being more of a parent to Alice and Frank than they had ever been must have been painful. Morrigan had endured a similar experience, but unlike Neville, she had taken the easier path. Blame the world; leave the responsibility at someone else's feet, such as Muggles she'd never met--that was her policy. Morrigan bit back tears. This was ridiculous. Hermione's return must have triggered some sort of emotional disturbance.

Enough, Morrigan thought. She sat back and watched Lucius go through the familiar stages, until at the end of twenty minutes, his memory began to fade and he stopped talking about his family and their accomplishments. And then there was silence. Morrigan couldn't tell if she liked this or not. His babble had been irritating, but sincere and sweet. Morrigan stood to leave, picking up her cloak, her eyes searching Neville out. She could tell that he was trying hard not to cry. He watched his mother babble and tried to keep the gum out of her hair.

She couldn't stay silent any longer.

Morrigan approached Neville, coming to a stop beside his chair. He ignored her for a moment, then looked up at her, unspeaking.

"Hello, I'm Morrigan Flaherty. I've seen you in here a few times, but we'd never really met, so I thought I would introduce myself." She held out a hand, which Neville shook hesitantly.

"I'm Neville Longbottom."

Morrigan beamed at him, but couldn't think of anything to say. There was an awkward pause. "I'm working on a remedial potion for Mr. Malfoy," she informed him, jerking a thumb toward Lucius. "It's sort of a part-time job, you know. Until I can find another job." Until the war is finished, she added to herself.

Neville nodded.

"Can I--this is going to sound strange, since we just met--but would you maybe like to go somewhere to eat after this?" Morrigan stopped awkwardly. That sounded awful, she thought. As if I thought he didn't really care too much about his parents. "I mean, I just thought that...er, well, you don't make a new friend every day, and I would treat." Oh lord, he probably thinks I'm attracted to him or something, now, she thought, wincing.

"Uh, sure. I'll meet you down in the lobby in about ten minutes," Neville said uncertainly.

"See you then," Morrigan said, waving, and then exited. In the hallway, the realization finally hit her. Why the hell did I just ask him to eat? she wondered, and answered the question just as soon as she had finished asking it: Because any little thing you can do to help anyone is worth it, no matter how uncomfortable it makes you.

She waited in the lobby for Neville, thumbing through a new Witch Weekly. As she had predicted, it was insipid and full of useless tips, stories, and articles. She dumped it unceremoniously back onto the magazine rack, then crossed her arms over her chest. Someone tapped on her shoulder, and she turned to see Neville, wearing a nervous expression. She smiled at him in what she hoped was a reassuring manner, but she couldn't really tell--she hadn't gotten the right expressions down yet.

"Where d' you want to go?" she asked Neville, dropping her arms to her waist. She was concentrating on positive postures.

"Your treat, your choice," Neville said with a shrug and stuck his hands in his robe pockets.

"Very well, then, the Leaky Cauldron."

They both Apparated to the Apparition point in the Leaky Cauldron, then sought out a seat. Apparently Thursdays were very busy. They ordered, and then lapsed into an awkward silence.

"I'm sorry about your parents," Morrigan started uncomfortably. "I sort of know how you feel. Neither of my parents are, er, capacitated," she finished, hating the stiffness of her voice. Capacitated? Ugh, she thought. I'm terrible at this "new friend" thing. Without someone to introduce her, it was a bit tougher than she had anticipated.

"Oh yeah?" Neville asked with feigned interest. Neither was fooled.

"Yeah. My father disappeared and my mum was murdered. I...well, my father was under the employ of the Dark Lord."

Neville raised an eyebrow at her choice of words.

Shit, she thought. She had tried to make it a habit of calling Voldemort "You-Know-Who" or "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," but was failing miserably, having always thought of him as the "Dark Lord." Explain it off, lie, or forget about it? she wondered. Forget about it, she told herself. Better not freak him out.

"So, what do you do, Neville?" she asked him nervously.

"I'm a desk clerk," he told her, shrugging. "Doesn't pay well, but I'm still living off the money my Gran left me."

"Did you lose her recently?" Morrigan asked sympathetically. His grandmother most likely had raised him.

"Yeah. Last year, actually."

"I'm sorry," Morrigan said, feeling stupider for every "I'm sorry" she was forced to express.

"Well, she was getting on in years, you know." Neville sounded embarrassed, too.

"So, what do you usually do in your job?"

"I file records for Azkaban. Usually this involves financial and prisoner records."

"Is there any sort of training that's required for the office?" Morrigan inquired, thankful for a safer subject.

"Basic Hogwarts education, business training, the like," Neville told her. "What were you planning to do? Healing?"

"Oh, no, not Healing. Right now I'm just administering the antidotes for the medical company until I figure out what I'd really like to do. I'm considering a few things, but I've not narrowed it down."

"Such as?"

"Well, maybe teaching, I suppose, or maybe I could try for Auror. Actually, I'm really interested in sentient magical beings. I did quite a bit of study on vampires and werewolves when I was in school, just out of interest. I think it'll be necessary, after the war, for the Ministry to positively correspond with them, if we win, that is. Just think, without someone bribing them with their necessities, we could win them over with genuine means."

"But what if they don't want to be won over?" Neville asked her, taking a sip of butterbeer.

"That's just the thing, isn't it? Finding a way to win them over, no matter what."

"Very true. You sound like you're committed to the job. You're definitely sincere enough."

"Thanks," Morrigan said smiling lightly.

The waiter brought their food, then, and they settled into their meal quietly. Morrigan had ordered the minestrone, while lamb was Neville's meal of choice. Morrigan felt a bit more comfortable with Neville, knowing that she was probably doing a good deed, just by showing an interest and befriending him. She hoped he wouldn't get any romantic ideas, since she had no romantic intentions for him.

They finished the evening with casual chitchat, staying away from dangerous subjects. At one point, Morrigan mentioned her roommate, Hermione Granger.

"Oh," Neville said in surprise, "You're closely acquainted with Hermione?"

"Yes, are you?"

"We were rather close friends in school. You're close with Ron and Harry, as well, then?"

"Er, no. We're on...rather distant, but friendly, terms. Hermione and Draco introduced them to me."

"Draco Malfoy?" Neville asked incredulously. "You're on first-name terms with both Hermione and Draco?"

"Yes, why does this shock you?" Morrigan asked, cocking her head to the side.

"They hated each other in school," Neville laughed. "How could you not know that?"

"I suppose because they were friends before we befriended each other."

"Heh, that surprises me," Neville said. He looked at his watch. "Sorry, I have to go home. It's rather late, you know."

Morrigan looked at her watch, as well. "Oh, yes." She reached a hand across the table, shaking Neville's warmly. "It was nice to meet you, Neville. Owl me sometime. I really enjoyed myself."

"Yeah, me, too," Neville said, smiling.

They waved good-bye, then Neville Apparated away. Morrigan stayed only long enough to pay and leave a tip.