Metamorphome

Chapter Twenty-One: Look After You

"Ugh." Morrigan peeled someone else's blood off her arm, lip curled disgustedly.

"Are you coming to get First Aid, Flaherty?" Ginny asked from the ground. She was currently picking at a large scab on her elbow.

"Er, yeah. You'd better stop picking that, though. You'll get infected."

"I know, but there's a piece of glass in there and I need to get it out."

Morrigan winced and gave Ginny a hand to pull her up into a standing position. Ginny took it hesitantly, then led the way to the castle, where the Great Hall had been turned into an enormous infirmary, led by Madame Pomfrey and mediwitches and wizards from St. Mungo's. Morrigan's injuries encompassed a nasty cut across her knee, a burn above her temple and another on her ear, and a few more cuts and bruises here and there. Nothing too bad, but she was still in medial need of medical attention.

Hermione was working with small cuts toward the front of the hall, so Morrigan approached her. Hermione treated a young woman who was complaining loudly of the pain before Hermione finally looked up at Morrigan, rolling her eyes amusedly and shaking her head, and motioned for Morrigan to sit beside her.

"My, you seem to have been cut often."

"They're fond of their cutting curses," Morrigan said. "I didn't lose any blood, though."

"That's good," Hermione said absentmindedly, pointing her wand at each of her cuts, causing them to scab over. She applied an orange substance to Morrigan's temple and ear that burned for a moment and cooled. Hermione counted to sixty and then wiped the orange substances off. There was a patch of burnt skin left, although the burns no longer hurt and Morrigan was able to leave.

"I'm going home, all right?" Morrigan said. "I need a shower."

Hermione smiled at her and nodded, then looked past her to where Ron was waiting. "Excuse me, Morrigan," she said, then stood and hugged Ron tightly, kissing his jaw like she hadn't seen him for years. Morrigan looked away embarrassedly and walked to the door, past those taking names, and out the doors of Hogwarts. She walked past the bodies, trying not to tear up now. The lawn had been very badly scarred, but there was no spell residue, experts said, so it was safe to walk here. Luckily, school had been postponed and students were no longer getting on the trains today. Instead they were probably home celebrating the death of Lord Voldemort, some perhaps even daring to say his name at last.

Morrigan followed the largest path out of Hogwarts toward Hogsmeade, squinting her eyes up at the sky. It was cloudy and overcast. Apparently, clouds had rolled in, looking ominous and heavy. No doubt it would soon rain. She arrived at the gate, pushed it open, clasped her wand tightly, turned on the spot, and found herself at home in her living room.

Ever so slowly, Morrigan entered her bedroom to grab towels and clean clothes. She didn't pay any attention to her selection.

She was in a great deal of shock, obviously. Voldemort was dead. The war was over. Her life was going to change dramatically. What would she do? Maybe she would be forced to serve time in Azkaban for her past crimes. She wouldn't put up a fight. After all, Hermione was all she had to regret about it, and Morrigan deserved Azkaban. Actually, she deserved worse. She wasn't sure what was worse than Azkaban, but still, she did deserve worse than a prison.

Morrigan shook her head, clutched her clothing tighter, and exited her room, turning right to go down the hall to the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind her.

She undressed, putting her dirty clothing in the corner and her clothing on the toilet lid. With a trembling hand, she turned the shower handles to hot. When her hand finally felt the right temperature, she stepped in and immersed herself in the water.

The first thing she felt most strongly about was getting the grime, dirt, and blood off her as soon as possible. Her hand reached behind her to clutch the cinnamon-apple body wash she had been using since she began purchasing her own toiletries. She moved from skin to hair, and washed her hair seven times. She took a very long shower usually, and this time was an exception in that it was thrice as long as the usual time it took her.

She stepped out of the shower an hour later with her skin rubbed raw and her hair a bit too clean, but feeling better, nevertheless. She dressed as slowly as she showered, drying off first with the largest, fluffiest towel she had. Her wet hair soaked the back of her t-shirt, but she ignored the discomfort. Pruned hands wiped mist off the mirror and empty eyes stared back through the glass. Once Morrigan had been beautiful. She had slept well. She had eaten well. She had been content with her lot in life. The Dark Lord had alluded to finding a perfect Pureblood man to whom he would marry her off, as though he were her father. Morrigan would have listened to him--she had always listened to Voldemort, no matter how insane the suggestion.

Now, who would want her? She had given up her Pureblood status for a Mudblooded girl, Morrigan's best friend. Morrigan had given her heart to a man who had broken it and handed it back to her with a sneer. She didn't feel beautiful anymore. She didn't feel dangerous, either. She wanted to feel like that, still. She wanted people to be in awe of her.

Oh my god, what am I thinking? Do I want to be that creature? Morrigan snapped out of her wistful thinking and instead thought of the future.

She wondered briefly how long it would take her to learn French. Nah, she hated France. No, she would move back to Ireland (if she wasn't punished for past crimes), and possibly take over Dirving. She would make it a more receptive place for children, and concentrate less on the Dark Arts. It felt right, she thought.

She brushed and dried her hair, then stared at her face for what seemed forever. Could she really follow a headmaster's way of life? A bachelorette forever? It had been what she wanted in the first place, she guessed. Sighing, she picked up her dirty clothes and headed down the hall to her room, dropping the clothes in her room, turned around, and yelled in shock.

Draco was standing in her kitchen, dripping wet, dirty, bruised, scratched, and looking tired. "Draco!" Morrigan cried hoarsely, then hurried to grab a chair for him. She pushed him into the chair and hurried to get some grape juice from the refrigerator. She poured him a glass, hands trembling.

"Drink it," she ordered, handing him the glass. He complied, the corners of his mouth curling up into a smile.

Morrigan kneeled beside him, watching him finish it off. "Good," she said, taking the cup to refill it. "You need sugar in your blood."

"Morrigan, we need to talk."

"You wait--"

"Now," he snapped, standing to grab her wrist and force her into a chair, as well.

She shut her mouth and allowed herself to be sat down, her eyes wide and terrified.

"Morrigan, why is your Patronus a dragon?" Draco asked softly, staring down at the tablecloth.

"I--I--" Morrigan stuttered, unable to formulate words. "I don't know," she managed to choke out.

"Come on," Draco said impatiently, narrowing his eyes at her. "You have to know."

"I do," she whispered, then looked back up at him. "I don't want to tell, though," she snapped.

"You have to," he told her sharply. "This has gone on for far too long. The war is over. Here we are in your kitchen, alone, and with plenty of time to get this all out of the way. You have to tell me now."

Morrigan glared at him for a moment, then sighed, sitting back in the chair, her eyes sad. "I'll tell you, then." She stood, looking down at him unhappily. "I love you," she said simply. "There. Now it's out in the air. Take from it what you will." She couldn't look at him anymore, so she turned away from him, allowing his features to change dramatically from pleasant expectation to that of immense astonishment.

"What?" he asked in a strangled voice.

"I love you," she whispered. "A thousand times I love you." She stood up and pretended to busy herself at the counter.

Draco stood behind her and turned her around forcibly. "How long?" he demanded harshly.

Morrigan flinched and turned her head away from him. "I don't know," she whispered. Draco let her go, and she sank to the floor at his feet, her arms to her chest, sobbing quietly. Draco looked down on her with pitiless eyes then fled the room, opening the door, exiting, and slammed the door behind him.

Morrigan stayed on the ground, sobbing loudly. It had never hurt this much, she knew. Never. He had officially rejected her. She understood love, now. It was obvious what it meant all along. She had understood from the very beginning.

The door slammed open with a shuddering bang, someone strode across the room, picked her up, and pressed his mouth against hers.

You have no idea how hard it is to kiss someone when you're blubbering.

Morrigan's eyes opened and looked straight at Draco's closed eyelids. She felt so strange, as if she should be so horribly sad still, but how could she be sad if Draco's mouth was pressed against hers and his arms were pulling her closer to him, holding her in his very wet embrace. She pulled apart with a gasp. Draco opened his eyes, looking hurt.

"What are you doing, Draco? I thought you hated me," she choked.

"No, never," he whispered, hugging her tightly. "Never, ever, ever." Morrigan's tears fell faster and she began to cry harder. "What's wrong, lovely?" Draco asked her, pulling her away from him to look at her face.

"I don't understand," she sobbed. Draco laughed.

"Sorry, sorry. I was just so angry...I hadn't caught it before. I didn't understand."

"I was pretty damn obvious," she sputtered.

"I know, I know, that's why I was angry." He grinned down at her. "It's all right now. Come on, we'll dry off and we'll talk, all right?"

Morrigan nodded tearfully, allowing Draco to lead her to the bathroom, where he sat her on the vanity and took a washcloth to her face, arms, and hands. "I got mud on you," he laughed at her, trying to make her feel better or laugh or something. She just watched him through her tears.

Draco gently washed most of the scum away from her face, revealing her beauty even more than before. With the tears leaving muddy trails down her face, he hated to admit that she almost looked prettier than without them. He washed her arms off, then her hands, and dried her with his wand, then turned the wand on himself, cleaning the mud and blood off and dried himself.

Clean, they emerged from the bathroom, Draco wrapping an arm around the still-crying Morrigan. He sat her down on the couch and leaned a head on her shoulder, smelling her gently. Cinnamon apple--the scent from the love potion.

He whispered in her ear for awhile, telling her how beautiful she was, that he was right here, he would never leave her again. His sorries worked for a while, but she began crying again when she thought of how mad he had been at her.

"What did your Patronus look like before?" Draco asked her.

"A seal. My mother's mother was a selkie. Neither me mam nor me received the selkie traits, but we still liked the folklore, I think."

Draco held her closer and kissed the top of her head. They watched the rain for awhile. The sky began to clear, and they were able to watch the procession of dusk, until the height of twilight. Draco leaned over and whispered to Morrigan, "I love you."

* * *

"What do you think? Blue or green?" Morrigan held up a pair of green robes to Draco, looking to Hermione for support.

"Green, I think. Draco was born to green," Hermione said.

It was the second week of September. Morrigan, Ron, and Hermione were all shopping, and Draco was particularly searching for robes for his job interview. Hogwarts' Defense Against the Dark Arts job was once more open, due to a tragic accident involving Muggle handcuffs and the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office. Poor Professor Humphrey would never again have the use of his hands. Or his ankles, for that matter. He quit immediately, screaming about lawsuits, but the students thought that he was just trying to deflect from the original question: What was he using the silly device for anyway?

Draco was applying to start in November as not only the Dark Arts teacher, but the Head of Slytherin house. Usually only experienced teachers were allowed to become Heads right away. However, due to the recent negative attention Slytherin had been receiving in light of the Death Eaters graduated from there, volunteers for the job had been scarce.

"I don't think you need new robes, you know," Morrigan told Draco as he rifled through the various stacks. "You're smart enough to get the job without them. It's not even like you need the job anyway. I'm pretty sure that between you and me, we could get by without extra money."

"You shouldn't think like that, Morrigan," Hermione reprimanded softly. "You need to do something, whether you need the money or not."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Morrigan said, shrugging her off. "I was only joking."

"Sure," Draco said disbelievingly, smiling a cute half smile that made Morrigan's heart stop. She hated it (and loved it) when he did that.

"Right," she said after a minute. "I'm hungry," she complained loudly. "Let's go eat."

"Don't be so petulant," Draco snapped grouchily.

"Hypocrite," Morrigan quipped in a sing-song voice. He stuck his tongue out at her. "Mature," she commented with a grin. She leaned over as if to kiss him, then licked his ear instead.

"Oi!" Draco bellowed.

Morrigan giggled and turned to the irritated Hermione. "He hates it when I do that," she tittered.

"I hate it when you do that," snapped Hermione. "Could you two please get a room?"

"For what?" Morrigan and Draco said simultaneously. "Besides," Morrigan continued, narrowing her eyes at Hermione, "you and Ronald are far worse." She looked at the other side of the store where Ron was looking through the Quidditch robes, muttering to himself.

"You leave my Won Won alone," Hermione sniffed.

"Now you're calling him 'Won Won?'" Morrigan groaned. "Warn me before you start that shite."

"Morrigan, watch your language," Hermione snapped, her eyes flickering to a witch and her young boy. The witch sent one gratified look in Hermione's direction and one angry glance in Morrigan's direction.

Morrigan almost gave the woman the finger, but figured that she was right so smiled apologetically and made the mental note to keep her mouth in check.

"All right, let's go to luncheon," Draco said finally. "I'm finding nothing here."

Hermione fetched Ron and all four of them exited the shop. "Were Harry and Ginny going to meet us for lunch?" Morrigan asked.

"No, Harry was proposing today. He wanted to take her out for dinner."

"He's proposing?" Ron asked with a frown.

"He's your best friend!" Hermione exclaimed, turning to look at Ron in horror. They stopped in front of a nicer tea shop and entered.

"Yeah, but he didn't tell me about proposing!" Ron protested.

"Well, Ginny is your sister. I imagine he would want her to know before you. Or hear it from Harry first," Morrigan said sharply.

"I never tell Harry anything I'm not supposed to," Ron sniffed indignantly, sitting in a booth, Hermione sliding in beside him.

"That's not true," Hermione said. "You've told him lots of things you weren't supposed to." Ron glared at her. Hermione reached a hand over to put it on Ron's shoulder. "It's all right Ron. You'll hear about it soon enough. I expect Ginny will want a double wedding, anyway."

"Oh, that would be lovely!" Morrigan exclaimed happily. Ron and Draco groaned, knowing full well that both girls were about to launch into wedding plans. "Oh quiet, you two. Talk about Quidditch or how much you hate each other," Morrigan snapped, turning back to Hermione. "You haven't shown me your ring yet, by the way."

"Oh!" Hermione said, reaching her hand out. On her ring finger, a beautiful ruby glittered on a silver ring.

"That's beautiful," Morrigan gushed. "Where did Ron get it?"

"His great-uncle left it for him specifically. He favored him, you know."

They talked about weddings and rings until the waitress arrived, at which point they discussed the wedding with her, as well. She told them about some very lovely locations, giving Hermione a few more ideas on the where. "I expect Ginny will want to hear about this," Hermione told Morrigan matter-of-factly. Morrigan agreed silently, and then launched into more ideas.

Their food came, finally silencing the girls.

Draco and Ron sighed in relief.

* * *

Morrigan woke up that Wednesday, took a shower, and prepared for her interview. She was interviewing for the new apartment--Department of Correspondence with Sentient Magical Beings. Morrigan's past dealings with werewolves and vampires would hopefully get her through this interview and get her a job.

When she arrived at the Ministry, the lovely voice in the box told her where to find her potential employee's office. She followed the instructions and ended up in the new wing of the Ministry. She knocked on the door of a F.P. Lasswell. A young man answered and ushered her inside.

"Miss Flaherty, I presume?" he asked her, looking down at a name on a slip of paper.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Lasswell," she answered respectfully.

"I have to say, I read your inquiry about vampires and I was extremely impressed. You said you attended Dirving, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"It says here you graduated the top of your class and a year early."

"Yes, sir. I lived there during the summers, so I had an opportunity to study while they were at home."

"Very committed, I see. That's good. And after school?"

Morrigan's throat constricted. "I worked for a Tom Riddle. He died some time ago, unless you would like me to put you in touch with--"

"No need. I can see you have a very impressive résumé. You're hired."

Morrigan's face lit up happily. "Thank you, sir! When do I start?"

"Monday, seven. You're the first person I've hired, but I can confidently make you a key correspondent, as I can see you've had dealings with werewolves and vampires before."

"I--thank you!" Morrigan said gratefully.

"That's all, Flaherty. Have a good day." He shook her hand and opened the door for her.

Morrigan left, her heart light. She couldn't believe it--she'd gotten the job without mention of the true name of her former employer, and she had gotten a really good job.

* * *

Draco was waiting for Morrigan when she went to his house to tell him about being hired. He had wine already poured and a lovely dinner waiting on the dinner. "What's this for?" Morrigan's day kept getting better.

"For both of us making our jobs," Draco said, handing her a wine glass.

"How did you know?" she asked happily.

"The expression on your face," he told her.

"So you got the job?" Morrigan asked, grinning.

"I walked in, sat down, and McGonagall told me I had the job."

"You're joking!" Morrigan sputtered.

"No. To us," he said, raising his glass.

"To us," Morrigan repeated.

* * *

"We're taking dancing lessons," Hermione informed Morrigan one morning at breakfast.

Morrigan spit out her cereal. "What?" she coughed.

"Dancing lessons." Hermione repeated.

"But--but--"

"Morrigan," Hermione whined, "I love to dance!"

"All right," Morrigan grumbled. "Just because it's your wedding, though," she added. "Oh! I forgot to ask you: did St. Mungo's hire you?"

"Yes!" Hermione exclaimed excitedly. "They told me I had wonderful potential!"

"That's wonderful, Hermione," Morrigan said warmly. "I got the job, too, you know. As did Draco."

"We're all starting to grow up," Hermione sighed, pouring herself some orange juice.

"We've always been grown up," Morrigan corrected her.

"Sort of. But jobs? And marriages?"

"Yeah, that's true," Morrigan agreed. "At least you had a childhood, though. Be grateful."

"Oh, Morrigan," Hermione sighed, sitting down. "Please don't be depressing right now. I'm too happy."

"All right, all right," Morrigan grumbled grudgingly, then looked up. "Three Aurors, a Healer, a teacher, and a correspondent. We're all so strange."

"Not really," Hermione said, frowning. "I always suspected that's what the other three would do, and I had considered Healing, too."

"Still," Morrigan shrugged.

"Yes, how children grow," Hermione added, taking another sip of her drink.

* * *

Dancing lessons encompassed two weeks after work, and Morrigan came home on the second Friday stiff and sore. Draco waited with dinner, knowing full well what to expect from Morrigan when she got home. She collapsed on the couch. "I hate dancing," she growled, allowing Draco to hand her a glass of cool water. "I wish you could take dancing lessons, too. I hate dancing with the Weasley's cousin Sven. He keeps putting his hands on my arse."

"I know how to dance," Draco said from the kitchen, his back to her. "Don't you?"

Morrigan stood and approached Draco from behind wrapping her arms around his waist.

"No," she said. "Teach me."

* * *

Fin