Author's Note: Hey everyone, thank you for all the comments and likes. As always I own nothing, it all belongs to JK Rowling and the creators of Merlin.
Chapter Four: Hello and Goodbye
Tapping her newly lacquered nails along the kitchen table Morgana stirred the remnants of her morning tea with an idle finger. She'd spent the last few months slowly building her presence in this wizarding community of Britain. She'd researched the standards of education extensively and began to craft her backstory as the daughter of the Le Fey line (a line descended from her own blood, from a daughter it still pained her to think about) who fled during Voldemort's first war to the Americas. She created papers and a detailed background of her parents, Vivian and Goraidh Le Fey childless heirs who'd actually fled to the Americas much like in her fictitious backstory.
However, she weaved a narrative of new parents desperate to keep a young daughter with signs of the La Fey curse hidden from Voldemort's view. Morgana tracked down old students in Europe who'd attended Ilvermorny and modified their memories to include her. She reached out to the Headmistress and revealed her identity and received aide in fabricating a file with MACUSA on her parent's dual citizenship as well as a birth certificate for herself. The headmistress was surprisingly helpful, though Morgana expected that stemmed more from hero worship surrounding the myth of Morgan le Fey than anything (she had read several of the histories about her and was thoroughly unimpressed by how wrong many of the historians got it).
With her paperwork and backstory in play, Morgana began to step out into wizarding society, her background as a pureblood heir of a notoriously Dark, if neutral during the last war, family instantly drawing attention. After one memorable meeting with a Posy Parkinson in Borgin & Burkes during her first voyage into Knockturn Alley, Morgana decided to move up some of her plans and using her scrying crystals carefully crafted an 'accidental' meeting with the more influential of pureblood ladies, Narcissa Malfoy née Black.
Dressed in a deep green silk dress (resembling the one she'd worn so long before in the court of Camelot) she'd purchased from her first trip in Diagon Alley, Morgana stiffened her back and pulled on the mask she'd used to so convincingly ensnare countless men into her innocent lady façade. Walking through the doors of Twilfitt and Tattings she paused carefully at the entrance as the Lady Malfoy and several other lesser known ladies flitted about. Narcissa had commandeered the owner into helping her party select gowns for the upcoming Beltane Ball held by the Greengrass's that year. Stifling a smirk at the vacuous expressions of the other ladies as they floated around Narcissa begging for scraps of her attention, Morgana walked up to the imposing woman and offered a soft greeting.
"Excuse me, I couldn't help but overhear that you were shopping for the Greengrass Beltane Ball," Morgana paused as Narcissa turned to look at her, grey eyes narrowing at the interruption, "I'm new to London having been raised primarily in the States and though I received an invitation, forgive me, but I'm not entirely sure what a British Beltane entails, let alone a Ball."
A single white eyebrow rose as Narcissa took in Morgana's hesitant questioning, and a soft smile flickered across the woman's face.
"You must be the Lady Le Fey who has everyone all in a state of excitement," Narcissa halted, and a quick shark like grin flashed, "Posy Parkinson had such... interesting things to say about her encounter with you."
"Oh yes, I should have introduced myself, I am Morgana Le Fey," Morgana inclined her head slightly ever so grateful for her line's history of naming children after her, "And Lady Parkinson was most... enthusiastic when we met."
"Hmm, that is a word for her. Well as you're new to London, I think you should join us for the day, I can take the time to tell you what you need to know about the ball Saturday. I take it your parents educated you about our society?" Narcissa looked over and met Morgana's gaze, her shrewd Black eyes narrowing in at the seemingly younger woman.
"Of course, we may have lived in the States, but they never forgot their roots. I've been rather lost since their deaths I'll admit," Morgana hung her head and thought of Gorlois once more, he'd been the best parent to her, though admittedly with the absent Vivienne and the cold Uther that wasn't much.
"Oh you poor dear," Narcissa reached out and pulled her by the arm, "Come join us and let me introduce you to the others while we decide on robes."
Letting Narcissa pull her into the gaggle of women she internally rolled her eyes at their vapid attempts to connect with her and weasel out information for gossiping later on.
"Oh, how lovely to meet someone who attended Ilvermorny! My cousin went there, tell me, what house were you sorted into?"
"Horned Serpent, I'm a scholar first and foremost, and though both Thunderbird and Wampus indicated they would like me among their number, I chose to further my own intellectual skills."
"It must have been such a travesty to lose your parents so young, how old were you when they passed?"
"I had just turned 21 when they were diagnosed with an advanced stage of Dragon Pox, it's been just under a year since they died."
"What was the culture over there like, I've heard the Americans are so primitive, they let mudbloods into high positions of power in their government."
At that, Morgana bristled ever so slightly, and decided to carefully start laying the groundwork for her first move.
"Mudblood? What a crass term, so unrefined," she drawled, her eyes sparking maliciously as she went in for the kill, "As an advanced society of witches and wizards, the MACUSA outlawed such words over a hundred years ago. In fact, the concept of 'mud' blood has been disproven so thoroughly by many of our scholars. Tell me have you read Queenie Goldstein's "Treatise on Inheritable Magic and the Reclamation of Old Family Lines through Squib offshoots"? It's an enlightening read, though, perhaps some may find it a bit too... challenging." The woman who'd made the comment shrank under Morgana's watchful gaze as she verbally eviscerated her. "Magic is such an integral part of each and every one of us, and while I do agree that some lines are superior, the invigoration of new blood first generation witches and wizards bring is desperately needed to expand our dwindling populations. Magic isn't infinite you know, and with fertility rates down, well we don't want to die out in the next century."
"Do you truly believe the situation is that dire?" Narcissa looked over at Morgana, shock barely suppressed in her eyes.
Lifting a hand, to take a sip of tea that the owner Madame Twilfitt had brought, Morgana locked eyes with the Black witch and nodded ever so slightly.
"Yes, I do. I've run the numbers myself, and the population is declining, especially in Europe. With the last two wizarding wars decimating nearly 1/3 of the wizarding blood in Great Britain alone, well if there isn't a change soon I fear for what might happen. Magic may take steps itself to right the situation, and that never bodes well. Though I do believe we must be selective in who we chose, when the choice is between first generation witches and wizards and those who are descended from squib lines - and yes there is a difference between the two - and non-magicals, well I'd say the choice is easy." Finishing her speech, Morgana sat back and let free the smirk that had been lingering under the surface for the past hour. The women surrounding her were shocked, and though she knew many of them wouldn't grasp what she had said, some, including Narcissa, had thoughtful expressions on their faces.
Inclining her head after several moments of silence, Narcissa pulled Morgana into the group, gesturing for their assistant to bring out a fresh round of dresses. As she held a swatch of deep red fabric up against Morgana's neck, Narcissa began to pull the woman into conversation.
"Now, while the dress you're wearing is lovely-green is a marvelous color on you. The length is a bit, dated. You'll have to come shopping with me sometime, it's been so long since I've had someone new to dress."
"Yes, I did think it was a bit excessive, but the woman who helped me," Morgana turned and shot a delicate sneer at the assistant who was running back and forth between the other ladies, "Didn't seem too inclined to help a nobody."
"You are Lady Le Fey, that's hardly a nobody, now be a dear and try this on. It's off the rack, but it is one of their more plebeian styles as it has several options," thrusting a cream dress in Morgana's arms followed by several others of varying colors.
Morgana left to try the dress on, and was immediately displeased by the tight corseting and high necks coupled with long sleeves, she'd shown more skin at Camelot. But when she came out and showed Narcissa, the other woman ooed and awed, and she was soon coerced into trying several more that Narcissa commissioned on the spot based off the original dress. The owner was in a fit of ecstasy by the amount of money Morgana handed over by the end of the purchase, and began muttering with delight as Narcissa had her rejoin the other ladies in picking out their gowns for the Beltane Ball.
The rest of the afternoon was spent quietly settling on dresses and retiring to Rosa Lee Teabag for a late afternoon tea. The other woman quietly dispersed over the hour until it was just Morgana and Narcissa. The Black witch had been staring rather intently at her for more than thirty minutes before she finally spoke, "There's more to you than what meets the eye Lady Le Fey, I think I would like to see what that is."
Smiling at the woman's keen observation, Morgana leaned over and placed a hand on hers, "Oh I believe I'll enjoy being friends with you Narcissa Black, you're fascinating."
Blinking at the use of her maiden name over her married one, Narcissa let a slow grin slide across her face as its implications hit her: here was a kindred spirit and a woman who didn't let men dictate her life.
"Yes, friends."
ᛇ ᛇ ᛇ
With the Lady Malfoy in her corner, Morgana's debut at the Greengrass Beltane Ball was a huge success, and she was met with no less than fifteen invitations to tea and several subtle inquiries on courting within the following weeks. As she plotted with Narcissa and took tea with several other fascinating ladies including a Madame Bones and Professor McGonagall, she began to look towards her other true goal in breaking free of her prison.
Holding her scrying crystal she focused her power and chanted channeling her power into the stone, "Ætíe mé þá þé ic séce." An image fluttered across the jagged edges of the crystal, a small head of wild black hair dodging a frying pan, little, scrawny legs pounding against the pavement being cashed by a pudgy boy, and a small brown, wan face with a jagged red Sowilo cut across his forehead, emerald green eyes wet with tears.
Recoiling at the sheer pain reflected in his green eyes, so much like her own, Morgana sat back in her chair and sighed. The poor boy wasn't loved in his maternal aunt's home, in fact he was treated much like Uther had treated his servants back in Camelot, if not worse because he had magic. If it wasn't clear they were very modern, she would have thought the Dursley's were citizens of Camelot during the Great Purge. Clenching her fist, she felt her nails dig deep into her palm, drawing blood in her frustration. She'd been pouring over books about magical adoptions and wizarding laws to see how she could gain custody of the child, but she'd had little success. It didn't help that the Chief Warlock, Albus Dumbledore, frequently told the magical public that young Harry Potter was living a happy and healthy life with a loving family. It left her little room to move in publicly and little hope for allies. She confided her suspicions with Narcissa at their daily tea later that afternoon, claiming her knowledge was a side effect of her Le Fey curse, and the other woman had given her some old tomes on ancient laws the Wizengamot had yet to repeal.
Pulling out the ancient tome from her bag, she ran her hands along the binding and let her magic out to find any relevant laws with efficiency. She'd discovered this trick after a two-night reading binge that left her hair lank and greasy and her eyes so bloodshot she could hardly see. After looking in the mirror and crying at the sight, so similar to what she'd looked like in the full grip of madness, she quickly whipped herself into shape. Her eyes flashed gold in the present, and the book flipped open, thumping against the table as the pages fluttered to land on a passage towards the end of the book.
As decreed by Eldritch Diggory, Minister of Magic in 1735, following the subsequent orphaning of his nephew Fleamont Jones, any peer of Ancient or Noble Blood may take on, as wards, those orphaned heirs of other Ancient and Noble Houses. The guardians of the heirs must be of incredible magical prowess, intellect, and wealth in order to care for the future of said heir and their house. The selection process of the guardian and their ward shall be done through the discretion of the families in question, without ministry involvement (except under extreme circumstances as listed in the Index, page four hundred and sixty-two, section A). The ward in question, must have no living magical blood relations or alternative guardians before a guardian can bond with them and take them in. A simple blood oath of protection in a ritual circle shall cement this bond, and unless the guardian reneges by harming their ward, be it physically, financially, magically, emotionally, or through other various means, the bond shall be broken, and the guardian stripped of their magic. See also Griselda Longbottom's "A Wizard's Duty to the Young and Impressionable" for further details.
Her magic flared, and Morgana felt the Old Religion sing in triumph as she marked down the relevant passage. As the last of the Potters, an Ancient and Noble House, as well as a descendant of Ignotus Peverell and only legitimate heir of House Peverell, Harry fit nicely into what was specified of a ward. Albus Dumbledore while listed in records as his magical guardian, wasn't eligible as House Dumbledore was neither Ancient nor Noble, so he could not contest her claim. His position as guardian puzzled her, for he wasn't listed in the will of James and Lily Potter from what she had seen in her visions and had no connection to Harry - be it blood or magical - outside of his position as Headmaster of Hogwarts or Chief Warlock. In fact, the more she thought on it, the more her suspicions of his placement as guardian rose, and she felt a shiver from the Old Religion. Dumbledore was going to be a problem for her when she took Harry under her wing, she'd have to plan her moves carefully, though her first priority was finding him. Dumbledore had at least done well in placing the child where no one could find him. And as far as she knew, he had no one else in the magical world to care for him, considering most of her visions had him in a non-magical environment. Narcissa hadn't mentioned any potential guardians either, much to her chagrin.
That night Morgana tossed and turned, her dreams fevered with images of young Harry in pain. Her body was soaked in sweat, plastering her dark curls to her forehead, her eyes flashing gold beneath her eyelids at odd intervals as she slept. Visions of smoke and flame and a cold laugh interrupted her, and she felt like she was falling, falling, falling deep into a dark, unending void that continues and continues until there's suddenly a shock of light and the descent begins to slow and there at the end of the fall, a handsome man with red eyes was waiting for her. He smirked and reached for her, and a sense of wrongness permeated the air around her. Another man appeared, he looked exactly the same but where the first's eyes were red, his were blue, deep blue like the waters of Avalon. He felt like sin itself, everything dark and twisted that made up her being, that drew her to fighting as a child and to the darkness as an adult.
Pulling away from him and the seductive pull of the darkness around him and his twin, she reached for the boy she'd been watching. Buffeted by a sudden onset of winds she was thrown back and forth as she tried to peer through the veil the storm caused. A flash of a belt flying in the air broke through, followed by a quiet gasping sob of a child. Rage flooded through the High Priestess, and she shoved with all her power and wrath at the storm that cloaked her and with a final heave of desperation, she caught a glimpse of a street address: Privet Drive.
ϟ ϟ ϟ
Harry's back ached as he knelt along the dirt in the garden, his knees shaking from the pain in his back. Uncle Vernon had broken the belt out the night before after Harry's nursery teacher Ms. Carp called home to ask about the burns on his arms. Furious at the line of questioning right when he got home from work, Vernon ripped off his belt and laid it across his nephew's back. Petunia walked in after the first strike and stopped him, screaming "No, Vernon that's too far!" She sent Harry to his cupboard with a glass of water and some bread not long after that. He'd huddled in the dark trying to keep from crying as pain zinged along his back. He took his shirt off and grabbed a clean one, dipping it into the water before trying to wipe away what little blood he could. Lying on his stomach, he nibbled on the bread to try and curb the pain and fell asleep to the soft white noise of his relatives eating.
His aunt had let him sleep in a bit that morning, before waking him up to do his chores with a glass of milk and a banana. Savoring the rare fruit, he went about the list of chores his aunt gave him until he was sitting in the afternoon heat pulling weeds from the dirt.
Petunia watched him from the small window in the kitchen as she prepared dinner for the night. Vernon breaking out the belt and whipping the boy the night before startled her. He'd looked so enraged and while she loathed the little freak, seeing those big green eyes wide with pain reminded her too much of her mother, his grandmother who'd had them first. Setting down the knife she'd been using to dice onions for the roast, she felt a twinge of guilt as she remembered who else had such startling green eyes, like an emerald held up to a light. A knock at the door startled her from her memories, and she quickly wiped her hands before heading over to answer it. Opening the door, she felt her heart stop in her chest as she took in the woman standing on her front porch. Long dark curls, a sleek black dress cut at the knees with a cream trench coat open over it and kitten heels, the woman was a picture of sophistication, and Petunia couldn't help the wave of inferiority that ran over her.
Morgana calmed her magic as she took in the bony, horse faced blonde in front of her. The other woman was obviously eyeing her up and down, coming to some conclusion about her status. She wanted to reach out and throttle the woman. The Old Religion screamed at her, pain and torment, loneliness and fear, everything she felt when she discovered she had magic as an adult, but it all revolved around a small child. Holding her breath for a moment, she let it out and let her magic out with it. A crackling tension filled the space between the two women, and Morgana let herself smile.
"Hello, my name is Morgana Le Fey, might I come in for a moment to chat?" Without waiting for a response, she pushed past the woman and stepped into her home. Walking around the now stuttering blonde, Morgana made her way into the house, before stopping just past the lounge to stare at the cupboard beneath the stairs. The Old Religion screamed at her, new magic lying just underneath it as the cupboard flared with a darkness born of neglect and abuse. Wheeling on the woman, Morgana smiled again, this time taking care to show her teeth like the predator she was. "Tell me, where is your nephew?"
Petunia stumbled at the words of the strange woman who just forced her way into her home, who was she and why was she asking about the freak? Was she the boy's nursery teacher who'd called the other day? Or was she, one of them?
"He's in the garden, he—he likes to sit in the sun on the weekends."
"Call him in, I would like to speak with him."
"Boy—Harry," Petunia yelled, "Get in here," never had she been more grateful that her precious Diddykins was at a playdate.
Harry hearing his aunt, wiped his hand on his shorts and stood, shaking slightly from the pain and slowly made his way into the kitchen, careful to wipe his dirty feet on the mat before coming inside. He walked through the kitchen and around to the dining area where his aunt and another woman were standing. He squinted over at the new woman, she had dark hair like him, and green eyes too, though she was really pale. Maybe she was a distant cousin come to take him to live with her!
"Yes Aunt Petunia," Harry looked back to his aunt knowing his hopes were silly, no one would want a freak like him, his aunt and uncle said so all the time.
"This woman here—"
"Morgana."
"Yes, she would like to speak with you," his aunt finished with an odd sort of shuffle and scurried away into the kitchen. The woman, Morgana and wasn't that a funny name, looked down at him with a weird look on her face.
"Shall we go sit in the lounge?" Morgana gestured over to the room just off the front door, the young boy looked worse than he ever had in her visions. His face was thin and pale from what looked like malnutrition and pain. He was small, for a boy nearly five he looked to be only three.
Nodding his head, Harry followed her into the lounge before panicking when he realized she meant for him to sit on the furniture. Not only was he dirty, but his aunt and uncle never let him sit on the couch, it wasn't his place they said. Shaking he shook his head and went to tell her, but before he could she had sat down on the floor eye level with him, gesturing for him to do the same.
"I figured you wouldn't want to get the couch dirty after cleaning in here earlier," Morgana said, her heart breaking as she watched Harry's eyes widen and shift to the side at the mention of his chores.
Sinking down, Harry plopped to the floor and winced, the pain in his back making his eyes water. He rubbed at his face to keep the tears from showing and looked back at the pretty woman sitting across from him.
"Aunt Petunia said you wanted to talk to me?" he asked, trying to ignore the way she seemed to stiffen at his aunt's name.
"Yes, Harry. I don't believe your aunt or uncle has told you much about your parents?"
"No. They said they were... drunks, and that they died in a car crash,"
"Ah," Morgana felt the urge to break out her old torturous ways just for the Dursley's, "Well, I'm afraid to tell you they were lying."
"What?" Harry gasped at her words, why would they lie? And what was the truth?
"Your parents were very brave, like warriors in your storybooks. Have you heard of King Arthur and Camelot?" Morgana paused, equating Lily and James to her brother and his knights while helpful in explanation hurt.
"Yeah," Harry's eyes lit up and he seemed to glow with excitement, "Ms. Carp read to us about it last week. King Arthur was really brave and, and he fought dragons and bad guys and his knights were all cool and Merlin was there and there was magic and…" he stopped himself as he watched Morgana giggle, a small smile on her face, she looked beautiful.
"Yes, well your parents were like Arthur and his knights, fighting the bad guys."
"Really?"
"Yes, only instead of using swords, they used magic, like Merlin," Harry seemed to freeze at that, his eyes widening to the point Morgana felt physically pained by the cuteness.
"Magic?"
"Yes, magic. Your parents had it, and so do you," her voice was quiet as she said the last bit, worried about how he would take it.
"Magic…Like when I made the dishes all clean. And when I got the books from Dudley's birthday? And when Aunt Petunia tried to make me wear that ugly sweater and it shrank and shrank?" His voice got progressively louder and louder as he listed examples of what the wizarding world called 'accidental' magic. Nodding her head, Morgana couldn't help but grin at the sheer exuberance the boy showed at learning about the magical world.
"Yes, exactly like those things."
"Are you magic too?" Harry cocked his head and looked up at her from beneath his eyelashes.
"I am, as a matter of fact. Which is why I am here actually," leaning in close, Morgana whispered to him, "I have a secret power and it let me to you."
"Whoa, really? Why me?"
"Because the Old Religion has plans for you, you're a very special boy Harry."
"I am? And what's the Old—Religiony thing?"
"Oh yes, you are. And the Old Religion is what all magic comes from, it's the source of life itself. It lives in everything, the earth, the grass, you, me." Morgana laughed as Harry fumbled around for what to say next.
"So cool," Harry mumbled as he looked at her, magic was real and his parents were magic and so was he and so was the pretty lady, "Could you... could you show me some magic?"
His shy question kindled a part of Morgana she'd long thought buried, thoughts of the daughter she gave away at Morgause's bequest all those years before rising to the surface. Ruthlessly squashing her memories, she reminded herself that the past was the past and that she needed to focus on Harry now.
Lifting her hand, she turned her palm upward and muttered "Blóstmá." A pale white lily appeared on her palm. Harry gasped and let out a small giggle as he reached for the flower. "Go on," Morgana urged him, "You can touch it."
Taking the flower gently from her hand, Harry ran his fingers along the smooth surface of the petals, they were so soft. He lifted the flower to his nose and sniffed it, the soft sweet smell making him smile and feel warm inside.
"That's a lily. Your mother's name was Lily," Morgana told him.
"It was?"
"Yes, Lily Evans, and when she married your father James, she became Lily Potter."
"Lily. My mum's name was Lily. And my da's was James," this was beyond the magic reveal and the fact his parents were warriors, he knew their names now!
"Yes, they were," Morgana held back tears at the wonder-filled expression on Harry's face, this little boy deserved the world and had received nothing but scorn and abuse. Twitching her fingers, Morgana felt the urge to show him more magic. Seeing a book lying on the edge of the coffee table next to them, she turned to it and said, "Oþfiel æstel!"
Harry burst into laughter as the book slid off the table and onto the floor, it was magic! Morgana's eyes faded from gold to green and she laughed with him, her mind running through a list of spells to try to keep the smile on Harry's face.
"Forbearnan." Fire sprung to life in her palm, dancing along the surface of her skin, Harry leaned in, entranced by the way the flames flickered with each tilt of her hand.
The sudden slamming of the front door behind them and a loud bellow of "No! None of that freakishness, we swore we'd stamp that out of him," extinguished the flames and sent a sudden chill down Harry's spine.
The house became quiet, and Morgana rose to her feet in a slow, sluggish movement. Turning to face the whale of a man Harry had the misfortune of calling an uncle, Morgana drew on every breath of patience she'd learned over the last thousand years of imprisonment and arched an eyebrow saying, "What did you just say?"
"You heard me, I'll have none of that freakishness in my house. I want you out! It's bad enough the boy is dumped on us, but this strangeness is too much, its affecting my family and I won't have it," Vernon's face flushed as he yelled, veins throbbing along his neck and at his temple, it would be so easy for Morgana to kill him, one word and he'd be dead, but she needed him alive, for the moment.
"Well it seems Mr. Dursley that we have some common ground," Morgana drawled to Harry's shock.
"What?" The man in question blustered, seeing the woman in front of him face to face, he inwardly cursed, such beauty had to be wasted on those freaks.
"I said we have some common ground, you want this—freakishness out of your home, and I happen to have come here for that purpose," twisting her right hand, Morgana produced the guardianship transfer papers she'd been working on since she discovered Harry's location, getting testimony from his nursery teacher and several others to back his immediate placement in her care. Humans and their adoption system were ridiculously complex, thankfully a few spells here and there smoothed the way for her. "I have papers here, ready for you and your wife's signature remanding young Harry here into my custody, all you need to do is sign, and you will never see or hear from him or anyone else of our... kind again."
Reaching for the papers, Vernon snatched them from her hands, his small eyes bulging out as he noted their legitimacy. Storming into the kitchen he began searching for a pen, all he had to do was sign and the freak would be gone, it was the perfect solution.
"Wait," Petunia interrupted, wringing her hands she turned to Morgana and took a step towards the woman, "You aren't… you aren't going to harm him, are you?"
"Unlike some, I do not harm children nor innocents, and Harry here is both," Morgana snarled, her eyes shifting gold for a second.
"Pet darling, you heard her, just sign the papers and they'll be gone," Vernon coaxed his wife towards the papers, his signature fresh on the pages Morgana had tabbed for them.
"I…" Petunia looked over at her nephew still seated on the ground, his bright green eyes bouncing back and forth between the adults in the room, "Alright." Taking the pen from her husband, Petunia scrawled her name along the dotted line, closing her eyes as she felt a wave of something resembling guilt hit her.
With the final signature marked, Morgana quickly lashed out with her magic as the Blood Wards surrounding the home began to sag. Copying the spell work, she created a secondary illusion of the wards that would fool anybody walking by, she couldn't have Dumbledore running over and ruining her plans so soon. Turning to face Harry, Morgana let a genuine smile cross her face, he looked so confused yet hopeful, it shook her to the core.
"You want to be my guardian, why?"
"As of this moment, I am your guardian," Morgana knelt down to look him in the eye, "And as for why, because you deserve love Harry Potter, and I'd like to think I can give that to you, if you wish?"
"But, why me?" Harry tried to hold the tears back, he didn't want to say no but he was so confused.
"Oh Harry," Morgana leaned over and hugged him to her, gently holding him in her arms as she whispered the one thing she wished Uther had told her when he took her in as his ward, "You have only ever deserved to be loved." Harry let out a small sob as he wrapped his arms around her in return and buried his head in her hair. Touched at his outburst, Morgana began to stroke a hand down his back. A whimper of pain reached her, and she felt Harry reflexively cringe away. Morgana's mind flashed back to the visions she'd had two nights previously and knew that those visions had come true. Holding her frayed temper in check, Morgana pulled back from Harry and helped him stand up.
"Gather whatever you would like to take with you, we'll leave momentarily." Bouncing on his toes, Harry broke out into a smile as he turned to his cupboard to do just that. Striding to the kitchen, Morgana snatched the signed papers from the counter and leveled a glare at the Dursley's, "I know that you have neglected him, abused him, both physically and emotionally, and I tell you this now: I will ruin you. It may not be today or tomorrow but I will, mark my words." Morgana laughed at the suddenly horrified expressions, Petunia bone white and close to fainting, Vernon spluttering and red, "The best part of it all," Morgana continued, smirking at the scent of fear in the air, "Is that I won't have to lift one magical finger, I'll do it all without magic. You've made your bed you wretched creatures, and I will delight in seeing you burn in it." Footsteps alerted her to Harry's incoming presence and so she let out one final chilling laugh, her eyes dancing with more than a hint of madness as she leaned forward towards the Dursley's and whispered, "Boo," they recoiled and fell into each other as she turned away with another cackle.
Harry rounded the corner and stood waiting for her, a shoe box in his hands and a worn rucksack over his shoulders that he nicked from Dudley. Morgana held out a hand for him to take and he eagerly grabbed ahold of it. Together they walked out the front door and into the street, Morgana guiding him to the town car waiting for them across the street from Number 4, Privet Drive. Turning back to look at the house he'd lived in for the past four years, Harry felt something rush through him—he was leaving, and felt something like... like happiness.