The earliest memory Morgan Weasley had was of a quintet of slender, serpentine, pale fingers hovering above her head. There had been men in the room with her. Two of them, and they had spoken in a language that Morgan could not yet speak. Childish as she was still, their utterances had been incomprehensible. All she had gathered was the hissing sounds of their waspish voices. If she had listened with matured ears, however, their crucial but detrimental conversation would have sounded as follows:
"Severus!" A loud voice filled the room. The man belonging to the name hurried forward like a giant bat suddenly awakened from a lopsided sleep. "The girl, Severus. Take her."
"Whereto, my lord?" His wings hung still, lowered obediently.
"She can't stay."
"I can bring her to the Malfoys." Severus' figure merged with the room's obsidian carcass, eyes matching the few ignited candles clutching the walls as if afraid to fall.
"Bring her back," His master spat out, lumpy fingers aiming at the infant lying on the mahogany tabletop. Carefully wrapped in a bundle of white blankets, her cocoon protected her from the cold wood and icy voice. And the hunkering, wall-creeping shadows desperately trying to catch her.
"Pardon?" Sounded a whisper.
"Bring her back to Rodulphus' place!" Disbelief draped the younger man's profile. The sudden vehement bark startled little Morgan as well, who understood just as little of the fuming displeasure that radiated from the unnamed man.
"But s–sir," Severus' spoke with hesitation, afraid to stumble and explode a mine.
"Do not question my demands," demanded the man in an icy tone that matched his ghastly skin. "I thought made myself very clear last time I disproved of your… subordination."
A moment of silence hovered between the two–one that preceded a hunters catch; calculated and creeping. It was broken only by a small inarticulate breathy utterance slipping from Morgan's mouth that reminded them of her presence. Eyes turned towards the anthropogenic bundle of cloth, their gazes revealed repellence.
"I will do as you demand. But sir, surely the Order will come to search the place and take her." Scared the man was not although he looked like it. Not quite a charade, but a convenient display of illusionary emotions guided him through the dark. Or maybe the man was really scared. He'd long forgotten the difference.
"Exactly, Severus. They will pity the child, orphaned as it is with her parents currently being locked away in Azkaban. Which is why you will convince them to take her to the Burrow." The master showed a shark-teethed grin.
"The Burrow?" Incomprehension again clouded Severus' expression. He did not like not grasping the world around him and its meaning. He preferred control.
"Seems only suiting now does it not?" A hand clutching into a fist above the child's head transformed her hair from raven to fox. Outstretched little digits tried to grab the fist, but it disappeared out of reach almost instantly. The man belonging to the hand couldn't have recognized the child's playfulness even if he had wanted to–his soul no longer contained capacities of amiability or kindness; besides anger, he had long ago discarded all his emotions in orphanage. To the child, however, whose worldly groping still depended on a frame of reference consisting solely of sensatory perceptions, the man, his voice, skeletal hands, and snake-like blub of a face had become familiar. Someone she'd imitate; mimic his expressions until at last her first words succeeded articulation. Words like "death," and "dark," and "evil."
"Is Bellatrix aware?" Snape didn't sound concerned so much as curious.
Dark laughter followed. "She conferred to me that that Weasley woman always wanted a daughter."
Morgan Weasley did not remember the aghast faces of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley when a bewildered young Sirius Black stood on their doorstep, holding the bundle of cloth wherein she was wrapped. Nor did she notice her relative's reined emotions as he handed the bundle to Mrs. Weasley, who had barely overcome the shock but showed her a face so filled with motherly love as she'd never seen before–if ever she had. Neither would she remember the disbelieving and disapproving glances of her two eldest brothers who were skeptical of the possibility of their mother's sudden and above all imperceptible pregnancy–as with any inexplicable happening or thing in the wizardly world, Arthur and Molly Weasley had blamed it on magic and their offspring had reluctantly accepted, for now. All Morgan Weasley remembered was the hightailing blur of a big shaggy-haired black dog followed by some distant howling.
With memories filled with sunsetting quidditch games, itchy woolen sweaters, Filibuster fireworks, loads and loads of Muggle artefacts, and, buried deep but thumbing loudly, a freckled boyish face punctuated with almond eyes, Morgan Weasley had long lived amongst the Weasleys as naturally as the gnomes in their bushy garden, completely unaware that it all wasn't all as natural as it seemed.
Molly and Arthur Weasley had taken genuine delight in what they thought rescuing Morgan meant: loving her as their own. Goo-goo'd and ga-ga's the same as her siblings, the bundle of cloth never once forsook its warmth but simply expanded in volume until bundle became Burrow. Morgan had fitted in brilliantly with the Weasleys and nobody, except Mr. and Mrs. Weasley of course, expected her to differ in any kind of way. With her tangerine, curly hair and speckles constellating her nose and cheeks, she was just like any other Weasley. She had Arthur's eccentricity, Molly's heart, Charlie's bravery, Bill's seriousness, Percy's aspiration, Fred sneakiness, George's carefulness, Ron's sensitivity, and Ginny's feistiness.
Yet, warming her petite head the sorting hat had easily seen through it all. With a queer oracling voice it had punctured right through the seamlessness of their belonging.
Interesting, how very interesting. So very unlike Weasley yet so alike. There is red, outwardly indeed. But within you, a creeping Blackness. A true chimera: there's lion, there's snake. "Slytherin."
A minor deviation, Bill had said. A great mistake, Ron had sworn. The ultimate joke, Fred had laughed. But all in all it was, as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley feared, the truth. The Burrow had become a snake pit.
At first, Fred and George had tried to mock her; to humorize the mishap, turn the dis-ease into a smile, sedate the serpentine. And even Percy had tried to cheer her up by enumerating all great Slytherin wizards and witches he knew of–but the list was short. Too eerily short. And thus, with a knot in her stomach and a skived heart, her feet had steered her towards the Dungeon while she deeply wished for a way out.
Over the years, the Housing difference had put some distance between the siblings. It was inescapable that Morgan was to familiarize herself with Slytherin's viridescent students and manners. She'd learn quickly that blood purity was of greatest importance to her House and that it was blood status causing many Slytherin's reluctant permission of her descent from and engagement with the Weasleys–even if, unbeknownst even to the siblings themselves, they were in fact of different blood. Morgan was often reminded though of the fact that she, and in extension her entire family, were blood traitors. And very poor ones at that. But whenever she found herself faced with such denigrating stances, she hissed in dismissal and flashed her fangs like a true serpent. Thus her fellow Slytherins soon picked up on forbidden terrain and tried to, whenever their pride would let them, remain clear of the premises.
Not only did her Slytherin companions condemn her Gryffindor family, but with like fervor did her pack of lions try to repel her inner lizard. Every year Fred and George transfigured all the items of clothing belonging to her House from green to scarlet. George had uttered something about color complementarity while Fred didn't feel the need to explain himself at all–but if pressed, he'd call it a charity case. And every year, the moment she'd set foot on Hogwarts, her scarlet envelope retrieved its emerald complexion. Thus they figured out quickly that even magic couldn't change some fated and fatal things.
And so, standing on Platform 9 3/4, Morgan was certain that inside the luggage she clasped in her hands, her ropes and ties and scarf all still colored red and that they would naturally-magically change back their colors in a couple of hours when the Dungeon replaced the Burrow.
"Now… you," Mrs. Weasley started not quite knowing which of her children she should direct. Fred and George were facing her with twinned grins. Ron was inspecting his feet in avoidance, blurting "sod off" when flanked by Fred's elbow. And Ginny was looking secretly frantically around as if searching for a lost item, which, Morgan knew all too well, would be a lightning bolt patterned with untidy black hair.
"You be careful this year all right." She tugged at Ginny's collar to straighten it. The small witch tried to free herself from her mother's grasp who was blocking her eyesight.
"No funny business." Faked innocence was reflected on the twins their faces.
"No car-stealing, tree-hitting, snake-hunting, life-endangering…"
"Wand-breaking," Fred began, imitating his mother's tone.
"Slug-spitting," George tuned in.
"Oh shut up." Grunted Ron, who didn't need reminding of the unfortune events his broken wand has caused him the previous year. His brothers, though, had made sure he would all but easily forget his slug-spilling accident. And thus, whenever opportunity served them, they had tried to transform Ron's food into tiny, slimy sluggish shells until Mrs. Weasley got fumingly mad and threatened to break their wands.
"She's not forgiven you yet, Ronnikins." Fred pressed his lips together and gave his younger brother a feigned wise look.
"And watch your sister!" Mrs. Weasley urged her children sternly.
"Which one?" George looked from Ginny to Morgan back to Ginny again.
"The snake or the one that tried to take on the snake?" Fred beamed brazenly.
"Fred! Don't say that." Mrs. Weasley shot her son angrily.
"Yes Fred, be a good son for once." Morgan's eyes and voice were sedated with sarcasm.
"I don't want to to…" Mrs. Weasley shifted her feet a bit awkwardly trying to find which words to say and which to avoid. "Rehearse last year's events. I think we were all horrified, petrified even." The twins shared a look of comprehension at her mother's word-choice.
"Absolutely petrified," whispered George too softly for Mrs. Weasley to register.
"Anything could have happened. Luckily Harry got there in time. Otherwise that snake–" She sucked in the last word of her sentence as if a Taboo spell had prevented her from its articulation. A cough from Ron, who, upon hearing his absented name, looked annoyedly expectant at his mother, softened his mother's expression.
"Oh and you of course, my dear. If you and Harry hadn't been there… Merlin forbid." She had suddenly grown pale from the forecasted doom.
"Don't worry mother, as long as Percy's around, I'm sure everything will be prefect. I mean… perfect." George assured her with a hand on his heart. His twinkling eyes gladly accepting Morgan's chuckles.
"George, didn't you hear?" His twin asked him in mocked surprise.
"Say what?" George imitated his brother, identically.
"Percy has become a Big Boy." Fred explained bluntly.
"A very Big Boy I heard." Morgan interfered.
"Must have missed the notice…"
"But how! He was mentioning it just yet!" Fred chirped. "And last evening. During the day. After breakfast. Whilst waking up. For days on end. Haven't heard him say anything else really. The entire summer it seemed. Bet he could even tell it to you in Egyptian."
"I know nothing, nada, zero." George played along.
"Blessed are those who forgetful in their ignorance–" Fred started solemnly but he was interrupted by a loud train whistle cutting through the air at platform 9 3/4. As if apparated by the sound, Percy appeared, sternly commanding packs of first years still lingering on the platform to hurry and get on board of the leaving train. Still squashed into his leadership role and incapable of stepping out of it, he approached his family with like severity. Immediately upon seeing the sight of his elder brother, Ron grunted a repressed laugh, which deserved him another shove from Fred.
"Hello darling," Mrs. Weasley started but upon seeing Percy's badge she suddenly flushed. "Fred, George, this is exactly what I–" But she was cut short by her eldest son.
"Mother, please excuse us, everyone has to board presto." The twins shared a look of bewilderment at their brothers phrasing before their grins returned to meet their mother.
"You heard the Big–" Now it was Fred's flank that was met by George's elbow.
"Head Boy," Morgan was quick to finish with an air of pertness.
Their amused faced were met by an anything but amused Percy who, although unaware that his transformed Head Boy badge now read "Big Head Boy," kept up as stern an attitude and posture as Professor McGonagall. You'd really give him his transfiguration skills, Morgan thought.
"Morgan," Percy pressed, watching some first years struggling with getting their relatively enormous luggage on the train. "Can't you help these first years out? I have no time. No time at all. Really need to inquire with the machinist what's keeping us so long from leaving."
Muttering to himself and without letting his family take up any more of his time, Percy was off, stepping determinedly towards the front wagons of the train.
"Sure…" Morgan vacantly uttered to the empty space. Of all her brothers, Percy was the least easy to approach. Although she'd genuinely appreciate his characteristic smartness and aspiration, something about him seemed almost too easy, manipulable like a light switch. Click, clack, click, clack. Sometimes she wondered if it shouldn't have been him who was sorted into Slytherin.
"Last time I checked he wasn't Headmaster Percy." Ron groaned, eying his disappearing brother.
"Not yet," Fred warned cleverly.
"Merlin, spare us the day." Disgust head-on in George's expression.
"You two will be the death of me someday," Mrs. Weasley let her presence be reheard.
"Ma, the world needs to be in balance," Fred began.
"Your eldest three precious angels wouldn't be half as good without the proper frame of reference." George winked at his mother.
His mother sighed, a slight smile stretching her pursed lips until they softened completely.
"Oh come here you." Mrs. Weasley motioned the twins towards her and folded them in an awkward but all-enfolding warm embrace. Letting go of the twins, she began alternating her goodbye hugs between her other children. Tears warmed the corners of Mrs. Weasley's eyes as she held tight on to Ginny, but hastily tried to conceal her emotion for the rest of them to see. While she was holding Morgan, her mother sniffed something about "being careful" for the fifth time. Yet what surprised Morgan most was the look bordering on distress reflected in her mother's eyes as she held on to her shoulders and stared right at her for some seconds. As if catching herself in the act, Mrs. Weasley asked promptly: "Has anyone seen Arthur?"
Arthur wasn't far. Talking hushed to Harry, Morgan saw him standing tucked away some meters apart from had not escaped Morgan that her parents had been unusually jumpy the last couple of days and this seemed to have increased now that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were about to separate with the cohort of children they had taken under their wings. She wondered what Harry had got to do with this, but his involvement didn't surprise her the least-the boy allured peril.
"Probably hands-deep invested in a conversation about road signs, dish washers, or Muggle dentist practices," Fred joked.
"Or maybe he's telling Harry of his newest acquisition so that Harry can travel first class in flying car this year again," George offered.
The joke didn't land well with Mrs. Weasley, concern and fury fighting over expression on her face.
"Mrs. Weasley, Arthur's over there," Hermione intervened quickly and pointed towards where Mr. Weasley and Harry stood.
"Arthur!" Mrs. Weasley shouted shrilly over the platform, but it solicited no reaction.
"Must be some serious business," Fred opted, looking investigatively at the pair over his mother's shoulder.
"Sirius," George snorted.
"George!"
"What, we supposed to call him 'you-know-who' already? That's some easy title," George retorted.
"No, just–" Mrs. Weasley looked conflicted for a moment and let out a heavy sigh. "Just.. not right now."
Fred and George raised their eyebrows simultaneously and met each other's in midair.
"Arthur! Harry! Always running off on his own accord." Mumbling something about Harry and Arthur, flying cars and danger, Mrs. Weasley scurried towards Arthur, leaving her children behind.
"She talking about dad or Harry?" George chuckled.
"Goodbye to you too mom," Fred yelled after her.
Seconds passed while the remaining Weasley siblings stood watching the train as though waiting for some divine signal commanding their boarding.
"Weren't you going to save some first years?" George asked Morgan all too happy to remind her of her duties.
"Percy did insinuate something in that direction, didn't he?" she answered him with a pained face. Not that she minded helping out if she could. She was a prefect after all. But there was something in Percy's commanding tone that made her want to go against his commands and see if he would burst.
"Let me help you with that," he said, throwing an arm around his sister. His hand softly squeezed her shoulder.
"I'm not sure yours is the best I could get," Morgan replied skeptically, settling in his embrace. George's touch radiated a warmth that spread through her a certain calmness; a secure graphene bubble that muted outside noises and kept out inimical powers. But there was something else she felt, some elusive, evasive feeling crept from her–warning that too much warmth could burn and tear and injure.
"Ouch! That's gratitude for you. I was just trying to be a good Samaritan and all." He let his arm slide from her shoulders somewhat in feigned offence.
"I'm sure you were." Morgan retorted skeptically.
George's smile broadened as Morgan reluctantly tugged him along, leaving Fred behind with Ginny. The last Morgan saw of them was Fred, taking advantage of the situation by showing an arsenal of first edition Weasley & Weasley products to some interested second year acquaintances of his youngest sister.
As they approached the first years, Morgan and George came across their parents again, who, now without Harry, were involved in an intense but secretive conversation. Morgan's steps slowed, curious to catch their words or even so much as the sound of a name. What she picked up, however, confused more than it clarified.
"Ignorance is bliss, Arthur. Don't go meddling. She's not supposed to know."
"But it was Black, back then, who brought her. What if Black-" But Mr. Weasley never finished the sentence. Suddenly aware that Morgan had halted in their vicinity, her parents eyed her, two awkward smiles slowly appearing on their faces.
Morgan frowned at the sight of their feigned cheeriness. She wondered what they were talking about, about who's not supposed to know what. But a holler from nearby distracted her. "Time is Galleons, little sister!"
The first years Percy had mentioned had luggage larger than their own bodies. Their heads barely popped up above the heavy leather cases, audible breaths panting as heavy lifters. George's voice presaged Morgan's arrival. "Prefect coming. She's not wearing her badge–minus ten points for Slytherin–but she's carrying a heart full of love to help those in need."
"It's probably safer stuffed away in my suitcase, lest it be transformed into a Giant Chinese Salamander by those with more evil intensions." His sister passed him back.
"Evil?! Cheeky, I'd settle for that. Mischievous, certainly. But evil?" The sleek grin on his face betrayed his sham-offence.
"Who said I was talking about you?" Morgan asked, avoiding his gaze and smiling at the first-year students gathered hopelessly around.
"You got me there. Oi, need some help with that?" George offered a small blonde, big-eyes witch who blushingly accepted the offer.
George easily lifted her suitcase up the metal stairs into the wagon. Soon, all their luggage was safely stored within the train's compartments
"You'd make a fine prefect George. Or a porter." Morgan watched her brother keenly. She admired her brothers' kindness and how he'd go out of his way to help someone, anyone. Often disguised as humor in pranks and antics, she knew that his best magical skill was not performed with a wand. Genuine rejoice doesn't appear through a charm.
"Taking care of people is a hard job." George grinned but Morgan knew he wasn't joking–not entirely at least.
"Now, do you want some tips about wrestling that troll?" Speaking gravely, George lowered himself to level with the first years.
"What troll?" The blonde witch was brave enough to cry out.
"The one you have to fight so they know in which House you belong of course," George said like he was explaining the route to Gringotts; obviously and well-rehearsed.
"We have to fight a troll?" Another, lean and lanky boy filled with fright chipped in.
"Just be sure to close your nose, they smell like murder and witch spew! You might pass out from the smell alone." George fumbled with his pockets while four distressed but grateful pair of eyes looked at him.
"Here, put these on and you'll be fine. Be sure to do so before you go through the double doors leading into the Great Hall. We wouldn't want you to pass out under the nose of a Great Hall filled with students now would we? Don't worry, you'll see it when you get there." They all eagerly accepted the clothespins he gave them.
"Now, off you go!" He pushed them gently into the wagon, holding his finger up to Morgan who was on the verge of interrupting. Turning towards Morgan with a big and guilty grin, he held his hands up in defense when he noticed her reproachful but amused stare.
"Planning on doing your own laundry?" Morgan asked bemused as she nodding to her brother's pockets.
"Stole them from dad." His hands sunk in his pockets. "Thought they'd come in handy since word may have gotten out about last years' troll invasion. And who I am to not tweak the facts a bit? Would be a shame really…"
"You're impossible." Dismissing but smirking, Morgan shook her head.
"And you didn't stop me from being so."