Merit and Inheritance
Chapter Twenty-seven
Morag Resettled
Pansy and Morag got around early the next morning so they could get to Livia's cottage ahead of everyone else. Morag hadn't shopped seriously for several years but she had a very nice Navy suit and a nearly-new robe. Both had been purchased before Morag devoted herself to Livia full-time, so they were a little out of date. The suit was snug when she put it on, but Pansy was handy with those kinds of charms and expanded the skirt and jacket a bit.
"What do you think?" Pansy asked.
Morag was turning side to side, trying to assess herself in a small mirror that hung on the wall.
"Looks like the tailor just finished," Morag said. "Thank-you!"
"Must look our best for Mother Livia's sendoff," said Pansy. "Morag, I wish Harry had sent me last year. Livia was a delight."
"Me too," Morag said. "I'm still amazed I'm even here. We didn't see a lot of people, other than family, when I was growing up. I don't know how old I was when I discovered there were people whose parents were twenty years older than them. I do remember thinking that was very odd, a classmate having parents younger than my brothers and sisters."
"Oh, Morag, that is so…" Pansy started to laugh. "Magical!"
The mourners from the day before began to congregate at the cottage. Harry and the other Londoners mixed with Morag and the Scottish contingent. Fresh hampers were stored on the counter and under the big plank table, ready for a post-funeral lunch.
Some of the party walked the few miles to the church, although most went by apparition. Angus was disappointed Daphne hadn't made it up from London, but he managed a 'Bless her' when Harry said she was seeing patients.
Livia hadn't left instructions for a funeral. Morag and her siblings all agreed their mother would possibly tolerate a little remembrance or sendoff ceremony at graveside, but more than that would be unnecessary frippery. The young, understanding minister at the church dispensed with his gown and presided instead in a charcoal suit and black tie, leading his little temporary flock through the service for the dead. He spoke for a few minutes about Livia's life and example, how she and her last husband were remembered in the neighborhood for their openness and unfailing charity for all.
The service concluded and everyone was invited back to the cottage for lunch.
The hampers were unpacked and the unlabeled bottles and jars reappeared, all refreshed from their good night's sleep. Some people had boxes and bags with food and more bottles they put in a designated area for Morag to keep for later.
"So you don't have to cook, dear," Harry heard one family friend say. "You'll need something tonight."
Angus assumed the duties of the host at the collection at one end of the table and sampling from the bottles and jars commenced a little ahead of the uncovering of the bowls and platters of food. Harry saw a tableware emergency looming and summoned Kreacher. The elf outperformed all reasonable expectations once again, reveling in the opportunity for giving his elf magic a serious workout. The post-service reception went on for about two hours. Everyone seemed to be in a mood of respectful calm mixed with joy at having been in Livia's circle of friends and family. They respected her as a witch and marveled at her longevity. Everyone agreed she'd had a good life. There were lots of stories.
Morag took all the encomiums with a little salt. She had to be tolerant. Most of the people present hadn't spent a great deal of time with Livia over the last few years, as Morag had. They didn't see her lying in bed, day after day, barely able to communicate, able to walk outside only with the aid of Morag's arm firmly around her waist. Still, commentary from the likes of Angus were continually lifting the mood.
"She had a good, long life," observed a grand-niece, coming close to quoting Morag. She was with a group standing about in the back yard, respectfully doing their smoking outside, away from the cottage.
"Consternation, Drusilla!" said Angus. "I'VE had a good, long life. Mother had a good, long century. Then she added a long century on top of the good one."
Angus was actually the last of the visitors to leave. He fell asleep at some point, under the morning glories. Morag, Pansy and Harry were the only others left. Pansy looked at Morag, questioning, what to do?
"I am tempted to leave him right there," said Morag.
Angus' great, sawmill-worthy snore provided punctuation.
"I can get Kreacher back and he can take him home with us. I might have to explain to Angus where he is when he wakes up," Harry said.
"Oh, Angus, Merlin love you," said Morag. "Help me get him upright and I'll drop him at his place. Then I'll come back here and we can all go on together."
Harry and Pansy waited under the morning glories while Morag saw her brother home.
"Going to be cooling off," Harry observed.
"I always liked Scotland when we went back to school," said Pansy. She wore a blue blazer over a long pleated gray wool skirt, with everything topped off by a black cape. The air was getting cooler as the afternoon waned, and Pansy snugged her cape a little tighter around her arms and torso.
"The late summer was about gone and the autumn smells were starting to come on. The afternoon light put gilt on everything it touched. I liked to take a blanket outside to the hill and look at all of you flying around at quidditch practice. It all made me feel so magical, like a witch. Even though I'd grown up with a witch and a wizard for parents, with an elf and a manor, something about sitting there with the castle behind me and the quidditch teams flying around on brooms seemed other-worldly to me. Did you ever feel that? Does that even make sense?"
"Of course," Harry said. "That first time when you're little and you surprise yourself with some child magic, how can you not feel that way? Did you wet yourself the first time it happened to you?"
"Harry Potter!" exclaimed Pansy.
Harry started to laugh.
"Me too, if that's any comfort," he said.
"It came and went, though," Harry went on. "The sorting ceremony as a first year was one of those occasions. All fifth year I was definitely in the zone. I became a wizard that year. Dumbledore and McGonagall were boxed in, it was me against Umbridge, or so I thought. When Neville discovered the Room of Requirement and we'd all go in there and duel, and I taught a bunch of people to cast a corporeal patronus, and it was totally underground. That was magical, as magical as it gets. Like we were back in the days of persecution, keeping the craft alive, one step ahead of the witch-hunters."
"Oh," said Pansy, "Oh my. Ah, sorry about that. I, um, was on the other side. Inquisitorial Squad. Working for Umbridge."
"I know," said Harry. "Someone had to be the fox, someone had to be the hounds. Bigger forces were at work. I can see that now. The Squad did well, much better than the Toad deserved. I only wish I'd been able to shape things more competently, to keep the damage minimal, if you know what I mean."
They sat, leaning back on the bench, legs stretched straight out in front, letting the conversation find its own course.
"Why was that your responsibility? You did more than anyone did, Harry," protested Pansy after she'd thought over Harry's comments. "What if Gregory Goyle had been the one to be born with your power and capabilities? Merlin, I hate to think about it."
"You're very kind," Harry said, as Morag arrived, back from her errand.
"Angus down for the night?" Harry asked.
"I got the old reprobate back to his house and propped him up in his favorite chair and he woke up!" Morag said. "Just like that. Demanded to know what I was doing next and I told him I was going down to London and he decided right there that he'd like to come along. The only way I got him to agree to stay where he was, was to promise I'd visit in the next two or three days and we'd plan a trip together. Do you think Neville and Hannah would have a room for him?"
Morag was clearly distressed at the thought of her kilt-clad country bumpkin eighty-year-old brother on the loose in London. Harry was very careful not to show amusement at her plight, nor to make unfillable promises. Still, if Angus MacDougal wanted a holiday in magical London, why not give the old wizard a treat? He probably hadn't had an overabundance of those in his life.
"Tell you what, Morag," Harry began as he stood up. "We'll work with you on it, and we'll support you and Angus in whatever you want to do. Right?"
Pansy nodded.
"Unless he wants to stay with me," she added.
"Well, sure, Pansy," said Morag. "Kind of goes without saying, really."
Pansy brought Morag to the office the next morning. Harry summoned Kreacher and asked for a carafe of coffee and another of tea. He had room for the group so he invited them both in, hoping to develop a little information so he could see if there was a way to help Morag with her transition to her new life. Livia had been her only focus for years, and now that focus was gone.
"What's on the schedule today?" Harry asked, trying to make it sound like a casual inquiry between people who knew one another a bit better than he knew Morag.
"Daphne wanted to talk about work," Morag said. "I don't know what she has in mind. There is healing, and then there is healing. She was telling me about her private practice. I know her patients need a healer as much as anyone else, but it sounds a bit rarefied. Maybe I'm being judgmental. St. Mungo's is different. I had a mentor there while I was working toward my qualifications. It might be better to look there, first."
"Sure, that all makes sense," Harry said. "Don't sell yourself short, though. You're an expert on the elderly witch and wizard, aren't you? Just inside your own family…"
Morag looked up, sharply, and Harry thought he'd given some serious offense. Then she started to laugh, a good, strong belly laugh, holding her coffee mug out over the floor so as not to spill on anyone.
"Nailed it, Harry," she said. "And there are an abundance of those around London, I'd say."
"So true," said Pansy, nodding. She reached over and patted Morag's forearm.
"What are you going to need to be ready to start work?" Harry asked. "I assume you have some things up north you'll be bringing down?"
"Not much," said Morag. "A few clothes. A standard healer's bag, with all the little potion vials and miniature apothecary jars. I could stand to shop, just a few London clothes, but I have to start making some money first."
Harry looked at Pansy, who gave a subtle shake of her head.
"Well, then, later," Harry said, reaching for the dirty china but keeping his eyes on Pansy, who smiled and nodded.
"Lunch at #12?" Harry asked as the witches rose to leave. "Kreacher brought the leftovers there. I need help, and lots of it."
Daphne had worked the three-to-eleven shift at St. Mungo's the night before, so she slept late that morning. Pansy had an owl pecking on her window at ten, though, which must have been late enough because Daphne didn't express any objections when they all congregated at #12 Grimmauld Place at noon. Harry intended to stay out of the way and let Daphne try working some wiles on Morag. Then he'd need to see what it would take to assess Morag's financial situation. Harry didn't know how to go about it, but he wanted to make sure Morag didn't have to live a life of penury while she was getting back on her feet. From what Pansy had told him it sounded like Morag had not had a steady salary coming in for at least the past three years.
Kreacher and Daphne gave Morag the royal treatment at lunch. A number of the mourners sent blocks of cheese in their food packets and there was a choice of domestic and imported wine as well. Morag would take a sip of red, put her glass down, bite into a cracker topped with cheddar, and a snap of Kreacher's fingers saw to the refill. In between Kreacher's ministrations, Daphne leaned toward Morag, patting a hand, laying the tip of her index finger on a forearm, telling an anecdote about a colleague.
"Didn't you say you and Healer Bruce studied together? I saw him just yesterday…," Daphne said, letting the conversation meander.
"…So if you'd like to come on rounds with me tomorrow…," Daphne finished up.
"Daphne, I really so appreciate that," said Morag. "I, uh, do you think the suit I was wearing is acceptable, because I haven't shopped properly, with Mother the way she was."
"Of course, you looked stunning!" said Daphne. "I'll fix you up with a standard jacket for protective coloration if you're worried."
"Can't fault your logic," said Morag. "I would like to do rounds at St. Mungo's again."
Harry signaled for Kreacher to start with some of the proper dishes, the casseroles and pot pies. Morag was solidly-built and used to putting in a long day's work, keeping house for two while providing 24-hour care for Livia. She tried to do justice to all of the dishes Kreacher had brought to London from Livia's cottage, but even she had her limits.
"Enough!" Morag said with a laugh. "I am going to have to make a serious effort to reconfigure my living habits. I could never sit at the table this long before something needed to be done. This is going to require some discipline."
"Take your time," said Harry. "It is all going to fall into place."
"You're sure?" Morag asked, making a skeptical face.
"Of course, Morag," said Daphne. "You've shown you've got it in you."
A number of things did fall into place over the next few weeks. Morag was offered a very agreeable schedule at St. Mungo's, joining Daphne and a few colleagues in the emergency section. Harry and Pansy reinvented the concept of gift cards for the magical world. Harry gave Pansy two hundred galleons. Pansy took one hundred to Madame Malkin and one hundred to Twillfits and Tattings and deposited them so Morag could order some new clothes for herself. Pansy told Morag it was Harry's idea, perhaps a little bent, of a housewarming present.
Morag started saving up to get a flat. Pansy assured her she could stay as long as she wanted. Morag insisted Pansy accept a small contribution, beginning her first payday, for the extra household expenses. Healers are in demand and well-rewarded in the magical world, so it wasn't long and Morag was in a position to rent her own place, a two-bedroom with a fair kitchen and a very nice bath in a good building near St. Mungo's.
Things settled down so satisfactorily that Morag was able to fulfill her promise to Angus to bring him down for a visit. Harry insisted he had more than enough room and needed the company. Angus was thrilled to be staying at #12 Grimmauld Place, legendary London seat of the famous Black clan. Harry thought he would be hosting Angus, who'd be a fish out of water in London, for a week, or less. Harry anticipated a few restaurant meals, a visit to the Leaky Cauldron, perhaps a dinner in Angus' honor. He got a few things right.