A/N: Welcome to a special, requested work; a first for me. Harry x The Morrigan. I hope you enjoy.
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"I saw you before."
The voice belonged to Harry. It was accusatory, but he hadn't raised his voice. He was curious, especially with the birds that lingered around the woman before him and her presence, strange as each sighting of her had been.
First, he'd seen her after Voldemort had been felled, before Ron and Hermione had made it to him. The woman had worn a red cloak with a star-spotted shirt then, just as she was now. Those birds that flew around her, crows and ravens, had been just as present then as they'd been now.
Now, here he was back at Hogwarts, soon to take up the Headmaster position. McGonagall had tendered her resignation as the Headmistress of Hogwarts, but also chose to remain in the school and take up not more than her old spot, and all for a reason that she'd not say aloud. At least not to Harry or Hermione.
Harry shook his head. He'd done enough thinking at the present. "Who are you?" Maybe a direct question would prompt the woman to speak.
"Morrigan," Her voice sent a shiver through him, involuntary as it was. There was a power behind it. One that, even as the Master of Death, made him feel on edge.
"Morrigan," Harry said, scouring his brain for anything and coming up empty; he'd thought Morgana, maybe, but that was a bit too far away in how it'd be pronounced. "What brought you here? Something I can help you with?"
The woman shook her head, her looking turning appraising as she finally spoke. "You brought me here, Harry Potter. You have power over me, albeit not total, but I feel your presence. Like a fly landing upon one's brow, there remains a sensation of unpleasantness the longer I remain away," she took her first step since he'd spotted her, and as she did so, the birds, one crow and one raven, settled on her shoulder. "You won a great victory when you put down the one who last claimed ownership over the wand you now possess, the final necessary to claim the mantle."
It struck Harry then.
The Master of Death. That had to be the title she was referencing… but that didn't make sense, did it? Why did Death look like a red-cloaked woman with birds surrounding her? Where was the scythe or black cloak that concealed the face?
"You remain confused," It was a statement that came from the woman, not a question. "My name was given freely, and yet, you've not learned a thing about me, have you? How dreadful, the state of such an ancient place of learning."
Morrigan… come on Hermione, you've got to have said something about her.
Harry scoured his mind as far back as he could remember. He must have looked like an idiot as he did so, especially since he'd taken up the 'mantle' of Headmaster, at least for a time. But the woman, Morrigan, seemed to be content to wait as she ceased her walking and watched him with a pensive look settling over her.
Eventually, mayhaps after fifteen to twenty seconds, Harry recalled something. He'd thought Hermione had messed up Morgana's name one time, sort of like how he'd initially thought the woman had too for a scant few seconds, but that hadn't been the case, had it? No, he'd simply remembered wrong for a year or two, content to never think about it again but annoyed that it remained present.
At least it'd eventually come about to help him; Morrigan was a divine being, gifted magically and given the ability to shape-shift. She saw to Fate and War, urging warriors to be brave in battle and aiding them as far as she could — but she also had a hand in aiding Death. It was said she'd make herself known to those about to die by washing their bloodied clothes before them.
The thought was terrifying, but luckily, Harry didn't own the red, blood-coloured cloak that she was wearing.
"Morrigan," Harry said aloud again, making eye contact with the woman — no, the divine being before him. "You're a goddess. You're here because I have the three Hallows. That's what calls to you, isn't it?"
Morrigan took one last step towards him, one that was large enough to see her but a metre away. "It is," she agreed readily, a hand reaching out to him, before it stopped and retreated back to her. "There remains a connection between it, and I. One that's not too dissimilar to the connection to the very being that created the items in your possession."
Harry's lips pressed into a line. Death was real too, then. He wondered when it'd make itself known to him, or if it had already, under some guise.
"What now?" Harry reckoned he sounded a bit stupid asking that, but he wanted to know what she expected now that she'd found him. He hoped she'd not come to destroy the Hallows or him; both were a force for good, as far as he was concerned. Especially the latter.
"I know your quality. Did you think one with a hand in the strings of fate wouldn't know those who matter most of all?" Morrigan almost seemed amused. "Now, I will occasionally be by your side. Your victories, shall be our victories — your battles, will turn to our battles, and I will see you win against all who would declare themselves your enemies."
"What do you want in return?" The question was out of his mouth in an instant. Goddess or not, there had to be a reason beyond a yearning for the items in his possession.
"Simply to remain by your side as you do so," Morrigan was somehow close enough to grab his hand with one of hers, but he'd not so much as seen her shift towards him. "Ease the burden that weighs over me, and I will do all that I can to see you victorious in perpetuity, brave one."
The decision was an easy one. Harry agreed.
From there, their meetings were almost daily. Morrigan would visit him by way of simply appearing in his home or office; no magic, however strong, seemed to keep her out. He was lucky she didn't have anything negative in store for him.
It did progressively become less strange, less jarring. It took nearly a month of time for him to get used to it, but like all things, he came to adapt very quickly — her presence was a driving force too. With her, there came advice and the experience of hundreds upon hundreds of years. She would warn him of those who were dangerous or could bring about death or doom, regardless of how minor it might be in comparison to Voldemort. Such was what he desired.
Doom needn't mean his doom, nor that of a broad group of people. Not to Harry. Not when he desired to have the country, the whole country, kept safe from those who would do them harm.
Harry took a sip of his tea and looked back out across the field from his balcony. Morrigan would arrive soon, such was the time of morning.
But he still had a minute, give or take, to spend peacefully in his thoughts. Thoughts that, naturally, started down the path of action and fighting. It'd been a part of his life for so long, it felt strange to not wield his wand as a weapon rather than a tool… he didn't miss the pain and violence, his mind simply felt restless without it.
Morrigan, for all of her status as a being of War amongst other domains, didn't seem to have her heart in it. Now, that wasn't to say she wasn't good at it, but it seemed like the years she'd lived had tempered any hatred or love for the spilling of blood. He'd asked her, of course, about her various duties, and it was the massive battles, those of glory and renown, that would get the least time spent discussed.
"You've risen early."
He turned without so much as a jolt at hearing her voice. She'd always arrived silently. "I have," Harry gestured for her to join him. "Tea?" he'd already poured one for her and fixed it to her liking; sweet and sugar-filled.
Morrigan appeared beside him, not so much as taking the time to walk. Her hand immediately found the mug and raised it to her lips. After taking a sip with a smile on her otherwise pale, flushed cheeks, she turned his way. "You wish always to be notified of happenings I can foretell."
"I do."
"There will be a fight this day, one in which a warrior, brave and true and tried, might be necessary for the day to be won," Morrigan's eyes were locked on his. "Do you understand?"
Harry slowly nodded. Hogwarts was on Yule or Christmas — whatever one called it — break at the present. He, like most of the staff and students, had gone to his place of residence for the duration thereof.
"Who and where?" Harry hoped Hogwarts wouldn't be the location. The place and the people had suffered enough as it was; that wasn't to say others hadn't, but children… there had to come a time where their safety could be guaranteed.
That, in part, was why he'd opted to become the Headmaster.
Morrigan held out a hand.
Together, and late in the evening, the two returned hand in hand, just like how they'd left. Harry was, of course, covered in scratches with a few rips in his clothes to boot; none came from another's wand, but rather, his dodging and movement. Perhaps even the window he'd flown through.
But he was fine. With the Elder Wand in-hand and a divine drive urging him onwards, his senses knowing when to dodge, where to step and what to do, he'd torn through the fight with fury.
A fight that had started as an ambush against Aurors by the few Death Eaters that remained. The few that'd escaped justice and thought themselves unreachable. But they'd been wrong. They hadn't counted on Morrigan interceding, the fear she'd bring them to buy Harry time in saving the Aurors, or Harry's presence itself; when he'd arrived, they'd tried to run.
He hadn't allowed that to happen.
Now, there were only two left free. The rest were dead or captured. Their fates were sealed. They'd not thought anything of the woman in red washing clothes as she'd manifested throughout the day, well, not save for the two, potentially. Mayhaps they'd thought better of it, hence their continued 'freedom.'
"Thank you."
Those were the first words spoken aloud since the pair had returned home.
Morrigan glanced at him, her robe shifting, before falling altogether down her back; it was the first time he'd seen her hair in all its glory. The locks as dark as the birds that followed her about, fell just below her shoulder blades, and it shined in the moonlight; it was no wonder she walked with a hood up with how divine in nature she looked.
"It is as I said, isn't it?" Morrigan's hand was still in his as the two looked out at the darkened, flora-covered meadow before them. It was only just visible thanks to the setting sun. "You're fated to do much in life, my brave."
Harry was always fond of the nickname she'd coined for him, and the little squeeze of her hand showed that.
"I felt different. In the fight, I mean," Her eyes were intense as he spoke; he swore they peered past his and at his soul. "That was you, wasn't it?"
Morrigan smiled. "Only the truest of warriors might feel a blessing, and you, Harry Potter, fit such a role to a wondrous degree," she leaned forward then, and pressed her lips against his cheek; he daren't move until she withdrew.
Only then did he smile, and a second later, look down at their hands, joined together as they still were.
The Potter luck had done him good again, and so had she.