Forget everything in your past life
The burning flesh in our courtyard
Far away in the past, a High Priestess paid her dues with a stab from a blade forged by dragon.
A priestess of the Old Ways, dying by the hands of Magic himself. She, has Magic deemed a sinner for
her endeavours. She murders and slaughters until her hands know no grimes that are not red.
(Was all this time a mercy? Did she tugged too much at his patience?)
But so does he. He, the saviour who turned his back on his kin, who murders and slaughters his way for love.
How was he any different when the pyres still burn under his watch?
(Does he not smell the burning flesh on their courtyard? )
[Their? Was she not there too?]
(Were his fears lesser than hers?)
(Did the blood on his hands justify hers?)
---
Years, days, decades, minutes, centuries later, Morgana Pendragon woke up in a cradle.
It is a second, it is thousand of years.
Red, red hair cradles her to her chest, soothes her cries and feeds her milk.
She still couldn’t stop screaming. She lost something- her madness, her purpose- (She doesn’t know to be mad or relieved about it)
---
When her cries seize, she finds herself with another babe. Huge emerald eyes looked back at her. A man cooed at him. “My darlings!!!!!! “
---
In another world, she was raised by a tyrant.
He spouts all the things that she is with hatred.
He commands his children to rejoice in the blood of his victims.
In this world, Lily Potter sings her and her brother lullabies. Padfoot plays with them as a dog. Moony shows them every constellation of the night (even if he made it up).
James Potter waved a wand and the dishes settled itself on the table. (It is familiar, it is a mimicry).
---
She looked to her right, and wondered if it would be her original brother beside her. If this babe slumbering beside her is hiding the soul of Arthur Pendragon in his fragile flesh.
Maybe it’s a sign that she should pretend more.
---
Long ago,
an ambitious mad wizard wandered through a house in Godric Hollow with a
single minded determination.
(She understood madness)
(She does
not understand the lovekindness stupidity of her mother.)
-“Harry, Cora, I love you –
Mommy loves you so much”-
---
That night, Harry Potter awoken, and she knows that he is not Harry anymore.
On the same night, a vile, sticky essence (a soul- whispers) clung to her and Harry like a vice.
---
They are the same eyes, it’s emerald, yet its brighter and duller at the same time. It’s the same eyes as hers.
They’re not original Harry’s eyes. (It’s familiar, it’s mimicry)
She wants to gouge it out.
---
In the aftermath, they woke up in the driveway of their aunt. She opened the door in the morning, and promptly slammed it shut. Not-Harry cried at once.
Perhaps she can relax now that there’s finally someone sensible enough to deal with this shit too.
---
Petunia is stern.
Torturously stern.
Her husband doesn’t need to know more about them, all that he knows was of her wife’s hatred and he decided it was enough to lock them into the cupboard under the stairs.
---
In the wake of their new cell, Harry sleeps and sleeps, as if he knew that he would never get enough of it in the future.
When he was not asleep, he would look at her, and she knows what’s in his eyes.
It’s sadness, giddiness, hope and anguish.
(it’s
maddening)
She prayed for her ignorance to never falter. For it is its bliss, she could seek peace in.
(“I blame myself for what you have become”)
She turned away from his stare.
(She wants to gouge it out. To bring back her
brother’s innocent sparkling eyes.)
---
Someday he looks at her like it’s the end, like she’s a sign from hell. -suits her right-
---
Some days, she can’t look at him without thinking of his betrayals. Of all the time that he wasn’t there for her. And she would think, “Why wasn’t I enough?”
He chose Camelot over her but in the end, he chose Arthur above Camelot. Was she not a friend? Why was it that buffoon worth more than her? Why was it that her kin saw her and thought she was expendable? Was it for glory of Camelot? Glory for the slayers of their kin? What was that he saw in Arthur until he found her undeserving of his loyalty? Why WhyWhy.
She didn’t asked.
She murdered, tortured him and his friends, took away his will. She could spare him the questions.
(He poisoned, lied, challenge her right for the throne, kill her Mordred, killed her. She does not want to know why.)
---
Petunia is nothing if not a woman of opportunity.
She opened the door to the cupboard and smiled, -and suddenly Morgana felt like she’s Gretel in the oven- told them that if they ever want to see the light of the day, the only chance they could ever have it is to clean the house.
They’re hardly an exquisite furniture, act useful, she said. Make sure they earn their keep, she said.
-She’s holding the match to turn on the stove of the oven. It’s inevitable. Gretel wants to live, not just survive, live -
Harry, not unused to being an overworked servant, works like he knows nothing else – he worked and worked with this feverish restlessness, as if to make up for all the sleep he did before.
She, however, made too many mistakes until she accidentally created mustard gas on one particular bad day. That was the first time Harry slipped up and used his magic.
Gold, gold eyes vanish the dizzying gas away. She’s back in the past, her knees still on the floor of the bathroom.
(It’s pointless.
Her sacred ignorance has become pointless. )
With resignation, her own gold eyes flare up and the residue on the bathroom floor is gone, leaving it dry again.
Gold on gold, they stare at one another. They can no longer use ignorance to shield this truth.
---
(Maybe that moment was a mistake, maybe that moment was when Morgana should have shown him- her anger, her rage, destroy the house, destroy the abuse they endured.
But she has remained sane for 4 years, she is too tired to restart again.
Harry truly looked at her for the first time and quirked his lips up a little bit.)
---
They were plucking the weeds in the hot summer sun. Their calves and back stinging from Vernon’s belt. (He said, there was still dirt in the hallway. He said, there are still leaves in the driveway blocking his sight. It’s dangerous. Do they wish death on him?)
Harry stopped for a moment, squinting at the sun. “We could pluck all the roses away too.”
Morgana shrugged, “Whatever for? They’re lovely this way.”
He still hasn’t looked away from the sun, “I thought you like pointless destruction.”
“Could be true, could be false.”
“It’s too thorny” He scrunched up his face.
“My god, now I know why he said you were whiny as fuck.”
He didn’t turn at her. Guess it’s not a good enough bait.
“Petunia loves the roses.”
“Targeting their loved ones? Are you talking my language, Harry?”
“It’s the only way you understood.” It’s fair enough.
---
There is truly no way for her to become separated from him. It’s annoying, day and night stuck with a shadow behind her back (it’s like having Gwen behind her once more).
They sleep beside one another, sneakily eat stolen food together, clean together, gardening together. It was not out of wariness for one another for they do not know anyone besides the other.
It’s a newfound understanding between them. They could not be a threat to one another because they chose not to. They are old in these infant bodies. If they continue from the past, their brittle souls might falter.
She doesn’t really understand how she could understand him so much better in this life.
---
Dudley is a cousin of theirs. He would have been beautiful child if he wasn’t an arse.
Harry, who has taken up duties to reform bullies since he was a bastard child from Essetir, is trying super hard to make Dudley not an asshole.
Morgana, who of course, has similar tendencies of humiliating cocky little boys, never misses her chances too.
It only brings them closer.
It become bearable to hear Dudley’s loud voice outside (“HEYYYYYYYY!! IS HARRY THEREE”-it’s a hello, it’s a company).
It becomes bearable when Dudley sneaks them snacks when they’re trapped in their cupboard.
---
Dudley tried to join their gardening once, he arrived with nose high to the sky as if could hide his nervousness to ask them to play together.
The blooming red roses behind Morgana were hard to ignore. They flourish beneath their hands with their prayers and daily care.
Dudley, too energetic to realize, grabbed their stems in hasty excitement.
(Palms tore, tears spilt, backs shredded, the door of the cupboard stay locked for 3 days)
---
They bumbled through their healing spells until their wounds stopped bleeding.
In the silence of that night, Harry said, “my ma tried to drown me when I was 3. This feels like anniversary of it.”
“Uther- “, she trailed off. There’s nothing to be said about that. Being near him is traumatic enough.
“Yeah”, Harry continued.
They laughed.
---
“I was right about the roses after all.”
“Damn me to hell, you could have been a seer with that insight!”
---
In their later years however, Dudley was hell to deal with. They’re blaming school for this. He would constantly make up stories about them both to their classmates, a favour to Petunia.
“I heard they were kleptomaniac and their aunt had to send them away and now they come back because even the other school can’t handle ‘em”.
“The twins were the ones that stole Jeffrey’s lunch”.
“The twins are filthy! What if they have fleas “
“I saw Cora skipping class yesterday.”
“Their parents left them because they were too bratty.”
“Dudley said Harry always breaks his favourite toys.”
“Of course they would cheat during the tests! That’s why they keep sticking together.”
It’s no different than the house. They stick together and try to ignore the jeers and laughs.
They’re cruel but children nonetheless.
---
It rained heavily that day.
Usually, they would’ve went out earlier and wander around to avoid Dudley and his friends. It was unavoidable that day though.
They wait right out of the gate.
(It turned ugly, as in Harry teeth had mud in it and Morgana’s hair was tangled with leaves and mud.)
---
It was natural for them to just shrug it off when they’re alone and magicked the mud away.
But they forgot that it is not so in Petunia’s eyes.
(“Mommy, they’re freaks, mommy! Their clothes were muddy, and they got to hide it somewhere. I saw it.”)
Petunia’s eyes turned knowing, and maybe it was justifiable to hate this child, just this once.
---
Suddenly, the house is too full of accidents. They’re waiting for them to prove it.
Prove to them that they’re an abomination.
The breakfast Morgana set aside for herself would ‘suddenly’ ended up on the floor.
Dudley’s orange juice would ‘accidentally’ spilled on top of Harry’s head while he’s mopping the floor.
Morgana shoes would suddenly have bugs and mud stuck to it.
Harry would suddenly find himself stuck in the cabinet for hours and hours.
Morgana would accidentally find soil right after she finished sweeping.
It’s better than a pyre, but condemnation is more than fire.
---
Harry turned quieter as time pass. Maybe it was because he just realized that no matter the century, he will always be with the scorned ones. (“and it’s again and again with your tricks! Have you not learned a damn thing! Did you thing that I’m stupid? You cannot mop the floor, cannot do your chores! How do you expect we keep your food on the table?! ”)
It is a bit ironic in her opinion. Is it fate? Is it still destiny?
She was no different.
It seems magic will always be the reason they’re doomed.
She said as much.
---
Despite it all, Harry never stops playing with his magic even when he got punished for it. It’s as if the litany of “Freaks! Freaks!” makes him needs to be reminded why he loves it. Little blue butterflies wandered around the little cupboard. It makes them sleep better as the warmth of his magic is enveloping them both enough. The pancakes they make would be fluffier, their coffee creamier, toasts just the right touch of crispy.
She thinks of the warmth of her magic.
---
He asked , “How did they die?”
Petunia said, “a car crash.”
He asked, “How did they die?”
Morgana said, “murdered.”
“Was it fast?”
“Like hunted prey.”
---
The thing is magic is not The Old Religion and The Old Religion is magic.
Harry does not have a proper guideline to magic so all he could teach her was instinct and intent. He could teach how magic flows, how he sees it, the details of her delicate magic, all the things Morgause doesn’t have time to teach, but he cannot tell how he done it the way he do.
Morgana, however, taught Harry as much as she can remember, which is a lot. It’s quite baffling to be taught by Harry because he truly does not know what he’s doing. She teaches him how to heal, rituals, spells taught in the Old Ways, with proper guidance.
He might not know a lot of spells but he still knows a lot that they can trade with each other. Spells to shine metal, spells to mimic night sky. He reminds her the beauty and mundane of magic. (“You are a priestess, Morgana. Small spells like these aren’t for you”)
She wonders why she couldn’t embrace its beauty first back then. (It’s his fault.)