Until the very End - [Harry Potter xF!Oc]

September-December 2003

The last time she'd been this tired, she was fifteen and taking her O.W.L.S.

After the interview with the Daily Prophet, everyone wanted to see the cure for themselves. They weren't allowed to enter the Department of Mysteries, of course, but Mel and Erick were now supervising the treatment back in St Mungo's and there were definitely more people in there than it should be. Mel had to usher them away, asking them for some consideration with the patients that had kept their conditions private and wanted to keep it that way.

She was taking Remus' treatment to Hogwarts once a month, she would go personally to make sure everything was in order. She was even considering sending a few spares so Pomfrey could have them at hand in case new students with the condition arrived. There would be no more children suffering the way Remus did.

Mel and Erick also decided to share their discovery with the world, it'd be part of the next edition of the standard book of Potions for the students on N.E.W.T. level in generations to come. Aurors now needed to know how to prepare it as well, since they'd certainly need it in case of an emergency. 

The most difficult part, naturally, was getting the Morphy gene, which could only be drawn from a metamorphmagus' blood. It would take a long time to find a proper replacement, but for now, the generosity of wizards and witches had proven to be unwavering. Although to be honest, most of them didn't want to upset Mel. There weren't many metamorphmagi in London, but all of them were donating blood for the cause, enough to keep the ongoing treatments running. 

It would also take a while before the rest of the world started to make their own cures. Muggles had blood donations all the time, and the wizards could quickly get used to it, but Mel was set on not asking for a bit of themselves every year forever in order to save others, she knew all too well the kind of pressure that could put on someone.

One night she got home completely exhausted, Mel had been standing for most of the day and her feet were killing her. Harry had left the kitchen light on so she could see once inside their home, he'd also left a plate of her favourite food in the oven and the young woman went to the drawing room to eat it comfortably on the couch.

Her gaze started to wander around the pictures hanging on the wall: Old, from before she was even born, less old, from her time at privet drive with Harry, and a few that could be considered recent, but they were actually from around five years ago, from her travels across the globe with Harry and her friends. She had a few pictures of Regulus and the rest of the babies, though they looked less and less with each passing year.

Mel didn't know why, but she felt like something was missing. It was similar to the time she'd broken the lifeline with Harry, a hole in her chest that didn't exactly hurt, but it made her unhappy.

Grey jumped onto her lap, he wasn't the same old playful kitty that he used to be all those years ago, but he'd always remained loving. The bell on his collar made a cutesy sound when he bumped his head against her. That made her thoughts click into place.

The house was too quiet. When Harry was awake during the mornings they would laugh out loud and talk to each other from across the hall, or yell when they were on different floors of the house— but he was so quiet when he slept now, no longer stalked by his old nightmares... she didn't feel their home's heartbeat in the dark.

The Flints house was always filled with the sound of little kids laughing, or Anne's soft voice singing while working in her office. If someone had told Mel years ago that Erick Flint's house would end up looking like a fancier version of the Burrow, she would've laughed. 

Mel wanted a family. She'd ignored the feeling for too long and it was suffocating her. She wanted children and she wanted Harry to be their father. She chuckled at the absurdity of her anguish, but it quickly turned into something less cheerful.