Chapter Text
Harry flinches, as he hears a crash from outside the sickbay’s slatted door. There is a kerfuffle, and an awful lot of grumbling from the sailors that have apparently been awoken by the noise, and then the door is shoved open.
‘Mr. Morfin! Whatever is the matter?’ Harry gasps, scrambling to his feet and rushing forward to where John Morfin has collapsed on the floor, convulsing.
Morfin does not speak, his mouth opening and closing in an alarming, twitching fashion, his eyes rolling back in his head like a man possessed. He is fever-hot, when Harry touches him, and his face is warping and rippling like the surface of the ocean, revealing flashes of grey and brown beneath it, mangy in the manner of a neglected street dog.
‘Mr. Morfin…’ Harry whispers, heaving him up so he is resting in the crook of his lap, pushing the door shut against a sea of perplexed, irritated faces so as to afford them some privacy, ‘why on Earth did you not tell anyone?’
Morfin is shaking, as he rests against Harry’s chest. His pulse is racing, and the rippling of his face has now continued across the entirety of his body; waves of coarse, patchy fur appearing beneath pale skin, flickering to the surface. Harry holds him gently, stroking his hair away from his face, massaging the spots of his body that bulge and twist most prominently. It has been many years, since he has seen a creature such as this; his brother, Robert, had a friend with a similar condition once, only he would transform into some form of fox, rather than the wolf that is slowly appearing beneath Morfin’s human flesh.
They are rare enough, these therianthropes, and they are often not well-liked, though Harry sees no reason for this. Morfin whimpers, his head falling back to rest on Harry’s shoulder as it warps and shimmers. His body convulses again, and Harry is struck by the scent of dog - warm and comforting - but also by the scent of leather, and woodsmoke, and musk. He breathes deeply, inhaling the heady, almost overpowering scent of the man - now far more wolf than man, in fact - in his lap.
‘Dr. Goodsir…’ Morfin rasps, his voice rough and guttural as his throat twists in a most painful-looking manner, ‘it hurts .’
Harry’s heart clenches, looking at the agonising wrench of Morfin’s face as his body warps and grows, and he wraps his arms around him, trying desperately to soothe him as his transformation reaches its zenith. Fur bursts from the rippling surface of his skin, patchy and rough; his bones all sound and feel as if they crack at once, bowing outwards like the ruined hull of a ship; his teeth clatter to the ground; his eyes bulge and grow to twice their human size, and Harry is left with an enormous, panting werewolf, shuddering and whining softly in his lap.
Harry grunts, as Morfin’s body weight is pressed against him - now far heavier than he was before - and he cards his fingers through the coarse fur across the crown of his skull, wincing as little patches of it fall out. He is in terrible condition, the poor thing, he is far scrawnier than he should be, his teeth - from what he can see - are chipped and crooked, and his fur is frightfully thin, revealing sore, mangy skin beneath it.
‘Oh my dear Mr. Morfin,’ Harry murmurs, shuffling so his back is against the wall - providing a much-needed support, ‘you have not been well treated, have you?’
Morfin whimpers, twisting in Harry’s arms until they are face to face. Harry’s heart skips a beat, seeing him in such a vulnerable manner. His eyes are wide, and so terribly sad that Harry is suddenly of a mind to locate those that have harmed this poor creature and throw them into the sea.
‘Can you speak as you are, Mr. Morfin?’ Harry asks, softly, stroking carefully behind Morfin’s drooping, sore-looking ears.
Morfin shakes his head mournfully, and yelps softly, wincing as Harry’s fingers brush against a painful spot. Harry murmurs his apology, gesturing for Morfin to curl up against him once more.
‘Well that is quite alright, Mr. Morfin,’ Harry continues, stroking Morfin gently as he nuzzles against his chest, ‘we shall sort something out, I am sure, but for now please tap my leg once for yes, and twice for no, hm?’
A long, blunt claw taps Harry’s leg once, and Harry smiles, speaking softly, ‘Wonderful, Mr. Morfin, all shall be well, I assure you. Please try not to fret.’
Morfin taps his leg again, and Harry presses his face into his fur, breathing in that wonderfully thick scent - now richer and deeper than ever. Though it is now overshadowed by the scent of blood, and sore flesh, Harry cannot find it in himself to dislike it; it is so delightfully human , and not-human, all at once, and a pinprick of scientific curiosity shines through for a moment.
‘These sore patches and the thinning of your fur, Mr. Morfin, have they troubled you for very long?’
One tap .
‘Have you tried to clean them yourself, prior to today?’
One tap.
‘Ah, I thought that might be the case,’ Harry smiles, gently, ‘perhaps I might help you clean them, then?’
Morfin stares at him, eyes wide and nervous, as if he is expecting some mocking or aggression on Harry’s part.
‘I would like to help, Mr. Morfin, if you would allow it? I am sure some warm water would be nice, would it not?’
Morfin nods, slowly, and taps Harry’s leg once. Harry smiles at him, holding the large, scraggly paw in his hands and stroking the dark, calloused pads gently.
‘Excellent, and while we get you clean we shall find you something to write with, if that is agreeable?’
One tap .
Harry beams, shuffling out from beneath the large, scrawny bulk of the wolf before slowly getting to his feet. Even standing, he is barely taller than Morfin - the man has grown at least a foot in his transformation - and he is significantly more slender than him, despite how thin and sickly Morfin is, as a wolf.
‘Here, rest on my shoulder,’ Harry leans down, offering his shoulder for Morfin to lean on, ‘then we’ll get you settled on the table, if you like? Only I do have a feeling it will be easier and more comfortable for us both to have you up off the floor.’
Harry chuckles gently as Morfin nods and rests a large, grubby paw on his shoulder; his large, lupine eyes as dark as the sea, filled with soft, sweet affection and gratitude. Harry grunts a little, as he helps Morfin to stand - the man is far heavier than he looks - and strokes the patchy fur of his back carefully as he walks him slowly across the room.
‘Now let’s get you settled, shall we?’ Harry murmurs, almost to himself, wrapping his arms around Morfin’s waist - wincing as he feels the poor man’s ribs press against his chest - and easing him gently up onto the examination table.
‘Easy does it, Mr. Morfin,’ Harry says, softly, ‘take your time, hm? There’s no rush.’
Morfin whimpers a little, as he lies back on the table, and Harry winces in sympathy, ‘Let me find you something to rest your head on, Mr. Morfin, the table is not the softest thing in the world I am afraid.’
Morfin snuffles softly - Harry chooses to interpret it as thanks - and sighs a sweet, rough sigh (very much like a dog’s) as Harry grabs a blanket from the free hammock and shuffles it beneath his head.
‘There we are, Mr. Morfin, is that better?’
Morfin snuffles again, his mouth hanging open a little to reveal cracked, crooked teeth and a soft pink tongue, and he taps Harry’s leg once.
‘Wonderful!’ Harry smiles, petting the long, scraggly hair out of Morfin’s eyes, ‘now I will be back with some warm water momentarily, I’ll lock the door on my way out so the others don’t disturb you, is that alright?’
Morfin whimpers, his eyes suddenly fearful, and he begins to paw at Harry’s chest, sitting up awkwardly. He is terrified of being left alone . Harry’s heart aches as Morfin looks about frantically, and he sits on the side of the table with a gentle smile, wrapping his arms carefully around the man’s sloping, roughly furred shoulders.
‘I will not be long, my dear Mr. Morfin. I will not leave you alone; I shall come back, and we shall get you nice and clean and comfortable, hm?’ Harry pets Morfin softly as he speaks, breathing in the thick, musky scent of him.
It takes a little while, but Morfin slowly relaxes in Harry’s arms, snuffling sweetly against his neck. Harry strokes him gently, savouring the comforting warmth of the other man and chuckling quietly as he feels Morfin’s cold, wet nose press against his clavicle.
‘You are a delight, Mr. Morfin,’ Harry murmurs, ‘I hope I do not offend you, but you are a very handsome figure of a wolf, and you will be even more handsome when you are all cleaned up and comfortable, I think.’
Morfin rumbles roughly against him - a laugh, perhaps? - and Harry smiles. He is terribly handsome as a human, is Mr. Morfin, and though he may be rather scrawny, and a little mangy, with more sore patches and achingly chipped teeth than Harry is comfortable with him having, there is still a rough, lovely charm about him as a wolf.
‘I mean it, Mr. Morfin!’ Harry chuckles, leaning back a touch as Morfin nuzzles against his chest, ‘you are quite lovely - warts and all, as it were.’
Morfin rumbles again, staring silently at Harry with wide, liquid eyes.
‘I will still need to leave to fetch the water, Mr. Morfin,’ Harry whispers, ‘I will only be gone a moment. Will you be alright?’
Morfin nods, gently, and butts his snout softly against Harry’s shoulder. Harry smiles, running his hands gently over Morfin’s cheeks and snout, ‘Wonderful. We shall have you ship-shape in no time, hm?’
Morfin rumbles, his tongue hanging out from his mouth as he laughs - such a soft, gravelly sound - and Harry hops off the table with a bright grin.
‘I shall see you in a moment then, Mr. Morfin.’