Chapter 1: We’ve Got These Days of Summer to Remind Us Of Each Other
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Harry was exploring.
Tonks had shown him a couple of secret passageways around the castle (which he had of course passed on to the biggest trouble makers he knew: the Weasleys), but she had made it very clear that she expected Harry to return the favour when she got back in September. She had said that he had a unique opportunity to do as much sneaking around all summer as he wanted, and that the best way to find secret passageways was exploring. Well, that, and also to ask the portraits and ghosts, but most of them tended to get sick of students asking them for help all of the time.
What she had shown him were mostly shortcuts that made no sense - like, how did going through a door on the third floor lead you straight to the potions corridor in the basement? They were bizarre, and seemed to follow no rhyme or reason (except of course for the ones that had a rhyming password), but it all just made him that much more curious to find more.
And besides, not all of her information had been accurate. It turned out that she was wrong about the portraits, they loved to talk. As long as you weren’t just asking for directions or homework help (or secret passageways), they would talk your ear off if you gave them the chance. And luckily for them, Harry was bored out of his mind most days and willing to listen to just about anything.
So he had gotten into the habit of finding a random corridor on a random floor and just asking the portraits about their lives. Some of them were potioneers. Some were old professors from decades - or even centuries - ago. Some were adventurers.And some were even royalty (apparently Anne Boleyn had been a squib, and her husband was just as horrible as he had sounded when Harry had learned about him in Primary School. She insisted that she was executed wrongly and seemed rather annoyed that her husband had married four more times after her death, no matter how much she seemed to hate her own marriage to him).
So in the end, the portraits had really livened up his summer so far. Harry had said as much to the portrait of Timothy the Timid after he had let Harry know the password ‘ Flaming earwigs’ to a secret passageway between the fifth floor corridor and the Herbology corridor. Apparently the phrase ‘liven up’ was incredibly offensive to a portrait of a dead man. But it hadn’t stopped him from showing Harry that another pair of his portraits hid a shortcut between the Transfiguration courtyard and the fifth floor, and that its password was ‘ Carpe Diem ’. He was really a bit of a pushover once Harry had started asking him questions, and had definitely earned his title of Timid.
But he wasn’t alone in the fact that most of the portraits seemed eager to help Harry out once he had sat and listened to their stories for a while. Especially when they got to competing with each other. Once Harry had told one of them that another had shown him a really cool short cut, they would fall over themselves to show him something even better.
It had been really exciting until it had started to feel like cheating. So today Harry was looking for secret passageways the old fashioned way: exploring.
But unfortunately it turned out that exploring on your own was boring.
The novelty had worn off quickly and it wasn’t any fun without someone with him. The only thing that made it the least bit exciting was sneaking around after curfew.
Technically, with no students around Filch didn’t need to skulk around the halls every night, but Harry knew he did so anyway. He was pretty sure it was what the man considered fun. And that was what made exploring at night worthwhile. It just made everything that bit more exciting, knowing that he could get caught.
Not that there was any real punishment he could be given anyway. He wasn’t a student yet, so they couldn’t take away house points or give him detentions. Most normal kids got grounded if they did something bad, but Harry was barely allowed to leave the castle anyway, so what more could they really take away from him?
But still, the risk made it more fun, even if he would only get a lecture and a disappointed sigh out of whoever was watching him that week. Not to mention that he had won over enough of the portraits that he knew they weren’t going to rat him out to Dumbledore or Filch. Harry had a feeling they were going to be very valuable friends when finally he started as a student.
However, the portraits' loyalty extended to some others far more than it did for him. Harry was guessing that was why none of them warned him that he was about to be caught.
“What do you think you’re doing?” a serious voice questioned from behind him.
He turned around calmly, not recognising it as any of the teachers’ voices, and was unsurprised to find one of the castle ghosts staring at him. She wasn’t one he had seen before, which wasn’t surprising considering the distinctly unfriendly look on her face. He didn’t think she liked to hang out with students very often, even though she looked like she would be close in age to some of the upper years.
“Exploring,” he answered honestly, with what he hoped was an endearing smile.
She looked thoroughly unimpressed. “I thought all of the children had left. Why are you here?” she asked suspiciously.
“You must not get out much, huh?” he asked sarcastically.
She glared at him and he figured that maybe that might have been the wrong thing to say. Perhaps he shouldn’t be pissing off potentially vengeful ghosts. Harry would like to think that a school wouldn’t contain any spirits willing to murder children, but considering that the ghost of slytherin was a dead Baron, draped in chains and covered in ghostly blood, he didn’t have very high expectations.
So instead, Harry explained exactly why he was there. “My parents are dead and my relatives are terrible. Dumbledore won’t send me to an orphanage because I might get killed or adopted. And if I do get adopted it will be because of my stupid name and not because a family actually wants me. And even then I might get killed, or get them killed. So I live at Hogwarts now,” he summarised with a shrug.
The ghost hummed thoughtfully. “I thought children were scared of death. You seem incredibly unphased that you are wanted dead by people capable enough that only Hogwarts offers a strong enough protection.”
Harry shrugged once again. “I learnt this year that my life is pretty weird, so I'm just trying to roll with it. I’ve had a couple of months to adjust already. And I was always pretty sure that my aunt and uncle would rather I was dead anyway, so this isn’t too different. And at least Death Eaters just want me dead for something I have nothing to do with, not because they hate my guts.”
Her eyes narrowed when he mentioned the Death Eaters. “You’re the Potter boy. The one who ended the war.”
“I’m Harry ,” he told her. It wasn’t exactly correcting her, or denying her statement . . . but that wasn’t who he really was. He wasn’t Harry Potter from the story , he was just Harry.
“Helena,” she responded, smiling slightly at him now, as if he had done something that she approved of. “I, too, lived my life plagued by my name and the expectations that followed.” He wanted to ask, but that defeated her point - their point - that there was more to them than a name and a story. “In death, I am simply the Grey Lady. I think I like it better that way,” she confided.
“That’s nice and all,” Harry told her, “but I don’t really want to have to wait until after I’m dead to be able to live my life normally.” Not that that made sense. He couldn’t live his life if he was dead. Because then he wouldn’t have a life to live. Still, he though that she understood what he was trying to say.
“Hence, the exploring,” she correctly inferred.
“Yeah,” he agreed with another shrug. “It’s not much fun by myself, but at least it’s something to do until I can see my brother again.”
Then, he took a moment to really look at her. Harry supposed that she was pretty, with her waist-length hair and floor-length cloak, but she also looked haughty and proud. Her face was solem. Even when she had smiled earlier, it had just been a twitch of her lips, her eyes had never lost their bleakness. He thought he might have understood why she was called the Grey Lady; she just looked lonely.
“Do you want to come with me?” he asked her impulsively.
She blinked in surprise at the unexpected question, and it was the most emotion he had seen on her face so far. “Why?” she asked critically, eyes narrowed in suspicion, scanning him for any insincerity.
Harry debated his answer carefully for a moment. She had seemed proud, and he didn’t think she’d take kindly to the answer that she just looked like she could use some company. So instead he said, “I’m kind of lonely, to be honest. The portraits are interesting to talk to but they can’t really come and explore with me, especially when barely any of them like to leave their frame. And the owls in the owlery can’t talk back, even if they’re fun to fly with.” But she was still looking at him like he had something to hide. He rolled his eyes at her skepticism. “Just come with me, what have you got to lose?”
And apparently a challenge was all she needed to be goaded into joining him. “Very well,” she agreed loftily. “What exactly is the purpose of all this ‘ exploring ’?”
Harry grinned, and then they were off.
To be honest Helena didn’t really contribute all that much to Harry’s exploring efforts. She had been a ghost in the castle for hundreds of years and she already knew every inch of Hogwarts. And when he had asked for her to lead, she had informed him that it defeated the purpose of exploring if she just showed him where everything was. She was there to keep him company, nothing more. Although, if Harry did manage to find a secret passageway all on his own, she was kind enough to give him hints at the password. The hints were usually in the form of some sort of riddle or puzzle, and then she forbade the portraits from helping him and told him to look in the library for what he needed to figure it out.
He still wasn’t sure who she was, but clearly she had both the fear and the respect of nearly every portrait in the castle. Harry never asked, and she never brought up the whole ‘Boy Who Lived’ thing either. They seemed to have a silent agreement to just be Harry and Helena whenever they were around each other, and she had clearly threatened all of the portraits they came into contact with to follow those same unspoken rules.
They spent weeks sneaking around every night, because Harry never could seem to find her in the daytime. But he was fine with that. It made it their secret.
He didn’t know why, but he never included Helena in his letters to his brother or the twins. Maybe because it would feel like betraying her somehow? She clearly preferred to keep to herself, and what right did Harry have to take her privacy away from her? And then maybe this way, if he didn’t tell anyone, she would still keep on being his friend, even when all of the other students showed up in September.
Because they were friends, right?
A few weeks in, Harry decided that only she could answer that question.
It was after a night of exploring. Harry had found a new secret passageway that Helena told him would lead him off of Hogwarts grounds, so she refused to give him any help with the password.
“But that’s not fair!” he complained loudly, only bristling further when she shushed him.
“Control your volume,” she chastised. He glared in response. “You have made it very clear that should you leave the school grounds without an escort, your life would be in danger. I refuse to assist you in getting yourself killed,” she told him impassively.
The fight drained out of him slightly at her reasoning. He supposed he could see where she was coming from, but, “ You could come with me? Then I wouldn’t technically be leaving the grounds without an escort,” he countered.
She remained unmoved. “ I am a ghost. I would offer no protection should someone try to harm you. The most I could do would be to alert someone that you are in danger, in which case it may already be too late and you would be dead .”
“Then we could just be ghosts together,” he joked, gratified to see her lips twitch slightly.
“Come,” she ordered, leading him back the way they came. “I think you have explored enough for tonight. I want you to forget what we found here. Maybe in a few years, when you prove to me that you can defend yourself, then I will help you find more freedom from Hogwarts.”
“Can you leave Hogwarts?” he asked curiously.
“Yes,” she answered after a brief pause. “If I so wished, I could leave here and never return. This wasn’t where I died, after all.”
“Then why do you stay here?” He didn’t understand why anyone would wish to spend the rest of eternity haunting a school.
“Like you, Hogwarts is my home. I have always belonged here. I ran away once and in the end the man who was sent to bring me back killed me,” she confided. “In a way, I suppose he succeeded. I did return here after my death, after all.”
Harry was surprised that she had told him so much of her story. That she trusted him with the truth. He was sure that if he wanted to, he could take the information she had just shared with him, and use it to find out who she was. But he wouldn’t. And she trusted him not to.
“I’m sorry,” he told her, at a loss for anything else to say.
“Why would you be sorry? You are not the man who killed me.”
“Yeah, I know. But you’re my friend,” he said tentatively, “And you’re in pain, still, even after all these years. That’s why I’m sorry.”
For the first time, Harry thought she was looking at him with something like fondness. “I haven’t had a friend in a long time,” she whispered. “Not anyone who just wanted to befriend Helena .”
“Well, now you do.”
She smiled, and this time Harry could see it reach her eyes. And that felt like more of an accomplishment than any of the secret passageways they had uncovered.
Harry couldn’t remember the last time he was this excited for his birthday.
He remembered, when he was small, asking the Durlesys why Dudley was getting so many gifts on a random day and why he was making a special cake. Aunt Petunia had told him that it was her Dudder’s birthday and that Harry had better not spoil it for all of them.
“Yes, aunt Petunia,” Harry had promised. “But what is it?” he asked.
She rolled her eyes at him. Harry knew that she must have been cursing her sister for leaving her with such a stupid boy. But still she had explained, “A birthday is the day you were born. So every year we make sure Duddley knows how happy we are that he was born. That’s why Vernon and I make sure to get him lots of gifts and that’s why this year you’re making the cake. Unless you’re a wretched little boy who wishes his cousin was never born?”
Sometimes Harry did wish his cousin wasn’t around, not that he could never say that to aunt Petunia. But he wasn’t allowed to lie either . . . So instead Harry shook his head. It wasn’t a lie if he didn’t say anything, right?
“Good,” aunt Petunia said primly. “That’s why you’re allowed to help this year. We are trusting you to let you out of your cupboard this year, boy, so don’t you dare ruin this day for my Duddykins.”
Well that explained why Harry had never seen all of Duddley’s presents like this before . . . he was always in his cupboard for it. It reminded him of Christmas. Miss Farthington said that everybody got christmas presents, but Harry knew from all of the stories as songs that only good boys got presents for christmas. Father Christmas only left a lump coal for bad boys. And uncle Vernon always said that Harry wasn’t a good boy, so that was why Father Christmas never brought him anything.
But maybe birthdays might be different?
“Does everybody have a birthday?” he asked her.
“Of course they do, you foolish boy, it’s the day someone’s born.”
“So what’s mine?”
That was when she tensed up.
“The 31st of July,” she answered stiffly.
Harry nodded and said no more. He was lucky that uncle Vernon wasn’t up yet. Uncle Vernon always yelled at him for asking questions. Aunt Petunia usually let him get away with asking some but Harry had learned when to stop pushing. He didn’t really know why, but he had the idea that if he kept asking about his birthday, aunt Petunia would send him to his cupboard for ruining Duddley’s birthday.
Either way, Harry had the information he wanted. So for the entire month of July he was quietly excited. Checking the kitchen calendar everyday and mentally checking each day off, counting down to his birthday. When he had the opportunity he told his brother that his birthday was soon and how excited he was to finally get presents. He failed to register the sad smile he got in response.
In the end, Harry’s sixth birthday came and went. And he spent it in his cupboard, just like he had every other year (not that he had ever known the date when it happened).
Merlin’s quiet “Happy Birthday,” was the only gift he got that year, and the ones that followed.
He had remembered eventually, while sitting alone in the dark, what aunt Petunia’s exact words had been. ‘Every year we make sure Duddley knows how happy we are that he was born. That’s why Vernon and I make sure to get him lots of gifts’. Harry didn’t get any gifts, because aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon weren’t happy that Harry was born.
But that was all a long time ago. Harry had learnt eventually that not getting gifts on his birthday or for Christmas had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with the Dursleys. Their standards weren’t what mattered anymore. And this year Harry was getting something for his birthday.
Even if his brother and his friends didn’t get him anything, Dumbledore had already told him what part of his gift was. Harry was being allowed a whole week away from the castle.
Luckily this wasn’t his first time being let out of Hogwarts, as Harry had been afraid it might be. No, instead Harry was allowed down to Hogsmede, a nearby town, as long as he was being accompanied by Dumbledore or one of the Professors who happened to be at the school for a few days.
Harry had the feeling that the staff had put together some sort of schedule for one of them to be with him in the castle at all times. Usually it was just Dumbledore, but when he needed to leave for a few days then Professor McGonagall, or Professor Flitwick, or Professor Sprout, or someone else would appear for those few days to keep him company. Luckily, it was never Snape.
Mostly, it was awkward. But Harry had figured out a couple of weeks in that asking them to teach him the basics in their various subjects filled up the lingering dinner-time silence well enough. And it gave Harry an extra heads up for his first year. If this is how it was going to go every summer, then Harry had better be the top of his class at least for the first term of every year.
But Harry couldn’t wait to talk to someone who wasn’t Hagrid, a teacher, a portrait, or a ghost (Helena notwithstanding. Harry loved talking to Helena, but she was impossible to find during the daytime and he was therefore still left bored and lonely for hours). He had tried talking to some people in Hogsmeade, but the older students apparently hadn’t hesitated in telling the town that Harry Potter was staying up at the castle this summer. And so he had learned fairly quickly that he should keep to himself unless he wanted to be repeatedly asked if he remembered the night his parents were murdered. He didn’t. And it wasn’t as if that was how they phrased the question, but still, you would think that people would have more tact than to ask at all.
Not that any of that mattered this week. Because Harry was getting to spend this week with his brother.
They had been owling each other constantly. The only breaks being on the days where the old man let Harry use his fireplace to firecall Gaius’s house. But it still wasn’t the same as seeing each other in person.
Harry had gotten used to being spoiled for company. He was used to there being someone to talk to around every corner. He was used to being able to see and talk to his brother every day.
He had almost forgotten what it was like back on Privet Drive, when they could only really see each other from afar, only getting a chance to really talk when the stars aligned with their cousins sick and unable to rat them out, or both being left for Mrs Figg to babysit on the same day.
Surprisingly, Merlin’s move to Hogwarts had actually given them more opportunity to talk instead of less. Sending and receiving weekly letters was a more frequent and reliable form of communication than they had ever had before. And after Harry had been rescued from the Dursleys there hadn’t been a day that they didn’t see each other.
According to Mithian they were too codependent. And with how much Harry missed him, even with letters or a fire-call everyday - he couldn't really say that she was wrong.
Still, even knowing that wasn’t enough to take away his excitement of finally getting to see Merlin again. The only thing he would miss about the castle was Helena and the giant quidditch pitch he had all to himself. But neither of those things held a candle next to his brother.
It had been both reassuring and disheartening to hear what a good summer his brother was having without him. Merlin was getting on fabulously with Gaius and the Lovegoods, even if the girl was apparently a little odd (a fact that definitely brought Harry some relief, even if acknowledging that just made him feel guilty).
He couldn’t stop the niggling in the back of his mind, wondering if things would still be the same as they were before. Merlin had a happy family. He didn’t need Harry in the way that Harry still needed him.
He supposed that only time would tell.
It was a good thing that that time was today, because Harry didn’t think he could wait any longer.
Notes:
I'm sorry the first chapter was just Harry with no Merlin or any of our other main characters but he just ended up taking up all 4k words, which is how much I usually write per chapter. I debated waiting until I'd written chapter two and then posting them together, but I was too excited to wait.
Also according to Harry Potter wiki, Helena died somewhere between 14-18 years old which I find heartbreaking. I love her and now I'm sad.
Chapter 2: The Time We Have to Spend Apart Will Keep Us in Each Others’ Hearts
Notes:
Who the hell is this posting a new chapter only a week later? What year is this, 2018? :D
(And yes the chapter title is still Starkid)
Chapter Text
Merlin was cautiously optimistic.
Life with Gaius was great. He acted just as he had always done whenever they had spoken before. There was no monster lurking, waiting to come out now that they were alone behind closed doors. He was kind. He always made sure Merlin was eating enough. He liked to check that Merlin understood his homework, that he knew that the offer to help was always there (even if Merlin never really needed it). He was pleased whenever Merlin volunteered to help him make his potions. He always made sure to ask about his day, and usually asked how Harry was doing too. And he was careful to always give him privacy to talk to his brother and never demanded to see what they wrote in their letters. It really seemed like Gaius trusted Merlin. And whenever he was asked, he was always ready to share a story about Merlin’s parents.
His new house was great too. Aithusa loved the garden. And after she was told off for eating some of Gaius’s plants she was careful to never do so again. She was happy enough just chasing the gnomes around and lounging wherever the sun seemed to hit the ground. Seeing her happy made Merlin happy too. The house was small, with only two bedrooms. It meant that he would have to share whenever Luna might come to stay over. And while he was a little worried about having to share a room with a girl Gaius had assured him that if he really wanted to he could sleep on the settee those nights instead. It was no small relief. And Merlin didn’t think Aithusa would mind sharing the sofa with him for a night.
And Merlin really did think his room was great. He had been allowed to paint it whatever colour he wanted. He had thought that Gaius would just change the colour with magic, but instead they did it the muggle way. Gaius had said that that way it was something they could do together. And now whenever Merlin thought of his room, he remembered laughing as magic swept him off his feet so that he could reach the top of the wall, Gaius wielding a paint roller in one hand and a wand in the other. He thought the bright yellow reflected that memory pretty well. And the colour was enough to remind him of his other home too.
His new cousin (niece?) and uncle (brother in law?) were pretty great too. He was almost certain that they were completely insane, but only in the best way possible. They just seemed to care incredibly little for social norms and what the majority of the wizarding world considered ‘fact’. Instead, they decided for themselves what they believed in. And while he found it a little odd and a tad puzzling to get used to, it had the benefit of making them both incredibly accepting people, who didn’t so much as bat an eye at his sudden addition to their family. Luna did not seem to resent him for stealing away her grandfather, and it was almost enough to make him feel truly welcome among them.
. . . So, yeah. Everything was great.
The only problem was that Merlin’s life had a track record of not really going great . Which meant that all of this still didn’t seem real to him. He felt like he would return to Hogwarts in a few weeks, and it still won’t have felt real. It was all just too good to be true. He wasn’t meant for a happy family and a loving home. It was supposed to be him and Harry against the world.
Merlin felt like he was constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop, which had the unfortunate side effect of setting his magic on edge. The jumpiness that he hadn’t had a problem with in months suddenly returned full-force. He flinched away from any hand too close and panicked at any noise too loud. And it was only made that much more of an issue when his magic started breaking things whenever he freaked out.
It was an exhausting and seemingly-unending chain reaction.
A sudden noise would make him flinch, so his magic would react and shatter the nearest window, which only ended up making him more alarmed, only then added to it was the fear and guilt of ruining Gaius’s nice home, making him more afraid and his magic more likely to lash out. He could see that the man was trying to be patient with him, but Merlin had long ago learnt to tell when someone was starting to get frustrated with him. And while he was certain that Gaius’s methods to vent his frustration would be very different from Cenred’s, anxiety clawed at him from within, waiting for it all to come to a head.
And so it did, one morning over breakfast.
Usually, in the morings Gaius would either wake Merlin up himself or check to see if he was already awake. This tended to happen around eight o’clock, as it did that morning. He said and did nothing to make Merlin think that this morning would be any different from any other. Merlin was informed that breakfast would be ready in fifteen minutes, and to come to the kitchen by then, as he was told every morning.
By the time Merlin came in, Gaius was usually already sitting, taking the first few mouthfuls of his meal, while Merlin’s plate sat across from his in front of the empty chair. Only this time, the space in front of his chair was empty, and instead two plates of food lay in front of Gaius.
It was enough to make Merlin freeze when he entered the room. Dread settled low in his stomach. He wasn’t going to be allowed to eat, was he? They had done the same thing, Cenred, Morgause and Mordred. They had made him sit at the table with them and watch them eat while he wasn’t allowed to touch any of it. They always made sure to eat extra so that it really hurt. He supposed that was what Gaius was doing, eating Merlin’s share so that he would understand the consequences for his actions.
But that was okay, he had just lost his appetite anyway.
“Merlin, sit down, please,” Gaius ordered calmly.
It really wasn’t so bad, Merlin mused, following his instructions quickly. Lots of kids have desserts taken away from them for misbehaving. This was just like that. Merlin wasn’t allowed breakfast until he had learnt to control himself.
It was fine.
It was going to be fine.
“I’m sorry,” Merlin told him sincerely. Because he was. He was really really sorry. (That had been rule number three: always apologise. Merlin hadn’t had to think about his rules in a long time.) “I’ll do better,” he promised.
“I know, my boy,” Gaius said kindly, “that’s what this is for.” That was good, he hadn’t given up on Merlin yet. It meant that there was still hope for him. Gaius believed he could learn, so Merlin would. “I believe the best way to get your magic to work for you is to really need it,” Gaius explained.
He didn’t have to though, Merlin understood. He wasn’t allowed breakfast until he got himself under control. Maybe he wouldn’t be allowed to eat at all until he showed Gaius that he could control his magic. He would need it to be under control, otherwise he wouldn’t eat. That was how his lesson would go.
Merlin just needed to keep repeating that to himself. Gaius wasn’t being cruel, it was just a lesson. It was necessary , Merlin needed to learn .
“I understand,” Merlin said solemnly. And then he sat and waited for Gaius to start eating, for his punishment to really begin, for his lesson to start.
But Gaius only stared at him expectantly. “Well, what are you waiting for? Your food is going to get cold if you don’t start trying quickly, my boy.”
“Huh?” Merlin asked, confused. Wasn’t he supposed to be getting punished? Merlin couldn’t learn unless he was punished for failing first. He needed to be taught the consequences. He had to need his magic to get under control.
“You’re hungry, aren’t you, Merlin?” Gaius asked, staring at him until Merlin nodded slightly. “Your body needs food, child. You know that and so does your magic , so start trying to summon it over to you already.”
“I - what?” he spluttered. So he . . . wasn’t getting punished? . . . But that didn’t make any sense.
Gaius sighed and waved his wand over the food, presumably stopping it from getting any colder. “The reason children stop having bursts of accidental magic after going to Hogwarts is because they spend nine months using it every day. That is how they learn control. The magic of the Old Religion should be no different. It is instinctual to you, and it always has been. But you need to start being able to use it every day to learn how to not use it when you don’t mean to. It will respond best when working in your interests. You need food, so use it to get yourself your food,” he explained patiently.
And that . . . that made a lot more sense that what Merlin had assumed was happening. Especially for Gaius. Gaius would never do that to him. God, Merlin was really just a horrible person, assuming the worst of him like that. Gaius wouldn’t stop him from eating his food. Gaius always made sure Merlin was eating enough. He always worried about how skinny he was. He was always pushing extra food onto his plate.
Merlin had tried to twist it in his mind, to justify what he thought was happening. But he didn’t need to do that; Gaius wasn’t Cenred. He hoped Gaius would never know what he had been thinking. Merlin didn’t want him to hate him for assuming the worst like that.
“But my magic doesn’t work like that,” Merlin countered hesitantly, dragging his thoughts back to the topic at hand. “It just reacts when I’m upset or afraid. I know I need to learn to control it, Gaius, and I will, I promise , but I can’t just pull my plate over like that. I don’t know how to do that. I don’t have spells or anything like we do at Hogwarts. Whenever I’ve used that type of magic before, it was always by accident and always something big.”
“Is that so?” Gaius asked with a knowing smirk that Merlin didn’t understand. “What about when you told young Harry about your magic?”
And that made Merlin pause . . . because he was right . He had told Gaius the story in one of their letters while he was still away at Hogwarts. But Merlin had completely forgotten what his magic had done that day.
“Harry tried to walk away because he thought I was making fun of him . . . and my magic dragged him back towards me,” he said in realisation.
“Exactly,” Gaius said, smiling proudly. It made Merlin’s chest warm. “You didn’t want him to walk away; it was important to you that he really understood. You needed him to stay, and so your magic made it so.”
Merlin grinned excitedly, and then turned all of his focus on the still-steaming plate of food. He raised a hand and narrowed his eyes.
He was going to get this.
If there was one thing Merlin looked forward to almost as much as his messages and fire-calls from Harry, it was his letters from Arthur.
The contents of the letters themselves were nothing extraordinary. Mostly filled with amusing complaints about Morgana, his father, or one of the many tutors that had been foisted upon him this summer. It was fun to read some of Arthur’s more creative rants - ‘I swear, Merlin, she always has just this bit of green stuff stuck in her teeth. What does she do, eat spinach for breakfast everyday? Is she secretly a rabbit animagus in disguise? Morgana’s theory is that she does it on purpose, that way there’s at least one mildly interesting thing about her, otherwise I think she’d be the most dull person on the planet. How does one manage to make English Literature so bloody boring? We could be reading a book about the most exciting thing in the world and she’ll still manage to turn it into a lecture on the symbolism of the colour brown. Do you know what brown symbolises Merlin? Shit . Just like her damn teaching. Seriously, Merlin, I’m not exaggerating, the woman could put Bins to sleep!’ - however, no matter how entertaining Arthur’s writing was, the real treasure in his letters were the sketches he left on the back of them.
The first time it happened Merlin was almost certain that it was a mistake. He imagined that Arthur had reached for some spare paper he assumed was blank (because why would they use something as ridiculous as parchment unless they absolutely had to?) and had used the back of a page of doodles accidentally. Merlin had found his letter as interesting and amusing as usual and hadn’t noticed a thing until Gaius’s surprised voice had commented on the back, visible to him as Merlin had been holding it in his hands to read.
Confused, he had flipped the paper over to see a smattering of half-finished sketches and drawings. It reminded him immediately of the drawing he had received from Arthur for Christmas; the two of them, older, fighting side by side, but looking like they had come out of a story book. Arthur as a king with a cape and sword and Merlin with a fancy wizard’s staff stood by his side.
These sketches were similar. More rushed, with less detail and less effort, and all in simple led pencil without the colour Arthur had carefully given to that bright red cape. But they were still all the same drawings. A man on a horse, weapon in hand as he charged off the page toward an invisible opponent - the symbol on the cape the same as the one in his christmas present had been. The next one of Merlin, older as he had been depicted before, rolling his eyes at the viewer, his arms crossed and with that same triangle-scarf around his neck. Then another one, this time a man covered from head to toe in armour, his helmet obscuring his face, making Merlin wonder who he was supposed to be.
Merlin’s response to the letter had ended up being less about the actual contents of what Arthur had written and more gushing about the unfinished sketches. And his compliments had been peppered with questions of why. He had always assumed the gift from Arthur had just been a bit of a joke at the coincidence of their names, the legendary Arthur and Merlin. Of course Arthur couldn’t have drawn him as an old man, as the original Merlin was supposed to have been, so he had drawn them at the same age, as they were now, only older by ten or fifteen years. At least that was what Merlin had thought, that it had just been a jest and nothing more. But now it was different. Whatever had possessed Arthur to dream them up in this fantasy world of his, still clearly inspired him. And Merlin couldn’t be more thrilled to be seeing the results of it.
The letter he got in reply was clearly embarrassed and mostly ignored answering any questions Merlin had asked about his hobby - ‘ It’s not important or anything. I’m just so bloody bored all day in these tutoring sessions that doing anything is better than actually paying them any attention. They aren’t really finished, and no one was ever really meant to see them. I’ve thrown most of the pages away, so I don’t even know which one I sent you. If it’s the donkey one, please just burn it, I was throwing them all away for a reason. ’
Merlin had only allowed himself to feel disappointed for a moment before continuing to read the rest of his letter the same as he would have done any other. He let himself laugh at Arthur’s and Morgana’s latest description of their tutor and the wild theories they came up with to keep themselves entertained, and tried to ignore the odd melancholy he felt at the thought of never seeing any of Arthur’s other drawings again. That was, until he read the final line of the letter.
‘P.S. Look on the back.’
Merlin tried to restrain his hope in the few moments before he flipped the page over, but was delighted to find the other side of his letter full of drawings once more. He was certain that he had a stupid smile on his face from the chickling sound that Gaius made, but Merlin couldn’t bring himself to care.
This time, the sketches had clearly been done with more care, the intention of them being seen by another person behind every stroke of the pencil. There were more knights in armour, facing off against each other in some sort of fight, their identities still unclear. And another one of the two of them together, only this time they were dressed as bandits. The next one was of Merlin glaring off to the side of the page, a ridiculous hat on his head adorned in enormous feathers and a matching cape tied around his neck (the sight of it had made him laugh).
And then the last image was of Morgana. She looked several years older, presumably to match their imagined grown-up selves. Her hair was styled in some intricate up-do and Merlin could see that she was wearing what looked to be the top half of a glamorous gown. There’s no crown on her head, but it was clear that Arthur imagined her to be every inch the princess in his fantasy world. She looked poised and elegant, with just a hint of mischief in her eyes. It was clear that Arthur put much more time and effort into that one than the others. The thought made him smile. It seemed that he was not the only devoted brother of the two of them.
Merlin could not help but marvel at all of it. It seemed so incredible to him, how Arthur could manage to envision each of them so clearly that many years into their future, how he could capture their faces so easily, how he could change them just enough to envision who they could be. It was amazing.
But this time Merlin was smart enough to condense all of his compliments down to a single paragraph. Just a short few sentences. Nothing, he thought, that could possibly manage to capture the sheer wonder he felt when he stared at those images. But enough that he didn’t think it would make Arthur so uncomfortable again. Then maybe, his friend would be willing to show him some more?
‘ P.S. I have no idea what ‘the donkey one’ could possibly be. But even if I did have, you couldn’t pay me to burn any of this stuff. You’re incredible, Arthur .’
And so started a pattern between them.
They exchanged their letters as usual, but Arthur’s always carried a series of drawings on the back, and Merlin’s never held more than a few sentences in reference to them. But Merlin adored it. Once or twice a week he would see the Pendragon’s new owl swoop in through the open window in the kitchen, and he could barely contain his excitement.
The more Merlin saw, the more varied the images were. Arthur had drawn some of the others, like Leon and Lance, as knights, all wearing the same insignia on their capes. In one batch of drawings he had even included Gwaine among them, and despite the short, scruffy beard that strangely suited him, it was still clearly Gwaine (although it was accompanied with a quick note making Merlin swear to never mention it to Gwaine). There were a few images of Gwen too, sometimes in the fancy gown similar to what Morgana was always wearing in these, and sometimes in something simpler. Even Mithian had gotten herself a drawing, and a crown too.
Despite the aray of people Arthur included in his sketches (there was even one of George once), Merlin had only seen one real attempt to include his brother. But for whatever reason, Arthur skills to imagine him older like the others just seemed . . . off. Merlin could see that it was meant to be Harry, but only really just because of the glasses and the scar. It didn’t seem to fit the way the other portraits did. It was as if Arthur’s mind just couldn’t conjure up the image of a grown-up Harry. Merlin made no comment on it, since it was clear that Arthur had made a real attempt at it, and he had no desire to discourage his friend. But in the end it seemed that Arthur had resigned to drawing a nine year old Harry just trailing after the rest of them. He looked out of place among the knights and princesses of Arthur’s imagination.
It made Merlin smile to think that Arthur saw his friends as knights and princesses. But for some reason, Merlin was the only one of the boys never drawn in armour, never drawn as a knight. He supposed it somewhat made sense. If Arthur was still running with the whole Camelot theme then Arthur was a king, surrounded by his loyal knights, and courtly ladies in ballgowns, and Merlin was obviously the sorcerer like his namesake. And sorcerers didn’t need armour when they had magic to protect them.
It was only when Merlin saw a drawing of Morgana in chainmail, wielding a sword that he let himself get mildly offended. If she could be a princess and run around with a great bloody sword, then why the hell couldn’t Merlin get a weapon and armour to go with his magic too?
In his next letter Merlin dedicated an entire paragraph to his complaint - ‘ Don’t get me wrong, Arthur, I know your sister is tougher than me. And if there was anyone I suspected of sneaking a great hulking sword into Hogwarts it would definitely be her (not that she’s likely to need a weapon to cut any of us down, I’ve seen her in Charms verbally tearing her fellow Slytherins down to shreds. Why is your sister so terrifying?). But it just seems a little unfair that I don’t get any weapons or armour. Do you not care if I get stabbed? Or shot with a crossbow? Or hit with a particularly large stick? I’m just saying that a little armour might prevent me from dying. You don’t want me to die right?’
And sure enough, on the back of Arthur’s next letter he had dutifully drawn Merlin in a set of chainmail and a cape, a small axe in his hand, grinning like a madman - ‘ I hope you know how utterly insane I think you are,’ was written next to it, along with, ‘You just need to ask next time, you don’t have to guilt me into drawing something for you.’ That same grin was definitely not present on his face as he read Arthur’s words.
Chapter 3: Happy Birthday to You
Notes:
Ooooh boy. This one was fun. And by that I mean fun for me, not fun for you.
Enjoy ;)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Today was the day.
It was his tenth birthday. And that meant that he was getting to spend a whole week with his brother.
Harry had bought a trunk from Hogsmede and packed it with what little he owned. It was mostly owl-ordered clothes and a few books he’d taken from the school Library (and no matter what Helena said, it wasn’t stealing, not when he was going to bring them all back with him a week later. Besides, it was the summer holidays, it wasn’t as if he was taking the books away from students who would need them), Harry didn’t have much else to his name.
But on the bright side, it meant that he didn’t have nearly as much trouble as he thought he might dragging his suitcase all the way to the Headmaster’s office on his own.
Well, not exactly on his own. Helena was escorting him, making a rare appearance in the light of day (not that she would be able to help him carry a suitcase). Harry thought that that meant she would miss him too.
“Is there a way I can send you a letter?” he asked curiously. “I know that the owls are smart and they can recognise names and people, but does that work for ghosts too?”
She smiled softly at him, shaking her head gently. “No, little one,” she told him. Harry usually hated when she called him that (she technically wasn’t even a whole ten years older than him, so he couldn’t be that little), but this time he didn’t feel like she was making fun of him when she called him that. She didn’t sound teasing, she just sounded sad. “But it is only a week,” she said practically, “and this way you can save all of your stories for when you are back.”
“But what if I just set the address as Hogwarts? Then you can still get the letter, right? Intercept the owl or something before it just gets delivered straight to the Headmaster or whoever’s here?” he pressed.
“Harry,” Helena said, a chastisement probably on the tip of her tongue. But in the end she just sighed. “Save your stories, it is only a week. And besides, it is not as if I can write or send you a letter in return. Sending a letter will not provide you with any real social interaction that you can benefit from as you will receive nothing in reply, but it does risk exposing our association to prying eyes.”
“But . . . it’s not like it’s a real secret is it? I mean, all of the portraits already know, it’s not like we’re really hiding when we’re exploring the castle,” he said, confused at her caution at the risk of being found out.
“That is different,” she said curtly, her voice going hard, losing all the gentleness she had started their conversation with. “I have their loyalty. They will not report my comings and goings to any other. And they have no reason to try and manipulate or coerce us into following their agenda.”
“I don’t understand,” Harry admitted softly. “Who would . . .”
“Anyone. Everyone ,” she answered sharply. “There are some in this world who will find a way to weaponise everything you do. Every choice you make, everything you do, even the smallest thing, tells them more and more about who you are. And the more they understand you the easier it will be for them to use you. Even something as innocent as a friendship can be twisted into something that can be used against you,” she warned.
Harry didn’t really understand what she meant, and yet he could not help but feel shaken. He did not like how their conversation had twisted it’s way on to this subject, whatever it was.
It reminded him strongly of the conversation he had had with Morgana, Arthur’s sister, about the ‘unwitting influence’ he held. Not that the topics were in any way similar, but that they left him feeling wrong-footed and off kilter. Like they were exposing a side of the world to him that he’d never had to worry about before.
“But, and no offence Helena, you’re a ghost, what could they possibly want from you? And I’m just a kid,” he protested, despite Morgana’s words echoing in his head . . . ‘Your opinion also holds weight as the Boy Who Lived. I know you don't think so, but that doesn't matter to them. To them you're a symbol.’ . . . ‘You're a leader, whether you like it or not!’ . “It’s not like either of us matter,” he said stubbornly.
However, the look she gave him was pure disappointment, and it made something inside Harry ache. “You may ignore whatever you wish, but lying to yourself will only ever be a weakness, Harry. Do not give them something more to exploit. You may be a child, but you are not naive, little one.” Harry pushed down the burst of shame that her words induced.
“That aside,” she continued, “ I have haunted this castle almost as long as it has existed. The information I carry, not just on the castle itself but on those who have walked through her halls, the discoveries made within her walls, the knowledge long forgotten by many, is vast .”
“But Hogwarts is just a school,” Harry said, pushing away any thoughts he held on the first half of what she had said, trying to ignore her disappointment in him, and the disappointment it had evoked in himself. “Why would anyone care what happens in a building full of children?”
“Hogwarts is a monument of the British wizarding world, just as much as the ministry itself,” she began to explain. “Perhaps, even more so. This ministry has not yet stood for even three hundred years, and yet Hogwarts has housed almost every witch and wizard in Britain for nigh the last thousand years. I’m sure it is difficult for one so young to grasp how long this school has stood, to understand its importance to the culture of our people. But beyond that, the information that has been carried through these halls for so many generations . . . it is beyond dangerous information in the wrong hands. I have been tricked before into sharing something I should not have, and I have seen it tainted with the darkest of magics. They cannot harm me, for I am already dead. But I am self aware enough to know that a threat to your person would convince me to share whatever was asked of me. So you will not send a letter that could be so easily seen by just anyone who happened to be in this castle.”
“O- okay,” Harry agreed haltingly. “But the only people in the school right now are Filch and the professors . . . surely you don’t think . . .”
“You mean the very same man who ordered you to be left with relatives who abused you? The caretaker who talks about how much he wishes he was allowed to beat the children who misbehave? Or, perhaps, the ex-Death Eater who -”
“I'm sorry, the what ?!”
No. No way. Death eaters couldn’t be working at Hogwarts. Surely no one who had supported a mass murderer would be hired to teach in a school full of children. Surely Dumbledore wouldn’t have made the case about Harry being safest at the castle if one of his teachers was someone who used to work for his parents’ murderer .
“No, that’s - that's impossible,” he said disbelievingly.
“Albus Dumbledore has his own agenda. And while it does involve keeping you safe, it also involves keeping Severus Snape close,” Helena warned.
Harry thought he might be sick. He needed to leave. He needed to get to Merlin and he needed to never come back here again. Surely the old man didn’t have the power to keep him here with a Death Eater? If Harry contacted the ministry, they must have some sort of child services. He could ask Gaius . . . the man might not be able to take Harry in but surely he would help him?
He had a week. A week away from the castle and away from Dumbledore. A week away from his manipulations and his oversight. A week to make sure he wouldn’t have to come back here.
But . . . Helena.
“That’s it, little one, listen to the sound of my voice,” Harry heard her say distantly. It sounded quiet over the noise of his own gasping breaths. “Just try to breathe, Harry, I’m trying to help you but I’m afraid I haven’t taken a breath of my own in quite some time.”
It startled a laugh out of him, and that was enough of a shock to break the cycle of gasps he had found himself stuck in. “I’m sorry,” he said, his breaths coming in slower now, but no less heavy.
“No, it is I who must apologise; it was careless of me to say such things. I . . . I had not meant to cause you such distress,” she said softly. She looked contrite, her face was mostly unreadable, but in her eyes was remorse. Her hands were clasped in front of her, but twitching as if she wanted to reach out towards him, as if she was restraining herself.
“It’s true though, isn’t it?” he asked helplessly, “Snape is a death eater.” Well at least that explained his previously inexplicable hatred of Harry. He had never understood why a man he had never even spoken to before glared at him so much. But it made sense that he’d hate Harry, since Harry was famous for killing his old master.
“ Was a death eater,” Helena corrected gently. “Albus Dumbledore is a calculating man, but he would not stoop so low as to hire a man who still carried the beliefs of the Dark Lord. Especially not in a place where he could sway so many children down the wrong path. I simply wished to caution you not to be so trusting.”
“I understand,” Harry said evenly, though he wasn’t sure that he did.
“I do not mean to frighten you so,” she told him. “You are safe at Hogwarts, Albus can be trusted with that much, but do not believe that he has your best interests at heart in all things. Above all, Albus Dumbledore is a chess master, and in his eyes we are all his pawns.”
“But then who is he playing against?” Harry asked, swallowing back his fear. No matter what Helena said, Harry didn’t feel safe at Hogwarts. Not when it was under the rule of Albus Dumbledore.
But Helena didn’t answer his question. “Come,” she instructed, ushering him forward as much as she could without the capability to touch him. “We’re running late now, and your brother will be getting worried if you keep him waiting to see you for much longer.”
Harry nodded numbly, letting himself be carried forwards towards the Headmaster’s office, despite the sudden fear he felt towards stepping inside that room. But it didn’t matter. He couldn’t let the old man see. He couldn’t let him know that Harry didn’t trust him. If the headmaster knew that Harry had no intention of returning to the castle once he was away, then Dumbledore would never let him out.
“Bye, Helena,” he said softly. He didn’t know when he might next see her. She said that she wasn’t bound to Hogwarts, so maybe she would come and visit him? He hoped so. And he hoped she would forgive him for not saying goodbye properly.
“Don’t look so glum, I’ll be seeing you in only a week. Besides, I’m sure the time will fly by once you are reunited with your brother.” Harry nodded, and luckily the smile that overtook his face at the thought of seeing Merlin again in only a few moments was a genuine one. He let the emotion carry him through as he stepped forward to knock on the Headmaster’s door, watching Helena drift away, as to not be seen.
Gaius hadn’t seen his boy this excited since they were living a whole other life. It brought an old man great comfort to see such unadulterated joy on Merlin’s face. The child hadn’t been able to sit still all morning, despite the fact that the young Mister Potter wouldn’t be arriving until the early afternoon.
Gaius saw to it that Merlin directed all of that restless energy towards practicing his magic.
It had only been a week so far since the boy had started exercising his gifts regularly and with any semblance of intention, but Gaius had already seen him progress in leaps and bounds. Some things would never change. And when it came to magic, Merlin would always be a prodigy.
He had progressed past pushing and pulling objects towards and away from him within the first two days. After that, he moved on to juggling them in the air, watching them dance in front of him, a carefree smile on his face that he could never afford to have had back in Camelot. Although Gaius had drawn the line when the cat had started levitating, batting at one of the garden Gnomes that floated above her.
There was one morning where Gaius purposefully tipped a jug of orange juice off the table, just to watch it halt in midair, time freezing around the jug and the juice keeping it all in place while Merlin’s shocked face looked on. Up until the second that reality finally registered and it dropped to the floor as if nothing had ever halted it. Merlin didn’t understand that he had just stopped time (albeit only a very small pocket of it), but then again Gaius couldn’t say that he had understood the gravity of it the first time it happened in Camelot either.
The child just thought that his magic had caught it. And while that would have been a fair assumption if it was just the jug, liquid didn’t quite work like that. The juice was a fluid, or at least it was supposed to be. Any other wizard would have caught the jug, and used a separate spell to siphon the liquid back into it before any of it hit the ground. Afterall, it would be impossible to catch every single molecule of the juice in place. The only solution would be to create something similar to a shield charm but concave rather than the convex shape a shield charm would usually take, in order to gather the liquid rather than deflect it. Which of course, would look very different than the jug and juice which had been frozen mid-splash.
He was dragged back to the present, and out of thoughts of his all-powerful ward, by the whoosh of the fireplace.
Gaius wasn’t sure what he was expecting of the Boy Who Lived, but considering the greatest sorcerer to ever walk the earth was a clumsy stringbean with more ears than body-fat, the short waif of a boy who stumbled out of his fireplace shouldn’t have been too surprising. However, the panicked look on his face certainly was.
Gaius saw the very moment that Merlin realised. His face turned from a blinding grin to some sort of grim determination and protectiveness that he had only ever previously seen when Prince Arthur’s life had been on the line.
“Harry?” Merlin asked urgently, rushing to sweep the smaller boy up into a fierce hug, as though physically shielding him from whatever had put such a distraught expression on the boy’s face. “What is it? What happened?”
But the child just shook his head, burrowing further into the comfort that Merlin was providing him.
Gaius decided that there was not much he could do to be of use while the child was not talking about whatever had upset him.
So, naturally, he went to make some tea.
He heard quiet voices coming from the living room, but it mostly sounded like Merlin murmuring reassurances over and over. Until, “He’s a Death Eater,” came Harry’s solemn voice, “Snape’s a Death Eater.”
Merlin’s sharp intake of breath cut through the silence that followed. “Did he hurt you? Did he try to attack you while the school was empty?!”
“No, I haven’t seen him all summer,” the boy replied, his voice sounding hollow. “Someone told me . . . but I trust her, she would never make something like this up,” he promised.
“Are you certain?” Merlin asked carefully. Gaius could practically hear the sound of cracking as Merlin walked on eggshells so as not to accuse his brother’s newest friend of being a liar. “That’s . . . a really strong accusation to make without any proof. And surely Dumbledore wouldn't hire someone like that to work with children. I mean, he said that there were wards at the school meant to keep people like him out, surely if he was a Death Eater he wouldn't be able to come and go from the school?”
“Look,” Harry said, sounding frustrated, “I don’t have any proof, but it’s the truth , I know it.”
“Harry, I understand -”
“Harry’s right,” Gaius interjected calmly. He decided to use both of their shocked silences to shove their mugs of tea into their hands. Tea usually helped with conversations like this. Or alcohol. Perhaps he should have spiked his cup before coming out?
“ What ?” Merlin asked coldly, his voice lower than what should be capable for someone his age.
“It is no secret that Severus Snape once served under You Know Who. Albus vouched for him when his trial came, said that he had turned spy for our side and had supplied him with the information that sent the Potters into hiding before they were betrayed.” He nodded to Harry, “He’s the reason Albus knew your family was in danger in the first place.”
“So the word of one man was enough to erase who knows how many crimes he committed in service to a madman?!” Harry asked angrily. Seeming to care little for the fact that Snape had helped his parents. Gaius supposed he could understand . . . the child likely had no memories of his parents, what difference would a few more months with them really have made to a boy who didn’t even know them?
“ Harry’s right ,” Merlin shouted furiously. “We don’t know what he did! Death Eaters killed my parents too, and for all we know he was one of the ones that did it! Or don’t you care anymore that your friends died in that war?!”
“Merlin, -” Gaius started gently, hoping to quiet his ward’s temper, despite the hurt he felt at that last comment. They may not have been his Balinor and Hunith, but he had loved them all the same. However, the calming tone only seemed to enrange him further.
“How could you keep this from me?” he asked, hurt bleeding into the seething anger of his tone. “Harry could have been in danger this whole time and we might not have known until it was too late. We deserved to know!”
“It was never going to be too late,” Gaius explained rationally. “Albus vouches for the man, and he would never put any of his students in danger like that, especially Harry.” He could understand that the children were hurt and afraid that such information had been kept from them, but he hoped that they would listen to reason.
“Oh, yeah , because Albus Dumbledore and his staff have such a great history of keeping the two of us away from people who might hurt us, right ?” Merlin asked pointedly.
“Dumbledore trusted the Dursleys and the Kings and looked at what happened. They beat Merlin and they starved me, and they might as well have done all of that with Dumbledore’s blessing, because it all happened on his watch ,” Harry added, moving to stand beside his brother with a grim look in his eyes, both mugs of tea forgotten on the coffee table.
Gaius pushed aside the pain hearing such words brought to him, no matter how much it hurt him to hear them, he knew that these boys had suffered worse. He had not been told any of the details of Merlin’s life with Cenred and Morgause, but he had been expecting some sort of cruelty to have befallen him given what the two of them had been like in their previous lives. But still, to hear it said so plainly that his boy was beaten for years on end was almost too much to comprehend.
“What if Snape is the same?” Harry pushed, oblivious to Gaius’s inner turmoil. “Dumbledore isn’t perfect. He’s been wrong before, and I can’t risk him being wrong about this too.”
“You’re not going back there,” Merlin said decisively. And unfortunately Gaius knew that tone. That tone meant that nothing was going to stop this boy now that he had made a decision. That tone meant that Gaius’s life was about to get a lot more difficult. “As long as Snape is there, you aren’t stepping foot in that castle. I’m not risking it.”
Gaius opened his mouth to object, but the sight of Harry almost collapsing in relief stalled anything he had to say. He watched the tension all but melt out of his spine. Gaius hadn’t realised how rigidly the child had been holding himself until he essentially fell boneless into a hug.
“You promise?” the boy asked, despite there being nothing but trust in his voice.
“I swear,” he heard Merlin whisper into his hair.
Gaius had apparently been excluded from this conversation. “Merlin, that is not for you to decide,” he chastened. “Hogwarts is where Harry is safest . Where do you expect him to go, if not back to the school?”
“They try and force you back there and we’ll run,” Merlin declared recklessly, talking directly to Harry and making his opinion on Gaius’s contribution the the discussion very clear in doing so.
“No!” Harry argued, allowing a small flare of hope to surge within Gaius. “You have school and your friends and . . . and you have a real family now.” Merlin made a small noise of protest but Harry just continued over him, “And where would we even go?! They’d catch us, or accuse you of kidnapping me, or something else crazy!” The child shook his head, drawing away from Merlin. “They’d just drag me back to the castle if we did something that stupid.”
“Then I’d tear the castle down,” Merlin replied seriously. “We both know I can do it, and more importantly, so does Dumbledore. I mean, I’d get expelled, but what does that matter when there’s no school to be expelled from anyway? My magic is stronger than theirs. Arthur told me, after our fight when I first shook half of the school, that no one could go near me. Their magic couldn’t even touch me when I didn’t want it to.”
“Merlin, you can’t be serious?” Gaius exclaimed. And once more, he went ignored.
“But you don’t know how to control it,” Harry countered.
“I’m learning,” Merlin told him, and then on cue a book flew from across the room, straight into Merlin’s hands, proving his point. “And even if that’s not enough yet, it won’t matter. My magic reacts when I’m upset. If they try to take you and put you in the hands of a Death Eater then they better hope that all I am is upset.”
Gaius wished he could say that his boy was exaggerating. But he knew this side of Merlin. This was the side of Merlin that was prepared to kill sorcerer after sorcerer if they were a threat to his King. And now this child had earned that same level of protection and devotion. Harry Potter did not have any idea the value of what he possessed. Merlin’s loyalty was priceless. He carried a ruthlessness within him that Gaius had not expected to see in this life, and he had the raw power and recklessness to carry it through.
“That is enough !” Gaius shouted; he could not let them even entertain the idea for a second longer. “Merlin, you are being reckless and foolish. And you are encouraging the same in your brother. You are not going to run away. And you are not taking a ten-year-old with you. You would be putting both of yourselves in danger! For goodness sakes, at least talk to the Headmaster about it before jumping to misguided solutions that will cause more problems than it will solve ! If you would just think for one second, you stupid boy! ”
A perilous silence followed.
He shouldn’t have lost his temper , Gaius thought frantically.
He was just so used to Merlin’s hair-brained schemes in Camelot. Almost exposing his magic, rescuing cursed druid girls, insulting nobles, getting himself thrown in the dungeons, drinking poison, just risking his life over and over again. It was never ending. Gaius used to shout at him to just keep his head down, to just think things through for once. But he shouldn’t have lost his temper . Not this time. Not in this life. And especially not at a twelve year old boy who just wanted to keep his little brother safe.
Merlin was staring up at him in teary-eyed defiance. He was shaking where he stood, but he had moved enough to push Harry behind him as though shielding him from danger. His eyes were wide and his lower lip was trembling, and all Gaius could think was that he shouldn’t have lost his temper .
Harry’s hand was clutching the fabric of Merlin’s sleeve. He wasn’t shaking, but his eyes were darting around the room, scanning for exits, plotting a path that they could use to escape from him if they needed to, and all Gaius could think was that he shouldn’t have lost his temper .
Harry had told him barely ten minutes ago that these boys had been beaten and starved , and all Gaius could think was that he shouldn’t have lost his temper .
“You have a week here,” Gaius said weakly, his voice hoarse (maybe from the shouting, maybe from the thickness clogging up his throat all of a sudden). “Just take a week, to relax, to think, to come up with a plan that won’t be putting either of your lives at risk,” he all but begged. Because if the boys decided to run now, Gaius had no doubt that they would also be running from him . “I shouldn’t have shouted,” he told them remorsefully, “and I apologise.”
The boys didn’t react. Merlin was still just staring at him, looking more terrified than he had ever been. More terrified than facing dragons or Dorocha or Morgana had ever left him. More terrified than he had been when his magic had been taken from him before Camlan. More terrified than he had any right to be. Gaius did not think that his heart could handle breaking much more.
He turned around and moved towards the kitchen.
Barely a second later he heard shuffling before Merlin’s bedroom door shut closed. He almost wished that his boy had felt safe enough to slam it.
“I thought you said he was good? That he was kind? ”
“Yeah . . . that’s what I thought too.”
“What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know yet.”
. . .
“Happy birthday, Harry.”
Notes:
Can't believe I got an A Level in maths two years ago to still have to google which was which with concave and convex curves . . .
So . . . anyway, did I make anyone cry?
Chapter 4: Influence
Notes:
Okay so I was reading someone's tags on the series bookmarks and they were super complimetary so thanks bestie. But also, they legit said this was 'super fleshed out', and I love the idea that I'm giving off the vibes that I plan all of this shit out so that it makes sense. Like I put in effort so that I don't contradict myself accidentally but that's about it.
Like, do you know I was originally not going to have Harry move into Hogwarts. But then I wrote the scene with McGonagall yelling at Dumbledore and it ended how it ended and I was like well damn, I guess I'm completely rethinking half of the scenes I have in my head.
Also, I was originally going to write Harry a fun fluffy birthday week, going flying with the weasleys and stuff, maybe meeting luna, just chilling with his brother. And then when I was writing the scene with Harry and Helena this accidentally happened. And I thought that yeah, this is way more fun to write, so you all got to suffer last chapter instead.
Anyway long story short, I am terrible at planning and basically write everything on a whim but it keeps things fun! Don't get me wrong, I have ideas for the overarching story, especially once Harry's a student, but chapter to chapter I am winging this shit.
That was so long I am so sorry.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Morgana had been enjoying a perfectly good breakfast until that owl swooped in. Her mornings were the only times she had to relax all summer. Every day was filled with tutors and studying or public appearances and fake smiles. It was exhausting, and felt nothing like a holiday. During lunches they were forced to converse only in french, and dinners were awkward affairs with Uther breathing down their necks questioning them or the progress that their tutors were reporting back to him.
Breakfast was her only reprieve. And everytime she saw that owl arrive it was ruined.
Luckily letters from Merlin to her brother only came once every week or two. And if Arthur’s delighted expression wasn’t enough to put her off whatever she was eating then the sight of Gaius’s owl carrying Merlin’s letter certainly was.
Unfortunately the bird seemed to have picked up on Morgana’s resentment of its presence and had darted straight towards her just to be contrary. Although the put out expression on Arthur’s face did amuse her enough to forgive the creature.
Arthur obviously noticed her smile, glaring at her before saying, “Just shut up and pass me my letter.”
She looked smugly towards him but still moved to do as he requested, reaching forwards to accept the letter from the owl and passed it straight to him without looking away from her cereal. She only looked up when she didn’t hear the tell-tale sounds of Arthur ripping open the letter as he usually did with such enthusiasm. Instead, he was just sat silently, glaring at the unopened envelope.
“Oh, get over yourself,” Morgana told him, rolling her eyes. “Just because the owl doesn’t like you, you don’t have to sulk. Just read the damn letter, I doubt Merlin told his bird to ignore you just to piss you off.” Actually, that sounded exactly like the kind of thing the Merlin she remembered from his first year in Camelot would have done. Still, Arthur didn’t need to know that, and Morgana doubted that was what had happened, in any case. This Merlin seemed much too boring to do that.
But instead of sighing dramatically and then just giving in, Arthur thrust the letter back across the table towards her.
“It’s addressed to you,” he said bitterly. “That’s not Merlin’s writing though.”
The only other person who would have access to that owl would be its owner. Gaius . Morgana knew that she had acted rashly that day in the train station, but she wasn’t sure she was prepared for whatever was written in that letter.
Would it be a warning? A threat? That they both knew the truth so she had better stay away from her brother and his precious sorcerer or else? Perhaps a recollection of every atrocity she had committed, just to remind her of the monster she was? The very monster she was certain he still thought that she was.
Morgana wasn’t certain what expression she was showing, but whatever it was was enough to make Arthur say, “You don’t have to sulk. Just read the damn letter, Morgana .” That idiot thought he was so clever using her own words against her. As if he knew anything about what was going on in her head right now.
Still, she couldn’t let him win. So with a glare in his direction, she tore open the envelope, happily imagining that she was instead ripping to shreds one of Arthur’s letters from his little friend.
Her eyes quickly scanned over the page, wanting to know the reason behind all of this before having to deal with every single word that hypocrite wanted to shove down her throat. But instead, her eyes immediately caught on the last line. That was not Gaius’s signature.
“It’s from . . . Potter?” she said, confused.
Arthur shot up from his chair to read over her shoulder without a second's pause. “Why is Harry sending you mail? And why does he have Merlin’s owl? I thought he wasn’t supposed to leave the castle all summer, why is he at Merlin’s house?”
“If you shut up and let me read then maybe his letter will tell us,” she said sharply.
Dear Morgana,
I know it’s weird that I’m writing to you, but, surprisingly, you’re my biggest hope right now, so please just hear me out.
Professor Snape is a Death Eater. Or at least, he was one at any rate.
I know it sounds crazy, but someone at Hogwarts told me and then Gaius confirmed it when I went to visit. Apparently it’s not even a secret, it’s public record. I found out just before I went to spend a week with Merlin for my birthday, and had to keep a straight face as I walked through Dumbledore’s office so as not to tip him off that anything was wrong. The fact of it is, as soon as I heard that, I knew that there was no way I was going to go back to Hogwarts as long as Snape could come and try to kill me at any minute.
Merlin was furious. And it wasn’t helped by Gaius refusing to take our side. Apparently as long as Dumbledore vouches for Snape, Gaius won’t stand against him. Merlin threatened to tear down the castle if anyone tried to force me to go back, but I think we both know that that plan is terrible.
I remembered what you told me about influence and so I tried contacting the ministry, but they were useless. Apparently Hogwarts is a private institution, outside of the ministry’s control, and they can’t make Dumbledore fire Snape. The woman who sent the letter was actually really nice, she sent a second letter with her reply, off the record (I put both of her letters in the envelope too), basically just telling me the best way to go about getting rid of Snape. And that’s where I need your help.
The Hogwarts board of Governors can get involved with things like this. Apparently they have to act if a parent brings a concern to them. The school itself is my official guardian, so it can’t exactly speak up at a school board meeting on my behalf, and Gaius has already refused to disagree with Dumbledore. And then I remembered again, what you said about influence. Maybe my influence isn’t what’s needed here. I mean, it might help, having the boy who lived or whatever object. But I was thinking that maybe the prime minister of the country might be able to kick up more of a fuss than a ten year old?
I’m sure your dad or guardian or whatever is busy, but this isn’t just for me, Morgana. You said yourself that most of your housemates hate you for being a muggleborn. Who’s influence do you think that is? Snape supported the man who wanted death for all muggles and muggleborns, it’s not surprising that he’d be encouraging that in his house. Everyone says he’s a crap teacher who bullies students anyway, and well that’s not so surprising considering that bullying is a pretty big step down from murder. To him, it would definitely seem small by comparison, maybe even kind.
I know that this is a big favour. But you’re the one who asked me to trust you until you gave me a reason otherwise. So this is me trusting you. (And also relying on the fact that Arthur will probably be all for it and ask his dad even if you don’t want to.)
I only have four more days until Dumbledore expects me back at the castle and I’m pretty sure Merlin plans on us making a run for it in the middle of the night if something doesn’t happen before then. So please, help us with this?
- Harry.
“Snape’s a Death Eater!” Arthur said hysterically. Then, “We’re going to help them right?” he asked immediately after, shock drifting to the wayside now that there was a mission to accomplish. Classic Arthur, keeping a cool head as long as there was a job to be done and people in danger.
“Yes,” Morgana said, hearing in her own voice how brittle it sounded. “We’re going to throw that piece of shit out on his arse. We’ll show him exactly how pathetic muggles and muggleborns can be.”
She was furious. She was trying so hard not to be, but by God she was. She didn’t want to let anger rule her, not after what she knew she could become. But knowing that didn’t stop her from wanting to storm into Hogwarts and rip his greasy head from his shoulders.
But it wasn’t just that. It was Gaius . She had really thought that the man would at least do better by Merlin. He had been almost tortured to death to protect Merlin’s identity as Emrys from her. But perhaps if it had been Uther or bloody Dumbledore asking, then he would have just handed Emrys’s real name right over.
Oh how little he had changed. Only this time he was Dumbledore’s doormat instead of Uther’s. This was the same man who had watched thousands of his own people burnt at the stake, all the while calling the man who did it a friend. Now he was allowing children to be indoctrinated by a man who was almost definitely a murderer because Dumbledore said so. Just like Uther had said magic was evil. Well Uther was about to help the lives of hundreds of magical children, whether he liked it or not.
Morgana quickly pulled out the other two enclosed letters for them to read before they brought anything to their father. It would not do to go into this without all of the information at hand.
Dear Mr Potter,
It is not within the Ministry of Magic’s purview to intervene with the staffing of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, as it is a private institution, unless there is an open position that the Headmaster is unable to find a suitable candidate for.
As Severus Snape was pardoned for his crimes due to his contributions in the war, and is therefore not currently a criminal, the Ministry of Magic and Department of Magical Law Enforcement has no reason to arrest him or object to his position as a Professor and Head of House at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Yours Sincerely,
Eleanor Runshaw
Department of Magical Education
Ministry of Magic
“‘ Not currently a criminal’ Can you believe that?! I thought teachers had to have criminal background checks?!” she asked angrily, muttering several non-complimentary phrases under her breath. What an utter load of tripe.
“Hang on,” Arthur told her, “Harry said that she sent another letter, at least read that before you start cursing out the poor woman.”
Morgana would rather set the bloody thing on fire, but she supposed Arthur might have a point.
Mister Potter,
I’m sorry that I can’t be of any help in an official capacity. I’m definitely not supposed to be sending additional letters off the record, but I know that what you’re trying to do is right. I’m a half-blood, you see, and Snape was my potions professor for three years while I was still a student. I know exactly how horrible he can be, and I remember exactly how horrified I was when I found out that he had been a Death Eater.
Someone like that shouldn’t be around kids, but there are no legal reasons why he can’t be, at least not in the wizarding world. Muggles have the right of, not allowing anyone with a criminal history to teach in schools, but we have different laws here.
Now, while I can’t help you, I can give you some advice. Your best bet of ousting Snape from Hogwarts is to take it up with the Board of Governors. It will be difficult, though. Most of them are in Dumbledore’s pocket, and those that aren’t, have some suspicious ties to Death Eaters that was never enough to get them convicted. It's all old wizarding families who have seats on the board, which means they’ve got no real reason to give a damn about muggles and muggle borns and what Death Eaters wanted to do to them.
It being you kicking up a fuss will help sway any of the decent folk. But you need a parent or guardian of a current student to be the one to bring a concern to the board, and you need them to be good at talking and arguing if you want to stand a chance of beating both Dumbledore and the pureblood sympathisers.
Get as many parents and students to speak as you can. Any friends you have, and all of their friends and parents too. Get as many people as you can.
Good luck.
Wishing you the best,
Eleanor Runshaw
It was when they were almost done with the final letter that their tutor arrived.
“It’s nine o’clock,” she droned, “You should have put away your breakfast by now; we need the table to work at.”
“Get out,” Morgana ordered sharply.
“Excuse me?” the dullard asked, the offended look on her face being the most expression she had put into anying ever .
“You’re excused,” Morgana informed her promptly. “Arthur and I have urgent business that has come up unexpectedly. We need to discuss it with our father. It takes precedence over today’s lessons. Besides, we’re ahead of schedule for the summer, so taking a day won’t negatively impact our studying. So , you’re dismissed.” Morgana used every royal mannerism she had ever learned to try and command the room. She put all of her effort into making sure she came across as the most authoritative person in the room, seeing as technically she didn’t have the authority to dismiss their tutor for the day.
The woman spluttered for a moment, before turning on her heel and leaving the room, her nose up in the air. Morgana only hoped that she wasn’t running straight to Uther before they could get there.
“That was bloody impressive,” Arthur remarked, staring at her in shock.
Morgana smirked, feeling accomplished and ready to gloat. “Well, we’ve both seen Uther do it enough times. I figured if he could pull it off, how hard could it be, really?”
He snorted, shaking his head. “C’mon then,” he said, getting to his feet. “We might as well follow through, now that we’ve said we’re going to go talk to him.”
Morgans sighed and got to her feet. “He’s going to be furious that we’re interrupting his meetings,” she remarked as they walked through the halls of number 10 Downing Street.
Arthur winced, surely already anticipating the chewing out they were about to receive. “Yeah well, like you said, it’s urgent isn’t it?”
“Not to him,” Morgana said. “To him, this all could have waited until dinner tonight and then be dealt with in the morning. It won’t matter to him that Potter’s on a deadline. He’ll care about getting rid of Snape for two reasons: because it will keep us safer, and because this board meeting will give him an in to talk with the influential names in our world.
“So, don’t ramble about how much your friendship with Merlin means to you, or about doing this as a favour for him, that will only make your father think you’re too attached and make him more likely to refuse outright,” she warned, thinking about all the times King Uther had admonished his son for caring about his servant. “I know it won’t come naturally to you, but right now you need to think like a Slytherin, that’s why Harry wrote to me instead of you.” Right now Morgana had decades of political experience on him, so he had better listen to her advice.
“Okay, I won’t mention Merlin,” Arthur agreed, having been nodding along to all of her points despite the sour look on his face at having to dismiss his friendship. “But what about Harry ?”
“What about him?” Morgana asked. “We have to tell Uther about him, since he’s the one who brought the matter to our attention. But don’t go on about him being your best friend's little brother.”
“No,” Arthur explained, shaking his head. “That’s not what I meant. I meant about Harry being the Boy Who Lived. I mean, sure, it will help father argue with the board when it comes to that. But do you think we can help sell him on helping Harry because being seen helping the Boy Who Lived will win him political points?”
Morgana completely stopped in the hallway for a moment, just to stare at him. She had forgotten that Arthur was smart. She had forgotten that he had learnt to play his father just as well as she had. She had forgotten that his stance on magic aside, he had been a good king and a great strategist.
“Brilliant,” Morgana told him, a conspiratorial grin making its way onto her face, and a matching one adorning her brother. She really had missed all the scheming. It felt great to be using her gifts for good.
“Are you ready?” she asked him, pausing outside Uther’s office door.
“As I’ll ever be.”
He nodded to her and she returned it. Then, they knocked.
It had been a stressful couple of days.
The two of them spent most of their time in the garden. Partly because Harry wanted to enjoy the feeling of being properly outside (he could go out by the lake or on the quidditch field at Hogwarts, but he still felt trapped within the grounds), but mostly because being inside of the house was stifling right now. The air in there felt humid with tension.
Gaius had tried once or twice to make conversation. But Harry openly glared at the man while Merlin still wouldn’t meet his eyes.
Or well, he had, once . When Harry had gotten his letters back from the ministry, the second one saying that they needed a parent or guardian of a student to stand with them. Merlin had looked him in the eyes then, and he had asked for his help. And he had been told no.
The man had tried to dress it up. Saying that he was supposed to be acting in Merlin’s best interest as a guardian, and that this wasn’t it. Saying that he couldn’t lie to the Board of Governors and say that he thought Snape was a threat to students when he wasn’t. Asking them to trust him.
Yeah, as if .
In the end, it all boiled down to the fact that the man cared more about what Albus Dumbledore wanted than what Merlin needed from him.
So they avoided him. Kept to the garden and watched Aithusa make it her own personal jungle. Harry might have encouraged her once or twice to destroy some of the rare-looking plants as his own form of petty payback. Not that that felt like enough when he was looking at his brother’s heartbroken face.
Merlin had trusted Gaius.
Well, Harry knew that that was a mistake now, you could never trust adults.
He only hoped that Uther Pendragon cared enough about his children to help them out.
Merlin had been disappointed but unsurprised when Harry’s plan to reach out to the ministry failed. He had been all but packing their bags right then and there when Gaius refused to help them appeal to the Board of Governors. But Harry couldn’t let him throw his life away like that. Maybe he didn’t have a real family to stay for after all, but he still had friends, and an education to get, and a life that he was building himself at Hogwarts. Harry wasn’t going to let him run away from all of that just for his sake.
So what if Morgana’s advice about influence had failed? There had to be another way that would keep his brother from doing something stupid.
And then it had hit him. Morgana and influence.
“Hey, didn’t you say that Morgana’s dad was the Prime Minister of England?” he had asked Merlin.
His brother had nodded, “Well, I don’t think he’s technically her dad, but he is her guardian, why?” he had asked, confused at the point of the question. And so Harry had explained. They needed a parent of a student, they needed one who would care about their cause, and they needed one who was good at winning people over. Who better than the muggle Prime Minister?
Merlin hadn’t liked it though. Harry had seen that he didn’t want to put their chances into the hands of another adult with their own agenda. And while Harry agreed that they probably couldn’t trust Uther Pendragon whatsoever, Harry did trust the combination of Morgana and Arthur to help them.
Merlin didn’t though.
“Go ahead, but he’s not going to want to help us. I met him that day in the train station, and we can’t trust him. He doesn’t seem like he cares what his kids think either,” he had said, “I’m not - Harry I can’t get my hopes up again. We need another plan. We need to be realistic .”
Harry had hated how defeated Merlin had sounded in that moment. But that was okay. It could be his turn now to support the both of them. Merlin had looked out for him for years, always shouldering Harry’s burdens. Harry didn’t need him to carry this one as well. He had faith enough for the both of them.
Faith, as it would turn out, that paid off.
“That’s Arthur’s owl,” Merlin informed him as they watched the bird swoop towards them, Aithusa running from the other side of the garden to try and bat at her new playmate. “It’s addressed to you,” he added, taking the letter from the owl, a job made harder by the bird hopping about and flapping its wings to try and get away from Aithusa. As soon as the letter was free it took off, the cat letting out a little mournful meow at its departure.
But Harry couldn’t allow himself to focus on that, not with the letter in his hands, waiting to read.
Potter,
Snape always gave off creepy vibes, so I can’t say I’m surprised that he’s probably a murderer.
Uther, on the other hand, is appalled that an ex-con is allowed anywhere near a school and is jumping at the chance to do something about it. He barely even yelled at us for interrupting his meetings once we had explained everything. But fair warning, he’ll probably want to talk to you when he meets you, be seen making nice with the Boy Who Lived to get some political clout in the wizarding world. I know, it’s crass, but it will be a small price to pay if we succeed. Unfortunately, Arthur and I won’t be there with you to smooth things over at the meeting.
Speaking of which, the Board of Governors is scheduled to debate the complaints Uther brought up in his letter in three days, on the 6th of August. Only you and Uther have been invited to speak in-person, though I’m sure you can bring Merlin for moral support seeing as you’re a ten-year-old. All the other testimonies will have to be through letters, so if you haven’t already been asking people to write about how much they hate Snape you better start now.
Arthur already sent letters to all of his friends, which is most of Merlin’s friends too so there’s not much more he can do for the cause either. You, however, are much closer to the Weasley twins than Arthur, and I’m sure they hate Snape like any good Gryfindor does. They also have siblings in several different years, and if we can get letters from them, and their brothers, and anyone their brothers reach out to, and then all of their parents, we could have dozens of testimonies against Snape.
We need examples of him just generally being a garbage person. Any example of prejudice, blood-purist ideology, discrimination against students, even just examples of bad teaching would help prove that he would be no huge loss to the school. I doubt we’ll get any first-hand accounts of him committing any actual crimes but we can hope. So spread the word, Potter. Tell everyone to send their testimonies straight to Arthur or me. I expect to see a report about why owls are suddenly flocking to 10 Downing Street in the papers.
You’ll be happy to know that Arthur’s pouting about not being asked to help directly and
Ignore Morgana, she’s a liar and she always has been. I was not pouting. I just simply didn’t understand why Merlin wouldn’t have asked me for help, and why you would need to resort to asking Morgana of all people when everyone knows she’s a vicious harpy.
Anyway. I’ve sent letters out to just about everyone we took the train back to London with except for Freya, since I don’t really know her, but I asked Gwaine to pass the message on. I’m sure he’ll be willing to put our differences aside for a good cause like this.
Listen, my father’s never lost an argument. He’s going to get his way with the Governors, I’m sure of it.
So neither of you do anything stupid like running away, Merlin .
Harry, if Merlin’s not reading this over your shoulder I need you to yell that at him for me. The idiot has clearly gone insane in the few weeks without me around to keep him in check, so I need you to fix that while you’re staying with him. I know you won’t let him do anything terribly stupid, and as much as I hate to admit it, it was a smart move to send a letter to my sister (even if I should have gotten one too).
I better be seeing you both in September.
- Arthur
. . . is an enormous prat, who wrestled the pen out of my hand, because he can’t stand not being the center of attention. That being said, his point stands. We better see the both of you this September.
Sincerely,
Morgana Le Fay
“They’re in,” Harry said grinning. “We have three days and Arthur thinks you’re an idiot.”
“Well,” Merlin began, a small smile making its way onto his face, “Only one of those things is news.”
Notes:
So! Despite what everyone in the comments thought, they did not do somethings stupid!
I am very excited to write an Uther vs Lucius showdown, so that should be a riot. Probably not literally but you never know.
Also would anyone want a fluffy side story about what Harry's birthday week could have been like I mention up top?
Chapter 5: Dangerous
Notes:
Okay I'm gonna preface this with saying that if you love Snape you're really gonna hate this chapter.
I know in canon they don't ever specify what exactly Snape did in his time as a Death Eater, but considering he made it to Voldemort's inner circle I just assumed that he has definitely killed someone. I don't think he could have ever made it to such a trusted position without getting his hands dirty. So if you don't like that - sorry.
Anyway this chapter took a little longer than I wanted to get out because work got hectic for the last two weeks, but I made it extra long (3k extra) to make it up to you guys. So enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Uther Pendragon was an intense man. Merlin had already known as much from his first meeting with the man, of course, where he had tried to coerce Gaius into a political meeting instead of just meeting his son’s friend. However, Merlin couldn’t say that he was that disappointed to have been spared the full attention of Arthur’s father on that occasion.
This time, on the other hand, he was being subjected to the full-force scrutiny of Uther Pendragon. Merlin couldn't say that this was an unfamiliar feeling. With Cencred and Morgause he had grown used to having watchful eyes on his back that found his every move lacking. However, Mister Pendragon seemed to nod approvingly after looking between Harry and himself.
“You’re both rather skinny. Scrawny-looking. Good. That will make it easier for the board to sympathise with you, most of them are parents so frail-looking children will help sway them.” Only after that glowing compliment did he step forward with his hand outstretched. “Uther Pendragon, a pleasure I’m sure,” he said charmingly, his voice taking on an entirely different quality that Merlin was sure had won him his election.
“We’ve met,” Merlin said cooly, stepping in front of Harry, but not moving to take the offered hand. Even if Merlin hadn’t been feeling averse to touch these last few days, he was pretty sure he still wouldn’t have taken it, not after being called scrawny and frail-looking . “This is my brother, Harry,” he introduced politely (because the man was still helping them, even if Merling could see exactly where Arthur had learnt how to act like a prat from), but he kept his place half-stood in front of his brother, almost shielding him from Mister Pendragon’s inspection.
“Hello,” Harry said awkwardly. Merlin could see that he was refraining from insulting Mister Pendragon back, but Morgana had sent them a second lengthy letter with advice on how to deal with the man, and blatant rudeness would not help any of them. They were supposed to be working together right now, so they couldn’t afford to let their distaste for his words show. “Thanks for agreeing to this,” he added, a little more genuinely.
“Of course,” Mister Pendragon said, his voice settling into something more sincere. “A man like that shouldn’t be allowed around children. Even if my own weren’t involved, I would do whatever I could to help.”
He nodded then to Gaius, who was standing in the doorway watching their interactions, and Merlin felt himself bristle at the reminder that he was doing all of this with Gaius’s disapproval hanging over him. Not that he regretted doing whatever he could to help Harry . . . he was just afraid of the after. After all of this was over, once Harry was back at Hogwarts and Merlin didn’t have an excuse to dodge the man all day. He was afraid of what was waiting for him.
And yet, apparently Mister Pendragon no longer cared to forge any association with the man, because he made no move to initiate a conversation. He seemed to know that Harry had only turned to him because Gaius had refused, and despite what Merlin was sure were his many flaws, Uther Pendragon really did seem to care about getting Snape away from Hogwarts. And, for now, that was going to have to be enough for Merlin.
“It’s a long drive to Scotland, we should get moving,” Uther informed them, opening the backseat door for them before moving to the passenger side of the car. “Seatbelts,” he prompted automatically as soon as they were all inside.
There was a driver sitting quietly in the front, probably being paid quite a lot to not ask questions about why the Prime Minister was picking up two children from Devon that were not his own.
“Feel free to sleep or read or even talk amongst yourselves as long as you do so quietly ,” he stressed. “I will be doing paperwork and making phone calls. I have a very busy schedule which this hearing has disrupted, so I trust that you will allow me to do what work I can in peace.”
“Yes Mister Pendragon,” Merlin said compliantly.
After that, he made sure to keep his words to a whisper as he pulled out Gwaine’s Christmas present to him, The Tales of Beedle the Bard, thinking of the simpler times when it was just he and Harry in the Hufflepuff common room, reading fairy tales. Harry didn’t even last an hour before he was falling asleep on Merlin’s shoulder. But Merlin read on, silently this time, knowing that if the last few days had proved anything, Merlin falling asleep would lead to anything but silence.
They were met at the gates by Albus Dumbledore himself. Uther had done his research on the man. A war hero, child prodigy, shoe in for minister of magic - and yet had turned the position down to instead be the Headmaster of Hogwarts.
Uther couldn't stand men like that. Not men who didn't like involving themselves in politics. No, that was fine by him, one less idiot's opinion to worry about. What he hated were the types of men who claimed to abhor politics, and yet stuck their nose into it any chance they got. Because taking in Harry Potter as a ward of the school was a political move if Uther had ever seen one.
"Welcome, Mister Pendragon," the man said genially. "It's very heartening to see one of our Muggle parents getting involved with the school."
And let the false niceties commence, he supposed. "Yes, wonderful to meet you Headmaster," he said with his fakest and most charming smile. "I found I simply couldn't not get involved when I heard about the situation going on at my children's school. I of course have young Mister Potter to thank for bringing the matter to my attention."
And that was when the old coot finally turned his attention towards the two boys behind him.
Uther watched as he turned a grandfatherly smile onto Harry. A kind facade with just a touch of disappointment laced into it.
Uther watched with interest to see their reactions. Two young children, orphans, whose only guardians have been abusive at worst and let downs and best (yes, he had done his research on the children too). It would be only natural for them to crave the approval and acceptance of the headmaster, expertly playing the doting grandfather.
And so, it was with repressed amusement that Uther watched as young Harry Potter's face hardened at the sight of Albus Dumbledore. Merlin Emrys was subtler, his expression falling into more of a blank mask, a lack of emotion more than anything else. But the message was clear. Neither of them cared for this caricature of a caring old man.
Uther was surprised. Though perhaps he shouldn't have been. Anyone who had earned the approval of both of his children were clearly not to be underestimated.
However, Dumbledore pressed on nevertheless. "I must say that I wish you had come to me with your concerns, Harry, before you resorted to such drastic measures." The boy arched an unimpressed eyebrow and Uther could not have conveyed the sentiment better himself. "That is to say, I only wish that you would have told me that -"
"Told you what, sir? I thought that you already knew Snape was a Death Eater. What did you expect me to tell you that you didn't already know?"
Oh how Uther hoped this boy would exploit his early start in fame to go into politics. He would be rather excellent at it. There was a disarming bluntness to his technique that was working wonders on the Headmaster's composure. Though perhaps it was only so effective because said bluntness was coming from a child. Ah, well, Uther would see in a few years.
"Well, my boy -"
"I'm pretty sure you already knew what he was when you hired him, Professor, and I don’t know what Harry going to you first would have changed,” Merlin said boldly, speaking up for the first time. He had seemed the type to follow instructions almost to a fault, from what little time Uther had spent with him, so this little rebellion was a refreshing surprise. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, Headmaster, the meeting is supposed to be starting soon and I think we’d better be on our way.” The child didn’t wait for anyone’s dismissal before walking past and taking his brother with him.
Uther was trying to form his own judgement of the boys, unbiased to what his children had mentioned when trying to convince him to take the time out of his schedule to help (little had they known that Uther had been on board as soon as he realised what danger they could be in, trapped in a school with that man there. But still, it had been good practice for them to try and talk him around). They had obviously mentioned the famed Boy Who Lived, and how said fame would aid Uther in his interest in wizarding politics, but that wasn’t the thought current on Uther’s mind.
“Helping Harry will win you over some allies. And, honestly, in a few years I think he’ll make a good political player himself if his instincts in this are anything to go by. In ten years I think he’ll be a useful person to owe you a favour,” Morgana reasoned.
Uther had watched his son’s face sour at the idea of holding something like this over a child’s head for years to come but he wisely kept silent (which might have had something to do with the fact that Morgana was almost definitely pinching his thigh under the table).
And then, fascinatingly, she sent a questioning, almost guilty, look towards Arthur before opening her mouth once more, this time to say, “And Harry isn’t the only powerful ally I think you can make from this. Merlin Emrys . . . I think he might be one of the most powerful wizards alive.” How curious. “And if he isn’t right now then he will be soon.”
“Merlin?!” Arthur had asked incredulously, a sentiment Uther shared, after all this was only a twelve year old boy. “Morgana you can’t be serious?”
“Explain,” Uther prompted, giving her the chance to elaborate.
“His magic almost brought half of the castle down earlier this year, and it was accidental. It was like an earthquake, the walls and floors were trembling. That’s powerful magic to have been done accidentally,” she said seriously.
Yes, that sounded worrisome indeed.
“Yeah, but that’s just accidental magic,” Arthur said dismissively. “You were starting fires and smashing windows whenever you got upset, this isn’t that different.”
“Of course it is!” she argued. “Hogwarts is ancient and it’s imbued with magic, one child’s emotional breakdown should threaten to tear the thing down. And Arthur, you told me so yourself how even Professor McGonagall’s magic couldn’t touch him after the incident.”
“Is this boy dangerous?” Uther asked immediately. A potentially mentally unstable child with the ability to bring down the castle that his children were living in three quarters of the year . . . that certainly sounded like another cause for concern on top of this Death Eater situation.
“No!” Arthur protested without thought. “He’s not dangerous, he’s my friend .”
Uther remained unmoved by the declaration, his eyes on Morgana’s hesitant expression. He could see that Arthur, too, was looking at her with something akin to desperation in his eyes.
“Morgana?” he pressed.
But Morgana would not look back at either of them.
Uther shook the thought away. He did not see anything dangerous when he looked at that boy. Though he knew, appearances could be deceiving.
The boys clearly did not care for their Headmaster’s opinion of them, and to Uther’s great amusement, Albus Dumbledore turned his accusing eyes towards him . As though he had been the one to inspire such rebellion in them. Uther had hardly spoken a handful of sentences to either of them and therefore could not have possibly have had any impact on their opinion of their Professor, but that didn’t stop a self-satisfied smile from forming on his face at the look of disgruntlement on Albus Dumbledore’s face.
“I believe the boys were right, we really should be making our way inside. Thank you though, Headmaster, for greeting us personally at the gates. I’m quite certain that the children appreciated the time you took away from preparing your statements for today’s discussion just to say hello,” he said smugly. “I look forward to seeing you in there.”
The Great Hall looked different with all of the house tables out of the way.
It was huge , and it looked far too big for only twenty of them to be in here. Now, that sounded like a big number, twenty, it was enough to fill a classroom. But in a room meant to seat hundreds of children all talking over each other, the echoing footsteps filling the empty space only made the whole situation feel that much more intimidating.
The twelve members of the Board of Governors sat at what was usually the staff table. None of them had particularly expressive faces so it was difficult for Merlin to try and gauge exactly what they were thinking as Mister Pendragon stood up to talk. It was only the man sat in Professor Dumbledore’s usual seat who seemed to glare as the man approached the center of the room.
Despite the emptiness of the hall, when Mister Pendragon began speaking, he seemed to fill it effortlessly. “I am, quite frankly, appalled that such a thing has been allowed to happen,” he began dramatically.
The Headmaster and the four Heads of House who sat with him exchanged a few interesting looks. Professor Snape even rolled his eyes. Merlin could see how little they cared for this meeting. Apparently none of them thought it was anything to be worried about, not anything to be taken seriously.
Merlin couldn’t wait to see them proved wrong.
“A man with his history has no place in a school full of children,” Mister Pendragon continued, either not noticing the Professors’ indifference or simply too professional to let it bother him. “Pardoned or not, Severus Snape has committed crimes, and yet you let him teach, let him influence the children at this school. They are to be the future of the wizarding world, your future, left in the hands of a murderer .”
Speculating whispers and uncertain looks broke out at that.
“You have no proof of that,” the blonde man in the Headmaster’s chair said calmly.
Equally calm, Uther approached the table and casually dropped a thick folder in front of the man. “I have the court records from his trial,” he said arrogantly.
The alarm spreading across Professors Snape and Dumbledore’s faces was just as satisfying to watch as Merlin had hoped. He gripped Harry’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly.
“Those records are supposed to be sealed in accordance with my pardon,” Professor Snape hissed furiously.
“I am the Prime Minister of this country ,” Uther said slowly as though speaking to an idiot, made all the more gratifying to see after Merlin had watched Snape use that exact tone of voice with so many of his housemates in the past. “And that includes your people and your ministry. I have access to whatever records I wish to see. So when I found out that a criminal has been teaching my children for the last year, I endeavoured to find out all pertinent information on the subject.”
That seemed to sour the expression of nearly every adult in the room. Apparently they were only now realising who exactly they were dealing with. They had obviously dismissed him as some muggle politician, sticking his nose where it didn’t belong, but that’s where they had been mistaken. This was his country, and all of it was under his purview.
Harry looked up at him, hope clear in his eyes, and Merlin finally let himself believe that they might just win this.
“Please refrain from calling Professor Snape a criminal,” Dumbledore objected unconcernedly, “He was pardoned.”
“As long as you refrain from calling him a professor, because he certainly won’t be one for much longer,” he quipped easily.
“Please, Mister Pendragon, continue,” a shrewd-looking woman prompted, unimpressed with the pointless remarks. She seemed to have been the only one who remained unshaken at Mister Pendragon’s show of political power.
“Yes, thank you, Madam Longbottom. As I was saying, Mister Snape is a murderer. He confessed to the murder of multiple muggles. Are we truly supposed to believe that he holds no ill will towards the muggle-born children under his supervision? For all we know he could have killed one of their parents, grandparents, uncles or aunts.” He took a moment then to glare at Snape, and Merlin finally saw just how personal this was to Mister Pendragon.
“He willingly followed the man that waged a war on this country,” he continued, Merlin managing to pick up on the suppressed anger in his voice. “A war not just on my people, but on yours too. Just as many witches and wizards were killed in his tirade as muggles. I wonder how many deaths Mister Snape is personally responsible for.”
“While I agree that Severus has made some mistakes -” Professor Dumbledore started, in an attempt to underplay the severity of it all.
“The purposeful killing of a human being cannot be labeled as a mistake,” Mister Pendragon furiously interrupted.
“ That being said ,” the Headmaster carried on, as if Mister Pendragon was just an errant student interrupting class. “Severus saw the error of his ways. He realised that the path he was on was wrong. He repented his mistakes, and in turning to spy on Voldemort he risked his own life in the effort to save many more. And while, of course, that cannot bring back those who were taken from us too soon -”
“Taken by him!”
“- does he not deserve a second chance? Severus was a teenager when he joined the Death Eaters, too young to realise the consequences his actions would yield. He did not comprehend the reality of the cause he had joined. And by the time he had, it was too late, if he deserted then he would have been killed. So when he came to me, looking for a way out, I promised my protection in return for his aid in ending the war. He held his end of the bargain, for Voldemort would not have been defeated that day if not for Severus’s interference, and I intend to uphold mine.”
To their dismay, the Board was being swayed. What was it about Albus Dumbledore that got people to simply trust his word like it was gospel?
“This isn’t good,” Harry whispered to him, quiet enough not to interrupt the discussion going on.
“No, it’s not,” Merlin agreed. “But we’ve got to trust Arthur and Morgana’s dad, okay? If he can win over a country then he can win over twelve tossers.”
The insult was enough to get a half-hearted smile out of Harry. And really that was all Merlin had been hoping for.
“Is that what this is? The return of a deal?” Uther questioned as Merlin tuned back in to the debate. “He gives you information and you agree to keep him out of Azkaban and give him a job? That is all good and well for you to do at the risk of yourself, Headmaster, but your first priority should not be to keep your promises. Your first priority should be the children entrusted into your care.”
It was quite the condemnation. And despite the fact that the blond man seemed to be on the same side as the Headmaster in defending Snape, he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying watching the man get dressed down.
“Tell me, how many parents are aware of Mister Snape's criminal history?” He directed towards the Hogwarts staff.
“It is no secret that Severus was a Death Eater, even if the details of the situation were supposed to be kept private.”
“That’s not what I asked, Headmaster. You see, in the muggle world, we do not allow anyone with a criminal record to teach in schools. Muggle parents are aware of this. And as Hogwarts is still in Great Britain, I am certain that they would expect the same laws in place under the magical government, as it is supposed to be simply an extension of my own government. I am also certain that if you told every muggle parent that one of their children’s teachers was a man who once campaigned for the deaths of them and their families, then you would have every muggle-born child pulled from the school immediately, and I imagine a good amount of the half-bloods too. You are promising parents that their children will be safe, all the while you are actively putting them in danger!” Mister Pendragon declared boldly.
“Severus Snape is not a danger to children!” the blond man protested loudly. “Why, I made him the Godfather to my own son; an insult like that is an insult to me!”
“Then you, sir, are either a fool or a criminal yourself,” Mister Pendragon said uncaringly.
“How dare you!” His eyes narrowed with anger. “I am a trusted member of the community, and the chair of this Board. I don’t see how you expect any of us to listen to a word you have to say when you throw around insults and accusations which have no basis ! I don’t know how muggles do things, but wizards don’t appreciate being insulted when you are trying to gain their favour,” he said pompously.
“I have no desire for your favour,” Mister Pendragon said with no small amount of scorn. “I am not trying to curry favours with the people in this room. I am here to protect my children. I am using fact and reason to prove to you why Severus Snape should not be allowed to teach children. And as for my accusations having no basis, well I don’t imagine you were unaware of Mister Snape’s criminal history when you named him the Godparent to your child, as I have just been told that that fact is ‘no secret’. Which leads me to believe that you are either stupid enough to trust a murderer around your son, or care little for his own crimes because you have several of your own. So please, educate us all on which it is, Mister Malfoy?”
The man, Mister Malfoy apparently, stood indignantly from his chair. At first Merlin thought it was odd that he was about to wave his decorative cane in Mister Pendragon’s face, that was until he pulled his wand from it. “I will not let a filthy muggle accuse me of anything!” he shouted bitterly. “You should learn how to talk to your betters ! You have no idea who you’re dealing with! I have the ear of the Minister of Magic and I will not -”
“Congratulations,” Mister Pendragon interrupted apathetically, uncaring of the weapon being directed at him. “You have the ear of a man who answers to me .” The relaxed response seemed to throw the man off enough that his wand-arm wavered slightly, the shock giving him pause. And despite the Prime Minister’s casual demeanor, Merlin saw the lines around his eyes tighten as a hand slipped into his trouser pocket.
Merlin wondered exactly what weapon he had brought with him.
Still, the man remained seemingly indifferent as he continued. “And thank you , Mister Malfoy, for proving my point. If you are the sort of man Severus Snape associates with, then I imagine his opinion on muggles, like myself, would be rather similar to your own. I can’t imagine such an opinion not affecting his teaching and his interaction with muggle-born students.”
“Who Severus chooses to associate with outside of his career is irrelevant to this discussion,” the Headmaster’s tranquill voice cut in, sounding terribly out of place between all of the tension building in the room.
“I disagree, Albus,” the shrewd woman cut in. “If we are here to gauge the character of the man and whether or not he is suitable to be teaching the next generation of wizards and witches, then who he associates with does matter. You are hardly going to be friends with someone who fundamentally disagrees with your core values. And we all know how Lucius feels about muggles and muggleborns, I find it very hard to believe that Professor Snape does not still share these same ideals.”
“Thank you, Madam Longbottom, for elaborating on my point so eloquently.”
“And for goodness sake, Lucius, put your wand away!” she snapped impatiently. “You can’t go around calling muggles uncivilised when you’re the only one here with your wand out. This is a school board meeting not a back-alley duel.”
Somehow, the man seemed to make being chastised look graceful as he placed his wand back in the cane/holster, and folded himself back into his seat. “Frankly, I don’t see why holding such opinions matters in regards to his quality as a teacher in any case,” Mister Malfoy commented. “Severus is a master potioneer. He’s a pioneer in the subject and is widely regarded as Britain's best poition’s master. I can think of no one more qualified to be shaping the young minds of our next generation.”
And despite it being an argument to oppose theirs, Uther looked glad that the statement had been made. “Wonderful that you brought up his quality as a teacher,” he said smugly. “As it happens, I have sixty-four written testimonies from students, past and present, who attest to Mister Snape’s quality as a teacher and Head of House.
“Many of the accounts consist of verbal abuse hurled towards students. And while I can understand the need to discipline unruly children acting out around hazardous potions, it seems cruel and useless to berate a student’s physical features, such as acne or weight or crooked teeth, as some of these letters detail,” he said, handing out a small amount to each board member and then a few extras to every staff member excluding Snape. “Not to mention that the cause of such abuse generally seems unrelated to actual performance in the classroom. One student was berated for raising their hand to answer questions repeatedly. Another was insulted for asking for clarification on the written instructions. One boy was belittled when he claimed a fellow classmate had sabotaged his classwork and asked to be allowed to start over.
“There are dozens of accounts outlining similar actions, in what is a clear pattern of behavior for Mister Snape. And I would like to note that none of the insults were ever directed toward Slytherin students, and only very rarely was such derogatory language aimed at pure-bloods.
“Which leads me to the next major fault in Mister Snape’s teaching: prejudice. Almost all of these accounts came from muggle-born and half-blood students. The exceptions being pure-blood students from families who are apparently labeled ‘blood-traitors’ by blood-purists. It appears very clear to me that Severus Snape targets the students who either have muggle blood or sympathise with muggles and muggle-borns.”
“This is preposterous, I am a half-blood! I have muggle blood,” Snape protested heatedly.
“Yes, indeed you do,” Mister Pendragon agreed. “And please share, Mister Snape, for those among us who may be unaware, where your muggle father is right now?”
Merlin's stomach started to twist in the empty silence that followed. Dread filled him and he couldn’t shut up the instinct to cover his brother's ears. It was something he knew Harry wouldn’t appreciate, but Merlin felt like he needed to shield him from what he was almost certain was about to be revealed.
“No?” Mister Pendragon asked. “Well, in that case, I’ll answer for you. Your muggle father is buried in a cemetery somewhere. Because you killed him, and admitted as much in your trial after the fall of Lord Voldemort.”
A flinch seemed to go through most of the room at his name being said aloud, but Merlin knew that he and Harry had reacted like so for a very different reason. They were orphans, the two of them. Just two children who would give anything to have only one day more with their parents. The idea that someone would do that to one of their parents was just . . . unthinkable.
Then again, Merlin had seen that sometimes the people who are supposed to look after you just . . . don’t.
Either way, he squeezed Harry’s hand tighter.
“You have already made your case about Severus’s pardoned crimes, Mister Pendragon, and they have been addressed. I ask that you move on,” the Headmaster said.
“Very well,” Mister Pendragon acquiesced, despite not looking very happy about it. “Albus Dumbledore, my research tells me that you were a child prodigy, one of the strongest wizards alive today, a man who beat a Dark Lord yourself. But, above all, you are heralded as a champion for muggles and muggle-borns. It’s all very impressive-sounding.
“Though, I wonder, have you ever really considered those muggle-born students as people? Did you ever think about how they might feel, knowing that their hero hired a man who would have called them mudblood.” Merlin watched as nearly all of the adults in the room seemed to squirm once they heard the slur. “I’ll admit, that wasn’t a word I knew until my daughter wrote to me explaining how she only had one friend in her house because everyone else wouldn’t be caught dead with a mudblood like her. She had to explain to me then, that it was a slur, used against muggle-borns. Something foul and horrible and cruel, meant to imply that she was worthless or sullied because of her parentage. I saw how so many of you reacted to the word. It’s not something said in polite company. And yet, this last year it has been hurled at my daughter day after day by her housemates. It was said in his presence, and he did nothing. No reprimand, no detention given, not even house points deducted. He heard my daughter, supposedly one of his slytherins, supposedly one of the students he is supposed to be protecting, being called a mudblood by another of the students in his own house . . . and he did nothing. Because that is the legacy Severus Snape is leaving behind as a teacher at this school.”
The low muttering breaking out between the board seemed to bode well for them.
And Snape’s cowed expression in the face of Professor McGonagall’s displeasure was really something to behold.
But despite that good news Merlin couldn’t help thinking of Morgana. He didn’t really know Arthur’s sister all too well. She seemed to avoid him when she could and he had always tried not to take it personally. He was sure that lots of sisters didn’t like to hang around with their brothers’ friends. And he was certain that Arthur didn’t already know about this, otherwise he would have had a lot more detentions for fighting last year.
But still . . .
He assumed it was Mithian, that one friend that Mister Pendragon said she had in Slytherin. Mithian always seemed to be kind to everyone, in her own snarky way. He should ask her this year to try and get Morgana to sit with them more. It might be nice for her to have more than one friend.
Well, if the look on Harry’s face was anything to go by, then she had definitely found herself another loyal ally. Whether or not Mister Pendragon’s plan works, Merlin was sure that Harry was going to make sure Morgana knew she had a friend in him from now on.
“That’s enough,” Mister Malfoy’s voice seemed to carry over all of the others’. “I think we all know the reason why we’re all here is because Mister Harry Potter had a complaint. I say we hear directly from the source. So tell us, boy, why did you ask your muggle friend here to fight your battle?”
Harry hated how Lucius Malfoy called him ‘boy’. Uncle Vernon had always said it like that. As if calling him Harry would be so much harder? It was just one more syllable.
For some reason that was the immediate thought that entered Harry’s head when he was asked the question. His brain just decided to . . . stall on that one word.
Luckily Merlin wasn’t sharing Harry’s problem in speaking. “He’s just a kid,” Merlin protested. And well. No. That definitely wasn’t what Harry had wanted him to say. “The whole reason we had to ask Mister Pendragon to speak at this thing was because the Board of Governors can only be called as a result of a parental complaint. Leave Harry out of this. He’s suffered enough at the hands of people like him ,” Merlin said firmly with a nod in Snape's direction.
“I’ll do it,” Harry cut in instead, before Mister Malfoy could complain, finally finding his voice.
He wasn’t a coward.
And, besides, they were right, he had started this whole mess and he should be the one to finish it.
“You don’t have to,” Merlin said immediately.
And Harry loved him for that, he really did. But he was wrong. Harry did have to do this. For himself if nothing else. If they lost and Harry had given away his chance to speak up then he would regret it forever. “Yes, I do,” he corrected.
He got out of his seat and walked to the center of the room, staring at Mister Pendragon until the man raised his eyebrows but went to take a seat. Harry didn’t fill the space as well as he had done.
Merlin was right, he was a child. And he had never felt it as much as he did at that moment, with eighteen adults looking down on him, waiting for him to say something important.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” was, unfortunately, the first thing out of his mouth.
Mister Pendragon winced - barely, Harry could only tell because he was the least stressful person to be looking at at that moment. He was also hoping the man would give him a few non-verbal hints as to what exactly they were expecting him to say.
Malfoy rolled his eyes at him.
But the old man at least asked an actual question. Even though It was a shit question.
“What exactly brought these concerns about Professor Snape to your attention?” he asked kindly.
But Harry wasn’t fooled. Not by the kindness or the question. What he meant was, ‘who told you?’ And Harry knew better now than to risk exposing his and Helena’s friendship like that.
“Does it matter?” Harry asked instead. “I found out he was a Death Eater and then as soon as I was away from Hogwarts I did everything I could to make sure I’d never have to be in the same room as him again.” It was a bit of a crude answer but Harry thought it summed up the chain of events quite accurately.
Dumbledore looked disappointed with his answer so Harry counted that as a success.
“Has Severus Snape ever harmed you?” Malfoy asked, straight to the point.
“No.”
“Has he ever threatened you?”
“Well, no.”
“Has he ever so much as raised his voice to you?”
“No. We’ve never spoken before,” Harry answered, feeling like that was the worst possible thing he could have said.
His instinct was right because Malfoy looked smug when he turned to share a look with the other board members. “So what you’re saying,” he said condescendingly, “Is that we all gathered here on the complaint of a boy who’s never so much as had a conversation with Severus. Well,” he laughed, “surely we can all see how ridiculous that is.”
Harry could almost hear Merlin gritting his teeth from all the way over here. But Harry didn’t have that particular problem, because they had asked him to speak, so he didn’t need to keep quiet.
“What does it matter?” he all but shouted. “What does it matter if I’ve never spoken to him? He worked for the man who killed my parents! He’s killed people himself! I don’t need to have spoken to him to not feel safe in the same building as him!”
And then Harry took all of his hurt and his anger and turned it towards Dumbledore. “You promised me I’d be safe. You said I wasn’t safe with my Uncle and Aunt and yeah maybe they were terrible but at least they weren’t murders! You told me that I couldn’t even chance getting adopted, because people might try to use me. You told me that Hogwarts was where I’d be safest, but you’re a liar ! Because you put me in a school with a man who admitted to being a murderer! And you knew! I think you didn’t want me getting adopted so that you could use me!”
He sounded hysterical now, he knew that, but he wasn’t sure what else to do. This was what Helena had told him right? That people were always going to take what they knew about him and use it against him. Harry had wanted somewhere safe, and he had wanted to stay with his brother, so Dumbledore had promised all of that, all the while keeping Harry where he could control him, and within arms reach of a killer.
“Listen to him, the boy is clearly deluded!” a smarmy voice crowed from his left.
“He’s not deluded, he’s distressed! This was the point I was trying to make! How can children expect to feel safe at a school that employs a murderer!”
“Harry, my boy, you need to calm down, this is a very childish reaction.”
“All of you shut up!”
Merlin. That was Merlin. Merlin could fix things, right?
“Hey, I’m here,” came a soft voice from his left. It was Merlin. He was going to fix it, right? “Yeah. Yeah of course. Of course I’m going to fix it. That’s what I’m here for, remember?”
He felt himself nodding but he wasn’t much aware of anything else except for the voices.
“I think I’ve had enough of this. Time to put it to a vote,” Smarmy said. “All those to remove Severus Snape from his position as Professor and Head of House at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”
There was a long, cold silence.
“And those against?”
Harry finally managed to pull enough strength to look up. The first thing he saw was Snape’s self-satisfied face. It was only after that that he could count the eight raised hands behind him.
He felt his stomach twist and his heart sink. What were they going to do? He could almost feel the panic clawing at him trying to drag him back under. He fought to stay above it all, trying not to drown in it.
The sudden absence of Merlin’s warmth from his side was like a shock to the system. Like cold water being poured over his head, waking him up.
“No,” his brother’s firm voice said, carrying over the congratulations and the niceties.
“Merlin?” he asked, his voice shakier than he’d like.
“No,” Merlin repeated, his voice harder this time, angrier.
But he wasn’t talking to Harry. He was staring at Lucius Malfoy with the coldest stare Harry had ever seen from him.
The man scoffed in his face. “You little temper tantrum failed, boy, move on.”
But this time it was Merlin who scoffed. “You want to see a temper tantrum?” he asked threateningly.
Malfoy laughed, but Harry felt the hairs on the back of his arm stand up.
He only had half a second to shout a choked off, “Merlin!” before all of the windows in the room were shattering inwards. Harry threw his hands over his head, ready to protect himself from the shards, even knowing that Merlin would never let any of them touch him, but he never heard the glass touch the ground.
Instead all of the broken shards were hovering in the air, and reflected in all of them was the bright gold of Merlin’s eyes. And they continued to burn gold, even in the face of a dozen wands pointed at him.
The Professors, however, knew better. They knew that Merlin’s magic was untouchable when it was like this. They knew the only way to stop him was to calm him down.
“Don’t do anything stupid, boy,” Lucius Malfoy warned, his wand pointed threateningly towards Merlin, whose response was to simply summon the wands out of everyone’s hands.
He didn’t cast a spell or even so much as raise his hand. Just the slightest tilt of his head and everyone’s wands were a metre away from them, pointing back at their owners.
“Something stupid?” he asked dangerously. “Like what?
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
“Is this boy dangerous?”
“No! He’s not dangerous, he’s my friend .”
Yes , Morgana wanted to say, yes, he is dangerous . But she knew what King Uther had done to things he deemed dangerous. And as much as she didn’t trust Merlin, did a twelve year old boy with no memory of all the wrongs he had done to her really deserve that?
Not to mention the Arthur of it all. Arthur who was looking at her desperately, knowing just as well as she that if she answered this question wrong she could be ruining a boy's life. Arthur who loved Merlin. Arthur who trusted her. DId she really want to lose that trust now?
But wasn’t it better to protect herself from what he might become. If she could just remove him from the situation before he could remember . . . If she could just remove him before he had the chance to become a threat.
“Morgana?” Uther pressed.
Is that what he’d thought the day he poisoned her?
“I don’t know,” she said eventually. “I don’t know if he’s dangerous.”
She saw Arthur’s dejected face out of the corner of her eye. She saw Uther’s expression turn grim.
“But if he is . . . wouldn’t you rather him be on our side?”
Notes:
Fun fact!
When I wrote 'You can’t go around calling muggles uncivilised when you’re the only one here with your wand out' Google docs tried to correct wand to wang, and because I'm secretly a 12 year old boy I found that absolutely hillarious!
Chapter 6: Powerless
Notes:
You guys!!! All of the comments on the last chapter :') It really made my week seeing how well recieved that last chapter was.
I am literally at the point where this thing has more comments than Kudos (which is on me for replying to each one), but I don't know whether to be sad that more people aren't reading this or happy that the ones that are really seem to love this story as much as I do!
Anyway, you guys are the best <3
Chapter Text
“Don’t do anything stupid, boy,” Lucius Malfoy warned, the weapon in his hand giving him confidence in the presence of a power that Uther was still struggling to comprehend.
“Something stupid?” the child asked, his voice pitched low, almost menacing. A child should not be menacing. “Like what?”
Then, when Lucius Malfoy lost his wand, he lost his confidence with it. And with their own weapons being threatened against them, those around him seemed to share that loss.
He was just a child , but he had disarmed every person who had raised their wand to him. Despite all of their own magic, apparently they were just as defenceless to whatever magic was doing as a muggle was, as Uther was.
All of the Professors still had their wands, Uther knew, because they had apparently known better than to draw them on this boy. They had faced his power before (‘ Arthur you told me yourself how even Professor McGonagall’s magic couldn’t touch him after the incident,’ Morgana’s voice echoed in his head), and they knew that they were not equipped to deal with it.
Uther had learnt the basics of magic. The knowledge was necessary if he was to force his way into their world. If he was to forge himself a space in the world his children would grow up in.
Wandless and wordless magic was possible, but only for the strongest and most powerful wizards. Children used it in accidental bursts, but never controlled. Children were not meant to be able to wield this sort of power. And from the looks on everyone’s faces, it seemed that for the first time today, they were all in agreement on that.
This child was impossible.
He then looked to Albus Dumbldore. A man who had ended his own wizarding war. A man who had defeated a Dark Lord. A man who had been dealing with children and their errant magic for decades.
And Albus Dumbledore looked back with resignation in his eyes. There was nothing his magic could do to stop this either.
Uther could almost comprehend it now, how small he must seem to these people, how they could look down on him, how they could think themselves his betters, how powerless (despite the taser in his pocket) he truly was. If this was how they thought of themselves, useless without their wands and their magic, then Uther could understand why they thought those born without it were worthless.
They were still wrong, of course.
Uther had not felt this close powerless since he was ushered out of the birthing room as the sound of beeping started getting closer and closer together. He had still been near enough to the door to hear when it blurred into one long beep. After that, a lot of things started blurring together.
But Uther remembered what had brought him back . . .
His son’s cries were a horrible thing. And yet, they had most certainly saved Uther from himself.
What Uther needed was Merlin’s equivalent. He needed the boy’s breaking point. He needed the lynchpin. He needed the thing that would snap him out of his blur.
And luckily for all of them, that lynchpin was in the room with them.
All of this was about Harry.
Merlin didn’t think that his brother was safe. All of this, it was like a frog’s bright colouring so that predators knew that it was poisonous to eat. It was meant to be a warning. All of it just a big threat. A show, even. He was letting every person in the room know that he was poisonous if they tried to eat him. He could kill them if they harmed him or his.
He was just trying to show them that he was going to protect his brother. He needed them to see what he was capable of, what he could do to them if they pressed him.
All of this was about feeling powerless. Uther almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. Every single person in the room, feeling powerless.
The boy probably wasn’t aware of this. He probably thought it was anger, but it wasn’t.
It was instinct.
It was only then that Uther remembered something else he had learned when educating himself of the basics of magic.
It took only the most powerful wizards to do wandless and wordless magic . . . but it was something that magical creatures could do with ease.
Folding the thought away to dissect at another time, he called to the boy, to the lynchpin, “Harry?”
Minerva wasn’t sure what to do.
Why was it that when it came to this boy she was always powerless?
She had been the one to bring him to his uncle. She had been the one to lead him to that dragon and watch him fall apart. She had been the one to press him about being injured until he blew up her office in fear. She had been the one unable to do a thing when Pomona showed her the truth of what was happening to those boys. She had been the one to find him when he shook the castle to the core through his sheer panic. And she had been the one who was unable to stop him, even as he lost consciousness.
And now. Once more, this boy was falling apart and Minerva was powerless to do nothing but watch. Worse, she had even helped prompt it this time.
She had been so dismissive when Albus informed them of the school board meeting to discuss Severus’s position at the school. She had thought it little more than silly students rushing home to winge to their parents about the strict and scary potion’s master.
She had found out more after that, that it was really all to do with his Death Eater past, and once more she had dismissed it. She could understand a parent feeling uncomfortable with such a fact, but she knew Severus. Though she had been hesitant to trust him on Albus’s word alone so soon after the end of the war, she had seen him in his grief over poor Lily Potter, seen his shame and his regret, seen him at his worst and seen his love of potions save him from apathy.
Severus loved what he did. He was not the most natural teacher, and she knew that he showed heavy favouritism towards his house, but deep down he was a good man who did not deserve to lose his job. And so she had put her trust in Albus, knowing that he was prepared to fight this, even if it meant working with the likes of Lucius Malfoy. Whatever necessary to keep Severus at Hogwarts, where he belonged.
Even when she had seen the boys, even when she had realised exactly who had such an issue with Severus’s presence around them, she still hadn’t truly considered it all.
And then finally, the more Mister Pendragon spoke, the clearer it all became to her . . . why these children were so desperate for someone to help them, how they could not stand the idea of Severus teaching them, how even now he had not put all of his past behind him.
Minerva had thought that she had finally shaken herself of her unerring trust in her colleagues after she had discovered how neglectful Albus had been with the boys’ care. But it seemed that she had still been clinging to that trust and loyalty. Well. No more.
She had watched James and Lily’s son fall into hysterics and knew within her heart that she had failed him too.
But at least there was one person here who refused to fail that little boy, even if his own adults had failed him.
Merlin Emrys would not give up so easily on his brother’s safety. And so, when he opposed the Board of Governors Minerva did not raise her wand like so many others. Not because she knew her magic to be ineffective against his, but because he was right . And if it wouldn’t have cost her her job, Minerva would have been standing right at his side with her wand raised.
As it were, she had a plan. She couldn’t change the board’s mind on their decision to keep Severus on, and neither would Merlin. But she did have a solution, if the boys would agree to it.
Not that that mattered when there were shards of glass and wands alike being pointed threateningly at the school board.
Luckily, Minerva had already seen the best way to get through to Merlin when he was so wrapped up in his magic that no one could reach him. Just like with the younger Minster Pendragon, he needed someone he trusted to get through to him. And luckily such a person was on hand.
“Harry?” she whispered cautiously, refusing to be powerless any longer.
Albus had severely underestimated this situation.
In all aspects.
He had underestimated Harry’s distrust of him. He had seen the boy’s reluctance to trust him when he first arrived at Hogwarts, but he had thought that he had won him over by allowing him to stay close to his friend for so much of the year. He had seen that the best way to keep both boys’ allegiances was to allow them access to each other. That was why Albus had so easily signed off on allowing Harry to use his fireplace so often and even allowing a visit for the child’s birthday.
And yet. Harry had not trusted him enough to come to him when he learned of Severus’s past. Instead he had run to one of the parents of his friends.
Then, Albus had underestimated the case that Minster Pendragon was willing to build against them. Albus knew that the muggle Prime Minister was hoping to bridge the gap between the politics of the muggle and magical worlds, and it was something that Albus was in full support of. He had foolishly assumed that Uther Pendragon taking this appeal was simply a move to get his foot in the door of the wizarding political landscape. Simply, a way to establish himself while also presenting himself as an ally of the Boy Who Lived. Albus had thought him a clever and resourceful man that he might be able to make use of in the coming years. He had certainly not thought of him as a risk to his plans. And yet, the moment he had brought up Severus’s sealed court trial, Albus realised what a mistake he had made in assuming so little of the man.
Truly, Albus could concede that many of the points he made had merit. But Albus knew better . Severus had made an unbreakable vow to protect Harry Potter, he held no loyalty for Voldemort any longer, and Harry was safe at Hogwarts. He just had to find a way to make them all see that.
Albus had also underestimated just how much of an unlikely ally Lucius Malfoy could be. He had seen just how much more the board had been swayed by Mister Pendragon’s words, and even Mister Potter’s impassioned plea. He was almost certain that more of them had wished to vote Severus out of his job than those that had actually spoken in favour of the motion. Just as he was sure that those very same people would be leaving today with slightly heavier pockets than they had arrived with. Albus certainly didn’t approve of such methods, but there was nought he could do to stop it. And, in this case, it had suited his purposes just fine. Severus maintaining his friendships with the likes of the Malfoys was necessary to their future plans, but Lucius’s aid had not been unwelcome in this instance.
But there was one more thing that Albus had underestimated above all others.
Merlin Emrys.
Albus had seen his wild and unpredictable magic. He had thought that he understood the raw power that came with the Magic of the Old Religion after seeing the mess of Minerva’s office so many months ago. He had seen the boy whip the wind around him in his panic, the elements themselves reacting to the whims of a child. Just as he had thought when Minerva informed him of the earthquake incident, that that time it had instead been the earth responding to his power. Albus had been away on business that day, only receiving second hand accounts of the events which occurred, but what he heard had been enough for him to dismiss it as more of the same.
This , however, was different. The boy wasn’t losing control. He wasn’t lost in a haze of fear or panic. His magic wasn’t lashing out to bend the newest element to his will.
No, he was actively drawing on his power and controlling it.
It was the very thing he had hired his new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor to do, help the boy learn control. But now . . . Albus was most certainly having second thoughts about such a decision. It was one thing for the boy to cause havoc accidentally. It was another to threaten a room full of adults with their own wands.
He didn’t know when the boy had started to develop such a grip on his magic, but he worried it would not bode well for them to be so powerless at the mercy of this child.
Luckily, with Minerva’s description of the events that shook the castle, she also told him how they managed to finally get the boy’s magic to stop. In that case it had been the presence of Arthur Pendragon who had managed to bring the boy back to his right mind, but Albus was sure that the presence of anyone who the boy trusted would be enough to bring him to his senses.
And it was with that thought that he called out, “Harry?”
Harry watched with trepidation as Merlin stared down Lucius Malfoy without an ounce of fear.
It was truly something to behold. Harry was so used to seeing his brother hesitate and flinch in the presence of an adult like Malfoy sneering down at him. Even with grownups who weren’t so overtly threatening, Merlin usually had a wariness about him as though he was prepared to flee at any moment.
But not now.
Now , his brother was staring down a scornful man without even the smallest tremble in his hands.
Harry didn’t understand how, but he was certainly glad for it. Mister Malfoy seemed like the type to pounce at the tiniest showing of fear; Merlin couldn't afford to look weak in front of a man like that.
“I’ll have you expelled for this!” he hissed furiously. “You think you can threaten me and get away with it?!”
Even in the face of such anger, all Merlin did was stare back unimpressed. “Who’s threatening ? A bunch of fully trained witches and wizards raised their wands at me, so I disarmed them. I was acting in self defence. If anything, you were the ones threatening a twelve year old.” The man all but spluttered in response. “Doesn’t look very good, does it?”
“What do you call shattering the windows if not a threat?!”
At this Merlin almost smiled. “A temper tantrum,” he replied blandly.
Harry watched as Lucius Malfoy seemed to register his own words being repeated back at him. “You all but ran us through with all of that glass! That’s a threat if I ever saw one, boy!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s not like I used a spell. Look,” he waved his arms out by his side, looking smug, “my wand isn’t even drawn.”
Harry noticed Mister Pendragon and Dumbledore exchanging looks out of the corner of his eye, while Professor McGonagall’s eyes seemed to keep shifting between himself and Merlin. He didn’t know what any of them were thinking, but he worried they would try and catch his brother off guard while all of his attention was so firmly fixed on Mister Malfoy.
He had to do something . He had to find a way to calm everyone down before someone got hurt.
This was all his fault, after all. All of this was happening because of him. Because he couldn’t just deal with Snape himself. Because he ran to Merlin and Morgana and Mister Pendragon for help. Because he started panicking in the middle of answering questions. If he had just kept his head together, then Merlin wouldn’t have reacted like that, wouldn’t have felt the need to get overprotective.
He should have just kept his mouth shut from the start and dealt with Snape.
How many years did Merlin stick it out with Cenred so that he could stay close to Harry?
Harry had never had the proof that the Durselys were horrid, but Merlin had been a walking bruise back in Surrey. He could have gone to child services whenever he wanted, only they would have taken him away from Harry. And so Merlin had stayed with his horrible Uncle, put up with the beatings and hunger and the cruelty just to stay close to him .
Why couldn’t Harry do the same? He was being so selfish. Snape had never even hurt him. Why couldn’t he just put up with the man instead of risking everything Merlin had built for himself?
He heard all of the voices then, hissing, whispering, calling out his name. But they didn’t matter. Merlin mattered.
“I can still have you expelled for performing magic outside of school, boy!” Malfoy. Still talking.
“Then it’s a good thing we’re in Hogwarts, isn’t it?” Harry cut in, finally finding his voice. “He hasn’t performed any magic outside of school.”
The man turned his furious gaze towards Harry then. But he wouldn’t cower away. He could be strong, like his brother. This man couldn’t hurt him. Merlin wouldn’t let him.
“Stay out of this, Potter! ”
“It’s okay, Harry,” Merlin told him gently, looking at him for what felt like the first time in forever. How had the last fifteen minutes dragged so long? “Ignore him. He doesn’t matter - none of them matter. I’m going to keep you safe.”
“I know,” Harry said. “I know you are . . . But you need to put their wands down first.”
But Merlin just looked at him confused and a little hurt. “I’m not going to hurt anyone,” he said, sounding wounded.
Harry smiled sadly. “I know that.” And he did. He knew that Merlin wouldn’t hurt anyone unless they tried to hurt one of them first. “But look at them. Look at Dumbledore, and Professor McGonagall and Mister Pendragon . Even Malfoy, beneath the anger. They’re afraid .”
He watched his brother’s eyes dart around the room, the both of them ignoring Lucius Malfoy’s stuttering protests, and saw the realisation sink in. He watched the guilt and the shame could over his eyes, and barely a moment later, they were gold once more.
The glass shards that had been hovering in the air moved almost in reverse as if the windows had never been broken. Twelve wands dropped in a clump on the floor simultaneously. Just a bunch of sticks, really, without the magic holding them up.
“They know now that you’re stronger than them. They know , okay? But we can’t just threaten everybody into doing what we want. It isn’t right,” Harry said softly. But still, no matter how gently he said the words, he watched them hit Merlin like a blow.
That wasn’t what he wanted. Harry was just trying to protect him. Dumbledore and the other professors still had their wands, and Harry was certain that Mister Pendragon was armed with something . One of them only needed to take him by surprise, not give him a chance for his magic to react in time. They might have just knocked him out or they might have done worse. But either way Harry couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t risk his brother like that.
“I was just trying to keep you safe,” Merlin promised. “I wasn’t going to attack anyone. I was just . . . angry. And scared. Because you can’t be safe here with him, and you were right before we can’t run, which means that I don’t know what to do. I’m your big brother and I’m supposed to take care of you, you trust me to take care of you, and I’m failing.”
“No you're not! You’re the only person who’s ever looked out for me. You’ve done enough . Forget Snape. Forget the Board of Governors. And forget Dumbledore,” Harry said emphatically, uncaring that those very people were listening to this very conversation. “I shouldn’t have made this your responsibility. I’m not letting you tank your future to try and help me. So just apologise to everyone before they find a reason to expel you and I’ll . . . I’ll just . . .”
God damnit. He didn’t know.
“You will stay with me,” Professor McGonagall cut in, a look in her eyes daring him to say otherwise.
“What?” Harry asked, too surprised to string together a real response.
“You remain a ward of Hogwarts, but you do not feel safe within the school. No one but myself holds the password to enter the Gryffindor Head of House chambers, and therefore Severus would be incapable of entering,” she elaborated. But Harry was still dumbstruck. He didn’t understand why . . .
“Now, Minerva, I really don’t think that this is necessary -”
“Albus, do shut up,” she replied promptly. And, surprisingly, he did.
“Harry,” she continued, her voice softening once more, “I can have the castle add another set of rooms to my accommodation, providing you protection from Professor Snape. I’m afraid that I cannot help when it comes to the rest of the castle, but I can give you someplace safe to retreat to.”
That was . . . an improvement at least.
Definitely an improvement from the cold empty room that he was pretty sure he hated more than his cupboard.
Still, Harry turned to look helplessly at his brother; Merlin always had the right answers. But Merlin was just staring at Professor McGonagall.
“You left me with Cenred,” he said, his voice deceptively calm. “Are you really any better than Dumbledore?”
“Perhaps not,” she acknowledged, regret evident on her face. “But I am trying to be.”
His brother nodded, almost reluctantly. “You swear you’ll do everything you can to keep him safe?” he asked desperately.
She seemed to stand straighter under his expectations. “I swear it.”
“Harry?” his brother asked, finally looking back at him. “It’s your choice,” he told him, “but I don’t know how much better we’re going to get.”
“Do you trust her?” he asked in response. Because Harry didn’t know this woman. He had seen her around the school over the last year, and she had been the one who had first shown him to his bedroom (that silent empty room that only ever left him feeling trapped), but Merlin was the one who spent hours with her every week, even if it was just inside of a classroom.
“With you?” he laughed harshly. “I don’t even trust myself with that.”
Harry looked at him sadly, wanting more than anything to just reach over and hug him. But he was too aware of all the eyes on them. The Hogwarts staff, watching and waiting. The Board of Governors, still too wary to reach for their cluster of wands. Uther Pendragon, in over his head and trying not to look like it.
Harry couldn’t afford to let either of them look weak in front of all of those eyes.
“Yes,” Merlin answered eventually. “I trust her to try her best, at least.”
“Okay then,” he agreed, feeling lost.
Merlin turned directly to Snape then, and Harry finally understood him when he said that he hadn’t been threatening anybody before. Because he was definitely threatening someone now.
Harry could feel the hair on his arm stand on end as - what he could only assume was - raw magic seemed to gather up around Merlin. It was almost a visible aura, all of that energy bracketing him. His eyes glowed with barely contained power, and when he looked at Snape Harry was surprised that the man didn’t incinerate on the spot.
“You stay away from Harry,” Merlin warned. “You don’t talk to him. You don’t look at him. As far as you’re concerned, Harry Potter doesn’t exist.” Merlin looked at him like he was dirt. “You harm one hair on his head and I will turn this castle into rubble. And I will make sure as hell that you’re buried underneath it.”
Snape glared back mutinously.
Harry watched him open his mouth to argue but instead Mister Pendragon quickly cut in to say, “Seeing as Mister Emrys has very benevolently decided not to impale you with hundreds of shards of glass, I would keep your mouth shut , before he changes his mind.”
The board looked surprised to see that he was still there, as if they had forgotten that he even existed the moment he had stopped talking, but Merlin nodded at him in thanks.
Then, he turned to Dumbledore.
“When Harry starts his schooling you keep him out of potions.” It was not a suggestion.
“My boy, potions in a compulsory class, by order of the Ministry.”
Merlin’s jaw tightened. “Then I’ll hire him a tutor. He’ll take the end of year exams, he’ll take his OWLs, but unless Snape is gone, he stays out of that classroom. The same goes for me and whichever other students who want to.”
“My boy, that’s preposterous!”
“No! Preposterous is hiring a criminal to teach children. And if you won’t get rid of him, then the least you can do is allow students to remove themselves from the situation,” Merlin spat. “And I am not ‘your boy’.”
“I’ll personally cover the cost of a new potions instructor, open to tutor all students and year groups who require it,” Mister Pendragon cut in. “I would have done so for my children in any case, it won’t be any trouble to cover the rest of it.”
“Very well,” the Headmaster agreed, sounding very old and very tired.
Harry wasn’t quite sure that this was a victory for anyone, but Merlin’s magic calmed at the affirmation and that was enough for now.
And despite the fact Harry was the only one in the room without a weapon (no wand, and no taser that he had glimpsed in Mister Pendragon’s pocket), he was pretty sure he was the least powerless person there. Because he had Merlin. And Merlin would do anything for him.
Chapter 7: Le Fay
Notes:
Congrats guys! It's taken us 30k words but we've finally arrived at the actual main plot of this book.
Also, we're finally getting some of the Merlin and Arthur interaction that you've all been craving for the last six chapters.
Chapter Text
It was a rather short and terse goodbye between Merlin and Gaius on the platform. Things hadn’t been the same since Harry’s visit and all of his news about Snape. The house had been tense and awkward, the stifling atmosphere making the whole house seem so much smaller, especially once Harry had returned to Hogwarts, taking with him what little joy Merlin could bring himself to feel.
It wasn’t even the fact that Gaius had shouted at them. It had been scary, and overwhelming, and brought back more memories - and nightmares - than Merlin had liked. But Merlin could forgive the shouting. Shouting was just talking very loudly, and he could forget about that if he really tried.
It wasn’t even what Gaius had shouted - though the accusation of ‘stupid boy’ did run through his head sometimes. Merlin knew that people said things that they didn’t mean in anger. Harry had done the same thing last year, trying to push him away in his insecurity about Merlin getting adopted (Mithian’s therapy books had been rather helpful, afterall). And besides that, Gaius had been right that Merlin had been acting reckless, what with his plans to run away or threaten to destroy the school with his magic. So Merlin could move past what Gaius had shouted at him.
But what Merlin was struggling to forgive was Gaius’s decision. There was no regret or apology for it, just meaningless attempts at explanations. But the fact of the matter was that Gaius had chosen Albus Dumbledore over him.
And Merlin wasn’t stupid. He never expected to be Gaius’s first priority. Merlin had always assumed that his granddaughter, his job, and maybe his son-in-law, would come first. Merlin was fine being second to all of those things. But to Dumbledore?
When Harry’s life might have been in danger. When students were suffering under Snape’s bigotry. When that might very well be his parents’ murderer for all they knew.
He had chosen his loyalty to Dumbledore. And Merlin wasn’t sure that he could forgive him for it.
It was his own fault really. He had gotten his hopes up. He had raised his expectations too high.
Gaius had been kind. He had seemed to truly care about Merlin. And that had been enough to make Merlin forget that you couldn’t just trust people.
He had Harry. He had Arthur and Gwaine and Mithian. Maybe he even had Lance, Percy and Freya. That was so many people. Far more than he had ever expected to have. So what did it matter if he didn’t have Gaius?
He had a roof over his head. He had food when he wanted it. He wasn’t being hurt. He wasn’t being kept from Harry. Those were the only things that were important. Those were the only things that really mattered. So that would be enough for a few weeks out of the year.
He shouldn’t have tried to make their relationship more than it needed to be. Gaius was just a kind man taking in his old friends’ child out of lingering loyalty. He wasn’t Merlin’s parent. He wasn’t an uncle or a father figure. He was just the man Merlin stayed with during the summer.
So their goodbye had been polite but cold. And Merlin was filled with a sense of relief that he would be going ten months without having to look at the brightly painted walls of his bedroom and the memories of painting them that felt like a lie.
He was tugging his suitcase on his own across the platform when he was accosted by Gwaine.
“Merlin! Mate! Tell me it’s true!” he crowed enthusiastically, barreling into him from behind and immediately wrapping him up in a bear hug.
“What are you talking about now?” he asked, shrugging him off quickly. But despite his exasperation at Gwaine’s inability to act like a normal person and just say ‘hello’, he felt a grin steal its way onto his face at the sight of his friend. Gwaine was a little taller, his hair was a little longer (but just as luscious), and he was apparently ten times more excitable than he had been when Merlin last saw him. But it was bloody good to see him.
“You and Malfoy, mate!” Gwaine said, sounding utterly thrilled, and Merlin felt something like dread gather in the pit of his stomach. “It was the talk of all of those stuffy parties that my parents drag me off to whenever they can. I guess old Lucius was trying to ruin your name or something, make you sound like your magic’s out of control, or that you're some violent maniac, but really everyone’s been laughing behind his back that he got beat by a second year student! Why didn’t you put that in your letters? What a riot! It is true, isn’t it?”
Oh God. Did everyone know?
This was bad. This was really bad.
The shame Merlin had felt that day returned to him tenfold.
Look at them. They’re afraid .
They had been afraid of him. What sort of monster did that make him, to have stood there, looking down on those people, while they were terrified of him? What he could have done . . . what he had been willing to do . . .
Merlin would have never hurt any of them. At least he didn’t think he would.
But . . . he had meant it when he threatened the life of Severus Snape. He had meant it when he considered tearing down Hogwarts. He had meant it when he considered stealing away with Harry and escaping the wizarding world and all of the people who had ever hurt them.
He didn’t think that was normal.
So then what sort of monster did that make him?
“Merlin!”
He only had a second to register the worried look in Gwaine’s eyes and his prolonged silence before he was being spun around and hugged by another person.
As he took in the long, dark hair brushing the side of his face and the slim frame in his arms he assumed it was Mithian. She had always been good at rescuing him from Gwaine’s overzealous questions, and had a knack for halting him from spiraling into a panic before he even realised that that was what he was doing.
But when he caught Arthur’s stunned and really very confused face over her shoulder (and it felt rather good to see him again) he realised that this was not Mithian.
So why on earth was Morgana Le Fay hugging him?
She stepped back and smiled at him through gritted teeth. “How was your summer? You won’t believe how much Arthur was sulking when your letters stopped coming through,” she said brightly. Too brightly. Her smile and her tone were obviously fake, but Merlin could only tell because she was standing barely two feet away from him.
“Erm . . . what?” he said so very eloquently and watched the lines around her eyes tighten.
“Stop being dense and play along ,” she hissed under her breath, her smile never faltering. “Come on, Arthur,” she said, turning over her shoulder to look at an Arthur who looked just as confused as Merlin felt, “Be useful for once and help us with our bags.”
Well, whatever ploy this was, Gwaine seemed to be in on it too, because he quickly lifted Merlin’s case along with his own, and said, “Yeah, come on, mate ,” right to Arthur with a great big grin, only sounding the slightest bit sarcastic.
Arthur narrowed his eyes, as if the involvement of Gwaine was enough to make him stop on principle, but he apparently trusted Morgana enough to go along without vocal complaint - even if his face said everything he was thinking. And Morgana looped her arm through his to all but drag him onto the train, Merlin wished he could say that he shared the sentiment.
Nevertheless, he followed along, dazed and confused until the four of them found an empty compartment. And then the second Gwaine had closed the blinds on all of the windows Morgana dropped his arm and her smile without a thought.
“What the fuck , Morgana?” Arthur asked incredulously.
And, yes.
That.
That was what Merlin wanted to know too.
“You’re welcome ,” she said in response, rolling her eyes.
“Can someone please explain what’s going on?” he asked, since Arthur’s approach didn’t seem to get them anywhere.
Morgana just stared at him a moment before shaking her head. “Salazar, I swear you used to be smarter than this.”
“Yeah, alright, just because he’s magic-smart,” Gwaine said defensively, and then sighed contritely. “Em’s not the best at noticing stuff when he’s panicking - sorry about that mate.”
Merlin flushed. Though he wasn’t sure whether that was because Gwaine definitely noticed him spiralling earlier or . . . no. No, it had nothing to do with the bitter face Arthur pulled when he heard Gwaine call him by that nickname.
“Everyone was watching you ,” Morgana explained tiredly. “I noticed it as soon as we arrived on the platform, because they were watching us too. People know what happened last month, and they know that our father was there. If you were as dangerous as Lucius Malfoy is claiming then our father would have warned us to stay away from you. If they see us acting as if we’re friends then that makes those rumours less believable. Now, I frankly couldn’t care less what public opinion of you is, but you matter to Arthur . So. You're welcome.”
“Erm . . . thanks,” he said belatedly.
“So it’s true then?” Gwaine said, getting excited again. “You really handed the Board of Governors’ asses to them?”
Merlin shrugged noncommittally. But the lack of an out-right denial was enough of a confirmation for Gwaine to give a little whoop of laughter.
“Since when do you have such good control of your magic, Em?” Gwaine’s question was asked with nothing but earnest curiosity, but Merlin saw the way Morgana’s eyes narrowed shrewdly and the way Arthur watched him almost warily and he felt his heart sink a little.
“I don’t,” he told them quickly. “It’s just . . . well I told you I was figuring out how to push and pull things towards me,” he explained, and then waved his hand casually for Aithusa’s carrier to float towards him from where it had been on the seats, only to stop in mid-air. “That’s all it was. I just pulled the glass from the windows, and then stopped it. The same with the wands. It wasn’t like I dueled anyone.”
But Gwaine was still looking at him like he was his hero.
And Morgana was staring at his eyes. He was pretty sure that they weren’t gold anymore, but they might have been, since he was technically still maintaining the spell to keep Aithusa in place.
(He didn’t look at Arthur.)
Luckily Aithusa decided to voice her protest to being floated inside her carrier. She didn’t seem to mind usually, but to be fair Merlin usually also floated a piece of string or one of the garden gnomes, something for her to play with. As it was, she let out a rather loud meow in disapproval.
It was enough to crack the tension in the air, if only for a moment.
“Sorry, Aithusa,” he said with a small smile. At least he could always count on her to have his back.
“Aithusa?” Morgana asked, her voice sounding suddenly strangled.
“Yeah, my cat.”
“Can I hold her?” she asked urgently, desperation and hope clouding over her eyes.
Merlin nodded, opening the cat-carrier to let Aithusa out. He didn’t know why Morgana was acting so weird about it, but considering that she had just done him a favour, he wasn’t going to say no to something so harmless. “She’s a bit finicky with certain people,” Merlin warned. “She likes Arthur and Gwaine well enough, but hisses whenever Mithian gets close.”
Morgana nodded absently at his words. Merlin was pretty sure that she wasn’t listening from the way she seemed laser focused on Aithusa’s yellow eyes.
“You know, if you want a pet, father would get you anything you asked for,” Arthur remarked, looking at his sister with confusion. Apparently he didn’t have any better idea than Merlin about why Morgana seemed so fixated on Aithusa.
But Morgana continued to ignore them all, her arms outstretched for Aithusa to be placed into.
Merlin sighed, relieved, when Aithusa seemed to be perfectly happy in Morgana’s arms. Morgana already didn’t seem to like him very much, and he didn’t think her opinion of him would go up at all if his cat decided to scratch the hell out of her.
But instead her face seemed to fall with disappointment as Aithusa stared contentedly back at her. “She’s lovely.” The compliment was sincere, but her voice still seemed to ring hollow.
Merlin exchanged a glance with Gwaine, who shrugged not at all discreetly, and watched Arthur out of the corner of his eye, staring at his sister with concern.
“Right,” she said suddenly, pushing Aithusa back into his arms. She moved as swiftly and decisively as she usually did, but there was something almost vulnerable about her now. Whatever hope had been in her eyes had most definitely been lost, though he wasn’t sure why or how. “I’ll be off now,” she told them, not looking any of them, but especially Arthur, in the eye. “I’m sure Mithian is somewhere around, so -”
“You should stay,” Merlin cut in, and when she turned to look at him suspiciously he almost wished that he had bitten his tongue.
But he had remembered Mister Pendragon - Look at them. They’re afraid - talking about how his daughter had only managed to make one friend at Hogwarts, being ostracized by almost all of her housemates. He remembered how when Harry had written to her for help, she had done more than what they asked, offering extra advice and additional letters. He remembered seeing the resolve on Harry’s face, knowing that his brother was going to do whatever he could to befriend her after all she had helped them with.
“You should stay,” he repeated, slightly less manically and a bit more confidently. “Unless you’re actually afraid that I’m a violent maniac who’s magic is out of control,” he said, recalling Gwaine’s words and ignoring the other boy’s wince.
(He didn’t look at Arthur.)
It was a bit of a gamble, really, just throwing that out there, reminding them all of what he was - so what sort of monster did that make him? - but Slytherins couldn’t resist a challenge. And that’s what that had been, a challenge.
He could see it in her eyes, the moment her competitive need to prove herself took over from the wariness she had previously regarded him with.
“Alright,” she said loftily, as if she was granting him a favour, “I’ll stay.”
And if her agreement made Arthur beam at him for the first time today, then that had nothing to do with the sense of achievement Merlin felt.
He made an aborted move to sit next to him after that, warmed and reassured by that smile, only to stop himself. Morgana would surely feel more comfortable next to the only person here that she actually knew.
“Oh, no, don’t stop on my account,” she said, halting him from moving back away, “I’ve been stuck with Arthur all summer already. Trust me , the last thing I want is to be forced to sit next to him for the next six hours. He’s all yours.” Merlin wasn’t sure why she winked at him after that, but it made him want to sink into his seat either way. Of course then he remembered that that seat was next to Arthur, who had barely said a word to him whatsoever and -
“Don’t be an idiot, Merlin ,” he chided, tugging Merlin by the sleeve into the seat beside him. “Sit down before the train starts moving and you fall over.”
Merlin did so. But only because he knew how clumsy he could be, and Arthur had already pulled his arm down, so if he didn’t fall into the seat then he would only be falling onto the floor instead. Because Arthur was a prat.
“Prat,” he told him.
“Yeah, where are your manners, princess? I thought Gryfindors were supposed to be chivalrous. You’re supposed to help him to his seat, not knock him into it.” See, Merlin could always count on Gwaine to have his back.
“I’m sorry . . . ‘Princess’?” Morgana inquired, glee evident in her voice. “He calls you ‘Princess’? You call him ‘ Princess ’?” She laughed like she’s never heard anything better.
“This was a mistake,” Arthur muttered to him. “ Merlin , you’re supposed to be my friend , how could you do this to me?!” he hissed.
“How is this my fault?” he whispered back, watching with something akin to horror as Gwaine and Morgana bonded over Arthur’s most embarrassing moments.
“ Gwaine is most definitely your fault. And you invited Morgana to sit with us!” he protested, his neck flushing red as Morgana started another story about Arthur in primary school.
Merlin was caught between defending himself and wanting to listen to whatever it was Morgana was saying. Anything that made Arthur turn that shade of pink could only be incredible. Well, he could always ask Gwaine what she said later . . .
“I can’t be blamed for Gwaine! He’s his own person -”
“That you’re friends with.”
“- who’s really more Mithian’s responsibility than mine. I mean, they’ve been friends for far longer. And you were happy that your sister decided to sit with us!”
“Arthur!” Morgana’s mirthful voice carried over their frantic whispers. “I had no idea your friends could be so delightful. This one’s a riot,” she said with a head tilt in Gwaine’s direction.
Gwaine was grinning like a loon. Unsurprising, considering that he had just found the jackpot to all of Arthur’s worst childhood stories.
Merlin thought he understood now, why Mithian had held off introducing her to the rest of them. Morgana was terrifying. And Gwaine was the most chaotic person Merlin had ever met. The two of them as friends, well . . .
Arthur’s life was ruined.
Gwaine and Morgana . . . really ? The universe couldn’t come up with a worse pair of people to torment him with? Why not just throw his father into the mix too?
Alright, so he was a bit of an arse sometimes, but did he really deserve this ?
Surely not.
Arthur hadn’t known whether to feel hopeful or despairing when Mithian joined them half an hour into their trip. She was supposedly Gwaine’s oldest friend, and Morgana's only friend, but she was also one of the most rational people in their year (barring perhaps Lance). So it was really a coin toss on whether or not she'd be Arthur’s saviour or just become their enabler.
“They called him ‘Wart’ ?” she laughed. “That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day! Hey, Wart!”
She was an enabler.
“This is so much better than calling him ‘Princess’!”
And Arthur was doomed .
The unbearable journey to Hogwarts was made only just tolerable by Merlin’s presence next to him. His friend did as much as he could to distract Arthur from the chaos that was being made in the other half of their compartment. Though not even Merlin was enough to pull focus from his sister positively howling with laughter. The hag.
Arthur tried not to read too much into the uneasiness Merlin seemed to have every now and then. After all, that would just make him a hypocrite.
His father had told him and Morgana exactly what had happened at the Board of Governors’ meeting; Uther Pendragon did not believe in coddling children and sugar coating facts. But Arthur hadn’t known what to make of it all.
And it hadn’t been helped by the radio silence from Merlin afterwards. Arthur had sent him letters. Several. Many. Even some filled solely with the drawings that Merlin seemed so fascinated by. Anything to get a response. But none had arrived.
Arthur had been dubious originally, when Morgana had brought up Merlin’s supposed magical strength. Sure, he had shaken the castle a little last year, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything.
Still, it had been enough for father to take Merlin seriously. And Arthur was glad that his father had been given the forewarning of what Merlin could do, otherwise he surely would have tased him when everything started to unfold.
But still, Arthur just couldn’t see it. He just couldn’t put together the two versions of Merlin that were in his head.
On the one hand, there was the crazy-powerful wizard who had disarmed twelve fully-trained witches and wizards and held them all at wand point with their own wands, the person who had scared Uther Pendragon (not that he had admitted as much; his father would never do that. But Arthur had still seen it in his eyes as he spoke). And on the other hand, there was Merlin . Merlin who tripped over his own feet, and mother-henned Harry and anyone who was in the vicinity at the time, who rolled his eyes when Arthur and Gwaine started bickering, who jumped out of his skin if you touched him unexpectedly.
Those couldn’t be the same person.
So Arthur hadn’t been sure what to expect when they’d arrived at the platform. And apparently he hadn’t been the only one, because everyone had been whispering and watching Merlin.
Not that Arthur had noticed.
Somehow, Morgana’s insane - but useful - act had been a lucky distraction from Arthur’s thoughts. He had been so caught up in the bewilderment of seeing Morgana acting like that that he hadn’t the chance to second guess his own actions when it came to Merlin. The only thing he had been able to focus on was frustration at his sister for putting her hands all over his friend.
After that, though . . . Gwaine had been asking questions about how Merlin had managed it. And there was no avoiding it then.
Merlin had tried to downplay it, that much was obvious. He himself didn’t entirely seem comfortable with what had happened. But it wasn’t until Arthur saw Merlin’s face fall at his hesitation that he realised that it didn’t bloody matter.
Arthur didn’t care if it made sense. He knew who his friend was. His friend was a clumsy oaf who was going to fall if he didn’t sit down before the train started moving. And that was all that really mattered.
Having come to that conclusion, there was nothing but room in his brain for the horror he was feeling at Morgana befriending Gwaine.
It was a long six hours. But not all of the company was terrible.
In the end, Arthur even found himself laughing along as they arrived in the Great Hall. It felt almost wrong to have to split up and go to their seperate house tables. But the welcoming feast was one of the few times a year where they really had to sit at their own tables, so Arthur accepted his fate and waved across the hall sadly.
Still, it was nice to catch up with Gwen and Leon. They had sent a few letters to each other over the summer, but it really didn’t compare to being able to talk in person again.
“I’ve told him all about the Great Hall, and how you can see the sky through the ceiling,” Gwen told them excitedly. “But I’m still not sure he really believes me.” She was telling him all about how her younger brother was about to start his first year at Hogwarts. Apparently that was where she and Leon had spent their train ride. “I mean, we both did accidental magic growing up, and he’s seen Diagon Alley, of course, but you really just don’t get how amazing magic can be until you see Hogwarts for the first time!”
Leon shrugged. He had grown up with magic in his house, after all, so Arthur could understand how it might not be so impressive to someone like him.
But, “I get it,” Arthur told her. Because, he remembered seeing the castle from the boats for the first time. Morgana had squeezed his arm, and he knew at that moment that she’d had just as much trouble in believing it was real as he had been having. And then coming inside and being able to see the night sky and the floating candles and the talking hats and the food that just appeared . . . “We’ve gotten so used to all of this over the last year that you forget how impossible it all is,” he whispered to her as they watched the awe on the first years' faces as they entered.
“There he is, towards the front!”
“A bit of a short-arse,” Arthur commented mindlessly, observing how there seemed to be a significant dip in height as he stood shoulder to shoulder with his year-mates. Well, more like shoulder to upper-arm
When Leon smacked him on the back of the head and Gwen pinched his thigh he was only a little surprised. It wasn’t as if he was being mean! It was a fact. He was short - what was wrong with that?
But in the end, the strength of Gwen’s anxiety seemed to be stronger than the strength of her glare. She grabbed both his and Leon’s hands as McGonagall called up, “Smith, Elyan.” She was a ball of nerves over her brother being sorted, though why exactly Arthur wasn’t sure. Gwen was friendly with enough people in every house, so it wasn’t like she hated Slytherins or anything like some of their other housemates. And Arthur was sure that, should she ask, any of those friends would be happy to look out for her brother.
And, sure enough, after the hat called Ravenclaw, Lance and Percy sent her a thumbs up and a big smile before introducing themselves to Gwen’s little brother. He could practically feel her sigh of relief.
The rest of the feast passed unremarkably, simply filled with good food and good company. Arthur got to complain about Gwaine and Morgana to sympathetic ears, Leon managed to goad him into trying out for the quidditch team and Gwen, surprising them both, decided to join them (Arthur was also pretty sure that he heard the twins and Lee already planning their first prank but, as long as he wasn’t the victim, that wasn’t his problem).
It was all so completely normal that it only caught Arthur even more off guard when it happened.
“If I could have everyone’s attention please,” the Headmaster called, his voice carrying easily over the din of the students’ chatter. “I would like you all to welcome our latest addition to the Hogwarts staff. Those eagle-eyed among you will have already seen the new face at the staff table, so please give a warm welcome to your new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Nimueh Le Fay!”
There was dark hair, sharp eyes and a red-painted smile.
And Arthur was stuck dumb.
But not because of the name. Never mind the name . The name didn’t matter .
What mattered was that Arthur had never seen this woman before in his life . . . and yet , he knew her face.
Because Arthur had drawn that face months ago .
Chapter Text
It felt odd to see Harry entering the Great Hall at Professor McGonagall’s side. He seemed comfortable walking next to her, talking quietly, smiling even. It was good, Merlin decided, to see his brother so at ease.
He had felt so torn up about leaving Harry behind, after the meeting with the Board of Governors. Feeling like he was abandoning his brother once more, especially after such a stressful and tumultuous day, was horrible. Of course, he hadn’t left until he’d known that Snape was no longer inside the building. And even then, McGonagall had made sure to show them both where Harry would be staying from now on before Merlin left.
She had made it quite clear that it was to be Harry’s space, and therefore Merlin, as his brother, would be free to visit at any time. Though she had limited it to just him, and not any other friends of Harry (which Merlin could understand. She was still their Professor, after all, he could only imagine how uncomfortable it would be for her to have students in her personal quarters).
His brother’s face had all but lit up at the sight of the roaring fireplace, and tartan sofa, and the little set of stairs that lead up to a real bedroom. Not just an empty room with bare walls, a bed, and a desk. This was somewhere that could be a home for him. And Merlin wanted that for his brother more than anything.
So yes, it felt odd to see his brother so relaxed with McGonagall, but he was pleased to see it.
She touched his shoulder casually and gave him a soft smile that seemed so out of place on the stern Professor’s face, and then Harry was making his way towards him.
“Bloody hell,” Tonks said from a few seats away, “Potter’s gone and tamed the dragon.”
Gwaine snorted next from beside him.
Harry rolled his eyes as he approached their table, having heard the comment. “She’s not a dragon ,” he told Tonks, stealing a piece of toast as he passed her.
“Just wait until you’re late to Transfiguration for the first time,” she warned, waving a bit of bacon in his direction. “Or when she catches you sneaking around after curfew, or when you’re trying to get high by the greenhouses -”
“Okay!” Merlin cut in quickly, he was absolutely not going to let her tell Harry about that. “He’s ten ,” he chided. “Maybe avoid talking about drugs! Jeez, no wonder you’re not a prefect,” he said, shuffling further down the bench to make room for Harry to sit down.
“I’m not a child ,” Harry complained, childishly, slipping into the empty space. “And besides, I heard Aunt Petunia say a lot worse about all the hobos and crack-heads ‘littering the streets ’.”
Merlin rolled his eyes. Damn that woman. “Yes, because how she acted towards you was definitely appropriate.”
“Wait, does Madam Pomfrey grow drugs in the greenhouses?” Gwaine asked, fascinated and far too excited at the prospect for Merlin’s taste. “And are we talking magical or muggle drugs? Because I’ve heard crazy things about smoking -”
“There is still a child present,” Merlin reminded them. But, unfortunately, his input was being very soundly ignored.
“Not telling,” Tonks snarked, to Merlin’s relief. “You can always ask Sprout yourself, but then that runs the risk of her having no clue where you heard something like that, and then thinking you’re a delinquent.”
“I’d make an excellent delinquent,” Gwaine said proudly.
“Yes, yes, you’d make a great criminal -”
“He’s certainly got criminally bad hair .”
“- but can you please both stop corrupting my brother,” Merlin asked, only to be ignored by, what was of course, the greater tragedy.
“My hair’s great! ” Which was an insult to Gwaine’s hair. “And you’re one to talk about bad hair, Potter. Ever heard of a comb?”
“And maybe also stop insulting my brother,” Merlin added.
“Well, he started it,” Gwaine pouted.
“Mature,” Merlin commented sarcastically. Harry grinned next to him, so Merlin prodded him in his side. “And you , stop provoking my friends.” Harry’s cheeky grin communicated that he would do no such thing, and Merlin couldn’t help but relent, at the sight of his brother looking so care-free. He smirked, “You know how fragile Gwaine is about his hair.”
“Wha- Hey!”
The light-hearted laughter filling the Great Hall was almost enough to convince Morgana that this morning wouldn’t be as God-awful as she was expecting. But then, of course, Arthur didn’t even give Morgana enough time to take a single bite of her breakfast before he had taken a hold of her arm saying, “We need to talk,” and pulling her out of the Great Hall.
She turned to glare at him with a cutting remark on the tip of her tongue, but froze at the look on his face. Arthur looked serious . It was the sort of expression that seemed out of place on his young face. It was more suited to what he looked like before a siege or a battle. He was concerned and apprehensive, but committed to keeping an air of calmness, no matter what.
It was enough to convince her to abandon her egg and toast. She tried not to let her mind spiral at the possibilities that might have put that expression on her brother’s face. There was no use in speculating or worrying herself. He was obviously going to tell her in a moment, so she nodded and allowed him to lead her out of the Great Hall, away from any prying ears, without complaint.
“Do you know her?” he asked urgently, as soon as they were out of anyone else’s earshot. “The new Defence Professor,” he elaborated when her brow scrunched together in confusion. “Have you met her before, do you know who she is?”
“No,” Morgana said, confused and a little worried. “Why?”
The truth was that Morgana had spent the last night trying to figure out the same thing.
Because that woman was from Camelot.
Morgana had learnt to recognise last year who and who hadn’t been brought back. There was some sort of buzz about them that she could sense. Presumably it was the magic that had brought them all back, something from the Old Religion that had touched all of them, but was impossible for anyone else (except perhaps Merlin) to replicate on another person. Of course, she hadn’t need to identify that in order to recognise most of them. It had been obvious. Even those that she hadn’t grown up with originally didn’t look too different from their counterparts a decade younger.
The only ones who had given her trouble had been Valiant, a Slytherin in her year, who she remembered from trying to kill Arthur in a tournament, and George, a Hufflepuff, who had just been another servant in the castle. She had yet to understand why two people so insignificant to their destinies had been given the chance at a second life, but she was sure that she would crack the mystery eventually.
But the new Professor, Nimueh Le Fay, had that same whisper around her as the rest of them. Not to mention the fact that she shared Morgana’s sur-name. Just one of those things alone would have been enough to have Morgana racking her brain to try and identify the woman.
But it was no use. She was almost certain that she had never seen her before.
“Well you must be related or something, right?” Arthur responded reasonably. And yet, there was just something in his eyes . . . he was hiding something from her, she determined. She had known Arthur Pendragon for two lifetimes, she knew how to read him, and she knew when he was trying to keep something from her.
“Perhaps,” she told him, deciding to keep her cards close to her chest. “But I doubt it. I mean, I know Le Fay isn’t a common name in the muggle world, but neither of my parents had magic. How likely is it that two witches came from a muggle family? And that I would never have met her, not even after my magic started showing?”
Arthur shrugged.
“Maybe Le Fay is a more common name in the wizarding world,” she reasoned. “I could always go and ask her.” Morgana was planning on doing as much anyway. Not really to see if they were related, but more to find out who she had been back home. Why didn’t Morgana know her? And what was it that Arthur knew that she didn’t?
“So you’ve never seen her before?” he pressed. “She never came to visit when you were younger? And I never saw her either?”
“Why would you have seen her?” Morgana asked suspiciously. “She’s not called Pendragon .”
“Because I must know her somehow!” he shouted, causing Morgana to take a step back.
She couldn’t remember the last time either of them had shouted at the other. They had been getting along so much better since Morgana had started making an effort after her memories returned.
So what was making him angry enough to be taking it out on her?
“I’m sorry,” he said immediately, noticing her reaction. “I’m sorry, Morgana, I just . . . I don’t understand what’s going on.”
And that was enough to send alarm bells ringing in her head. Because she and Arthur didn’t apologise to each other. That just wasn’t them. They waited for the other person not to be angry anymore, or to explain what was going on, and then they forgot it ever happened. They didn’t say sorry . And they didn’t admit weakness , like not knowing something.
Which meant that something was really wrong. And that Arthur wasn’t angry . . . he was panicking.
What did he know that was causing him to panic, she thought warily.
Fuck.
Was he remembering? It wasn’t how it happened for her, but maybe it was different for every person? She hadn’t exactly had the chance to ask Gaius on the train platform in between throwing barbs at him.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” she said immediately.
But instead of answering her he riffled through his bag and handed her a spiral sketchbook. He took a moment to find the right page, but when she looked at it she had her answer.
Their new DADA Professor’s face was staring back at her from the page. Her breath caught in her throat. Beneath it was a magical creature that Morgana had never seen before - not even in her nightmares - and then a flower below that. The mortaeus flower.
“I drew that months ago,” Arthur whispered to her, sounding more afraid than she had ever heard him in this life.
“Did you dream this?” she asked him, only distantly registering how horrified her own voice sounded.
“So you believe me?” He sounded so relieved.
She remembered sounding like that when Merlin had taken her visions seriously.
And didn’t that just leave a sour taste in her mouth.
Morgana had had no Seer dreams in this life. Not before or after her memories had returned. She had always been prone to nightmares, but she had thought back on all of them since her memories returned, and none had been tellings of the future or past. The only nightmares she’d ever had were her own mind tormenting her with her greatest mistakes after she remembered who she truly was, and relieving the loss of this life’s parents.
But now Arthur was having visions. Arthur was dreaming of their past. Arthur had taken her gift from her.
She flicked through the notebook, seeing page after page of scenes from their lives. Arthur’s knights, all aged up to when he had known them. Gwen, wearing a dress fit for a queen. Merlin, in his stupid neckerchief. Even herself, looking like the princess she had secretly been.
How had she missed this?
How had she not seen the signs of his memories returning.
“How long have you been doing this?” she asked, trying to quell the jealousy in her voice. It had been her gift.
“Less than a year,” he answered. “It’s stupid. I always thought you would make fun of me. Making up stupid stories where I’m a prince or a king. And then so many people in our year had names that fit into the legend, like ours do, so I started putting them into the story too.”
“So you didn’t dream this?” she said, relieved.
“No,” he shook his head. “It was just my imagination . . . or at least I thought it was. I mean, ‘Nimueh’, it fit the pattern. But I’ve never seen her before. I remember being really proud that hers was the first face that was completely original, and not one of my friends.”
“Why did you draw her?” Morgana asked suddenly, a realisation coming to her. “You said you were making up stories, so who was she supposed to be?”
“Well, I needed a villain,” he replied hesitantly. “I didn’t want to use one of my friend’s faces for that . . . so I made one up.”
Or he remembered a villain he already knew.
She supposed she should be relieved that her own face wasn’t readily offered up by Arthur’s subconscious as a suitable villain.
“Morgana, what do you think this means ?”
He didn’t look afraid any more, she registered. Confused and worried, for sure. But not afraid.
She remembered being so afraid of her visions.
“I might know,” she told him. Because that was all she had really wanted when it had been her. She just wanted someone to tell her that she wasn’t crazy. She wanted someone to tell her that they understood, that they knew what was going on. “But I need you to trust me,” she said.
“This is like before isn’t it?” he asked, and she remembered how many other times she had asked him to trust her since her memories returned and she had said or done something that she simply couldn’t explain to him.
“Yes,” she confirmed, “It’s like before. But, Arthur . . . I want you to tell me if anything else like this happens. If more people show up, or if - especially if - they’re meant to be some sort of villain.”
She could only hope that she herself wouldn’t fall into that category.
“And you’ll tell me what you can?” he pressed. “If she is related to you? Or if she’s . . . dangerous?”
“I promise,” she told him. “Now, come on. I have breakfast to finish, and they need to give out class schedules. Snape will already hate my guts after everything Uther did this summer, I don’t need to give my head of house another reason to subtly sabotage the rest of my academic career.”
Ugh. Snape. Just looking at him made Morgana feel disgusting. Though she couldn’t be sure if that was his personality or that lanky, greasy hair. Honestly, was shampoo not something wizards used? He was a potion’s master, could he not brew himself a magical equivalent? As if his slimy personality wasn’t enough -
Oh.
Oh, hang the fuck on. Oh, fuck no.
He was fucking - he was basically Agravaine De Bois. With his gross hair, and his double-agent bullshit, and his punchable face.
Good God. Why not have just reincarnated the man and called him Severus?
Ew.
She hoped to high hell that they wouldn’t be getting a surprise appearance from Arthur’s uncle.
That man had always made her feel disgusting. The way he had looked at her . . . As if she hadn’t known that that pig had wanted her. Whether it was to use her for her crown or for her body, she had known that the simpering little oaf had wanted more from her than just his revenge on Arthur and Uther.
Ugh. She bet Snape was a perv too.
“As if I need more reasons to hate him,” she muttered.
Arthur nodded along, oblivious to her comparisons of Snape to the man that had better not fucking exist anymore.
Morgana brushed her observations aside for now. She could tell that Arthut wanted to keep talking about this, wanted to keep pushing. But her brother also knew when she wouldn’t budge an inch on something. Morgana would not be telling him any more until after she had spoken to Nimueh.
And really, didn’t some of the legends say that Nimueh and Merlin were lovers?
Morgana never remembered Merlin showing any interest in anyone who wasn’t her brother. Though, she supposed being tied together by destiny was a fair enough reason not to have time for anyone else.
Looking back, Gwen’s little crush on Merlin was really quite funny. She couldn’t believe that she had assumed Merlin felt the same way after he confessed to healing Gwen’s father in order to save the girl’s life. No. He had just actually been stupid enough to confess to using magic in the heart of Camelot. In front of the king . The very same king who enjoyed burning sorcerers alive.
How did she not figure out he was Emrys sooner? He was a fucking idiot .
Okay she’d gotten off topic.
The point she was trying to make was that she didn’t think Merlin had ever had time for love interests in between being a servant, physician-in-training and a secret vigilante. So this Nimueh probably wasn’t an ex-girlfriend he scorned who is here in the name of revenge, or a long lost love that Merlin used his magic to ensure would be brought back to life with the rest of them.
Frankly, considering the current age difference, Morgana sincerely hoped she was correct.
After all, so far whatever power had brought them back seemed to have no issue in separating their generations as they once had been. Uther was their father, Gaius was old enough to be a grandparent, and she and Arthur and all of his little round table were of a similar age.
Which meant that this Nimueh person had been considerably older in Camelot.
She had obviously been a sorceress. That was something that remained in all tellings of their history. So why didn’t Morgana know her?
Maybe . . . maybe Merlin only met her after she died. Morgana had been thirty-one when she died. Merlin could have lived a hundred years more. Or at the very least, perhaps she had been present in the citadel only after Morgana’s failed take-over and subsequent exile.
Maybe Morgana didn’t remember her simply because they had never met.
“Hey,” Arthur said, nudging her back towards the Great Hall. “I thought you were in some big hurry?”
His face clearly told her that he knew she had gotten caught up thinking about what their conversation meant, and she appreciated him humouring her request not to push.
“I’ll come sit with you at dinner tonight,” she told him. It wasn’t a thank you. It wasn’t an apology. It wasn’t a promise to have more information by then. But Arthur grinned at her like it was all three. “After all, I have so many more stories to tell Gwaine, and it’s no fun if you’re not around to look miserable through them.”
There. That wiped the look of his face.
“Why do you hate me?”
She stuck her tongue out at him like the mature Lady of the court she was.
Harry just happened to have his eyes on the doors when he saw Morgana and Arthur enter together. Both of them looked uncomfortably tense as they separated towards their own house-tables, but parted with a smile genuine enough for Harry to assume whatever was putting that look on their faces had nothing to do with each other.
“Hey,” he asked, nudging Merlin with his elbow and nodding in the direction of the siblings, “What’s up with your friend?”
“I . . . don’t know,” his brother said, sounding confused and more than a little concerned as he observed Arthur. “He was fine yesterday, on the train. I . . . I wasn’t really paying attention to him during the feast, and this is the first I’ve seen him today.”
Harry knew Merlin well enough to recognise the guilt that was already seeping into his tone. “I’m sure it’s fine,” Harry said unconvincingly, trying to stop Merlin’s worrying before it snowballed, and cursing himself for bringing the matter to his brother’s attention. “He probably just argued with one of his roommates. Him and the twins don’t really get on, remember?”
But even as he said it, he followed Arthur’s glare towards the staff table, seeing it land on the new professor. Nimueh.
“You were sat next to her and McGonagall last night, right?” Merlin asked, obviously having done the same as him. “Did she say anything about him? Or Morgana? I mean with the name and everything . . . maybe they’re related? Maybe it’s family tension?”
“No,” Harry told him, shaking his head. “We actually - Well, the only student we talked about was you .”
“Professor Snape will be at the other end of the table,” Aunt Minerva - as she had insisted he call her - promised. “Pomona did not mind moving from her usual seat for the Welcoming feast, so you’ll be seated beside me, though it would be polite to thank her later.”
“I will,” Harry said. “I’ll find her tomorrow, if I don’t get a chance tonight.” She nodded firmly in approval.
Aunt Minerva had decided that his manners weren’t quite up to scratch in the weeks they had been living together. Not that she’d said anything so plainly. But Harry remembered her rather glaring silence the first time they shared a proper meal together just the two of them. He was usually more careful, when it was just him with adults, but she had impressed upon him that she wanted him to feel comfortable and to act himself, if this was to be his home. So Harry hadn’t bothered to pretend that he didn’t want to eat as much as he could as fast as he could. Growing up with Dudley meant that if he didn’t eat quickly then he wouldn’t eat at all. Aunt Minnie’s face had been rather expressive when he had glanced towards her. He wouldn’t call it disgust, but it wasn’t too far.
Since then, she had impressed on him the politeness of making conversation through dinner, using the correct cutlery with certain foods, and ‘please and thank you's.
Harry wasn’t stupid. Or rude (Unless someone deserved it). So he already knew all of those things - well maybe not all of the cutlery stuff. He had just never seen the use for most of it.
Adults didn’t care what he had to say, so why would he ever bother making conversation if they didn’t have something he was trying to find out. Like when Aunt Petunia had to sign his permission form for the swimming lessons that the school organised. Harry made sure to talk about how he’d heard the lady at number two saying how jealous she was of Aunt Petunia’s rose bushes, and how the man and number seven was looking from Uncle Vernon’s car to his own beat-up vehicle sadly. Neither of those things had been true, but they had put Aunt Petunia in a good enough mood to sign the permission form.
So Harry totally knew how to make polite conversation when he needed to.
And Harry had always used his ‘please and thank you’s with the Dursleys. Only that, ‘please, can I have some food’ and ‘thank you for not throwing me back out onto the doorstep where you found me’ were hard to make sound polite when he was starving and stuffed into his cupboard.
But he was thankful for Professor Sprout giving up her seat for him, and so he would tell her so.
“The new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor will be on your other side,” Aunt Minerva continued. “So, be friendly and polite. I very much doubt that she’ll be your Professor in a year’s time, so you don’t need to be as formal as you must with the other Professors.”
“Wait, why won’t she -”
“Hurry now and sit down, I need to fetch the first years,” she dismissed.
Harry did as he was told, still puzzling over why Aunt Minnie was so sure that the new Professor would be gone already before his first year. Perhaps she had an arrangement with the Headmaster to only teach for a year?
“Hello there,” said the lady as he took his seat beside her.
She was very pretty, Harry thought. Her features looked striking, with her dark hair and light eyes and bright lipstick, the contrast was stark against her pale skin. She had a sort of ageless face, where Harry couldn’t have guessed whether she was twenty or fifty or anything in between. Her face looked young, but her eyes told a different story.
“Hi,” Harry said nervously. He’d never had a problem talking to strangers before, but there was something about her that was inherently intimidating, even with the smile on her face. Not to mention that he also had Aunt Minerva’s expectations worrying him.
“Are you to be my company this evening?” she asked charmingly. He nodded and gave what he was sure was an awkward-looking smile. “Well, I certainly lucked out, I was so afraid they were going to lump me next to the sour-puss over there,” she said with a nod towards Snape.
Harry felt his lips quirk up at the insult towards the man. “Well, if that’s who I’m up against, then I’ll definitely be better company,” he promised. “But, y’know, you could probably say that about Peeves too, so that’s not saying much.”
She laughed lightly and Harry felt himself relax further. “I’m Nimueh,” she introduced.
“Harry.” And he was rather pleased when her eyes didn’t immediately dart up towards his forehead.
The first years all came through after that, halting their conversation, and Harry was surprised to realise that he must have completely missed the entrance of his brother with all of the older students. His eyes quickly scanned over the Hufflepuff table, and sure enough, there Merlin sat, in between Freya and Gwaine. He waited for his brother’s eyes to dart over to him, not paying attention to the sorting now that the hat had stopped singing, and gave him a small wave.
He saw Nimueh’s eyes follow the movement, and watched her interest peak as she saw Merlin return the gesture.
“So, you’re friends with Mister Emrys then,” she commented once all of the first years had been sorted and they had begun their meal.
“Sort of,” Harry told her. “He’s my brother,” he said with conviction, knowing how several people had dismissed him saying as much since they didn’t share any blood relation.
“How curious,” she remarked, though she did not say what exactly was so curious about the situation. “So, tell me about his magic.”
It was not a request, despite the casual tone.
“I’m sorry?”
She smiled, looking at him as if he had done or said something endearing but foolish. “I have a mastery in the Magic of The Old Religion,” she explained, not quite condescendingly. “I believe your brother was one of the main reasons for my appointment as a professor here. I thought I would get a headstart on helping learn to control his magic by getting an outside point-of-view from someone close to him. I’m assuming you’ve seen his unique abilities in action?”
Harry thought about the disastrous event this summer. He thought about Merlin shaking Hogwarts itself to the core. He thought about his brother losing control and landing himself and others in the hospital wing. That was not the sort of impression that he wanted to give someone who was meant to be helping his brother.
“It’s . . . impressive,” he said cautiously. “I know he’s overpowered the professors a few times, so I’m not sure your magic is going to be able to help him.”
No, of course not,” she snorted. “My magic isn’t what’s going to make me useful to him. I’m quite certain that he’s already far more powerful than anything I can achieve with my wand. No,” she shook her head, “It’s my expertise that’s going to help him. I’m simply here to . . . guide him.”
“Me?” Merlin asked, bewildered. “What on earth could she want with me?”
Notes:
Hmm, I wonder . . . what a mystery.
Chapter 9: Wait. Why do you hate her?
Notes:
Work got cray so I missed an update, whoops. I work in retail and we're coming up to christmas which means that my work is getting kind of hectic, which means that my chapter goal of two a month might be a little unrealisc for this month. I dunno, we'll see.
Anyway, despite how long it took me to get it out I do really like this chapter, even though it's no where near as emotional as what my favourite chapters to write are usually like. So enjoy a not-soul-crushing chapter.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Welcome. My name is Nimueh Le Fay, but seeing as we already have a Miss Le Fay here, you can all address me as Professor Nimueh.”
A few of the other students cast curious looks towards their table and Mithian felt Morgana tense beside her. Her friend had denied having any knowledge of their new Professor, but Mithian had seen Arthur Pendragon pull her away from breakfast to talk to her the morning after the sorting feast, and the siblings had both been irritatingly tight-lipped ever since. Mithian knew that Merlin had been trying and failing to get Arthur to open up to him, and she had been fairing similarly with Morgana. Perhaps Professor Nimueh would be more forthcoming.
“Now, I’m only your second Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, which is good. It means you’ll have less terrible habits that need breaking than the upper years do, which is an irritating consequence of the circus of questionably qualified professors who have filled this teaching position before me,” she sighed. “It also means that you already have a year’s worth of experience in the magical world, so I don’t have to worry about any muggle-borns being in over their heads.”
The final sentence sent a few of the students casting wary looks towards each other. They generally didn’t have to worry about their professors when it came to blood-purity (though professor Snape would usually turn a blind eye if he ever heard that kind of bullying), but the casual dismissal of muggle-borns wasn’t a good sign.
“I’ll only be your Professor for one year, which means not only is it my job to educate you on your second-year curriculum, but also to give you the tools and knowledge you need to survive the next five Professors after me. Ask the upper years, they will all tell you that they’ve had a different professor in this subject for every year that they’ve been here. And none of us have any way of knowing how capable those people will be, so I will be here to teach you how to self-study, how to practice safely when unsupervised, and how to verify whether what your Professor is teaching you is actually useful or accurate knowledge.”
That . . . was actually kind of a relief. Mithian had heard the bets going around the common room this week on how this year’s Defence teacher would turn out. There were bets on everything from her Hogwarts house to whether or not she would survive the year intact. It was, Mithian had learnt, a yearly tradition to make bets on the new Defence Professor after the first impression from the sorting feast, and before anyone had had any of her classes. First years were always excluded, given that it was always their first night at Hogwarts, so this was the first Mithian had ever heard of it. But it was useful to hear about the never-ending roundabout of teachers that they’d had.
So, with that in mind, hearing that Professor Nimueh intended to help them navigate not only this year, but their future years at Hogwarts also, was an undoubtedly good sign. It sounded like it would require a lot more work, what with the self-study and additionally researching whatever their professors would be telling them, but it did sound like something that would be good to learn. And with the class mix of Slytherin and Ravenclaw, she wasn’t going to get any complaints when it came to gathering knowledge.
“But all of that is for later,” she assured them. “For now, I want everyone to take their wands and hold them as you would if you were preparing to cast a defensive spell, as if you’re preparing for a duel. While I’m sure a basic grip would have been corrected by your Transfiguration or Charms Professors, Defense is rather different. You need to be ready for your opponent to attempt to disarm you, and to be ready to cast multiple spells back to back, moving swiftly from one to the other. Your grip needs to be firm, but a loose enough hold to allow fluidity of movement.”
She moved around the room then, observing them and offering up small corrections and adjustments that needed to be made. “Okay, not bad. You need to move your thumb a little lower. Loosen your grip a little. Don’t hold your wrist so rigidly.”
Most of the advice went towards the ravenclaw side of the classroom. The simple fact of the matter was that many Slytherins came from pure-blood families, herself included, and that meant that most children were given practice wands as young as five years old. They were taught some basic wand movements and how to hold the things correctly from such a young age that it was practically muscle memory at this point.
“All in all, not too bad. Your last Professor was an ex-auror, so I didn’t expect any of you to need too many corrections. Now I expect you all to remember it; this is the best grip to hold your wand with when duelling or casting defensive magic. Remember it in the years to come.
“This year your education will focus on the basics of self-defence. Learning how to disarm or incapacitate your opponent using simple spells. Unless you decide to go into a very specialised field, such as Auror training, magizoology, curse breaking, or competitive duelling, any real-life dangers you face will most-probably be able to be dealt with using basic charms or hexes. Most witches and wizards are not attacked regularly, nor do they have to deal with life-threatening situations. Being able to disarm your opponent, immobilise them, or stun them will generally be enough to get you out of a sticky situation safely.
“However, the most important defensive spell you can learn is the shield charm, protego. And so that is what we are starting with today.”
Confusion crossed over almost every face in the room. Protego was not in their text book for this year (yes, Mithian liked to read through all of her textbooks during the last few weeks of summer, there was nothing wrong with being prepared. And from the sounds of confusion spreading through the room, she was not the only one).
A Ravenclaw boy raised his hand. “Excuse me, Professor, but isn’t that a fifth-year spell?”
More mutterings broke out at that. Sure, Mithian had known that it was above their grade level, but a fifth-year spell for second-years ? It would be impossible.
She looked to her side to exchange a commiserating look with Morgana - there would be no chance at anyone winning house points this lesson when no one would be able to actually do the spell - but instead her friend’s focus was solely on Professor Nimueh. She was staring at her like she was a puzzle that she was trying to figure out. Like she was trying to spot where the trick was, where was the clue that would make everything make sense?
Mithian didn’t get it.
“Yes, it is a fifth-year spell,” Professor Nimueh responded, as if the fact hardly mattered. “But don’t worry, it won’t be on any of your exams, you won’t be graded for it, and you aren’t going to fail anything if you can’t accomplish the spell. In all honesty, I expect that less than a third of you will have managed it by the end of the year.”
“Then why teach it at all?” Morgana asked, without raising her hand, earning herself a few glares from their fellow Slytherins.
Not that she had to do much to earn such a thing. Morgana had already been ostracised by most of the house after word got around about exactly who her guardian was. And then after the disaster this summer and Snape’s announcement in the common room that ‘alternative potions classes were available’ - with his tone saying that by ‘alternative’ he meant ‘worse’, and his eyes saying that anyone in this house who signed up for it would be signing a deathwarrent, of course Morgana had practically skipped over to write her name down on the sign-up sheet - Morgana hadn’t been earning herself many new friends. This much was clear to even the first-years, who determinedly stayed clear of her.
Of course, Mithian caught some of the backlash. She was officially labelled as a blood-traitor now, and had her own slew of harsh words thrown in her direction inside the comfort of the common-room. But other than that, she was mostly left alone. Even if she was by Morgana’s side, none of her housemates dared say a harsh word towards her outside of the dungeons. The house had to appear united, after all (to all but ‘mudbloods’ that is).
“No, it’s a good question,” the Professor defended, misinterpreting the glares sent in Morgana’s direction. But the response only seemed to make her friend bristle further towards Professor Nimueh.
“I’m teaching you the spell because you need to know it. I don’t know who your professor will be once you're in your fifth year, and I don’t know if they will teach you adequately. But protego can protect you from most jinxes and curses, making it an important spell to learn. Not just for school, but for life.” She paused then, her gaze travelling over the room, clearly weighing her next words carefully. “Less than ten years ago we were in the middle of a civil war.”
The atmosphere in the room shifted immediately. There was barely a single person in the room who hadn’t lost a family member to one side of the war or another. Only the muggleborns were spared such a thing. And to them, Mithian had no doubt that a real mention of the war was fascinating in some kind of grotesque way. They had all heard about it briefly when Harry Potter arrived at Hogwarts, after all The Boy Who Lived was the only reason all of their lives weren’t still at risk, but this sounded like it would be a much different conversation to the sort of gossip that had spread with Harry’s arrival in the school.
“We were in a civil war,” she emphasised. “We weren’t fighting another country. We weren’t even fighting muggles. We were fighting each other. Wizard against wizard. And I imagine that a great deal more people would be alive today if they had known this spell. It can’t stop a killing curse. But it can stop the kind of curse that would immobilise you, or knock you unconscious or injure you. It could leave you still capable of dodging the killing curse.
“Less than ten years ago we were in a civil war. Forty-five years ago Grindelwald was still at large. We know that witches and wizards can live into their hundreds, easily, so how likely do you think that makes it for there to be some sort of conflict in your lifetimes?” They all shifted uncomfortably at the thought. “I would rather like for all of my students to outlive me, if at all possible.”
Mithian digested the Professor’s words silently. It was a rather horrifying thought.
There had been two great wizarding conflicts in the last fifty years, did that mean that they were likely to encounter four of their own in their lifetimes? It made the idea that they would at one point be involved in at least one war almost inevitable. She knew that the muggles had had two ‘world wars’ of their own in the last seventy-five years. She supposed that meant that people were just inherently power-hungry or violent? Muggles and wizards truly were not so different.
It wasn’t a calming thought. But it did make Mithian far more determined to ensure that she had this spell mastered by the end of the year.
“So, protego. Now the wand movement -”
“- is incredibly simple, just a direct slash downward. You want to make sure that it’s a vertical movement, no diagonal lines, understand? Now, I know when casting something like a shield charm, you would instinctively want to angle the protection to the centre of your body, in order to get the most coverage of the shield. However, if you do that for me now - yes exactly - you’ll notice that your arm is at an angle. Your arm being at an angle like that makes it much more likely for your wand movement to arc or curve accidentally, thus rendering the spell less likely to work.”
Merlin didn’t know why Arthur was spending the entire class glaring at their new Defence Professor. She was good .
“So, I want you to all arm yourselves, remember to use the grip I showed you for defensive casting, and slash downwards holding your arms out straight. Don’t worry, if you do the spell successfully then the shield is large enough to cover all of you even without directing to the centre of your bodies.”
They all followed suit, grabbing their wands and practising the movement as Professor Nimueh directed. While most did so with a determined frown on their face, Arthur’s really looked like more of a scowl.
Merlin elbowed him in the ribs. “If you’re going to be a prat, at least be subtle about it,” he muttered. If required to, then Merlin would absolutely stand by his friend and hate this woman for no reason. But couldn’t they at least do so a little less obviously?
Of course, Arthur’s natural response to criticism was to turn his glare on Merlin instead. He supposed that worked too. If Professor Nimueh just assumed that Arthur was an arse who glared at everyone, then she wouldn’t think anything of him glaring at her too.
And since Merlin was clearly the far more mature one between the two of them, he stuck his tongue out at him.
“Boys, if you would both pay attention,” Professor Nimueh chastened lightly.
Merlin felt heat flood his face at the reprimand, and knew that his ears had probably gone pink from embarrassment. He was never called out in class like that. All of his professors liked him. Before this summer, even Professor Snape had seemed at the very least apathetic to his existence, seeing as Merlin was both good at potions and quiet in class.
A couple of their classmates snickered, including Gwaine - the traitor - but Arthur just turned his glare straight back towards their new Professor. Only this time, it was twice as venomous.
Merlin sighed. He didn’t get it. It wasn’t like she had given them detention for not paying attention. She hadn’t even taken off house points. So why was Arthur acting so pissy?
“Sorry, Professor,” he said on behalf of both of them, hoping his apology would make up for how blatantly disrespectful Arthur was acting. Luckily, she just seemed vaguely amused by the whole thing.
“Alright class,” she said, moving on, “ Now we’re going to try it with the spell. So repeat after me: protego . Good. So, make sure you all keep the wand movement we just practised in mind, and one, two, three, all together now: protego! ”
With her previous warning that most of them wouldn’t even manage to cast the spell by the end of the year, Merlin was expecting Professor Nimueh to be the only one with a shimmering wall in front of her, ready to block any and all spells. But she wasn’t .
Because in front of him was his own translucent, bluish-white shield, through which he could see the surprised faces of his classmates. It wasn’t too unusual for Merlin to manage a new spell on his first try, but this was a fifth-year spell. His own shock was enough to cut his concentration and he watched his shield flicker away.
“I see that you live up to the expectations, Mister Emrys,” Professor Nimueh said, sounding almost smug, though Merlin couldn’t begin to guess why. Either way, her tone was enough for Arthur to shoot an accusatory look in her direction. “Twenty points to Hufflepuff.”
“I thought you said that we weren’t going to be graded on this spell,” a Gryffindor girl - Alicia maybe? - reminded the professor, shooting Merlin a scornful look. “You said it might not even be possible for some of us to achieve it this year. How is it fair to award points for something out of our control?”
Some of the other students muttered in agreement and Merlin felt himself sink into his chair, his sense of achievement quickly waning. He didn’t ask for house points. Surely it was Professor Nimueh they were upset with, right? All Merlin had done was try to cast the spell along with the rest of the class.
“Just because you’re pants at DADA doesn’t mean the rest of us won’t have the chance to earn points,” Arthur said in his defence, his hand reaching out to squeeze Merlin’s under the table. “I know you won’t be earning Gryffindor any points, but the rest of us still can. So maybe try shutting your mouth? Or, better yet? Start practising your spellwork.”
“You know what, Pendragon -”
“That’s enough!” Professor Nimueh called loudly, staring down at both Arthur and his shouting partner. The other girl looked cowed under their new Professor’s admonishment, but Arthur simply stared right back defiantly. Merlin squeezed his friend’s hand in warning - you don’t stare back at adults when they’re looking at you like that, it’s dangerous.
“Right,” she began, her voice colder than it had been all through her enthusiastic explanations of their school year and the spell. “I want you all to pair up and practice trying to cast the charm while your partner casts a weak stinging hex. Just a sting hex,” she warned. “Mister Pendragon, I believe it will be very cathartic for you and Miss Spinnet to work together today -”
“But -”
“ - and Mister Emrys will come with me.”
Merlin knew that after today’s class Arthur would be filled with nothing but hatred for Professor Nimueh. And as a loyal friend, Merlin would have promised to hate her just as much (though much more quietly), but now he felt his own fair share of wariness towards her rise.
Harry had told him - warned him - that the new Professor had taken an interest in him and his magic, but it was another thing for her to pull him aside on his own during classes. He sort of understood. He had already done what the rest of the class would be working on for the rest of the lesson, but he still didn’t like the idea of being called out and separated from his friends.
The rest of the class shuffled around, pairing up, oblivious to his inner turmoil. Arthur slumped towards Alicia Spinnet, Gwaine rushed over to Freya, Leon and Gwen shared a smile, and the Weasley twins didn’t even exchange a look and just started hexing each other without even attempting to shield. It was enough of a sight for his lips to quirk up into a small smile before he felt like he had to walk into a trap.
The professor sat behind her desk, which was positioned off to the side in one corner of the room, leaving plenty of space for, not only the student desks, but also free room to practice. There was a single chair on the other side of it, which he slid into after she gestured at him to do so.
He let the sounds of the other students laughing and yelping as all of the stinging hexes hit their mark wash over him. He was okay. He wasn’t really alone with her. His friends were just a few metres away. There was nothing for him to worry about.
“Erm, what did you want to speak to me about, Professor?” he asked cautiously, after a long pause. She seemed to be perfectly content to study him quietly, but her silence was starting to get to him. There was just something about the way her eyes watched him. Almost like a predator watching its prey. And yet, he didn’t feel threatened the way he always had when Cenred had stared at him with the eyes of a monster.
“Your magic is very advanced,” she told him. She stated it as a fact. There was no gushing like Professor Flitwick seemed inclined to. It wasn’t the well-earned praise he might get from Professor McGonagall. Nor was it the proud compliments he might be given from Professor Sprout. Just a fact.
“Even outside of your connection to the Old Religion, you could easily be considered a prodigy. I imagine, with a year of accelerated teaching, you would be capable of passing your OWLs with all O’s in the core subjects,” she informed him. Merlin wasn’t too sure of that. Sure, he had come top of his year last year. And Maybe he tended to succeed in learning new spells or grasping new theory concepts on his first try. But he had seen how stressed fifth-years got for OWLs, and there was no way Merlin could handle that sort of thing now.
“Of course, that’s not what I’m recommending,” she assured him. “No,” she smiled, “Not when you have an entire branch of magic at your fingertips that you could be spending your time learning instead.”
“Harry told me that you’ve studied the Old Religion,” Merlin prompted, following her lead.
“Yes. All theoretical, of course. At least, that was until Headmaster Dumbledore told me all about you .”
“So . . you can teach me?” he asked.
“Technically, it would be more like self-study. I can’t demonstrate the spells, and they’re supposed to be performed wandlessly so there’s nothing for me to really correct anyway. But what I do have is a grimoire. A large part of my mastery was finding as many spells from the time of the Old Religion as I could, and making sure to verify them as actual spells, not just a scholar’s theorisation.”
“There are spells?!” he exclaimed. He could barely believe it. This whole time he had been practicing his magic with intent alone. He couldn’t imagine having to learn all of his spells for school without any actual words to learn. It made him wonder how much easier learning to control his other magic would be now that he had access to a real book.
Professor Nimueh laughed when he repeated as much to her. “It’s very impressive how much you’ve managed to accomplish on your own. But you don’t need to do that anymore, you have me now. Even after my year of teaching here is over, I want you to know you can rely on me for help with your magic.”
“But . . . why would you do that?” he asked, surprised. “I mean, I get you helping me while you're at Hogwarts, you’re here to be a teacher. But why bother after you’re done?”
“Merlin, I’ve dedicated my whole life to the Old Religion,” she explained. “I was fascinated by it ever since I was a child. I’ve spent decades searching through the most obscure sources for even a glimmer of the truth. The sort of power that sorcerers used to wield . . . I wanted to understand how our people could have lost that. And you , being able to do what you do, you’re the key I’ve been waiting for.”
He couldn’t imagine dedicating his whole life to study something like that, only to hear that some random child was capable of doing what you had wanted to do since you were a child, all without even learning to. He didn’t understand how she wouldn’t resent him? She had devoted her entire life to try and learn more about what he used to make his cat float.
He definitely wouldn’t be sharing that anecdote with her.
“Now, seeing as we are still in class, I want you to repeat after me: scildan!”
“ Scildan, ” he repeated, putting his worries aside. He had been expecting his mouth to trip over the foreign word - it sounded nothing like the latin-based spells that he usually used. But instead he just felt a sense of rightness . As if this was the language that he was born to speak. There was no power in the spell, no magic in it, but it still felt good . “What does it mean?” he asked belatedly, only then realising that he had been trying to cast a spell without putting any actual thought into it.
“Have you not been paying attention to today's lesson?” she asked with a playful smirk. “It’s a shield spell, Emrys.”
Right. That made sense. “ Scildan, ” he tried again, this time picturing the same shield from before in front of him. He made sure to visualise the glowy blue light that had protected him earlier, his wand feeling useless as he held it limply in his right hand. “It’s not working,” he admitted, missing the feeling of the rush of magic welling up inside him. He was so sure that it would be made easier with a spell.
“Relax,” Professor Nimueh told him. “And put your wand away, it’s useless for this. Alright, now stand up, who tries to defend themselves from a chair? Act like you mean it ,” she instructed him.
He did as she asked, tucking his wand away into his pocket as he got to his feet. “ Scildan, ” he said, this time raising his right hand, as though physically trying to shield himself from something. But it still wasn’t working.
It was then that he noticed the muttering of his classmates, the sound of the foreign spell and their new Professor’s personal guidance was obviously drawing their attention. Arthur looked curious - though still very suspicious - and Gwaine was giving him the least subtle thumbs-up he had ever seen. He allowed the sight to bolster him slightly. His friends believed he could do this.
Determined, he turned back towards Professor Nimueh, ready to try again, but instead saw a burst of colour headed towards him. It wasn’t the harmless orange of the stinging hexes that his classmates had been practising a few minutes earlier, but a dark, threatening purple headed straight towards him.
His wand was in his pocket, not that that mattered, because his instinct was not to go for his wand. His first instinct was to speak the word that had felt so right to him just moments ago. Even before he said it, he could feel his magic rising in defence of him. It just waiting for him to direct it.
“ Scildan!” he cried, his hand raised reflexively to deflect the unknown spell away from him. A shimmering gold covered his field of vision, and he wondered if the gold of his eyes was actually affecting his sight for once.
It was only when the gold sheen flickered away a moment later to reveal a proud and smug-looking Professor Nimueh staring back at him, her wand still pointed towards him, that he realised exactly what he’d done. He’d blocked her spell. He’d really done it.
“Well done,” she said plainly, sounding as if she had simply been waiting for him to catch up and see all that he was capable of, as if she had known all along that he could do it.
It took a moment for his classmates to snap out of their shocked silence, but a great big “Whoop!” from Gwaine was enough to set them off chattering excitedly. While the scope of Merlin’s odd magic had become a bit of an open secret throughout the school (you cause an earthquake one time ), he could understand that it was another matter entirely for them to see a second-year performing wandless magic right in front of them.
“I would award points, but it seems rather unfair to do so for something that no other student is capable of achieving,” Professor Nimueh said with a wink towards Alicia. The girl flushed red, but seemed pleased nonetheless.
“Right, class. I would definitely say that that has been a successful first lesson. Of course, next time we will have to move on to the actual syllabus for the year, but that doesn’t mean that you can get out of practising the shield charm. I will be firing stinging hexes at random throughout the year and awarding house points to anyone who manages to block them, so no slacking.”
A few people grumbled at that, but most seemed generally excited at being given a chance to perform the charm and the opportunity to earn points for their respective houses. Merlin was mostly just relieved that the attention seemed to finally be off him. As proud as he was that he had managed to get the spell to work, it was the sort of thing that he wanted to celebrate without an audience.
“We’re about five minutes short, but I doubt I could get any of you to focus back on your work, so I’ll let you all leave for lunch a little early.” That definitely got her the favour of most of the class.
“Ah, Miss Bastet, could you stay behind for a moment please?”
Freya nodded, looking as though she had been expecting it. “Yes, Professor,” she said calmly.
She waved Gwaine off, who didn’t hesitate to tackle Merlin into a hug once he had the assurance that he needn’t wait around. “That was amazing, Em!” he laughed, dragging him out of the classroom.
And with one last suspicion-filled look over his shoulder, Arthur followed behind them.
“Come on, out with it!”
“I am fine .”
“No, I know that, you’ve already said that. What I’m saying is that I don’t believe you.”
“Merlin -” he said warningly.
“I’m just saying that if you needed to talk about anything then I’m here for you.” His smile was infuriating . “Not that you do have anything to get off your chest. But, y’know, with the way you were glaring at Professor Nimueh all through Defence, if you did then I’m -”
“Merlin!” he barked. “I am fine . I have nothing I need to talk about. I have nothing I want to get off my chest. And I do not need your shoulder to cry on!”
“Okay . . .” he said, looking slightly chastened. “But, I never actually said anything about my shoulder. Do you need my shoulder to cry on?”
“No! I literally just said that I did not need that!”
Arthur loved his friend. He really did. Arthur was, in fact, incredibly proud of his friend. But that did not mean that he wanted to talk about his feelings . And if Merlin kept on trying to make him then Arthur was going to throttle him. Or whoever it was that got the idea into his head that Arthur was upset about something.
Which was technically Arthur. Which meant that he might have to throttle himself . . . ?
Okay so maybe a different idea.
So what if Arthur was a little tense over the new Defence professor? Morgana was dealing with that, and Arthur trusted his sister. She had promised him that she would tell him what she could when she could, which meant that Arthur had no reason to continue thinking about the matter until she got back to him. Innocently glaring at his new Professor was just his own special way of not thinking about it .
So if Merlin would just let him forget it, then Arthur could actually relax and try and enjoy spending time with his friend. His friend who had just done - not one, but two - pieces of ridiculously impressive magic, which is what they should be talking about right now.
“Sorry,” Merlin said genuinely after a despondent sigh. With any luck he was finally letting this go.
“It doesn’t matter,” Arthur assured him quickly. He hated that sad, guilty look on Merlin’s face far more than he had hated his incessant questions.
“It’s just . . . you’ve helped me before, you know, when I was freaking out about things, or when my magic was kind of crazy?” Arthur nodded. “I just want to be able to help you too,” he explained. “You’ve been there for me so many times - and not just when I’m freaking out - I mean your entire family helped Harry and I when we needed it this summer. And . . . you cheer me up. Like, I know I froze you out after - you know - but still I got all of your letters and drawings. And they made things better. You made things better. You helped. And I . . . I don’t know. I wanted to be that for you. I’m not sure why you’re friends with me sometimes. I’m not kind like Gwen, or smart like Lance, or funny like Gwaine, or -”
“Don’t be stupid!” Arthur told him angrily. “You’re kind, and smart, and funny! And even if you weren’t - which you are - I would still be your bloody friend!”
Okay maybe yelling at the person you’re trying to convince of that isn’t a smart decision.
But Arthur was a Gryffindor. He didn’t need to be smart, just reckless and brave. Either way, his aggressive statement that valued Merlin friendship was enough to get a giggle out of him, so Arthur didn’t feel like too much of an idiot for it.
“I’m serious,” Arthur told him, with a smile on his face. “You’re my best friend .”
Notes:
Also remember when I said I might write an AU of what could have happened if they had a happy summer. Yeah, I don't know why I said that. I am not capable of writing two things at once. I am barely capable of writing this one thing at once.
Most of you probs don't care either way, but I'm just putting it out there in case anyone was waiting on it.
Chapter 10: An Overdue Conversation
Notes:
Okay so this chapter is a big info drop. Pay attention to all of it!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“You asked to see me, Professor?” she asked as the last of her classmates filtered out of the room.
“You can just call me Nimueh when we’re alone, child.” The address made her stiffen. It was condescending, and not to mention overly-familiar. Morgana did not appreciate being spoken to like that. “No need to be so formal ,” the Defence Professor added with a smile, as if her reaction had amused her.
“I don’t think that’s appropriate, Professor ,” she replied, stressing the final word to make her point.
“Come now, Morgana,” Professor Nimueh goaded, “We’re family after all.”
“ Family?” she asked sharply. Why was this the first she was hearing of this? Of course the thought had occurred to her but -
“Morgana Le Fay, Nimueh Le Fay . . . well surely you aren’t that stupid, child.”
But , “I thought it was a coincidence,” she told her. “Or just some connection because of our shared -” Nope. She cut her sentence off quickly, her mind spinning with a way to innocuously end her sentence that wasn’t a dead give away for how much she knew.
She didn't know anything about who Nimueh was - past or present. She couldn’t afford to reveal so much about herself and what she remembered without any assurances from the woman.
“Oh, because of our shared history, you mean?” Nimueh asked, interrupting her thoughts, sounding far too casual about the whole situation.
Morgana could not keep the shock out of her expression. She had spent the last few months exhausting herself by keeping everything inside. Other than a few vague remarks to Arthur that he wouldn’t be able to decipher until he regained his own memories, she had suffered silently and entirely on her own. She had been dealing with her guilt and her fears and her nightmares without anyone to turn to.
So you would have to forgive her for not being able to control her expression as a stranger talked about their ‘shared history’ so cavalierly. Especially when Morgana had no idea exactly what history they shared.
“Oh, don’t pull that face, you were so obvious about it,” Nimueh said with a roll of her eyes. “Though I am wondering whether the little Pendragon remembers. He was so feisty in his lesson, but the poor boy seemed more confused than afraid.” Her voice was almost pitying, to the point where it sounded more like mocking.
Morgana tensed. “Don’t you so much as think of hurting Arthur, or I’ll -”
“You’ll what, you silly child?” Nimueh asked, cutting her off. Though she did not give Morgana the time to scramble for a response. “You have no more of a connection to the Old Religion than I do right now, which means all you have is the ordinary magic of a twelve year old girl.” She smirked. “Not very threatening, is it?”
Morgana grit her teeth at the insinuation that she was powerless. She had never been powerless. “I almost had Uther assassinated before I ever realised I had magic,” she warned. “ Do not underestimate me.”
The woman asked, looking almost giddy with facinaction. “Really?” She grinned. “Then why ever didn’t you go through with it?”
Morgana had no suitable answer to this question. She remembered sitting with Uther at her father’s grave, listening to him apologise for Tom’s death, and truly believing that he was sorry. She had felt so loved at that moment. So understood. As though the man who had raised her was finally listening to her, trusting her.
And she had been a fool.
“Oh,” Nimueh remarked, her voice sounding truly sympathetic this time as though she had been struck with a realisation that saddened her. “You really are a silly child.” She sighed as if the knowledge personally disappointed her. “You loved him.”
“I made sure he died in the end,” Morgana said quickly. Defensively . She raised her head high. “I did what needed to be done.”
“But it hurt you to kill him, didn’t it? To know he died because of you?” She was asking, even though Morgana knew she already had the answer to her questions. “Even after you knew who you really were? Even when you knew he’d rather see you dead than see you for who you really are?”
The bafflement in her voice made the need to defend herself rise in Morgana. She knew it was complicated, her relationship with Uther. It always had been. In her final years she had hated him as much as she loved him. Missed him as much as she relished in his demise. And she had hated herself for it.
“He’s not like that now,” Morgana told her, possessed with a foreign desperation to make her understand . “He knows I have magic,” she insisted. “He loves me.”
“And if he remembered?” she asked.
Morgana said nothing.
“Do you think he would still love you, even then?”
Morgana thought of the countless hours she had spent torturing herself with the same question. What would he do? Would he care? Would he hate her? Would he declare war on magic once more?
“I don’t . . .” know .
She didn’t know. She didn’t even know if she wanted to know. Was it not easier to live in ignorance? She could simply go about her life, knowing that she was loved for who she was.
. . . and live with the everlasting fear that it wasn’t real .
“I changed ,” she defended. “When I remembered everything I had done, with hindsight and clarity , without the constant fear for my life clouding my judgement, I changed . I realised how horrible so much of it was.” She took a deep breath. “And now I’m trying to fix it. I’m trying to mend things with Arthur. So he won’t hate me when he remembers what I’ve done, how many I’ve killed . . . I’m trying to be better. ”
Nimueh scoffed. “And you think Uther Pendragon would do the same?” She asked scornfully. “Has he ever? In this life or the last, has he ever admitted that he was wrong?”
Morgana understood what she was saying. Uther was a prideful man. Truly, how likely would it be that he would admit to his past wrongdoings? But he had before. “Once,” Morgana confided, her voice as prideful as her father’s. “It was why I stopped the assassination that day. He said that he was sorry , and that he was wrong , and that if given the choice he would choose differently this time.”
“And, let me guess,” Nimueh speculated. “He continued to do whatever it was that drove you to end his life in the first place?”
Morgana could not contain her flinch as countless executions flashed before her eyes. The deaths of so many innocents on his words, on his orders. She remembered after she ran away to the druids, fearing for her safety, that Merlin had come after her with news that the king had a list of everyone who had even so much as crossed paths with the druids . . . and that he was planning on executing them all if she wasn’t returned to Camelot.
Just as he had executed Tom for unknowingly working with a sorcerer.
He never even got a trial.
“He really wouldn’t, would he?” she asked, distraught. God, she was so stupid . “He wouldn’t change for me, he wouldn’t change for anyone , not even for Arthur.” It was stupid of her to ever think anything different could possibly happen.
“It’s okay, Morgana,” Nimueh said calmly. “You won’t ever have to find out.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, panic gripping her despite her recent realisation. “You can’t kill him! He hasn’t done anything! You can’t kill him for a life he doesn’t even remember?” she said desperately.
“I’m not going to kill him,” she dismissed, standing, moving out of the reclined position she had been in for their whole conversation so far. “You needn’t worry, child, it’s already been taken care of.”
“ What’s been taken care of?” she demanded. “And stop calling me ‘ child’ , you know better than anyone that I am a woman grown , and I expect you to treat me as such!”
“My, my, that royal attitude really does come out when you're angry, doesn’t it?” she mocked.
“Stop dodging the question. What have you done to my father?”
“Is he your father?” she needled. “I know he was the last time around - one of Uther’s many dirty little secrets I was privy to - but is he the same adulterous lech this time too?”
Morgana glared. She couldn’t stand this woman.
“Oh, you poor thing,” she mocked. “Do you not know who your daddy is?”
“Enough!” she shouted. “ Tell me what you did.”
“Fine,” she shrugged with a roll of her eyes. “I was just trying to get to know my niece a bit better, but if you must know, I erased his memories.”
“You mean . . .” she tried to comprehend, “that he remembered and you took it away ?”
“No,” she scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. His memories, just like everyone’s memories, are already there in his brain. Yours were too, before something triggered them out of your subconscious and into the front of your mind. All I did was go and remove what he wasn’t even aware of. Obliviate . It’s such a useful spell. You know, I don’t think we had anything quite so accurate back home. Sure, you could erase a man’s mind, manipulate them into your puppet, make them forget their own name even . . . but nothing quite so subtle as to erase specific memories. You could write an entire person out of someone’s memories and not have them notice a difference.”
“That’s sick,” she said, horrified. She couldn’t believe she was hearing this woman talk so casually about just erasing a person’s mind.
“Maybe,” Nimueh agreed. “But useful. And more importantly, it’s effective .”
Morgana shook her head. This was wrong. It was so wrong. What if the same had been decided for her? What if Merlin had remembered first, and had decided that Morgana was too much of a risk to let know who she really was? It would be horrible to go her whole life always missing a part of her.
No matter how traumatic it had been to remember all that she had done, it made her who she was. Nimueh had no right to take that from anyone .
“Now you get to keep your precious daddy who loves you for who you are - so sweet of him - and the monster he would become is gone, never to return,” she gloated.
Morgana stared at her in horror.
“You’re welcome ,” Nimueh said with a smile.
“Don’t act like you did this for me ,” Morgana hissed.
“I did this for us all ,” Nimueh corrected, her sickeningly-sweet smile falling from her face. Behind her mask was nothing but a grim determination and eyes filled with anger. “You think you know what Uther Pendragon was like because you saw him execute a few innocents?” she asked, voice low and dangerous. “You have no idea what he was capable of. What he did to us. You were just a child when the purge began.”
She laughed hollowly. “ Thousands of our people were slaughtered on his orders. Men and women were burned. Children were drowned. Pregnant women cut through like cattle . None of it mattered to him. If they had even a hint of magic in them then they didn’t deserve to live, not in his eyes. My sisters -!”
She cut herself off, the grief in her throat overwhelming her ability to speak.
Morgana could not help but pity her. She herself had lost much to Uther’s tirade, but Nimueh was right, she could not imagine having lived through the purge at its height. She had heard the stories when she fled to the druids. There had been families torn apart, children barely escaping with their lives, being forced to choose between survival and a futile attempt to save those that were precious to you.
Morgana didn’t know what it might have turned her into had she been forced to live through that .
“He tried to commit genocide against our people,” Nimueh told her, voice dismayed and full of hate. “And he succeeded . Why do you think that magic has reverted to this weakened state where we need wands to be able to perform the most simple of magics, and only the extraordinary can go without? We had to reinvent our entire spell system, because our weaker magic could not sustain the power that the Old Religion required from us. Uther wanted to kill magic , and he did .
“Now we survive in its sickness, hiding in the shadows, afraid to let muggles even know we exist ,” she spat. “If I had chosen to kill him he would have deserved it , memories or no memories. His crimes have lasted far more than his two pathetic lifetimes, his punishments should be the same.”
Morgana had no argument she could give. Truly, what could she possibly say in the face of all that their kind had lost to Uther Pendragon? That she loved him?
That would not atone for his crimes.
“So why didn’t you?” she asked. “Why did you spare him?”
Nimueh moved out from behind her desk. For a moment Morgana thought that she would simply exit the room and leave Morgana with a hundred unanswered questions. But instead she simply walked around the room until she stopped in front of a random table.
“Emrys,” she answered, her voice rough from all of the emotion that had just been poured out of it. She sounded empty now.
“ Him ?” Morgana asked incredulously. “Why would he care about what happens to Uther? And why do you care what he thinks?”
Nimueh sighed. “Do you really understand so little about what he is?”
He is my destiny and my doom , she wanted to say. But she wasn’t so self-centered to think that that was the answer that Nimueh was looking for.
The Professor - because that was the role Morgana saw her slipping back into - turned back around to face her, resting against the desk she had inexplicably decided to stop in front of. “There’s something in muggle science called the conservation of mass,” she explained. Morgana stared at her blankly. “What it essentially means is that matter cannot be created or destroyed, only changed.”
“What does that have to do with anything ?” she asked, not even questioning the science. Uther may have had her and Arthur continuing their muggle education, but she certainly hadn’t gotten to whatever that was.
“Think about the purge,” Professor Nimueh instructed, apparently deciding not to just answer the question . “ Thousands of sorcerers died. And not only regular sorcerers, but my sisters - High Priestesses - among them. What do you think happened to all of that magic?”
“It was destroyed,” Morgana said automatically, the hours upon hours of Uther’s lectures of his triumph over magic echoing through her head.
Nimueh stared at her as if she was an idiot. “Did you not listen to anything I just said?”
“Fine, it was lost then.” Morgana said, having no idea what the difference was. “That’s why our magic is weaker now, that's why we’re so powerless.”
“It is why we’re weaker,” Professor Nimueh agreed, “but the magic wasn’t lost. All of that magic - the magic of a thousand sorcerers - went to a single baby . . . The son of a Dragon Lord. A child of Prophecy. So much magic that he became magic itself. As long as that magic lives, there’s hope. It was Emrys’s destiny to unite Albion under the Once and Future King. And together they would return magic to the land.”
“Arthur,” she breathed in realisation. How had she underestimated him all this time? “Merlin spent all of his time protecting Arthur so they could bring back magic together.”
“Yes. And they failed,” Nimueh said bluntly.
“Because of me,” Morgana realised. “ I hardened Arthur’s heart to magic. He helped me save a druid boy, Mordred, before. He even knighted him. He was open to change. I should have seen it. I should have helped him.”
Nimueh shook her head. “That was their destiny, not yours.”
“You don’t understand,” she told her, shaking her head. How had she been so foolish ?
“When Uther was dying, a spy in Camelot told me that Arthur was seeking out a sorcerer to heal his father. That was the moment.” She knew without a doubt that that sorcerer would have been Merlin in his ridiculous old-man disguise. He would have made sure that Arthur could have seen magic for all it could be. “Arthur could have seen magic being used for good . He would have repealed the ban - he was regent, he had the power to do it - but I ruined it. I had Agravaine place an amulet around Uther’s neck. It would reverse any spell done on the wearer and increase it tenfold. My revenge ruined Merlin’s plan.”
Despite the fact that she had wanted it so badly, she was the reason that magic had remained outlawed in Camelot. She was the ruin of her own life’s goal.
Nimueh hummed.
“ What ?” Morgana snapped, nerves raw from her realisation.
“Well, I did wonder why you were brought back,” she mused casually. “As penance or as aid.”
“What do you mean ?” Morgana asked tiredly, sick of this woman talking her in circles, and yet not willing to leave and give up on the chance for more information.
“Arthur is the Once and Future King, so he was always meant to return. And Emrys quite literally means immortal, so Merlin was destined to be by his side when he did. But the rest of us? Friends and foes alike? What’s our purpose here?” she asked, once more sounding like she already knew the answer.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Morgana sighed. “Merlin isn’t immortal. He’s a child . He had parents. An uncle and aunt. He hasn’t just been living all this time.”
“No, he hasn’t,” she agreed. Then, “Do you know who his uncle is?”
“I can’t say that I cared to ask,” she said flatly, not even bothering to question where she was going with her questions this time.
“Well, I’ve been watching the Emrys family since my memories returned. When Balinor Emrys was born I wasn’t surprised, that meant that it was just one more generation until Merlin himself would be here. Only then a few years later . . . the birth of Cenred Emrys was announced,” she revealed smugly.
“ King Cenred or Escetir?” she asked, in shock. There was no way that Merlin was related to royalty. She didn’t care if he was the most powerful sorcerer to walk the earth, he was not royal.
“So it seems,” Nimueh confirmed. “I was, admittedly, confused. You see, the Dragon Lords had no familial ties to the throne of Escetir.” Morgana sighed in relief. “And I just could not understand why that worm had not only been gifted rebirth, but gifted a life so close to Emrys .” Morgana had several opinions on proximity to Merlin being considered any sort of gift except a gag-gift . “And then, of course, Balinor and Hunith Emrys were tragically killed blah blah blah, before they even had the chance to raise their son. So Merlin was passed over to the care of a bitter squib who happily took his envy over his extraordinary brother out on an innocent child.”
Morgana allowed herself to feel irked that her supposed ‘aunt’ had known what was happening to an ‘innocent child’ and done nothing to help the situation. “What does this have to do with anything?” she sighed.
“Cenred’s purpose in this life finally made sense,” she explained. “It was a punishment . Not his own, of course. That man barely left a scratch on history - any mark he left was as a tool in the hand of another. And so that is what he became once more: a tool . Destiny’s tool. His sole purpose was to punish Emrys .”
Well, after all Merlin had done to her, Morgana couldn’t say that she was totally against the idea of him being punished. But she’d much rather him be aware of all he had done to ruin her life than be an unknowing child simply forced to suffer.
“He’s being punished for failing his destiny?” she asked, since surely the Triple Goddess did not care enough for Morgana’s suffering to punish her chosen child.
“In a way. But not in the way you’re thinking.”
No, of course not , she thought with a roll of her eyes, glaring at Nimueh when she noticed.
“ Emrys, ” she said pointedly. “ Immortal . He was supposed to wait for the Once and Future King.” She snorted, “ One day my prince will come .”
Morgana could not even find it within herself to react to a Disney reference from this woman. She was so used to wizards simply not acknowledging the muggle world, that hearing Nimueh talk about science and cartoon princesses was completely absurd. And she no longer had the energy to deal with it.
“But he didn’t,” Nimueh carried on, uncaring of Morgana’s bafflement. “You hear so many stories of great wizards trying to cheat death, well this one tried to cheat life . I suppose he didn’t want to wait a millennium all by himself. So instead he found a way to guarantee his rebirth at the same time as his king’s. Even tried to let himself have a family, parents. But here’s the funny thing about Balinor and Hunith Emrys . . . they’re not Balinor and Hunith. Not the original ones, at least.
“Your mother and father - well, who we’re assuming is your father for now - they aren’t the same as your first parents, because destiny doesn’t deem them necessary . Balinor and Hunith are not supposed to be necessary because Merlin was never supposed to be reborn as a child. And so he was punished. Cenred was made necessary by Merlin’s actions. Because he tried to cheat . He didn’t want to suffer fifteen-hundred years of solitude, so instead he was made to suffer a childhood of abuse and neglect.”
“You’re saying he deserved it?!” she asked furiously.
“I’m saying destiny demanded it,” Nimueh corrected, though she didn’t look like she disagreed too much with Morgana’s question.
Perhaps she wasn’t the only one with a grudge?
“It’s not right,” she said.
Nimueh sighed tiredly, as if she was the frustrated one in this conversation. “Destiny is a cruel mistress. We both know that, Morgana.”
“So that’s what you meant by purpose ? We were all brought back because we had some sort of effect on history, on Merlin’s choices, to either help or hinder him.”
“Yes, but, once again, not quite.” Morgana was getting so sick of this whole discussion. She just wanted to sleep and be done with Nimueh. “You’re still attributing our presence now to our decisions then . Which may be the case for some , but not all of us. Think of Princess Elena, do you truly believe that she made some great mark on the world? I mean, she was a sweet girl, but not much more. But here and now? A young woman, from a well-received background, with a lifetime’s memories of politics and ruling a country . . . that makes quite the ally for Emrys.”
“ Aid or penance ,” Morgana mused. She supposed it all made some sort of bastardised sense. “So what am I here for? Am I here to help him or am I here as punishment? And if so, who's? My punishment or his?”
“That’s the question.”
Morgana rolled her eyes at the non-answer. “Which are you?” she questioned. Because somehow she still couldn’t tell if she was dealing with someone who wanted to help Merlin or hurt him.
“I believe the answer to that question will depend on Emrys,” she replied cryptically.
“That’s not an answer,” Morgana protested.
“I believe it is,” she said with finality.
“ Fine ,” Morgana conceded through gritted teeth. “Then do you mean to harm him?”
“Do you care ?” she dodged.
“Stop answering my questions with questions ,” she said frustratedly.
“I’m being serious,” she insisted. “ Do you care ? In your little crusade to win back your beloved brother and redeem yourself for your past mistakes, where does Emrys fit in? He will always remain by Arthur’s side. The only way you’d be getting rid of him would be to kill him. And, of course, you couldn’t do that now; you’re trying to prove that you’ve changed . But if someone else was to do it? If he was simply removed from the equation . . . ? Would you care?”
Would she care? Morgana wasn’t sure of the answer.
Merlin had done so much to hurt her. He had been the first person she trusted with the secret of her magic and he had betrayed her. Not only by poisoning her, but by never telling her about his own magic in return. If she had known from the start then she could have helped him with Arthur. She had still loved them all so very much before he went and tried to kill her. Because if she couldn’t trust Merlin - someone she knew had never hated magic - not to turn on her, then how could she have ever trusted Arthur when he was still just Uther’s puppet?
But did that mean he deserved to die?
The correct answer was no. She knew that.
But how did she feel?
“You would be relieved,” Nimueh told her. “It’s okay, you can admit it.”
“He means so much to Arthur,” she protested weakly. Because really , how could she feel relieved by something that would cause someone she loved so much pain? She wouldn’t. She couldn’t .
“Yes. That’s how Arthur feels, not how you feel, child.”
“Don’t call me that,” she protested distractedly. She stopped for a moment to think about it, really think about it.
“I don’t want to see him dead,” she admitted eventually.
Nimueh regarded her closely for a few moments before sighing. Morgana could not tell whether it was in frustration or relief.
“No,” she said eventually.
“Excuse me,” Morgana said, hackles rising. What, was she just refusing to accept Morgana’s answer?
“The answer to your question,” she explained, sounding almost bored. “It’s ‘no’. No , I don’t mean to harm him. Do you know, I only realised just what he was only shortly before my death. I offered him the chance to work together,” she sighed. “Apparently, he didn’t like my methods, because his answer was to kill me instead.”
“Who were you?” Morgana pressed, taking in the new information. “I know your name from the legends but I don’t remember you from Camelot.”
Nimueh seemed to draw herself up as he recounted, “I was a High Priestess of the Old Religion.”
Morgana gaped. “You were Morgause’s teacher ,” she realised. “She said she returned to the Isle of the Blessed to your ashes by the altar. She never found out what happened to you.” Apparently Merlin had happened to her. “She only knew that you were dead and that the Cup of Life was missing. We found out later that the druids had it, but she said that that never made sense because the druids were far too peaceful to kill you for it, and even if they weren’t they never could .”
Nimueh regarded her thoughtfully. It was clear that this was new information to her and Morgana wondered just how much she knew about what happened in Camelot after her death. She had clearly had years to research, but how many credible sources were there really about events that happened over a thousand years ago.
“So she told you about me, but not my name? Interesting,” she commented.
“Is she here?” Morgana asked desperately, the realisation fully hitting her that Nimueh knew her sister. “Morgause? Is she here? You’ve been around longer than I have. Surely you would know if she was?”
“Ah yes,” Nimueh said lightly. “My niece.”
“She was your niece ?” Did that mean atht Morgana had been related to her back in Camelot too ?
“Not then, now,” she explained, waving her hand casually. “Morgause Le Fay . My niece. Your aunt.”
Le Fay. All of them. Three generations of Le Fay women for the last three High Priestesses of the Old Religion. She wondered what it might have been like to learn from Nimueh, right by her sister’s side. “So that makes you my great aunt?”
“Of course not; that makes me sound far too old,” she admonished. “Though it is technically correct,” she conceded with a look on her face that promised revenge if Morgana ever dared to call her by the title.
“I have family,” she said flatly. “ Magical family? Why have I never met either of you?”
Why did you leave me to Uther if you knew who he was?
“Your mother was a squib,” she said, as if that justified ignoring Morgana’s existence for the last twelve years. “And one smart enough to distance herself from the wizarding world. Even smarter, though, to ensure that her child carried her maiden name. As you know, names and blood . . . they mean a lot in the wizarding world. She knew there was a chance you would be born with magic and so she gave you the best chance she could. I’m sure had she lived she would have put us in contact. But I, quite frankly, didn't know you even existed until you came up while I was keeping an eye on Uther.”
“And you didn’t think you should introduce yourself?” she said angrily, not quite sure why she was protesting so much. She didn’t even like the woman. She might be a well of information, but she was kind of a bitch .
“And force myself to interact with Uther without killing him? Absolutely not,” she scoffed. “Besides, I knew I was coming to teach at Hogwarts once Emrys was a student here. With the turnaround of Defence Against the Dark Arts professors I knew I’d get the job sooner or later,” she shrugged, “Our meeting could wait until then.
“Of course, then I saw you and realised we had so much more in common than family ties. You remembered. And that put you in a unique situation to be either extremely helpful or an awful hindrance. I needed to see where you stood, and the best way to get an honest reaction is to throw you off guard and then ask questions. Which is the only reason I’ve been revealing so much information,” she smirked. “You’ve been telling me so much more.”
“ Where is my sister ?” she asked again, deciding to ignore all of that , because she really couldn’t find it in herself to care right now that she hadn’t been keeping control of her emotions or reactions like a Slytherin - like royalty - ought to do. She just wanted her sister. She loved Arthur, she truly did, but it wasn’t the same .
“Morgause?” Nimueh said blithely. “I’m afraid I don’t know.”
“Bullshit,” Morgana accused. “You said she was your niece, how can you not know?”
“We lost touch,” she said casually.
She was lying . Morgana knew she was lying. “You wouldn’t let that happen,” she said with certainty. “You’ve been watching Uther for years. You’re here to spy on Merlin, or try to control him, or whatever . You’re here, right now, trying to figure out whether or not I’m a threat. So I have no doubt you’ll be doing the same to the others whether they realise it or not,” she deduced. “You wouldn’t just lose touch with her. Not with your little theory about everyone being brought back for a reason. You wouldn’t risk it .”
“Fine,” she conceded with a pleased little smile, as if this had all been a test for Morgana to endure. “Yes, you’re right, we didn’t lose touch in the ordinary sense of the word.”
She paused to look Morgana directly in the eyes. “I stopped paying attention after I erased her memories like I did to Uther.”
“You what? ” she all but screeched.
“It was necessary,” Nimueh said calmly, way too calmly for someone who was about to get hexed .
“She was my sister!” she shouted. “I’ll be nothing to her now. Just her squib-sister’s daughter who she never cared to know !”
How had her sister been taken from her once more? Losing her had been one of the greatest pains of Morgana’s life. And now, she was still out there, and yet lost to Morgana in an entirely different way.
“Is that really so different from what you were the first time around?” Nimueh said cavalierly.
“ What? ” Morgana demanded. How dare she say such a thing! Nimueh knew nothing about all they had been through together. Her sister had sacrificed herself for their dream. She had died so that Morgana could live on to succeed. Nimueh had no right to cheapen that sacrifice! No right to cheapen everything they shared! “She was my sister , she loved me!”
“Maybe,” Nimueh shrugged carelessly. “Even so, she only loved you after she realised you had magic.”
“That’s not true,” she defended furiously.
“Isn’t it? Tell me then, where was she for the first twenty years of your life?” she pressed.
“I was in Camelot , she had magic , she would have been suicidal to go there!”
“And yet, she did go to Camelot, didn’t she? To challenge Arthur ?” Nimueh said snidely.
How would she know? She was dead by then , Morgana thought savagely.
“She didn’t tell you then that you were sisters, did she?” she continued.
“She gave me my bracelet,” Morgana told her. “She protected me.”
“The bracelet that blocked your dreams? Your seer dreams that were a blessing from the Triple Goddess?”
“I was suffering from them, she helped me!”
“You needed training, not blinding,” Nimueh criticised. “The truth is that Morgause only reached out to you when she realised you had magic in Camelot, when she realised you would make a useful tool . Or maybe an ally if we’re being generous.”
From their conversation so far Morgana knew that Nimueh was not in the habit of being generous.
“It doesn’t matter!” she shouted. “It doesn’t matter what you think! All that matters is that you took my sister from me!”
“It was too dangerous to risk her remembering!” Nimueh snapped, for the first time properly losing her own temper.
“ Why?!” she demanded.
“Because she had joined the Dark Lord !”
“No,” Morgana breathed.
She was lying. Morgana knew her sister, Morgause wouldn’t support a man that was killing their own kind in the name of ‘ blood purity’ .
It was a lie . It had to be.
“The last I heard about her . . . she died in his service.”
Notes:
Huh? Really? I couldn't sworn I'd heard differently . . .
. . . weird.
Chapter 11: Consequences
Notes:
It was absolutely intentional to give you two months instead of two weeks to process that last chapter. It was definitely just because of the schocking ending and info-bombing, not because I was in a writing slump.
Anyway. I realised that I didn't know how to respond to some of the comments on the last chapter without spoiling anything, so let me just say thank you for the entertaining reaction you gave to last chapters ending. That is not going to be resolved anytime soon, so enjoy wondering what the fuck happened between Nimueh and Morgause!
I'm sorry this chapter took so long, and I think the next few might be similarly slow. But please, enjoy
Chapter Text
Arthur was starting to get really concerned about his sister.
At first it was just that she was avoiding him - which wasn’t something altogether too strange, considering how frequently they used to fight. He just sort of assumed that he’d done something to tick her off and waited for her to come and yell at him for it. The timing wasn’t great, what with the whole Professor Nimueh situation going on, but he knew better than to push Morgana when she was in one of her moods.
He decided to put his focus into the quidditch team tryouts, instead. Practising with Gwen and Leon was enough of a distraction for now. And when it wasn’t, he knew that he always had Merlin to cheer him up (and now that he wasn’t always bugging Arthur about what was wrong, it was much more fun for the both of them).
But when a week went by and there had still been no shouting match with his sister over whatever it was he had done this time, Arthur started to think that just maybe this wasn’t about him?
He tried to corner Morgana, get her to talk to him - not even necessarily about what she had found out about the Professor, just talk to him about anything - but she had all but ran away any time he tried. Arthur could have sworn that at one point he saw tears in her eyes, but no. That would be ridiculous, right? He knew that Morgana’s nightmares sometimes brought her to tears, but she hadn’t been having bad ones for ages, otherwise she would have told him. And even if she was, they had never affected her during the day, other than tiredness due to her lack of restful sleep.
So why was she avoiding him?
“It’s not just you ,” Mithian scoffed. “She’s been like this with everyone. I wasn’t sure at first, because, well, I’m kind of her only friend,” she shrugged, “but then I noticed she was dodging Gwaine, and they had started becoming friends, you know, and then I noticed she wasn’t talking to you either and well . . .”
“What?”
“I think she’s been crying herself to sleep.”
“Morgana?” he asked, surprised. “Are you sure it’s not one of the other girls?”
“Well I thought so at first - Mildred’s always super emotional when she’s on her period, so I thought she was just having a really bad week. But the two of us aren’t really close so it wasn’t really my business, you know?” He nodded, trying to erase that information from his head - gross. “But then I got up for something to drink once and I realised it was coming from Morgana’s bed. I went to wake her up thinking that it was one of her nightmares, but she was awake, just crying. I don’t know how long she had been up that night on her own, upset, but she wouldn’t talk to me about it.” Mithian sighed and shrugged. “And well, then the other crying made a lot more sense.”
“So you’ve no idea why?” he questioned, still trying to get over the fact that his sister was suffering because of something and hadn’t felt like she could come to him. Surely she knew he’d always be there for her?
Mithian shook her head. “You don’t think it’s the house bullying her, do you?”
“No,” he disagreed quickly. “Morgana’s always been far more likely to lash out than run away crying if she’s been wronged.” Whatever happened between her and Gaius Wilson obviously proved that. “No, if it was bullying we’d have heard rumours about snakes being landed in the hospital wing,” And the only person to end up in the hospital wing recently was Harry Potter. “And, besides, she wouldn’t feel the need to keep that sort of thing from either of us - especially not you, you’re usually there for most of it anyway.”
“Then I don’t know anymore than you do,” she said, frustrated.
So Mithian had been just as clueless as he was.
In the end, his worry over his sister had almost been enough for him to forget the entire Professor Nimueh situation . After all, Morgana crying herself to sleep should have been a far more worrying fact than that of a person he drew a picture of showing up as their new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor.
And yet.
Where Arthur used to find himself doodling on the edge of his homework papers, dedicating a History of Magic lesson to sketches while his peers slept through them, or daydreaming about where he wanted his heroes to go next in their story . . . he had stopped. Whenever he felt himself itching for a pencil in his hand, he shut it down. When he felt his mind begin to wander, he shut it down, and kept shutting it down.
It felt too risky to indulge, though he didn’t know why exactly. It wasn’t as if drawing the woman had made her come to life. Stalling his hobby wasn’t going to stop whatever the Professor might be here for. And yet, Arthur just didn’t feel right ignoring his instincts.
His gut was telling him that he was playing with fire, that this information was dangerous and that if he kept pushing it then he would find out something he was better off not knowing. The Gryffindor in him wanted to stride onwards, to ignore the signs and find out whatever it was that was going on. But there was still something inside him telling him that he wasn’t ready.
It brought him back to Morgana’s increasingly cryptic words. He didn’t know how many times his sister had done or said something peculiar, and upon questioning her she would simply say that Arthur would know in time. It was tied to the situation with Professor Nimueh, he was sure of it. His sister asking him to trust her, asking that he let her investigate the matter without him only made him more sure of it. She had all but confirmed it herself.
Which begged the question, what did Morgana know? And what was it that she had learned that was so terrible to make her react like this?
Arthur debated on whether or not to bring his father into this. There was always the possibility that his father knew what was going on where he didn’t, but realistically Arthur knew that his sister was much less likely to confide in Uther than she was in him. Which meant that all telling his father would do was make the man send countless letters haranguing Morgana until she replied, send countless letters haranguing Arthur to make his sister reply, and potentially send countless letters haranguing the Hogwarts staff until they got to the bottom of what was wrong with his ward. Or, even worse, show up to the school himself to yell at anyone he believed responsible for upsetting his child - which might include Arthur and possibly also Morgana herself.
So, yeah. He didn’t think he’d be sending his father an owl any time soon.
But if not that, then what could he do?
This entire situation was his fault in the first place. If he had never gone to Morgana for help then she never would have found out whatever it was that she did. That made it his responsibility to fix it for her. But how could he do that when she wasn’t even talking to him?
Quidditch was so much fun .
Ever since the twins made the team they spent a lot more of their free time practising, which meant that Harry could practice with them. He supposed what he was doing wasn’t exactly quidditch and more just flying, but he loved it all the same. Fred and George had been made beaters, and they were determined to prove that they hadn’t made the team simply because their brother, Charlie, was the captain.
And that meant that Harry got to have fun flying with his friends. Albeit, while one of them tried to maim him with a bludger and the other tried to defend him. He’d only gotten hit twice so they were doing a pretty good job on the defence stand point.
Not that Aunt Minnie had agreed once she’d found him in the hospital wing. But it was just a broken arm. He’d gotten way worse from Duddley back in Little Whinging, and with magic it could be fixed in a second. He didn’t get why she was so mad?
Merlin had been mad too, which Harry had definitely thought was unfair. Harry had spent years watching his brother get beaten bloody and bruised, and he had been forced to sit back and do nothing lest he suffer the same consequences. Harry just had a broken arm - which, again, took less than a minute to heal - so, he had thought, where did Merlin get off being so angry about it?
They’d gotten into their first big argument since last year over it.
“I can’t believe you yelled at them! How could you do that?!” he had asked furiously. They were the only friends that Harry had made entirely on his own, outside of Merlin's circle. And that fact made what his brother did so much worse.
“They were being reckless," Merlin said defensively. "They put you in danger.”
“They’re my friends !" he argued. "I like flying and I like hanging out with them! My arm is fine!" He punctured his point by waving said arm in his brother's face. "Why are you making such a big deal over this?”
“Your arm was broken, Harry. Next time it could be your neck." The reasonable and measured tone of voice just grated on Harry's already frazzled nerves. "Quidditch is supervised for a reason. Whether it’s by Madam Hooch or the team captains, two twelve year olds and a ten year old are not capable of being careful, and the lot of you proved that with how reckless you’ve been.”
“I was barely hurt!" he shouted. "This is nothing compared to how you used to go around!” In the deafening silence that followed his words, Harry immediately regretted what he had just said. The look he had put on his brother’s face, made him wish he had swallowed the words. And yet, he didn’t take them back. They were the truth, after all.
It can't have taken less than a few seconds for his brother to compose himself, but those seconds might as well have lasted a lifetime, for that was how they felt to Harry. “The difference," Merlin said, his voice somehow even calmer than it had already been - too calm, too controlled - "Is that you’re supposed to be safe here." But not there, he didn't say, we were never stupid enough to think we were safe there. "And friends are supposed to look out for you, not put you in more danger. The twins are lucky that McGonagall is only suspending them from the first game of the year and not the whole sport.”
And then any and all regret that Harry had mustered vanished in a fire of righteous fury. It was absolutely not fair that Fred and George were being banned because of him. That was a lie . “It wasn't their fault! You're just glad because your friend made the reserve team!”
The look of absolute confusion Merlin sent him couldn't be faked. “You think I want Arthur up there either after what happened to you?" he asked incredulously. "No, I’d rather the people I care about stay firmly on the ground.”
"I'm not going to stop flying," Harry said stubbornly. "You can't make me." And it was true, he couldn't. Aunt Minnie was in charge of him, not his brother. And Aunt Minnie loved Quidditch just as much as he did, she wouldn't ban Harry from it. She wouldn't , right? She had been really mad, but not at him. It was at the twins, wasn't it? Not that that was fair! But! If she was going to ban him from flying she would have already. Surely.
Harry loved flying. It was the one thing he'd found at Hogwarts that really felt like magic to him. Maybe it would be different as a student, performing magic for hours every day, but flying - it was the best feeling Harry could ever imagine. Feeling nothing but the broom beneath him. The wind pushing and pulling at him, urging him forwards, higher, further. It was freedom .
He couldn't lose that. He wouldn't .
"I'm not going to try and stop you from flying, Harry." The promise was exactly what he needed to hear, and his brother had known that - probably having read the panic and desperation on his face. "I just want you safe ." The confession was enough for Harry to look away, shamefaced by his lashing out. Merlin was just trying to protect him. Like always. "I'm not saying that you can't go flying with the Weasleys either. I'm glad that you have friends and hobbies of your own. I'm just saying, maybe leave the bats and deadly balls until there's some supervision."
Harry found himself nodding along almost blindly.
He should have known to trust his brother to want what was best for him. This wasn't the Dursleys. No one was going to take the things or people he loved away from him. Merlin was not Dudley trying to scare away anyone who might be his friend (the new girl sat next to him and let him borrow her crayons. Harry had smiled at her and hoped for just a second . By the time lunch was finished that same day she had asked the teacher to move her to a different seat. She had said that her vision was bad and she couldn't read the board properly, but Harry remembered asking her to read something for him because aunt Petunia hadn't gotten him his glasses yet and she had read it just fine. Harry knew the truth).
Minnie was not Aunt Petunia taking away anything he might enjoy just to spite him (the gift that the santa at school handed out to everyone was the same. All of the boys got a Hot Wheels car. His was red. He had never owned something so brightly coloured and shiny before. All of his clothes were worn and faded. He didn't know why Dudley needed two cars, but he had cried and so Harry's had been snatched out of his hands. Why couldn't Harry just have one toy?)
Harry understood that now.
But Merlin needed to understand that the twins weren't uncle Vernon, they weren't trying to hurt him (his back was slammed against his cupboard door. The grip on his arm was too tight. It was his upper arm at least, which meant that the sleeves of Duddley's baggy t-shirts would still cover it. He didn't want Merlin to see it. Merlin was already sad. And it wasn't as if his uncle had hit him. His uncle was just very big whereas Harry was very small. Uncle Vernon just didn't know not to use so much strength).
In the end, their argument had been for the best. It was what Harry had needed to get his anger out at someone who could handle it. Harry didn’t think Aunt Minnie would have let him just shout at her like Merlin had. Aunt Minnie probably would have sent him to his room for talking to her like that, at best. And then Harry would have just stewed in his anger over the whole situation and brooded over not being listened to.
But Merlin knew what he needed. Merlin knew that Harry had lived his life with his opinions being silenced for so long already. Merlin knew that Harry needed to be heard , to be treated like more than a dumb kid who didn’t know what they were talking about.
And yes, his brother had lectured him on being reckless, but he had explained . Adults never explained things, they just made decisions and decided that they never needed to answer to a child. Aunt Minnie had punished his friends and then told him that they would talk about the consequences to his ‘foolish decisions’ once he was out of the hospital wing. So naturally Harry had been avoiding her ever since. Because she just wouldn’t get it like Merlin did. Grown ups never did.
“You can’t avoid her forever, little one.”
“Of Course I can. We’ve spent months finding all of Hogwarts’ hidden passageways and secret rooms. What was the point of any of it if I don’t use them?”
Helena sighed. “You know, I ran away from my mother once, too.”
“She’s not my mother,” Harry corrected quickly. He liked Aunt Minnie, but his mother had died to protect him - it wasn’t the same. “But . . . what happened?” he asked anyway.
“I won’t share all of the gory details, but suffice it to say that it was one of the worst decisions I ever made. I ran and hid, and she let me go. Running never fixed the issues that caused me to leave. I gained nothing and lost everything, eventually, my life included,” she explained somberly.
“You told me once that it was when you ran away from Hogwarts you were killed by the man who was sent to bring you back. What does that have to do with your mother?” he asked, almost immediately regretting pushing further at the way her face shuttered at his question. They had an unspoken pact not to push on certain topics, and apparently this was one of them. “So you think I’m going to die because I’m hiding from Aunt Minie?” he asked half-jokingly, in order to lighten the mood. He decided to ignore any wish he had to comfort or further question her - he was sure that neither would be appreciated .
“No, you foolish child,” she admonished, though her voice was fond enough to let him know that his question had been forgiven. “I’m telling you that running and hiding from your problems solves nothing. Minerva will scold you for your misbehaviour now, or she will do it later. Hiding from her will not stop the inevitable.”
“It wasn’t misbehaviour,” he protested sullenly. “I didn’t even break any rules.”
“‘Students are not allowed to practice with dangerous school resources’ - be it a mandrake plant or a bludger - ‘ without appropriate supervision,’” she quoted easily. Harry couldn’t believe that she was spending her afterlife memoriseing school rules.
“Yeah, well, I’m not a student. So I didn't do anything wrong,” he countered.
“If you are innocent then why are you hiding?” she asked smugly, as if she had caught Harry out with her logic. But Harry knew better. He didn’t need to have done something wrong for adults to find a reason to punish him. And, okay, he was pretty sure Aunt Minnie wasn’t like that but this was it . This was the first real test of whether or not she was going to be like Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon and just blame him for whatever was convenient and he didn’t want to know.
“She can’t just give me a detention, because I’m not a student,” he said instead of answering her question. “I’m a ward of the school, but she’s the one in charge of me. So what is she going to do?”
“You will never find out if you continue to hide,” she told him, not realising that that was the point. He didn’t want to find out. “Minerva took you in in order to protect you from Severus. Do you truly think that she would come to harm you now?”
Harry shrugged. People could be good liars. Maybe she had just wanted The Boy Who Lived under her thumb. All of their neighbours had always thought that the Durselys were normal. But normal people don’t lock their nephews in cupboards - at least that was what Mithian told him. But McGonagall could be like that too. She could be pretending to be nice and normal just until Harry messes everything up like he always does and what then?
“She was upset because you were hurt,” Helena insisted. “The last thing Minerva will do is cause you more pain. And should I be wrong, then I’m certain that that brother of yours would ensure that she never had the chance to hurt you again.”
That was true. Merlin would always try to protect him. And Harry knew that Merlin would believe him if he said Aunt Minnie hurt him, not like his Primary School teachers who never did.
But that wasn’t the point.
The point was that Harry needed to trust her , not Merlin. And he wasn’t sure if he was ready to do that yet.
Sometimes Minerva really questioned her choice in career.
Teaching and guiding young minds was a fulfilling and joyful occupation, however her duties as Head of House could be tiresome at the best of times. She loved her Gryffindors, to be sure, but there was no doubt that she had the most troublesome house to deal with.
Severus’s Slytherins were content to run themselves, establishing their own hierarchy and consequences. And while Minerva certainly disapproved of it, it seemed to work well with Severus’s teaching style - which was to sink or swim after being given the bare minimum of instruction. Fillius’s Ravenclaws could brew up a world of trouble with their hairbrained schemes, and all of them done in the name of discovery and learning. But at least they were all rather good about accepting the consequences for their actions and whatever punishment was deemed suitable by the nearest authority figure. They were a responsible bunch, despite their sometimes-foolish nature. And Pomona’s Hufflepuffs were practically a warm summer breeze compared to the hurricane that Gryffindor house left in its wake. Give the children a hug, a tissue, and a hot chocolate and they were content to go about the rest of their days. Her badgers were harmless class-clowns, at their absolute worst behaviour, and her thirty-four years of teaching had yet to prove otherwise.
And then there were her Gryffindors. Boisterous. Loud. Reckless. Impulsive. Those were just some of the traits that gave her a headache. And then, of course, hundreds of years of tradition dictated that those children were to live and work together, which meant that Minerva had to deal with dozens of single-minded teenagers encouraging each other to do more and more daring and ridiculous things. Any of her children that possessed an ounce of impulse control automatically made themselves her favourites. Of course teachers were not supposed to have favourites, but bugger that. She could usually select which students would end up making prefect as quickly as by the end of their first year. Of course there were exceptions, but so far it looked like Gwen Smith and Leon Knight would be her youngest picks for prefect, as only second years. They already seemed to express a calming effect on their peers that Minerva would make sure to nurture and encourage appropriately.
And yet, even these saving graces were not enough to spare her the headache that her second years were causing. They were all quidditch mad (not something she necessarily disapproved of) with half of them trying out for the house team, two of their year mates actually getting positions, and one of them making the reserves. Of course with the two youngest Weasleys on the team, and their older brother as captain the whole house had cried favouritism, particularly the third and fourth years who were feeling cheated out of places on the team. And while this would normally be rather standard to deal with in terms of jealousy over the quidditch pitch, it seemed that the entire second year had rallied around their friends and spurned the upper years, causing a split through her entire house.
The only student not participating, surprisingly, was Arthur Pendragon, considering his position as a reserve team member Minerva had expected him to be in the thick of things. But no, instead he was far more caught up in the mysterious behaviour of Miss Le Fay and his seemingly nonsensical grudge against Professor Le Fay. All parties had assured her that they had never met before and yet there was clearly a familial relation at work and tensions between all three were high.
And were that not enough to be dealing with, Minerva had recently taken on an additional charge: a very traumatised, very lonely, and very famous, ten year old boy. A ten year old boy who had been caught up in the ridiculous antics of her house. A ten year old boy who had gotten injured at the hands of her idiot Lions, and then fled from the infirmary before Minerva could properly speak to him.
Luckily, Minerva had long ago learnt that her greatest allies in this school were the portraits, all of whom were more than happy to point her in the right direction. Which was how she found Harry.
She caught a glimpse of silver vanishing through the wall as she approached and hoped that this was not the work of Peeves, causing mischief and encouraging her charge to hide. Although, knowing Peeves, had it been him, he would have been more likely to stay and gloat over the castle-wide search he had prompted.
Harry looked at the wall the ghost had vanished through with something akin to betrayal in his eyes, before turning to her with a sigh of resignation. “I’m sorry I ran off, I shouldn’t have, and I won’t do it again,” he said unenthusiastically, as if he was reciting what he thought he ought to say rather than what he truly felt. She wondered how often he had been forced to parrot apologies that he didn’t really mean, all in order to appease those apes who had ‘raised’ him. And she used that term very loosely.
The scolding she had prepared died in her throat at the sight of his miserable expression and stilted apology. Curbing her instinctual reaction to chastise him for his behaviour, she forced herself to remember that this was not one of her students acting out of mischief, it was her ward , who had very unfavourable opinions of his previous caretakers, for very good reasons. She could not prove herself to be in any way like them.
So instead she held out a hand to help the child up from where he had decided to slump on the floor, and offered him a smile. “We’ve both had a long day,” she said gently. “Let’s go home.”
Bright green eyes looked up at her, suspiciously shiny, and Minerva could not help the pang in her heart at the sight of them. So like his mother’s, they were. He took the offered hand up, and she did not hesitate to pull him into a hug. This boy had not had enough of those in his short life and Minerva would do what she could to change that. She was not, ordinarily, the most tactile person, but she could become one for the sake of Harry Potter.
Chapter 12: The Nightmare Returns
Notes:
I hate how this chapter turned out. But it's been nearly two months so it is what it is. Enjoy.
Chapter Text
Arthur was falling.
He was too high up, falling too fast, and rapidly approaching the ground.
There was nothing but fear and panic on his face, and Morgana felt that same fear and panic resonating deep within her. She wondered whether it was her own fear or if it was his that she was feeling?
She could see that he was yelling, but his voice could barely be heard over the wind whipping around him as he pulmeted towards the earth.
The dread and terror was overwhelming. Not just hers and his, but all of theirs. Everyone was watching, and she could feel it in them too - they were just as afraid, but they weren’t doing anything.
Why was he still falling? Why wasn’t anybody helping him?
There was a stadium full of people just watching him fall.
Morgana was screaming and Arthur was falling and all of them were useless.
Except that one of them was smiling smugly. Why was he smiling? Why was his face so familiar?
But it didn’t matter, because Arthur was going to die.
She didn’t want to have to watch him die.
Merlin was running late.
He was usually an early riser, but he had been up late helping Gwaine with his potions essay. Merlin didn’t have one to just let him copy off like last year - Gwaine’s parents had insisted he stay in Professor Snape’s classes instead of joining the outsourced professor’s class, like Merlin had - which meant that they had spent hours getting it up to a standard where Snape couldn’t just give it a D, for dreadful, out of spite.
But they had finished the essay, which was all that really mattered.
And so Merlin planned on blaming his lack of sleep and general haziness for the reason that he so violently flinched when an unexpected hand gripped his arm and pulled him away from the entrance to the Great Hall.
It was stupid.
So what if the hand clutched his arm a little too tightly, or that he was caught off guard and surprised to feel himself being dragged away? Merlin hadn’t been back there in over a year. It was stupid. It was a stupid reaction.
“Sorry,” he said, apologising immediately, surprised to find himself looking into the contrite expression of Morgana Le Fay.
He had barely seen her in weeks. Not that they had been close before she decided to start avoiding everyone. But with Mithian and Arthur as two of his closest friends, it had been hard to miss her general absence. That was why it felt so odd to be stood across from her. She had barely spoken to anyone in weeks, so what had changed? And why was she speaking to him of all people?
“No, I shouldn’t have - whatever, it’s fine,” she said awkwardly. She looked pale and tired and, perhaps, even slightly scared. That alone was more than enough for Merlin to forget about her rough treatment of him. He was sure that she didn’t mean it, and by the look of her, she had more important things on her mind than his comfort.
“Are you okay?” he asked hesitantly, eyeing the way she was almost swaying where she stood. “Arthur’s been really worried about you,” he added. In this state he was worried about her too. They might not be friends, but Morgana sure looked like she needed one right now.
He very deliberately did not say that she looked as though a strong breeze would blow her over. He might not have known her very well, but even he knew that Morgana Le Fay held her pride almost as highly as her brother did.
“I need your help,” she told him, somehow sounding both very desperate and very reluctant.
“Let me get a Professor,” he said, tentatively, placing his hand over the one she had still gripping his arm tensely. “Whatever it is, they’ll know what to do.” He put as much reassurance into his voice as he could. He noticed that it was a tone he had adopted years ago when talking to a worried Harry. He had never quite been expecting to use it on Morgana, though.
“No!” she denied quickly. “I don’t trust them. Especially not Nimueh, she could be behind this for all I know.”
“Okay, okay,” he assured her, deciding not to push. He had noticed Arthur’s similar distrust of Professor Nimueh, and wondered what it was exactly that the siblings held against her. Merlin had spoken directly to her only a few times, but each time she had seemed kind and helpful - especially when it came to his magic.
“We won’t get a Professor,” he agreed. “Let’s just go and find Arthur.” His friend would kill him if he didn’t try and bring his sister to him immediately when she was in such a state. Arthur might have been a bit of an arse, but he was fiercely protective of the people who were important to him, and Morgana was at the top of that list.
“No, we can’t!” she said frantically, her head shaking, her hair flying into further disarray. “You need to protect him. That’s your job, okay? That’s what you’ve always done, you need to keep him safe, Merlin.”
“Arthur’s in danger?!” he asked, panicked, putting aside any confusion he had at her vague words.
“You need to get him to drop out of the Quidditch game. Please, Merlin, you're the only one he’ll listen to. He’s going to die otherwise, and I can’t watch him die. I can’t lose another sibling,” she sobbed.
Merlin wrapped her in a hug, acting on instinct alone, ignoring the part of him screaming that if Morgana didn’t kill him for this then Arthur just might. She seemed to only cry harder once she was in his arms and Merlin wondered if he was somehow just making the situation worse.
“I’ll help however I can,” he promised, trying to reassure her. “But you need to tell me what’s going on.”
“Someone’s planning on sabotaging Arthur in the Slytherin-Gryffindor quidditch match,” she told him hysterically. “I don’t know how exactly, but if Arthur plays then he’s going to fall off his broom, and no one is going to catch him.”
“Did you hear the Slytherin team planning something?” he asked firmly. “Because then we can just go to McGonagall and she can -”
“No!” she said, wrenching herself out of his arms. “You don’t understand. Don’t you think I would have done that if it was that simple?” she hissed. “Finding proof won’t work, it didn’t then, which means that it won’t now. No, you need to watch Valiant. And you need to try and convince Arthur to drop out. You’re the only one he’ll listen to.”
“You’re not making any sense,” he told her, wincing as her grip on his arm tightened.
“Merlin,” she said, her voice more serious than she had ever heard it. “I need you to trust me. I need you to help me protect Arthur.”
“I just don’t understand what -”
“I helped you and Harry Potter this summer,” she reminded him, her voice unyielding. “I didn’t request any favours or ask any questions, but I helped keep your brother safe. Just do what I’m asking, and help me do the same with mine.”
She sounded mad. He should tell her no and take her to Madam Promfrey. Or play along and bring her to Arthur. He shouldn’t be considering doing as she asked.
So why was he?
It was clear that she believed what she was saying. She was truly afraid that Arthur was in danger and that Valiant was going to be responsible. But she had no proof, no real reason to believe so - at least none that she could tell him.
But what was the harm in doing as she asked?
“Just watch Valiant?” he clarified. “And try to convince Arthur to drop out?”
She nodded. There was still worry in her eyes, but noticeably less fear.
“I’ll do what I can,” he promised her. If there was even the smallest chance it would keep Arthur safe from some unknown danger then he would do so.
He sighed. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on, and I know we’re not friends but you really should talk to Arthur. He’s been worried about you for weeks and -”
“You’re right, we’re not friends,” she said coldly, cutting him off and drawing away suddenly. “I came to you with this because you care about Arthur as much as I do. I trust you to keep him safe. But stay out of my business otherwise.”
He nodded dumbly and turned away, shying away from her harsh glare. Despite the fact that she had come to him desperate for help, she was looking at him now as if he was her enemy, as if any concern he held for her was some sort of trap. Merlin remembered feeling like that - being suspicious of kind words, for they were so rare to hear. He hoped, whatever was going on, Morgana was not in a situation anything like his own.
He was confused and concerned and had no idea whether or not he should tell Arthur about the encounter. Morgana hadn’t spoken to anyone in almost a month, and then the first time she did was to warn him that Arthur was in danger.
It didn’t make any sense.
She didn’t make any sense.
Morgana woke up that morning with a scream on her lips and her bed curtains on fire.
It had been a familiar scene, but at least this time she had enough control over her magic to extinguish the fire herself. Between all of the other girls screaming, Professor Snape coming to investigate the commotion, and the subsequent lecture she got on controlling herself, it took far longer than Morgana liked to notice the blood on her thighs and drying on her bed.
As if she didn’t have enough problems to deal with today.
Arthur was in danger. She had no proof against his aggressor - Valiant, she realised quickly, the distance from the nightmare giving her the clarity she needed to recognise the face she had seen - and thus no way to get anyone to take her warnings seriously. It looked like her visions were back with a vengeance, and the only person who would believe her would be Nimueh, and Morgana was not fool enough to trust her with this.
She was tired and worried and in pain and she had no idea who she could turn to for help.
She needed Arthur to listen to her but Arthur had always dismissed her nightmares in Camelot as nothing but that. She had no doubt that the same thing would occur here. He knew that she had struggled with them since her parents died, he would surely dismiss this as more of the same.
But Morgana knew better now. She knew how to tell the difference between her regular dreams and her Seer dreams. She couldn’t control it, but she could feel the magic in it. She wondered . . .
“Forbearnan,” she whispered, cupping her hands, hoping to see a small flame appear there. But there was nothing. No rush of warmth filling her. No surge of power. No fire. No magic.
She did not know why her Seer dreams had returned but not the rest of her magic. Merlin’s abilities had obviously returned with him, so why not her own?
She was useless like this. How was she supposed to keep Arthur safe with all the power of a thirteen year old girl? She needed Merlin’s magic.
No. She needed Merlin.
He had been the only one to ever take her warnings about her nightmares seriously. And he was the only one she trusted with the power to keep Arthur safe.
Goddamnit , she thought as she rushed to find him.
She luckily managed to intercept him outside of the Great Hall, and his concern for her made her itch. She knew that she must look like a mess - she certainly felt like a mess - but she did not need his pity.
“You need to protect him,” she told him. “That’s your job.”
But he didn’t understand, and she couldn’t explain it without sounding even crazier than she already did.
“I can’t watch him die. I can’t lose another sibling,” she told him, stupidly - because she was tired and afraid and mourning her sister all over again. But she shouldn’t have said that. Because Arthur didn’t know anything about Morgause, and Morgana could not afford Merlin repeating her words back to him. But she could barely spare a moment to worry about that when it was all going to be meaningless if Arthur died.
And then Merlin was hugging her and Morgana was crying. The last time he had held her like this Morgana had been dying in his arms from the poison he had given her.
She cried harder.
But she couldn’t get caught in the past, not when Arthur’s life was in danger. So she shut that part of her down and focused on securing his promise to help her. And if she needed to bring Harry Potter’s name into this then so be it, as long as it resulted in Arthur safe.
After she let him return to the Great Hall and his friends she found herself at a loss. Was she just supposed to go about her classes now, knowing that her classmates were planning to risk Arthur’s life? Was she just supposed to sit through Defence Against the Dark Arts and wonder if Nimueh was behind this particular plot, just as she had been behind so many of the plots in Camelot? Was she just supposed to carry on with the knowledge that her sister was dead and that her brother might be lost to her any day now?
She was just so tired.
Morgana paused in the entry to the Great Hall. Students passed her, giving her odd looks, but she paid them no mind. Her eyes found Arthur, he was surrounded by his knights and his queen and his sorcerer, and his eyes found hers just as easily as she had found his. The raw concern in them was too much to bear.
She turned around and went back to bed.
Snape came to yell at her for missing classes without permission from him or Madam Pomfrey ,and Morgana barely restrained herself from telling him to fuck off. Instead she ignored his words and dismissed him with all the regal bearing of the princess she was once born to be. Watching his face contort in fury was well worth the detentions he threatened to sentence her to.
Morgana Pendragon had once spent two years in a hole underground, chained and starved, trapped next to a growing dragon, having to watch her precious Aithusa suffer, all the while the both of them longed for sunlight - for freedom.
A few detentions with an unpleasant (potentially murderous) man would be nothing compared to that. She had indured far worse than anything he could threaten her with. She did not fear him.
She just wanted to rest.
“If this behaviour continues, Miss Le Fay, I shall leave the Headmaster to deal with you,” he sneered, and she had no doubt that he had been instructed to keep away from Uther Pendragon’s children after the mayhem the man had caused this summer.
She smiled. That meant that she was essentially untouchable to him.
“As long as it is after I have had a chance to sleep, you will find no argument from me, Professor,” she told him haughtily, her smile wide and false and ever so smug.
She took great pleasure in watching him storm away impotently. Severus Snape was a weak, pathetic man, and Morgana had far more pressing things on her mind than appeasing him. Currently, that thing was sleep.
“Miss Le Fay, there has been some concern expressed by several of your Professors recently. And while I understand you may not be comfortable confiding in your Head of House, that does not mean that the school can allow you to sleep through your classes. If there are circumstances that the school should be made aware of . . .” Albus said suggestively, hoping that he would not need to resort to calling the young lady’s guardian. The headmaster had no wish to deal with Uther Pendragon again so soon.
“Circumstances?” she repeated sceptically, her eyes narrowed and her arms folded, unimpressed.
“I understand that you have discovered a new relation in Professor Le Fay. If this has caused some familial distress . . .?” he probed.
The young lady scoffed. “She is no family of mine,” the girl said firmly. Her eyes were hard and full of resolve. Albus wondered what had happened between the two.
“But if you want circumstances,” she drawled flatly, “then know that I woke up this morning from an awful nightmare to find I’d started my first period and that I'd set my bed on fire in my sleep. I believe that’s enough to warrant me a sick day to rest.” Her face dared him to say otherwise.
Albus found himself blinking confoundedly. Now that he looked, he could see that the girl was not looking her best. Her skin was pale and waxy and there were dark circles under her eyes. But that was not what confused the Headmaster.
There was a blatant challenge there for him to push her, to just see what she would do if he disagreed.She had an uncanny belligerence about her - an uncaring air. She seemed not care what he thought of her, she simply did not have the patience to deal with his questions.
He was used to some sort of lack of deference or awe from the Slytherins - the type that he usually received from his other students - but even then, their tones were usually tempered by some small amount of respect, or even fear, for the great wizard that he was.
Miss Le Fay’s voice carried no such thing.
She did not have the upbringing of so many other Sytherins to despise him for being a ‘blood-traitor’, as they dubbed him. Nor did she have the admiration that the other muggleborn (or muggle-raised in her case, if her new relation to Nimueh was anything to go by) students did. And yet, she barely seemed to carry even the basic respect for him in his position as her headmaster.
Even at his worst, Tom Riddle had still known to fear and respect him. So what was it about Morgana Le Fay that made her look at him with such an apathetic stare.
“Of course,” he said genially, “your absences today will be excused, though perhaps a visit to Madam Pomfrey is in order should such a thing occur again.” Afterall, it was not uncommon for young children, even after a year or so of study, to still lose control over their magic while under stress. And should her magic have perceived her nightmare as a true threat to her, then it is understandable that the child might lose control. However, there was no reason to believe that it would happen again.
“Am I free to go then, sir?” she asked blandly. And once more, Albus noticed that the title was one of formality, but not respect.
How odd.
“Ah, not quite, my girl.” He noticed how she bristled at the address. “You see, while this, of course, explains your absence for today, there is still the matter that your Professors have been expressing some concern for your behaviour over the past few weeks,” he told her kindly.
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” she said, looking him straight in the eye, daring him to call her bluff. After all, it was an obvious lie and they both knew it.
“There has been some mention of your lack of focus, a dip in your grades, you’ve been called uncommunicative, and you seemed to have been avoiding your friends also,” he listed off, repeating what he had been told by Minerva and Fillius, infusing as much empathy into his voice as he could. “While you are at Hogwarts, your Professors have a duty of care towards their students, and your recent behaviour has been worrying, my girl.”
“I appreciate the concern,” she said, smiling falsely. “But I’m fine. Today was just a bad day. Arthur and I got into an argument a few weeks ago - I barely even remember what it was about,” she shrugged before he had the chance to poke at her story. “I’ll make sure to resolve things with him. Maybe then I’ll be more communicative.”
Albus skimmed the top of her mind, just enough to be certain that she was lying without invading her privacy.
She was, as he expected.
He resisted the urge to dig deeper, to find out just what she was hiding. He was sure that it was harmless, afterall she was a good child from a muggle upbringing with a devoted guardian, what horrid secret could she possibly be hiding? Although, if there was no big secret to be hidden, then there was no harm in taking a peek. It wasn’t invading her privacy if she had nothing to hide, was it?
“Well then, I’m sure that’s all it is, my dear,” he said warmly, making sure to catch her eye as she stood to leave his office, having taken his affirmation for a dismissal. Although, in the end, he was rather glad that she did. It meant that she had already turned around by the time he had a chance to process what he had just seen inside her mind. Her back turned before his thoughts could show on his face.
It was as if her mind was ablaze. It was almost impossible to glean any information because the entire structure was such chaos. He could see pain and fear and sorrow and anger. So much anger. So much fear. And it was setting her entire world on fire.
His jaw dropped slightly as he watched her leave his office calmly, the very picture of composure, and wondered what he had just seen. He could not meld the two images together, of the young lady with such an icy exterior, and the burning chaos he had witnessed inside her mind.
But he did know one thing, that there was something very wrong with Morgana Le Fay.
Arthur had had no idea what to think when his best friend had told him that Morgana had cornered him before breakfast, looking panicked and fearing for Arthur’s life. He had known even less when she had met his eyes from the edges of the Great Hall before walking away.
Her absence in their shared classes had been glaringly obvious, and Arthur had just felt more and more confused.
Though nothing confused him more than when she entered the Great Hall for the evening meal, took a seat beside him and called him an idiot.
“What?” he had responded dumbly.
“You’re an idiot,” she repeated, before sending a biting smile up at the high table and raising her glass of pumpkin juice towards the headmaster. “Pompous arse,” he heard her mutter under her breath.
What the fuck?
“Are you okay?” he asked incredulously. She hadn’t spoken to him in nearly a month, and this was the first thing she did?
She looked at him through tired eyes, and gave him a wan but genuine smile. “Survive the week, and I will be,” she promised.
Chapter 13: Valiant
Notes:
Hey, Merry Christmas . . .
So it's been a few months. I actually wrote this chapter back in may and just couldn't bring myself to edit it because I hated the first section and didn't know how to fix it. But I was bored today so I read it back and decided to just say fuck it and post.
I don't have a clue when the next update will be. Could be weeks? Could be months? So just enjoy this christmas gift from me to you :)
Chapter Text
Chapter 13 - Valiant
People were acting weird.
First, there was Morgana. And, to be fair, Morgana had been acting weird for several weeks before anyone else had been. She was sad and avoiding everyone - which was (again) weird, because Morgana was the most confrontational person Arthur had ever met - until a few days before when she decided to sit next to him at dinner and call him an idiot. That part was kind of normal in all honesty, but then her behaviour became a different sort of weird. She was being nice.
Morgana.
Morgana was being nice. To Arthur.
Frankly, that made him almost as concerned as the crying and avoiding had.
And it wasn’t even a fake kind of nice. She wasn’t suddenly complimenting him, nor had she stopped teasing him - or him her. But there were small things, like her always saving him his favourite breakfast when she arrived at the Great Hall before him. She started sitting next to him in their shared classes (even though she seemed really uncomfortable around Gwen and Leon). She started dragging him to the library so they could do their homework together.
And if that wasn’t disturbing enough, she had even gifted Arthur a new sketchbook. He wasn’t sure how to take this blatelent approval for his hobby. He had always expected her to make fun of him for it. Drawing and colouring was kind of ‘girly’, and it was the sort of thing that the Morgana he knew would have relentlessly mocked him for. And that was setting aside the fact that he had potentially predicted the existence of their DADA Professor through drawing - and her distrust if Nimueh hadn’t lessened one bit, so was she encouraging him to use his talents to warn them, or was it just a nice gesture? He would have scoffed at the thought a few months ago, but these days, who knew?
And really, all of that would have been fine if Morgana was the only one acting like that. Arthur would have dismissed it entirely, but then there was Merlin.
He was acting . . . shifty. And Arthur didn’t use that word lightly. He was just so jumpy and tense these days. And not like how he used to be. He wasn’t flinching at unexpected contact, or when someone stood a little too close to him. No, he was tensing whenever someone got a little too close to Arthur. Which was just . . . bizarre!
Morgan kept staring at him like he was an idiot every time he did, so Arthur at least felt validated that he wasn’t the only one who thought it was ridiculous. But the idiot was glaring at everyone suspiciously like he suspected them of plotting to murder his cat . . . y’know, if that cat was Arthur.
. . . Nevermind. Bad comparison.
The point was, Merlin was putting himself in between Arthur and every Slytherin that wasn’t Morgana and Mithian as if it was normal. Which it wasn’t. And then there was bloody Gwaine, enabling him, going on about how they had to protect their precious ‘Princess’, and if he called him that one more time, Arthur was going to punch him. Which wasn’t against school rules - Arthur had checked - you couldn’t duel in the corridors, but there was no rule against a good, old-fashioned fist-fight.
And alright, technically, that behaviour couldn’t be classed as weird as far as Gwaine was concerned, because he was always an annoying prick. But the rest of it definitely could.
And Arthur was content to ignore it. Whatever, his friends were weird, who cared? Not him. But then Merlin tried to get him to drop out of the Quidditch match.
“That’s hilarious, Merlin, really,” he scoffed.
“I’m being serious,” his friend told him. “You need to drop out of the match.”
“And why would I do that?” he asked indulgently.
“You’re going to be in danger if you play,” Merlin said seriously, his face almost caught in a glare with how intensely he was trying to stare Arthur down. Arthur fought hard not to laugh; he looked like an angry kitten.
“It’s just Qudditch, Merlin, not a fight to the death,” he said with an eye-roll. “I know you’re worried after Harry broke his arm practising with the Weasley twins -”
“It’s got nothing to do with that,” Merlin interrupted, before pausing for a moment. He squinted at Arthur for a second, his head tilted thoughtfully to the side - he really did resemble a kitten - “Alright, maybe it has a little to do with that,” he conceded. “But it wasn’t my main point.”
“Then what was?” For some reason, the question seemed to freeze him. Arthur wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t think his explanation would make it this far, or because he needed to think up some other reason on the spot.
“Someone’s planning on sabotaging you,” he mumbled.
And Arthur couldn’t help it, he laughed.
“This is not funny!” Merlin said grumpily, hitting him on the arm with a textbook.
“Sorry,” Arthur said, still laughing. “But you sound ridiculous. It’s a school sports team, Merlin, we’re not in the olympics. And why would someone sabotage a second-year anyway? Why wouldn’t they go for Charlie Weasley? He’s the Captain, and the seeker - everyone knows that’s the most important player on the team. Why would they bother with someone being put on from the reserve team at all? If anything, that means they’re more likely to underestimate me,” he said confidently, because really, it was insane.
Who on the Slytherin Team would give a damn about someone about to play their first proper game of Quidditch. They weren’t going to see him as a threat. They were going to be wrong - of course - but they weren't going to think much of him yet.
“Maybe it’s just because your head’s so big it makes the most obvious target,” Merlin muttered, making Arthur roll his eyes again.
“Stop being so dramatic, Merlin,” he dismissed
“If you get killed in the match this week, I’m going to enjoy saying ‘I told you so’.”
Arthur scoffed. “And when I make it out, perfectly fine, I’ll enjoy the same.”
Arthur wasn’t stupid, he knew that this paranoia came from his sister. What he didn’t understand was why Merlin was taking it so seriously. So Morgana had had a bad dream? That didn’t mean anything was actually going to happen to him.
His friend nodded, signalling his acceptance that their argument was over, but there was a determined glint to his eyes that made Arthur certain that Merlin was not going to let this go.
He was of course proved right when not a day later he was being hexed in the corridors by Sytherins he’d never even spoken to before.
Arthur had been warned by the team that the Sytherins were always their biggest competition, and that in the lead up to the first Quidditch match of the year, tensions sometimes bled out of the field and into the halls of Hogwarts. So, when he was being targeted by tripping jinxes and stinging hexes in between classes, he didn’t think much of it between trying to dodge what he could and practising Professor Nimueh’s shield charm over and over to little success. It wasn’t until some random fourth-year sneered between hexes, “Looks like this cowardice is the new Gryffindor trait, trying to accuse our players of cheating without proof - running to hide behind McGonagall’s robes like a scaredy cat. Some lion you are, Pendragon,” that Arthur realised what Merlin had done.
And well, apparently a burning anger was all Arthur needed to finally get his shield charm to work. He channelled the low level rage burning through him straight towards his magic and right into his shield, watching with grim satisfaction as the fourth-year stumbled back, surprised.
“I don’t care what you’ve heard,” he said furiously. “I am not a coward, and I haven’t accused anyone of anything.” And even despite the sting of betrayal he would not tell these idiots who had really accused their house of cheating. He would not send them after Merlin.
“Whatever, Pendragon,” the Snake spat, shoving past him now that his spells were no longer effective. Arthur planted his feet and did not allow the boy to knock him aside - Arthur’s pride was bigger than the extra inches the older boy had on him - and it was enough for him to hold his ground, even if he rocked slightly in place.
With a clenched jaw and gritted teeth, he stormed towards the castle basement.
He had barely knocked on the door before some upper year opened it and turned around to shout, “Oi, Emrys! Your Gryffindor is here!”
He tried not to let the words affect him. He certainly didn't feel like ‘Merlin’s Gryffindor’ right now. He didn’t feel like Merlin’s anything.
“Arthur?” Merlin greeted happily, with a confused, idiotic smile on his face.
“How could you?” he bit out, hating that hurt had bled into the anger he had wanted to project. “I told you to leave it be Merlin! Why did you go behind my back to McGonagall?!”
He ignored the wide blue eyes staring back at him. He ignored the flinch away from him when he started shouting. He ignored the way Merlin seemed to curl in on himself before clenching his jaw and staring right back at Arthur defiantly.
“I told you you were in danger. Just because you refused to take me seriously, doesn’t mean that I was wrong,” he insisted.
He wasn’t even sorry, Arthur realised jarringly. He had been humiliated and targeted because of what Merlin had done, and he wasn’t even sorry. “People think I’m a coward!” he shouted, because he couldn’t bring himself to ask ‘do you even care that they were attacking me in the hallways?’ he was worried about what the answer would be.
It was easier to focus on the other part, anyway. Father would be furious if he found out people thought so little of his son. Arthur’s actions were a reflection on his own. And people here already hated him for being a muggleborn. They already hated his father for being the muggle Prime Minister. What if now they started saying that he was probably a coward like his son.
He would be so disappointed in Arthur if he found out.
“Better to be a living coward than a fearless corpse!”
“I shouldn’t be surprised to hear that from a Hufflepuff,” he said derisively, watching smugly as the ire rose in Merlin’s eyes. See, he thought, triumphantly, it isn’t nice to be thought of as a coward, is it?
“Oh yes,” Merlin spat, “Because it’s alright if you die for the sake of a Quidditch match! Is that a noble enough death for a mighty Gryffindor such as yourself? As long as you go out in a blaze of glory, right?” he threw his arms up in frustration. “God forbid you show some common sense and not throw yourself into pointless danger.”
“Common sense?” Arthur repeated incredulously - the nerve of him! “All of this is based on a nightmare my crazy sister had! Where is the common sense in that? There’s not a single good reason to believe I was going to be in danger. Now everyone just thinks I’m just some pathetic idiot who can’t think for himself, when I’m not - you are.”
Arthur bit back the urge to take it all back. Just because his words came out harsher than he intended, it didn’t change the facts. He was in the right here, not Merlin. Merlin had been the one to betray him, not the other way around.
He clung to that conviction as he watched Merlin’s face shutter.
“Right,” he said bitterly, his voice suddenly cold, and devoid of all the passion that had been driving their argument. “So Morgana’s ‘crazy’ and I’m a ‘pathetic idiot who can’t think for himself’. Anything else to add? Any more friends you feel like slagging off? You want to insult anymore people who are just trying to look out for you?”
Arthur scoffed, pushing past any guilt. “If this is how you look out for people, then I want no part in it.”
But Merlin still didn’t apologise. He simply nodded, his eyes hard. “That’s fine. You won’t have to worry about that again.” He didn’t give Arthur the chance to respond before turning around and slamming the common room door behind him.
And that was fine.
Arthur didn’t care.
Arthur didn’t care that Merlin never said sorry. Arthur didn’t care that he had walked away. Arthur didn’t care that his best friend had just slammed the door closed on him - on their friendship.
It was fine.
Arthur had more important things to worry about. He had a game tomorrow. There were people counting on him to do well, to perform.
This was - this was fine.
It had to be.
Quidditch was amazing.
Harry could feel the anticipation in the school rising all week as they got closer and closer to the first match of the year. Being caught up in that rising excitement made him feel like an actual part of the school for the first time. It didn’t matter that he was younger than everybody, or that he had no shared classes - or even a common room - with anyone. All that mattered was that he was just as excited for the first match of the year as everyone else.
Even Aunt Minnie was affected by it, she was happier in the mornings, more snarky with Professor Snape, more lenient with her Gryffindors. She had even bought him a Gryffindor scarf so he could support his friends’ team - no one had ever bought something for him before just because. Harry hadn’t known what to say. Even if the twins weren’t allowed to play this game, it still meant a lot that Aunt Minnie had gone out of her way for him. He had asked Mithian if she minded him cheering against the Slytherin team, but she had assured him that she didn’t mind, and that she would be cheering for Arthur in his first Quidditch match anyway.
Harry had expected that same level of enthusiasm from the rest of his brother's friends too. Arthur making the team as a second-year was a big deal, even if he was only on as a reserve. Harry knew that he had Gwaine liked to provoke each other, but he was certain that Gwaine was happy for him too.
Or at least he had been until he saw Merlin and Gwaine give Arthur the cold shoulder at breakfast the morning of the game.
Harry froze, looking between the two tables. He hadn’t expected that he would have to choose. He wanted to sit with the Gryfindors, he wanted to support Fred and George and their brother Charlie (even if the twins weren’t playing today), and he had expected Merlin and the others to rally around Arthur to the same end. But what could have happened so that Merlin wasn’t sitting there and Gwaine was glaring at the back of Arthur’s head as if he could explode it with his eyes?
Quickly coming to a decision, Harry threw an apologetic glance in Fred and George’s direction before falling into the empty space next to his brother.
“How much do you need me to hate him?” he asked immediately, making Gwaine snort and bringing a sad smile to his brother’s face.
“You don’t need to hate anyone,” Merlin said placatingly.
“Ignore him, Potter. We hate Pendragon now, he’s a pompous arse,” Gwaine said bitterly, quick to talk over his friend.
“Right,” Harry said awkwardly. “I’m totally still on board with hating him . . . but is that any different than how you would have described him yesterday?”
“Good point,” Gwaine said approvingly. “Pendragon has always been an arse, I don’t know why we were ever friends with him.”
“Enough,” Merlin admonished, looking hurt by the turn the conversation had taken. “Arthur’s a prat,” he conceded. “But he’s going to get his head out of his arse and apologise, I know he is.”
Harry turned around to look at the Gryffindor table. “I’m not sure he will,” he said gently. After all, Arthur certainly didn’t look sorry. He was talking and laughing with Leon as if there was nothing wrong. There was a confident smile on his face, as if he didn’t have a single worry in the world.
Turning back around to see his brother’s pained expression and tense shoulders, Harry found it rather easy to hate Arthur Pendragon. “Right. Well, fuck him,” Harry said boldly.
“Harry!” Merlin scolded, while Gwaine shot pumpkin juice through his nose.
“No, no! Potter’s right!” Gwaine agreed enthusiastically. “Who cares about that tosser?”
“Not us,” Harry responded quickly, snatching the red and gold scarf from around his neck. It made a part of him sad, to set aside Aunt Minnie’s gift so carelessly, but Merlin was more important. Harry was sure she would understand. “And not you,” he pressed.
Merlin had already done far too much tolerating of people who hurt him in his life, and Harry would never suggest that he continue to do the same. Harry didn’t know what Arthur Pendragon had done to hurt his brother, but it didn’t matter. Merlin was clearly upset, and his so-called friend didn’t seem to care one whit. That was enough for Harry to know that Pendragon was in his bad books. You weren’t supposed to treat friends like that.
“We can skip the game if you want,” Harry offered regrettably. He had been so looking forward to seeing today's match, but if this was what Merlin needed then so be it. His brother had made countless sacrifices for him - much worse ones than just missing out on a game of Quidditch - so now it was Harry’s turn.
But instead Merlin just shook his head stubbornly. “No. I know I’m right about this. I have a bad feeling about this game, and if Arthur’s in danger then I have to be there.”
“Mate,” Gwaine said, uncharacteristically hesitant. “I know I was playing along with the whole thing to piss off the Princess, but if something actually goes wrong, all of the Professors are going to be there to sort it out. You don’t have to do anything.”
“No,” he disagreed. “Morgana told me for a reason. I didn’t think too much about it at first, but I know she was right. I think something terrible is going to happen and I think I need to be the one to stop it.”
“Why?” Merlin looked at him curiously. “I mean, why you?” Harry elaborated.
“Just a funny feeling, I suppose.”
Merlin was tense.
He was tense from yesterday’s argument. He was tense from a night of terrible sleep. He was tense from having to explain himself to Harry and Gwaine. And he was tense from wondering what was about to unfold.
They were all clamouring up into the Quidditch stands, and the higher they went, the more the pit of dread in Merlin’s stomach deepened. He hadn’t cared enough to attend any of the Quidditch games last year, he hadn’t realised just how high up they were really played. He hadn’t known just how far there was to fall before you hit the ground.
Harry’s barely restrained excitement softened his nerves ever so slightly. It was nice, seeing his brother so enthusiastic for something like a sports game. It was so wonderfully normal, that it was almost enough for him to forget that one of his best friends was about to be in danger.
Morgana had warned him about Valiant specifically. So now Merlin just needed to decide whether it was smarter to keep his eyes on Arthur throughout the game, or on Arthur’s supposed attacker.
But the decision was made for him when a familiar figure slipped into the stands next to him, squeezing in between him and Gwaine. “You watch Valiant,” she instructed, nodding decisively. “And I’ll watch Arthur.”
Merlin looked away when faced with her determined green eyes. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get him to drop out,” he said ashamedly. Morgana had trusted him to convince her brother, and Merlin had failed her.
“That was always a long shot,” she told him, smiling wanly. “Arthur’s never backed down from anything in his life. I thought if anyone could convince him, it would be you. But I wasn’t expecting a miracle, Merlin.” She reached out to squeeze his hand. “Just make sure you save him now, okay?”
“Why me?” he asked, before he lost his nerve. “You . . . you don’t seem like the type to rely on anyone for anything.” He thought of her weeks of silent suffering, where Arthur still didn’t know what had upset her, even now. Morgana Le Fay, was not the type of person to ask for help. So why had she?
She looked at him assessingly. “Why do you think?” It wasn’t sarcastic or rhetorical, it was a genuine question.
Merlin thought back to their earlier interaction - Morgana approaching him on the edge of a breakdown, terrified for her brother’s life, desperate for someone to just listen to her. “Because you knew I’d take you seriously,” he realised. “You didn’t have any proof, but you still knew I’d take you seriously, that I’d do whatever I could to help.”
She didn’t confirm or deny his suspicion. Instead she said, “My father told me what you did this summer, you know? Threatening the school board, risking expulsion, almost destroying the castle - again,” she smirked. “Just to keep your brother safe. You’re ruthless when it comes to protecting what’s yours. And Arthur is yours, whether either of you realise it or not. I know you’ll do whatever it takes to keep my brother safe, the same as you do yours.”
Merlin had no idea what to say to any of that. He was entirely unsure whether he had just been complimented or not. Of all the words to describe himself ruthless had never been one of them. But he couldn’t say that he disagreed with her assessment. He would do anything to protect Harry. And he was starting to realise that Arthur fell under that same protection. He felt like he would be ready to raze Hogwarts to the ground for the sake of his friend. Even after their argument. Even after the horrible things Arthur had said, Merlin was still willing to tear the world apart to protect him.
It was a . . . disconcerting thought.
Morgana smiled, “You would have made a very good Slytherin, Merlin.”
He was saved from having to respond by the blow of a whistle. But the relief was short-lived on the back of the realisation that the game was beginning, and with it, the countdown to disaster had begun. He felt Morgana tense up beside him, and wished he could simply enjoy the sight of Harry’s delighted expression instead of joining her in his anxiety.
It was hard to discern which player was which as far away as they were, but it became easier as they fell into their positions. Valiant was playing as a beater, so Merlin had narrowed down which green figure was him to two options. One of the people holding a bat was slightly smaller than the other, so Merlin assumed that that was his fellow second-year, but he made sure to dart glances at the other just in case he was wrong.
But when the beater swung his bat just as the commentator announced, “And there goes a bludger from Valiant Black, right towards Charlie Weasley as he makes a dive for the snitch! OH! But it looks like it was just a feint, folks!” Merlin knew he had the right person.
After that, it was a waiting game. Merlin tensed every time Valiant’s flight-path passed by Arthur, every time he batted the bludger in Arthur’s general direction, and especially whenever Arthur moved into its path to intercept it. Merlin knew that that was his job as the opposing teams’ beater, to stop the ball from hitting any of the point-scoring players, but it didn’t mean that Merlin had to like it. In fact, Merlin was fairly sure that he would hate it even without knowing that there was an imminent threat to Arthur’s life. It seemed like it would be far too easy to have a deadly accident, which meant it would be even easier for someone to plan such an incident.
But finally, it happened.
Merlin hadn’t been paying attention to the score, but he would later learn that Gryffindor were up by 30 points. Valiant had aimed a bludger right towards one of the Gryffindor chasers that Merlin didn’t care enough about to learn the name of, and Arthur had shot upwards in order to deflect it in time. He shouldn’t have. Merlin could see that the chaser was rolling out of the way on their own, he hadn’t even needed to interfere - that idiot.
But even still, it should have been fine. Merlin’s job was to focus on Valiant, but he couldn’t help his eyes drifting to Arthur every now and then. And if anything, Arthur had proven that he wasn’t to be underestimated throughout the game (it made Merlin wonder how good the Weasley twins really were if they were somehow both better than Arthur at this), even as only a second-year. He was quick and agile, he had a strong batting arm and excellent aim. So when he went for that bludger, it should have been a simple thing to just direct back at the Slytherin team.
And yet it wasn’t.
Because Merlin had been so focused on Arthur he had completely missed Valiant pulling out his wand. It was his fault, entirely, what ended up happening. If only he’d been more diligent he could have just disarmed Valiant from the beginning. He could have stopped it before it was too late. Before someone died.
But then suddenly the bat in Arthur’s hand wasn’t a bat, it was a snake.
He tried to shake it off his arm without losing his place on his broom, but he looked horrifically close to toppling off the side of it in his attempt to avoid being bitten.
“Do something!” Morgana hissed in his ear, and Merlin found himself vanishing the snake without a second thought. There was no spell or direction to his action, just the intention to get the snake away from Arthur!
And it did.
The serpent went flying through the air away from him, and it was almost as if the entire stadium breathed a sigh of relief. But they had all forgotten something crucial. Arthur had placed himself in the path of a bludger, and he no longer had a bat to fend it off.
The ball socked him right in the chest, throwing him from his broom and suddenly he was falling through the air.
“Arthur!” Morgana screamed from beside him, rushing to the edge of the stands, looking as if she were ready to jump over herself if it would help him in any way.
The weight of the crowd all surging forwards pushed Merlin in the same direction, but he was frozen in panic. People were clamouring and shouting, and it was too loud and they were too close and Merlin couldn’t breathe.
Arthur was going to die because Merlin was too busy having a fucking panic attack to be useful.
“Merlin!” Someone was shouting. Probably Harry or Morgana. Because Harry was probably worried about him and Morgana was worried about Arthur. Because Arthur was about to crash from a 100 metre drop and probably die.
He just needed a second. He second to breathe. A second to pause so that he could think. A second so he could pull himself together and save his friend. He just needed everything to pause.
. . .
And then everything was silent.
His head shot up at the sudden absence of sound. He knew that when he panicked he sometimes struggled to hear anything other than the sound of his own heart beating loudly in his ears, but this was something else. He turned to look left and right but everything - every one - had frozen.
He pushed his way to the front of the stands, the absurdity having snapped him out of being trapped inside his own head, to see Arthur hovering in midair. He was only a few metres away from the ground. If it had taken Merlin a moment longer to react, he might have been too late.
And he had time now, but he still didn’t know what to do.
What if he still couldn’t find a way to save Arthur? Or what if he could, but he couldn’t figure out how to unpause everyone?
Okay, no. Stop. He couldn’t afford to spiral about something else and accidentally trigger more powerful magic that he didn’t know how to control.
He just needed to stop Arthur from falling, but unfreeze everyone else so that the adults could use their magic to get him down. Except that he knew his magic was stronger than theirs - they wouldn’t be able to overpower his spell and Arthur would just be stuck there.
So he needed to figure out how to get everything to move again, but have something in place to catch Arthur or at least gentle his landing. Did Merlin have enough time to go and get a mattress from one of the dorms? What if he got distracted and accidentally let go of his hold and Arthur just kept falling while Merlin was busy trying to drag a mattress through the corridors?
What the hell was he supposed to do?
“Oh Merlin,” a gentle voice sighed from behind him. “What have you done now?”
Chapter 14: The Lady of the Lake
Chapter Text
"Freya?" he asked, stupefied.
"Ah, Miss Bastet, could you stay behind for a moment please?"
Freya nodded, afterall, she had been expecting this conversation as soon as she saw Nimueh at the head table.
She waved off Gwaine, and smiled as she watched him all but tackle Merlin in a hug on their way out, gushing about how impressive his magic had been.
Then she and Nimueh lingered for a moment in the echoes of her classmates rushing off, waiting to be sure there was no one left to overhear. The other woman smiled at her sharply, before executing a perfect curtsy, though one rather out of fashion.
"It is an honour, My Lady," Nimueh said, eyes gleaming.
Freya smiled regally, returning her greeting with a shallow nod. "The honour is mine, Priestess. I am glad to see you making the most of your second chance."
"Were you behind it then? The hand wielding the will of Mother Magic?" Her tone was casual, conversational even, but Freya saw the burning curiosity behind those eyes.
"There is only one among us with the power to wield the magic of the Triple Goddess herself, and we both know that is not me," Freya reminded her.
"And yet I can feel you carrying the power of the Old Religion. How is it that you retain your power when none else but Emrys managed to keep theirs?"
"Do not go seeking power, Nimueh," she warned. "It was that which doomed us all to Uther's purge."
"Do not blame me for that madman's actions!" she hissed. "I had no way of knowing what he'd do! The entire future was clouded! I thought without an heir Camelot would be doomed to civil war once Uther passed. How was I to know that Uther's revenge would be so much worse for our people?"
"Your actions were not for the benefit of Camelot, do not lie to me, Priestess!" Freya scolded her. "Your only wish was for more power - status - in Camelot's court."
"I wanted to help my friends," she snapped, glaring angrily at the 'young' girl. "Ygraine was my friend." She sighed, tiredly. "I care not for your accusations. I am here, paying my penance. I am guiding Emrys, as I should have the first time around. Tell me, is that the Goddess's wish?"
"I cannot speak on the will of the Goddess," Freya said plainly. "What of your own wishes? Do you seek to help Emrys or to use him? You would not be the first to try and manipulate under the guise of guidance, and I will not let Merlin be hurt like that again."
Nimueh laughed then, suddenly. It was jarring, seeing what should be such a joyful act twisted into something bitter. But it suited her. "You love him," she said, shaking her head. "Oh you poor, foolish child."
Freya scoffed. "I'm hardly a child, no matter my appearance."
"And yet you wear the face of a love-sick girl," Nimueh mocked.
"I liked you more when you were pretending to respect me."
"And I respected you more when I thought you were capable of answering my questions."
Frey rolled her eyes. "You were a High Priestess of the Old Religion, you know that the kind of answers you're looking for don't come that easily."
Nimueh hummed, and Freya decided to take that for her agreement. "You should be careful around him," Nimueh said. "Emrys, that is. I don't think you should get too close. You're different from the rest of us, you chose to be here. You can't afford to get in the way of destiny," she warned.
A sad smile formed on Freya's face. "Don't worry, I've already learned that lesson," She acknowledged. She knew now, she never should have agreed to Merlin's plan to run away together. She was a distraction from destiny, and she paid the price.
"I'd stay away from Morgana too," Nimueh added. "She remembers who she is, and soon she'll become better and better at sensing the Old Magic, even if she cannot wield it. If she senses it within you you'll have to explain yourself to her."
Freya shook her head. "Morgana barely knows I exist. She never knew me. And my name, unlike yours, is not one of legend. They even confuse you for me sometimes, naming you as the Lady of the Lake," she huffed. "No, Morgana won't notice anything about me. The only Old Magic I wield is enough to keep me alive outside of Avalon, hardly enough to draw her attention, especially when standing next to Emrys himself."
"Oh, no need to be so impersonal," she smirked. "Please tell me all about your Merlin."
Freya sighed. "I loved him and he might have loved me, once. And then I died. There's nothing more to say."
"Freya?" he asked, stupefied.
Merlin turned around wildly, expecting to see Arthur continuing his descent, but no. Everyone else was still frozen. Everyone except Merlin and . . . Freya. "I don't understand, how -?"
She smiled softly, taking his hand in hers. "This is impressive even for you, you know?" she said kindly, looking around with a small smile on her face. "Hmm, I don't think you were this young the first time when you started to play with time."
"The first time?" he repeated, confused. "No, nevermind! Freya, you have to help me with Arthur, I don't know how long until this stops working! What if everyone's unfreezing one at a time?!" What if Freya was just the start, what if Arthur was next?
But his friend just giggled, completely at ease despite the gravity of the situation.
"Oh, I should have known," she said, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. "Of course you would start achieving impossible things far sooner having met Arthur so much younger than you did last time. And you don't need to worry about him falling, none of this will restart until you want it to, Merlin."
"Freya, I don't understand what's going on." Even the Headmaster couldn't get through Merlin's magic, so how was Freya immune to it? And why did she seem to know so much more about what was going on than he did. Don't get him wrong, he was comforted by the fact that Arthur apparently wouldn't be going anywhere until Merlin had a sure-fire way to save him, but he didn't understand how Freya could be so certain of it. "How are you awake when no one else is?"
"Oh, Merlin," she said sympathetically, squeezing his hands gently. "I don't think I can tell you just yet, not without making everything far more complicated than it should be."
. . . what did that mean? "Are you special like me?" he asked, confused. "Do you have magic of the Old Religion too?"
"Sort of," she said, smiling awkwardly, the sort of smile an adult gives a small child when they're trying to avoid telling them Father Christmas isn't real. It was the sort of smile that was a lie or a half-truth made from a place of kindness. But Merlin didn't want any lies. He wanted the truth, and he wanted help in saving Arthur.
"I am made of the Old Religion, but I cannot wield it in this form," she replied cryptically. "It has given me the power to be here today, but I no longer have the power to draw on it for spells or incantations like you do."
"What does that mean?"
"If I tell you any more, it means that you're going to have to forget this, Merlin," she said seriously. "You're so young still, you aren't ready to remember. It almost destroyed Morgana to have learnt so soon," she warned him.
"You're behind what made Morgana so distant for all those weeks?" he asked accusatorially, snatching his hands away from her. That seemed so unlike the Freya he thought he knew. And yet, here she was threatening to take his memory away. Perhaps he had never known her at all?
"No, of course not," she cried. "Morgana has just been coming to terms with some very difficult things. Things I am trying to spare you from right now."
He looked at her warily, not quite sure he could believe her. She sounded so reasonable, so convincing. But Merlin had to remind himself that she was clearly keeping things from him. She was powerful enough to break through his magic, and she seemed to think she was powerful enough to take his memories away from him. A normal second year couldn't do that. He couldn't trust her.
She started shaking her head, looking dismayed. "I fear I've already said too much - Nimueh warned me to be careful around you." She was involved too? "Oh, Merlin, I am sorry." . . . And she sounded sorry too, maybe that was the worst part. She still seemed so genuine and sincere. She still seemed like his Freya. But he had never thought the friend he made would have betrayed him like this. He had thought he had found good people at Hogwarts, people he could trust. "I think I'm going to have to erase this," she said regretfully.
He jerked away from her, already pulling his magic up to defend himself. But for whatever reason, it felt like attempting to grab fistfulls of sand, it just kept slipping through his fingers. Perhaps he was using so much magic to maintain the time spell that he didn't have enough spare to protect himself?
"Stay away from me!" he warned anyway, his hands raised as if about to perform a spell, hoping that the threat of his magic would be enough to dissuade her. He started pushing himself through the stands of frozen people, moving backwards away from Freya.
She simply looked back at him as though he were breaking her heart.
Once upon a time, Freya had had nightmares about a kind hearted boy learning the truth about her and being terrified of her. She had never imagined it quite like this though.
It had always been because she was a beast, a monster who could not help but to kill. A penance that only her death had been able to take away, to free her from.
It was painful now, watching the man she once loved, however much of a boy he currently was, fleeing from her in fear.
"Merlin, please, please, believe me when I say that I am your friend, I'm not going to hurt you. I'm trying to help you avoid the hurt," she pleaded with him as he backed away from her, never turning his back towards her, just pushing backwards through the throngs of unmoving people.
"No!" he shouted, shaking his head wildly. "You're a liar, I don't trust you."
She sighed, accepting defeat. No matter how painful it was for her, she was only making things worse for Merlin. She'd make sure he forgot this for now, tucking it away with his other memories from their life Before, but she wouldn't traumatise him more than she needed to.
"Just let me help you with Arthur," she offered, knowing Merlin, as she had for so many years, that this was his weak point. If anyone, no matter who they were or what they had done, offered to help Arthur Pendragon, then Merlin would hear them out.
She was proven right as he froze, just before he reached the stairs leading down from the stands.
"We both know you can save him but you don't know how, do you?" she prodded. "I can help you. I can help you get him to safety, and then unfreeze everything. You don't have to do this on your own."
She could still see the hesitance on his face.
"I'll explain everything, I promise," she told him, knowing that anything she told him here would be wiped away when time began again. She didn't like this. It felt like manipulation, and she hated doing that to someone who had only ever shown her kindness, who had taught her what it felt like to be loved.
"Give me your wand first," he demanded, and she couldn't help but smile sadly. She was glad he was wary, it would serve him well for the threats to come, she just wished it wasn't against her.
"Here," she said, moving slowly. "I'll put it on the floor, and you can summon it." He watched her carefully as she pulled her wand from the sleeve of her robes and placed it at her feet. She even kicked it slightly to roll in his direction."
Merlin's eyes flashed gold and her wand was in his hands. It really was just as easy as breathing for him. He was remarkable. She had missed him so much.
"Why are you doing that?" he asked, almost panicked.
"What?" she said, confused. She wasn't doing anything, she couldn't, she had given him her wand.
"You're crying."
Oh.
Her hand reached up, and sure enough, her cheek was damp. "Sorry," she told him, not quite embarrassed, but regretful. He didn't need to see her grief for her first and only love. He was just a little boy, he wasn't her Merlin. Not yet.
"Tell me how you're here," he said. He had lost the urgency and fear from before. He always had been compassionate. But she supposed she could understand how it might be hard to stay mad at the sight of a crying twelve year old, even if she really wasn't at all.
"Don't you want to help Arthur first?" she asked hopefully.
He smiled ruefully. "You're just trying to stall me."
"I am," she agreed, before sighing and trying to come up with the best way to explain immortality to a little boy. "Beings like you and I, we exist outside of the confines of time," she said carefully. "You stopped time in place, but we live beyond it. Or, at least we're meant to," she added slightly bitterly.
"What does that mean?" he asked incredulously.
"It means you left me," she said, unable to contain herself. She had been pushing aside her grief and anger for centuries. And here was Merlin, the source of it all, asking her about how she was here, when they were once meant to live together forever.
"You made me into this, Merlin. I was just a druid girl, but you made me what I am now. And I was fine to wait for you to finish your destiny. I wanted nothing but the best for you and Arthur, but when his time came you couldn't move on. You wouldn't. And so you found a way to follow him. And you didn't even think twice about the fact that it meant leaving me behind!" she cried.
And then she looked at the shell-shocked face of a little boy who didn't know what on earth she was talking about. Because this was not her Merlin. Her Merlin had abandoned her because he couldn't bear to live a life without Arthur Pendragon in it.
"I loved you," she said softly, knowing she had lost her chance to say it to her own Merlin. "I loved you, and I thought you loved me, but you didn't. You loved him. And so when you came back I used what little power I had left to be here. I made myself into this, so that I could help you. Because more than anything I just want you to be happy, Merlin. In all the years I knew you, you were so very rarely happy. But whenever you were, it was with him. I never understood until it was too late, but he has always been what made you the happiest. So, let me help you save Arthur Pendragon."
Now it was his turn to cry, fat, silent tears running down his cheeks. Poor boy probably didn't even understand why. There was a whole host of memories locked away in his head, making him cry right now, but that wasn't what Freya wanted. She wanted Merlin to be happy.
"I'm sorry," he told her. And it was so genuine that it made her heart ache. "I still don't really understand, but I know I hurt you and I'm sorry, Freya."
She smiled sadly at him. "Let me help you forget this, Merlin. Don't you see this is the tip of the iceberg." He shook his head, but she pressed on. "If we keep pushing then you'll force the memories through, and you're not ready yet, surely you can see that now."
"I don't even know what memories you're talking about!" he said frantically.
'You watched him die," she said, as gently as she could. "Look at how afraid you are that something will happen to him. Do you really want the memories of him dying in your arms?"
He took a few moments, but eventually he shook his head, tears streaming as he did so. "You won't let it happen this time? You'll help me save him."
"I'll help you save them all this time, I promise."
Merlin nodded, swiping at his eyes, trying to pull himself together. "What do we do?" he asked, determination coming back full force.
He was so strong. He was still so young, but already so strong. He was going to survive it this time, Freya swore to herself. She would make sure he was strong enough to see his destiny to its fruition and he would not need to leave her behind again.
She moved towards him slowly, silently relieved that he was no longer trying to move away from her, no longer looking at her with fear and mistrust. Freya took his hands gently. "It's simple, I promise," she said reassuringly.
He nodded, gripping her hands tighter, determination sinking into his features. "I can do this," he said firmly.
"You just need to lower him gently. Like a levitation spell."
He flushed red, "It's that easy?" he asked, embarrassed. "Just Wingardium Leviosa?"
"Not quite," she told him. "Magic that weak won't get through your first spell. You remember what it was like when the Headmaster or Professor McGonagall tried to counteract your magic - modern magic just isn't strong enough to break through that of the Old Religion. Your spell freezing everything in time will overpower it, the spell would only fly from your wand after everything restarted."
"But . . . Professor Nimueh has only taught me the shield spell. I don't know anything that will break through this," he said, panic starting to rise in his voice once more.
She just shook her head fondly. "That's what I'm here for, silly." Merlin had always been terrible at accepting help. "I know the spell you need. It's similar to what I saw you practising on the train, remember? You were floating Aithusa around." He nodded. "Just imagine the same thing, but with Arthur, just lower him slowly to the ground. Using the incantation should be enough to break through the original spell."
"How? Surely a spell to stop time is stronger than a levitation spell?"
"It doesn't quite work like that. Sometimes it's about the stronger spell, sometimes it's about the strength of the caster, but this time it's about intention. You did this through instinct. Your sheer will is what's holding this together. Using an incantation will guide your magic. It wants to help you, you just need to let it know how. This is all your magic, so it's not about overpowering anything, it's about letting both spells work together."
"Okay," he said, nodding nervously. "What's the spell?"
"Astyrung slúpan," she said slowly, feeling the power radiate from the words. She put no magic behind them, but still, there was something ancient and resonant about them that comforted her. She didn't have any power to spare to wield such magic anymore. All the power she had remaining was fueling the spell that kept her here, alive, as a twelve year old girl. She returned to Avalon throughout the summer, and whenever she could over the shorter school breaks, to replenish her power and see to her duties and the Lady of the Lake, but she had no magic to spare to aid him - only her words.
"Astyrung slúpan," he repeated, feeling out the words. The foreign sounds came easily to him in a way they never would for anyone truly born of this time. A mix of old instinct and destiny twining together, allowing the words to flow from Merlin as naturally as breathing. He was, after all, born for this.
He exhaled slowly, an attempt at releasing his nerves, she was sure. "You can do this," she whispered to him.
"Arthur will land safely?" he asked.
"I promise," she told him.
"And then what? How do I get everyone to unfreeze?" She could hear his nerves in the shake of his voice, and was reminded, once again, of how painfully young he was.
"You just have to let it go," she reassured him, squeezing his hand. "Knowing you, it will happen naturally. Once you see Arthur is safe, your magic will relax, and it will let everything go."
". . . and you make me forget?" Frey couldn't tell if he sounded hopeful or disappointed. Perhaps a little of both.
She shook her head. "You'll make yourself forget," she told him. "It's your own magic holding your memories back, trying to protect you. I think if time was moving we'd have to obliviate you, but instead your magic can take over, you won't feel like you're missing any time because time has been stood still."
"So I won't remember that I saved him?" he asked.
Freya laughed. "Merlin, to everyone else it will look like something impossible happened. Arthur teleporting to the ground in an instant, and you moving to here from where you stood next to Morgana and Harry. I think everyone will know that Merlin Emrys is always the one behind impossible things."
He nodded. "Okay, I think I'm ready."
Freya smiled, "Of course you are." It was a bitter sweet smile.
She started walking back to her place in the stands, watching from afar, as she always had done, as Merlin performed the impossible. Seeing him, standing there alone, maintaining incredible magic without breaking a sweat, saddened her. He should not have to bear this burden alone - and he wasn't, not truly. But Merlin could never know that.
"Astyrung slúpan," she heard. She closed her eyes, and prepared herself for chaos.
Notes:
If anyone's confused. That cut away scene is from a few chapters back. At the end of their first DADA lesson nimueh asks freya to stay back.
Chapter 15: Morgana and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day
Notes:
AKA the one where Morgana has zero chill.
Anyways, I have been very bad at updating for the last two years, obviously, since my last two chapters were posted on chirstmas day and then the christmas before that, But hey! only 6 months this time!
For those who are interested, I finally decided to go to uni as of September 2022, which is when momentum on this kinda died. And since I decided not to work this summer, like I did last year, I'm really trying to get back in the swing of writing. And if I can get myself into a habbit of it, I will hopefully be better at fitting it around uni work this year. So here's hoping for more frequent chapters in the comming year, or at least for this summer.
Thank you all for your patience, and for everybody who as still been reading and commenting and leaving Kudos, I promise I appreaciate every one.
Chapter Text
Morgana couldn’t help it, she screamed as Arthur seemed to blink out of existence, but she was soon drowned out by the cacophony of the rest of the stadium. Hers was not the only voice reacting to what had just happened. She reached out to grab Merlin, to shake him, to demand to know what just happened - because this could only have been his doing - but he was not by her side where he had been a moment ago, and her hand grasped empty air.
Beneath her panic, Morgana hoped and prayed that this was a good thing. If both Merlin and Arthur had vanished from where they had just been then it must be connected, it must simply be yet another impossible thing for Emrys to achieve.
Suddenly the wall of sound turned into gasps and other noises of relief. And so when Morgana heard a stray, “Thank Merlin,” for the first time she found herself agreeing whole-heartedly with the sentiment.
Now somewhat assured that she would not be confronted with the sight of her brother’s flattened body, Morgana dared to look down from the railings. She couldn’t see much, what with the rest of the Gryffindor team crowded around the figure on the grass. But she did see the singular figure not in quidditch uniform, right at the centre of the huddle, who’s black hair she could see from this distance. She had a rather good idea of who that might be.
With a relieved sigh that everything had worked out as it should, Morgana allowed the throngs of other students to push their way in front of her, trying to get a better view at the aftermath of all the excitement. And instead, she made her way towards the stairs, seeing as she couldn’t teleport like some people apparently could.
“Come on, Potter,” she added as an afterthought, pulling him along with her. She could throw him at Merlin to distract him from where she had no doubt he would be hovering over her brother’s shoulder. She was certain Arthur would appreciate the reprieve.
“What just happened?” he asked, confused, following along unquestioningly. Someone should probably teach him not to just follow someone when they pulled him in a random direction against his will. But that was a problem for another day. And certainly not her problem at any rate.
“Emrys happened,” she answered him bluntly, storming down the frankly stupid amount of stairs.
“. . . But Merlin was just standing right next to us.”
“Yes, and now he’s not,” she said impatiently. “He’s Emrys, he just does things like this apparently,” she sighed. For once, it was easy to keep her bitterness and jealousy over Merlin’s abilities out of her voice. This time, his impossible nature had worked in her favour. She was sure she’d be back to cursing his name in due time, but for now she allowed herself to be grateful.
They charged down the rest of the steps in silence. Well, outward silence at the very least. Morgana’s head, however, would not shut up.
Rationality and paranoia warred with each other.
She could not get the image of Arthur’s body falling through the sky out of her mind. But then there was Merlin. And destiny apparently. Merlin and Arthur, Emrys and the Once and Future King, they were meant to accomplish more than just this. Death by quidditch accident was not exactly one for the legends.
Which meant Arthur had to be okay. Though, she could hardly believe she was putting her hope in fate of all things.
“Arthur!” she shouted, as they finally reached the pitch, not bothering to restrain herself from running towards the huddle of Gryffindors.
“Get lost, snake!” A voice derided from above her, stepping into her path. “Haven’t your lot done enough?”
Her wand was in her hand before the buffon even had a chance to blink. She stepped closer and placed it right at his chest, not hesitating to meet his eyes, even as her head had to crane upwards to do so. “Get out of my way,” she demanded, in the same tone she had once used to challenge a King.
The boy scoffed and lifted his hand to simply bat away her wand, and Morgana longed for the days when she could use such a gesture to send men flying across rooms and out of her way.
Instead, she simply had to cast quicker than he could move. “Petrificus Totalus!” she hissed, not even watching to see his body stiffen and fall to the ground. She stepped around him, muttering, “Come on, Potter.”
There was a beat of silence, and then, “Blimey, remind me not to get on your bad side,” he said from behind her, slightly breathless. She chose to believe it was from awe rather than him struggling to keep up with her quick pace across the field.
She ignored the comment. She was a High Priestess of the Old Religion, she may not have the same magical power she once possessed, but she could still curse an unarmed teenager.
Finally she got to the mass of quidditch players and professors crowding around her brother. Merlin spotted her first.
“Morgana he’s fine,” he assured quickly, ducking out of the huddle to meet her.
“I’d like to see that for myself, thank you,” she told him, not even stopping before brushing past him and shoving her way past the last few strangers blocking her path.
“Arthur, she breathed, in a sigh of relief at seeing him conscious, and even sat up. She almost felt herself sway with relief. She had trusted in Merlin of course, and been quite sure of his success in saving her brother, but the sight of him alive and well still almost brought her to her knees.
She realised suddenly that she had been imagining Arthur as she last saw him, dying from a sword wound in a battle she had instigated. A wound that, she was now realising, she had no idea if he ever survived. Merlin had run her through with his own sword forged in a dragon’s breath, killing her on his quest to save Arthur’s life. She wondered, absently, if she and her brother died the same death on the same day - both slain with a dragon-forged blade, by a traitor they once trusted with their life.
“Don’t say I told you so,” Arthur said, suddenly jarring her out of her morbid thoughts, glaring up at her from the ground.
She found an old mask quickly falling over her, a playful smirk on her face. It was an act she had once used to mask her hatred of Arthur and his father, and now she used that same act to mask her worry and her guilt.
“Don’t worry, Arthur. I’ll wait until we’re sure your mind isn’t addled before I say ‘I told you so.’ I should hate for you to forget it.”
He huffed, as though frustrated, but there was a smile on his face. And so Morgana let some of her own happiness at his safety bleed through. The sight of him alive, well, and joking around, thawed some of her previous horror.
“If we can get back on topic,” the headmaster interrupted - and Morgana noticed for the first time that quite a few of the Professors had reached the ground since she’d last glimpsed the field from the stands. She looked up to see a (fake) grandfatherly smile on the headmaster’s face as he turned back towards her brother. “You do not remember meeting the ground, Mister Pendragon?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I was falling, trying to get a hold of my wand, though I have no idea what spell I could have possibly cast to catch myself . . . and between one breath and the next I was perfectly safe on the ground. I don’t remember landing, and certainly not with any of the force I should have.”
“Most peculiar,” the headmaster remarked, and Morgana did not even attempt to hide the roll of her eyes.
“Something you’d like to add, Miss Le Fay?” he asked.
“It was Merlin,” she stated simply, her tone implying how stupid they were not to have drawn such a clear conclusion. “Obviously.”
“Now, my dear,” he chastened, causing Morgana to simply glare at the old man. “We cannot discount Mister Pendragon’s own accidental magic. He is not too old for it to act out in such a life-threatening situation.”
“Of course not, dear headmaster,” she sneered, “But that explanation doesn’t account for Merlin miraculously disappearing from my side in the stands and onto the ground beside Arthur. Especially since everyone knows you can’t apparate on Hogwarts’s ground. Besides all that, I asked Merlin to look out for Arthur today.”
“And what inspired you to request such a thing?” he asked. The question was entirely innocent but Morgana didn’t trust this old man one wick. She would not have him finding out about her nightmares.
“Morgana saw -” Arthur began.
“I saw,” she interrupted, “That Harry Potter broke his arm practising with the Weasley twins.” She scrambled quickly for a greater excuse. Injury during school sports was hardly uncommon. Why, if Arthur had gone to Etton like Uther had wanted, he’d have surely gotten a rugby injury at one point or another.
“Our father already has great mistrust in how you run this school, headmaster,” she reminded him, thinking fast, but keeping her tone calm. “He should hate to hear of his only son taking an injury in a school-sanctioned sport. I fear that should we try his patience much more, he may simply pull us from the school altogether.”
It was a good thing that she was such an accomplished liar. Spend a few years in a tyrant’s court, where the truth would result in death, and one becomes quite adept at using half-truths and twisting them to their purpose. Morgana knew how to play this game. Her voice held nothing but confidence and her eyes never wavered from the headmaster’s.
She only hoped that Arthur was not ruining her plan with whatever facial expression he was pulling. But she could not look to check, else that would surely give her away.
“I see,” the headmaster said, and Morgana’s eyes narrowed at his unconvinced tone. “I shall endeavour to speak to Mister Emrys then, but perhaps we ought to reconvene inside. And I think it best we get Mister Pendragon seen by Madame Pomfrey, just in case.”
“But the match isn’t over!” One of the Gryffindors opposed.
“I’m afraid that in the distraction of Mister Pendragon’s fall, the Slytherin seeker managed to catch the snitch,” Madame Hooch informed them.
Morgana ignored the general outcry, and refrained from informing them that even if the game was not over, they were down another player anyhow, and she doubted they had another reserve to cover the absence of their reserve player.
She offered a hand to her brother, glaring at him when he hesitated, his pride not letting him be helped up by a girl. In the end though, he knew what was good for him, and merely huffed silently before taking the offered hand. Morgana was tempted to drop him back on his arse for his attitude, though.
As he stood, and the group started walking back towards the castle, she looped her arm through his out of pure habit, only realising it was odd when Arthur shot her a questioning look. This was not the fifth century. Men did not escort ladies on their arm anymore, and had not done so for quite some time. While they may still be posh in this lifetime, they were not that posh. Still, she did not acknowledge his unspoken question, since she had no explanation to give him.
“Why didn’t you tell Professor Dumbledor the truth?” he asked quietly, apparently eager to question her for something.
She internally applauded that Arthur at least had the discretion to ask the question under his breath. “You saw how he was about Snape - I don’t trust him,” she explained simply.
“Alright, so he’s a terrible judge of character,” he agreed. “But seeing the future in your dreams is obviously magical. You should tell at least one professor about it,” he urged.
And he wasn’t exactly wrong, Morgana thought. She remembered how much her dreams had terrified her in Camelot, though she wondered now if that was simply because they were magic in Camelot, or if the prospect of dreaming the future would have always been such a terrifying prospect?
But it was different now. Morgana knew she was a Seer - probably one of the most powerful to ever live. And, frankly, she could only feel joy at the return of her gifts. It was not the full power she had once had at her disposal, but it was a small comfort. Besides, it had allowed her to ensure Arthur’s protection. Now she finally saw her visions for what they were. A gift.
“Oh, relax,” she brushed him off. “If you paid any attention then you would know that Divination is one of our electives for next year. I’m sure I’ll find out anything I need to know then.”
She doubted there would be much that they could teach her. If a High Priestess had not been able to help her to control her visions, then this modern day weakling would likely fare no better. Still, she would give a chance for modern advancements to prove themselves. So much had been discovered and invented between her lifetimes, that she could allow the possibility for some intellectual advancement in magic, even if the general power had decreased drastically.
“Then why not tell them now, if they’ll find out next year anyway?”
“Because, if I wait until next year I will be able to see what is expected in terms of divination, and whether or not we are outliers.”
“We?” he asked, confused.
“Did you or did you not predict Nimueh’s arrival at our school?” she whispered harshly, remembering her own jealousy at the thought of her brother stealing her abilities.
“You can’t think -”
“Mister Jeffries!” came the startled cry, as the whole group came to an abrupt stop.
“Fuck . . .” she whispered, suddenly remembering the Gryffindor she had cursed.
The Professors turned to the students trailing behind them. “Who is responsible for this?!” Madame Hooch demanded loudly.
The Gryffindor players quickly ruled themselves out, and then Merlin. “Emrys was already on the ground when the rest of us landed, and he was close to Pendragon the rest of the time. Jeffries wandered off just before they got here,” one of them said with a nod to her and then Harry.
The two of them quickly became the subject of scrutiny, and she saw Merlin get ready to throw another fit to defend his helpless little brother.
Under the intense stares, Harry quickly folded and simply pointed at her, a guilty expression on his face.
“Traitor!” she declared, whipping her head around to glare at him. “What happened to not wanting to get on my bad side?”
Potter rolled his eyes, the snarky little thing. “He would have just told them what happened as soon as the spell wore off,” he reasoned.
“At which point it’s his word against mine, and you back me up!” She said, frustrated. “Honestly, it’s like you know nothing,” she sighed.
“Miss Le Fay, what is the meaning of this?” the headmaster asked loudly, over her hushed debate with Potter.
Ugh.
She squared her shoulders. “I had just watched my brother fall out of the sky, and he refused to let me by -” she bit out, throwing a disgusted glance in the Gryffindor’s direction, “- even after I asked politely. I was not going to waste my time arguing when I didn’t even know if Arthur was dead or alive.” She stared that old man in the eyes and glared. “So I resolved the situation as swiftly and as peacefully as I was able,” she finished with a blatantly insincere smile.
“Cursing your fellow students is not a peaceful resolution,” he scolded, and she rolled her eyes.
“He’s not hurt or maimed. He doesn’t have so much as a scratch on him. He probably got more beaten up in the game than he did at the end of my wand,” she argued tiredly. “All I did was stop him from blocking my way.”
The professors exchanged dubious looks and Morgana snapped.
She had slept terribly last night, unable to get any rest, her vision of Arthur falling to his death just replaying whenever she had closed her eyes. And then she had had to actually live through the game - constantly on edge, just waiting for the worst to happen. And it had happened. She had watched her brother, her family, fall out of the sky. She had watched him blink out of existence. And then she had been forced to fight her way to get to him.
She would not let them make her ashamed of her actions when she had spent all day fighting for Arthur’s survival.
“Another student transfigured Arthur’s bat into a snake earlier today, endangering his life!” she reminded them angrily. Because in the headmaster’s little quest to find out how Arthur’s life was saved, he didn’t seem to care one whit about who had put it in danger.
“And you haven't said a word on that!” she continued. “And yet you want to scold me for simply immobilising someone who tried to blame me for that outcome? Then fine!” she yelled, “Take points, put me in detention, whatever. But I’m telling you right now that I don’t regret what I did for a second, and I wouldn’t so much as blink at doing it again!”
And with that, she stormed off.
Albus didn’t know what to make of this mess. Two of his Gryffindors put in harm's way, two Slytherins as their attackers, and a stray Hufflepuff performing unknown and potentially dangerous magic on a classmate. At that point he had decided he may as well just call all the Heads of House along with the students. There was little point excluding Fillius from the discussion, and frankly, an unbiased view may be useful.
So there they stood, Mister Jefferies looking very out of place, at least a head above the gaggle of second-years surrounding him. They had waited for the Petrificus Totalus to wear off, and had the Pendragon boy checked by Madame Pomfrey in the meantime. All the students before him were entirely unharmed, which put Albus in the mood to be a little more lenient. A mood that Miss Le Fay, and her mutinous glare, was testing.
“Now, who would like to begin?” he asked genially. He found children were often much more cooperative when they didn’t feel as though they were being interrogated. It was best to let them all say their piece.
“I don’t care what happens to the rest of them,” Jefferies began furiously. “But she,” he spat, turning his head to glare at Miss Le Fay, “Just cursed me out of nowhere.”
Miss Le Fay appeared to be quite literally biting her tongue to refrain from snapping back at the fourth-year.
“Well,” Severus drawled from behind him. “What have you got to say for yourself, girl.” She visibly bristled at the question, and threw a look of disgust over Albus’s shoulder. Well, if he had thought he was on the child’s bad side, it seemed like that was nothing compared to the girl’s Head of House.
“As I have already told the headmaster,” she began, her tone defiant. “After he made a derisive comment due to my house, I asked him to get out of my way, and when he refused - since I didn’t know if my brother was dead or alive - I chose the path of least resistance and used a harmless spell so that I might step around him.”
“Harmless?” he said indignantly. “I had to lay there with my face in the dirt for like fifteen minutes!”
“Oh I’m so sorry you couldn’t handle a bit of mud while I waited to see if Arthur had been flattened into the ground or not,” she scoffed.
“I think what Morgana is trying to say -” Mister Pendragon cut in awkwardly.
“I can speak for myself!”
“- is that there were extenuating circumstances, headmaster. Surely you can understand that?” he asked, elbowing his sister, presumably to prompt her to stop talking. “And, of course, her usual response to conflict is absolutely not to pull her wand on a fellow student. It was simply a bad decision made in panic, and even then, she did choose a spell that wouldn’t actually harm Graham.”
Albus found himself nodding along. Truthfully, both children had obviously learnt a great deal from the senior Pendragon in how to speak. They both knew how to twist events into something which fit their narrative, and he was eerily reminded of watching Uther Pendragon take on the Board of Governors from a few months prior. The way the children spoke and carried themselves were far closer to what Albus was used to seeing from Pureblood heirs than the regular muggleborn and half-blood children to pass through these halls.
“There were extenuating circumstances,” he allowed. “However, it is never the solution to draw your wand on your fellow student. A detention, I believe, is a suitable punishment. With Professor McGonagall -” he turned slightly to see her nod in agreement, “- since it was one of her Gryfindor’s you assaulted.”
Miss Le Fay did not look pleased with that response, but Albus saw Mister Jefferies nodding, looking appeased.
“And 20 points from Gryffindor, I believe, Headmaster,” Professor Snape cut in, with an unflattering sneer on his face. “For Mister Graham Jeffries’s comments made against Slytherin House.”
“I do believe that’s a little harsh, Severus,” he cautioned.
“And I dare say he suffered punishment enough at the end of Miss Le Fay’s wand,” Fillius cut in with a chuckle.
Severus’s face pulled into an even deeper scowl, but, wisely, he said nothing more.
“The two of you may go,” Albus concluded, and Mister Jefferies quite quickly left towards the exit - likely wanting to get beyond the reach of Severus’s stare sooner rather than later.
“I’d rather stay,” Miss Le Fay cut in, with a venomous glare thrown in her fellow Slytherin’s direction.
“Very well,” he agreed, not eager to get into another disagreement with the young lady, and quite ready to get this business over and done with.
“Now, Mister Emrys,” he began. “What to do about your rather reckless use of powerful magic?”
“I was just trying to help,” the boy said, rather timidly.
“Be that as it may, there is a reason apparition is forbidden on school grounds. And while your unique circumstances allowed you to get around the anti-apparition wards, in doing so you endangered not only yourself, but your friend,” he cautioned.
Le Fay scoffed. “He saved Arthur’s life,” she interrupted, quite rudely. “He doesn’t deserve to be punished for that.”
“Nonetheless,” Albus corrected calmly, “Apparition, when not learned properly, can cause grievous harm. Sometimes resulting in the loss of limbs or even the loss of life should you leave behind the wrong body part. It was fool-hardy and dangerous, even if it was done with the best of intentions.”
At this, Miss Le Fay outright laughed, and Albus rather regretted not forcing the issue and expelling her from his office when he had the chance. “But he didn’t apparate,” she objected. “He didn’t overpower the anti-apparition wards, he used a different spell. You can’t scold him based on the consequences of a spell he didn’t use.”
“She’s right,” Pendragon added, passionately. “Whenever Merlin’s magic reacts it’s always been Old magic. So he can’t have been using the same spell”
“There is no way of knowing which-”
“I didn’t use my wand,” the boy in question cut in quietly. His voice did not shake or stutter, as Albus had seen it do on many an occasion, but it was still clear from the timid way in which he spoke that he was nervous to interrupt. He struggled to reconcile this skittish child with the boy who held the Board of Governors at wand-point just a few months prior.
“I always use my wand for the magic we’re taught in class,” the boy continued, rambling awkwardly. “And I don’t even know how to apparate. Ever since it woke up, all of my accidental magic has been magic of the Old Religion,” he swore. “I really don’t really know what happened, I just wanted to help Arthur and so my magic did it. But I don’t think it was whatever spell you’re thinking of, headmaster, I don’t know what it was, but it definitely wasn’t -”
“That’s alright, Merlin, dear. We believe you,” Pomona said gently.
“Pomona,” Albus chided gently, “We can hardly just take the boy at his word in such a serious situation. While, yes, wandless apparition would be incredibly difficult, we can all agree it is not beyond Mister Emrys’s capabilities.”
“Albus, please,” Minerva objected, surprising Abus. “If it had been apparition we would have seen Mister Emrys appear mid-air to get Mister Pendragon before bringing them safely to the ground. You cannot apparate another person without physical contact - and even if you could, the Hogwarts wards do not allow for apparition on the grounds. It is one thing to think the boy might achieve it wandlessly, but to do so without knowing the spell, while breaking the school wards and while apparating another person without contact. It is simply ridiculous.”
Pomona smiled rather cheerily at her side with this pronouncement. And Albus had to concede that the boy breaking four improbable boundaries with a single spell was perhaps one too many to be plausible.
“I see. Well then, my boy, I suppose we shall simply let you off with a warning to be more careful,” Albus said graciously.
He saw Miss Le Fay open her mouth, most likely to voice yet another objection, but a swift elbow to the side from her brother got her to simply redirect her anger into a scowl in his direction instead.
That left Albus to move on to the final occupant of the room, and one who had kept surprisingly silent through the rest of this debate (though Albus would not be surprised if Severus's angry disposition had something to do with that).
“Now, Mister Black,” he began. “I daresay you have some sort of explanation for your actions?”
Chapter 16: Conversations in the Library
Notes:
I am back in a reasonable time, as promised!
I'll be honest, I'm not super happy with the latter part of this chapter, but I just wanted to get it out. Hope you enjoy!
Chapter Text
Two month’s worth of detentions and a life-ban on quidditch. That was it.
Mithian could hardly believe it when they told her that that was all the punishment that Valiant was going to get, but the fact that Morgana was practically frothing at the mouth in anger really sold it. Apparently, Arthur had had to hold her back from physically attacking the headmaster when he had declared that the incident had simply been ‘a missguided, youthful prank’.
Mithian thought that a physical attack was an odd course of action for a witch to take, but Morgana had defended that, “There was no chance of me winning against him using magic. But I figured if I was quick enough I could have gotten in a good slap at the very least. Bloody Arthur ruining everything again -” And well. That rant had gone on for a while. But the explanation had really helped Mithian see the familial resemblance between her and Arthur. They really both just had the worst temper.
So, while Morgana took a positively Gryffindor approach at revenge, by hexing Black whenever his back was turned (and, well, sometimes to his face too), Mithian decided to take a more subtle route. She decided to simply discredit every aspect of who he said he was.
Now, she may not care about blood purity but Mithian would be a fool not to notice that the majority of her house did - and those that thought otherwise were generally smart enough to keep that opinion to themselves. It was frankly a little ridiculous how much it changed one’s social standing within Slytherin, but she had seen it firsthand, when Morgana had gone from a filthy mudblood to a tolerable halfblood at the discovery of her relation to Professor Nimueh Le Fay. Finding a distant magical relative had changed everything for her friend. The bullying and name-calling had all but vanished overnight, the housemates who would rather sneer than make conversation were suddenly alright with asking for homework help or makeup tips. Mithian had despised their two-faced nature, and luckily Morgana had not been afraid to take the opportunity to scorn them all in return for how they had treated her last year.
Which led her quite nicely to her idea on how to completely ruin Valiant Black.
A year and a half ago at the welcome feast, Mithian hadn’t really cared when little first-year Valiant had quickly nodded and assured his new housemates when they assumed that yes, of course it were The Ancient and Noble House of Black where he came from. At least he was smart enough to claim to be a halfblood son a few generations removed from some forgotten cousin. Mithian hadn’t spared much more thought to his lies than a little bit of pity. She would hardly begrudge someone doing what they could to survive in Slytherin.
And yet, she had known instantly that he was lying. Her father, trying to teach her the folly of the pureblooded mindset, had told her all about the Blacks. About how their obsession with keeping their family pure had led to inbreeding and madness, where the last generation of the Blacks were two sons serving a madman - one presumed dead, one sentenced to life in Azkaban - and three daughters who had shed their family name - one just as mad as her lord: a confirmed death eater who had tortured a young family and was now rotting in Azkaban with her cousin, one wed to a suspected death eater: a socialite who had managed to salvage her family’s reputation with her husbands endless bribes, and the last lucky daughter: a runaway who had gotten far away from the insanity of her family and gotten herself disowned while she had the chance. It was a harrowing tale of how a once great family could implode from their own foolish rhetoric. But nowhere in that tale was an ill known cousin who had managed to carry on the family name to an unscathed generation.
Which meant Valiant Black was a liar.
The Mithian of a few weeks ago had simply minded her own business, and kept her knowledge to herself, but then Valiant Black had almost killed one of her friends. And so Mithain went digging.
It wasn’t very hard. She knew Black had at least one wizarding parent, since he hadn’t come to Hogwarts completely oblivious, and, based on his need to lie, she had to assume that that parent was a muggleborn. A muggleborn who knew enough to advise their child to outright lie to protect themselves meant that this parent had also been a Slytherin, since the other houses weren’t anywhere near as prejudiced. After narrowing that down, it just took a look through an old student directory and asking her mother for an odd favour - to send her wedding announcements from Norwich (where Valiant had once offhandedly mentioned growing up) around the right time frame - and simply look and compare the names until she found a match.
And there she found a Cecilia Williams, to be wed to Anthony Black on March 16th 1976. The same Cecelia Williams who had graduated Hogwarts, with no particularly outstanding achievements, in June of 1971.
It had taken a few weeks of digging, but once she had the names she just needed to send a few letters to confirm the truth. Poor Cecilia Williams, after a couple of fruitless years of being turned away from ministry job after ministry job, returned to her muggle childhood town, where she got a job as a receptionist at a muggle company, where she met her soon-to-be muggle husband.
Mithian had found it quite sad, in truth. That a witch, even if she was an unremarkable one, had not managed to find a place in wizarding society. She supposed that the woman, having graduated around the height of the Dark Lord’s reign, had had an even harder job as a muggleborn trying to find a place in their world. Truly, Mithian did not begrudge her wishing the best for her son and advising him to lie to protect himself.
If only she hadn’t raised that son to be such a piece of shit, Mithian wouldn’t have to undo all of Cecilia Black née Willaim’s hard work.
And if one thing spread through Hogwarts like fiendfyre, it was gossip. Mithian just needed to have a single conversation within hearing distance of a few upper-years, and by the next day Valiant Black’s life will have gone up in flames.
She looked over her shoulder, spotting a mixed study group of sixth-year Slytherin and Ravenclaws - even better. Turning back to the Slytherin second-year girls at her table, Mithian began, almost giddily, and far louder than usual, “You’ll never guess what I heard . . .”
She was almost certain that the rumour wouldn’t be chased back to her. Who would ever suspect a borderline bloodtraitor like her to start a rumour like that?
She would ask the girls in front of her to keep it to themselves, but they most certainly wouldn’t. And even if they did, they weren’t Mithian’s primary targets. She had her true gossip-mongers listening just a few feet away. These things always carried more weight when it came from one of the upper-years.
Very soon Valiant would have no one watching his back, and Morgana would be free to hex the boy to her life’s content. Mithian’s work here was done.
Merlin and Arthur’s argument about quidditch seemed to have been well and truly forgotten when Arthur fell out of the sky. They hadn’t exactly talked about it - Merlin hadn’t apologised for snitching to a Professor, and Arthur hadn’t apologised for getting angry at his friend for going behind his back. Really, there should have been some sort of lingering tension or resentment, but Arthur couldn’t exactly stay mad after Merlin saved his life, and Merlin apparently couldn’t stay mad after watching Arthur almost die. So they had come to a mutual agreement that all was forgotten.
Luckily, whatever resentment Morgana held for Harry’s ‘betrayal’ after Arthur’s near-death experience was instead redirected towards Valiant Black. Actually, it seemed as though a lot of resentment was being directed towards Valiant Black, far more than there had been this time last week, Arthur noted as he watched Black get all but chased out of the library by some Slytherins.
“What’s up with that?” Harry asked, also noting the odd occurance.
While Black had been receiving unanimous hatred from Gryffindor house - along with some scornful looks from the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws - Slytherin had, up until now, stood firmly behind the psychopath. Arthur wondered, idly, what had changed. Though he couldn’t say he was sad at the outcome. His only real regret was that he hadn’t managed to get a punch in, as the two of them were always watched like a hawk whenever they were in the vicinity of one another.
“Never you mind,” Mithian responded primly, dipping her quill back into her inkwell after finishing her last sentence with a particular flourish. Arthur couldn’t help but notice that the dismissal sounded somewhat smug.
“Never mind that,” Morgana interjected, staring at Potter suspiciously - okay so maybe Morgana hadn’t redirected all her resentment about Potter turning on her. “Why do you care? Bastard’s getting what’s coming to him,” she said decisively.
“Careful, or Merlin will bite your head off,” Gwaine warned, grinning at Merlin’s timely entrance into the Library. “We try not to swear in front of the baby,” he added playfully.
“Hey! Not a baby! I’m only two years younger than you lot!” was Potter’s grumpy protestation. An argument they had all heard plenty of times before, and one that was luckily cut off by Merlin’s irritable approach to their table.
“Extra lessons!” Merlin told them angrily, all but throwing his bag on the floor and slumping into his chair dramatically. “On Saturdays of all days! I knew Dumbledore was just waiting for a way to punish me.”
“That’s what Professor Nimueh kept you back for?” Arthur asked incredulously, but happy to stop thinking about Black. “Why? It’s not like you’re struggling in lessons. You breeze through whatever spell we’re learning in the first five minutes of class, and then spend the rest of the lesson working on your special-ancient-crap.”
“It’s not crap!” Merlin said, sitting up suddenly, offended. Which wasn’t how Arthur meant it! He didn’t mean it was crap. It’s just that saying ‘The Magic of the Old Religion’ was a bloody mouthful. He was just being economical with his word choice, that was all!
“Yeah, it’s cool as hell! Fuck off, Pendragon, you’re just jealous!” Gwaine jumped in, eager as ever to start a baseless argument with Arthur. And he was not jealous. Who cared if Merlin was stronger than him. Merlin was still a wuss, who needed Arthur to have his back.
“Wha- Hey!” Gwaine complained, rubbing his arm.
“I’ve warned you to stop swearing around my brother,” Merlin glared, tucking his wand back into his robe sleeve. Harry, who had both his hands on two separate books, holding the pages open for Mithian, rolled his eyes.
“Oh, forget Gwaine’s potty mouth,” Arthur huffed. He would have been more annoyed by the diversion, but it was always fun watching Gwaine get hexed. “Why is Professor Nimueh giving you extra lessons? It’s suspicious, right?” he asked, looking at the others for confirmation.
“Oh please don’t start again with your irrational hatred,” Merlin said tiredly, pulling his own ink and parchment out of his bag to get started on the transfiguration essay they had all gathered in the library to work on. Other than Harry. He was just there because he was clingy and demanded as much of Merlin’s attention as he would give.
“It’s not irrational! She’s creepy!” he argued, sick of yet another person taking Merlin’s attention away from him. “Morgana, back me up!”
“Hm?” she asked distractedly, and Arthur debated grabbing one of the many books on their table and throwing it at her head.
“Why do you bother sitting with us if you’re just going to ignore everything we say and do?”
“Because,” she smiled sarcastically, finally gracing them with her attention. “Whenever I can be bothered to pay attention, I get to watch you say or do something incredibly stupid, and hold it over your head forever.” Gwaine snorted, and Mithian giggled next to him, showing that obviously she at least was paying attention to the conversation, despite never having removed her eyes from her essay.
“I do not -!” he began angrily, only to be quickly interrupted.
“Can you lot please get back on topic?” Harry complained. And no, Arthur was not grateful for being pulled back to the point of the conversation. That boy had no manners. You didn’t interrupt your elders. His father would have his hide if he ever behaved like that.
“I’m not in any classes, so someone please tell me what’s weird or creepy about Professor Nimueh.” Harry sighed, obviously annoyed at being out of the loop.
“Oh, her,” Morgana drawled, an obvious distaste in her voice.
“Yes! See! Morgana thinks she’s suspicious too!” Arthur crowed, vindicated.
But instead his sister just shook her head. “Sadly not,” Morgana told him. “She’s a bitch,” she said consideringly, turning back to her essay, “But she’s not up to anything nefarious.”
Mithian hummed. “Last time she held you back after class, you spiralled, stopped showing up for classes, and didn’t talk to anyone for weeks,” she interjected lightly, as though adding something trivial to the conversation.
Meanwhile, Arthur tried very hard not to pick up and shatter the inkwell on the table in front of him.
“Like I said - a bitch,” Morgana agreed loftily.
“Nevermind that!” Gwaine said, loud enough for Arthur to hear over the sound of his own pulse thudding in his ear drums. “I say ‘ fuck’ and you - hey! Ow! That’s my point! I curse and you hex me. Le Fay does it and suddenly it’s fine?”
“Of course it’s not fine - can you all please stop swearing around Harry - but I don’t have a death wish. I’m not hexing Morgana.”
She smiled smugly, obviously pleased at the exception, and general fear she inspired.
Arthur silently seethed. How could she be so blasé about this?
He was tempted to hex her just to watch that smug smile fall. Considering her fear at his almost death a few weeks ago, he was reasonably sure she wouldn’t kill him for doing so. And Arthur was definitely in the mood to hex someone right now. Namely, Professor Nimueh for whatever she did to his sister.
“So she was behind what happened to you!” he hissed.
“She wasn’t behind anything, Arthur,” Morgana scoffed. “She just gave me some rather sad news -”
“You cried yourself to sleep for weeks.”
“ - some rather devastating news about our shared family,” Morgana finished with a swift correction, throwing a disgruntled glare in Mithian’s direction after her ‘casual’ reminder.
And Arthur really was about to start throwing things if everyone kept reacting like this was nothing.
Morgana, seemingly being able to see from his face how close to snapping Arthur was, elaborated. She sighed, “Look, she’s a conniving bitch and I don’t like her. But, Arthur,” she said, grabbing his hand under the table and slowly unfurling his fist, where it had been clenched against his leg, “Everything we were worried about at the start of the year - don’t be. I told you I’d handle it and I did. She’s not a threat. I promise.”
Arthur breathed out slowly, wanting to take her at her word, but not quite sure that he could. It was true that Morgana had asked him to trust her at the start of the year, and maybe he had been an idiot to ignore her own premonition when his had predicted Nimueh . . . but he wasn’t sure that he could keep trusting her blindly when she kept shutting him out.
She had said nothing of her conversation with Nimueh all that time ago. And even now, she wasn’t telling Arthur what was said. What little he knew about the situation was through Mithian’s little comments, not because his sister had confided anything in him. She had avoided him for weeks, and then Arthur had been too scared to push her away again to ask any questions.
Morgana just kept asking for Arthur’s trust while giving him none in return.
“Well then,” Gwaine said awkwardly, interrupting Arthur and Morgana’s silent staring match. “That’s not weird and cryptic at all.”
Arthur said nothing, simply shoving his half-finished essay into his bag and leaving.
If no one would give him answers then he would get them himself.
Merlin forgot his exasperation as soon as he saw Arthur storm off. He exchanged a quick confused and surprised look with Morgana ( he was confused, she was surprised), before abandoning his things and following where his friend had stormed off to.
He wasn’t exactly sure what had just happened. He had just come in intending to complain about his extra classes, he’d hardly expected the conversation to end with Arthur getting upset. Not that he was entirely sure what Arthur was upset about. It all seemed a bit confusing, the way Morgana and Arthur were speaking in circles, talking around certain things that they obviously didn’t want the rest of them to know about.
Merlin tried not to let the secrets bother him. Arthur and Morgana were family, family were allowed to have secrets. Just like how there were plenty of things about Merlin that only Harry really understood about him. It didn’t mean that he loved his friends any less. Things were just different with his brother.
But despite those assurances, Merlin couldn’t help the slightly sick feeling he’d had in his stomach as soon as he saw Arthur walk away from them.
Merlin tried to put that aside for now, and just focused on finding his friend.
Merlin caught up to Arthur quite quickly, catching him between two towering bookcases, giving them some sense of privacy.
Merlin reached out to grab his hand before he got too far, but he wasn’t expecting Arthur to snatch his hand back angrily. The look on his face when he turned around to face Merlin had him stumbling back slightly.
“Sorry,” he said quickly, ducking his eyes down to avoid Arthur’s. He didn’t like the expression in them at all. He had seen his friend angry at him before, but he still hated to see it directed towards him, and he couldn’t help his slight flinch backwards at the sight.
Which was stupid. Merlin was the one who had grabbed him unexpectedly, Arthur had every right to be annoyed at him - Merlin didn’t like when people grabbed him unexpectedly either.
“Sorry,” he repeated again, this time forcing his eyes up. He refused to be afraid of Arthur - Arthur was his friend. “You just . . . you looked upset,” he explained awkwardly. “I didn’t want you to feel like you were alone.”
He watched, with no small amount of relief, as Arthur’s gaze softened.
“You’re a good friend, Merlin,”
Merlin tried not to flush, choking back a denial. He wasn’t sure he was as good a friend as Arthur deserved, not if he hadn’t noticed something bothering Arthur this badly.
“I’m sorry I didn’t take it seriously,” Merlin said guiltily, “That you didn’t like Professor Nimueh.” He had hated Arthur dismissing his concerns over the quidditch game, he hadn’t realised at the time that he had done the exact same thing about their new Defence Professor.
Arthur just shrugged. “It’s not like I ever explained why,” he conceded.
“But I still should have trusted you,” Merlin said. “You're my friend. I know you’re not stupid. I should have just trusted you to know what you’re talking about. Even if I didn’t understand it. Even if I still don’t understand it.”
“Morgana asked me to leave it to her,” Arthur said. “To trust her.” There was something bitter about the way he said it, Merlin thought, as though he regretted it.
It wasn’t quite an explanation, but Merlin felt a bit better at the thought that it was Arthur keeping Morgana’s secret, and not that he just hadn’t trusted Merlin.
“And you’re upset she didn’t trust you with whatever she found out,” Merlin reasoned, finally understanding what had caused Arthur to storm off so angrily. “You don’t think she’ll tell you if you ask?”
Arthur scoffed. “You heard how she glossed over it just now. She acts like what happened wasn’t important, so we won’t think it’s important either. Father used it all the time in his campaigns - don’t bring up what you don’t want to talk about, and if someone else mentions it, downplay it. Never bring attention towards your weak spots.”
Merlin thought that that bit of advice explained rather a lot about the two siblings. Morgana chose to deflect everything she didn’t want to talk about, and Arthur would choose to walk away from all of his friends when something bothered him so none of them would see him look upset. So none of them would see him look ‘weak’.
As much as Merlin was grateful for the help Mister Pendragon had given him and Harry that summer, Merlin wished he had taught his children that they could ask for help too.
Well, if Arthur was too proud to ask for Merlin’s help, then Merlin would just do the hard part for him.
“What can I do?” Merlin asked him. “How can I help?”
Arthur looked at him then, a mix between completely helpless and immensely grateful.
“Just . . . don’t be alone with her,” he pleaded. “You saw what she did to Morgana after she spoke to her alone! I don’t want that to happen to you too!”
Merlin started nodding quickly in agreement, anything to get that distressed look off of Arthur’s face, before even realising what he was agreeing to. He froze immediately upon the realisation: the reason this whole conversation had happened.
“But . . . the Headmaster said I have to have extra lessons with her,” Merlin said with a wince, feeling incredibly guilty, especially when Arthur let out a small, pained noise that he didn’t seem able to hold back.
“Well don’t go then!” he shouted, earning them a few glares from the other students still trying to get on with studying.
“I - I don’t -” Merlin stuttered, panicking. The yelling had thrown him off balance, and then the suggestion to ignore a direct order from an adult made something in Merlin’s chest seize. Bad things happened when you didn’t do what grownups wanted you to do.
Whatever look had been on Arthur’s face quickly turned to betrayal at Merlin’s inability to agree to his plan, before shuttering off completely. He just stared at him, his face unnaturally blank, and it made the feeling in Merlin’s chest clench even tighter. He had asked Arthur how he could make him feel better, and then he’d let him down.
“Fine then,” Arthur said, his voice sounding oddly flat. “I’ll figure it out on my own.” He brushed past Merlin, shoving him back into the bookshelves that had been bracketing them.
Merlin stayed there for a few moments, wondering how he had managed to mess up so badly. He’d just wanted to comfort his friend, but somehow he’d just made it all a hundred times worse.
And now he had to go back and face his friends.
He kept his head down as he weaved back in between shelves and tables, sliding silently back into his chair, trying not to look in the direction of Arthur’s now-empty seat.
“Princess still throwing a tantrum then?”
“Don’t, Gwaine,” Merlin said tiredly. He didn’t want to do this now. He didn’t want to deal with Gwaine taking shots at Arthur’s absence the way he always seemed to whenever Merlin got into an argument with him, especially not when Merlin was the one who messed up.
Luckily, Gwaine picked up on the fact that Merlin was not in the mood for that avenue of jokes. “Well, at least you’re free now to complain about your extra class.”
Merlin smiled weakly at Gwaine’s swift change in topic. “I guess,” he muttered. “I do really hate having to give up my Saturday for it,” he said, allowing himself to be distracted.
“You are such an idiot,” Morgana said, sounding surprisingly frustrated as she glared at Merlin. “You’re just completely content to waste your magic, aren’t you?”
“He’s not an idiot.” Harry defended loyally. “And he’s better at magic than all of you put together!”
“Debatable,” Morgana scoffed, before sighing tiredly. “Look I’m not arguing that he’s more powerful, obviously that’s true.” She rolled her eyes. “But you have access to a branch of magic that has been extinct for hundreds of years. One of the few known experts in the world has been brought to Hogwarts - most likely for you - and you’ve just been ignoring that resource for almost what? Four months?” The others all stared at her blankly for a moment. “Like I said, idiot.”
“It’s not like I’ve been ignoring it,” he said defensively, surprised at how much this seemed to bother Morgana. “I spend most of our Defence lessons learning Old Magic, and I practise on my own too.”
“Oh yes, learning how to float your cat around is really a great use for the ancient and powerful magic you have access to,” she said bitingly.
“Merlin, you have unknown, powerful magic.” Mithian began placatingly, deciding to finally look up from her essay in order to play peace-keeper. “Based on what you all told me of what happened in the headmaster’s office, he’d just like you to get a better handle on it.” Then she turned to Morgana, “And he’s obviously using it for more important things, considering he saved your brother’s life a few weeks ago,” she reminded her chidingly.
“Well he’s avoided almost destroying the castle this year, so he’s two up from last year,” Morgana said snidely.
“She means, you’ve come a long way already. Learning some proper spells in defence has likely been helping, but you really should be learning as much as you can this year. After all, Professor Nimueh will only be here one year, so you should make the most of her expertise. And besides, we’re only going to get even busier next year when we have all of our electives to fit into our schedule too.”
Merlin huffed. How did she make it all sound so reasonable?
“But . . . Saturdays . . .” he said helplessly. He was so busy in lessons all week, and then working on homework on Sundays, that he only really had Saturdays spare to spend with Harry. And sure, sometimes his brother joined them when they all piled into the library to work on essays and things, but it wasn’t the same as quality time with his brother.
Mithian sighed, “You can just ask if Harry can sit in on the lessons, you know?”
“Wait, really?” Harry asked, ecstatic. “Why aren’t I doing that for all your other lessons?”
Mithian turned to him with an indulgently fond look - and Merlin didn’t care how long Gwaine and Mithian had been friends, Merlin swore that Harry was her favourite. “Because, Harry darling, you’ll be sitting those classes yourself in a few years. It would give you an unfair advantage over your peers. And besides you still have your own supplementary lessons with Madame Pomfrey, don’t you?”
“I suppose,” he sulked, and she ruffled his hair playfully.
“Exactly,” she told him. “But these extra classes will be different; mostly because they’ll be absolutely useless to you, but also because they won’t coincide with your own lessons.” She smiled sarcastically at the both of them, “And this way you can carry on being unhealthily co-dependent.”
And this way, Merlin realised, he could keep his promise to Arthur. If Harry came with him to his extra lessons, he wouldn’t be alone with Professor Nimueh, and Arthur would have one less thing to worry about!
He grinned, “You’re the best!” he told Mithian, dropping a kiss to her forehead, and then Harry’s, before rushing to chase after his best friend.
Merlin was not going to let Arthur down.
Chapter 17: Complicated Families
Notes:
Feels a bit odd to be writing about christmas in the middle of August, but here we are.
Enjoy!
Chapter Text
Arthur had been quiet in the few weeks leading up to Christmas. He didn’t necessarily avoid them, but he was quiet, and withdrawn. He continued to sit and work with them in the library, and was desk-mates with Merlin whenever Gryffindor and Hufflepuff shared a class, but it was like he wasn’t fully there. Any smiles he had were wan, any laughter was just a token chuckle to acknowledge the joke, and anything he said was only in response to someone speaking directly to him.
It had taken Merlin a few days to notice.
Their group of friends were often a rather rambunctious lot, so at first Arthur’s silence had slipped through the cracks. But on days where Harry was busy with the Weasley twins, and Gwaine was deciding to bunk off his homework, the change was obvious. Even when some of their quieter friends, like Lance and Percy from Ravenclaw, joined them, the change in mood was apparent despite the extra numbers bolstering their study group.
Merlin knew this change had started after their altercation in the library, but he had thought that that issue was resolved. Arthur didn’t want Merlin to be alone with Professor Nimueh, and while he had wavered for a moment, he had managed to secure Harry as a companion to his extra classes. Arthur had been relieved when he was told, and Merlin had thought that was that.
But evidently that was not the case.
“You need to eat, Em.”
“Sorry,” he said, jarred out of his thoughts, and pulled his eyes away from the Gryffindor table, and back to the bowl in front of him. He supposed it was quite full still. “I’m really not that hungry,” he confessed, sending a pleading look at Gwaine to drop the matter.
Gwaine sighed. “I know you’re not hungry, you never are when you work yourself into a state about something.”
He looked at Gwaine’s tired and disappointed face and quickly shovelled a few spoonfuls of porridge into his mouth. They were tough to swallow down, but the little bit of tension he saw ease out of Gwaine’s face made it worth it.
The food settled heavy in his stomach, but Merlin continued eating several more bites in an effort to stop worrying his friend. Merlin was already tangled up, worried how to fix things with one of his friends, he didn’t want to upset another.
He took in the distraction of owls swooping down in relief. Hopefully Gwaine’s attention would be taken up by a letter or the newspaper or something, and then Merlin could discretely empty the rest of his bowl. It was quite a sound plan, Merlin thought, only for it to be completely thrown off when an owl, instead, landed in front of him.
The heavy feeling in his stomach twisted at the handwriting on the envelope, and the knowledge that there was really only one person who might be writing to Merlin. Only one person who might care enough to write that didn’t already live in this castle - though that qualifier had been up for debate recently.
“Is that from Gaius, then?”
Merlin nodded mechanically, detaching the letter and picking a bit of bacon from the table to feed to the owl before it got any sort of idea to peck or claw at him.
He braced himself before opening the letter.
Dear Merlin,
I know you were displeased with me this summer, and I have tried to give you your space, but Yule is approaching, and I would dearly like to spend the holidays with you, my boy. I have spoken with the Headmaster, and he has assured me that young Harry would be free to join us, so you would not have to spend the holiday apart. I know you boys have had precious few happy holidays, and I would like to be able to give you both one.
Truthfully, I am ashamed of how we left things, Merlin. And these last few months without hearing from you has only strengthened my wish to resolve things between us. My old friend would be furious with me for letting this uneasy peace go on for so long.
- Merlin narrowed his eyes, ‘uneasy peace’ was an interesting way to describe the two of them pretending the other didn’t exist. -
I know I am no substitute for your parents, but I had hoped for you to come to see my home as our home. I had thought we had made some progress on that during the early part of the summer, but I realise now that I lost what little trust I had gained from you when I refused to stand against my old friend.
But I ask, perhaps selfishly, for another chance. I fear, in the years since losing my daughter, that I have forgotten what it is to be a parent - and I have most certainly forgotten what it is like to be a parent for one so very young. I do not ask for your forgiveness, dear boy, for I know I have not yet earned it. I just ask that you allow me to try again.
If nothing else, little Luna would be thrilled to see you over break, she is excitedly awaiting more stories about Hogwarts, and very eager to share her own tales of her and her father’s adventures since the summer.
I know I am asking much of you, Merlin, and please know, I will understand should you choose to remain in the castle over break. At the very least, I hope you might be open to corresponding with me through letters once more, as I have missed you, dear boy.
I hope to hear from you soon,
- Gaius
Merlin wasn’t exactly sure how he felt about all that.
In all honesty, once he had gotten on the Hogwarts Express in September, Merlin had done his best to put Gaius out of his mind. Sometimes, when practising his magic, some advice and tips from his guardian would pop into his head, and Merlin would quickly do his best to get them back out of it. Sometimes when he saw Aithusa attacking his quills, he would remember her hunting gnomes in the garden, and then try his best to forget it. Sometimes in his common room, a particular shade of yellow would remind him of the bedroom walls they had painted by hand together, and so Merlin would go and work in the library instead.
He didn’t much like thinking about Gaius. He didn’t like thinking about how much he had enjoyed living with him those first few weeks. He didn’t like how much he had trusted the old man, and how kind he had thought him to be. And he hated how wrong he had been proven the only time he had really asked Gaius for anything.
“So?” Gwaine asked after it was clear Merlin had finished reading the letter. “What did Gaius want?” He not-so-subtly pushed the half-eaten bowl of porridge closer to Merlin.
“He’s just trying to make plans for Christmas,” Merlin told him generally, not mentioning the generally apologetic tone of the letter. Although - he scanned it once again quickly, to double check - Gaius had not actually apologised at all.
Gwaine’s eyes’ narrowed. “You don’t sound excited,” he commented. “I thought you’d be looking forward to your first proper Christmas.”
“Last year was a proper Christmas,” Merlin snapped, remembering him and Harry sharing their first ever Christmas dinner, together in the school kitchens, and then falling asleep together in the Hufflepuff common room - together and safe for the first time in a long time. Merlin doubted he would ever have a Christmas that would top that.
His friend held up his hands in surrender at Merlin’s tone, but that just made Merlin feel bad again. Gwaine was not the problem right now. He was not who Merlin was really upset with.
“You know I didn’t mean it like that,” Gwaine said. “I just thought you’d be happier about your first Christmas at home,” he explained.
Merlin didn’t know how to tell him that he didn’t want to think of Gaius’s house as home. A thought like that was dangerous, and was only likely to lead to disappointment.
Gwaine had been so good about Merlin’s relatives last year. It was his insistence that Merlin had gone to talk to Professor Sprout, which had inevitably led to the Headmaster bringing Harry to Hogwarts. Gwaine was the reason Merlin got to spend the last year with his brother. Gwaine was the reason Harry was safe.
Merlin didn’t want to complain now to Gwaine about his new guardian.
“I’ve only spent one summer there,” Merlin explained instead. “It doesn’t exactly feel like home.”
“You know, it never will if you don’t let yourself spend time there.”
“I’ll talk to Harry about it later,” Merlin said, dismissing the topic (not in the mood to appreciate Gwaine’s unexpected wisdom). The invitation involved Harry too; Merlin wouldn’t be making a decision without discussing it with him first.
What mattered most was that they spent Christmas together. The two of them.
Perhaps, Harry even wanted to spend the holiday with Professor McGonagall. Merlin was not particularly close to the woman, but he knew Harry liked living with her far more than he had living in his isolated room of last year.
He wished, idly, that families didn’t have to be so complicated, before dismissing the thought. Harry was his family, and there was nothing complicated between the two of them.
It was not until they were on their way to Professor Nimueh’s extra class of the week, the following day, that Merlin managed to bring it up.
“So,” he began casually, not wanting to colour Harry’s opinion with his own indecision, “Gaius invited us both to spend Christmas with him this year.”
Harry snorted. “Like we’d want to spend a holiday with him,” he replied scathingly.
Which was when Merlin realised, with a sinking heart, that despite his own misgivings, he was disappointed to have the idea so quickly dismissed.
Somehow, he had let himself consider and wonder how the holiday might go with Gaius. He had been imagining an apology and a welcoming hug, opening presents underneath a tree like a real family might. He had been picturing sitting with a cup of hot chocolate, Harry beside him, while Gaius told him stories of how his parents had spent some of their first Christmases together. He had been thinking about what he would buy for his guardian, and maybe even little Luna too.
Well, he supposed he would still do that last one. He’d just have to make sure it was something that could be easily delivered by owl.
“Of course,” Merlin told him. “I’ll . . . I’ll send him an owl to let him know we won’t be coming.”
Harry stopped abruptly in the empty hallway, turning to him. “You don’t seriously want to go see him?” his brother asked incredulously.
“I didn’t say that,” Merlin defended.
“You didn’t need to!”
Harry’s gaze darted quickly from eye to eye as he stared at Merlin, as though trying to puzzle him out. “Why would you want to go back there?” he asked, disbelieving, and Merlin couldn't help his wince at Harry’s tone.
Was he being stupid? Was it that unbelievable that he’d want to visit his guardian.
“He asked for a second chance,” Merlin muttered, feeling like a fool all of a sudden.
Harry scoffed. “As if he deserves one.”
“Well what if it was McGonagall?” Merlin snapped. “What if your precious ‘Aunt Minnie’ was the one who messed up and was asking for a second chance? You wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss it then!”
“She wouldn’t do that!” Harry insisted stubbornly. “She wouldn’t betray me like he did to you! You trusted him and he -”
“Why do you think she’s so much better?!” Merlin interrupted, angry and confused. “She didn’t say a word against the headmaster at that hearing either! Don’t you think if we’d had a professor on our side they’d have taken the complaint more seriously? She could have helped us and she didn’t. She isn’t better than Gaius, she just came up with a compromise that he couldn’t, because he’s not a professor.”
“Fine then!” Harry spat. “Go spend Christmas with him if he matters to you that much!”
“Maybe I wi-”
“Boys!” a sharp voice interrupted. “That is quite enough screaming in the hallways,” Professor Nimueh said, staring down at the two of them disapprovingly.
Merlin hadn’t even noticed her getting that close.
“And if you are quite finished?” she asked, looking between the pair of them. “ You, Mister Emrys, are late for your lesson.”
Merlin nodded, muttering a quick and quiet, “Sorry,” eager to get her reproachful gaze off him.
“And will Mister Potter be joining us today, as agreed?” she pressed, this time staring down Harry instead.
His brother was glaring up at her, but, to Merlin’s surprise, still gave a stiff nod.
Professor Nimueh’s eyes narrowed. “I will not tolerate any more of this in my classroom,” she said warningly. “I did not volunteer my weekends to listen to children squabbling.”
Merlin saw Harry stiffen at the description, and his jaw tighten. He silently prayed that his brother was not about to start argu-
“We were not squabbling.”
Professor Nimueh looked unimpressed at the correction. “Are you squabbling over my use of the word ‘squabbling’?”
Harry’s face reddened, and Merlin stared at her incredulously, noting the slight lift at the corner of her mouth, and wondering why she seemed to be amusing herself by provoking a ten-year-old.
“We’re not squab -”
“Let’s just go. Now,” Merlin interrupted, sending a warning glare towards Harry to not get in an argument with a professor. “We don’t want to take up any more of Professor Nimueh’s time this weekend, do we, Harry?
“No,” Harry muttered churlishly, not removing his rather resentful glare from Professor Nimueh’s back.
Merlin found himself rather glad that his brother had not yet started learning any magic of his own yet, because if he had, Merlin was almost certain he would have just cursed a professor.
He, at least, followed the professor quietly, silently glad that she had interrupted their argument before he had said something he would have regretted.
Morgana was right , Harry thought. Professor Nimueh is a bitch.
He bet Arthur was probably on to something too, and she was up to no good. Which meant - no matter how angry he was with Merlin for wanting to go back to Gaius’s for Christmas - Harry wasn’t going to leave his brother alone with another untrustworthy adult. Which, in Harry’s opinion, was most of them.
Maybe even all of them.
Merlin’s arguments about Aunt Minnie - about McGonagall - rang true through Harry’s mind. Because while she had given Harry a place to stay, a place he could be safely away from the death eater that freely roamed the halls of this school, she hadn’t exactly petitioned for Snape’s removal either. Was she any better than Gaius then?
She was strict, but kind. She had a lot of rules, but they were reasonable ones that usually made sense to Harry. And if they didn’t make sense, Harry could tell her that and she would explain it to him without shouting at him. She would ask him about his lessons with Madam Pomfrey, and help him when she saw him struggling with his homework - even if she was strict about doing said homework before he went flying with the twins. (But she wasn’t like that about his time with Merlin, she never restricted his time with his brother.)
She was, in all cases, the complete opposite to the Dursleys.
Harry knew he wasn’t hers, and that he had been kind-of foisted upon her the same way he had the Dursleys. But she didn’t hate him for it, the way that they had.
But, despite their blood relation, Harry had never been family to the Dursleys. But McGonagall - Aunt Minnie - had acted in the ways he had always hoped his aunt would have. She treated him like he thought family might. Not spoiled and pampered like Dudley (which Harry was glad of, because he never wanted to turn out like that), but cared for, like family might.
Harry thought, for a moment, that perhaps he understood why his brother might be willing to forgive Gaius after all. Because, if Gaius was anything like Aunt Minnie, then maybe he was worth a second chance.
There was still one thing Merlin was wrong about though. Aunt Minnie hadn’t betrayed Harry for Dumbledore like Gaius did to Merlin. Because she was his Aunt Minnie yet, when all of that had happened, she hadn’t been his guardian yet, but she had still found a way to protect Harry.
Maybe . . . maybe she would still choose Dumbledore over Harry again in the future.
But if she did, Harry was pretty sure he would forgive her for it eventually.
When Merlin’s lesson finally finished, Harry left without a word. He had done his job, he’d not left his brother alone with Professor Nimueh, but Harry didn’t think he was ready to talk yet.
Instead, he did something he couldn’t remember ever choosing to do on a Saturday afternoon, and went back to the Gryffindor Head of House quarters.
He felt a bit foolish opening the door after muttering the password - like he ought to knock first before coming inside. But he didn’t knock, because this was his home.
Aunt Minnie was there, sat in the middle of her comfy red settee, a tartan blanket thrown over her lap, and a stack of essays to one side of her. The other side of the sofa was empty. It was the seat Harry usually sat in, because this was him home.
“Harry? Whatever is the matter?” She had looked up from whatever essay or quiz she was grading, and was staring at him with concern etched into the lines of her face. Which was when Harry noticed that he had been standing frozen in the doorway for quite some time.
“I . . .” He realised he didn’t know how to explain what the matter was. That he had fought with Merlin? That he had been thinking about the Dursleys? That he was worried she would turn him away one day if the headmaster ever asked it of her?
Harry stared at her blankly, noting absently that she looked cosy wrapped up on the settee, with an empty space beside her.
He didn’t know what to say, but Harry knew, suddenly, and without a doubt, exactly what he wished to do. Grabbing his courage while it lasted, Harry flung himself into the seat beside Aunt Minnie, throwing his arms around her middle, while he buried his face into her tartan blanket.
He felt her freeze beneath him, and Harry was bombarded with half a dozen memories of the times he had tried to hug his Aunt Petunia, when he was too little to know better. Of being shouted at, shoved away, and thrown in his cupboard for the audacity.
. . . And then a gentle hand was sinking into his hair, fingers softly running across his scalp. Another hand landed lightly on his back, and began tracing circles there. Harry breathed out slowly, his shoulders relaxing. This, Harry thought desperately, was his home.
He realised, guiltily, that he must have been clinging to Aunt Minnie rather tightly. “‘m sorry,” he muttered into the blanket, loosening his hold on her.
“Hush now, none of that, dear,” she chided gently. “Just tell me what’s the matter, dear, and I’m quite sure we’ll be able to fix it.”
Harry shook his head, knowing that this wasn’t something someone else could fix, the action causing him to bury himself further into her warmth.
The hand in his hair stopped, and Harry bit back a noise of discontent. Instead, the hand moved to cup his face, lifting his chin so that he was instead looking Aunt Minerva in the eye.
Harry caved almost immediately.
“Me and Merlin had a fight,” he confessed.
“Merlin and I,” she corrected absently, before adding, “Would you like to tell me what it was about?”
And so Harry did. He told her about the letter from Gaius, about his brother wanting to spend Christmas with the man, while Harry couldn’t imagine wanting to go back there. He told her about how the fight escalated, all the way up until -
“And then he said . . . He said what Gaius did wasn’t much different from you, since you didn’t side with us against Dumbledore at the school board meeting either.”
Aunt Minnie’s hand paused on his back for a moment, before it carried on in gentle circles. “I didn’t,” she said slowly. “And how do you feel about that?”
Harry shrugged, looking away from her. “Doesn’t matter,” he mumbled.
“On the contrary,” she told him. “I think it matters very much what you think.”
He paused for a moment, before admitting, “I still wish Snape was gone.” His fingers played idly with the tassels of the blanket. “But I feel safer, here with you, than I did before. And . . . and just because we disagree, doesn’t mean we’re not family, right?” he asked cautiously.
“That’s exactly right, Harry.” He finally looked back up at her, to see a soft smile and slightly watery eyes. “Now, do you think, perhaps, that your Merlin might feel the same way about his guardian?” she proposed gently.
Harry nodded silently. He had already come to that conclusion earlier.
“And that perhaps you got upset, not that your brother might forgive Mister Wilson, and wishes to spend the holidays at home, but that you, also, wish to spend Christmas at home? And so that might mean spending Christmas apart?”
He nodded miserably, suddenly realising how badly he wanted to spend Christmas with Aunt Minnie, how badly he wanted to spend it with a family he knew cared about him. And he could only have that if both Merlin and Aunt Minnie were there. He didn’t want to spend the holiday missing either one of them.
Last Christmas he had spent half of the day in his cupboard. He had gotten the best Christmas present ever, seeing Merlin for the first time in months and getting to come to Hogwarts. But this Christmas he wanted to be able to enjoy the whole day. And he wanted to spend it with his whole family.
He wished families didn’t have to be so complicated.
“Is that selfish?” he asked aloud. He hadn’t meant to be, but he supposed he was acting rather like Dudley, wanting to have everything his way, and then throwing a tantrum when he wasn’t getting it. “I didn’t mean to be,” he swore.
“No, dear, it’s not selfish,” Aunt Minnie reassured him. But Harry couldn’t help but wonder if she was just placating him like Aunt Petunia always did to Dudley. Although, he couldn’t help the slight smile he had at the thought - after all, Aunt Petunia only did that because she loved Dudley so much. It was a nice thought that Aunt Minnie could love him that much too.
“It’s perfectly normal to want to spend holidays with your family. And I’m sure Merlin only got so upset because he wants the same thing you do,” she said reasonably.
“But that doesn’t fix anything,” Harry said sadly. “He still wants to spend Christmas with Gaius, and I still want to spend it . . . I still want to spend it with you. So that means we can’t spend it together.”
“Of course you can,” she said simply. “Your Merlin could go home during the break, while you stay here, and then we could simply Floo over on Christmas Morning so you can spend the day together. Or, Merlin can Floo here, for Christmas day, and spend the rest of his holiday with Mister Wilson. Or you could go with him, and the pair of you could Floo back together to spend Christmas day at Hogwarts, or I could simply join you for the day over there instead. As long as Mister Wilson is amenable, you have lots of ways you could spend your holiday.”
When explained so simply, and with a whole host of solutions, Harry suddenly realised why some people went to adults for help with their problems.
Morgana was struggling with the thought of what to get her father for Christmas.
It was such a mundane problem to have, all things considered, but it was one she was struggling with nonetheless.
Uther had always been impossible to buy for. What do you get for the man that can buy anything he wants for himself? Truthfully, Morgana hadn’t really concerned herself with that thought in the past. Of course, this time last year she still had the mind and memories of a child, and children rarely put much thought into what to gift a guardian.
Really, she didn’t know why she was having so much trouble with it. She ought to just buy the man a box of chocolates, and be done with it. But there was an incredibly frustrating part of her that wanted to do more.
It was the part of her that she tried to push down. The part that felt so immensely grateful that she had a father that loved her despite her magic.
Not that she knew whether or not Uther was, in actuality, her father in this life. She suspected, if he was, that he would do all he could to cover up that secret, just like he had in their first life. He would not be able to stand the secret of his betrayal of his beloved wife getting out.
And it was thoughts like that that made her want to say ‘fuck it’, and stop giving Uther Pendragon any more of a second’s thought.
Morgana wished she could say that she left all of her anger at her father behind the day she killed him, but instead, it was one of the few acts that she found herself not regretting upon waking into her second life.
Uther Pendragon had been a power-fueled, hypocritical, genocidal maniac. And he had deserved to die.
She only wished that her anger and fear of him had died with him, or had at least died with her.
She knew, for certain, that that version of her father would never return - Nimueh had insured it. But it still left Morgana in a difficult place of never quite knowing how to feel about the man.
She so wished her family was not so complicated.
Somehow that particular conundrum had boiled over into this.
Mithian slammed the book in front of her shut with an impatient clap. “Enough of the sighing,” she snapped. “What could possibly be in that magazine causing you that much grief.”
Morgana sighed (okay, yes, perhaps she had been doing that a lot today). “It’s what’s not in it that’s the problem.” Mithian raised an inquisitive brow. “I don’t know what to get Uther for Christmas,” she explained, defeated. It was rather a simplification of her issue, but a summary nonetheless.
Arthur scoffed, and Morgana wondered whether it was at her trivial problem, or at the fact that he didn’t seem to believe that’s all there was to it.
Arthur had been annoyingly perceptive recently. He was quiet, and seemed to listen more than he spoke - which was nothing like the egotistical braggart she was used to dealing with - he regarded her and most of her actions with an annoying amount of scepticism. Annoying, because Morgana had rather a lot to hide.
“Well alright, what are you getting him then?” she challenged, deciding for herself that his reaction was due to the former concern.
“Just some Honeydukes chocolates, and a fancy quill.” He shrugged. “I figured any muggles who saw him use it would just put it down to us being posh, instead of his children being a part of a mediaeval secret society.” Morgana rolled her eyes - a fountain pen, they would put down to Uther being posh, but a quill would certainly be pushing it. At least, it would certainly help any correspondence of his to the wizarding world be better received.
“There,” Mithian said, still eyeing Morgana’s magazine with distaste. “Surely he can’t be that hard to buy for. What are his interests?”
Morgana shrugged. “Power?”
“Money?” Arthur suggested helpfully.
“Control?”
“His enemies cowering at his feet?”
Morgana smirked. “The whole of magical Britain bowing before him?”
Arthur cracked a smile. “And the rest of Britain bowing too?”
“. . . I see.”
Mithian did not, in fact, see.
Morgana hummed. “Actually,” she told them, consideringly, an idea sparking, “We might be onto something.”
Chapter 18: Best Christmas Ever
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It had been an odd and awkward few days.
Leaving Harry at the castle gates had been difficult. Though, not quite as difficult as it had been in summer, because at least now Merlin knew Professor McGonagall was looking out for his little brother.
But it was still tough.
Merlin knew that Harry would be coming by Floo to spend Christmas day with them soon, but the disaster of Harry’s last visit was hanging over their heads. Merlin hadn’t even made up with Gaius yet, he couldn’t really expect his brother to - not even in the name of Christmas Spirit. He supposed, in that respect, the awkwardness was still pending. The awaited confrontation between his (far too stubborn and fearless) younger brother and his guardian set Merlin on edge.
The blatant glare Morgana threw in Gaius’s direction as he parted ways with her and Arthur at King’s Cross didn’t help his nerves either, but Merlin tried to comfort himself with the knowledge that the Pendragons seemed to hold grudges against certain people at random.
Then again, Morgana had been right about Valiant, and Merlin may have found Professor Nimueh an excellent instructor when it came to magic, but he was also starting to see why some people didn’t like her. She had a fairly abrasive personality, not that helped him understand how Arthur had decided to hate her on sight.
Gaius, on the other hand, did not seem at all phased to be on a thirteen-year-old girl’s shit-list, and seemed to regard her coolly in return, before focussing on helping Merlin with his school trunk, freeing his arms so that he could carry Aithusa more easily.
But all of that lingering awkwardness closed in on them as they made their way back home, the silence settling uneasily between the two of them.
Merlin had said little more than a brief, “Hello,” as he got off the train, and a, “Thank you,” when his school trunk was taken off his hands. Gaius’s responses had been equally stilted. It seemed, no matter what his intentions were to try and repair their relationship, Gaius didn’t actually have any idea how to fix things either.
Meals were filled with sparse attempts at small-talk - the longest conversations there were able to carry out seemed to be about how Merlin’s studies were going. And other than an odd look crossing Gaius’s face when Merlin brought up Professor Nimueh (yet another mark of suspension against the woman), conversation had run smoothly.
Of course, that was because they were both avoiding talking about the few topics that actually mattered.
Merlin did not bring up their argument from the summer, and he did not bring up Harry. And so far, nor had Gaius.
A decision that seemed to be coming to an end that day.
“We’ll have an odd assortment for Christmas day,” he remarked casually. “Us and the Lovegoods, and then young Harry and Professor McGonagall. I suppose it might be nice for Luna to meet one of her future professors in a more casual setting first; I know the poor girl is feeling anxious about being away from home when the time comes.”
Merlin regarded him shrewdly. It was a very nonchalant mention of his brother, more to do with their plans for tomorrow than anything else. Honestly, the only reason it set Merlin on edge was because of the obvious lack of mention in all of their days previously.
“You know I’ll look out for her when she starts in a few years,” Merlin assured, not bringing any attention to the Harry of it all. “She’s a sweet girl.” An odd girl, to be sure, but still sweet.
“I know you will, my boy,” Gaius said with a kind smile, “You’ve a good heart. But I worry there’ll be little you can really do unless she’s in Hufflepuff with you.” He shook his head slightly. “In different years, and different houses, it will be difficult to go out of your way to spend time with her.”
“I have friends in all of the other houses, they won’t mind keeping an eye out for her wherever she ends up,” Merlin told him. “My friend Gwen’s little brother started this year - he ended up in Ravenclaw instead of Gryffindor with her, and the first thing Lance and Percy did was introduce themselves so he’d know someone in his house who can help him out if need be.”
It was just idle chatter really, none of them were his closest friends or anything, so Merlin wasn’t exactly confiding any great personal secrets, but with every name he mentioned Gaius’s smile seemed to grow more and more. Maybe he was just glad Merlin had more friends than he’d thought? Or maybe he was just glad that Merlin was offering his friends’ services in helping out little Luna when the time came?
Merlin shrugged off the odd reaction.
“I’d be very glad to have any of them looking out for my Luna,” he said, his voice oddly emotional, even with the smile still on his face. “I can’t imagine anyone better.”
“Cheer up,” Merlin said awkwardly. “You’ve got over a year and a half with her still. You don’t have to worry about shipping her off to Hogwarts just yet.”
“Yes, well,” he cleared his throat slightly. “Do you suppose she and Harry will get on?”
Merlin’s eyes narrowed at the far more deliberate mention of his brother. “I’m sure they will,” he said simply.
And he was - sure, that is.
While Harry might but heads with a few of his friends, they tended to be the more loud and arrogant ones, like Gwaine and Arthur. Merlin was sure he’d have no problem with sweet little Luna, even if she might be a bit confusing to talk to at times. She was also not the type to react to any of the Boy Who Lived nonsense, which would instantly endear her to Harry.
But Merlin felt no need to share any of those insights with Gaius.
Harry still didn’t trust the man, so Merlin would not be sharing any personal details about his brother with him. Merlin already felt bad enough about abandoning his brother for most of the holidays, no matter what ‘solution’ Professor McGonagall seemed to have thought she came up with.
Merlin had left his brother, and was forcing him to spend Christmas day with two strangers and a man he didn’t like or trust.
He was a terrible big brother.
Honestly, after Harry made his opinion of Gaius clear, Merlin was fine with spending the holiday at Hogwarts. But Harry hadn’t let him. He’d said that he’d wanted Merlin to do what was best for himself. Merlin thought what was best for him was to be with Harry. But it seemed his brother didn’t agree with that anymore.
Gaius sighed, pulling Merlin out of his head. “I do wish you would talk to me, Merlin.”
He frowned. “About what?” he asked.
Gaius just shook his head. “If you are still not ready to talk about what happened this summer, child, I won’t force you. But you barely even speak of your friends, your hobbies, your brother . . . We talk of little else other than your studies. And if that is all you feel comfortable sharing, then, very well. But I do wonder why you came home if you are not ready for us to try again?”
His head span.
“What?” he asked, confused, trying to keep the hurt out of his voice. “If you don’t want me here . . . why did you invite me back?”
Gaius looked at him, seeming suddenly very tired and very old. “Of course I want you here, Merlin. But you have made it very clear that you wish you were not.” He shook his head. “When I sent that letter, I never meant to try and force you to come home, my boy. I . . . I just . . .”
“I do want to be here,” Merlin promised, feeling guilty. How is it that in coming home he had managed to somehow upset both Harry and Gaius? “I’m sorry if I haven’t been acting very grateful - I am,” he assured quickly, feeling his pulse sky-rocket. “I am grateful, I promise,” he rushed to say. “You- you’ve given me a home, a- a place to stay, and a family -”
“It’s okay, Merlin. Take a deep breath for me.”
“N- no, you don’t understand. I pro- I promise I wanted to be here! I want to be here!” he said, feeling suddenly desperate. Panic seized him. If Gaius turned him away then . . . “I don- I don’t want to go back there!”
“You don’t have to go anywhere, Merlin.”
“Don’t send me back to Cenred! I- I’ll do better!” he swore.
“No one’s sending you back to Cenred.” An arm slipped around his shoulders, and Merlin turned into the warmth, clinging to it desperately. “You’re not going anywhere. This is your home.”
“Pr- promise?” he asked, between stuttered breaths.
“I promise. You will always have a home with me, Merlin. Always.”
“Oh,” someone sighed, as Harry tumbled out of the Floo, findinging himself faced with large sad eyes. “I thought you’d be special like Merlin and Poppy are,” came the disappointed greeting from the tiny blond-haired girl. “Since you’re Merlin’s brother,” she elaborated, as if that cleared anything up whatsoever.
The tall blond man behind her shook his head at her fondly. “Luna, you know that Harry Potter is the Boy Who Lived, yes?”
“Yes, daddy,” she confirmed, still sounding disheartened.
“I guess that’s not special enough,” Harry said with an amused grin, and Luna nodded along knowingly. “Well, I know Merlin’s magic makes him extra special,” he agreed, picking himself up from the heap he had landed in and brushing the soot off his clothes, “But what’s so special about Gaius?”
Blue-grey eyes stared back at him solemnly, before saying, completely seriously, “He’s very, very old.”
Harry couldn’t help but laugh at that. Merlin was right when he told him that Gaius’s granddaughter was a little odd, but Harry found he liked it. She was at least honest.
“Well, my Aunt Minnie’s coming in a few minutes,” Harry told her, “And I think she’s pretty old, so you’ll have to tell me if she’s old enough to be counted as special.”
He watched happily as the girl seemed to fill with excitement at the prospect of another potentially ‘special’ person. He was quite looking forward to Aunt Minnie’s reaction to being called old. He was sure she was at least as old as Gaius, so hopefully Luna would be pleased.
“Xenophilius Lovegood,” the tall man introduced himself, as his daughter rushed forward to sit in front of the fireplace expectantly, “Lovely to meet you, Mister Potter.”
“Oh,” he began awkwardly, “You can just call me -”
“Harry!”
Arms suddenly wrapped around him, and Harry happily leaned into gesture, having missed his brother more than he had expected in the week they had been apart.
It hadn’t been so bad, being in a mostly-empty Hogwarts. The school had emptied of enough students that Helena had agreed to accompany him once more on his adventures exploring the castle. He couldn’t wander around at night any more (Aunt Minnie had caught him sneaking out once and had put a stop to it immediately), but Helena had still agreed to join him during the day, as long as the school was suitably deserted.
Of course, he still would have preferred to have his brother around to spend some of his days with. But between Helena floating alongside him, and Aunt Minnie having lots of extra time to spare now that she wasn’t teaching (and her new endeavour to teach him how to play chess), Harry didn’t find himself too bored.
But he did find himself rather worried.
As much he had come to understand why Merlin was willing to forgive Gaius, it didn’t mean Harry trusted the man with his brother. He had already let Merlin down before, and Harry wasn’t sure he would ever trust him not to do so again.
“Ah, Harry,” the man in question greeted, a friendly smile on his face. “I’m glad you could make it,” he said warmly.
Harry eyed him distrustfully, but wasn’t going to say anything against the man in front of his own granddaughter. “Thank you for inviting me,” he said neutrally, more for Merlin’s sake than anything else. He was glad he did when Merlin squeezed his had softly in thanks.
The old man looked around the room for a moment. “I was under the impression that Professor McGonagall would be joining us?”
“She sent me on ahead,” Harry said with a shrug. “The headmaster wanted to speak with her about something before we left.”
Gaius nodded, as though this explained everything, and Harry found his stomach twisting with resentment at his easy appeasement as soon as Dumbledore was mentioned.
He must have not kept the expression off his face, because Merlin was looking at him all concerned all of a sudden. Harry cursed himself for letting his anger get the better of him. He wasn’t supposed to be selfish today. He wanted today to be for Merlin.
“Well, why don’t you all make yourselves comfortable. Once Minerva joins us we can get to the gifts.” He laughed lightly, “I’m sure you kids have waited long enough.”
Harry nodded, and let Merlin pull him towards a comfortable armchair. It was realistically only designed for one, but there was limited seating in the small sitting room, and he and Merlin were both small enough to squish together easily.
Harry sat there comfortably, happily leaning against his brother, happy simply to be reunited, while Merlin made smalltalk with Mister Lovegood. They chatted about the man’s newspaper and Harry listened in, vaguely interested, having never even thought that of course witches and wizards would have their own news sources. He wondered how many other mundane parts of life he had never considered having a magical equivalent before.
Gaius tried to usher Luna away from the Floo, to tempt her into sitting with the rest of them, but she shook her head stubbornly, her blond hair flying in all directions around her as she did, intent on waiting right there for Aunt Minnie to come through.
It was rather anticlimactic when Aunt Minnie did eventually arrive. Luna took one long look at her before huffing irritably, and joining her father on the settee with a slump, clearly disappointed once more. Harry couldn’t help sniggering slightly at Aunt Minnie’s very unimpressed face at the behaviour.
“Ah, Minerva, welcome!” Gaius said warmly, in an obvious attempt to apologise for his granddaughter’s actions. “Take a seat! I thought we’d let the children have-at the gifts before we moved on to dinner.”
And Luna apparently didn’t need much more prompting than that to rush towards the tree, skipping happily, her earlier disappointment forgotten.
Harry looked to his brother, hesitating. He had never had gifts to open on Christmas before . . . he wasn’t sure if rushing like that was rude or not? Or maybe not rushing would make him seem ungrateful? He was sure Dudley had always tore into his pile of gifts without a second thought, but Harry wasn’t sure if that was behaviour he wanted to copy or not.
Before he could make a decision either way, it seemed Luna had taken it upon herself to deliver to everyone a gift with their name on it. “Thank you,” Harry said, relieved.
Luna smiled brightly at him, before grabbing herself her own gift last. “This way we can all open them together,” she said happily, and then carefully unfolded the wrapping around her gift, keeping the decorative paper carefully intact.
Harry smothered a smile before copying her actions - he quite liked the little broomsticks zooming across his wrapping paper - it would be a nice memento of his first Christmas.
He wasn’t really sure who would have gotten him what felt like a very heavy book, Harry wasn’t the biggest reader, after all. But after carefully peeling back the gift-wrapping, Harry saw it was a photo album. With his heart suddenly in his throat, he opened up the first page to see a tall woman with red hair and green eyes - his eyes - laughing with a bespectacled man with dark messy hair - his hair - and settled between the two of them was a tiny, giggling baby. Him.
“You were an adorable toddler,” Merlin commented from beside him with a smile, nudging him playfully as he did.
“She’s so pretty,” he whispered, eyes still locked on his mum. He had a mum! He hadn’t ever known before that she had red hair, and it was so pretty and long. She was beautiful.
“Yeah, she is,” Merlin agreed, and Harry felt an arm wrap around him. He had his brother next to him, and he was looking at a picture of his parents. Harry thought this might be the happiest he’d ever been.
He sniffled slightly, and looked up, hoping no one had noticed, only to see Aunt Minnie watching them with a watery smile. The others were closely examining their own gifts, with what Harry was fairly certain was intentional vigour.
He mouthed a silent, “Thank you,” to her across the room, hugging the photo album to his chest carefully, before flipping to see the next page.
“Look, daddy! It’s an erumpent!”
The exclamation was enough to break Harry out of his silent reverie, and he looked over to see Luna excitedly flicking through what looked like a colouring book, only the images on the pages seemed to be moving around.
“That one’s from Harry and me,” Merlin informed her generously, even though Harry had not in any way contributed to the gift. “I couldn’t find any with - erm - humdingers or nargles,” he added awkwardly, “But I had your grandad help me add a few blank pages at the back so you can draw them yourself! And then I thought I could try and find a charm to animate them, so they match the rest of the book?”
Luna then launched herself at the pair of them with a squeal of happiness, an arm wrapping around each of them, tugging the pair of them close.
“I love having new cousins!” she cried, and Harry found himself silently agreeing. Luna was a much better (sort-of)cousin than Dudley had ever been. And he had only known her a day.
Harry patted her back awkwardly as he hugged her back, but she only clung to them for a moment before skipping back to her new colouring book and showing her father each page excitedly. “This is the best Christmas ever,” she said emphatically.
Yeah, Harry thought, looking from his photo album to his brother, to Aunt Minnie, and to his new sort-of-cousin, it really is.
Christmas in the Pendragon household was a surprisingly informal affair.
For all of his strictness and his rigid personality, Arthur’s father was considerably warmer around Christmastime. Long before he had been appointed Prime Minister, Uther had declared that Christmas was a time for family, and was one of the few days a year on which he would voluntarily abstain from work.
When he was younger, before Morgana had come to live with them, when it was just him and father, the family cook had informed him that his mother had always put her foot down when it came to Uther’s work on Christmas. She had always refused to let him work through it. It was apparently a tradition that his father continued to honour in her memory.
Young Arthur had adored the only day a year he had where he was the sole focus of all his father’s attention. It had been special in a way not even his birthday was, for that too was marred by the memory of his mother’s death.
This had always made Christmases extra special to Arthur, even after he had learned to share the day with Morgana as he got older. It was special enough that he had set his anger at his sister aside for the day.
He would go back to being annoyed with her tomorrow, but Christmas was sacred in the Pendragon household.
He supposed that meant it was only natural that Morgana had decided to ruin it.
The day had started off well enough, they had eaten breakfast together as a family before opening whatever lay under the tree. His father, as usual, prefering to show his love through extravagant gift-giving, had spoiled the pair of them. Arthur had an assortment of gifts, but none as exciting as his top-of-the-line new broom, “A well deserved gift after your first Quidditch match,” he was told. And Morgana had gushed over her new dress, because why wouldn’t you give designer clothes to a thirteen year old girl?
His father had appreciated his quill and chocolates, and promised that he would keep the quill in his home office and endeavour to respond to their letters home using it.
Morgana, too, had seemed equally happy with the book on divination he had gotten her, and with it, the unspoken promise that he would take her dreams more seriously if she came to him about them again. She seemed to have been thinking along the same lines when she gave him a new sketchbook and pencils. It was an acknowledgement of the others’ odd ability, and an offer to be there for each other.
And while Arthur found it hard to imagine confiding in her again after what happened last time, he appreciated the gesture.
Arthur put the thought out of his mind, not wanting to think about Professor Nimueh on a day like today. On a happy day.
- which was when the doorbell rang.
Morgana shot up in an instant, her face lighting with a mischievous grin. “Ah, that’ll be my last Christmas present,” she told them. “Uther, wait here, I want it to be a surprise. Arthur, come help me with the door,” she said excitedly, dragging him up by the arm.
He shot his father a confused face, as Morgana pulled him through the doorway, seeing his father crack a genuine smile at the sight of Morgana so excited.
“Morgana, what -”
“Don’t freak out,” she interrupted him warningly, bringing them to a stop just before the front door.
“Why would I -” But his question was cut off with another impatient ring of the doorbell, and Morgana throwing open the door.
And there in the doorway was Arthur’s worst nightmare.
“Hello,” she said with a smirk.
Arthur felt his jaw drop. “What are you doing here?” He turned to Morgana, furious. “What is she doing here?”
“Now, now, Arthur,” Professor Nimueh said chidingly, pushing past them into the hallway. She shuck off her winter coat, throwing it at Arthur to catch. “That’s no way to treat family.”
Christmas was ruined.
He glared at Morgana incredulously, silently demanding an explanation.
“She’s Uther’s Christmas present,” his sister said simply, her playful grin still in place.
“She’s what?”
Nimueh scoffed. “That’s definitely not how I’d put it, darling.”
“He wants connections in the magical world,” Morgana shrugged. “And I have a mysterious great aunt who can conveniently introduce him and give him the rundown of our politics.”
“Potentially,” Professor Nimueh interrupted quickly. “I agreed to one meeting, as a favour to you, to settle our differences. But I make no promise of setting Uther Pendragon loose in the magical world unless I approve of his goals.”
“There, see,” Morgana told him frankly. “She’s harmless.”
“Oh no, certainly not, darling,” she said with a grin, striding down the hallway, past the pair of them. “I’m never that.”
Arthur spluttered wordlessly for a moment, watching in shock as Morgana calmly followed the madwoman. He made to follow before realising he was still carrying that harpy’s coat!
“Ah, there you are, Morgana. What took you so long. . .” Arthur heard his father trail off as he entered the room behind the total stranger Morgana had invited into their home.
Arthur watched from over Nimueh’s shoulder as what little warmth there was in his father’s face bled out immediately. “Who is this?” he asked coldly, blatantly glaring at the interloper to their family Christmas. For once, Arthur supported his father’s instinctual animosity whole heartedly.
“Uther,” Morgana began, plastering on her most charming smile. “May I introduce Professor Nimueh Le Fay? She was my mother’s aunt, and is our Defence Professor this year. I thought I’d invite her for Christmas dinner, seeing as she’s family.”
Some of the frostiness in Uther’s face retreated at the explanation, but he remained very unamused at Morgana’s antics. “And you did not think to inform me of another person joining us before you invited her into my home?”
“Of course not, it was supposed to be a surprise,” Morgana informed him casually, uncowed in the face of Uther’s annoyance. “I told cook,” she defended. “And besides, I thought you’d appreciate gaining an acquaintance in the magical world. Happy Christmas,” she finished smugly.
To Arthur’s horror, he watched as his father slipped into his classic, charming, politics-smile, recognising the opportunity for what it was. “Uther Pendragon,” he introduced himself, stretching out a hand to shake. “It’s wonderful to meet any family of Morgana’s.”
Whereas previously Nimueh had seemed highly amused at his father’s irritation, now, her smile dropped into something far more serious as she regarded Uther’s outstretched hand.
She didn’t take it.
“Does it vex you, having to introduce yourself to those with magic? Not being recognised on sight?” she needled.
“Not at all,” Uther said, and Arthur watched his father’s eyes narrow at the challenge, as his hand moved swiftly to pick up his wine glass, covering the rejected gesture. “I find it more of a reflection on the average witch or wizard, that they’re too ignorant to know who’s ruling their country.”
“Well, you may rule their country, but you don’t rule them.” she corrected. “You’ll get nowhere in wizarding politics if you act like you do.”
“They’re British citizens,” his father said frankly. “I am the British Prime Minister. Your Minister for Magic answers to me.”
“In name only,” she scoffed. “I mean, we don’t even have the same laws. We’re recognised as a legal adult at seventeen, whereas the rest of the country is eighteen. We have different trial procedures, different prisons, different electoral processes. We have an entire independent government. Your muggle laws only apply in muggle areas. We’re practically an independent state operating within your country,” she all but gloated. “And you know that. Otherwise you wouldn’t be having so much trouble trying to get an ‘in’ into our world.”
Arthur watched with wide eyes as they debated back and forth. Professor Nimueh seemed determined to show Uther that he had no place in the wizarding world, while his father found new ways to impress how important he was and how much respect was owed to him.
It was like watching a car crash, Arthur couldn’t look away.
And yet, his father was not yelling, and Nimueh had not cursed him. Which meant that Arthur just got to watch them make each other miserable.
He looked over at Morgana, who was still observing all the chaos with a smug grin. “Happy Christmas, brother,” she said gleefully.
“You think this is happy?” he whispered, not daring to interrupt the heated debate going on in front of him.
“Well, Nimueh is utterly miserable having to be in Uther’s company, which I thought you’d enjoy,” she smirked. “And you can’t tell me it’s not satisfying watching your father lose an argument?” she added knowingly.
Arthur couldn’t help but choke back some laughter at that. He supposed that was true.
Uther was a firm believer in the ‘because I said so’ brand of parenting. It didn’t matter how well they articulated or argued their point, if his father said it was so, then that was that and there was no arguing with him. It was refreshing to see the man have to fight for his opinion to be heard.
He turned to her with a begrudging smile, raising his glass of sparkling cider for her to cheers. “Happy Christmas, Morgana.”
“Happy Christmas, brother.” And then she grinned at him as though it was the best Christmas ever.
Notes:
I absolute adore Luna Lovegood if that's not obvious.
And I couldn't help myself with Nimueh. I feel like she's just totally that glamorous aunt who shows up on holidays, starts a load of family drama, and then leaves for months.
Hope you enjoyed!
Chapter 19: A Little Breaking and Entering
Notes:
Heyyy! I am offically done with Uni for the summer so let's get some chapters out! I know it was another long wait so you've got an extra long chapter, and now I'm on break there should be more to follow :)
A huge thank you to everyone who has still been reading and commenting in my absence! I read every comment as they come through and they always make me want to get back to writing this, so thank you all for your patience.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“You’re kidding?”
“No! I’m serious!” he swore. “She was in my living room, just debating with my father for like two hours! And there Morgana was, grinning like it was the funniest thing she’d ever seen.” Arthur shook his head, still not quite believing that it actually happened.
“Bloody hell, mate,” one of the Weasleys said. “Your professor crashing family Christmas . . .”
“You reckon Percy’ll ask Professor Snape over next year now he knows they do house calls?” the other quipped.
“Well, baby Potter’s got a monopoly on Professor McGonagall,” one of them grinned playfully, ruffling their shorter friend’s hair. “So he can’t ask her.”
Arthur saw Potter’s jaw set. Whether he was annoyed about the nickname, or the supposed insult to McGonagall, Arthur didn’t know. Either way, he wasn’t about to cast aspersions on spending holidays with Professors when he knew the transfiguration professor had spent it with both Harry and Merlin.
“The problem isn’t that it was a Professor,” Arthur insisted, “It’s that it was her.”
“I dunno, Pendragon,” Lee Jordan cut in, “I’d say she’s a sight better than Snape.” He and the twins drifted from the conversation then, escalating more and more bizarre scenarios for school staff to show up for Christmas, before eventually agreeing that Filch would be the worst, with Binns coming in as the weirdest.
Arthur huffed, frustrated that his roommates really didn’t seem to care at all beyond the novelty of the idea.
Leon nudged him slightly, getting his attention. “Was she really that bad?” he asked earnestly.
Arthur shrugged moodily, and noted that Potter seemed to be half-listening for his answer, glancing at them out of the corner of his eye, all the while laughing along with the twins.
“I don’t know,” he admitted eventually. “It was really weird, though.”
Gwen hummed sympathetically. “She wasn’t bad about your dad being a muggle or anything was she?”
“Sort of,” he said. “Although, it was more about keeping muggles out of wizard spaces, than an outright hatred of muggles,” he admitted. “I doubt she’d have come at all if she really hated them.”
“Still,” Gwen said, with a frown, “It’s awfully rude to go on about it after being invited into someone's home. Especially over a holiday.”
“Don’t worry, my father was rude right back,” he told her, laughing slightly at the thought of anyone pitying his father in an instance of someone being rude.
“She didn’t do anything suspicious, though, while she was there?” Potter inquired from a few seats down. Obviously Arthur had been right about the boy listening in on their conversation.
Arthur narrowed his eyes, remembering that Potter had been there that day in the library when all of his friends had completely dismissed his concerns. “What’s it to you?” he asked sceptically, ignoring Gwen’s admonishing look at turning his tone on Potter.
(Arthur was fairly sure it wasn’t just because Potter was younger. The kid had someone managed to endear himself to the majority of Gryffindor house. Between his flying skills, his friendship with the Weasleys, his guardianship under their Head of House and his damn attitude, Arthur was fairly sure there would be a house-wide riot if Potter sorted anywhere else next September. And that was not including their Head of House.)
“Just curious,” Potter responded, vaguely.
Arthur scoffed, turning back to his friends, and leaving Potter to go back to pretending to listen to the twins.
He started on asking Gwen and Leon about their holidays, when he was interrupted with an unexpected, and absurdly casual, “You should break into her office.”
Arthur froze, seeing Gwen and Leon halt with him, before all three of them turned to stare incredulously at Potter.
“He’s not serious . . .” Leon said, presumably assuring himself more than anyone else. Arthur certainly wasn’t assured of that fact.
Potter seemed to hunch in on himself beneath their collective stares, before shrugging defensively. “I’m just saying,” he muttered. “You think she’s up to something - and you know that every Saturday she’s occupied with teaching for two hours for Merlin’s extra classes. It wouldn’t be that hard to see if there’s anything suspicious there.”
Well, he wasn’t wrong, Arthur conceded privately.
“She’s a Defence professor,” Gwen hissed, warningly, apparently reading the consideration on Arthur’s face. “She’ll have wards and spells and defences set up in her office,” she argued, her tone begging him to see reason. “Especially if she actually is up to something.”
“I bet she’ll have magical defences set up,” Arthur agreed with a nod, something to pick up if anyone used any spells to try and break in. “But will she have muggle ones?”
“You could pick the lock?” Potter suggested, eyes shining, happily abandoning the twins to come and conspire with them.
Arthur smiled.
“You’re not serious?” Gwen asked in askance.
He shrugged. “Father had Morgana and I go through some training when he came into office, in case we were ever kidnapped or anything. Just self defence stuff mostly - how to throw off a larger opponent, weak spots where to hit and kick, stuff like that,” he explained. “Including,” he grinned, “How to pick a lock to escape if need be.”
“Wicked,” Potter said, beaming.
“You can’t actually be considering this?” Gwen said, eyes darting between the two of them. “Leon,” she said, turning to him for some sort of support. “Talk them out of it!”
Leon regarded them blankly, his brow furrowed, and yet giving nothing away.
His eyes shot briefly towards Gwen, an apology written in them, before nodding firmly at Arthur. “Do you need a look out?”
Arthur smiled, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “Hell yeah.”
The plan was . . . a work in progress.
“We need more people,” he insisted.
Arthur quelled his thought process with a flat look. “We are not telling Merlin.”
“You want me to lie to him?” Potted asked, horror clear on his face, affronted at the very thought.
“No,” Arthur said slowly, his tone that of talking to a particularly dim-witted child. “I want you to stop yourself from blurting out an unnecessary truth.”
“That’s still lying.”
He scoffed, rolling his eyes, “Barely.”
“We don’t lie to each other,” Harry insisted stubbornly.
“Of course you lie to each other,” Arthur said, baffled, “It’s called being siblings. And if you don’t, trust me, you’ll grow into it,” he added bitterly, thinking of Morgana.
“Why can’t he know?” Harry pressed, too stubborn to let the matter drip.
“Because Merlin is a terrible liar,” Arthur said plainly. “And that whole time I’m going to be breaking into her office, he’s going to be with Professor Nimueh. Do you really think he’d be able to act normal and keep her distracted without tipping her off.”
“Merlin likes protecting people. If it means protecting you, then yes, he’ll do it.”
“Fine,” Arthur sighed, “Let me put it this way: do you think, if he knew about the plan, he’d still let you be involved?”
Potter’s mouth opened and closed a few times, obviously trying to come up with a counter argument, but his own argument worked against him. He was right, Merlin was protective of those he cared about - and that meant Potter most of all.
That shut him up, Arthur thought smugly.
“How about,” Leon hedged, “We still ask more people to help . . . besides Merlin?” Up until then he had seemed content to let Harry and Arthur argue amongst themselves, apparently only feeling the need to chip in and help problem-solve when they were going in circles.
“Like who?” Arthur asked sceptically. “Gwen’s made it clear she wants nothing to do with this, even if she won’t rat us out.”
“What about Gwaine?”
“You don’t even like Gwaine!” Arthur said, frustrated.
“Yeah, but he wouldn’t care about getting into trouble if something went wrong,” Potter shrugged.
Arthur narrowed his eyes. “Or do you just want someone else on your team when it comes to telling Merlin?” he said, suspicious.
Potter’s eyes darted away, guilty, before he could stop himself. Arthur huffed. “I grew up with Morgana,” he reminded the boy. “You’re going to have to be more subtle than that.”
“If your requirement is just people who don’t mind getting into trouble, wouldn’t Fred and George be better to ask?” Leon reasoned.
Arthur shook his head immediately. “They’d just be in it for a laugh. They wouldn’t want to actually help.”
“You don’t know that!” Harry defended immediately.
Arthur rolled his eyes. “Look, I know they’re your friends, but that doesn’t mean they’re capable of taking things seriously.”
“What about just as a backup plan?” Leon offered instead. “They wouldn’t have to know what we’re doing - but we could ask them to make some mischief and set up a distraction to divert Professor Nimueh, just in case we need more time or something?”
He considered it for a moment before nodding reluctantly. The twins wouldn’t ask too many questions about causing some trouble. They’d probably want Arthur to shell out the cost of some pranking supplies or something, but he could manage that easily enough. “Okay,” he agreed, after a moment, “We can ask Fred and George to help if something goes wrong.”
Potter didn’t look particularly pleased at the concession, but that wasn’t Arthur’s problem.
“Why are you so on board with this anyway?” Arthur asked suddenly. “You were happy to laugh along with everyone else before when I was suspicious of Nimueh,” he pointed out. “So why the sudden change? What’s in this for you?” He scrutinised him for a few moments, but Potter’s face was oddly blank.
“I don’t like her,” he said simply, with a shug. The gesture was casual, but Arthur’s instinct told him otherwise. And Potter wasn’t a particularly accomplished liar.
“And that’s it?” Leon asked, sounding as disbelieving as Arthur felt.
“Well why are you here?” Potter retaliated.
“Because I trust Arthur.”
The response was so immediate, so instinctual, that even Arthur looked at him in shock, completely distracting him from his suspicions.
Was that . . . was that it?
Honestly, Arthur hadn’t properly questioned why Leon was so on-board when Gwen had made her opinion so clear. He supposed he had just assumed that it was the Gryffindor spirit in his friend - the recklessness, the bravery, the call for adventure.
But he should have known better. Quiet, steady, reliable Leon, he would never get involved in something like this just for the hell of it. He wasn’t the Weasley twins, happy to make trouble just for the sake of things. And he wasn’t Arthur, either, searching for some sort of proof to prove his instinct right.
He was Leon. He was simply there to support his friend.
His friend who really didn’t know what to say in the face of such loyalty.
Arthur nodded, awkwardly, in thanks, hoping that that was enough. And judging by the small quirk of his lips and the returning nod, it was.
But apparently it wasn’t good enough for Potter.
“Seriously?” the boy asked doubtfully. “That’s it?”
Leon ignored the tone and simply nodded seriously in response. “That’s it,” he confirmed.
“But . . . why?” Potter questioned earnestly, and Arthur tried not to be insulted by that. He wasn’t that untrustworthy, was he?
“If Merlin had asked you to trust him, would you?” Leon asked calmly.
“Well, yeah. But that’s different; he’s my brother.”
Leon nodded. “And Arthur’s my friend.”
God, why was Leon so determined to do this to him today? Arthur was not used to this unfailing loyalty (and frankly, it was pretty Hufflepuff of Leon to go on like that). He was used to his father and Morgana, where he had to earn every bit of respect and trust that they had in him. He was used to people like Gwaine, who didn't take anything anyone said seriously, never mind Arthur, someone whom he vehemently disliked. And even Merlin, who sometimes Arthur felt understood him more than anyone ever had - even he hadn't really trusted Arthur on this.
But here was Leon, ready to do something which was admittedly reckless and a bit stupid, just because he trusted Arthur.
Potter’s face scrunched, as though he didn’t quite understand, and honestly, Arthur felt like agreeing with him. He didn't think he understood either.
What had he done to earn loyalty like that?
“We should get back to planning,” Leon redirected them awkwardly, as it became clear that both Arthur and Harry had been rendered silent by his previous answer.
“We still need more people,” Potter reminded them.
When Arthur still said nothing, Leon volunteered, “I have an idea. Leave it to me.”
Harry didn't like the plan.
Okay, so technically it was all his idea, but that wasn't the part he didn't like.
He didn't like how uninvolved he really was. Harry’s job was to sit on the sidelines, with Merlin and the Professor. Not that he minded watching his brother's back. But he didn't appreciate being relegated to the backseat and having to watch from the sidelines.
It meant he was going to have to rely on secondhand information to find out what was really going on. It meant he had to place his trust in Arthur Pendragon. And Harry wasn't sure he could do that.
He wasn't stupid, he knew they all saw him as ‘just a kid’, despite them all being barely older than him. But it shouldn’t matter that he was younger, he had lived through a lot more than they probably had.
So yeah, he didn't appreciate that he had to be stuck in the lesson with Merlin and Nimueh, his only job: to do nothing so that neither of them thought anything suspicious was going on.
And that was another thing. He really didn't want to keep this from Merlin. He was going to be really mad when he found out. Merlin hated Harry doing things that pissed off adults. He seemed to forget most of the time that he was stronger than all of the Professors were, that none of the adults could hurt them anymore, that Harry knew Merlin could protect them from whatever happened.
The problem was, Merlin could only protect them from threats he knew about. He could keep Harry safe from the Death Eater professor, and the Headmaster’s meddling, but he couldn't do anything about someone he didn't know was a threat.
And Arthur thought Professor Nimueh was a threat.
Not that Harry was particularly inclined to trust Arthur or anything. But he was even less inclined to trust a grown up.
There was just something off about how Professor Nimueh had behaved when she caught him and Merlin fighting. She had seemed so smug and amused. She had reminded Harry of Aunt Petunia on the days that Harry had had to run home from school because Duddley had chased him all the way home, of when he came in with a limp or a black eye, of when Harry had to duck and dive under his Uncle Vernon’s meaty fists as they tried to grab him.
It didn't sit right with Harry.
He had only managed to survive this long by trusting his instincts, and his instincts told him that there was something wrong with Professor Nimueh. And it wasn’t like he could place any trust in the Headmaster’s good judgement or hiring skills if the Potions’ Professor was anything to go by.
So when the opportunity came to push Arthur Pendragon into investigating the Professor, Harry just kind of went for it.
He didn’t really expect for Arthur to be so immediately on board, but he supposed he should have known better by now when it came to Gryffindors.
Which led Harry to where he was now, sitting at a desk in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom while his brother squinted at Professor Nimueh.
There was apparently some sort of mind-magic silent communication supposed to be happening, but Harry wasn’t sure it was working . . .
Actually, he wasn’t sure what it was supposed to look like when it did work. Maybe they were communicating silently after all.
Merlin’s frustrated sigh quickly disabused him of that notion.
“I don’t get it!” he said, breaking away from the staring competition he had been having with the Professor. “Everything else has come easy to me, why is this part so hard?”
Professor Nimeuh looked unimpressed with his outburst. “Everything else has come easy because even if you don’t understand the theory or if you mistake the pronunciation, you have enough magic that you manage to accomplish your goal from sheer strength anyway. You’ve essentially been bulldozing down every door you come across instead of figuring out the key like everyone else has to,” she explained dryly.
“But then why’s that not working for this?” Merlin asked, flushing slightly at the indictment that he apparently wasn’t that extraordinarily talented at magic, he was just powerful enough to make everything work anyway.
“Because the problem this time isn’t your lack of magic, it’s mine,” she explained calmly, and Harry perked up at this potential weakness she was exposing. “This type of mental communication used to be incredibly common during the height of the Old Religion because everyone was more powerful. This was wandless, wordless magic - a feat that was quite common back then, but is seen as a show of near-impossible power these days. And for this type of magic, there generally needs to be the strength to form the connection on both sides.”
Merlin stopped and stared in confusion. “But then, why am I learning it if there’s no one it will work with?”
“I said generally, Emrys. With the amount of magic you have, you should still be able to establish the mental connection, compensating for both sides - but it requires finesse. Control. Refinement.” She stared him down. “Things you could use practice in,” she said pointedly.
“You said ‘should’,” Merlin pointed out, his frustration stripping the usual caution that would bracket his tone when speaking to a professor. “You don’t even know if it’s possible, do you?”
“You have a magical talent that hasn’t been seen in over a thousand years,” the Professor said impatiently. “None of this should be possible.”
When Merlin still didn’t look reassured by that explanation she elaborated, “If you must know, I’m basing this lesson on the more modern mind magic of legilimency - which can broadly be summarised as mind-reading. It’s a very difficult and complex discipline, which I will not be teaching you, but I have extrapolated certain elements of the process that I think will be useful to you. The muggle saying of ‘eyes being the window to the soul’ is not wholly inaccurate, as eye contact is necessary to establish this connection - as I have had you doing. You need to use your magic to connect to those around you, and then follow that magic into their minds. This is where you’ll be projecting your words.”
“How’s that different from the mind reading?” Harry cut in, curious in spite of himself.
“It lacks the ‘reading’ necessary to make it mind-reading,” she said impatiently. “You should not in any way be trying to skim my thoughts or memories,” the Professor said sternly, turning her attention back to Merlin. “Though I have taken precautions, should you accidentally find yourself drifting from your goal.”
“Precautions?” Harry pressed, suddenly worried about what would happen to his brother if he accidentally looked at something he shouldn't.
“Never you mind,” she rebuffed.
“Now, that's enough questions,” she turned back to Merlin. “You need to practise,” she told him. “You know where your magic needs to go. Trust in it. Let it guide you. And only when you think you've formed the connection, then put your power into it.”
Harry's brother nodded determinedly, apparently revitalised by the vague, wishy-washy advice.
But Harry found his mind lingering on a far more pressing question. What were these precautions Professor Nimueh had put in place? And did they pose a danger to Merlin?
Leon had known for a long time that he would follow his King anywhere.
He had ignored his morals on the orders of a King before. He had taken innocent lives, and had stood back and done nothing while others had done the same.
He had ignored his own instincts back then, that this was wrong, that they were just peaceful people trying to live their lives. Instead, he had put his trust in an unworthy King. He had drowned out his own misgivings and done as he was bid. And for it he received a celebratory clap on the shoulder, a promotion, and countless sleepless nights.
But that was not this King. Not his King.
Not Arthur.
Arthur had always fought to do his best by his people. And he had never asked any of his men to do anything that he wasn't willing to do first.
He had had Leon's trust for years. His respect for even longer.
So even as Leon looked at this twelve-year-old version of his old friend, he vowed to follow him as he always had done.
Leon had fought a dragon for this man, he had no problem in aiding a little breaking and entering. He wasn't a Knight of Camelot anymore. And it's not like he was breaking the law, just some school rules.
The rules of the magic school, which he, Sir Leon of Camelot, attended.
Of course he hadn't known to think anything of it when he received his acceptance letter. He was just a little boy who had found out that the world was a lot more magical than he realised. And not only that, his oldest friend had been accepted along with him.
Life had been perfect in its simplicity.
Until he had gone to sleep for his first night in a magic castle and woken up a new man.
Or, in fact, a rather old man.
An old man who had greeted his long-dead friend and King with relief and enthusiasm, only to be met with the blank face of a confused child, obviously put off by the over-enthusiastic greeting from a boy he had met only the night before.
So that's when Leon fell back on his old training. He watched and listened and observed and tried to see if anyone but him remember.
(He also had an intense but silent re-evaluation of his whole life because he was a sorcerer now! Not that there was anything wrong with that. But Leon had spent the latter part of his life atoning for his sins against the magical community, that's why having such a gift felt so wrong. If anyone was unworthy of welding magic, then surely it was a Knight of Camelot under Uther's reign.)
Gwen noticed the change in him immediately. And he noted the lack of change in her. And so began the lies. Lying to his best friend. Lying to pretty much everyone about what was on his mind, practically all the time.
(Was this how Merlin had felt for all those years?)
Leon was on his own here. A grown man surrounded at all times by children. As gratifying as it was to see his friends, his brothers, again, it wasn't the same. And he couldn't quite bring himself to bridge that gap with these childish versions of them.
He missed his friends - his real friends, as they truly were, not these sheltered children who had lived an entirely different life in an entirely different world. He missed their comradery, their brotherhood - he missed walking side by side with men he knew he would die for, men he knew would die for him.
He missed his wife. Not in a romantic sense, their marriage had never quite been that. But he missed her company, her friendship. He missed feeling as though he were talking to an equal. He missed knowing that there was someone he could rely on above all others. He missed his partner.
He missed his son.
(He never even got to see what kind of man he became. . .)
It was a mix of hope and dread that Leon felt when he noticed the change in Morgana. He waited with bated breath to see what she did, ready to step in and defend his King and Queen with his life if that was what it took.
But Morgana did nothing. She seemed to turn colder and more distrusting overnight, and he watched her stare at Merlin with fear and suspicion, but she never attacked. If anything she seemed to get even closer to Arthur, the bond forming between them taking Leon back to when Arthur was still a squire and Morgana just the King’s ward. He had doubted her sincerity for a while, but Leon knew what she looked like now when she was lying. And so he carried on his watching and waiting. Ready to guard his King or Queen should they need him, but otherwise not getting involved.
Until now, apparently. Because now, Leon was helping to break into a High Priestess's office.
For Arthur.
Because Leon had known for a long time that he would follow his King anywhere. Even when he was having a ridiculously stupid idea.
Part of Leon had wanted to side with Potter, that they should bring Merlin in on the plan. Of course, it was for reasons that he absolutely could not share with the others.
Merlin was one of the only people who stood a chance at talking Arthur out of one of his pig-headed schemes. Merlin would also do whatever it took to keep Arthur safe - which was Leon’s number one priority - even when he went along on said schemes. If something went wrong, Merlin was just about the only one who stood a chance of being able to fight off an angry raging High Priestess.
But Merlin was a child. And Leon would not be the one to place more burdens on his shoulders, not after the life he had lived.
But the only other people Leon could suggest for this plan were all children. All except . . .
“What do you want?”
“Your help. You are trying to make amends, aren’t you?”
Cold eyes narrowed in his direction. “Not to you.”
“No? You held me in a dungeon for weeks, and then made me responsible when you opened fire into a crowd of civilians. You don’t think any of that’s worthy of amends?”
Silence.
“What about Elyan? Gwaine? You killed more of my friends than just Arthur. Not to mention everything you put Gwen through.”
Her jaw tightened. “You’re hardly innocent. How many of my people did you kill over all those years under Uther’s command.”
“I’ve made my amends. We repealed the ban. We made peace. Magic reigned free in Camelot.”
“I just had to die first? Is that it?”
“. . . Yes.”
She all but hissed, “How dare you!”
“How could we have ever convinced the people that they were safe with magic roaming free when there was still a mad sorceress attacking the Kingdom every chance she got?”
“I just wanted to be free!”
“You wanted the throne, Morgana!”
She seethed silently for a moment. And then a scoff, “You sure have a funny way of asking for help.”
“I’m not asking for me. I’m asking for Arthur.”
“Well, Arthur knows where to find me if he wants my help.”
“Not if he doesn’t trust you anymore.”
“What? And you do?”
“I trust that you still care about him. And I trust you to understand how dangerous Nimueh might be.”
“I told him to ignore her!”
“Just . . . will you do it?”
“Fine. I’ll be there. He needs someone competent to watch his back.”
She was the last person Leon wanted to rely on. But he’d rather burden her than a bunch of children. And he could at least count on her to watch Arthur’s back, if nothing else.
Which led him to now, being on the end of Arthur’s accusing glare the moment he notices Morgana leaning against Professor Nimueh’s door.
“This is you back up?” he hissed furiously, pausing halfway down the corridor as soon as he caught sight of her. “My sister!?” he demanded, turning to face Leon angrily.
Leon held up his hands placatingly. “She’s a good resource. She’s probably the student who knows Professor Nimueh the best, and she’s the least likely person to rat on us for breaking into a professor’s office,” he reasoned calmly.
“Did she neglect to mention that she’s the reason we’re breaking in in the first place!?” Arthur all but shouted. “I wouldn’t have to do this, if she just told me what was going on with Nimueh from the start!”
“Keep your voice down, you moron,” she said levelly. “First rule of sneaking around,” she cautioned sarcastically, “Is to avoid yelling at everyone and drawing as much attention to yourself as possible.”
“See,” Leon said, forcing a smile, “She’s already coming in useful.”
Huh. When both Arthur and Morgana turned to glare at him together he could really see the family resemblance.
“Shall we?” he continued when it seemed like the two of them weren’t likely to get past glaring at him.
Arthur shot one last look of betrayal over his shoulder before turning towards the Defence Professor’s door, lock-picking tools in hand.
Seeing Morgana open her mouth for yet-another criticism for the plan, Leon shot her a warning look.
‘Lock-picking?’ she mouthed behind Arthur’s head, sceptically.
Leon sharpened his glare.
It was a good plan. A sorceress, who had dedicated entire lifetimes to the study of magic, working in a magical school, would not be expecting normal (muggle) tools to be used to get into her office. And so, when just a few minutes later they heard the tell-tale click of the door unlocking, Leon was not surprised.
Leon and Morgana broke their stare down to look at the now-grinning Arthur, who was still crouched smugly in front of the keyhole. He reached for the handle, ready to push open the door before Morgana shot off a quick, “Wait!”
“What now?” Arthur asked frustratedly.
“Just because you could get through the door, it doesn’t mean that she won’t have other traps set up.”
He rolled his eyes. “Well, if she’s got nothing to hide, like you say, then why would she have traps?”
“I never said she had nothing to hide!” Morgana argued, “I just told you not to worry about it!”
“Well maybe -!”
“We don’t have time for this,” Leon cut in. “Her lesson with Merlin will only last for so long.” He turned to Morgana assessingly. “How likely is it that any of her traps might cause a real danger to us?” They were in a school after all, and Leon didn’t think Nimueh would risk killing a couple of pranksters who might just choose the wrong office to target. Even if she was a real risk to them, she wouldn’t have been able to stay under the radar for so long by being that careless.
Morgana paused for a moment, looking critically at the doorway as though she could see through it. “I think, at worst,” she said carefully, “It would be something that would immobilise us. Something to catch us, not hurt us.”
Leon nodded, relieved at the assessment, concluding that the risk was worth taking. But instead of moving forward like he had assumed he would, instead Arthur was watching Morgana angrily.
“The fact that you had to think about that at all means that I’m right not to trust her,” he said bitingly. And only after he saw his sister look away, shamefaced, did he push open the door to the Professor’s office.
It was . . . remarkably ordinary at first glance.
There was a desk with neat piles of essays under various stages of marking. A bookcase filled with tomes, mostly in languages he didn’t recognise - although a few that he did. There were tapestries with occult symbols on them that vaguely reminded him of things he’d seen back in the days of Camelot. A few worn, comfortable-looking armchairs.
It was just a regular office.
Or it would be, aside from the two basins placed on a high shelf, one glowing faintly.
The three of them exchanged a loaded look, Arthur darting immediately towards the shelf before Morgana followed him, just a step behind.
Leon lingered in the doorway, his eyes darting between the empty hallway and his co-conspirators. He knew that the Weasley twins were also on lookout duty, having promised that if the Professor left her classroom before her teaching session was supposed to end they would set off a distraction in her path. However, Leon didn’t know how much he trusted those two not to get bored and just set off a prank regardless, so he decided that another set of eyes on the hallway wouldn’t be amiss.
Looking back towards his King, Leon saw that the pair of them had lowered the basins from the shelf, presumably with a levitation charm, since they were all sadly lacking in height as of yet. He watched the confusion on Arthu’s face, lit ominously by the wispy, silvery glow of the liquid in front of him.
Morgana was looking at its much less intimidating companion. The outside looked like it was made of some sort of rock or quartz, a rough, jagged material, but the top was smooth and unblemished - the only disturbance was a littering of letters and symbols, and the wide pool cut into the stone. She squinted at the runes decorating the edge, announcing after a moment, “I think this one’s a scrying bowl.” Her fingers ghosted along the surface of the liquid. “Just water,” she confirmed.
Leon was happy to take her word for it. She was a High Priestess, he was sure she knew what she was talking about.
“Well that’s obviously not the one we’re interested in,” Arthur said snidely, motioning towards the much more obviously magical basin in front of him.
Morgana huffed. “Appearances can be deceiving. Just because that one’s glowing, doesn’t mean it’s more interesting or more powerful or whatever else you’re assuming. After all, you look like you have common sense, and yet,” she mocked.
Leon closed his eyes briefly so that they wouldn’t see him roll them. Arthur, at least, was actually twelve years old right now, but he should have known better than to assume Morgana wouldn’t sink to Arthur’s level when provoked. “Then what is it?” he asked impatiently, knowing that they really only had so much time.
“I don’t know!” she snapped, glaring at him. “It’s a glowing bowl of mystery liquid! Maybe it’s poison, or maybe it’s aromatherapy! I. Don’t. Know.”
“This is supposed to be your area of expertise!” Leon defended. “I’m sorry for assuming you’d know what your predecessor is up to.”
“I never even met her!” she cried.
“Wait, I think I see something in the water . . .” Arthur said, leaning his head closer to the shimmery liquid that was almost definitely not water.
“Still, out of the three of us, you are the one who should know about this stuff!”
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Leon, but this magic is a little different than what I’m familiar with,” she said, waving her wand about for emphasis.
“That . . . looks like my father,” Arthur muttered, squinting at the swirling shapes before leaning down even further, his face obscured by the vapour.
“Or maybe you know exactly what it is and you don’t want to help us!” he argued. That would be just like her, pulling a long-con on the lot of them, luring them into a trap, turning against them at the last second. It was exactly what she had done in Camelot before she seized the throne.
“How dare you! I have done nothing but -- Arthur don’t touch that!”
But it was too late. In the midst of their argument Leon had forgotten his highest priority - protecting his King. Now it was too late, Arthur was face down in the unknown liquid, his entire face submerged, pulled into whatever magical trap this was.
“What are you waiting for?! Pull him out!” Leon shouted as he watched Morgana frozen at her brother’s side. Taking three quick strides across the room, he reached for his friend's shoulders, ready to drag him out of Nimueh’s trap before he drowned on whatever substance he was under.
“Don’t touch him!” Morgana hissed, slapping his hands away.
“He’ll drown!”
“How many times?! We have no idea what this magic is!” she shouted. “Dragging him out of it could cause even more harm when we don’t know what it is!”
“Whatever magic this is, I will not leave my King to face it alone!”
Morgana paused, looking from Arthur’s submerged figure to the open doorway. “Then one of us puts their head in too,” she reasoned.
Leon’s jaw tightened as he stopped himself from reaching for a sword at this side that wasn’t there. “Then I will follow him,” he said solemnly.
But Morgana was already shaking her head. “I know more about magic than you do.”
“He is my King.”
“Well he’s my brother.”
“He was mine too!” Leon spat before he could stop himself.
“He was my brother. I dedicated my life to protecting him - and then protecting his legacy after you took him from us.” He watched with no small amount of bitter satisfaction as Morgana looked away. “I will follow him,” he declared. “And I will protect him with my life as I was sworn to do.”
And before Morgana could argue or rebuff him, Leon took one last look at his friend and plunged head first into a swirl of silver mist.
Notes:
I'm fairly certain from context clues that everyone can guess the amount of danger Arthur is actually in :)
Chapter 20: Confronting the Past
Chapter Text
It had been disorienting at first. One moment he was in an office - squinting at swirling, distorted, images that seemed to be trapped in liquid - the next he was staring at his father, looking like he had never seen him before.
He looked younger than the man Arthur had just seen off a few weeks ago at Kings Cross, and yet, he looked as though stressed had aged him, with the bags under his eyes, and his prematurely greying hair. It looked out of place on his otherwise youthful face. His clothes looked as finely made as anything he would imagine his father in, but the style was all wrong. It wasn’t old-fashioned in the same way wizarding fashion was. It was so old that it looked positively medieval. He almost looked something like a lord or a . . . a King.
And across from him was Nimueh.
Not as she looked at Hogwarts, no, she looked less like a professor, and more like the woman from Arthur’s old sketches. She was still as poised and put-together as he was used to seeing, but younger, more beautiful, more glamorous. And just as medieval as his father.
Whereas his father looked like a King, she carried herself like a Queen (even when something in his mind rejected the thought immediately).
She stared down his father, her face somber and serious, with none of the mocking undertones he was used to seeing. “This is not ordinary magic that you ask of me, Uther. It will come with a price,” Nimueh warned.
“Don’t trust her!” Arthur butted in, warningly, but his father didn’t so much as blink at him. He looked right through Arthur, even when he dared to wave a hand in front of his face. There was no dismissive look, or admonishing glare for his behavior, as his father would have usually given. Instead, it was as if Arthur wasn’t even there in the room with them.
His father continued staring at Nimueh, nodding grimly, continuing their conversation as if Arthur had never interrupted a single word. “I know your people have the Cup of Life,” he said levelly, the phrase sending a pang of something awful through Arthur’s whole body. He didn’t know why, but it was as though every part of his brain was screaming - danger!
“Heal my wife and I will pay whatever price you ask of me,” Uther offered. Arthur swallowed down the taste of bile and turned his eyes back to Nimueh, hoping beyond all hope that she would simply refuse to help.
“The Queen is not sick,” she said calmly. “There is nothing for me to heal.”
“She is barren!” his father all but hissed, drowning out any relief Arthur had momentarily felt as Nimueh’s refusal. “Camelot needs an heir,” he insisted. “I need an heir.”
Camelot.
This was . . .
What the hell was this?
Arthur looked at the tall stone walls and antique furniture that made him feel like he was still at Hogwarts, but he felt in his bones that that wasn’t the case. It felt familiar in a way Hogwarts never had before. It felt like home.
Why did it feel like home?
He stumbled towards the window, already knowing before he got there that he would have a perfect view of the courtyard. A courtyard that he had sketched out before, full of men astride their horses.
There were no men on horseback when he looked, just servants hurrying back and forth, their faces blurred and obscured, but there nonetheless. All around them, standing stationary, were men in red and gold livery - but not Gryffindor red and gold, but Pendragon red and gold.
“What the fuck,” he muttered to himself, as thoughts and familiarity rushed through his head, all unheard and unnoticed by the other occupants of the room.
“And how do you know it is not you who is incapable of siring an heir?” he heard, as he pulled himself away from the bafflingly familiar view and back towards the conversation that really did sound important. For, even though a part of him felt like he knew exactly where it was leading, he still had to hear it, he had to know for sure.
The King said nothing but looked away, breaking eye-contact to stare at the flagstone floors. Looking for the first time as though he was not in total control of the situation, he didn’t look like a King anymore, he looked like a schoolboy who had been caught.
And Nimueh obviously knew it too. “You’ve begotten a bastard, haven’t you?” she asked, knowingly.
“Take care how you speak of my child!” he warned snappishly.
But Nimueh simply rolled her eyes, as though dealing with a tantruming child. “If your wife is barren then set her aside and marry another,” she said matter-of-factly. “Or name your illegitimate child as your heir,” she added when Uther glared at her mulishly. And Arthur, somehow, found that he was not at all surprised by the news of the man who raised him fathering a bastard, even as he wondered how such a thing was not shocking to him.
“I will not do that to Ygraine.”
“What?” she scoffed, “You love her?”
“I do!”
“Yes, as I’m sure you told your mistress, also.”
“You know not of what you speak!” his father shouted, and Arthur found himself shying backwards, even though it was not him who was the target of his father’s ire. The man stood, towering over both Arthur and the still-seated Nimueh. But the woman did not cower or flinch. In fact, she looked distinctly unimpressed with his father’s temper.
“Besides,” the King continued, far more evenly, “Even if I did not love her, the alliance with the De Bois helped win me my throne. They will happily rebel if my heir is not of their line also.”
“Be that as it may, the Cup of Life will not fix your barren wife.”
“Then what good is it?” he demanded, through gritted teeth.
“Magic does not exist solely to help you, Uther Pendragon.”
He snarled, bristling at her dismissive tone. “Take care how you speak, I am your King!”
“And I am trying to help you,” she insisted, “But you do not understand what you ask of me.”
Arthur let the argument wash over him as he was once more filled with dread. No matter its auspicious name, he knew nothing good would come of using the Cup of Life. Though he was still not quite sure how he was certain of such a thing, Arthur trusted his instincts - and they were screaming at him that everything was about to go horribly wrong.
“But there is a way?” his father asked expectantly, as Arthur’s stomach turned.
“Not to heal your wife,” Nimueh clarified, holding out a hand as though to physically stall his thoughts from running away with him. “She will not be able to give you heirs and spares aplenty. But a single son, born of both you and Ygraine. . . It is possible,” she admitted
“Then do it!” he cried, with a desperation unbecoming of a King.
“It is not so simple,” she cautioned. “For a life to be created one must be taken in return. The magic demands balance. A life for a life.”
A life for a life.
This was it. This was what his gut had been warning him about. For a son to be born. . . For him to be born, magic would exact a price.
His father nodded. “That is a price I am willing to pay.”
No it isn’t. You don’t understand what you’re agreeing to.
“You must be certain,” Nimueh pressed. “Once the child is conceived, it cannot be taken back. The boy will be born and someone will die.”
“Don’t!” Arthur begged helplessly, hopelessly .
She would die. She had died for him to be born.
“I am certain,” his father said, with a confidence Arthur knew he would soon regret. “The Kingdom needs an heir.”
Nimueh inclined her head, a steely resolve in her eyes. “So be it.”
And then the world around Arthur fell apart.
He felt like he was still putting himself back together when his father stormed into wherever he was.
“You witch!” Uther snarled, tearing through the doorway with a wild look in his eyes. “You murdered my wife!” he accused, and Arthur watched dispassionately, feeling utterly hollow at the revelation, as Nimueh regarded him with wariness.
She took a few careful steps as she rounded the corner of her desk, apparently unwilling to allow the King to tower over her once more. “Uther, I warned you . . .” she began, bemused. “A life had to be lost for your son to be born.”
His father's face crumpled. “But not her’s.”
Arthur didn't think he had ever seen such emotion from his father. His devastation was plain to see, but Arthur struggled to muster any sympathy for the man who had traded away his wife without a single question.
So driven he was, in his need for an heir, that he had never even asked about the life that would be traded for his son's. He hadn't cared. Not until it directly affected him.
Nimueh, too, clearly shared Arthur's lack of sympathy for that man - and had it been any other time, he would have been concerned about agreeing with her - as she asked, “You could not have thought the life of a future King would be paid for by the death of a peasant you have never laid eyes on?” The look on the King's face suggested that, yes, he had expected exactly that. The witch stared at him incredulously. “The magic demands an equal sacrifice. Would you rather it have been your daughter? A child for a child, rather than a wife for a son, a Queen for a Prince?”
But instead of looking cowed, her words only enraged the man further. “Don’t you threaten my daughter!” he growled.
“Morgana. . .” he heard whispered behind him, a breath of realisation. (And, yes, that made a sick sort of sense too. Of course Morgana was his daughter. It could never have been anyone else.)
Arthur turned quickly to see his friend, staring in shock at the scene before them. He didn't think Leon had even noticed him yet, not with all the yelling going on in front of them.
“They can't see or hear us,” Arthur informed his friend, who jolted at the sight of him there.
“Arthur!” Leon said, startled. “Are you alright?!”
He shrugged, noncommittally, before turning back to the soap opera happening before their eyes.
In truth, he felt rather numb at the moment. All of his dread and apprehension had fled him the moment his father's accusations had confirmed his greatest fear.
He didn't quite know how the scene in front of him related back to the life he knew existed outside of this trap - the life he remembered, the life he had been relatively happy in living - but he knew they were related somehow.
And that meant that Arthur was responsible for his mother's death. Again. It meant that his life was one big joke repeating itself all over again.
What he felt didn't matter. Not when it wouldn't change anything.
And through all Arthur’s turmoil, and his father's rage, Nimueh stood, unmoved. “I threaten no one,” she said steadily. “It was not I who took your wife from you - magic itself demanded the price.” She spoke with grace and poise, her head high and her back straight, as she looked down on his father, contrasting her greatly, as he looked ready to launch himself at her like a rabid animal.
“If magic demands a price, then magic can pay it!” Uther declared, with barely-restrained fury shining in his eyes. “I will burn the magic from this Kingdom,” he spat, “If it is the last thing I do.”
Nimueh somehow seemed to straighten even further at his words, her cool demeanour slipping away, as her own anger finally overtook her features. She opened her mouth to speak, but whatever retort was on her lips were quickly drowned out by the King’s cry of, “Guards!”
Armed men swarmed the room, but most of them barely even had the chance to draw their swords before Nimueh had them flying back across the room, their armour clattering as she slammed them against the walls. Her eyes blazed with the same gold that Arthur had seen on Merlin a dozen times. Only now, Arthur did not feel that sense of wonder and awe as when he watched his friend accomplish another wandless wonder with his eyes shining. Now, Arthur only felt fear.
He noted distantly, that Leon had pulled him by the shoulder, dragging him out of the path of Nimueh’s spells, even as the pair of them remained untouchable to the rest of the room.
She glared at the King, looking disgusted to even be in his presence. “If you start a war on magic, I promise you now, Uther Pendragon, it will not be a war you can win,” she threatened, her hands poised to doll out another devastating blast of raw magic.
But the King said nothing, simply drawing his sword, a crazed look in his eyes.
“Your child is born from magic!” she added in a frustrated cry, a last-minute bid to get his father to see reason. “It is just as much a part of him as yourself and the Queen. His life, his destiny, all that he is. . . Arthur Pendragon will live or die by magic’s grace,” she proclaimed, her words resounding with a terrible ring of truth.
“He is my son!” Uther roared. “I will rid this land of the foul stench of sorcery - he will be the master of his own destiny. Magic will never touch him like it did Ygraine!”
And before Arthur had so much as a second to comprehend what he had just heard and what it all meant, the scene before him dissolved once more into another.
The white stone walls told him that they were still in the same castle, but everything else felt entirely different. They stood in the middle of a busy hallway, with countless people ferrying bags and linens and all manner of things through the halls. His head twisted and turned, trying to get his bearings in this new location, but it was all too hectic to even try and spot Nimueh.
Arthur only hoped that this wouldn’t be another confrontation with his father. Arthur didn’t even want to think about the implications of what he had just heard between Nimueh and his father. His father, who apparently hated magic and hated Nimueh.
Let’s just say, It certainly put their debates over Christmas into perspective.
He was still trying to see around the sea of people when Leon’s voice cut through all the noise. “It’s Merlin!” he called out, his voice a mix of relief and concern. Arthur hurriedly ducked around the throng of people to look where Leon was pointing, expecting to see a small boy with dark hair and big ears being swallowed by the crowd.
But that was not what Arthur saw at all.
There was no denying that it was definitely Merlin - those ears were hard to miss - but he also looked almost a decade older and far, far taller. He walked by the side of an older man that Arthur thought recognised from Kings Cross, as Merlin’s new guardian. Or maybe not so new, afterall.
His friend wore no finery like his father or Nimueh had, but the difference in him, even in those shabby clothes, was still far more stark than seeing his father as some sort of medieval King had been. Because, beyond the difference in age and appearance, the most startling thing to Arthur was just how confident this version of Merlin looked. He walked with his back straight and his head high, there was even a sort of playful grace to his movements as he swerved around the people in his path. He was smiling, and joking, and flirting -
He was flirting.
. . . with Nimueh.
(Arthur wondered if he could throw up in a place he seemed to have no physical presence in.)
Her clothes were less extravagant, and her hair was all bundled up in some sort of headdress, but it was definitely still her.
“You’re Arthur’s servant,” he heard her say, her voice soft and girlish in a way he would have never expected from her. “That must be such an honour.” Oh God, she was flirting back!
“Oh, yeah. It is,” he said, smiling goofily. “Well, you know, someone's got to keep the place running,” he joked.
Arthur’s servant.
As if this world wasn’t already bad enough - with Arthur being responsible for his mother’s death, his father’s hatred of magic, and with Nimueh’s scheming apparently transcending lifetimes - now his best friend was apparently someone he had to pay to be around him.
Arthur watched the rest of the interaction between the two, feeling hollow, and more than a little disgusted as the pair of them smiled at each other, with a frankly obscene amount of eye contact.
Arthur wasn’t sure he’d ever seen his Merlin that relaxed around him before. And yet, here he was, grinning at a perfect stranger.
“She must have known,” Leon murmured, consideringly.
“Known?” Arthur asked.
“About his magic.”
“Well of course she does, he’s Merlin,” Arthur drawled. “I mean, that’s what all of this is, isn’t it?” he asked bitterly. “This is Camelot. This. . . is how the legend really happened. He’s -” and then he couldn’t help a slightly hysterical laugh from bursting out of him, “He’s the greatest wizard who ever lived. Our Merlin.”
It should have been harder to reconcile than it was. But his Merlin was already more powerful than any other wizard at their school - including the Headmaster who had apparently defeated a Dark Lord of his own back in the 40’s. It was Merlin, whose temper threatened to bring the building down on them, and who had held an entire room of adult wizards at wand-point this summer. He was already the most impressive person Arthur had ever met, so really, it wasn’t at all surprising to learn that he was the same person who had fathered a legend.
“No, Arthur,” Leon continued, “You just saw the King, he outlawed magic. Every day Merlin spent in Camelot, he was risking his life if he was discovered.”
“No,” Arthur said immediately, refusing to even contemplate his friend being in so much danger. “No, but things must have changed,” he insisted, ignoring the pitying look on Leon’s face as, once more, the world twisted around them until they were somewhere else again.
Day turned to night as they found themselves watching from the sidelines with Nimueh, looking exactly as she did when they had last seen her, while a man Arthur didn’t recognise gave a long and droning speech about peace.
The hall was lined with servants along the walls, and filled with soldiers in two different-coloured liveries. There were men clad in the familiar red and gold, a dragon adorned on their cloaks, and sitting opposite a sea of blue and silver. All of them donned chainmail and had swords resting on their hips, glancing warily at the opposite side of the room.
It rather undercut the message of the still-ongoing speech.
At the head of the room was his father, looking far older than he had in the last memory Arthur had seen of him. On one side of him was Morgana, looking right at home in a glamorous dress, shiny hair, and a bejeweled headpiece, feigning a polite interest in the never-ending speech. And on the King’s other side was, well . . . it was him.
And he looked absolutely bored out of his mind.
At least, that was the first thing he noticed about himself. (He obviously cared far less than Morgana about appearing polite.)
Just like Merlin had been, he was a good decade older, and with far more muscles than Arthur would have imagined having. And, upon his brow, was a golden circlet.
Prince Arthur.
Soon to be King Arthur, he imagined. As in, King Arthur of the Round Table.
That was him.
It was one thing to reconcile Merlin as this powerful figure of legend, but him? Arthur wasn’t anything remarkable. Yes, his father had an important job, but that was just the most interesting thing about him. He was an average student, an average wizard. He wasn’t particularly strong, or smart, or powerful so how -
“We need to leave,” Leon said suddenly, his eyes wide as he watched Nimueh pull Merlin aside and start whispering urgently to him, his eyes darting between the pair of them and the man still giving the unending speech.
“What? No,” he rejected instantly. “No, we can’t leave Merlin alone with her!”
“Arthur, we can’t change anything here,” Leon said, clasping his arm and tugging, as though he could physically pull him out of whatever mirage they were in. “This has all already happened.” He sighed. “Meanwhile, our bodies are still in the Professor’s office, and we have no idea how long we’ve been here.”
“Fine, you leave, but I’m staying,” Arthur dismissed, pulling out of his grasp. “We came to find something suspicious, and this is pretty damn suspicious to me!” He gestured to where Nimueh was still whispering urgently to Merlin, a false look of contrition on her face. “I’m staying,” he swore, “Until we find out everything we can.”
“Arthur, we can’t -”
But whatever Arthur couldn’t do was cut off abruptly as Merlin ran out straight into the middle of a toast, yelling, “Stop! It’s poisoned, don’t drink it!” not hesitating to snatch the goblet out of his Arthur’s hands.
“What is he doing?” Arthur hissed incredulously, accidentally mimicking his counterpart.
Leon ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tense. “I don’t know if I can watch this again,” he muttered.
Arthur turned to him, wide-eyed, mouth agape. “What do you mean, again?”
But Leon said nothing, his face drawn tight, and simply nodded toward the rows of men who had drawn their swords on each other at the accusation of foul-play. Arthur scanned the crowd before finally noticing a bearded, ginger knight, with his hair curling a little above his shoulders.
Leon.
Holding a sword in his hand like he was born to do so, he didn’t take his eyes off the man opposite him for a moment.
“You remember this,” Arthur exhaled, smothering the sting of hurt he felt. All of his friend’s words of loyalty, all of the trust he apparently had in Arthur, their entire friendship, it wasn’t about him. None of it was about him. It was about Prince Arthur, a man Arthur was not.
“Yes,” Leon said urgently, “And now we need to go.”
“I already told you, I won’t -”
“But if it’s poisoned, he’ll die!” his own voice cut through their argument, older and deeper, but unmistakably him.
Arthur’s stomach dropped, as dread filled him once more. He spun away from Leon, his heart racing as he rushed into the main chamber of the room, to see his father holding the supposedly poisoned Goblet out to Merlin.
“Then we’ll know he was telling the truth,” the King said dismissively, and Arthur watched his own panic reflected in his older-self’s face.
His chest thudded and his breath caught, as the people in the memory continued to debate the worthlessness of Merlin’s life like he wasn't standing right there. Even his older-self offering to drink the goblet did not fill him with as much fear as seeing Merlin refuse, and watching him down the contents of the goblet, while everybody stood and watched.
A hand touched his shoulder.
“Arthur, we must go.”
But Arthur, like everybody else in the room, could not remove his eyes from the servant’s face.
For, even as Merlin stuttered out a disbelieving, “It’s fine,” Arthur only felt his panic ratchet up even further. Because his gut knew, he knew, that everything was not fine. And then, suddenly, Merlin’s hand was rising to his throat as he choked, his eyes rolling to the back of his head, as his eyelids fluttered shut.
Then, before Arthur could take a breath, he was collapsing to the ground, and Arthur felt himself falling with him.
Because, all of a sudden, it was not just Merlin falling to the floor, poisoned - He was tumbling down the side of a cliff, his body landing, crumpled at the bottom - A mace was tearing through his side, too far away for Arthur to protect him, like he was supposed to do - He was jumping in the way of a screeching apparition, before falling back into Arthur’s arms looking as good as dead -
- And Arthur Pendragon was watching as his best friend collapsed. Over, and over, again.
Chapter 21: Living in the Future
Notes:
Okay the end of this one gets a bit exposition-y, but I thought it was important (and hopefully fun) to include.
Anyways, enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Morgana watched and paced from her place in Nimueh’s office, feeling useless. She should have fought harder, shouldn’t have let Leon guilt her into being the one to stay behind.
At least, if Nimueh did come, Morgana stood the best chance out of the three of them of talking her out of retaliating.
She tried to make good use of her time, rifling through the desk drawers and the stacks of paper, but most of it was utterly uninteresting and entirely school-related. Morgana supposed that Nimueh was smart enough to keep anything truly damning wherever she slept, where no students would have the chance to nosy around. Not that Morgana thought there would be anything particularly damning to find.
Nimueh was a rotten bitch, but she was a clever one. She knew that Merlin and Arthur were the key to restoring magic to its former glory, she wouldn’t risk endangering them or completely alienating them, not if she still wanted to maintain her role as mentor-figure-of-questionable-morality to Merlin.
(A role previously occupied by Gaius, and frankly, Morgana would take even Nimueh in such a roll over that odious man. At least she could trust Nimueh to put magic’s best interest first. Gaius had only ever protected himself.)
But this was pointless, just waiting to see what happened. Morgana had not felt so restless in a long time.
And then finally, as she was mindlessly perusing the contents of Nimueh’s bookshelf, she heard the sound of two thuds, as both boys stumbled away from the basin and hit the ground.
“Arthur!” she called out, relieved that he at least looked to be conscious and seemingly unharmed. “What were you thinking, sticking your head into an unknown magical object?!” she hissed, whacking him on the arm as she crouched down next to him, her eyes darting between both of his, attempting to see if he was dazed or under any sort of magical influence.
However, instead of an eyeroll, or an irritated glare at her combined fussing and criticism, Morgana found herself looking into cold, unfeeling eyes.
“. . . Arthur?” she asked cautiously, leaning away subconsciously, wondering if he was under some sort of enchantment Nimueh had left in wait, and if she ought to be reaching for her wand right now.
“What’s the matter, sister?” he asked, his voice low and his tone cutting. “Because surely it is not concern for me.”
Her brow furrowed as she pulled herself further from him, her hand slipping away from his shoulder, subtly, to and reach for the wand tucked into her robe pocket. “Of course it is,” she responded carefully. “I know we’re fighting, but -”
“Fighting?” he scoffed, watching her with contempt. “We spent five years at war, Morgana!”
Her breath caught as his words filtered through her brain.
He remembered.
She wound herself unable to hold his eyes, ashamed of the judgement, the hatred she saw there.
This was it, this was the moment the last year of her life had been leading up to. He had hoped she would have more time . . . More time to prove herself, to make amends, to show with her actions that she was not the same woman who died seeking out vengeance.
“Things are different now,” she said earnestly, forcing herself to look him in the eye once more. She almost reached for his hand, before thinking better of it, not wanting to accept the fact that he was just going to push her away if she tried. “I’m different,” she promised. She stared into his disbelieving eyes, hoping he could put aside his hatred for just long enough to hear her out. “I’m . . . I’m trying to be better, Arthur, I swear it.”
“Different,” he sneered, and she flinched away from the acid he spat. “What, now I have magic too, it’s not necessary to kill me anymore?”
Morgana winced. “That’s not -” she tried needlessly.
“Or perhaps, now that there’s no throne to fight over, you don’t need to march over my dead body to get it?” he asked, pushing himself up off the floor and stepping further and further away from her.
“Arthur, I promise, I’m not -”
“I died!” he cried, his fist slamming against the wood of the desk. It echoed into the silence of the room. “In your useless war, I died, Morgana. I left behind my Kingdom, I left behind my wife, and for what? What did you gain at finally seeing me dead?!”
She blinked away the tears that were building behind her eyes, hardening her heart against the sting of disappointment. “I died too, Arthur!” she argued. “Your best friend stabbed me, if you recall!”
“Because I was dying!” he spat at her. “Because you finally crossed a line he couldn’t forgive! Or are you really going to tell me that, knowing what we know now, Merlin couldn’t have killed you far sooner than he did?!”
Little did he know, Merlin’s attempts on her life started far sooner than he could ever realise. Just because he had been too cowardly to use magic to do it, didn’t mean that he had been trying to kill her any less.
“What do you want from me?!” she asked helplessly. “All those times, all those little speeches where you tried to speak of our childhood together, how we were family, asking what went wrong . . . Did all of that mean nothing? Were they all just empty words, trying to buy yourself more time when I had you at my mercy? Because I am here now and I am trying - I’ve been trying - to fix things. To be a sister to you. To help you - and Merlin too! Just . . . just give me a chance, Arthur,” she pleaded.
Her pride stung, to speak in such a way, but there was no other choice. She needed him to listen, to see, all that she had been doing since she regained her memories. And if she had to beg him to do so, then she would.
“I already did, Morgana,” he replied, his voice sounding so tired, so old, coming out of a teenager's face. “I tried so many times to find a way to stop this ending in one of our deaths. And instead it ended in both.”
“I know,” she choked out. “But I’m here now, I’m willing to try.”
But Arthur just shook his head. “I can’t trust that.”
I can’t trust you, is what he meant, and they both knew it.
And how could she really blame him?
She had bided her time in Camelot, waiting until she could betray him in the most effective way possible. She had used his uncle as a spy in his court. She had welcomed the knight that had turned his back on him. She had enchanted his wife to be her puppet, and even his best friend for a short time. She had betrayed him over and over, and had used those closest to him against him.
Of course he didn’t take her at her word - and she only had herself to blame.
“Arthur,” Leon said cautiously, and Morgana jolted, having forgotten he was even in the room with them. “Her vision about Valiant saved your life in that quidditch game. She could have said nothing, and without the warning, Merlin may have never caught you in time.”
The siblings gaped at him. Morgana knew that Sir Leon was Arthur’s man, through and through. She could hardly believe that he was coming to her defence.
And nor could Arthur.
“You’re taking her side?!” he asked incredulously.
“I am on your side, always, my Lord. I am not saying you ought to trust her blindly . . . but perhaps it is not wise to make an enemy out of her once more,” he said, eyeing her warily. Morgana tried not to bristle under his scrutiny. “I have been watching her since I regained my memories, and even closer since she regained her own,” he paused meaningfully, “And I have only ever seen her try to help you.”
But Arthur was already shaking his head. “Or perhaps it was all a ploy,” he accused, staring down at her. “Perhaps she arranged with Valiant to attack me, and played at warning me to put her in a favourable light when the time came.”
“To what end?” Morgana argued. “You have no crown here, no power to sentence me to death for my crimes, and no power for me to try and covet by playing nice!”
“I may not have any power, but Merlin does. And it is only my word that would stay his hand against you once he remembers all that you’ve done. This,” he gestured broadly to where she was still slumped on the floor beside Nimueh’s mysterious basin, “Is all just an act of self preservation.”
He stared down at her, looking every inch a King passing judgement. “We’re done here,” he declared with finality, as he strode from Nimueh’s office, off to who knows where.
Morgana watched in horror as he walked away from her. So this was it then? She had chosen her brother, she had chosen to fight for them, for their family, but he would not choose her.
She choked back a sob as it dawned on her how completely alone she was now. She had been pinning all of her hopes on Arthur, on his forgiveness, his acceptance, and now it all meant nothing. He did not want her. She had done too much, caused too much hurt, and pain, and misery, and death -
She startled, still blinking back tears, when a hand landed on her shoulder. “I’ll talk to him,” Leon said kindly.
She glared at him, not appreciating his mockery. “And why would you do that? You hate me just as much as he does,” she insisted.
The man shook his head. “Arthur loves you. If he didn’t, he’d have nothing to lose in trusting you once more,” Leon muttered. “But he doesn’t want to get his heart broken again. He thinks it’s easier this way.”
“And you don’t?” she scoffed. “You can’t pretend that you trust me anymore than he does.”
“I asked you to be here, didn’t I?” he reminded her. “Look, I won’t lie and say that the past is in the past, I am wary. But we have all been given a second chance.” He paused to stare at her meaningfully. “I remember you as a girl, you had such a kind heart, Morgana, far kinder than Arthur at that age. And I see far more of her heart in you than I do of the woman you became.” He smiled. “Give Arthur some time. He has just been confronted with a lot of information. I’m sure you remember how horrifying it was to wake up with all of these memories in your head. Just . . . give him time.”
She didn’t want to take him at his word. He had been nothing but wary of her since they had both regained their memories - she had no reason to trust that he was being genuine in his kindness.
But that hostility, that distrust, was exactly what had just pushed Arthur away from her. How could she expect her brother to believe her, if she did not believe in those he trusted? She could not continue pushing them all in circles if she ever wanted anything to change. And if nothing else, Sir Leon had always been a man of his word. Even if she did not trust him, she would accept his words of comfort.
After all, she was hardly in a place to reject an offering of friendship.
“Thank you,” she whispered, eventually. “You are being far kinder to me than I deserve.”
“We all deserve some kindness, Morgana. Perhaps if we’d had more of it back then, things wouldn’t have gone so wrong.”
It took Leon some time to track down his King.
He checked the common room first, then the dormitories, the lake, the astronomy tower - really just up and down half of the castle - before he finally found him standing by a random window on the sixth floor, watching the grounds of the castle through the coloured glass.
He didn’t hide his approach, but he did step carefully. Arthur glanced at him immediately, old instincts kicking in at the slightest sound, but he quickly turned back towards the view when he saw that it was just Leon.
He found it odd, almost, to recognise the thoughtful expression on Arthur’s face when that face was still so young. But it was comforting too. Leon hadn’t realised quite how much he had missed that look until he was seeing it again. It was not the expression of an energetic boy, nor a brash Prince, but instead, that of a man burdened. Not that he had missed seeing his friend with the weight of the world on his shoulders once more, it was what that look represented that Leon had missed. That this was the look of the man that Leon respected above all others. The man whose legacy he had tried his best to honour. The man he had mourned and missed. The man he had called his brother.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Leon offered. Arthur had always been more of the type to hit things with a sword rather than talk about his feelings, but that was hardly an option right now.
“What happened?” his friend asked, familiar eyes locking onto his own. “After I died,” he clarified, “What happened?”
Leon held his breath for a moment. Where to even begin?
He had spent so long after his own awakening, wanting to talk to his friends as equals once more, but he had never really imagined being the one to tell them what happened after their passing. Perhaps it should have been something he considered. After all, he himself had wondered what had become of his son after his death, what had become his wife and Queen? Of those returned, only Gwen or Merlin himself would be able to answer those questions. But he had never thought he would be the one answering those questions for Arthur.
“Well, the war was won,” Leon began, hesitantly, taking a step to stand beside Arthur and watch the view at his side. “Morgana was dead, and her Saxon army defeated,” he said succinctly, before moving on to much harder topics. “Gwaine . . . Gwaine didn’t make it.” He felt, more than saw, Arthur’s head jerk towards him in shock. He remembered the feeling. Gwaine had always been so full of life, it was hard to imagine him without it. When Percival had returned to Camelot with his body broken after being tortured with Morgana, it had been yet another devastating blow. But many more followed swiftly. “Merlin returned home without you, and we all mourned, though I doubt any as much as he and Gwen. Guinevere had her coronation, and then Merlin . . . left Camelot. It was a shock, but we could all see it, how painful it was for him to remain in Camelot without you. His entire life there was wrapped up in you, even more so than any of us knew at the time,” he muttered.
He didn’t look at Arthur once as he delivered the news, but he felt him still by his side. He wondered if he was even breathing. He couldn’t imagine how hard it was to hear about how those you loved suffered after your death. Especially after reliving those relationships all over again, just hours ago.
Clearing his throat, he moved on quickly before the reminder of all the grief at the end of the war choked him once more. “The Queen repealed the ban on magic,” he continued swiftly. “After we all found out about Merlin, after we knew who had won us the battle, and we had all put together how much more he must have protected us all over the years, Gwen couldn’t keep it in place. She believed you would have wanted it to be so, for Merlin.”
Arthur nodded woodenly. “Of course,” he confirmed, his voice sounding hollow, and Leon wondered how he was coping with all the magic. Merlin had said that Arthur had made peace with the idea of him having magic before he died, but it was something else to wake up with the ability after spending the majority of your life hunting it. He wondered if Arthur had really thought of his own magic at all yet.
“There was some push back, of course,” he said, smothering his own questions and doing as his King asked. “And it gave those working against her another rallying point to try and depose the Queen.”
“But you protected her,” Arthur stated. It was not a question, or even a demand, just a simple truth. Leon was Camelot’s First Knight, and his duty to his Queen was absolute. Of course he did all he could to protect her.
“Yes,” he confirmed, “But, Arthur, they . . .”
He sighed.
It was time for the confession he feared to give his King the most. Arthur deserved the truth.
“The magic was an obstacle, but their greatest concern was that she had no noble blood. It was one thing when she was married to you, when any potential heir would still have royal blood, Pendragon blood. But with you gone, the nobility would not stand for having a former maid rule them. She had the support of the common-people and the knights, wholeheartedly, but it was the nobles who were rebelling against her,” he explained. Not that he needed to, really. Arthur was more than aware of the politics at court, and the many who had voiced their opposition to him marrying for love. But he needed Arthur to understand the context - that they hadn’t had another choice.
“There lay the option of making an example of her greatest opponents - the bulk of the army supported her, as they supported you, and Merlin had left a way to contact him if we needed him for anything - so we certainly had the strength to take that option -”
“But Guinevere would never choose violence unless she had no other choice,” Arthur interrupted, speaking with certainty.
“No, she wouldn’t,” Leon said fondly. He had always greatly admired the Queen’s heart, even when people had tried to use it against her. “She refused to bring Camelot into a civil war, not after finally surviving Morgana, and successfully integrating magic back into Camelot. She wanted peace. And the nobility had no wish to risk their own necks, against Camelot’s army - not to mention Merlin - so they came to an accord.”
“Tell me she didn’t step down,” Arthur pleaded. And Leon could see the conflicting ideas of fear for her safety and his belief in her reign warring all over his face.
“She didn’t,” he reassured, shaking his head. “They capitulated that they would cease their hostilities, if she married a man of nobility. Afterall, Camelot still needed an heir. Their intentions were clear, that one of their own would be ruling in truth, while Gwen remained as a bauble with the Pendragon name to grant them legitimacy to the throne.”
The pain was stark in Arthur’s eyes, even as the rest of his face fell blank and unmoving. “Who?” he asked.
“I’m sorry,” Leon said, his voice cracking as he got to the truth he had been dreading. “But Gwen wanted someone she could trust, someone she knew would let her rule as you would have wanted her to, who would support her in building your Camelot. And we had known each other since we were children,” he continued, dancing around what he needed to say, “So, when she asked, I . . .”
“You said ‘yes’,” Arthur said for him. “You . . . protected her,” he asserted. “As I would have wanted you to.” It was clear that he was forcing the words out. Likely saying them on Leon’s behalf rather than because they were true. No man wanted to know that the wife he had loved dearly had been forced to marry one of his oldest friends.
“I swear to you,” Leon promised, “It was not like what happened with Lancelot. I was not in love with your wife. She was my Queen, and my friend, and she needed my help.”
The words lingered for a moment in the silence, and Leon watched the bright colours of the stained glass dance over Arthur’s colourless face. Until finally, he asked, “Was she happy?”
Leon paused, wondering what he wanted to hear. That she had been miserable in a marriage that wasn’t to him, or that she had managed to find happiness in spite of everything? Either way, he would tell him the truth of the matter.
“Eventually. Yes, I believe so,” he whispered, “I hope so.” He finally looked to his friend, seeing the resignation clear on his face. But there was no disappointment or bitterness. Arthur was a better man than that. “Becoming a mother,” he continued to explain, not wanting his King to get the wrong idea, “Well, you know Gwen. She was always the kindest person I ever knew. I think, in our son, she finally found happiness again.”
“But not in your marriage?”
“No. Not in the way she did with you, at least. We were friends. Partners. But we were not in love. We tried to be kind to each other. I tried to treat her how you might have, at first, but the courting always felt wrong. We were not meant to spend romantic picnics together, that’s not who we were to each other.”
Arthur nodded, and Leon was unsure whether he was relieved or simply apathetic to his words.
“Merlin, though,” he said, trying to steer the conversation to safer grounds, happier grounds, “Well, he became a legend,” Leon began. “At first he was just a folk hero, he travelled everywhere, and we would hear tales of a lone man healing grievous injuries, blessing crops that would lead to the greatest harvest that village had ever seen, summoning rain where there had been months of drought. We always knew where abouts he was, because one patrol or another would come back with another impossible tale. Especially when there were sightings of a man on the back of a white dragon. That could only be Merlin.”
“Morgana’s dragon?” Arthur interrupted, confused.
“Yes, but well, apparently Merlin was the one who had hatched her. That dragon egg in the tomb that collapsed - Merlin rescued it. Turns out he was a dragonlord on top of everything else.”
Arthur let out a startled laugh. It only sounded a little hysterical. “I suppose I shouldn't keep being surprised by him.”
Leon shrugged. “We all rather were. All but Gaius. Though even he was surprised when Merlin singlehandedly took on the entire army of Amata.”
Arthur gaped. “Is he an idiot?” he spluttered, seemingly reflexively. It made Leon smile, to see Arthur forget about all the burdens and simply marvel at his former manservant’s gall.
“He’s Merlin,” Leon responded, by which he meant, yes, but also, no. Merlin had always been a bit of a fool. The type of man to try and punch a Prince his first day in Camelot. But he was also the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the earth. If anyone could take on an entire army it was him. And so he did.
“We had managed to get most of the rest of Albion to decriminalise the use of magic through treaties and peacetalks,” Leon explained, “But Amata stood firm. They knew it was Merlin who had inspired the change in Camelot’s laws, and they knew it was his actions that had shown the other kingdoms the benefits magic could bring. It became their singular purpose to try and track him down and capture or kill him.
“We tried to get him to come home, to keep him safe behind Camelot’s walls, but he wouldn’t have it. He refused to let a single Knight of Camelot lose their life in defence of him. We tried to send men to him, to defend him, since he refused to come himself, but they simply all returned home without any idea how they got turned back around. Instead, he marched straight to Amata himself. It’s said, he gave them a single warning to change their laws to exile those with magic instead of killing them, and when they opened fire on him, he killed the entire front line with a single wave of his hand. When the cavalry charged him, every single horse found itself turned into a butterfly, thousands of men falling at once while a swarm of butterflies flooded the air. That’s when some of them started to flee - but you know the Sarrum, his archers were ordered to shoot down any deserters. A whole army against one man.”
“And he survived it?”
Leon laughed.
“Arthur, he won.” he grinned. “Eventually they began to retreat, but Merlin didn’t let them. He broke down the city gates and tore through the citadel until he reached the castle. He didn’t touch any who ran, but any man who tried to fight him was felled . . . Until he was face to face with the Sarrum himself. No one knows what was said, but Sarrum was found dead on the floor by his throne, and Merlin returned to Camelot with dozens of newly-freed sorcerers by his side.”
“My god,” Arthur breathed, astounded. Leon couldn’t blame him. He had had years to come to terms with the fact that the skinny little servant the round table had treated like a little brother to be protected was in fact the most powerful of them all. And even then, no one had conceptualised that he was powerful enough to stand against such odds.
“He was a hero to sorcerers everywhere - many of them proclaimed him the greatest to ever walk the earth,” Leon certainly believed it. “Some thought it was hyperbole, afterall, there were very few who remembered how strong magic had been before the purge. But I suppose there really is no question of it now. The people here swear by his name as they would a God, he’s . . . revered.”
Arthur nodded, a small smile forming on his face. “I always thought he was the best man I knew - the bravest too, even before I found out how much he was risking himself to protect me over and over again. If there was any man who could be granted such power and trusted to use it wisely, it would be Merlin. I mean, for goodness sake, he almost cried the first time I took him hunting.” The two of them shared a reminiscent laugh, Merlin’s antics when hunting were always ridiculous.
“He’s the reason I became the man that I am,” Arthur admitted, sobering.
Leon smiled. “Then we have all the more to thank him for.”
Notes:
Be reassured, this is still a Merthur fic in the long haul, but Arthur still loved his wife. I love Gwen and I'm not erasing her or what she meant to Arthur.
Chapter 22: Faith
Notes:
Somehow, despite the multiple paragraphs of Arthur reminiscing about his wife, the merthur is very strong in this one.
Enjoy!
Chapter Text
Merlin didn't know what exactly was going on, but he was worried. Practically overnight, Arthur seemed to have completely changed.
Okay, not completely, but close enough.
He would still joke around with Merlin and bicker with Gwaine, but the second a stranger seemed to get close enough to overhear, or a teacher was nearby, or some of the older students looked over, Merlin would see his entire face shutter. His smile would drop, and not into a scowl or anything like that, just a perfectly neutral expression across his face. He wouldn't look sad, or annoyed, or embarrassed, just . . . off. Cold.
It was like his entire face and body-language would change the instant he felt like he was being observed.
And the weirdest part was that Arthur didn't even seem to notice he was doing it. It was like a switch would flip, his posture would somehow get even straighter, his head would raise ever so slightly, and his eyes would go all distant - and then they would turn a corner into an empty hallway, and he'd be back to fond smiles and slouching enough to bump Merlin with his shoulder when he looked at him all weird.
Merlin wanted to put it all down to what seemed to be another fight with Morgana, but that didn't quite fit either. Because, for all that Morgana was being mopey and depressed across the great hall, Arthur was acting utterly indifferent to his sister. He was completely ignoring her existence, going so far as to not even glance in her direction if they were in the same room (Mithian had said that the Gryffindor-Slytherin classes were even more tense than usual), and politely, but stubbornly, changing the subject if anyone ever brought her up.
It was as though he was trying to pretend she didn't even exist.
And he wasn't his usual sullen self, as he was when he was in an argument with anyone. No, he was acting completely unmoved by her removal from his life, as if they hadn't spoken in years, rather than weeks. As if, this was just his normal life, a life without his sister in it.
Merlin just couldn’t understand it. Whenever he and Harry argued it became the only thing he could think of - whether he was upset, or angry, or guilty - nothing else seemed to matter in the slightest. And, until recently, he would have said the same applied to Arthur, where his sibling was concerned. But now . . .
Arthur wouldn’t say what had happened. He wouldn’t even so much as imply that an argument had taken place. He dodged any question relating to Morgana, but acted otherwise unchanged in all his other relationships.
Well, perhaps that wasn’t exactly the case. But any other changes, Merlin could only see as positives.
Arthur seemed to have dropped his antagonism with Gwaine overnight. Oh, they still argued, and Arthur still rolled his eyes whenever Gwaine called him Princess, but now it was done with a reluctant fondness, everpresent. Merlin, once again, had no idea why such a change had occurred, but couldn’t bring himself to feel any sort of worry about it. Gwaine took this new tolerance as permission to get even more ridiculous with his attempts to annoy Arthur, and was delighted to see that his new heights of annoyance could bring Arthur as far as hiding a smile every now and then. And with Arthur being happy to polk at Gwaine right back, Merlin could only grin at seeing two of his favourite people getting along so much better.
But it wasn’t just Gwaine.
While Arthur had seemed to tolerate Merlin’s friendships across the other houses (so long as he maintained his status as Merlin’s best friend, the possessive prat), he had never been particularly interested in fostering them for himself.
Until now.
Now, Arthur was sitting with Lance and Percy, whenever Gryffindor and Ravenclaw had classes together. Now, Arthur was pulling Gwaine and Leon along with the other two to go roughhouse by the lake - simply ruffling Merlin’s hair and calling him a ‘girl' whenever he refused to join them for ‘sparring’. Now, Arthur was acting somehow both kind and awkward around Elena, and insisting that she would find a great friend in Mithian and Gwen. Now, Arthur was treating Mithian, not as Morgana’s Slytherin friend, but as someone he respected and thought of as smart and insightful (which she absolutely was, but it wasn’t like Arthur to notice).
And despite all of this, instead of Merlin feeling forgotten-about in the midst of Arthur’s new approach to the people in his life, and his newly full schedule, Merlin somehow still felt like Arthur’s best friend. He was still the first person Arthur asked when he wanted an opinion on something (usually something stupid, like his hair). He was still the first person Arthur looked at when making a joke (also, usually stupid) to see if people were laughing. He was still the person Arthur would drag down to sit next to him in the Great Hall, still the person Arthur chose to walk to class with, still Arthur’s armrest, and his coat-hanger, and even his pillow on one particularly memorable occasion.
Socially, Arthur was thriving, and Merlin was happy to watch him do it. Even with the hiccup of Morgana, Merlin had never seen his friend happier or more confident.
He wouldn’t even be thinking anything was wrong at all if it wasn’t for the magic.
At first, everyone assumed it was an off-day. A few, ‘Mister Pendragon, are you feeling quite well’ s from the Professor’s, a couple of questions about if he had slept the night before, some whispers from the other students at the back of the room. But it was just an off-day. Or, perhaps, an off-week, he thought as the days rolled on. Until it devolved into a trip to the infirmary to see if something was causing it. And then, a school-sanctioned visit to Diagon Alley to have Mr Olivander check if something was wrong with his wand.
Arthur sat, uncaring, at the center of all the hubbub, while the Professors’ concern grew graver and the students’ whispers grew louder, wondering, would they be the ones to lose their magic next?
It had been weeks, now.
Weeks of unsuccessful spells, one failing attempt after another. That first day or so, Arthur had seemed just as confused and concerned as the rest of them as to why he couldn’t even cast a Lumos anymore. But he wasn’t even trying anymore. He’d recite the spell, sounding bored and uninterested, his wand held carelessly, while everyone watched with baited breath to see if this time it might work.
It never did.
As the weeks wore on, Morgana’s looks from across the Great Hall only got more desperate, whereas Leon’s sympathetic smile grew more and more like a grimace. Gwen’s nervous hovering began to irritate rather than seem charming, and Gwaine’s jokes on the matter slowly died off.
And Merlin?
Merlin followed Arthur’s lead - meaning that he acted like absolutely nothing was wrong.
In their joint classes, Merlin would get the spell right on his first attempt, Arthur would watch, smile, do his own half-hearted attempt, and then the two of them would spend the rest of their time talking about whatever they wanted. The Professors weren’t happy about it, but what could they say? Merlin had completed the assignment and Arthur’s magic hadn’t worked in weeks, what else were they supposed to do? Sometimes they were scolded for talking in class, and distracting the other students, so they would just switch to passing notes back and forth. It would still make McGonagall glare at them, but unless she wanted to make Arthur do nothing but read from a textbook, or teach Merlin increasingly advanced magic, glaring and tutting was all she could do.
And so that’s how all of Merlin and Arthur’s shared classes went.
All except for Defence Against the Dark Arts.
“Are you going to keep staring at her?” he asked pointlessly, as he did every DADA lesson.
Arthur simply nodded, as he did every DADA lesson.
“Are you ever going to tell me what it is that makes you hate her so much?” Arthur gave a wordless grunt in reply and Merlin sighed. “I know I’ve asked before,” he said tiredly, “But I really wish you would just trust me.”
Arthur paused his one-sided staring contest, turning to look at Merlin apologetically. “It’s complicated,” he said under his breath, trying to avoid drawing the Professor’s attention now that he was confiding (maybe? hopefully?) in Merlin. “It’s not that I don’t trust you to know,” he said earnestly, his eyes locking onto Merlin’s, “It’s just not easy to put into words.”
Latching on to the fact that this was the most Arthur had ever elaborated on the subject, Merlin pressed him. “Can you try?” he asked gently, repressing the urge to reach over and grab his hand. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but he didn’t like that look on Arthur’s face, and he thought maybe holding his hand might make it go away?
It was a stupid thought that Merlin stubbornly smothered.
“There’s a history there that I can’t really explain, things she’s done - dangerous things,” Arthur said warningly, and the conviction in his voice set Merlin on edge. Before now, it had always seemed like an irrational dislike, just some petty grievance or grudge that Arthur was pouting over. He had always given the impression that he, himself, still didn’t quite know why he hated her, just that he did.
This was different.
There was nothing but cold, hard, certainty in his eyes as he spoke his warning.
“Did she hurt you?” Merlin asked, panicked, wondering how he had somehow forgotten how dangerous grownups could be - how had gotten his own taste of power, and forgotten the threat they still posed to everyone else?
“She tried to, once,” Arthur answered, his voice sounding far away, before his eyes snapped back to Merlin. “. . . Or maybe more than that,” he said consideringly, “But I only knew about the once, for sure.”
Merlin’s stomach turned.
He’d been spending time with this woman, learning from her, letting her be around his brother, when she was just like the others. She had tried to hurt Arthur. She had put him in danger, and he had just been forced to sit here day after day wondering if she was going to hurt him again.
Well. Merlin wouldn’t let her.
She might know more about the Magic of the Old Religion than he did, but Merlin was still the only one who could wield its power. And he had proven before, he didn’t need to know how to control it to use it to protect those precious to him - but he could control it now, far better than he could at the start of the year, at least. And it was all thanks to Nimueh.
He would use everything she taught him, and he would make sure she could never hurt his friend again.
“Merlin!” Arthur whispered, panickedly, as the wooden desk beneath his hands warped and withered.
He pulled his magic back to him sharply. The aged wood suddenly seemed a lot closer to decayed than it had a few minutes ago.
His head swivelled, checking that none of their classmates - or Professor Nimueh - had noticed his slip up. He was in luck, Arthur’s preferred seat at the back of the class had kept them unnoticed in the busy classroom as students practiced spells. Nimueh was busy focussing on correcting someone’s wand movement, her back to the pair of them.
“Sorry,” Merlin muttered guiltily, running his fingers against the half-rotted woodgrain. “Didn’t mean to,” he said softly, keeping his eyes on the table and away from whatever look was on Arthur’s face right now.
He smoothed his hand over the table again, focussing on the feeling of the wood, reaching for the spark of magic that he could feel in everything, whenever he tried hard enough. Afterall, this wood had been a tree once - it had been full of life and a magic all of its own. It wasn’t alive now, not any more, but there was still a bit of that magic lingering there, and if Merlin just tugged -
Arthur spluttered beside him and Merlin opened his eyes.
It wasn’t too bad. It was, perhaps, a little shinier than the other desks in the room. The wood was a little brighter, and the legs a little stronger. And - okay - so there were a couple of leaves sticking out, which Merlin quickly reached out to pluck before anyone noticed. But, on the whole . . .
“You are the most remarkable person I’ve ever met,” came the awed whisper from beside him.
Merlin turned, wide-eyed, to find a matching awe-filled expression on Arthur’s face.
“It’s just a table,” he muttered, feeling his ears burn red, and hoped that his face wasn’t matching. He looked away. Looking at the dazzling smile on Arthur’s face felt a little too much like staring directly at the sun.
He laughed brightly, and even without looking at it, Merlin could feel that smile somehow get even wider. “Tables don’t usually come with foliage,” Arthur teased, grabbing one of the leaves Merlin had apparently missed and tossing it in his face.
He bit back a smile of his own. “It’s called taking artistic liberties,” he defended, despite the fact that the leaves were a total accident, and they both knew it.
Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Eco-chic, is it?”
“I was thinking more rustic, with a bit of flare.”
“And the flare is leaves?”
Merlin shrugged, openly grinning now. “I’m open to suggestions.”
Arthur opened his mouth, most likely to quip back something equally ridiculous, when a throat clearing interrupted him.
“I can see you boys have been using your class time productively,” Nimueh said with a smile that, for the first time, seemed daunting.
Merlin felt the grin slide off his face and the warmth die in his chest at the sight of her.
He repressed the urge to throw her into a wall.
So many things in his life felt different now, but this. Merlin. This was his one constant.
Most of his friends might not remember him, he may be a foot shorter and a great deal skinnier, his father might be alive, and his wife might be a child, but Merlin was still there being an idiot. And maybe this was a new kind of idiocy, where he tried to mend a table and it turned out a little closer to a tree than it was supposed to, but it was still the most Merlin thing he could imagine him doing. The only thing that could possibly be more in-character was if the table was spontaneously replaced by a unicorn or something.
And nothing made this hollow castle feel more like home than the ridiculous excuses that followed.
This Merlin might only be thirteen years-old, but his Merlin had always acted like a child anyway, so really, what was new?
Well, he supposed the magic was new. But it also really, really wasn’t.
It was nice though, actually seeing the magic Merlin could do. It was one thing to hear Leon’s impossible stories, or to think back on those few days before his death that he had known the truth, but it wasn’t the same. The Merlin who called lightning down from the sky, felled armies, and rescued druids was impressive, but it wasn’t really Merlin.
It was the legend. The myth.
The Greatest Sorcerer to Ever Walk the Earth.
It wasn’t the idiot manservant who spent ten years by his side. The man who picked flowers, who hated hunting because he couldn’t stand watching the animals die, who tripped over his own feet more times a day than should be possible - that was his Merlin.
The same kind of man who would try and fix a table and accidentally give it leaves.
It was exactly what he had wanted, once he had finally come to terms with the magic. He had wanted Merlin to always be him. And it made Arthur more at home than anything else in this new life, to see.
He had been having such a good time.
Nimueh really did just have to ruin everything.
“I can see you boys have been using your class time productively,” she said, a shallow smile on her face, hiding the cruelty Arthur knew was lurking beneath.
Arthur saw Merlin’s face drop into a now-familiar expression. A sort of blank politeness crossed his features that Arthur immediately associated with his uncle’s presence. It was Merlin’s I-don’t-like-you-but-it’s-not-socially-acceptable-to-punch-you-in-the-face expression. It had worn it unendingly around Agravaine - for good reason in hindsight. Although, knowing the truth about his friend now, it was probably more like his I-don’t-like-you-but-it’s-illegal-to-throw-you-into-a-wall-with-magic expression.
Huh. Arthur never did find out the details of how his uncle died in those tunnels outside of Ealdor.
Either way, magic wasn’t illegal anymore, and a small part of Arthur really did wish to see his friend slam their Professor into the opposite wall.
“Merlin was just practicing some Old magic,” Arthur said, gesturing to the revitalised desk, “That seems plenty productive to me.” He glared, daring her to say otherwise. Afterall, Merlin was her perfect little protege, she didn’t want to risk alienating him.
She hummed consideringly, looking over the desk. “You transfigured it?” she asked, looking right through Arthur as though he was beneath her attention, her gaze fixed on Merlin.
“No,” he responded shortly. His shoulders hunched under her scrutiny, but the look in his eyes remained hostile, much to Arthur’s pleasure. Whatever amicability Niumeh had built up between the two of them, with her private lessons and ‘helpful’ advice, Arthur had demolished in a single conversation.
“Oh?” she encouraged, her stare relentless as she poured all of her focus toward Merlin.
A smile slowly grew across Arthur’s face as Merlin held strong, merely shrugging in response, but holding her gaze. The longer it lasted, the straighter the set of his shoulders became, the more pronounced the jut of his jaw, and the colder his eyes grew. Oh, Arthur did so love when Merlin’s stubbornness was pointed towards somebody else.
But Nimueh was not so easily deterred.
Her eyes cut briefly to Arthur, correctly citing him as the source of Merlin’s newfound distaste for her, and he grinned smugly in response. Still, she pressed, “And what, exactly, did you do to the table, if not transfigure it?” rounding on Merlin once more, determined to cement herself as a teacher, a mentor, as someone of value to him.
“I just pulled at it with my magic and it did this,” he said vaguely, opening his hand and scattering the plucked leaves he had collected.
The constant aura of authority she projected faltered, as genuine shock crossed her features. “You . . . made it grow?”
Arthur narrowed his eyes, suspicious that it was merely a show she was putting on to lower Merlin’s defences once more. But she did not pounce when Merlin’s hard expression melted into confusion. In fact, she barely looked at him, instead picking up one of the crumpled leaves to study it more closely, before running her hand along the desk to feel where the small twigs had sprouted them.
Watching her carefully for any slip in her performance, Arthur distantly noticed that they had gained the attention of the rest of the class. The general muttering and wand-waving had stopped, as more and more students noticed Nimueh’s distraction.
“Well, the growing was an accident,” Merlin admitted quietly, and Arthur winced - you should never let your enemy know when you made a mistake. “I just meant to fix it up a bit,” he said, and at least had the good sense not to mention that he had rotted the table first when he had lost control for a moment.
Nimeh remained silent, her eyes flitting between Merlin, the desk, and the fresh leaves in her palm.
“Did I do something wrong?” Merlin asked finally, when the quiet eventually got to him - and Arthur really needed to teach him how to stand against basic interrogation techniques.
What a stupid question. Never position yourself to be in the wrong.
“Not wrong,” Nimueh said slowly, rubbing a single leaf between her forefinger and thumb, “More . . . impossible.”
That sent whispers twittering through the room.
The student body were well used to Merlin having a few accidental shows of power every now and again, but ‘impossible’ was a strong word. Merlin ducked his head as his name echoed through the room, and Arthur caught Leon’s eye as he quickly suppressed a knowing smile. Gwaine, at the table beside them, was grinning proudly as though it was his magic who had rendered a Professor speechless. Merlin, noticing his antics, only turned even redder.
“It was dead,” Nimueh said, still sounding somewhat stunned, her voice carrying easily across the room as everyone quickly hushed to hear what she had to say. “Dead wood. Dead things do not grow, Emrys. There are certain rules even magic cannot break.”
Merlin shrunk in on himself as though it was an admonishment - as if breaking the laws of magic was a punishable offence rather than a marvel. Still, Arthur could see his discomfort loud and clear and the gossipping of their fellow students grew even louder.
“Well, that’s regular magic,” Arthur said bluntly, wanting to divert the attention that Merlin was clearly suffering under. (Perhaps that’s why he had truly been content as a servant for so long - no matter the power he could wield - he just hated the attention that much.) “The magic Merlin uses hasn’t been seen in over a thousand years,” he continued. “I know you’ve studied it, Professor, but I’m sure there’s plenty that was lost in all that time.”
Arthur shot her a false smile.
“It’s not as though there’s anyone alive with memories of such a time,” he goaded, “Who’s to say what really is or isn’t impossible magic when it comes to the Old Religion?”
Arthur watched as Nimueh had to grit her teeth and accept the assumption that she didn’t know what she was talking about. He watched a High Priestess of the Old Religion be forced to concede that a Pendragon had a point when speaking about magic. He watched that thinly-veiled fury behind her eyes ignite and burn brighter as she confirmed to a room full of children looking up to her that, “Perhaps you’re right, Mister Pendragon.”
But Arthur’s victory was short-lived.
“And, perhaps, with your new-found insight into magic, you’d like to demonstrate this week’s spell for us?”
His smile fell.
Nimueh shot him a taunting look. “It seems as though you’ve made a breakthrough today, why not try and see if your magic is as headstrong as you are?”
Gritting his teeth, he met her eyes and let her see the raw hatred he held for her. Still, he did nothing.
“Hm. A shame, Mister Pendragon,” she said smugly. And then, covered under the sudden sound of the bell as it signaled the end of class, she said, softly enough that only he could hear, “I expected so much more.”
Arthur didn’t need to look at her smirk to know what she was referencing.
He packed up his things mechanically, aware of Merlin doing the same beside him, but his eyes never looked that way to confirm it. No, Arthur kept his eyes locked on that bitch. His head echoed with the same words she had once said when she left him to die, and she watched him in return, casually leaning against her desk as she smiled slyly, well aware of what he was remembering and the fact that his memories had clearly returned.
And despite that, she still didn’t see him as a threat. She thought just because Arthur couldn’t use magic that he was worthless - that she was better than him.
Well Arthur didn’t need magic, that was what Merlin was for. He didn’t need to be a sorcerer when the greatest one who ever lived stood by his side. Besides, Arthur had more value than whether or not he could wield the useless wand in his pocket. He was many things. He was a friend, a husband, a King. But before he was any of those things he was a warrior.
And he needed his god-damned sword.
He told Leon as such as they split off from the Hufflepuffs towards their next class, breaking off from Merlin awkwardly after the end of that tragic lesson.
“No one uses a sword in this century,” Leon argued as they settled into their charms class. They didn’t need to worry about others overhearing their conversation. These days, most of his classmates avoided him like the plague, afraid his lack of magic was catching.
“Yeah, and no one uses quills in this century either,” he scoffed, pulling said quills out of his bag, “And yet, here we are.”
In a world with guns and bombs, Arthur could admit that a sword was inefficient. But his was a magic sword, so that meant it was better than any gun Arthur could manage to get his hands on. Alongside the fact that, unlike a gun, Arthur actually knew how to use a sword.
Leon looked over his shoulder as they began taking notes on whatever spell-theory Flitwick was going on about. “At least your handwriting’s improved since you got your memories back.”
“Yes, it’s so great,” Arthur sneered. “The magic sword I pulled from a stone is who-knows-where, but at least my handwriting is decent now.”
“Well,” Leon began unhelpfully, “Merlin probably knows where.”
“Oh right, I’ll be sure to ask him whether or not he buried me with it,” Arthur said, rolling his eyes. “And then ask him to undo whatever magic he did to keep anyone from ever finding Camelot, and then bring him along to get past any protections he put over my dead body. That definitely won’t traumatise the thirteen-year-old,” he added cuttingly.
Nevermind the fact that Arthur had killed his first man when he was thirteen. Merlin wasn’t like him. Merlin - who was a girl, who cried at the sight of unicorns - would absolutely be traumatised by Arthur asking him about any of that.
Not that he could even answer right now.
“You know, you weren’t buried in Camelot,” Leon said nonchalantly, as if that didn’t go against centuries of traditions. As if Arthur wasn’t supposed to be buried in the royal crypt alongside his father and the rest of his predecessors. “Merlin sent your body off on a magical lake guarded by immortal faeries.”
Arthur blinked.
And then he sighed, defeated. “Of course he did,” he said mulishly, "Bloody world’s-worst manservant.”
Merlin was there when Arthur arranged everything for his father’s funeral. In fact, Merlin had done half of the arranging! The bastard knew how a King was supposed to be buried. But no, The Most Powerful Idiot to Ever Walk the Earth just had to leave Arthur’s body with the magical faeries.
And how exactly was Arthur supposed to get his sword back from magical faeries without a weapon?!
“What do you need a sword for anyway?”
“To kill Nimueh,” he responded grimly. Why had Leon even needed to ask?
Well, he supposed it could have been to kill Morgana, but Arthur wasn’t sure he was strong enough to actually go through with that one. He would leave her for Merlin to deal with whenever the lazy idiot finally got his memories back.
Leon stared at him blankly for a moment. “. . . You know, I’m not sure that it’s the best idea to attempt to kill a Professor,” he said slowly.
‘Attempt’. Ha! Arthur had been trained to kill since birth. Still, he supposed, “Not without my sword it isn’t.”
She was a High Priestess after all. And while she didn’t seem all that powerful in this new world they found themselves in, Arthur wouldn’t put it past her to have some tricks up her sleeve. Now he knew that a fair amount of his past successes had been due to Merlin’s interference, Arthur really would feel better with a magic sword before attacking a sorceress. After all, even if his magic was working, it would still be no match for any adult in this world, nevermind a former High Priestess of the Old Religion.
He remembered just fine how hard Morgana had been to kill.
And it had only been Excalibur that was able to do the job. Hence, Arthur’s wish for the return of his magic sword.
“You know, if you could get your magic working, you wouldn’t miss your sword nearly as much,” Leon began hesitantly.
“I thought I made it clear that I have no wish to discuss this,” Arthur said sharply.
Leon ducked his head. “I understand that, my lor-” he cut himself off with a sigh. “I understand that, Arthur, but if you continue on like this, they might remove you from the school.”
“That would hardly be the worst thing,” he said quietly.
Leon watched him scrutinisingly. “You don’t mean that,” he accused.
“It wouldn’t,” he insisted.
His friend exhaled noisily. “I know that you’re hung up on the magic -”
“I am not ‘hung up’.”
“- but do you really want to be away from everyone? Do you want to spend your days with your father, while your knights, your friends, your wife -”
“Don’t call her my wife!”
“- are all here without you?” Leon finally finished, glowering at his King. “And she is your wife,” he said reproachfully, “This distance you’ve put between the two of you is only hurting her.”
“I’ve not been distant,” Arthur argued, choosing to ignore the former part of his friend’s lecture. “And she’s as much your wife as she is mine,” he added bitterly.
“Is that what this is about?” Leon asked incredulously. “You know it wasn’t like that between us.”
“You had a son together. It was at least a little ‘like that’,” Arthur said flatly. “But no, that’s not what this is about. I . . .” He sighed.
“I don’t mean to be distant,” he said helplessly. “I love Guinevere. I loved my wife. But that is a child, Leon . That is not the woman I swore to spend the rest of my life with. How could it be fair to look at her and see the woman I want her to become? She’s not even a teenager. She deserves better than that.”
He turned away from the sympathy that stole over his friend's face.
“She is still the same person,” he said gently. “You can love her for the qualities she already shares with the woman you married, without loving her as you did your wife.”
“I still care for her, of course I do. But, it hurts to look at her sometimes.”
And how could it not? Was Arthur not allowed to grieve for his wife, for the life they were supposed to spend together, for the children they wanted to raise with one another?
Perhaps he wasn’t. Not when he spent everyday looking at another version of her. She was so carefree, and bright, and happy. It was everything Arthur had ever wanted her to feel. He wished her nothing but happiness. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t painful to look at. To know that she only felt those things at the cost of forgetting their life together.
“Enough for you to want to leave the rest of us behind?”
It wasn’t a rhetorical question, but it might as well have been. Of course the answer was no. Arthur didn’t want to leave any of them, not at the mercy of Nimueh or Morgana. But even without that, Arthur didn’t think he could stand leaving behind every single person who had ever made his life better.
He shook his head silently.
“Then you need to figure out your magic,” Leon reasoned.
Arthur’s jaw tensed.
“I don’t understand. You don’t seem to have any issue with Merlin using it - or any of the rest of us. I know that Uther raised you to fear it, but now you have memories of a life without that fear. Why are you pushing it all away?”
“It’s not . . . I don’t think it’s evil. These children,” he said gesturing to the classroom around them, “They’re not being corrupted by it like my father always said would happen. I know that.”
“Then why?”
“It just . . . doesn’t feel like I deserve it,” Arthur finally admitted.
No matter what all the legends said, it was not Arthur who welcomed magic into his Kingdom, that was all Guinevere’s work after his death. Yes, a sorcerer had been his greatest friend and advisor, but that same man had kept that fact from him for the entirety of their friendship. Arthur had accepted magic only on his deathbed. He had spent his adolescence hunting those with magic, being responsible for the deaths of innocents - women and children who have never even fought back. Beyond that, it was Arthur’s birth that triggered the purge in the first place. Every sorcerer slaughtered was killed because of him.
Arthur was not deserving of the gift that, he now knew, magic was.
“Look, I struggled with that too -”
“It’s not the same,” Arthur cut him off. “You told me about all the policy-reforms you and Guinevere did. You put in years of work to atone for what you did.” He shook his head. “I just . . . died.”
The two of them sat in that silence for a few moments as Leon finally understood why Arthur was incapable of performing any magic. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to. He did. Magic was . . . beautiful.
But that beauty was not meant for Arthur.
“You know, some people, when they referred to Merlin, they would call him ‘magic itself’,” Leon began. “I won’t pretend to understand all of what that means, but there was none Merlin ever cared for more than you, Arthur. All those years, all that magic he poured into protecting you, what if this is how it manifested now? He can’t protect you the way he once did, not without his memories, so maybe he gifted you magic enough to be able to protect yourself.”
That . . .
Well.
That was exactly the sort of thing Merlin would do, the sentimental fool that he was.
Arthur swallowed past the lump in his throat and tentatively picked up his wand.
“Engorgio,” he muttered, staring pointedly at the feather, as he followed through with the wand movement.
He ignored the sting of disappointment when the feather remained unchanged in size. Spells rarely worked for him on the first try, this didn’t mean anything.
Refusing to look at Leon and whatever sympathetic grimace he was inevitably wearing, Arthur gripped his wand tighter. “Engorgio!” he said again, channelling the weeks of frustration at his own ineptitude. He let that anger and self-hatred fill him, and threw all of that feeling into the spell.
This time, he felt the wand heat in his hand, just like it did that day at Olivander’s, but still, the feather on his desk remained the same size it had always been.
The magic just refused to work for him. It knew, just as well as he did, that this was wrong.
Arthur slammed his fist into the desk, ignoring the way the children around him jumped at the sudden noise. “It’s pointless,” he spat at Leon. “I’m not meant for this.”
Leon gripped his shoulder. “You could do all of this before you remembered,” Leon reminded him. “There’s nothing wrong with your magic. There’s nothing wrong with you. You were meant to do this. Merlin would have wanted you to do this.” Arthur let out a slow breath as Leon held his stare. “So don’t let him down.”
Don’t let Merlin down.
He could do that.
Even though he had never wanted to admit it, that had been a great motivation of Arthur’s basically since he had met the man. Merlin had always believed Arthur capable of anything. Of everything. And he had always hated that disappointed look he wore whenever Arthur didn’t live up to the impossible idea of him that Merlin seemed to make up.
The one friend who had never betrayed him, but had always held him accountable. The man who had supported Arthur endlessly, while always pushing him to be better.
Merlin would want Arthur to have this magic, and so Arthur would use it. For him.
He tried to think back over Leon’s words, he tried to think of his magic not as something he wasn’t worthy of, but as Merlin’s gift to him.
But, when Arthur focused, it was not Leon’s words that came to mind, but a different scene altogether. Another time when he had lost hope in himself, when Merlin had been the one to make him believe he wasn’t a hopeless cause.
Once upon a time, Merlin had believed he could do anything - even pull a sword from stone.
You have to believe Arthur.
You're destined to be Albion's greatest King.
Not even this stone can stand in your way.
Have faith.
Faith.
If Arthur Pendragon could birth a legend, then he could damn-well enlarge a feather.
Merlin’s faith in him was the one thing that had always been unwavering. Now, it was time to live up to it.
“Engorgio,” he intoned, and this time he didn’t even need to open his eyes to know that it worked. He felt his blood sing the way it once had when he moved with a sword in his hand. This time, it wasn’t just his wand that warmed, but his whole body. He felt the magic move through him, and when he pictured it, he pictured it gold.
Because this was magic, and magic was Merlin’s.
The sight of the enormous feather taking up Arthur’s desk and half of Leon’s too was a gratifying sight.
“Told you,” his friend said knowingly.
“Yeah, yeah,” Arthur laughed, relieved. “I still want my sword, though.”
Leon smiled. “Trust in magic,” he teased, “Maybe it’ll turn up.”
Chapter 23: See, Merlin, This is Why You Make a Plan
Notes:
We are maybe only a few chapters away from the end of this book. So I am going to try very hard to finish it before uni starts back up in a few weeks, so wish me luck everyone!
Chapter Text
The abandoned corridors on the fifth floor felt draughtier than he would have expected for such a sunny Saturday afternoon. Not that Harry wanted to be out in the sunshine anyway. No, if he wanted that, he would have taken Fred and George up on the offer to go and watch their Quidditch practice like they were always inviting him to, instead of sitting in a classroom for two hours watching magic he’ll never be able to learn.
Not that Harry was doing that today either.
“What is it?” his friend asked impatiently from beside him, as they walked through Hogwarts’ empty halls together. “I have let you mope silently for long enough. I tire of it,” Helena said bluntly.
“I dunno what you mean,” Harry said, scuffing his shoe as he kicked along the uneven flagstones.
Helena tutted, though Harry wasn’t sure if it was at his denial or because he was ruining the soles of his shoes. She was always funny about that sort of stuff, considering she had been dead for centuries and likely hadn’t needed to replace an item of clothing in a very long time. But she insisted it was ‘uncouth’, whatever that meant (Harry chose to pass on the lecture he would get for asking).
She floated in front of his path, cutting him off from moving forward unless he was willing to walk through her, which he was decidedly not willing to do. “You know you only ever seek me out when you’re sulking, little one.”
Harry scowled. That was not true. On either account. He visited her for other things, and besides, “I’m not little,” he argued. “I’ve grown loads this year. Aunt Minnie’s had to transfigure my clothes to fit better twice,” he informed her mulishly, a little offended that she hadn’t noticed his growth spurts.
She sighed. “That is not what you came here to talk about.”
“I didn’t come to talk about anything,” he insisted. “I just came to visit my friend.”
Lips pursed, Helena waited until his eyes met hers to greet him with an unimpressed stare.“Your lies are better served for the living,” she admonished. “Now, come, tell me what burdens you.”
“I didn’t just come visit you to complain,” he said dejectedly, eyes darting away guilty as Harry realised that it had been a while since they had spent any time together - that his exploration of the castle had been done more and more with Fred and George these days, than they had with his original companion.
He felt a whisper of cold on his chin, enough to make him jerk his head up, and look back at the understanding eyes of the friend he had accidentally forgotten.
“I do not mind,” she assured him, removing her hand from his chin. “I have forgotten much of what life is truly like. It does me well to be reminded of the everyday troubles that so consumes young children. And I like . . . helping,” she added softly, as though it was a guilty admission. “It is not often I can be useful anymore. I would like to do what I can to ease your burdens.”
She turned away quickly after that, hiding her face before he could get a good read of whatever expression was on there. She glided back down the corridor, trusting Harry to follow.
It wasn’t until they had walked a few more hallways in silence that Harry confided miserably, “Merlin asked me not to come with him this afternoon.”
“For his lessons in Old Magic?” she clarified, and Harry nodded glumly. “I did not think you particularly enjoyed these lessons - afterall, they were of no benefit to you. Why does this displease you?”
“It’s not about the magic,” Harry said stubbornly. “I mean, it could be interesting sometimes, but I don’t really care about watching Merlin learn it.” Helena gave a soft hum, so Harry knew she was still listening. He continued to ramble, “And it’s not about watching Merlin’s back, I know now that she isn’t dangerous - or Arthur would have said something after they broke into her office.” Helena’s steady pace flattered for a moment, at that, but she was soon by his side once more, as if nothing had ever happened. “Instead he just started avoiding me whenever I tried to ask what he found out, so obviously he was just embarrassed about not finding anything and having spent so much time hating Professor Nimueh for no reason -”
“Perhaps we should focus on what about this situation is upsetting you, rather than the myriad of things you are supposedly unconcerned by?”
“I am unconcerned by them,” Harry said testily. “But I just -” he huffed angrily, “It was our thing,” he complained. “I spend the rest of the time sharing him with Gwaine, or Arthur, or whoever else -!”
“Is the Professor not also present during these sessions?” she interrupted, confused.
“Of course she is, but she doesn’t count,” Harry explained “She -” He sighed. “It’s not about her. It’s about Merlin not wanting to spend time with me anymore. He doesn’t complain when I tag along with his friends, but maybe he’s just too nice to tell me that he’s getting sick of me.”
“That seems very incongruent to his previous behavior,” she said neutrally, before clarifying, when Harry scrunched up his face in confusion, “It means contradictory."
“Right,” Harry said, absently. And maybe Helena was right that it would be new for Merlin not to want Harry around, but it wasn’t new. It was just what happened to anyone who spent enough extended time with Harry.
After all, the Dursleys had hated him for as long as Harry could remember. And it was obvious that they were capable of love, when he saw how they were with Dudley. Which meant that it was just Harry who had been enough to turn them away. None of the friends he’d ever made at school had lasted either. Then there were all the nice teachers who would get sick of Harry’s homework being a mess, or torn up, or stolen by Dudley, until they were simply sick of Harry.
He thought maybe it was magic. That maybe normal people weren’t meant to be around wizards, that they could sense there was something off about them, that they were freaks.
But what if it wasn’t magic? What if it was just Harry who was the freak?
And now that he and Merlin weren’t just squeezing in short visits on the playground, or waving to each other through windows, now that Merlin was around him all the time, maybe he was seeing whatever the Durselys saw that made him so unloveable?
“Little one?” Helena asked, her voice gentle.
But Harry simply shook his head, refusing to voice the thoughts aloud, not wanting to speak them into existence if he wasn’t too late and they weren’t already true.
Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe Merlin just need a break from him, and if Harry didn’t push too much then -
“Potter?”
Harry scowled, his face flushing as he wondered just how much of his previous conversation had been overheard. “Pendragon,” he greeted stiffly, hoping helplessly that Arthur hadn’t heard him complaining about Merlin not wanting him anymore. Pendragon was Merlin’s friend, not his, he would absolutely go and tattle to his brother. And Harry didn’t want Merlin to feel bad for seeing in Harry what everyone else saw
He watched Arthur look at him in confusion before his eyes ran over Helena’s ghostly presence, his spine straightening as he greeted her with an awkward, “My Lady?” and a polite incline of his head.
A scrunch of her brows marred Helena’s usually perfect complexion. “You resemble your ancestor greatly . . .” she remarked, much to Harry’s confusion. He thought the Pendragons were muggleborns? Why would Helena recognise him or have met whoever his ancestor?
Arthur’s eyes widened. “Oh. Did we- Did you ever meet him?” he asked.
“No. His death was several centuries before my birth,” Helena said matter-of-factly, “But my mother was a collector of many things, she had one of your name-sake’s portraits in her collection. There was much speculation as to its authenticity, but, assuming you come by your family name honestly, I must assume it was.”
Oh, name sake. So she meant the actual King Arthur. Huh, Harry hadn’t really thought much about him being a real person. Everyone in the wizarding world talked about the real Merlin like he was wizard-Jesus, but nobody ever spoke about King Arthur and the round table. He supposed wizards didn’t care, since he had just been a muggle, and of course muggles simply thought it was a story, like all magic.
But apparently Helena’s family had cared enough to collect the man’s portrait, so he must have done something interesting besides being friends with the greatest wizard to ever live.
And apparently Arthur was descended from him?
“Ah, no,” Arthur said awkwardly. “I’m quite sure if we were descended from royalty my father would never stop speaking of it. Just a coincidence, I’m sure,” he dismissed.
“In a world of magic, I find coincidences to be near impossible occurrences. There are always greater powers at play,” she said wisely.
“Perhaps. I am certainly new to a world of magic, I would not presume to know better than one such as yourself.”
Harry huffed, getting tired of the conversation about long-dead Kings slowly branching into magical philosophy. He wanted his friend back, and he wanted Arthur to leave. Maybe he did come to Helena for advice, and Arthur was ruining it.
“What are you even doing here?” he asked bluntly, crossing his arms. The whole point of him and Helena wandering about the abandoned halls of the castle were not to run into anyone
“Just taking in the view,” Arthur said simply, gesturing towards the huge window he was in front of, before pausing. “Wait, hang on - what are you doing here? Merlin has his lessons with Nimueh at this time.”
Stalker, Harry thought uncharitably. “What’s it to you? If there was something wrong with her you’d have told me, right?” he asked sarcastically. “Afterall, it was my idea that got you to investigate her.”
Arthur’s face pulled into something resembling a glare, but it was ruined by the panic overtaking his face. “Did you seriously leave Merlin alone with someone dangerous to be petty?!” he demanded, his hand suddenly tightening on his wand.
Harry’s eyes widened. “But she’s not . . . She’s not dangerous,” he insisted. “You would have said something if she was!” he declared hoping beyond anything that it was true. But Arthur said nothing, his face slowly turning ashen. “Why would you find that out and keep it to yourself?!” Harry demanded.
Arthur didn’t answer, instead he broke out into a run, darting past him and Helena quick enough to ruffle her ghostly attire.
Harry stood utterly frozen for a moment in shock - and then - instinct kicked in and he was barrelling down the hallway after Arthur.
All his worries about whatever was happening between him and Merlin were secondary. None of that mattered when his brother could be in danger. He could hate Harry later, as long as he was safe enough to do so.
It had been over a year since he’d been subjected to Harry-Hunting, but whatever speed he had lost in that time was negligible with the sheer and utter panic gripping him and urging him forward faster. Arthur was still too far ahead and out of sight, his longer legs outpacing whatever distance Harry could make up, but the sound of his thundering footsteps were easy enough to follow.
Eventually the sound stopped, and within a few gasping breaths, Harry was looking down the hallway to where Arthur had paused, pacing back and forth, still a few corridors away from the Defence classroom.
“What are you waiting for?!” Harry cried angrily as he moved to rush past him, and move towards whatever danger Merlin was in.
But Arthur snagged his arm as he tried to pass, effortlessly pulling Harry off course and back around to face him. “We can’t just rush in there blind,” he cautioned, his air sticking up oddly from where he must have been running his hands through it while he waited for Harry to catch up. “We need a plan,” he stressed.
“The plan is to go in there and help!” Harry said, brushing Arthur’s grip off his arm.
“Help how?!” Arthur shouted. “You don’t even have a wand! And even if you did, you wouldn’t know how to use it. Neither of us are Merlin, we can’t just throw magic around and hope for the best. And a stinging hex isn’t going to do anything against a professor!” In a fit of rage, Harry watched as he looked to the wand in his hand before throwing it uselessly against the wall. “I need a weapon I can actually use!” he cried, as his wand dinged off one of the suits of armour lining the hall.
“Well standing around here isn’t doing any good either!” Harry argued. “We can at least be there as witnesses to deter her from hurting him if she hasn’t already - after all that was half the reason I was sitting in on those stupid classes anyway!”
“Yeah, and remind me, why aren’t you there?” he asked tersely.
Harry bit back the flinch the question prompted, pushing down the thickness in his throat as he answered as strongly as he could that, “Merlin asked me not to come! But if you had told me that you found someth-”
“Merlin asked you?” Arthur clarified as his face went from a panicked white to red with fury. “I am going to kill that idiot!” he yelled. But before Harry could defend his brother or demand an explanation, Arthur continued, “He’s planning on doing something stupid. And he wanted you gone to keep you safe,” he deduced, as his head swung wildly as though looking to the practically empty hallway for a solution.
And then, he stopped - his gaze locked onto one of the many suits of armour that lined the corridors of the school. “What are the chances the spells maintaining the armour keeps those blades sharp?”
Harry gaped. “You want to use a sword?” he asked incredulously.
But Arthur didn’t answer, already moving to try and pull the weapon out of the knight’s metal grip. As soon as Arthur’s hand closed around the handle, the metallic glove flexed and tightened, even while the rest of the plate remained utterly unmoved.
“There’ll be spells enchanting it to not let any students take it,” Harry presumed. “C’mon, we’re wasting time. Just pick up your wand and let’s go,” he urged, not giving Arthur a choice, already moving in the direction of the Defence classroom with renewed determination now that he knew Merlin had only pushed him away to protect him. Harry was still a little furious about it, but he much preferred that to the pit of anxiety that had been filling his stomach until Arthur put everything together.
“You try and go without me and I pick up that wand and put you in a body-bind curse,” Arthur threatened, not even so much as removing his eyes from the staring competition he was in with the empty suit. “I am not going to be responsible for making Merlin cry because you were too reckless and ran head-long into danger without a plan.”
“And this is your plan?!” he asked impatiently. “Arm wrestling with a suit of armour over a sword you won’t be able to use any better than your wand?! Just standing here while anything could be happening to Merlin?!” Harry shook his head helplessly.
This was a waste of time.
If he had just ignored Merlin, or put up more of an argument, this wouldn’t be happening. Harry would already be there. He wouldn’t be waiting on a ridiculous plan that wasn’t going to form.
He wished he’d never listened to Merlin.
“- just saying you should spend the afternoon with your friends. I know the twins want you to learn as much as you can from their brother so you can take over as seeker next year, and they’re always inviting you to come and watch practice on Saturdays.”
“Yeah, and they’ll regret that if I end up somewhere other than Gryffindor, but that’s not the point! Why don’t you want me to come with you?”
“Of course I want you to come with me. I - I just feel bad for always taking up your weekend, just sitting and watching me, while you can’t do anything.”
“So you want me to go sit and watch Fred and George, and not do anything there instead?”
“I - I mean, well. . .”
“Fine.”
“Harry . . .”
“No, it’s fine. If you don’t want me there, then I won’t come.”
“It’s not that I don’t want you there. . .”
“I said it’s fine.”
It had not been fine. Merlin could tell that he had hurt his brother’s feelings.
He hadn’t meant to!
He thought that a bit of encouragement to spend some time with his other friends would have been enough - he knew Harry got bored just watching Merlin in those classes sometimes, but apparently not bored enough to take an out when presented with one. Merlin hadn’t really been prepared with an alternate reason as for why Harry shouldn’t join him this time, he hadn’t thought he’d need one. And so, when Harry pressed, he’d floundered.
Of course his brother had assumed the worst, that this was Merlin pushing him away - but he wasn’t! At least, not like that.
Merlin just wanted him out of the crossfire. But obviously he couldn’t tell him that, otherwise Harry would demand to be involved and throw himself recklessly into the middle of things (as if he would end up anywhere other than Gryffindor), all the while not being able to protect himself.
Merlin didn’t know all of what Nimueh was capable of, but he knew that he was capable of more. She may have studied the Magic of the Old Religion, but Merlin was still the only one who could practice it. She was just like any other wizard - with a wand that could be taken from her.
Well, at least, that’s the plan, Merlin thought, eyeing her wand tucked away in her arm holster. Usually those things had anti-summoning charms or wards on them, and Merlin wasn’t sure how they would hold up against his magic. If he did it too soon and it didn’t work, he would give away his entire plan.
He needed to wait for her to draw her wand in defense, or to show him an example of something, and only strike then. But that meant he’d have to be prepared to dodge a spell too, since he was reasonably sure she’d be much faster at casting than Merlin would be able to disarm her.
Hopefully Merlin’s instincts of ducking and dodging his uncle hadn’t been entirely forgotten.
“ - can repeat what you did to that desk, if you would simply focus!”
Merlin’s eyes snapped away from Professor Nimueh’s long, open sleeves, and back towards her frustrated expression. “Sorry,” he muttered automatically, though quite obviously insincerely.
Her mouth thinned. “I am growing tired of your attitude. These lessons are a privilege, Emrys, you ought not to waste them.”
Yes, such a privilege to spend two hours locked in a room with someone willing to hurt kids. Merlin definitely felt very privileged to be back in this position.
Honestly, what were Hogwarts’s hiring standards? Please come equipped with a criminal record and a hatred of children? It would certainly explain Snape (probably Filch, too), and who knew how many other staff members at this school.
What a fucking joke.
“And what do you get out of it?” Merlin asked rudely, his temper slipping from him.
“I am a teacher,” Nimueh answered flatly. “I’m here to teach. It’s what I’m getting paid to do.”
Merlins shook his head. “But not these lessons. You said yourself, they’re a privilege, which means they’re optional. You’re not here to teach this, just Defence.”
Nimueh’s eyes narrowed at the turn the conversation had taken, but it was the most attention Merlin had given her all afternoon, so she explained, “On the contrary, I believe I specifically was hired this year in order to teach these lessons,” she said frankly. “The Headmaster saw that you were out of control. You posed a danger to not only yourself, but to other students,” she informed him condescendingly, leaning back as she sat against her desk, looking down on him. “You are why I'm here at all.”
So, she was trying to say it was all Merlin’s fault? Nimueh being here, driving Morgana mad, setting Arthur on edge, tormenting his friends with her very presence - all year - had just been because of Merlin. To try and get to him.
“But why?” he asked angrily. “Why would you even want to?”
She shrugged, as if this conversation wasn’t threatening the very little control Merlin had over his magic at that moment.
“You proposed an interesting research opportunity. All I had access to was theory - you had the means to put it all into practice.”
That was . . . That was fine. Merlin was fine with that. He could handle being used for someone else's purposes. His magic was an anomaly, he knew that. He had to be prepared for people wanting to use him for it . . . which was new. Merlin had never been in possession of something that someone else wanted.
Honestly he barely even cared about that. He was fine with the idea of Nimueh teaching him control in return for seeing if her little experiments worked out. That was a clear arrangement that Merlin could get behind. What he couldn’t get behind, was her needless torment of his friends.
“What did Arthur have to do with it?” he pressed.
Nimueh rolled her eyes, “Why must it always come back to that boy?”
“What did he ever do to you that you had to try to hurt him?!” Merlin knew whatever she answered would not satisfy him. Arthur could be a prat, Merlin knew that better than anyone, but it wasn’t an excuse for an adult to endanger him as some form of revenge, or sick amusement, or whatever it was.
“Is that what he told you?” she scoffed.
Merlin grit his teeth at her dismissiveness.
Not yet. He couldn’t lose control of his magic yet.
“I never laid a hand on that boy, nor did a spell of mine ever touch him,” she denied, her own anger clearly building. “I have been gracious enough to ignore his blatant disrespect in my classes, and now he’s slandering my name?” She let out an unamused laugh. “How like his father he is. Always someone to make an enemy of.”
“Don’t talk about him like that,” Merlin warned lowly, not quite understanding what she meant, but knowing an insult when he heard one.
And this time, the leash he had on his magic slipped, as a chair broke with a loud crack!
Nimueh’s eyes narrowed, “Is a broken chair supposed to scare me, Emrys?” she asked, drawing her wand to fix it lazily.
The gesture was meant to be diminishing, Merlin knew. It was meant to remind him that what his magic wrought could be easily fixed. But instead, it was the window Merlin had been waiting all afternoon for.
As soon as her wand left her holster, Merlin focused all of his thrashing magic towards the weapon, tugging it toward his hand.
Then he froze, arm outstretched, as he felt all of that wild power he had been channelling pulled away from him.
He had pushed it toward the wand, just like he always did when he wanted to move or change something with his magic. But it had never been so immediately lost to him as it was just then. Magic was everywhere and in everything. The magic he put out into the world was always returned to him. Except from now.
Now, that magic was no longer his. It was out of his hands and out of his reach.
He could still feel it, but it was no longer his to control.
It was as if the wand had kept it.
Nimueh’s smile curled and her eyes lit up in genuine delight, as Merlin watched, his mouth agape in horror. “Always so predictable, Emrys,” she gloated, as manicured fingers wrapped securely around her unmoved wand.
“What did you do?” he choked, disgusted to feel his own magic so disconnected from himself.
“Oh no, I didn’t do anything. This was all you.”
Merlin shook his head in denial, reaching for his magic, trying in vain to tug it back towards him, to feel whole again.
“Oh, and you gifted me so much!” she cried happily, her eyes lighting gold as she waved her wand and sent tendrils of pure light through the room. Merlin felt his magic swoop and turn as it bent to Nimueh’s will.“You always did like to brute-force your way through problems,” she added condescendingly, and his stomach turned to see the gold Arthur always talked about reflected in someone else’s eyes.
“How -?” he managed, gasping through the panic attack he was suppressing through sheer force of will. He didn’t have time to panic right now. Not when he didn’t know how Nimueh had stolen his magic. Not when he didn’t know if she could do it again. Not when he didn’t know who she might hurt now that she was impossibly more powerful.
“Oh, Emrys,” she said, sounding almost pitying, if not for that mocking edge her voice always carried. “I have spent lifetimes studying the Old Religion. I may not have been able to wield it, but if you carve the right runes on an object made for harnessing magic, and then simply wait for someone else to imbue it with the right power . . .”
Merlin saw red at her explanation. She had planned this. She had been waiting for him to do this. Perhaps all of her tormenting of Arthur had been to provoke him into this. But it wouldn’t work again.
“I won’t aim for the wand this time!” he declared angrily, throwing the full force of what was left of his magic right at Nimueh.
“Sceldian,” she countered effortlessly, a golden shield manifesting in front of her, his own magic blocking the attack. “My, my, attacking a Professor is very reckless you know.”
Merlin let out a frustrated cry as he pushed his magic harder, determined to break her shield, despite feeling his magic drain out of him in a way he had never experienced before. But Nimueh just laughed, delighted, as his magic bent to her will, protecting her.
“Wáce ierlic!”
The last thing he saw was the gold dancing through the room echoed in Nimueh’s eyes.
Arthur glared uselessly at the suit of armour.
It was an ugly thing, but the plate shined, and there wasn’t a hint of rust to be seen. And anyway, Arthur wasn’t particularly interested in the armour, he was interested in the sword. It would inevitably be an inferior weapon than what he was used to, but at least it would be deadly. And deadly was what he needed when it came to dealing with Nimueh.
If only Merlin hadn’t been so stupid to provoke her into doing something.
No. If only Arthur had thought through telling his very protective friend about a threat he had been oblivious to.
Dealing with Nimeh should be Arthur’s responsibility. He was the adult. It was his family who had started a war with her. The consequences of her hatred should have been his to bear. But stupid, over-protective Merlin, just had to decide to send his brother away and then throw his weight around. Arthur didn’t know what the idiot was planning, but considering this was the same fool who challenged a Prince to a fist-fight on his first day in a new Kingdom, Arthur was fairly sure that there was no plan, and if there was one, it was a bad one.
Which meant that for once, Arthur had to be the one to come to the rescue with a weapon no one knew he had. Which would be a great plan if he could just get this bloody weapon!
“This should not be more difficult than stone,” he muttered to himself, trying to pull harder than the armour could hold. Although, what were the chances it had been Arthur himself and not Merlin’s magic that let him pull that sword from stone? Then again, these suits of armour were also enchanted by magic, so if he could get a little help from Mister ‘Magic Itself’, he wouldn’t complain right now.
Arthur paused at the thought.
“You’re enchanted by magic,” he said aloud, ignoring Potter’s impatient scoff, as he took a few steps away from the suit of armour, raising his head. “And Magic Itself swore its power in service of King Arthur Pendragon,” he continued, pouring all his confidence and command into his voice and he put all of his faith into the biggest bluff of his life. “Therefore, I, Arthur Pendragon, command you to relinquish this sword to me, as your rightful King,” he ordered.
There was an echoing silence for a moment, and then the screech of grinding metal as every knight in the hallway fell to one knee and bowed their heads.
Arthur couldn’t repress the grin on his face as the suit in front of him offered up his blade, handle first. “Perhaps your ghost friend was right,” Arthur said, grinning wildly at Potter’s stunned face. “I might be descended from a King after all.”
“. . . How did you know that would work?”
“I didn’t,” he said, taking the blade, relishing in the familiar weight in his hand. He flicked his wrist, twirling the blade perfectly, as muscle-memory this body shouldn’t have kicked in.
He nodded smugly, and turned towards Potter. “Now we’re ready to face Nimueh.”
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