:HBD: Long Live The King
Professor Myrddin Wyllt, Harry thought, was by far the strangest Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher they'd ever had.
It wasn't as though there was anything particularly wrong with him-he seemed like a friendly enough fellow. He was younger looking than most of the teachers, probably no older than his early to mid twenties, a scruffy mess of ebony hair atop his head that was a striking contradiction to his pale complexion. With warm smiles and vibrant eyes, his lessons were thorough and informative, and honestly, he was genuinely very good at his job. He seemed to like teaching, as if it was something he always dreamed of.
The strange things about him, he reasoned, was that, for one, while he used his wand for practical demonstrations, every now and again he caught him without one, whispering faintly under his breath, the brief flash of golden eyes before it faded. Often, he'd say weird things, before abruptly cutting himself off, then while letting them get to work, he'd look wistfully out the window, as if it would reveal something, as if it had an answer that he was looking for. Harry brushed the whole “eyes changing colors” thing off as a trick of the light, at first, but more and more noticeable it became, when he was actually looking for it. No one else seemed to pay it any mind, but the way Professor Wyllt did things sometimes made him uneasy.
Now despite how strange Professor Wyllt seemed to be, he never had any troubles with him, personally. Never any scar pains, never humiliated or chided-it seemed that Professor Wyllt never really punished anybody, actually. They learned a lot from him over the course of the year, and Harry would've like to have thought that they might actually have a Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher that lasted more than a single year.
The day that a book was slipped into his other school things was the day that he realized no, there would not be a Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher for more than a year.
It was an interesting book, leather bound with a ribbon marking a page. It was entirely blank, and Harry's mind was brought back to a particular diary he'd seen ages ago, and the thought made him shiver. Like he needed to go through that again. He tried to believe that it wasn't anything evil or dark magic, so he flipped to the front cover to see if a name could be found. There was nothing, just his luck, and so he flipped back to the page that was marked.
Only one way to find out, Harry reasoned. He picked up his quill and wrote in it.
“This is a strange book,” he said aloud as he wrote.
He waited. The words disappeared, then reappeared reading, Yes, I suppose it is.
Harry bit back a curse. Of course it was like Tom Riddle's Diary. He would only be lucky if this one wouldn't try and kill him.
Deciding to be blunt, Harry wrote, “You're not planning on killing me, are you?”
A pause, then, Stars above, as if I would. I promise I'm not out for your life.
He wrote back, “Who are you, then?”
I have many names, these days. But here, let me show you.
Harry had but seconds to brace himself before the pages began to turn rapidly, suddenly glowing in a suspicious, white light before he felt a tug, and he was pulled into the book.
When he breathed in, he looked around, noticing how he was certainly not in Hogwarts anymore. He looked up at the tall, gleaming castle, white walls and looking proud and bright in the sunlight. Why had the diary brought him here?
“--For the last time, it's just a patrol. I don't need you to go with me everywhere, you know. Besides, I can't keep a good lookout if I'm watching out for your sorry backside.”
Harry rounded, his eyes finding the source of the voice. It was a man, looking like a royal of some sort, or maybe a knight, broad-shouldered and blond, by the stables, with another man who seemed to be fussing at him. The other looked to be a servant given his style of dress, and Harry was shocked to realize it was Professor Wyllt, looking as young and youthful as his last class with him.
“Watching out for my sorry backside? I'll have you know I'm the one who's saved your life more times than you can count, Prince Prat. I don't understand, you always drag me along with you, why are you suddenly considerate of my feelings now? It's always, you're my servant, Merlin, it's your job. And now it's stay here, Merlin, you're not needed. What's that all about?”
The man scowled, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was clearly frustrated, but all Harry could think was Merlin?
The man leaned in closer, and Harry stepped forward to hear them. He looked him in the eye and said, with a carefully measured voice, “Look, Merlin, this is not about me not wanting you around,” his gaze softened, slightly. “These knights I'm going with...I'd trust them with my life, but not with yours. If something happens out there, I know no amount of me banning you from using your magic will stop you. If they figure out you're a sorcerer, I can't guarantee I'll be able to swear them to secrecy, or keep you safe.”
Merlin looked deflated, but the man put a hand on his shoulder. Judging by Merlin's look, it was a pretty intimate gesture. But still, he muttered, “Arthur, if that's the case, then you could just as easily be killed. Do you really think I'll stand by here, knowing you could be in danger, and not being able to do anything?”
Arthur. Harry nearly choked on his sharp intake of breath. Not King Arthur, surely? But then again, this was a sorcerer, a wizard, and his name was Merlin. Could be it be a coincidence? There was no way Professor Wyllt could be the Merlin, could he? No, he couldn't be, because, Merlin never had to hide his magic, did he? Magic was out in the open in the times of King Arthur and The Round Table, wasn't it?
More importantly, what was Professor Wyllt trying to tell him?
Arthur let out a groan. Merlin crossed his arms, looking painfully defiant. The knight looked as though he wanted to throttle the sorcerer, but was using all of his restraint not to.
“I need you to stay here, Merlin,” he implored, and his voice grew quieter. “I lived for twenty years without you, and I can do so for a few days more. Please, do this for me. As my friend. I'll not see you hurt if I can avoid it.”
Shoulders slumped, Merlin nodded his head. He raised his hands, hesitated, then put them on Arthur's shoulders.
“Be safe. Come back in one piece, or I'll pull you from Avalon just to kill you myself,” he said, voice serious, but then he broke out into a large, ear-to-ear grin, and Arthur threw back his head, laughing.
Harry watched as the town and castle around him began to change, swirling into a mixture of color and lights and wisps of magic. While the images realign themselves in his vision, Harry wracked his brain for any useful information about the Arthurian Legends. He might of read about them once or twice. There were so many variations of the tale that he couldn't figure out which one was which. From the way Arthur had been talking, and how secretive they were being, the only one that seemed to make sense was the story of King Uther, Arthur's father, and how he started a legendary war on magic, known as The Great Purge after the death of Queen Ygraine. Though the stories never mentioned Merlin being Arthur's servant, rather the voice of wisdom and confidence, not to mention that he was old, not young.
The images finally came together around him, and he stood on an isle, surrounded by mist and the ruins of what could've been a castle. Harry glanced around, the entirety completely unfamiliar and foreign to him.
His eyes traveled, and he found Profeesor Wyllt-Merlin-standing before a woman, her dress torn and her hair tangled, but still smiling all the same.
The wind blew and Harry felt it rustle his hair. He dared to step a little closer, just as Merlin said loudly,
“I offered my life for Arthur's, not my mother's!”
The woman frowned at his tone, and a scowl replaced it. “The Old Religion cares not who lives or who dies, so long as the balance is restored. To save a life, a life must be taken.”
“The Old Religion demanded no such thing!” Merlin hissed, eyes narrowing dangerously. “It was you! It was you who chose to take my mother's life and not mine!”
Her smile returned, lips curling into more of a smirk. “Come now, Merlin. We are too valuable to one another to become enemies. We're alike, you and I. We could do great things, together.”
“No! I am nothing like you, Nimueh!”
Nimueh raised a brow, shaking her head. “With my help, Arthur will become king. That's what you want, isn't it? For your darling prince to become a great king.”
Harry didn't have any trouble understanding why Merlin didn't seem to like her. The way she seemed to be goading him, trying to trick him into an alliance made his own blood boil.
“I will make Arthur king, Nimueh. But you will never see that day!” Merlin said venomously, and he raised his hand, murmuring a spell underneath his breath, shooting it at her with a flick of his wrist.
She easily deflected the spell, much to Harry's surprise. She looked bored, and he half expected her to yawn to prove it. “Your childish tricks are useless against me, Merlin. I am a High Priestess. You too, are a child of the Old Religion. Join me, and I will teach you to be great.”
Merlin held his ground. “You think I would join forces with such cruel and selfish magic? Never!”
“So be it,” Nimueh uttered a spell, fire whirling around her hand as she tossed it Merlin's way. Harry thought he would just avoid it altogether, but instead was horrified to see it hit him square in the chest, and he stumbled backwards, before falling.
“Pity,” she muttered, looking down at his still form. “We could've ruled the world, you know.”
Nimueh turned, and for a second, Harry feared Merlin wouldn't get up. But slowly, he clambered to his feet, glare intensifying. Clouds rumbled overhead, and Harry looked up. When had the clouds moved in?
“You should not have tried to take my mother away,” Merlin said darkly, before raising a hand to the sky. Thunder clapped, and Nimueh turned to look at him just in time for Merlin to drag his hand, lightning obeying his command, striking her down.
She crumpled to the ground, and moved no more.
Wisps of magic began to swirl again, the stormy overcast and dead sorceress fading from his view, and Harry felt his heart thudding in his ears, realizing that Merlin had just bended the elements to his will. The thought was both exhilarating and terrifying all mixed into one.
The scene finally aligned itself, and he found himself in the throne room, caught in the center aisle, crowds of people on either side of him. They were cheering, no, chanting, and he scanning the crowd quickly, he found Merlin in the front row, chorusing along with the others. Harry looked to the throne and saw Arthur standing there, before taking his seat, crown atop his head. Making out the words of the cheers, he realized they were saying, Long live the king!
So this really was King Arthur, thought Harry, bewildered. But still, he didn't understand the purpose of this vision, of why the book was showing him all of this. Was the book trying to tell him that he was Merlin? Was magic like that even possible back then? To preserve memories and a piece of yourself inside? He shuddered to think of what evils Merlin could perform if he wanted to.
The images blurred again, clearing only seconds later to see Merlin chasing after the newly crowned king.
“Arthur--! Damn it, Arthur! Stop!”
Arthur whirled, and Merlin looked as though he wanted to strangle him, fury evident in his eyes. “I can't believe you did that!”
“Mordred is a fine knight, and unless you've forgotten, Merlin, I'm the king. I can do as I please,” the royal said sharply, narrowing his gaze.
“He's destined to kill you!” Merlin hissed. “Arthur, you may have saved his life once, but the debt has been repaid already. He saved you back there, a life for a life. He owes you no oath of fealty, what's to stop him from turning? What's to stop him from aligning himself with another? Mordred has no love for me,” Merlin's eyes fell to the floor. “He'd kill you if it meant hurting me.”
Harry remembered that much. King Arthur met his end at the Battle of Camlann, by Mordred's hand. At least Merlin wasn't being paranoid about it.
The king's irritation lessened, and he let out a sigh. “Merlin, I can't punish a man for something he has yet to do. Perhaps keeping him closer will strengthen the bond between us. I cannot earn his loyalty if I shun him, and cast him aside.”
The sorcerer clenched his fists together, but nodded slowly. “Just...be wary of him. Be on your guard.”
“I always am.”
Harry felt a sudden lurch in his stomach, and the ground was disappearing beneath him. The faces of The King and his Sorcerer faded from his vision, until he found his feet touching solid ground, a grass filled plain that he looked across.
A lake. Harry felt his heart sink. This was the Lake of Avalon.
Merlin was kneeling by Arthur now, just by the lake, cradling the king to his chest, as if holding him to his life. He walked closer and heard them whispering, Merlin's voice cracking with each syllable.
“You're not going to die, I can heal you, I can heal you...”
“Merlin,” Arthur grunted, taking in a strained breath. “Merlin, stop. It's alright, with all your magic, you can't save me.”
“I can,” Merlin said stubbornly. “I'm the most powerful warlock in Albion, Arthur, so just let me--”
“Merlin,” Arthur reached up a hand and pressed it gently to Merlin's cheek. “Just...just let me...please. What you have done for Camelot, for me...we've built...a grand, fair, and just kingdom together...like we always believed in.”
Merlin choked, reaching his own hand up to grasp Arthur's. “And we'll make it even better, the Golden Age has just begun, Arthur--”
“No, no...” Arthur shook his head. “A man knows when he's dying, Merlin. Wasn't this how it was always meant to be? The fated battle, at Camlann, by Mordred's hand?” he was smiling, though, and Merlin looked only even more pained.
“I should've been able to stop him, but I can fix it, Arthur, I can change your destiny! The Sidhe, they'll help you, you're their king!” the warlock sounded nearly hysterical, now, voice trembling.
The king sighed, his face growing pale. Taking a deep breath, he said, quietly, “Merlin...you can't save me. It's my time. I'm surprised I lived this long, to be honest,” a dry laugh escaped his lips. He met Merlin's gaze, then. “I'm glad you're here, Merlin, and...I want to...say something...I've never said to you before.”
Arthur mustered up another smile, warm and full of love. “Thank you.”
Harry couldn't help but feel like that smile was something not meant for anyone's eyes but Merlin's. He felt intrusive, being there, but couldn't quite help but continuing to watch as Arthur's life slipped through Merlin's fingers, and how the warlock wept for his fallen king.
The ground beneath him began to fade once more, but words trailed after him as he fell. It was a voice he hadn't heard before, a deep, rumbling voice, filling his entire mind, Take heart, for when Albion's need is greatest...Arthur will rise again.
Harry felt a tug, as if someone was yanking him by the back of his collar. The world around him faded to black, all images swept away before he was thrown back into his chair in the dorm. He sucked in a gulp of air, and looked back down at the book.
He moved his hand to close it, until he realized his question hadn't been answered. Did the diary belong to Merlin? Or was this a fabricated reality using magic? Or perhaps this had been Arthur's journal, it never specified.
Harry picked up his quill, and wrote, “You didn't answer my question. I don't understand.”
Think it over, Chosen One.
The book shut itself and Harry had a feeling that was the end of that.
He broached the subject with Ron and Hermione later. Hermione scolded him for even talking to the book in general, while Ron asked him what kinds of things he saw. Hermione was uneasy about the fact that the book called him “Chosen One”, and told him not to communicate with it anymore.
Harry didn't plan on it. One trip into the fabrics of magic was good enough for him, thanks. But Harry should've known that wasn't the end to it.
That night, as he fell asleep, he dreamed. But from the start, Harry knew it wasn't an ordinary dream.
He could feel the warm sunlight on his face, and he looked up, shielding his eyes from it. He looked around him, a gentle breeze rustling his already unruly hair. The faint smell of apples wafted through the air, and he gazed out over the lake in front of him.
The isle itself was something to behold, and he pieced altogether. This was the Isle of Avalon, supposedly where King Arthur was lain to rest.
“Not supposedly. He was lain to rest here.”
Harry turned, and a woman stood there, next to him, brown hair and a gentle smile over her lips. She looked out over the water, towards the lines of the shore.
“Is it true, then?” Harry asked, curious. “Is King Arthur really coming back when...Albion really needs him?”
She nodded slowly. “He's been waiting a long time to go back, back to his life, and his warlock.”
“His warlock?” he repeated. “Are you meaning to tell me Merlin has been alive this entire time?”
“Don't you know it?” she raised a brow, tilting her head at him. She gave him a look, as if he already knew the answer, but he didn't.
“Surely you don't mean...” Harry barked out a laugh. “Professor Wyllt?”
“Merlin has gone by many names in his lifetime. Merlin is only one of them.”
“Alright, hypothetically speaking,” Harry said, taking the bait. “Let's say my Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher really is the Great Merlin. What's all this got to do with me? Why bring me here, why did the journal show me all of this?”
The woman quirked a wry smile. “Destiny works in strange ways, Harry. But it's time, now. The world needs its king back, and I think you know why.”
Harry thought about that desolate graveyard, the Death Eaters, Voldemort....
“But why me?” he asked, again. “What can I do? It's not like I have some mystical power to awaken a long dead king, you know. I'm still in school.”
She laughed. “Of course not. We don't expect you to. But there's one thing we do need you to do, and that's deliver a message to Merlin himself.”
She walked to the edge of the isle, and reached her hand into the water. It rippled, and she withdrew a long sword, markings etched onto either side of it. It reminded him of Godric Gryffindor's sword that he pulled from the Sorting Hat all that time ago.
The woman held it gently out to him, urging him to take it. He reached for it, gripping its hilt, and then he said, softly, “What am I supposed to do with it?”
“Give it to Merlin,” she replied, and the isle began to fade. “Give it to Merlin and tell him his king has returned.”
Harry opened his eyes with a start. He could feel his heart pounding in his ears, and he raised a hand to his forehead, glancing around the room. The moon was still high in the sky, pouring its light through the window. He let out a shaky breath, and wasn't surprised to feel the weight of something cool and metal next to him.
He looked down, and gripped the hilt of the sword tightly in his fingers. He swung his legs over the bed, and sifted through his belongings before grabbing the journal, and as an after thought, his Invisibility Cloak. Harry tucked the journal under his arm, grabbed the sword, and threw the cloak over himself.
With any luck, he would find Professor Wyllt in his office.
Harry hurried down the corridors, the weight of the sword heavy in his hand. He took the stairs two at a time, careful not to trip or fall as he made his way to the Defense Against The Dark Arts classroom. When he arrived, the door was slightly ajar, and he poked his head inside.
The teacher was hunched over his desk, a candle lighting whatever he was reading, glasses perched at the bridge of his nose. As Harry looked at him, he stilled, and he raised his eyes, taking off his glasses as he looked at the exact spot Harry was standing. His gaze narrowed ever so slightly, but not in malice, rather, in speculation.
He smiled, then. “Come in, Mr. Potter.”
Harry sucked in a breath. He could see through the cloak? But nevertheless, he came all the way inside, before pulling the cloak off.
Professor Wyllt tilted his head in curiosity, his smile never wavering. “Is there something wrong? It's a little late for a stroll, don't you think?”
He pulled the book out from under his arm, and set it on the desk. The professor picked it up, looked it over, then looked up at him. “I found it with my things,” Harry supplied, swallowing at the way the professor's eyes seemed to bore into him. “I thought it was yours.”
“It is,” said Professor Wyllt coolly. “Thank you. But surely you didn't come all this way, at this time of night, to return this to me?”
“Actually,” Harry cleared his throat. “There's one more thing.”
He withdrew the sword, and he could see the completely terrified look crossing his professor's features. Harry held it out to him, urging him to take it, and the professor took it with trembling fingers.
“This is...” he was shaking his head. His gaze turned steely. “Harry, where did you get this?”
The way his voice dropped startled him, and wracking his brain, Harry said, quickly, “A woman. She said to bring it to you, to Merlin. She said to tell you that...”
He was choking on his words under the professor's stare. It scared him; Professor Wyllt was always so kind and cheerful. To look this murderous was terrifying.
“To tell me what?” he said, voice rising, sharper now. “To tell me what?”
“To tell you your king has returned,” Harry breathed, finally. “She told me to tell you that your king has returned.”
Harry could see the exact moment where he realized Professor Wyllt was not Professor Wyllt at all, rather, the Great and Powerful Merlin. He gripped the hilt of the sword tightly, and nodded his head once.
“Finally,” he choked out, and blue eyes softened. “Finally.”
He didn't bother looking at Harry again, but touched him gently on the arm as he made his way around the desk, rushing out of the room. Harry felt a surge of pride, somehow, as if he'd accomplished a goal, an important mission.
The wizard watched him disappear, having a feeling that by complete accident, he'd gotten rid of yet another Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher.
At least this time, though, it was for the greater good of all Albion.