As Always
He didn't do it because of destiny.
Even as the Sorting Hat was place on his head, not for the first time, Merlin was thinking tiredly of never-ending cycles. Day and night. Life and death. Promises and disappointment. Success and failure. Initiation and graduation.
Even as the old hat made a familiar sound of surprise, a public observation, and asked a familiar (private) question. Even as some professors, the older ones, frowned with nostalgia at the hat's comment and shock, but couldn't place the moment from their early years at Hogwarts, couldn't remember the face of the wayward student who'd earned the same attention. The same student.
Even as Merlin was sorted into Gryffindor (by choice; by demand) when he knew in his heart that his true house was the den of snakes. Even as he donned the red and gold, for what they represented to him personally (always, always, Pendragon red) rather than a schoolhouse's idea of segregation.
Even as his name was said before all: Emrys Pendragon…he didn't do it for destiny. He did it for the same reason that he had done it before. He did it for the stretch of years behind him—more than a thousand, perhaps a bit less than two. For every memory, both gorgeous and agonizing. He did it out of boredom, as an excuse to keep going, to give himself something to do.
He did it out of hopelessness, but the problem was that he didn't suspect—had no reason to expect anything anymore.
So Merlin wore the Pendragon—Gryffindor colors and enrolled into the school yet again. For the second? Fifth? Eighth time? He did it without expectation. He did it for no reason other than that he could.
And he watched. Watched little Harry Potter fight through a dark and mighty destiny of his own. Watched and didn't lift a finger. And why? Because there was always an evil sorcerer, a dark wizard, a corrupt politician. There was always peril and there was always war, magic or otherwise, but in the end…nothing changed. The world moved on and Merlin was dragged along with it, still waiting, but scarcely hoping.
For with all the darkness in the world, where was Arthur? Where was his King?
Still in Avalon, still nothing but ash upon a lake, still the face that most haunted Merlin's memory…still the ghost that most haunted his heart.
So Merlin watched.
And waited.
As always.
A Happy Ending, A Shattered Hope
Voldemort was dead, and Harry Potter was free—standing on the edge of the bridge where he had just watched the Elder Wand fall in two broken bits with his fingers tucked into the hands of his friends.
And standing back with the other students, in calm and in mourning, was the shadow of the greatest sorcerer to ever walk the earth, who looked more himself than he had in years, sporting the body of his seventeen-year-old self and gripping a stick—for that's what it was; he had never needed a wand—in his right hand with his eyes set on the lake. He hadn't killed many during The Battle. Just two. Two insignificant Death Eaters who happened upon him and got to see, as many never had or would, just how frightening this slip of a man could be.
Merlin was remembering, as witches and wizards worked to clean up and rebuild the school around him, how difficult it had been to move the lake, pulling the world out of the way to drag its precious waters closer to the castle. He was remembering the castle, how it once was, before it became Hogwarts, dripping chunks of rock in the vague shape of a building with Merlin often sitting in the shadows that the crumbling walls cast. The Great Hall was grander now, the bricks a different color, the castle larger and greater and more carefully protected. Even in its current state. He remembered the founders, terrified and unknowing of him, as they asked permission to use the ruins for their magic school.
He remembered smiling, thinking oh the irony and then saying yes. And then he remembered walking away, his heart breaking for the thousandth time, as he left his one last thing behind.
Standing on the castle stairs, Merlin-the-student let his eyes find the lake, and could not even find it in himself to break. Another happy ending to yet another terrible war and still there had been no Arthur.
Would there ever be?
Arthur was a memory, a story, a shattered dream.
"Oi, there Emrys! Right? You're Emrys?"
Merlin forced a dumb smile and turned his back on the lake. On his hopes. On his dreams.
"Yes?"
A Shadow
Harry Potter was blissfully happy. His destiny was done. Prophecy fulfilled. And though there had been loss and pain and mourning, he could smile again.
It was a new year at Hogwarts, his last one, and for once it had a very high chance of being normal. Many of his friends were here, though some had moved on. Most importantly, Ron and Hermione were at his side.
But Harry didn't know what to make of Emrys. He had, in fact, never even noticed the other boy before. A seventh year Gryffindor, Emrys was tall and built like a beanpole with dark hair and truly piercing blue eyes. He had a perpetual look of sadness, and Harry found it odd.
Harry wondered, quite seriously, why he couldn't remember meeting Emrys before. He couldn't remember seeing him sorted, couldn't remember if he had been in the DA, couldn't remember if they'd been in any classes together, for surely at some point, they must have. But he couldn't remember, and that bothered him. Often things he couldn't remember indicated something bad. Or someone.
"Oi, Emrys," Harry said at the dinner table, smiling merrily. "Where are you from anyway? How come we've never talked to you before?"
The resulting smile was obviously forced. "I have a talent for not drawing attention to myself when I feel the need to."
"Oh I get it," Ron said a bit haughtily. "Didn't want to get tied up in this Voldemort rubbish? Can hardly blame you."
"Ron!" Hermione snapped, then shot Emrys an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, Emrys."
"No need to apologize, Hermione. It wasn't you that implied my cowardice, but I'm not offended. In some ways what Ron implied is true. But it's less cowardice, I think, and more sloth on my part"
Ron wrinkled his nose, obviously lost, but before he could huff out the inevitable sound of confusion, Harry pushed again.
"I did ask where you're from?"
Emrys wasn't even attempting to smile anymore.
"I don't tell people that."
"Well, why not?" Ron demanded, much to his girlfriend's disdain.
Emrys did smile then, more genuinely, but it was a broken, twisted thing that sat terribly on face.
"Because it doesn't exist anymore."
Harry immediately wanted to apologize, stomach plummeting, hating himself for asking, because he knew. Hermione opened her mouth to do the same, but couldn't quite manage the task. Ron looked a bit dejected.
Emrys rose from his seat, and for a slip of a man, he managed to look quite intimidating. But only for a moment. A glimpse. Like light glaring off of glass out of the corner of one's eye.
"Excuse me," he said with all the finesse of a king, and swept out of the Great Hall dramatically, yet silently. Perhaps with all the finesse of a servant.
But this time, someone else noticed, and Harry was reassured.
"Don't mind Emrys," said Luna from behind their seats. Harry, Ron, and Hermione spun to greet the girl. She smiled dreamily. "He's distant on purpose. Hides on purpose. But I think that he's really just sad. He's lost something, you see. Lost himself."
"How can you lose yourself?" Ron asked, miffed.
Luna's smile turned sad.
"By losing your heart."
History
There was something wrong. In restoring Hogwarts to its former glory, some great old spell had slipped out of place. The staircases no longer moved. The portraits were all still. The room of requirement did not appear, no matter how one tried for it. The ghosts were gone. And apparating on the grounds was now a worrying possibility.
"We're not sure who created half of the original protection spells," Headmistress McGonagall was saying to the teachers as a group. It was noon, lunch, and the teachers were gathered at the high table while the students ate at their customary tables, some eavesdropping, like Harry and Ron and Hermione. And Emrys. He was sitting close to their group today. Perhaps he always had, Harry thought, and they simply hadn't noticed.
"The histories all suggest an outside source during the founder's era, but they name neither the wizard, nor the spell used. I'm open to suggestions for alternative."
The teacher's all spoke up at once, tossing out ideas and resources. Harry and his friends went back to their lunch, but Emrys looked oddly thoughtful.
Gold by Candlelight
Harry knew better than to run around the castle at night, but it was an old habit, born of necessity. Sometimes he just needed a walk, time away from his heavy thoughts and overbearing memories. Generally, the staff left him to it, but other rule-breakers were fair game.
That's why Harry was surprised when he found Emrys sitting in the darkness of the Great Hall, on the floor, surrounded by a circle of candles and muttering in a language that Harry had never heard before. At the end of a harsh syllable, gold swirled through the air, magic like Harry had never seen it, and it sunk into the walls of the castle around them. The air changed, was lighter and warmer, and Harry ducked away and headed back to the dormitory, chills raised on his arms.
The following morning, Harry said nothing to Hermione and Ron of the incident. And when the Headmistress announced that somehow, mysteriously, the ancient protection spells on the castle had been restored, he was not as surprised as he should have been. But he did watch Emrys with curiosity: both wary and excited.
It had been a quiet school year, and Harry just wasn't used to the calm.
The Storm
There was another day that came round, a day that started with sunshine and ended in a terrible thunderstorm. But the factor that most concerned Harry was, once again, Emrys. The mysterious Gryffindor skipped classes that day, and by accident, Harry found him sitting in one of the highest reaching towers, curled up into a ball in a corner, wiping tears from his eyes.
It was around noon then, and the skies were clear.
But then Harry approached, eager to help and comfort, as was his nature, but was spurned. Emrys' eyes snapped to his, and with a voice and expression that terrified Harry more than Voldemort ever had, growled for Harry to
"Leave me be!"
So Harry left him be, until later that day, when the thunderstorm raged and he saw Emrys through the windows of the Great Hall, standing outside next to the lake, fearless and miserable among the lightning downpour. The last struggling tendrils of sunlight sunk somewhere beneath a cloudy horizon, and Harry saw it. Saw Emrys bow his head and absently wave his hand without speaking.
And like a miracle, the storm came to a standstill.
And Harry's heart was struck with fear for the second time that day. He went outside, with his friends in tow—friends who still knew nothing of Emrys, of what he may or may not be—and faced the other seventh year outside the castle, with moonlight streaming down from an absurdly cloudless sky.
"What are you?" Harry asked. Demanded.
"You need to stop following me," Emrys said flatly.
"Well, you need help," Harry guessed, his heart pounding madly as he prayed that he was right about this. "You don't have to suffer alone. Whatever you've lost, you're not the only one."
To everyone's shock, Emrys tossed back his head and laughed. It was a mad sound. It was chilling. It was also quick to change Harry's mind. The lingering fear outpaced a need to be kind. For this was too much like facing the madness of Tom Riddle.
"No one has lost quite like I have," Emrys said, once the laughing was done. He was smirking now, eyes glittering in the dark, in a very opposite way from how Dumbledore's had twinkled.
"You can help me in this lifetime," Emrys continued, "if the world splits open, and He walks again, and I remember how to be happy, how not to let the time stretch me into something formless. Then you can help me, but until then…" He closed his eyes and sighed.
"No one can."
"Are you a danger to us?" Hermione cut in, and Harry jolted, having nearly forgotten that his friends were there beside them. He imagined for a moment that Emrys regarded them with something akin to envy.
"I am a danger to no one but myself, until such time comes about that I am required to be useful. To serve."
"Ugh. Why do you talk like that?" Ron said unhappily. "It's bloody irritating."
Harry shot him a warning look, but Emrys words' were enough to send Ron stumbling through his own head.
"I picked up the habit from a dragon. He could give lessons in cryptic advice, and perhaps he did." Oddly, Emrys scuffed a boot against the mud beneath his feet, as if suddenly shy. He even wobbled a bit, his composure thrown off. "One day I'll talk like an idiot again. Use words like supercilious and clotpole and dollophead. But I doubt it."
"You put the spells back on the castle," Harry blurted out suddenly, Gryffindor courage suddenly kicking in. Beside him, Harry knew his friends were startled by this news.
"It made me sad, to see the castle in such a state of quiet," Emrys admitted sadly. "I couldn't let it be that way again."
"You stopped the storm," Harry added, still brave but shaking.
"Started it, too," Emrys said matter-of-factly. "I hate this day. I keep trying to forget, but it's getting harder to remember. I've forgotten his voice." The last sentence was a whisper. "How could I have done such a thing? But I can't remember it anymore, what he sounded like, not even while yelling my name."
"W-who?" Hermione was the one to ask, and they were all tense now, for different reasons.
"It's really a wonder," Emrys said, and walked past them back into the castle.
Of course, after that, Harry was left with explanations of events that only led to more questions.
Black and Gold Miracles
It was just past winter, just past the melting snow, when the dragons arrived at the castle. If the professors and other students at Hogwarts had not noticed Emrys before, as most had not, then they were certainly going to now.
In the middle of an Advanced History lesson, Emrys suddenly stood from his seat, walked over to a window, and threw it open. And there, on the horizon, were hundreds.
Dragons.
In every color, shape, and size imaginable, they flocked like giant birds, straight at the castle. Emrys, ever mysterious, got a bit wide-eyed and ran out of the room before the situation caught up with the rest of them. Harry followed, and so did the rest of the class, and eventually (quickly, fearfully, curiously) so did the rest of the castle.
It was a sunny day with clear skies, save for the dragons themselves, who touched down in the grassy field before the castle and tucked in their wings. Emrys drew closer to them, and no one stopped him. In a V, the rest of the castle's inhabitants stretched out behind him, but not a single teacher yelled out in warning, as if something magical itself was stopping them from interfering.
It was an odd thing to see—amazing really—when the first dragon ducked its head, and then the others followed suit, until they were all bowing, quite clearly to Emrys himself, who was a good distance away from the other humans, and who proved this circumstance by, quite gracefully and confidently, bowing back. Only did the dragons raise their heads.
Smiling more naturally than Harry had ever seen, Emrys walked forward and gently patted the nose of the ugliest, most intimidating dragon that Harry had ever laid eyes upon. The beast, in response, growled happily.
"What brings you all here, youngling?" Emrys asked just loudly enough for some of the people behind him to hear.
Youngling? Harry thought, thinking that the dragon Emrys addressed was perhaps the oldest-looking one in the group, and not to mention, was probably half the size of Hogwarts itself.
The beast made a gurgling sound, leaned his head down to the ground, and opened its mouth. Two eggs rolled gently into the grass, still damp with morning dew. One egg was burnished gold; the other was sapphire blue, fading into pitch black.
Emrys made a sound that at last riled up some of the teachers. It was a miserable sound and also quite happy. When he looked back up at the massive dragon, with the other dragons inching closer, as if drawn, Emrys' eyes were wet.
"Really?"
At last, someone had built up the courage to approach him. The Headmistress came slowly up on Emrys' left, and the dragons eyed her warily, but made no move to attack. Despite the man dragons and people surrounding, all else was silent.
"Emrys Pendragon," Minerva addressed quietly, "What exactly is going on here?"
"A miracle," Emrys whispered in response. And then, to everyone's shock and awe, he held a hand over the eggs and whispered two words.
"Sylvia," he said to the blue and black.
"Korrizar," he said to the gold.
The Headmistress watched the gold fade from Emrys' eyes and jumped a bit when the eggs beneath his hand both began to shake and crack. There, on the grass, two baby dragons, unlike any in recorded history, hatched. Once free, they coiled happily around each other in greeting then turned their eyes to their Lord.
The gold dragon was truly a sight to behold and had burning red eyes. A male. Korrizar.
The black dragon's scales flickered sapphire blue in the sunlight, and her eyes were practically electric. A female. Sylvia.
In unison, they turned to Emrys and bowed, and to the utmost astonishment of the Headmistress of Hogwarts, they said quietly:
"Thank you, my lord Emrys."
Emrys, beaming, was a different person.
"Welcome, Great Ones."
Dawnbreak
Emrys could no longer be a shadow, especially with two dragons living on his shoulders. He was questioned vigorously by what remained of The Order of the Phoenix, again by the newly re-established Ministry of Magic, and again by what staff remained who were part of neither organization.
He scoffed at truth spells and lied under them anyway. He held his silence when occlumens attempted to pry at his mind and found nothing but fog and a broken castle and the lingering static of old magic.
It was a while before it all died down, after Emrys had sent the dragons away with a simple dismissal. It had the magical world reeling with curiosity, but he attested to nothing, and therefore, his fame was permanent but not as much appreciated by the public. They called him vain and secretive and plotting, but the most he would offer for interview and interrogation were the words: "Time often forgets."
He seemed happier though, with the dragons chattering on his shoulders. The spoke only to Emrys and to each other, which was why Harry was stunned when they one day deemed to speak to him.
"Curious, brave child," said Sylvia, the black dragon, from Emrys' right shoulder between classes on afternoon. Her silver claws gleamed from their perch.
"He is, isn't he?" said Emrys to the dragon, running his fingers across her scaly back.
She offered him a toothy dragon-grin. "Like you once were, Young Warlock."
He rolled his eyes. "I never should have told you about Kilgharrah."
"I resent that," Korrizar squawked from the other shoulder. "After all I'm named for him."
"You look like him," Emrys agreed. "The name fit."
"I don't know if mine does though," Sylvia snorted, and glanced back at Harry. "What do you think, child? Do I look like a Sylvia to you?"
Harry, not very fond of being called a child by what was essentially a clever talking dragon-child, actually nodded. He glanced again at her true-silver claws and nodded once more.
"Yes, I think it suits you very well."
The dragon regarded him smartly.
"Good. One should never go against the decisions of a Dragon Lord."
"Sylvia," Emrys hissed, suddenly very cross. "Enough."
"You need friends, dollophead," she tsked and swatting him across the back of the head with her tail. He glared at her.
"Sylvia…" Korrizar hissed softly, kneading his claws into Emrys' other shoulder like a cat. "Have you no pity? No empathy?"
"No," she said fiercely.
Harry, meanwhile, was reeling. These dragons spoke so intelligently. They bickered, sure, but they were not normal by any means. Their speech alone was an unheard of thing for dragons—another reason why the public was wild with wanting to know more about Emrys and his connection to them.
Could he command them? Many had wondered, as scholars dug up ancient scrolls about Dragon Lords and their terrifying capabilities.
"They're growing fast," Harry remarked awkwardly, and the dragons and Emrys returned their attention to him. "I mean you are…growing fast." He addressed Sylvia, as she seemed to be the more aggressive of the two dragons.
"We'll grow as fast as we can. It'll be a rushed job, but we need to. Great Dragons are in need again, it seems." Korrizar said.
"In need?" Emrys asked, eying the gold dragon curiously. "What do you mean?"
"Perhaps for you," Sylvia cooed, looking cautious. "Perhaps for an event soon coming."
Emrys was alarmed now. "What are you saying?" His voice was a sharp whisper, heavy with anticipation.
"Magic is shifting, Emrys," she said knowingly, impossibly. "Dawn is on the horizon, while dusk lies firmly in the past."
Emrys was frozen, eyes wide, shocked…hopeful.
"How could you know?" Harry interjected, more confused than intrigued.
"Great Dragons know many things," Emrys said quietly, obviously still shocked about something. But what, Harry didn't know. "They are prophetic. They are born knowing speech, knowing magic, knowing things that no man could know. They are creatures of old" His attention shifted again to the dragons. "Please. Please, Sylvia, tell me that you are not lying to me. I've waited so long."
Korrizar was the one to nuzzle up into Emrys's neck. "We are here for a reason," he said soothingly. "And our numbers are important to note. Kilgharrah was to Balinor, as Aithusa was to…" the dragon glanced at Harry, carefully choosing his next words "…the witch, as Sylvia is to you, as I am to…him."
Harry watched in surprise as Emrys leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor. The dragons clung to his shoulders and protested unhappily at the movement.
"Oh Goddess," Emrys said, and then he was smiling. Smiling so much that it was hard not to want to smile with him. Harry had never seen such a look of joy. It warmed his heart, though he still had no idea what was going on.
So he let himself smile. Just a bit. And when Emrys smiled at him, it felt like the sun was rising within Harry. It felt like the night that he had watched this other man restore an ancient and powerful magic to the castle walls.
It was both frightening and beautiful.
And so he smiled.
Retinue and Guessing
There was a gang of wizards and witches who called themselves Morgana's Retinue. And the first day that word spread of their terrible goal and their power was the day that Emrys started acting fidgety.
Three weeks since the dragons' arrival and now they were as big as horses. They didn't follow him around quite so much, but Korrizar was often seen conversing with the merfolk in the lake and sunbathing with unicorns. Sylvia spent a lot of time hunting in the dark forest, or zipping over the castle in a blur, striving to fly faster than anything else in the sky.
At dinner the dragons got as close as they could to Emrys in the Great Hall, who took to sitting at the end of the Gryffindor table to converse with them. Harry made a point in dragging Ron and Hermione to that end as well, and they all chatted amiably with the dragon and Emrys, though more often than not, The Golden Trio was left more and more confused. They served more as a baffled audience than friends.
"Morgana's Retinue. Do you imagine that she's back then?" Emrys was saying one night.
"No, but I reckon that they think her spirit is on their side or some such nonsense," Sylvia said arrogantly, her voice sharp and quick.
"There's a rumor that they've found the sword," Korrizar added.
Emrys raised a brow. "Have they?"
"Yes," Sylvia said warily, watching him as if Emrys might explode at any moment. "There's a chip in the blade, and the handle is mostly rotten, but it's the one. I could feel it."
Emrys, who had been eating, put down his fork and looked sick.
"So…" Hermione piped up, "Morgana, huh?"
Emrys' clever gaze found hers, the sickness gone from his face.
"You're guessing again," he wagered.
She nodded and absently scratched a bit of food from the table.
"Swords, dragons, and now Morgana? I'm still trying to figure you out, you know? And this is all starting to sound very…Arthurian."
"And who do you wager that makes me?" Emrys asked. The dragons were watching Hermione as well, swishing their tails like cats in a way that suggested confrontation.
She blushed. Most did under Emrys' scrutiny. Even Harry was not immune to the man's charm, intimidation, and odd air of regality. There was just something about him that sent hearts pounding and blood rushing. It riled hope in a person, hope and a very pure sense of self-preservation. Something that screamed run and come hither all at once. Like a deadly, poisonous flower.
"I…I haven't the faintest."
Emrys relaxed, as did his dragons.
"Good."
The Water Goddess
She came in the dead of night, when no one was watching or waiting except the dragons. Emrys slept across the castle, oblivious, as Freya stood between Sylvia and Korrizar, in front of the castle doors.
"How long, Lady?" they asked.
She smiled, more creature than girl now, and answered:
"With the dawn."
The Dawn
It was weeks later, but it was a dawn. Hogwarts students waited for the sun to rise, an old tradition, in pairs and in groups by the lake. A meteor shower in the early morning drew them out, and most might have fled back into the comfort of the castle before the light, but something kept them sitting outside in the crisp morning air.
There was electricity all around them, as the moment drew nearer, and Emrys, from a small group, rose when he felt it—felt his soul wake up. His eyes, before Harry and all of his friends watched, glowed fiercely gold.
Emrys found his feet and walked closer to the lake's shore, as all manner of creatures drew up from the waters onto the earth in flight of something, catching the assembled mass's attention. The other students and staff couldn't decide where to look—to Emrys, whose eyes were molten, or to the mighty beasts that were pulling themselves out of the lake.
Sylvia and Korrizar took a stand on each side, slightly behind their Dragon Lord and watched the lake grow still again.
The sun peaked over the horizon, and the assembly went silent. From the glass surface came the first ripple, and Emrys fell to one knee, keeping his eyes up only enough to finally see what he'd only ever dreamt.
A golden head of hair, untouched by the wet of the water, followed by serious blue eyes, pouting lips, and then a stretch of gleaming armor, a red cloak, and finally boots that clunked heavily as the man strode forward, confident and patient, to Emrys' bowing form.
Ever respectful, but trembling, Emrys lowered his eyes. Behind him, the dragons did the same.
"My King," Emrys said reverently, sadly, happily—his voice was loud and clear to all in attendance. Every student and teacher looked on, eyes wide and mouths agape at the scene.
"Oh, Merlin," said King Arthur, a moment from rolling his eyes. "You great idiot. What trouble have you gotten into while I was away?"
"Arthur, I…I'm sorry. I failed you."
Arthur, before Merlin, also fell to one knee.
"Let's get one thing straight," Arthur said, reaching forward to nudge up Merlin's chin to meet his eyes. "You are the one person who must never bow to me ever again. I prefer you disagreeable. Otherwise I'd never have hired you. Understood?"
Merlin, halfway to tears already, snorted. "Your father hired me, you supercilious prat!"
"Yes, well, I could have easily been rid of you, couldn't I?"
"Oh, as if!" Merlin retorted, laughing and crying now, and then scrambling into Arthur's arms for a hug. He nearly knocked the king onto his back, and only managed to avoid being slapped for it, because Korrizar got in the way.
"Dragon!" Arthur said suddenly, though not as worried as he probably should have been. And then Sylvia was sticking her nose against his chest, and he was trying desperately to wiggle away.
"So…what catastrophe has brought me back then? Whenever we are."
Merlin smiled and helped the king to his feet.
"Morgana's Retinue."
Arthur actually did roll his eyes. "What a ridiculous name. And what the hell have you done to my castle?"
Merlin pulled Arthur away from the lake.
"I'll show you."
In the sky above, the sun gleamed as brightly as it had the day Merlin first stepped into Camelot, and began to teach a prince how to be The Once and Future King.