A/N: This is a new story I've decided to write. Even though you wouldn't get that idea from this prologue, it's actually about Albus Potter and his adventures at Hogwarts. So, as I always ask, please read, enjoy, and let me know in the comments what you think, what you like, what you don't, what you hope for.

I, of course, own none of the characters and things created by the brilliant J.K. Rowling.

Prologue: The Homecoming

The snow was falling gently to the ground, gradually covering his footsteps. Not quickly enough, though, of that he was convinced. He knew that the witch was following him, he knew she would eventually catch up with him. Sooner rather than later, if he knew his luck.

And after a millennium of continued existence, he did most certainly know his luck.

His breath formed vapor clouds in the icy air and the cold had slowly seeped through his furs, leaving him chilled to the bone. There was, however, no other way to see what he needed to see. To see that one thing, he would be willing to suffer another thousand years of winter.

He tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, his most faithful companion, the only thing in his entire world that had never betrayed him, never switched its allegiance at the most inopportune moment – well, except for his wizard, of course. Just knowing that the sword was there, hanging from his hip, just as it had for ages, was enough to make him feel better. The same went for the knowledge that his wizard was out there, doing whatever he could to keep his promise.

Finally, he saw the coast, waves thrashing against the shores, the Mist swallowing up the horizon. But he didn't need clear skies and good weather to tell what was beyond his island. He knew perfectly well. There was nothing. There hadn't been anything beyond this scrap of war‑torn. barren land for a thousand years.

But today, it would change. The wizard promised. After today everything would be different.

He stood and watched, listening intently for the tiniest of sounds that would alert him to the witch's presence. He knew that she could move noiselessly even across a forest floor covered with the driest of twigs, but caution could never hurt him. But most of his attention was focused on the Mist.

Today was the day he would end this ancient exile and bring his people home.

Today was the day Avalon was returned to the its rightful place in the world and Arthur Pendragon simply couldn't wait.

Then he heard it, the softest rustle of fabric that betrayed her. He turned around and there she was in all her glory, in all her arrogant beauty.

"Why are you staring into the Mist, brother?" Morgana le Fay asked in her cruelest, coldest voice that she seemed to have reserved for Arthur's ears specifically.

"Respectfully, half-sister, it is none of your business," he replied, turning back to the shore, his hand gripping the hilt of Caliburn, ready to draw at any moment.

"Merlin is doing his little parlor tricks again, isn't he?" She moved gracefully to stand at his side. "Do you really believe that he can do this?"

Arthur looked at her suspiciously. How much did she know? And, what was more, what was she planning to do with her knowledge?

"It matters not whether I believe it or not," he replied carefully, measuring every word. "He's been preparing for centuries."

"You believe in him," Morgana said, a smile twisting her lips. "You love him." Before Arthur could speak a word of denial, she hastened to add, "In whatever twisted way, you do love him. Whatever he tells you he can do, you believe him capable of it. Why have you never been that way with me, brother?"

"The multiple attempts at regicide will do that to a king, sister," he said dryly. Morgana gave a small chuckle, as she moved closer to him. Their shoulders were almost touching. "Are you going to threaten to stop him from doing the spell? Because if you are, I would like to get that out of the way sooner rather than later."

Morgana looked up at him, her eyes widened with surprise. "I will do no such thing." Her voice was different this time. Lower. Warmer. More truthful. "Do you think I want to stay here? Trapped with you? With him? If he has the slightest chance of bringing us home and freeing us of this prison, let him try his damned best. I will not stop him."

"So you think there's a chance he can do it?" Arthur asked, trying to keep the hope out of his voice and failing. "Even though he's allegedly weaker than you?"

"I do believe he's weaker than me," she spat right back at him. She took a moment to calm down. "We have dueled on numerous occasions."

"And you've lost just as many of those duels as he has," he said, raising his eyebrows.

"Even a blind hen can find a tasty seed every once in a while, brother. That is all I will say on this matter." She kept quiet for a moment and Arthur did not see it fit to interrupt her after an admission like that. "Do you mind if I stay here with you and... observe?"

He was taken aback.

"Not at all," he said after a minute of hesitation. He took his hand off of the hilt of Caliburn. "Sister."

And so they watched together.

And when the Mist finally thinned and the horizon moved farther away from the shores of Avalon, they saw land, Green, distant, real.

Morgana gasped quietly and held a hand to her mouth, as if trying to stop her breath from escaping. Arthur, meanwhile, felt his blood thumping in his vein. He wanted to jump, but he couldn't have possibly done that in front of the witch. And he also wanted to kiss his wizard on the lips, which was a strangely new sensation.

"See, sister?" he said, grinning. "Never underestimate Merlin. He keeps his promises."

"I have no doubt that he would die before he broke a promise given to you, brother," she said, the edge slowly seeping back into her voice. "You do know what this means, do you?"

"Does it have to be this way?" Arthur asked for what felt like the millionth time. Even though he knew the answer, he still needed to ask the question, hoping for once that things could be different.

Morgana nodded mournfully. "It has always been this way. It is no more my choice than it is yours."

"We don't have to begin now, though, do we?"

"No. We don't." She smiled the smallest of smiles, one of the very few displays of affection she had ever offered to Arthur. "Today, we celebrate. We drink. We dance. We laugh. We kiss our loved ones."

"But tomorrow..."

"Tomorrow we're enemies, brother."

Arthur extended an arm to his sister. "Come, Morgana. Today we dine in the grandest hall Camelot has to offer. For we are home and the world is ours again."

And so they went.