Disclaimer: Don't own it, just playing with it.
A/N: This is my first attempt at a fanfic story, so please bear with me. This story will be an independent and powerful Harry story with Merlin as a mentor. There will be some mild Dumbledore, wizard, and muggle bashing, but Albus is not a villain. Just a misguided man. Although this chapter is short and doesn't have much depth of character. I will address this in later chapters.
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The unusually bright moonlight illuminated the majestic unbroken hedgerows along the side of the country lane. A lone figure strode purposefully down the center of the road, buckled boots gleaming and obsidian black cloak flapping behind him. His strange garb and an indefinable air of superiority harkened to ages long past. In medieval England, he could have passed as a lesser noble, maybe a duke.
A hill rose from behind the hedges and the figure came upon a large wrought iron gate. The man's bright green eyes followed a cobbled drive past an abandoned guardhouse, past large dilapidated stables which had doubtless once been a grand sight. Gnarled, dead looking yew trees framed a hulking manor with soaring towers and a large entrance. Moonlight glanced off of tall cracked windows recessed into the grimy stone of the building.
The duke looked down at the large but mundane padlock chained to the gate and sneered. With a wave of his hand, the padlock liquefied and slid to the ground leaving everything else unharmed. Instead of the loud creak one might have expected, the gate swung open without a sound. The duke stepped inside, stared with unfocused but glowing eyes in the general direction of the building sniffed the air, and promptly faded into the shadows of the tall, oddly immaculate hedges.
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Alone the master suite of the manor, a skinny, slightly short fifteen year old boy lay spread eagled on what must once have been quite a luxurious horsehair and down mattress. He was clearly wasting away with pale papery skin, lifeless eyes staring up at the ceiling. He had wanted, or rather needed, to be alone, and here he was, his wish granted.
He had not eaten or drunk for almost a week, and the only thing keeping hip alive was his boiling magic. Any remotely intelligent person would know that he needed some serious psychiatric help. The surprising thing was that this had not happened before now. The boy had seen more suffering in his childhood years than many see in a lifetime.
An orphan of war, raised by those who despised his kind, Harry Potter knew little of the goodness of man and much about the human potential for evil. Since his birth, Harry had witnessed the deaths of his parents, a fellow student and possible friend, and with the passing of his godfather, the death of hope. It was the straw that broke the camel's back.
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The duke faded into sight in master suite of his ancestral home. Sighing at the sight of the boy on his bed, he strode from his room, navigating the long corridors with ease. Walking into a darkened laboratory, he snapped his fingers and the room was flooded with light.
"Never could understand why potions masters insist on such darkness and dankness," the duke mumbled under his breath. As the man deftly prepared a nutrient potion, invigorating potion, and shock reversal potion all at once, he reflected on his own past. Born Myrddin Wyllt, he became Myrddin, advisor to Arthur, Myrddin Duke of Emrys, and in recent years, a man without a name. He was not immortal, but as an agent of magic, was kept alive and healthy. Other groups and people had guarded the balance before, but one by one, they grew greedy, and neglecting their jobs died out.
In a small keep in Wales, he was born into a servant family, but at the age of thirteen, had retreated into the surrounding dark forests to learn his craft, magik. Myrddin built a small hut in the woods, catching and gathering his own food and meditating every day finding his core, or soul, which held his magic, had taken a whole year, but Myrddin was patient. Finding the magic which surrounded him took almost two years, but Myrrdin was in no hurry. As the years passed he learned to speak with animals, learned the secrets of the forest, and built a loving relationship with magic. He learned that there were two types of magic, the magic within him and the real magic of the world.
First he learned the magic of the forest, which was everywhere, in all the plants and all the animals. Magic was in the rocks and the soil. Magic was in the water and the air. Magic was in the fire after a lightning strike and in the ash from which new plants would grow. It was in the birth of a baby and in the death of an old man. Magic was in everything and in nothing. Magic was sentient, and he was its guardian
Myrddin was neither dark nor light, creator nor destroyer. Just like magic, he was all of these things and none of them. It was his job to keep the balance. Myrddyn learned from the forest for forty years, with only magic and the forest for company. The druids, who had kept the balance for time unseen, were dying out. Sacrifices for the dark and orgies for the light were no longer able to do the job with Romans invading from one side and Visigoths and Vandals invading from the other.
After traveling to a dying Rome and honing his knowledge of man, he returned to Briton, becoming the man of both muggle and magical legend. He was seen as the forefather of modern magic although he rarely used it. The only times he used a wand or staff were as an extra tool in fighting and to complete delicate tasks such as warding. Merlin, as he was now known had his own brand of magic, much of which was asking the surrounding magic to do things. Usually his requests were granted. He was back again to teach Harry Potter, if the boy would let him. Perhaps Harry would even be the next guardian of the balance.
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Returning to the room in which Harry lay, Merlin poured the potions down the boy's throat and asked magic to heal him the rest of the way. The results were surprising to say the least.
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NEXT CHAPTER: Harry wakes up, and conversations with Merlin.
A/N: I will try and be prompt, but my updates may be sporadic. If I decide to abandon the story, I will tell you all instead of just leaving you hanging.
Pretty please review!