Merlin and Harry Potter don't belong to me.
The Lake of Avalon was a peaceful place, one that offered sanctuary and serenity to man and beast alike. Now, however, its calming waters did not appear to relax the mind of the old man wearing a blue tunic who was sitting at the bank. He was lost in thought, pondering a place beyond the lake.
Of course he had heard about the school. He was especially proud of its creation, having watched it come into existence from the sidelines. It showed a turn from the old ways, when those with magic were hunted down and murdered. He was glad for that. He really was. And he could feel his curiosity spike at every mention of the school.
But he didn't know whether he wanted to go.
It would have been easy to shrink his stature and visit the school from the first day the doors opened. The disguise was no problem. He was sure if he ever were to visit, there would be no way he'd reveal himself as a centuries-old warlock. They shouldn't remember his name either. His role as Arthur's servant had likely already faded into the annals of history.
If he truly thought about it, he was scared.
He was scared that upon arrival, he would make new acquaintances, people who would never compare to what he'd lost, and, even if he was able to forge friendships, it would only be a matter of time before he was left alone again.
He had known about the school from the start, watched as its founders grew old and passed on, watched as the first generations aged and were replaced again and again by their children. And all the while, he'd stood by, waiting and hoping his curiosity would fade, and he would be left alone without any other losses to mourn.
Of course, he knew waiting would never work.
It didn't help that he'd been receiving letters from the school since it first began. He wasn't sure why. He had never made himself known to the founders of the school and had no idea how owls kept finding him, bringing him thick packages of parchment and encouraging him to attend. Each year, he'd resolutely written back a letter of declination and hoped it would be enough to encourage an end to the letters. But, this year when he received the owl, he felt more called to attend than he had the in the past century. It could have been his magic pulling him towards some lurking threat, but the sorcerer had a feeling it was simply the need to once again find himself busy practicing magic, strengthening himself for the day of Arthur's return. That could still be any day, and how could he live with himself if there was something out there he could use to better protect the king and he didn't learn it due to sheer stubbornness. He could place charms around the lake, little things which would let him know if anything threatened Arthur in his absence because, in the end, learning was something he had to do.
He was curious anyway, and as long as he was waiting…
Merlin was almost as nervous as when he had set off on his initial journey to Camelot. Well, perhaps not that nervous. His journey to Camelot could have ended in his death. This was just a small jaunt to the town of London, where, hopefully, he would find a wand, something which was needed to begin his first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He wasn't sure why he needed one, but after almost seven hundred years of waiting, perhaps it was time to try something new.
He'd de-aged himself physically to pass as an eleven-year-old, found a smaller gray tunic and brown boots like those he'd worn in Camelot. And perhaps the spell that had caused his body to become youthful contributed to the queasiness in his stomach, but he wasn't able to completely fool himself into believing it. More likely, it was because, for the first time in centuries, he'd be leaving Avalon and, thus, be leaving Arthur behind. He pushed the thought aside and, swallowing his nervousness, steeled himself for the short trip ahead. "Mynd â fi i Lundain!" His eyes glowed solid gold, and the warlock had vanished.
When he reappeared, he was standing in the middle of a dirt road cutting through a grassy field. It was drizzling and the air was damp, but he could still make out a town in the distance. Hopefully, that was London. He wasn't anxious to try another transportation spell. If he was lucky, he'd learn a better spell at school, one which wouldn't jostle his insides so much. Now a more nauseous than when he'd left, Merlin sat in the wet grass at the side of the road. It wasn't the first time he'd performed one of these spells, yet he never could get used to the almost violent manner in which he would be thrown through the air to his destination.
Hoping to find something to distract him from the nasty feeling in his gut, he opened the letter the owl had brought him, rereading the carefully penned words he'd seen more than a hundred times:
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmistress: Idonea Ryall
Dear Master Emrys,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Godwin Morecott
Deputy Headmaster
The names weren't always the same. They had changed every fifty years or so. The format of the letter never changed, though. He knew, past the first page, there would be a list of items he needed to procure and gave him several locations where he would find something called a "portkey" which would take him to the school.
He pulled one of the final pages to the front and read it slowly. This was what he was in London for, a wand. Merlin knew it wasn't the best idea to purchase his wand the day before he would leave for school, but this had felt the most final. After buying it, he couldn't back down; he would have to learn how to use it. The page he was looking at described how to find the wand shop. It was on the outskirts of town and had numerous muggle-repelling charms, whatever that meant, to the point where only those with magic would see the shop and, even then, only once they were close to it. He was not sure how he'd find it, but he was hoping he'd stumble across it before the day was done.
Feeling much less nauseous, he tucked the letter back into the knapsack he carried and stood. The town was not far in the distance. He should be able to make it to the shop well before nightfall. As he began walking, he noticed a building he'd completely missed in his first few glances toward the town. It was a short building, dark in color, but very prominent in the landscape. How had he missed it? Picking up his pace, he altered his path to arrive at the front of the building. Looking up at the sign above the black door, he read:
OLLIVANDERS: Makers of Fine Wands since 328 BC
It seemed he had found the last supply he needed to purchase and the one he was most curious about. Never much one for waiting, he pushed the door open and heard a small chime somewhere deeper in the shop. There were countless shelves in the front room and the building seemed, almost, bigger on the inside. He heard footsteps from somewhere in the shop and a young man appeared in the front room. His turquoise eyes sparkled cheerily, and he ran a hand over the mop of blond hair on his head.
"Good afternoon, young sir. I am Geraint Ollivander." The man smiled, appearing in the warlock's mind as a bit overly happy.
"Merlin, sir. Good afternoon," Merlin responded, almost cautiously. Seeming to recognize his customer's doubtfulness, the man let his face slide back into a more neutral emotion.
"Here to purchase a wand, Merlin?" The boy nodded. "I'll see if I can find something for you." He turned and made his way back along the shelves, returning with a long box. He opened it, revealing the polished wood inside. "Why don't we try this?" Merlin stared questioningly. "Just pick it up." Before Merlin had even touched the wand, there was an explosive sound, and he pulled back his hand as an oppressive heat attacked the nerves in his hand. Ollivander scooped the wand back into the box and carried it to the back of the store, muttering to himself. He returned again with another box. "Ash and dragon heartstring, brittle." Upon touching the wand, the windows to the shop shattered.
After another twenty minutes (and several more accidents), it seemed to Merlin as though they were no closer to finding a wand than when they began. Finally, his demeanor never revealing any semblance of frustration, Ollivander brought out another box. "Try this." Merlin eyed the wand warily. "It's a phoenix feather. I won't put another dragon heartstring in front of you, not after last time." He grinned and glanced towards the half of the table now in splinters. Merlin grimaced but put his hand above the wand. For a few moments, he waited, as if expecting something terrible to happen. When nothing did, he lowered his hand and took the wand from the box. The room was filled with a sunlit glow and, almost immediately, the damage wrought by the previous wands started fixing itself. As the glow died, Merlin was enveloped with a deep sense of calm and the melancholy enveloping him since Arthur's death vanished.
As the feeling faded, Merlin realized he'd closed his eyes. Opening them again he was met by Ollivander's joyful visage. "Wonderful!" He smiled from ear to ear. "What you have there, Merlin, is a vine wand with the core of a phoenix feather. Mostly supple and slightly longer than average. A fine wand."
"Thank you," Merlin said, staring at the wand in his hands, rather plain. Despite its outward appearance, he could almost feel the potential for power it held, a clear way to augment his own magical strength.
"My pleasure."
Merlin paid the man an odd assortment of money, one he had yet to master, and exited the shop. As he directed his steps towards the town, he looked back at the shop only to find himself looking at an empty field.
The next evening found Merlin making his way towards the westward bend of the River Thames in his school robes, cursing his eleven-year-old legs for their short strides. As he was walking, he heard the murmuring of voices to his right and turned to see a group of nine or so people heading in the same direction. Two men led the group, and, as they came closer, the one on the left noticed him.
"Good evening!" the red-robed wizard called. Merlin raised his hand to return the greeting. There was no doubt in his mind these people were looking for the same "portkey" he was. The group was soon upon him and the man who'd called out before held out his hand. "Good day. Are you looking for something out here?" Merlin nodded.
"Yes. Although, I'm not sure what I should be looking for." The second man scoffed and shot the young warlock a skeptical look. The red-robed wizard smiled good-naturedly.
"A portkey, perhaps?" At Merlin's nod of confirmation, he continued, "Accompany us, then. I'm Stephen Abbott." He gestured to the people standing behind him. "This is my wife, Joan; our son, Adam; and daughter, Eva. Adam will be beginning his fourth year and Eva is a first year." The man, Stephen, looked at his companion.
"Who are you?" the latter asked stiffly.
"Merlin Emrys, sir." He was surprised by the momentary look of shock on the man's face, one quickly smothered by another calculating look.
"Merlin? Your parents must be quite confident in your talent."
"Oh, be nice Cygnus," someone spoke from behind him. Merlin glanced towards the speaker and was surprised he hadn't noticed her earlier. She had brilliant red hair and green eyes which reminded the young sorcerer of Morgana had the latter never lost her carefree gaze. "Where are your parents?" Merlin swallowed hard. He didn't have a prepared excuse for why he'd been travelling alone. The thought hadn't crossed his mind.
"My father died some years ago and my mother is in a village very far from here. I thought it best if she didn't have to make the long journey." Not to mention she had been dead for centuries. There was a tightness in his throat, and he did his best to ignore it as the red-head continued to speak.
"She didn't want to see you off?"
"She can't get around as easily as she used to," he replied, working to conceal the grimace pulling at his face.
"Ah." The woman changed the subject, recognizing what would be a sore spot for any child travelling alone. "This is my husband Cygnus Black. I am Katharine. Our sons Scorpius, Orion, and Corvus are also attending Hogwarts." The three boys standing behind her nodded curtly towards Merlin. She held out her hand. "It's good to meet you, Merlin."
"And you as well," he said, shaking the proffered hand.
"Now we're all acquainted; we should hurry if we don't want to miss the portkey!" Stephen said, beginning to walk again. Merlin hung back as Cygnus returned to his position next to Stephen.
Merlin soon found himself walking at a much faster pace next to Eva Abbott.
"Hello. I'm Merlin," he said, forgetting his initial wariness of meeting new people.
"Hello, Merlin," she greeted.
"Are you looking forward to school?"
The girl nodded. "Each year Adam has gone, I have always cried to mother to go as well. And when two letters came this year, I was excited." She blushed at the emotion evident in her voice. "Yes. I am looking forward to it. Are you?"
"Yes. Although, I'm not sure what I should expect."
Eva took this as an opportunity to begin elatedly explaining what they, as first years, would do upon reaching Hogwarts. "When we arrive, we'll each be placed in one of four houses. They perform some sort of test to determine your house and you do everything with your house for the rest of your years at the school. Adam's in Ravenclaw." At the mention of his name, the older boy looked back at his sister and gave a soft smile.
"What are the other houses?" Merlin asked, confident the other founders would have named their houses after themselves, to keep Eva enthusiastically talking.
"Merlin's beard!" someone exclaimed behind him. Merlin turned to face the Blacks walking behind him.
"My what?"
Ignoring the question, the oldest boy continued to stare at Merlin. "How do you not know?"
"Know what?"
"About Hogwarts. Are you a mudblood?" he asked, voice drastically lower. The phrase sounded less like a question and more like an insult.
"Come off it, Scorpius." The youngest of the three brothers glared at the older. Merlin looked at Eva and noted the much paler color of her face as she pointedly ignored the conversation behind her.
"What are you going to do? Tell mum?" Scorpius smirked at his younger brother. Clearly not seeing the suggestion as a viable option, the younger huffed and crossed his arms. Scorpius turned his attention back to Merlin and began to say something but was interrupted by Stephen's greeting to someone ahead of them.
"Good evening, Stephen, Cygnus," a man standing several meters before them replied. As they walked up to meet him, Merlin hesitated. This was it. He would leave for the school. Momentarily, he thought of Arthur, and almost regretted leaving his post at Avalon. He considered turning, fleeing London and waiting a few centuries more before he again built up the courage to attend the wizarding school. Someone bumped against his right side, hard, and he was almost thrown off balance. Righting himself, he looked up at the smug face of Scorpius Black and his resolve was steeled. He would go, if only to prove to himself he could fit into the wizarding world and make new friends again. He seemed to be doing alright with Eva anyway.
"Adam, Scorpius, Orion," the man they had met greeted the three returning students. "And who do we have here?"
"This is my son Corvus," Cygnus introduced the youngest Black.
"My daughter, Eva," Stephen responded, "and this is Merlin Emrys." The third man raised his eyebrows upon hearing the name.
"Good to meet you, I'm Professor Lyfeld." He studied the warlock. "Merlin, is it? Ready to live up to your namesake?" He grinned at the surprised look which slipped onto Merlin's visage. "Quite a sorcerer, that old man Merlin." The man scanned the other faces in the group. "Is everyone ready?"
As final goodbyes were initiated, Merlin considered the man's words. Was he really that well-known? He knew he held a certain fame among the druids, but he had figured his failures with Arthur (no matter what Kilgharrah said they were failures) would have helped his name fall from common knowledge within at least a decade after Camlaan. Apparently not. This unexpected preservation had, no doubt, something to do with Geoffrey of Monmouth. The man had said he was working on a history of Arthur's kingship. He'd thought those stories would just focus on Arthur himself. Now hiding his identity seemed much harder than it had before.
"Come, students." The professor was holding an old shoe. "Everyone, put a hand on the portkey." Merlin put his hand on the shoe, still unsure what a portkey did, and felt as though there was something pulling his gut and spinning him through the air.
When he could see clearly again, he found himself near a dark lake. Across the lake, a huge castle loomed in the distance. Hogwarts. Merlin smiled softly.
Here he was.
A/N: Please let me know if you'd like a second chapter. After that, I'm not sure whether or not I'll continue it.
Thanks to the betas MonJoh and ArthursSconeAngel!