I dread the night. After hundreds of years, I still have the nightmares, each and every night. I see his face, his dying face. His body turning limp in my arms. His last smile, his last words, "Thank you." Every night I see him. Arthur.
The hundreds of years since Arthur's passing, haven't been entirely lonely. After his death, I couldn't bear to return to Camelot. Not that there was much left for me anyways.
Gwen and I had grown apart in the years before Arthur's death. Once we were two servants. Good mates, for a long while. But like many friendships, it grew farther and farther apart. We never hated each other, we just didn't stay close. So, it wasn't worthwhile going back to Camelot for Gwen.
As for the knights. I had found out that Gwaine, who I was very close to, died the same day as Arthur. It was too much for me to handle, and just added to what was already the worst day of my life. The only other knights I knew were Percival and Leon. I knew them both pretty well, but we weren't very close.
The only person that was still in Camelot at the time, that was worth returning to, was Gaius. Gaius, the man who was like a father to me. He raised me through my teenage and young adult years. Gaius taught me so much about magic. He helped me and was so dear to me in so many ways. Gaius was the only person I truly regret not going back to Camelot for. I should have. But I didn't. Not even for Gaius.
I couldn't return to Camelot. Not to the place where Arthur reigned over for many years. Not the place where I had to clean his room and constantly stop threats on his life. Not the place where we would tease and joke with each other. Not the place where I could still hear his laugh and see his smile, Not the place where I found the best home imaginable. A home that included Arthur.
Instead, I returned to where I was born. I went back to Ealdor. I lived with my mother for many years. I would still write to Gaius to keep in touch. He would inform me of what was happening in Camelot and I would just write to him about Ealdor. About a year after Arthur's death, Gwen, who became Queen, lifted the ban of magic off Camelot. I was overwhelmed with joy when I received that news. I know that Arthur would have ended the ban eventually, if he had lived. He never truly thought sorcerers were all evil.
I lived with my mother for many years. We farmed, cooked, cleaned. I lived a simple life, without much magic. Every night I would have dreams of Arthur, I would wake up crying and coated in sweat. But my mom was always there. She would comfort me and hold me, just like when I was a child.
It wasn't long before Gaius passed. Gwen sent us a letter. I hadn't cried that much since Arthur had died. I couldn't believe that yet another person from my life was gone. And I was left, with another piece of my heart gone.
My mother lived a long life. When her time ran out, she made me promise to not use magic. She wanted a natural death and that is what she got. Old age is what took her in the end. I held her hand, even after she drew her last breath.
Not long after I heard word of Percival's and Leon's noble deaths in battle, while defending Camelot. They died the only way they would want to. And soon after, they were followed by Gwen. It was a plague that took her.
Just like that, everyone I had cared about was gone. And I was left alone. In the blink of an eye. It was over, my wonderful, beautiful, small fragment of life, that I lived in Camelot for. The only thing that kept me alive were the words Kilgharrah spoke to me. I would wait, not matter how long, for Arthur to rise again.
I traveled with Aithusa for quite some time. I was a dragonlord again with Aithusa. Until, she too, joined the land of the dead.
And this was only the very beginning of my very long life.
As the years passed, things got worse. Slowly, but steadily, time grew on and magic became a child's tale. Magic, dragons, Camelot, King Arthur, and even I, became myth. No one believed in magic and Camelot anymore. It was sad to see people forget and not believe it all. After all, it had been the best part of my entire life.
Those who don't believe are wrong. Magic just doesn't cease to exist, just because everyday people don't recognize it. You can't just get rid of magic.
There is always murmurings of people who possess magic. People like me. We have to keep it a secret though, for we may be locked up for being delusional. Although, now I've heard they call themselves witches and wizards, not sorcerers and sorceresses.
There is still others, like me, out there. Somewhere.
The year is 1958. I find myself in a tavern, in the middle of London. A place called Diagon Alley. I've never heard of this place before. But Diagon Alley is very busy. Flooded with people wearing robes. Some even with pointed hats. I look strange in my trousers and jumper, compared to all these other people.
I order a "Firewhiskey" at the tavern. I have never heard of it before, but I'm sure it's alcoholic. After I get my drink, I take a seat. This doesn't feel like a normal tavern, no card game going on. I don't see any frights. Strange.
I don't go to taverns that often. Quite honestly, like most things, it reminds me of Arthur. He always thought that I was at the tavern. Never was. I was usually just saving that prat's life. Sometimes I wish I had told him about my magic sooner. Would have it been better if he had known? This is just one of those numerous questions that have haunted me for hundreds of years.
A man sits down right next to me, wearing a black robe. He seems to be drinking a firewhiskey too. "Haven't seen you around here before," he says to me. His voice is very deep.
"Well that makes sense, because I've never been here before," I say.
"Hmmmmm," he says and then takes a sip of his drink. I still haven't tried mine. "Why are you dressed like a muggle?" he asks.
"A what?" What is a muggle? Why is this man using made up words?
"A muggle," he says, as if it's obvious what that means.
"I have no idea what you are talking about."
"Well," he says gulping his drink, "you must be really drunk, if you can't reckon what a muggle is." I must have a strange look on my face. The man slaps my back and says, "Don't worry. It happens to the best of us."
This guy must be insane. Never in my existence have I heard the word "muggle", and I've lived quite a long time. Longer than anyone else. And of all the knowledge I have required over my years of traveling, I have never once heard this word. This guy needs to see a doctor, or something.
"Well, good luck mate," the man says right after gulping down the rest of his drink. "Off to Ollivander's to help my kid get their first wand." The man walks away and out of the tavern.
What is Ollivander's? And he said a wand. A wand. Today they use the term "wands" for sorcerers. In the tales, that is what they say sorcerers use to cast spells. That must be what that man was referring too. But sorcerers don't need wands. All we need is our magic and a spell. That's another just thing they have gotten wrong about my kind.
I get up and leave. The whole time I was there I didn't even bother to drink that firewhiskey. But I want to follow this man and see this place called Ollivander's.
By the time I walk out of the tavern, I can't see that man anymore. He must be lost in the crowd of people. Maybe if I ask around, I can find this place.
As I walk through the streets, I see a store only selling brooms. Nothing else. Many children, look at these brooms in awe. What is this place? Why are people so excited about ordinary brooms? Brooms are just used for sweeping. Very strange, indeed.
Another shop is selling books. Not too out of the ordinary, I suppose. But then I pass by a place called, Eeylops Owl Emporium. Birds? That's what they are selling? But they aren't just any birds. They are owls. I see a young, smiling child coming out the shop's door, beaming, holding a massive cage with an owl inside.
Tons of people own animals, that's pretty normal. Many have had dogs and horses over the years. But owls? Horses take you from one place to another. Dogs can help you find things. But what do owls do? How do they help people?
This is the first time in hundreds of years, that I feel bewildered to what is occurring. I've been around for so long. I should have heard of this all, in my years of traveling and wandering. I know more than probably anyone else. I have seen more than anyone else. I have been alone for so long. And over the years of traveling, the times of my wonderful life in Camelot, are all vague memories now. What would I give to go back to Camelot all those years ago? How long will it take to be reunited with Arthur again? Sometimes I think it would be better to join Arthur in death. But the words Kilgharrah spoke to me, somehow, after all this time, have still kept me going. I don't know why or how, but they have.
I pass more and more shops, but still no sign of Ollivander's. I see a woman, standing by the windows of a shop. I walk up to her. "Excuse me," I say, "Could you tell me where Ollivander's is?"
The woman tilts her head up, to look at me. "Of course," she says. "Keep walking forward, and see those people," she says to me, pointing a crowd gathered around a shop, "that's Ollivander's."
"Thank you for your help," I say to her.
"My pleasure," she replies.
I head down the street, walking quickly, just wanting to find out what is all going on. When I reach the crowd, gathered around, it is quite large. Why is this shop so busy?
I read the sign on the building. It reads, Ollivander's Wand Shop. Wands? Again? These people really want toy wands for the children? What is so fun about that? Besides people who have magic, do not need wands. It's probably just a child's toy store, or something of the matter.
I try to look through the windows over everyone heads, but no luck. It seems as if it is very dark inside. What to do now? After coming all the way here, I might as well go inside.
I stand there, contemplating, when I begin to overhear some conversations. I hear someone murmur the word, "Hogwarts."
And then a child, starts jumping up and down in excitements saying pretty loudly, "I can't wait for my first year at Hogwarts." Hogwarts? What a peculiar name for a school. At least I'm guessing it's a school, since that child said that it would be his first year.
I hear more and more conversations. "What house will I be in?" One of the children asks. "Hopefully Ravenclaw," I hear. "Maybe Gryffindor," says another. What are all these strange names? The houses? "I like Hufflepuff," one of the them says. "How about Slytherin?" Someone asks.
All these strange words I have encountered today in Diagon Alley, have my head spinning. They all have to be made up or something.
After waiting around for a little bit, the line inches forward. When I am able to go inside Ollivander's, it takes me in awe. The entire shop is pretty small, but stacked everywhere are boxes and boxes. Everywhere. They are lopsided and crooked, but boxes fill the entire shop.
A girl and her parents walk up to an old man, behind the counter. The kid must be about ten or eleven. Other people are waiting to go next, but they talk to this man. The man, behind the counter, goes to look for something and within a few minutes comes back with a box. He puts it on to the counter, and the child's face brightens up when the man opens the box and hands her, what I presume to be a wand.
The young girl takes it from him, and she holds it in her palms, looking at all of it's details. The old man tells her, "Give it a try. Wave it over there," he says pointing to a pot on the counter.
The girl gives it a wave, and to my shock, the pot shatters. The man doesn't even flinch. The girl looks a bit disappointed. What is this? How did they do that? Is this just some big show that they are putting on?
The girl hands the wand back to the man. He takes it and places it inside the box. He disappears for another few minutes and comes back with another wand. "I feel like this may be the one," the man tells the young girl.
He hands her the wand and she wraps her hand around it. "Give it a wave," the man tells her. The girl waves it mid air and suddenly a breeze fills up the room. But how? The door nor any of the windows are open. Then the one light bulb in the room, begins flickering, until the the shop is more illuminated than before.
The man says, "That's the one." The girl breaks out into a smile, and squeals a little bit in excitement. The parents hand the man something, I can't see what it is, but I assume that it is payment. After they are gone, he pulls out a wand of his own, says something, and all of the pot's broken pieces fit together once again. Perfectly fixed.
Whatever that man said must have been a spell. I've been alive for over a thousand years. And I know magic when I see it. Wand or not, with or without a spell, I know what magic is. And that was most defintley magic.
This can only mean one thing: I have found others like me. I'm not alone anymore.
When I exit Ollivander's, I don't know what to think anymore. It's been so long since I've seen people like me. Sure they may use wands to cast a spell, and their eyes don't change color, but they are like me.
As I walk around Diagon Alley, I feel different with this new knowledge. I observe all these people. I guess today, sorcerers wear robes and use wands. I can handle that. That doesn't bother me, even though it's different from what sorcerers used to be like. Everyone here has wands, except for the young children. And the more I pay attention, the more I realize how many spells are being cast around me.
I see people reading newspapers, with moving pictures. I've never seen anything like it. The paper is called The Daily Prophet, and many of the people here seem to have one and are reading it intently. I'd like to have one of my own. I walk into a store that sells books and ask where I can get it. The person tells me to go to a place called Gringotts to exchange my "muggle" money.
At the place called Gringotts, I learn that it is a bank. I exchange my money with a goblin, which are the workers. Strange, that they use other species for their use. After I leave Gringotts, I go to order a years worth of the newspaper.
I want to know what is happening with all the sorcerers. I need to know. That's why I want to read The Daily Prophet. Because now that I know I'm am not alone and that I know that there is a community for people like me, I need to know what is happening.
As I stroll through the streets of Diagon Alley, the one thing that I can't seem to shake isn't the fact they all wear robes and use wands. Not that their eyes don't change color, or that I have finally found people like me.
The thing that is so foreign to me is that they are a community. That they can use magic as they please. They aren't persecuted or don't have to hide. They are together, united, happy, free to be who they are. And that hits me, worse than anything has in a couple hundred of years. Because that is a privilege I never had.