A/N: I want to apologize a hundred times over for taking so long to continue with this story! I have a plethora of excuses about why I haven't updated in many, many months, but I figure I'll skip all my pleading and apologizing and just get to the actual story. First, two things – I'm changing the first bit to be the prologue instead of first chapter, so this is the first chapter. Also, I realize I've made a mistake in the stone's color. I said red, but it's actually black. I'll change that too! Now, without further ado, here's the first chapter of "The Most Hallowed Alliance". Enjoy, and please review!

The Most Hallowed Alliance

Chapter One

Morgana had told no one the truth about Harry Potter. As a matter of fact, she rarely spoke about him at all. In the first few weeks after he had gone back to his own time, to this wonderful magical school that she follow him to, she had kept to herself, clinging to his memory. Harry Potter, the mysterious stranger that had stepped out of his own time and into hers, making her life shift into something she never could have dreamed. She had read and re-read his goodbye letter as if just reading words he penned with his own hand would somehow bring him back.

The phoenix feather that he had sent her from Hogwarts wasn't with the letter, which she had burned last year. She had told herself initially that it was for the reasons Harry had asked her to get rid of it in the first place – it was too dangerous to keep around, considering the mention of her magic contained within the words. As the last visible word – ironically, it was Love, – was caught up in the embers, blackened, and curled in on itself, she finally allowed herself to think the truth. She was burning the letter because she was angry. She was furious that he had told her about their respective powers and talked of such wonderful places and times, where those who had magic could practice and live with their own kind, in secret but in peace, with a thriving society – he had told her this, and then left her stranded in her own life.

She couldn't get rid of the feather, though. It was precious – priceless, probably, considering how rare fire-birds were reported to be – and beautiful, and even though her heart had slowly grown bitter and she had begun to hate the memories of the boy she had fallen in love with, she couldn't let it go. It reminded her of the parts of Harry's visit that didn't leave a hole in her heart – their long talks about magic, their pasts, their futures, and the one or two kisses that had passed between their lips.

She didn't hate Harry. A part of her actually understood why he had to leave and why it wouldn't have been a good idea for her to accompany her. This knowledge, however, didn't alleviate the hurt when she looked at the shambles that her once elegant and simple life had become. He had left her with a sliver of hope, a preachy message about good and evil, and a simple I-love-you that had, at the time, seemed to have been more than enough to keep her going.

Harry had told her that she had magic, something she had already suspected but needed to hear someone say aloud. He had showed her his powers, assuring her that she was not alone, but when he left, where did that leave her? She watched as Uther killed her kind mercilessly, had been forced to stand by his side as he burned magic-users at the stake. She was forced to see through a magician's eyes the horrors of Uther's blind hatred. Morgana had always felt that he was wrong, but now that she knew who she was – now that she knew that she, too, would be burned if Uther discovered her powers – her life had become a living hell.

Then she had met Morgause, a sorceress who hated Uther as much as Morgana herself did, and who was skilled and powerful enough to do something about it. Morgana had made the decision to ally with Morgause, and soon after was when Merlin had poisoned her.

Merlin's betrayal still burned every time she saw him or thought about him. She could still remember, three years ago, when she had called him to her chambers to warn him of a terrible nightmare about his death, a nightmare that turned out to be so much more: a vision. She recalled Arthur standing protectively over Merlin's shoulder, the panicked look in both of their eyes when Uther had nearly caught Merlin in his ward's room in the middle of the night. When the king had left, Merlin had slid out from under her bed and the three friends had shared a sigh of relief. It had been so natural to trust Merlin, but she had saved his life, and he'd tried to take hers.

A small part of her still insisted that Merlin had only done what he had to do to save Camelot but she had pushed that thought into the darkest, deepest corner of her mind, where the only time it ever ventured out was when she slept and on those rare occasions when Merlin looked at her with sadness and regret in his eyes… and sometimes those cerulean eyes turned green and sadly chastised her for ignoring the letter Harry had sent her, the warnings he had given…

And the silly little thought would be chased back into its hole.

Morgause had taken her away and cured her from the poison, and with the sorceress – her sister – Morgana had found her true home. She had learned more about her powers every day, and primed herself to return back to Camelot and bring it to its knees from the inside out. Still, even in the whole year she was with her sister, Morgana never uttered his name, though sometimes she would think back to the phoenix feather under a hidden bottom in her top right desk drawer… and she would cry herself to sleep.

The first thing she had done upon regaining consciousness in her old room in Camelot after being "rescued" from Morgause was to open the drawer, feel around for the hidden latch with shaking hands, and pop the false bottom to the drawer out. Underneath was the feather, still the most brilliant gold and orange and yellow, still thriving and almost a live entity in and of itself. She had held it in her lily-pale fingers for a while, marveling at how a simple bird's feather could make her remember her old life and friends so well.

Now, as Morgana strode confidently through the Darkling Woods from where she had left her horse a few hundred feet back, she forced herself not to think of the feather, the long-gone letter, or the person they were from. After all, she had seen something in her dreams and the thought of this black stone was more alluring than an old feather any day – especially if that stone really could somehow bring her father back – her real father, not the cowardly, selfish pig that had inadvertently revealed to her that he was her birth father. Discovering the truth about the king and her heritage had made her even more angry and determined to bring Uther down and had been the main motivator that kept her on her course, not to be swayed by memories of innocent kisses or disappointed green eyes.

There was a rustle in the trees ahead, breaking Morgana out of her thoughts. She strode forward, able to recognize the aura of her sister's magic anywhere. Morgause was alone, cloaked in black, and when she saw Morgana, she smiled. "Sister. You wished to see me?"

Morgana wasn't quite sure where to begin, and it wasn't merely because of the strangeness of her dream – or vision, or whatever it had been. For some reason, the thought of telling anyone about this stone, of trying to find out more and obtain it, felt like a betrayal on her part. But to whom?

Those emerald eyes and regrets from years prior began to stir in their little prison cell in the dark recesses of her mind and she almost changed her mind. Her father's face came into focus in her mind's eye and she knew, without a doubt, that she had to find this stone.

"I had a dream… and may have some information that might be of some value to our plans…"

"Go on," Morgause prompted, never one to disregard her sister's premonitions, especially if they could prove to be good for her schemes.

Morgana, feeling more confident that Harry's gaze was locked away in her deepest mental vault, smiled and told her sister everything.

Everything, that is, but Harry Potter.

"Gooood morning, Sire!"

Arthur groaned and stuffed his head under his pillow, trying unsuccessfully to block out his servant's obnoxious morning greeting. The prince had not slept much the night before as he had been woken up from a chilling dream shortly after midnight and hadn't been able to drift back to sleep until the first glimmers of light began to waft through the windows. Even then, Arthur's sleep had been light and a bit frenzied, tossing and turning beneath his blankets. Now, however, as Merlin's chipper and annoying voice rang around the room and the warmth of the morning sun cast light on the room, the prince found that the dream was slipping away from him. All he knew was the sheer terror that had been his sole companion during the dream, and even now it was waning away in the light of a new day.

Arthur brushed the creepy feeling away and gave an irritated growl when his pillow was yanked unceremoniously out from over his head. "Up and at'em!" Merlin said in a spry voice from somewhere across the room. Arthur rolled over, grabbed his other pillow, and made to lob it in the general direction of Merlin's voice. Before he could actually throw the pillow, however, he was hit in the back of the head by his own pillow – that was hovering in thin air just above his head.

"Merlin!" he growled as Merlin grinned innocently and the pillow dropped soundlessly at the foot of Arthur's bed. "I've told you to stop using that unless—"

"—unless it's an absolute emergency," Merlin recited obediently, then groaned. "You're worse than Gaius."

"Doubt that," Arthur muttered, probably remembering having a fatherly lecture directed at him at one point in his life. He quickly added, "And don't you dare go telling him I said that, Merlin."

Merlin's face split into an impish grin. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Arthur could tell by the almost eager way the servant slipped into their normal routine of banter that he was even more ready to steer the topic away from his irresponsible use of magic. "You know why we tell you not to use it like that, you idiot. Anyone could've walked in and seen you whacking me with a flying pillow. You know I'll protect you as far as I can, but if my father finds out…"

Merlin gave Arthur a serious nod, indicating that he had indeed heard and would adhere – to some degree, at least – to his master's warning. Then the goofy smile was back on as he began to make the bed and Arthur shuffled to his table to inspect the breakfast that had been brought from the kitchens. "In a way, though, it was an emergency," he mused as he plumped the pillow that had, moments before, been airborne. "After all, you were about to clobber me—"

"—with a pillow—" Arthur interjected, rolling his eyes dramatically.

"—and it was self-defense. An emergency."

Arthur sighed and scrubbed his hand over his face. "Bloody sorcerers," he mumbled under his breath.

Merlin just smiled, gathered Arthur's wash, and left the prince alone with his breakfast.

Merlin was in a better mood than he had been the day before. His dreams, while some of them involved a floating pair of red eyes, had been manageable last night and so he was able to act more like himself in front of Arthur, who was either annoyed to the point of throwing his servant into the stocks or worried to the point of pretending he was annoyed so he could throw his servant in the stocks. Either way, Merlin hadn't made a visit to the stocks since Arthur had found out about his magic about three years ago, but somehow Merlin knew that this probably had more to do with a lecture or two from one Hermione Granger.

Merlin smiled sadly to himself as he thought about their old friends. He didn't know how much time had passed in the future, at Hogwarts, since he had left Harry, Ron, and Hermione in Professor Dumbledore's office. He wasn't sure how time travel worked, exactly, as he'd only done it twice – once, to get to Hogwarts and then again to get back. He'd asked the Great Dragon about this shortly after he'd returned to Camelot and the creature had informed him that time was a sensitive thing. Since Harry and his friends had left from a certain point in their time stream, it stood to reason (although how anyone could reason about time travel without driving themselves mad was beyond Merlin) that they would more than likely return to their time within at least a week of their leaving. The same had applied to Merlin who had disappeared from Gaius's chambers and returned early the next night to the same place he had left.

From what Kilgharrah had told him after, Merlin learned that now that each party was back in their relative times, if they crossed into the other's world again, it could be at any time. It was hard to imagine Harry, Ron, and Hermione old, with families, perhaps, while Merlin was still young and in Camelot, doing the same thing, protecting Arthur… this time, from Morgana, no less.

Merlin's cheerful mood dimmed a bit as he remembered the look on Harry's face when he had given the letter and feather for Merlin to deliver to Morgana. He had obviously cared about Morgana very much; the look in his eyes had proved as much. Merlin wondered what Harry would say if he could see what Morgana had become.

Sighing, Merlin entered the wash room to tend to Arthur's dirty clothes, thinking that it probably didn't matter because chances were, they would never see Harry or the others again, anyway. It would be good to let Harry believe that Morgana was still the same person she had been when they had left. Just because her betrayal broke Merlin's heart didn't mean it had to break Harry's too.

The rest of the day passed in a bit of a blur for Merlin. He went to bed exhausted, having been Arthur's training dummy for nearly an hour earlier. Intent on getting a good, long night's rest, Merlin lay down and closed his eyes…

"Uh, hello?"

Merlin started as dreamless sleep was interrupted by an unfamiliar voice. The blissful darkness of sleep began to shift, and in front of his eyes, a rift began to form. From the rift came the same voice, still uncertain, but determined all the same. "Um, can I come in? Please?"

Merlin was confused and just thinking that maybe he should stop eating Gaius's pea soup right before bed when the voice tried again. "I'm sorry – really – but I don't have much time and I can't enter your dream properly until you give me permission. And it's important, I swear."

"Who are you?" Merlin asked, trying to figure out if there was really someone trying to get into his dream, or if his dinner was making itself known in a brand new, creative way.

"Please, you've got to let me in; I'll explain everything then."

Another voice piped in, this one a girl's. "Oh, tell him about Harry!"

Merlin stiffened. "You know Harry?"

"Yeah, and this dreamwalking spell is really difficult, even if we've got all of Dumbledore's Army holding it up. If you don't let me in, in about thirty seconds, the spell's going to collapse and we won't be able to try again for another month."

Merlin was about to ask why they would have to wait a month to try again, but decided he'd wait until whoever it was could talk to him properly. "Er, okay," Merlin said hesitantly, "You can, um, come in, I guess."

"Great, thanks!"

There was the sound of shuffling as an arm and a leg felt their way out of the rift, followed by a head and torso, and finally, the other appendages. Merlin couldn't see much of his visitor except that he was a male, with dark hair, and was wearing a black robe that was a bit too short for him and scuffed shoes. His ears stuck out at an angle that could rival even Merlin's own and when he turned around, Merlin saw that his face was a bit gaunt, and he was covered with bruises. His expression was grim as he hurried toward Merlin.

"Who are you?" Merlin asked, wondering if his magic would work in a dream if a need arose to defend himself. "And what's 'dreamwalking'?"

"You should know," the boy said. "You invented it, after all. Or will, judging by the look on your face right now. Oh, darn, forget I said anything, okay? Hermione warned me not to give anything away."

"Hermione?" Merlin began to wonder if maybe he really was talking to someone that had contact with his old friends through something he was going to make called dreamwalking… Well, it wasn't weirder than a lot of things that had happened to him so far. "You know her? Who are you?"

"You're Merlin right?" the visitor said, once again not answering Merlin's question. "I did get the right dream this time, didn't I?"

"Erm… yeah. I'm Merlin. But what—?"

"Right, then. We've only got until you wake up, which, in dream time, could be anywhere from ten seconds to ten minutes. So I'll cut to the chase. My name is Neville Longbottom, I'm at Hogwarts, and I – we all – need your help."

A/N: So there it was, chapter one! :) I'll explain dreamwalking in the next chapter or so… I know a lot of the chapter was a bit like re-cap, but I felt it necessary, even for those who read the first one, especially since it's been three years in Camelot since then. Hopefully you'll enjoy it and I'll update soon – hopefully by next Tuesday at the latest! Please REVIEW!

~Emachinescat ^..^