NOTES

Hello fellow humans! This is my attempt at a Merlin/Harry Potter crossover. I haven't written for donkeys, so forgive me if my writing is a little rusty. Also, Arthur returned a century ago, and this is set during the Goblet of Fire.

This fanfic is not based around slash and there's basically none in it, but I mean if you want some merthur, then let your imagination run wild and free! There is implied freylin and there may be some wolfstar (Remus and Sirius) in further chapters, but it will only be little. If you're like me, and don't care for slash that much because it distorts the plot, then never fear! The plot has remained completely untouched!

Updates will be when I update :)

Right, here goes nothing!

The man named after a bird ran joyously through the forest, leaving a trail of dancing bluebells behind him. His Magic hummed happily inside of him – he could almost feel it leaping and pirouetting inside of him, as if it were performing just for him. The leaves of the trees rustled warmly, and if you listened close enough, if you listened hard enough, you could hear their soft singing, their welcoming harmony, their near-silent whispers of his name.

Emryssss...Emrysss…. Emryssss...

One of the branches of a young oak tree bent down to tap him on the shoulder. Merlin raised his eyebrows. "Yes?"

The branch waved at Merlin until one of its twigs fell to the ground. Merlin studied it perplexedly - was it a riddle? Was it a sign?

A brief amused laugh tumbled from his lips "Ah, you are giving me this for Hogwarts?" He said, swiftly picking up the stick. "To use as a wand?"

The tree chortled in reply.

Ah, Merlin thought, the perks of being pals with mother nature.

He gave the tree a small trickle of his magic in gratitude, watched as fresh infant leaves sprouted from the proud branches, then continued to meander through the forest. He studied the stick in his hand – woodworm-infested, lichen-covered, slightly warped – there were better sticks currently snapping beneath his boots! But who was he to refuse a gift from the trees? A bit of magic should do the trick nicely.

He embraced the stick in his golden warmth, and a couple seconds later he held a still warped stick, but the wood was now rich and spirited. Nothing fancy, but as long as it didn't explode after a simple incantation, then he was perfectly satisfied with his new companion.

Right then, he thought, rubbing his hand together, time to teach some kiddos again.

Albus Dumbledore liked to observe.

He had been watching the entrance to the school ever since sunrise. He watched the sun melt its rays into the morning sky, as it flooded the dramatic terrain with its light. He watched as the shadows lifted off the necklace of rocks along the lake shore, and as the water started glistening with the hope of a new day. He watched the tall prideful gates swing open courteously, to welcome one or two stray teachers who had opted to come back early from the summer holidays, to set up their classroom. He watched them stroll determinedly along the path, eyes alight with excitement, barely concealing a smile. He watched as the birds glided silently, swiftly through the sky. He watched fondly as Hagrid ran hurriedly into the forbidden forest, only to come out half an hour later with countless scratches and bruises, but a wide smile plastered on his face. He watched for hours – just breathing in the moment, breathing in the peace.

Which was why he was so surprised when he heard the unmistakable sound of his gargoyles shifting, and a knock on his door.

Three knocks in total.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

Unhesitant, loud, confident.

Albus twisted sharply towards the door, tossing over every possibility on who this could be. Surely he would have seen the person enter the school this morning? But every suspect was discarded when he realised that none of them knocked quite like that. "Enter." He called, curious.

The door swung open ceremoniously, and a rather strange looking young man strolled in. He truly was a walking oxymoron.

His clear, chalk-white skin was in complete contrast to his inky untamed hair, which seemed to house all sorts of debris – leaves, twigs, dirt…- was – was that a blue butterfly? His face was narrow, yet his substantially sized ears stuck out like a rock in a pile of sand. His features were so angular, so edged, yet there was a soft delicacy to it, a natural ambience of gentleness. He was tall, so skinny and gaunt, almost fragile – yet he projected so much power and authority that Albus wouldn't have been in the least surprised if he declared it was all a disguise. The enigma wore a simple blue top with jeans, and a curious, well-loved red garment wrapped loosely around his neck. A thick brown cloak was hooked around his shoulders, with a thick layer of mud caked at the hem.

But his eyes.

Merlin's beard they were so – so – old. As if they had been scarred and humbled by all the terrors and demons of the world. As if they had been filled with so much wisdom and knowledge that it was more of a burden than a privilege. The intense deep blue held so much sorrow, so much raw understanding…. yet they held such – playfulness – such unbreakable childlike innocence.

But what struck Albus the most was the sheer power of the man's magic. It pervaded through the room like a familiar friend – it felt so pure, so alive – as if someone had just breathed an endless supply of warm air into the room. It had the purity of a new-born baby, yet simultaneously carried the purpose of an old soul. It was unlike anything he had experienced before…. yet somehow, Albus knew he had felt this presence before. When he did, and where he did, he hadn't the faintest. Perhaps it was lurking somewhere in the maze of memories.

Perhaps it wasn't.

Either way, Albus felt strangely safe in the presence of this man, despite the absolute impossibility of the magic's purity, of its power, of its utter rawness.

"Greetings!" The man exclaimed in a bright voice, grinning, "What a wonderful morning! Or is it afternoon? I would check the position of the sun, but it seems to have moved past your window – rather annoying habit it has acquired really – if only it could stay put in the same spot in the sky all day! But then I guess that some plants wouldn't get any light and there would just be random spaces where the sun never goes… anyhow, I would like to apply for a teaching position please."

It took Albus a few seconds to regain the ability to use his voice. "Er – yes, yes of course, have a seat Mr…?"

"Oh, apologies, the name's Malcolm. Malcolm Emrys." The man said, plonking himself down on the gestured chair. Dumbledore thought he heard a snort from one of the paintings behind him, but when he looked back at the strange man, Malcolm apparently, he seemed not to have heard it. Either that or he was ignoring it.

It must have been Albus's imagination. Or the strange magic in the air – speaking of which –

"Mr Emrys," Albus began, "You have, frankly, an unbelievable amount of magic pulsing from you." It was rather blunt, but Albus couldn't think of any other way to address it.

Malcolm laughed quietly, as if sharing some inside joke with himself. "I really should have seen this coming," Albus heard him mumble. "You're one of them are you then?" He said, fixing Albus with a look of realisation.

"Sorry – one of what?"

"Some people," Malcolm sighed, "can feel my magic. Well, I mean, all you magic folk can feel magic I suppose, but the rare minority can sense mine. Sometimes it's not even to do with how powerful your magic is – I guess it depends on how deep your connection to it is. Certain groups of people like the Druids are such cases, and now you too. Just typical."

Albus gaped. "So," he began, "why is your magic so…strong?"

Malcolm pulled a face. "I'd rather not get into the details. You're a smart man anyway, Dumbledore," he said, looking Albus square in the eye, "You'll figure it out eventually."

Albus perplexedly studied the odd man in front of him. He had long abandoned the idea of using legilimency, having no doubt it would be about as effective as trying to cut down a whole tree, when you couldn't even pull off a leaf.

"Is your true name Malcolm Emrys?" he said - it was best to start with the basics.

"Well, Malcolm isn't."

"So…Emrys is?"

"You could say that."

Albus raised his eyebrows.

"Okay – it's not the name my mother gave me," he said, rolling his eyes slightly, "but it's still sort of my name nonetheless."

"…am I right in assuming you are not going to tell me the name your mother gave you then?"

"Nope!" He said cheerfully. "You know, I quite enjoy watching people struggle to figure it out."

Albus stroked his beard. He knew this man meant no harm – he didn't know how, but he just knew, as if there was an old instinct, somewhere deep inside of him, telling him that the man was here to help – to build and not destroy. He sighed, deciding to trust that instinct. "Should I call you Emrys then?"

The man hummed. "No, just call me Malcolm. Emrys is more of a title than an actual name."

Albus nodded slowly, his usually all-knowing eyes now brimming with confusion and wonder.

Merlin watched Dumbledore try to solve the riddle in front of him. He should have expected it really – that Dumbledore would be able to sense the abnormity of his magic. Misfortune seemed to follow him everywhere like a loyal dog – always barking, always chewing things up, always shitting in places it shouldn't. In his dream world, he would have walked into the room, Dumbledore would have greeted him like a normal person, they would have sat down for a brief questioning session, then Merlin would have got the job.

But alas, it was not to be.

But, then again, perhaps it was better this way. Dumbledore, even though he didn't know Merlin's true identity, was still aware that he was not the average human being. Which would make it easier to get away with his abnormal magic when he slipped up.

Dumbledore breathed in deeply through his nose, clasping his hands together in a prayer-like motion, resting his two thumbs on his chin. "Well, Malcolm," he said, his sapphire eyes twinkling madly, "our professor Binns had understandably suffered too much under the wrath of the ever-changing teenage moods, and we have found ourselves with a history teacher available."

Merlin grinned. Well, history is quite my forte.