Disclaimer: I own neither Merlin nor Harry Potter.

A/N: Hi all! So I am feelin inspired and here's the result. Have fun reading! :D Happy New Year!

Snippet Eleven

Title: The Boundaries of Time & Magic

The Malfoy library was quiet, far too quiet, and littered with gloom emanating from the sulking dark haired wizard currently burning holes in the coffee table.

"Oh Potter, for the love of Merlin, would you please stop sulking!? You know, she isn't really gone, right? Or, has all that fighting of dark wizards brought you retrogade amnesia now?" the Malfoy heir reproaches with more annoyance than scorn, putting down the book he was reading to reach out for the wine bottle. In one swift movement, he opened it only to throw the cork at the man.

It hits the Boy Who Lived right at his forehead, making him wince then glare at the blonde sitting on the couch across from him.

"Drop it ferret! This is all your fault! If you didn't introduce me to the bloody-" Harry growled, but caught himself right in time, saving himself from another unwanted transfiguration.

It doesn't matter how long it'd been. Harry still cringes at the memory of having a beak for a mouth and bat wings on his back, his body parts heating and twisting in a jinx so powerful and alive that he could have sworn he felt the magic pulsing from everything around him, cornering him from all directions. He almost sympathized with Malfoy for having been turned into a bouncing ferret when they were still students in Hogwarts, but the sentiment was gone the moment the blonde opened his mouth to insult him.

Harry groans, and brings up his hands to mess with his already untameable hair, a habit he'd acquired to reduce frustration. All the women in his life would roll their eyes and laugh every time he does it but he couldn't bloody seem to shrug it off.

"I can't even address him properly without being jinxed!" he complained.

Draco's brows rise at the outburst, but he masks the amusement with a sneer before the other man could see. Long distant relatives in the twisted pureblood family tree or not, there was no love lost between old nemesis. They only remind each other of this mutual agreement every chance they get.

"I can't help but feel like I betrayed her. What kind of best friend am I? If Hermione ends up killing me, I promise I'll make sure to drag you with me to the grave," Harry threatens, pointing an accusing finger at the Slytherin.

Draco scoffs, feeling a headache coming from the dramatics and hypocrisy of the man before him.

"And what do you know about betrayal, huh, Potter?" he retorted. "If you're really so concerned about being a good friend, then why do you force Granger to tolerate your wife? Weaslette couldn't be more obvious in expressing her hate, and she's got the rest of her galling friends to do it with her."

Harry's response was to snatch the wine from his grasp, his annoyance diminishing only slightly when he heard the involuntary yelp that followed. "Ginny doesn't hate her. She's just-" he trails, instantly regretting whatever led them to have this conversation.

"Jealous? Inferior? Atrocious?" Draco says, meaning to be helpful for once.

"No," Harry glared, answering through gritted teeth and hating himself for acknowledging it's a lie.

"You know, Potter, believe it or not, I used to envy you," Draco divulges, surprising the both of them with how willing he is to admit weakness just to make a point. "The Golden Trio with your bond so tight, you've stuck to one another from beginning to end regardless of come what may. You'd do anything for each other. Maybe even sacrifice your life. I used to wonder how different my life would have been if I had a friendship like yours."

"And you're telling me this because?" Harry deadpans, unable to stop himself from antagonizing the man, and feeling shamed enough by his own behaviour that he takes the spiteful glare he received like a punishment.

Draco rolls his eyes but didn't allow his childishness to stop him from sharing his thoughts. "But then, I actually got to know Granger. I learned to tolerate her and all her quirks and brilliance. I've come to admit she isn't so bad, and it makes me wonder how she'd lasted this long tolerating your inequities and your shitty friends. Hasn't she done enough saving your stupid arses? Hasn't she sacrificed enough? And yet you let them treat her like she's a scum meant to take all the horrible things they say about her. So tell me, is that how you define a good friend?"

"I'm going to stop you right there ferret," Harry bellowed, trying and failing to control his temper. "You don't know what you're talking about! Hermione and I, we're family. I'd do anything for her as I know she would for me! In fact, it's the only reason I'm here, talking to you. It's the only reason I even agreed to let her be dragged back in time! Because I know her, and I care about her, even if it means I have to work with you and let her go. So if you think for one second that I-" Harry stops mid-rant as the door opened, and he ended up blushing and stuttering at the latest arrival.

Draco's upbringing allowed him to calmly rise and offer a respectful bow to the hooded figure. And Harry observed, and did his best to copy his greeting the best he could.

"Please, it's just us, and I really am just a man," casually dismisses the hooded man, "There's really no need for extreme formalities."

The two wizards waited as the guest took it upon himself to sit in the remaining vacant chair.

Draco, seeing his chance, poured him a drink and was first to ask something that'd been bothering him greatly.

"Do you think it'll happen exactly as you remember? Is there a chance things will go differently this time?"

The face under the hood smiles, cerulean blue eyes twinkling with fondness, and it amazes Draco how his mere aura alone demands not just respect, but reverence. Not even the Dark Lord could do that without instigating fear.

"Nothing is predetermined except those that are. But I have faith that things will happen just as they are meant to."

"How long do you think before she realizes what sent her there? Will she be prepared for what's coming their way?" Draco asks, seeing Potter turn rigid in great concern.

But the other figure was far too calm, his eyes bright and his voice light with acceptance.

"Of course," he says with no room for doubt. "She's far too brilliant not to. And she has help. She always has."

Relieved sighs from the two resulted from his response.

"Destiny, huh," Harry thinks loudly. "Guess it's really been messing with people's heads ever since the beginning of time. Will there ever be an escape?"

The answer came with amusement. "Some are born to be rule, others to serve. Some are born to teach, others to listen. But haven't you ever noticed that change is a constant? Rulers can fall and servants can rise. It's all part of history. Everyone is born for something, I suppose. But to know such purpose and live it is a choice that must be fought for. And the price is always great."

Draco pouts. "What does that mean for us common men?"

The man under the hood laughs. "It means you have a choice. You always do."

Turning to the dark haired boy who'd grown sombre, he addresses, "Mr. Potter, I've heard you and Hermione are like brother and sister. I have heard of your great many adventures together. You must have an inkling how destiny works. Can you share us then why you still chose to send her away?"

Harry sighs and fidgets, finding it hard to keep himself composed in the legend's presence. "I recognized the magic in the book. I know it's what she would have wanted me to do. She's far too extraordinary to settle for a normal life. I know she thinks she's just a sidekick no matter how many times I've tried to tell her differently, but I've always known she's meant for greater things than me. I just didn't expect those things to be…"

A chuckle escapes the man in the hood as he gives them both a knowing look.

"It's a blessing and a curse, isn't it? The gift of time and magic. Where the gap of space and time is too vast, love and magic reaches out. An old cherished friend taught me this."

"Do you miss them?" Harry inquires. "Your old friends, I mean. Your old life. Is it why you're doing this? To make sure you get them back?"

A sad smile settles on the man's face. "I've always known every meeting means a parting, but some encounters just stick to you no matter how long, no matter how painful the parting was. If you ask me if I miss them, the answer is always the same. I do, terribly so."

'Four whole days of total torment!'

Here she is, stuck in the dark ages in bloody Ancient Camelot no less and the most exciting things she'd done were fight mummies with Prince Arthur, meet Merlin himself and have the bloody future queen of Camelot help her bathe and dress.

It would take a blind man not to see what they're doing, and unfortunately for them, the brightest witch of her age is neither blind nor a man. It's a wise move, she'll admit. Keep her on lockdown inside the royal guest room for monitoring and observation.

Physician's orders, they reason. Apparently, she needs space and time to feel safe and recover her strength from the "trauma". Well, in her humble opinion, these really are just other words for 'We need to make sure that you're not planning anything harmful for Camelot before we set you lose.'

It makes perfect sense.

It's something she herself would have done if a stranger claiming to be a time traveller from millennia into the future shows up at her doorstep. After all, doesn't the Wizengamot support Professor Croaker's law stating that the furthest time someone can go back without causing serious harm to the traveller or to time itself is five hours? The fact that she's gone thousand years back should be a big cause of alarm to your average witch.

Good thing she'd long lost her delusions. It's too late to care for her sanity given everything she's done and faced in all her young years of living. It's no one's fault she has a knack for exceeding the expectations. It seems to come naturally to her, like magic.

Hermione only wishes they would just interrogate her instead of keeping her on lockdown. At this rate, she wouldn't even mind if they use her to fight more mummies. At least in the forest, she can walk freely and explore. She can even set things on fire without worrying for arson.

Considering her state of boredom, Guinevere really chose the perfect timing to come and shriek in horror. Poor girl dropped the tray of food, the sound alerting Merlin who was only steps behind her.

The warlock didn't bother knocking when he heard her scream followed by the noise of shattering plate and utensils.

"WHAT IS HAPPENING?" the warlock asks in alarm, but Guinevere was already at Hermione's side and using her own skirt to dry the blood in the witch's hand.

"It's nothing. It's just a scratch," Hermione explains sheepishly, trying her best to keep the knife she'd used to peel apples away from their view. But her two new acquaintances saw it and were already giving her a reprimanding look.

"Nothing? My lady, this isn't nothing, you're bleeding!" Guinevere scolds in outrage, taking her time to clean the wound and wrap her hand tightly with a handkerchief.

Minutes later, and only when she's satisfied with her handy work, Guinevere goes to take the tray from Merlin who had just finished up cleaning the floor. The two exchanged a meaningful look before she leaves to let the two magic users talk.

"What's going on? Why did you hurt yourself?" Merlin asks worriedly, coming to join the witch by the window.

Hermione blew a stray hair away and shifted her foot in discomfort.

"There really is no reason to overreact. I'm not suicidal or anything. I only meant to test a theory. See, if I bleed then it eliminates two possibilities. Now, I know this is neither a dream nor a memory saved in pensieve. That means I should be looking for other explanations of how I ended up here."

Merlin looked aghast at her reasoning. "So what? You purposefully hurt yourself?"

Hermione frowned, crossing her arms. "Well, if you'd just go straight to interrogation by torture, then I wouldn't be so bored now, would I?"

Merlin backtracks. "What?"

Hermione huffs, hating herself for acting like a child but she really is almost at her wit's end. Years on the run hunting horcruxes had been too daunting that after the war, it's become hard for her to be still in one place for a long time. She's always found herself moving and changing sceneries to keep her spirit calm.

Seeing the color drain from the warlock's face, guilt started to well up inside of her.

"Look," Hermione sighs and prepares to reason. "I know you don't trust me and to be honest, I don't blame you. But I'm not really the kind of girl who can stay in one place for too long. I always need to be moving to be in good condition."

Silence followed her confession that even the ticking sound from the vintage cuckoo clock was becoming interesting.

Tic-toc, Tic-toc

Hermione finds herself staring at the wall, unknowing of the dread and guilt that's now tearing the warlock from the inside out.

To her surprise and loss, the warlock's next move was to lead her to sit by the edge of her bed.

Kneeling in front of her, Merlin gently pries her hand, and after removing the wrapping, covered it with his own.

"Þurhhæle licsar min," he murmured, leaving her in wonder as his magic began to flow, sanitizing the wound and knitting her skin back together.

"I'm sorry," she heard him say even before she could recover from shock.

The honesty and sincerity that came in his tone and the way he looks at her was so unexpected that she stills herself for whatever would happen next.

"Do you really want to get back to your home that much?"

"No," Hermione found herself answering loudly before she could think. "Not really...I-...I don't know," she shrugs.

The warlock nods, seeming to take her answer at face value.

"Merlin," she murmurs, fiddling with her thumbs on her lap and trying to sound kind as she readies herself to ask a difficult question. What better time to ask than now, when things are already awkward?

"Why do you hate me?"

Merlin gapes. "What- Why, why would you think that? I don't-"

Hermione just laughs weakly. "It's perfectly alright. I mean, I can see where you're coming from. I wouldn't believe me too if I were in your shoes. I'm not even sure I'm actually awake for all of these."

"You still think you're dreaming?"

She bites her lower lip and shrugs, unsure of the answer herself. "Maybe. I mean, how could I tell? I used to believe it isn't possible to travel this far long into the past, and yet, here I am. If I am to accept that this is real, then it would break all I've read on theories and established laws of time travel."

Merlin's face scrunched, looking for the right words.

"I don't…I'm sorry if I made you feel like I hate you. I don't. And I'm sorry if you think we're doing this to torture you. We're not. But, I would admit that I am wary of you-" he confesses all too carefully that she felt inclined to encourage him to keep going.

"Go on," she nods at him. "I can see through what you're trying to do. You never let anyone here alone with me. Gaius, Gwen, Arthur. And whenever Gwen's tending to me, you're always nearby or just outside. You're being cautious. You're waiting to see if I'd hurt your friends."

Another moment of silence passes by.

"Would you? How do I know you aren't lying to us? How do I know you're as good as you seem to be? I've seen your magic. It's too big a risk to believe that…" he lets the meaning behind his words hang in the air, tiredness showing in his eyes as his shoulders slumps.

He looks so human now, so worn out and haggard. He wears the face of an innocent boy but his eyes tell a different story. He's guarded and prepared to fight and he's trying to see if he could lower at least a bit of his defenses with her.

All Hermione could do is stare and not look away.

Magic to magic. Her chocolate brown orbs gazing into his metallic blue, both willing to test the waters and see where it will take them.

It wasn't trust, not yet. But it was something.

Eventually, she says, "You're right Merlin. I think you'd be stupid to trust me. Just because you don't see my demons doesn't mean I don't have any. Maybe it's because you're looking too hard that you can't see it. I'm not pretending to be anything I'm not. I'm neither a saint nor an angel of light. Where I come from, I was just a warrior fighting for whichever side couldn't cry loud enough to be heard."

"Where you're from, what kind of world is it for people like us?"

"Magic users, you mean?" Hermione clarifies.

"Yes."

Hermione brightens at this. "Hmm, well, which aspect would you like to know? There must be something specific you're curious about."

"Do they no longer persecute us?"

"If you're asking to know if you'll be able to fulfil your destiny to help bring about the coming of Albion, then think of it this way. I wouldn't be here if you didn't succeed," she points out kindly.

The smile he gave her could have eclipsed the sun.

"Is there any place you'd like to see?" Merlin asks, dusting his knees as he stood.

"Really now?" Hermione remarks in disbelief. "You'd let me go? Just like that?"

Merlin shrugs, and it was his turn to look sheepish as he pretends to fumble with his scarf. "It's the least I could do. Believe it or not, we really didn't mean for you to feel like a prisoner. I'm sure Arthur would feel guilty too if he knows that's how you're seeing it."

It was endearing, she thought, how someone with the weight and glory of his destiny could be so humble. He reminds her of Harry.

"Is there any place you'd like to see? I know it's late so we couldn't go very far. But I want to make it up to you," he offers.

Hermione ponders for a moment, feeling excited for the first time in a while.

"Somewhere where I can walk around and see a good view?" she suggests hopefully.

Merlin nods, already having a place in mind.

He's just about ready leave and prepare for their departure when she calls him back.

"Oh, and Merlin," Hermione smirks, tilting her head in an attempt to look innocent.

"Yes?"

"You can tell Arthur to come in. I know he's right outside, listening," she tells him. Seeing his jaw drop, she laughs, assuring him she isn't mad. Still with lightness in her tone, she shares, "The books got it wrong, you know. The written stories have nothing compared to what you guys are. The historians portrayed you as Arthur's guardian, his royal advisor and magical protector. But the way I see it, Arthur's as protective of you as you are to him. It's beautiful to see. You really are like two sides of the same coin."

Somewhere where no ordinary man could walk, there stands a castle hidden in fog and darkness.

"No," Morgana gasps from bed, wide awake and screaming. "No, this can't- this cannot be! Camelot is mine!"

She took the closest thing to her which happens to be a lamp on her nightstand, and threw it to crash into the wall.

"Morgana!" Morgause calls in alert, having climbed up the stairs the moment she heard her sister's first cry.

The whole castle is shaking with the unrestrained magic emitting from her sister, and she pleads with her to save them from being buried in rubble.

"Stop this Morgana! You must control yourself, sister! This is our home!"

"I saw it," Morgana cried, shivering and not registering the danger her distress is causing as she sought comfort in Morgause's embrace. "I saw it sister! I saw it! There's someone sitting on the throne! Someone else is wearing the crown! My crown!"

Treating her as though she was a child, Morgause pulls away with a smile instead of sharing her worry.

"Oh, do not fret dear sister. The answer is simple really," the elder witch says soothingly, drying her tears with the back of her hands. "If it's a future you hate then we must change it. We must work to change the future you saw and turn it in our favor."

Morgana allows herself to be led to lean back on the bed rest, a pillow being prompted behind her head. She waits patiently while Morgause went to the dressing table to pick up a comb.

"Now tell me, sister dear," Morgause asks as she begins to comb her hair. "Who was it? Who did you see stealing your crown?"

Morgana shudders, then closes her eyes to remember what she saw in her nightmare. Dark magic fills her senses as the image of the injustice overwhelms her once again.

When she opened her eyes, they were a dark shade of gold, and she's filled with too much hate that she unconsciously blasted her own sister into the wall.

Her fists are clenched as she hissed.

"The third side of the same coin."

A/N: Thanks for reading! :D So I only have one rule. Review if you enjoyed it.