A/N: Chapter Seven! I hope you all enjoy it. One word to note – I followed JKR's timeline with Merlin's story… which puts it many centuries later than traditional British legend. This is to accommodate the HP universe, so please keep it in mind while you read. A few review responses below as usual. Thank you all for your support and comments, I really appreciate all the reviews! Finally – bonus points to anyone who can spot the significance of the forest described in this chapter.

Mizuraikage: Thank you for your review! I do tend to agree with you that Harry is often 'babied' by some of the adults here… part of that is that I wanted to explore his true age – he is only 12, going on 13, which is an awkward and interesting age in childhood, I think, because you are just on the cusp between child and teenager. Sometimes and in some ways, Harry is old for his age, partly because of his personality and partly due to his upbringing and circumstance. In other ways, he is a little young… and certainly he doesn't really understand people looking after him in the same sense that Ron or Hermione might. And he pushes back on the coddling – in part because he's uncomfortable with it generally and in part because he feels too old for it. Albus and Minerva, of course, have never had children of their own, so they're a little in the dark there as well. So everyone's navigating unknown waters here. Yet we definitely see the over-protectiveness in other characters as well in canon (read: Molly Weasley, in particular, but also Minerva a bit, esp. at the start of Hogwarts Year 3, e.g.). I think Albus in particular is trying to find some sort of balance between allowing Harry a childhood and looking after him as he grows, and preparing him for his very dangerous future. I see the books as sort of portioned out… in 1 and 2, Harry is more of a child/preteen; in 3 and 4, he's in adolescence and the strings of innocence are slowly falling – or abruptly torn – away; in 5, he's very much in teenage years (and all the angst that comes with it, general and personal); in 6, he's really coming of age; and in 7, he's essentially an adult – perhaps too early. We're transitioning in COH Part II… and a huge part of the story will be the maturing of his character (and the responses of those around him to that maturation), as well as the beginnings of disillusionment. Anyway… that's a super long explanation (apologies), but I hope that helps explain my direction behind some of this.

Babascoop: Thank you again for your review! Don't worry – Remus will explain how to cast the Patronus directly… I have a few other reasons for including Nimue's book – one of which is that I wanted a segue for some of Dumbledore's lessons, and the history of Merlin/Nimue/Azkaban/Dementors/Patronus is quite intertwined. Much of what is revealed in this chapter and later on in this book will be important in future. Also, though Harry won't get to the contents of the book itself here, I think we will see that it is not quite a how-to sort of instruction. Dementors themselves, after all, are not thought to have been in Britain at the time that Nimue and Merlin were around (at least in my timeline). I hope you like the way everything unfolds!

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DISCLAIMER: Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

Chapter 7: The Lady of the Lake

'Look, Mummy!' the little girl shouted, laughing as she bounded after the dog up the village street. 'It's a puppy!'

'Come away from it, Anna darling!' the girl's mother scolded, running after her. 'It's probably loaded with fleas!'

Sirius growled in annoyance as the woman finally caught up to her wayward daughter, gripping her tightly by the wrist. The woman looked even more apprehensive as she tugged the girl sharply backward toward the pavement.

'Mummm!' the girl complained, struggling in the woman's firm grip and spitting blonde curls out of her mouth as she tried in vain to make her way back toward Sirius. 'I want to play with her!'

'Absolutely not!' the mother said firmly. 'Didn't you hear it growl? It might be rabid – I don't see a licence.'

The little girl started to cry. With a put upon sigh, her mother lifted her gently off the pavement. 'Come now, love,' she soothed. 'Let's get on home. The weather is starting to turn already.'

Sirius watched the two hurry away, thinking over the woman's words. She was quite right – the balmy summer's evening was quickly fading to cool… no, not cool, unseasonable chill. He recognised the sensation.

Dementors.

Casting a wary look around, Sirius backed off the pavement and into a dingy alley between two shops. He slunk off the main road and hurried out of the village toward the open moor. He was very near Upper Flagley, and he knew the Dementors were more likely to search for him close to wizarding villages. This was the second time since he'd crossed into Yorkshire last night that he'd been able to sense their approach. He supposed it wasn't all that surprising – he'd been on the run for a week now, and they were looking for him everywhere. This morning, he'd even caught a glimpse of his own face plastered across a Muggle newspaper. He needed to be more careful.

Travelling as Padfoot gave him some protection from wizarding eyes as well as the Dementors' hunt, but it still wouldn't do to get too near the creatures. Sirius knew his strength would fail him if they swarmed.

So he headed for the heather, hoping to find an outcropping or cave for a short lie-down. He'd been lucky today – he'd hitched a ride on the back of a lorry for nearly sixty miles of his northward journey… but there was still so far to go. And Harry was already there. It was Friday now, if Sirius' calculation was correct. So Harry had been there five whole days. With Snivellus. His godson, who Sirius had not seen in almost twelve years.

Twelve years…. Harry was so much older now. No longer the happy, bubbly baby that Sirius remembered. He knew, of course, that Harry would be nearly thirteen now. Mentally, he'd known that. But somehow he hadn't expected it regardless.

Sirius had known his godson at once. It was like stepping back through time, seeing him on that garden wall. He looked, in so many ways, the miniature copy of James: lean build, glasses and black hair that stuck up in the back exactly the same way. Harry even held his wand at exactly the same angle. He was perhaps a bit thinner and smaller than Sirius remembered James being at that age, though of course Lily had been rather petite. Those eyes… the emerald colour and the shape were all Lily, even behind James' lenses. But there wasn't much else of his mother in Harry's face – at least not in what Sirius was able to garner from his brief glimpse.

He wondered what Harry was like… what he enjoyed, what he hated. As a baby, Harry had been full of laughter, love and a keen inquisitiveness. He'd been always underfoot, getting into everything that Lily and James had not nailed down. He'd liked toffee ice cream and warm goat's milk; James' horridly out of tune lullabies and Sirius' games of hover the babe that had made Lily hex him out the door more than once. They'd been a motley family – Harry, Sirius, James, Lily, Remus… even the rat, for a time – but a happy one. Before that Hallowe'en. Before everything dissolved into treachery and darkness and blown-apart nurseries.

What was he like now? Was he quidditch-obsessed, like James had been? Did he fly as well as his father? Did he play gobstones as well as Lily? Did he like to read? Did he like his tea with sugar and lemon, or milk? Did he sneak out of the castle and roam the grounds with his friends for a laugh? Did he drive McGonagall to grey? Was he even in Gryffindor?

Did Remus fill Sirius' role in Harry's life? Did Snivellus? What part did Dumbledore play in all this? And the Dursleys?

Did Harry even know that Sirius existed? Had they all painted Sirius the traitor – taught Harry to hate and fear him? Or had he been vanished like a disgraceful secret: cast off and buried in the folds of the past so that Harry would never need to be told?

He thought of the little baby that had struggled in Hagrid's arms – reaching out to him as Sirius battled with grief and anger. The baby that Sirius had allowed Hagrid to take… the baby he'd abandoned for his ill-fated revenge.

That baby was gone. He'd grown; he'd changed; he'd forgotten. The baby had known Padfoot – in whichever form he'd been. He'd have run for him; thrown his arms around his neck and buried his little face in black fur.

The boy on Magnolia Crescent had not. To the Boy, Sirius was nothing but a stranger – unfamiliar and possibly dangerous.

After nearly two hours of trudging through the deserted moors, Sirius caught a scent that gave him pause. Fox, he thought it was, though he was a bit out of practice. He followed the trail of the animal's scent through the underbrush, until at last he came upon the creature's den. The burrow had been dug out at the base of a great oak tree, the opening just wide enough for Sirius to slip through, though the brambles around the edges caught at his overlong fur. He was cautious as he slid into the den – but there were neither pups nor vixen inside the little space.

The fox, he figured, could find somewhere else for tonight. And, even emaciated, he'd be twice its size, if the animal wanted to fight him for the space.

Exhausted and drained, Sirius curled himself in for the night, wondering what Harry was doing now.

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Harry was screaming.

Albus woke with a jolt, instantly alert. Beside him, Minerva was already climbing out of the great bed, throwing a dressing gown over her shoulders as she illuminated the end of her wand. Albus hurried to follow her lead. It had been the same last night.

The pair of them raced down the corridor to Harry's room, flinging the door ajar. Harry was tossing fitfully beneath the covers, apparently still in the clutches of dreams. He thrashed violently even as Albus made to shake him awake.

'Harry!' Albus called, grasping his shoulder firmly. 'Harry, my boy, wake up!'

It took him several minutes, but at last Harry's eyes popped open. His breathing was hitched and laboured as he stared wildly around, reality slowly settling upon him.

'Wh – sorry, professor,' he said in embarrassment as he began to grasp what had happened.

'Are you alright?' Albus asked, ignoring the apology.

'I – er – yeah,' Harry said, sitting up a little straighter against the pillows. 'I mean… I'm fine sir, thanks. Just another nightmare. I'm sorry I woke you again. Both of you,' he added, turning to see Minerva on the opposite side of the bed.

'It is no matter,' Minerva said, brushing his arm with a soft hand. Albus released his grip on Harry's shoulder, summoning a small glass of water and offering it out. The boy took it gratefully, gulping at the cool drink while his breathing slowly returned to normal.

'Perhaps,' Albus began, when Harry had finished the drink and set the empty glass aside. 'We should consider returning to Occlumency. Forgive me – I did not realise that these dreams were still plaguing you so badly. I should not have let the lessons lapse.'

'It's not that,' said Harry quickly. 'I mean, I'm still practising the Occlumency. And it works, usually. It's just ever since the Dementors –'

He trailed off, while Minerva gave a huff of clear disapproval.

'You have found it difficult to set aside your experience with them?' Albus guessed. Harry looked awkward.

'It's just… it was terrible, what they made me hear,' he said quietly. 'I can't seem to block it out when I try and do the exercises before bed.'

Albus sighed. 'Our worst thoughts are often the most difficult to quiet,' he opined. 'One of the reasons Occlumency is such a difficult magical art to master. It is a shame really, that those things which give us great joy and comfort fade most quickly from our memories, while that which we fear or dread preoccupies the greatest space in our minds.'

'How do I make it stop, sir?' asked Harry desperately. Albus looked deeply into the green eyes, wishing he could return a different answer.

'I do not have the power to do that, Harry,' he said sadly. 'Occlumency, and other tools, can help us reorganise our minds, but no magic, save a very powerful memory charm, can permanently alter our thoughts. Nor would I want that for you, were it even possible. These experiences and emotions shape us into who we are – remind us of what is important, and make us better for their presence. We each of us have different burdens to bear, and we must learn how to cope with them.'

Harry sighed. 'Right,' he said despondently.

Albus cupped his cheek tenderly. 'I will do everything I can to make yours easier, Harry, I promise,' he said firmly. 'And we will find a way to calm these nightmares, even if we have to spend every evening in Occlumency.'

Harry still looked miserable, but he nodded.

'We should all get back to sleep,' Minerva observed. 'It's the middle of the night. Do you want a bit of potion, Harry?' she asked him, pushing to her feet again.

Harry shook his head. 'No, I – that's alright,' he said, looking between Minerva and Albus. Albus did not need Legilimency to read the plea in his expression.

'I shall stay a few more minutes,' he decided, giving Harry a reassuring smile. 'Perhaps some conversation will tire you more quickly.'

Harry smiled back a little, and Albus indicated that he should scoot down into the covers. He gave Minerva a glance over Harry's head, and she ducked quietly into the corridor.

'I hear you performed well on your Potions examination,' Albus observed, pulling an armchair over alongside the bed.

Harry smiled wider. 'Yeah, I can't believe it,' he said. 'Though Snape says we're still going to be doing Potions over the summer. He set me to revise the exam for Monday already,' he added, a bit petulantly.

Albus chuckled. 'Professor Snape, Harry,' he reminded him gently. 'And try not to be so worried. Potions is an important part of your education – and I hear you will be learning wandless magic from Severus as well. That should be something a bit more exciting for you.'

Harry brightened at once. 'Yeah, I am looking forward to that!' he said enthusiastically. 'And lessons with Remus – he said he'd try and help me with the Dementors.'

'Did he?' Albus asked keenly. 'That is very advanced magic,' he warned delicately.

'I know, Remus said,' Harry admitted. 'But I told him I wanted to try anyway. He's given me a book with a chapter on Patronus charms to start me off.'

'What book was that?'

Harry leaned over the side of the bed, pulling a small and ancient-looking book from under his marked-up Potions examination. He held it out for the headmaster.

'Protection in the Face of Darkness,' he read out off the cover. 'A particularly interesting choice. I am impressed. Remus will be a fine teacher if he obliges us in taking the post.'

'Yeah, he would be,' Harry agreed. 'I've learned loads from him this summer already. But sir, I wanted to ask you… the author of this book, Nimue Lacus? Remus said she'd been married to Merlin, but he didn't tell me anything else. He said you might tell me the story, if I asked. He said you were going to be teaching me different kinds of magic this summer.'

'And so I shall,' Albus agreed, setting the little book in his lap. 'I was going to talk to you about it sooner, but I'm afraid this business with Sirius Black has kept me out of the castle far more than I would have liked.'

'It's alright, sir,' Harry said quickly. 'I know you're really busy.' His tone was light, but Albus could see vulnerability beneath the words. He laid a light hand on the boy's arm.

'Believe me, Harry,' he said, 'I would rather have been here with you than anywhere else.'

Harry smiled a little sheepishly. 'Thanks, sir,' he said.

'Now then,' Albus said, tapping Harry's arm a bit as he straightened up in the chair. 'This book,' he gestured to the volume in his lap, 'And its author provide a wonderful segue into the discussion of what I wish to teach you this summer, and in the years to come. I would like, in essence, to provide you with a richer education than what you might normally glean as a student here. We will dabble in spellwork and the mind arts, Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, perhaps even older forms of magic. And we will discuss some of wizarding history. Not what you may learn from Professor Binns,' he added with a twinkle, catching the gloomy look that crossed Harry's face at the announcement. 'No, I think I will leave the finer points of goblin rebellions and giant wars in his more practised hands… I daresay I was a rather inattentive student in some of those lectures myself.' He laughed as Harry grinned back at him. 'What I would like to discuss with you, Harry, are the histories of Magic itself – the evolution of spellwork and mastery, and the figures that shaped Magic as we know it. We will explore together the blurred lines between good and evil, light and darkness; fate and destiny.'

'Er –' said Harry, looking overwhelmed. 'That sounds great, sir,' he said at last. Albus smiled.

'It is a lot to take in,' he acknowledged. 'But, I think, things shall become clearer in time. Now, I believe you had asked me about this book?' he redirected, holding the tome up again.

'Yes, sir,' Harry nodded. 'I wondered what Remus was talking about. I think I've heard of Nimue before – years ago, in Muggle school. But I didn't know she was Merlin's wife. I thought she trapped him in a grave or something?'

'A common misconception,' Albus acknowledged, 'In the Muggle world, at least. But even among wizards, Nimue's story has been long obscured by rumour, jealousy, and of course, time.'

'So what is her story then, professor?' Harry asked.

Albus twinkled down at him. 'It is rather long for one night, Harry,' he said. 'But I shall start it for you, if you try to sleep. I promise I shall not take offence if you drift off during the telling.' He waited for Harry to nod in assent, and began the tale.

'Nimue is, perhaps, one of the most mysterious and misunderstood figures of our history. She was a gifted witch – a relation, in fact, of our Rowena Ravenclaw, and by all accounts just as clever. She was not educated at Hogwarts, however, despite her relation to the founder.'

'Why not?' Harry asked, confused. 'I thought all wizards come to school here. There aren't any others, are there?'

Albus smiled. 'There are many schools of magic, Harry,' he said kindly. 'Eleven large institutions around the world, three in Europe alone, and many smaller schools that are not so widely attended. Hogwarts is the only magical school in Britain, that much is true. We generally extend invitations to attend to all magical children born in England, Scotland, Ireland, Northern Ireland, and Wales. But not every witch or wizard is educated here – some children are tutored at home, and others still are sent abroad. The Ministry does not require attendance at Hogwarts, though many professions still require that students complete their examinations at O.W.L. or N.E.W.T. levels, or the foreign equivalent.'

'Oh,' said Harry, still looking surprised. 'I guess I should have realised… I've just never really thought about it before now.' Albus merely continued to smile at him.

'It is understandable that you would not know this, of course,' he said reassuringly. 'We do not interact nearly as often as we should with wizards from other cultures. And there are admittedly very few British and Irish wizards who are not students here in their youth.' He cleared his throat a little. 'In any case,' Dumbledore continued, 'Nimue lived many centuries ago, when Hogwarts herself was in her infancy. At that time, attendance at the school was not nearly so uniform, nor was the study of magic generally. Not much is known of Nimue's early childhood, but we know she was born in the westernmost part of what today is Gloucester county, in a forest along the Welsh border, around 1010. She was born into a group of very ancient, very powerful Druids, who had migrated south from Scotland in the centuries when Druid nomadic populations were common around Britannia.'

'What are Druids?' Harry asked.

'The druids were clans, for lack of a better description, of highly skilled individuals. They were a learned and priestly class of people – even among Muggles. Indeed, not all druids were in fact wizards and witches; for theirs was a time when magic still intermingled with the Muggle world. Some druids were bards, magistrates, scholars, scientists, teachers, priests. Druids with magical blood were among the most accomplished in their clans, and are closely associated with advancements in many fields of magic, especially in Healing, Potions and Wandlore. Ollivander, in fact, is a descendant of an ancient druid line, through whom many secrets of wandmaking have been passed down and honed. In Celtic times, the druids were the most prominent members of magical society. Their numbers and influence dwindled with the passage of time and the growth of hostilities between Muggle and wizard, and by the end of the middle ages there were very few true druids remaining. Nowadays, though many can claim druid heritage, especially in Scotland and Ireland, the druid way of life is no longer in existence.'

'But Nimue was one?' Harry clarified.

'She was,' Albus agreed. 'Druid magic was closely tied with nature, you see, as all the oldest forms of magic are. It is one of the reasons very few druid children attended Hogwarts in the early years. Druid society advocated teaching children in the ancient ways in the forest, where they could connect with nature and learn from it. Nimue's parentage is uncertain – at that time, many clans raised their children together. The clan itself was considered family. The stories claim that her mother was the chief priestess of her druid clan, but that could be naught but fabrication and embellishment. Many druid clans worked too collectively to denote a leader in such a way.'

'How did she meet up with Merlin, then, if she didn't go to Hogwarts?'

'Much legend has sprung up about the meeting of Merlin and Nimue, and even more about their later relationship. What seems certain enough is that Merlin was fairly young, in wizarding terms, when he first met his future wife. Merlin's own backstory is a tale for another time… but it is enough for tonight to tell you that after Hogwarts he travelled extensively to expand his knowledge. As you know, Merlin was a most gifted sorcerer. He made innumerable contributions to magical learning, particularly in Charms. He was also an early champion of Muggle rights, and believed that wizards and witches should use their magic to better mankind as a whole, including Muggles. He advocated peaceful relations between Muggles and wizards, and devoted his life to the cause.

'Merlin came upon the wood where Nimue lived around ten years or so after he left the school. He sought the guidance of her clan on some research he was doing. Merlin was not of druid descent, and thus little trusted by many of the witches and wizards there, who guarded their magical secrets most jealously at the time. That is, until he met Nimue.

'Legend tells us that he first laid eyes on her at the edge of a small forest pool. The pool was referred to as the Mirror Pool among the druids, for it was said that the water would give a drinker the ability to see their own true nature. Merlin approached and conjured a goblet to drink. When he lifted his head and the full goblet, Nimue was sitting upon a rock at the water's edge.'

Harry smiled. 'And so they lived happily ever after?' he said teasingly.

Albus chuckled. 'Not quite,' he replied. 'Nimue was but fifteen, but already learned beyond her years. She admonished Merlin for his choice to drink the water. She told him that true understanding of our gifts and flaws must come from within, and that is it a most wonderful and terrible gift, granted to very few. The journey to self-discovery was incredibly difficult, she explained, but taking the water was merely the easy way out. "Until you can truly understand the choice between what is right and what is easy," she said, "you are not worthy of the knowledge." She turned to go. Merlin, already struck by her beauty and wisdom, flung the undrunk goblet to the forest floor and hurried to stop her. And he asked her right then to marry him.'

'And she agreed?' Harry asked, dumbstruck.

'No,' Albus said with a small smile. 'Not at first, anyway. Merlin remained with the druid clan for the better part of three years. And then a prophecy was made.'

'A prophecy? Who made it?'

'Merlin,' Albus clarified. 'Among his many gifts, Merlin had the Sight. Unlike many Seers, he also had the rare gift of recalling his visions perfectly. In most cases, a prophecy goes unknown unless it is overheard, for a Seer does not usually remember his or her trance. The prophecy, in any case, foretold an end to the Muggle war that had raged in Britain for a hundred years. It spoke of a young boy, Arthur, born in secret and raised in squalor, but who was truly the rightful King. "Wisdom of wizard will guide his path and steady his crown," the prophecy said, "But only hand of the Witch across the water can give him the deadly weapon of conquest."'

He paused in his story, giving Harry a once-over. His eyes were drooping a bit now.

'Perhaps we should call it there for tonight,' he said quietly. 'It is quite late, and you should sleep.'

'No!' Harry protested, dragging his eyes fully open again. 'I want to hear what happened.'

Albus sighed. 'The abbreviated version, then,' he bargained. 'I shall skip the events in the middle for now.' Harry nodded, and Albus cleared his throat to continue. 'The prophecy was the catalyst for Merlin's departure. He was certain that he was the wizard meant, and he resolved to set off at once to find the boy. Nimue agreed to go with him. They married in the wood, and left with the druids' blessing in search of the prophesised King. As I am sure you have guessed, their quest led them to Arthur, who was being raised by a farmer and his wife in a small town in the north of England. Merlin and Nimue spent nearly a decade with him, training him as he grew and advising him. With their guidance, Arthur forged a trusted group of advisors – commonly called the Knights of the Round Table, and began to call an army. They left the farm and began their adventures – and their conquest – across Britain.

'But the war was hard, and many were lost. Merlin's thoughts were drawn back to the prophecy. He remembered the second part – that only the hand of the witch across the water could give Arthur what he needed to actually take the kingdom. And he was troubled, for he began to fear that the Witch it referred to was his sister.'

'His sister?' Harry asked in surprise. 'Merlin had a sister?'

'No,' Albus clarified. 'Arthur had a sister. A half-sister, to be precise: Morgan le Fay – who we more often refer to nowadays as Morgana.'

'I've heard of her!' said Harry in surprise. 'Ron talked about her back in our first year. He said she was on a chocolate frog card… so Arthur was a wizard?'

'No,' said Albus. 'Arthur was a Muggle, born to two Muggle parents. But his half-sister was born of his mother's first marriage, to a wizard. She was ten years or so his senior, and a witch, raised by her father from birth and educated at Hogwarts. Arthur did not meet her – or even know of her – for many years. Morgana was a prodigious witch, and very interested in the dark arts. She had left the British mainland after Hogwarts, and came to rule over a small island in the North Sea.'

'Azkaban?' asked Harry, horrified.

'Very good, Harry,' said Albus with a twinkling smile. 'Although there is no conclusive proof, many scholars have speculated that Morgana's realm was indeed what today is the home of Azkaban prison. In legend, it is referred to only as Avalon – an offshore kingdom where Morgana reigned as queen. Merlin had heard of her prowess, and knew of her relation to Arthur. Many years before, he had refused her entreaty to apprentice to him. He knew also that she was jealous and vicious, and feared what she may do if she chose to involve herself in the mainland battle. Merlin and Nimue had been with Arthur for so many years, that both often saw him as aa surrogate son. At the same time, however, Arthur's forces were beginning to lose the war. On Arthur's eighteenth birthday, Merlin felt he could delay no longer.

'Merlin came to Nimue in the middle of the night, after the men had gone to bed. He was nearly mad with worry, but resolved in a scheme to see the prophecy through. He told Nimue that Morgana was the witch across the water, and also that he feared Morgana would not come to her brother's aide if Merlin remained at his side, for she would remain bitter and resentful. He did not trust himself to keep stoic and uninvolved if Morgana arrived. So he devised a way of removing himself from the equation – an enchantment that would trap him in another form until such time as the witch across the water had fulfilled her portion of the prophecy.

'Nimue tried to argue with Merlin, but she could not change his mind. "When the moment arrives, my love," Merlin told her, "You will find me at the place where first our stars aligned." And he left, vanishing into the night.'

'He left her?' asked Harry, incredulous. 'He left Nimue? And Arthur? But – but Arthur needed him too! He was only eighteen, you said… how was he supposed to conquer a kingdom and face his mad half-sister without Merlin?'

'I do not think that Merlin intended to leave forever,' Albus clarified. 'And I do not think it was an easy decision. All accounts are that Merlin was tortured by the thought for months before his departure. But, in the end, he was certain that he must leave, in order for Arthur to fulfil his destiny.'

Harry did not look convinced, but Albus continued anyway. 'Nimue, devastated, tried to go after her husband. But he had disappeared. In the morning, she told Arthur that Merlin had been called away indefinitely. She could not tell him the reason – for they had made a pact many years ago not to tell the truth of the prophecy's contents to anyone, lest they meddle with the hands of fate. Nevertheless, many of Arthur's men began to whisper. They believed that Nimue had somehow caused her husband's disappearance – that she was tempted to usurp his position in Arthur's regard, or otherwise jealous of Merlin's magical skill. Nimue bore the muttering with grace, and waited for Morgana to bring about her husband's return.

'Weeks came and went, and then a year, and then three… but Merlin did not return as he'd promised, for Morgana never came to her brother's aide. In contrast, rumour began to spread that Morgana sought Arthur's destruction, and was building an army in Avalon. Nimue began to despair, and she grew too ill with heartbreak to ride on with the men. Arthur took pity on her plight. He urged her to break with the march, and to rest. Remembering Merlin's parting words, Nimue took the future king's advice and fled to the land from whence she came, to the wood in which she'd first met her husband.

'She returned to the mirror pool, only to find it deserted and barren – the druids had long fled the area, driven out by the warring men. Nimue knew not where her family had gone. The forest was as abandoned as she felt, and dying in neglect. For the magic of the druids is a natural magic – a symbiotic relationship – and without the clan to support the magic of the forest, it soon fades entirely.

'So Nimue found the mirror pool and she fell to her knees, for there was no magic to help her here, and no family to comfort her, and Merlin was not there. But as she laid her head upon the rock where she had first watched Merlin draw the goblet from the pool, her eyes fell upon a great oak tree, set against the edge of the forest. It was a tall, sturdy oak of might and majesty – an old and gorgeous tree that Nimue – who knew this forest more intimately than any alive – could not recall ever existing before. In wonderment, she arose from her place on the ground and approached the oak tree, running her hands along its trunk. In the gnarled wood, she could feel the pulse of magic. Familiar magic: Merlin's magic. And in a flash of realisation, she knew that Merlin had been wrong in his interpretation of the prophecy's meaning.

'So Nimue set to work. She bartered with the King of the Goblins to fashion a beautiful and powerful sword – a gleaming silver weapon imbued with dragon fire and blooded with unicorn foal. A great and terrible instrument forged for a conqueror, to wage and end all wars. And then she sat by the mirror pool, and waited.

'Still, Merlin did not return, of course. And Arthur did not come. And Nimue wept. Legend is that she wept so much, and for so many years, that the little forest pool swelled with the weight of her tears, overflowing and expanding until the pool had become a bog, the bog had become a pond, and finally the pond became a lake.

'At long last, the boy Arthur now come into manhood came upon the forest after many years of searching. He rode on a handsome grey horse, with only twelve knights for company. The men rode in search of Merlin, still seeking his guidance and assistance to unite the tattered kingdom, for their armies had been devastated in the fighting and they had begun to despair. The villagers Arthur spoke to along the way did not know of Merlin, but all talked of the weeping woman in the forest; the Lady of the Lake. Curious, Arthur made for the forest instead. When at last he came upon the lake, the winds were quite silent.

'"Is there a mistress of this place?" Arthur called, standing with his men at the edge of the lake. "I am Arthur, First of his Name, come to look upon the one they call the Lady of the Lake."

'And from the centre of the shallow lake, through the mists, walked Nimue, across the surface of the water itself. She did not weep but smiled, so glad she was to see the task fulfilled at last. And Arthur smiled too, for he did not think to ever look upon the face of this woman again. Nimue held before her the sword she had created – for the weapon was her gift to Arthur.

'"I have waited for this moment many years, young Arthur," she said as she stepped from the water. She held the sword out to him. "And now, at last, the time has come. With this sword, you shall be King."

'So Arthur took the sword as his own, lifting it high in salute to Nimue. "What shall I call it?" he asked.

'"It is called Excalibur, my son," Nimue replied, "For it will cleave a hard divide between the devastation of the past and the bright hope of the future."

'"Excalibur," Arthur repeated, "The sword of destiny." And as he said the words, a great crash rent the air. The mighty oak tree splintered and fell, releasing its prisoner to the forest floor. Merlin was freed of his bonds – for the witch across the water had fulfilled her duty, and Arthur would be King.'

'So he did it to himself?' asked Harry, stifling a yawn as Albus finished the tale. Albus chuckled.

'We do most punishments upon ourselves,' the headmaster offered enigmatically. 'But… yes, I suppose he did.'

'Well, I'm glad she didn't imprison him,' Harry muttered.

'Perhaps,' said Albus. 'Although, I think you will find as you grow that love itself is often the greatest form of imprisonment – for it entraps us more firmly than anything else can do. Merlin put himself into the tree, that much is true. But he did it out of love, and for love. Even the best of us cannot often help our actions when it comes to those we love. It both clarifies and clouds our judgment.'

'But – what has that got to do with the p-pa-patronus?' Harry asked, around another wide yawn.

Albus smiled down at him. 'A great deal,' he promised. 'But that, I'm afraid, is a story that will have to wait for now. We should both be getting back to bed.'

And with that, he doused the candle on the night table as Harry finally shut his eyes.

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'Why are you telling him of the trials of Merlin?' Severus asked from the shadows in the corridor as Albus shut the door to the child's room.

The headmaster actually jumped in surprise, whirling to face the Potions master with his wand half-drawn. Severus raised an eyebrow.

'Good gracious, Severus!' Albus breathed, shooting a silent muffling charm at the room where Potter now slept. 'You gave me a fright. What on earth are you doing up here in the middle of the night? Has something happened?'

Severus drew a small phial of potion from the folds of his robes, dangling it between two long fingers in explanation. 'Minerva sent word that you might be in need of dreamless sleep,' he clarified. 'Apparently, your stores were empty.'

The headmaster took the phial with a small nod, pocketing it. 'Thank you,' he said. 'I had not realised we were out, though I think it will not be necessary tonight. I am sorry Minerva woke you for it.'

Severus shrugged. 'I was not asleep,' he said carelessly. Albus' own eyebrows raised.

'It was past two when Harry woke,' he observed. 'Perhaps you ought to consider taking some yourself, Severus, if you are having trouble finding peace to sleep.'

Severus scoffed. 'I was merely working on a new project,' he said with a sneer. This, of course, was not true. He had spent the better part of the night tossing restlessly on his bed, stuck with his own churning thoughts of a past that refused to stay so.

He did not think that Albus was fooled, but the old man merely nodded in a weary sort of way.

'I must confess, I myself am exhausted,' the headmaster admitted. 'I think I shall return to bed… unless there was something else you wished to discuss, Severus?' he added, giving the Potions master a characteristic x-ray examination.

Severus shook his head. 'No, headmaster,' he said. 'I merely wished to ensure that you received the potion.'

'Very well,' Albus replied. 'Then I will bid you goodnight, Severus.'

'Good night, Albus,' Severus returned with a bow of his head. He watched the headmaster remove the charm from the boy's door, and walk slowly down the corridor to his own chambers.

It did not escape him that Dumbledore had not answered his question.