Author's Note:

Hello! Sorry it's late, but it is very long for me... and I've had exams, and well, I just can't get enough of how we make fuels from crude oil! AHAHAHAHA... AHAH... aha... sigh.

Once again, thank you to my amazing beta FalconFate, and to all of you guys for sticking with this... although I think thre may be only about three of you...

Anyway... Enjoy!

Chapter 20: Halloween

Halloween night gleamed orange in Grimmauld Place. Merlin watched autumn leaves criss-crossing as they fell onto the pavement outside and closed his eyes. Suddenly, he was no longer in the 21st century; he was back home, in Camelot, smiling as Arthur teased him and trying to make witty comments back.

He couldn't believe that if this worked, he would see his friend again… but only if this worked. A nervous shiver ran down his spine. Was this too easy? Everything since they'd escaped had gone so smoothly.

A vivid memory popped into his mind: his fear when the footsteps had come, that everything was going wrong just a soon as it had taken a turn for the better.

He remembered his relief when the footsteps had revealed themselves from the darkness, and shown to belong to not Morgana, but to a man.

"Well I trust him; but somehow I don't think you trust me though." Merlin had felt his friend's guilt as the man had said that, and he had tried to remember who the newcomer's name was, because he had met him before, the man had been one of the Gryffindor rebels during You-Know-Who's time. Yes, that was the name, - Neville – loyal and brave Neville.

"I always knew when you were lying, Harry," Neville said. "And when you did it never really got you anywhere… so I came to help—well, we came to help."

At that, two smaller figures appeared behind him. Merlin recognized the familiar features in their faces: the ginger hair, the thin lips that belonged to Ginny – these must be Hugo and Lily, the youngest of the Potter and Weasley family. Merlin wondered if the defiant faces that they wore now were of the type that Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione would have worn at their age. That, he thought, was very probable.

Merlin heard Harry sigh from behind him. "You two shouldn't be here, it's too dangerous."

"That never stopped you!" Lily retorted, "And what about Leo? You don't seem to mind him being here."

"Yes, well…" Harry stuttered.

"Well what?" asked Hugo. "Seriously mum, dad, what did you think we were going to do when you just disappeared like that? We're not stupid."

"No, you're not," Ron groaned, glancing over at Hermione.

Neville shrugged "Look, Harry, I'm sorry, but they came to me… they're just like you lot, you always had an eye for trouble and you can't really blame them for trying to help."

"If it wasn't for us you'd still have no way out of here." Lily snapped, "We realised Leo knew something." She looked at Leo "You've been acting strange lately: some weird things you've said, the long chats with Professor Pollywood, so Hugo did some research and we found… well…"

"It was like she'd just appeared from nowhere." Hugo stated "Pollywood, I mean. Apart from her schooling and her work now, she had nothing, not like most of the Hogwarts teachers, you know, most of them have done something impressive or are well known for this, that and the other, but with her it was zilch—no family history, nothing…. in fact I'm surprised you employed her Professor." He said, directing the statement toward Neville. "So when you lot disappeared, we knew something was up, so today we followed Leo and Professor Pollywood everywhere…. we were beginning to think that you were in her office, because obviously that was the only place we couldn't go in without getting caught and that's when we spoke to you, Professor." Finally he paused before taking a deep breath and continuing to talk at high speed—a trait, Merlin realised, also belonged to Hermione. "We still couldn't find you, but that's when I spoke to Leo and he went off somewhere and, well, we followed. You can't blame us for being curious, so the real question is: do you trust us enough to at least tell us what's going on?"

Merlin recalled how Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny had tried, in vain, to protest, but inevitably they had relented, telling Neville and their meddling kids the exact events of the last few weeks. Merlin couldn't blame them, curious was precisely what they had been in the past and how could they expect their kids to be any less adamant on getting the facts?

Leo breathed a sigh of fresh air as, finally, they were able to make their way out of the dark drainage system.

His legs ached, but it was only when they were just inside the castle grounds that they stopped, Hermione voicing the question that was on everybody's lips: "How are we supposed to get the sword from Morgana?"

For a moment, everyone was silent, thinking, hoping someone else would give an answer to what seemed like an impossible question. After all, Morgana had always been one step ahead of them.

"I'll go." Leo croaked, he was standing slightly on the edge of the circle the group had made, and he shrugged, "I know where she's got it… It's under some sort of enchantment, one that only she can control, if I could get her to lift it for just a minute, maybe I could get the sword."

"And how do you expect to make her lift it?"

"I haven't thought of that yet," Leo muttered, wilting slightly "But she shouldn't know that you've escaped yet and if Myrtle keeps her mouth shut, she won't know I helped."

Leo had to admit, when the seven of them worked together they made a great team. The plan that they had devised was dangerous and teetering on the edge of insane, but it was the best they had in a bad situation.

He, Hugo, Lily and Neville—guiltily carrying a mandrake root that they had acquired from the greenhouses at the bottom of the grounds—made their way back to the castle. Leo walked slightly in front of the other three and could feel Hugo's eyes boarding into his spine. Neither Hugo nor Lily had said a word to him since his and Hugo's conversation in the dormitories that evening, and Leo could almost feel the anger emanating from them in hot gusts, but, nevertheless, he kept walking.

They dodged Filtch once—with Neville's help—on the way up to the Gryffindor common room and finally, he and Hugo—who was still silently fuming—flopped onto their four-posters and entered an uneasy—but nonetheless welcome—sleep.

It took just a toilet break to slip out of charms the next morning, retrieve the Mandrake root from Neville and plant it—invisible—under the bed in Morgana's chamber. Leo could feel its presence, lurking there, waiting to unleash its mischief on the wayward sorcerous, as he made his way down the cold stone steps and re-joined his class as they desperately tried to make a china pig walk.

"Morgana…" The voice was soft, masculine.

They say with time you forget people's voices, but there was something coldly familiar about this one.

Morgana sat bolt upright, the early morning sun caressing her skin in a thin line through the half open curtain. She looked around, barely allowing herself to breathe, listening intently.

"Morgana…" There it was again, louder this time, coming from right behind her. Morgana swung around. She could have sworn they had been just there, but all she was faced with was a solid, brick wall. Morgana frowned, steadily slipping her feet from under the covers and rising diffidently up into a standing position.

"MORGANA!" The voice was almost shouting this time. She spun on her heel and, finally, he was there. Arthur Pendragon stood, oh-so-nobly behind her, a crown perched on his brow. Oh, how she loathed him. "Why did you do it, Morgana?"

"How are you here?" she growled. "How is this possible? I have the sword and it's not even Samhain yet!"

"Why, Morgana? All I ever wanted was peace…"

"Peace!" she spat. "You hunted my people! You and Uthur, you are no different!"

"I AM NOT MY FATHER!" Arthur roared.

Suddenly, everything went dark and flames crackled on the rocky, blood-soaked terrain. Arthur was bending over, pain crippling his features. She looked down, there was a sword I his gut, and she was holding it. She smirked callously. "Not so victorious now, eh Arthur?"

Something pierced her stomach and she gagged, pain convulsing her body, white hot. She screamed, lifting her head so her eyes met Arthurs. His face was adamant; he grimaced, but his eyes where unemotional. He yanked upwards and she folded, grabbing the sword in her abdominal and trying to pull it out, but he yanked again and she feel, screaming onto the floor and curled up into a ball, squeezing her eyes shut.

"You failed me, Morgana." The pain was gone. She wondered how much time had passed, and looked up cautiously, Morgause stood above her, arms crossed, face contorted with anger.

"Sister?" Morgana breathed, rising from the ground.

"Do not. Call me. That!" Morgause growled. "You failed me Morgana. I fought for you. I died for you!" She shouted. "AND FOR NOTHING!"

"I'm sorry!" Morgana screamed. "I—!"

"Thanks to you, a Pendragon ruled until the five kingdoms united," Morgause continued, squatting so that the two where eye to eye. "And it's all your fault," she whispered.

All at once, her face blurred and suddenly Gwen stood in her place, the same crown that Arthur had worn resting upon her head. Her lips thinned before a laugh broke them apart. Guinevere leered at her, cackling jubilantly at Morgana's anguish.

Morgana curved away, covering her ears, a scream yet again emitting from her lips. She sobbed, wishing it to stop, wishing it would all just be over, wishing it to….

Leo grabbed her arm; she jerked it back, squirming away from his grip, still screaming. What if this was just another torment?

"Morgana, what's the matter?" the boy asked. She ignored him, gripping her ears and turning her back on him, her body assuming a beetle-like position. "Morgana, it's okay," he cooed, stroking her hair kindly, reassuringly. "It's okay," He murmured again. "It's over now. Trust me. Trust me Morgana. Here drink this,"

Leo produced a vial from his cloak, lifting her head so that he could pour it down her throat. She tried to resist, but she was too weak. "Trust me," he muttered for the third time, and there was something calming about his voice, she relaxed. Yes, she could trust him, she knew that. The liquid was cool and soothing on her throat, and she swallowed, rising into a sitting position.

Leo looked her square in the eyes with a comforting gaze. "You should lift any charms or spells you've been holding," he advised, "Shouldn't you?"

He was right, she should, after all it made sense, and this was probably happening because she was tired, and spells and enchantments wasted energy by the gallon. Morgana lifted herself onto the end of the bed, and with a sigh, she dropped the charms, flopping backwards in the process, a great weight rising off her shoulders.

"That's right," Leo whispered, "Go back to sleep, everything is okay," he assured her. She closed her eyes, drifting off and letting dreams take charge.

Later, she would wake to find the sword gone, with no recollection of the events that morning.

So there they were, hiding out in a dark, old house, waiting for the moment when Hermione would apparate them, hand in hand, to the Isles of the blessed.

It was half term now and Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny had decided it was best to keep all of their children – Albus, Rose and James included – as far away as they could from the so called 'Professor Pollywood', which, of course, meant explaining yet again the events that had forced them to be sitting in a safe house in the suburbs of London.

Neville had arrived in the late afternoon, at around three o'clock, and had informed them that Morgana showed no signs of leaving the castle, or at least none that where visible to him or indeed the rest of the Hogwarts staff.

Merlin looked at the clock above his head; it read five thirty. He sighed, twitching his leg anxiously. Six and a-half hours to go…

They linked hands and disappeared. Suddenly, wind rushed through Merlin's hair making him teeter on his feet as he got used to the new environment.

"I remember the last time I came here," said Hermione. There was, ever so slightly, the beginning of a tear in her eye. "It was with my parents. I never realised it was anything special."

Merlin nodded in understanding, but of course he had always known where the Isles of the Blessed where, how they had crumbled and merged into the bustle of normal life, becoming the centre of attention in a thriving village on the coasts of Dorset.

Not stopping, they walked on, jostling through the crowds of people—dressed in mock-mediaeval costumes—as they tried to keep their heads down and go unnoticed. It was ten-to-twelve on Halloween night, and yet the old castle with its pagan roots was still buzzing with life.

Merlin looked at the people around him, draped to toe in white and brown capes, calling themselves druids and sorcerers. It made him smile, remembering the people of his time, how they would dress to fit in, talk so that no one would notice and act so they wouldn't be spotted. These people had no idea how unalike from the real thing they actually were.

His thoughts were drawn to the clunk of the wooden boards that belonged to the draw bridge that opened up into a courtyard. Large and open, with steps trailing up to meet the crumbling stone walls with carefully calculated arrow slits dotted at intervals high above them.

One girl in particular caught Merlin's eye. She was dressed just like the rest of the people around them, but she was different. She stood, alone, barefoot on a patch of grass, her messy brown hair flowing down to rest at her shoulders, her purple dress rippling slightly in the breeze.

Merlin started towards her, something inside him feeling woeful as the others followed.

"Freya," he said, reaching her, his words bringing a smile to her lips as they passed his, a smile so beautiful and welcoming that he wanted to take her in his arms there and then and never let go, even though he knew he couldn't. He couldn't even touch her.

"You're here, Merlin," she beamed "Do you have the sword?"

Merlin looked hesitantly around, before reaching into the shoulder bag and withdrawing the Excalibur. The sword glinted in the moon light, the words "Godric Gryffindor" still etched into the blade.

"Good," she said and, still smiling brightly at him, she began walking, a hand trailing slightly behind her as if reaching out for him. "Follow me. We have seven minutes."

And so they walked. Merlin could feel the others exchanging knowing glances behind him. Ron, Harry, Hermione—Ginny had stayed behind to look after the kids—and Leo, looking slightly detached from the rest of the group, followed him. Maybe it could be the feeling of guilt taking over the boy, making him feel like he didn't belong. Or maybe he was plotting, Merlin thought, biding his time, waiting to snatch the sword back from Merlin, and run to Morgana.

They reached a place Merlin recognised all too well: a huge hall with a low lying, rectangular table-like slab of stone directly in the middle. This room was the busiest yet, though mulling around within the four corners of the hall were not only people, but ghosts, floating mournfully from place to place, invisible to everyone else in the room—everyone except the six of them.

Hermione gasped, "What…" she spluttered, shocked. "What is that?"

And finally, Merlin raised his eyes, to look straight ahead and as he did, he shook slightly with foreboding.

Directly in front of him—diverging upwards in a V-shape—the veil glistened, dark velvet. The door between life and death was open.

"It's the veil between the two worlds," Merlin muttered.

"What?" Hermione gasped. "How is that even possible?"

"It's the ministry's little secret." Merlin snarled. "One of many that most people at the ministry don't even know."

Merlin looked at the evidently confused expressions around him and swallowed, arranging his explanation in his head. "Okay, so in around about the 1600's there was this group of sorcerers… mad if you ask me, but anyway, they were experimenting with life and death and in short, their researches lead them here. They learned about an old ritual that enabled them to join the two worlds and BAM, we have spirits of dead witches and wizards roaming the world. Again, if you want the short version, the ministry decided to keep it that way… I objected, but, of course, nobody listened."

"What's so wrong with having ghosts?" Neville muttered.

"You haven't seen them at their strongest." Merlin said his eyes dancing over the group, making sure he looked at all of them in the eye one by one. "They were terrifying; the dark spirits had the power to wipe out the whole world… now, though, with magic itself dwindling, all the evil spirits can do now though is suck the happiness out of people."

"Dementors," Hermione whispered.

"Dementors," Merlin agreed solemnly. "The information was only privy to certain people, and as the years went on, the number became less and less."

"Why did the ministry want it secret in the first place?" queried Ron. "It's not like it's a particularly bad thing."

"I don't know, really; vanity, maybe." Merlin answered "They wanted people to think that wizards were so much stronger than normal folk, that they had some sort of power over life and death. The truth is it only takes one sacrifice to close it. "

"Surely Ron and I, the people who defend against these types of things, should know about this though." Harry grumbled

"Maybe they just think you'll disagree… and well, maybe it's just easier not to. I mean, the veil is only strong enough now to be seen when the gap between our world and the next is at its weakest—today, I mean—and any wizard who does come here on Halloween—which is in itself unlikely—" He gestured at the swarm of muggles about them. "—are dealt with."

He exhaled, looking around, as if challenging the others to ask more. They didn't. "Right." He nodded, turning back to Freya, "How long have we got?"

"Three min…" The end of her sentence was cut off by a loud crash which reverberated off the four walls, making Merlin clamp his hands over his ears.

He straightened up, looking around. All at once the crowd around them parted to reveal a woman, long, dark hair rolling as she marched forward, revealing a wall that was totally blown out behind her.

"Morgana," Merlin sagged.

"Merlin," she grinned back.

Composing himself, Merlin gestured behind her. "Was that really necessary?" In front of him, the wall crumbled, bits of stone still toppling to the ground in quick thuds.

"I took my inspiration from those films muggles watch. The bad guys always make feel a need to an entrance when there about to ruin the only hope the hero has left."

"The 'bad guys' always lose," spat Hermione.

"Oh, really?" Morgana clicked her fingers and altogether, the crowd started closing in from all sides, walking in perfect unison, their feet beating a rhythm on the hard, stone floor.

Merlin surveyed them, panic rushing through his mind, making his hands shake. He breathed deep breaths, but somehow he couldn't steady himself. He had forgotten how it felt to be in a fight like this, the blood pumping through his veins, the adrenaline making him nauseous.

He lifted his head, the thwacking of hundreds of feet and the shouts as the others threw spells at them filled his ears, but it was useless. There were too many of them. They closed in from all sides, forcing the six to squeeze in, shoulder to shoulder.

"Merlin, DO SOMETHING!" Ron yelled.

But his mind was blank. He could think of nothing.

They were just centimetres away now, reaching out, nearly touching; their claw-shaped hands ready to hurl the group to the ground and tear them to pieces.

'Come on, Merlin.' It was Arthur's voice, he was sure of it. 'Come on!' There it was again, louder this time, begging him. He was so close. He had to do something, anything.

Merlin threw his head up to the sky and roared as the ground vibrated beneath him. His legs shook, his balance wavering, but he kept steady. The people around him, however, fell, and a white and pink mass of cloth and bodies covered the floor.

Merlin looked straight ahead, the vibrations dying to nothing. Morgana stood, teetering on her toes, but still standing, though her eyes where bloodshot, weary. The spell had drained her.

Weakly, she sent a curse flying towards him, but he deflected it easily enough, punching another one back her way. It hit her and she fell, arms spread wide across the floor.

Merlin swerved, sword drawn, heading for the slab of stone just a few meters away.

He looked at Freya. "Five seconds," she told him, but suddenly, her expression changed, and she looked panicked. "Merlin, look out!" she screamed.

This time the curse hit him full on, and he was thrown across the room, the sword flying out of his hands and clattering on the floor a few meters away.

He rolled, over onto his back, aware of the little time he had left to waste and bellowed: "slæpan!" eyes glistening like orange flames. Morgana slumped back to the floor, breath thin on her lips.

Merlin looked around for the sword, his eyes settling on Leo. The boy had scrambled up and was now holding it in his hands.

"NO!" Merlin yelled, but the boy looked like he was going to run for it. Merlin pulled himself up, tripping over bodies as he did, but his shout seemed to have caught the boy's attention and Leo's eyes found his. The boy flung the sword in his direction and Merlin caught it. Looking down, he realised the slab of stone was at his feet.

"Now!" Freya cried, and Merlin plunged the sword into stone.

He pushed with all his strength and somehow, the sword grated down, sending sparks flying.

And then, a great energy ripped through Merlin's body, and he crashed onto the ground, his head hitting the floor with a thud.

When he regained consciousness, Arthur was standing over him.

Completely.

And utterly.

Naked.

Author's note:

Well I'll leave you with that image in your heads... took a while eh?

The next chapter may take slightly longer than normal (or it might not, you never know) as I actually have to do exams... and plan what's going to happen next... so yeah, hopefully it won't be too long!