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Chapter Three: Least Ancient and Noble

Camelot was amazing― enough so that the two boys had wandered around the city for several hours. And yet, at the same time, there seemed to be something missing from the spirit surrounding it.

"Do you feel…?" Harry asked, letting the question hang.

"Yeah," replied Draco, understanding. Then a thought occurred to him. "Though I bet it has something to do with all these muggles." Before Harry could comment, he continued, "Anyway, we know for sure that this is Camelot, considering the guards said so, as well. But how do we know exactly what year it is?"

"It's not like we could just ask someone…" Harry agreed, nodding.

"That settles it, then," Draco said with a tone of finality. "We'll just have to get an audience with the king."

"What? Why?"

"Well, if it's Arthur, then we'll know about what year it is."

"And maybe even find Merlin," Harry realized, his voice filled with awe. Even having grown up in a muggle household, Harry knew that meeting one of the greatest sorcerers of all time would be absolutely amazing. "I bet he'll be able to get us home."

"Wow, Potter, maybe you aren't a complete idiot, after all."

"Oh, ha-ha," Harry replied without humor. "But what do we do if Arthur isn't king yet?"

The pureblood boy shrugged. "We hope for the best."

"Presenting Draco, Son of the Esteemed House of Black," the court announcer called into the throne room. Keeping his head high, the indicated teen strode across the carpet covering the stone floor, heading towards where the king sat upon his throne, hand gently supporting his chin.

"I can't believe your family tree actually goes back this far," Harry whispered, one step behind him.

"What did you think all of that 'Most Ancient and Noble' stuff was?" Draco whispered back, "A load of―"

"Greetings, Draco Black," the king called to him as they approached, unknowingly cutting him off. "What brings you to Camelot?"

"Knowledge, sire," Draco replied, faking the older language quite well, "We are wandering the world to see a bit of it."

"We?"

"My manservant and I," Draco rephrased with a slight smile, gesturing to Harry beside him. The dark-haired wizard had to bite his tongue as he nodded to keep from protesting and blowing their cover.

"Yes, of course," the king agreed. "Naturally, you are welcome here. Cepheus and I were good friends in the time of the Great War."

"Thank you, sire." Draco bowed his upper body slightly, and Harry followed suit a second later. They then caught the sound of the doors opening again behind them again and turned to see who it was. Another teen, perhaps a few years older than the two wizards, strode in and passed them, sparing only a slight glance. He had a boy who seemed to be manservant as well just a few steps behind him; the boy then veered off to stand by an older man on one side of the room.

"Ah, Arthur," the king said, standing to greet the newcomer. Harry and Draco exchanged looks at the name. "I trust the hunt went well, then?"

"Quite," the tall blonde replied. "Only a few hours' time, and yet we shall be having venison for dinner." He turned, finally actually looking at the two wizard boys, one eyebrow raised.

"Draco, of the House of Black," Draco introduced himself with another slight bow.

"And does this nobleman have proof, this time?" Arthur asked no one in particular.

"My lord?" Draco asked in confusion.

"We've had a number of… imitations, lately," the prince explained. "Do we have solid proof that you are who you say you are?"

"Oh, of course." Draco reached into the collar of his shirt and withdrew an ornate necklace with the Black family crest hanging on the end. He removed the chain from around his neck and handed it to the prince. "Will this do?"

"Do you always carry that with you?" Harry whispered bemusedly as Arthur inspected the pendant.

"It's called family pride, Potter."

"No, it's called being a prat."

"I suppose this is fine," Arthur said, handing the necklace back to Draco, who once again hid it within his shirt (and ignored Harry's comment for the moment), "We can't be too careful nowadays."

"Too true," his father agreed. "Especially with so many sorcerers attempting to make their way in." The way he'd said 'sorcerers' made Harry and Draco exchange a quick glance again. "But, come, you must be weary from your travels. Join us for tonight's feast…"

Harry's stomach was rumbling miserably. He hadn't eaten since dinner the previous night, and yet he was still forced to stand by and watch as the king and all his courtiers― now including Draco among their numbers― partook in eating the deer meat from Arthur's hunt earlier that day. Trying to ignore his hunger, Harry looked around at the other servants in the room. The one beside him, the same as the one that had entered behind the prince, looked back at him, wearing the same expression on his face as Harry knew hung on his. Harry sighed quietly.

A moment later, the dining room doors opened and a dark-haired girl about the same age as Arthur entered.

"Sorry I'm late," the girl apologized, taking the empty seat across from Arthur. "Gwen wasn't feeling too well, earlier, so I thought I'd check on her quickly before I came and I lost track of the time."

"That's quite alright," the king dismissed it. "We've just begun eating," he said truthfully (much to Harry's chagrin, as it meant it would be a while until he himself would be able to eat)

"And how is Guinevere?" asked Arthur, trying― and failing, in Harry's opinion― to sound casual. Harry and Draco looked significantly at each other again at the mention of Arthur's future wife.

"As I said, she wasn't feeling to well," the girl replied, a hint of amusement in her voice, "But she'll be okay." Arthur nodded, looking a bit uncomfortable. Harry leaned over to speak to Arthur's servant.

"Is Guinevere another courtier?" he asked.

"No," replied the slightly older teen with a small laugh, "She's the Lady Morgana's maid." He gestured towards the girl who had just entered and was now quietly exchanging witty banter with Prince Arthur. Harry nodded and then leaned over to Draco, who was seated beside the future king.

"Do you think she has any connection to Morgan le Fay, the evil sorceress?"

"At this point, Potter, anything could happen," Draco whispered back. "For all we know, you could be Sir Lancelot."

Still keeping up appearances (Merlin damn it all), Harry refrained from sticking his tongue out at his "master" in a very childish manner and stood up straight again. For a while, the only sound in the room was that of silverware clinking and the lute being played softly in one corner.

"I must say," the king remarked into the quiet as he swallowed a bite of the meat, "This was quite the catch, Arthur."

"Indeed," his son replied after taking a sip of his wine, "Though we would have had a second stag to bring back, had it not been for Merlin tripping over that twig and scaring it away." He rolled his eyes and lifted his goblet again. Both Draco's and Harry's eyes went wide at the mention of the great sorcerer.

"I said I was sorry," the servant beside Harry whispered to the prince, who was pretending to ignore him. Upon hearing this, Draco choked on the sip of wine that he'd been taking from his own goblet, prompting looks from the surrounding diners. Harry crouched down beside him, under the guise of checking if he was okay.

"Well," he said, his voice sounding as choked as Draco currently was, "Maybe you should just start calling me Lancelot."

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