A/N: Sorry for the wait! I have a good reason! My sister and her friend had booked a holiday, the friend backed out, and I had to take her place at the last minute so the bus ticket wasn't wasted. It could have been a holiday to somewhere warm and exotic, but no, it was only down to my relative's house in England, a four hour bus journey to a place I've been a million times before. Sunny beaches will have to wait :( In addition to this, the Queen's Baton for the Commonwealth Games came through my village the other day and I was busy with all the celebrations (my local city is hosting the games)

A couple of you were wondering about the reaction the rest of the wizarding world would be having to the events in this story, particularly America, since I've only mentioned Britain and mainland Europe. This is deliberate. Being British and therefore European, I know more about the history and culture of these areas than I do about the rest of the world, I'm shamefully ignorant about politics/history/etc outwith my own continent. The way I'd envisioned this was that the violence started in Europe, which has a history (which I've studied) of severe witch-hunting pandemics and then spread outwards, affecting America, Asia, Australia etc in a ripple effect. Since there was no direct exposure of witches in these countries, I'd reasoned that they'd hold back for a while to take stock and figure out what to do, before the violence inevitably spread there too. For that reason, I've mainly focused on Britain, since that's the place most obviously going to be affecting our characters. Harry and co. aren't really going to be worried about riots in New York or Beijing when they're on the streets of Britain trying to save Muggles. So, in short, violence is happening in other countries and continents, but they have very little bearing on how this story is playing out, apart from background violence. I don't want to lay out exactly what is happening in every country since that would take away from the main story. These countries at the moment are too wrapped up in their own concerns to interact with other countries. Besides, this part of the fic isn't going to last much longer (spoiler alert?) and I didn't want to add in more layers about the wider state of the world at this point since A: it's not directly relevant to this story, and B: it would make this part a lot longer and drawn out than it needs to be. I hope you understand!

An Opportunity

Harry's heart was thumping painfully with conflicting emotions as he, Hermione, Ron and Ginny Apparated to Little Whinging. Why hadn't he even thought about the Dursleys? Why had he been so stupid to forget about them? How could he have been so careless?

He emerged out of the crushing darkness and found himself standing at the end of Privet Drive, and immediately the smell of smoke greeted him. Behind the houses, further over in the village, there was a fire raging with smoke billowing up into the air. Harry dreaded to think what was burning.

"I was the only wizard in Little Whinging," he said, horror seeping in. "They're turning on Muggles …"

"Go to your house," said Ron, withdrawing his wand, forgetting as he always did that he was now perfectly capable of using Old Magic. "Me and Ginny will see what we can do over there. You and Hermione go find your family."

Harry nodded, still completely shocked that something like this could happen in Little Whinging of all places. Ron and Ginny hurried off down the street towards the site of the fires, while he and Hermione made in the other direction for number four. The normally pristine street looked a mess. Bins were on their side, spilling rubbish into the street, slogans were spray painted on the walls of the houses, most of the cars were either burnt out or gone as people had evidently fled for somewhere else, the entire place was deserted. His heart grew heavier as he finally reached number four.

It wasn't burned out, as he had feared, but it might as well have been. All the windows were smashed, graffiti was daubed on the walls, the garden was trampled into a mucky mess and the door was lying on the front lawn in pieces. The doorway yawned open revealing darkness within.

"Oh my," said Hermione, her hands over her mouth, but Harry wasted no time, and bolted in through the front door. The interior was hardly better than the exterior. The walls within were covered in yet more graffiti, and the furniture was lying in heaps, smashed and hacked to pieces. Everything valuable like the tv had been ripped out of the walls and carried off, and ornaments and everything made of glass was lying shattered on the ground. He ran through the living room to the kitchen, and then up the stairs to check the bedrooms, seeing a similar mess in all the rooms. He stood for a moment in his old room, and saw to his horror the old spellbooks that he had left here two summers ago lying on the ground, their pages ripped out, as well as his old school and Quidditch robes, and a cauldron and ingredients. He thought the Dursleys would have gotten rid of them; he'd been so sure there would have been nothing left to incriminate them. But evidently his aunt had just chosen to forget about them, locked the door and never went near them. They'd been caught red-handed.

Hermione appeared behind him in the doorway and gasped when she saw the mess. Harry turned to her.

"There's no way they could have denied it when they saw this lot," he said. "Why didn't my aunt burn it all?"

"They might still be alive," said Hermione, though her face betrayed what she really thought. "There's no- no bodies, no blood. The house hasn't been burnt down. Maybe-"

She broke off, unable to give any more 'comfort'. Her eyes said it all.

"No one's been here in days," Harry said, looking around. "If they were taken days ago then-"

He stopped, unable to say any more. The Dursleys … they … they couldn't be … dead?

Before he was able to come to terms with this revelation, a silvery form appeared suddenly in front of them, making them both jump. It was Ron's Patronus.

"Found some survivors in the village. Taking them to St. Mungo's. Meet us there."

Then it vanished. Harry and Hermione took one look at each other and immediately turned on the spot.

They reappeared in the lobby of St. Mungo's, which as usual these days was a riot of screaming, crying and confused and traumatised Muggles. They weren't looking long before Ron and Ginny's scarlet hair came into view through the crowd. They were supporting three Muggles, all looking rather singed around the edges and bleeding heavily. They were just handing them over to some haggard looking Healers when Harry and Hermione approached.

"I know him," said Harry, looking at one of the men the Healer was taking away. "He owned the baker's shop."

"The Dursleys weren't at the house," said Hermione. "They haven't been there for a while."

Ron and Ginny glanced at each other, both looking worried.

"What is it?" Harry asked, a bad feeling immediately growing in the pit of his stomach. "Tell me."

Ginny stepped forwards and took his hand, but this couldn't make Harry feel any better. The look on her face was enough to worry him.

She hesitated before speaking. "When we rescued those Muggles, they were in the village square, and there were bonfires there. We managed to get those Muggles away from the fire before they were hurt too badly, but there were the remains of other bonfires nearby. And … bodies."

Harry said nothing, watching as Ginny continued, her voice delicate, as though she could make everything better just by speaking more gently.

"There weren't many," she said, slowly. "Just two. Two men we … we think … they were badly burned. But …" she took a deep breath. "Oh, Harry, one of them was your uncle."

Harry just stood there, unable to react. He continued staring at her, wondering if he had heard her right. She squeezed his hand gently, but he didn't respond, he couldn't.

He turned away for a moment, looking across the crowded lobby filled with frightened Muggles. His uncle was dead. And it was his fault.

Why hadn't he done more? Why had he cared so little about what happened to the people he had once known?

He turned back to the others, all of whom looking upset, probably more upset than he looked at the moment.

"The other one must have been Mrs Walker's husband," he said slowly, trying to make sense of everything. "But … but there were only two bodies? No one else?"

Ron shook his head, watching Harry carefully. "No. Just those two."

Harry nodded, feeling strange all of a sudden. "Then maybe my aunt and cousin escaped."

They all looked doubtful. "My teacher escaped when her husband didn't," Harry pointed out, determined. "Maybe they did too. Maybe –"

He trailed off, unable to think clearly anymore, so overwhelmed was he. Uncle Vernon, the pompous, stern, upright man who would brook no nonsense, was dead. It was almost beyond belief. He felt a strange hollow feeling inside of him. Not grief, no, he had cared too little for his uncle for that, but guilt. He had allowed this to happen.

"Mrs Figg," he said suddenly, and loudly, making the others jump. "She was a Squib! Maybe they got her too. Maybe she escaped, Squibs can use Floo powder, right? Maybe she's got my aunt and cousin."

"Maybe," said Ron, though didn't look convinced. "We should –we should get someone to try and contact her."

Harry nodded, and then turned away from them again. Dudley and Aunt Petunia … could they still be alive? He had little to no affection for either of them, but he didn't want them dead. Aunt Petunia was his mother's sister after all, and despite everything Dudley had once done, he'd been turning things around lately. They didn't deserve this.

He felt afraid and worried for them, in a way he had never thought he'd feel about either of them just a few years or even a few months ago. He may never have regarded them as family, but they still were, in a way, and didn't think he could bear it if they died because of him. Uncle Vernon's death was already eating away at his conscience. As much as he'd hated him, he would never have killed him, never have let him die in such a way. He shouldn't have forgotten about them.

Ginny laid her arm on his shoulder, trying to give him comfort, but Harry couldn't receive any. It was his fault his uncle was dead, his fault his aunt and cousin possibly were too.

"We need to send Mrs Figg a Patronus or something," said Ron, trying to force them all back into action. "Then we can-"

"No," said Hermione, shaking her head. "She may be with Muggles, Muggles who are unaware of who she really is. We could be putting her in danger."

"We'll search here," said Ginny, still holding on to Harry. "If she's no longer in Little Whigning, she would have come here. She might have brought anybody she rescued here."

"I'll go to the Ministry," said Hermione, "see if she's there."

"And I'll go back to Little Whinging to see if she's in her house," said Ron. "What's the address, Harry?"

Harry told him, and in a few seconds, all three of them had Disapparated, leaving Harry standing in the middle of the crowded room, but feeling oddly alone.

Many hours later, he sat in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, in an armchair by the fire, watching the flames, wondering what it would be like to be burned by them, to be unable to escape from them, to die in their midst like his uncle had.

Order members were constantly rushing in and out preparing for another meeting that night after another failed attempt by Kingsley to contact Rogers, trying to distract Harry from these morbid thoughts. They all offered sympathy, Mrs Weasley hugged him, Fred and George tried to cheer him up, but Harry couldn't focus on any of them.

Hermione and Ron had come back about an hour ago, not having found Mrs Figg, but Ginny was still searching St. Mungo's. This was no small task as the place was now so full, and Harry couldn't concentrate on anything until he knew if she was alright. Dumbledore had asked her to stay in Little Whinging to watch over him as a child, if she was hurt now … if his aunt and cousin were hurt …

It confused him more than anyting to be so worried. He wasn't sure if he wanted them to be alright because he cared about them, or because he simply wanted to assuage his own guilt. He knew he didn't love either of them, he knew he didn't even like them, but he still wanted them to be alive. Was this simply for selfish reasons, or was there any feeling involved? He severely doubted it, yet he couldn't stave away his worry.

The kitchen began to fill up for the meeting, but no one came near Harry, perhaps afraid of upsetting him or not knowing what to say. Only one person decided to speak to him and take the armchair opposite, and it was the last person Harry expected.

"Sorry about your uncle, Potter," said Malfoy, avoiding his eyes.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "You are?"

"Yeah," he said. "I know he was a Muggle and all and you probably think I'm glad he's dead, but I'm not. I'm starting to see things differently than I used to. No one deserves to die like that. Especially a Muggle who couldn't defend himself."

Harry almost smiled. "Wow, you really have changed, haven't you?"

"Why do you think I'm still here?" said Malfoy. "I don't think I ever really believed all that stuff anyway."

He turned his eyes on Harry. "There's one thing I don't understand though."

"Oh? What's that?"

"I thought you hated your Muggle family," said Malfoy. "I thought they treated you like scum. Why are you so upset now?"

Harry thought for a long moment.

"Remember the conversation we had when I came back from the Dark Tower last year?" He said. "How did you feel when your Aunt Bellatrix died? Or her husband, your uncle?"

Malfoy flinched. "I hated them," he said. "They weren't my family, just … people I was related to."

"Same for me," said Harry. "I hated my uncle, and to be honest, I think I'm much better off without him. I think the world is better off without him."

"But-"

"How did you feel?" Harry pressed. "When she died? The woman that had done so much evil? Who'd treated you so badly? Were you happy to see her die?"

Malfoy was silent for a minute. "No," he admitted reluctantly. "I mean, I know how evil she was, but … I don't know. She was my aunt, no matter how much I hated her. I felt like I should be sad, but I wasn't, and then I felt guilty for not being sad, especially when I saw how upset my mother was. It … it's just so confusing."

"Exactly," said Harry. "I don't know how I should feel. I hated him. He may not have been a murderer like Bellatrix, but he was a cruel man, and I never wanted to have anything more to do with him after I left his house. My aunt and cousin caused me no end of misery too, but …. I feel responsible almost. I should have thought about them."

"No wonder you didn't after everything they put you through," said Malfoy. "If you had loved them you would have thought about them sooner instead of them just being an afterthought."

"Perhaps, but I was still too careless," said Harry, looking back into the fire. He sighed. "I'm just … I can't make sense of all this. None of the others can understand. They all had loving families that they care about; they can't understand the fact that I'm not the least bit sad about my uncle dying, only the circumstances of his death. They don't get what it means to have family that you just don't give a damn about."

"I do," said Malfoy, and looked away. "I don't have any family now, save Tonks and Teddy, I suppose."

"You've still got your parents," pointed out Harry. "That's more than a lot of people at the moment."

Malfoy snorted. "Some parents. I don't want to see them ever again."

"They loved you," said Harry. "I saw as much at the Battle of Hogwarts. That's more than I ever had growing up. They messed up, hugely, but they never stopped loving you. And in this mess of a world, that counts for something."

Malfoy made no answer, but he looked deep in thought. They were interrupted from talking further when Kingsley walked in to begin the meeting. Harry stood up, but before Kingsley could officially start it, Ginny walked in behind him, as did a very familiar old lady.

"Mrs Figg!"

Mrs Figg looked around, and her wrinkled face broke out into a grin when she saw him. She shuffled towards him in her usual slippers and seized his hand.

"Oh Harry, I'm so glad you're alright. I did wonder."

"I'm fine," said Harry, looking her over. "But you're not."

She shook her head, and adjusted the bandages on her arm. "It's nothing, boy, just a few little burns. They're running short of Burn Potions at St. Mungo's and so they're only giving them out for serious life-threatening cases. I don't qualify I'm afraid. Muggle healing for me."

"Perhaps not," said Merlin, who Harry just noticed had been sitting in a corner. He'd never even seen him walk in. In all the chaos of Little Whinging, Harry had forgotten about him, and his new hopeless attitude. He looked like all the energy had been drained from him.

He took Mrs Figg's arm, and removed the bandages gently, revealing some shiny burns underneath. He placed his hand over them and muttered: "Hǣlan þās earm."

His eyes flashed and the skin was soon as good as new. Mrs Figg prodded the unblemished skin, and her eyes filled with tears.

"Thank you!' she said. "To be healed by Merlin himself!"

"It's nothing," said Merlin, sitting back down. His eyes were void of their usual wisdom, he looked tired.

"Mrs Figg," said Harry, drawing her attention back to himself. "The Dursleys-"

"Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry, of course you'd want to know!" she chided herself. "I'm afraid it's not good news. Your uncle-"

"I know," said Harry, feeling a slight pang in his chest as he remembered how foolish he'd been in forgetting about them. "I know he'd dead. But my aunt and cousin-"

"Your uncle gave them time to get out," said Mrs Figg, shaking her head solemnly. "I was there in the house when the Muggles started swarming around. Your family were quite surprised when I told them I knew all about you. I thought your uncle would explode in anger! But he redeemed himself in the end. He said he'd 'speak' to the mob outside. He seemed to think they'd see reason. He thought they'd understand that he and his family weren't to blame for your unnaturalness, his word, not mine. But, of course, they didn't. But he did give the rest of us some time to get out the back door. About the only useful thing that worthless, great cowardly lump ever did. Not that I'm glad he's dead!" she said hurriedly, as though worried she'd upset him. "We wouldn't be here without him, so I owe him my life I suppose. But anyway, we got out and sneaked around the front when they weren't looking and ran for my house. Petunia took a bit of persuading, and Dudley wanted to go back and fight them, but that would have been suicide of course, and I dragged them with me (a lot of work that cousin of yours). I've no idea how I managed it, but I got them to St. Mungo's through my fireplace. Your aunt was hysterical and your cousin was throwing up everywhere. I handed them over to some Healers, and they've been looked after. They were sent to one of the safe houses. I went back with an Auror to see about your uncle … but I'm afraid there was nothing we could do. I've been trying to contact you ever since, but everything's so chaotic I just couldn't get anybody to deliver a message. I'm sorry."

"It's all right," said Harry, feeling strange once more. "They-they're safe, and that's all that matters I suppose."

"It wasn't your fault, harry," said Mrs Weasley, coming up beside him. "You weren't to know-"

"I should have," said Harry bitterly. "How could I be so stupid to go on Muggle television and not think about what danger it would put them in? I let my own stupid personal feelings get in the way. It doesn't matter how bad they treated me in the past, I should have looked out for them; they didn't have anybody else."

No one had anything to say to this, and still Harry kept berating himself in his mind for his stupidity. He put people in danger all the time, and now one of them was dead. He didn't feel in the least bit sad he was dead, but he felt bad for not doing something to help him, no matter how much he hated him. He'd risked his own life to save Malfoy when the Room of Requirement was on fire back when they were enemies. He would have done the same for Uncle Vernon, no matter what he'd done in the past.

"Thank you, Arabellla," said Kingsley gently. "You have been through an ordeal, and two innocent Muggles owe you their lives. Go now and rest. You've earned it."

Mrs Figg looked as though she wanted to argue, but nodded after Kingsley gave her a look. She began to shuffle out the room. She paused as she passed Merlin. She turned to him.

"It was an honour to meet you, Merlin," she said. "I know you'll get us out of this."

Merlin just looked at her blankly. "I hope so."

A moment later, and she was gone. Kingsley turned back to the room.

"I am sorry for your loss, Harry," he said sincerely. "I know you were not close to your uncle, but he was your family. I understand completely if you would rather leave and be with your aunt and cousin."

Harry thought about how aunt would react to seeing him again, the boy who in her eyes was responsible for the death of her husband, and shook his head.

"I'd rather stay," he said. "I need to be involved."

Kingsley nodded. "In that case …"

He turned to the room at large. "I tried to make contact with Rogers this afternoon," he began gravely. "But he was not receptive. In fact, he's ordered the police and the army to round up all those suspected of witchcraft and hold them in government buildings for trial. Most of the ones he's caught are Muggles, but I know of at least four wizarding families caught as well. They all had children below Hogwarts age and were unable to control their magic."

"That's the way it always was," said Merlin, staring at the floor. "Children unable to control themselves would expose an entire family. Especially Muggle-Born children, which was partly the reason for such hatred of Muggle-Borns; they were so volatile they threatened to expose us all. Muggles that lived alone, were a little eccentric or recovered from a serious illness were usually the ones accused, particularly if the accuser had a grudge against them, or there was an unexplained plague or famine in the village. It was hysteria, Muggles seized on any little thing to prove someone was a witch. They saw witches everywhere."

"Things are more desperate now than I could have imagined," said Kingsley, looking straight at Merlin, his voice more urgent than usual. "I need to ask you: is there anything you can do? And I'm not talking diplomacy here. Is there any Old Magic spell you can do to fix all this?"

"What kind of spell?" Merlin asked, still looking down. "You mean one that will wipe everyone's memories? Bring back the dead? Make everybody be friends again? Even if such a spell existed, I don't have the power to affect the entire planet. There is nothing I can do."

Harry felt a sudden anger as he saw Merlin sitting there staring at the floor. He marched over to him.

"Why are you giving up?" he demanded. "Why are you acting like this? We need to do something, Merlin! We can't give up. We need to think of something."

"Like what?" Merlin asked him, still staring at the floor. "I'm not as powerful as you all think I am. I'm not some kind of god."

"That's what you said when it looked as though we'd never defeat Voldemort and Morgana," said Harry. "And guess what, we did. There's always hope somewhere. There has to be. The Old Religion didn't return just to be wiped out by a war less than a year later. There has to be something. So why don't you just stop feeling sorry for yourself and get back into the fight?"

Merlin looked up, slowly. He searched Harry's face for a moment and sighed. "You're right," he said. "But hope is just so hard to find these days."

"Then we need to look harder," said Luna, who was sitting on Merlin's other side. "What is it Muggles say? Every clown has a silver lining?"

"Every cloud," said Merlin, smiling briefly in her direction. Then he looked thoughtful. "I … I could speak to Kilgharrah and Aithusa. They might know of something."

"Why didn't you think of that in the first place?" Ron grumbled.

"I'm not used to consulting with them all the time anymore," said Merlin. "And we haven't really seen them as much since the battle at Slytherin's castle. The reason they went abroad in the first place all those years ago was because Muggles kept sighting them and attacking. They didn't have a solution back then."

"Well, maybe they do now," said Harry. "We should go and talk to them, now."

Merlin nodded and stood up. "Follow me."

Merlin's feet felt oddly heavy as he led everybody out the kitchen. He was still thinking over what Harry had been saying about him giving up. It was true, he realised. He hadn't acted this way for a long time, during the first witch-hunts, after leaving the Founders, the centuries after Arthur's death. It was a sort of dream-like trance that he could retreat away in and avoid seeing all the suffering around him, block out his own pain. But that was a bad habit he couldn't afford to fall back on. He had to do something.

The square in front of Grimmauld Place was filled with Muggles, rioters, police; ever since the debate when Kingsley had mentioned where their headquarters were, a huge crowd had been there permanently, waiting for them to appear, unable to see the house for themselves. Surprisingly, they weren't bored yet.

So instead, Merlin stopped in the hall. "I'll Transport you all out of here," he said. "Gather closer."

They did so, and a moment later, Merlin had begun his spell. "Brūcan ūs tō mīn hām."

Swirling winds engulfed them, and soon everyone, Order, DA and Weasleys alike had slammed down onto the hard ground on a deserted hillside. Merlin and Harry were the only ones remaining standing.

"Where are we, mate?" said Fred, scrambling to his feet and looking around at the sheep occupying the field they were in.

"Camelot," said Harry, looking around and recognising the place. Merlin nodded.

"I thought it was appropriate."

The ones who hadn't been here before looked around in wonder, but Merlin ignored them.

"O drakon, e male so ftengometta tesd'hup'anankes!"

He turned and sat down on a lump of masonry that looked as though it might once have come from the city wall. He looked out over the valley. There were no fires here, no smoke, no screaming. The farmhouse a couple of miles distant was silent. This seemed to one of the few places in Britain untouched by the violence.

No, not untouched, Merlin thought, clutching the stone beneath him. This is the site of the worst of the violence. Where wizards were killed in their droves by Uther because of a personal grudge. This was the beginning of it all.

They weren't waiting long, when the sound of flapping wings met them from afar.

Merlin looked up to see two large figures descending down onto the hillside before them. The Order, still unaccustomed to their size and fierce exteriors, stepped back, save Harry, Ron and Hermione. Kilgharrah and Aithusa stepped forwards, their footsteps sounding like thunder in the quiet night air, and both bowed their heads briefly before Merlin. Despite Merlin's current mood, he felt a little better at seeing them again. Kilgharrah was the first to speak.

"These are trying times we find you in, young warlock," he said, his deep voice rumbling from his throat. "I had thought the darkest of times were past. But evidently not. But why have you summoned us here, to Camelot?"

"Because this is where it all began," said Merlin, feeling a slight pang of pain. "Camelot is where hatred between wizards and Muggles was first seen. There must be something from the past that can help us now."

"Like what?" asked Aithusa, crouching down closer to the ground. "Nothing like this has ever happened before, at least not on this scale. The violence in Camelot was limited to one small kingdom, insignificant in the grand affairs of things. The violence now spreads across oceans and deserts to all corners of the globe. Do you really think you can stop it?"

"I have to," said Merlin, looking between the two of them. "It has to be me that does this, I'm the only one who can."

"And therein lies your problem, young warlock," said Kilgharrah, eying him with one great amber eye. "You take so much upon yourself."

"And who is there?"

Kilgharrah sighed. "You cannot see it, Merlin. You are not alone as once you were. You must realise that. One man cannot hold back an entire world."

"Harry defeated Voldemort, I defeated Morgana. Those were both instances where only one man could succeed."

"You are mistaken," said Kilgharrah. "You could not have killed Morgana without Potter, and he could not have killed Voldemort without you. Neither of you would have succeeded without the other and the support of all your friends. You would never have succeeded in creating peace in Camelot without the help of Arthur and the Knights, you must remember that. Destiny does not always require complete isolation. It is not wise to forsake others and carry our burdens in solitude. Unity is the strongest force you can wield."

Merlin looked away from that knowing gaze to the people around him, who were still watching the two Old dragons with a sense of awe that still hadn't gone away after knowing them for almost a year. How could he ask any of them to bear his burden?

"Do you know a way to end all of this?" Kingsley asked, when he saw that Merlin wasn't going to say anything further. "A way to make peace with the Muggles and wizards."

Kilgharrah was silent for a moment. "I do not."

Ron swore loudly. "Come on! You're thousands of years old! You must know something!"

"Is there really no way to end all of this?" asked Hermione. "Nothing we can do to stop the fighting?"

"I did not say there was no way," said Kilgharrah. "Only no way to force peace. There is however, one solution."

Merlin's heart leapt. Was there a way? Could there possibly be a way to end this?"

Kilgharrah nodded his great head, and spoke solemnly. "I know of one spell that may be of use. But it requires a great deal of power, more than any spell Merlin has ever cast."

"I'll do it," said Merlin immediately. "I don't care how powerful, or if it'll cost me my life to cast, I'll do it."

"We'll help," said Harry, and Ron nodded vehemently. "We'll help him cast it."

"Yeah," said Fred and George. "Just tell us what to do."

"Just tell me the incantation," said Merlin, hardly daring to believe it. Had it really been this simple? It couldn't be, could it?

Apparently not, for Kilgharrah looked grave.

"I do not know the incantation."

Merlin stared. "You're joking, right? You know everything!"

"I do not," said Kilgharrah, eying him beadily. "Just as you are not as invincible as others think. There are some things beyond even my ken."

"What was the point in mentioning it if you don't know the spell?" Ginny asked angrily. "Why get our hopes up?"

"My, my, modern witches and wizards have so little patience," said Kilgharrah, a slight edge to his voice. "If you would let me finish, I would tell you that I don't know the spell, but I do know where it can be found."

"Where?"

"On the Isle of the Blessed," said Kilgharrah.

"But there's nothing there!" objected Draco. "We went there last year looking for Morgana's secret base. It's just a ruin!"

"Now it is, yes," said Kilgharrah. "But once, it was the greatest seat of learning, of magic and wisdom anywhere in the known world. The High Priests and Priestesses were blessed with much knowledge. They were in possession of the spell of which I speak."

Merlin felt all his hope drain away and be replaced with yet more despair.

"What use is that?" he said. "The High Priests and Priestesses are long dead, even in my day. We've got no way of finding out this spell."

He felt his old melancholy intruding upon his mind once more. Their only solution, and it was lost to history.

"Yes, we do."

Merlin looked up at Kilgharrah. "What are you talking about?"

Kilgharrah sighed, and for a moment, there was a look in his eye that Merlin had never seen there before.

"I possess much magic, Merlin, magic that not even you can comprehend. I have the ability to send you back, to the Isle of the Blessed in its glory days, so that you can learn of this spell and bring it back to the present."

The whole hillside was silent for a moment, no one daring to breathe.

"You could do that?" gasped Remus. "Send someone back over thirteen centuries in the past?"

Kilgharrah humbly bowed his head, and Aithusa snorted, smoke streaming from her nostrils. "Oh, he can do it alright, there's a ton of things he can do but doesn't tell anybody until the most dramatic moment possible. It's rather annoying actually. Makes the rest of us look like hatchlings."

"You are a hatchling in my eyes," said Kilgharrah. "As are all humans, but that is beside the point. It is vital you learn this spell."

"What is this spell exactly?" Merlin asked, still dazed with the thought of Kilgharrah being able to send someone through time.

"I can send you back, but I have not the power to change history itself, to rewind the days. I can deposit you at a single moment in the past, but I cannot erase days from history itself."

At this, Kilgharrah seemed to hesitate. "The spell of which I speak is a spell to turn back the days," he said. "Once cast, it will reverse the events of the previous days to cause all those not in direct contact with the caster or casters to unknowingly live the days over again. Once cast, you shall be able to go back to the day the Liberators revealed themselves and stop them from doing so. It is magic more powerful and more intricate and far more effective than anything your modern day Time-Turners can achieve. With this, you can start afresh. With this, the wizarding world will no longer be exposed to the Muggles and all those who have died, will no longer be dead."

If there had been stunned silence before, it was nothing to this. Merlin stared at Kilgharrah for what seemed like an age, feeling numb and hollow inside, unable to say a word, almost unable to make sense of the conversations that had begun around him.

"Wait a minute," frowned Ron. "If you can send us back to the days of the Old Religion, why not just send us back a couple of weeks to when the Liberators revealed themselves? Why go for this spell at all?"

"It is the same effect that would result from using a Time-Turner," explained Kilgharrah, "you, or your friends at least have used one before, have you not?" Ron paled a little, probably wondering as Merlin had so many times how he knew so much. "Time-Turners do not enable one to change the past, only enact a pre-determined course of events. When young Potter travelled back in time to cast the Patronus Charm from across the lake, he was not changing history, only fulfilling what had already happened from his own perspective. The same principle applies."

Ron, and most everybody else looked confused, but Hermione nodded.

"So this spell is different," she said. "It will literally turn back the days and change what happened. We won't constantly have to avoid our past selves, we'll literally be living the days over again."

"Precisely," said Kilgharrah, nodding. "What a bright sorceress you are."

Hermione blushed, but Merlin wasn't paying attention. A cold fury was building up inside of him, a fury he was almost unable to control. He glared up at Kilgharrah.

"A spell, to turn back the days," he said, barely keeping his voice under control. "Are you serious?"

Kilgharrah turned his eyes on him, but said nothing. This only made Merlin angrier.

"A spell to turn back the days?" he practically shouted. "A spell that can erase past events? Are you kidding me?"

"I know what you are thinking, young warlock-"

"Don't 'young warlock' me," shouted Merlin. "You know of a spell that can change the past, and you're only telling me about it now?"

Kilgharrah said nothing.

"I can't believe this!" Merlin said, still raging. "I went to you. After Arthur died I went to you, I begged you to tell me a way to return to the past, a way in which I could change what happened. You said there wasn't any way to turn back bastard! You lied to me!"

He was shaking, his entire body trembling as he remembered the agony of those first few weeks after Arthur's death, when Merlin himself had wanted nothing more than to die as well. To think that Kilgharrah had stood there and lied to him.

Kilgharrah shook his head.

"I know you must blame me, Merlin," he said, his voice infuriatingly calm. "But I do not regret what I said then. The time was not right. Arthur had always been meant to die on the field of Camlan."

"Meant to die?" asked Merlin. "Time wasn't right? Who the hell were you to decide that? You lied to me. In my hour of need, so grief-stricken I was on the verge of just giving up on life itself and you lied and deliberately concealed the only spell that could heal those wounds?"

"You healed, Merlin. It was not the only way."

"Yeah, I healed, thirteen hundred years later!" Merlin yelled. "All those centuries of misery, all that suffering, all that torture, death, destruction, all those witch-hunts, they could all have been avoided if you had told me back then. None of this would have happened. I would never have had to suffer, Arthur would never have died, and neither would the thousands of others over the years."

"Who can say that with any certainty?" Kilgharrah said, still sounding remorseless. "Who is to say that Camelot would have lasted as the safe haven it had been after Arthur's natural death? He had no children, who is to say that the person who took the throne next would have preserved his vision?"

"I would have made him," said Merlin, but Kilgharrah cut across him.

"You would have died yourself not long after, Merlin," said Kilgharrah. "If Arthur had not died the way he did, you would have been mortal. There would have been no need for you to live on. You would have died, and then there would have been no one to restore the Old Religion, which would have gone into decline whether or not Arthur was killed at Camlan. Arthur's death was necessary. Your immortality was necessary. I was not permitted to interfere with your destiny, Merlin. I knew what had to be done."

Merlin knew this made sense, knew that this had been his destiny, but it didn't make him feel any better. All his old anger at the Old Religion for controlling his life returned in full force. It had ordained such a cruel life for him then, and it had abandoned him now. He tried to listen to it now, hear its guidance, advice, but was met with only stone cold silence. His frustration grew.

"You still lied to me," he said, his voice now quieter. "You told me back then it was my destiny to wait for the future, you could have told me about the spell as well."

"If I had, you would have forced me to reveal it to you," said Kilgharrah. "And as a Dragonlord, I would have had no choice but to obey you. You could not know about the spell. Not until the time was right."

Merlin turned away in disgust, hating the cold-hearted rationale of Kilgharrah's explanation. He was right, but that just made him angrier, as irrational as that was. The thought that he could have saved Arthur, saved himself from those centuries of torment, as impossible as it would have been, was like a punch to the gut.

"You really can send us back?" Harry asked, when Merlin made no more answer, still too angry and emotional to speak. "If we get this spell, we can change what's happened?"

"Yes, I can."

"All of us?" Remus asked.

"No," said Kilgharrah. "As it always has been, seven is the most powerfully magical number. I can send back seven and no more."

"Which seven?"

"That will be for you to decide."

"Very well," said Kingsley, who was looking thoughtful. "We shall consider, and meet you here tomorrow night at the same time to give you our answer."

"Think well," said Kilgharrah. "For these seven must be the most able of all of you. This shall not be an easy task. The Priests of the Old Religion shall not relinquish this spell to those they do not deem worthy."

"Noted," said Kingsley.

Merlin turned back, and looked at them all.

"Are we really going to do this?" he asked them all. "Just erase the past like it never happened? Start again?"

"What else can we do?"

"This is the easy way out," said Merlin. "We should be trying to make peace rather than erasing these events like a mistake in a schoolbook."

"The time for fixing this through peace is long gone," said Kingsley. "This trouble arose from violence and fear, and will only continue as such. Peace cannot come from this, at least not without the cost of thousands of more lives."

"This is the only way, Merlin," said Luna, who was staring at him sadly.

"It's not a cop-out, mate," said Ron. "It has to be done."

"Isn't messing with time against the Old Religion or something?" Merlin said, looking at Kilgharrah. "Isn't it interfering with 'destiny?"

"Not necessarily," said Kilgharrah. "Think, Merlin. What is the Old Religion telling you now?"

Merlin looked away, not wanting to stare into those ancient eyes any more. The Old Religion was telling him nothing. Kilgharrah knew that. He knew the Old Religion had abandoned him. Even Fawkes was no longer speaking to him these days. He could no longer understand him the way he used to.

"Don't be so stubborn, Merlin," said Aithusa. "It'll only cause you further pain."

Merlin almost laughed. "More pain? I'll take it. It seems like the only thing I've ever had. A few decades of peace in Camelot, a few years of happiness with the Founders, and now one year of peace in this century, but all the rest, just pain, pain and more pain. It seems to be the only thing I deserve."

"Think like that, Merlin, and it's the only thing you'll ever get," said Kilgharrah.

Merlin ignored hi, and began walking down the hillside away from the Order, away from the dragons. He looked around at the field in which he stood, the remains of a place he had once loved. Here was another chance for creating a peace between wizards and Muggles, and now it was ruined and they were considered going back in time to wipe it away.

Camelot would never return.

Not in this century.

A/N: I'll update again soon to make up for my missed update last week.

Time Travel confuses me, a LOT. I've made a ton of notes trying to figure it all out and fit it into this story and make it make sense, and explain the difference between Time Turners and the spell Kilgharrah's talking about. Let me know if it doesn't make sense. I've figured it out in my head, but it may not have come across well on paper. :)