Chapter 30! Ngl I didn't think we'd make it here but somehow it's happened. To commemorate, you get some more plot development, as a treat XD

November 24th, 1988

"Is there something the matter? You seem… distracted," Salazar's voice makes him look up from where his face had been buried in his palms for the past five minutes or so.

"It's nothing," Michael assures, rubbing his temples and returning to the letter-writing necessary to organise the reading of the Potter wills. He could have delegated it all to the bank but decided that, other than doing the reading on one of their rented rooms and making use of their standard contracts – where one acknowledges the will and is bound by it or entirely forfeits their right to any possible bequests –, he should be the one to explain in detail why this had yet to happen until now and what his role is in all of this. "Just another headache, it'll pass eventually."

"Is it a recurring issue?" He would appreciate the concern if the tone was less curious and more worried. As it is, the questions are simply distracting, mildly annoying and entirely unhelpful.

"In the past few months at least," he absently informs, blinking down at the next name on the list. Hadn't Remus Lupin been one of the suggested tutors? Huh. "Haven't been sleeping too well either, so that's probably why."

Salazar hums in understanding and he gets a few more minutes of blissful silence before it's once again interrupted, "Where's little Harry?"

"At school," he tries not to sound too annoyed, the man had spent a long time with no one to talk to after all. "As he will be every morning of the week," he adds to prevent a repeat of the question the following day.

"Shouldn't you take the time to rest then?" the founder suggests and Michael doesn't hold back a loud sigh at it.

"I don't have time to rest, there's work to be done." He impatiently informs, "I need to send out a bunch of letters for the Potter's Will reading, finish scheduling with a tutor for however many times a week both Harry and I can be home, figure out a way to get Harry a training wand with no more incidents, send the latest version of my freelance contract to my boss for approval, read through the rest of Harry's finances since they've been stagnant for eight years, figure out when we can visit his properties, finish a draft for a proposal I've been delaying for a week but need to get done before I can leave the firm, send an apology gift basket to my secretary for leaving so suddenly and buy some sleeping medicine so I'm not plagued by fantastical dreams every night that I only half-remember in the morning!" if not for his practice in delivering long speeches to a jury, he may have been out of breath at the end of the tirade.

"... have you ever heard of delegating?" Is the portrait's entirely unapologetic reply.

"Which part of that could I possibly delegate?" Michael asks in a disbelieving tone.

"The gift basket for one," Salazar tells him in an amused tone, "can't some servant get that done instead? And as for the wand… I have a suggestion, and you could send a trusted friend to the bank with the lytling to fetch it."

"..servants aren't a thing," he informs the founder, though he figures house-elves may count, not that he has any. "But I guess there are delivery services," he reluctantly agrees, because as much as he likes giving personalized gifts Sarah will probably understand how swamped he is with responsibilities at the moment. "And what suggestion would that be?"

"There's a wand in the Slytherin vault, stored in the back right corner inside a trunk with a dragon clasp on it," the older man tells him, "it's in a white wooden box, he can't miss it. I have a feeling it just might work for him."

He wants to argue that he should be the one to take Harry and that means taking time off his day to visit the alley which might end up turning into a shopping trip, but- he trusts Chang to get it done, at least. And Harry wouldn't touch anything else in the vault if he was told not to – hell, Michael had been the one to reveal a painting even after telling the kid they shouldn't mess with anything.

"Right," he mutters to himself before offering the portrait a small smile, "Thank you, I'll get someone to take him today or tomorrow."

The constantly smug look the founder seems to sport softens slightly, "You're welcome. Now, about the tutoring, can't it be done late in the afternoon?"

"Well, it could, but that's hardly an acceptable working hour for a tutor," Michael frowns, "And it might end up getting too late for Harry to sleep and still go to school in the morning."

"Have you asked?" Salazar inquires with a raised brow, "And from my experience as a professor, you may want to break it up into many short sessions instead of one or two longer ones, the lytling may be well-behaved but children hardly appreciate continuous hours of lectures, especially ones already studying elsewhere."

He opens his mouth to say that he had asked, actually, but closes it at the second suggestion. While Michael is entirely used to long lectures and hours spent studying, he does need to take into consideration the needs of an eight-year-old, even an extremely well-behaved one such as Harry. "That's… fair, I suppose."

In fact, he can probably schedule something like an hour-long – at most – tutoring session for Harry two times a week in the late afternoon and ask Prewett for a flexible meeting time to ask questions for himself regarding Harry's lessons where they can discuss details an eight-year-old doesn't need to know yet.

Salazar only hums in response, "And those letters, what exactly stops you from writing a single draft of the body and having someone duplicate it so you can add the recipients later? Do any of them need to be specially personalized?"

"I- don't think so?" He reads through the list of names, not recognizing any other than his son's name, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and the reason for a third of his headaches called Albus too-many-names Dumbledore. Severus Snape also sounds vaguely familiar, but he can't quite put a finger on it. "That's- huh. Okay, I need to get used to thinking of magic when coming up with solutions."

"I'm sure it won't take long," Salazar assures him, thankfully not rubbing it in his face that he's just cut Michael's work in half. "And I'm glad to be of help." There it is.

It's humble enough not to grate and he's hardly about to turn away freely offered advice, even when coming from a talking painting older than his house. "Thanks," he repeats, and proceeds to grab a blank parchment – he'd rather use paper and a ballpoint pen but Chang had advised him to follow wixen customs whenever possible if he wants to ease his way into wixen society – and start on transcribing the body of the Will reading invite. He'll send it for Lei to duplicate along with the request to take Harry to his vault whenever she's available.

Once he's done with that, he reads over the draft one last time.

Dear [blank]

On behalf of the Potter Heir, I would like to invite you to the reading of the Last Will and Testament of Lily Jocelyn Potter and James Charlus Potter, in which you have been listed as a beneficiary.

Due to Mr Potter's lack of a suitable guardian, this invitation has been long delayed, as said guardian would have been the one in charge of organizing the reading. It regretfully never came to pass but, having recently acquired guardianship of Mr Potter, I have taken it upon myself to make sure the last wishes of the Potters are seen to as they should have been at the time of their passing.

The reading will be held at Gringotts Bank, on the 10th of December at 3 pm, and we ask you to provide us with the signed contract no later than the 8th to confirm your presence at the venue. Ask for Relret at the counter and, if your signature has been accepted, you will be led to the reading room.

In the case of unavailability, a proxy can be assigned provided both signatures are present on the contract. In case there's a need for further arrangements or clarifications, please direct any letters to the Owl Post Office box under the name signed below.

Sincerely,

Michael Morgan-Wright.

He figures it's probably good enough, and he doesn't owe anyone more of an explanation than what he's made available either way.

With the time that gains him, he manages to get most things done. The gift basket is ordered, the contract sent, the proposal drafted and the letters sent – both to Chang for duplication and the one to Prewett for scheduling –, leaving him free to look through Harry's finances for the rest of the morning – the kid owns part of a lot of businesses and just the payments from some of the potions patented under the Potter name could have set him up for life – and discuss with Salazar about his experience with wixen society so far, what is different from what the founder remembers, and how Michael came to know about it.

Somehow, that turned into complaining about how Harry's case had been handled and badmouthing the wixen government.

"They left him on the doorstep, like a bloody bottle of milk," He clarifies, finding it preposterous that such a thing had even been approved.

"You're hardly one to talk," Salazar points out, which gives him pause.

"What?" Michael stares for a moment, trying to remember if he's ever mentioned this to the portrait before.

"It was the same with you, wasn't it?" The founder elaborates, "I thought you'd said so the other day."

"...right, I must have," he shakes his head slightly with a frown, not used to being forgetful. The past few months have changed a lot of things, it seems. The unintentional throwback to how he came to be in the Morgan-Wright household in the first place does bring a slight smile to his face, "Well, it wasn't on a cold November night, I'll tell you that much."

Salazar lets out an amused huff, "Did your mother ever mention how she reacted?"

"Ha, she did," Michael chuckles at the thought, "Gave her quite the fright at first, but she was ecstatic. They'd been trying for a baby for a while and then one gets delivered right to her doorstep? Good thing they had the contacts to keep me."

"Sounds like a good woman," Salazar offers, smiling at his reminiscent tone.

"The best," He agrees with a small nod, "I'm pretty sure she kept the blanket I arrived in, told me I wouldn't let go of it for anything but she was afraid I'd cut myself on the brooch… I wonder if I still have it."

"Did Harry have something like that?" The harmless question turns his smile into a scowl.

"If he did, it's long gone," Michael admits, "his relatives were awful people."

He wonders if Harry might like to know how similar their stories are – at least the part about being front porch babies – or if it would make him sad that his own family didn't react like Michael's mum. Maybe he could give him the blanket, if it's in any state to be used as a gift… where did he put that, anyway?

With a quick muttered excuse to the portrait, he makes his way out of the office, too curious not to act on it before he forgets about it. There's nothing in the bedroom – his own which used to be his mother's – or the closet, so the attic is his next guess. The whole room is littered with boxes, wooden chests, old rugs and some clothes and shoes he never got around to throwing away, but once the light turns on it's easy to spot the one chest with a carved letter 'M' on the top.

He doesn't mean to tear up at the sight of the baby-sized clothes that greets him as he opens it, but his eyes stubbornly sting anyway, entirely against his will. Past the little onesies and tiny shoes, he finds a couple of toys he remembers having played with, and one of the smaller boxes inside the chest contains his old school reports. He finally finds what he's looking for at the bottom, a tightly folded crochet blanket in gradient shades of blue. It looks no worse for wear than he remembers, though it does fittingly smell like it's been stuffed in a box for two decades and could use a good wash.

With that in mind, he tidies up the items he'd moved and makes his way down to the laundry room, hands absently brushing over the blanket. He unfolds it carefully, checking for any damage and thankfully finding none, though the timely clink of metal hitting the floor makes him look down to find the brooch he had been thinking about in the office.

He crouches to pick it up, turning it over in his hand as he stands. It's not one of those delicate brooches he's seen women wearing before, but a flat silver circle slightly smaller than his palm with a frill-like pattern over the border of an inner circle, which is filled with a cross and overlaid by a bird – maybe a dove? –, and the only discrepancy in colour is the gold detail at the inner part of the four ends on the inner cross. He turns it around to check if the hinge and catch are still in good condition and winces when the pin ends up pricking his finger.

The sight of a drop of blood welling up on his index finger is the last thing he sees before the floor looks like it's rushing up to meet him and everything turns black.

"I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry."

"If you feel like something might happen, close your eyes, okay?"

"I didn't mean to do that!"

"That's why your dad didn't want you!"

"Never talk to the knights, just hide."

"I'm not gonna tell anyone, they're all stupid anyway."

"You do know they kill people like me there, right?"

"Do I know you?"

"A half cannot truly hate what makes it whole."

"If this were a time of war, I'd have you flogged."

"I just didn't fit in anymore."

"It's been an honour."

"What kind of meat is this?"

"I think there's someone watching over me, keeping me from harm."

"You're a prat… and a royal one."

"He does not deserve your loyalty. He treats you like a slave!"

"What's wrong? You can trust me, Morgana. You know you can."

"Hello, Emrys."

"You really are a complete idiot, aren't you Merlin?"

"I want you to know that, I never doubted you."

"I don't understand. Do you want to die?"

"What if my father's attitude to magic is wrong?"

"You've already saved me, you made me feel loved."

"What now Merlin?"

"But what I saw... it was so real."

"You must eradicate the source of the disease."

"A dragon's heart is on its right side, not its left."

"Why does a lowly servant continue to risk everything for Arthur and for Camelot?"

"Doing this, using magic like this, will only harden his heart."

"He has the ears of a donkey. And the voice. H-he's braying."

"You two have got yourselves in a bit of a pickle, haven't you?"

"You look like a startled stoat."

"Destinies are troublesome things."

"You'd do well, Merlin, to stay out of things that do not concern you."

"You followed me. How dare you!"

"You know, Merlin, you couldn't keep a secret if your life depended on it!"

"It's lonely... to be more powerful than any man you know and have to live like a shadow."

"What part of the word "secret" did you not understand?"

"We cannot defeat an immortal army."

"Sometimes you puzzle me."

"I have no choice. I must take his place."

"You're a loyal friend, Merlin."

"A white dragon is, indeed, a rare thing...and fitting."

"You have no idea what it is to make these decisions."

"To kill Arthur."

"He's like a father to you, isn't he?"

"So why haven't you fallen under her spell?"

"This man is a shadow of his former self. A shadow with ill intent."

"I'm done trying to be nice to Arthur."

"One thing I've learned since being here is that Arthur values your opinion above almost all others."

"Are you saying I'm fat."

"I've never heard so much rubbish in my life"

"You know, if Morgana doesn't kill you, I will."

"Merlin, I've always known you were stupid, but not that stupid."

"Did you just give me an order?"

"The future is never clear, Merlin."

"I am who I am. and I am who I was, and I am who I will always be!"

"You just have this way of seeing things."

"Merlin! What are you doing?"

"It is the cycle of life. No more, no less."

"Me? I was born to serve you, Arthur. And I'm proud of that."

"I know you're hurting Merlin, but I lost him too."

"He forgave you, didn't he? Maybe try to forgive yourself."

"Help me make it better for your people too."

"Stop this! Just stay out of my head!"

"Where are you going? I still need you."

"We all know he didn't stay for Arthur, he would have wanted me to keep an eye on you."

"So this is where it happened?"

"You know, when he told me not to change, I didn't think my magic would take it literally"

"Don't waste your life by the lakeside, alright?"

"Avalon is closed to you, Merlin. I'm sorry."

"Might want to slow down on those drinks, buddy."

"He has to come back, right? There's a prophecy."

"So you're the supposed kingmaker?"

"He won't let you go, the only way out is six feet under."

"What a waste."

"I guess that answers the question."

"You were supposed to free us!"

"Don't condemn them for their lack of faith."

"I can't always keep you company, and I hate to think of you alone out here."

"Long time no see, old friend."

"I don't think they would want you to spend your life waiting."

"I suppose eternity is better with company."

"I wonder… could you teach me?"

"They don't sound very pleased, do they?"

"Are you Emrys? Mother told me about you."

"You're free to go… but you're welcome to stay."

"You don't need their blessing to be happy, but I'm sure you'd have it."

"Which god is that one?"

"Stay?"

"Do you think you could love me?"

"Not even a goodbye? Harsh."

"The rest of my life is way too long to spend being afraid to live."

"Which of their gods gives marriage blessings?"

"I'm pregnant."

"You'd think two would have been enough."

"You're not allowed to be taller than me."

"...He didn't come back."

"We don't have to talk about it. Come here, let's not talk."

"I thought I'd come by to check on you from time to time."

"There's nothing for me here anymore."

"Aithusa! I'm… I'll fix this, somehow."

"I don't blame you."

"I don't want to spend the rest of my life in a cave, and you shouldn't either."

"What? You've seen a dragon before!"

"I'm never doing that again."

"This type of magic comes with a price."

"I think you're a fool, but when has that ever stopped you?"

"I- I don't remember."

"Well, that didn't take too long."

"Might want to make sure you live long enough first."

"...This is ridiculous. You're unbelievable."

"Ma?"

"I'm no one, don't worry about it."

"It's intrinsic to you, I can't just remove it."

"I don't think you should… but if Morgana did it, you can surely find a way."

"We're going on a little trip to a cave."

"Are you sure that this is what you want?"

"Just so you know, I'm doing this to show you it's a bad idea."

"You're much cuter like this, causing less trouble."

"Oh, what in the world?"

"Dad?"

"Dad!"

"Dad! Wake up!" Something's shaking his shoulder and he groggily opens his eyes, squinting against the light which is promptly covered by a face closer than he'd expected, bright green eyes looking down at him with visible worry. "What happened? Dad?"

Merlin frowns slightly, trying to remember what he'd been doing before- oh. Oh no. "Fuck."

The fact that this website can't align to the right messed up the quotes but I'm just gonna ignore that.

I had started the invitation letter with "I hope this letter finds you in good health" but then every time I re-read it was to the tune of "Say No To This" lol.

Me trying to figure out when to give Merlin back his memories: Hmm what would be the most convenient or plot-relevant time? ... actually, never mind, what's the most inconvenient and random time that will stress him out the most? That's the one.