For those who wanted to see Harry's POV of the reveal... here it is. You might regret that XD sorry.

Holding the wand from the box feels like the first time he had hot chocolate, that one time his dad woke him up from a nightmare and made him some before reading him back to sleep. It's new and nice and makes him feel a little warm all over, and even after it's gone – the golden sparks going away as quick as they appeared – it's like he can still feel it a little bit.

His smile doesn't go away when Mr Salazar teaches him the spell, turning into a grin instead when he gets it right on his first try. He's doing magic! Real magic, with a wand! And it's really pretty, like a little star of his own, even looks like he could hold it if he wanted to. He kind of wants to.

Before he can actually try to grab the little light ball, his dad gets serious about something that happened. It doesn't sound like something he did, so he doesn't get as nervous as he would have been if Mr Wright had just said they needed to talk or something. He puts the wand back in the box – the light gone as soon as he stops thinking about it – and hugs it to his chest as he sits down to listen.

At first, it sounds like his dad decided to read him his bedtime story in the office. There's a warlock, a dragon, a prince, knights and a king – everything he's read about in fairy tales and now knows is real – but he doesn't interrupt, enjoying the story even while having no idea why he's hearing it right then.

It's a sad story, really. He's heard of Merlin from a couple of magic books, but nothing with this much detail, and he wonders if it's the real story of the famous wizard and why it would even be important for him to know it. After a while, he stops worrying about it, just listening to Mr Wright talk about Merlin living lots of different lives because he erases his memory and takes off his magic – how can you even do that? It's not a shirt! – and turns himself into a baby whenever he remembers his old life again. It sounds like a lot, Harry can barely handle being Harry, never mind being a lot of other people too.

His eyes widen when Mr Wright says Merlin was actually Ash Slytherin too, the one he remembers Mr Salazar saying was the last Lord of the Slytherin house. He was a squib like his dad and still got killed for doing the little magic he could do, which sounded scary but very real. If the Dursleys didn't like him because of his magic now and that made them not feed him, hurt him, and let his cousin beat him up, he could imagine people like the Dursleys from hundreds of years ago doing way worse. Is this why his dad is telling this story? Because he's related to Merlin?

But the story doesn't end there, the years keep going up, which makes sense since the story says Merlin is immortal but Harry just can't imagine him being alive right now, at the same time as him, since he feels more like a fairy tale than a person.

"They named him Michael," His thoughts all stop when he hears Mr Wright say that. That's his dad's name! Is his dad– "Michael Ian Wright, but he changed it to Michael Morgan-Wright after his parents' divorce."

"You can change your name?" It's the first thing he can think to ask, the thought of changing his name – he won't mind people expecting things out of Harry Potter if he can just stop being him – is much better than the thought of his dad, of Mr Wright, being Merlin.

But that's the reason he's telling the story, isn't it?

"Yes, you can, but… Harry, do you understand what I've just told you?" Mr Wright asks, sounding serious. He really means this.

Mr Wright is Merlin. Mr Wright is the immortal warlock from the story who's been alive for so, so long. Harry doesn't quite know what to think about that.

"I think so?" Harry replies with a slight shrug, eyes shifting down to his swaying feet. "Do I– should I call you Merlin?"

Mr Wright – Merlin? – stares at him, blinking once before replying. "I don't plan on telling anyone, so it's better not."

What? "Why-" Harry hesitates, unsure if he should ask, but he wants to know. "You told me. Why?"

"When you touched the wand, and when you did magic right then, it wasn't quite the same magic as most witches and wizards," Mr Wright explains, and something in Harry's chest tightens, "Your eyes glowed gold, just like mine," Harry frowns a little until he adds, "when I have my magic, I mean."

Right, because Merl- Mr Wright doesn't have magic, but Merlin does. And he can have it again, according to the story. He's not too sure on the how – does Mr Wright have to die? He doesn't want Mr Wright to die! – but he knows it can happen.

"They did?" He asks, eyes wide as if he could make it happen again on command, "So my magic's different?"

"You still have the same magic as you did before," Mr Wright tells him, "but a little extra something, too. And I'll have to train you if we want to keep it a secret."

"Oh," Harry nods, keeping his eyes down. That- that makes sense, as much as anything makes sense after that story. The room feels smaller than usual thought, and he really wants to move- to leave. "Um- I'm tired. Can I take a nap before lunch?"

"Of course," Mr Wright agrees, "Leave the wand, we'll have it here for your tutoring sessions. I'll call you when the food's ready."

Harry mumbles an agreement and places the wand box on the table before trying not to run out of the office, closing the door behind himself. Leaving doesn't help as much as he thought it would, he still feels like there's less air to breathe than there had been before, and his legs take him to his bedroom before he can decide to go anywhere else. He runs over to the window, opens it and tries to breathe the air from outside. It helps a bit, but the feeling doesn't go away, the same feeling he gets some nights of falling that makes him wake up with a scare, except it's not going away now that he's awake.

He wants to ask for help, he can do that now – right? – Mr Wright says it's good to ask for help, but Mr Wright is Merlin and he doesn't want to see him right now. He doesn't know what he wants, really. He wants- he wants to not know that Mr Wright remembers years and years of living now and that he's not Mr Wright anymore. He wants his different magic to go away because that's what made Mr Wright tell him – he wasn't going to tell him? Ever? – and maybe if Mr Wright hadn't told him he's Merlin, Harry wouldn't be sliding to his bedroom floor and hugging his knees, feeling like he's all alone again.

Mr Wright is Merlin, who locked himself up in the office for days without talking to him – that's when he thinks Mr Wright remembered things anyway – and then took him to Diagon Alley with the Grangers – is that how he knew all those things about potions? – before having him try a wand – that's Merlin's wand! – that showed his magic was different. That had all been Merlin.

Harry doesn't know Merlin.

He doesn't like not knowing things. He thought he knew Mr Wright by now, or at least he knows that Mr Wright would never hurt him and is trying to do the best for him, but Mr Wright isn't just Mr Wright anymore, he's also Merlin, and what if- what if he isn't the same as Mr Wright? He wouldn't have ignored him for days before – he wouldn't! Would he? – but Merlin did… what if Merlin is a bit too different from Mr Wright? He can't-

Knock knock

"Harry? Lunch's ready," Mr Wright – Merlin – announces from the other side of the closed door and Harry holds his breath out of reflex. "I'll wait for you downstairs," he doesn't breathe out until he hears the footsteps fade away from the door.

"That went well," Sal quips from his spot on the wall once Harry's gone, and Merlin can't quite place his tone.

"Tad too well maybe," he mutters to himself but sets the feeling aside. Harry will come to him if he's got any questions or worries, there's no reason to hover before letting the kid process everything on his own time.

Instead, he heads down to the kitchen, aiming to get their lunch ready. Much like every Sunday, he finds the portions in the fridge left by Marie – blessed be that woman – and starts to reheat it all. He gets a little side-tracked – Michael couldn't cook to save his life but Merlin remembers centuries of recipes and misses certain tastes he can't wait to try again – with modifying a sauce and setting some vegetables aside for supper – a stew, maybe? He doesn't want to reheat the same dishes a second time – but it all comes together in a timely manner.

He calls Harry down and goes back to wait by the kitchen island where they usually eat most weekends. Lunch is a quiet affair, slightly uncomfortable, but he doesn't prod Harry about it. He'll give him space, he'll talk when he's ready.

They go their separate ways after the meal, with Merlin retreating to his office once again because as much as he wishes otherwise, the world doesn't stop when one is going through a minor crisis – not even a major one, he would know – and he has letters to reply to. Most are the contracts pertaining to the will reading – all dutifully signed and quickly redirected toward Gringotts via letterbox – while one is a strongly worded admonishment for sending the letter to the person addressed – how has he supposed to know Alice Longbottom is incapacitated? – as well as the contract signed by one Augusta Longbottom as her proxy.

The second unexpected letter is from one Arcturus Black, the current Lord of his house, politely demanding a meeting on the third of December and throwing off his plans to retrieve his magic that same weekend. He agrees but adds that he won't be bringing Harry – there had been no outright request, only a vague implication referring to the current Black Heir, but he wasn't about to risk it – and requests Chang's presence if the subject is the legal side of the Sirius Black issue, given that he's still not entirely acquainted with the wixen legalese.

He responds to the letter from Ignatius Prewett confirming the tutoring schedule – every Monday, Wednesday and Friday from five to six in the afternoon – and arranges a meeting to sign the contract that Sunday, and also introduce him to Harry, the day after the meeting with Lord Black.

The third unexpected letter was the most baffling of all. One Albus Dumbledore – who unironically signed his letter as Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Order of Merlin First Class, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards – was politely enquiring about how the hell Michael had come to have Harry Potter in his custody, given that he still has a loving living family – as spoken by someone who's never met the Dursleys – who surely misses him. It's easy to tell this is the same man who wrote the letter that was left at the Dursley's doorstep by the subtle threat of investigating the matter thoroughly thrown in between the numerous requests to return his son to his blood relatives for apparently his own protection. However, the letter refused to elaborate on what said protection entails.

Slightly miffed at the man's intrusion into his family matters, Merlin replies with simple facts: that the answers to Dumbledore's posed questions are, honestly, none of his business. He words it more politely than that of course, much like when he questioned the elder Malfoy for requesting a minor's address through his son's letter. Anyone reading the letter would hardly fault him for making it very clear that, despite his numerous titles, Albus Dumbledore is not in fact owed information on a minor's private affairs, whether they are famous or not. Besides, what better protection will there be for Harry than living with him? At least once he regains his magic.

He should really get around to that, but it's clear he'll only have the opportunity to do it the weekend after the will readings.

Once he's done dealing with the Harry side of his duties, he turns toward Michael's end of it. Honestly, he's not sure he wants to continue as a solicitor. He is particularly glad Michael hasn't managed to enter a master-apprentice contract with Chang before he regained his memories, which leaves one less thing for him to worry about. Not that he has anything against the job, he knows more about Magical law than he did before regaining his memories and the non-magical side – which he'd gained through Michael – is just as fresh in his mind. Still, it's simply not the career he would like to pursue now that he has other options and the responsibility to care for a child. He leaves the freelance contract with the firm alone, realizing he can simply refuse any cases he wants and slowly fade from their focus – a little magic may go a long way in helping this along – and decides not to mention his change of mind to Chang yet, hoping to ease into it over the course of a few weeks.

Other than that, Merlin doesn't fundamentally disagree with any part of Michael's life, which is a pleasant surprise. The issue of nurture versus nature is always considered whenever he recovers his memories, but he's learned over the years that no matter how deep he shoves everything that makes him himself into the back of his mind, something always finds a way to bleed through, and his recall is always exceptional no matter what kind of life he lives. Perks of being immortal, he supposes, is having a constitution suited to living for as long as he has, for better or worse.

He does need to make some magical arrangements, since the brief visit to the Slytherin vault – thankfully linked to his blood and not his magic – was not nearly enough to get his affairs in order. Merlin pens a letter of greeting to the Slytherin manager – a goblin named Glosak whose clan has faithfully guarded his belongings as well as his secrets for centuries – requesting an overview of his estate, planning to go through his investments and see what has flourished and what has become obsolete in the past thirty years. In times like these, he almost misses being a peasant who was not expected to read nor write, and then he remembers indoor plumbing and modern medicine and such delirious thoughts are once again delegated to the back of his mind.

It's hours later when Merlin realizes Harry has not once come to his office, though he figures that's part of leaving him to process things on his own time. He leaves the room and focuses on supper instead, soon finalizing the stew and calling Harry down to eat. The evening meal is a little less silent, but only due to Harry asking about the food – his son frowns slightly at the fact that he'd decided to cook but doesn't comment other than to say it's good – and he feels a little lighter once it's done.

"I'll be up later for your story," he absently tells Harry when the boy starts to head back up.

"Uh-" He glances up from the dishes when his son hesitates, but doesn't manage to meet the boy's eyes, "I think today's story was enough."

"Oh, okay," he replies for lack of what else to say. "Goodnight."

"G'night," the response is barely more than a mumble.

He debates for a moment if he should go up anyway, maybe bring up the story – that of his life, that is – and try to gauge his son's thoughts, but forces himself to wait.

Harry will talk to him when he's ready… right?

Me: I hate miscommunication as a trope, I abhor this, I could never-

Me looking at my last few chapters: So... the problem could be solved... if they talked about it.