Chapter 8 - Speculations

It felt odd to see Harry entering the Great Hall at Professor McGonagall's side. He seemed comfortable walking next to her, talking quietly, smiling even. It was good, Merlin decided, to see his brother so at ease.

He had felt so torn up about leaving Harry behind, after the meeting with the Board of Governors. Feeling like he was abandoning his brother once more, especially after such a stressful and tumultuous day, was horrible. Of course, he hadn't left until he'd known that Snape was no longer inside the building. And even then, McGonagall had made sure to show them both where Harry would be staying from now on before Merlin left.

She had made it quite clear that it was to be Harry's space, and therefore Merlin, as his brother, would be free to visit at any time. Though she had limited it to just him, and not any other friends of Harry (which Merlin could understand. She was still their Professor, after all, he could only imagine how uncomfortable it would be for her to have students in her personal quarters).

His brother's face had all but lit up at the sight of the roaring fireplace, and tartan sofa, and the little set of stairs that lead up to a real bedroom. Not just an empty room with bare walls, a bed, and a desk. This was somewhere that could be a home for him. And Merlin wanted that for his brother more than anything.

So yes, it felt odd to see his brother so relaxed with McGonagall, but he was pleased to see it.

She touched his shoulder casually and gave him a soft smile that seemed so out of place on the stern Professor's face, and then Harry was making his way towards him.

"Bloody hell," Tonks said from a few seats away, "Potter's gone and tamed the dragon."

Gwaine snorted next from beside him.

Harry rolled his eyes as he approached their table, having heard the comment. "She's not a dragon," he told Tonks, stealing a piece of toast as he passed her.

"Just wait until you're late to Transfiguration for the first time," she warned, waving a bit of bacon in his direction. "Or when she catches you sneaking around after curfew, or when you're trying to get high by the greenhouses -"

"Okay!" Merlin cut in quickly, he was absolutely not going to let her tell Harry about that. "He's ten," he chided. "Maybe avoid talking about drugs! Jeez, no wonder you're not a prefect," he said, shuffling further down the bench to make room for Harry to sit down.

"I'm not a child," Harry complained, childishly, slipping into the empty space. "And besides, I heard Aunt Petunia say a lot worse about all the hobos and crack-heads 'littering the streets'."

Merlin rolled his eyes. Damn that woman. "Yes, because how she acted towards you was definitely appropriate."

"Wait, does Madam Pomfrey grow drugs in the greenhouses?" Gwaine asked, fascinated and far too excited at the prospect for Merlin's taste. "And are we talking magical or muggle drugs? Because I've heard crazy things about smoking -"

"There is still a child present," Merlin reminded them. But, unfortunately, his input was being very soundly ignored.

"Not telling," Tonks snarked, to Merlin's relief. "You can always ask Sprout yourself, but then that runs the risk of her having no clue where you heard something like that, and then thinking you're a delinquent."

"I'd make an excellent delinquent," Gwaine said proudly.

"Yes, yes, you'd make a great criminal -"

"He's certainly got criminally bad hair."

"- but can you please both stop corrupting my brother," Merlin asked, only to be ignored by, what was of course, the greater tragedy.

"My hair's great!" Which was an insult to Gwaine's hair. "And you're one to talk about bad hair, Potter. Ever heard of a comb?"

"And maybe also stop insulting my brother," Merlin added.

"Well, he started it," Gwaine pouted.

"Mature," Merlin commented sarcastically. Harry grinned next to him, so Merlin prodded him in his side. "And you, stop provoking my friends." Harry's cheeky grin communicated that he would do no such thing, and Merlin couldn't help but relent, at the sight of his brother looking so care-free. He smirked, "You know how fragile Gwaine is about his hair."

"Wha- Hey!"

The light-hearted laughter filling the Great Hall was almost enough to convince Morgana that this morning wouldn't be as God-awful as she was expecting. But then, of course, Arthur didn't even give Morgana enough time to take a single bite of her breakfast before he had taken a hold of her arm saying, "We need to talk," and pulling her out of the Great Hall.

She turned to glare at him with a cutting remark on the tip of her tongue, but froze at the look on his face. Arthur looked serious. It was the sort of expression that seemed out of place on his young face. It was more suited to what he looked like before a siege or a battle. He was concerned and apprehensive, but committed to keeping an air of calmness, no matter what.

It was enough to convince her to abandon her egg and toast. She tried not to let her mind spiral at the possibilities that might have put that expression on her brother's face. There was no use in speculating or worrying herself. He was obviously going to tell her in a moment, so she nodded and allowed him to lead her out of the Great Hall, away from any prying ears, without complaint.

"Do you know her?" he asked urgently, as soon as they were out of anyone else's earshot. "The new Defence Professor," he elaborated when her brow scrunched together in confusion. "Have you met her before, do you know who she is?"

"No," Morgana said, confused and a little worried. "Why?"

The truth was that Morgana had spent the last night trying to figure out the same thing.

Because that woman was from Camelot.

Morgana had learnt to recognise last year who and who hadn't been brought back. There was some sort of buzz about them that she could sense. Presumably it was the magic that had brought them all back, something from the Old Religion that had touched all of them, but was impossible for anyone else (except perhaps Merlin) to replicate on another person. Of course, she hadn't need to identify that in order to recognise most of them. It had been obvious. Even those that she hadn't grown up with originally didn't look too different from their counterparts a decade younger.

The only ones who had given her trouble had been Valiant, a Slytherin in her year, who she remembered from trying to kill Arthur in a tournament, and George, a Hufflepuff, who had just been another servant in the castle. She had yet to understand why two people so insignificant to their destinies had been given the chance at a second life, but she was sure that she would crack the mystery eventually.

But the new Professor, Nimueh Le Fay, had that same whisper around her as the rest of them. Not to mention the fact that she shared Morgana's sur-name. Just one of those things alone would have been enough to have Morgana racking her brain to try and identify the woman.

But it was no use. She was almost certain that she had never seen her before.

"Well you must be related or something, right?" Arthur responded reasonably. And yet, there was just something in his eyes . . . he was hiding something from her, she determined. She had known Arthur Pendragon for two lifetimes, she knew how to read him, and she knew when he was trying to keep something from her.

"Perhaps," she told him, deciding to keep her cards close to her chest. "But I doubt it. I mean, I know Le Fay isn't a common name in the muggle world, but neither of my parents had magic. How likely is it that two witches came from a muggle family? And that I would never have met her, not even after my magic started showing?"

Arthur shrugged.

"Maybe Le Fay is a more common name in the wizarding world," she reasoned. "I could always go and ask her." Morgana was planning on doing as much anyway. Not really to see if they were related, but more to find out who she had been back home. Why didn't Morgana know her? And what was it that Arthur knew that she didn't?

"So you've never seen her before?" he pressed. "She never came to visit when you were younger? And I never saw her either?"

"Why would you have seen her?" Morgana asked suspiciously. "She's not called Pendragon."

"Because I must know her somehow!" he shouted, causing Morgana to take a step back.

She couldn't remember the last time either of them had shouted at the other. They had been getting along so much better since Morgana had started making an effort after her memories returned.

So what was making him angry enough to be taking it out on her?

"I'm sorry," he said immediately, noticing her reaction. "I'm sorry, Morgana, I just . . . I don't understand what's going on."

And that was enough to send alarm bells ringing in her head. Because she and Arthur didn't apologise to each other. That just wasn't them. They waited for the other person not to be angry anymore, or to explain what was going on, and then they forgot it ever happened. They didn't say sorry. And they didn't admit weakness, like not knowing something.

Which meant that something was really wrong. And that Arthur wasn't angry . . . he was panicking.

What did he know that was causing him to panic, she thought warily.

Fuck.

Was he remembering? It wasn't how it happened for her, but maybe it was different for every person? She hadn't exactly had the chance to ask Gaius on the train platform in between throwing barbs at him.

"Tell me what's wrong," she said immediately.

But instead of answering her he riffled through his bag and handed her a spiral sketchbook. He took a moment to find the right page, but when she looked at it she had her answer.

Their new DADA Professor's face was staring back at her from the page. Her breath caught in her throat. Beneath it was a magical creature that Morgana had never seen before - not even in her nightmares - and then a flower below that. The mortaeus flower.

"I drew that months ago," Arthur whispered to her, sounding more afraid than she had ever heard him in this life.

"Did you dream this?" she asked him, only distantly registering how horrified her own voice sounded.

"So you believe me?" He sounded so relieved.

She remembered sounding like that when Merlin had taken her visions seriously.

And didn't that just leave a sour taste in her mouth.

Morgana had had no Seer dreams in this life. Not before or after her memories had returned. She had always been prone to nightmares, but she had thought back on all of them since her memories returned, and none had been tellings of the future or past. The only nightmares she'd ever had were her own mind tormenting her with her greatest mistakes after she remembered who she truly was, and relieving the loss of this life's parents.

But now Arthur was having visions. Arthur was dreaming of their past. Arthur had taken her gift from her.

She flicked through the notebook, seeing page after page of scenes from their lives. Arthur's knights, all aged up to when he had known them. Gwen, wearing a dress fit for a queen. Merlin, in his stupid neckerchief. Even herself, looking like the princess she had secretly been.

How had she missed this?

How had she not seen the signs of his memories returning.

"How long have you been doing this?" she asked, trying to quell the jealousy in her voice. It had been her gift.

"Less than a year," he answered. "It's stupid. I always thought you would make fun of me. Making up stupid stories where I'm a prince or a king. And then so many people in our year had names that fit into the legend, like ours do, so I started putting them into the story too."

"So you didn't dream this?" she said, relieved.

"No," he shook his head. "It was just my imagination . . . or at least I thought it was. I mean, 'Nimueh', it fit the pattern. But I've never seen her before. I remember being really proud that hers was the first face that was completely original, and not one of my friends."

"Why did you draw her?" Morgana asked suddenly, a realisation coming to her. "You said you were making up stories, so who was she supposed to be?"

"Well, I needed a villain," he replied hesitantly. "I didn't want to use one of my friend's faces for that . . . so I made one up."

Or he remembered a villain he already knew.

She supposed she should be relieved that her own face wasn't readily offered up by Arthur's subconscious as a suitable villain.

"Morgana, what do you think this means?"

He didn't look afraid any more, she registered. Confused and worried, for sure. But not afraid.

She remembered being so afraid of her visions.

"I might know," she told him. Because that was all she had really wanted when it had been her. She just wanted someone to tell her that she wasn't crazy. She wanted someone to tell her that they understood, that they knew what was going on. "But I need you to trust me," she said.

"This is like before isn't it?" he asked, and she remembered how many other times she had asked him to trust her since her memories returned and she had said or done something that she simply couldn't explain to him.

"Yes," she confirmed, "It's like before. But, Arthur . . . I want you to tell me if anything else like this happens. If more people show up, or if - especially if - they're meant to be some sort of villain."

She could only hope that she herself wouldn't fall into that category.

"And you'll tell me what you can?" he pressed. "If she is related to you? Or if she's . . . dangerous?"

"I promise," she told him. "Now, come on. I have breakfast to finish, and they need to give out class schedules. Snape will already hate my guts after everything Uther did this summer, I don't need to give my head of house another reason to subtly sabotage the rest of my academic career."

Ugh. Snape. Just looking at him made Morgana feel disgusting. Though she couldn't be sure if that was his personality or that lanky, greasy hair. Honestly, was shampoo not something wizards used? He was a potion's master, could he not brew himself a magical equivalent? As if his slimy personality wasn't enough -

Oh.

Oh, hang the fuck on. Oh, fuck no.

He was fucking - he was basically Agravaine De Bois. With his gross hair, and his double-agent bullshit, and his punchable face.

Good God. Why not have just reincarnated the man and called him Severus?

Ew.

She hoped to high hell that they wouldn't be getting a surprise appearance from Arthur's uncle.

That man had always made her feel disgusting. The way he had looked at her . . . As if she hadn't known that that pig had wanted her. Whether it was to use her for her crown or for her body, she had known that the simpering little oaf had wanted more from her than just his revenge on Arthur and Uther.

Ugh. She bet Snape was a perv too.

"As if I need more reasons to hate him," she muttered.

Arthur nodded along, oblivious to her comparisons of Snape to the man that had better not fucking exist anymore.

Morgana brushed her observations aside for now. She could tell that Arthut wanted to keep talking about this, wanted to keep pushing. But her brother also knew when she wouldn't budge an inch on something. Morgana would not be telling him any more until after she had spoken to Nimueh.

And really, didn't some of the legends say that Nimueh and Merlin were lovers?

Morgana never remembered Merlin showing any interest in anyone who wasn't her brother. Though, she supposed being tied together by destiny was a fair enough reason not to have time for anyone else.

Looking back, Gwen's little crush on Merlin was really quite funny. She couldn't believe that she had assumed Merlin felt the same way after he confessed to healing Gwen's father in order to save the girl's life. No. He had just actually been stupid enough to confess to using magic in the heart of Camelot. In front of the king. The very same king who enjoyed burning sorcerers alive.

How did she not figure out he was Emrys sooner? He was a fucking idiot.

Okay she'd gotten off topic.

The point she was trying to make was that she didn't think Merlin had ever had time for love interests in between being a servant, physician-in-training and a secret vigilante. So this Nimueh probably wasn't an ex-girlfriend he scorned who is here in the name of revenge, or a long lost love that Merlin used his magic to ensure would be brought back to life with the rest of them.

Frankly, considering the current age difference, Morgana sincerely hoped she was correct.

After all, so far whatever power had brought them back seemed to have no issue in separating their generations as they once had been. Uther was their father, Gaius was old enough to be a grandparent, and she and Arthur and all of his little round table were of a similar age.

Which meant that this Nimueh person had been considerably older in Camelot.

She had obviously been a sorceress. That was something that remained in all tellings of their history. So why didn't Morgana know her?

Maybe . . . maybe Merlin only met her after she died. Morgana had been thirty-one when she died. Merlin could have lived a hundred years more. Or at the very least, perhaps she had been present in the citadel only after Morgana's failed take-over and subsequent exile.

Maybe Morgana didn't remember her simply because they had never met.

"Hey," Arthur said, nudging her back towards the Great Hall. "I thought you were in some big hurry?"

His face clearly told her that he knew she had gotten caught up thinking about what their conversation meant, and she appreciated him humouring her request not to push.

"I'll come sit with you at dinner tonight," she told him. It wasn't a thank you. It wasn't an apology. It wasn't a promise to have more information by then. But Arthur grinned at her like it was all three. "After all, I have so many more stories to tell Gwaine, and it's no fun if you're not around to look miserable through them."

There. That wiped the look of his face.

"Why do you hate me?"

She stuck her tongue out at him like the mature Lady of the court she was.

Harry just happened to have his eyes on the doors when he saw Morgana and Arthur enter together. Both of them looked uncomfortably tense as they separated towards their own house-tables, but parted with a smile genuine enough for Harry to assume whatever was putting that look on their faces had nothing to do with each other.

"Hey," he asked, nudging Merlin with his elbow and nodding in the direction of the siblings, "What's up with your friend?"

"I . . . don't know," his brother said, sounding confused and more than a little concerned as he observed Arthur. "He was fine yesterday, on the train. I . . . I wasn't really paying attention to him during the feast, and this is the first I've seen him today."

Harry knew Merlin well enough to recognise the guilt that was already seeping into his tone. "I'm sure it's fine," Harry said unconvincingly, trying to stop Merlin's worrying before it snowballed, and cursing himself for bringing the matter to his brother's attention. "He probably just argued with one of his roommates. Him and the twins don't really get on, remember?"

But even as he said it, he followed Arthur's glare towards the staff table, seeing it land on the new professor. Nimueh.

"You were sat next to her and McGonagall last night, right?" Merlin asked, obviously having done the same as him. "Did she say anything about him? Or Morgana? I mean with the name and everything . . . maybe they're related? Maybe it's family tension?"

"No," Harry told him, shaking his head. "We actually - Well, the only student we talked about was you."

"Professor Snape will be at the other end of the table," Aunt Minerva - as she had insisted he call her - promised. "Pomona did not mind moving from her usual seat for the Welcoming feast, so you'll be seated beside me, though it would be polite to thank her later."

"I will," Harry said. "I'll find her tomorrow, if I don't get a chance tonight." She nodded firmly in approval.

Aunt Minerva had decided that his manners weren't quite up to scratch in the weeks they had been living together. Not that she'd said anything so plainly. But Harry remembered her rather glaring silence the first time they shared a proper meal together just the two of them. He was usually more careful, when it was just him with adults, but she had impressed upon him that she wanted him to feel comfortable and to act himself, if this was to be his home. So Harry hadn't bothered to pretend that he didn't want to eat as much as he could as fast as he could. Growing up with Dudley meant that if he didn't eat quickly then he wouldn't eat at all. Aunt Minnie's face had been rather expressive when he had glanced towards her. He wouldn't call it disgust, but it wasn't too far.

Since then, she had impressed on him the politeness of making conversation through dinner, using the correct cutlery with certain foods, and 'please and thank you's.

Harry wasn't stupid. Or rude (Unless someone deserved it). So he already knew all of those things - well maybe not all of the cutlery stuff. He had just never seen the use for most of it.

Adults didn't care what he had to say, so why would he ever bother making conversation if they didn't have something he was trying to find out. Like when Aunt Petunia had to sign his permission form for the swimming lessons that the school organised. Harry made sure to talk about how he'd heard the lady at number two saying how jealous she was of Aunt Petunia's rose bushes, and how the man and number seven was looking from Uncle Vernon's car to his own beat-up vehicle sadly. Neither of those things had been true, but they had put Aunt Petunia in a good enough mood to sign the permission form.

So Harry totally knew how to make polite conversation when he needed to.

And Harry had always used his 'please and thank you's with the Dursleys. Only that, 'please, can I have some food' and 'thank you for not throwing me back out onto the doorstep where you found me' were hard to make sound polite when he was starving and stuffed into his cupboard.

But he was thankful for Professor Sprout giving up her seat for him, and so he would tell her so.

"The new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor will be on your other side," Aunt Minerva continued. "So, be friendly and polite. I very much doubt that she'll be your Professor in a year's time, so you don't need to be as formal as you must with the other Professors."

"Wait, why won't she -"

"Hurry now and sit down, I need to fetch the first years," she dismissed.

Harry did as he was told, still puzzling over why Aunt Minnie was so sure that the new Professor would be gone already before his first year. Perhaps she had an arrangement with the Headmaster to only teach for a year?

"Hello there," said the lady as he took his seat beside her.

She was very pretty, Harry thought. Her features looked striking, with her dark hair and light eyes and bright lipstick, the contrast was stark against her pale skin. She had a sort of ageless face, where Harry couldn't have guessed whether she was twenty or fifty or anything in between. Her face looked young, but her eyes told a different story.

"Hi," Harry said nervously. He'd never had a problem talking to strangers before, but there was something about her that was inherently intimidating, even with the smile on her face. Not to mention that he also had Aunt Minerva's expectations worrying him.

"Are you to be my company this evening?" she asked charmingly. He nodded and gave what he was sure was an awkward-looking smile. "Well, I certainly lucked out, I was so afraid they were going to lump me next to the sour-puss over there," she said with a nod towards Snape.

Harry felt his lips quirk up at the insult towards the man. "Well, if that's who I'm up against, then I'll definitely be better company," he promised. "But, y'know, you could probably say that about Peeves too, so that's not saying much."

She laughed lightly and Harry felt himself relax further. "I'm Nimueh," she introduced.

"Harry." And he was rather pleased when her eyes didn't immediately dart up towards his forehead.

The first years all came through after that, halting their conversation, and Harry was surprised to realise that he must have completely missed the entrance of his brother with all of the older students. His eyes quickly scanned over the Hufflepuff table, and sure enough, there Merlin sat, in between Freya and Gwaine. He waited for his brother's eyes to dart over to him, not paying attention to the sorting now that the hat had stopped singing, and gave him a small wave.

He saw Nimueh's eyes follow the movement, and watched her interest peak as she saw Merlin return the gesture.

"So, you're friends with Mister Emrys then," she commented once all of the first years had been sorted and they had begun their meal.

"Sort of," Harry told her. "He's my brother," he said with conviction, knowing how several people had dismissed him saying as much since they didn't share any blood relation.

"How curious," she remarked, though she did not say what exactly was so curious about the situation. "So, tell me about his magic."

It was not a request, despite the casual tone.

"I'm sorry?"

She smiled, looking at him as if he had done or said something endearing but foolish. "I have a mastery in the Magic of The Old Religion," she explained, not quite condescendingly. "I believe your brother was one of the main reasons for my appointment as a professor here. I thought I would get a headstart on helping learn to control his magic by getting an outside point-of-view from someone close to him. I'm assuming you've seen his unique abilities in action?"

Harry thought about the disastrous event this summer. He thought about Merlin shaking Hogwarts itself to the core. He thought about his brother losing control and landing himself and others in the hospital wing. That was not the sort of impression that he wanted to give someone who was meant to be helping his brother.

"It's . . . impressive," he said cautiously. "I know he's overpowered the professors a few times, so I'm not sure your magic is going to be able to help him."

No, of course not," she snorted. "My magic isn't what's going to make me useful to him. I'm quite certain that he's already far more powerful than anything I can achieve with my wand. No," she shook her head, "It's my expertise that's going to help him. I'm simply here to . . . guide him."

"Me?" Merlin asked, bewildered. "What on earth could she want with me?"