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Chapter Text

The Liberators

Merlin stood alone in the darkened room. He cast out his magical senses in every direction, searching for other people, making sure the coast was clear. He had to be absolutely certain it was safe to emerge.

He once again berated himself for getting himself into this situation. What on earth had he been thinking?

He crept towards the door, staying as silent as possible. He sensed a great number of people in close proximity, but was unsure whether or not they were in the room beyond or further away. He had to be able to leave unseen. It was too dangerous for him to run into anybody else.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he reached out towards the door handle, ready to gently turn it and slip out unnoticed. With his other hand, he reached behind him and pulled his hood over his head. Maybe that would suffice? He doubted it. This 'disguise' had long since ceased to be effective. It was too dangerous to trust to such a flimsy concealment.

But what choice did he have?

Just as he laid his hand on the knob, he sensed a sudden presence heading straight towards him from beyond. He leapt back, desperately looking for a place to hide, but none were to be found. He wheeled around to find the door opened and two figures standing in the doorway.

"This is where you're hiding, Merlin!" grinned Fred. "We wondered where you'd got to!"

"I'd never have thought I'd have Merlin himself hiding in my stock cupboard," said George, sporting an identical grin. "You can come out now. The shop's closed."

Merlin scowled, annoyed at their amused expressions. "So kind of you," he said, and moved past them out of the room and into the main shop, now mercifully empty of customers. "Very considerate."

They just continued grinning. "Locking yourself in a stock cupboard? Not exactly courageous now, is it?"

"Can you blame me?" Merlin asked, exasperated, gesturing to bright orange banners all around the room that read: 'Merlin's Magical Mischief Making Kit- Buy one and meet the man himself!' "What the hell were you thinking?"

"You said you'd endorse our projects!"

"You could have warned me first," Merlin groaned. "What a nightmare!"

"Can you understand celebrities?" Fred asked his twin. "He and Harry are the most famous people in the world, but they still hate giving out autographs. You'd think they'd enjoy their fame!"

"Enjoy it?" Merlin said. "Would you enjoy having to sign hundreds of boxes over and over again, with journalists, photographers, admirers and plain weirdos in your face all day asking hundreds of questions and pulling at your robes? It's manic."

"It'll all calm down sooner or later," said George, still looking amused. "Hopefully not until we sell all of our stock though."

"It's been months and months," said Merlin leaning heavily against a stack of Puking Pastilles. "You'd think they'd at least be able to catch a glimpse of me without screaming their heads off."

"True," acknowledged Fred. "You're turning into quite the Gilderoy Lockhart."

Fortunately, he never got to see the glare Merlin was about to shoot in his direction. There was a sudden burst of flame and Merlin felt the now familiar weight of Fawkes settling on his shoulder. He crooned softly, and Merlin raised his hand to stroke his scarlet plumage.

"Bloody bird," gasped George, clutching at his heart. "Does he have to do that?"

Merlin ignored him. "Now, why couldn't you have come earlier and taken me away from all this?" he said to Fawkes.

Fawkes squawked in answer. Merlin nodded.

"You're right. We don't need to give them any more ammunition for gossip. I know you don't like being centre of attention."

"Why do you always talk to him like that?" Fred asked, watching Fawkes uncertainly. "I know he's smart and all, but he doesn't actually talk back to you, does he?"

Merlin just smiled in answer, leaving Fred unanswered and uncertain. Of course, Fawkes couldn't talk, but he might as well do. He was a creature of the Old Religion, Merlin's kin, and Merlin found he understood him just as well as he understood Kilgharrah or Aithusa. Better probably, knowing Kilgharrah's riddles. Some communication just didn't require words.

"I should get back," Merlin said, standing up straight again. "Before someone looks through the window and sees me."

"Come on," said George, moving over to the till. "Don't you want to see how much money your little appearance has gotten us today?"

"Not particularly," said Merlin. "I'll get you back for this. You said your shop would be closed today!"

"What's a little white lie between friends?"

"Yeah, harmless!"

"For you, maybe," said Merlin. "You should think twice before doing that again if you want to continue your lessons."

Immediately, they both sobered up.

"But you promised you'd teach us Old Magic!"

"And you promised the shop would be empty when I Apparated in. That's the last time I trust either of you."

"Merlin-"

"Bye," he smiled, and with another flash of fire, Fawkes had disappeared from the shop, carrying Merlin with him, and depositing him in the middle of the drawing room of Grimmauld Place. He soon made his way down to the kitchen, where he found Draco, Remus and Tonks sitting at the table.

Tonks winked at him as he walked in. "Nice quiet day in Diagon Alley?"

"You knew?" he groaned, sitting down opposite her and burying his head in his hands.

"Of course," she grinned. "Who do you think helped them plan it?"

He looked back up at her. "Why?"

"Because you're famous," she said. "You need to get used to it sooner or later. You're always going on about how great it is not to have to hide your identity any more, but what use it that when you don't go out in public without a disguise?"

"How can I when I get mobbed wherever I go?"

"Harry's put up with that since he was eleven," said Remus. "The more you hide away, the more curious people get about you. If you just stopped hiding, eventually they'd get used to you."

"Yeah, in about fifty years," scoffed Draco. "Round about the same time I can go out in public without getting spat at."

Merlin shot him a glance here. "Are people still doing that?"

Draco shrugged. "Not as much as they used to. Most people just ignore me, or tell me that I have no right to the Order of Merlin you gave me."

He looked down at the table here, probably agreeing with them. For the millioneth time since the ceremony, Merlin shook his head.

"You deserve it, Draco," he said. "I say you do, and since I'm the one who started the whole thing, mine is the only opinion that counts."

He'd repeated this same statement to Draco dozens of times, and he would continue to repeat it until he believed it. Until he believed in himself.

Draco made no answer, and Merlin just sighed again. He looked towards Tonks.

"I wish I was a Metamorphagus," he said, looking at her bubblegum-pink hair. "I hate having to disguise myself."

"Sorry, it's a privilege granted to only a worthy few," she winked. She looked down at the Muggle-style watch on her wrist. "Speaking of which, I'd best go and pick Teddy up from my mother's."

"What colour is his hair today?" Merlin asked.

"Green," she said, wrinkling her nose. "Mum's delighted; she thinks he'll be a Slytherin one day. You know, one of the few Slytherins in my family that isn't psychotic. Which, come to think of it, is only herself and Draco. And I'm still not sure about the latter."

She winked at Draco as she said this, but he didn't smile, probably wondering whether she was being serious or not. This had been the case for the last several months. Although now welcomed by the entirety of the Order (even Ron, though somewhat reluctantly at first), he still was not comfortable around them, and jokes at his expense were often taken with cautious confusion. He was incredibly quiet around everybody; the only ones he seemed to be at ease around were Merlin, and, surprisingly, Fred and George. It was an odd sort of friendship, especially as such hatred had existed between them for so long, but the weeks when Merlin, Fred, George and Draco had lived together in Grimmauld Place after Merlin's reveal at the Ministry had created an odd sort of bond between them. Sometimes, the twins even managed to get Draco to smile.

The four of them still lived here, more out of habit than anything. Fred and George kept making excuses about the flat above their shop being infested with Doxies, but Merlin thought they just wanted to keep the two of them company, as well as discussing potential endorsements with Merlin. The rest of the Order stayed occasionally; though no longer doing patrols or Order missions, everyone seemed to congregate here anyway. It had almost become a sort of common room, with people gathering in the evenings for discussions or for meals, before heading to their own homes. Remus and Tonks, though now having their own home after the repeal of the Ministry's Anti-Werewolf Laws, spent a great deal of time here; Remus had spent the better part of the last few years in the house, after all.

Merlin, for his part, was in no hurry to move. Though quite rich after thirteen centuries of saving and able to afford an entire castle of his own if he so wanted, he found himself quite settled in Grimmauld Place, a place he had come to think of almost as a home after the last year or so of living here, despite the dodgy décor. Still, the house was rather dark and dingy. If it wasn't for the fact that trying to acquire a new property without the Daily Prophet and the rest of the Wizarding community finding out was so unlikely, he'd be seriously considering moving. But, Harry was happy to let him stay.

After the battle that had taken place in the square in front of the house, the street had been severely damaged, and the memories of more than one hundred Muggles modified, with magical repair teams working around the clock for days to undo the damage the Death Eaters had done, and the destruction he and Morgana had wrought with their duel. As a result, the neighbours were often to be seen gazing into space and occasionally walking into lampposts. It made Merlin uncomfortable every time he witnessed this, though some of the others chuckled affectionately. Memory-Modification had always seemed like such a violation to him.

"I'd best be going as well," said Remus, grimacing. "I've got those meetings with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Beasts."

"Are they going well?" Merlin asked. "Are they seeing sense?"

"Beginning to," he answered, running a hand over his lined face. "Though I think that's Kingsley's influence more than anything. Unbelievable how deeply rooted the prejudice about werewolves is. Thank Me- well, thank you, for the potion you created. It's ten times better than Wolfsbane. If we can get that supplied free of charge to every werewolf in Britain …"

He smiled. "Well, I'd better stop before I bore you all. Molly was in earlier, she's left some of that famous steak pie of hers for you all tonight. It's in the pantry." He grinned at Merlin. "Thirteen hundred years old, and you still have someone cooking your meals for you. Retirement must be bliss."

Merlin grinned back. "Don't I deserve it? After all, it makes a change from the days when I actually had to kill my own dinner."

"Urgh," said Tonks, looking disgusted. "I'm off before you give away any of the gruesome details."

She turned and left, and after a moment, Remus followed her, leaving Merlin and Draco alone in the kitchen. Immediately, the tension seemed to leave Draco's shoulders.

"Why don't you get the dinner?" said Merlin. Draco nodded, and made to stand up, but Merlin stopped him.

"Not like that," he said. "Stay where you are. Bring it to the table."

Draco's eyes widened when he realised what he was asking. "My wand's in-"

"You don't need one," Merlin said, not to be beaten. "Bring it to the table. You remember the incantation?"

Draco nodded. "Fleogan."

"Well?"

Draco sighed, and took a deep breath. He closed his eyes, and screwed up his face in fierce concentration. Several minutes passed in silence, as Draco sought the magic deep within. Steadily, his erratic breathing slowed, and became steady. He opened his eyes, and held out his palm in the direction of the pantry.

"Fleogan," he said, and his eyes burned golden.

The pantry door swung open, and from within, the pie raised several inches into the air, and slowly, ever so slowly drifted towards the two of them. It was shaky in the air, it wobbled, but successfully was landed on the table without issue. Draco sighed with relief.

"Good," said Merlin, not betraying his delight. "But it's cold. Heat it up."

Draco looked wary, but, after bracing himself, held out his hand over the pie. "Byrne," he said.

Immediately, the pie began to emanate warmth, and began to sizzle satisfyingly, filling the room with pleasant aromas.

"Good," Merlin said again. "But don't release it all too quickly or else it'll-"

A flash filled the room, and a couple of flames sprouted out of the pie, making them both jump back. Fortunately however, the flames were soon quenched.

"I'm sorry!" said Draco. "I didn't mean-"

"It's alright," said Merlin, examining the pie carefully. "It's just a little bit burnt. It'll still taste as good-"

"That's not what I meant," Draco said, sighing. "I can't control this magic. Not like Potter can."

"Harry's been learning for months," said Merlin. "Of course he'll be better than you. It takes time and practice."

"Potter didn't take this long to master fire spells-"

"Harry had to learn quickly," said Merlin, patiently. "He had no choice. The Old Religion needed him to learn."

"Yeah, and what about the Founders?" he asked. "I've read the books they wrote. They all learned quickly too."

"You need to stop comparing yourself to everyone else," Merlin said. "The four of them, and Harry, they were exceptions to the rule. Most of the people I taught in Camelot didn't learn half so quickly as any of them. You're at the same level as most of them were, perhaps even further. The Old Religion is unique to every single person, Draco. Everyone is different. Ravenclaw picked up Old Magic without a second thought, Hufflepuff took a little longer to do so; it didn't make Rowena a greater witch just because she learned more quickly. And besides, the magic they were all learning was just a fusion of Old and New, not the Old Magic proper, like what you're doing. Harry's progress has become a lot slower since he started using spells without a wand, about the same speed an average sorcerer would have learned back in the day."

Draco avoided looking at him, and instead looked at the slightly blackened pastry of the pie. "My ancestors were Druids," he said. "I should be better at this."

"Believe you me, Draco, there were many Druids whose magic was even weaker than yours," Merlin said dismissively. "Focus on learning, not comparisons."

Draco still avoided looking at him. He rubbed his left arm unconsciously.

"What is this really about, Draco?" Merlin asked. "Is it about your father?"

Draco stiffened, and looked down at his hands. "No."

"You're a terrible liar."

"There's nothing to say," Draco burst out. "Why does everyone keep asking me that lately?"

"He's asked to see you, Draco," Merlin said.

"I don't care."

"He's your father."

"He's a weak fool that couldn't look past his own stupid ideals," Draco said, glaring down at the table before him. He twisted his hands in his lap. "He's the reason I- why I- why I even got on the wrong side in the first place."

"No one would judge you for going to see him," said Merlin. "You don't have to ignore him for our sakes. We wouldn't think any less of you. You don't have to prove yourself to us anymore, and you don't need to prove yourself to him either."

"I spent so long trying to uphold the Malfoy honour," said Draco, mumbling. "I gave all that up, everything he taught me, everything that we had, to help you. I don't regret that. But I'm- I'm afraid he'll hate me for it."

"Why would he ask for you if he did?"

Draco just shook his head. "None of this matters anyway," he said. "He'll be in Azkaban for years yet. Even Kingsley couldn't get him pardoned for all the crap he did."

"Your mother isn't in prison. Are you telling me you don't want to see her either?"

At this, he flinched. "I don't want any ties to that old life anymore," he said quietly. "I've spent the last year trying to get away from it."

"What about that speech you gave before we went to get Harry from the Dark Tower?" Merlin asked gently. "About how you were sick of atoning for your family, how you weren't ashamed?"

"Yeah, well, that was before the trial, wasn't it?" Draco said. "Before I found out just how much he really did. I'm done with him. The Malfoys were Druids once, a long time ago. I can learn that Old Magic. I'll make people realise the Malfoys don't have to be like this anymore."

"You can't learn Old Magic just because you want to prove yourself," Merlin said. "You'll never succeed. The Old Religion isn't something you turn to for a means to an end. You have to truly accept the magic that is within you. And the greatest magic in this world is love, Draco, it's at the very heart of the Old Religion. And no matter how much you may deny it, I know you still love your parents. Don't be ashamed of that."

But Draco still refused to look at him. Merlin tried to think of something else to say, but was interrupted by the arrival of Fred and George, who stormed into the kitchen triumphantly carrying bags of gold.

"You'll never guess how much we made! I've never- is that mum's steak pie? Wait, a moment- who burnt it?"

"I can't do this," said Ron, throwing down a book on the table in front of him. He folded his arms across the chest. "These spells are ridiculous. Who on earth knows how to pronounce … wrassny … wraysnan-"

"Wrǣsnan,"said Hermione, not even looking up from her own book. "It's a transmutation spell."

Ron stared. "Of course, you'd know."

"You're still supposed to be on fire spells," said Harry, laying aside his own book. "Merlin won't like it if you get ahead of yourself.

Ron rolled his eyes. "I've been lighting candles and fires for weeks!"

"Yeah, but not without blowing up the fireplace," said Harry, nodding to the still slightly blackened bricks around the fireplace in the Gryffindor Common Room.

"Okay, I get your point," sighed Ron. "I'm just not as good at it as you are, Harry."

Harry made no answer. True, Ron was still only learning the elementals of Old Magic, and it was taking a lot longer than it had for Harry, but Harry didn't believe this was for lack of power. Everyone was learning at a much slower pace than before, including himself. Whereas a new spell might have taken him a few days to learn, it now took him several weeks, and with a lot more effort, especially as he now had to do it without a wand. Merlin said this was down to the fact that after Voldemort and Morgana's deaths, the Old Religion had had no need to help Harry learn so fast, so now he was going at an average pace. Though frustrating at first, Harry found he didn't mind. There was no pressure on him to learn quickly anymore, so he found he now had time to actually enjoy the magic, something he'd been unable to do before due to the burden of having to become proficient in a short space of time.

It was hard to believe it was now almost one year since he had first heard of Old Magic, the night of the Battle of Hogwarts when Merlin had first revealed himself to them. Since then it had become such a huge presence in his life he wondered how he had never noticed it before. He felt it at all times, rich power in his veins giving him strength, giving him guidance.

Now that the Old Religion had fully returned, more and more people were discovering it within themselves. Several members of the DA and the Order had passed Merlin's 'Entrance Exam', meaning the Old Religion was strong enough within them to be able to learn Old Magic. It was a point of great confusion amongst many people as to why everyone couldn't learn it, but Merlin was firm. Although every living creature in the world possessed the magic of the Old Religion, with magical people possessing more of it than Muggles, only a certain amount of witches and wizards were actually able to use it. It had caused its fair share of resentment.

Ron, to his own great surprise, had discovered he was one of those few. Merlin's test had consisted of the simple task of lighting a candle using nothing more than Old Magic, and Ron had been so surprised to find he could do it he'd exploded the candle and set fire to the table at Grimmauld Place. He'd had a habit of exploding things ever since then. Despite Merlin's efforts, Ron was still not very good at reining back his emotions.

However, to much shock and bewilderment, Hermione seemed unable to use the magic. The thought of Hermione, Head Girl, bookworm and intellectual having a type of magic that eluded her was something that still completely stumped Harry, and everyone else that knew her.

Hermione, however, did not seem disappointed, at least, not on the surface. She still sat in on all of Ron and Harry's lessons, eager to learn more, and had read all the Founders books, plus a translated version of Merlin's spell book more times than even she could remember. She sat by Merlin for hours on end, asking questions about Camelot and the Old Religion, the true stories of the Knights, about the Founders and the magic he had taught them, plus dozens of others about the various historical events he had witnessed throughout the years, being particularly interested in his memories of the Goblin Rebellions, and the history of house-elves and werewolves, now more determined than ever to end the persecution of these creatures by wizards. Apparently, she seemed to be angling for a position in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and was determined to impress. She needn't worry about it; from what Kingsley had told Harry, he could personally appoint her as Senior Undersecretary to the Minister without anyone batting an eyelid, if he wanted to. The Ministry were desperate to have her join their ranks.

Ron had, as a result, tried not to use Old Magic around Hermione, fearing it might upset her, but Hermione had shrugged this off. She insisted she was happy not being able to use the magic, but Harry and Ron were still a little wary. She had had Merlin teach her the meditation techniques he had taught Harry, so that she would be able to greater sense the Old Religion within her, which she said helped improve her Wand-Magic, and gave her greater awareness and reflexes, though Ron had wondered whether or not she was just saying this to not lose face.

Of the DA, about one third had proved to be able to use it, including to no one's surprise, Luna, who took to it like a fish to water, as well as Seamus, Hannah, Michael Corner, and, coincidentally, the entirety of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. Other teams claimed this was an unfair advantage, including Ron, who assigned their narrow defeat of Gryffindor a couple of months ago to this fact, but all objections had been quashed when Ravenclaw had been promptly crushed by the Slytherin team, none of which had Old Magic. The final match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff was due to take place in just over a month, deciding the fate of the Quidditch Cup.

NEWTS, too, were also looming closer, but Harry was scarcely concerned with these. He hadn't come back to Hogwarts for exam results. He'd only come to learn how to defeat Voldemort, and, when that had been done, he'd only stuck around for Hermione's sake, as well as the Quidditch Cup. Despite Gryffindor having won the Cup three times during his tenure at Hogwarts, he'd only been on the winning team once, and wanted to lift that great silver Cup one last time, as Captain. Hogwarts was the first and best home he had known; he was in no rush to leave it. And besides, he still had to figure out where to go after school.

Now that Voldemort was dead, becoming an Auror didn't seem to be as much of a priority any more, especially as most of his Death Eaters had either died along with him, or had been rounded up pretty soon after the battle at Slytherin's castle. True, there were still some Voldemort supporters out there, but none that seemed to be causing much trouble. At least, for the present.

Merlin had suggested that Harry help him teach Old Magic to others, but Harry was hesitant. Old Magic was still something new to him, and although he now felt entirely comfortable using it, he was wary of teaching others such a potentially dangerous magic. Teaching Old Magic was entirely different to teaching Patronuses to the DA.

The DA and the Order were both still in operation, though most of the danger had passed. DA was now just a Defence Against the Dark Arts practical study group, in the same league as the Potions Club, or Charms Club, though by far the most popular. Professor McGonagall was happy to continue letting him teach. The Order met every month to assess the ongoing clean-up effort after years of war and slaughter, but it was more or less just a reserve operation now. More a sort of club than anything else. It remained in readiness however.

As well as teaching Harry, Ron and the others at Hogwarts and the Order Old Magic, in individual and group sessions, he'd also been running classes at the Ministry for the Aurors who had the ability, and planned to teach Old Magic full time at Hogwarts, beginning in September, as well as continuing to run evening classes for adults. He wasn't too pleased with this idea; he'd never taught so many people at once before, and he was always wary about who he taught. Old Magic is dangerous in the wrong hands, he'd always say, and refused to teach anyone who he could not be certain would not use it for the wrong reasons. As a result, he was making many enemies.

"Where is he?" Ron asked, impatiently. "He said be in the Common Room at half eleven. Why's he not here?"

"He's probably been mobbed by fans again," said Harry, wincing in sympathy. In the weeks after Voldemort's death, walking down the corridors at Hogwarts had proved so impossible he'd resorted to near permanent Invisibility spells.

"Yeah, poor him," said Ron, rolling his eyes. "Bill was staying at Grimmauld Place last week. He told me Merlin's been mobbed by girls wherever he goes. He's had about a dozen proposals as well. Bet he's tied up with one of those girls-"

"Nope, just those charming twin brothers of yours," a voice suddenly sounded from behind them. Harry turned to see Merlin standing there, grinning. He moved towards them and flopped down on a seat before the fire. "Though they haven't been quite so charming recently. You'll never guess what they did today-"

"Oh, yeah, that whole promotion thing," said Ron. "Let me guess, they didn't tell you before you turned up?"

"How did you know about it?" Merlin asked indignantly.

Ron threw him the copy of the Daily Prophet that was lying on the table. "It's been advertised all week. Don't you read the papers?"

"Not anymore no," said Merlin, reading it through quickly. "Not since they did that piece entitled 'How to win the heart of the Mysterious Merlin'."

Ron snorted, but Hermione cut across him.

"How are they getting on with Old Magic?"

"Pretty well," he answered. "They're not really that powerful, so I'll doubt they'll ever be great Old Religion sorcerers, but they're happy with what they can get. I might teach them that whole fusion thing I taught you, Harry. It might suit them better."

"And what about Malfoy," Harry asked, despite himself.

At this, Merlin seemed to hesitate. "He's doing well too," he said, not looking at any of them. "Anyway, Fred and George are the reason I'm late. They had a bit of a disaster in the kitchen. Tried to do all the dishes by Old Magic."

"So glad you have to live with them now instead of me," Ron smirked, settling back in his chair. "Why don't you get your own place?"

"What's the point?" said Merlin. "I'll be living at the castle come September. It's all the home I need."

"Aren't you going to have a lesson?" Hermione asked, looking eager. "I've been reading Ravenclaw's book again and all the stuff she wrote on Apparition is fascinating. She actually invented a new way of doing it, with your help of course, and she wrote loads about Transporting as well and-"

"Woah," smiled Merlin. "Neither of them are ready for something as difficult as that, not even Harry. It took me years to learn it. Harry's not quite there yet. In a couple of months perhaps."

"Ravenclaw learned-"

"Rowena only learnt the fusion version of Transporting," explained Merlin. "The way I do it is far more difficult and dangerous. If Transporting goes wrong, you don't Splinch yourself, you rip yourself to pieces. I won't try that with any of you for a while yet."

Hermione's face fell, and Merlin laughed.

"You're not even the one doing the magic, Hermione. Why are you so eager?"

"I just love learning about it," she said, her eyes shining. "I'm actually witnessing ancient magic right in front of me. I don't care that I can't learn it; it's fascinating enough as it is."

"How can you enjoy watching something you can't do?" Ron asked, dumbfounded.

Hermione frowned. "I can't play Quidditch, but I still enjoy watching you and Harry play," she said. "I don't have to use Old Magic to appreciate it."

"I knew you liked Quidditch!" Ron said.

"I never said I didn't, Ron. I just realise there are more important things in the world than obsessing over-"

"Are we getting a lesson tonight?" Harry interrupted.

"It's a bit late," said Merlin, apologetically. "I just thought I'd come and see you anyway. I've got a whole day teaching at the Ministry tomorrow. Why don't I just run over the basics with you, Ron?"

Harry nodded, but felt somewhat disappointed. Although not desperate for learning the Old Magic like he had once been, he was still eager to learn more, for his own sake now, rather than for the sake of everyone else.

Merlin got Ron to run through the basic exercises several times, getting him to light candle after candle, change the colours, and create shapes out of the flames. Ron sat there, concentrating fiercely, his eyes flashing golden every few seconds, speaking the words as clearly as he could, though still not pronouncing them exactly right. It was going well, until-

"Woah!" yelled Ron, leaping back from the blackened remains of the table. "Sorry about that."

"It's all right," said Merlin, though he was hurriedly batting at some sparks that had landed on his robes. "But you're still not concentrating on reining everything back. Release the magic slowly."

"But you said to build it up! How can I do that without releasing it more quickly?"

"More control," said Merlin. "Read Godric's book again. He had the same trouble you did. As does Draco, funnily enough."

Ron grimaced, but nodded.

Merlin leaned back in his chair. His eyes fell on the newspaper again, and he frowned. He unfurled it and read an article next to the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes advertisement. A thoughtful expression came over his face as he read.

"What is it?" Harry asked, and Merlin passed him the paper. Harry opened it to read:

The International Statute of Secrecy: An Outdated Ideal?

More unrest at the Ministry as campaigners continue to harass Ministry employees.

Activists, calling themselves the 'Liberators', have been flooding into the Ministry Atrium since late last night to promote their views on the abolition of the International Statute of Secrecy. The leader of this organisation, Mr Cicero Verax, 42, of Newcastle, spoke to the Daily Prophet this morning about why he is advocating such a change, and why he believes witches and wizards up and down the country should embrace his ideology.

"It makes sense," he insisted. "For three hundred years the wizarding community has been in hiding, we've been ashamed of who we are. We as a group feel that this is wrong and it is time for change. We should no longer have to hide."

His organisation has grown rapidly in just a few short months, with several high-profile figures from prominent families pledging their support. But what has prompted such a change, this Daily Prophet reporter asked Mr Verax this morning.

"Merlin, of course," he smiles at me. "The greatest sorcerer ever to live has returned to our community after over a thousand years in exile. Imagine, the greatest man to ever live, hiding who he is for fear of persecution! We believe that this is wrong. Merlin has spoken publicly about his relief at no longer having to hide, and we feel the same way. We don't want to hide from Muggles anymore. We want to embrace our own lives once again."

But what about the Muggles, I ask him. Most Muggles have long since stopped believing in magic, what would such a revelation do to them? Is he wary of a repeat of the witch-hunts?

"Of course, it'll be difficult," Mr Verax says, shrugging his shoulders. "But it doesn't mean that we shouldn't try. We've been treating Muggles like mindless cattle for far too long. What right do we have to mess around with their memories, or cast any sort of violating spell on them? It is selfish of us to alter them unknowingly in this way. Merlin reminded us all of one thing when he returned: Muggles and wizards can live side-by-side. He is the only one in the world who can remember a time when magical and Muggles worked together. With his guidance, why can it not be that way again?"

I ask Mr Verax whether or not he has approached Merlin about these issues, and whether he has expressed interest.

"I haven't; he's so difficult to find these days! But I'm sure he would be interested. He's worked with Muggles before, and I'm certain he'd be eager to do it again. He cannot be happy with the situation as it is at the moment."

But how can such a campaign succeed, I ask him, when there are dozens of countries party to the Statute? Does he believe other countries will be so willing to comply?

"If Merlin asks, I'm sure they will agree," he says, a twinkle in his eye. "Minister Shacklebolt has made himself very unpopular internationally by refusing countless invitations to other countries on Merlin's behalf. The world is clamouring to hear more of Merlin, and what better way to do that than reignite the vision he had thirteen hundred years ago?"

The demonstrations look to continue for several days yet, as the Liberators seek to put more and more pressure on the Ministry to act. But with several Ministry spokespersons having denied all reports of the Minister even considering such a radical approach, questions remain to whether or not these Liberators will be content to confine themselves to peaceful demonstrations.

Merlin was unavailable for comment.

Harry looked up. "Unavailable for comment?"

"I cast a spell to stop all owls finding me," said Merlin, looking distant. "And I spent most of the day hiding in the back of Fred and George's shop."

"I read it earlier," said Hermione. "It seems like a crazy idea."

"Of course it is," said Ron, who had read it over Harry's shoulder. "It's completely mental! The Muggles wouldn't be able to handle it. An entire secret population hiding amongst them for the last three hundred years? I wouldn't be surprised if they got the torches and pitchforks out again!"

"Maybe they wouldn't?" said Hermione, though she looked doubtful. "I mean, it may take some time-"

"There was a thousand years between Camelot and the International Statute of Secrecy," Harry pointed out. "They never managed to resolve their differences in all that time, why should now be any different?"

"But Muggles have moved on-"

"Have they?" asked Harry, thinking of his aunt and uncle. "Muggles have enough problems of their own. If we just drop this bombshell on them all of a sudden, who knows what would happen?"

"These Liberators sound kind of dodgy to me," said Ron. "What's with all the hero-worship that Verax guy was doing? Sound like fanatics to me."

"That last bit sounds ominous," Harry agreed. "You don't think they'd do something extreme do you?"

"Maybe if Kingsley showed he was willing to listen-"

"This is an International Statute of Secrecy, Hermione," said Ron. "Kingsley doesn't have sole control here. I don't think they get just how big of a thing this'll be. I mean, how many countries in the world have signed it? It'll never work."

"What do you think, Merlin?" Hermione asked.

They looked to Merlin, and saw him staring into the fire, having said nothing. It was a moment before he looked at them.

"Muggles and wizards working side-by-side?" he said. "It's been my dream for thirteen hundred years. Anyone who's seen the extent of the death and destruction that I have would feel the same."

"Maybe, but it is possible?" Hermione asked. "Or is it just too much to ask?"

Merlin was silent for a long moment. Then, he stood up and crossed the room to the Fat Lady's Portrait. He looked back at them.

"I need to go," he said. "I need to think."

And with that, he left.

Merlin stood alone in the Entrance Hall, looking out through the open doors into the moonlight covered grounds beyond. Suddenly, his heart was beating more rapidly than usual.

Ending the International Statute of Secrecy? He'd dreamed of nothing else since the day it had been signed. But Hermione's final question still rang in his ears.

Is it possible?

Chapter Text

An Incident at the Ministry

"That's good," said Merlin to the assembled witches and wizards in the Auror department. "You're all doing really well."

"No, we're not," said Wilson, one of the younger Aurors, nursing an injured arm. "We're all rubbish."

"Well, yes," admitted Merlin, with a hint of a smile. "But it's a great start, and that's the truth. Give it a few months and you won't have any trouble at all."

They looked doubtful, and Merlin couldn't help but laugh. Of all the Aurors at the Ministry, twenty-six had proven to be capable of learning Old Magic, and he now taught small groups of them almost every day, as well as the civilian witches and wizards who came into the department and the ones in the DA and Order. Tonks had shown an aptitude for Old Magic as well, but had declined his invitation to learn it. 'I'm clumsy enough with normal magic,' had been her answer, and Merlin had accepted her concerns to be justified. Besides, she rarely had any time to learn, what with her normal Auror duties and caring for Teddy, who was now approaching his first birthday. Merlin secretly suspected her Metamorphic abilities had something to do with her Old Magic, but he had yet to meet another Metamorphagus to try out his theory. He believed she may possess a significant amount of power, and hoped to one day convince her to utilise it. Very carefully.

The lessons were going well, if slowly. Thankfully, there was no Voldemort or Morgana to worry about at the moment.

"I think we'll leave it there today," Merlin said, as, just on cue, Fawkes suddenly appeared out of thin air and perched on his shoulder, drawing the usual gasp from those who witnessed it. "Same time and same place next week. Keep practicing those exercises."

They all nodded, and bid him goodbye, some still a little shy around him. They all left the training room, and Merlin followed out onto the main corridor of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Immediately, he turned and headed towards the lifts, and stepped inside, pressing the Atrium button. There was only one other occupant of the lift, a young wizard carrying a box of files. He took one look at Merlin and squeaked, turning a furious red. He turned away, as though afraid to look at him.

Merlin tried not to let this bother him, but it still did. Although it had been what he had wanted for so many centuries, going around using his real name was still something he had to get used to again. He knew now how Harry felt.

It was only a short trip however, and he stepped out into the Atrium, and met the expected pandemonium. About a hundred witches and wizards were gathered here, some carrying large flashing signs, others crying out slogans, all gathered around the new statue in the centre of the Atrium, a figure representing the very first Minister for Magic. It was the first statue in the Ministry that Merlin had ever actually approved of; that wizard had ended the tyranny of the Wizards' Council and created a better, fairer organisation to represent ordinary people.

Ministry witches and wizards, along with a few Aurors were running around, trying to keep the peace, but the crowd were getting very unruly. A few banners caught his eye: 'Friends to Muggles, not Masters', 'An end to secrecy', 'Magical and Muggle Cooperation' and 'Stop Spell Suppression'. He recognised that last one as being the motto of a witch named Carlotta Pinkstone, who he recalled getting into a lot of trouble several years ago for repeatedly using magic in front of Muggles. He should have known she'd be here.

A man was standing before the statue, holding his arms up to the crowd, basking in the eyes of everyone there. He was short, middle-aged, with a rounded face which was shining with exertion. He had mousy brown hair that barely covered a prominent forehead. He was dressed in long grey robes, which stretched tightly across his chest. His eyes were small and dark, but sparkling with enthusiasm.

"Let us end our long imprisonment!" he was calling to the rapturous crowd. "No longer should we be ashamed of our heritage. Let us embrace the Muggles, our wandless friends!"

"Yeah? And what if they embrace us with burning pyres?" one Ministry wizard shouted from the back, to a chorus of boos. "What then?"

"We are fellow human beings!" the man, who was obviously Cicero Verax, called back. "Given the opportunity, they will welcome us too. With time, we can once again be a fully integrated society. We can end the Long Separation!"

"End to separation!" one witch cried out.

"Friends to Muggles!"

"No more Memory Charms!"

Merlin stood in rapt attention, watching the energy of the crowd, the cries of the people, and Verax standing there, taking it all in, a smug smile on his face. Fawkes squawked on his shoulder, and clenched his claws deep into Merlin's shoulder. Merlin turned to him, confused. What upset him so? Surely there was no danger to be found here?

But Fawkes was restless, and turned his beautiful head away from the crowd, as though grieved by what he saw.

"I thought I'd find you here," said a voice from behind. Kingsley was standing there, having just exited the lift, hard eyes on the crowd beyond. "Don't you think the sight of the great Merlin with a phoenix on his shoulder might whip this crowd into an even greater frenzy than it's in now?"

"Would that be a bad thing?" Merlin asked.

Kingsley surveyed him with one critical eye. "We should leave," he said. "The sight of the two of us might rile them even further."

"Perhaps you're right," said Merlin, and reluctantly turned away from the crowd, still thinking furiously. Fawkes immediately seemed to relax as he and Kingsley walked away, and into a nearby alcove where they could observe the crowd without being seen themselves.

Kingsley was watching him carefully. Merlin still had his eyes fixed on the crowd, unable to tear his eyes away.

"I don't understand quite how this happened," Kingsley said. "Just two days ago, not a whisper about any of this. Now … There were eighty here yesterday, today, twice that number, and more keep arriving. They must have been planning this in secret for months. It's all rather come out of nowhere."

"Not nowhere," said Merlin, his eye still on Verax. "This has been building up for the last three hundred years. The fact that more people seem to be arriving is surely testament to the fact that there is widespread call for this."

"You agree with them?" Kingsley asked, though not looking surprised.

Merlin hesitated a moment. "Yes," he said finally. "The Old Religion is back, after waiting so long. This is the next step. This has to be done."

"Yes," said Kingsley. "One day, yes, it must. But are we ready for it now?"

"I have to help," said Merlin. "Verax is right; I'm the only one who remembers a time of peace between Muggles and sorcerers. This is what I have to do."

"I thought you'd fulfilled your destiny?" said Kingsley. "That is why you were made mortal. The Old Religion surely does not intend for you to take up yet another task?"

Merlin was silent. He searched deep within him, and found none of those whispered messages he'd been so used to hearing over the centuries, no urges, no instincts. They'd become increasingly rare ever since he had killed Morgana, and the silence was unnerving. The Old Religion was not telling him he must do this, but regardless, he knew this was the right thing to do. Surely the Old Religion would let him know if he was making a mistake?

Fawkes gave a soft mournful cry on his shoulder.

"This separation has to end," Merlin said firmly. He looked towards Kingsley. "Are you telling me you do not agree? That you won't even listen to him?"

"It is not within my jurisdiction to grant what he wants," said Kingsley. "It is for the International Confederation of Wizards to decide."

"But surely you have some influence with them?" Merlin asked. "Can't you at least broach the subject with them? Make the first step towards ending this stupid law?"

"Is it stupid?" Kingsley asked him, staring at him intensely. "Are the Muggles ready? Would they accept us?"

"Maybe they should be given a chance," said Merlin, staring back. "They aren't mindless creatures."

"That is my point," said Kingsley. "They have their own problems, their own conflicts, their own internal divides. What would happen if we suddenly intruded into their world? They would fear us, they would see us as a threat."

Merlin looked away, his heart beating painfully. "You don't want to see an end to separation?" he asked. "You don't want an end to hiding ourselves away?"

"I think perhaps you want this for the wrong reasons, Merlin," said Kingsley, his voice a little too understanding.

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"You've spent the last thirteen hundred years waiting for the chance to reveal yourself again," Kingsley said. "You've done that. You don't need to do this as well. You don't have to hide amongst your own kind any more, isn't that enough?"

"No," said Merlin, feeling an old pain flare up unexpectedly. "Because they're my kind as well. I was raised by a Muggle, in a village filled with Muggles. I didn't meet another sorcerer until I was fully grown, for several years all of my friends were solely Muggles. I may be a sorcerer, but I'm allied to them as well. I owe it to them."

Kingsley made no answer to this, and just let his eyes fall on Verax, who was still speaking emphatically to the crowd.

"He wants me to petition the International Confederation of Wizards," he said, nodding to Verax. "Propose the annulment of the Statute."

"Why don't you?"

"I don't cater to each and every whim that crosses my path," said Kingsley. "This issue, regardless of what you say, has appeared from nowhere. I need more evidence other than colourful slogans and charismatic speakers before I can even begin to consider the issue seriously."

"You have it," said Merlin gesturing to the crowds, which were rising in volume. "There is your evidence. Plenty of people want this."

"Perhaps," said Kingsley, looking at Merlin curiously. "Speaking of international wizards, I've received yet more invitations for you to visit foreign Ministries. You cannot keep declining them, they are getting impatient."

Merlin sighed. "I have responsibilities here; I can't rush off and go visit the pyramids or climb the Eiffel Tower with a bunch of fawning ambassadors."

"They want to know more about Old Magic."

"Of course they do," said Merlin. "They hate the fact that we're the only country in the world actually learning it. They want a piece of it. But I just can't teach every sorcerer in the world. They'll have to wait until there are more of us."

"They won't be happy with that."

"Naturally. But they have to face facts," Merlin answered. "I'll do the World Tour thing, eventually. But not until Harry's training is complete. Someone needs to stick around and keep it going until I get back. He's the only one I'd trust to teach it to others. He's the only one else I think properly understands it. And besides, I've already met the Australian Minister for Magic!

"That doesn't count," said Kingsley. "You were already in Australia with Harry and the others to find Hermione's parents. And from what he wrote to me, you were rather rude."

"Not rude, just not willing to publically endorse his campaign for re-election," Merlin answered. "I didn't even know the man. I don't like my name being used for political purposes."

"You don't like embracing your own fame," said Kingsley. "But you're perfectly happy for Verax and these 'Liberators' to use your name in their campaign?"

"That's different," said Merlin. "Creating peace between Muggles and sorcerers in Camelot is one of the few things I've done in my life that I am proud of."

"And you think you can recreate it here?"

Merlin avoided looking at him. "Perhaps," he murmured. Kingsley stared at him for the longest time, before nodding to himself. "Very well," he said slowly. "I had best get back to my office before this mob turns on me. I suggest you get yourself home as well."

Kingsley walked off, fixing Merlin with one last look before leaving. Merlin stood on the spot, debating with himself. He should go back to Grimmauld Place, he knew that that the best thing to do, but something stopped him. The crowd was growing ever larger, and Verax' speeches were growing in fervour. Merlin stared at him for the longest time. There was something about the man, something that he did not like, the smarminess of his expression, the glint in his eyes, yet … Merlin couldn't bear to leave just yet.

Then, despite, Fawkes' squawks of protest, Merlin found himself inching closer to the statue, where Verax was standing, arranging himself in a similar pose to the statue behind him. Merlin felt his heart beating even faster as his words began to reach his ears.

Peace between wizards and Muggles, it was something he'd longed for almost as much as the return of the Old Religion. The pain of all those years of persecution, the countless burnings he had seen, endless streams of traumatised orphans, crazed Muggles with flaming torches, all of that haunted his dreams, haunted his thoughts. The world had gone so badly wrong back then, and Merlin had spent every day of those thirteen hundred years yearning for a better future, a time when all of this would finally end. Was this the chance the Old Religion had intended?

"A time of peace existed once long ago, in the great city of Camelot," Verax was saying to a tumultuous crowd. "There, Muggles and wizards lived side-by-side, in harmony. Why can such a vision not exist once again? Why should such harmony be resigned only to history books and fairy tales? Bring it back, I say. We have the means. Merlin has returned to us, now is surely the time. Old Magic has returned, the Old Ways are returning. The Old Peace can return as well. End the Long Separation!"

Merlin moved closer and closer, now making his way through the crowd, which parted easily, looking in awe at Merlin and Fawkes both, stopping their cheering, and whispering behind their hands.

Merlin slowly found himself at the front. Verax, confused at the sudden silence of his audience, frowned, and looked around. He stopped in amazement when he saw Merlin, his little eyes growing wide, and his jaw hanging open.

Merlin stared evenly back at him, casting out his magic towards the man, seeing whether he could be trusted. Verax was not making it easy. There was an air of ambiguity surrounding him. His magic was not particularly powerful, and Merlin knew without even doing the test that the man would be hopeless at Old Magic, but there was a sharpness in his eye that bespoke a greater intelligence, and a gleam of ambition. He was a self-proclaimed visionary, smug and self-satisfied, but were there good intentions beneath all of that? Did he truly believe what he was preaching?

The crowd was now entirely silent, staring between Merlin and Verax with eager anticipation. Verax' astonishment did not last long, and he soon regained control of himself. He grinned, and lifted his arms up in the air in what he must have thought was a welcoming gesture, but actually looked as though he wanted to snatch Merlin away. His hands were trembling with suppressed excitement.

"You see here, my friends," he called to the crowd. "The great Merlin is amongst us!"

Frenzied whispering broke out, beginning at the back of the crowd, where the demonstrators had been unable to see what was going on. Verax' smile widened.

"Surely this is what we have all waited for?" he said. "For Merlin himself to pledge his support for our cause?"

Merlin stared at the man, stared at him for several long minutes into those dark sparkling eyes, searching for the sincerity he dearly hoped was there, searching for some sign that the man was to be trusted.

"I wouldn't be so hasty, Mr Verax," Merlin said, still critiquing the man in front of him. "I haven't decided one way or the other yet."

Verax' smile seemed to falter for the briefest of moments, before it was back in place, beaming at the crowd.

"You support the Reintegration, do you not?"

"Yes, I do," Merlin answered carefully. "But I'm not sure if I support you yet."

"We are merely servants trying to carry on your vision," said Verax, inclining his head slightly. "You are the reason we are all here."

Yes, he's a smarmy git all right, Merlin thought to himself. A right boot-licker.

"And tell me, why should I give support to a movement run by you?" Merlin asked, eyes still fixed on Verax. "I've seen plenty of people speak out against the International Statute of Secrecy over the centuries, why do you think you shall succeed where so many others have failed?"

Verax' grin grew wider. "Because, in this century, we have you," he said. "With your assistance, we cannot fail."

Merlin's assessment of the man was still uncertain. The man was confident, certainly, though arrogant and a right sycophant. Merlin could see the man's ambition, his whole body seemed to pulsate with it. This was no mere passing fancy, this man was determined, he was intelligent. But did that mean trustworthy?

"Given time, I am sure you shall support us," said Verax. "The evidence is insurmountable, now is the time to stand up for our Muggle brethren, now is the time to end our race's long exile. I have no doubt that you will realise that. With you advocating our cause, Mr Shacklebolt will have to accept our demands, and send a delegation to the International Confederation."

"And what if he doesn't?" Merlin asked. "What then will you do? Would you ever resort to violence?"

"Violence solves nothing," the man said. "We have long since moved past such pettiness."

And, unnervingly, Merlin could not be certain if the man was lying or not. Verax, and Merlin's inability to read him, made him uneasy.

"I'll think about it," said Merlin, searching the man's face one last time.

Verax bowed slightly again. "Your judgment shall mean everything to us, Merlin. We know you shall make the right choice."

Merlin tuned and left the Atrium, passing through the still silent and breathless crowd as easily as a boat through water. Fawkes was quivering on his shoulder, but Merlin paid him no heed. His mind was too caught up in memory, in questions and worries. He was genuinely at a loss.

That he wanted the International Statute of Secrecy abolished, he was certain, but was this the right way to go about it? The Old Religion was suspiciously quiet these days. As much as he'd hated it telling him what to do constantly for thirteen hundred years, he now found he rather missed its constant guidance. Is this what it wanted? Was this a new task for him to complete?

"Well, that was rather dramatic."

Merlin was jerked out of his ruminations by a red headed figure that had fallen into step beside him as he neared the exit of the Ministry. Percy Weasley was beside him, looking half nervous, half admiring.

"Where did you come from?" Merlin asked, surprised at being surprised.

"I was in the crowd," Percy explained, polishing his glasses. "I wanted to see what all the fuss was about."

"And what do you think?" Merlin asked, stopping in his tracks just before the fireplaces in the Atrium. "Do you support this Reintegration, or not?"

Percy looked thoughtful, and took his time before answering.

"I believe that it is inevitable, one day," he said. "We can't exist separately forever, eventually they'll notice us. And if that happens, it may make them suspicious of us. Then again, springing this on them suddenly might just scare them. It's a very complicated situation."

Merlin sighed and nodded, knowing better than to get a straight answer out of Percy. It looked like he was going to have to figure this out on his own.

Then, Merlin felt a sudden change in the atmosphere of the Atrium, though nothing outwardly looked any different. He spun on the spot, feeling a horrible foreboding in his gut. There was danger here.

His eyes went straight to Verax, but nothing seemed amiss, he was still preaching loudly to the crowd. Was it one of the demonstrators? One of the Ministry employees?

"Merlin? What is it?" Percy asked, following Merlin's line of vision.

"There's something wrong here," Merlin said, the feeling of danger still growing within him.

"Yes there is," a voice sounded behind him. "Something very wrong indeed."

An old man was standing behind them, so old, he was bent over almost backwards. He had a long white beard sprouting from his chin, and he was dressed in flowing blue robes, leaning on an ancient staff. His wand was in his other hand, and it was pointed directly at Merlin.

Percy made to draw his own wand, but Merlin stopped him, intrigued by the old man, and the sense of danger he was emanating. Fawkes' grip on Merlin's shoulders tightened. He stepped closer.

"What do you mean?" Merlin asked, immediately on his guard as he noticing a flash of anger in the man's eyes. The demonstration was continuing behind them, no one having noticed the old man.

"You are what's wrong," the old man scowled. "Standing there bold as brass. I saw you! You went right up to Verax and didn't even attempt to deny it!"

"Deny that I want the International Statute to end? Why would I when-"

"Not that," the old man hissed, hobbling closer. "Your so-called name."

An element of understanding crept into Merlin's mind then, but he didn't say anything, and just kept continuing to stare the old man down. The man's anger just seemed to increase.

"How dare you stand there and claim to be the great Merlin," the man spat, confirming Merlin's suspicions. "What gives you the right to play with us all like this?"

"I am not playing with you," Merlin said, much more calmly than he felt. "I am Merlin."

The man scoffed. "I do not believe you," he said. "You're nothing more than a charlatan. An imposter."

"He is not!" Percy said, his pace tinged with pink in his indignation. "I've seen his magic. I saw him kill Morgana. How can you ignore so much evidence?"

"Evidence?" the man said. "Who was to say she even was Morgana? I'm sure you're a good wizard, boy. But all those fancy tricks and puffs of smoke won't fool me. You're a disgrace, you're shaming the memory of the great man himself."

"How dare you-" Percy began angrily, but again, Merlin stopped him from going further. He turned back to the man, a sadness in his heart. This man wasn't the first to confront him. Many people did not believe he was who he said he was, no matter how much Old Magic he showed them. Merlin had given up trying to convince them, and just hoped they'd eventually see the truth on their own.

"I am who I say I am," Merlin said. "I'm sorry that you do not believe me."

"Merlin was a great man, a powerful sorcerer, not a scrawny little boy," the man growled, his wand shaking in his hand. "He's been our hero for centuries, our inspiration, our guidance. How can youpossibly hope to fill his shoes? How could you ever be half the man he was?"

Although he tried not to let it, the man's words bothered him. These were the very words that had haunted him for centuries, tormenting himself for his past failures, lamenting for the past in which he had been so much better, before he had let it all slip away. His days of hating himself for what had happened were now gone after seeing Arthur and the Knights at Avalon on Hallowe'en, but were not forgotten. Still, a trace of guilt lingered unbidden at the back of his mind. But he would not allow it to control his life once again. He pushed it back impatiently.

"I won't argue with you," Merlin said. "Neither of us will convince the other. I just hope you come to your senses soon."

Then, he turned his back on the man and began walking away again, Percy at his side.

"Coward!" cried the man. "Lying coward! Turn and face me! Let's see the power of Merlin. Fight me!"

But Merlin ignored the man, even though the man's shouts had been so loud as to command the attention of Verax and the crowd. The sense of danger was not decreasing however, but increasing.

"I knew it!" screeched the man in the now silent Atrium. "You're not Merlin at all. And I can prove it! Avada Kedavra!"

Merlin's heart almost stopped as he heard the last phrase; the man was more dangerous than he had thought.

Quick as a flash, Merlin spun around, his eyes burned golden, and the Killing Curse bounced harmlessly off the shimmering shield he had conjured in front of himself. Several people in the Atrium screamed. Fawkes sprung from his shoulder and soared away squawking urgently.

Merlin glared at the man. "Fancy tricks and puffs of smoke, is it?" he demanded, seeing the man reel in shock and fear. "What Modern Magic can resist a Killing Curse, I wonder? Nothing but the Old Religion, if you don't see that then-"

"Merlin!"

A terrified voice to his left drew his attention, and his stomach lurched to see several Ministry wizards surrounding a crumpled form on the floor. The woman who had cried out, one of the Aurors from his classes, was on the ground by the other person, her face turned up to him with an expression of horror on her face.

"The Killing Curse," she stammered. "It rebounded. It hit …"

Merlin flew over to the Ministry wizards to see the person that had been hit, cursing himself for being so careless as to give no thought to the rebound. His blood went cold as he saw the vivid red hair.

Percy was lying on the floor, his glasses askew, his eyes closed, his limbs in a tangle after being thrown away from Merlin by the force of the Curse. He was deathly still.

"No!" Merlin cried, and fell to his knees by Percy's prone form, terror spreading through his entire body.

"He's alive!" said one of the Ministry officials disbelievingly, after taking a pulse. "But, the Curse-"

"Its power must have been lessened after hitting my shield," said Merlin, delirious with relief. But he soon pushed that away, and began to examine Percy, desperate to determine the truth for himself.

True enough, Percy was alive. His pulse was weak, and his breathing shallow, and he was still terribly still, his body somewhat cold to the touch, as though trying to decide whether it was dead or not.

Merlin laid his hands over Percy's chest, and closed his eyes. "Bregdan hine bæc.
Hē is bilewit. Hǣlian hine."

He released the magic into Percy's body, sending it to every inch, letting the force of the Old Magic revitalise him, repair the damage, restore the life. Fawkes cried mournfully. Percy twitched.

Merlin fell back and gasped after such a huge spell. "We need to get him to St. Mungo's. He'll live, but I'm not sure how much damage has been done. Send for his father, he's on Level 2."

A witch nodded and ran towards the lifts, and a nearby wizard pulled out his wand and conjured a stretcher, and began lowering Percy on to it. Merlin turned and walked towards the old man, who was now being restrained by two Aurors, though this was hardly necessary since he was staring at Merlin with dumfounded awe and fear.

"B-but," he gasped. "You-you can't be him!"

"I am," said Merlin, glaring at the man. He turned away then, not wanting to argue any further. It was then he noticed all of the demonstrators had gone silent and were staring at him in awe. Beyond them, standing on a podium in front of the statue, Verax was watching him too. There was a gleeful look on his face, greedy almost.

Merlin turned back to Percy, who was now being taking out of the Atrium. As he walked, he felt the eyes boring into his back, the eyes of Cicero Verax, staring at him so intensely he could feel it even from this distance.

It was not a feeling he liked.

"How is he?" Ron demanded, the moment he, Harry, Hermione and Ginny had stormed into the waiting room at St. Mungo's. The entire Weasley family, plus several Order members looked up as they entered.

"What are you doing here?" Remus asked, seeing that Mr and Mrs Weasley were too pale and anxious to say anything. "How did you find out?"

"McGonagall," answered Ron. "That portrait in her office of the Healer told her. But why didn't any of you bother to let us know? He's my brother!"

"I was just on my way to Hogwarts," said Remus. "I only got here five minutes ago myself. Tonks heard about it at the Ministry and told me. Everyone else was at the Burrow when Arthur sent the Owl telling them what had happened."

"And what did happen?" asked Harry, his heart racing the way it did when any of his friends were in trouble. "Is he alright?"

"He's alive," said Charlie, his voice a little hoarse. "Somehow, he's alive. He was hit by a Killing Curse that was meant for Merlin. That's literally all I know. Merlin's with him now."

"Well then, he'll be fine won't he?" said Ginny, though her voice shook. "Merlin can cure anything. He brought me back from the dead!"

"Killing Curse?" repeated Harry. "Who was firing a Killing Curse at Merlin? Are they mental?"

"Might as well be," said Bill, who was sitting with his arm around his mother. "He didn't believe Merlin was who he claimed to be. And he isn't the first. I've seen him in a lot of confrontations like that since you lot went back to school. None of them have ever tried to kill him before though."

"None would dare if they knew the truth," said Charlie. "Apparently the Killing Curse just bounced straight off his shield. Thank goodness it lost some of its potency when it did, otherwise Percy would be …"

Mrs Weasley let out a sob here, and Mr Weasley glared at his son.

"He'll be alright," said Harry, trying to convince himself as well as everyone else. "Merlin knows what he's doing."

A silence followed these words, and everyone just avoided looking at each other. Charlie paced up and down the waiting room, as did Fred and George after a while. No one spoke, not even to comfort. Hermione held Ron's hand in her own, and Ginny sat by Harry, resting her head on his shoulder, as though sleeping, but really trying to mask her own worry. A sense of dread lay upon them all, which wasn't dispelled until there was a soft knock on the door and a Healer walked in. At once, Mrs Weasley leapt to her feet.

"Is he-"

"Your son is just fine, Mrs Weasley," the Healer smiled. "He's awake. Mer- Merlin's done wonders. You can go to him now."

She nodded and raced towards the door on the opposite side of the corridor where Percy was, everyone following her, though Harry, Hermione and Remus felt they should hang back since they weren't family. Ron just rolled his eyes at them and pulled them with him.

They entered the white ward to find Percy the single occupant of a bed on the far side, by the window. Merlin was standing against the wall beside the bed, his face expressionless, but even so, Harry could see a tension in the way he was holding himself. He was staring straight at the bed.

Percy was lying there, propped up against some pillows. He was pale, his glasses were on the table beside him, and he seemed too weak to reach out and get them, but he was awake, and he smiled as he saw them approaching.

"Oh, Percy!" wailed Mrs Weasley, and threw herself on him, while Mr Weasley stood at her side, beaming, laying a hand on his son's shoulder as though to reassure himself he was really there. "I'm so glad you're alright! After everything that's happened, after spending so much time apart I couldn't have stood it if you-"

"Now now, Molly," said Mr Weasley, though he was a bit watery-eyed himself. "Don't strangle the poor lad."

"I'm alright, Mother," said Percy, smiling up at her. "Really."

"You were hit by a Killing Curse, mate," said Charlie.

"Yeah, can we call you The-Other-Boy-Who-Lived now?" joked Fred, though he looked pale himself.

"You should be dead," said Bill.

"Well, I'm not, thanks to Merlin," said Percy turning towards him. "He saved my life."

Merlin shook his head, looking anguished. "Don't," he said. "I shouldn't have had to do that. I was stupid and careless, and it almost cost you your life."

"What do you mean?" Mrs Weasley asked, a somewhat steely edge to her voice, still clutching Percy's arm.

"The Killing Curse was aimed at me, not Percy," said Merlin, hanging his head. "My shield was only enough to cover me. I didn't even think to shield Percy as well, I didn't even consider the rebound-"

"It's alright, mate," said Ron. "He's fine now, isn't he?"

"Yes," said the Healer, who had followed them into the room. "I don't know what you did, Merlin, but you saved him. He's weak, and he'll need some Strengthening Solutions for a few days, but he'll fully recover. At least, we think so; we've never treated anyone who's survived a Killing Curse before."

"He'll be fine," said Merlin, though he didn't look overly happy about it. "I've repaired the damage."

Mrs Weasley nodded, and set about fussing over Percy's sheets. Remus looked to Merlin.

"What were you doing in the Atrium?" he asked. "I thought you always got Fawkes to sneak you out after training sessions?"

"I do," said Merlin, quietly. "But I went to see the demonstrations. I met Cicero Verax."

Mr Weasley turned sharply to him here. "Verax?" he asked, a sharp note in his voice. "And what were you doing talking with him?"

Merlin frowned at his tone. "Do you know him?"

"Oh yes," said Mr Weasley darkly. "We were at school together, same year only he was in Ravenclaw. Smug, narrow-minded git."

"Arthur!" reprimanded Mrs Weasley, but Mr Weasley shook his head.

"He was and you know it," he said. "Always so full of himself and his own intelligence. We were in Muggle Studies together. If I'm honest, I don't know why he's so obsessed with the International Statute of Secrecy now."

"Why?" asked Merlin.

"It never struck me that he had any particular regard for Muggles," said Mr Weasley, thinking back. "He studied them, he found them fascinating like I did. But, I was always admiring them and how they manage without magic. I wanted to meet them, become friends with them. He … well, the way he talked about them was as though they were animals in a zoo to study rather than human beings. I didn't like him."

"Maybe he's different now," said Merlin, looking at the floor. "Maybe being out in the world amongst Muggles has changed his mind."

Mr Weasley frowned. "You don't support him do you?" he asked. "I know you hate the Statute, but would you really trust a man like him to achieve it?"

"I'm not sure," said Merlin. "All I know is that he's the first man I've seen in three centuries who actually seems like he has the ambition to do it."

"But does he have the right motivations?" Remus asked, and Merlin was silent.

They all fell into silence, sitting by Percy, as the Healer bustled about with potions and vials. She glanced at Merlin, almost shyly.

"M-Merlin?" she asked, hesitatingly. She blushed as he met her eyes. "I, uh, well, you said you might be able to tell us what's wrong with … with the coma patients?"

Merlin nodded, and sighed. "I examined them earlier after I'd healed Percy. There's nothing I can do for them."

"They're dying?" the Healer asked.

"No," he said, and he looked disturbed. "They … they've been using Old Magic haven't they?"

She frowned in thought. "Well, yes, their families did say-"

"They never came to me," said Merlin. "They didn't look for instruction from me. They tried to learn on their own, and the magic overwhelmed them. They're in no danger. They'll simply stay in the comas until their bodies recover. Just keep them as comfortable as possible."

"You warned me that could happen," Harry said. "Is it really that dangerous? Could someone die from it?"

"I don't know," said Merlin. "I've never heard of it happening before. Even though the Old Magic has returned, it's still dangerous to use without proper instruction. I had students in Camelot who ended up in comas for a few days. Godric Gryffindor was in one for two months. We need to stop this happening."

"I'm not sure you can," said Bill. "People aren't too happy with the fact you're the only one who's allowed to teach it, and the fact you turn some people away is making you unpopular. They think you're trying to conceal it from them."

"I am," admitted Merlin. "They can't just rush headlong into this without thinking. I don't want them to think I'm controlling them, but, I have to. They need to understand how dangerous it is. In a few generations perhaps, everyone will have the ability to use Old Magic, and it'll be taught at Hogwarts so there'll be no issue, but until then …"

He sighed again. "Everything is so complicated. Some people hate me and want to kill me, and others want to be just like me and end up almost killing themselves."

"You're right," said Kingsley, who had arrived at the door to the ward when none of them were looking. "Everything is complicated." He moved over to see Percy, and then looked to Merlin, who, for some reason, was frowning. "How can you want to take such drastic action as abolishing the International Statue for Secrecy when even our own society is fighting? How could we find peace with Muggles when we can't find it with ourselves?"

Merlin stared back at him, and Harry was surprised to see a glimmer of anger there. He made no answer, and Kingsley looked away and back to Percy.

"I'm glad you're alright," he said sincerely. "In any case, a death in the Atrium during the demonstrations would have made Verax even more critical of me, and we can't give him any more ammunition now can we?"

Percy smiled weakly, and Mrs Weasley smiled at him, unnecessarily smoothing down his already pristine sheets.

Kingsley nodded. "I must leave," he said apologetically. "I only stopped by to make sure you were alright. The demonstrations are getting rowdier. They seem to have taken the attempt on Merlin's life as a catalyst for more action."

Kingsley looked back at Merlin. "I heard you spoke with Verax," he said. "I urge you to be cautious, Merlin. He is not to be trusted."

Merlin stared back evenly. "It matters not if I trust him," said Merlin. "He is determined to do this, and perhaps we should not dismiss this. You cannot stay blind to the issue. I don't have another thirteen hundred years to wait and see peace. I believe it is time"

He stood up, and swept out of the room then, Fawkes squawking on his shoulder, leaving an awkward silence behind him.

Kingsley sighed. "I only wish it were as simple as he wishes," he said.

"But it can't really be done, can it?" said Hermione. "I mean, when my parents found out about magic, they were okay with it, but only because they'd already suspected something like that about me before. But other Muggles … I don't think they could handle it."

"Perhaps not," said Charlie, glancing at the door Merlin had just left through. "But if Verax and Merlin are anything to go by, there may not be any other choice."

Harry fell silent the rest of the visit as he considered this. Abolishing the International Statute of Secrecy? It seemed a massive step, and all he could think about was the Dursley's neighbour's reactions when they found out magic existed.

It would change everything.

Chapter Text

"What's wrong, Merlin?" Luna asked him, after she performed a perfect Old Magic transfiguration spell on the first go. "That was pretty good, if I do say so myself."

"Yeah, it was," said Merlin, belatedly, trying to look more energetic. "It was perfect actually. Well done."

She tilted her head to one side and screwed up her eyes. "There are too many Wrackspurts around you for you to be thinking clearly at the moment, why don't we stop for a while?"

"Yeah, alright," he said, and he leaned back in the couch and sighed. "I'm sorry I'm not more focused. This is your lesson. I shouldn't be bringing my personal troubles into it."

"It's alright," she said, leaning back next to him. They were in the Ravenclaw Common Room, everyone else having long gone to bed. "How is Peter?"

"Percy."

"Yes, him," she said, playing with the cork necklace she always wore. "Is he alright?"

"Yes," Merlin said. It was now two days since the attack at the Ministry. "He should be getting home tomorrow."

"Then what is it that's worrying you?" she asked, turning her orb-like eyes on him in that disconcerting way of hers. "Is it Verax?"

He nodded, staring into the fire in front of him. "The protests are getting bigger," he explained. "It's getting out of hand. More and more people are joining him every day."

"And you want to join him too," she said matter-of-factly.

"I don't know," said Merlin honestly. "I agree with him. Everything he says makes sense. I want to believe in him, but …"

"You don't trust him."

"No," he admitted. "There's something … off, about him. I don't know what. Not to mention the fact that every time his name is even mentioned Fawkes goes insane, and since he's a creature of the Old Religion … that has to mean something. He won't even come places with me anymore, he just stays back at Grimmauld Place."

"So don't support Verax then," she said simply.

"But I have to," he said, feeling his frustration spilling out. "He's the first person to take proper action against the thing I have detested for so long. If he achieves this, then what will it matter if I don't like him? Some things are larger than personal dislike. When I first met Salazar Slytherin he hated me and didn't trust me, but he joined with me to work together to save the school when it was in danger. Verax might be a distasteful person, but if he gets the job done … I don't know what to do," he said finally, hiding his head in his hands.

Luna was quiet for a moment, before inching closer and taking one of his hands in her own, causing him to look up at her. She smiled at him.

"Yes, you do," she said. "You just won't let yourself see it. Trust in your instincts, Merlin. The Old Religion had guided you all this time, why don't you trust it now?"

His gut clenched.

"That's the problem," he admitted, telling her something he had told no one else. "I can't hear it any more. Before, I always could. Little urges, little hints here and there. I still get the feelings I used to get, to guide me away from danger, but I can't hear it any more. I can't listen to it. I don't know what it wants me to do."

"Maybe you can hear it," she said, still smiling. "You just don't know how to listen anymore."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked bitterly. "It's guided me constantly for thirteen centuries. Why should it change now?"

"Because you've changed," she said, squeezing his hand softly. "You're not the same man you were. The Old Religion is telling you what you want to know, you just need to learn to listen once again. You need to want to hear it."

"Well I'm sick of it," said Merlin. "This is what I want to do. This is what I need to do."

"Your destiny was fulfilled, Merlin," she said. "Don't go creating another."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "This is still my destiny. I have to restore what was. Old Magic and the peace that went along with it. My task is only half-completed."

Luna frowned, and looked away from him, shaking her head softly.

"Why can't you see it, Merlin?" she asked, sighing. "It's so simple."

"Well, maybe it's because I don't have Nargles or something else guiding me," he snapped, and stood up to pace around the room.

She blinked, but didn't look upset, just concerned.

"This isn't you, Merlin," she said softly. "I know it."

"And how do you?" he asked, though immediately having regretted his snappy comment. "I don't even know who I myself am anymore."

"Then you need to find yourself again," she said. "The world will never be at peace unless you're at peace with yourself. You don't need to create new problems, Merlin. Just enjoy the peace of your mortality."

"And how can I?" he asked. "I need to see peace restored. What use will it be if it happens a hundred years from now? How can I help then?"

"Maybe you won't need to help," she said. "You're doing this because you want to see it all again, Merlin. Perhaps you're just not seeing that the world just isn't ready."

Merlin turned away from her, unnerved by her wide innocent eyes. He couldn't believe that. He had to complete this task; he couldn't leave the job half-done. It wasn't for his own benefit, it was for everyone's.

He found himself standing in front of the statue of Rowena Ravenclaw. His eyes drifted upwards to her face, and lingered there for the longest time. It wasn't the greatest likeness in the world. True, it caught the shape of her face perfectly, the often haughty looking expression she usually wore, but the eyes were expressionless. They didn't have that intelligent glint they would have every time Rowena would discover something new, or give some sort of witty retort to one of Godric's idiotic statements, or flash the way they did every time she teased him. They weren't as sad and full of hidden emotion as Rowena's had been.

This statue and this Common Room had always been difficult for him to see, hence why he had only been in Ravenclaw twice over the years. Being here, in the room that used to be Rowena's personal quarters, with her face looking down at him, it had always brought up too many memories. She and the other Founders had been the only people he had ever grown close to since Camelot, she perhaps more than the others, and then, he had had to leave them, leave her. It had been one of the most difficult days of his life walking out of the castle that morning, only eclipsed by the day that Arthur had died.

The Founders had always wanted peace between Muggles and wizards. It had been their dream, all four of them equally united in this. They had known it would take a long time, and Merlin himself had told them that their school wasn't for nothing even if it didn't yield immediate results, because someone had to start the process. He had known then that a time of peace would come, no matter how far in the future. Well, it had been a thousand years since then, surely the time was nigh? He had been so confident back then, why was he now so determined that it should happen in his lifetime and not in another hundred or thousand years?

Luna came and stood beside him, looking up at the statue as well.

"What was she like?" she asked.

Merlin gulped, flooded with memories, some extremely painful. "A very determined young woman," he said softly. "Nothing was beyond her reach, except her own capacity to recognise her weaknesses."

"And she wanted peace between Muggles and wizards?"

"Yes," he said. "She even entered an arranged marriage with a Muggle to try and create peace between their warring clans."

"Did it work?"

"No," he said. "He died in battle and the Muggles turned against her. She barely escaped with her life. They would have killed her and her unborn child for what they were."

"The Muggle was the Grey Lady's father?" she asked, frowning. "I thought you were."

Merlin laughed softly, though not amused at the recollection of that ancient (and untrue) rumour that still seemed to persist one thousand years later. "That was a silly rumour that got passed around the castle back then. You know what the students here are like. Helena's always teasing me about it. I don't think she really believes me when I say it's not true."

"But the rumours weren't unfounded were they?" Luna asked, fixing him with that stare of hers. "You and Ravenclaw were close."

"Yes," he said, uncomfortable now with her standing so close and staring at him like that. "I was close to them all."

"They built the castle so people would have a better future," said Luna, not believing his ruse for a moment. "It didn't matter that it would take time for it to happen, they knew it would eventually. They laid the groundwork for the peace that'll come. That's what you've done. You've laid the foundations. Other people can build on that. It doesn't have to be you."

Merlin shook his head. "That's where you're wrong," he said softly, still looking up at Rowena's face. "It does. It always does."

"There were five hundred people at the Ministry today," said Remus, looking across the table at Merlin. "They were demanding to see you."

"It's best I stay here," Merlin said. "My presence might … antagonise things."

"I doubt anything you could do would rile them up any more," said Tonks, who was currently trying to force-feed Teddy, who kept spitting everything back out, back in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place "They're getting pretty insane."

"Verax is nuts," said Fred. "It's like he's some sort of saint or something, the way they fawn over him."

Merlin looked down at the newspaper before him, seeing the usual headlines. The paper for the last week had been filled with nothing but the protests, with several pages dedicated to long editorials arguing about the matter.

"Is Kingsley doing anything about it," Merlin asked, trying to sound casual, but knowing he was failing miserably. Remus noticed.

"He's been forced to," said Remus, "or he risks losing his job. He's sent an owl to the International Confederation of Wizards, and they're going to bring up the subject at their next Convention."

"That isn't for another six months," said Merlin. "And even then, I doubt they'll do anything."

"True," said Tonks, abandoning her attempt s to get Teddy to eat his food rather than play with it. "International governments are still asking questions about you. They're accusing you of withholding Old Magic deliberately."

Merlin groaned. "It's not my fault I live here!" he said. "How can I teach several dozen countries at once? This is where the Old Religion is strongest, always has been. Most of the countries sending Kingsley owls never had the ability to use Old Magic. Yes, the Old Religion was present there, and still is, but they were never actually able to use it, until now. There are people here in this country hating me for not teaching them fast enough and landing them in comas, how am I supposed to compete internationally?"

"Not to mention the fact that people are questioning your identity again," said Remus, nodding to another, though smaller article in the paper: Merlin: Emrys, or elaborate hoax? Some people now believed that if Merlin wouldn't teach them, it meant he wasn't the real Merlin, and was just taking advantage of the return of the Old Religion to paint himself in the guise of a great historical figure. It seemed there was no winning with these people.

"You're in a pickle, mate," said Fred, looking through some order-forms. "We can't even go into our own shop without being mobbed by people asking questions about you."

"Likewise," said Tonks, trying once more to get Teddy to open his mouth. "It's kind of hard for me to go undercover with my face on a Chocolate Frog card, even if I am a Metamorphagus. Oh, I give up!" she cried, throwing down the little spoon and glaring at her infant son. "You don't want to eat? Then starve!"

"Dora," said Remus. "What did we say about threatening the baby?"

"He's too stubborn!" complained Tonks, staring him down. "He's got a mind of his own."

"Like his mother then."

"Watch it." She turned around and threw the spoon towards Draco. "Right, your turn. And please, teach me how you do it."

Draco managed a small smile, and moved towards Teddy. He dipped the spoon into the baby food and held it out to Teddy, who immediately opened his mouth to take it. Tonk's jaw dropped in mixed shock and frustration.

"How do you do that?" she asked, for what seemed like the fiftieth time. "I'm his mother, you're just his second cousin. Why does he do it for you and not me?"

"Maybe because Draco doesn't threaten him with starvation?" Remus said idly, flicking through the newspaper. "He's perfectly okay whenever I feed him."

Tonks glared once at her husband, and then watched with intense concentration as Draco fed Teddy the last of his meal before sitting himself down at the table again. Draco and Teddy's relationship was certainly a bit of an odd one. Draco seemed to like being around him, and Teddy was the same, for whatever reason. At first, Draco had been awkward around him, not knowing what to do, but that stage had long since passed, and Merlin sometimes thought Draco preferred being with Teddy than he did with anyone else. It was beyond anything Merlin could understand. Usually, seeing Teddy smiling like that would bring a smile to Draco's face as well, but today, nothing. He was far too preoccupied with something else. Merlin got the feeling Draco spent so much time with Teddy because he was deliberately trying to avoid his old family by replacing it with its newest member. It was like the fresh start he'd wanted with everyone in the Order; Teddy had no idea what Draco had done in the past, and he didn't care. That was a rarity in itself.

"Concentrating?" Merlin asked him, seeing Draco staring into space. "It's your move."

Draco jumped and focused back on the chess game he and George were playing on opposite ends of the table. He searched the board for a moment.

"Fleogan," he said finally, and his eyes flashed. A bishop rose into the air (screaming and protesting profusely) and was moved three diagonal squares to the right to capture one of George's knights. Draco levitated the two of them off the board, then offered a satisfied smirk to George. "Beat that, Weasley."

"Certainly," said George, and a second later, his own eyes had flashed golden. A rook lifted into the air and went straight along a horizontal route to take Draco's queen which had been left unguarded by the movement of his bishop. The rook now had a direct route to Draco's king, which was hemmed in by several of George's other pieces. "Checkmate, Malfoy."

Draco scowled, and leaned back, folding his arms. George just chuckled. "Sore loser, Draco? What's gotten into you? Normally you would've noticed something like that a long time ago."

"Well, I didn't," mumbled Draco, looking away from the board.

Remus and Tonks left soon after to head home, and Fred and George, Merlin and Draco moved to the drawing room, where Merlin continued their lessons in Old Magic.

"When can I learn something useful?" Draco asked, after about an hour. "What use is levitating chess pieces going to do me?"

"It's good practice of control," said Merlin. "And you have to learn control before anything else unless you want to end up like those people in St. Mungo's." With all the latest anger at Merlin's concealment of Old Magic, even more people had resorted to trying it on their own, failing miserably.

Draco just sulked, which was unusual behaviour for him lately, and didn't say another word until the lesson was over and Fred and George had gone to bed. He sat across from Merlin in the drawing room. His eyes were deliberately avoiding the Black family tapestry.

"You can go and see him, Draco," said Merlin softly, starling the boy out of his thoughts. "You don't have to prove yourself like this to your father. Old Magic doesn't make you superior, you don't have to be so desperate to show off to him. He wants to see you. And reliving the glory of your Druid ancestors is entirely pointless; everyone in the Order knows that you've changed. Anyone else that doesn't understand that just isn't worth knowing."

"I can't go and see him," said Draco. "He ruined my life. He's a Death Eater. He joined because he wanted to, not because he had no other choice. And my mother, she supported him. She was a part of it too. I want a fresh start, Merlin. I don't want to go back to them."

"You can't cut off all ties to your previous life, Draco," said Merlin. "Some things will come back to haunt you."

"Like you and Camelot?" Draco asked, looking at him.

"Yes," said Merlin after a moment, looking down at the Daily Prophet once more. "Like me and Camelot."

The DA lesson was going well, Harry thought, as he wandered through the room, brilliantly in fact. The DA had now turned to Patronuses, and the room was filled with the silvery vapours of half-formed animals, like the room was glistening with snow and ice. Everywhere were faces of intense concentration, and even very youngest could produce something, a silvery mist, with the eldest creating entire creatures that cantered, hopped, glided or slithered around the room. Even the sight of a Patronus made everyone happy.

And Harry was no exception.

He had found new appreciation for the spell after Merlin had told him some of its history. It had evolved from the Old Religion, and was one of the few modern spells that contained a trace of the ancient magic, hence why it was so powerful, and why Harry had always been so proficient at it. It truly was an incredible spell, and Harry found himself inundated with countless requests to demonstrate it for the younger pupils who were still unable to manage a corporeal form.

"That's amazing!" one second year cried, as the silvery stag galloped past her, and Harry grinned to see it himself, finally rejoicing in the purity of the Old Religion in even this comparatively weak Modern spell. His grin grew even wider when he noticed a horse Patronus galloping alongside it. Ginny stood on the other side of the room and winked when he caught her eye. His Patronus grew even brighter.

He didn't even mind using a wand for this spell. Ever since the Old Religion had returned and Harry had found the ability to use magic without a wand, using one had seemed like such a restriction; like being a competitor in a three-legged race, it seemed to slow him down. He now understood what Merlin had meant all along by hating his wand. Old Magic was flowing and natural, Modern Magic had to be forced from a strip of wood. But the Patronus Charm required a wand, and the phoenix feather wand was more than happy to oblige him for this one spell.

"I'm sure there must be a way for you to use a Patronus Charm without a wand," said Hermione beside him, accurately guessing his thoughts. "I'm sure if I-"

"Merlin's been trying to do the same thing for a thousand years," Harry reminded her. "He hasn't found one. But it doesn't matter anyway. This is one Modern spell I can live with."

Lessons at Hogwarts had been difficult the last few months, as Harry was itching to just cast his wand away and learn solely Old Magic, but Hermione refused to let him ("You are not going to waste all those years learning wand magic by throwing it away just a few months before the end of your final year!") so he continued learning. He supposed she was right; it was probably good to be versed in both forms of magic.

The DA lesson continued with success, and everyone left very happy indeed. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville and Luna were just clearing up the mess of cushions and usual host of lost and forgotten objects when the door burst open once more. Harry turned, expecting to find the owner of the Decoy Detonator he had just found, and was astonished to find Professor McGonagall standing in the doorway, her face grim.

"Professor," he began, immediately on edge. Although she whole-heartedly supported the DA, she never came to the Room of Requirement. "We were just-"

"No time, Potter," she said, coming in hurriedly and closing the door behind her. She turned to face them all, her face serious in a way it hadn't been since Voldemort and Morgana's deaths. "I must speak to you all."

"What is it, professor?" Hermione asked.

McGonagall hesitated for a moment. "I've just received a message from Kingsley," she said. "I suppose you've all heard of Verax and his Liberators? Apparently, they've just exposed themselves and their magic in the middle of a crowded Muggle park."

"You're joking!" said Ron, mouth hanging open. "Have they lost it?"

"Perhaps they have, Mr Weasley," said McGonagall, her mouth thin. "Kingsley and the entire Ministry are working on damage control at the moment, but it's estimated perhaps two hundred people saw the magic. There hasn't been such a large breach of the Statute since its inception."

"What can we do?" asked Harry, feeling a clenching feeling in his gut.

"Nothing," said McGonagall. "Leave it to the Obliviators, they're best equipped to deal with this. But Kingsley's called an Order meeting at Grimmauld Place immediately. You'd best come."

And so Harry followed McGonagall through the corridors to her office, where, one by one, they stepped into the fireplace and were whisked off to Grimmauld Place. His mind was racing. What would happen if this couldn't be covered up?

They began to gather in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, where Merlin, Malfoy, Remus, Tonks and Fred and George were already waiting. The kitchen slowly began to fill up with Order members, all of them in a panic. Harry kept his eyes on Merlin. He sat there, face expressionless, arms folded over his chest, not speaking to anyone. What was he thinking? Was he pleased, or angry? Fawkes sat on his shoulder, head bowed as though in mourning.

After about an hour, Kingsley himself walked in, his face looking more haggard than Harry had yet seen it. He settled himself at the table, and was immediately barraged with questions. He held up a hand to stop them.

"Before you all deafen me, let me answer at least a few of your questions before you ask them. The Obliviators are still working, though their task has become more difficult owing to many of the Muggles who saw the magic already having called friends and family about the incident, and many others they cannot trace. It is a task of monumental proportions. We've never had a breach this serious, and worse, never one that was intentional."

"What was Verax thinking?" demanded Remus. "Surely he can't have thought this was a good idea?"

"I had him arrested," said Kingsley. "But he claims to have known nothing of the plan, that these witches and wizards acted independently. And until we find some evidence connecting him to these activists, we cannot hold him."

"Surely the fact that they were Liberators is enough?" asked Fred. "He probably told them all to do something like that in one of his speeches."

"Nevertheless, it is not enough to charge him for it," said Kingsley. "The culprits themselves have been caught, and they themselves claim to have acted independently."

Ron snorted. "Yeah right," he said. "Like they would have done anything without him riling them up."

"What exactly happened?" Hermione asked.

"There was a concert on in a park in London," Kingsley explained. "The Liberators Apparated on stage, made the performers vanish, turned all their instruments into pigs and then flew on their broomsticks around the whole crowd. Fortunately, there was a wizard there with his Muggle wife, and Stunned the four of them before they could do anything worse. We're hoping that the ones who don't manage to get Obliviated will just go away hoping it was all part of the act. But some of them caught the whole thing on their- what do you call them- video cameras. They could be submitting it to the Muggle media right now."

There was a collective groan at the table. Kingsley ran a hand over his head.

"I don't know why they did this," he said wearily. "I was negotiating with Verax. We'd sent the owl to the International Confederation of Wizards. What could they gain by doing this? It only makes the whole thing worse."

"They're probably impatient," said Charlie. "The next meeting isn't for six months. And even if they were to host an emergency meeting tomorrow, nothing would get done for ages, perhaps years. Every signatory country has to agree to repeal the Statute, and you can bet most of them won't agree. Especially the countries where people still believe in witchcraft and kill people for it. It might even take decades. They won't be willing to wait that long."

"Yeah," agreed Bill. "The Statute isn't just any old law. It's an international thing that's so deeply embedded into our culture that dismantling it is just not feasible in a short space of time. Not to mention the fact that Muggle leaders have to agree as well. I can't see that happening. They won't want to admit to their people that they've been allowing a whole secret population to live in their countries without telling anybody."

"What's our Muggle Prime Minister like?" Tonks asked. "How does he see all this?"

"I told him about all of this as soon as it happened," Kingsley said. "He sent out policemen to cordon off the park and not let anyone leave until one of our Obliviators had seen them. Gave the excuse of a terrorist threat or something. Of course, many made it out before they could be mobilised, and all the policemen will have to be Obliviated as well, along with all the journalists and reporters that turned up to see what all the fuss was about. He was angry about that, blaming me for not controlling them properly. He doesn't want the Statute to end. There's an election in a few days time. He won't want to jeapordise his position. And if he's ousted, which he probably will be judging by the opinion polls, who's to say the next PM will be any more understanding? He may be even worse. The Liberators have chosen the wrong time for all of this."

"Or maybe they chose the right time," said McGonagall. "They want an aura of uncertainty. Maybe they think they'll be able to sway whoever gets elected next?"

There was an ominous silence after this, broken only by Teddy, who was gurgling in his high chair in the corner.

"Maybe we shouldn't try and cover this up," said Merlin suddenly, causing everyone to jump and stare at him. Harry stared, he didn't seriously think they could salvage this, did he?

"I know you want this to happen," said Kingsley, looking wary, "but surely you see that this is not the right way to go about it?"

"No, I don't," said Merlin. "Maybe deliberately exposing themselves in this way was a bad idea, but why not take advantage of the opportunity it gives us?"

"Opportunity?" asked Ron incredulously. "You think this is a good thing?"

"Obviously, exposing themselves in public was hardly the right thing to do," said Merlin. "But instead of trying to cover it up, take this opportunity to explain to the Muggles the truth of the situation. Whoever becomes the next Prime Minister, instead of visiting him or her and telling them to keep our secret, work with them to find a way to tell the Muggles the truth."

"You think they'll want to spend their first few days in office telling people about witches and wizards?" Hermione asked. "They'll be far more concerned with getting into their new role, selecting their Cabinet members and things like that. Starting their first term with telling the public the truth wouldn't appeal to them."

"We should try," insisted Merlin, and Harry saw a familiar gleam in his eye that signaled passion, though his face and body were still carefully controlled. "They might like the idea of telling them from the beginning, so the people don't turn around and accuse them of lying to them in several years time. It should at least be up for discussion."

"I am not going to give in to these people," said Kingsley. "They won't be taught that they can do whatever they like and get away with it. I won't endorse this. If the Statute is to be repealed, which I am still doubtful about, it should be done through the proper channels, not through terrorism, which is more or less what this is."

Everyone was now staring at Merlin, seeing how he would react to this. He still looked fairly calm, though his fists were clenched.

"Are you comparing the Liberators to Death Eaters now?" Merlin asked.

"Of course not," said Kingsley. "But actions such as this can benefit nobody. They're trying to gain publicity, and I'm not sure whether it is good publicity or bad. They've proven themselves to be willing to be martyrs, and I shall be proving myself to be a stubborn old tyrant for not listening to them. Is that the sort of people you'd ally with?"

"I don't agree with their tactics," said Merlin, his voice rising slightly. "And of course I don't believe you should give in. But just consider-"

"I will not," said Kingsley, his voice firm. "This shall be done through the proper channels or not at all. We have years of debate ahead of us yet, plenty of time to make our opinions heard. We should make no rash decisions because of a few extremists. We must keep our wits about us."

For the first time, Merlin looked angry, but he soon controlled himself again. He looked down at the table in front of him, breathing heavily.

"Tell me," he said, voice carefully restrained. "Have any of you, aside from the Muggle-Borns, have any of you actually spoken to a Muggle? Had a conversation with one? Had a Muggle friend?"

"That's not the issue here-" said Kingsley, but Merlin cut across him.

"Yes, it is," said Merlin. "We have been separate for too long. We no longer see Muggles as friends, we no longer see them as fellow human beings with minds of their own. They're just sheep to us now, sheep that have to be controlled and fenced in. We're patronising to them, even you sometimes Mr Weasley. Admiring the way they get by without magic as though they're dogs who've learned how to fetch a newspaper."

"The only way to end all the hate and fear of Muggles that exists in our world, is for them to join us," he said, slowly. "We need to end the separation. It only leads to feelings of superiority over them."

"Then what we need to do is change our perceptions of them," said Mr Weasley, who looked a little put out at what Merlin had said. "Put more effort into Muggle Studies for children and adults. We can't join them if we see them like children, you're right. I don't think our society is ready for it any more than theirs is. There are plenty of people who'd love to join the Muggles just so they could control them."

"We're not ready," said Remus. "Imagine the chaos it would create!"

"It was done in Camelot, and it worked, despite the initial 'chaos'."

"Don't compare the two," said Kingsley. "This isn't Camelot. You can't recreate it, it won't work. Camelot's sorcerers had not been in hiding as long as we have. People then still believed in magic, it wasn't such a shock to them. And the only reason it worked back then was because you were friends with the Muggle King. I have no such relationship with the Muggle Prime Minister, nor any of the other party leaders. They won't trust me the way Arthur did you."

"I thought you'd resolved all this, Merlin," said Luna, speaking for the first time. "I thought you'd realised that you couldn't live in the past any more?"

Merlin ignored her, and instead kept looking at the table.

"When the International Statute of Secrecy was signed," he began. "The original signatories all gathered around the table and swore to forever conceal their people from their Muggle counterparts. But, before they put pen to paper, they all said this: "May peace come one day to Muggles and wizardkind both, that this Statute may be nullified. Let not this day be known as a day of oppression. In time, let our two races combine as one once more. May we never forget our Muggle kin.' The Statue was never intended to be permanent."

Everyone was silent for a moment. "I've never read that before," said Hermione, frowning slightly. "It isn't written anywhere."

"I don't suppose it would be," said Merlin. "People like to forget that part. The part where they all hoped that the future need not be so bleak."

"How do you know they said that?" Malfoy asked, and he too was frowning. "One of my mother's ancestors signed the Statute, and I've certainly never heard that part of the story."

"I was there," Merlin said, and his voice was so quiet everyone was silent. "I sneaked in. The conference was held in London, in the Atrium of the old Ministry headquarters. I disguised myself as a servant and sneaked in so that I could watch. I had to be there, no matter how much pain I felt. The moment it happened was like a solid punch to my gut, but I couldn't leave. I had to be there to witness the death of everything that I believed in."

Everyone was silent once more.

"I had no idea," said Kingsley, and he looked slightly troubled. "But it cannot change the present, Merlin. No matter the original intentions, the world is different now. It's larger, Muggles and wizards are different. It isn't as simple as you wish to believe."

Merlin stared at Kingsley for several moments. "Nor is it as difficult as you wish it to be," he said, and stood up and left the room without another word.

Kingsley sighed, and buried his head in his hands, as everyone else broke out in hurried whispers. Harry couldn't help but stare at the door Merlin had just left through.

Was he doing this for the right reasons? Harry was still conflicted himself as to what to believe. Merlin was right, witches and wizards were far too ignorant of Muggles, and far too condescending, but at the same time, such a radical step so quickly was surely madness. Was Merlin just so focused on restoring the past that he was unable to see the consequences?

"Do you think he'll be alright?" Ginny asked from his side.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. I don't think anyone can understand just what this means to him."

Ginny nodded and looked concerned. "After all that trouble last year getting him to stop blaming himself for everything that went wrong in Camelot, it looks like it might all have been for nothing. He might have gotten over Arthur's death, but he still blames himself for the hostility between Muggles and wizards. I don't think he'll ever forget that."

"No," said Harry. "I don't think he will."

Merlin felt himself shaking with suppressed anger and frustration as he headed up the stairs to his room. Why had they done that? Why? Just when he'd become involved in their cause.

He sank down in his bed and closed his eyes, images of screaming Muggles, burning pyres and scared wizards running through his mind in a continuous cycle. This was the right thing. It had to be.

He had been the one to restore peace thirteen hundred years ago, and he knew he was the only one who could do it again.

Chapter Text

Harry's hopes for the Gryffindor Quidditch team in the final match of the season against Hufflepuff for the Cup in a few weeks time were high. He sat astride his broom several feet higher than his team mates, watching their progress like a hawk. Ginny and the other Chasers were flawless as ever, the two Beaters were in top form and even Ron was starting to forget all his nerves and was playing excellently. He hoped this good form would last until the match. As it was, they appeared unbeatable.

He called an end to the practice, and set down on the ground, dismissing his team in a cheerful mood. Everyone except Ron and Ginny hurried off to get changed. Ron was still holding the Quaffle and was looking at it thoughtfully.

"You know, Harry," he said. "I think Old Magic has helped me in Quidditch. I can, I dunno, sort of see where the Quaffle is going to be before it gets there."

"It's the instincts," Harry said, putting the Quaffle and Snitch back in the case. "Old Magic improves them, and the return of the Old Religion means that anyone who tries will be able to improve their own instincts and awareness."

"You know, we might as well just go the whole hog and use Old Magic to win-"

"Don't you dare, Ron," growled Ginny. "We're going to win fair and square, or not at all. We're not going to cheat."

"It's not really cheating," complained Ron. "Only wands are forbidden, not magic itself. That's what Merlin said when he played for us-"

"And Merlin's just as bad as you are," said Ginny. "I can easily see why King Arthur had him put in the stocks all the time. And anyway, when he did it, no one really knew about Old Magic. Now everyone will be able to tell when you're using it. McGonagall will at least, and you can bet she won't be pleased if she catches you."

"Fine," huffed Ron. "It was only an idea."

"We're doing great, Ron," said Harry, turning his eye towards the Bludgers. "We don't need to cheat. As long as you keep control of your nerves, we can't lose."

"But it's our last ever game of Quidditch at Hogwarts," said Ron. "I really don't want to lose."

"We won't," reassured Ginny. She too turned to the Bludgers. "Need a hand getting them in?"

"No, I think I've got a way to do it," said Harry thoughtfully. He held out his hand towards them. "Betræppan!" he cried, and he felt the now familiar sensation of his eyes burning gold.

Immediately, the two Bludgers came zooming towards them full speed.

"Whoa!" cried Harry. "Slāw!"

Immediately, they stopped, now inching towards the three of them as though caught in toffee. When they got close enough, Harry just reached out and grabbed them, locking them safely in the case. Ron was clutching his heart.

"Blimey, Harry! We nearly got our heads smashed in then!"

"Sorry," said Harry. "It's a new thing I'm learning with Merlin, using Old Magic on objects that have been enchanted with Modern Magic. It's actually really hard. You have to get the balance exactly right. Too much and you'll double the power they have, too little and you won't be able to counteract the existing charms-"

"You sound like Hermione," Ron said, rolling his eyes. "Speaking of which, I need to get her to help me do my Potions homework."

"Help?" asked Ginny as they moved towards the changing rooms. "You sure you don't mean get her to do your Potions homework?"

"What do you take me for, Ginny?"

"Just a boy who tried to cheat in Quidditch."

"Point taken," grumbled Ron.

After a quick change, the three of them began to head back up to the castle, strolling pleasantly in the warm, lazy evening air. Ginny walked with Harry, and stretched her hand out to hold his. Ron looked away pointedly, but Ginny just laughed and sidled up closer to Harry, which he was only too happy about.

Although not exactly thrilled, Ron had more or less accepted their relationship, or at least, no longer scowled at open displays of affection. Harry for his part was just elated that he and Ginny could finally be together without the cloud of Voldemort hanging over them. This was what it should have been all along. He had to make up for the year and a half they had lost.

They walked in through the open front doors to find a whole host of people in the Entrance Hall, rather unusually. They turned to head up the marble staircase when suddenly the noise from the people gathered got even louder

Several people were clutching copies of the Evening Prophet, and some people were now looking angrily at Harry and the others.

"What's going on?" Ginny asked, staring defiantly at them all.

"Is it true that Merlin is just an imposter?" one of the apparent ringleaders asked, glaring at Ginny.

"Of course it isn't!" she objected. "What sort of question is that?"

The boy shook his paper at her. "There's plenty of folk who think he's just faking it. Maybe it's true. The Ministers of Magic in France, Spain and Brazil have all said they don't believe him."

"Then they're idiots," said Ron. "It's obvious he's Merlin. The Old Magic-"

"Yeah, Old Magic," said the boy. "How come he's so picky about who he teaches it to? What right does he have to stop everyone learning it if they want to?"

"Because it's dangerous," said Harry, his dislike of the boy increasing. "People can end up really hurt by using it."

"Then why's he not teaching it to them?" the boy demanded, and several others nodded in agreement. "He only teaches the people he wants to. He's turning folk away that want to learn it."

"Not everyone is able to use it," said Harry. "He can't teach people if they can't do it."

"Yeah and that's suspicious too," the boy said. "How come not everyone's got it? He's behind this."

"Are you thick?" Ron asked him. "It's nothing to do with Merlin who has Old Magic and who doesn't. He teaches the people that can use it, if he can trust them not to do something stupid with it."

"Who's he to decide that?"

"He's Merlin," said Ginny, stepping closer to the boy. "You have no idea how powerful this magic is, especially in the wrong hands. He knows how to use it, the only one in the world who can comprehend it. He has to be careful about who he teaches it to."

"Truth is, he just wants to teach it to his friends," said the boy, glaring at Ginny. "He doesn't care about the rest of us. Look at all this trouble he's caused with Verax. They're going to expose us all to the Muggles. And it's his fault."

Angry shouts rang out in the hall and some people even drew their wands.

"Don't blame Merlin!"

"What's wrong with telling the Muggles?"

"He's mad!"

"He's a fake!"

Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. Just a few months ago, everyone here had been at the feast after Voldemort's death, all of them had celebrated, all had crowded around Merlin clamouring for autographs. How could they all turn against him so quickly?

"Lucian!"

Ernie MacMillan had emerged from the crowd and was frowning at the boy who had caused all the trouble. "What's going on here?"

Lucian glared at Ernie. "You're one of those DA aren't you? You believe 'Merlin's' the real deal then?"

"Of course I do," said Ernie. "The evidence is indisputable."

Lucian sneered. "And what about revealing us all to the Muggles, you believe that's a good idea as well?"

At this, Ernie hesitated, and Lucian nodded in satisfaction.

"You see? He can't even convince his own followers! He's completely mad! He isn't the real Merlin!"

"Look!" Ernie said, squaring up to Lucian, his hands on his hips. "He is the real Merlin. And you couldn't hope to be half the man he is, Lucian. Now, all of you, go back to your common rooms right now."

"What right have you to-"

"I'm Head Boy," said Ernie, puffing up his chest. "And if you don't all leave within the next ten seconds, I'm reporting each and every one of you to Professor McGonagall."

Reluctantly, Lucian, and everyone else began to disperse, many shooting glares at Ernie and Harry. As soon as the last of them had trailed away, Ernie turned to them.

"Really, Harry. Causing trouble like that in the Entrance Hall? I know you're my friend but-"

"It wasn't us!" protested Ron. "They're the ones that caused it. We were just passing through."

Ernie nodded, and looked towards the entrance to the passageway that led to the Hufflepuff Common Room and sighed. "I know. Lucian's been sounding off about it for several days now in the Common Room. Apparently his uncle was one of the ones Merlin turned away, and he's not happy about it. But the man spent time in Azkaban for attacking a Muggle, completely unrepentant. You can see why Merlin refused to teach him."

"Is it really getting that bad in the school?" Harry asked. "People are actually doubting Merlin's the real deal?"

"Yes," said Ernie gravely. "And all these issues with Verax aren't helping either."

"How can we hope to get on with Muggles if we can't get on with each other?" Ginny asked darkly.

Outrage at treatment of Muggles

Cruel and callous were the words used yesterday to describe the measures used against the Muggles who witnessed the Liberator's demonstration in a London park on Tuesday. Over four hundred Muggles were Obliviated in what was called the largest operation ever conducted by the Ministry of Magic. Cicero Verax called such a number 'shocking in the extreme'.

The Muggles, many of whom were as young as four, were tracked down and Obliviated, some so poorly in the rush to finish quickly, that they've been left addled and confused. The Obliviators say the effect is temporary, but Verax claims that this is beside the point.

"What right to we have to mess with these people's minds? We are not their masters. We have no right to treat them in such a way. Would you like your four-year-old child to be seized by a stranger and violated like that? Who knows what harm it could do to such a young mind?"

There were many reports of terrified Muggles fleeing the streets surrounding the park as they realised their loved ones had become sluggish and confused by the spells so indiscriminately cast. Several had to be Stunned in a shocking display of cowardice by Ministry officials.

Minister Shacklebolt, however, claims this was all in the Muggle's best interests. "What we need to remember is that the Liberators are the ones to blame here. Such a radical step by them on unsuspecting Muggles could have been severely damaging to Muggle society. They forced us to act. It is regrettable, but was necessary to ensure continued peace."

But Verax and his supporters refuse to back down, and state that they will not cease in their efforts to ensure a fairer and more equal society for all, and plan to continue their demonstrations at the Ministry for the foreseeable future.

Merlin threw aside the paper. "I take it then the editor of the Daily Prophet has now joined the Liberators?"

Kingsley's grimace was all he needed in confirmation. Merlin nodded.

"This won't help things at all," he said. "Verax is stirring things up in the wrong way."

"I thought you supported him?"

"Not like this," Merlin said, ignoring the jibe. "I despise secrecy and corruption in all forms. If this is to be done, it needs to be done openly. Not through propaganda and bribes."

The two of them were sitting in Kingsley's office at the Ministry. Merlin had just finished his second lot of Old Magic lessons for the day, and was about to head home. Kingsley was looking through a long list of correspondence.

"We can add Bulgaria, Russia and Mexico to the countries you can no longer visit," Kingsley sighed, casting aside some letters. "They've all joined Spain, France and Brazil in denouncing you as an imposter. Before all this Liberator business started, they were annoyed at you for not teaching them Old Magic, but they haven't openly opposed you until now. They think your support of these Liberators proves you're an imposter, and that your real motivation is control over Muggles."

"That's ridiculous," said Merlin. "I don't want to control Muggles!"

"Many people think you do," said Kingsley. "Several Pure-Blood families have joined Verax; they think you'll be able to control them the way you did in Camelot."

"I didn't control Muggles in Camelot!" Merlin said. "We worked together-"

"That's not the way they see it," said Kingsley. "They believe you ruled over them."

Merlin pushed back the indignation he felt, and sighed. "That's what the Wizards' Council used to believe," he said, referring to the Ministry's predecessor. "They worshipped me because they believed I had controlled Muggles. They didn't know the real story."

"Verax' followers are slowly becoming as biased as the Wizards' Council was," said Kingsley, looking at him hard. "Their visions of reality are becoming warped in this new craze."

"Not all," said Merlin, avoiding looking at him. "There are many of us doing this for the right reasons."

"But Verax is not one of them," said Kingsley, his voice stronger now. "Can't you see that?"

"All I see is a man determined to end the secrecy and lies between our two peoples," said Merlin. "He may be a bit of a slimy character, but he's come further than anybody else has. I believe his intentions are true."

"Really?" Kingsley asked, eyeing him intensely. "Are you sure it isn't because you merely wish it to be so?"

"Give me some credit," Merlin said, annoyed. "I'm not foolish enough to place trust where it is not deserved."

"Are you sure?" said Kingsley. "Many people would place their trust blindly without a second thought if they were desperate enough."

"I'm not a child."

"You're acting like one," said Kingsley, raising his voice now. "Why must you be so stubborn? "

Merlin looked away angrily. He couldn't listen to this. No matter what Verax' followers had done, or what they believed, this was the opportunity he knew he had been waiting for. Old Magic had returned, and that meant peace must come with it.

He turned his head slightly, expecting to see Fawkes perched there, and remembered with a jolt that Fawkes rarely came anywhere with him anymore; all mention of Verax made him anxious. His shoulder felt empty without him.

Merlin felt his insides writhing in discomfort. Fawkes was his companion now, his guide, he should trust his judgment, shouldn't he? He felt so lonely all of a sudden. He looked for that feeling deep inside of him, the Old Religion guiding him as it had always done, but yet again, found only silence. Why did it no longer speak to him?

Please, please guide me. I don't know what to do.

"What's this meeting been called for?" Ron asked, as he, Harry, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, Luna and Professor McGonagall walked into the kitchen to find Malfoy sitting alone at the table. Malfoy merely shrugged.

"No idea," he said, avoiding looking at Ron.

"Where's Merlin?"

"No idea."

"Talkative today, aren't you?" asked Ginny as she sat at the table. "All alone are we?"

Malfoy ignored her. Harry noticed that he looked unwell again, and frowned. Ever since Voldemort and Morgana's defeat, he'd been happy, well, at least as happy at Malfoy could look. Something was bothering him. Harry would have bet all the Chocolate Frogs in the world that it was about his father.

In amongst the countless reports of Verax and Liberators, the Daily Prophet, had managed to sneak in a few lines about Lucius Malfoy, and the beginning of his term in Azkaban. Harry wondered vaguely whether Malfoy had been to see his father. Was that the cause of his melancholy?

They didn't have to wait long as the kitchen slowly filled up. Last to enter were Kingsley and Merlin, both looked unusually tense.

"What happened?" asked Mrs Weasley as she noticed the left sleeve of Merlin's robes were covered in blood.

"It's alright," said Merlin, before she could get upset. "I healed it. Nothing major."

"There was another attempt made on Merlin's life today," Kingsley said, seating himself. "Unrelated to the first. They were in the Atrium, and Merlin was … listening to Verax speak. This witch was angry at Merlin for supporting Verax. She attempted to hurt several members of the Liberators as well."

"What did she do?" asked Hermione.

"Oh, something imaginative with some enchanted swords and maces," said Merlin. "She thought it was poetic license. It was all I could do to stop her hurting others. One of her swords managed to nick me when my attention was elsewhere."

"Things are beginning to get more violent," said Kingsley seriously. "The protests are no longer peaceful. From what Minerva tells me, several fights have also broken out at Hogwarts as well. What should we do?"

"I don't see that you can do anything," said Remus. "Trying to control the protestors would just cause more trouble."

"But we can't let them get away with all this-"

Several voices erupted at once, as people began clamouring to be heard. Even amongst the Order, opinion was divided as to whether or not Merlin was right in supporting Verax.

"He's proven himself to be volatile," said Hestia Jones. "It cannot be in anyone's best interests to help him."

"The man isn't the issue here, but what he represents," said Dedalus Diggle. "He's touched upon a subject wizards have been too scared to address the last three hundred years. We should consider it at least."

"But his methods-"

"-International Confederation of Wizards will never agree-"

"-will only lead to civil war-"

Harry found himself completely lost in the conversation, or rather debate, as it was turning out to be. He turned to Ron and Hermione. Ron he knew thought the entire idea was crazy, but Hermione … Her expression was thoughtful as she listened.

"This is such a big step though," she said. "It just can't be done quickly, no matter what Verax says. They have to agree to compromise. We can't just leap into this without thinking."

"But nothing would get done," said Bill reasonably. "You know what politicians are like. They'll sit and debate this for years before deciding not to do it anyway. Verax knows that, and that's why he's piling on the pressure. They won't be able to ignore him."

Kingsley called a halt to the proceedings.

"This was not intended to be a debate," he said. "Just a warning about how out of hand things are getting. To borrow a phrase, we must all have constant vigilance. The whole country is ready to ignite. The Muggle election is going on today, by tomorrow the Muggles will most likely have a new Prime Minister, and you can bet Verax will try and do something about that fact."

Harry felt a sudden dread he could not explain. It was a long time since he had had even a passing interest in Muggle politics. He didn't even know which political party was in power at the moment, or who was likely the next PM, and he doubted many other wizards did either. Surely it wasn't a good idea for wizards to ignore the politics of the society that they co-existed with? It seemed ominous to him.

"I still think you should speak to him about the Liberator movement," Merlin said. "Get his opinion at least."

"Whoever is elected will have a hard enough time coming to terms with the idea of magic without dropping this on him as well," said Kingsley. "I prefer to wait-"

"Always waiting," Merlin said bitterly.

"And what it wrong with waiting?" Kingsley said, his voice hard. "You fail to see the real issue here, Merlin. This is something that must be done slowly. You may hate waiting, understandable considering how much of it you've done over the years, but you must recognise that to rush into this would be foolish."

"You don't need to take this burden on yourself, Merlin," said Luna.

"It is my cross to bear, no one else's," he said. "I will talk to him if you will not-"

"And you think dropping by his office and announcing you're the legendary Merlin would earn you any favours?" Kingsley asked, his voice now raised. "He would think you were mad, and rightly so. I will tell him what he needs to know, and no more until the International Confederation of Wizards has made up its mind whether or not to consider this proposal. Under no circumstances are you to approach him or any other Muggle."

Merlin's eyes flashed. "Is that an order?"

"Yes," said Kingsley, now on his feet, as everyone stared at the two of them. "You may be a powerful sorcerer from legend, but that does not mean you are above the law. I am the Minister for Magic, I am in charge of the magical people of this country. You are one of those in my charge, no matter how old you may be. Do not attempt to control this situation on your own. If you do, I could easily have Tonks arrest you."

Merlin reeled as though he had been hit, and everyone else sat in stunned silence, Tonks looking particularly uncomfortable. Kingsley was still standing, though he seemed to have calmed down somewhat.

"I am sorry," he said, his voice more gently. "But my decision is final. I am not about to bow to your demands, or Verax'. I must keep a level head. Please, do not make my job more difficult. If you really want this as much as you say you do, I need your support, not your condemnation. If this is to happen at all, we need to work together, and not be at odds with each other."

"You do not believe me when I say that this is the right thing," said Merlin, he too now seemingly controlling his anger. "How could we work together when we disagree on such a fundamental thing?"

"I want Muggles and wizards to live side-by-side peacefully as much as you do," said Kingsley. "My only issue is timing. It will happen someday, I have no doubt. But in this century, no, and perhaps not even the next. But in the meantime, we can ensure we can continue the peace we have now.

"Can it be called peace when one party is completely oblivious to the other's existence?" said Merlin, his voice now sad rather than angry.

"It is the only feasible peace at the moment," said Kingsley. "And I am determined to uphold it until we can all agree the time is right."

He left the room, leaving everyone still reeling from the argument they had just witnessed. Ron whispered to Harry: "Did he seriously just threaten to arrest Merlin?"

Everyone was looking uncertainly towards Merlin now, no one seemed willing to speak. Harry kept his eyes fixed firmly on Merlin, worried by the dark circles he now saw forming under his eyes. He'd spent centuries torturing himself waiting for the return of the Old Religion, why did he have to go through this again? Why couldn't he find the peace that he'd wanted for so long? Harry certainly had; the last few months had been the happiest and carefree of his life. Merlin deserved the same.

"I suppose now wouldn't be a good time to mention my latest discovery?" Bill asked uncertainly. Everyone looked to him in relief for speaking up first. Remus turned to him with a rather forced smile.

"What did you discover?"

Bill reached into a bag he had by his side, and withdrew an ancient leaf of parchment, tied in a scroll with a heavy seal on it. He hesitated slightly.

"I've been helping the goblins clear out Slytherin's castle," he said, trying to catch Merlin's eye. "He had so many old valuable trinkets lying around; the Gaunts didn't seem to want to take them all when they left the place to build their own castle, and there's loads of secret rooms and stuff, with some pretty nasty things inside. Well, yesterday, I found a concealed door in the old library, with a small space behind it, like a sort of safe. All that was in it was this scroll."

"What is it?" Hermione asked. "A spell or enchantment?"

"Probably a curse, going by Slytherin's reputation," said McGonagall, eying it closely. "Have you read it?"

"No," said Bill, again looking straight towards Merlin. "There's a name written on the front. It took me a little while to be able to read it, the ink's faded and I couldn't read the writing at all; it was in some script I wasn't familiar with. But one of the experts at the Ministry helped me. The name is Emrys. The scroll is for you, Merlin."

Merlin immediately looked up, and all anger and resentment at the argument faded for a moment, replaced with an eager curiosity. "My name?" he asked, frowning. "But-"

"The seal is Slytherin's," said Bill, pointing it out. "It must be a letter from him. We haven't read it."

He held it out to Merlin, and Merlin took hold, carefully handling the aged parchment. He looked at the name on the scroll.

"Yes," he said. "It is Salazar's handwriting alright."

He hesitated for a moment, before carefully breaking the wax seal and unfurling the scroll, holding it up to the light. Harry caught a glimpse of some slender handwriting crammed into a small space, but was unable to recognise any of the words.

"What does he say?" Fred asked, leaning in for a better look. "Can you translate it for us?"

Merlin nodded. His cast his eyes over the first few words. "This is what it says:

'My friend, Emrys

I leave this scroll in the walls of my library, in the vain hope that one day it shall be discovered. In writing this, I am acknowledging my belief that you shall be able to read these words in the future, in however many centuries that may be.

Yes, Emrys, I know you are immortal, or long-lived at least. I believe I have known for a long time, though I never voiced it to you, nor to the others, though I suspect they believed the same. Your constant references to Camelot, the melancholy that overcame you whenever one of us would mention that city and several other factors led me to my conclusion. My suspicion was first seriously aroused during our trip to the Wizards' Council, when talk of Merlin and Camelot were always constant, and you seemed to have such intimate knowledge of the past. And when Chief Merrol raised the fact that you spoke with a rather archaic accent, the pieces began to fall together. I knew that you must be from the time of the Old Religion, that no other person would be so knowledgeable about a subject that had fallen into decline (your arguments with our Druid Divination teacher also led me to that conclusion). You mentioned waiting for your time to come, constantly waiting, and I knew then that the Old Religion had entrusted you with a task far greater than any one us could comprehend. I only sincerely hope that your destiny has finally come upon you, and you can find the peace that so eluded you in our years at Hogwarts.

I know not why I write this to you, except that I wish you to know I have not forgotten your teachings, though I suspect history may paint me otherwise. I am now at the end of my life, Emrys, the last Founder, old and grey, which gives me much time to reflect upon the follies of my youth. I know now why you had to leave us, Emrys, though at the time, I blamed you for it. I hated you for abandoning us, I blamed you for the arguments that erupted between Godric and myself. We needed you, Emrys, but I understand now why it was not to be.

I was a fool. So often you counselled me to forget my prejudices and my hatred of Muggles, but so often I rebuffed you, did not listen to your wise words. You may not believe me, but I am truly, truly, sorry. Perhaps it has taken my own dwindling health for me to realise it. My own son has deserted me, he cares nothing for me, and neither should he, for I was harsh and unkind to him. I have no one to comfort me in my final days. I regret my actions all those years ago, for now I am left friendless and alone, when once my life was filled with friendship and laughter.

Do you remember the good times we shared? The time by the lake when the school motto was born, the annual balls and feasts, when even Rowena could be induced to smile and have fun? The loss of those friendships has pained me more than I can express to you in a letter. Godric was my dearest friend, and I regret to say I never reconciled myself with him before his death last year. Nor dear, sweet Helga, whose death I learned of just two weeks ago. She wrote to me a few times, begging me to return, but I ignored her letters. Even when she wrote to me of Rowena's illness and Helena's disappearance. I was callous, I was wrong, and more than that, I was a coward. She told me you were with Rowena when she died. I can only imagine the pain that must have caused you. I am sorry I was not there.

When I heard you had once again reappeared, miraculously unaged after ten years of absence during which I had made my shameful departure from the castle, I immediately began to search for you, for even then, I had begun to regret my actions. But you disappeared just as efficiently the second time as you did the first, and I was unsuccessful.

So now I tell you what I wished I could have told you in person. I did not truly appreciate the Old Religion, the gifts it gave me. I forgot all that you had taught me in my own blind hatred, and now perhaps it is only a fitting fate for me to die alone in this castle, friendless. Nothing I ever say can make up for what I did, abandoning the castle like that. I only ask that you can forgive me, undeserving as I am.

The school is now to be left without any Founders, and I fear for its survival. The Wizards' Council has closed in on it, despite our old efforts. I trust that you can protect the school from afar as efficiently as you once did. I pray that you can restore its old values, the ones I forsook myself. I have seen the death of everything I love, but the castle must remain strong. All our old hopes and dreams now rest within it. A peace between Muggles and wizardkind we always knew to be a long time away. I hope one day you can witness what we could not.

I conclude this letter with my thanks for all that you taught me, and my sincerest apologies that I could not maintain the vision you had. The thought that you may one day read this puts my weary mind at rest, and I wish you every happiness for whichever century you now find yourself in. Do not waste your talents like I wasted mine.

Your friend, Salazar

Merlin, whose voice had become rather choked and thick as he read the letter, placed the scroll down on the table. He stared at it for a few moments; he looked oddly emotional.

"So he did regret what he did," he murmured softly. "I always wondered. "

"Sounds like you were good friends with him," said Tonks.

Merlin nodded. "Yes, I suppose I was." He leaned back. "I always guessed that the Founders knew I was older than I let on. It's not really a surprise."

"You believe him when he says he was sorry?" Ron asked, frowning.

"I do," said Merlin, looking back down at the letter. "Salazar was many things, but he never lied. I believe him. He was always such a conflicted man. I'm sorry it had to end that way for him."

He looked sadly down at the letter once more, and Harry found himself tracing the words with his eyes himself. It was odd to think of a man so widely known as Salazar Slytherin actually writing that letter one thousand years ago in the hope that Merlin would one day read it. Even stranger to think Harry would be around to hear it. It made the Founder's era seem so much closer. It made it seem so much more real.

"But do you forgive him?" Malfoy asked, looking hesitant. "I mean, after all that he did."

"I do," said Merlin again. "Salazar was a product of his times. Hatred and fear of Muggles was all that so many people had been raised to believe. He took it further than most, but I knew him well, and I know that in his heart, he was truly sorry for what happened. He always knew immediate peace with Muggles was unachievable."

"Then why do you think it is now?" asked Harry. "If you all knew back then how long it would take, why are you rushing into things now?"

Merlin fixed him with a long look. "Because that was one thousand years ago," he said. "Surely the time is near? True, we've stopped killing each other, but our friendships too have ended. What use is there in 'peace' with Muggles if it cannot be enjoyed? I owe this to Salazar and the Founders, and all those people over the centuries who've made this their lives' work. I can restore the peace they longed for."

"And why?" asked Harry. "Why does it have to be you?"

Merlin laughed. "Look who's talking, 'Chosen One'. There are some tasks that are given to us to complete on our own. This is one of them."

"I'm not sure about that," said Harry. "I don't think this is what the Old Religion wants. If it was, I'd feel it somehow, I'd know it, but all I feel is confusion and dread whenever I think of ending this Statute. I know I'm new to this, but that has to mean something. You must feel it too. Is this what you hear the Old Religion telling you to do, or is this something you're doing for your own benefit?"

Merlin did not answer him, and instead continued staring at the letter, his brow furrowed.

"So, Slytherin regretted what he did, did he?" said Fred. "I suppose that makes everything all right then."

"Of course it doesn't," said Merlin. "But I can understand, and I can forgive. What use is holding a grudge anyway?"

"I still say he was a slimy git."

Merlin couldn't help but smile. "And you're a true Gryffindor. I can only imagine how the two of you would have gotten on.

It was the morning after the meeting, and Merlin, Fred, George and Draco were walking around London, Merlin having each of them practice Old Religion disguise charms. They were heading in the direction of Diagon Alley in order to try them out.

They weren't in any particular hurry, and strolled leisurely through the Muggle streets past everyday commuters and tourists. It was oddly calming, being so lost and anonymous amongst so many people, and Merlin was using the calm to try and sort out the constant muddle his brain had seemed to become.

The streets were lined with tatty posters of various political parties with the smiling faces of the different candidates smiling down at them, each of them completely still. Draco was watching them curiously.

"Strange that Muggle pictures don't move," he said, looking up a a parliamentary wannabee's face on the nearest poster. "I thought Muggles did have moving pictures?"

"They have television, which is completely different," aid Merlin. "That's moving pictures I suppose, but photographs don't move, no."

"Weird," said George, looking up at another poster.

They passed a newsstand, and Merlin cast a glance at the front page of the Daily Telegraph: "Shock landslide for the People's Party", was the headline, over a map of Britain coloured vibrant orange to signal the new People's Party constituencies. Next to this was a small photograph of the leader of the People's Party, the new Prime Minister, standing victorious at the announcing of the results.

"That's weird," said Merlin. "The People's Party? It was never even properly in the running. How come it won a landslide?"

"You're asking the wrong people, mate," said Fred, looking dumbfounded at the paper. "I don't know a thing about Muggle politics."

Merlin felt a stab of annoyance as he always did at every mention of ignorance of the Muggle world, but pushed it aside. He took a galleon from his pocket, and closing his eyes to hide the glow, he Transfigured it into a pound coin to hand to the vendor. He took the paper and flicked through all the list of constituencies, seeing that the People's Party had won a majority in almost all of them.

"This is really strange," said Merlin. "This party came out of nowhere. It only won six seats in the last election, how come it now has six hundred?"

"If I even knew what that meant-"

But Merlin wasn't listening, but was pacing up and down on the pavement, reading through the reports.

"I don't understand it," he said. "The three major political parties don't even get a look in. How could such a marginal party win an election? This wasn't what was predicted at all."

He stopped his pacing, and turned to the others, a sudden dread within him.

"You don't think there's something suspicious about this?" he said. "That the Liberators started their campaigns around the time the Muggles were gearing up to vote, that something like this has happened?"

"What could Muggle government have to do with them?" George asked. "Unless they think this new Prime Minister would be more open to negotiation with Kingsley about ending the Statute?"

"Possibly," said Merlin, resuming his pacing again. "The last Prime Minister was completely against it. They might be trying to exert their influence by tampering with election results."

"But how could they do that?" Draco asked. "Muggle elections involve millions of people, don't they?"

"It's like I've suspected, they've been planning this for months," said Merlin. "This has happened at exactly the right moment for them."

"So, is this a good thing or a bad thing?" Fred asked. "Do we think this new PM will help the Liberators? Wait, you think he's a Squib or something?"

"I doubt it," said Merlin. He looked down at the newspaper again, examining the face of the new Prime Minister, a man he hadn't even known existed. "But I'm sure Verax is behind this, and I won't be happy until I find out why."

They continued on their way, and soon wound up in Diagon Alley, where not a single witch or wizard seemed concerned with the Muggle election. Verax and the Liberators were the subjects on everyone's lips. Merlin couldn't even be distracted by Fred and George's pranks at their joke shop, and couldn't wait to be on his way again. Even now, the new PM was entering Downing Street. Was Verax influencing him?

After a few hours, they ended up back on the streets of central London, Fred and George doing a good impression of their father by examining every single Muggle artefact they came across, with even Draco looking interested. They emerged into Trafalgar Square, and sat down by the fountains.

Masses of tourists filed past, their cameras clicking non-stop as dozens of pigeons soared overhead and children cooled their feet in the fountains and climbed the monumental lions that surrounded Nelson's Column. But even here, the election was being discussed. Men in suits crossed the square, each carrying copies of newspapers and others sat on benches reading through the papers with frowns on their faces. A couple of news reporters stood in one corner, apparently interviewing one of the disappointed candidates, a large colourful rosette on his shirt.

The feeling of dread that had accompanied Merlin ever since the morning seemed only to increase as he sat here, concealed within the heart of Muggle London. As much as he wanted the end of the Long Separation, the idea of tampering with Muggle elections made him uncomfortable. He had thought Verax had had good intentions, but the demonstration in the park and now this made Merlin wonder whether he had been mistaken. Perhaps Kingsley and Mr Weasley were right, and Verax truly was not to be trusted. Merlin did not like his methods.

The bad feeling grew and grew.

Suddenly, a great green flash filled the entirety of the square, so bright it stung at his eyes, a clap of thunder sounded and several people screamed. The entirety of Nelson's Column had been set alight by emerald flames that licked their way up and down the stonework like fire on a tree trunk. The top was engulfed by a great fiery ball of green energy.

Terrified tourists turned to the column in frozen terror, and the television crew pointed their cameras hurriedly at the column, their interviewee forgotten. Merlin and the others leapt to their feet, but they too were frozen at the sight of the flaming column.

Popping noises filled the square as about twenty men and women Apparated in front of the column, surrounding it on each side, each of them with their wands outstretched. One of the witches stepped forwards, her face cast in an eerie light by the still flaming column.

"Fear not, Muggles," she cried to the terrified crowd. "We have come to end your oppression! We, your magical brethren welcome you back to our world. Let our two races never be separate again!"

Then, all the Liberators raised their wands and cried out a multitude of spells. The great carved lions came to life and stood up, stretching themselves and roaring loudly before rearing up onto their hind paws and running off to surround the Muggles, who screamed hysterically. Each of the fountains burst open as jets of water streamed from each of them several feet into the air like geysers, combining above the heads of the Muggles like a curtain of water, which shimmered with light. Wands were pointed into the air, and flowers rained down below. Birds issued from the ends of wands. Cars and busses in the streets beyond swerved and crashed into to each other with a great noise. The policemen patrolling Trafalgar Square were hastily calling for back-up. Children began to cry. Everyone tried to run from the blazing column.

But something held them back, some great force field at the edge of the Square. They tuned back to the witch.

"We are the witches and wizards of your country," the witch announced, her voice magically amplified. "We come to join with your people once more. Magic and non-magical people shall live together once more. Cicero Verax has commanded it, and all of you shall join with us in realising his vision. Magic, has returned!"

Merlin didn't have to hear the terrified screams of the Muggles, see the red light of the news camera broadcasting live to the nation, or the looks of horror on his companion's faces to know just how serious this situation was.

Everything was about to change.

Quick note: In this chapter and the following couple, there are a few mentions of British politics, which I have deliberately tried to keep as simple as possible. The People's Party mentioned in this chapter are not a real party, and I'm working on the assumption that all Muggle politicians mentioned in the Harry Potter books do not equate to real life e.g. Tony Blair who was elected in 1997 and was really PM in 1999 was not the one defeated in this General Election. None of the characters or policies in future chapters are based on any real life political party.

Chapter Text

Harry felt like he was in some sort of dream. He was vaguely aware of being dragged out of class by an urgent Patronus from McGonagall and he and the others being Flooed away to Grimmauld Place to a confused and panicked jumble of Order members, DA, Aurors creating a ruckus as people jabbered and shouted over each other to be heard. Was this really happening?

"Kingsley!" McGonagall cried, immediately silencing everyone else in the room, with her sharp tone, her face unusually white. "Tell me it isn't true. Tell me that this hasn't happened."

"Oh, it's happened," Kingsley said, his voice a near growl. "Believe me."

"But how?"

"How did this happen?"

"It's been five hours now since it happened," said Kingsley, talking over the clamouring crowd. "Liberators Apparated into the centre of each of the UK's capital cities, London, Edinburgh, Cardiff ad Belfast, and displayed their magic in front of hundreds of Muggles. And in each of these areas it just so happens there were Muggles from television stations broadcasting live to the nation. The images are now all over Muggle Britain. There are also unconfirmed reports of similar incidents in Dublin, Paris and Berlin. To go back now, would involve Obliviating millions of Muggles across all of Europe."

Everyone stared at him, their eyes wide in horror. Harry felt a strange sort of rushing in his ears as he tried to comprehend this. He'd felt it, earlier on, a great feeling of dread inside of him that had suddenly flared up so painfully that he had cried out during lunch at Hogwarts. But he had never suspected this for a moment.

McGonagall sank into a chair. "But why?" she asked faintly. "We were discussing their demands, we weren't being unreasonable. Why did they do this?"

"Because they had the perfect opportunity," said Kingsley. "The Muggle government is in the middle of transition, they've got a Prime Minister who hasn't even been in office twenty four hours."

"How are the Muggles reacting?" Mr Weasley asked.

"How do you think?" Tonks asked, looking weary, her hair mouse brown. "There's mass panic everywhere. There's riots and looting in London, people running about on the streets in a sort of delirium. They think we've declared war on them, and who can blame them after what the Liberators did?"

"What about the Muggle government?" asked Remus. "What are they doing?"

"They've imposed martial law," said Kingsley. "They've got police and army members taking control of all major cities. They think we're terrorists of some sort."

"And how are we supposed to stop this?" Hermione asked. "What can we do to fix it?"

"I don't know," said Kingsley, and for a moment, instead of the strong man Harry had come to regard him, he looked simply lost. "I'm going to have to try and meet with the Muggle Prime Minister, I just stopped by here to fill you all in quickly. But he'll be surrounded with security men with guns, and they'll probably see me as a threat the moment I try and Apparate in. There may be just no reasoning with him. Not under these circumstances."

"I'll help," said Merlin, who had just walked through the door with Fred, George and Malfoy. Each of them looked distinctly worse for wear.

"Where have you been?" asked Kingsley, and his voice was hard.

"We were in Trafalgar Square when it all kicked off," said Fred. "Total lunatics! Set fire to Nelson's Column and then set a bunch of giant lion statues on them! No wonder the Muggles are terrified!"

"I'll come with you," said Merlin, ignoring Fred and looking at Kingsley.

"I think they may have had enough shocks for one day without introducing them to Merlin."

"Then use a fake name!" said Merlin. "I've got more experience interacting with Muggles than all of you, especially Muggle leaders. I may be able to help."

"I'm not sure you're the best person for this," said Kingsley, standing up to leave. "You are biased after all."

"Biased?" asked Merlin.

"You wanted this to happen," said Kingsley, almost glaring at Merlin. "And now you're trying to fix it?"

"I never wanted this," said Merlin. "Not in this way. I need to help create peace before things get out of hand."

"You think peace can come of this?" Kingsley shouted.

"We need to try," said Merlin, and his voice was desperate. "You're right. I wanted the Muggles to find out, but I would never have done it this way. Let me help. This is what I was born for."

"You know, I find it suspicious that you happened to be there when all of this happened," said Kingsley. "Coincidence?"

Now it was Merlin's turn to look angry. "You think I was involved?"

"You've expressed support for Verax-"

Merlin's eyes seemed to flash gold. "Don't dare accuse me of helping that man," he said, his voice trembling. "I was ready to support him in accomplishing his goals, but he has betrayed any trust I had in him. This is not what I wanted."

The two seemed to stay glaring at each other for several minutes, before Kingsley eventually looked away. "You can come," he said. "But do not think for one second that I have forgotten. Remus, I can trust you to keep a cool temper. Come with us."

"Yeah, sending the Minister for Magic, Merlin and a werewolf to the Muggles is sure to ease their worries," said George, but everyone ignored him.

"They've called an emergency Cabinet meeting at Downing Street," said Kingsley, moving over to the fireplace. "We need to move fast. Merlin, you need to be prepared for any attack they may launch on us when we step out of the fireplace. This first meeting has to be a success. The fate of every witch or wizard on the planet is now resting with us."

Merlin and Remus nodded, and moved to stand beside Kingsley. A few moments and some Floo powder later, and they were gone.

A stunned silence was left behind them. No one knew what to do.

"There's no way we can go back into hiding now," said Neville. "We can't cover this up."

"No, we can't," agreed Charlie. "Even if we try to convince the Muggles it was all some great publicity stunt, too many people saw what really happened. There's too much evidence."

"What'll happen to us now?" asked Hermione, holding on to Ron's hand. "What will the Muggles do?"

Harry wished he knew.

Merlin had only a few seconds after emerging from the fireplace to assess the situation as best he could.

The new Muggle Prime Minister, John Rogers, had called members of the Cabinet to meet in Downing Street to discuss the new situation and new state of emergency. Unfortunately, with the new Prime Minister only having had time to announce four of the members of his new Cabinet, all the members of the previous Cabinet, plus several others including the previous Prime Minister had turned up. Old and new MPs had arrived, whether members of the old or new Cabinet or not and the room was abuzz with personal secretaries, leaders of the armed forces, police chiefs and a multitude of others. The room was a barely controlled chaos, which only worsened with the sudden appearance of Kingsley, Merlin and Remus.

Everyone leapt to their feet and yelled, the army officials withdrew guns, and security men from outside the room were called in, and the policemen brandished weapons. Merlin hastily constructed a shield (invisible, so as not to panic them further) in case of attack. Kingsley wasted no time.

"Do not fear me," he said, in his deep, calm voice, his face not betraying an inch of fear or panic. "I only wish to talk."

"T-Talk?" said the new Prime Minister, a tall, weedy looking man with white hair that looked as though he'd been running his hands through it constantly. He looked close to collapse. "B-but you-you're-"

"My name is Kingsley Shacklebolt," said Kingsley, keeping his voice carefully calm and controlled, despite the guns that were pointed at him. "I am the Minister for Magic."

The entire room stared and went silent.

"Minister for Magic?" the Prime Minister repeated faintly.

"Yes," said Kingsley. "I am sure you all know by now that the events that have been taking place all over the country have been the result of magic."

"Rubbish!" cried one of the Cabinet members. He was shaking his head furiously. "Magic isn't real. It's all a big trick! It's a terrorist trick."

"Was entering through your fireplace a trick?" Kingsley asked him. "You have seen the images. You know that what I say is true."

The Prime Minister was still gaping at Kingsley. "Magic?" he said. "You expect me to believe that?"

"He's telling the truth," piped up the previous Prime Minister, who was lurking in a corner, his head in his hands. "He's a wizard, he's proven it to me before. They have magic. He runs a parallel government that deals with all the magical people that live in Britain."

Now everyone was staring at him, and Merlin felt almost sorry for him.

"You knew?" yelled the previous Chancellor for the Exchequer. "You knew m-magic existed?"

The previous Prime Minister bowed his head. "Yes, I knew."

There was a massive uproar as everyone screamed at him at once.

"Tell me, how did you know?" the current Prime Minister yelled, at once silencing everyone else in the room. He seemed calmer, though still watched Kingsley and the others out of the corner of his eye. "How could you have known of the existence of these … people and not told the general public?"

"Would you have believed me?" the former Prime Minister said miserably. "I hardly ever saw him anyway. All I knew was that they existed, and that it was their job to keep themselves hidden from the rest of us. Then the last couple years everything went into chaos when their world went into a sort of civil war with some evil wizard killing wizards and normal people alike. Why do you think I've been having all these strange laws passed? Why do you think I declared a national holiday last year, and all of you thought I was losing it? The evil wizard they'd been fighting had been defeated."

"And you were happy just to let these people who were killing and fighting each other live amongst us? How could you have endangered us in this way?"

"He had no choice," said Kingsley interrupted, causing attention to divert back to him. "It has been the way for centuries. Every time a new Muggle (that is to say, non-magical) Prime Minister is elected, the current Minister for Magic introduces themselves to him, and informs him of our existence. We then only meet with him if there is an issue that affects both our worlds."

The entire room was now hanging on his every word. "Our worlds have co-existed for millennia," said Kingsley. "Witches, wizards and Muggles side-by-side. But your people, and mine also I am afraid, could not remain peaceful for long and both sides began to prosecute the other. And so, after a long period of prosecution and witch-hunts, in the year 1689, the magical government of this country and others signed the International Statute for Secrecy effectively sending us into hiding from all of you. We have been separate ever since."

"You mean you've lived alongside us all these years without letting us know?" said one of the Cabinet.

"All old Prime Ministers know about magic?"

"The witch-hunts killed actual witches?"

"There are magical people in other countries?"

"Silence!" said the Prime Minister, looking directly back at Kingsley, all fear now forgotten, a glimmer of anger in his eyes now. "And why have you now broken this Statute? Why attack us? Why declare war on us, especially when at this crucial moment?"

"It wasn't him," said Merlin, causing everyone to look at him as though just realising he was there. Kingsley nodded.

"This is my associate … Emrys," he said. He turned to his left. "And this is Remus Lupin. Both are close persona l advisors. They speak with my authority."

"Kingsley didn't declare war on you," said Merlin. "It was a group called the Liberators who did these things. They have been campaigning for an end to the International Statute for Secrecy. They claimed not to want the separation of our two peoples any longer and they were frustrated by our attempts to solve the matter diplomatically and so took matters into their own hands. They are not affiliated with the Ministry. I suppose you could call them terrorists; they do not have our backing. They are as much our enemy as they are yours."

"And you expect us to believe that?" the Prime Minister said, whose eyes seemed to be bulging. "Why should we? How do we know you do not support them? How can we trust people who have lied and concealed themselves from us for so long?"

Merlin inwardly winced; this was exactly the issue that had plagued him in Camelot- how to tell Arthur he was a sorcerer without Arthur being angry and unable to trust him again.

"We went into hiding to protect both our people and yours from hatred and prosecution," said Merlin. "As many Muggles as wizards were killed during the witch-hunts. It was … necessary to go into hiding for the sake of both peoples."

"And how exactly have you influenced us in all this time?" a woman asked angrily. "If you've got such influence over Prime Ministers-" here she shot a dirty look at the other Prime Minister who had his hands over his face-" just how much have you interfered. How much power have you held over us? How dare you think you can control us!"

"We have never controlled you," said Merlin. "We do not interfere with your government. All we do is liaise with the Prime Minister of the day, to ensure he is kept informed to the status of our people so as to not endanger his own."

"And how are we supposed to believe that?" she said, glaring at Merlin. "How can we believe anything that comes out of your mouth? Your people have been hiding amongst ours for centuries."

"You have no choice but to believe us," said Kingsley. "Wizardkind have been almost entirely separated from Muggles for centuries, and we have no interest in interfering with your government, unless it is to ensure the security of our own. Hiding from your people gives us no pleasure, but, as Emrys says, it was necessary." Here he shot a curious look at Merlin, but said nothing.

"You have attacked us!" said a man in a military uniform.

"We have not," said Kingsley. "We are perfectly willing to work with you in dealing with this threat; they are criminals in our eyes as well as yours."

"And how do you expect to do that?" said the woman from before. "The country is in chaos. There's looting and rioting in all the major cities, government buildings are being stormed, people are in a panic."

"I am well aware of the severity," said Kingsley. "There has never been a breach this widespread before. But we must work together to deal with it." Here he cast his eyes around the room, drawing everyone in with his words. "There is chaos in both our worlds. The only way we can combat it is if we work together in a way our two races have not done in centuries. That is the only way peace can be brought about."

"You expect peace to come from the people's Prime Minister working with those terrorists who attacked them?" the Prime Minister asked, his eyes hard.

"We did not attack you-"

"So you say, yet I am not sure whether to believe you," said the Prime Minister, looking at his fellow politicians. "How are we supposed to know that you mean us no harm? We have all seen what your people are capable of doing. They could easily take control of the entire country and enslave us all with their unnatural abilities. How are we supposed to know that by working with you we can end this violence? Perhaps you are just trying to infiltrate our government?"

"We are not," said Remus. "Believe me, if we wanted to take over Muggles, we could do it without you even realising. You must believe us when we say we mean no harm to Muggles. My own mother was one."

"As was mine," said Merlin, nodding. "Our races are not so separate as you seem to think. Keeping you all in ignorance is something I have long been uncomfortable with, as have many others. Too long have our people treated yours with condescension and arrogance. But we have never meant you harm, and now we want to work together to end that ignorance, end the fear between both our people and solve this."

"You mean normal people can have magical children?"

"Yes," said one of the politicians, who alone looked calm, though rather pale. "My … my daughter has magic. She goes to their magical school."

The Cabinet turned to look at him, their mouths dropping open.

"I thought she went to a private boarding school in France?" said one of the others.

The man shook his head. "No. She's always had magic, she was always doing weird things, but we never knew what it was until someone from the school came to talk to us about it. I – I don't understand magic much, but she loves it, she loves that whole world. I don't believe there's anything wrong with it. True, they shouldn't have lied to us about it, but magic itself isn't something evil or untrustworthy."

"Exactly," said Remus, smiling at the man, who seemed very uncomfortable. "Please, you must all see sense in this. We can help you end this chaos, and we can work together to reintegrate our two societies without bloodshed. If you don't accept our help, who knows what could happen?"

"Is that a threat?" asked the Prime Minister angrily.

"No," said Kingsley. "A warning that your people and mine could very easily resort to the same bloody warfare that existed in the seventeenth century unless we take steps to prevent it, together."

The Prime Minister still looked angry, but some of the others looked afraid. They were looking between Kingsley and the Prime Minister uncertainly.

"You-" began a younger member of the Cabinet. "you said this was an International Statute of Secrecy?"

"Yes," said Kingsley heavily. "This problem will not be unique to Britain, I assure you. The violence could be worldwide. I cannot prevent what will happen in other countries, but I can help what will happen here. Let us prove to the rest of the world that we can work together to achieve peace. They will follow suit. Do not pass up this opportunity."

"An opportunity to work with the snakes that have been hiding from us in full view?" the Prime Minister asked. "Why should we do that? Why should we work with people who practice Satanic rites and use unholy spells to control others?"

Merlin felt a chill go through him as he heard these words, words he had not heard from the lips of a Muggle in centuries.

Kingsley however, did not betray a flicker or emotion. "You do not understand us, Prime Minister," he said. "That is understandable. Let us help you restore peace on your streets, and then you must give us the opportunity to fully explain ourselves to the Muggle population. With understanding comes acceptance."

The Prime Minister looked ready to object, but the others were buzzing with conversation. The guns pointed at them seemed to lower slightly. Merlin was thrilled to see some of them looking thoughtful, and even a few nods.

"It makes sense," said one of the previous Cabinet members.

"Yes," said another. "We have to let people know the truth about what's been going on. They'll just be more afraid if we hide things from them."

"Give him a chance."

The Prime Minister seemed to glare at all those who had spoken before turning back to Kingsley.

"Very well," he said, though his eyes were cold. "I will … compromise. You control your people, and I shall attempt to restore order amongst my own. I do not want your … witches interfering whatsoever in our affairs. Then, in three days time, I'll call a meeting in the House of Commons with the new parliament. You will be there, along with seven representatives, and then we shall talk, and every second of it shall be broadcast live to the general public. You shall explain all that you have done to our people without their knowledge. Then, I shall decide whether to work with you, or whether to declare a war against the people who have manipulated us for so long." He took a step closer to Kingsley. "Until then, I am treating you as leader of a foreign government, Mr Shacklebolt. Your people have no rights as British citizens until we say so. You are intruders and infiltrators, understood?"

"Intruders?" objected Merlin angrily. "We've been here as long as you have!"

Kingsley held up a hand to silence Merlin. "It is understood," he said, though his jaw tightened as he did so. "Hopefully you shall see sense, Prime Minister, when the time comes. We must make an alliance, or we shall all be destroyed."

The Prime Minister seemed to glare at Kingsley again. "I pray that I shall have the strength to defend the British people, regardless of which option I choose," he said. "The righteous shall always triumph, and so far, a people who have lied, deceived, manipulated and coerced others for three centuries as well as practicing evil arts does not appear so very righteous to me."

"In three days time then," said Kingsley, bowing his head, and he turned to head back to the fireplace. Remus followed him, but Merlin paused for a second, looking at the faces before him, a mixture of anger, betrayal, curiosity, hate, and above all, fear.

He turned towards the fireplace, an awful feeling of dread settling in his stomach, so strong it made him feel sick. The last time he had felt it this strong had been the day that Arthur was killed, day the people had once again turned against magic. It was the feeling of knowing something awful was about to happen, something good was about to be destroyed yet knowing there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He only hoped this time around, things could be fixed.

"So, what do you think our chances are?" McGonagall asked Kingsley, Merlin and Remus when they returned. Harry sat up, eager.

Kingsley didn't say a word, resting his chin on his fingertips after settling himself in a chair.

"It's a pretty messy affair," said Remus instead. "They don't trust us, and to be honest, they have no reason to. We're going to meet them in their parliament in three days time to discuss the issue. We have until then to try and restore some peace and build up an argument."

"And will we win?" asked Charlie. "Are they open to negotiation?"

"Some are," said Merlin, his face expressionless. "We have to reason with them."

"And what about Rogers?" said Kingsley, speaking now and looking directly at Merlin. "You heard the man. He detests us for hiding from him. You think he can be reasoned with?"

"We must try," insisted Merlin, staring back at him. "Everyone can be reasoned with."

"And what about King Uther?" said Kingsley. "He hated magic, he would have hated you for concealing it from him had he found out. Would you have been able to reason with him?"

Merlin tensed slightly. "Uther was a madman, and almost pure evil," he said. "He was blind to everything. And people nowadays are more enlightened. The British government are hardly about to try and execute us."

"Are you sure?" said Kingsley, leaning in. "Are they really more enlightened? Are any of us? Look at everything that's happened in the wizarding world alone in the last five years. How enlightened are we if such awful things could have happened? Muggles are no different. We may believe ourselves more enlightened, but are we really? Has human nature really changed that much?"

"I have to believe it has," said Merlin firmly. "I have to believe that they will listen to reason above their own base instincts of fear and aggression. If we don't believe that, we're destined to fail."

There was silence for a moment. Then, a witch whose name Harry didn't know but who he recognised from the newspapers as being the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister stepped forwards, almost timidly.

"Minister?" she said, waiting for him to stop looking at Merlin, to turn towards her. "We've been receiving a storm of owls and Floo messages, sir. From magical governments all over the world. Their ambassadors are causing uproar in the Ministry. They're blaming you for all of this. Most of them now no longer believe Merlin is who he says he is. They want answers. "

Kingsley nodded. "As I expected they would. Let the Head of Magical Cooperation deal with it. Tell him to let them all know that I have begun talks with the Muggle government and hope to reach a peace accord, and I suggest they all try similar tactics with their own governments. Let them know as well that I am taking steps to have these Liberators arrested and brought to justice. Send an owl to the International Confederation of Wizards as well."

She nodded, and left the room. Mr Weasley turned to Kingsley.

"You're bringing Verax in?"

"Yes," said Kingsley, and there was a flicker on anger in his eyes. "He was entitled to hold whatever opinions he chose, but acting on those opinions has broken several international laws and he must be held accountable. There is no doubt now that he is behind this. It has been his plan from the beginning. The attack in the park was just the beginning. I will have him dealt with."

His eyes were focused on Merlin the entire time, who was staring straight back at him.

"I had nothing to do with it," Merlin said to him. "I do not, and would never have condoned this action."

"You encouraged him," said Kingsley. "You wanted him to be successful."

"Not like this," said Merlin.

"But you still don't think it is a bad thing, do you?" asked Kingsley, tilting his head to one side. "I saw you in the meeting, telling the Muggles that we can all work together like the good old days, as if it would be that simple."

"What did you expect me to say? It's all going to turn out badly?" said Merlin.

"You don't seem upset that the Statute has been broken."

"I would never have broken it like this," said Merlin. "But you're right, no I'm not as devastated as all of you. We need to take this opportunity to make the most out of what has happened. It's not ideal circumstances, but we still have to try, and maybe eventually, everything will work out."

"Not ideal circumstances?" Kingsley asked, in disbelief. "The circumstances could not be worse!"

"As long as swift action is taken to prevent bloodshed, I sincerely believe that with the help of the Muggle government, we can succeed," said Merlin, trying to convince himself more than anything. "Rogers may be reluctant, but he is not in sole control of the country. We must use this meeting in three days to convince them of the truth, all of them, and then we can work on this."

"Rogers is more than reluctant," said Kingsley. "You heard him, he thinks magic is evil, a sin."

"That is because he does not understand-"

"You do not understand," said Kingsley rising to his feet. "Your stubbornness in not helping me stop Verax in his tracks has cost us dearly. You do not seem to understand how serious this is. What is at stake. What could happen if it all goes wrong!"

Merlin to leapt to his feet, glaring at Kingsley.

"Don't dare say that I do not understand!" he said, breathing heavily. "I understand more than you ever could. You're a mere child compared to me. You have no idea what I have seen over the years. You weren't there. You didn't stand helpless as people were led away to be executed. You didn't hear their dying screams, their pleas for mercy. You didn't have to walk past their rotting corpses on the gallows. You didn't have to hide your magic books and wand, your very identity underneath floorboards to stop them being seen by enemies, the people who were once your neighbours and your friends before they found out the truth. You didn't have to watch the fear in someone's eyes as a Muggle approached them with an axe. You didn't have to smell the stench of the burning flesh of a child tied to a stake."

He took a ragged breath here, his eyes wild with emotion. "I know perfectly well what is at stake here," he said, his voice quavering. "I have seen it. I understand better than any of you. But despite all of that, I will not give up hope. Hope was the only thing that kept me going through all of that, and I will trust to it now. When Arthur found out, I was terrified that he'd execute me, but I didn't give in to that fear, I didn't give up hope and I reasoned with him, helped him and the others (some of whom detested me more than Rogers does) see that I could be trusted again. No matter the fear, no matter the hatred, it can be overcome if we try hard enough. I won't give up, despite the risks."

"We don't have a choice anyway," said Mr Weasley, who interjected tentatively. "We are left with no option but to negotiate, we can't hide anymore, even if we wanted to. Verax has decided that for all of us."

"Yes, he has," said Kingsley, still looking at Merlin. "And I hope that Verax's actions have not doomed us all. I hope that the time is, as you say Merlin, right. Because if it isn't, Verax's actions may have doomed us all."

He and Merlin stared at each other for several minutes before Kingsley moved out from behind his chair.

"I must get back to the Ministry," said Kingsley, moving towards the fireplace. "I have to act before there are riots on Diagon Alley as well as Muggle London. I suggest you all get back to where you were and try and keep the peace as best you can."

And he vanished, leaving a very tense atmosphere behind him.

Harry wandered through Grimmauld Place many hours later, following his instincts, trying to find who he was looking for. He'd just returned from Hogwarts, where he and the others had had a rough time trying to convince the students there not to panic. Several Muggle-Born students had wanted to return home, but McGonagall had stopped them, claiming it may put them and their families in danger if they did.

He'd come back now, after he and the DA and McGonagall had restored as much peace as they could. His mind was racing, and he needed someone who help him sort it out, to answer his questions.

His instincts led him straight to the drawing room, and he walked straight in. Merlin was in there, curled up in a chair, as Harry had sensed, but he was surprised to find Luna sitting by him. Despite the bleak circumstances, she smiled at Harry when she noticed him.

"Hiya, Harry," she said. She looked at Merlin. "Aren't you going to say hi, Merlin?"

Merlin looked up at Harry, and Harry froze to see such conflict in his eyes. For the first time since Harry had known him, he actually looked young, he looked lost.

"You're here to see Merlin then?" said Luna brightly. "He isn't up for much talking."

"Tough," said Harry, moving to sit in a closer position. "I need to talk to you."

Merlin smiled weakly. "There's no more news, Harry," he said. "The Muggle army and police force are still out trying to restore calm, and the Aurors are still trying to round up the Liberators."

"Do you really believe you can do this?" asked Harry, searching Merlin's face for answers. "Tell me the truth. Do you really think you can create peace between Muggles and wizards?"

Merlin was silent for a long time, and didn't look Harry in the eyes. Eventually, he looked back up again.

"I meant what I said," he began. "We have to try and make the most of this opportunity. But … maybe Kingsley was right and this opportunity should never have arisen in the first place. Maybe they aren't ready, and I was just too foolishly optimistic." Then his expression hardened. "But I'm not giving up. I need to make this right. It's my job to do this. It can be done, I know it can."

Luna frowned, and placed her hand on his. "You don't need to do it on your own," she said softly. "How many times do we all have to tell you? We're all here to help you, stop taking it all on yourself. And make things up with Kingsley. You'll never succeed if the two of you are at odds."

"Exactly," said Harry. "Kingsley's good at his job. Stop arguing with him all the time."

"Kingsley doesn't understand," Merlin said. "He doesn't really believe this is possible. Why can't he see that? He became Minister when we were fighting a seemingly unwinnable war against Morgana and Voldemort. He didn't give up then, why is he so cynical now?"

"Because then we had an actual enemy," said Luna. "Someone to focus our efforts on. We knew who we were fighting. Now, we don't. We're fighting amongst ourselves, we're a fractured society trying to negotiate with an even more fractured society. Things aren't certain. It's not just our lives at stake, or our way of living, it's our very future, the peace of the entire world. It's harder to fight shadows of discontent and fear than it is to fight an army."

Merlin glanced at her briefly, before taking in a deep breath. "That's always how it has been. I've been fighting shadows all my life. Kingsley hasn't."

"Then help him understand how," urged Luna. "Don't forget your friendship over this."

"I can't forget my friendship of Muggles either," said Merlin. "I will never forget that. And he has to realise that. Until he does, we can't have peace."

Luna looked at Harry, and with a jolt, he saw despair in her normally serene eyes. Harry too felt a sense of despair, whether from the Old Religion, or his own mind, he could not tell.

He knew that this was a fragile path, perhaps more fragile than Merlin realised, and all he could sense of the future was darkness. He couldn't see the gleam of light Merlin obviously could.

Harry looked back at Merlin, seeing his determined, yet worried features and wondered. Did Merlin really see a gleam of light in the future?

Or did he just wish he did?

Chapter Text

"I've finally got the info on Rogers," said Bill triumphantly as he walked into the kitchen of Grimmauld Place to the assembled Order members on the morning of the House of Commons debate. He sat down, and deposited several sheets of paper, not parchment, on the table.

"Well?" asked Tonks, clutching a squirming Teddy. "Who is he?"

"Yeah, and where did he and his party come from?"

Bill opened a sheet before him. "His full name is John McMahon Rogers, and he was born on 3rd July 1937 in Cambridge. Led a pretty nondescript life for a while, graduated from Cambridge with a mediocre degree, went on to be a pretty standard civil servant in local government. Then about ten years ago, he started his own party, the People's Party, because he said he was sick of the government ignoring the lives of ordinary people and the values of British society. They only had a hundred members until about six months ago when their membership numbers went through the roof."

"You mean around the time Merlin revealed himself at the Ministry?" Hermione said, glancing at Merlin, who had so far remained quiet.

"Exactly," said Bill. "No one expected them to win more than half a dozen seats in the election, if even that, but for some reason, they won almost all of them, despite the fact that most people in Britain haven't even heard of them."

"Verax interfered," said Fred. "He must have."

"Obviously," said Bill, looking over his papers. "The new MPs, most of them don't even have any experience in government. This time last year most of them were just ordinary citizens. The guy Rogers appointed to be the new Chancellor of the Exchequer? Last year he was in charge of one local bank in a village of five thousand people. He knows nothing about running the finances of the entire country."

"Which of course will be what Verax wants," said Mr Weasley. "He wants the Muggle government to be as weak as possible so that they'll be open for negotiation."

"It gets worse," said Bill grimly. "The People's Party, well, they were known for being a party on the fringes. They're quite … traditional in their views on things. Especially religion."

Merlin looked up at his point, but said nothing.

"Go on," said Mrs Weasley. "What else?"

"Rogers is a fundamentalist Christian," said Bill. "He's a long-time church elder, runs a couple of Christian pressure groups and is well-known for proposing traditionally Christian viewpoints in his manifestos. Everyone that joins the party is required to be a Christian, and swear an oath on the Bible."

"That's not necessarily a bad thing," said McGonagall. "My father was a Muggle Christian minister, and he did not love my mother or myself any less when he discovered the truth. It was a long time before they could build up the trust they had lost but they managed it. Being Christian doesn't mean someone is automatically unreasonable or intolerant."

"Usually, no," said Bill, "but Roger's views are a lot stricter. He once had one of his staff fired for running a marathon on a Sunday, and another for having a glass of whiskey at a wedding. He once had a statue of the Greek god Apollo removed from a building he'd bought because he said it was 'pagan idolatry' and 'not in keeping with Christian traditions'."

"Sounds like a psycho to me," said George. "How can we reason with a guy that thinks magic is evil?"

"With great difficulty," said Mr Weasley. He glanced at Bill's notes. "What are the Muggle newspapers saying?"

Bill winced, and Harry could tell why. The Daily Prophet was now almost certainly under Verax's influence, and was now publishing articles about how great this new step was, and that wizards should be out rejoicing and welcoming their Muggle neighbours. By contrast, Kingsley had advised all wizards to remain in their houses and have no interaction with Muggles until the peace talks were concluded, through use of the mercifully unbiased WWN.

"Of the ones that are still publishing, it's fairly mixed," said Bill, pulling a couple out from underneath his notes. "Mostly they're just reporting on the riots and arson attacks and the arrests, but some are expressing their opinions. Some are saying we need to discuss this rationally, others that we're a new enemy that has to be wiped out. In any case, all of them are telling people to tune into the debate."

"And how is the civil unrest?" asked Remus, looking drawn and tired from the previous night's full moon.

"Still pretty bad," said Bill. "Every major city across Europe is under army control because the riots are so bad, there's mass looting and there's been thousands of arrests. There's been curfews imposed everywhere, and it's spreading out of Europe too. People are afraid to leave their homes. It's only a matter of time before someone is killed."

Harry felt himself shudder at the thought of it. He wondered vaguely how the Dursleys were coping.

"Does Rogers have any legitimate grounds for objecting to magic on religion alone?" Charlie asked. "I mean, I don't really know much about it. Does he have any backing from religious authorities?"

"Again, it's divided," said Bill, pulling out more notes. "All the main faiths have different opinions, and even within those, there's a division. One leader is calling for peace talks and an end to violence but that magic is corruptive and should be abandoned, the Pope wants an end to the violence, but says all witches and wizards should give up magic and repent for their sins, and every other major leader is saying the same sort of thing; there's only a couple that are calling for outright retaliation against wizards. The Archbishop of Canterbury is telling everyone that they should embrace their magical neighbours and accept them into society as one of them, but the Archbishop of York … well, I won't bore you with what he has to say on the matter, but basically he says something along the lines of 'kill the witches.' The point is, everyone is divided and no one can agree on how to address the issue."

"Well, who wants a simple life anyway," said Fred. "Would be boring, wouldn't it?"

"It's more than that," said Bill, annoyed. "This guy's got no toleration for anybody outside his own little religious sect."

"I suppose I'd better not tell him I'm pagan then," said Merlin, speaking for the first time. "He might try and exorcise me or something. Wouldn't be the first to try it."

"Are you pagan?" Hermione asked. "I never thought you … well, I never really thought you were religious."

"I'm not really," said Merlin. "I follow the Old Religion, so I suppose that I am in some way. But when I was young, it wasn't just one God that we worshiped in my village. My mother had a whole lot of little figurines that stood by the window that she prayed to. I didn't really keep up with her beliefs after she died, but I didn't abandon them either. Even when I was trying to blend in with Muggles, I never attended a church out of respect for her. It got me into trouble quite a few times, I can tell you."

"Really?" said Hermione, and Harry had to roll his eyes at her unquenchable curiosity even in times like this. "Some Muggles nowadays say they're pagan. Is it any resemblance to the old beliefs?"

Merlin snorted. "Not even close. I've seen the sort of stuff they do, and believe me, it's a load of rubbish."

He sighed. "I suppose it doesn't really matter, the Muggles already have preconceptions of what magic is from their stories and television. We'll have to convince Rogers we're not Satan worshippers and child sacrificers in any case."

"You know," said Ron, who had been given a crash course in Muggle politics from Harry and Hermione, "I think the Liberators did this deliberately. Using a political party that's weak and unexperienced would be bad enough, but I think he deliberately used one that was maniacal Christian as well."

"But why?" said Ginny. "Surely he'd want them to be open to negotiation?"

"Unless it wasn't what he wanted at all," said Merlin, his fists clenched. "Unless he wanted this inability to liaise."

"But why?"

Merlin just remained silent, and stared into the fire. Harry watched him carefully. He'd been mostly silent the last few days, disappearing for hours on end to speak to witches and wizards across the country and convince them to remain calm and take no action, but it wasn't proving successful. Many people blamed him for the state of affairs, saying he was working with Verax and some even that he wasn't the real Merlin.

At that moment, Kingsley, and his Senior and Junior Undersecretaries walked in, the Junior one looking around interestedly, having never been in Grimmauld Place before.

"I have bad news," aid Kingsley, to the assembled Order.

"They haven't called off the broadcast have they?" asked Remus in concern.

"No," said Kingsley, "but I hear things may be more difficult. The situation has worsened on the Continent. Angry mobs stormed the offices of several of these 'pagan religions' that some Muggles follow and … killed them."

Everyone gasped, and Harry felt sick. He could hardly believe it.

"They … they killed them?" said Mrs Weasley, her hand over her mouth. "But were they …"

"They were Muggles," said Kingsley, his face dark. "Innocent Muggles, killed. Forty of them in one city, fifty in another."

Harry felt almost dizzy as the reality of the situation seemed to hit him like a brick. Ninety Muggles killed?

"It's happening again," said Merlin, his voice pained. "Most people killed in the past were simple Muggles too. There's too much uncertainty, too much of an aura of fear."

"Yes," said Kingsley, his voice hard. "Now, we must go to Westminster and prevent the same thing happening in this country." He looked around at everybody. "I may bring seven of you, Rogers informed me. Roberts will come," he said, motioning to his Senior Undersecretary, "as will Merlin and Remus, since you were there the first time, Watkins, Head of Magical Law Enforcement, Andrews, Head of International Magical Cooperation and you Minerva; Hogwarts is incredibly influential in our world, and something that affects the lives of many Muggle-Borns and their families."

"I shall come," said McGonagall, her voice stern and strict as it always was. Harry suddenly noticed she along with Remus, Merlin and the Senior Undersecretary were wearing their very best and smartest Muggle attire; apparently already knowing they would be chosen.

"McGonagall? The Muggles won't know what hit them," whispered George to his twin.

"Hang on," said Harry. "That's only six. Who else is going?"

Here, Kingsley turned to look at him, a curious look in his eye.

"I had thought to bring the Head of the Auror Department," he said, "but Merlin convinced me otherwise. I'd like you to come, Harry."

"Me?" said Harry, hardly daring to believe it. "What help could I be?"

"You're the 'Chosen One' after all, despite the fact you're so young" said Kingsley. "You helped us win the war against Voldemort and Morgana and you are one of the most influential people in the wizarding world, even if you are still at school. Plus, you were raised by Muggles, you know how to handle them. Especially difficult ones."

"That's different," said Harry. "Living with Muggles isn't the same. I haven't lived in the Muggle world properly since I was eleven. And back then I wasn't too interested in Muggle politics."

"You don't need to be," said Merlin. "You at least understand the fear and hatred that we are going to be faced with. You should be there, Harry."

"Is the 'Old Religion' telling you this?" Harry asked him suspiciously. "Because I don't sense it."

Merlin frowned. "The Old Religion doesn't tell me much anymore," he said, and the tone in his voice was bitter. "But I know that you should be involved."

Harry thought about it for a moment. The idea of standing up in front of hundreds of people in parliament on millions of people across the country's television screens in the House of Commons, the place he'd himself seen dozens of times on television was daunting to say the least. What help could he possibly be? He didn't have a clue how to resolve this.

He didn't sense the Old Religion telling him one way or the other, and obviously Merlin couldn't either. Was this the right thing to do? Would he actually make things worse? After all, how could the government of an entire country of millions listen to the advice of an eighteen-year old?

Then again, he wouldn't be on his own, Kingsley would do most of the talking, and, despite his initial fear, Harry felt he wanted to be there, wanted to see for himself what was happening.

"All right," he said finally, almost regretting it already. "But I don't see what help I can be."

"Help often comes from the most unexpected of places," said Remus, smiling at him. Harry wasn't reassured.

"You'll be fine, Harry," said Hermione. "You're smarter than you think."

"Thanks," said Harry. "I think."

"Don't worry," said Ginny on his other side, squeezing his hand gently. "You've faced Voldemort, how scary can some silly Muggles be?"

Ginny's gesture rather than her words instantly made him feel slightly better.

"Well," said Remus, standing up. "We'd all better go." He looked down at what he was wearing. "Are we Muggle enough?"

"Very good," said Hermione, looking over Remus, Kingsley, McGonagall and the Senior Undersecretary's clothes. "I can't vouch for the other two though."

"They're either Muggle-born or Half-Blood anyway," said Kingsley, "they should know how to dress. I want to give the Muggle government the best impression possible, and dressing like them suggests a respect for their customs."

Harry looked down at his own t-shirt, jeans and scruffy trainers and then at the Muggle suits Kingsley, Merlin and Remus were wearing. He instantly felt worse. At least he was wearing Muggle clothes though, however tatty.

"How are we getting there?" McGonagall asked. "Emerging soot-covered and coughing from a fireplace in the House of Commons doesn't strike me as giving a good impression, neither does Apparating and dropping in on them unexpectedly and scaring them half to death."

"I've got some Ministry cars waiting outside," said Kingsley. "Best to arrive as unmagically as possible. We want to appear unthreatening."

Harry nodded as he rose to his feet , though knowing Professor McGonagall's presence would certainly detract from any attempt at appearing to be unthreatening.

"Good luck," said Mr Weasley, who looked desperate to be going with them. "We'll be watching."

He nodded to an ancient television that was sitting in the corner that he had altered to run on magic rather than electricity and was now tuned into BBC 1 after an appeal to Harry and Hermione to help him work the remote. The screen was currently showing the 24 hour news that had been running non-stop the last three days, a weary looking newsreader reading out the latest figures on damages done by rioting and looting. Then, the picture changed, and it showed a city in flames, with foreign looking policemen containing an angry mob and a stream of ambulances racing towards flaming buildings. It was the scene of the Muggle massacre, and Harry felt sick to his stomach as the images flashed before him. A new resolve settled within him. He had to stop this happening, he had to help end this before things got even worse.

His heart thudded erratically as he and the others left the building and slid into two waiting Ministry cars, driven by Aurors rather than normal drivers, their wands lying ready on their laps. Harry settled himself between the window and Merlin, and watched as London raced past. At first, there was no visible difference in the sights that met his eye, the same old grubby streets and overflowing rubbish bins. There was no one on the streets. No cars, no buses. Not even a dog. The curtains in every house were drawn.

As they began to move into more heavily built up areas, they began to notice signs of life. Slogans written with paint on bed sheets were flying from bedroom and office windows. Some were too badly smeared by the rain, others were more legible. "No toleration for witchcraft" read one, "Peace for all", read another. Heading into central London people began appearing on street corners, carrying banners and placards, yelling and shouting, gathering around portable radios. They passed several burned out cars, smashed windows, slogans spray-painted onto walls, some very graphic in their condemnation for magic.

They passed more protesters, who yelled and made rude gestures to the cars, though Harry knew if they had known who was inside they would not have let them go so lightly. More banners flew above their heads: "No to magic!", "No mercy", "Rid evil from Britain!". Smaller groups of people were also gathered in public areas carrying banners that called for peace talks, but they were harangued by the others, and Harry witnessed several bloody looking fights breaking out.

The cars slid past Trafalgar Square, which was cordoned off for pedestrians, Nelson's Column blackened by fire, the great lions lying on their sides several feet away from their plinths, shattered fountains and the wreckage of cars strewn everywhere. Harry had never seen the place so deserted. It was like a war zone. He glanced at Merlin here, but Merlin was looking straight ahead. He was breathing deeply and slowly, his face expressionless.

Eventually, just when Harry was beginning to feel his new found determination waver, Big Ben became visible over the top of the various buildings. The driver of the car turned his head to Kingsley, who was sitting on Merlin's other side.

"Prepare yourself, Minister," he said, a grim note to his voice. "We're coming up to it now. The place will be mobbed."

"Understood," said Kingsley, and placed his hand upon his wand in his pocket. His entire body was ready and alert.

Harry's nerves immediately returned as the Houses of Parliament came into full view, an imposing structure that loomed over him and seemed to quell the optimism he had tried to keep burning. The sight of a huge wall of reporters, television cameras and protesters only made him feel worse.

The car slowed down as it tried to make its way through the crowd. Protesters jeered and threw things at the car while cameras flashed into the windows. Groups of hippy-like people tried to push to the front.

"Teach me magic!" one cried. "Teach us!"

"Witchcraft is a sin!" one old man cried.

"Leave us alone, witches!"

"Get out of our country!"

"Stop hurting our citizens!"

"Stop your unnaturalness!"

"Careful, Evans," said Kingsley calmly to the driver, not heeding the commotion outside. "Don't make your protection spells so obvious. Just enough to stop them damaging the car but not enough to frighten them."

"They're frightened enough as it is, Minister," said the driver. "There'll be no reasoning with them."

"It is not them we have to deal with," said Kingsley, his eyes fixed on the gates into parliament which were now directly ahead.

"And you think politicians are going to behave any better than this lot?" scoffed Evans. "No offence, Minister," he added hastily.

"He's right," said Merlin quietly. "Politicians are often the worst people for trying to negotiate with. They have their own agendas, their own motivations. I doubt much will come of today."

"I thought you were the one who thought negotiation was possible?" said Kingsley. "What has prompted such a change?"

Merlin turned his head to look at the protesting crowd outside. "A lot of bad memories resurfacing," he said. "Mob hysteria is the worst poison for peace talks."

None of them said another word until they had passed within the confines of the House of Commons and met up with the occupants of the other car, including two people Harry had never met before but assumed must be the Heads of the Departments of International Magical Cooperation and Magical Law Enforcement. The passed into the building's main foyer and Harry suddenly felt very small in such austere and grand settings. Muggles were approaching them, all of them looking terrified.

"I-I-I" stammered one of them. "I'm supposed to- supposed to … search … um …"

"We are carrying no weapons other than our wands," said Kingsley, making the man flinch. "And these we surrender willingly, provided you shall keep them safe."

The man paled and nodded meekly. He held out a small tray and Kingsley placed his wand in the tray, as did everybody else, though reluctantly. Merlin and Harry placed their wands in last, though this was really only a symbolic gesture as both were perfectly capable of using magic without one. The man hurried away muttering something about lunatics and madness, leaving the eight of them standing in the main hall with several Muggles on either side too afraid to approach them.

"Look at the fear in their eyes," said McGonagall. "This isn't right."

"No, it isn't," said the wizard Harry did not know. "Here we are wandless and surrounded by Muggles. This type of situation has always ended badly in the past."

"Harry and I aren't defenceless," said Merlin, frowning at the man. "But why should that even matter? Are you planning on attacking them?"

"No, but I can't count on them not to," said the wizard nodding at the Muggles.

Merlin's frown deepened. "There is no 'us' and 'them'," he said. "Stop thinking that way or we'll never get anywhere."

"Kind of hard not to when they're treating us like criminals," said the wizard, pointing to armed policemen that were lurking in the shadows, eyes trained on the wizards. "They're making me feel like we're the bad guys!"

"In their eyes we are," said Merlin. "We've lied to them for three hundred years and endangered them unknowingly through our own wars and conflicts. They have every right to distrust us."

A couple more moments passed as Harry's stomach churned. It felt almost like the day of his hearing at the Ministry of Magic, when he'd thought he was going to be expelled. Only this time the outcome would mean the fate of an entire world.

Two jumpy looking officials approached them warily. "You can go through now," said one of them. "Parliament is waiting for you."

Here goes, thought Harry, and braced himself for whatever trials he was about to endure.

Merlin managed to stay remarkably calm as he walked with Kingsley and the others into the main chamber of the House of Commons. He had to stay calm, he had to focus. This was the moment he'd been waiting for since Camelot had fallen into ruin.

The room was mobbed, far busier than Merlin had ever seen it on the few Muggle political broadcasts he'd watched. What looked like every MP in the country was in the room, and with not enough seats to accommodate them all, many were lurking at the back or in the public gallery. There was an immediate uproar as the eight wizards entered the room, with angry cries and condemnations shouted from every corner.

Every green seat in the room was occupied in the two halves that faced each other divided by a centre aisle, and everyone was crammed in as much as possible. Rogers and his most senior ministers were seated in the usual spot at the front, with the front bench opposite him the only seats empty. This was where the Leaders of the Opposition usually sat, but appeared to now be reserved for Kingsley and the others. The actual leaders of the Opposition were shoved unceremoniously into another corner, and looking very displeased about it.

The side where Kingsley and the others took their seats amidst general uproar was supposed to be for Opposition MPs, but considering Rogers' party had won almost every seat, there wasn't much of an Opposition, meaning most of the people on this side must be Rogers' MPs as well, just willing to sit anywhere. It was like being surrounded by enemies.

Merlin was acutely aware of the television cameras that were pointed at them, and the way MPs would shrink away as they passed, but was determined to ignore it. He had his eyes focused on Rogers. He seemed far more confident than the last time they had met, seemingly over the shock. He glared unrestrainedly back at them, and seemed to be reveling in the noise his MPs were making.

Kingsley sat directly opposite Rogers, and Merlin sat on his right, with Harry next to him. Harry kept glancing nervously up to the cameras, as well as looking around the room in dismay at the hundreds of people looking down on them.

The Speaker was in his chair to the right of Merlin, sitting before the aisle dividing the two parts of the House, wearing the usual robes and wig, trying to appear as regal as possible. His eyes were sharp and suspicious. The ceremonial mace that represented the monarchy sat before him, and Merlin wondered wildly what the Queen thought of all this, before the Speaker stood, and everyone in the room fell silent.

"Today, we find ourselves in the most unique of positions," his voice booming across the silent chamber. "There is no precedent for this, no way to know how to proceed. It was questioned whether or not a formal debate was in order, or whether the government should conduct peace talks with the members of the … ahem, wizarding government. I have called this session as the country finds itself in a state of emergency, and all of our protocols seem to have vanished. Therefore I invite the leader of, well, I suppose you could call him the Leader of the Opposition now, and he shall be referred to as such for the duration of this session-" the real Leader of the Opposition huffed in a corner-" to provide Parliament and the people of the British nation and the world at large an explanation for his and his society's hidden existence within our own, and to propose how our two societies should proceed. As I said, there is no precedent for dealing with the revelation of an entire secret population existing alongside us, and none of us are abiding by the rules-" here he cast a glance at the MPs sitting on the wrong side of the chamber and also several MPs of the last government who had somehow managed to wrangle their way in as well-" but we must do the best we can. I now call the Prime Minister."

The Prime Minister stood at the bidding of the Speaker. He looked for a moment at Kingsley before turning slightly.

"Thank you, Mr Speaker," he said, to an audience that was deathly quiet. "I would like to thank you for your words to us. I would now like to open this session of Parliament with an appeal to the 'Leader of the Opposition' to introduce himself and his companions to the people watching at home from whom he has so disgracefully hidden from in a manner that can only be described as cowardly."

Merlin blinked. That wasn't a good start to proceedings. Rogers' words were met with a great deal of loud assent from the benches as his own party voiced their support, as well as a smaller noise of others calling for Kingsley to be heard. Merlin tried not to sigh. Squabbling and insults seemed to be pat and parcel of British democracy.

The Speaker nodded to Kingsley who then stood to combined cheers and jeers. The Speaker called for order and reluctantly, the shouts died down. Kingsley fixed them all with his best stare.

"I am disappointed indeed, Mr Speaker that the Prime Minister has such condemning comments to make at the beginning of the peace process, I can only hope he has the restraint to listen to myself and my companions before passing any further judgment. An inability to do so would demonstrate a severe lack of understanding or foresight. I hope he can keep his condemnation under control until the issue has been further explored."

There were many more mixed responses from the benches, and the Prime Minister's glare deepened. Kingsley must have done his homework, thought Merlin, adhering to the customs and procedures of parliament so well, like the practice of only addressing the Speaker and speaking about other members in the third person. Rogers' did not look happy that Kingsley was not ignorant of the custom.

"I am Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic of the United Kingdom," Kingsley said, prompting more shouts and calls for order from the Speaker. "To my left is my Senior Undersecretary, Malcolm Roberts, Daniel Watkins, Head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement and Darius Andrews, Head of International Magic Cooperation. To my right, is Merlin Emrys-," they had decided not to conceal Merlin's identity any longer- "Harry Potter-," Harry went a little pink here- " and Remus Lupin, all notable leading figures in our recent war against oppression, and Professor Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the school where the children of magical and non-magical families go to learn magic. All seven are trusted personal advisors and friends, and there are none better that I trust to help resolve this issue."

More shouts of outrage, especially at the mention of a school which seemed to frighten people. Some people were looking at Merlin curiously, confused by his name, and at Harry, probably because of his age. Merlin doubted anyone as young as Harry had ever been permitted to sit in Parliament.

Kingsley was not finished, and spoke over the shouting. "Firstly, Mr Speaker, before I am bombarded with questions, I see the need to explain a little of wizarding history, and how it relates to the history of Muggles, that is to say, non-magical people."

Everyone had gone quiet now.

"Wizards and Muggles have lived side by side for millennia," said Kingsley, to a silent chamber. "You have only to look inside your own history books to determine that. Your legends and histories are filled with mentions of sorcery. You now believe those histories to be nothing more than exaggerated fiction with no basis in fact, that your ancestors were merely ignorant. But that is not the case. Many things you believe to be myth and legend were true. Muggles and wizards have lived both in peace, and in conflict at various points in history. This conflict began to get out of hand in the late seventeenth century, when both wizards and innocent Muggles were being prosecuted for witchcraft. With the advice of the International Confederation of Wizards, this government and several others in Europe voluntarily chose to go into hiding. In the year 1689 the International Statute of Secrecy was signed, and all member countries, the number of which has grown over the centuries, chose to entirely hide our existence from the non-magical peoples of our countries, to protect both ourselves and innocent Muggles. Since then, we have conducted all of our business entirely separately from yours, with one exception. The Muggle Prime Minister, upon his or her election, is visited that same night by the incumbent Minister for Magic to reveal the existence of the magical world, to ensure cooperation in all issues that would affect the populations of both societies."

Chaos erupted once more as everyone looked outraged. Even the impartial Speaker looked angry. Kingsley just raised his voice and continued.

"Such an alliance is necessary to ensure the safety of both societies," he said. "It has proven invaluable during our recent war against extremists within our population, when Muggles and wizards alike were in danger. The actions of your last Prime Minister helped ensure the lessened impact on Muggle Britain. I note, he was unhappy with the deception, but with all due respect for the Members of the House, who would have believed him? Or any other former Prime Minister for that matter? They all knew, and they all kept our secret because they recognised the wisdom of it, as I hope you all do in due course."

"Our societies have been separate for three hundred years, though not by choice. We have become estranged, and I regret that ignorance has arisen amongst my own people. The people who conducted these recent attacks were unhappy with the Statute and wished to end it, though if up to me, I would never have done it in such a mode. They are a terrorist organisation and are being dealt with. The situation is not ideal, but our peoples have worked together in the past and have demonstrated a capacity for peace and understanding. I hope that spirit has not died and everything can be resolved peacefully. I regret the centuries of separation that were deemed necessary by my predecessors, and I hope that now magic and Muggles can unite to make up for past transgressions by both peoples through the centuries. I and my companions now welcome any questions from the Honourable Members about our society and desires. We have no longer anything to hide and desire peace above all else."

As Kingsley sat, almost every other person in the room leapt to their feet to ask a question, to be recognised by the Speaker. The Speaker called on an MP.

"The Leader of the Opposition refers to a recent war amongst his own society," said the MP, looking visibly angry. "Although he says he informed the Prime Minister, does that justify such a war? Normal British citizens were placed in danger by this reckless war and were completely unaware of it. Does he have any regret for such an abominable concealment? Are all the strange events of the last few years due to this mysterious war to which he refers? The collapsed bridge? The tornado in the West Country? The unexplained murders? The museum massacres? The mysterious explosions at Grimmauld Place in London last year? How far can we trust a man who lies to an entire population about their safety?"

The MPs chorused their agreement.

At a nod from the Speaker, Kingsley stood once more.

"This war, Mr Speaker, was one of the greatest to affect our people in a long time," he said. "It was fought against an evil sorcerer named Tom Riddle and his supporters who sought to overthrow our government and gain dominion over the entire country, wizard and Muggle. They were as much a danger to Muggles as they were to us, and we fought and died to protect our Muggle neighbours. Grimmauld Place was the headquarters of the main resistance group against Riddle's dominion, and the fires that night were the result of the battle we undertook to overthrow Riddle and his followers, in which we eventually were successful. Riddle and his ally, Morgana, were responsible for the mass killings at museums and for the magical creature that was unleashed in central London last year. I can safely say they have been defeated."

"And how do we know that?"

"Shame!"

"Lies!"

The Speaker called on another MP.

"I wonder, Mr Speaker," she began, "how long it will be until another 'evil sorcerer' rises to destroy people? Would this Ministry of Magic have told us then? Their society is evidently volatile and dangerous for ordinary people. They fought a secret war amongst us. That is unforgiveable. How can we trust these people?"

The Speaker called another MP who was practically leaping up in down in order to be recognised.

"And what is this 'magic'?" the man asked. "How does it work? Just what are these people capable of? How much of a threat do they pose to us? I'd like to ask this so-called 'Head of Magical Law Enforcement' just how they regulate their people. How many attacks are there on ordinary citizens as a result of the arrogance of these wizards in hiding their danger from us?"

At a nod from the Speaker, and one also from Kingsley, the wizard rose to his feet. "Magic is …" he began, trying to find the words. "It's an inherent ability, capable of arising within Muggles as well. With the use of a wand, we can do spells, make potions etc., for many purposes, most of which are harmless. We have defensive and offensive magic of course, our wands can be used for killing as well as healing, but we have strict moral codes, much like your own society. We believe in peace, in respecting each other, and would never take the life of a Muggle. Magical misdeameaours are treated severely, and crimes against Muggles are dealt with particularly harshly. True, there are those among us who use magic for ill, but can you honestly say there are none amongst you who abuse their power? We are not so different in our beliefs of right and wrong. We condemn murder, theft, rape, corruption and abuse as you do. We are not the barbaric Devil-worshippers your stories present us as; we are a rational civilised people."

"And how do we know that?" another MP cried, forgetting all formalities as the rest of his comrades yelled in agreement.

"Because we're telling you now," said Kingsley. "You must trust our word-"

"And how can we trust your word when you've lied to us for so long?"

"You're our enemies!"

"We cannot trust them!"

"Throw them out!"

Once more, everything descended into chaos as MPs leapt to their feet to yell and shake their fists at Kingsley, completely abandoning all sense of protocol, crossing the red lines before their benches that was supposed to be forbidden during debates. Even the supposedly impartial Speaker was looking concerned and shouting questions of his own. Roberts, Watkins, Andrews and Remus had jumped to their feet and were trying to quell the near riotous MPs, shouting back at them, and even McGonagall had stood and was now engaged in a heated discussion with a woman in the row behind her, dodging the blows of her handbag. Only Merlin and Harry remained seated.

Harry bit his lip and glanced at Merlin. "This is chaos," he murmured.

"This is British politics," said Merlin grimly.

The shouting went on a bit longer, before the Speaker began to regain some control after ejecting some MPs (most unwillingly) from the chamber.

"I call upon the Honourable Member for Harrow," he cried. "I call upon the Honourable Member for Harrow."

Most of the MPs regained their seats, while another, on Kingsley's side of the room stood.

"Thank you Mr Speaker for putting an end to what is a shameful display," he said, glaring at the other side of the room. "The Prime Minister's party seems to be an unruly mob not fit to govern a tea party, let alone a country. Instead of attacking the representatives of the wizarding government and accusing them with such atrocities, can we not now agree on a way forward? I call upon the Prime Minister to lay aside these petty squabbles and decide on the best way forward. These deceptions are grave indeed, but infighting can get us nowhere. We have seen on the Continent only this morning the bloodshed that has resulted from this mass exposure. We can see from that why wizards have chosen to hide; there are still ignorant bigots amongst us, as the People's Party has shown today. Let us not follow that country's example. I call upon this government to take action to prevent such violence occurring in this country as well and to make a lasting peace with the Minister for Magic."

There were a few cheers at this from Opposition MPs, but the vast majority of the room booed their displeasure. Kingsley looked grave and Merlin knew what he was thinking; with almost all the government being members of the People's Party what hope was there for reasonable discussion? Rogers had them all under his thumb.

Rogers stood, and all but glared at the MP who had spoken.

"The Honourable Member seems not to understand the seriousness of the situation," he said. "These people have magic, perverted unnaturalness that they could use against us at any moment. How can we make peace with a people that are so unfairly advantaged? If they were to rise up against us, what could we do? It seems to me, Mr Speaker, that only the cessation of all magical activities of this Other Population is the only solution, and surrendering to our authority until we can ascertain their worth."

Remus stood up now, eye-to-eye with Rogers.

"We will not give up our magic," he said, amid shouts of protest. "It is who we are, and we cannot ask our people to once again live lies, live in fear and persecution. We will not be made to feel inferior, for any reason. That would only strengthen the divide between our two peoples. We must work together, and acknowledge each other's strengths and weaknesses. Magic against Muggles is illegal, and we will continue to uphold that law. Nothing has changed in that respect. We will not give up a part of who we are. We need to be recognised as equals in your society, and you need to be recognised as equals in ours. That is a failing we both share; ignorance and fear. We need to change that."

"And how, Mr Speaker," said Rogers, "can we change our society when we are still continually threatened by theirs? Why should we change to accommodate terrorists and witches? They admit to corrupting our society by influencing our Prime Ministers, they secretly take our children to be educated in wicked arts! How can we condone this?"

"Don't you dare call my school wicked," McGonagall said, finally rising to her feet, a cold glare in her eyes. "That school helps children of all backgrounds and has done ever since its foundation one thousand years ago, Muggle and magical alike. And stop waving at me, you silly little man," she said, glaring at the Speaker who was trying to regain order. "I don't give a damn about your ridiculous protocols. You, Prime Minister, are displaying a wilful ignorance and prejudice I would equate with a man from the Dark Ages. Hogwarts is a school where we teach children of Muggle parents who possess the ability to use magic. We do not corrupt anybody. The only corruption I see here is coming from your lips."

Merlin felt a surge of pleasure at her words, though most of the room did not agree. McGonagall sat down again, fixing her coldest stare on Rogers.

"You know," said Merlin to her, trying to lighten the mood in the riotous room. "I'm a man from the Dark Ages."

McGonagall just turned that icy glare on him instead. He smiled and looked away, though inside, he was feeling the dread begin to weigh him down once more. These talks were going nowhere. He knew he had to do something, say something, but he didn't know what. Telling everyone here he was the Merlin in the state they were in probably wasn't a good idea, but staying silent on the matter was not particularly appealing either. He knew he had to act. He'd been waiting for this opportunity for too long to waste it now.

His entire life had been building up to this, but now, oddly, he didn't know what to say or do. He felt as lost as he had done in those first few years in Camelot, fresh out of the countryside and completely unfamiliar with politics and everything it entailed. He felt young again, and not in a good way. Why was he feeling like this? The entirety of the Wizarding World, and the Muggle one were depending on him; why was he so useless?

He searched for the Old Religion to guide him, but again, met with only silence. He longed for it to speak to him as it once had, to influence him, tell him what to do. For years it had instructed him, now it had abandoned him. Why? It was more important now than ever.

Other MPs were speaking as he was lost in his own mind. They were questioning Andrews and Watkins about laws, Wizarding society and other things, all of their questions hopelessly biased, everything that they said criticised and denounced as unnatural or dodgy. Nothing they said could convince the MPs of anything.

"If you can only be reasonable, we can find a multitude of commonalities," said Andrews. "My own parents are Muggles, I know your society is a good one. Let us at least discuss-"

"Discuss with witches? With terrorists?"

"Don't trust them!"

"Do you want violence like on the Continent?" said Remus. "Because that's the way you're heading-"

"Is that a threat?"

"No!" said Harry, who had finally swallowed his nerves and leapt to his feet, looking angry. "It's a warning. If you keep acting as blind and stupid as you are at the moment things are going to get worse!"

"And what qualifies you to say that?" asked another MP. "You're a teenage boy!"

"A teenage boy who has risked his life time and time again for the sake of wizards and Muggles alike," said Merlin, who spoke without thinking, not willing to let Harry face censure. "You have no idea what he has done in the fight against evil in our own society, and what he is trying to do now. We've spent the last few years fighting bigotry and inequality, protecting the rights of everybody, regardless of background. You'd do well to listen to him."

"And who exactly are you, or this boy, to tell us anything?" the MP shot back. "What qualifies you? Are either of you members of government?"

"Mr Potter, is a student of mine-"

"The Ministry of Magic sends schoolchildren to fight in wars and take part in governmental debates? That says it all."

"Listen to me," said Merlin, facing the wall of angry MPs. "you cannot understand how important it is to create a peace now before things get out of hand. I've seen how bad things can get, and believe me, a return to those days is tantamount to anarchy and death."

"You've seen this?" said Rogers. "How can you, if the Statute has been in effect for three hundred years?"

At this, Merlin faltered slightly, and glanced to Kingsley, who himself looked strangely doubtful. Harry however, was not silent.

"He's seen it all," said Harry. "He's older than half the people in this room put together. He's the Merlin."

This statement was met with mixed ridicule and outrage. Half the MPs laughed and derided him, others looked scornful, afraid, disapproving. Only Rogers looked as though the fully believed it. His eyes darkened.

"Lies!"

"Ridiculous!"

"Throw him out!"

"You must listen," said Merlin urgently, seeing all his hopes begin to fade away in the face of such opposition. "We tried, in 1689 to talk to Muggle government. We tried to talk to King William and Queen Mary, they did not listen. They encouraged the continuation of violence. Don't make the same mistake they did. Move beyond your past, and we will do the same. I've seen the damage an ignorant and prejudiced government can do; do not fall back on old ways. For everybody's sake."

"Riddle's men tried to kill hundreds of Muggles just because he thought they were scum," said Harry. "We fought and died to stop that from happening. We're on your side. Don't be as ignorant as those men. Prove that we're all in this together."

Any rational man would have heard these words and listened, but Merlin despaired to see that the MPs simply continued to shout angrily at Kingsley. Merlin felt a touch of desperation and panic seep in unwillingly as he observed nothing but angry faces before him. There could be no reasoning with these people.

Kingsley stood, facing the angry politicians with a stoic and determined expression, not flinching at the insults being thrown at him.

"We cannot continue like this, lest violence spread beyond our control," he said, addressing the Prime Minister evenly. "Please, see sense. Let us leave here with at least an arrangement of peace between our two peoples, if not one of full integration. A chance for us to better understand each other and strive for a greater peace. Our differences shall take a great deal of time to resolve, but may I at least have the consent of this Parliament to agree to a Peace Accord in the meantime?"

Rogers slowly rose to his feet, amid the shouts of his party members and looked calmly at Kingsley, his eyes sparling.

"Such a step," he said, to a now eerily quiet chamber, "would be appropriate in circumstances of two governments trying to create peace and end war and unrest. However," he looked around the room, his thick eyebrows drawn tightly together, "to do so would require two governments."

He fixed Kingsley with his coldest glare yet.

"I do not recognise this man or his government," said Rogers. "I do not recognise the Ministry of Magic as a legitimate government, but as a secret organisation that has undermined this parliament and conducted seriously questionable actions against the British people. I cannot agree to peace with a government that does not legally exist. Is there any here who would question that?

"I now call a vote," said the Speaker, shouting over the tumult, and installing even more dread in Merlin's heart. "All in favour of recognising the Ministry of Magic as a legitimate government?"

"Aye!" shouted what sounded like less than twenty MPs, and Merlin's heart sank.

"All those against?"

"Aye!" cried the rest of the room in one cry.

"Clear majority, motion passed," said the Speaker. "Ministry of Magic is not recognised by this parliament."

"How can you do this?" cried Watkins. "We have every right to be recognised! Our system of government is older than yours; you should be asking us for legitimacy. You're making a big mistake."

"The only mistake was not recognising you for what you are long ago!" said Rogers. "Perverse evil-doers that are damaging British society by your very existence!"

"You cannot do this!" said Merlin, his heart racing. "You have to see that they only way to move forward is to talk."

"This government has no interest in talking to such a questionable organisation," said Rogers. "I say that you are enemies of state, and should be dealt with as such. Leave this House, leave this country with your people and do not return to threaten us ever again!"

As Rogers spoke, the noise of the crowd got louder and louder until it was one solid roar. Scuffles broke out between People's Party MPs and Opposition MPs, the Speaker was calling for order, MPs stamped their feet in a great thunder, Andrews was arguing emphatically with an MP, and through it all, Rogers sat in his seat, smiling, eyes glinting.

Kingsley turned to Merlin. The look on his face said it all.

Far different from Merlin's hopes a few weeks ago, peace now looked further away than ever before.

Harry felt a twisting uncomfortable feeling in his stomach as they made their way back to Grimmauld Place. No one was saying anything, even after the car had forced its way through the crowd of protesters, some of whom had thrown flaming objects at the car. These projectiles had been repelled by the magical shield, and this had only riled the crowd up further. Eventually the Auror driver had cast a Disillusionment Charm over the entire car and raced away before they could be followed by anybody.

The streets looked even worse than before, with shop windows smashed open and people running from them carrying televisions and microwaves, as well as the crowds of angry mobs, carrying such 'weapons' as garden tools. It looked like they were just inches away from arming themselves with flaming torches and pitchforks.

The driver twiddled the dials on the dashboard until the Muggle radio came on.

"-well, you heard it for yourselves, folks. The Prime Minister has refused to negotiate with the Wizarding government, and the wizards themselves seem to be very unapologetic for hiding their society from us for so long. They freely admit to placing us all in danger every time they have an internal disagreement."

"Exactly my point, David," said another commentator. "They have no regard for our society, our laws or customs. They're arrogant and self-righteous, and were lying through their teeth when they claimed they were our allies. How can they be when they care so little for us? They've lurked beneath our society for too long, who knows what they've done to us in secret over the years? They've taken shameful advantage of our ignorance. They should be driven out. We can tolerate their presence no longer."

"But surely such action is unnecessary?" said the first commentator. "Shouldn't the peace process continue until arrangements can be made?"

"What arrangements? These people have magic! They could kill us all with a flick of a wand and a few silly words. They are a threat, an enemy, and must be dealt with as such. We don't like it when other countries have nuclear weapons, so why should be like it when the Other Population has magic? There can be no negotiating with terrorists and madmen like these."

"But are they mad? Shacklebolt seemed willing to talk peacefully. He didn't strike me as unreasonable."

"Of course they're mad! I mean, that man actually claimed to be Merlin! Witchcraft has been denounced as evil for centuries. This is no fairytale. Our ancestors burnt them at the stake for a reason. They feared magic, and they were probably right to. They are dangerous, and they cannot be trusted. Why else do we associate magic with evil if they are not? These people can never be productive, valuable members of our society."

"But surely integration-"

"How can we integrate with people who have declared war on us? They have shown their contempt for our way of life. They have shown their true colours. They must be driven out!"

"Are you seriously condoning violent actions like those on the Continent?"

"If necessary, yes."

"Turn it off," said Kingsley, and the driver immediately obliged, his own face looking strained.

"Rogers never intended to negotiate with us," said Merlin from beside Harry. He was staring straight ahead, his face blank. "He was always going to declare war on us. He just wanted us to be exposed to the entire British public so he could justify himself by denouncing us as evil. We were never going to get a fair trial."

Kingsley nodded. "So it would seem," he said, and sighed, turning his face away from the destruction outside of the window. "It appears you overestimated Muggles, Merlin."

Merlin was silent for a moment, and then looked towards a burnt out car by the side of the road.

"Maybe I did," he said quietly, his eyes flashing with pain. "Maybe I did."

A/N: Thank you to everyone who's reading. Please leave a comment/kudos if you're enjoying! :)

Chapter Text

Walking back into Grimmauld Place after the disastrous meeting at Westminster was possibly the worst feeling of the day for Harry. The looks on everyone's faces as they entered the drawing room was enough to make Harry a little afraid. The seriousness of the situation was really beginning to hit him.

"You saw the whole thing?" Kingsley asked, rather unnecessarily, as the television was still flickering in the corner, displaying yet more pictures of violence.

"We can't give up," said Mr Weasley immediately. "Those people were biased, but you saw there were at least some people there who were reasonable. We must talk to them, get them on our side."

"Even if we could, it would mean civil war for the Muggles," said Watkins. "It would mean conflict between the Government and the ones who support us. There can be no peaceful situation to this any longer."

"There must be a way," said Merlin, and he began pacing up the room. "There always is."

"We cannot force them to listen to us, at least not without using magic," said Kingsley. "And that would only turn them further against us. The government will not oppose those who would seek to harm us. We're enemies of state. We have no rights in their eyes."

"We're not giving up," said Merlin fiercely. "Somebody at least must be willing to talk."

"And where do you suggest we find them?" Kingsley asked, his voice raised. "Where?"

"The Opposition MPs, the former government, anybody!" answered Merlin, gesticulating wildly. "Anybody in a position of authority, someone who the Muggle population will listen to!"

"They're too afraid," said Kingsley. "They'll accuse us of using magic to influence them, to threaten them, they won't trust us."

"Then we need to give them reason to!" said Merlin. "Show them the good that magic can do! I did it in Camelot. There was a massive plague, and I used magic to heal them, and many who had previously been against us were converted."

"This is not the same!" shouted Kingsley. "Camelot was thirteen hundred years ago. The world has changed, why can you not see that? Muggles are different now, their very views on the world have changed. Until last week, these people did not even believe in magic. You had one city of thousands to convince, I have a country of millions, a planet of billions to convince. How can you hope to recreate what you did then?"

Merlin stared at Kingsley, mixed anger and despair on his face.

"You were never properly willing to attempt this," said Merlin. "You never believed it was possible. That's part of the problem."

"Are you suggesting I haven't been trying?" Kingsley asked in outrage. "I know what is at stake, Merlin. At this rate it's only a matter of time before people start dying in this country. I wanted to believe in peace, I truly did, but it is not possible. Not now. War is here whether we want it or not. The problem you have is that you think you can impose outdated values on the modern day without issue. You are living in the past. If you cannot recognise this, then perhaps you are not as wise as we all thought you were."

Merlin flinched a little as the whole room gasped. He cast his eyes downward.

"I have never claimed to be wise," he said, controlling his voice. "All I am trying to do is resolve this situation as best I can. I've seen it done."

"There is a reason Camelot has become so legendary," said Kingsley, his voice softening a little. "And it is because what happened there was truly exceptional. Perhaps it cannot be recreated."

"I cannot believe that," said Merlin, and turned away.

"Stop this arguing right now," said Mrs Weasley, standing between the two of them, glaring. "It isn't going to help anything. We won't get anywhere if you're too busy fighting each other."

"Exactly," said Tonks. "We need to do something now. The wizarding population is in as much turmoil as the Muggle one. We need to reassure them as best we can, make sure they're safe before we attempt to contact the Muggles again. The Ministry is flooded with people. Fights are breaking out everywhere between Pure-Blood extremists and others. Everyone is afraid, and some people are on the verge of making some very stupid decisions."

"Then I should get to the Ministry," said Kingsley, sighing. "Though what I'm going to tell them …"

Harry felt a flicker of fear as he saw how hopeless Kingsley looked; even at the height of the war with Voldemort, he had never looked like that.

At that moment, there was a loud 'crack' from downstairs and a sound of a yell and a scuffle. Heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs. Harry and the others wheeled around to face the door, many drawing their wands. The door burst open, and a heavy-set man with numerous scars on his face wearing Auror robes barged in, dragging someone by the scruff of the neck. He nodded to Kingsley and roughly shook the man until he was facing the room. Harry immediately recognised him from the papers as being Cicero Verax.

"You!" cried Tonks fiercely, her wand spitting sparks.

"I found him skulking around the Ministry trying to start a coup, Minister," growled the Auror. "Slippery little rat tried to scarper when he saw me. What do you want me to do with him? I know of a nice little cell in Azkaban he could rot away in."

"Not just yet, Williams," said Kingsley, though he didn't look as though he objected to the idea. "I want to question him first."

Williams nodded, and roughly forced Verax into a chair, standing beside him, his wand as his throat. Verax glared at him briefly, before turning his gaze on the rest of the room, and Harry got his first proper look at him. He didn't look half so smug and well-groomed as he did in his photographs; his robes were askew, his hair dishevelled and his face rather pink with exertion. But his eyes still shone, and he moved them over every occupant, lingering on both Harry and Merlin almost greedily. Harry felt a chill move up his spine as those dark eyes fixed upon his own. Verax almost smiled.

"I don't see what you've got to smile about, mate," said Bill. "You've been caught, and there's nobody in this room that wouldn't like to turn you into a slimy toad."

"Ah, but my task is near accomplished," said Verax, and Harry felt shivers as he heard his voice; silky smooth and carefully pitched. "Why should I not smile?"

"Your task?" asked Kingsley, his voice shaking with barely suppressed anger. "Your task was to start an international war?"

"Indeed," said Verax, still smiling.

"Why?" demanded Tonks, scowling at the man. "Do you want all this death to keep happening?" she pointed to the television.

"Of course I don't wish it; they are merely causalities of war," said Verax dismissively. "But all of that will soon end."

"And how?" Merlin asked, and Verax immediately grinned.

"You, of course," he said, face shining. "Now is your opportunity."

"What opportunity?" asked Merlin. "I have already tried to reason with the Muggles, they will not listen. What did you seriously hope to accomplish? Making Rogers Prime Minister? Did you seriously expect him to negotiate?"

"Of course not," said Verax, still grinning. "He's an ignorant Muggle with no tolerance or respect whatsoever. That was exactly my point."

"You mean you deliberately ensured that there could be no peace process?" Charlie asked, bewildered. "Why?"

"I wanted the Muggles to be in chaos," said Verax, still staring greedily at Merlin. "I wanted them to panic, to descend into mayhem. It would make it so much easier."

"Make what easier?" Kingsley asked.

Verax laughed. "Why, taking control of course!"

Harry stared at the man, unable to believe his ears.

"Taking control?" Merlin repeated faintly.

"Naturally," said Verax, still laughing. "The time is ripe, isn't it?"

"You want to control Muggles," said Kingsley. "You want to rule them by fear, kill and hurt them the way the Death Eaters did. All of what you said was a lie. You hate Muggles."

"Far from it," said Verax. "I do not want Muggles killed, what use would that be?"

"Then what do you want?" asked George, sounding disgusted.

"I want wizards and Muggles to live side-by-side as in times of old," he said. "Wizards no longer hiding away like frightened mice. I wanted Merlin to take control as he has done before. With Merlin at our head, what Muggle would dare stand against any of us? There could be peace. There could be no fear or persecution for our people. The Muggles would fear and respect us the way they used to. And we could finally live up to our full potential instead of living like second class citizens in our own country."

Everyone stared, appalled. Verax was still grinning with an almost maniacal fervour.

"You want me to take control?" Merlin said. "Force the Muggles into subservience."

"Like the good old days," nodded Verax. "In Camelot, when you were its leader, and the Muggles under your dominion. There was peace then. That is what I want."

Merlin was silent for the longest time, staring at the man before him

"You never wanted peace, did you, not real peace," said Merlin, a note of hurt in his tone. "You never wanted harmony. You always wanted to control Muggles, rule them by fear. That isn't peace, that is intimidation, it is suppression. Turning the tables of Muggles will never work."

"It did before," said Verax. "In Camelot. Camelot was the only time in history where both Muggles and wizards lived together. You managed it then. The Wizards' Council believed in this and carried on your vision. They knew the truth about what you did back then, and your precious Ministry of Magic chose to forget. You must do it again. Relive the glory of Camelot."

"You're insane," said Merlin, shaking his head. "You have no idea what the Wizards' Council were like, what Camelot was like. What you've heard is lies. The Wizards' Council claimed I ruled Muggles by fear to justify their own bigotry. That was never the case."

"Yes it was," said Verax, now looking quite mad. "I've read the accounts of the Council. They ruled in your name after Camelot fell. Their policy was always to rule Muggles, and they used you as their example."

"They were wrong," hissed Merlin. "They are nothing like the Council I established in Camelot. I spent centuries working against the Council and trying to fix the damage they'd done. You're deluded, Verax."

Verax's maniacal grin turned to confusion and anger now. "No!" he yelled. "It is the truth! I know it!" he scowled at Merlin. "You've always wanted Muggles and wizards to reintegrate and end the Long Separation. You were always against the Statute of Secrecy.

"That doesn't mean I wanted to rule the Muggles by fear."

"It's been your dream for hundreds of years," said Verax, frowning. "Why are you shying away from it now? You know how they treated us in the past, and it was all because we were too afraid to stand up and do something about it. Back then you wanted the perfect opportunity to once again unite our two peoples. Hasn't that opportunity arrived?"

"How do you know what I wanted back then?" Merlin asked, anger returning to his features. "How dare you presume that you know me!"

They continued glaring at each other, even as Harry struggled to remember the Wizards' Council from History of Magic. He knew they'd supposedly been a continuation of Merlin's own personal council in Camelot, but Merlin had told him how they'd changed and twisted his beliefs until they bore no resemblance to what had come before. Despite being the official government of the country, they had cared little for the general population, and let witches and wizards be executed without lifting a finger to help. They were eventually replaced by the Ministry of Magic who tried to do more to protect its citizens and eventually signed the Statute.

Verax seemed to calm slightly, and slowly reached his hand into his robe pocket. The Auror immediately pushed his wand closer, but Verax just scowled, and pulled out a small well-worn notebook. He flipped it open before looking back up at Merlin.

"I know a lot about your past," said Verax. "I've known the history of the mysterious Emrys for a long time. When you revealed yourself to everybody last year I finally had the confirmation I had been searching for."

Merlin flinched a little. "What do you mean you know my history?"

"Do you think you've managed to spend thirteen centuries completely invisible?" scoffed Verax. "You're mentioned plenty of times, if one only knows where to look. Not in official records perhaps, oh no, you've been too clever about that. But unofficially …" Verax grinned and looked down at his notes. "You've had quite the impact on people's lives. Diaries of Muggles and wizards alike mention a mysterious man named Emrys who saved them from the flames centuries ago, who helped them escape and build new lives before vanishing once more. Muggle Rights reformers of the Ministry wrote in unofficial letters to their friends of how a young boy at Hogwarts named 'Emrys' influenced them into starting their quests to end discrimination; a boy who always seemed to vanish several years after leaving the school, never to be seen again. Oh, it hasn't been easy, you cover your tracks well. But there are multitudes of unpublished material lying around old country manors, lurking in ancient archives, locked in boxes in attics, under people's beds … you're everywhere, Merlin. And every single one of those accounts mentions your distaste for the International Statute of Secrecy, your wish to see it stamped out of existence. There are plenty of mentions of you killing great numbers of Muggles in order to protect wizards. Why would you have done that if you thought Muggles deserved equality? You controlled those Muggles to ensure peace."

"I never-" began Merlin, before stopping himself. He looked troubled, and Harry felt a chill go through him at the thought of Merlin killing so many Muggles. He often forgot just how accustomed Merlin was to killing others.

Merlin took a deep breath. "I only ever did what was needed," he said, his voice steady. "I never enjoyed it."

"I am not suggesting you did," said Verax. "I do not enjoy this either. But it is necessary. We must strike out at the Muggles when they are weak and reassert our authority. You've done it before-"

"I have never taken control of Muggles," said Merlin, his voice getting louder. "I would never-"

"You did once," insisted Verax. "What about during the founding years of Hogwarts? You helped the Founders control the Muggles of surrounding villages with Confundus Charms; you attacked and killed Muggles who were threatening wizard refugees. You did that without qualm. You often spoke of your wish to end the hatred between wizards and witches. That what why you wanted to help at the school: you wanted to influence the Founders and create a new generation of wizards that would aspire for peace. You encouraged them to fight back against the Muggles-"

"To protect themselves, not control them-"

"You met with the Wizards' Council regularly with Slytherin," Verax continued loudly, ignoring Merlin and ploughing on with his notes. "What were you doing if not endorsing their work?"

Merlin scoffed and faced away from Verax, shaking his head.

"And how do you possibly know what I did back then? The Wizards' Council records were wiped. I did it myself."

"I have my sources, Merlin," said Verax, tapping his notebook. "A diary, written a thousand years ago by one of my ancestors, which I only recently managed to translate. Perhaps you knew him? His name was Gerret Whitethorn."

Merlin stiffened, and turned slowly to face Verax, a new interest on his face.

"He was your ancestor?" said Merlin, looking at him more closely. "I would never have guessed. He was a much more pleasant person than you."

Verax scowled. "Perhaps not so pleasant when you hear the things he's written about you."

"Hold on, who's Gerret Whitethorn?" asked Charlie. "How did you know him, Merlin?"

"He was Hogwart's first ever Headmaster," said Hermione immediately. She was frowning. "All the history books say he was a good man who worked with Gryffindor against Muggle persecution. What bad things could he possibly have written?"

"He recorded his entire time at Hogwarts," said Verax, not even casting her a passing glance. "All his dealings with the Founders and Merlin. He had some very interesting things to say."

Merlin seemed almost to laugh. "And what did he say?" he asked. "I can't think of anything he'd have against me."

"You'd be surprised," said Verax. "He's always talking about your secret meetings with the Wizards' Council, and the School Governors who were almost solely under their influence. Apparently, you and Slytherin were constantly running back and forward between them."

"The Wizards' Council were scum," said Merlin. "They didn't embody anything of what I represented. Salazar and I were trying to stop them interfering with the school. Whitethorn knew that."

"Apparently not," said Verax, and he held up another older and more battered book from his pocket. He opened the book and cleared his throat. "This morning, Lord Salazar and Master Emrys departed the castle once more, bound for London. From what I gather, they intend to meet with the Wizards' Council. Such departures make me uneasy. The Founders proclaim to detest the Wizards' Council and wish nothing to do with it, yet these meetings continue. They have always claimed that the school must be entirely separate from government, but acquiesced to the presence of the Governors when under pressure, and now I fear they are permitting the school to be influenced from without. Lord Salazar holds great sway with the Council, and his ongoing distrust of the Muggle-Born students unsettles me. I fear Lord Salazar is becoming allied with them, and endorsing their policy of exerting control over Muggles.

"Emrys too worries me. He speaks such rhetoric of training the children to be powerful. He's adamant that they learn all about Muggles. Whilst Lady Helga and the others seem to want them to learn how to blend in with Muggle and remain safe and hidden, Emrys wants the children not to be afraid of them, to not have to hide from them. He has spoken of his own hated past of having to hide in secret from Muggles, and does not wish the same for the students. I fear he is encouraging them to be open about their magic, and some students may take this to mean they must fight Muggles with their magic rather than hide from them in safety, that this is the only way to be truly accepted.

His influence with the Founders worries me. Although he argues with Lord Salazar about his distrust of Muggle-Borns, he still seems willing to work with him with regards to the Council, and is always present in their meetings. He attends Board meetings as well, and spends many hours holed away with the Founders. I do not understand him. He is not a teacher, he is not a member of staff, and from what the local villagers tell me, he only arrived at the school less than a year before it opened. Yet, they trust him as though they had known him all their lives. He is not a noble like them, though he is well versed in all academia, and is exceptionally discerning. What right has he to hold such influence over them? What qualifies him?

He is consulted over everything; he is a Founder in all but name. I admit, I do not always trust him. There is something so secretive about him; he does not speak much of himself or his past life. He always refuses to speak of the real reason he is at the castle, and insists he is a mere friend. I've heard tell he is teaching them something, though I do not know what. I am not sure the Founders are wise to trust him so implicitly. He has openly voiced his opposition to the secret nature of our society, and I fear he has encouraged the Founders teach the children that we shall one day expose ourselves to the Muggles who fear us. Such an action can only mean chaos, and I wish such a day will never occur. We shall never be at peace with Muggles."

Verax looked smugly up at Merlin then, who was standing with a passive expression on his face. He raised an eyebrow.

"Wow," he said. "And I thought Whitethorn liked me."

"Why else does he write this way unless there is truth in it?" said Verax, sounding as though he had won the argument. "You and Slytherin were working with the Council for a way to control the Muggles. Like you've always wanted."

"Is this your only evidence?" laughed Merlin. "Whitethorn was never in any of those meetings, he had no idea what they were about. Yes, there was secrecy, but only because I was teaching them Old Magic, which no one else could know of. That's the only reason I had such influence over them. I worked with the Founders to ensure children would never be afraid of Muggles again, to make sure they could never be harmed by them, and they would never harm them in return. I never intended to cause a rebellion amongst the students. I knew the process would take centuries, and I also knew that the children needed to be confident in themselves and stop believing they were 'evil' and Muggles were 'scum' before any peace-process could begin. I was only starting the process back then, ensuring that one day, there could be peace. But that peace never entailed controlling Muggles, regardless of what Whitethorn thought. He was always rather miffed that I was more closely involved with the Founders than he was."

"Ah yes," said Verax. "He mentions that." He picked up his book and flipped through it once more before clearing his throat and reading: "Emrys' time with the Founders increases daily, until I am sure he spends more time with them than he does with anyone else. It seems they trust him more than I, the Headmaster of their school! Particularly with regards to Lady Rowena, with whom he is hardly ever separate from. All day they are together, and all night too, according to the gossip from the house-elves. Perhaps this is the reason he remains at the castle? There exist several rumours that Lady Rowena's child is not the daughter of her husband as she claims-"

Verax was cut off abruptly, as the book soared from his hand straight into Merlin's, who snapped it shut, a blush on his cheeks.

"Whitethorn always was nosy," he said, and shoved the book into his pocket hurriedly, ignoring the astonished stares he was getting. He turned his glare back to Verax. "You disgust me, Verax. This is the reason you have caused such misery? A few fragments of historical accounts taken out of context? You know nothing of my motivations. You're a fool, and you might just have started the greatest war this world has ever known. You're mad."

Verax' eyes were bulging with fury. "How can you deny it?" he screeched, all silky seduction lost from his voice. "It makes sense! You must take control! It is the only way!"

"Don't dare suggest that to me again," said Merlin, now looing equally as angry. He was shaking, and Harry could swear he saw them glowing, almost as though he was struggling to contain his magic in his fury. "I have spent my life fighting against such views as yours."

"Take him to Azkaban," said Kingsley, scowling with disgust at the man. "If, if, we emerge from this war alive and well, I shall deal with him then. In the meantime, you can sit in a nice little cell of your own. You may have just changed the nature of our very existence forever. The deaths that inevitably follow will be on your hands."

Verax was dragged away from the drawing room, still yelling at Merlin, but Merlin stood with his back facing away from him, still as a statue. Once Verax' deranged screams had faded away, the room seemed oddly quiet.

Harry's heart and mind were racing. Now, more than ever, the situation seemed hopeless. Verax's intentions had always been to have the world descend into civil war. He was mad. Delusional. How could they fix this now?

Kingsley looked rather shaken himself. He breathed in deeply.

"I must go back to the Ministry and sort out the mess there," he said, his voice back to a forced calm. "We must build up a plan to deal with the Muggle government. All of you, either stay here or head back to Hogwarts until I have my plan and we can take some action. They are the safest places to be right now."

"We're staying here," said Ginny immediately. "I know there's nothing we can do at the moment, but …"

She trailed away uncertainly, but Kingsley understood. "Very well," he nodded. "The Order of the Phoenix has formally been recalled. Do what you can from here. Make sure witches and wizards across the country keep their heads down for now; it could be dangerous for them otherwise. Keep that Muggle news channel on and keep an eye out for trouble. If any of Verax's lot or old Death Eaters stir up some trouble, deal with it best you can."

They all nodded, and Kingsley and his Ministry officials turned and left.

"War," said Mrs Weasley, sinking into a chair. "Another war. Will we never have any peace?"

"We will," said Ron, going to his mother's side, his eyes shining with determination. "It won't be like it was hundreds of years ago. Merlin won't let it get like that."

But Merlin was silent. His hands were shaking.

"But what can Muggles do to us?" asked Malfoy. "We've got magic, they don't."

"Unlike you, Mr Malfoy," said McGonagall. "Most people still require wands to use magic. If the Muggles deprive us of our wands, we are vulnerable. And remember, we are a population of thousands compared to a population of millions. And even if we manage to stay hidden, Muggles will be falsely accused and suffer as they once did."

"It took a long time for Muggles to forget that we had ever existed when we first went into hiding," said Percy. "Even if we sign a new International Statute of Secrecy tomorrow, it will be centuries before the Muggles stop believing in us again."

"If they ever do," said Mr Weasley, glancing at the television screen, which was now replaying the debate in the House of Commons. Harry saw his own face on the screen and was alarmed to see in detail the sneers and angry faces that shouted at him as he spoke. In the House, they had all blurred into one, now, each and every condemning face stood out to him like a beacon.

Merlin finally moved, and turned to face everyone. He had reached into his pocket and withdrew Whitethorn's diary, which he held tightly.

"All of this because of one man's twisted interpretation of history," he said softly. "If Whitethorn wasn't already dead I'd give him a piece of my mind. But it's my own fault, I suppose. I always was too distant with him and the other teachers. No wonder they thought I had a bad influence on the Founders."

"So, it's lies, then," said George, an almost mischievous glint in his eye. "All the stuff about Slytherin and the Council?"

"I did meet with the Council with Salazar," said Merlin, "but Whitethorn interpreted it all wrong."

"What about the other interpretations? Did he get those wrong?" Fred asked, starting to smile along with his twin.

Merlin raised an eyebrow. "What are you asking?"

"Ravenclaw!" the both said. "Was he right? Was there something between the two of you?"

Merlin's mouth twitched, as though he too wanted to smile, but couldn't bring himself to.

"Perhaps."

"Whoa!" said Bill. "You and Ravenclaw?"

"I've seen her portrait, mate," said Fred, openly grinning. "How on earth did you get her?"

"By lying, concealing my true identity, like I've always done," said Merlin, gripping the book more tightly. "I deceived her, the same way I deceived all the others. Now all my deceptions are coming back to haunt me."

With that, he left the room.

Harry found him, hours later, as everyone else had gone to sleep, no one feeling like returning to Hogwarts. He was sitting in the drawing room, staring mindlessly at the television he'd Summoned from the kitchen, still on mute. Whitethorn's book lay on his lap.

Merlin deliberately ignored Harry, fixing his eyes on the screen, trying to control the raging anger and frustration he felt building up inside. His mind was a tumult of mixed emotions, and he felt like screaming in anger, in despair... he didn't know what to do.

He had always been so certain. He had always had the Old Religion whispering in his ear, telling him to wait, to bide his time, reassuring him in his darkest days that it would all be worth it in the end. But now, pure silence, with nothing but his own tortured thoughts. Why had it abandoned him so?

He had thought he had finally found peace with himself, stopped feeling guilty, stopped obsessing about everything and finally had the opportunity to rest and begin to live his life once more. But he wasn't finished, he never would be. It was never ending.

Why was it still tormenting him like this? He'd thought all of that was over. He had allowed his hopes and dreams to be built up, only to be ripped away, leaving him far more desolate than before.

This was his fault. He had so hoped that Verax would be the one to end the Long Separation that he had willed himself blind to his faults. How could he have been so stupid? He had selfishly leapt on this opportunity without thinking it through.

He found himself so lost in his own thoughts once more, he had almost forgotten Harry was in the room.

"So, you're here to stop me blaming myself?" he asked. "Bit rich coming from you, isn't it?"

"This isn't about me," said Harry, taking a seat next to him. "I thought you were done with that whole 'this is all my fault' thing when you killed Morgana."

"So did I, but I was wrong. This is my fault," said Merlin.

"How?" asked Harry. "How can what Verax did possibly be your fault?"

"He took his inspiration from me," said Merlin, hanging his head to avoid looking at the images of destruction on the television. "It's always been me that wanted the end of the Long Separation. He's based this whole campaign on me. Part of what he says is true."

"How can you say that?" asked Harry. "No matter what you once said or did, you never wanted this. He's twisted your words."

"Words I should never have said," said Merlin bitterly. "For too long I did nothing against the image I'd gotten, and that was my mistake."

He sighed, and looked down at the book. "The world sees me as some sort of hero, always has done since the days of Camelot, whether I deserve it or not. And the Wizards' Council, right from the beginning, they claimed I was their Founder, based their beliefs on 'mine'. They acted in my name, did unspeakable things in my name. I went with Salazar to those meetings, I saw the statues and tapestries they had of me and the false beliefs they preached, and I didn't do anything. I lurked in the background, let Salazar do most of the talking and let them keep thinking what they liked. I always hated the way they used my name, but I never did anything against it. I was too determined to remain hidden and so I let my name and message become distorted. That's what Verax picked up on. I let them keep on believing the false legends, simply because it was easier for me to hide that way. I told myself that the true message will come out in the end, but I hadn't realised just how long that would take, and now the belief is far too firmly entrenched to be removed."

He clenched his fists. "It's happening all over again. I spent so much time in the shadows people have forgotten who I really was and what I really believed. I should never have let this 'saviour' image get this far."

"Because you don't think you deserve it?"

"Because I'm sick and tired of people having false perceptions of me," he said. "I mean, look at my Chocolate Frog card! I never was that bearded old man, but that's how people know me. You didn't like the idea of Scrimgeour using your name to bolster his own policies, equally, I hated the Wizards' Council doing the same thing."

He shook his head. "I've been used for their own means, and I was a fool to allow it to happen. I was just so desperate to believe this was possible. And now, we face years of war and struggle because of me. I allowed Camelot to fall the first time, and I've spent centuries trying to make up for it. Now the chance is here, but I'm not ready, the world isn't ready. And I'm mortal now, I'm not going to be able to see it out this time. And I have to. I can't leave the world like this."

"You might not have to," said Harry. "If anyone can arrange a truce, it's you."

"I'm not so sure," said Merlin. "Maybe I was a fool to think this was going to be easy."

"But the Old Religion-"

Merlin laughed. "The Old Religion isn't helping me with this one. And I was always nothing without it. Just plain old Merlin the manservant again, completely clueless."

"You were never clueless, Merlin," said Harry firmly. "I might not have known you then, but I know you were never clueless. You've never been an idiot or a fool. You should trust yourself, Merlin. Don't rely on the Old Religion. You do deserve your reputation. It's time you had some confidence in that again. I got my reputation because I got lucky as a baby, you got yours because you earned it. You need to remember why."

Merlin almost smiled. "The Old Religion gave me my reputation. It predicted my birth centuries beforehand. I'm helpless without its guidance."

"Stop being so pessimistic."

"You sound like I did all last year."

"Good, at least one of us does," he said. "How can you forget all of that so easily? You guided me when I was lost, and now it's my turn, Old Religion or no Old Religion. You wouldn't let me be pessimistic then, and I won't let you do the same. I won't lie, I'm afraid of what might happen. But we need to focus on fixing it, rather than blaming yourself."

Merlin looked up, and smiled. "It looks like you were a good student, Harry. Maybe I should start taking my own advice."

"Yeah," said Harry, looking uncomfortable now. Wanting to change the subject, he let his eyes drift over towards Merlin, and they rested on the book. "Is what Whitethorn said true? About you and Ravenclaw?"

Now it was Merlin's turn to feel uncomfortable. "Parts of it," he said, looking away.

"The Grey Lady-"

"No," said Merlin immediately. "That rumour was around at lot at the time. I looked after Helena a lot and I was … ahem, close to her mother, but no, she isn't mine. I could never have settled down and had a family, no matter how much I wanted to. I never allowed myself too. I was too focused on hiding."

"Well, maybe, when all of this is sorted out, you can," said Harry.

Merlin, not wanting to contradict him said nothing. He just looked up at the television, which was showing fresh images of violence.

"If this all gets sorted out," he said. "The violence on the Continent is just getting worse."

It was at that moment, that Merlin saw the headlines running underneath the images. Riot deaths reported in Liverpool, Swansea and Birmingham.

"That's not the Continent," said Harry, sitting bolt upright, eyes wide. "That's here."

He was right. Merlin felt his new found optimism drain away and be replaced with despair once more.

This new war had reached Britain. Was there any hope left now?

Chapter Text

Harry ducked and dodged as all manner of projectiles were thrown at him from the angry mob in front of him. He'd much rather use a Shield Charm, but they'd all agreed to refrain from using as much magic as possible.

There were about a hundred of them, all yelling and angrily brandishing make-shift weapons. A family were cowering in the gutter, the father lying in the street, blood seeping out of a wound in his head as his wife and three young children screamed and cowered as the mob continued beating the man. Other Muggles were smashing windows, setting fires and chanting words lost in the chaos of the night. It was one of the busiest streets in Manchester, a place for shopping and socialising, yet was now a bloodbath.

Harry and most of the others who had been at Grimmauld Place had Apparated here just moments ago to try and quell some of the violence, but it seemed all their presence did was make things worse. As soon as they had appeared, they had been bombarded with abuse and weapons.

"Get lost, scum!" one man shouted.

"We don't want your kind here!" another shouted.

Their faces were lit in a red light by the angry fires consuming the buildings on either side. Policemen were approaching some members with riot gear but not making much headway as the mob got more and more violent. Order members were tackling fires, trying to push back the crowds using surreptitious spells in order to rescue the victims in the centre. But the crowd did not take kindly to the spells.

But Harry wasn't about to give up. Innocent people were being hurt and he had to do something.

Regardless of the promise he had made and his own safety, he cast a quick Old Religion spell to shield himself and plunged into the crowd. A few seconds later, he was conscious of Ron and Hermione following, protected by Ron's Old Religion shield, though still somewhat flimsy from lack of practice.

The crowd tried to stop them, grabbing at them and hitting them with their various weapons, but each attempt bounced off harmlessly. A couple people screamed at the sight, but most people looked angry, infuriated, murderous.

"Look, it's the kid off the telly!"

"Get him! He's one of them!"

Harry ignored the shouts and pushed himself through the crowd until he came to the spot where the family were huddled on the ground crying, able to do nothing to stop their father being beaten. One of the mob turned to see Harry, Ron and Hermione, and lowered the metal pipe he had been using, slick with the man's blood. He scowled.

"Get lost, you sickos," he growled.

"The only sicko here is you," said Ron. "Leave off him."

"Or what? You'll make me?" he spat. "Go on then! Curse me! Put a spell on me! Get your broomsticks and your black cats."

"My cat's ginger," said Hermione, and without another wasted second, whipped out her wand and Stunned the man and his three accomplices. The crowd screamed as one when they saw this, but Hermione paid no attention and she, Harry and Ron approached the family, Hermione trying to calm the frantic mother and hysterical children.

Harry and Ron approached the father, who was motionless. "We need to get him to Merlin," Ron said urgently. "That wound looks nasty."

Harry nodded, and knelt down to grab on to the man. "I'll take him straight there. You and Hermione bring the others."

Ron moved over to the others to take them to Grimmauld Place, even as Harry gave one last look around. The area they were in now was quieter, the violence having moved further down the street, but the buildings still burned, and he could still see the distant shapes of the Order trying to do something, anything to stop the violence. They were probably only making things worse.

But he couldn't concentrate on that right now. He grabbed the man's arm, and summoned his magic, and uttered the words that would take himself and the injured man inside the protection of Grimmauld Place.

He felt the swirling winds engulf him, and the next moment he was in one of the bedrooms of 12 Grimmauld Place. He'd missed the bed by a few feet, but at least he'd arrived in the bedroom instead of the dining room like last time. Merlin had said only a few weeks ago that he was too inexperienced to learn Transporting, but that attitude had changed within the last few days. Harry had been forced to learn it and so had Ron and all the other Old Magic users, despite the additional danger for them as newer students than Harry; it was far more efficient than Apparition, and meant they could bring Muggles within the walls of the house without removing the protective enchantments. He levitated the man onto the bed quickly.

"Merlin!" he called, but there was already a thundering on the steps and the door burst open before he'd even finished.

Merlin immediately moved over towards the bed and examined the man, swearing loudly when he saw the injury.

"A Muggle?"

"Yeah," said Harry, falling back slightly. "Another bloke was hitting him with a metal pipe. Ron and Hermione are bringing his family here now."

"Did you teach Ron the Old Religion spell to Transport Muggles inside the house's defences?"

"Yeah," said Harry, sinking into a chair, feeling the exhaustion that still came with using an as of yet still unfamiliar Old Magic spell. "He'll be here soon."

Merlin nodded and continued his examination. He conjured some cloths, water and a potion to clean the wound, frowning as he did so. Then, he placed his palm over the wound and began murmuring rapidly under his breath. His eyes glowed, and the wound slowly knitted itself together. Merlin immediately turned to his medical equipment and began mixing up another potion.

Harry stopped paying attention now that the danger was over, and tried to stave away the exhaustion. One week had now passed since the debate in the House of Commons, and complete pandemonium had overtaken Britain, Europe, the whole world even. Every day came new reports of violence and bloodshed. The death tolls increased daily, including in Britain.

Rogers and his government refused point-blank to negotiate with Kingsley now, calling him an enemy of the state and a terrorist fugitive, all facades now dropped. Some politicians spoke out against this attitude, but somehow, they all seemed to disappear or were silenced after Rogers accused them of being guilty by collusion. Some church leaders supported the government's stance and were commended, others called for peace, and they too were suddenly silenced. Officially, the government did not condone the violence, and were using the police and army to stop it, but truthfully, were happy for it to continue. In actual fact, according to the speeches given by Rogers in the last week, he seemed almost to encourage 'ordinary citizens taking it upon themselves to root out the evil in our society.'

The situation was even worse in Europe, where reports of new attacks came almost hourly. The situation was beginning to be reflected in Britain too, with every major city displaying mass rioting and violent attacks, with the unrest spreading to all but the most rural communities as well. As of yet, there was no official death toll, but Harry knew it was high.

The Order had, along with Ministry Aurors, tried to stop the violence as much as possible, and rescue innocent Muggles and wizarding families that got caught up in it, but were having little success. Muggles were hostile to them, both the perpetrators and the victims, and as soon as the violence had been quelled in one city, it arose in another. There was no cohesion, no organisation. Ordinary wizards tried to help their Muggle neighbours, and were turned upon without warning. A refugee centre had been set up in the Ministry for displaced wizards, many of whom had Muggle husbands or wives, as well as the parents of Muggle-Born children and Muggles themselves, traumatised by the events of the past couple of weeks. St. Mungo's was filling up, and so the Order had decided to begin to bring as many rescued Muggles that the house to hold to Merlin instead. The place was crammed with Muggles; the bed occupied by the man from Manchester was the last free one, and campbeds would now have to be brought into this room too. Even the drawing room was filled. Once cured, Muggles were either sent to the Ministry, or into hiding with wizarding families. They could not return home.

Merlin was rushed off his feet. Although wanting to head out into the cities with the rest of the Order to help, Kingsley had asked him to remain, seeing that he was the best and most experienced Healer of all of them, and so grudgingly, Merlin had agreed. He was not happy. Again, he felt useless, and Harry knew he was still blaming himself. Every time an Order member caught a member of the Liberators and brought him to see Kingsley, Merlin looked as though he was hard pressed not to curse them. Harry had not seen such anger in his eyes since he'd faced down Morgana.

A noise sounded on the staircase and the door was pushed open. The man's wife and three children rushed in, each sporting bruises and scratches, looking pale and terrified. Harry immediately stood.

"Is he alright?" the woman asked, running to the best and seizing her husband's hand. "He's not-"

"He's alive," said Merlin. "It was a nasty wound, but he'll live. I've healed the fracture and internal bleeding. If he takes this potion when he wakes he should suffer no side-effects from the damage."

The woman looked stunned as she saw the scarless face of her husband. "You-you healed the fracture? Just like that? He's only been here five minutes."

"Magic can do wondrous things, if people would only give it a chance," said Merlin, as he began putting away his equipment. "Are you and your children alright?"

She nodded, still looking stunned. "Just a little shaken." She turned to face Merlin, and her eyebrows rose. "You-you're the one that was on telly. You're the one that calls yourself Merlin. Why do you do that?"

"Because I am Merlin," he responded wearily, for the hundredth time that week. "Yes, the Merlin. Merlin from Camelot, of the Round Table and King Arthur and all that. Yes, I know I don't look that old. Yes, I know it's impossible. Call me a liar if you want."

"I'm not going to," she said, clutching her husband's hand tighter. "I believe you."

Merlin raised his eyebrows. "You do? Well, you're the first one all week. You seem remarkably calm about it."

"After everything I've seen all week, nothing seems unbelievable any more," she said, looking at her husband.

Merlin nodded, then glanced at her children. All three were clutching each other in the corner, looking too afraid to move, eyes wide and terrified. One was only about four, and judging by the smell, had wet himself in terror. Merlin's face softened.

"They're in shock," he murmured to their mother. "Will you let me give them a potion to help them?"

The mother looked anxious for a moment, but after looking at her children, nodded her consent. Merlin began preparing a small potion in some new vials from his kit, and handed one each to the children. They looked at them, suspicion in their eyes.

"It won't hurt you, I promise," Merlin said softly, crouching down to their eye level. "It'll just stop you from shaking so much."

"What's in it?" the oldest girl asked. "Eye of newt and tongue of frog?"

Merlin smiled, with what looked like great effort. "None of that, I promise. It tastes better than normal medicine too."

"Take it, dears," their mother said, coming next to Merlin and laying a hand on their shoulders. "It will make you feel better."

They still looked suspicious, but swallowed the potions. Immediately, they ceased shaking and some colour returned to their cheeks.

"There," said Merlin. He crossed the room to the cupboard and withdrew an armful of cushions and blankets, which he deposited on the ground by the fireplace, probably deciding to conjure some with magic would only disturb them further. "Now, why don't you all try and get some rest? You can lie here and wait for your father to wake up. Your mother will stay here with you."

They nodded mutely, and settled down on the floor with the blankets, but Harry doubted they'd be getting any sleep tonight. The mother kissed each of them on their foreheads and moved back to her husband, who still lay motionless. Her hands were also shaking. She turned to Harry.

"I saw you bring my husband here using … magic," she said. "Thank you."

Harry shrugged. "It was nothing. Why did they attack you any way?"

A look of pain crossed her face. "My husband's sister," she began, her voice trembling. "She was a … witch. I never knew, my husband never said anything. I knew his nephew went to a boarding school all year, but I had no idea it was a school for magic. Mike told me the truth the night the news broke out. I was angry he never told me … I said such mean things. Some of my sister-in-law's neighbours started sniffing around, wondering where the boy went all year, and why he'd done so many strange things when he was younger. They found out the truth, and it was only a matter of time before they came after us as well …"

A single tear fell down her cheek. "They came in the evening, they accused us of being witches as well. They said they were going to make an example of us. If you hadn't come when you did …"

"And what about your sister-in-law and her family?" asked Harry, chilled at what he was hearing. "What happened to them?"

She shook her head, more tears spilling from her eyes, turning her head so her children couldn't see.

"I don't know. I just don't know …"

Merlin and Harry exchanged grim looks. Merlin placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Try not to think of it," he said gently. "You've all been through an ordeal. When your husband wakes, make sure he drinks all the potion, and then try and get some rest yourself. Your children will need you to be strong."

She nodded, and wiped away her tears. Merlin and Harry stood to leave the room.

"Thank you," she said, looking at the two of them. "I'm grateful, and I'm glad those people were wrong about you."

"And I'm glad that there are people like you still out there," said Merlin, before he and Harry left the room and closed the door.

Ron and Hermione were standing on the other side.

"Will he be okay?"

"Yes," said Merlin. "Until the next angry mob comes along."

"What's going to happen to them all?" said Hermione. "They're refugees. They can't go back to their homes whilst all of this is still going on."

"No, they can't."

They made their way down to the kitchen, where a couple Order members were gathered, nursing superficial wounds and singed robes. The modified television was chattering away as usual in the corner; the Order had decided it was the best way to stay up to date with proceedings in the Muggle world.

Remus was sitting there, staring at the screen with a frown on his face. He barely glanced up as they entered.

"How are we supposed to help when there are simultaneous attacks going on everywhere?" he asked bitterly as the news report flashed more images.

"There's nothing we can do against them except try and rescue some of the people caught up in it," said another Order member that Harry didn't know. "Unless we can make Rogers listen, there's nothing to be done except go back into hiding and hope they forget about us in time."

"Yeah, because that worked so well last time," said Ron.

"The same thing happened last time," said Merlin, looking at the screen. "Wizards went into hiding, but Muggles continued to suffer."

"What did the Ministry do?"

"Nothing," Merlin replied. "'Let the Muggles fight it out amongst themselves', is the exact quote if I remember exactly. As long as wizards were safe, they didn't care."

"We can't let that happen now," said Hermione.

"Obviously," said Merlin. He thought for a moment. "We didn't do nothing though. There was a group called the 'Friend of Muggles Society', and they tried to save as many innocent Muggles as possible, and I helped a little. Eventually they managed to infiltrate parliament and helped pass the Witchcraft Act in 1735."

"And what did that do?"

"Got rid of the death penalty for witchcraft," said Merlin. "They managed to convince the politicians that witchcraft was all fake and no longer a crime. The new law meant it was only a crime to claim to have magical powers. That law wasn't repealed until 1951, but at least people began to believe that witches no longer existed, and the people practicing witchcraft were just charlatans. It took a lot of Confundus Charms to do that. Of course, it helped that the Statute had made it illegal to use magic in front of Muggles. When people stopped seeing magic, they stopped believing in it."

"But that wouldn't work any more," said Hermione sadly. "Not in the twentieth century. People have seen it on tv, it's been recorded, we've stood up in parliament to tell people it's real. We can't backtrack now."

"No, we can't," said Remus. He pointed his wand at the tv screen to turn the sound on. A heated debate was going on around a table on the screen.

"-but Rev., do you seriously wish to return to the old punishments?" the main commentator was saying. "There hasn't been an execution of a witch since 1727 and capital punishment itself was abolished in 1965, surely we're more enlightened now?"

"The law of God has not changed," said the Rev. his dog collar up so high it appeared to be choking him. "'Thou shallt not suffer a witch to live' Exodus 22:18. This witchcraft will pollute our society, we must weed it out."

"But if they've lived amongst us for so long-"

"Exactly my point," said the Rev, his face going red. "How do we know what part of our society is ours, and what they've done to us? I'm sure Father Kelley here will agree with me that such evil must be wiped out."

"I do not agree," said the man who must be Father Kelley, sitting on the Reverend's left. "Such violence is an abhorrence in God's eyes. God gave us reason, and compassion, we must use those gifts, and end this war. Executing witches would be tantamount to returning to the dark and un-Enlightened times of our forebears. We should be making progress, not regressing to an era of narrow-minded foolishness and maniacal persecution of innocents."

"Have you not read the old accounts of the witch trials? All those accused admit to conversing with the Devil himself! It is evil."

"And how many of those 'confessions' were obtained through torture, or were the result of mental illness rather than reality? We cannot compare this situation to that of back then. Mindless violence solves nothing. Mob rule will lead to the destruction of our entire country. We need to make a stand, and solve this in a rational manner!"

"You condone witchcraft and acts of evil?"

"Of course I do not condone evil, but there is no evidence that these people are evil. They have not attacked us, or harmed us-"

"What about the day they revealed themselves?"

"No deaths occurred that day if I recall-"

"You'd be happy to have a witch living next door, would you?"

"If I am perfectly satisfied that they pose no harm to wider society-"

"What is your opinion on this, Mr Burns," interrupted the host, talking to the final guest. "What is the position of the People's Party?"

"We stand by the Reverend's views," the MP smiled smugly. "Executions are perhaps not quite feasible just yet, but we believe this magic to be evil and needs to be eliminated and we will do everything we can to insure that-"

BANG!

Everyone jumped as the screen on the television shattered into a million pieces and the room filled with smoke. Merlin was standing there, his hands shaking, eyes still burning gold.

"That's the fourth screen you've smashed, mate," said Ron, after a moment's silence.

Merlin ignored him and turned away, still with a look of anger on his face, a mixture of hurt and betrayal; he was still smarting from the conduct of the Liberators.

"How can they be so stupid?" Harry heard him muttering to himself. A distraction was created when the door burst open and Tonks and McGonagall hurried in. They glanced at the shattered glass with little interest; knowing without explanation what had happened.

"What's-" began Remus, but Tonks cut him off.

"It's Godric's Hollow," she said, and immediately, Harry's heart leapt.

"What's happened?"

"The Muggles turned against the wizards there," said McGonagall gravely. "It wasn't hard for them to figure out the wizards living amongst them; we tend to stick out."

"It was a bloodbath," said Tonks, looing paler than usual. "Most of the residents were elderly, and didn't have time to get their wands, and even if they did, they couldn't take on all the villagers at once."

"The younger ones tried to," said McGonagall. "Killed as many Muggles as the Muggles killed wizards."

"The place is practically empty," said Tonks, uncharacteristically sounding tearful. "Everyone's gone, or dead. And what's worse, now people have heard what's happened, they've started going after the Muggles in their own villages."

"They've turned on them," said McGonagall. "They want revenge."

Merlin closed his eyes in resignation. "And so it begins," he said. "History is repeating itself."

Harry's heart felt cold at these revelations, remembering the sleepy little village he had visited on Christmas Eve. It was almost beyond comprehension.

His eyes fell on the Muggle newspaper on the kitchen table, hastily printed and filled with nothing but news of the violence. The headline caught his eye: DEATH TOLL IN BRITAIN ESTIMATED TO BE OVER 500, SIMILAR TALLIES ACROSS EUROPE.

Just how many more need to die?

The situation had never looked so hopeless.

"What exactly do they think they're going to achieve here?" Ron grumbled, looking at the rowdy Conference Hall at the Ministry. "This is more of a riot than anything."

"We have to do something," said Hermione, though she too was looking doubtfully at the chaos before her. "We need to come up with a solution together."

"And how 'together' do you think we can be?" asked Harry. "We can't even decide on where we're sitting."

After the Muggle death toll had reached 500 in Britain and almost 5000 across the whole of Europe, Kingsley had called another emergency meeting with Ministry officials, the Order and other prominent figures (plus others who'd managed to sneak in) in the Conference Hall at the Ministry, a room unused for decades, and now filled to bursting with dozens of people. Rows upon rows Of seats faced a high table at the head of the room, where Kingsley, department heads, Merlin and Professor McGonagall were seated, an arrangement that many in the room were unhappy with. People everywhere were arguing over their assigned seating, feeling insulted at being relegated to the back in a debate of such importance. Harry and most of the Order were seated in the front rows, a point that caused much consternation amongst those that accused Kingsley of 'blatant favouritism'.

"Can you believe this?" Fred asked, from further down the row. "The entire world is literally going up in flames and all they can talk about is a seating plan? What are they, children?"

Kingsley shared Fred's impatience. He stood up, and a giant firecracker issued from his wand, immediately demanding silence.

"Please, everybody, take your seats," he said, a note of threat in his voice. "This is too delicate a situation to be squabbling amongst ourselves."

"Exactly," shouted one wizard, though everyone else grudgingly took the seats given to them. "A delicate situation. Why then are your friends the ones you've been talking to, the ones influencing the way you're dealing with this crisis. You turned to them before you turned to your own government, you brought more of them than Ministry employees to the Muggle debate. Tell me, are you the Minister for Magic, or are you the leader of the Order of the Phoenix?"

Several shouts of agreement met these words, and the man sat down victorious. Kingsley glowered at him.

"I am both," he said, speaking louder of the snort of ridicule. "The Order was for a long time the wizarding world's last line of defence. We know how to fight our enemies, they have experience, and I personally trust each and every one of them with my life. Something I can't say about some of the people in this government." He ignored the cries of outrage and scanned the room, fixing his steely gaze on everyone sitting there. "The Order is not the issue here. This crisis is."

"But it is!" cried the same man. He stood up again and glared at the high table, this time, his eyes fixed on Merlin. "You say you trust them, but look at what they've done. They're responsible for this! That man there wanted this to happen!"

"Merlin is not-"

"Merlin!" said the man derisively. "Where's the proof? I don't believe him."

"You believed him last month, Lawson," said Tonks, scowling. "Weren't you begging me to get you an autograph? Did you need proof then?"

"He's taken us all in," said Lawson. "He was lying."

"And what about the evidence? The records? The testimony of the Hogwarts ghosts?"

"I'm not saying he's not long-lived," said Lawson dismissively. "It doesn't mean he's Merlin though. Look at Nicholas Flamel!"

"And what about the Old Magic?"

"Old Magic existed long before Merlin," said Lawson. "It's always been around. He just figured out how to use it and thought he'd impress us all by pretending to be a long-dead hero. Well, I've had enough of him making false claims and keeping the Minister in his pocket. He's to blame for all of this."

Harry felt the anger for this man rise up so strongly he thought he'd burst, and even more so when he saw several nods of agreement.

Ginny was shaking in rage beside him. "How can they be so ignorant?" she hissed. "How?"

Kingsley too looked angry, but controlled it better than Ginny did.

"Merlin's identity is not up for debate here," said Kingsley. "We need to focus on other issues now and not place blame, whether or not it is warranted. Sellick, you're head of the Emergency Committee, what's the latest you can tell me?"

Sellick stood up and gravely began to recite the numerous atrocities that were currently going on and the Ministry's fruitless attempts to counteract it all. Harry, feeling sick at the mention of so many horrors, turned his eyes on Merlin.

He didn't know what he expected, but passivity was not it. Merlin sat there, his face expressionless, not even angry at the aspersions on his identity, not looking pained at Sellick's report. He looked resigned almost. Harry was not used to seeing him look so passive, so neutral. It was almost like he had given up.

For the first time, Harry seemed to truly appreciate everything Merlin had gone through over the last thirteen centuries. True, he'd always felt appalled and sympathetic at his recollections of the awful things he'd witnessed, but it had all just seemed like what it was: history. Now, it was the present day, and Harry was witnessing it for himself.

All of what was happening now, it had happened before, and on a much greater scale, for centuries, and Merlin had watched it all. A few decades of peace in Camelot compared to centuries of fear and death. And he'd been there through it all, without even a friend to comfort him, to be with him and help him see that there'd be a better future one day. Merlin must as felt as hopeless then as Harry did now.

What must it be like for him to see it all happen again? He and he alone fully knew just how bad things could get, and what could actually happen. It must be torture for him to see the return of the killing he had tried so hard to forget. This unrest and violence was not new to him as it was to everyone else here. He'd survived, scarred but alive, hopeful nothing like that would ever happen again, and it had. As if Morgana returning hadn't been bad enough for him, now he was witnessing the return of a way of life that had caused him so much pain. And he must blame himself; he'd been tentatively supportive of the Liberators, put his trust in them, and they had betrayed him.

Harry saw the same look in his eyes that he knew had been in his after Dumbledore had died and left him with the impossible task of tracking down the Horcruxes. It was a look of pure despair.

He shuddered as he realised that Merlin, the great Merlin they all (despite his many flaws) still thought invincible had given up hope. It didn't suit him. Strangely though, it did not make Harry afraid to see him to hopeless, instead, it just ignited a new determination inside of him. Merlin had not given up on harry when everything had looked so hopeless, and Harry would not give up on him. They wouldn't give up, they'd fix this, he had no idea how, but they would. Harry would make sure of it.

The meeting passed without much getting done, just more and more blame being laid upon everyone, from Kingsley and Merlin, to Dumbledore, Fudge, Rogers and a multitude of others. No one had anything productive to say.

"We'll be using Hogwarts as a refuge for all the Muggles and wizards who are being displaced," said McGonagall, who still had not regained her colour after the massacre she had witnessed at Godric's Hollow. "It's the safest place I know, and the Ministry is too full already. I'd also recommend all Muggles who have been placed with wizarding families be taken there as well. It is the safest place for them."

"Muggles at Hogwarts?" sneered one old man at the back. "How do you propose to get them in? Don't they just see a ruin of the place?"

"We shall remove enough of the Muggle-Repelling Charms to let them inside as long as they're guided by a wizard," said McGonagall. "The place shall still be hidden from outsiders."

"And how can you do that?" said the wizard. "Those spells have never been removed in ten centuries, they're woven into the very fabric of the place. You want to tamper with them? Who's to say you won't make a mistake and expose us all? It's far too risky."

"What do you want to do? Leave the Muggles on the doorstep?" Mr Weasley asked, angrily.

"Let them go to their own kind," said the man. "We can't risk wizarding lives for them."

"They can't go to their own kind!" said Hermione, jumping up and glaring at the man, heedless of the dozens of eyes on her. "They're in trouble because of us! We need to help them!"

The man scowled at her, his distaste for her and her blood status evident on his face. "It's not our fault Muggles are stupid enough to kill their own kind. I say we leave them to it and let them fight it out amongst themselves. Our priority should be the lives of wizards."

At this, Merlin looked up and stood slowly, looking at the man, immediately silencing the whispers that had started. His face remained expressionless, but his eyes were burning with an angry fire.

"I've heard words like those from countless Chiefs of the Wizards' Council," he said, his voice strong in the silent room. "Leave them to it, let us look after our own.' They were happy for Muggles to kill each other so long as wizards were safe and sound. Same goes for Muggle-Borns. After all, if they're too stupid to know how to conceal their magic and learn to control it and not get caught, why should we risk wizarding lives to protect them? And poorer people too. Why do they need magic anyway? Why should we risk our lives for theirs if they're too poor and stupid to understand how to hide themselves properly? In fact, why risk pure wizarding blood for anybody? Let's just sit back quietly and let the world go to hell, so long as I'm alright, what does it matter?" Merlin's look now turned to one of absolute fury. "Where do we draw the line? Muggles and wizards are both human beings. Why should one group be more worthy than another? From there it's just a short step to deciding which wizards to save and which to leave to the flames. We sacrifice any humanity we have if we let them perish. We are as much responsible for the violence as they are. We are all in this together."

"And why did you do it then?" asked the man. "If Muggles are so worthy of saving, why did you stand by for centuries and watch them burn? Why didn't you get involved then?"

He had struck a nerve, and Merlin flinched, but soon recovered. "Because then, I was alone, wizarding society was fractured, I had no allies, no friends, no way of ending the violence. I was only one man trying to stop an entire continent from burning. But we can change that now. I'm the one who helped put those Muggle-Repelling Charms on Hogwarts in the first place. I can alter them, without putting anyone at risk, Muggle or wizard."

"That is, if you really are Merlin," grumbled the man, but he sat down and said nothing further.

Merlin ignored him, and resumed staring down at the table in front of him whilst Kingsley and the others outlined their plans for helping evacuate people from the worst areas, and how best to approach the Muggle government once more; no one had any clue.

Harry watched him carefully. Despite his words, Harry sincerely doubted Merlin believed his own statement of changing what was going on.

If the greatest wizard the world has ever seen was afraid, what hope did the rest of them have?

Some, Harry told himself, clenching his fist. We're not dead yet. I won't let Merlin give up.

"Well, that didn't go well," said George, as he, Harry and most of the Order went to the make-shift refugee camp in the Ministry Atrium to help with the removal to Hogwarts. "What did we find out there that we didn't already know?"

"That wizards are beginning to turn on each other, as well as on Muggles," said Harry, still with the image of that bigoted man in his head. "It's like what Remus said on Potterwatch last year: 'It's only a short step from 'wizard's first, to purebloods first'."

"You were listening to that?" asked Remus, smiling despite himself as they entered the Atrium from the lifts. "I'm glad. It was meant to give you hope."

"It did," said Harry. "And maybe you'd better start it up again. It looks like we all need some again."

The Atrium was a hopeless mass of huddled people, heaped together on rickety beds, clutching warm drinks with blankets draped around their shaking shoulders. It reminded Harry of the scene after the Battle of Hogwarts, when all hope seemed to have gone. Some Muggles looked afraid, and were shrinking away from Healers who approached them with potions and drawn wands, some were crying, but most were just staring into space, holding the hands of their loved ones.

"Ignorance did this," said Hermione, shaking her head and looking tearful. "Why do human beings always get it so wrong?"

"Your parents will be alright, won't they?" Ron asked her, as they moved towards the group of Healers. "They won't be attacked?"

"I don't think so," she said, but she bit her lip. "They moved to a different city after they came back where no one knew them, so none of the neighbours know I exist or used to do strange things when I was little. They should be alright."

"They will be," said Ron, taking hold of her hand. "They're smart, like you. They know how to keep their heads down."

They reached the Healers, and, after a quick explanation began to help them and the Ministry witches and wizards guide the Muggles and other refugees to the fireplaces to Floo them to Hogwarts, each accompanied by a wizard to take them past the enchantments. Harry, Hermione, Ron, Fred, George and Ginny were assigned to one fireplace. It took a great deal of persuasion to convince them all to step foot in the flames, some went hysterical at the mere thought of it.

"I can't!" shrieked one woman, holding her child by the hand and looking terrified at the emerald flames. "I'll get burnt!"

"You won't," reassured Hermione. "It's perfectly harmless."

"But- but- how?"

"Magic," said Fred. "It isn't all broomsticks and toads you know. Look, I'll come with you. It's safe, I promise you."

She looked doubtful. "How do I know it's not a trick?"

"You'll have to trust me."

"How can I do that?" she asked, holding her son's hand even tighter. "Last week I didn't even know magic existed."

"Who would you rather trust; the people who threw you out of your home, or the people who took you in and gave you shelter?" said Fred, smiling gently. "Come on, I'll hold your hand and everything. I won't let go. If you get lost up a chimney, I'll be right there with you."

"Lost up a chimney?"

"What Fred means is," said Hermione, cutting across him. "Is that we use Floo powder all the time. It's a little uncomfortable, but it's safe. We know what we're doing."

After a great deal more coaxing, the woman was finally induced to step into the fireplace along with her son, holding Fred's arm so tightly it was if she'd break it off.

"Great," said George, turning to look at the queue. "That's two gone, just another fifty to convince."

"It's only to be expected," said Ginny. "They don't know any better. Asking them to step into a fireplace does sound pretty crazy. I've never really thought of it that way."

"Well they'll just have to get used to it," said Harry. "The sooner they all get to Hogwarts the better."

"Harry?"

Harry turned quickly at the sound of his name, a voice that sounded almost familiar. There was a woman standing behind him, dressed in stained and ragged clothes, face darkened with soot and long brown hair straggling onto her shoulders. She was staring at Harry as though she could hardly believe he was standing there.

"Harry Potter? Is it you?" she said again, her eyes going straight to his scar. He frowned for a moment, before recognition struck him like a blow to the stomach.

"Mrs Walker?" he gasped, suddenly seeing the woman he knew from beneath the grime of the last week. "Is that you?"

She almost smiled. "Harry, I thought it was you. When I saw you on the television … I could hardly believe it. But it makes sense, doesn't it?"

"Who are you?" Ron asked, looking suspicious.

"She was my teacher," said Harry, still reeling. "At my Muggle primary school. She taught me when I was eight years old."

"It makes sense," she repeated again, staring hard at Harry. "All those strange things that happened in the playground. Those stories the kids would tell me about the things you would do. I never believed them. I thought …"

She held a hand over her mouth and tears filled her eyes.

"You're a wizard. It's so obvious …" She shook herself slightly. "And what about Dudley? Is he a wizard too?"

Despite his astonishment, Harry almost snorted. "Nope. Far from it. He's ordinary."

"I thought as much," she nodded. "He was never … he wasn't quite like you. No one was. And now I know why."

"Yeah," was all that Harry could manage, so shocked was he to see her here of all places.

"Was that why he was so mean to you? Because you've got –got-"

"Magic?" he finished, and she flinched. "Yeah. All the Dursley's hated me for it."

"They- the people back home, they said I was a witch," Mrs Walker said, her voice weak and tears in her eyes once more. "They burned down my home. They said my husband's cancer recovery was because of a spell. They took him and they …"

"I'm sorry," said Harry, horror filling him. "I'm so sorry."

She shook her head. "It's not your fault," she said, her voice shaking. "I heard what you were saying on tv. You want this to end. You always were a good boy, despite everything you went through."

She turned and looked towards Merlin, who was on the other side of the Atrium with Kingsley.

"Is he really Merlin?" she asked, a look of wonder in her eyes.

"Yes, he is," said Harry, following her gaze. "I know, hard to believe right?"

"Not really, not after everything else I've learned," she said. "You wrote an essay on Merlin once, didn't you? All the class did, and I remember yours was the only one that actually considered the possibility he'd been a real man. Is he anything like what you wrote?"

Harry almost smiled, remembering the wobbly drawing of an old man with a beard and the entirely fictitious words he'd written almost ten years ago.

"Not at all," he said. "He's better."

"I hope so," she said sadly, twisting her wedding ring around her finger.

She took a deep breath, and gave him a somewhat watery smile. "Thank you for doing this," she said, gesturing around the room. "You could easily let us all die. But you're not, so thank you."

Harry just nodded numbly, unsure of what to say. She looked towards the fireplace.

"I have to go through there?" She nodded when Harry said yes. "You promise me that it's safe?"

"Yes," he said. "Perfectly safe."

She nodded. "Then I trust you."

She took another deep breath, and stepped up to the fireplace, and George Flooed away with her a moment later, leaving Harry feeling somewhat overwhelmed.

"I can't believe it," he said, when Hermione and Ron came closer. "It – it just brings it home to me to see someone I know like that. It's like everything is just collapsing. I never thought my Muggle life and my wizard life would ever overlap."

"I know," said Hermione. "I saw one of my dad's old friends at St. Mungo's yesterday. He didn't see me, but I recognised him straight away. It's surreal. Like my old life never really went away."

"Why didn't you tell us you'd seen him yesterday?" asked Ron.

Hermione's head bowed. "He didn't make it."

Harry turned away, sorting out the conflicting emotions within him. The sight of Mrs Walker had stirred something within him. She'd been one of the few teachers he'd actually liked, the only one that had tried to do anything about Dudley bullying Harry. To see her so traumatised, so afraid … Merlin was right; Muggles and wizards aren't entirely separate. They were all linked in some way or another.

"What about your family, Harry?" Ginny asked gently, seeing his emotions. "If your old teacher in Little Whinging could be attacked, do you think they'll be safe?"

Harry started, and a strange feeling overcame him. Not once in the past week had he considered the Dursley's safety. He'd thought of them, but only to consider how they'd be reacting to the reveal, cursing and swearing at the television and reaffirming their hatred of him and his world as it finally irrevocably intruded upon their own. They'd gone back to their old house after leaving Dedalus' house, and as far as Harry had been concerned he'd had no wish to see them ever again, though he had exchanged one or two awkward letters with Dudley. He hadn't stopped to think about what would happen to them.

"Your face was all over television," said Hermione, her eyes wide. "Your neighbours and your cousin's friends would all remember you acting strangely."

"But the Dursleys are so normal," said Harry, his mind racing. "No one would suspect them of doing something like that. My uncle told everyone I went to St. Brutus'. They all believed him. They all thought I was some sort of hardened criminal."

"But they saw you on tv," said Ginny. "The Dursleys wouldn't be able to deny it. If your old teacher remembered you and recognised you, you can bet all the rest of the people you used to know would too."

Harry froze, an awful feeling of dread coming over him. Had he put them in danger when he'd went to parliament? What had happened to them

Chapter Text

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 time. You 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 him, 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.

Chapter Text

"What do you reckon he's doing?" Ron asked, as he, Harry, Hermione and at least half of the Order sat in the drawing room of Grimmauld Place. "Has anyone seen him since last night?"

"He was gone before we got up this morning," said Fred, and George nodded; the three of them had been sharing a room after lending Merlin's own to Muggle refugees. "He's been gone all day. So's Malfoy."

"You think they left together?"

"I doubt it," said George. "Merlin probably wants to be alone. Malfoy must be off on his own somewhere."

"Doing what?" asked Ron suspiciously, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I thought you'd given up all that paranoia over what Malfoy does," she said. "Leave him alone."

"I can't believe of all people you're defending him," said Ron. "I get he's a 'changed man' and all that, but-"

"There are more important things," said Hermione. "We can't turn on each other. We need to decide what to do."

"Isn't it obvious, Hermione?" said Charlie Weasley. "Seven of us have to go thirteen hundred years back in time to get a spell from a bunch of dead priests and change the past."

"But which seven," said Remus, voicing the question everyone had been considering all morning.

"Kingsley will be going," said Bill. "He must be. This is something he'd want to take charge of himself. So will Merlin."

"Probably a bunch of Aurors-"

"Maybe not, maybe it'll be the Order-

"Whoever it is," interrupted Mr Weasley. "Kingsley shall tell us when he returns this evening. The choice is his."

"I don't see why it should be," said Tonks. "Surely this is something we should decide together?"

"We can't decide anything until Kingsley and Merlin return," said Remus heavily.

"But where is he though?" said Ron again.

"He's upset, that's obvious," said Ginny. "He's angry Kilgharrah never told him about the spell. And he doesn't like the idea of it."

"Why?" frowned Charlie. "Can't he see that this is the only way?"

"He's sees it as giving up," said Harry, remembering the look in Merlin's eyes when Kilgharrah had told them of his plan. "He wants to fix this another way."

"There isn't another way," said Ron. "Aithusa's right, why is he so stubborn?"

"He thought this was his opportunity to bring back integration," said Luna, sounding more serious than Harry had ever heard her. "Now that opportunity's gone again. He's sees it as surrendering to the past. He wanted things to change, but things only got worse. Now he's going to have to acknowledge it all as a failure, and that's not something that he wants to do."

Everyone was silent for a moment at the end of this speech.

"Well, he'll have to," said Remus grimly. "We no longer have a choice."

The room fell into further silence as everybody contemplated this. Harry's mind was abuzz.

He understood how Merlin must feel; all those centuries of waiting just to have it all thrown back in his face once again. But, what choice did they have? The world could never recover from this peaceably. They had to do something to end the violence. If that meant giving up on the abolishing of the Statute, then so be it. Surely the lives of countless Muggles and wizards were more important than a fruitless attempt at Reintegration when neither party were ready for it.

It difficult to comprehend the fact that they would literally be able to change the past, erase the events of the past few weeks, that seven of them would shortly be traveling back into the days of Camelot itself.

He wanted to go, he wanted to go so badly he'd make sure he was one of the seven. It wasn't merely curiosity; to see where Merlin grew up and seeing Old Magic in its prime, but he knew he had to. He felt it strongly inside himself. He had to be there. He'd felt so powerless these past few weeks; as much as he'd always hated being 'the Chosen One' and having everybody rely on him, this was one occasion where he was willing to take on the responsibility. This was something he knew he could do. He had to be there for Merlin. He wouldn't give up on him, like he hadn't given up on Harry.

It was the Old Religion telling him this, of that he was certain. He also knew that for some reason, Merlin was having difficulty in interpreting what the Old Religion was telling him. He seemed deaf to it, unable to hear its guidance like he had once. Harry had to help him find it again. He didn't always have to be alone; Harry had learned that the hard way after pushing away people for so long. He couldn't go through this on his own.

A noise on the stairs drew everybody's attention. There was a scuffling sound and some shouts of protest, when the door creaked open slowly, and Mrs Weasley poked her head around. She searched out Harry, and her face was creased with worry.

"Harry, dear," she began, uncertainly, "I think you'd better come-"

"HARRY?"

Harry's heart fell when he recognized that voice, high-pitched and angry, and had only had a few seconds to prepare himself and get out of his chair before the door burst open and someone barged their way past Mrs Weasley.

"You!" Aunt Petunia yelled, stomping towards him, her hair and clothes an uncharacteristic mess, her face void of make-up, blotched with tears and anger. "You- you freak!"

Harry leapt back as she lunged at him. She wheeled around, so angry she looked almost insane.

"You killed him!" she screeched. "You killed your own uncle! You-you and your lot-"

"MUM!"

Aunt Petunia halted in her tracks when she heard Dudley's voice behind her in the doorway. He was standing beside Mrs Weasley, not yelling, not angry, just … crying. Harry started. He hadn't seen Dudley cry, for real at least, since they were very small. He'd never associated Dudley with tears, with human emotion before. If anything, this only increased his guilt.

Dudley was trembling, but looked determined, though his tears. "It wasn't Harry's fault, mum," he said. "He didn't do anything."

"Exactly!" yelled his aunt, turning back to Harry. "Nothing! He goes on tv and exposes the whole family and leaves us all to the mercy of those maniacs! What did he care what happened to us?"

"I-" began Harry, meaning to say 'I'm sorry', but he couldn't. How could 'sorry' make up for what he'd done? How could he ever make this better?

Kilgharrah's plan, he thought to himself. That's the only way to fix this.

"It wasn't Harry's fault," said Ginny, who had leapt to his defence when Harry said nothing. "It was Muggles that killed your husband, not Harry and 'his lot'."

"It might as well have been," hissed Aunt Petunia, her eyes bulging madly. "Is this revenge? Is that it? Did you want him to die?"

"No, I-"

"You didn't think of us at all, did you? Thoughtless! Just like those good for nothing parents of yours-"

"Hey!" said Remus, leaping to his feet to glare at her. "Don't you dare insult James and Lily."

"My husband is dead!" she cried. "I'll do whatever I please!"

She breathed heavily for a few moments, her face wrought with grief, trembling. She looked at Harry, and the anger glimmered in her eyes.

"I knew we should have left you in an orphanage," she said, her voice calmer, but dripping with anger. "Why couldn't you have died along with your parents?"

Those unaccustomed to the Dursley's attitude to Harry gasped aloud, but Harry barely flinched. There would have been a time once when he would have fought back, shouted back at her that he would have preferred being in an orphanage, but he stayed silent. She deserved to be angry with him on this occasion.

"Mrs Dursley," said Mrs Weasley, as comfortingly as she could despite the indignation on her face at what Aunt Petunia had just said. "Come on now, we can get you and your son safely to Hogwarts-"

"I'm not going there-"

"Yes, you must," said Mrs Weasley. "It's the safest place for you."

Aunt Petunia continued glaring at Harry. "I always knew you'd ruin everything," she said, and then, she seemed to deflate. Her anger evaporated, and she seemed almost to collapse in grief. Tears sprang to her eyes and sobs racked her body. Mrs Weasley, her earlier hostility forgotten, rushed forwards to comfort her, and Aunt Petunia did not fight her off. She was guided from the room and offered a handkerchief, not even noticing that it had been conjured from nowhere. Her sobs were soon heard on the staircase, leaving Dudley as the only Dursley left in the room.

He and Harry looked at each other, Harry still shocked at the change he saw in his cousin.

"Dudley, I-" he began, then was lost for words, but Dudley seemed to understand.

"It's alright," he said, his voice trembling. "I know- I know you wouldn't have- I mean … " he took a deep breath. "Don't worry about mum, she's just upset. But, Harry? Please, don't let this go on. You defeated that Voldemort bloke, didn't you? You can stop this all, can't you? Promise me."

Harry looked at him, the man begging for his help, for his expertise, unable to see even the smallest glimmer of the boy who had bullied him as a child, and nodded, feeling oddly emotional.

"I will," he promised. "I'll end this, Dudley. Somehow."

Dudley nodded, and, trying to hide his tears, turned and followed his mother out of the room. No one said anything, and Harry remained standing for a moment, trying to sort out his own confused feelings.

"If we succeed," Harry began, thinking hard. "if we change the past, my uncle won't have died, right?"

"That's right," said Remus, tentatively.

Harry nodded. "Then, I don't care what Kingsley decides. I'm going back. I'll get the spell. I'm not doing it for him, I still don't give a damn about him. But I'm doing for everybody else, like my aunt and cousin who have to live with the consequences of what happened. For all the innocent people that have suffered because we didn't do enough. We need to end this; all those people can't have died because of Verax's mistakes, Kingsley's mistakes, my mistakes, Merlin's mistakes …. We need to make this right. And I'm going to be there to do it."

Everyone looked around at each other.

"To be honest, Harry," said Fred. "We hadn't expected anything different from you."

This couldn't be the only answer, it couldn't be, Merlin thought to himself over and over again, hoping that just by saying it, he could change the reality of the situation. But he couldn't, and he knew it, deep down, though tried not to admit it.

No matter what way he looked at this, it felt like giving up. He'd had the chance at the very beginning before any violence broke out to create the peace he so desired, and he had failed. This really was the only option left to him.

The new found resolve Harry had instilled in him the previous night had been severely tested by Kilgharrah's revelations, but had now returned in full force. He'd wandered the streets of Britain all day, invisible, hoping against hope he would see something, anything, to solve this any other way, but he had not. Instead, he had seen riots, burning homes, frightened Muggles, death and destruction everywhere. There were burning houses, burning cars, burning buses, burning phone boxes, the modern world was being overrun by flame like no time at all had passed since the days of the witch-hunts. Maybe human nature hadn't changed after all.

He hated the idea of erasing everything and beginning over again, hated it with a passion, but accepted now that there was no other choice. This must be done, and he knew he had to be the one to do it.

He'd wound up alone in Slytherin's old castle, the goblins that had been searching the place for treasure now long gone. He stood at the window in the Great Hall and looked out over the village below; earlier he'd seen several police officers escorting people into the jail cells, all of them accused of witchcraft, all of them Muggles. Ironically, the spot the modern police station was sitting on was the exact place where one thousand years ago the Muggles of the village had burned alive Salazar's family. History always repeated itself in cruel twists of fate. Back then it was Muggles persecuting wizards, now it was Muggles persecuting Muggles, and wizards persecuting wizards. Most of the casualties of this conflict were all Muggles, as far as Merlin was aware, less than a third of all victims were genuine wizards or witches.

He hadn't been able to save the innocent victims of the original hunts, but maybe he could save the victims of these ones.

"Merlin?"

Merlin jumped and was immediately on guard, but he turned and saw only Draco, and relaxed somewhat. Draco was frowning.

"How can I surprise you like that?" he said. "Didn't you sense me coming? You usually do."

"I'm distracted," Merlin muttered, turning back to the window. Draco joined him. "That's where I used to live," he said, pointing at the spot the modern baker's shop stood on the high street, barely visible from this distance. "The priest of that ruined church over there caused so much death in this village, and now it looks like there's going to be a repeat of all of that now. The police station is filled with Muggles being questioned for sorcery."

"Are any of them wizards?"

"Course not, just victims of mob hysteria."

Draco nodded, looking slightly sick. He stepped back from the window.

"How did you know I'd be here," Merlin said, looking away also.

Draco shrugged. "I just … knew," he said. "Must be the Old Religion."

Merlin nodded, but couldn't help a stab of annoyance. He was unable to hear the Old Religion, but here it was speaking to Dracowho had barely begun his studies.

"Why are you here though?"

"I don't know," said Merlin. "It just felt right somehow. So much of my life started here. It's where I first met Salazar and first realised the uniqueness of his magic, which led me to Hogwarts. And it became his home again, long afterwards. He's got a reputation for hating Muggles, and that reputation has fuelled so much hatred ever since … maybe if it hadn't been for him, Muggles and wizards could eventually have resolved their differences and the International Statute of Secrecy might never have been needed in the first place. Unfortunately, the wizarding and Muggle aristocracy were both just too blind and too ignorant for too long."

"What would he have made of all this?" Draco asked.

"I have no idea," said Merlin honestly. "He was a great politician, sharp as a knife, but I don't think even he could have resolved this. He hated Muggles."

"Like my family," said Draco quietly. "I …"

"What is it?" Merlin asked, sensing something was wrong.

Draco looked at the ground. "I heard something at Headquarters this morning before I left," he mumbled. "A group of Pure-Bloods began massacring the Muggles in their village."

He took a deep breath. "Some of the Pure-Bloods were my father's cousins," he said heavily. "They were Malfoys. I left before any of the others heard about it and began looking for you."

Merlin nodded, understanding.

"It was nothing to do with you, Draco," he said. "You don't need to feel guilty on their behalf."

"My family has caused me nothing but trouble," Draco said, his hands trembling. "Every time I get somewhere, they push me back. I had to fight to be accepted after the Battle of Hogwarts, and I thought I had been after we defeated the Dark Lord, but then there was my father's trial, and it just reminded everybody of where I came from. Then these last few months I've tried so hard with the Old Magic to prove myself, and then this happens. It'd be better if I just disowned them and dropped the name completely."

"You cannot give up who you are," said Merlin, staring out the window once more. "Believe me, I know. You can never deny it, and you should not try to. You are a Malfoy, you are Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy's son, that will never change. You need to come to peace with that, Draco. You must, in order to come to peace with yourself."

Merlin sighed heavily. "I've denied so much recently, and denied who I am almost my entire life. I thought I was free of it last year when Morgana died, but I wasn't. Even now I still can't let go of the burdens I feel. I guess I'm so unused to peace, I couldn't see it when we already had it. I shouldn't have encouraged the Liberators, I shouldn't have been so blind."

A second later, there was a spurt of flame, and Fawkes, crooning softly, suddenly appeared on Merlin's shoulder. Merlin turned to him, a smile on his face.

"Yes, Fawkes, I know I was a fool. Forgive me?"

Fawkes squawked in answer.

"I still hate the idea of changing the past, and I don't want to do it, but if we must, then we must," said Merlin, his heart heavy. "Muggles and wizards … maybe we'll just never get along again like we used to."

The sun was beginning to sink lower in the sky beyond the village, and Merlin shook himself from his morbid thoughts.

"Come on, we need to get back to Headquarters to decide who'll be going back."

"You will," said Draco.

"Yes, and so shall you."

"Me?" Draco turned to him, astonishment all across his face.

"Yes," said Merlin, noticing his terrified expression.

"But why?"

"Because you need to gain something out of this as well," he answered. "I don't know what, but Fawkes has given you his blessing."

"He has?" frowned Draco. "But how-"

It was then he noticed the scarlet feather at his feet that had burned into existence the same time Fawkes himself had appeared on Merlin's shoulder. He looked up, his jaw dropped.

"The Old Religion might not be talking to me," said Merlin, almost smiling. "But Fawkes is. You're coming, Draco."

"But the others- they're far more quali-"

"You're coming."

"So, who's going then?"

"Fred!" chided his mother. "We need to wait-"

"Why?" he asked. "Kingsley's here, Merlin's a given, why do we have to wait for him to come back?"

"Because I have something to say," said Merlin himself, walking in through the door to the kitchen with Malfoy in tow.

"How do you always do that?" Fred asked with a touch of annoyance. "Walk in at exactly the right time?"

"Centuries of practice."

"What is it that you need to tell us?" said Kingsley. He had arrived just moments before and sat at the table, and Harry thought he looked even more stressed than normal. More than ever now, he was determined to succeed.

"I'm going back," he said, unnecessarily, since everybody had expected it.

"Me too," said Harry immediately, and Merlin just nodded, he also having expected it.

Kingsley looked at the two of them. "That, was obvious, Merlin," he said, the ghost of a smile on his lips. "I doubt I could have stopped either of you. What else was there?"

Merlin paused. "Draco's coming too."

"What?" a few people cried. Harry himself was a bit taken aback, and unsure. Malfoy? True, they were no longer enemies, but they were hardly friends either. Was this the best idea?

"Are you sure?" said Remus. "No offence," he said, looking at Malfoy, who had flushed pink. "But surely someone older, more experienced-"

"He's coming," said Merlin shortly. "And what's more, I think it should be only people with Old Magic that go back."

There were a lot of objections now.

"But why?"

"The time we are returning to is a time of the Old Religion," he said. "Magic was freely accepted, but Wand Magic was almost unheard of in this part of this world at this time. It might arouse suspicion-"

"I'm not going if Hermione's not going," said Ron firmly.

"Who said you were going?"

Ron just glared at him. "Harry's going, and so am I, and you'd have to Stun me to stop me," he said firmly. "And if I'm going, so is Hermione. We'd never get anywhere without her."

Hermione flushed slightly, but nodded. "I want to go," she said. "I know I don't have Old Magic, but … I need to be there."

Merlin watched the two of them for a moment, and then nodded. "Very well."

"In that case, I'm going too," said Ginny, standing up. "Someone needs to look after Harry, and Hermione will be too busy with that idiot brother of mine."

"Ginny-" Harry began, but Ginny cut across him, dismissing his objections .

"Leave it, Harry," she said. "Don't even try and talk me out of it."

Harry closed his mouth, knowing what she said was true. Despite still being somewhat worried about her, he admired her for her usual bravery and determination. He knew she'd be invaluable. Mrs Weasley too, looking as though she wanted to object, fell back without a word.

"Hey!" interrupted Fred and George. "How come Ginny and Hermione get to go when they don't even have Old Magic? One of us should be the seventh."

"No," said Merlin. "The two of you must come, or neither. The two of you find strength from each other, your magic is strongest together. You cannot be separated."

"Then who should be the last person to go?"

Merlin thought for a moment, and then turned to a silent presence in the corner of the room.

"I think it should be Luna."

Luna smiled, and not did look surprised in the slightest. "It sounds like fun."

Merlin smiled back.

"Wait a moment," said Kingsley, and he stood up. "I'm not sure how comfortable I am with six of the seven members of the team being teenagers. You've all shown greater strength and fortitude than I could ever have hoped for from ones so young, and there's no doubt you're all experienced, but I had hoped to send an official team from the Ministry specially trained-"

"No," said Merlin. "This is the way it needs to be." He looked around at the six people standing around him. "They need to come. They're far more effective than a team of Aurors would be. I trust them all, and they all need to be there. Besides, we shall need to remain inconspicuous, and a group of young people travelling together will attract less attention than the Aurors would."

Kingsley looked at them doubtfully. "It isn't that I don't trust you," he said apologetically. "But is this really what you think is best? What is the Old Religion is telling you?"

Merlin hesitated, but before he could say anything, Fawkes crooned softly.

"Yes," said Merlin. "If it's good enough for Fawkes …"

"Wait, the bird's going and we're not?" said Fred and George indignantly. "Doesn't that count as eight?"

"This bird can travel back on his own steam," said Merlin.

"Phoenixes can travel back in time?"

"I believe this one can," said Merlin, softly petting Fawkes.

Kingsley nodded. "Very well. We have our seven."

About an hour later, they were once again standing on the hillside ruins of Camelot waiting as Kilgharrah and Aithusa came soaring down towards them. Harry felt his pulse racing as he realised just what he had consented to do. In a few moments, he and Merlin and the others would be travelling back in time. It was completely different to all his previous experience; no longer was he travelling back three hours, or seeing the memories of others, he was going back thirteen centuries. He was going back into the glory days of the Old Religion, where the spot he was standing was covered by a magnificent city filled with people.

He suddenly felt a spark of fear, but pushed it to the back of his mind. He had to do this, no chickening out now.

Kilgharrah and Aithusa landed and gave their customary bow to Merlin. Harry's anticipation grew.

"You have decided then?" said Kilgharrah, more of a statement than a question.

The seven going back to the past, including Fawkes, stepped forwards. Kilgharrah looked them all up and down.

"Interesting," he said, though he did not look surprised in the slightest.

"What do we need to know," said Merlin firmly. He still didn't look particularly happy with Kilgharrah, or with the situation in general.

"The spell is in the possession of the High Priests and Priestesses on the Isle of the Blessed," said Kilgharrah. "You shall need to learn it from them."

"And what if they don't want to share it?"

"Then you must convince them," said Kilgharrah.

"That's not helpful."

"When have I ever been helpful, Merlin?"

Merlin almost glared at him, but Kilgharrah did not seem to care.

"Most of you, I believe, being from so far in the future may use your real names without any danger, but I suggest, Merlin, that you do not use your real name when you go back. I believe you should all also alter your appearance to external eyes; history has a way of recording the things we do not want recorded."

"I know," said Merlin. "It's what started Verax on this whole crusade."

Kilgharrah nodded. "You cannot interfere, Merlin. No matter what you see or feel. Things must play out the way they should."

"And how do I know how things should play out?" Merlin asked. "Won't our very being there affect history?"

"You shall know," said Kilgharrah mysteriously. "The Old Religion shall tell you, if you only listen."

"I won't have to avoid my past self, will I?" Merlin asked, looking uncomfortable at what Kilgharrah had said.

"No," said Kilgharrah, and a strange look came into his eye. "The Isle of the Blessed was besieged by Uther and ruined before your birth, Merlin. The world you will be returning to will be unfamiliar even to you. It is not yourself you may run into."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Merlin said. He frowned, seeing a secret in the dragon's eyes. "What is it that you know? Just how long before my time is it we're going?"

"You shall have to discover that for yourself, Merlin," Kilgharrah said. "But not as far as you may think."

Merlin just shook his head, looking weary. "Why must you always speak in riddles?"

Kilgharrah ignored him. "Are you ready?"

Merlin hesitated, and seemed to be bracing himself for something painful. He closed his eyes briefly.

"Yes."

"And so are we," said Harry, despite his racing heart, and he and all the others stood around Merlin, trying to ignore the worried faces of the rest of the Order, Mrs Weasley's being the most prominent.

"Then, I wish you luck," said Kilgharrah.

"Me too," said Aithusa. "I may not have been born back then, but from what I hear, you'll need all the luck you can get."

"Wait a minute," Hermione said suddenly, "how are we supposed to get back?"

"That, young witch, is something you shall have to discover for yourself," said Kilgharrah.

Before any of them could ask any further questions, Kilgharrah had leaned forwards, and opened his massive maw. As he had when he'd healed Aithusa of her injuries, he breathed a glittering golden breath which surrounded them like a mist.

Harry felt immediately like he was falling through the air, though it was not unpleasant like the sensation of travelling by Portkey, nor like Apparition. He couldn't see, all was blackness, and the blazing gold of the cloud that had surrounded them seemed seared onto his eyeballs long after it'd disappeared. He felt strange, light and dizzy, surrounded by nothingness.

It lasted what seemed like an age, a sort of dream-like trance as he fell through history, until, with a sharp thud, his feet hit ground.

His legs, unprepared after falling for so long buckled underneath him, and he tumbled into a tangle of limbs, as everybody around him ended up in a similar situation. He had the briefest sensation of being on a dirt track, with trees all around him before he closed his eyes, overcome with nausea. He took it back; this was much worse than traveling by Portkey.

No one moved for a few minutes, though Ron uttered a few choice swear words. Harry didn't feel able to move without being sick. Eventually, someone in the tangle of limbs stirred.

"Come on," Merlin was saying, though sounding queasy himself. "We can't lie here. Someone will see."

Groaning, the rest of them struggled to their feet, and for the first time, Harry got a good look around.

It was as he had first guessed, they were on some sort of pathway through a thick forest, nothing distinctive on any side but trees. The path looked well-trodden and dusty. Harry took a deep breath, smelling leaves and vegetation all around, and felt his sickness ease somewhat.

Ron was rubbing his behind. "Why does all magical transportation leave you falling on your arse?" he asked angrily. "We can never land on our feet, can we?"

"I thought we would have ended up in Camelot?" said Hermione, holding her stomach.

"Seven people and a phoenix landing by magic in the centre of Camelot would never have been a good idea, even when magic was legal," said Merlin, looking around. "I don't think it advisable we use magic freely amongst or near Muggles, just in case. Kilgharrah probably sent us somewhere else."

"Where though?" said Harry, staring down the seemingly nondescript path. "Where are we? How can we get to the Isle of the Blessed if we don't know?"

"Come on, this is your century," said Ron, looking to Merlin. "Don't you recognise it?"

Merlin scowled at him. "We're on a path in the middle of some trees, Ron," he said, sounding peeved. "Do you expect me to remember every woodland path after thirteen centuries? There's nothing distinctive enough around here to even make a guess." He sighed a moment, and crouched down to the ground.

"Thoroughfares like these were always well-travelled," said Merlin, examining the path, as though he could see some sort of trail the others could not. "We'll meet somebody soon."

"Sooner than you think," said Draco, pointing, and they all looked in his direction to see some small figures a great way down along the path.

Everybody immediately tensed up, but Merlin shook his head.

"I don't sense any danger," he said, even as Fawkes disappeared in a burst of fire. "It's probably just some traders. Let me do the talking. And … well, don't act too modern."

"What do you mean too modern?" Ron asked, but Merlin just motioned for him to be silent.

They all stood silent as the figures grew closer. Harry himself sensed their approaching presences, and confirmed Merlin's statement that they harboured no ill-will, but was still anxious to meet his first seventh century citizens, excluding Merlin.

As they drew closer, it was apparent there were three figures approaching, and all were on horseback, which was enough to make Harry stare.

The lead figure was wearing flowing robes of purple, and was astride a great white stallion, gold gleaming at the reins of his horse, and he had two attendants, both wearing chain mail and carrying spears. Harry felt his amazement increase.

"Follow my lead," Merlin whispered to them all as the lead man made a motion to the soldiers to slow down. "Do what I do."

The lead man brought his horse to a stop just before Merlin, looking them all up and down curiously. Merlin looked up at him, and, to Harry's amazement, bowed his head slightly in a mark of respect. He glared at them all from the corner of his eye, and they followed suit, though Harry felt incredibly stupid. Why were they bowing to a stranger?

"Hwæt eart þū?" the man said, looking directly at Merlin. They all frowned in confusion, but Merlin answered him.

"Wē eart fērend, mīn domne. Wē forweorþan. Hwider eart wē?"

The man frowned. "Eow eart āc dogor onweg fram Camelot, be se mical ēasteweard strǣt betweonen se ac se holt. Hwider eart eow faran?"

"Eall se ōðer castel, mīn domne. Wē geferen a sceaða. Wē forweorþan æghwa. Wē beþearf feorm ac a āwendan gierela."

"Ic besēon þæt," the man said, and he and his men stared at them all strangely, lingering on their clothes, which Harry realised with a jolt were twentieth century Muggle design. He suddenly felt rather embarrassed.

"Wē eart fram a fierlan eard, domne."

"Ic besēon," said the man, though still looking curious. "Se ōðer castel his þrēo mīl west. Ic cweðan eow hræding. Se strǣt eart full of sceaða. "

"Ic þancie þē, domne," said Merlin, bowing his head once more. "Til dogor."

"Ac to eow," the man said, and a moment later, he and his men had ridden off.

Merlin watched them go for a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"What was that about?" Ron asked. "What language were they speaking?"

Merlin turned back and almost smiled. "That, Ron, was English. The English I spoke when I lived in this century."

"Didn't sound like any English I've heard."

"Yes, it did," said Harry. "It sounds a bit like the language we use for spells." He also recognised it as the language Merlin had used to speak to Arthur at the Hogwarts lake after they had defeated Morgana.

Merlin nodded. "Yes, both are older forms of English which your own tongue has evolved from."

"I didn't even think about the language barrier," gasped Hermione. "How are we supposed to fit in and do what we're supposed to if we can't understand anybody?"

"I'll think up a spell to fix that," said Merlin. "As well as one to change our appearances to everybody who sees us. But first, we must head to the nearest village. It's three miles west of here."

"Three miles?" moaned Ron.

Merlin laughed. "You'll soon find, Ron, there is a lot of walking involved in this century."

"Who was he?" said Ginny, as they began walking.

"No idea."

"But you bowed to him."

"He was obviously a noble," said Merlin.

"How could you know that?"

"Because he was wearing clean, brightly coloured robes and had gold on his horse's reins," Merlin answered. "He was riding a war-horse and had two soldiers attending him. You could tell by the way he was sitting on the horse he was noble. It was obvious."

"And that means we have to bow to him?" Draco asked with disgust. Harry inwardly marveled at the change in Malfoy at this statement; it wasn't so long ago he used to swan about the castle as if he owned it.

"You'll have to get used to it," said Merlin. "In this century, you're the lowest of the low, everybody of higher birth than you demands your respect, and you must bow and treat them with reverence, even if you do not feel it. You'll stick out otherwise.. "

"I can't imagine you ever doing that," said Ron, smirking. "There's no way you fawned over nobility like that."

Merlin smiled. "I didn't when I first came to Camelot, true," he said, reminiscing. "I was ignorant of the way nobles expected to be treated. It's how I came to Arthur's notice. No one else had stood up to him. And even after I learned the codes of behaviour, I didn't always stick to it, unless I wanted to be on somebody's good side. But we can't do that now. We need to keep our heads down."

"But where are we?" Draco asked. "Did you find out?"

"Yes," said Merlin, and for a moment, a slight pained expression crossed his features. "We're on the Great Eastern Road. We're ten miles outside of Camelot."

"We are" Hermione asked eagerly. "Does that mean we get to see it in its height?"

"No," said Merlin, sadly. "We're heading in the opposite direction. It's … its best we don't go there for now. The Isle of the Blessed is in the opposite direction in any case. We have to head there first. And to get there we'll need horses."

"Horses?" Harry asked in alarm. He was expected to ride a horse? He'd never even been near one. He was reassured however by everyone else's (save Luna's) expressions of alarm.

"Yes, it's too far to walk and the spells around the place won't let us get there by magic," said Merlin, not noticing their worry. "It's a good thing I brought some money along."

"Is that wise?" asked Hermione. "Won't they be curious about the coins? They won't have seen our money before. Isn't that a bit suspicious?"

Merlin shrugged. "Gold is gold to these people, they don't care where it came from. I'll transfigure the coins if you want though, just to be safe. You'll also need a change of clothes as well. That man thought we looked like right weirdos. And we do, by this century's standards. Especially the girls, women don't generally wear trousers in this century. And neither do men wear t-shirts and jeans."

"We don't have to wear tights and ruffs do we?" Ron asked worriedly, obviously thinking of Nearly-Headless Nick.

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Not unless you want to be laughed at. A peasant's disguise is probably best. Peasants always just blended into the background; it's what made it easier for me to hide my identity."

Suddenly, Merlin stopped dead in the path. He was pale, and blinked a couple of times,

"I'm actually back," he said, almost to himself. "I'm walking away from Camelot. I can't quite believe it …"

"Believe it," said Luna, standing beside him and smiling. "And we're all here with you. "

Merlin looked at her, and nodded, taking a deep breath.

"Alright then, to the Isle of the Blessed."

Chapter Text

"I feel like an absolute plonker," said Ron, looking down at his rough-spun tunic and ragged trousers with disgust. "And I smell like a cave troll."

"About the same as usual then?"

"Shut up, Ginny," scowled Ron.

"We need to blend in, Ron," said Hermione, examining her own plain dress. "I find it quite fascinating seeing how people lived back then, well, back now, I suppose …"

"Of course you would," said Ron, grumbling, and sitting down on a nearby wall. "I prefer the twentieth century. At least people then had baths."

"You're being very severe on us, Ron," said Merlin, striding into view wearing his own set of itchy peasant's garb. Harry couldn't help but notice that, unlike the rest of them who were pulling at their new clothes in distaste, Merlin actually looked comfortable, natural even. "It's not that bad.

They'd walked the three wearisome miles, Ron's moans loud in their ears, and come across a tiny village of ramshackle buildings and haphazard animal enclosures and ploughed fields. The inhabitants had stared at them from the shadows of their doorways, and some children had even come out and laughed at their strange appearance. Merlin however was unfazed, and told them all to wait on the outskirts whilst he went to a local merchant to purchase some clothes for them, as well as supplies to get them to the Isle of the Blessed, which he estimated to be a couple days journey away. After delivering the supplies, he had vanished back into the village.

Ron rolled his eyes. "You're used to it, mate," he said. "No offence, but I'm not sure I like this century. The place stinks."

It certainly did, with the multitude of animal smells and other unsavoury aromas meeting their nostrils. It was overwhelming to say the least.

Merlin just smiled and took a deep breath. "Really? It reminds me of home." He looked out across the village. "This place isn't too dissimilar from where I grew up."

"You grew up in a place like this?" Malfoy asked, and his distaste was obvious.

"Better not let the locals hear you saying anything against their village," said Merlin, who'd bent down to check their supplies.

"Why not? They can't understand me."

"Yes, they can," said Merlin, standing up again. "I cast a spell. It was complicated to say the least; I've never tried anything like it before. I've always learned languages the old-fashioned way. It's not really possible to learn a language by a spell. But I'm not technically teaching you the language, just translating it for you in your minds from my own knowledge. It wouldn't work if I couldn't speak both languages."

"You sure you're speaking English?" Ron asked, confused. "You're telling me we're all speaking Old English right now?"

"No, you're speaking in modern English, but other people will hear your words in their own language, and you'll hear theirs in yours."

"Enough, before my head explodes," said Ginny. "As long as we can talk to them, I don't care how you did it."

Merlin nodded. "I've also cast a spell to alter my and all of your appearances to everybody apart from us seven. Kilgharrah said you'd all be alright with your own names, but it's not a good idea to keep mine, even in this century Merlin was an unusual name. If we're in company, call me by a different name.

"Why?" said Harry. "You're not going to run into yourself, Kilgharrah said."

"Perhaps not," said Merlin. "But I've no idea what year it is; Kilgharrah might have sent us fifty years before my birth, or just five. I might not run into myself, but there could be people about who I will know in the future, and I think it best that I remain obscure. Don't want to mess with history."

"I thought that was exactly what we were trying to do," said Malfoy, but Merlin ignored him.

"Well, are we going then?" asked Ginny, and Merlin shook his head.

"Just a minute."

"Why?" asked Harry, but then saw why as the next minute a man and a boy came around the corner escorting several horses with them. Ginny immediately grinned, though most of the others looked hesitant, Harry included.

The man approached Merlin.

"Seven you said?" he began, and Harry detected the subtle hint of an accent in that voice, no doubt a result of the spell Merlin had cast translating the Old English.

"Yes," said Merlin, speaking with the same accent, and began to look the horses over. "Not exactly the greatest stock."

The man seemed to bristle. "Well, what do you expect? We're a small village, we don't have much need in the way of horses, save for the farm beasts, and we can't spare those. No call for war-horses or the like here! This is my entire supply, take it or leave it. And I'll be expecting a right tidy sum for them. Saddles and everything else count as extra."

"Of course," said Merlin, and reached into a small pouch at his waist and withdrew several gold galleons, enchanted to remove the normal markings on them to make them just plain gold. "Will this be enough?"

The man's eyes gleamed as he beheld the coins. "Thank you kindly." He shoved the coins into a pouch of his own, and only then, did he hesitate. He looked at Merlin curiously.

"That is a large sum indeed, boy," he said suspiciously. "How did you come by it?"

"An inheritance," Merlin said, avoiding the man's gaze as he ran his hand over the horse closest to him.

"There are many bandits on the road these days."

"Yes, there are," said Merlin, turning to face him. "I'll thank you for the warning."

"How do I know you aren't one of them?"

Merlin raised an eyebrow. "Have you ever seen a bandit without a sword?" he asked, holding out his arms. "Or one who travels with women? Believe me, if I was a bandit, you'd know about it."

The man just backed off, his hands held out before him. "All right then," he said. "No need for that. A man has to be careful you know. I'll just let you get about your business."

"Thank you," said Merlin, and the man withdrew hurriedly, casting one curious glance back at them.

"Bandits?" Hermione immediately asked, biting her lip. "Are there lots of those?"

"Yes," said Merlin. "But don't worry, I know how to deal with them. If we come across any, don't use your magic; I know how to get rid of them without them realising we're using magic. I've done it a hundred times before with Arthur."

"Are we, uh, likely to run into any?" Malfoy asked, but Merlin didn't answer him.

"Oh, they're beautiful," said Ginny, gushing over a chestnut horse standing close to her.

"Of course, your Patronus is a horse," said Merlin, smiling. "Have you ever ridden one before?"

Ginny shook her head. "We were never able to afford one," she said wistfully.

"I suppose you know how to ride," said Ron, looking at Malfoy.

Malfoy laughed. "You're kidding, Weasley. The Malfoy family, riding horses? We'd never stoop so low as to use Muggle transportation."

"Oh yeah, I forgot, you'd be riding unicorns, wouldn't you," Ron said under his voice. Malfoy didn't appear to have heard him.

"Do we have to ride?" Hermione asked, looking nervous.

"Oh, don't worry, it's easy," said Luna.

They turned to see Luna already seated on a horse, nimbly sitting side-saddle, supplies already tied to the saddle, and casually adjusting her dress, with one hand lightly held on the reins.

"Just like riding a Thestral," she said, smiling.

Merlin laughed. "Apart from the wings, of course. Come on, it's not that hard. We'll take it slowly."

Harry tried not to feel nervous as one large black horse was brought over to him. He'd ridden a Thestral before, plus a Centaur and a Hippogriff. He'd even ridden a dragon! Those were magical animals though, a voice in his head told him. They're not the same thing. They were doing the steering.

Somehow though, miraculously, with Merlin's help, he was suddenly hoisted onto the back of the horse, and sat there awkwardly holding the reins.

"Now what?" he asked, as the horse pawed the ground.

Merlin just laughed again. "Just follow Luna's example," he said, nodding towards the figure in the distance, cantering around the village outskirts. "She's a natural," he added, an admiring glint in his eye.

Before long, all six of the amateurs were mounted and Merlin led them all away from the village on foot by holding their reins until they were on the road, where he led them around a little, getting them accustomed to riding, instructing them on how to hold the reins and guide the horse. After a while, Harry felt himself settling into it, if still a little nervous. It didn't help that both Luna and Ginny seemed to be taking to it like ducks to water. It also didn't help that he'd spent more of Merlin's demonstration looking at Ginny's happy grin as she trotted around with ease than looking where he was supposed to.

Hermione picked it up after a while, but Malfoy and Ron were both hopeless. Malfoy had fallen off first, followed promptly by Ron, though this was with laughter more than ineptitude. Both succeeded to fall off several times more, drove their horses backwards, caused them to rear, and slipped off the saddle. Merlin groaned.

"How are we ever going to convince people you're from this century?" he asked in despair.

"Are you telling me everyone in this century knew how to ride a horse?" Ron asked grumpily, picking himself up for the fiftieth time.

"No, but they could all at least look at a horse without being terrified."

"We're not terrified!" Ron objected, but Malfoy frowned, and turned back to his horse with a doubtful look.

"Scared the horse will attack you like Buckbeak did?" Harry asked, noticing Malfoy's hesitance. He immediately turned round, face red.

"I am not!" he said. "I- I just don't like animals much."

"It won't harm you," said Merlin, guiding Malfoy back to the horse. "Unlike Hippogriffs, horses don't have talons, and they're not that fussed about bowing either. Don't let it sense your fear. If it does, it's more likely to throw you off. Here, just stroke it for a while, let it get used to you. There's no need to be nervous."

So Malfoy did as he asked, though still a bit jumpy whenever the horse turned its head towards him. Gradually though, he calmed down a little, and was able to climb into the saddle and ride a few metres on his own without issue. As was Ron.

"I don't think I'll ever get used to this," said Ron, sitting rigidly in the saddle, as the horse stooped to munch on some grass by the side of the road. "I much prefer brooms."

Privately, Harry agreed.

"We'll go slowly at first, ease you into it," said Merlin. He grabbed hold of his own horse, and in less than a second had swung himself up into the saddle in one fluid motion without any problems at all. "We'll need to pick up the pace a bit in a few hours though. We want to get as far as we can before darkness sets in."

And with a slight nudge of his heels, he'd spurred his horse forwards, and set off down the dirt track, bobbing up and down in his saddle with ease.

Harry and the others followed him with a much less polished grace, hooves sounding loud on the stony path. At first, it wasn't so bad, following the sight of Merlin's back in front of them, the sun shining through the trees, and a pleasant breeze blowing in his face. But after a while, the novelty wore off. He was jostled about in the saddle in a very uncomfortable manner, and he began to fidget and wish for an end to their travelling. He couldn't imagine how anybody could ride like this for days.

After several hours riding, during which they got gradually faster, and Ron and Malfoy only fell off two times each, Merlin suddenly pulled on his reins and brought them all to a stop. He swung himself out of the saddle and led his horse by the reins to the side of the road.

"We'll stop here for the night. This spot is fairly well sheltered."

"For the night?" Ginny asked. "There's still loads of light."

"And would you like to set up camp in the dark?" Merlin asked her. "Bearing in mind that's when bandits are more active? No, it's always best to set up with plenty of time."

So, with some difficulty, the rest of them dismounted (not so smoothly as Merlin) and led their horses to the spot Merlin had found, a small hollow backed by a steep ridge. A small stream flowed nearby, and Merlin instructed him to tie up the horses to a neighbouring tree to allow them to drink, and remove their saddles, which took even more time.

They came back to find Merlin had started a fire and was rooting through their packs.

"I'm knackered," said Ron, slumping down on a tree stump. "Who would've thought sitting on a horse all day would be tiring?"

"Think how the horse feels," frowned Ginny. "Poor guy's had your fat arse on his back all day."

"Shut it," said Ron. "I can't wait to get some kip." He looked around. "Don't we have a tent?"

Merlin laughed out loud. "A tent? In this day and age, Ron, only kings had tents."

Ron starred. "Then where are we supposed to sleep?"

"The ground."

"The ground?"

"Yep," said Merlin, and threw him over some blankets rolled into a heap. "You'd best get comfy."

Ron stared at the blankets in his hand and shook his head. "I definitely don't like this century."

"Don't complain, Ron," said Merlin, handing out blankets to everybody else. "It's just the way it is. You know, I'd never even slept in a proper bed of my own until I went to Camelot. It was some straw on the ground for me."

"You were really that poor?" Ginny asked.

"I suppose," said Merlin, now withdrawing a small cauldron from a pack into which he added some ingredients and some water with a flash of his eyes. "But I never thought of it as poor. It was just life."

Harry tried to imagine this as the broth cooked over the fire Merlin had built. Even the Dursleys had given Harry a bed, admittedly not a very comfortable one, or in the best location. He immediately tried to think of something else. Although technically, the Dursleys hadn't even been born yet, it still made him feel guilty.

"Urgh," said Ron, taking a taste of the broth when it had finished boiling. "Don't like that much."

"Well, it's all we've got," said Merlin, sounding a little peeved.

"You sure?"

"Peasants didn't complain as much as you do, Ron. Do you want to blend in?"

"There's nobody else around!"

"Did he whine this much when he was off searching for Horcruxes with you lot?" Ginny interrupted, looking at Harry.

Harry hid his smile. "No, he was much worse."

He dodged the twig Ron had sent flying in his direction and laughed. It was true, the broth was pretty tasteless, but Harry was glad of it. He was starving after the long ride.

"I like it," said Luna, laying aside her empty bowl. "Is there any more?"

Harry laughed at Ron's expression, and so did Merlin as he poured her another bowl.

"How long until we get to the Isle of the Blessed?" Hermione asked, when there was a lull in the conversation.

"I'd hoped to get there by tomorrow night," said Merlin. "But going by the progress we made today, I doubt we'll get there until noon the following day."

"How do you think they'll react to us showing up?" Harry asked.

Merlin looked thoughtful. "I'm not sure," he said. "I've never been there when it was still in use."

"But you'd met Druids and priests before, right?"

"Yes, but, well, they were always very … guarded. I don't know whether that's because they were more careful because of the persecution they'd endured, or because they'd always been like that. And anyway, they were always nicer to me because I was the legendary Emrys. They might not be so welcoming to the rest of you."

"Great," said Malfoy. "So they might not even let us in."

"I'll get us in," said Merlin, but he looked worried. "We haven't come for nothing. We need that spell."

Fawkes, who'd vanished that morning when they'd come across the other travelers, suddenly reappeared, and landed on Merlin's shoulder. As usual, despite everyone else jumping and spilling their dinner, Merlin didn't look surprised in the least, and just absent-mindedly raised two fingers to stroke his plumage.

He turned to look at him. "Yes, we'll get in," he murmured. "I have to have faith in the Old Religion. Even if it doesn't have faith in me anymore," he said this last part so quietly, Harry wasn't quite sure he had heard him.

He watched Merlin the rest of the evening, as the night fell and they all began to settle in for the evening, curling up on the ground trying to find as comfortable a spot as they could. He looked reserved, and worried, a constant frown on his face.

"Aren't you going to get some sleep?" Hermione asked him.

Merlin shook his head. "I told you, these woods are infested with bandits. Someone needs to be on watch. I'll do the first one. I'll wake one of you later on."

And he did. As the rest of them fell into sleep, he stood on the ridge above their camp with his back to a tree, his dark eyes staring out at the dark night, shrugging into a thick cloak.

Harry watched him for several minutes, until he heard a voice in his ear.

"Do you think he's alright?" Ginny had crawled over to him, wrapped in her own blankets. She kept her voice low. "He's trying to act normal, making jokes and that, but he's troubled."

"Of course he is," said Harry. "How do you think he feels to be back in this century? I mean, his mother might be alive somewhere, Gaius might be in Camelot right at this minute, but he can't go and see them. He's wanted to come back for centuries, and now he is, but can't do anything to change what happened. It must be torture."

"We have to help him see he's not alone in this," Ginny said, looking at Harry. "You took long enough to realise it, and now we have to do the same for him. He doesn't really believe in this plan. What if he does something stupid?"

"According to you, I'm the expert in doing stupid things," he smiled at her. "Don't worry. We'll be there for him."

"Good," said Ginny, and settled down on the ground next to him instead of returning to her previous spot. "He's going to need us."

Merlin sat there in silence for what seemed like hours. The fire burned down low in the midst of the sleeping figures, but he didn't try to build it up again with magic. He barely noticed it. The sound of the night were almost oppressive to him. Deadly silence, broken only by the distant sounds of animals moving through the trees and the calls of nocturnal birds swooping through the branches in pursuit of their prey. It was an illusion of peace he hated.

He felt restless, impatient, ready to crawl out of his skin for wanting to take action. Their slow pace today had frustrated him, and the prospect of a similar journey in the morning almost made him want to ride off on his own. He was desperate to get to the Isle of the Blessed to get this spell and take it back to the future. He was impatient for it all to be over.

He kept reminding himself that it didn't matter how long they took, the future would still be waiting for them, but it didn't help. He wanted it to be done, and he detested the delay. Perhaps he just hoped deep within himself that the quicker it took, the less painful it would be.

He was deluding himself. There was nothing he could do. Harry and the others had never ridden before, they didn't understand the ways of this century, and he had to be patient. Fawkes cawed softly at his ankle, and Merlin nodded. He couldn't go off to the Isle on his own. They had come back for a reason, all seven of them, and they were all needed. Though, why, he still didn't know. The Old Religion didn't see fit to share that with him. It didn't see fit to share anything with him these days.

So, his thoughts turned to the other heavy burden that was weighing on his mind. He sighed, and Fawkes shifted uncomfortably.

"You're not thinking about it, are you?"

Merlin jumped, to see Luna climbing the ridge before him. Fawkes fluttered off and landed on her shoulder. She smiled, and raised her hand to stroke him. "You're a beautiful bird, aren't you?" she said, even as Fawkes rubbed his head against her cheek.

Merlin just watched for a moment, momentarily speechless by this move of Fawkes'. He rarely showed affection for anybody, save Merlin, and Harry occasionally. Oddly enough, Fawkes sitting on Luna's shoulder looked so natural, Merlin couldn't help but smile.

Luna looked back at Merlin expectantly. "Well, aren't you going to answer my question?"

Merlin's smile vanished. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do," said Luna, coming to sit by him, Fawkes swaying on her shoulder. "It's what you were thinking about just now."

"When did you turn into a Legilimens?"

Luna frowned. "Don't be sarcastic, it doesn't suit you." She continued staring at him, and then sighed. "Why must you be so frustrating?"

Merlin almost laughed. "You're not the first Ravenclaw to ask me that."

"And did you ever prove her wrong?" said Luna. "Rowena Ravenclaw, did you avoid her questions like you avoid mine? Did you tell her your secrets?"

"No," said Merlin, avoiding her eyes. "I didn't."

"Even though you were in love with her?"

Merlin whipped his head around to look at her. "What makes you think that?" he said, perhaps a bit too quickly.

She just raised her pale eyebrows. "It's obvious by the way you talk about her. And besides, the Grey Lady told me."

"Helena didn't know-"

"She knew full well what was going on between you and her mother," Luna said matter-of-factly, either not noticing or just not caring how uncomfortable Merlin was now. "And so did that Whitethorn man Verax mentioned. But I can tell it was more than just an affair. You really loved her, didn't you? Like you loved the Lady of the Lake."

Merlin looked at his hands, twisting in his lap. Images of Rowena flashed through his mind unbidden, and his heart ached.

"I did," he said quietly. "I did love her."

Luna smiled. "And is that the first time you ever admitted it?"

Slowly, Merlin nodded. "I never told her," he all but whispered. "And she never said it to me, either. But we both knew. We thought, foolishly perhaps, that if we just didn't say it, it would be easier when I had to leave. Of course, it wasn't, and I've spent centuries wishing I had. But I never admitted it to myself, even then. I've always avoided what caused me pain."

"And so you never told her about Camelot?"

"I never told anybody," he said. "The Old Religion wouldn't let me, but … I told her of the guilt I felt, and the grief. But I always held back. I didn't like to think of it, like how I don't often like to think of the Founders now."

"I thought you were done with running away from the past?" Luna asked.

"I don't think I ever will," said Merlin. "It's my curse. I can never look back on my past without pain. Guilt may be gone, but the grief will never vanish."

"It never does," said Luna, lightly. "I still think of my mother. And it hurts sometimes. But no matter what pain there is, I don't try to forget about her. I'm a better person for remembering her. I'd rather be upset than never think of her at all. Through the pain, she gives me strength."

Merlin turned to look at her, and she smiled again.

"They give you strength, Merlin," she said, taking hold of his hand. "The family you lost, Arthur, Gaius, the Lady of the Lake, Rowena Ravenclaw … they're always with you. They are the Old Religion, Merlin. They are love itself, and you should listen to it."

Merlin kept his eyes on her face for the longest time, quietly awed by her faith, by her simple belief in the beauty of life. The moonlight shone off her hair, giving an almost halo like impression to her head, and her eyes shone brightly.

"And that's why what you were thinking of when I came to you was a bad thing," Luna said. "It's why you're 'on watch'. You could easily have cast a spell to warn us if anyone comes close. You're sitting here because you're considering something very silly."

He shook his head, the illusion broken.

"Camelot is so close," he said, feeling the swirl of emotion come back. "It's just … there. I've wanted to come back for so long, and now it's literally just a day away. I need to go back."

"To do what?" asked Luna.

"I-," began Merlin, before sighing. "I don't know, but-"

"You won't find what you want, Merlin," said Luna, staring at him firmly. "You want to go back for the wrong reasons. You cannot change the past. Well, not this past, anyway."

"It just, frustrates me," he admitted, looking down at their still joined hands. "I know what's going to happen. The thought that I could change it-"

"But you can't-"

"There's so much pain in the years to come," said Merlin. "Camelot is destined for years of misery."

"And then years of happiness," said Luna, smiling. "The storm clouds don't last forever. Without the misery of the Purge, there won't be the happiness of the Golden Age. Things happened for a reason. You can't change that."

"I wish I could," he said.

"And that's your problem," said Luna sadly. "You're trying to do too much. You've been unhappy for so long, you can't recognise happiness when you see it."

"What happiness was there back in 1999?" he asked.

"There was your mortality," Luna said. "You should have been happy with that. You just didn't want to see the peace that was before you. You'll never find true peace, Merlin, when you're so blind to it."

"Maybe you're right," he said quietly. "I'm … I … I don't know how to be happy anymore."

"You will," said Luna, reaching over and placing one of her small hands on his shoulder. She smiled. "I know you will."

She withdrew her hand, and with one last smile, went back to her blankets and curled up to sleep once more. Fawkes stayed by her side until she fell asleep, before flying back across to Merlin, and landing on his knee, looking at him almost reproachfully.

"I know, I know," he said, stroking his soft feathers. "I'm an idiot. I should listen to her."

Fawkes squawked in agreement, and hopped over to a nearby branch, nodding at him meaningfully. Merlin took the hint, and crossed back to the others, and laid himself down on his own blankets as Fawkes kept watch.

He knew Luna was right. But convincing his heart of the same thing was a much more difficult task.

He glanced over at her sleeping form as he drifted to sleep himself.

He smiled.

"Come on, Merlin! What else have we got to do all day?" asked Ron the next day, still sitting rigidly in his saddle.

"You want to practice magic in broad daylight on a busy road?" he asked incredulously.

"Busy?" asked Draco. "We haven't seen a soul for over two hours."

"By this century's standards, Draco, this is practically the M6," said Merlin, but he knew he was right.

"Come on," said Harry, joining in. "We'll be able to tell if anyone's coming, right?"

"Yeah," said Ron. "We need to keep our magic up, like you said; people don't use wands around here, we don't want to stick out. And we'll end up needing it."

"I agree with Weasley, much as I hate to say it," said Draco. "What are you afraid of, anyway? I thought magic wasn't illegal?"

"I would have thought the two of you would be more preoccupied in learning how to stay on your horses," said Merlin, barely suppressing a grin as he remembered a few humourous incidents earlier in the day. "Magic might not be illegal, but … I'm still hesitant. We're not in Camelot. We're between kingdoms and I don't know how people around here would react."

"We'll be careful," promised Harry. "We won't be reckless or anything, even Ron."

"Oi!"

Merlin smiled as he remembered a time long ago (or was it in the future) when he had made the same sort of promises, remembering how eager he had been to study magic, even when there was danger about. He was reminded of Gaius, and how he'd always advocated caution, always tried to protect him. Had he turned into his old mentor? Since when had he been one to deny others the joys of magic for fear of being caught?

"Please, Merlin?" said Luna, riding along gracefully on her horse beside him, the only one aside from himself who seemed to be at ease on horseback.

"All right," said Merlin, and his four Old Magic students grinned. "But we're being careful, and you're not doing any of the big spells, especially as you're seated in such precarious positions."

They readily agreed, and the rest of the morning was spent drilling his students on their exercises and spells. They were still moving very slowly on their horses, but Merlin decided this would be the best way to stave off his impatience. He moved Ron onto water spells, thinking primarily that he didn't trust him to light a fire in his palm whilst on horseback with his track record. Water proved much easier for him, though still not perfect, though Merlin suspected this may be due to Draco and his sister being there to ridicule him.

"Draco," he said, moving to him. "Conjure a wind. Clear the path before us of leaves."

Draco thought for several moments, screwing up his face in concentration. "Lyft."

He held out his palm, and a small wind picked up, brushing all the leaves from the past and into a swirling torrent, which then dissipated easily.

"Good," nodded Merlin. "Your control is getting much better."

Ron sniffed in annoyance, still soaking wet from his attempts to keep an orb of water sustained above his head.

"Luna," he said, trying to think of something he hadn't yet done. "Change the colour of Ron's horse's tail."

Luna smiled. "Hweorfan bleo."

Her eyes glowed, and the next second later, Ron's hair was bright pink.

The others roared with laughter, Ginny and Draco loudest amongst them, whilst Ron tuned around in his saddle, unable to see what was funny. Fawkes, who was woken by the sudden burst of noise vanished indignantly in a spurt of flame.

"What?" Ron asked. "Merlin?"

"Sorry," said Merlin, struggling to control his own laughter. "Why don't you conjure some water to use as a mirror?"

Ron scowled, but did as he asked, conjuring a stable, if somewhat wobbly, puddle of water in the air in which he examined his reflection. His look of confusion turned to one of outrage.

"Bloody hell!" he said. "Turn it back!"

"Sorry I missed, Ron," said Luna dreamily. "But I actually think it quite suits you."

"Turn it back!"

"Harry," said Merlin, still shaking in laughter, "you turn it back."

Harry did so, still laughing, and they continued for some while, alternating spells until they were all exhausted. They stopped for a quick meal by the side of the road and set off again. By mid-afternoon, the road was becoming more bumpy and less travelled. The trees closed in on either side. Merlin was immediately alert, knowing this to be prime bandit territory,

The others seem to sense it too, and eased their loud talking and laughing. Even Luna looked more alert than usual. The daylight began to fade, making the trees seem even more sinister, danger hidden inside every shadow.

"Are we almost there?" Hermione asked, breaking the silence that had lasted for the last hour. "You said-"

"We should get there before nightfall," said Merlin, feeling a mix of apprehension and excitement. What would he do when they got there?

As the afternoon wore on and began to fade to evening, Merlin called a halt, and they rested their horses by a small stream; the Isle of the Blessed was by now perhaps only an hours ride away, and he wanted to gather his thoughts before they arrived. As the others were stretching out their sore muscles that were unaccustomed to riding, Merlin sensed the impending danger of bandits. He'd almost thought they'd managed to escape them, but the eyes that were watching them were undeniable.

Harry, who'd been rummaging through his bag, jerked his head up and looked to Merlin immediately. Despite the danger, Merlin couldn't help but be pleased at seeing how much better Harry's instincts were becoming. Harry leapt to his feet and held out his hand in readiness.

"Don't," Merlin said to him, and all the others turned to them looking confused. "Let me deal with it. Whatever happens, none of you use your magic."

A moment later, as he had predicted, there was a fierce cry from the thicket of trees next to them, and about ten burly men wielding blunt swords and axes came hurtling towards them. Merlin wasted no time. A couple of discrete spells and some conveniently loose tree branches fell on the heads of several of the bandits and knocked them senseless, another few tripped over tree roots that had risen from nowhere and lay motionless, two were hit on the back of the head by rocks and the rest tripped over the bodies of their comrades, and conveniently knocked themselves out.

The entire episode had been over in less than a minute, and Merlin almost smiled at the memory of doing so many similar things back in his youth. Discrete magic was his specialty.

"What the bloody hell-" began Ron, but was interrupted by Ginny who cried, "Merlin, watch out!"

Merlin had already turned however, sensing the man behind him, the leader, charging towards him with the rapidity of a bull. Seeing it was too late to otherwise incapacitate him, Merlin reacted instinctively. His eyes burned golden, and one of the swords lying abandoned next to the unconscious bandits flew into his hand and without thinking, he raised it in front of his path and directly into the path of his oncoming assailant.

The bandit could not stop in time, did not bring his weapon around to meet Merlin's and instead, ran straight onto the blade of the sword. He gasped, his eyes went wide, he spluttered for a moment, and collapsed, lying still on the forest floor, blood seeping from his abdomen.

Merlin watched him for a moment, and then glanced at the sword he was still holding, red with the man's blood. It had been a long time since he had killed a Muggle.

He turned to face the others, to see their faces a mixture of shock, awe, and fear. As one, their eyes moved down towards the sword.

"You killed him," said Ron, staring at the blade.

Merlin nodded. "I had only meant to incapacitate them all, preferably without them knowing of our magic. But he caught me by surprise."

Harry was watching him strangely however, and Merlin knew he was uncomfortable with it. Harry was always so wary about taking lives; Merlin doubted whether any of them standing there had ever actually killed anybody. They all tended to aim to Stun rather than kill. In a way he was glad, they were innocent in a way he was not. Merlin did not enjoy taking lives, he never had, but still he never hesitated when he deemed it was necessary. It was a part of himself he wished did not exist, yet, he owed his continued existence to it. There was no use in feeling guilty over every life he had taken, he was too far gone for that. He was still happy however that none of those in front of them knew what it was like to have taken so many lives as to have lost count, that none of them had ever cast the Killing Curse. They'd all seen him kill before, but not like this. Killing with magic and killing with a tangible weapon was different. Especially when the dead man was a Muggle.

Hermione looked troubled too. "Aren't you … " she began, gulping as she stared at the body. "Aren't you going to get into trouble for killing him?"

"From who?" asked Merlin, cleaning the blade with a flash of his eyes, seeing that the blood was still the focus of their attention.

"I don't know … is there no some sort of law enforcement or something?"

"You mean a seventh century version of the police?" he asked her, almost smiling. "No, not in this century, Hermione. These are the Dark Ages, remember? In this time, it's kill or be killed. The road is a lawless land, it is not murder to kill a bandit. It's likely no one but his cronies here will miss him when they eventually wake."

She nodded, but still looked disturbed. Merlin decided it was time to move on, wanting them all to stop staring at him. They were probably all wondering just when did taking a life become so commonplace to him, and Merlin wondered that himself. He was so different to that clumsy boy that had left Ealdor for Camelot all those years ago- all those years from now. He was back in the century of his birth and he was suddenly aware of just how much he had changed in the thirteen centuries he had lived. If Arthur met him now, would he even know him anymore?

"Come," he said, guiding his horse by the reins back to the road a short distance away, from which they had descended down the bank to allow the horses to drink from the stream. "We can perhaps make it to the Isle of the Blessed before it gets really dark."

"I thought you said it wasn't a good idea to travel on the road at night?" asked Ron, climbing into his saddle with difficulty.

"We're not far," said Merlin, and he was telling the truth. The magic inside of him was growing and bubbling inside of him, and he knew why. The Isle, at its full strength was a focal point for all magic, and he could sense its power even from this distance.

He made off down the road, the others following closely, eying the trees warily as if expecting another attack. All the while, Merlin's mind was whizzing furiously. What would they do when they got there? What would he say to the Druids? Would they even be allowed to step foot on the Isle itself? Would the Druids be friendly?

Even as he felt his magic reacting to his proximity to the island, he also sensed something else. A presence close by, a magical presence, though what it was, he had no idea. And it appeared he was not the only one who noticed it.

"Do you sense that?" Draco asked him, pulling his horse closer to Merlin's.

"Yes."

"What is it?"

"I'm not sure," said Merlin, uneasy. "I don't sense danger, but-"

"Someone's watching us," said Luna, from further back, though the way she said it, she might have been commenting on the weather.

"What?" Ron asked her sharply.

"I sensed it back at the stream," Luna continued. "Someone was there, in the trees."

"And why didn't you say anything?" demanded Ron, as everyone stopped their horses to turn and face Luna.

Luna shrugged lightly. "I knew he meant us no harm. He was curious about us, and I thought we should let him see that we mean him no harm either."

Merlin stared at her. "He? Who is this he?"

"He's right here," said Luna, her eyes glazing over for a moment. "Nearby, watching. I'm not sure where though."

"I do," said Ginny suddenly, and pointed to a spot behind Merlin.

The hairs went up on the back of Merlin's neck, and he turned his horse to find a lone figure standing on the road in front of them. Even without seeing the triple spiral tattoo on the man's shaven head, Merlin knew immediately he was a Druid; he seemed to radiate power, but power that was calm and ambivalent rather than hostile.

The man looked them all in the eye slowly and deliberately, lingering last of all on Merlin, who almost shuddered. Then, the man's eyes went to Fawkes, who was seated on the saddle before Merlin. Fawkes, sensing this, lifted his head to stare at the man, and cawed softly. The man seemed to nod.

"Who are you?" Merlin asked, finally finding his voice. The others brought their horses further forward until they all stood facing the man.

"I am Nechtan," the man said, his voice slow and deeply accented. He bowed his head slightly. "I am the Guardian of the Path to the Isle of the Blessed."

Merlin immediately looked to the path beyond the man. "We're close then?"

"Yes," said Nechtan, keeping his eyes on Merlin the entire time. "We sensed you coming, and I was sent to meet you, and to determine whether you shall proceed any further."

"Procede further?" Harry asked. "You mean, you won't let us past?"

Nechtan's eyes flicked to Harry, and something flickered in his eyes. "I did not say that, young one."

"So you'll let us past?" Ginny asked.

"I did not say that either, young maiden," Nechtan said, and he ran his eyes over all of them again, making no move to say anything further.

Merlin almost laughed at the absurdity. Druids had always been infuriatingly cryptic then? It wasn't the result of the Purge at all.

"What is your business on the Isle of the Blessed," Nechtan asked Merlin. "Who is it that desires to pass?"

"My name is … Malcolm," said Merlin, only just remembering to use a pseudonym. "These are my friends Harry, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Draco and Luna. I must speak with the High Priests and High Priestesses of the High Council about a … delicate matter."

"Delicate matter, indeed?" Nechtan said, a shrewd look in his eye. "And what is that?"

"It is a matter best left to them," answered Merlin. The man seemed to smile.

"No one is granted an audience with the High Council without proving themselves first," said Nechtan. "Only the most worthy are admitted into their presence."

"Please," said Merlin. "Just let us onto the island. We shall explain everything in due course."

"Shall you?" Nechtan said. He tilted his head to one side. "Only those with magic are permitted onto the Isle of the Blessed."

Merlin nodded. "We are sorcerers," he said, and the man nodded.

"I know," he said. "I saw you, Malcolm, defeat a dozen bandits in a matter of moments without even lifting a finger or speaking an incantation. I can sense your power, boy."

"Then you know we are sincere-"

"Sincere?" Nechtan asked. "You are hiding your true purpose from me even at this moment. If you were sincere, you would have told me the purpose of your visit. Instead, you trust to vagueness."

"Look who's talking," said Ron, who was obviously losing patience with the man. "Will you let us pass or not? I'd like to get off this bloody horse."

Merlin winced. As much as the mysteriousness of the Druids annoyed him, he knew the direct route seldom worked well.

But the man almost seemed amused. "You act as if there is so little time," he murmured. "Yet you have all the time in the world."

At this, Merlin blinked, and his heart leapt. Did the man know the true purpose of their visit? Had he heard them talking about the future?

But the man did not seem willing to elaborate. Instead, he merely bowed his head, and stood aside.

"You are permitted to pass," he said. "But I warn you now: we seldom allow complete strangers onto our sacred ground. If it were not for my observations of your power and the phoenix that accompanies you, I should have turned you back; phoenixes never ally themselves with those who are not true of heart. Follow me, the Isle is just beyond the bend in the road. I shall lead you to the home of magic."

The man turned, and began to walk down the path, and Merlin immediately followed him, as did the others, though his heart was filled with misgivings. What would their reception be? Would they be trusted?

Fawkes tried to reassure him by rubbing against his skin, but all Merlin felt was apprehension, and something akin to fear.

Chapter Text

Harry could feel the magic all around him, the very woods were pulsating with it, and his heart raced and he felt rejuvenated all of a sudden, the further his horse carried him. He was riding behind Merlin, and so could not see his face, but judging from the looks on Malfoy and Ron's faces who were on either side of him, they felt the growing magic as well. It was almost stifling, yet joyous too. It was the same feeling he'd had in the Department of Mysteries in the Veil Room. It was pure magic.

Ron glanced at him, and, with difficulty, brought his horse closer to Harry's.

"D'you reckon we can trust this bloke?" he whispered, nodding to the bald man they were following, who Harry assumed was a Druid.

"Mer- Malcolm, trusts him," said Harry, stopping himself just in time, in case he was listening. "So should we."

Ron looked dubious. "He didn't seem all that friendly."

"Malcolm says Druids never were," pointed out Harry. "He had plenty chances to kill us if he wanted, I say we trust him."

"And what are we going to do when we get there?" asked Malfoy, who'd also brought his horse closer, forgetting in his curiosity the sullen silence he'd been practicing all day. "Will they trust us?"

"Malcolm will get them to trust us," said Harry, more confidently than he felt. "We're not their enemy; we don't want to hurt them, and I don't think they'll want to hurt us either. We're not in danger."

"But they might not give us what we want," said Malfoy. "We could have come all this way for nothing. If we don't get it from them willingly, then …"

Harry knew what he was thinking, and he had been thinking it too. Who was to say the Druids would help them? And if they didn't, would they have to take the spell by force? Somehow, as powerful as Merlin was, he didn't think the seven of them would stand a chance against the entire might of the Old Religion.

"We should just focus on getting there first," he said. "That's all we can do for now. Remember what that bloke said: we've got all the time in the world."

They both nodded, and turned away, focused once more on following Merlin. But despite what he had said, Harry still felt uneasy. Despite knowing there was no rush, and his uncle and all the other dead and dying Muggles hadn't even been born yet, he still felt a sense of urgency so great it was taking all his effort to rein it in. He was impatient, and restless; every second counted to him. He had to keep reminding himself that it didn't matter how long he took. But it was difficult.

Gradually, as the sense of magic in the air increased so much Harry felt he could almost taste it, the path opened out, and suddenly, they found themselves on the shores of a great lake, and the sight before them took their breath away. Hermione gasped behind him, and Harry himself couldn't take his eyes away from the sight before him.

On an island in the centre of the lake, stood a magnificent castle, larger even than Hogwarts, with gleaming turrets and strong walls, with towers that stretched up into the sky. A thin mist swirled around the tops of the towers and the surface of the lake, making it look as though the castle was nestled between the clouds themselves. It seemed to shine brightly, a beacon of magic, and Harry felt his soul soar at the sight of it.

"Wow," said Ron, mouth agape.

"It's incredible," said Hermione, her eyes wide as she took it all in.

"Makes a change," said Malfoy, staring. He dropped his voice. "Last time I was here it was a pile of old bricks."

"You were here before?" Harry asked him, frowning. "When?"

Malfoy glanced towards the Druid before answering. "When me, Merlin and the Weasley twins were searching for the Cup. Merlin brought us here. Even though it was a ruin, it still had powerful magic, stronger than anything I'd ever felt. But this … it's even more incredible than I thought possible."

Harry stared back at the towers. "The Cup of Life will be in there, won't it?" he said softly. "That's so weird."

"Don't go talking about that here," said Merlin, who'd turned to them abruptly, motioning towards the Druid, who was already walking towards the water edge. "The Cup is a great secret amongst the Druids. They won't trust us if you don't mind what you're saying and blurt out all their greatest secrets."

"It's so beautiful," said Luna, whose eyes were aglow. "Did you ever get to see it like this?"

Merlin glanced at her, and then turned back to the gleaming island. "No," he said softly, before turning away. "By the time I'm born, all that's left here is rubble." He sighed. "Uther destroyed so much beauty in such a short space of time. I'm just sorry I'm not able to appreciate it under better circumstances."

"You can appreciate it now," said Luna. "It's here for you to enjoy."

Merlin shook his head, and looked upset. "I'm here for the spell, that's all. I don't have time for all of this."

He dismounted his horse, and began walking over to the Druid. Harry wondered whether he wasn't the only one feeling impatient about getting back to the present. How much worse would it be for Merlin to be surrounded by reminders of his past, the life he once had, or might have had?

Harry and the others got off their horses as well, and followed Merlin, who was now standing with the Druid, and a man so ancient and wrinkled Harry was surprised he could stand at all. The man was standing with his hand resting on a tiny boat.

"Leave your horses here," said Nechtan, the Druid. "They shall graze on the shores and will not wander far. Now come, the ferryman shall escort us across the lake."

The man leered at them and gestured for them to enter. Malfoy and Merlin got in straight away, apparently both having done this before, but the others were hesitant.

"You sure that thing can hold us?" Ron asked, and Harry agreed; the boat looked like one good wind would blow it right over.

Nechtan just raised his eyebrows and climbed in, followed promptly by Luna, who did not look disturbed in the slightest. The others followed suit, and with a flash of the ferryman's eyes, the boat was off, apparently without the need for sail or oar.

Steadily, they drew nearer and nearer to the island, as the daylight began to fade, and lights sprung up in the windows of the castle. Harry could feel the magic rising so dramatically inside of him, he felt he could burst.

He looked towards Merlin, and saw a similar state reflected in his eyes. He looked almost excited about what he saw, but also saddened.

After darkness had entirely fallen, the boat bumped up against a wooden jetty, and Nechtan motioned for them all to get out. Harry did so, and immediately fell magic shudder through him as his foot hit solid ground. A hush seemed to surround them all in reverent silence.

The ferryman pushed off from the jetty as soon as they'd climbed out and was soon swallowed up by the darkness. Nechtan led them to the end of the jetty, towards a path that would lead them up to the castle itself, but they stopped, and waited. Looking ahead, Harry saw a light in the distance bobbing towards them from the dark mist. Within moments, the light was upon them.

Two men in dark robes with the emblem of a red tree on it were standing there, one carrying a lantern above their heads. Between these two men stood a tall women with dark hair and a red dress. Harry knew the moment he looked at her that she was a High Priestess.

She radiated power in the same way Merlin did, and her face was expressionless, but seemed to mask a great wisdom, and a great many years. She surveyed them all with pale eyes, lingering lastly on Merlin, and a small smile crept at her lips when she beheld him. He stared back evenly, the only one of the company who had been able to keep her gaze for more than a couple of seconds.

"I am Melian,"she said, in a voice that was deep and filled with age, her eyes still fixed on Merlin. "I am one of the High Priestesses of this Isle."

Merlin bowed his head to her, though kept his eyes on hers the entire time. "I am humbled indeed," he said. "I did not expect such an honour."

"We seldom allow unknown pilgrims to venture to this island as once we did," Melian said, her eyes still on his. "I thought it worthy of my time to see who Nechtan had allowed to pass. These are dangerous times, and we do not trust outsiders."

Merlin frowned a little at this. She stared a little longer at him, before holding out her pale arms in welcome.

"You are welcome amongst us, strangers," she said. "This island is our sanctuary. Rest here and delight in the company of your fellow kind, learn new wisdom, new spells, take pleasure in the magic that you find here. The phoenix," here, her eyes landed on Fawkes, "is one of our most revered creatures, and those he deems worthy of his company, are certainly worthy of mine."

Fawkes seemed to nod his head, and Merlin glanced at him a second, before looking back to Melian. She looked around at them all one last time, lingering on Harry, who froze when she looked at him.

"There is powerful magic amongst you," she said. "I look forward to seeing what you are capable of." She glanced to one of her guards. "Take them to the eastern wing, there are empty guest accommodation there. You are free to roam the island as you choose, save for the inner sanctum, where the most sacred of our possessions lie."

"I would appreciate a chance to meet with yourself and the other High Priests and Priestesses," Merlin said, just as she looked like she was about to leave. "I have … matters to discuss."

"Matters?" she repeated. "Then you are not simple pilgrims? I thought as much." She surveyed him for a moment longer. "I shall consider such a meeting, when I have deemed you and your companions ready."

"But, it's urgent that we make this request-"

"Urgent?" she smiled. "What matter of urgency could there be? Patience in all things, my young friend. No one is granted an audience with the Council unless they have proven themselves. When you are ready, you shall make your request of us."

"But-" objected Merlin, but Melian had already turned, and was walking back to the castle, one guard at her side, the other one remaining with Harry and the others. Nechtan had already followed Melian up the path.

"Come," the guard said, and reluctantly, Merlin nodded, and indicated the others should follow. The guard led them further towards the dark castle, in a night that was silent, yet filled with magic so strong Harry could almost hear it whispering to him.

Harry sidled closer to Merlin. "D'you reckon-"

Merlin shook his head, and pointed to the guard. "The Blood Guard serve the High Priestesses, and are their ears," he whispered. "Save what you have to say until we are alone."

Harry nodded, and fell back to the others, who were all looking around nervously. Ginny found her way to his side and clasped his hand, which made him feel slightly better; the castle, though filled with the incredible magic that he loved, intimidated him. Unlike the friendly, welcoming magic of Hogwarts, this place made him uneasy; its ancient magic was neither good, nor hostile, and the sheer force of it disturbed him.

Within moments, they were led through a magnificent set of gates, and into a small courtyard, the corners of which were obscured in the darkness. Their guard led them up a staircase to their left, and through a maze of dark stone corridors. Whispers seemed to resonate throughout the halls, as though the magic was calling out, and everywhere, magical presences of individuals stood out like bright beacons behind closed doors.

They passed down another corridor, which had a balcony opening out onto another courtyard, blackness all that they could see beyond. A great rumbling sound came from the courtyard, and the place seemed to shake a little, a quiet roar like some great sleeping beast, along with the strongest magical presence yet. Harry tried to look over the balcony to see what was below, but was prevented by the guard turning down another corridor and up a narrower staircase.

When it levelled out, they found themselves on a small landing with two doors leading off of it. The guard stopped and pointed.

"Men in that one, ladies in there," he said gruffly. "Do not wander the corridors at night, no abuse of magic, respect the priests and priestesses and other magical users and do not leave the island without permission. Betray the trust of the High Priestess Melian under pain of death. Good night."

And without another word, he'd vanished down the staircase.

"Friendly bloke," observed Ron, but no one paid any attention. They all looked to Merlin.

"Now what," asked Ginny, "we're here, but how do we get the audience with this Council?"

"I don't know," said Merlin, and he looked disturbed. "I suppose … we'd better earn their trust."

"Easier said than done," said Malfoy, staring at the staircase the guard had just gone down.

Merlin sighed. "Just … act normal," he said. "Don't let them suspect anything, don't betray anything. Meet the Druids and the others here, practice some magic, look like you're settling in. Hopefully, after a while, they'll let us see the Council."

"And if they don't?"

"They will," said Luna, and she smiled at Merlin. "Don't worry about it. They'll see the goodness in your heart, Merlin. They will trust us. We have all the time in the world."

Merlin offered a weak smile. "I hope so. Now, we'd best get some rest. We've got some work to do tomorrow."

Harry awoke the next day to find sunlight streaming in through a small slit like window in the room he was sharing with Merlin, Malfoy and Ron. He struggled out of his uncomfortable straw mattress and went over to the window to look outside. The limited view showed him a sliver of the lake, and the mist that still surrounded it, penetrated only on occasion by the sunshine that had already faded away.

He turned and saw that Merlin was still asleep; an unusual occurrence as Merlin was always the first to rise and leave the room. He watched him for a moment, noticing how fitfully he was sleeping, a small frown on his face, the bedclothes showing how he'd been evidently twisting and turning.

Harry turned away and went to the washstand and splashed some water on his face and then pulled on his tatty boots and cloak, before going back to sit on his bed, waiting for the others to awaken; despite his curiosity, he knew it would not be a good idea to wander around the Isle of the Blessed on his own, and he was far too restless to go back to sleep. He stared at the window on the far side of the room, wishing it was larger, so he did not feel so trapped. All he wanted was to get the spell, and get out of here, but he knew he would have to try and be patient. The future wasn't going anywhere.

An hour passed, and Ron struggled out from underneath his thin blanket. He sat up and grimaced.

"I could never live in this century," he complained, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'll never complain of being poor again. The Burrow is luxury compared to this."

At that moment there was a soft tapping at the door, and it opened, to reveal Ginny, Luna and Hermione, who filed in and sat themselves on Harry and Ron's beds, after Ron had leapt from his and tried to look presentable at the sight of Hermione. Malfoy too woke up, bleary-eyed and began to pull on his own boots.

Merlin woke then, with a gasp and sat up with a jerk, breathing heavily. He looked surprised to see the girls in the room.

"Sleeping in isn't like you, Merlin," said Luna casually, playing with the hem of Harry's blanket. "Aren't you well?"

"I'm fine," said Merlin, and swung his legs out of bed, and smoothed down his rumpled hair. But he didn't look it. There were heavy shadows under his eyes and he looked drawn and pale.

"Well, are we going to go downstairs and have a look around?" asked Hermione. "I'd love to see some more Old Magic."

"I'd love to see the kitchen," said Ron, his stomach growling. "When was the last time we ate?"

"Trust you to think of your stomach when we're on the Isle of the Blessed."

"I'm hungry!"

"Come on," said Merlin, interrupting them, having got himself ready while this was going on. "We'd best go."

No one objected, and everyone soon followed him out of the door and down the steps and through some corridors. Since the mist loomed at every window, the place looked hardly less oppressive in the daylight, but at least they were able to see now. Harry expected to pass the courtyard with the great magical presence once more, but Merlin led them a different route.

"If I remember," he said, "there's a hall down this way that used to be used for feasting, at least, it was when the place was ruined and me and other refugees lived here after Arthur's death. There's a chance we may find some food down this way."

A few moments later, they'd emerged into a wide hall, smaller than the Great Hall at Hogwarts, but still large enough for some hundred or so people. About fifty were already in the room, seated at one long shiny wooden table that went down the centre. They looked up for a moment when Harry and the others entered, but soon went back to their meals, uninterested.

Merlin led them to an empty part of the table near the end, where they sat down, and immediately fell upon the bread and fruits that lay before them, through Harry noticed, Merlin barely touched any of it. He had his eyes on the other men and women at the table, though most of them seemed happy to ignore him, and stayed in their clusters and their own conversations. They didn't look happy, and they didn't look sad, just solemn and formal, which seemed at odds with the bursting magical energy in the room.

"You're new," said a voice, and they all looked up to see a Druid standing in front of them. Unlike most of the others, he looked young, and he had a smile on his face.

"I'm Malcolm," said Merlin, nodding to him, "and these are my companions. We arrived last night."

"I am Cenric," said the Druid, and he looked intrigued. "New visitors are very rare on the Isle these days. You must have done something very special to convince Nechtan to allow you to pass."

"Apparently," said Merlin.

Cenric was still smiling. "We all have our secrets, but I warn you, do not hold anything back from the High Council. They know everything, and shall discover it easily, and will not take kindly to being lied to."

"I'll bear that in mind," said Merlin. "What can you tell us about life here?"

The Druid laughed. "Life on the Isle of the Blessed … it is the very name, my friend. Life here is slow, and rich, and we are all fortunate indeed. The inner sanctum is the province of the High Council, where they undertake the mysteries of life, and the study of magic in its purest forms. The rest of the island is free for all, pilgrims, students, teachers, Druids, Dragonlords, princes … anyone. You may rest here, learn more magic if you so desire, everywhere is the chance to study and grow. You may do anything you like."

"Sounds idyllic," said Malfoy, with the tone of someone who evidently did not believe him, and the Druid's smile only increased.

"Oh, it is," Cenric gushed. "I have been here since I was a child, and I've never-"

"Thank you, Cenric," said another voice, and a Druid who looked far more forbidding than Cenric loomed up behind them, and looked down upon them all critically. Cenric bowed his head hurriedly and moved away, leaving the newcomer with them. He was old, with white hair and beard, with dark eyes that seemed like black pools in his face. The triple spiral tattoo that Harry had noticed on most of the Druids was just visible on his neck, partially hidden by his rich robes.

"I am High Priest Findan," he said, and Harry was immediately put on guard. He'd thought the High Council had wanted nothing to do with them?

He addressed Merlin solely. "The High Council has entrusted me with your situation here on the Isle of the Blessed. I am to be your liaison with them."

Merlin raised his eyebrows. "And does every sorcerer on this island get a personal liaison with the Council?"

"Not every sorcerer shows up out of the blue and asks for an audience with the High Council on the first night," said Findan. "Most are too afraid of the power of the High Council to ask for a meeting, and when they are offered a meeting, many are too afraid to turn up."

"I am not afraid," said Merlin.

"I can see that," said Findan, watching him closely. "That alone makes you unique. If you want a meeting with the High Council however, you must wait, and only when I tell you the time is right shall we allow you into our trust. In the meantime, I shall acquaint you with our life here. Perhaps by learning more about us, you shall finally be ready."

"And how will you know when we are ready?" asked Merlin, and Harry could hear the note of annoyance in his tone.

"It is not I who decides if you are ready," said Findan, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "It is the Old Religion. It shall tell me when you are ready."

Merlin looked briefly annoyed, but seemed to accept it. Findan nodded approvingly.

"Patience, Master Malcolm," he said, "is something you need to learn. I fear it is something you have neglected recently."

Merlin winced, and Harry knew he was thinking of his impatience to end the Statute of Secrecy. But what did the Druid know about that?

Findan looked away from Merlin. "I shall show you around the Isle, if you have all finished eating," he said, and everyone immediately stood up, impatient to see more of the island. Merlin hesitated only for the briefest of moments before following.

Harry and the others followed suit, and soon they were all walking behind Findan, none of them speaking, as though afraid to in his presence. He led them through many corridors, some decorated with rich tapestries and statues. Roaring fires glowed at regular intervals, and everywhere there was a scent in the air of herbs and exotic spices, smells far more appealing than Snape's potion storage cupboard at Hogwarts had been, and everywhere, magic could almost be tasted.

Findan's face was expressionless as he walked, but Harry was agape at the sheer power he could sense in the air. Malfoy, Ron and Luna were equally as wowed, and Hermione and Ginny, despite not being as in tune with Old Magic as the others, also looked as though they could sense it. They passed rooms with voices issuing from them; uttering babbling incantations and long winded spells, chants of students learning by rote, stern voices of teachers, eager voices of children. Occasionally, a Druid or two would pass them, and bow their head to Findan staring in awe at Fawkes, who seemed to puff up his chest importantly whenever this happened. Druids came out of rooms and casually walked to the next, wandering through archways, greeting friends. Harry caught a glimpse or two of the teaching rooms before doors shut. It was almost like Hogwarts, but informal. There were no desks, no strict discipline. Students sat on the floor in groups, or around bubbling fires, some in mismatched chairs strewn carelessly across the room, whilst the teachers strolled casually among them. Once a student had had their fill, they simply stood up and moved to another room, where other things were going on. It was a place of education, but it was no school.

They passed through rooms that were almost like common rooms, with people lounging on comfortable chairs before fires, discussing magic and potions, sharing spells and healing remedies. Parents played with children, and elderly men and women relaxed before the fire, students studied books in peaceful solitude.

Findan began a somewhat laboured commentary as they progressed through the castle, pointing out study rooms, classrooms, halls for eating, studying or relaxing. He pointed out the window to a stretch of cultivated land by the castle wall where they grew most of their own food and herbs, a Druid or two just visible pottering about the vegetable patches.

After a while, they reached a room that Harry thought Hermione would explode in happiness at seeing; the library. The room was huge, twice the size of the Hogwarts library, with a ceiling so high Harry had to crane his neck to see. The room was filled with piles upon piles of musty thick volumes, and piles of loose sheaves of parchment. Lanterns floated above desks where scholars pored over the illustrated manuscripts before them, noses almost touching the pages, pages that looked fresh and crisp, unlike the fragile pages spotted with age Harry was accustomed to seeing from books of this era, the colours in the book bright and as vibrant as if they were brand new, which, Harry reminded himself, they may very well be. There must have been thousands of books in that room, and Harry noticed that even Ron, hardly the world's greatest reader, couldn't help but be impressed.

As he stared though, Harry was hit with a sudden twinge of sadness as he remembered that in time, this entire place, this entire island would be ruined, and all the knowledge here would be lost, with only a fraction of it remaining in Merlin and Kilgharrah's memories. This place would be destroyed because of one man's personal vendetta, all of this would be gone. For the first time, Harry was hit by just how great a loss that actually was. Hearing Merlin talking about it was one thing, but to actually see the place at its height, see the people that lived here, the beauty and wisdom it contained hit him like a ton of bricks. The past was no longer the past, it was here, right here in front of him. And only he and six other people knew what was going to happen to it and the people that lived here.

"Have you looked your fill?" Fiindan asked, almost looking bored with the sight before him. "There are still some places I would show you."

The others nodded and turned to follow him once more, but Merlin hung back. He was looking hard at a manuscript that was lying open on the table before him. Harry moved over, and had a look, seeing a series of complicated diagrams and writing he could not decipher; Merlin's translation spell apparently only worked for spoken language. Merlin's eyes raced across the page as he read what was written, and he trailed his fingers over the diagram, looking troubled.

He noticed Harry standing there and straightened, looking embarrassed.

"Gaius had a book like that," he said, by way of explanation. "Exactly the same, in fact, it probably is the same book. He used to come here …"

Merlin looked away, and instead surveyed the room, a sadness in his eyes.

"It's weird to think all of this will be gone in a few decades or so," said Harry, looking around. "It seems so permanent, so eternal."

Merlin nodded. "It's strange," he murmured. "I've been here so many times before, but I've never actually been here before, if you know what I mean. I never got the chance to see this. All the knowledge I have of the Old Religion, it doesn't even compare to what's in this room alone. Most of this will be gone forever. It'll never be recaptured."

"Some of it will," said Harry, staring hard at him. "You're preserving it, Merlin. By restoring the Old Religion, we're preserving at least a little. That's what we're meant to do, right? Not restore peace between Muggles and wizards. We need to focus on bringing back what we can of the Old Religion and solving the problems we have, not creating new ones."

Merlin made no answer, just kept looking at the vaulted ceiling. Harry tried to curb his impatience; why couldn't he see? He was taking on too much. Why couldn't he just focus on one thing instead of trying to do everything all at once?

The answer was, Merlin was just not used to it. He was always looking to the future, always looking at the wider picture, the next big problem, he couldn't focus on what he already had.

"What are you two still doing back here?" Ginny asked, popping back into the doorway. "Findan isn't pleased you're missing out on his tour."

"We're coming," said Merlin, and walked pointedly out of the room, past Ginny, who frowned at Harry.

"What's wrong with him?"

"Reminders," he said, and she seemed to understand. They left the room and hurried to catch up with the others. Ginny reached out and squeezed his hand quickly and shot him a smile, which he immediately returned; he was letting himself get as melancholy as Merlin.

A few more twists and turns, and Findan stopped before a wooden door about the height of an average man, made of plain unadorned wood. He turned to them.

"This is the door to the Inner Sanctum," he said, his voice deep and serious. "There is the place where the High Priests and Priestesses conduct their most secret of affairs, studying the greatest mysteries of magic. None but they may enter, unless with express permission. It is most highly guarded."

"Highly guarded?" Malfoy asked sceptically. "Looks like a pretty shabby door to me."

Findan's eyebrows contracted in a quick frown, before he regained composure.

"If anyone who is not a Priest or Priestess touches this door, they are instantly incinerated by the force of the Old Religion within. Is that guarded enough for you?"

Everyone stood in stunned silence for a moment.

"Wow," murmured Ginny. "You'd think they'd have sign up or something: 'Don't touch door unless you want to be swept up into a dustpan.'"

Findan appeared not to hear her. "It looks like any nondescript door," he said. "But great power resides within. Such is the case in all nature. Not everything is as it seems. The concealment of great power can be done easily with an unassuming façade, but the power always remains, no matter how it is concealed." Here, he looked between Harry and Merlin. "Can you not feel it?"

Harry did. It was like a great wave of energy was emanating from behind the door, like the Veil at the Department of Mysteries. It was so strong he almost feared the door itself would crumble into pieces.

"Come," said Findan, after they'd all fallen into reverent silence. "There is one last thing I must show you."

He led the way through more twists and turns, until Harry suddenly noticed they were heading in the direction of the courtyard they had passed on the balcony the night before. As soon as they stepped out into the courtyard, he immediately knew the source of the great rumbling and tremors he had experienced.

It was a dragon.

It was huge, curled up in the courtyard like a cat, larger than Aithusa, yet not so large as Kilgharrah, and unlike both of them, it was a vibrant green, deeper, more iridescent and more beautiful a shade of green than the Welsh Green Harry had seen in his fourth year, almost as if the Welsh Greens were a sub-standard copy of a greater ancestor. Its head was massive and was resting on the ground, smoke furling out of its nostrils, grey eyes the colour of the sea blinking lazily in the weak morning sun. Its legs were curled underneath it, with one hind leg sticking out at an uneven angle. In front of it stood one Druid who was moving her hands along its scales, chanting softly, whilst several younger Druids watched, some taking notes.

Harry didn't realise he'd stopped in amazement until he noticed Merlin suddenly jerk with surprise. Immediately, the dragon's head lifted and it looked straight at Merlin, silver eyes directed entirely on Merlin's. Then, as suddenly as it had raised its head, it bowed it again, a deep and reverent bow in Merlin's direction, before pulling back and regarding him expressionlessly.

"Greetings, my Lord," it said, in a voice that sounded female, though Harry wasn't entirely sure; it was a voice that was more melodious, more deep and beautiful than any of the other ancient dragons Harry had met. "Well met indeed. I welcome you home, my Lord."

At this, everyone turned to stare at Merlin, who stood there, apparently as shocked as everyone else. He could not take his eyes off the creature before him. A look of wonder tinged with sorrow crossed his face for a moment.

"Well met," he said finally, after recovering himself. "And who are you?"

The dragon seemed to regard him with a quizzical expression. "Have you no idea? I am the only green dragon that exists on this earth. Have you never heard my name?"

Merlin froze for a moment. "I haven't encountered many dragons in my time," he said. But then he frowned. "Wait … you're not … you're not Niamhrach?"

The dragon bowed her head again, and smiled, exposing ivory white pointed teeth.

"So you have heard of me?"

"I've read about you," Merlin said, his voice trailing off as he stared at her. "You … you're the one that seeks out young initiates for the priesthood. The one who trains them."

"Correct," the dragon, Niamhrach, said and she sounded pleased. "Though I have not done much searching of late. I am here only to recover from injury."

Merlin stared at her leg. "How did that happen?"

She stared at him with solemn eyes. "The world is not as embracing of magic as it once was, young Dragonlord. There are perils everywhere, even for those of us from the ancient race."

For a moment, Merlin looked angry, then confused. He stared at her injury, a thoughtful look on his face.

"An injury she would not have sustained had you Dragonlords been doing your jobs," the female Druid who had been doing the healing spells interjected. She stood scowling at Merlin, her arms folded, greying hair escaping from its bindings. "You are supposed to protect the dragons. I have been working on her for weeks with little progress. Dragons are notoriously difficult to injure, and equally as difficult to cure."

"A Dragonlord," said Findan, and he stared at Merlin almost gleefully, looking as though something had just been confirmed. He was almost grinning. "Interesting."

"Yes," said the female Druid. "It is. I thought you lot were dying off. Only four of the original tribes still exist, and I know every single Dragonlord amongst them. Unless one of them has a son they don't know about, I don't see where you could have come from."

Merlin was silent for a moment, and Harry's mind was racing. One of the Dragonlords did have a son they didn't know about, but how would they explain this? For that matter, had Balinor, Merlin's father even been born yet? Was there a Dragonlord wandering around on the Isle somewhere that was Merlin's grandfather, or great-grandfather?

Merlin remained calm however. "I come from far away," he said. "Where some of the descendants of the older tribes still remain. There are few dragons there also, and I have had little opportunity to practice my skills. My father died before he could teach me."

"And what was his name?" the Druid asked suspiciously.

Merlin blinked, and cast half a glance towards Harry. "Hagrid," he said, a small smile on his face, and Harry had to stop himself from laughing; how Hagrid would love to be a Dragonlord.

She frowned. "I know of no Hagrid." But she looked towards Niamhrach and nodded. "However, a Dragonlord you must be. And if Lady Niamrach trusts you …"

She looked back to Merlin. "Friend to dragons and phoenixes," she murmured. "You are an unusual one."

"That he is, Rhona," said Findan, a knowing look in his eyes. "That he is."

Merlin looked distinctly uncomfortable under all the scrutiny he was receiving, and oddly, the only one who noticed was the dragon.

"I shall look forward to further meetings, my Lord," Niamhrach said. "But what is your name?"

Merlin hesitated, and seemed to choke on his words.

"Malcolm," said Harry quickly. "His name's Malcolm."

"Malcolm," said the dragon, and she tilted her head on one side, regarding him with a look that plainly said she did not believe Harry for an instant. "Well met, Lord Malcolm. I must now allow Druid Rhona to resume her instruction of the young ones. I hope to see you again."

Merlin nodded, and, when Findan went over to talk to Rhona and the younger Druids who all bowed at his approach, he took this as a sign of dismissal and left hurriedly, following the path to their quarters as quickly as he could, everyone else following rapidly. He did not say a word until they reached the male quarters.

"Why didn't you tell her your name?" Ginny asked.

Merlin shrugged, and looked confused. "I don't know … I … I just couldn't lie to her. Physically, I couldn't do it."

"Why?" frowned Malfoy.

"I don't know," said Merlin. He looked thoughtful. "Maybe I'm not able to lie to dragons … I don't think I've ever tried it before. I've never wanted to. It … it seems so wrong. It made me feel sick, disgusted by myself. I never appreciated before how deep this kin thing went."

"That might pose a problem," said Harry. "Maybe you should stay away from her."

"That would just look suspicious," said Merlin, "and besides, I don't think I can. There's something about her, I get the feeling that she's old, even older than Kilgharrah, that she knows even more than he does. Like she's more connected with the Old Religion than any creature I've ever met before. I've felt it all day, something drawing me nearer until the call was almost too much to bear."

"I sort of felt it too," said Malfoy. "I mean, not the whole Dragonlord thing, but … like she's some sort of … I dunno-"

"Magnet," said Harry, nodding at the remembrance. "Like all my magic was being pulled towards her.

"She is remarkable," said Hermione. "It just makes me so sad to think that anyone could ever harm her. Or that in a few years she'll be-"

She broke off at the look on Merlin's face.

"-dead," finished Merlin with a sigh. He shook his head. "She was one of the oldest and wisest dragons there were, responsible for the teaching of magic right from the beginning, instructing the initiates for centuries; she was one of the pillars of our entire religion. She fought the longest, kept the Old Religion as alive as she could for as long as possible. She was the last dragon to be killed, not long before Kilgharrah was captured. Gaius always guessed it was her death that broke Kilgharrah's spirit and allowed him to be so easily captured. Her death was the real end of the time before the Purge."

Luna shook her head sadly, and looked uncharacteristically serious. "Beauty, wisdom and knowledge like that destroyed through ignorance."

"And we'll have to see her every day," said Merlin, pained. "Every single day knowing what will happen to her and being unable to stop it. I always thought I'd like to see the days before the Purge, but I cannot see the beauty and power, only what was lost and destroyed. Hindsight can be a curse."

Thinking about the dragon they had just seen, and the power and beauty of the place they inhabited, Harry couldn't help but agree.

Chapter Text

The next several days on the Isle passed in much the same way. The seven of them would rise, eat in the Great Hall together and then go their own separate ways. Hermione would without fail head off to the library and immerse herself for hours in the huge books that lay there tempting her with their endless knowledge, frustrated that she was only able to read the books that were written in Ancient Runes. Luna would wander around seemingly aimlessly, visiting the vegetable patches, studying the stars at night in one of the towers with some Druids and speaking with no one, except to advise them of the dangers of Nargles. Ron was taking the time to learn more Old Magic in one of the classrooms with experienced teachers, all of whom we're becoming increasingly wary of his propensity of making spells to go wrong due to his impatience. Draco often accompanied Ron to lessons, but fared much better, more determined than ever to master Old Magic. Ginny, unable to use Old Magic and unwilling to let anybody know, took to wandering around the island and helping in every non-magical task she could find or just walking down by the shores of the lake, often accompanied by Harry when he wasn't in a lesson with Ron or Draco.

They all seemed to settle in quite quickly, the peace and serenity of the island easing their worries about the future and their task. They were all taking the opportunity to learn more or just relax. Merlin, however, could not.

He did not take part in any lessons, despite knowing that even at his age, he could learn a great deal; much of the knowledge contained on this island was destroyed before he ever had a chance to learn it. He avoided Druids wherever he could, as well as Niamhrach, the dragon and her Druid attendants, and chose to spend his time alone, accompanied wherever he went by Fawkes alone, at least at first, before Fawkes had flown off on his own. He knew he was being foolish; how was he supposed to get the High Council to trust him when he deliberately isolated himself?

Every morning when he awoke, he made a new promise to himself to try and involve himself more, but he underestimated just how difficult that was. As soon as he awoke he felt the familiar pull of Old Magic that surrounded him at all times; as soon as he wandered the still intact corridors he remembered the ruin of his own time; every face he saw at every meal, every child he saw running laughing through the courtyard haunted him; he knew their fates, and he couldn't look them in the eye. How could he? He wanted so badly to change the past, yet knew he couldn't. That knowledge was a burden, and so he found it far easier to stay away like some sort of coward.

He often sat down by the shores of the lake, watching the dark water slowly lap against the beach, a continuous rhythm that should have been soothing, but to Merlin was like a ticking clock, counting down the seconds until the beauty of his island was lost forever. He stared straight ahead into the mists, longing for them to clear, and make his own path visible. He wanted this island to never fall, yet he knew it must.

So instead, he wanted the end of the hostilities in the present day and the peaceful resolution of the crisis, yet he knew at that too was impossible. So what was the point in anything? All this spell would do was delay the final reconciliation yet again, to a time when Merlin would be long dead. This whole mission was just the recognition of failure; of Merlin's failure to create peace the way he was supposed to. It was an acknowledgement that they were just giving up.

Merlin continued sitting by the lake, pulling his knees closer to his chest and hugging them tightly. He barely even noticed another presence sitting down beside him. Once he recognised who it was, he turned.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

Luna turned to him and smiled. "I'm helping."

"Helping who?"

"Why, you of course, silly," she said with wide eyes.

"I don't need any help," he said, turning away.

"Of course you do," she said dismissively. "Everyone needs help sometimes."

"And what exactly do you think I need help with exactly?" he asked, avoiding her gaze.

"With seeing the obvious," she said. "Often the smartest people can't see what's right in front of them. They're so occupied with other things they can't see it, or they've been doing something the same way for so long they've forgotten that there's another way of doing things. That's what's happened with you, Merlin."

"Oh?"

"Yes," she said, fixing him with a serious look. "Why are you hiding like this, Merlin? Why are you isolating yourself? I thought you'd learned this last year how silly that was? You're not alone, Merlin. Not the way you used to be. We can help you. And these people here can help you, but you're running from them. You won't even speak to them."

"How can I?" he asked. "When I know what will happen? How can I risk getting close to them?"

"You're afraid of the pain," she said. "You haven't learned, have you? It's the same problem that's always plagued you. You didn't worry about getting close to any of us."

"That's because I knew Harry would be the one to return the Old Religion," he said. "I got close to the Founders, and others, despite knowing it could never last, and the pain of it almost destroyed me. How long are we going to be here? How can I talk to these people and get to know them when I know what will happen?"

"So you're willing to just ignore them?" asked Luna, frowning. "What use will that be? How will that honour their memories? It is your duty to remember them, and what they died protecting, to make sure they are never forgotten."

"What's the point when we're just going to erase the Muggle's memories? Merlin asked. "The things that destroyed life here are still going on in the future. What's the point of returning the status-quo in the future when there's no hope for peace? Even this place could not last. Sometimes I just wonder whether or not the years of peace there were in Camelot were just a fluke. Maybe Muggles and wizards can't live side by side."

"You don't really believe that, Merlin," said Luna quietly. "You know it's possible. Just not right now. You should focus on bringing the lost knowledge of this era to the future; that's the only way we can prepare for peace. We have to remember who we were before we can create peace with Muggles. We aren't ready. It's your duty to make sure that one day, we are."

Merlin turned to look at her, amazed by her faith and optimism. But he could not share it.

"I don't want to wait for that day," he said. "I can't."

Luna shook her head sadly, as though he had severely disappointed her. "Melian was right," she said. "You need to learn patience again, Merlin. You fulfilled your destiny when you brought back the Old Religion with Harry. That was what you were meant to do. Now, it's your job to maintain the peace that was created. Enjoy it, and don't rush off to try and create new problems."

She stretched out her hands and her eyes glowed golden. A globe of water appeared in her palm, suspended several inches in the air. It shimmered in the dim light, green, blue, red, yellow, like a rainbow and reflected tiny little beams that seemed to light up her face and her eyes. The globe twisted and turned into little steams that spiralled around her hand all perfectly controlled and still shimmering beautifully. He watched entranced, amazed that she had mastered this spell so quickly without his realising. He loved the gleam in her eyes as she manipulated the water into ever wondrous shapes. She ended her spell and smiled at Merlin.

"I couldn't do that when we arrived," she said. "But I learned. It might not be something powerful like a wave or strong ice that can slice something in two. But it's beautiful, and it's worth something all the same. Sometimes the simplest things are the greatest. You can find peace, Merlin, you just need to recognise it again. Just because you can't solve all the world's problems doesn't mean you can't be happy."

Merlin watched her for a moment, suddenly feeling something very strange as he looked at her wide innocent eyes. She stood up to leave, but before she did, she stopped and looked at him one last time.

"Where's Fawkes?"

Merlin winced inwardly. "I don't know, off exploring the island I think," he said, trying to ignore the sinking feeling he always felt nowadays when Fawkes was not with him.

Luna nodded as though something had been confirmed. "That should be a sign, Merlin," she said softly, and she gently laid a hand on his shoulder, making him tense. "He's your guide, he is the Old Religion. You should follow his lead more often instead of forging a path on your own. We're all here for you Merlin, Fawkes included."

She left, and despite himself, Merlin turned his head to watch her departure, following the sight of her blonde curls until they were long gone in the distance. Was she right?

His shoulder had felt painfully empty the last few weeks without the familiar weight of Fawkes there. He seldom came with Merlin anywhere, and if he did, all he would do was stare at Merlin with great sad eyes, as though gazing upon a man on his deathbed. It pained Merlin to be separate from him; the past several months had created a bond between them so deep Merlin had been entirely unaware of until Fawkes had left. It was as though a part of him was gone.

He'd felt so abandoned by the Old Religion recently, and Fawkes leaving him was just further proof of it. Was it simply because he was willfully ignoring its teachings for his own personal reasons?

He sighed and buried his head deep in his hands. Luna was right. She knew him a lot better than anyone else had in centuries. He should follow her advice, he knew he should. But why was he so reluctant?

Just then, when he felt as trapped as he ever had, a feeling washed upon him so strong, he almost gasped aloud. It was magic; magic that seemed as old as the earth itself. Even as he tried to catch his breath he felt words resonate through his mind, as clear and as loud as if they had been spoken right next to him.

"Malcolm."

Merlin jumped as he recognised the voice of the dragon from the courtyard. She was calling him? Why?

"Malcolm," the voice repeated this time a little more urgently.

Merlin sighed before getting to his feet; he knew from experience that it was definitely not a good idea to ignore a dragon. He turned and headed back to the castle, walking as slowly as he could.

He had always thought he'd be overjoyed to discover another Old dragon, have someone to talk to other than Kilgharrah and Aithusa, but if anything, this was worse. He knew her future, he knew what would happen to her. He wandered vaguely whether this was how Kilgharrah always felt, knowing bits and pieces of Merlin's future and having to do nothing.

And how much did she really know? If she was as wise as the other dragons he knew, if not wiser, then how long would it take for her to figure out their true purpose, if she hadn't already?

In order to get the spell they needed, the truth would have to come out eventually, should he tell Niamhrach before he told the High Council where they came from? Would it help them be trusted? He couldn't lie to her, even if he wanted to. She made him uncomfortable, far more uncomfortable than Kilgharrah ever had, and that was saying something. He felt exposed in front of her, like his soul was bared and easily read.

He entered through the front gates, now recognised by the Red Guard, of whom he was still distrustful, despite knowing their support of Morgana taking over Camelot was still far in the future, and proceeded immediately to the courtyard where Niamhrach lay, her emerald scales glinting in the sun.

He froze for a moment, looking at her, noting randomly how similar the colour of her scales was to Harry's eyes; the same unnatural green that seemed to glow even without light. It was like the Old Religion was trying to make a point.

As soon as he passed through the archway leading to the courtyard, Niamhrach lifted her massive head and turned it towards him. She almost seemed to smile as she saw him.

"My lord," she said, bowing her head slightly, keeping her silver eyes on his face.

Unsure how to respond, he moved closer, avoiding her penetrating stare, the stare that seemed to remind him of Luna's. He could feel her gaze on him, following him until he was standing right in front of her. It was then he noticed the other presence in the courtyard. It was the Druid from before, the elderly woman known as Rhona. She looked disapproving as he drew closer, and placed her hand on her hips and scowled. Empty potion bottles and heavy books were littered at her feet.

"So he comes," she said dramatically. "The only Dragonlord on the island finally comes to see the only dragon on the island. What kept you?"

"I've been … thinking," Merlin said, uncomfortably aware of his inability to lie to Niamhrach, and not wanting to risk her perhaps notice any lies he told to others. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" Rhona asked. "Sorry? How can any Dragonlord wish to deliberately avoid the company of a dragon, especially one so distinguished as she?"

"Now, Rhona," Niamhrach said, immediately stopping the Druid in full flow. "I sense young Malcolm is troubled and wished to be alone. There is no fault in that."

Rhona didn't look convinced. "There is fault in neglecting one's duties," she said, hands still on her hips. She took a step closer to Merlin, her scowl deepening. "Do you see her injury, Malcolm? Do you not sense her pain? How could you forsake her? You are a Dragonlord. You have responsibilities as well as gifts. You should do well to remember that."

"I have not forgotten my duties-" Merlin protested, but Rhona cut across him.

"Too busy to tend to the dragons, it's the case everywhere. They are your kin, and all your kind do nowadays is forget your fate to watch over them. Your kind have become lazy and careless. It is time for the Dragonlords to remember who they are supposed to be instead of being neglectful, selfish and too self-absorbed to tend to their duties."

She finished, and turned back to Niamhrach, gesturing to her leg.

"You see this? Four months on and still Lady Niamhrach suffers. There is only so much Druid magic can do. Perhaps you can fare better, my lord." She gave him one last scowl, gathered up her things and stormed off, muttering to herself about wasteful youths.

Merlin was left alone with the dragon, and found himself unable to look into her eyes. Instead, he looked down upon her injury, and examined it gently. It looked like a long gash had been cut there, and had only barely healed over, the scales around the wound were faded and flaking away, as though a disease was spreading outwards.

"How did this happen?" Merlin asked, running his hands over the wound as lightly as he could. "Who would do this to a dragon?"

"There is unrest everywhere, young Dragonlord," she replied. "Have you not seen it in the outside world? Have you not sensed it? Camelot and neighbouring kingdoms are increasingly closing in on magic and its followers."

Merlin looked up, surprised. Surely the Purge had not started already?

"I don't understand," he said, confused.

"King Uther has never been a friend to magic," said Niamhrach, "though never an enemy either. In recent years he has become far less tolerant. Magical peoples are leaving the city; they no longer feel safe. Some are being persecuted and discriminated against; they fear what will happen to them in the future. A single spark may be all that's needed to launch a full out war upon sorcerers."

Merlin bent his head over the injury to try and conceal his shock. He'd always assumed the hatred of magic had not begun until after Ygraine's death. Was it possible it had started earlier? Was Camelot pre-Purge really as ideal as he'd always thought? The mention of King Uther also startled him; were they really this close to his own time that Uther was already king?

"My injury was sustained when I happened across a group of Camelot Knights as I was searching for initiates," Niamhrach continued. "I was sport for them. All respect for the ancient ways is being forgotten. I was little more than a dumb animal."

"But didn't you fight back?" Merlin asked.

"I do not kill humans," Niamhrach said dismissively. "The taking of life is not something I condone easily. I am a preserver of the Old Religion, not some violent animal that slaughters indiscriminately. I called out for help, for any Dragonlord nearby to assist me, but none came."

"Why not?" asked Merlin, still confused. This was the time of the peak of the Old Religion wasn't it? Why was everything already so messed up?

Niamhrach bent her head to look at him. "There are far less Dragonlords than once there were," she answered. "Too much rivalry and in-fighting has taken place; their numbers are severely depleted. And those there are do not take their roles as seriously as before. But surely you know this? You are of a dying kind, Malcolm, but I sense you are one of the few who honour the old ways."

Merlin looked away awkwardly from those great eyes. "Not the way Rhona sees it."

Niamhrach sighed. "Druidess Rhona is a wondrous healer and skilful sorceress, yet she has yet to master the true meaning of the peace of the Old Religion. She is jealous, young Malcolm, that is all. Do not heed her words. I can see the truth of your suffering."

"Jealous? What of?" Merlin asked, hurriedly trying to steer the conversation away from himself.

"Your abilities," she answered. "She is the daughter of a Dragonlord, and cares a great deal for my race."

"I've never heard of a female Dragonlord before," Merlin said.

"That is because they do not exist," said the dragon, sounding intrigued by his lack of knowledge. "The ability passes from father to son only, and Dragonlords seldom father daughters; it is extremely rare in fact. If they do, the child possesses the magical abilities of her father, and an aptitude for magic and love and sense of kinship with dragons, but never the ability to control them in the way their fathers could. Daughters of Dragonlords usually become priestesses, though Rhona declined my offer of initiation because she wished to involve herself solely in the care of dragons like her forebears."

"I never knew that," said Merlin, thinking back to everything he had studied, and realising what she said was true. There was little written information about Dragonlords after the Purge, and few names of Dragonlords were ever recorded, so the lack of female names had never appeared to be noteworthy. In fact, he knew very little about Dragonlords in general. Gaius had only been able to tell him the basic facts, and he'd never had the opportunity to ask Balinor. It suddenly made him very sad to realise how little he knew about his own race; he was the last of his kind, and he barely knew anything of his own history. He'd never asked Kilgharrah about it, he'd never seen the point, and Kilgharrah, his usual cryptic self, had not seen fit to offer any information even if Merlin had asked. Perhaps here was the opportunity to change that.

"It is all that Rhona can think of when she sees you," said Niamhrach. "She has abilities greater than that of her fellow sorceresses, and has great healing magic for dragons and a greater understanding of us than most, but despite this, all she sees is her failure to live up to her forebears."

Niamhrach stared at Merlin as she said this, as though trying to make a point, but Merlin looked away. What was she trying to say? That Merlin was blind to his own blessings because he was too desperate to bring back peace?

Niamhrach seemed to notice his mood, and did not continue.

"Can you assist me, Malcolm," she asked, her voice sounding pained. "Can you ease my pain?"

Merlin said nothing, and stretched out his hand. "Hālian. Ece gestillan."

He released the magic, and the wound glowed golden for a few moments before the mist vanished and the leg was once more visible, though no more healed than before.

"I'm sorry," Merlin said, panting slightly with the effort. "I can't do any more."

"The pain is somewhat more bearable," said the dragon. "I thank you."

"But I didn't do anything."

"You have powerful magic, young one," she said. "But no magic is powerful enough to affect a dragon completely, even a Dragonlord's. Your efforts are appreciated."

She eyed him again. "But perhaps your ill-confidence in yourself may also be a reason for your limited success."

Merlin looked back at her. "Ill-confidence?"

"I know why you have isolated yourself from your friends, and from me," she said. "You have a task to fulfil, that I can sense. You do not have confidence in your goals, and you do not have confidence in yourself. You shall never succeed in this manner."

"I know what I must do," said Merlin firmly. "I do."

"You know it, but you do not believe in it," said Niamhrach. "And you do not believe in yourself. Your friends are there to help you, Malcolm. Do not dismiss them, or you shall most surely fail in your task."

"What do you know of my task?" Merlin asked, a lot more rudely than he meant, but Niamhrach paid no notice.

"More than you think, Malcolm," she said, settling her head on the ground. "I am not so old nor wise for nothing. There is seldom that happens in this world that I do not know of. And the birth of someone as powerful as you is something I should have noticed, but did not. Therefore, I know that you are not of this time, and your lonely and broken spirit is a result of something greater than being displaced in time."

Merlin looked up quickly, but Niamhrach just chuckled. "I am the one who is injured, young Dragonlord, yet I sense it is you who is hurting more. It does not need to be this way. Let the Old Religion guide you."

"I fear the Old Religion has forsaken me," Merlin said. "I can no longer hear its words and guidance."

"Because you do not listen," said Niamhrach, smiling. "The Old Religion never forsakes us, even when we think it does. It shall always be there, waiting for us."

From behind Niamhrach, there was a soft cry, and Fawkes appeared, swooping out from behind a folded wing, shining brightly, even next to Niamhrach's brilliance. He circled the courtyard for a moment, before coming to land on Merlin's shoulder, and rubbing his face against Merlin's.

Merlin looked at him, and for a moment, felt oddly tearful as he lifted a hand to stroke him.

"Even the greatest man can be blinded to what he does not wish to see," said Niamhrach, laying down her head and closing her eyes. "Now, if you will excuse me, I wish to rest. I shall speak to you another time, Malcolm."

Merlin left the courtyard, Fawkes swaying on his shoulder, thinking over the dragon's words. Was she right?

All his mind had been the last few weeks was a painful mess of guilt, shattered hopes and misplaced optimism, and he felt trapped, lost in his own mind. He couldn't see a way out of it all, despite his presence here for a spell to magically fix everything. He knew everything wouldn't be as simple as they were saying; get the spell and wipe out the past. The very idea seemed wrong to him.

But here, with Fawkes, a small warming feeling was coming into his heart. Something that was keeping the worst of the darkness at bay. But only just.

Fawkes cried out gently, and nuzzled him once more, but Merlin was still not able to see the light ahead. He knew he should trust in Fawkes, trust in the Old Religion, but his heart would not allow him to.

After what seemed like hours of wandering the corridors, he found himself to the Great Hall where most of the island's residents were settling down to their evening meal. As usual, everyone looked up and began whispering excitedly when Merlin appeared with Fawkes on his shoulder. But Merlin did not have eyes for them.

He travelled down the length of the room until he found Harry and the others all seated together. They looked up as he approached. Merlin's eyes sought Luna's, and she smiled as she saw Fawkes.

"May I join you?" Merlin asked, and everyone grinned.

"About time, mate," said Ron. "We were beginning to think we were going to have to spend our entire time here on our own."

"Not entirely," said Merlin, trying to smile back. "But I'm just …"

"We get it," said Ginny, laying her hand over his from across the table and smiling. "You've got your own issues, and it can't be easy for you being here. But remember you're not alone, Merlin. Don't be as great an idiot as Harry usually is."

"Oi!" objected Harry, but he too smiled at Merlin, Their eyes met, and Merlin nodded, seeing the concern there and berating himself for letting them worry about him. He was supposed to be the ancient one with all the answers, the strong one with centuries of experience; he shouldn't be acting like some angtsy teenager. All six of them were often more wise than he was, even Ron.

The table fell into easy conversation after that, each of them talking of the things they had encountered on the island.

"It's nothing like Hogwarts," Ron was saying enthusiastically. "I can actually learn things here! These people don't give a damn if you don't remember all the theory, or take ages to learn something. It's all about the process rather than the end result. It's all a bit too spiritualistic and stuff for me to understand properly, but it's great. Just being here with all this Old Magic around, well, it's making me feel more powerful and confident in Old Magic than I've ever been."

"There are so many different types of people here," Ginny was saying. "From all over. And there's loads of kids too. And not everyone here can use Old Magic either, especially some of the younger kids. But I've been learning some potions off them; you know, real childish stuff like how to turn someone's hair into worms. Fred and George are going to be so jealous-"

"-it's incredible," Hermione was saying. "The amount of knowledge in that library that's just lying around! It makes me so sad to think …" she trailed off to make sure no one was listening in, "well, all I'm saying is I wish I could take some copies back with me when we leave. I mean, we can't just pretend all of this didn't happen. Don't we have a duty to remember it?"

"As long as no one notices, I don't see why you can't copy some of the texts," Merlin said. "We can't mess up the timeline."

"That's what's confusing me," said Draco, leaning in. "Doesn't our very presence change history?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "When we did the whole Time Turner thing, technically, we were only playing out things that had already happened, weren't we? I mean, we weren't really changing the past, were we? I was saved by my own Patronus, and I went back in time and cast it only because I knew I'd already done it, right? So how do we know if we're doing what we're supposed to be doing? That what we're doing now isn't changing the future but is playing out what was supposed to happen?"

"Kilgharrah explained it all," said Hermione, sounding exasperated. "Don't you remember?"

"I never understand anything Kilgharrah says," Ron answered. "Bloody lizard never makes any sense."

"Kilgharrah?"

They turned to see the young Druid they'd met on their first day, Cenric, was standing there. He looked awed.

"You've spoken with Kilgharrah, the Great Dragon?" he asked, barely concealing his excitement.

"No, not exactly," said Merlin hurriedly intervening. "We've heard of him, and the things he says. His wisdom is too far above us to comprehend."

"He is truly the greatest of the dragons, save Lady Niamhrach of course," he added hurriedly, as though afraid she could hear him from the other end of the castle. "I saw him once as a child, he came here with Niamhrach during the last initiation. Magnificent!"

"Yeah," said Merlin coolly; he still had not fully forgiven Kilgharrah for lying to him about the spell. Then he was hit by a sudden thought. "He doesn't come here often does he?" He was suddenly worried he might stumble upon him and change the timeline.

"Not often," said Cenric, shaking his head. "We are not so lucky." He looked at Merlin with a lot more interest. "I heard you were a Dragonlord, is that right?"

"Yes," said Merlin, still somewhat unaccustomed to acknowledging such a fact to others; he'd never lived in an era where he hadn't had to explain what a Dragonlord was.

"Incredible," said Cenric, his eyes lit up. "I find their stories so fascinating, but they don't come here as often as they used to."

"How often is that?" Merlin asked, suddenly wary about encountering other Dragonlords.

"Oh, every other month or so," said Cenric, waving his hand. "One of them used to live here all year round though. But with all the unrest going on, they're spending more time away from the island. The dragons are restless, and the Dragonlords are rushed off their feet. Not that Rhona believes it; the way she talks you'd think all they do is lie around all day doing nothing. Some do, I suppose, but mostly they're trying to keep the peace between the kingdoms. Each ruler is becoming much stricter on magic."

"Really?" asked Hermione, and she looked curiously at Merlin. "I didn't think magic was illegal."

"It isn't," said Cenric. "It just people are starting to become a lot more distrustful of it. Events in Camelot are making things difficult."

Merlin glanced at the others. "What events?"

Cenric glanced around nervously. "The rumour goes that a High Priestess is living in Camelot and acting as an advisor to the king," he said. "The people aren't happy with her influence with the king, but Uther does not listen. It is creating a great deal of resentment amongst the people; Uther issues laws that restrict the freedoms of sorcerers, yet he allows her into his most secret councils. There is something going on there that the High Council will not tell us. They hide themselves away in the Inner Sanctum, and only Melian and Findan leave it. I don't even know which High Priestess has left; they're trying to hush it all up-"

Cenric was interrupted by a shout from a nearby group of friends, and he smiled and nodded, before turning to join them. Merlin looked around at the others, a grim expression on his face.

"Nimueh," he said from behind gritted teeth. "She's already wormed her way into Uther's court seeking power and prestige. She may already have cast the spell that will allow the Queen to conceive the child that will kill her and begin the Purge: Arthur."

He ran his hands over his face. "We're not years before the Purge, not decades. We might only be mere months, weeks … " he looked up and around at everyone sitting there, smiling and laughing with their friends. "This place could be destroyed any day."

A solemn silence fell around the table, and everybody's face fell. Ginny looked up and down the table.

"Is there nothing we can do?" she asked, the sadness in her voice. "These people … they're just going to die?"

"Remember what Kilgharrah said when I asked him how far before my time we were headed?" Merlin said, not answering her question. "Not as far as you may think. If Ygraine's already pregnant, or is going to be shortly, I'm going to be born within the next year or so."

"That's a weird thought," said Ron, after a moment's silence. "Baby Merlin …"

"This isn't a joke, Ron," hissed Hermione. She turned to look at Merlin, a knowing look on her face. "You know you can't do anything, right, Merlin?" she asked desperately. "You can't try and change things. You can't go rushing off to Camelot to try and stop the Queen from dying in childbirth. The Purge has to happen, it's already happened from your point of view, and we can't change that."

"Why not?" asked Merlin, though he knew deep down she was right.

"Things happened for a reason," she said, sounding emotional, and everyone else nodded. "As hard as it is, you have to accept that. And besides, if the Purge didn't happen, Balinor would never have had to leave Camelot, would never have hidden with your mother and you would never have been born. There are more things to think about than just saving the people on this island."

Merlin looked up and watched Cenric from down the table, laughing and looking so young and care-free. "I know," he said heavily. "I know I can't change anything, but … we're living amongst ghosts, Hermione. These people will die, it's only a matter of time."

"Everyone dies, Merlin," said Luna. "But they shouldn't be forgotten, and they shouldn't die for nothing. It's your duty to remember them and make sure it wasn't in vain by saving the people in the future."

"So we should be sacrificing someone like Cenric for Harry's uncle?" Merlin asked. "Where's the justice?"

"You need to have faith, Merlin," she answered. "That's the only way any of this will make any sense."

Merlin sighed, and looked down at his untouched plate. That was easier said than done.

Fawkes crooned softly on his shoulder, and Merlin raised his hand to him. He needed the Old Religion more than anything these days.

At that moment, a great trumpeting sound rang throughout the castle and every Druid leapt to their feet looking afraid. Merlin too jumped up, though he sensed no danger.

"What's going on?" he asked, grabbing Cenric as Druids began to stream from the hall.

"There's been an attack on our people," Cenric said, his face creased in worry. "Refugees are crossing the lake even now. It's the fourth one this month. We're always being attacked these days."

"I have healing experience," Merlin said, still confused at all these references to violence even before the beginning of the Purge. "Can I offer any assistance?"

"We need all the assistance we can get," said Rhona, suddenly appearing from behind Cenric. She scowled at Merlin. "Make yourself useful, boy. Darkness is falling all around us. We can no longer take the Old Religion for granted."

She hurried off, and Merlin followed immediately, mind still buzzing. He was so confused. The time before the Purge wasn't supposed to be like this. Had everything he'd always believed been a lie?

Chapter Text

Merlin stared in disbelief at the steady stream of refugees that were slowly making their way into the castle from the steep bank that descended towards the lake. They were huddled together, travel-worn, carrying all their possessions with them, clinging to small children, nursing wounds and bearing their elderly in slings. It was a sight familiar to Merlin, but one that he was shocked to see.

This wasn't right. Gaius and others had always told him of the Golden Years, the time before the Purge when magic was freely accepted and people lived in peace and harmony; it was this ideal he had struggled for so long to achieve in Camelot.

But looking at the harrowed faces of the refugees, he could see that this was anything but the Golden Age he had envisioned.

The refugees began to settle in the main hall, beds were summoned to make them more comfortable, and food and water was dished out by the Druids in voluminous quantities. Merlin moved here and there through the crowd tending to those who were injured. Many bore sword wounds, others were suffering from malnutrition, or were riddled with disease from the unsanitary conditions they had been living in on their long trek here, and Merlin was kept busy whipping up potions and magically knitting flesh and bone back together. But while his hands whizzed back and forth, his mind wandered. How was this happening?

Surely the Purge hadn't started already? No, Cenric had said magic was still technically legal. It was however, apparently condemned, and its practitioners ostracised. But why? Everything Merlin had ever known about history, from before his own time at least, seemed to be crumbling around him. Was anything he knew about the past true?

Harry and the others helped out where they could, mostly just carrying plates of hot stew to the sick and weak or helping them wash away the grim and dirt of the road. Ginny was with a group of children who all seemed to have lost their parents trying to get them to eat something. She was gentle with the children, but when she looked away, Merlin caught the look of anger on her face, an anger that was mirrored in his own heart. The people here were old, young, or too weak to fight; who would have attacked them, and why?

Just as he was thinking this, the doors to the hall opened, and Findan and Melian, High Priest and Priestess both entered. As was usual when either of them entered a room, the chattering in the hall immediately was dimmed, as everyone lowered their voices in reverence of the power in their presence. Refugees and resident Druids alike bowed as they passed. They stopped in their stride once or twice to speak to the haggard men and women who reached out to them desperately but they did not linger, moving on with grim expressions on their faces. Merlin followed them with his eyes; he could tell they were seriously troubled. Did they suspect the true extent of what Nimueh was doing in Camelot?

Hurriedly finishing the potion he was mixing and giving it to a grateful old man, he quickly made his way over to where Findan and Melian were walking, picking his way carefully through the mess of beds, crouched figures and helping Druids. But before he could reach them, a strange feeling came over him.

He paused, trying to figure out what had caused the strange surge in his magic he had just felt. His very being seemed to be tingling. The doors to the hall opened, and a final group of refugees entered, but this time, accompanying them were several younger men, differentiated from those around them by the fact they stood strong and tall with swords strapped to their waists and were wearing clothes that were evidently of superior make to the refugees: dark robes, each with a golden dragon embroidered on the right sleeve. Merlin froze, and he went cold all over. These men were Dragonlords.

He watched in amazement like some awed child as they helped settle the refugees with some gentle words before spotting Findan and Melian and making their way to them. He had never, with the exception of Balinor, met with others of his own kind before, and for a moment, Merlin was actually intimidated. He hadn't expected to feel their presence so strongly. But he overcame it quickly and resumed his path towards Findan and Melian, determined to find out what had happened.

He came to a halt just short of the High Council members, and pretended to be examining a sleeping refugee; he suddenly realised he actually had no right to be involved in these sorts of discussions in this time period, something he would have to get used to again.

"Lord Eldron," said Melian to the apparent leader of the Dragonlords as he approached, a man with a touch of grey in his hair and beard, though still looked as if he was in the prime of his life. "What has happened to these people? What brings you and your companions to this Isle?"

"Lady Melian," he said, bowing his head sharply. "These people were expelled from their homes in Cenred's kingdom and told to settle elsewhere; the man has been increasingly harsh on sorcerers as of late. They went to Camelot for refuge, but were turned away by Uther. He too is beginning to distrust our people. They were attacked by a patrol from Camelot when they left to come here. Myself and my companions were alerted to the situation by the dragon Fenlaron who had a vision of the attack when we were with him. We rushed to their aid immediately."

"And we are grateful you did," said Findan, smiling slightly, though he had exchanged a dark look with Melian during the Dragonlord Eldron's speech. "There were no deaths, I hope?"

"No," said Eldron, his face hard. "But it is only a matter of time until one of the kingdoms declares war on magic itself. Dark times are coming, the dragons have foreseen it."

"We have all foreseen it," said Melian, and turned her head slightly, causing Merlin to dip his back towards the man he was supposed to be tending to. "But as long as one light still burns, all is not lost. We are safe on this island."

"And for how much longer will that light burn, my Lady?" asked Eldron, sounding sceptical. "We cannot evade this evil for long. The world is ready to go up in flames."

"And we shall fight it," said Findan firmly. "This island has never fallen before."

"There is a first time for everything," said Eldron darkly. "Until this day I had never seen such misery in the hearts of those on the sacred isle. I had never before thought I could see unhappiness in these halls. The kings of the Five Kingdoms are turning against us, and I fear they shall not rest until there are none of us left."

"The Old Religion shall remain strong, even if there are none left to worship it," said Melian. "It is our duty to ensure that it does."

Eldron smirked. "And how are we supposed to keep this torch burning from beyond the grave?"

Again, Melian turned her head slightly towards Merlin, this time, a knowing smile on her face. "We must simply pass on the torch to the future."

Merlin froze as she said this, but none of the others seemed to notice anything.

"You are welcome to rest here, Lords Eldron, Berian and Valos," said Findan, and the three Dragonlords nodded. "We shall no doubt need your help again in the near future. Now, we must attend to those who require our assistance."

The small group dispersed to tend to the sick and Merlin sat back and thought for a moment on what he had heard. Again, the realisations that the world was falling to pieces before him shocked him. He suddenly felt a wave of despair; how was he ever going to restore peace in the present when even the past he had thought was peaceful had never been so?

The man he had been pretending to examine woke up and was looking at him strangely, so he decided to move on, drifting between the injured, sick and weak in a daze, only his superior healing skills preventing him from making mistakes in his poorly concentrated state of mind. Harry met his eyes once or twice, but Merlin looked away again. Fawkes sat on his shoulder solemnly, only moving to offer some comfort to a weary traveller.

After Fawkes had proven to be a welcome distraction to the group of delighted but weary children, Merlin left him there and went over to one of the tables piled against a wall to try and collect more stew for them. When he reached the table he stopped as he noticed the Dragonlord from earlier standing there, finishing off a plate of stew of his own. It was evident by the way he was frantically scraping the bottom of the bowl with his spoon that he was just as hungry and weak as the refugees, though hiding it all for their sakes. He eyed Merlin, who was standing there, struck dumb, before he remembered himself.

He approached the table, feeling the man's eyes on him, and bustled about fetching bowls and dishing out several helpings of stew, trying to avoid the man's gaze. He almost thought he had succeeded, and was just about to take the food back to the children when the man suddenly stopped him by holding out his arm.

"Do I know you, boy?" Eldron asked, searching his face.

"No," said Merlin quickly. "I am only recently arrived on the island. We came from very far away."

"Are you certain?" Eldron asked, taking a step closer. "You seem familiar."

Merlin's heart leapt for a moment, before he forced himself to remain calm.

"That does not seem possible. I am certain we have not met."

"It's not your face," said Eldron, frowning. "No … but … something else. Your presence … your magic. I feel like I have been in its presence before."

"I don't know what you mean," said Merlin, though his heart was racing. Did this man know something about him being from the future? Or was there some sort of similarity in Merlin's magic to that of Balinor's? He'd never much noticed magical family resemblances before. Was he just sensing his Dragonlord abilities?

His question was answered a moment later when, without warning, Eldron seized Merlin's arm before Merlin could push him back and his eyes burned golden. As soon as Eldron's hand made contact with the exposed flesh on Merlin's arm, his vision went blank suddenly, and he felt a great surge of his magic that made his heart soar and his soul sing with magical energy. A split second image of a glorious scarlet dragon breathing fire filled his vision before he was jerked back to the Great Hall on the Isle of the Blessed, Eldron watching him with a small satisfied smile on his face.

"I knew it," he murmured, letting go of Merlin's arm. "You are a Dragonlord."

Merlin was still recovering. "What was that?"

"A simple method of testing my theory," said Eldron. "Our souls recognised each other as kin. Welcome to the Isle of the Blessed, my brother."

Merlin tried to compose himself, but his body was still trembling from the power of the magic. He had always known Dragonlord magic to be powerful, but aside from his commands to Kilgharrah and Aithusa, he had never used any of it, having no teacher, and no surviving books on the subject with which to study. He appreciated fully for the first time the power that resided within him; he could hardly believe how untapped it was. In all his years of studying Old Magic, he thought he knew his own power and strength, but now it emerged he had a whole other reserve within him even more powerful.

Eldron laughed. "You cannot have met many Dragonlords, brother," he said.

Merlin shook his head. "No. My father died when I was young, and he never had the chance to teach me anything."

"Too many have the same story," nodded Eldron. "The Old Ways are dying out amongst our kin, knowledge being lost as fathers die without passing it on. The dragons are ever more withdrawn and do not teach the way they used to. I fear for us."

"Why is that?" Merlin asked.

Eldron shook his head. "The world seems be to falling into ruin," he said sadly. "We seem doomed to be forgotten. I suppose that is what comes from being an exclusively oral society; without the words being written down, we cannot pass it on easily. The dragons are our sole repositories of knowledge, and if anything happens to them …" he sighed. "It is a sad affair."

Now Merlin had an explanation for why so little was written about the Dragonlords, but it did not make him feel any better. Here was just more proof of the damage Uther and his tirade had inflicted.

"What is your name, brother?" Eldron asked.

"Malcolm," Merlin said, somewhat surprised that he was able to lie to another Dragonlord when he could not do the same to a dragon. Eldron nodded.

"Well met, brother Malcolm," he said. "I hope we can have opportunity to talk further. If we are doomed to die out, I wish to pass at least some of what I know onto those who know nothing. You deserve to know all that your forefathers did, and what is condemned to be lost forever if the world continues as it is."

Merlin nodded mutely, and Eldron wandered off. Merlin watched him as he met with the other Dragonlords, feeling something strange within him. He suppressed a quick smile. This world may fall, and everything good be lost, but at least he could preserve some of that information. He had the chance to learn from an actual Dragonlord.

That was worth something at least.

"Your skills are improving daily," said the Druid teacher to Harry, the afternoon after the attack. "The magic is strong within you. There are some to whom magic comes as easily as breathing, but they are rare. You appear to be one of them. Magic seems to be seamlessly moulded to your very soul."

"Um, thanks?" said Harry, blushing as the other half a dozen students in the room turned to stare at him, some jealously. As usual, he'd spent the day roaming the halls of the castle and joining in on whatever lesson took his fancy. This class, teaching magical methods of concealment had looked appealing, and Harry had thought it would come in handy in the future when he wanted to hide his identity without Polyjuice Potion. It was the next best thing to being an Animagus. And apparently, he'd successfully managed to transform his appearance.

The teacher nodded, and a hint of a smile broke out on his wizened face. "You have a great gift, young one," he said. "Use it well."

"I'll try," he answered, still shifting uncomfortably.

The lesson did not last much longer, and Harry soon found himself back in the corridors wandering aimlessly, waiting for the bell that signalled mealtimes. It was getting late, and he was starving. Food was now rationed to allow for the newest influx of refugees, since bandits on the roads were making food shipments more dangerous. Apparently, Gamp's Laws of Elemental Transfiguration applied even to Old Magic.

The corridors were deserted, everyone still in lessons, their rooms or the library. He listened at the doorways of every classroom, hearing incantations of every variety and feeling the pulse of Old Magic that came with each one. It was oddly peaceful, like being in the midst of all this magic was like entering a warm room from the cold. It was welcoming, it was familiar. It was different than roaming the corridors of Hogwarts in the day time; lessons here were for all ages and abilities, voluntary, and above all cherished. There were no essays here, no tests or detentions. People were here solely for the joy of learning.

He paused outside of a particularly rowdy classroom, and stared in through the open door. The class inside were practicing what looked like ice magic; the floor looked like an ice rink, and students were stumbling everywhere, snow falling from the roof and ice fogging up the windows. Harry couldn't help but laugh as the teacher fell flat on her face trying to restrain the magic coming from her unruly pupils, who by now were having too much fun making snow to listen to her warnings.

It was then he noticed that Malfoy was also in the room, and he couldn't help but stare as he saw how happy he looked. His face was pink from both exertion and the cold within the room, but he laughed as his pale eyes glowed gold and streams of ice flew from his fingertips. Harry had never seen him like that before. At school, he'd been a bully, who only ever laughed in derision or arrogance, and at Grimmauld Place he'd been sullen and guarded around everybody except Merlin. Seeing Malfoy laugh so joyfully, it was like seeing Aunt Petunia moving into the Shrieking Shack.

The great bell sounded for dinner, and the lesson wound up, the students coming from the room shivering but giggling, even the Druid teacher looked as though she was struggling not to pick up a handful of snow and throw it, something Harry could never imagine McGonagall ever doing. Malfoy came out last, face still pink.

"Having fun?" Harry asked, but Malfoy frowned.

"Who are you?"

"Oh," said Harry, realising his appearance was still in its altered state. "Hang on. Hweorfan."

His eyes burned, and he felt his skin tingle as he took on his former appearance. As soon as Malfoy saw who it was, all hilarity drained from his face.

"Oh, it's you, Potter." He began walking off down the corridor, reluctantly keeping pace with Harry. "You just learn that?"

"Yeah," said Harry, touching his cheeks, which felt a little raw. "I think I need some more practice though."

"Looks good to me."

"It's really hard," said Harry, not revealing what his instructor had just told him. "Apprently, Metamorphagi are around in this time too, but they're called Faceshifters. They're people who're born able to use this spell naturally. That means Metamorphagal abilities are Old Magic."

"But I thought Tonks can't use Old Magic?"

"She can," said Harry. "Merlin tested her, but she didn't want to learn right away, said she was too busy with Teddy and all. But this means she's probably got a really good shot of being really good at it, and so does Teddy. She's been using Old Magic all her life without realising! That'll be something to tell her when we go back."

"Yeah, when we go back," Malfoy mumbled, looking down at the floor.

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but was stopped when they entered the Great Hall. The place was filled with Druid scholars and refugees alike. Harry was unable to make out their conversations, but he could guess the subject by the look on everyone's faces.

He and Malfoy found their usual spot, seeing that the others sans Merlin were already seated there. They too looked grim.

He slipped into a seat next to Ginny, and looked down the table.

"Everyone looks so defeated," he said. "Like they've already given up."

"Most of them have," said Ginny, sadly. "I was helping get them all settled, you should hear what they've been through."

"It's awful," said Hermione. "We've come from a time of violent intolerance, to a time of even greater magical intolerance."

"Yeah, I thought Merlin had said it shouldn't be like this?" said Ron.

"Merlin is realising that not everything was as it seemed," said Luna. "He's seeing true realities now."

"Where is Merlin anyway?" asked Harry.

Hermione pointed to another table, where he was just able to make out Merlin seated at a table with three other men, the Dragonlords that had arrived with the refuges the previous day.

"He's never met another Dragonlord before, not since his own father," said Luna, "he wants to learn as much as he can."

"Isn't that dangerous?" Ron asked. "I mean, we know it's not long until the Purge. His dad will be around, won't he? Those guys might know him. Isn't there a risk he'll bump into him and change something important?"

"I don't think so," said Hermione, though she looked uncertain. "He's magically altered his appearance, so even if he does run into his father, Balinor shouldn't recognise him in the future."

"But wouldn't he be able to … sense it or something?"

"I'm not sure," said Hermione. "I don't even think Merlin knows."

"We can't deny him the chance to be around others of his own kind," said Harry. "Once we go back to the future, he'll never get to talk to another Dragonlord again. He deserves this."

The others seemed to agree, and moved on to other topics of conversation, but Harry's thoughts were still with Merlin. Maybe this would be good for him, talking to them and learning Dragonlord magic. Perhaps then he'd realise coming back to the past wasn't such a bad idea.

"You never told us where you are from?" one of the Dragonlords, Lord Berian said to him. He was younger than the other two, and from what Merlin could tell, the friendliest too.

Merlin was about to respond with the truth, but stopped himself. If there was a chance this information could get back to Balinor, however faint, he had to be careful. No one could know there was a Dragonlord from Ealdor, at least, not for the next couple of decades.

"A village far to the north," he responded with instead. "It's called … Hogsmeade." Hogsmeade wouldn't be founded for another three hundred years or so, surely this was a safe answer?

"I have not heard of it."

"It's very small," said Merlin. He went on, utilising every skill he'd acquired in the last thirteen centuries about lying convincingly. "Almost no one lives there. My … my great-grandfather was a Dragonlord from one of the Dragonlord tribes. He settled there, and his descendants live on. But we don't have many dragons, and so our skills are not very advanced."

"I can see that," said Lord Valos, a battle-hardened man with many scars across his face. He eyed Merlin closely. Merlin could see he was a man who did not trust easily. "You seem to know little of our ways. Where is your sigil, boy?" he asked, gesturing to the golden dragon embroidered on his own left sleeve. "There's not a Dragonlord worth his salt who goes out without one. It is a mark of honour, of pride. Have you ever even encountered a dragon before?"

"Well, there's Niamhrach-"

"Aside from her."

Merlin thought hard about how to answer this. In addition to the lack of records of the names of Dragonlords, there were few names of Old dragons listed throughout history, and of the few names he could bring to mind, he knew very little about them. "Well, there's one," he said vaguely. "I encountered him a few years ago near my village. He was frightening the livestock, and I stopped him, but I never got his name."

Lord Berian looked thoughtful for a moment. "Up north, you say? Bothering livestock? Was he by chance a sky-blue colour?"

"Yes," said Merlin, uncertainly. "I think he was."

He nodded. "It was probably Fiadhach. He roams those lands, and has little respect for the property of humans. He is younger and more rash than the others."

"Yeah, must have been him," said Merlin, nodding fervently, praising his luck.

"Fiadhach is not the best example of his kind," said Lord Eldron. "He is neither as magnificent, as wise nor as powerful as the others. Kilgharrah is by far the greatest."

"So that's why they call him the Great Dragon?" asked Berian, laughing. "I'd never have guessed!"

"It is no laughing matter, Berian," said Eldron, looking severe. "The dragons are beginning to decline. They are losing their wisdom, their knowledge and becoming ever more akin to wild beasts. Some are beginning to fade, and even die. The world is wasting away. Magic is in decline, and darkness grows in the hearts and minds of men, sorcerers included."

"Eldron is always this pessimistic," said Berian to Merlin. "Don't worry, it's nothing to do with you."

Eldron did not look amused. "And we Dragonlords are heading the same way," he said. "Too many are turning from the Old ways, too many abuse the powers with which they were blessed. We are dying out."

"It appears however, that Dragonlords exist in the north," said Lord Valos, squinting at Merlin. "Perhaps there are more of us than we thought. Perhaps five of the original twelve tribes still exist instead of the four we believed."

"Tribes," sneered Eldron. "What constitutes a tribe? A handful of men?" He turned to Merlin. "The three of us are all that remains of the two eastern tribes numbering a thousand men between them one hundred years ago."

"I had no idea there were so few of us," said Merlin. "I- I had no idea this was going on."

"Yes," said Eldron. "And there appears to be little we can do to prevent our kin from declining further. In a few generations, will there be any of us at all?"

Just one, Merlin thought sadly. One Dragonlord, and one dragon.

As the knowledge of the persecution of sorcerers had shocked him, so did this. From the impression Gaius had always given him he'd believed the Dragonlords to be a thriving culture before Uther's inflicted genocide.

"Your father taught you nothing at all, boy?" asked Valos, and Merlin had to try not be annoyed at the term 'boy'. Even without his actual age being revealed, it was obvious by his physical appearance he was hardly a child.

"No," answered Merlin. "I've commanded a dragon, but nothing else."

"You've never hatched one?"

"No," lied Merlin.

"Never used Dragon Magic?"

"What's that?"

Valos seemed to roll his eyes. "It is supplementing your normal magic with that of a dragon. It makes your spells more powerful. Of course, you must be fully cognizant of this magic, and you must have the respect and blessing of at least one dragon. Then, when in battle, you may use his or her strength when fighting, from whatever distance, by combining your magic. You know how to speak mentally with Druids? Good, it is the same principle. Simply contact the dragon with your mind, and then you will have access to the bond you possess, and they shall allow you access to their strength. This ability is the absolute test of a bond between a dragon and a Dragonlord. Each must have mutual respect and affection for the other."

"Thus, why few Dragonlords can use this ability any more," said Eldron, nodding. "They do not take the time or effort to form this bond with a dragon. They are impatient and expect it to come when they will it to."

"I've never heard of this ability," said Merlin, imagining the possibilities if he could mould his magic with that of Kilgharrah's or Aithusa's. A disquiet came over him as he realised Kilgharrah must have known about this ability all along. Why hadn't he ever offered to teach it to Merlin after all those times it could have been useful to him in the fight against Morgana? This was probably the reason Dragonlords had been dying out; dragons were too bloody secretive when it mattered.

"It is difficult to master," acknowledged Eldron. "But not impossible."

"What other magic is there?"

"Too much to tell," said Eldron, "and most is best discovered on one's own through trial and error. Yet, there are still some things we can teach you. The ability to see into the future at will as a dragon does, with no need for such trivialities as crystals or relying on dreaming the right dream. The ability to see one's own destiny, though this is more a curse than a gift, and we seldom utilise it. The ability to tell when one is lying."

Merlin went cold. "You can tell when someone is lying?"

"Not all the time," he replied, somewhat easing the thumping of Merlin's heart. "It is called Dragonsight. Once you enter that state, you can see lies and deception like they were words on parchment. You can see their motivations, their desires, in essence, their very soul. It is also theoretically possible to control someone's actions by compulsion, but we discourage such invasive methods. It is used for interrogations primarily. There is also a spell to locate someone, any other magical being, in the way dragons can, from whatever distance. Useful for us as nomads; we can always find our kin."

Merlin felt his anger towards Kilgharrah grow. Why hadn't he mentioned this spell when they were looking for Morgana? It would have saved them weeks of fruitless searching.

"What else is there?"

And for a while, Eldron and the others spoke about the various spells they knew, learned from the dragons themselves. Most were merely variations on the spells he already knew, but were made different by Merlin drawing on the Dragonlord magic within himself instead of his normal magic.

"But how can I have normal magic, and Dragonlord magic?" Merlin asked. "Why are the two separate? What's the point in using two different sources?"

"You cannot always use your Dragonlord magic," said Eldron. "To do so, would make you more dragon than human. It would not do for you to lose your humanity in the quest for power. Dragonlord magic is used to complement your own magic, not to replace it. To use it too often would destroy you. Dragons, and their magic, are a gift to us, one that is shared with us in return for our protection of them. To abuse it is to go against our nature, and the consequences are dire."

"Think of it as a tankard of mead," said Berian, grinning. "A drink once in a while is great, but drinking it with every meal would probably kill you."

"Thank you for that analogy, Berian," said Eldron. "It is however, somewhat accurate. You must never get carried away with this magic. Power is too often ubiquitous with corruption."

"You may already have brushed against this power within you before when you cast spells," said Berian. "Have you ever found a spell to be a lot more powerful than how you'd intended to cast it?"

Merlin didn't have to think hard to recall several instances of this sort. Times when he'd reached a power deep within himself more powerful than he had thought possible and surprised even himself with the spell's ferocity. Powerful magic that seemed to be out of his reach at all but his most desperate times.

"You mean, I used-"

"Not used," corrected Eldron. "It sort of … leaked through, and gave power to your spells. The real thing will be far more powerful.

Merlin considered this, long after the subject had changed to news of the attacks and speculation over Uther's motives. He was still thinking about it long after night had fallen and he was back in the room he shared with Harry, Ron and Draco.

He was more powerful than he had ever imagined. He had no idea what he was capable of with Dragon Magic and Dragonlord magic, whatever the differences were between the two.

He had felt so helpless in 1999, unable to do anything but watch and yell at the deaf ears of the Muggles in power. Could this spell do something? With it, could he bring the peace he so desired? Was that the real reason he had been sent to the past?

"Merlin?"

Harry was sitting up in his own bed, looking across at Merlin's. He had one of those infuriating understanding expressions on.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" he asked. "I know it must be great for you to be around those Dragonlords, but it is wise to get too involved? I mean, who knows what they might find out about you if they look too hard."

"I know how to cover my tracks," Merlin answered him. "I've been doing it all my life. I cannot pass up this opportunity to learn. You yourself have learned a great deal on this island, I can sense your power growing every day, likewise for everyone else. There is still something that I can learn, and who better to teach it than my own kin?"

"What sort of magic can they teach you?" Harry asked in amazement.

"I am practically completely self-taught," said Merlin. "I've gained my knowledge through studying dusty old books under the bed sheets at night in complete secrecy. I've never had the benefit of an actual teacher. Just because I'm powerful at many types of spell, doesn't mean I know everything. There are huge gaps in my knowledge. Gaps that only Dragonlords can fill. And perhaps there are things they can teach me that I can bring back to the future," he added. "Maybe a way to end the violence back home."

"We already know a way to do that, that's why we're here," Harry said, narrowing his eyes.

"Is it?" Merlin asked quietly, turning over in his bed to face the opposite direction. "Maybe this is why I've come back."

"I thought we'd agreed to go after the High Council's spell-"

"You lot did," said Merlin. "I'm looking for any other way possible."

"Maybe there is no other way, Merlin."

Merlin chose to ignore this last part. Surely he was right? Erasing the past wasn't the answer, it couldn't be. It was his destiny to bring peace, his destiny to learn the magic of his people.

Perhaps then, he could finally create the peace the world needed.

Chapter Text

"How much magic do you know?"

Merlin looked across the empty courtyard at Eldron and almost smiled at the seemingly innocuous question.

"I've been using it as long as I can remember," he said, "but I've never been formally taught."

"Have you fought with magic before?"

Again, Merlin had to try and not smile.

"A few times."

"Then let me see what you can do," he said, standing in a defensive pose.

They duelled, and Merlin was cautious to not try too hard, as he had been throughout his years at Hogwarts; this Dragonlord could not know Merlin was anything special. He parried the man's blows, and hit back with a few of his own. Eldron was testing him in every way he knew how, his strength, his speed and reflexes, his ingenuity. Merlin put on a good show, always careful to give the upper-hand to Eldron, as would be expected from a (supposedly) young and untrained sorcerer against someone of Eldron's calibre. He lessened the force of his blows, limited his spells to fairly simple ones, and even feigned some fatigue.

But Eldron seemed to realise this. His blows became more and more powerful, and Merlin was forced to exert more and more power to repel them. Sweat beaded on Merlin's brow, and he retaliated with fiercer spells, as fierce as he dared without risking exposure as the legendary Emrys, whom Merlin had no doubt Eldron had heard of. Eldron darted here and there, quick as a flash, nimble on his feet, looking oddly graceful as he poured more fiery magic from his palms.

The courtyard had been empty when they had begun training, but slowly, a small crowd had gathered around the two Dragonlords, watching curiously at first, and then with undisguised awe. Merlin barely saw them. Unwittingly, he'd been increasing his magic more and more, until almost his full potential was being directed at the older man.

The strain was now showing on Eldron's face as he began to struggle against Merlin. He was evidently a very powerful sorcerer, an equal to perhaps Nimueh or Morgause. But not to Merlin, and he was now mere inches away from defeating him-

The duel changed suddenly. Merlin felt a great shifting in the atmosphere, primal magic was present in the courtyard, infused into the very air, and it was emanating from Eldron. With a start, Merllin noticed Eldron's eyes were now a radiant blue, shining brightly in his eyes with the same intensity of the gold of a few moments before. The magic streaming from his body turned the same colour and burned so brightly it seared at his eyes.

It was as if the volume on a radio had been turned up suddenly without warning. The sheer onslaught of magic coming towards Merlin was far more powerful than anything he had ever encountered. There was a roaring in his ears, the courtyard became boiling hot and the earth seemed to shake.

Panicked, Merlin threw up the most powerful shield he could muster. The spell from Eldron slammed into this shield, which dissipated instantly, and Merlin was sent flying backwards several feet, slamming into the stone wall behind him with so much force Merlin knew he was heavily bruised. He fell to the ground, and sat there, struggling to regain the breath that had been knocked from his body. He was shaking.

It was then he noticed the spectators. They were looking between the two Dragonlords, mouths agape, eyes wide. He spied Harry and the others in the crowd, jaws hanging open; they were unaccustomed to seeing Merlin overpowered.

Merlin struggled shakily to his feet, feeling like his knees were about to collapse underneath him. Eldron was standing staring at him, his eyes restored to their previous colour. He had a small smile on his face. He turned to the onlookers, who got the message and scurried away, discussing what they had just witnessed.

Merlin approached him, and to his surprise, felt a little embarrassment. It was a long time since he'd been beaten in a duel with Old Magic.

"There is no shame," said Eldron, recognising Merlin's discomfort. "I am amazed you lasted so long."

He looked over Merlin, his eyes narrowing. "Your magic is incredible," he said. "You were holding back at first, but I could sense a greater power within you. And you say you've been untrained? Phenomenonal."

Merlin inwardly kicked himself for revealing so much, but Eldron did not linger on this. Instead, he gestured to the wall Merlin had just been thrown against.

"You see, Malcolm, that no matter how powerful your magic is, it will always be inferior to the magic of the dragons. If used properly, there is no defence against it."

"That spell was Dragon Magic?" asked Merlin. "Did you link with a dragon in order to cast it?"

"I did," he answered, magically repairing some of the masonry that had been damaged in the duel. "You noticed the colour of my eyes, and my spell? I linked with a dragon named Áine, a blue dragon who lives two hundred leagues from here."

"It can work across such a great distance?"

"It can work across oceans, entire continents," said Eldron. "Distance is no object when one shares a soul with another. Áine was the first dragon I ever commanded, the one who taught me much of what I know. I share a very close Bond with her."

"Can you only link with one dragon?"

"At one time, usually, though exceptions have been made," he said. "But a Bond be formed with more than one dragon. Many Dragonlords wander the wilderness to encounter as many dragons as possible in order to form such a Bond, because the Bond is one of great bliss and love. It is more than mere affection or trust, it a Bond of the very soul."

"But each and every dragon is different, as is each Dragonlord. Every Bond is unique, and can often take years to form, once the two truly understand one another. Once this Bond is active, you shall be able to contact this dragon or dragons from whatever distance, and as soon as they sense your need, they will share their magic with you. There are of course rules that must be followed for your benefit and for that of the dragon. I have a Bond with Niamhrach, but to ask her to share her magic with me in this duel would have been an abuse of this Bond, since she is weak and injured. It is also wrong to expect a dragon who is using their magic for whatever purpose of their own, including giving it to another Dragonlord, to share with you. They will not allow you to take the magic if they are weak or otherwise engaged, it must be freely given. Áine lives on an isolated mountain where she studies the stars and seldom uses her magic, and has few Bonds. She is always willing to share with me for training purposes for that reason."

"We cannot teach you how to acquire a Bond, nor how to use it once you access it, in the same way you could not be taught how to command your first dragon; it will come naturally when you are ready."

"If it cannot be taught, then what are we doing?"

"Dragon Magic, and Dragonlord magic are different," said Eldron. "Using the Bond is to use Dragon Magic, but Dragonlords have an innate magical ability of their own that is separate from their normal magic, and that of the dragons. It is these abilities that I can teach you; seeing the future, seeing one's destiny, seeing lies etc. This Dragonlord magic was gifted to you at birth through your father and the goodwill of the dragons, and you can use it without any Bond, since the magic comes from within you. But Dragon Magic is using the magic of the dragons themselves in combination with your normal magic and your Dragonlord magic."

"Wait," said Merlin, his head spinning. "So … normal magic, Dragonlord magic, and Dragon Magic are all different things?"

"Yes," nodded Eldron. "It is the combination of the three that makes Dragonlords so powerful, and why we are sometimes not considered as fully human, rather, creatures of magic. None but the dragons and gods themselves are more powerful than we."

Merlin was silent for a moment, trying to wrap his head around all of this information. Now more than ever, he was confused at how Dragonlords were wiped out in the first place, being so powerful.

"This is just really confusing," said Merlin. "I mean, how do you keep it all in balance?"

"That is the problem of what plagues our society," said Eldron sadly. "This magic requires years of study, of finesse, yet the younger ones of our tribes do not take the time to learn as they should, and are wasting away. Or, some like yourself, are unaware of just how powerful they could be, and are content with the skills of an average sorcerer. Our ways are being lost."

This was the answer, Merlin thought. They were wiped out because they forgot their heritage, forgot who they were, forgot the Old Religion.

It was eerily similar to how Merlin had been feeling the last few months, feeling abandoned by the Old Religion, not living up to the potential he knew he had.

Merlin nodded slowly. He had had no idea any of this existed; history had been far too adept at wiping out all of this knowledge. He was the last of his kind, or would be as soon as he returned, he had a duty to remember this, all of it. And maybe, just maybe, he could use it for good in the future.

"Would you care for your first lesson?" Eldron asked him.

Merlin grinned.

"When can we start?"

Several hours later, and Merlin was aching from head to toe from being mercilessly thrown around the courtyard like a ragdoll by Eldron as he demonstrated the new magic Merlin was about to learn. The sheer force of it astounded him. He was however, happier than he'd been in a long while.

This new magic, the magic he had never known existed excited him, it thrilled him in a way that magic had never done since his own youth. He might as well have been that naïve servant from Camelot all over again, discovering the joys of a hidden world, feeling at home in a way he had never done before.

The possibilities … Merlin could hardly dare to think. What could he do with this power? How much better could he make the world with it?

He had performed none of the magic himself. He had watched and listened as Eldron revealed the secrets of their kin, lapping it all up in a fierce hunger that was never satisfied. Despite the onslaught of information, he was determined to commit it all to memory, to bring it all back to the future that so desperately needed it.

He felt it now, the Dragon Magic, or Dragonlord magic, whatever it was, he felt it now inside of himself. He felt it so strongly he was amazed he had been able to live almost thirteen hundred years without knowing what it was. He was itching to try it all out.

So many spells, so many chances. As well as using his Dragonlord magic to augment his normal magic, there were those other unique spells Eldron had told him about. A way to see the future? Perfect, when he got back he'd be able to see the consequences of his actions before he did them, so he'd know how to fix his problem. Seeing a person's destiny? He'd know exactly what it was the people in the Order had to do, himself included. Seeing the truth? He'd be able to see through the lies Verax told, the lies Rogers told, no longer would he be deceived. He'd see their motivations and desires, he'd even be able to control their actions, surely a much less harmful method than the Imperius Curse? A way to locate someone instantaneously? Great, he could find everyone in trouble in a matter of seconds and see the movements of magical people from all over.

He'd been desperate for a solution to his problems, and here it was.

He found himself wandering through the corridors in a thoughtless dream until he realised he had found himself in the courtyard where Niamhrach was lying, sprawled on the ground in the sun, light reflecting off her emerald scales and glittering enchantingly. She opened one eye lazily as he approached.

"You seem much happier, Malcolm," she said. "What has occurred?"

"I've met other Dragonlords," he said, unable to resist the smile on his face. "They're going to teach me how to use their magic."

"Ah," she said. "The magic of your ancestors. You have found your kin, and no longer do you feel so abandoned."

"I've heard nothing from the Old Religion for a long time," he said. "It … I thought it … I just couldn't feel it the way I used to. But now … maybe this is the reason. Maybe it was so silent because it was my destiny to learn this magic instead."

"This magic is the Old Religion," she said, raising her head slightly. "They are one and the same. Only when you realise the balance and nature of the magic you learn will you be able to master it. You cannot forsake one for the other."

"But this magic is so much more powerful," he said. "It can do what I could not when it really mattered."

She turned her head, so one silver eye was boring into his. "You have always had this ability within you, Malcolm," she said. "The fact you were never able to use it before now means that you were never meant to use it. Whatever things have happened to you in the past, this magic could not have prevented it. And it cannot be used to solve any problems you have in the future if they are not meant to be."

"But who's to say what is meant to be and what isn't?" Merlin asked, pacing. "How am I supposed to know?"

"That is what you must learn," she answered. "You have often despaired at finding the right course, I can see that. Even now, the mission that brings you to this island is one that you doubt. This magic you are studying shall help you to see the truth. It will help you to see what your true destiny is."

"I know what my destiny is," he said, "I have known for a long time."

"Have you? Or have you misinterpreted it?"

Merlin shook his head. "It was pretty straightforward."

"To you perhaps, but we dragons see the truth, the intricacies and many weaving threads that combine to create a destiny. We know that it is never as simple as it appears. You must learn this, Malcolm, or you will be forever doomed to be chasing after a destiny that is not yours."

Merlin was silent, and Niamhrach turned so both eyes were now staring at him.

"There is a reason you did not learn this magic until now, Malcolm," she said. "A reason why the dragons of your own time did not tell you."

"Yeah, because they're-" Merlin stopped himself before expressing how he really felt at Kilgharrah and Aithusa at the moment; he had a feeling Niamhrach wouldn't take kindly to it. "I mean … we don't always see eye to eye."

"And therein lies your problem," she said. "Can you say you've honestly always filled out your proper duties to them? Have you always been the perfect Dragonlord? Have you cared for them as you should?"

Merlin thought about the long, long years he'd been separated from the both of them, not bothering to check up on them for fear of igniting old hurt feelings, and how Aithusa had been captured and tortured as a result. He thought of the many arguments he'd had with Kilgharrah over the years. He thought of the current anger he felt at him for not informing him of the time travel spell, and at the both of them for not revealing this magic.

"No," he admitted, now filled with shame. "I haven't, not always. I … I ignored them often. I … care about them, of course I do, but … I haven't been the best friend to them that I could have been. I've neglected them. I know my duties, and I never abuse my power. But … maybe I don't deserve it."

"Power that we are born with is never undeserved," she said. "It is a part of who we are, and we should never seek to run from it. You are a Dragonlord, Malcolm. As long as there are dragons, your bloodline shall remain. You have ties with the dragons of your time, I can see, but not nearly strong enough, because you shut them out, you tried to forget about them. That is something that must be changed, since without true Bonds, you will never be able to use their magic. Until that time, you will never have achieved your full potential. Many of the things you have suffered need never have happened if this bond had formed sooner, but it has not, for what reason I do not know. When you return to your home, remember this. Do not let foolish human emotion get in your way. Share with them, and they will share with you. Take the trouble to understand them better, and they shall reciprocate. Perhaps the only reason you feel abandoned by the Old Religion is because you deliberately run from it."

"I don't run from it," said Merlin. "I was running for a long time, but I stopped. I found the thing that I'd been looking for."

"But have you realised that?" she asked. "When your mind stopped running, did your heart? You had run for so long, staying still was unfamiliar to you. People chase peace so often, they cannot see it when it is right before them."

Remembering Luna saying something familiar, Merlin looked away, trying to rid his mind of the confusion he felt.

"How many Bonds do you have?" he asked. "How many Dragonlords can share their magic with you?"

"All of them," she said. "Even those that are beginning to forsake the old ways. All of them come to me for guidance at some point in their lives, and all come to this isle, where I often live while the initiations proceed."

"Is it possible to maintain so many?"

"A soul can never be restricted in the love that it gives," she said. "They are my family, and I shall never forsake them, no matter the weariness of sharing so much magic with so many. But despite all of this," she said, bringing her head closer to Merlin's, "there is still room for one more Bond."

Merlin smiled weakly. "And how could I form such a Bond?"

"You might as well ask, how does love work, or why do we love," she said. "It is unexplainable. It is the bonding of one soul to another, and that is impossible whilst lies, deceit and distrust exist between the two souls. I cannot accept you as kin, Malcolm, until you see my true nature, and I yours. I cannot see into your soul, you must share it with me. There must be no barriers. There must be absolute honesty."

Merlin nodded. "Then I must tell you my true purpose here, my true name?"

"That is part of it," she said. "But the greater part, is when you stop lying to yourself, stop suppressing your fears and insecurities, and above all, stop the denials that plague you. You need to accept yourself for who you are before I could ever accept you."

Merlin made no answer to this, and Niamhrach just looked at him, huge silver eyes boring into him, sending unease spreading through him.

"Mer-Malcolm!"

Merlin turned, cursing Ron for his careless mouth. He was standing by the entrance to the courtyard eyeing Niamhrach with a little trepidation.

"They've called a meeting," he said, when Merlin approached him. "All the Druids and everybody else will be there. Something about how to tackle all the stuff that's going on outside."

Merlin bid goodbye to the dragon, who lay her head back on the ground, and followed Ron along the corridor.

"When's the meeting?"

"Tomorrow evening," said Ron, walking in step with him. "They're calling Druids from all over to come."

"Good," said Merlin.

"Is it?" Ron asked, turning to look at him. "Should we even be going?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Ron hesitated before speaking. "I mean, we don't want to … interfere. Anything we might say could change what was supposed to happen."

"I'm going," said Merlin. "If my culture is doomed to die, then I'm sure as hell going to see how it happened."

"But-"

"I'm not going to stop it from happening," he said, seeing Ron's expression. "I know I can't."

Ron didn't look convinced, but said nothing more, and soon drifted off towards the dining hall. Merlin kept walking, heading towards the gardens outside, feeling suddenly trapped within the stone walls of the castle.

Once outside, he breathed in deeply, looking across the lake. The mists had abated somewhat, and he could almost make out the far shore, some sun beams penetrating down from above.

A squawking noise caught his attention, and he saw Luna sitting by one of the vegetable patches, Fawkes on her knee. She was stroking him softly, and smiling, Fawkes closing his eyes in bliss. For a moment, Merlin felt oddly jealous.

Luna looked up. The smile on her face faded.

"Oh, Merlin," she said, solemnly. "You still don't see do you?"

"See what?" said Merlin disturbed by the unhappy expression on her face.

"This magic, it isn't the answer."

"I'm just learning about my people," Merlin protested. "My people, my culture-"

"Not for the right reasons," she said, shaking her head. "You're not learning it for the sake of learning it. You've got a purpose in mind for it."

"And what if I do?" said Merlin, suddenly defensive. "What's wrong with that?"

"Why can't you see?"

"See what?" Merlin asked, annoyed. "Why do you have to be so cryptic? You and everyone else around here? You all tell me I have choices to make, things I need to do, but when I choose a path, you all tell me it's the wrong one! I'm sick of it. Sick of living my life to someone else's specifications."

Luna stood up, eyes wide. She looked hurt. Fawkes flapped away, shrieking at Merlin's angry tone. Luna fixed him with one long stare, and softly shook her head. She turned, and moved away, quickly covering ground until she was soon out of sight.

As soon as she was gone, Merlin regretted his hasty words, and closed his eyes, berating himself. Since had he been one to shout at his friends? He barely recognised himself anymore.

Chapter Text

"Can you feel the difference, Malcolm?" Lord Eldron's voice came from somewhere Merlin couldn't be sure of.

"Yes," he murmured, eyes closed, focusing intently. His magic seemed to surround him in a haze of colourful swirls he could see even from beyond closed eyes. He filtered out the familiar, and instead let the unfamiliar wash over him.

"Tell me, what is it like?"

"It's wilder," Merlin answered, probing the new magic gently and experimentally. "It's … hotter, if that makes sense. It feels … it doesn't feel like magic, it feels like it's a living thing, a great monster, a dangerous monster."

"It can be," said Eldron. "Find the balance. The balance between the serenity of your normal magic and your Dragonlord magic. The two must work in tandem. Let both fill you."

Merlin tried to do as asked, but struggled with the sheer force of the Dragonlord magic. "It's hungry," he said, trying to express in words the strange sensations he was experiencing. "Like it's trying to eat its way through my normal magic."

"Do not let it," said Eldron.

"How can I let the two work together without mixing them?"

"Control it."

"How?"

Eldron was silent, and Merlin fought to not get annoyed and stay calm. He was shaking all over, and he could feel the sweat forming on his forehead. The mixing of the two sources of magic within him was like trying to contain an explosion. It was like water and fire, two complete opposites fighting for domination. How was he supposed to sort this out?

He withdrew further into his own mind, forgetting that Eldron was watching him, forgetting the events of the day. He became the magic inside of him, he felt every little ripple, every swirl, every spark of life. He focused on the two opposing forces inside of them, visualising holding one in each hand, fighting intensely to keep the both separate, letting the two of them fuel the magic in his veins.

He opened his eyes, and found Eldron sitting opposite him in the courtyard. He nodded slightly.

"Better," he said, "but there's still even more potential. Keep it steady."

"I don't know if I can," said Merlin, his trembling increasing.

"You must focus it," said Eldron. "Try the spell for Dragonsight."

"I can't-"

"Do it," Eldron commanded.

Merlin poured what he could manage of the two forces into his words: "Dracagesihþ."

As he did, he felt his heart leap, and a roaring sensation in his mind. The world suddenly seemed clearer, more defined.

"Look at me," Eldron said, and Merlin did so, surprised to see that Eldron seemed to be surrounded by a faint aura he had not noticed before. It shimmered and wobbled in the air. "Tell me, Malcolm, which is the lie? The westernmost Dragonlord tribe is led by a man named Tyran. My son is second-in-command."

Merlin concentrated on the aura that he saw, but the more he looked, the more it seemed to undulate, swirling and indistinct shapes. Keeping sight of the aura was like keeping water in his hands. He looked closer, hearing more roaring in his mind, his heart beat growing faster, his hands trembling still. It was like holding one's breath, desperately holding on as long as possible before control lapsed. His whole body was tense and he felt nauseous. But finally, when he was about to cease the spell from weariness, he saw a shift in the aura, and he knew what it meant, though he didn't know how.

He dropped the spell, and gasped for breath, feeling weak all over. He bent over, feeling almost like he was about to be sick.

"Well?" asked Eldron, still sitting calmly opposite, watching him.

"The second one," said Merlin, his voice quavering slightly. "The one about your son."

Eldron nodded with approval, a slight smile on his lips. "Good."

Merlin was still recovering. "All that effort for one lie?" he asked. "What's the point?"

"It will get easier with time," Eldron said. "Soon, you won't even need to utter the incantation, you will be able to enter this state at will. And with practice, you'll learn more. How to see the motivations behind lies, desires and wishes. The most skilled can even detect lies and deception without entering the Dragonsight state. You have done this before, I suspect. You've been able to see lies and deceptions before, though without any degree of certainty."

"How long?" Merlin asked, and Eldron shook his head.

"Do not be hasty with magic like this. You see how powerful it is. Some have gone mad with trying to control both sides to their magic like this without care. A man who feasts after days of starvation does more damage than good. Similarly, you must build yourself up slowly. Your Dragonlord magic is used to being locked away, you must adjust yourself to having it run through you at all times."

"And this is without using Dragon Magic," Merlin grumbled. "How much more difficult will that be?"

"Strangely, it is easier," said Eldron. "The magic is more powerful yes, but easier. The Dragon Magic will mould seamlessly with your own with little effort; it is a gift from them. The only difficulty involved is gaining the Bond in the first place."

"Then why couldn't I start with Dragon Magic?"

"Because it cannot be taught," said Eldron. "I cannot have neat little lessons with you on how to gain the trust of a dragon. It is something you do on your own. You learned normal magic on your own, you will learn Dragon Magic yourself … the only thing that needs to be taught is Dragonlord magic."

Merlin nodded, trying to take all of this in. If this was the case, he'd be better off focusing solely on Dragonlord magic. What would be the point in forming a Bond with Niamhrach or any of the other dragons in this time? Once he went back to 1999 they'd all be dead. No, he'd stay and learn Dragonlord magic, and when he went back to the future, that would be when he'd learn Dragon Magic. Surely he'd spent enough time with Kilgharrah and Aithusa over the centuries to form a Bond with them? They'd guide him, and he would be able to use their magic to fix everything.

A small nagging doubt crept into the back of his mind: If that was the case, why haven't they told you of this before now? Maybe they don't want to form a Bond with you. If it was that simple, why haven't they suggested it?

Pushing aside these unwelcome thoughts, Merlin hastily changed the subject.

"So if the thing about your son was a lie, what does he do?"

Immediately, Eldron's demeanour changed. He stood up and brushed his robes down with the back of his hand.

"I have no son," he answered. "Not anymore."

Merlin stood too. "Because of all this unrest?"

Eldron nodded slightly. "He was a guardian of so much knowledge. One of our best hopes for preserving our heritage for the future. But ignorance and folly cut that off."

"And that's why you're so desperate for things not to be forgotten," said Merlin.

Eldron smiled at him. "Our people deserve not to be forgotten, Malcolm. If teaching you means that you can teach others, keep our culture going for a little while longer … it will be worth it."

Merlin was left without knowing what to say, but fortunately, he didn't need to say anything, for at that moment, some people began crossing the courtyard. Tall men in robes with triple spiral tattoos, older men leaning on staffs, women and children following in their wake. All looked grave. They barely glanced at the two Dragonlords as they crossed the courtyard and entered the narrow corridors in the direction of the Great Hall.

"They're here for the Gathering," said Eldron. He followed them with his eyes. "We seldom gather in such large numbers. It exposes us to external eyes. Druids believe themselves to be safer in small groups rather than together as one. But this threat we face is greater than we have ever known."

"Just how bad is it?" Merlin asked.

"Little has actually happened," said Eldron sighing. "Aside from the sporadic attacks on us, the persecution has been somewhat mild."

"Then what's the problem?"

"What it is leading to," said Eldron. "Something is coming, and that scares us more than what is going on right now. We can all sense it."

"Can't you see what's happening?" Merlin asked. "I thought you said Dragonlords can see into the future? Why can't the dragons see it?"

"I believe they can, or at least some of it," said Eldron. "But they do not wish to reveal it to us. And as such, we cannot know what will happen. Dragonlords can only see the future they let us see. Most of our magic is dependent on their good will."

"Then what's the point of it?" asked Merlin, feeling dejected. "You could use your magic to help these people, to stop whatever evil is coming. But you can't simply because they won't let you."

"It is more complex than that," said Eldron. "We are all a part of destiny. The dragons are the only ones who can see it clearly. We must trust them."

Merlin tried not to show his frustration. Kilgharrah could have stopped the Purge if he and the other dragons had only been less stubborn. All of the people dying in 1999 could have been saved if he and Aithusa had simply told him of the abilities he could have. The control of the Old Religion had never seemed more repugnant to him. It dictated who lived and who died. Once Merlin would have taken comfort from that, but now he resented it. Was there no such thing as free will? Was there any point in living at all if everything he did was controlled by a higher power?

Eldron turned back to Merlin. "Enough of this. We have several hours yet. Try it again."

Down by the lake, Harry and Ginny were enjoying what time to themselves they could get, sitting on the bank, watching the mist and the little boats bearing Druids that docked every so often.

"Looks like every Druid in the country has turned up," murmured Ginny, her head resting on Harry's shoulder.

"Yeah," said Harry. "Pity it won't do any good."

"It's horrible," said Ginny, watching as people disembarked the latest boat. "They're trying to fight back, stay alive, but it's not going to work. Most of them are going to die, and the rest will be persecuted the rest of their lives. This is the death of their entire way of life, and there's nothing we can do to stop it."

Harry nodded in agreement. "I wish we could have come back to a different time," he said. "One that isn't so close to the Purge."

"It would still have been sad," said Ginny.

"Not as much though," said Harry. "But this … these people are going to be the ones affected. It might have been easier to accept if we'd come back a few generations earlier."

"No matter what generation, everyone we met was going to end up dead anyway. It is the past after all."

"But not so violently," said Harry. He sighed. He felt completely miserable. "This meeting … what they decide there might be what sealed their fate."

"That's why we'll have to be careful," said Ginny. "We can't interfere. I don't even think we should go."

"That's what Ron said," said Harry. "But Merlin's insisting we go. Besides, it would look strange if everyone except us were there."

"You don't think Merlin's going for all the wrong reasons?" Ginny said. She sat up and looked directly at him. "He won't try and change anything, will he?"

"He isn't that stupid," said Harry, but secretly, he had his doubts. Merlin lately … it was like he didn't even know him. He was bitter, vague, so bereft of hope …

"You reckon he's doing the right then by learning this Dragonlord magic?" Ginny asked.

"Yes," said Harry immediately. "That's one thing I'm sure of. At first, I was worried about him getting too close to the Dragonlords, but he's meant to learn this magic. That's why Kilgharrah sent him back here at this time. The Old Religion wants him to learn this."

"Then what's the problem?" Ginny asked, hearing his unenthusiastic tone.

"He's not even trying to get the High Council to accept him," said Harry. "He thinks if he learns this magic, we can go back and fix everything with it. He doesn't believe in our original mission any ore."

"Maybe he's right? Maybe this magic can fix things without erasing everything."

Harry shook his head. "No, the spell is what we came for, it's what we need. Merlin might need to learn this magic, but it's got nothing to do with our mission."

"Since when have you been able to interpret the Old Religion so well?"

"Since Merlin stopped believing in it." Said Harry. "I've always heard it, but I feel it stronger now that Merlin seems to have given up on it. I need to guide him back onto the right path."

"Why can't he hear it anymore?"

"He won't listen, that's why," said Harry. "And to be honest, I don't blame him for losing faith after everything it's put him through lately. But it won't last. It can't. Separating Merlin and the Old Religion is like separating the sea and the sky."

"I hope you're right," said Ginny. "I don't like this new Merlin."

"None of us do."

They lingered by the shores of the lake for several more hours, neither feeling much like heading back inside to all the uncertainty and worried grumbling within the castle walls. Light had begun to fade by the time they stood and walked back. They found the others inside the Great Hall which was now overflowing with the extra amount of people here. The refugees that had not yet recovered had been sent to a smaller chamber, and the room was filled with Druids of all ages and ilk.

"Chaos, isn't it?" said Ron when they finally found him and the rest in the sea of druids. "We won't be able to debate anything squashed in like sardines!"

"Debates are in another room," said Merlin, emerging from the crowd. He looked tired, but his eyes were alert. "And anyway, we won't be getting involved."

"Where are we to go?" Hermione asked.

"The Hall of Gathering," said Merlin. "It's the other side of the island. Draco's been there before when we were searching for Morgana."

Everyone turned to look at him. Draco looked embarrassed. "I remember," he said. "All the crests of the important families are on the walls."

"And so is your family's," said Merlin. "They might be here even now. Your ancestors."

Draco blinked and looked around, a new expression on his face. Several important looking Druids were indeed wearing robes with a crest embroidered on the front.

"Malfoys?" muttered Ron. "I don't see any slimy, blonde gits, do you?"

Harry stood on Ron's foot, urging him to shut up. Malfoy was insecure enough about his family without Ron making it worse. Not that he was particularly fond of Malfoy, or even liked him, but in the spirit of co-operation that now existed between them since Morgana, he wanted to keep everything as civil as possible. Besides, he felt sorry for him. Draco had had the worst misfortunate to be born into such a family.

Fortunately, Malfoy didn't seem to have heard, such was the volume of noise in the room. Hermione had turned to Merlin.

"Will you be alright?" she asked.

"Of course," he answered straight away, but Harry could see the tightening of his jaw.

"Have you spent all day with Eldron?" Harry asked him, seeing just how exhausted he looked.

"Yeah," said Merlin, smiling a little. "I haven't been this tired form learning magic since I was a youth. It's exhilarating." He glanced over to the far wall, where Harry saw the Dragonlords standing as a group. They seemed to consist of more than just the three that had arrived with the refugees, but his view was obscured by the many people in the room.

At that moment, there was a ringing of a bell deep within the depths of the castle, and everyone together began to file out of the doors, presumably to the Hall of Gathering. Harry felt the anticipation growing. He followed the crowd, solemn as it suddenly was, out through the courtyard and then in through a smaller door on the other side he hadn't even noticed before. Inside was a huge hall, larger than the Great Hall, but with a lower roof. As Malfoy had said, engraved crests covered the walls, though in the semi-darkness he couldn't get a good view. There were no chairs, and instead everyone sat on the ground, leaving a small circle in the centre, where there burned a small fire. High Priest Findan and High Priestess Melian were standing there, both wearing ceremonial robes and solemn expressions.

Soon, every corner of the room had someone crammed into it, sitting with legs folded. Harry found himself squashed between Hermione and Merlin, with Ron behind him digging into his back with his huge feet.

A murmur of voices that had filled the room suddenly stilled as Melian and Findan raised their arms. The silence was deafening, and the magic in the room seemed to grow stronger until he could almost taste it on the air.

Next to him, Merlin drew a sharp breath.

"What is it?" Harry asked, his voice as low as possible.

Merlin shook his head. "Nothing, it's just … " he looked around for a moment, a small frown on his face. "I felt … there's a presence here that I know … I can't understand it."

They were prevented from talking further when Findan began to speak.

"Welcome all to the Isle of the Blessed. I am sorry that a visit to the Sacred Isle should be on such serious a matter, but we cannot hide from this anymore. We must speak together. We must unite to face this new threat."

"What new threat?"

A Druid had stood on the other side of the room. He stared directly at Findan. "I know of no threat," he continued. "Life as far as I am concerned is unaltered. Whatever shadows there are I do not know of."

He sat, but not before another Druid had begun to rise. "You live on the outermost borders," he said, glaring at the Druid who had spoken. "There is peace in your land, but this is not the case elsewhere. Our people are being attacked, driven from cities, feared and hunted by soldiers. It is only going to get worse."

He sat, and another Druid stood to speak. "My clan has been driven from forest to forest, never being able to remain too long in one place," she said. "They will not leave us alone, chasing us all over, treating us like vermin that must be driven out."

"We have always been a nomadic people," said another Druid as he stood. "The Ungifted have always been uneasy with us on their lands. This is nothing new."

"Never before have they threatened us," said another Druid, an old woman who glared at the man. "They've been uneasy, asked us to move on before, yes, but never have they done so at sword point. Never have they threatened to burn down our homes, torture our children, attack our women. This is no longer mere rivalry, this is becoming war."

There were a few cries of protest at this. Harry noticed some Druids shaking their heads, but others nodding vigorously.

"And what about those refugees that lie in agony just on the other side of this island?" said Rhona, standing from her place by the wall. Her dress was still blood-stained from her healing duties. "They were ambushed by Knights from Camelot. They are changing their ways towards us. I fear for our people. We must do something."

"What?" another asked. "Make war? It is not our way."

"Make peace then," said Rhona, who hadn't even bothered sitting down. "Send envoys to the kings who attack us. The peace settlements of three centuries ago have been forgotten by these kings, we must forge new ones to protect our people."

"And who says they'll listen to us?"

"What if they refuse?"

"We must fight back!"

"Druids are a peaceful people, we cannot retaliate with violence."

"Violence may soon be the only option."

This went on for a while, some Druids calling for peace, others for violence, and more for patience. People leapt up and down from their places on the floor demanding to be heard so fast Harry could not keep track. It reminded him of the chaos in the House of Commons just a few weeks ago. Everything was descending into a rabble.

He turned to Merlin to see a look of anger on his face. He was shaking his head as he saw what was going on in front of him. He reached out and placed his hand on Merlin's shoulder.

"Stay calm," he whispered. "There's nothing you can do."

Merlin frowned and looked at the floor. He swallowed heavily.

Finally, High Priestess Melian held out her hands for silence, which was immediately granted.

"Calm, my brothers and sisters," she said, her soft voice carrying easily across the silent chamber. "We must remember who we are, and where we are. We are no savages, who communicate with anger and violence only. We need practical solutions for our plight."

The Druid who had spoken first stood, brushing down his robes. "Forgive me, Lady Melian," he said. "But I think we need do nothing. No one is dead, are they? Disputes like these are common enough and it shall soon blow over. Nothing is yet urgent."

"So you'd rather wait until things were urgent?" Rhona shouted. "Then what? We'll be in an even worse situation then. Better call for peace now before there are fatalities. The injuries I saw on those Druids these last few days would have been fatal if not for my care. We cannot ignore this!"

The other Druid was shaking his head. "That was an isolated incident. I assure you, the majority of our people are perfectly safe. They aren't gadding about incurring the ire of rulers."

"Gadding about?" demanded Rhona, leaping to her feet, despite her age. "Many of these people were not even Druids, just users of magic causelessly attacked. They were innocent!"

"Not even Druids? Then why concern ourselves?" said the man. "Let us look after our own and let others worry. Our people are perfectly safe, and we have this haven which no Ungifted would dare attack. Why annoy the kings with needless negotiations? As far as my clan is concerned, the status quo needs no alteration."

"Of course your clan thinks so, Heroc," said Rhona. "You don't care for anyone but your own little gang. I'm talking about our people, or have you forgotten that you have a duty to every Druid, every sorcerer and every other user of magic? But of course, you're well in with the nobility of the outer kingdoms aren't you? Corruption and bribery are your true gifts. You'll be happy to just throw everyone else to the dogs!"

Heroc's eyes blazed with fury. "You know nothing," he said. "Being a daughter of a Dragonlord does not give you the right to speak so imperiously. What power do you have?"

Rhona laughed. "I may not be a Dragonlord, Heroc, or have my father's magic. But I'm still closer to dragons than anyone else here. Do you really want to see what they'll do to you if I were to ask?"

"Cease these idle threats," said another Druid, scowling at the both of them. "If there is a genuine problem, we must discuss it rationally." He turned back to Melian and Findan in the centre of the room. "Is this is as big a threat as they say, then why are not the entire High Council here to discuss it? Where are Lords Neman, Gailan and Siral? Where is Lady Morwen? Lady Nimueh?"

Merlin started next to him, and Harry could feel him shaking with rage. Findan and Melian exchanged a quick glance.

"They are working," said Findan, but everyone could see through the lie. "Seeking guidance from the gods and meditating."

"I heard one of them has turned against us," said another Druid. "That they're helping one of these kings go after us."

"I heard Lord Gailan is enchanting King Ferin in a plot to invade his neighbours."

"And I heard Lady Nimueh is seducing King Uther and hoping she can become his mistress."

"Is it true? Has one of the High Council turned against us?"

Findan and Melian kept their faces expressionless, but Harry could see the troubled look in their eyes. Or was that only because he knew the truth? Everyone was staring at them now, holding their breath.

"No member of the High Council has turned against us," Findan said. "There is no need to panic."

Harry stared as he told this blatant lie to the entire room. No wonder the Druids had been near wiped out. Their secrecy, in-fighting, lies … they were already disunited.

"You see?" Heroc said, standing once more with a triumphant smile on his face. "You all act as though the High Council retreating to the Inner Sanctum was an unusual event! There is nothing suspicious about it now. The Isle of the Blessed is safe, and so are our people."

Merlin shifted uncomfortably next to Harry. He could tell he wanted nothing more than to jump up and say something. The amount of willpower involved not to do so must be phenomenal. Harry himself was having trouble with it.

"You're deluded, Heroc," said another. "The omens are clear, something is looming closer. Evil, death, destruction. Our people are in danger."

"According to whom?" scoffed Heroc. "I sense no evil, from whom are you getting this? What authority?"

"The ultimate authority. The dragons themselves."

Another man had stood from the corner the Dragonlords had gathered in. He too was wearing the black robes and golden dragon insignia of his rank, only his were travel-stained and worn, and he had two swords strapped to his waist. He was young, with dark hair and beard, bright eyes gleaming from beneath heavy eyebrows.

"The dragons have warned us of the danger that is coming," he said. "We would be a fool to ignore them. Unless you would sanction questioning their authority, Heroc? Our world is being threatened. We cannot stand idly by. We must make peace with the kingdoms. To do otherwise would be to court disaster."

There were a few nods and noises of encouragement at this speech, and those that had been unconvinced were beginning to agree. The man was obviously influential, either by his position or his fierce looking appearance.

Harry suddenly noticed Merlin had gone still, had ceased shaking with anger, his entire body frozen. Harry turned his head and saw he'd gone incredibly pale, staring at the man with wide unblinking eyes, astonishment all over his face.

The man was not finished. "The dragons have spoken, they have foreseen the trouble that is coming. We must listen to them."

"And why do they not tell us from whence this trouble comes?" Heroc asked, eyeing the Dragonlord with distaste. "Or can they not see that far?"

The Dragonlord glared at him. "You dare question the power of the dragons? They have warned us, that is all you need to know. Only a fool would do nothing. But then again, we all know what a fool you are, Heroc. You're nothing more than a lap dog for the Ungifted kings, a pet sorcerer willing to sell his skills for some pretty gold and rich clothes. You betray our people. No wonder our race is declining, why the Old Religion is fading. People like you are destroying it. People like you destroy any good that is in this world. I will have no part in it. I will fight to the last dragon to keep my people alive and free. We need to sort this out before fighting becomes an option."

More Druids leapt to their feet to speak, some to back up the Dragonlord, others to contradict him, and then more stood to voice other concerns, other opinions, until the rabble was back in full flow, with nothing being decided, nothing being agreed upon. Rivalries between the different clans surfaced, disagreements became heated despite the attempts of Melian and Findan to settle them. Some began to storm out.

"Bloody hell," said Ron, as the arguing grew louder. "And I thought double Potions with the Slytherins was tense."

"No wonder everything went wrong," said Hermione, as they all moved closer together and leaned in. "I mean, they can't agree on anything. I thought Druids were peaceful and democratic?"

"It's the different clans," said Luna. "On their own they get on fine, but coming together … all they can do is argue."

"That Dragonlord bloke was right," said Ginny. "If the dragons are saying something is wrong, who would ignore them? They're like centuries old, right? It's so stupid."

"Yeah," said Harry. "He's right about that Heroc guy. As long as things are going okay with his part of the world, he doesn't care about anyone else. It's selfishness."

"He must have arrived today," said Hermione. "He wasn't one of the others that came with the refugees."

"You sure?" said Ron. "I could have sworn I'd seen him somewhere before."

"No, he definitely wasn't one of them," said Ginny. "None of them were as young as that."

"Still looks familiar."

"He wasn't there," insisted Hermione. "I'd remember. He's new, isn't he, Merlin? Merlin?"

Merlin was still frozen, not even listening to the conversation, face still pale. He looked like he was in shock.

"Merlin," said Hermione, louder this time, jerking him out of his trance. "Have you seen that Dragonlord before?"

Merlin blinked at her for a moment before casting a half-glance back at the Dragonlord, who was by now arguing with a Druid next to him.

"Y-yes, I've seen him before."

"See?" said Ron, smiling. "He's one of the ones that came with the refugees."

Slowly, Merlin shook his head. "No, he wasn't one of them."

Ron frowned. "But how … "

The realisation struck Harry like a hammer to his gut. That man, he was-

Merlin swallowed, and laughed nervously. "No, Ron, that Dragonlord … he's … he's my father."

As one, they gasped, and immediately turned to get a better look at the Dragonlord. At first glance, there wasn't much of a similarity, but the more Harry looked, the more he saw. The expression of the eyes, the way he spoke so passionately, even the way he held himself … it was all Merlin. Harry couldn't sense the man's magic with so many people in the room, but something drew him to the man, something familiar. Like a giant signpost hanging over his head.

"That's Balinor?" Hermione practically squeaked, hands over her mouth. "Are you sure?"

"I think I'd recognise my own father, Hermione."

"But he's younger-"

"Hermione, it's him," said Harry, still staring at the man, wondering how he hadn't seen it straight away.

Hermione looked worried. "But this is terrible! We can't have you running into him!"

Merlin turned to look at her sharply. "Why not?" he asked, a slight edge to his voice. "I'm disguised, my name is different, why shouldn't I see him?"

"It's too risky," said Hermione. "Who knows what you could give away?"

Merlin turned away, his face hard, fists clenched. He fixed his eyes on his father.

"I'm sorry, Merlin," said Hermione, her face softer. "But if he even suspects …"

"I get it," said Merlin, dully, still staring across the room.

"It's just-"

"I get it!" Merlin said, louder, causing other Druids closer to jump and stare at him.

There followed an uncomfortable silence within their small group. No one knew what to say. Harry couldn't take his own eyes off of Balinor. What was going through Merlin's mind right now? Harry tried to imagine how he'd feel if it were his father across the room, close enough to talk to, to get to know …

The meeting wound up with nothing being decided but several new rivalries being formed. Everyone was still arguing as they left the hall. Harry and the others made it out into the courtyard and found a relatively quiet spot. Merlin looked straight ahead, not looking at anybody. His fists were still clenched.

"Well, at least we didn't interfere," said Ron nervously. "I can see why they got wiped out so easily. I've seen Blast-Ended Skrewts that were nicer to each other."

Nobody said anything.

Harry knew he had to try and say something, anything to solve this. But he didn't know what. He was saved from saying anything by a shout from across the courtyard.

"Malcolm!" Eldron, the Dragonlord was crossing the courtyard. Harry welcomed the interruption, but soon froze when he saw who was accompanying Eldron.

Eldron drew to a stop in front of Merlin. "Malcolm," he nodded. "I'd like to introduce you to someone. This is Balinor, one of your kin."

Balinor nodded briefly to Merlin, who had gone completely still, staring at his father. Seeing him close up, Harry noticed yet more similarities between the two men. Balinor looked young, but troubled, almost intimidating.

Merlin swallowed and opened his mouth, and Harry was astonished to see him lost for words. He blinked a couple of times, before speaking.

"I know who you are," he blurted out. "I- I mean, I've heard of you," he said, seeing their surprise.

"Really?" asked Balinor, eyeing Merlin closely. "In what context?"

Merlin faltered for a moment. "Uh, just- just gossip, you know? The Druids here have mentioned you a couple of times."

"I see," said Balinor, though he looked suspicious. "What tribe did you say you were from?"

"Somewhere in the north," said Eldron, when Merlin was silent. "Some of our kin settled there. But I fear they have not kept up the traditions. Malcom here is sadly ignorant of his Dragonlord magic."

"Why does that not surprise me?" grumbled Balinor. "No one has any respect any more for the old ways."

"Exactly what I said!"

Rhona had emerged from the Hall behind them and stood with her hands on her hips staring at them. "The boy knows nothing! And it'll be him and his descendants watching over the dragons of the future! How can they do that if they don't know the first thing about them?"

"Rhona," said Eldron coaxingly. "Ignorance is not a crime. That is why I have brought Balinor here. No one is a better teacher."

"You want to teach me?" Merlin said, his voice higher than usual. "You?"

Balinor raised an eyebrow. "I have much experience with teaching, though perhaps not much as of late. Eldron is accomplished, certainly, but he has not the patience for teaching. I'd be glad to share my knowledge with you. Unless you'd rather stick with Eldron-"

"No," said Merlin immediately. "I mean, if … if it's not too much trouble … I'd like you to teach me."

"Good," nodded Balinor, even as Rhona rolled her eyes behind him. "I shall see you in the morning then."

"Great," said Merlin breathlessly, a smile forming on his face. "I can't wait."

A smile formed on Balinor's face too, but then faded slightly as he looked more closely at Merlin.

"Do I know you, boy?" he asked. "You seem familiar to me."

Harry could sense Hermione next to him holding her breath, and his own heart was thumping. Was it possible for a Dragonlord to sense a family bond like this?

"No," said Merlin, and his own smile faded somewhat until he looked sad. "We've never met."

"I see," said Balinor, though still looking curious. "Well, I look forward to teaching you, Malcolm. You seem like you have respect for the old ways. A rarity these days."

"You're telling me," said Rhona. "The boy's never even made an effort to learn more about his heritage. He actively avoided Niamhrach, you know. How anyone could-"

"Now, Aunt Rhona," said Balinor, laying a hand on her elbow. "We must not judge. We must count the little victories. The hope for our future lies in young men like Malcolm. Come."

He nodded briefly to Merlin, and he, Eldron and Rhona left them standing in the courtyard.

"Well …" began Ron, but Hermione cut across him.

"He's going to teach you!" she said, wringing her hands. "He's going to figure it out! I know he is."

Merlin said nothing, just continued staring after his father.

"We'll have to be so careful," said Hermione. She stopped her fretting and took a deep breath. She looked at Merlin. "I thought you said he was stubborn and grumpy?"

"He was when I knew him," said Merlin faintly. "But that was only for a couple of days, after all of this is gone. He was so cynical, so hopeless and defeated, hiding in a cave from his problems and those of the rest of the world … the Purge turned him into that. This man … this is who he truly is. I never got to know that side of him."

"Now you will," said Luna, smiling gently. "You'll get to know him for who he was."

"Yeah …" said Merlin. "I will."

A small smile crossed his face. Then suddenly, he laughed.

"What?" asked Harry, seeing nothing funny.

Merlin kept laughing, and took a moment to calm down. "Did you hear what he called Rhona?" he asked, chuckling. "Can you believe it? Rhona is my Great-Aunt!"

Thinking of the grumpy old woman and the looks of disgust she gave to Merlin every time she saw him, Harry couldn't help but laugh as well.

"I never knew any of my family apart from my parents," said Merlin. "I finally get to meet one and she hates me!"

"A horrible aunt? Join the club!" said Harry, laughing. "Me and Malfoy probably still have you beat though!"

Everyone laughed, but when Harry turned to look at Malfoy, he saw him standing there, stony faced. He was staring at the hall, and the trickle of people still coming out of it. He was frowning.

Harry stopped laughing immediately. Malfoy was really confusing him these days. Just the day before he'd been laughing in his class, but then clammed up immediately whenever someone else tried to speak to him. And now he was staring at the hall with such a look of sadness on his face Harry knew it had nothing to do with the Druids.

What was going on with him?

A/N: Thank you for reading! I appreciate any and all feedback :)

Chapter Text

When Merlin awoke the following morning, he lay awake in his bed for several minutes, smiling to himself. Things may be beginning to deteriorate, the world collapsing, but he was here on the Isle of the Blessed learning the magic he needed to fix things in the future, and he was being taught by his father.

Seeing him again had hit him more painfully than he had expected, but after the initial shock and worry about being recognised (however illogical that was) he found himself the happiest he had been in weeks. He could finally get to know him, the real Balinor the Purge had destroyed. It was a happiness tinged only with the smallest degree of sadness; the knowledge that he could never tell Balinor who he was. But, he decided, that didn't matter. Balinor would know him in the future, he'd be watching over him. Balinor didn't need to know. It was enough for him that he did. Enough that he could finally learn the magic of his people from his own flesh and blood.

He got up and dressed quickly, moving quietly so as to not wake up the others in the room. He knew they were all worried about him getting too close to Balinor, in case he saw him for who he really was, but how could he? He was disguised after all, how could Balinor possibly suspect that he was his son from the future? Even the moment when Balinor had appeared to recognise him the night before didn't worry him. That could easily be explained by the fact they were all Dragonlords; Eldron had said something similar when they'd first met. Their magic was kin, all of them, no one would guess that Merlin and Balinor were of a closer relation than everyone else.

He left the room and hurried down the stairs in the direction of the Great Hall, where he hoped he'd find Balinor, despite the somewhat early hour, feeling the way he had done when young and learning magic for the first time. The excitement was almost tangible.

He entered the Great Hall, busy already with all the representatives of the clans who had arrived for the meeting the previous night. Strangely, most looked relaxed and laughed over the breakfast, taking an opportunity to catch up with friends from other clans. Apparently the meeting the previous night, instead of stirring up concern and worry about the future had only dispelled the urgency and fear many had felt. Again, Merlin felt angry. Had none of them listened the previous night, couldn't they see the wisdom in it? It appeared more than ever that it had been complacency and inaction that had sealed the fate of the Druids.

But this anger did not long last, as he soon spotted Balinor sitting at one table, accompanied by the woman Merlin now knew to be his Great-Aunt Rhona. She scowled at him as he drew near.

"Ready to end your ignorance, boy?" she asked.

"Must you always treat young Dragonlords like that, Aunt?" Balinor asked, turning to her. "Ignorance is not always their fault. You should be pleased he is here and willing to learn."

The scowl was now directed at Balinor. "Don't speak to me like that, Balinor. I was looking after dragons before you were born. I don't trust that boy," she turned back to Merlin. "You're hiding something, I know you are. That's why you avoided Niamhrach. I can always tell."

She stood up and left, leaving Merlin to sit opposite his father, hoping he hadn't noticed his wince at the truth in Rhona's words.

"You must forgive my aunt," said Balinor, as soon as she was out of ear-shot. "She is abrupt, direct to the point of rudeness and unforgiving. But she's not so bad underneath all of that. The blood of the Dragonlords runs strongly with her."

"It's alright," said Merlin, realising just how much like his aunt Balinor would end up becoming after the Purge. "Are you close?"

"Very, though she likes to pretend otherwise," Balinor answered. "My parents died when I was fairly young, and so Rhona took me into her home here on the Isle. She taught me almost everything I know about dragons. As the daughter of a Dragonlord, she is blessed with some of our powers, though not all. The rest I had to discover for myself. That is the best way to learn to use such powers: self-discovery. It is much stronger when used on one's own. You cannot teach something so unique to each individual, only guide."

"She must have been strict."

"You have no idea," said Balinor with a laugh. Merlin laughed too, relishing this opportunity to learn more of his family. "But family teaching is our way. We believe magic is best taught to us by blood than any other, so I put up with her ways. Unfortunately, in cases such as yours, we must suffice with what we have."

Merlin kept his face straight with difficulty. Little did Balinor know he was teaching his own blood.

"Where are the others?" he asked, trying to move the subject away.

"Eldron and the rest left late last night," said Balinor. "They have gone to patrol our borders and consult with dragons from other regions. Also to try and convince our distant kin of the urgency of our situation, though I fear it will fall on deaf ears. Our people are not so united any longer."

"Then you only remained to teach me?"

"Teaching you your heritage is just as important," said Balinor. "If we are ever to be a strong people again, we must not give up on our youth or the ones that have strayed. I believe peace can be achieved if we are united."

Merlin looked away; he saw hope in Balinor's face that was so utterly destroyed the next time Merlin met him. That Balinor had wanted Camelot to suffer. The Purge had changed him so much.

"Are you ready?"

Eagerly, Merlin followed him from the Great Hall and into the courtyard he had practiced in with Eldron. They began with Balinor testing what magic Merlin already knew, and went over what Eldron had taught him, testing him the way Eldron had done with Dragonsight, but he wasn't able to keep the Dragonsight spell sustained very long.

He gasped as he released the spell for Dragonsight, Balinor stood watching him.

"Well, which statement was the lie?"

"Um, the first one?"

Balinor regarded him with one raised eyebrow. "That was a guess, wasn't it?"

Merlin shifted uncomfortably. "Yes," he admitted. "But I was more certain about that one than the second."

"But not fully?"

"No."

Balinor said nothing, but Merlin felt extremely foolish all of a sudden. It was almost embarrassing to be messing up with Balinor watching. It seemed silly, but he wanted Balinor to be impressed.

"Try again," said Balinor. "And this time, take your time. You're far too eager. "

That's an understatement, Merlin thought to himself, but obliged. He summoned the magic within him, the familiar hum of his normal magic mixing with the unexplored Dragonlord magic, controlling the two as well as he could, taking his time to really feel them together before casting the spell, focusing on the aura around Balinor more intently than before to ascertain which statement was the lie. He did not speak or drop the spell until he was confident, despite his exhaustion. This time he fared better.

"Good," said Balinor. They were standing opposite each other in the courtyard, Merlin resting one hand on the wall behind him after the effort of maintaining the spell, the Dragonlord magic still tingling inside him. "Now, again, and this time, find out more."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't just tell me which statement is the lie," said Balinor. "Tell me more about it, why I'm lying, my motivations, desires. Find out more about these statements."

"I don't understand."

"I'll show you," said Balinor, stepping closer. "I'll enter Dragonsight, and you tell me a lie and a truth."

Inwardly, Merlin began to panic. A truth and a lie? What could he say? How could he say anything without Balinor stumbling across something he shouldn't?

He noticed a shift in the air, and realised Balinor was ready for the spell, taking mere seconds to prepare compared to Merlin's minutes. Merlin racked his brains quickly to find something to say, even as Balinor cast the spell, silently.

"Speak," Balinor said, and Merlin took a deep breath hoping for the best, employing what he knew of Occlumency as best he could.

"I had a best friend named Will as a child. I grew up near the sea."

Balinor hesitated for a moment, eyes narrowed as he looked at Merlin, concentrating, before nodding.

"The second statement is the lie."

"Yes," said Merlin, but Balinor was not finished.

"That is not all I discerned," he said. "Will was your friend from an early age, and you grew closer after he discovered a great secret of yours, one you feared others finding out. He was killed during an attack, and took your secret to his grave out of loyalty to you. You sometimes feel that if you had not kept your secret, he would have survived. As for the second statement, you did not see the sea for the first time until you were fully grown. You grew up in a small village surrounded by woods and small fields, a lonely spot with few visitors. You left there as a young man seeking your destiny. You chose those two statements because you were afraid of my intruding into private matters and thought they were harmless, though you were constantly worried that I would probe deeper."

Merlin froze. He felt uneasy, as though something cold had crept inside of him. He swallowed.

"You- you could tell all of that?" he asked. His heart was beating fast now; what else had he seen? Had his Occlumency worked?

"Yes," said Balinor, "and more if I had tried harder. This spell reveals everything, if you're good enough at it. I did not look much deeper than I needed to and left some things unexplored since I sensed you wanted to protect your privacy, the name of the village you grew up in for example is something you were trying desperately to conceal."

"I-" started Merlin, not knowing what to say, but Balinor was shaking his head.

"You do not need to tell me why," he said, "your secrets are your own. My point is, Malcolm, this spell is extremely intrusive. If I had wanted to, I could have found out so much I could effectively compel you to do whatever I chose. It is a dangerous spell in the wrong hands, which is why only Dragonlords who have demonstrated themselves to be trustworthy are taught it."

Merlin nodded, still uneasy. It was a spell far more effective than any Legilimancy he had ever encountered.

"Eldron mentioned that the most skilled can see lies and deceit even when they're not using the spell. Can you?" he asked, dreading the answer.

Balinor nodded, looking serious. "I can, and I can see there is a lot you are lying about and concealing, but without using the spell I cannot tell much more than that, and I would not attempt to. This spell is seldom used by Dragonlords, only in extreme situations."

"If you know I'm lying, then how did you now I was trustworthy enough to learn this spell?"

"You are here," said Balinor simply. "Those impure in thought and heart cannot step foot on this Isle whilst the High Council guard it. And you forget, this spell also sees the intentions behind lies. I can sense yours are honourable, and I shall not question it."

Merlin looked away, unnerved. Perhaps Hermione was right and learning from his father was too dangerous. He knew when he was lying, how long could he keep this up?

"Would you like to try it?" Balinor asked.

"Can- can we try something else?" Merlin asked, trying to hide his discomfort.

"Very well," he said, seeing through Merlin's unconvincing attempt to avoid more intrusion. "Has Eldron taught you the spell of location?"

They spent several hours learning this new spell, which Merlin found much easier. Unlike other location spells he had used which normally required something belonging to the subject, this one was far simpler, and required only a thought, a memory of the person, or even just a name, the location of the person appearing in Merlin's memory as clearly as if it was written on a sheet of paper in front of them. Balinor went through a number of people, asking him to track down Melian and Findan, Nechtan, the Druid who guarded the path towards the Isle, the Dragonlords Eldron, Berian and Valos, all now very far from the Isle.

"It is harder to locate those you do not know so well," said Balinor, as Merlin finally located Rhona, who was predictably in the courtyard on the other side of the castle where Niamhrach lay. "And especially if they are in a location unfamiliar to you, when the location will be more vague. "You'll find it much easier with your friends and those with whom you share blood. Try it now. Locate one of them, the girl from last night for example, the one with the brown hair."

Merlin smiled. "I don't need a spell to find Hermione. She'll be in the library."

"The red-haired one then."

Merlin gathered his magic and thought about Ginny, picturing her clearly in his mind, casting the spell inwardly. Almost immediately, he knew.

"She's by the lake, and Harry is with her," he murmured, opening his eyes. "That was quick."

"You know your friends well," said Balinor. "That is good. Your connection with them is strong. That will make it easier when you come to form Bonds with dragons."

"Can they tell I'm looking for them?"

"Other Dragonlords can if they know the spell, and so can dragons, but most people, no, unless they're exceptionally powerful. Some can shield themselves against it, though not easily. Again, this spell is often considered intrusive. Use it sparingly."

Merlin nodded. If only he'd had this spell last year. Morgana and Voldemort would have been defeated long before. Why hadn't Kilgharrah told him about it?

"Finding people you do not know is harder," continued Balinor. "A name can help you track them, but it is also possible to track those of whom you have only vague knowledge of. I once knew a Dragonlord who tracked the man who had cheated him in a game of dice even though he'd been so drunk he only remembered the man had had an eye patch. This takes a long time to develop however. Try it now and see. Tell me the location of a man named Taloth."

Merlin closed his eyes, and tried to concentrate, reigning in the raging magic within him and attempting to tame it. Once he found a semblance of balance, he said the man's name in his mind, willing himself to find him. His mind went hazy for a moment, and everything was confused and muddled. It was like trying to see clearly through a thick fog. After several minutes however, a small gap cleared, and he saw something faintly appearing through the fog.

"He's … somewhere in the Forest of Gir," said Merlin. "I can't see clearer than that."

He opened his eyes, and saw Balinor looking astonished.

"I hadn't expected you to get that far," he said, watching him curiously. "I thought you'd perhaps tell me he was north or here, or somewhere over the mountains. I didn't think you could pin it down so precisely."

"I don't know where in the forest-"

"Still," said Balinor, looking somewhat confused. "That's remarkable. To locate someone you've never met is extremely difficult."

"Who is he anyway?" Merlin asked, feeling uncomfortable.

"He is a woodsman who lives on the eastern edges of the forest," answered Balinor. "He is my mother's nephew."

Merlin looked away hurriedly, trying not to let him see the inevitable deceit that was in his eyes. Balinor's words rung in his ears: You will find it much easier with your friends and those with whom you share blood. This man was his father's cousin. That was why he had found him.

Balinor was still looking at Merlin, questions on his face, but he asked none of them, either respecting Merlin's privacy or knowing he would only be met with lies.

"I do not believe this spell will pose you any difficulty," said Balinor. "It is usually the easiest. The others pose more problems."

"Eldron said you could see someone's destiny with a Dragonlord spell," said Merlin. "And the future. Is that true?"

Balinor raised his eyebrows. "To an extent. Dragonsight can reveal a person's destiny, if you are skilled enough, but even then, interpreting that destiny is troublesome, and so we seldom make use of it. Even the dragons sometimes have difficulty with it. And looking into the future, we also discourage that."

"It seems almost everything you can do is discouraged," said Merlin. "Truth spells, destiny, location."

"Exactly," said Balinor, sounding pleased he had grasped this concept. "These are abilities gifted to us by the dragons. We are not dragons, and so to use them too often would not be right. Dragonlord magic and Dragon Magic should be used sparingly. Most Dragonlords use only their normal magic."

"Then what's the point in having it?"

"Because by discovering it, we are discovering ourselves," said Balinor. "It is a part of who we are. Even if we do not use it, it would be a sin to not know how to use it. Self-control is vital. We must never abuse our gifts."

This didn't fully make sense to Merlin. If he had this power, surely he should use it? How much more powerful would he be when he finally returned to the future? He could fix what was wrong with the world, make Rogers see sense and end the ruthless killing.

A new thought had struck him. "Can this magic bring back the dead?" he asked. Balinor's expression changed.

"What makes you ask that?"

"Just … I mean, how powerful is magic? Can it go against fate?"

Balinor was silent for a long time. "Bringing back the dead," he began, "is something very rarely done."

"It is possible though?"

"Oh, it's possible," said Balinor, and he cast a half glance towards the door that led in the direction of the Inner Sanctum where Merlin guessed the Cup of Life lay. "But never practiced."

He sighed. "Dragon Magic can restore life. If you link with a dragon through the Bond, you will have power enough to bring back the deceased. This is the ultimate abuse of power, however. Dragons see destiny above all else, and to interfere with this is wrong. You cannot force a new destiny upon someone."

"Why not?" asked Merlin. "Are we all stuck with the destinies we were born with? Don't we have any choice? Don't we have any control?"

He suddenly realised he was getting too close to the truth of what had been bothering him so and stopped talking. His hatred of fate and destiny was overwhelming him. If someone was destined to die, couldn't he do something about it? He'd brought back Gaius, and Ginny with the Cup of Life, why couldn't he use Dragon Magic in the future to bring back the dead without erasing the reveal of the magical world?

Because the Cup of Life was the one in control. It only allowed you to save them because it was not their destiny to die yet. By using Dragon Magic you wouldn't be bound the same way. You'd be going against destiny, a voice in his head said to him. He ignored it.

"We cannot force anything in this world," said Balinor, seeing Merlin was not going to say anything further. "I cannot force peace in this time, I must simply allow what is going to happen to happen and have faith that everything will be alright."

You wouldn't say that if you knew what was coming, thought Merlin. If I can make peace in 1999 with Dragon Magic, I will. I'm sick of destiny.

"I think we'd best finish for the day. But first, one last thing. Come," said Balinor, turning to leave the courtyard.

"Where are we going?" asked Merlin, already following him.

"To see an old friend."

A few minutes later, they walked into the courtyard containing Niamhrach. Merlin was relieved to see Rhona had left for some reason. Balinor headed straight towards the emerald dragon, and bowed his head in respect.

"Lady Niamrach."

"Lord Balinor," she said, her voice low and contented. "It has been a while since I have seen you on the Blessed Isle."

"Too long," he said, and he smiled, reaching down and placing his hand on her muzzle, she closed her eyes.

"I am glad you are back."

Balinor turned to Merlin, and gestured for him to come closer, which he did.

"Niamhrach was the first dragon I Bonded with," Balinor said. "Trust in her, in yourself, in the Old Religion itself, and you will find the answers you seek."

Merlin had crouched beside him, and at his encouragement, also reached out and placed a hand on Niamhrach's shining, slightly warm scales. The moment he did so, her eyes opened, and she looked at him. Then her eyes swivelled towards Balinor, who also had his hand on her scales. She looked back at Merlin, and at that moment, he could tell that she knew the truth. Her lips curled slightly, and a small puff of smoke came wafting out.

"Have faith, Malcolm," she said, looking between the two of them knowingly. "All that you need will be given to you. Do not abandon your gifts. Do not abandon your family. You will find your way."

Merlin flinched, and avoided looking at Balinor. Everything was so confusing to him. He was happy at being with his father, but being forced to conceal so much … What was he truly supposed to do with these new-found gifts?

He wished he had enough faith left.

Hours later, Merlin found himself wandering the corridors of the castle, idling before he went down for dinner. As usual, his heart was filled with sadness as he looked around, knowing the next time he would come to the island all of this would be in ruins and the people long dead. He tried to fix his mind on a more agreeable subject, but came up short. Even the things that were making him happy these days were enough to make him despair; a chance to finally get to know his father, yet still remain unknown to him.

A noise from one of the teaching rooms drew his attention, and he entered, looking around for the source of the sound; he had thought everybody except himself had headed to the Great Hall. In the room, sitting on a wooden bench staring out of the window, he found Draco. He sat there alone, face expressionless, hands twisted tightly in his lap. He didn't notice Merlin approaching and jumped when he spoke.

"What are you doing here?"

Draco looked away. "Just thinking."

"About what?" Merlin asked, coming to sit beside him on the bench. Draco looked like Merlin felt.

Draco shook his head. "It isn't important."

"If it's bothering you, it's important," said Merlin. "Tell me, Draco."

Draco hesitated for a moment, before it appeared he dropped his barriers, and everything came spilling out.

"That man last night," he said, looking down at his hands. "Heroc, the one who said there was no danger."

"What about him?"

Draco sighed heavily. "Do you remember when you, me and the Weasley twins came here looking for the Cup of Life?"

"Yes," said Merlin, wondering where this was going.

"We went to the Hall of Gathering, remember? And I saw that crest on the wall that looked like the Malfoy one, and I said I thought it was my ancestor's. I've got Old Magic, and I know I'm descended from Druids, so that means that crest was my ancestor's. My ancestors were at that meeting last night."

"Most likely," said Merlin. "But what-"

"Heroc!" said Draco, his cheeks flushed. "Some of the Druids wear tribal crests on their robes. Heroc was wearing the Malfoy one. He's my ancestor."

"Oh," said Merlin, stunned into silence for a moment. "I – I suppose he is. But why does that mean you're upset?"

Draco looked at him. "Didn't you hear him last night? Didn't you hear the things your father was accusing him of? Bribery, corruption, only looking out for their own and leaving everybody else to suffer … he hated him."

Draco stood up and paced the room, clearly agitated. "One of the reasons I'm so desperate to learn Old Magic and be good at it was because I thought it was the right thing to do," he said. "My family in 1999 have such a dark reputation I'm never going to be rid of it. I'd hoped by learning this magic, I could be more like my ancestors, before the darkness crept in. That one thought had kept me going. And now … now I find out my family has always been corrupt. And it always will be."

Draco finished, and leaned against the wall, his hands shaking. Merlin said nothing for a moment.

"Heroc is just one man of a Druid clan, Draco," Merlin said. "He doesn't speak for them all. Just like your father's actions do not speak for you. There is good in your family, just like there is good in you."

"Good?" Draco scoffed. "Then how come every Malfoy I've ever encountered has been evil? The Blacks are an evil family, but they've got people like Sirius Black, my Aunt Andromeda and Tonks. My family has nothing but darkness."

"And what about you? Aren't you the exception?"

"Please," said Draco. "I'm hardly one of the good guys. Not like Saint Potter and his friends."

"Then what was the point last year in fighting so hard to be accepted?" Merlin said. "In proving that you could be good?"

"I was just fooling myself," said Draco miserably.

"Well, you fooled me as well," said Merlin. "Because there is good in you, even if you want to deny it."

Draco just shook his head. He stared at the floor for a long time, seemingly trying to prepare himself. He took a shuddering breath before speaking, avoiding eye contact with Merlin.

"When you all return to the future, whenever that is," he said, "I want to stay behind."

"What?" said Merlin, standing up. "Why?"

"There's nothing for me in the future," said Draco, looking up. "Here, I can start again. Here, there's no expectations. I can't be one of the good guys, not really, they'll never fully accept me."

"But-"

"It's better than it used to be, of course," he went on, ignoring Merlin. "Weasley doesn't hex me at every opportunity he can, and even Potter is civil to me. But there's too much between us. We'll never be friends. I'm just their former enemy and that's all I'll ever be. They'll always look at me and remember the past."

Merlin stepped closer to him, seeing the misery on his face.

"You can reinvent yourself, Draco, I've done it before. Too often. Who you are inside has never changed, all you changed was the part of yourself that you chose to show to the world. You have things to live for in the future."

"Like what?"

"Your family," said Merlin. "Your parents, I know you still care. And what about Tonks, or Teddy? I thought you said you had a fresh start with him?"

"Yeah, until other people start telling him about my past," said Draco. "He's better off not knowing he's related to someone like me."

"Well, what about the Purge?" Merlin asked. "It's coming soon. You really want to live through that?"

"That's one of the benefits of coming from the future. I'll know what to avoid," said Draco.

"And you think living in hiding, keeping your magic secret for the rest of your life will make you happy?"

"All I know," said Draco, "is that I've been happier here with people I don't know than I ever have been in my own time."

Merlin was rapidly running out of arguments.

"This isn't the answer, Draco," he said. "There can be peace in the future, for all of us."

Draco laughed. "You don't really believe that. You're fighting it. The Old Religion wants you to get this spell and return to the future to erase the Liberator's actions. It wants me to live in a world where everyone hates me and no one trusts me. Neither of us wants to live that way. We're both denying it. How can you criticise me for doing the exact same thing you're doing?"

Merlin had nothing to say, and Draco knew it. He nodded, and turned to leave.

"There are some things we just can't accept," said Draco, standing in the doorway. "You're making your choice to go against fate. I'm making mine."

Then, he was gone.

Merlin stood alone for a while, running the conversation through his mind again and again. Was he denying his fate? Maybe that wasn't such a bad thing if what fate wanted was wrong. Destiny had always told him he would bring about peace, that the Once and Future King would return and help him do it when Albion's hour of need was greatest. Surely that was now? When he returned with all his new powers, wouldn't that actually be fulfilling fate?

He wished Fawkes was with him now, but the phoenix was probably off with Luna somewhere. Not even he was on Merlin's side anymore.

"You know, Merlin," said Ron at dinner, "I think I do see some similarities between you and your Great-Aunt Rhona."

Harry looked up and saw Rhona practically screaming at some younger Druids in the corner of the room. She looked positively terrifying. He laughed at her expression of frustration with the younger Druids, who had obviously just made some huge mistake with some sort of spell.

"Shut up, Ron," said Merlin, not even looking at her. Instead, his eyes were fixed on another point in the room. Harry followed his gaze, and saw Balinor sitting across the room with some of the elders of the Druid clans.

"How were your lessons?" Harry asked. Everyone else looked up, and all had slightly worried expressions on their faces. Well, all except Malfoy, who for some reason wasn't here. Harry's suspicion was growing stronger.

"They were fine," said Merlin, eyes still fixed on his father.

"Fine?" asked Hermione impatiently. "You mean he doesn't suspect anything's up?"

"Oh, he knows something is up," said Merlin. "He knows I'm lying about something."

"What?" said Hermione so loudly several people looked up.

"Don't worry," said Merlin. "He doesn't know I'm his … you know, but he knows I'm lying about something, he just doesn't know what."

"This could be a problem."

"Maybe not," said Harry. "We all knew Merlin was lying about something last year when he was still just Martin Emrys, but we all trusted him anyway."

"Yes, and we found out the truth, Harry!"

"Well, how would he ever even guess Merlin's his son from the future?"

"How did we ever guess Martin was the great Merlin from the past?"

"Hey," said Ron, interrupting their bickering. "I'm the only one who gets to argue with Hermione."

"You don't think he'll figure it out?" asked Ginny.

"No," said Merlin.

"Are you sure you're not just saying that because you want to get to know him? You do realise he can't find out the truth?"

"Of course I know," said Merlin, with an edge to his voice. "It's all I've been thinking about the past twenty-four hours. If I had even the slightest doubt I'd be sitting beside him right now telling him everything I wish I'd told him when I was younger. But no, I'm here. If I wasn't totally aware of my responsibility to not mess up the timeline I wouldn't be." He laughed to himself. "Ironic, isn't it? I can't go and talk to my father like I'm his son because I'd ruin the timeline, yet to change the timeline is actually why we're here in the first place. It makes no sense."

Harry couldn't help but feel sorry for him. It reminded him somewhat of his own experiences; of seeing his parents in the Mirror of Erised, of watching his father and his friends in Snape's memory. He had seen them, but had not been able to talk to them, have a conversation with them however desperately he wanted to reach out. Yet, he supposed this was worse. Actually having to interact with him, but not tell him who he was … Harry could only imagine.

He saw similar looks of concern on the faces of those around him. They all felt sorry for Merlin, but none of them knew what to do. Luna especially looked upset. She wanted to help him, they all did. But Merlin was just so confused and conflicted these days, they didn't know how. Merlin had been the one last year keeping them all going, never failing to know what to do next, despite his own doubts and fears. But these days, Merlin was nothing like the strong man they had all come to know. This was just too close to home for him. Literally.

Suddenly, there came a great trumpeting sound and everyone leapt to their feet. It was the signal to let them know there had been another attack, and people began running to the doors of the hall.

"Another one?" Ron asked. "Blimey, at this rate, the Purge will break out any day soon."

The Druid Cenric came in through the hall door and began making his way through the mass of people. His face was pale, and his hands were covered in blood.

"What's going on?" asked Ginny, catching him by the arm as he passed.

He turned to her urgently.

"An attack," he said, breaking free quickly. "I need to find Rhona. What we feared has happened. They've finally started slaughtering us. It's only a matter of time before the Five Kingdoms declare war on magic itself."

Harry stood there dumbstruck. People were now beginning to be killed. The Purge hadn't even started yet and there were fatalities.

He turned to see Merlin standing frozen, staring after Cenric. Everything Merlin had believed about the war pre-Purge was now completely wrong. If there hadn't even been peace in this time, what hope was there for the future?

Chapter Text

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone reading and commenting! I appreciate every single one of you!

The next several days after the fatal attack was spent by Merlin in training as hard as he could with Balinor, desperate to forget the faces of the dead he had seen being carried onto the Isle of the Blessed. Fights were now no mere scuffles, innocents were being persecuted, just like in 1999 and he had to do something to prevent it.

He rose before dawn each day, and, as he had done in his youth, he meditated with his magic, sorting through the swirling abyss of his magic and Dragonlord magic, testing his limits, probing his inner most self, bringing the two magics together as seamlessly as he could, determined to bring them into balance.

Lessons were spent with Balinor all day, who seemed more worried than pleased at Merlin's passion. But Merlin pressed onwards, working extra hard to master his new skills. He spent his evenings after dinner in the library reading every book he could on Dragonlords and dragons to learn as much as he could, staying well into the night, so late he felt his energy draining and concentration failing. The others warned him against working so hard, but he tried not to listen. They couldn't understand just what this meant to him.

He lay awake each night, feeling almost sick to his stomach, angry and frustrated with the way the world was. Even here, in this time of peace, the very concept of peace was unknown. How could he hope to bring it to the future when it hadn't even existed here in this centre of the Old Religion?

He was Emrys, the one prophesised about for centuries. He wasn't supposed to wind up like this. He was supposed to bring peace, he and Arthur together. They had briefly succeeded once, but he needed him again, back in 1999. It was his destiny, wasn't it? The one he had believed in for so long. Why then had everything forsaken him?

He had failed. When the Liberators had started causing trouble, he shouldn't have encouraged them, he should have seen their true motives. He should have done something then, before the killing had started. Arthur should have returned then, come back to help him create peace between sorcerers and Muggles the way they had done before. But he hadn't.

Maybe Merlin wasn't the true Emrys after all, or, if he had been, he had long since given up any claim to the title with his actions. He had failed in his destiny. He'd often thought he had throughout his long years, but now more than ever he was certain of it. Working with his father now, it was the only thing keeping him from pure despair. He had to fix this. He had to learn these skills to bring back to the future, maybe then he could redeem himself. It the Old Religion's way of punishing him; sending him back to a past that would hurt him to atone for the mistakes he made.

More than ever, he wanted to go back to Camelot. He needed to see what was going on there, see Uther again, see Nimueh and the beginning of the Purge. He wasn't sure why. Maybe it was because he needed to see the truth for himself, because deep down, he still thought of Camelot pre-Purge as being a haven for magic. He still clung to that thought. He needed to go back.

None of Merlin's internal struggles went unnoticed by Balinor. He asked no questions of Merlin however, but just kept going with the lessons, making them ever harder and more intricate.

"Let us try Dragonsight again," said Balinor, about a week after the attack. "Tell me which are the lies. Find out as much as you can."

Merlin immediately went into the state of mind required, finding his focus a lot faster than he had been doing previously. He cast the spell inwardly, and looked straight at Balinor, already seeing the subtle aura surrounding him. He looked for the fluctuations that would tell him if he was lying.

Balinor's face went blank. "My mother's name was Miral," he said. "She had auburn hair. She was from a village in the south. She had blue eyes."

Merlin grinned as he deepened the spell, seeing everything as clearly as day.

"They're all lies," he said. "Her name was Senga, and she came from an island in the northern seas. Miral was the name of her sister. Her hair was fair, and her eyes green. She married young, and became a wisewoman of the tribe. She loved to sing and never raised her voice in anger. The strongest memory you have of her is when she took you to see the hatching of a dragon when you were very young. Your father hatched the egg, and she let you hold the hatchling and feed it. It was the first time you ever really felt like a Dragonlord."

Balinor watched him for a moment, face inscrutable. "Impressive," he said, a small smile on his face. "You have come far in a week. Remarkably far."

Merlin didn't even try to hide his pleasure, both at mastering Dragonsight and at learning more of his family. He had previously known absolutely nothing of his grandparents.

Balinor was staring at him intently. "I wonder," he said. "Can you see my destiny?"

Merlin blinked. "I thought Dragonlords were discouraged from seeing people's destinies?"

"They are," said Balinor. "But I give you permission to see what you can."

Merlin obliged, and once again entered the state of Dragonsight, staring intently at his father, feeling the magic flow all around his body. Images flashed before his eyes so fast he could make no sense of them, but more than that, it was feelings that assailed him, a sense of a destiny he could not fully understand.

"Well?" Balinor asked after several minutes. "What is my destiny?"

Merlin stopped the spell, and looked away, filled with grief all of a sudden. "Pain," he said softly. "There is pain, so much of it. And death, and destruction."

Balinor did not look daunted. "That is my future, not my destiny," he said. "Destinies are often shaped by great pain and suffering. What is the end result?"

"Does it matter?" Merlin asked bitterly. "The pursuit of peace looks more and more like folly to me."

"Folly?" asked Balinor. "The pursuit of peace is never folly. No matter what the world throws at us, it is our duty to never stop thriving for peace."

"And what if that peace is never achievable?" asked Merlin, sitting down by the wall of the courtyard. He looked upwards, unable to see the sky through a mist of swirling clouds surrounding the island. "What's the point?"

Balinor came and sat beside him. "It is hard," he acknowledged, "to find peace. Especially for us."

He sighed softly. "Dragonlords are like the fire of the dragons, Malcolm," he said. "We have a constant fire of emotion within us. We cannot remain still and let it burn us up, we have to fight through us, let it fuel us, not consume us. Dragonlords find it harder to find peace than others precisely because of this internal fire, but when peace comes, it is far more worth it. The fire that drives us, too often burns us instead. You cannot let that fire burn out Malcolm, not can we let it rage out of control. We need this fire to keep us alive, we need to control it. Peace can be found for us."

Merlin couldn't help but scoff. "You can't say that," he said. "It doesn't matter if we find peace within ourselves, it cannot change the way the world is."

"No, but if we are content within ourselves, we can better face the challenges the world throws at us. We all have a path to follow, and follow it we must. We must have faith in the fire within us driving us to where we need to go."

Merlin thought this over later that day, but kept coming to the same conclusion. It couldn't be true, Balinor couldn't really believe it. He'd never found peace after being driven out of Camelot, after having to leave his mother. Instead he'd hidden in a cave for twenty years, running from his problems and hating the world. He hadn't found peace then. How could he advise Merlin to do the same?

He found himself by the main gate looking out across the lake. The light had dimmed, and the shore beyond was not visible in the wreaths of mist that surrounded the island. The water was still as a mill pond, almost like glass. Everywhere was the illusion of calm. There was no sign of the oncoming storm.

It was through these doors the refugees had come, the injured, the dying and the dead. Where was the peace he had heard spoken of so fondly in his youth? Where was the Golden Age of magic? The Druids were not going to take action against their coming doom, that much was obvious. The High Council did not want to admit one of their own had betrayed them. Even now, Nimueh was in Camelot, whispering in the ear of Uther, urging him to turn against sorcerers. But why? Surely she realised what she was doing would lead to the end of her people, her own alienation? Why had she done it?

Dragonsight could tell you, a voice in Merlin's head told him. Use the spell on her, find out why. Go back to Camelot. Know once and for all what happened.

Merlin dismissed this idea at first. He could not go back to Camelot. It was surely impossible to go back and not mess up the timeline. It was a stupid idea.

But was it?

Merlin glanced back at the castle. He was in disguise after all, and Camelot was not that far, especially if he travelled by magic. He could go, find out what he wanted to and return before being noticed. He would be careful. He knew how to go unnoticed, he didn't have to interfere. But could he trust himself?

He would have to. He knew he couldn't go on like this, all this wondering and second guessing would drive him mad. He needed closure. He needed to see Camelot one last time. To see Uther and Nimueh and finally know the truth.

And maybe Gaius would be there as well …

Mind made up, Merlin left the shadows of the castle gates and walked down towards the lake shore where the ferryman was standing. He wouldn't be gone long. He needed this.

He just hoped the others would understand.

"Ron!" yelled Harry, as Ron set fire to the hem of Harry's robes. "How many times? Don't do that spell when you're not looking!"

"I was looking," complained Ron, putting out the fire with a quick flash of his eyes. "I just got a little over-excited."

"What is it with you and fire spells?" Harry asked, shaking his head. "You're great at everything else!"

Ron shrugged. "Merlin says fire is the hardest element to master. You have to admit though, I'm a million times better than I was."

"Not hard," muttered Harry, examining his robes. "Haven't you been practicing with the Druids?"

"Of course, but I've been doing other stuff mainly. More fun stuff."

"You need to master the basics, Ron."

"You sound like Merlin, or worse, McGonagall," said Ron, rolling his eyes.

"Well it's true!" Harry maintained. "The elemental spells are important. They underpin every other spell you cast!"

"Yes, Professor Potter."

Harry sighed, and then smiled a little as they left the classroom on their way to the Great Hall. "Maybe you're right," he said. "You have been getting loads better. We all have. Merlin included, if that's possible."

"Remember that duel between him and Eldron?" Ron said. "When Eldron linked with that dragon and used that Dragon Magic on him … wow. If Merlin could learn that … if only he'd known last year. He could have blasted You-Know-Who and Morgana into dust with or without Excalibur. Why did Kilgharrah never tell him about it?"

"I suppose we'll find out when we get back," Harry replied, though he himself had been wondering the same thing.

"How will we get back though," Ron said, looking somewhat worried. "We haven't exactly figured that out yet."

"It'll be okay," said Harry, knowing this was true. "It'll come to us … somehow. I know it will."

Ron looked reassured. "Good, because Merlin has no idea. Actually," he stopped here to look around, though the corridor they were in was completely empty, "I don't think Merlin has a clue about anything anymore. I don't, well, I don't exactly trust him. He's deluded himself that this Dragonlord magic, or Dragon Magic or whatever is going to work in the future. He won't listen to anyone else."

"I know," said Harry sadly. "But he'll come around. He will. I know that for sure. I think … I think perhaps the reason we came back here wasn't just to get the spell, but to help Merlin see that this is the only option. He didn't believe in it when we arrived, and I think that somehow, he'll see the truth eventually."

"But how? All that coming back here's done has given him an idea to do it differently."

"We have time," said Harry, confidently. "The High Council aren't ready to give us the spell yet. And I don't think they will until they see that all of us truly believe in it."

"But how can they know that if they don't know who we are, or even what we want?"

"I think they do," Harry said. "I think they know a lot more about us than they let on."

Ron shuddered slightly. "That's actually kind of creepy. I don't like them much."

They had now emerged into the Great Hall, which was still full of people who had been at the Gathering the week before. They found the others with little difficulty, they were looking around with worried expressions.

"Have you seen Merlin?" Ginny asked, the second they were close enough.

"No, why?"

"No one has since this afternoon," she said.

"That's not unusual," said Ron. "He's always off wandering by himself."

"Yes, but Cenric said he saw him walking out of the castle gates this afternoon," said Hermione, her hands clasped tightly together. "We've searched down by the lake, and he's not there. The ferryman is gone too. He might just be picking up someone on the other side but … with Merlin missing as well."

"You think he's left the island?" Harry asked, dread settling in his guts. "Why would he do that? Where's he gone?"

They all looked at each other, and each of them knew instinctively what the others thought. But no one seemed to want to voice it out loud.

"He can't have …" said Ron, shaking his head. "He wouldn't be that daft."

"We can't be sure these days," said Luna, hanging her head. "He isn't himself anymore. He's desperate."

"There's only one way to find out for sure," said Ginny firmly, and without another word began crossing the room, everyone following her automatically. She approached the bottom of the table, where the Dragonlords normally sat. They looked up at her in bemusement, probably confused by the sight of a fierce looking red head charging towards them. But one in particular looked intrigued.

"We need your help," Ginny said, ignoring the strange looks she was getting. Balinor stood up slowly, and frowned.

"What is wrong?"

"Malcolm is missing," explained Ginny. "We think he's done something stupid."

Balinor did not look surprised. Instead he stepped out from behind the table and came towards them, gesturing them to follow as he left the room, leaving his fellow Dragonlords sitting in bewilderment.

"This is not a shock to me," Balinor said, as he led them down a small corridor and into an antechamber. He sealed the door with magic as they all filed in and turned towards them. "He was melancholy during our lesson today. Above all, I sensed despair from him. Despair that his destiny, whatever it is, is futile. There was a fear within him, a hopeless fear. He is searching for peace, not just for the world, but for himself. What is it you fear he has done?"

Harry and the others exchanged glances. "We can't tell you, exactly," he said slowly, not wanting to offend the Dragonlord, but Balinor did not look offended.

"You all share the same secret then that he is keeping from me," he stated. "Do not worry, many here on the island have secrets, many have their own quests, and all have a destiny. I will not enquire if you do not wish me to. What do want of me?"

"We need you to find him for us," Ginny said. "To make sure that he's gone where we think he's gone. That's one of those Dragonlord spells, isn't it?"

Balinor nodded, and closed his eyes. He drew his magic to him, and Harry felt it in the air. It was foreign magic to him, seeming wilder than what he was used to. A second later, Balinor opened his eyes. A frown crossed his face.

"He is in Camelot," he said. "But why would he go there?"

Harry sighed, and looked at his friends, seeing their faces reflecting the emotions he was feeling. Merlin had finally broken down.

"We need to get there, right away," said Hermione, already beginning to panic. "Who knows the harm he could do?"

"But how?" said Harry. "We don't know the way, and it will take us days to get there anyway."

"Can't we do that Transport thing?" Ginny asked.

"Not from the Isle, we'd have to get outside of its boundaries," said Hermione. "And even then, it only really works for places we know really well, and we've never-"

She trailed off, looking at Balinor who was still watching them, but Harry understood. They'd all been to Camelot, or rather, what remained of it, but they'd never seen it at its height. For Transporting to work, he'd have to visualise a particular spot to reappear, and for all he knew, the spot he thought of which was plain grass in 1999 might be the middle of King Uther's bedroom in this century. Besides, someone may see them appear, and that could hardly be good for the timeline with the magical situation being as precarious as it was. They could cause the Purge to begin earlier than it was meant to.

Just then, was a burst of flame, and Fawkes suddenly appeared on Harry's shoulder, making everyone jump.

"Of course," murmured Harry. He turned around to face everyone. "Grab hold, Fawkes will take us."

"What exactly is it you plan to do?" Balinor asked, as everyone gathered around to grab a feather. "What is so urgent?"

"We can't tell you," said Harry apologetically. "But it's serious. Things could go badly wrong, for everyone."

"Could he be hurt?"

"Maybe," said Harry, looking away. What Balinor didn't need to know was that if Merlin somehow stopped the Purge from happening, he could effectively erase his own existence. He looked back up at Balinor, and saw the Dragonlord looked concerned. "We can't waste a single minute."

A fiery light engulfed them all and Harry felt himself travelling through blank space, whirling around until his feet hit solid earth, and he finally let go of Fawke's strangely warm feathers. His legs collapsed underneath him, and his face slammed into the ground. The smell of grass filled his nostrils, and he shakily pulled himself into a sitting position, looking around for the others, who were also trying to stand.

"I hate travelling by Old Magic," Ron complained. "I don't care if we're Transporting, or going via phoenix or dragon, I always end up on my arse."

"You prefer Splinching do you then?" Ginny shot back. "Be grateful we're here at all."

"Where is here?" Ron asked.

Harry looked around, and saw they were on a wooded path, no different from the ones they'd travelled on to the Isle of the Blessed. There was no sign of a castle.

"Brilliant, bloody brilliant," said Malfoy. "Another abandoned road. Can't that bloody bird get us to the right place? Where are we? Which way is Camelot, left or right? We could go the wrong direction for miles!"

"It's left, actually, and we're only about a mile outside of it."

They all whirled around at the sound of the new voice. Balinor was standing behind them, no sign of having been thrown to the ground. Fawkes was sitting on his shoulder. Harry was immediately on his guard. Had they said anything to betray themselves in the last few minutes? If they had, Balinor gave no sign he had heard it. He just stood, stroking Fawkes' feathers.

"It's remarkable, really," he said, gazing at the phoenix. "I didn't try to follow you, I didn't think I'd be welcome. But I wanted to come, I wanted to help you find Malcolm. It was all that was filling my thoughts as I watched you begin to disappear. It appears the bird heard my silent plea. He brought me of his own accord. Maybe he thinks I'll be needed."

Harry stared at the Dragonlord and the phoenix, and then looked around at the others, all of whom looked slightly alarmed. How were they supposed to proceed with him along with them ensuring they could not speak freely. What was Fawkes thinking?

"Why did you want to come?" Luna asked, the only one who did not look worried.

Balinor frowned, and looked confused. "I'm not sure," he said. "There's this strange feeling I have whenever he's near. Like I recognise him from a distant memory, or even a dream. I feel protective of him somehow, more so than I feel of any other young Dragonlord. There's something special about him, something I can't quite put my finger on. I felt like I needed to help, and when you mentioned he could do himself some harm … It's silly, I know, but I have this need to make sure he's alright. I need to know he's safe, and happy."

"It's not silly at all," said Harry, looking at the man in a new light, feeling a strange surge of emotion. It appeared that the father-son bond between them was even stronger than anyone involved had realised. He shouldn't be surprised; the Old Religion was at play here. It knew Merlin's father needed to be here.

It was sad in a way, Harry thought. Balinor felt a connection to Merlin that he could not understand, and no one was able to explain it to him. It was unfair, desperately unfair that Balinor was being denied the chance to fully know his son.

He said none of this however, despite wanting to, and so just tried to act as if he knew nothing. "You said Camelot is a mile away? We should hurry then."

"There's no point," said Balinor. "By the time you get there, the gates will have closed. No one enters after sundown."

"What?" said Hermione. "But we need to get there right away! Can't you take us there by magic? Couldn't we sneak in somehow?"

"It would not be advisable," said Balinor. "If the situation truly was as desperate as you say, your phoenix would have taken you directly to your friend. There is time to wait until morning. You see, he's even dropped us off at a perfect location for camp. You must trust that Malcolm does not do anything rash."

"But he's been there for hours already!" said Ginny.

"And do you think he would do this thing you fear immediately? Or do you think he would bide his time?"

Harry thought about it for a moment. He wasn't sure exactly what Merlin was planning; just stop the Purge somehow, perhaps by killing Nimueh or casting some sort of spell on Uther. But would he do it right away? His gut said no. he would wait, he would explore the city he loved, check up discretely on old friends, hang back and judge the situation before doing anything. At least, he hoped he would.

He eyed Fawkes warily. Maybe Balinor was right.

They made camp as Balinor suggested, some of them a little reluctant. As none of them had thought to bring any equipment with them, they were almost entirely reliant on Balinor. Harry built the fire, but he had no idea how to hunt with Old Magic, or what to hunt, and what to do with the catch if they found anything. Balinor had seemed a little surprised at their ineptitude at what must be a common task in this century, but had obligingly crept off and returned with a few rabbits, which he prepared skilfully for them with a few quick spells, and before long they were tucking into a small but tasty meal, using some crude wooden plates that Luna had created from a nearby large log with some deft spells.

The daylight had faded rapidly, and most of them began to lie down on the ground and try to get as comfortable as possible without blankets. Harry however remained sitting, looking into the fire. Was Merlin alright? Had he done anything stupid?

Balinor also sat by the fire. Without looking at Harry, he pulled out a small piece of wood from his pocket along with a little knife, and began carving the wood, focusing intently on his work, nimble fingers dancing rapidly. Harry watched for a while, seeing the wood transform slowly from a lump into a graceful figure, with smooth lines and careful features. It was a small dragon.

Harry stared, recognising the image. He'd once seen something almost identical in Merlin's possession, much more worn and aged looking, unlike the fresh piece before him still smelling of wood shavings. My father carved it for me, he'd said. It's one of the few things I have of his.

Balinor noticed him staring. "I like making them," he said, carving out a few more details. "I don't mind doing it the non-magical way. I always have. I saw my father do it as a child. He gave one to me, and it was my most treasured possession. At least, until my aunt stood on it after I left it on the floor in my room and snapped it in two. She could have repaired it by magic of course, but she threw it on the fire instead. 'That'll teach you to leave things lying' she said, or something like it."

"You must have quite a collection," Harry said.

"I don't keep them," he said, placing the figurine beside him on the ground. "I give them to the children on the Isle, and the children I meet in the Dragonlord tribes, the ones who haven't yet grown into their inheritance. I want to keep my culture going. I need to make sure the dragons are not forgotten. Unfortunately, that seems like a distant dream now."

"Malcolm will make sure of that," Harry said. "He'll keep it going. You don't need to worry about that. The Dragonlords will never be forgotten."

Balinor looked at him, and Harry was suddenly struck, now that he was up close, just how much he resembled Merlin in his expressions and his very demeanour.

"I hope that you are right," he said. "Our very way of life depends on people like him."

Harry looked away. This was exactly the thing that Merlin could not understand. He wanted to recreate the past, the way things had been. He didn't see how important it was to bring this knowledge to the future, not to copy it exactly, but to learn from its mistakes, to forge a new time of peace.

He hoped he would realise it before it was too late.

He was here. He was actually here.

From the moment Merlin had caught sight of Camelot over the ridge he had Transported to after riding out from the island, all thought of Uther, Nimueh and changing the timeline had left his mind. He had stopped and stared for what felt like hours, drinking in every detail. He had thought he had memorised the city entirely, had every window, every tower, every street etched into his memory forever, but now that he was back, it was like discovering the city anew. Things he had forgotten about leaped out at him as soon as he entered the city, the sounds, the smells, the very feel of the street underneath his feet ignited more memories than he thought he had possessed. The streets were crammed with the usual sort of people, all passing by unawares, and Merlin lost himself in them, relishing the anonymity. He paused by the stalls in the marketplace, examining the wares and listening to the conversations of those around him. He had never thought he could find such happiness in such simplicity.

He seated himself on a small wall near the main market with a meat pie he had bought from one of the vendors, and watched. Each person that passed was examined closely. Had he known that man? What would he look like in another couple of decades? How many of these people would become his acquaintances in the future? He looked in particular at the stall holders. Had he once bought his and Gaius' food from that man? His clothes from that woman? Why couldn't he remember their names? Their faces? He'd been so careful to forget nothing of his time here. Once or twice, a face caught his attention, a spark of recognition flared in his mind, but was soon gone. He had forgotten more than he had realised.

He wandered the city for a long time, forgetting his plan of returning early to the Isle of the Blessed. He found himself lost once or twice, and felt sick to his stomach. How could he have forgotten the city streets he knew so well? Hadn't he once roamed these streets in the dead of night? Had he not once known every nook and cranny of the city?

Occasionally, his feet found a long forgotten familiar path, and brought him to a place that reawakened old memories, things he hadn't realised he had ever known. There was Gwen's old home. Were her parents living there even now? Would he even recognise her father if he saw him now? Had Gwen or Elyan even been born yet? He couldn't remember if either of them were older than Arthur or not. Morgana certainly had been. Was she here in this city now, a small baby with no evil polluting her heart and mind?

His eyes turned to the palace high at the top of the city. Uther was there, and Ygraine, possibly even carrying Arthur at this moment. The thought was a strange one.

He found himself back at the market once more, but a commotion had broken out. Several men were scuffling with each other, slamming into stalls and other people indiscriminately. But, as Merlin pushed his way through the crowd, he saw that it was in actual fact, five men attacking one, a youngish looking man who was huddled on the ground, blood pouring from his nose and his lips, flinching away from the blows of the other men.

"Druid scum!" one of the attackers yelled, kicking the man in the ribs. "We don't want your kind here."

"Take your potions elsewhere!" another shouted.

Merlin looked around the crowd in indignation; wasn't anyone going to stop this? But the crowd just looked on. Some looked upset, some fearful, some even looked approving. No one was going to step in.

He almost interfered himself, but stopped himself in time, forced to watch helplessly as the continued to beat the man senseless. All this for being a Druid?

Eventually, some guards showed up, and Merlin breathed a sigh of relief, but, to his outrage, they stood and watched for a few moments, before eventually reaching into the fray and pulling the attackers away from the injured man.

"On your feet!" they barked at the Druid, and the man stood shakily, his many injuries colouring his face purple and staining his clothes red.

"I wasn't doing anything," the man pleaded tearfully. "I was just trying to sell my goods." He gestured to a pile of broken bottles on the ground beside him.

"You lot have been warned against causing trouble here," one of the guards said. "Clean up that mess and get out."

"But I haven't done anything wrong-"

"Didn't you hear me?" the guard growled. "Do as I say, unless you want to wind up in the dungeons."

The man shook his head quickly, and bent down to retrieve what remained of his possessions. His head hung, and Merlin could see tears mingled with the blood on his face. Once he'd stood once more and began to leave, the crowd parted, some throwing jeering remarks at his retreating back. The guards laughed appreciatively, as did the attackers. The guard in charge turned to them.

"Next time you want to beat up a Druid, don't do it so publicly," he said. "Commotions like this are bad for business. Do it in private. No witnesses."

The attackers nodded, grinning evilly, and soon they too had disappeared. The people in the market began to return as normal, righting their tables and picking up the debris caused by the fight. Before long, business had resumed.

Merlin stood where he was, horrified at what he had just witnessed. He moved away from the market, stumbling over his own feet in his confusion. The Purge had not even started, and the people of Camelot had already turned against magic.

The previous weeks at the Isle of the Blessed should have prepared him for this, the sight of all those refugees should have been enough proof for him, but it wasn't until now that Merlin had fully believed it. The Purge had not been a sudden thing, one man's blind hatred, it had been building up for a long time. It wasn't just Uther that had persecuted magic.

He felt somewhat sick. Where had the peace he had been told about existed? If not here, where? Had there ever been peace between sorcerers and Muggles? The sight of the castle poking between the houses riled something inside of him. If Uther was there, he had to see him.

He moved off in the direction of the castle, his quick pace causing him to bump into people in the busy streets, but he did not care, his eyes were focused solely ahead. The guards that in his time had guarded the entrance to the main courtyard of the palace were not here, obviously extra security had come after the Purge, and so Merlin found no problem accessing the front of the palace. He looked around, memories once more rising to the surface. This was the site of so many executions, funerals, celebrations and so many other occasions. He looked up at the balcony from where Uther had dispensed justice with a cruel hand. There was no one there at present.

He passed the well which he had spent so much of youth around hauling up water, and the stables which he had cleaned top to bottom more times than he could remember. The door to the kitchens was near here …

He ducked into a shadow, and cast a quick spell of invisibility over himself. Disguised he may be, but a stranger couldn't very well just wander into the palace. Once the spell was cast, he entered through the kitchens, smelling the familiar scent in amongst all the old commotion. He stopped as he recognised one of the cooks standing before him, who had so often slapped him around the head for trying to steal some sweet treats when fetching Arthur's meals. What had been her name?

He didn't stop to wonder, ignoring the sharp pain in his chest as he thought of all the others whose names had been lost to him over the centuries. How could he ever had forgotten a single one? He found the staircase and climbed it rapidly into the main part of the castle, meeting no one along the way aside from a few servants, who looked rushed off their feet, as he had so often done. He passed through the corridors quickly, his step not faltering for an instant, tracing the old paths of his youth. He barely even knew where his feet were taking him until they stopped before a partially open door: the audience chamber.

He hesitated for an instant. Something had pulled him here, and he was almost afraid of what he would find on the other side. It was as if he was a servant once more, cautiously moving around the edges of the castle, trying to avoid being. The trepidation was almost too much.

He drew his courage however, and slipped in through the doorway, holding his breath so as not to nudge the door and betray his presence. Once inside, he stopped and surveyed the scene.

It was much as the same as it had always looked. A large throne sat at the head of the room, and one long table sat down the centre, covered in maps and letters. Most of the chairs were empty, the meeting was evidently over, but the throne at the top, and the seat next to it were occupied, and one of the figures that sat there was all too familiar.

Uther was younger, his hair not as grey, face not as lined or scarred, but there was the same firmness of jaw and regal bearing that Merlin knew him for. He was wearing the clothing of a Knight, and a crown which seemed almost too big for him. He was in the prime of his life, formidable and kingly, yet his face was softened in a way Merlin had never seen it before. His eyes were fixed on the woman beside him, and there was such an expression of love in his gaze that he could never have thought possible from the cold-hearted man he had known.

The woman, Queen Ygraine, looked back at him equally as affectionately. She looked exactly like Merlin remembered from the vision Morgause had once conjured for Arthur. Young, fair and lively, her smile seem to radiate across the room. One hand was resting on a large belly.

Merlin found himself frozen on the spot. Arthur.

A pain went through him, more acute than he had thought possible. He was once again in the same room as Arthur, albeit in a manner he had never imagined. Ygraine looked as if she was nearly full-term, and the smile on her face almost broke his heart. He looked at the family before him, soon to be broken, irreparably damaged. Arthur would never remember a happy scene like this. And soon, families all over the kingdom would be facing similar heartache.

He didn't know what he had expected to feel when he came here, what he would accomplish. Why had he come? Had the Old Religion brought him here, or was it his own selfish desires?

He took a deep breath, and drew his Dragonlord magic to him, willing himself to enter the state of Dragonsight, without incantation. For the first time, his magic came into balance almost immediately, and he opened his eyes to see three glowing auras before him, ones that he could read as easily as one of the letters on the table.

He gasped inwardly when he understood what it was he saw. Their destinies, Uther's, Ygraine's and the unborn Arthur's were as clear as day, as were the glimpses of the futures he saw in his mind. He saw every detail, every decision, every choice that would lead to their eventual fates. And for the first time in his long life, he understood it. For the first time, he could understand why their destinies were the way they were. He saw their places in the wider scheme of the world, and now knew, despite the heaviness in his heart and the pain that wracked his body, that he could do nothing to prevent their fate. He saw how the Old Religion worked in their lives, and knew he could do nothing to interfere.

He felt weak all of a sudden, and had to lean against a pillar to support himself. He was breathing heavily and trying to keep the two royals from noticing. But they were entirely too absorbed in each other. They were murmuring softly to each other, too soft for Merlin to hear. Not that he's want to: it was obviously very private, and besides, he'd had enough of Uther's 'romancing' when he'd married that troll …

He couldn't quite believe that this was the same man who had caused so much misery. Yet he saw it clearly there in his aura. His destiny was hate, fear and cruelty. The happy man here would soon become twisted and bitter, with no hope for redemption. And the queen, her destiny was tragically short. As for Arthur, well, Merlin had always known Arthur's destiny. But it was different now. He wasn't being told by Kilgharrah or cryptic Druids what the intentions of the Old Religion were. Now he could see it for himself, and suddenly all of his doubting, all of his criticism and bitterness at magic seemed foolish. This was the way it was meant to be. Whether he liked it or not.

He felt like such an idiot, a naïve, self-absorbed idiot. Why had he turned from the Old Religion, why had he doubted? Luna and the others had been right. He hadn't wanted to listen to what it told him, he believed what he wanted to believe. It was Arthur's destiny to bring peace between sorcerers and Muggles side-by-side with Merlin. Only together could the two of them achieve it, and it wasn't in 1999 that this was supposed to happen. How could he have been so blind? How could he have been so arrogant to think he knew best? The others had told him to appreciate the peace he had created when he had killed Morgana, and he should have listened. The problems in the present had been no excuse to go stirring up trouble and try to dissolve the Statute.

Even though Arthur was not even born, Merlin felt a familiar pull of magic, one he had not experienced in a very long time. He watched the pregnant woman for a few moments, looking at her beaming face as she caressed her belly. She would never know her son.

The world seemed cruel, and in a way it was. But things had happened for a reason. And now Merlin could see that, literally. This was one of the reasons they had come back here. Not just for the spell. But for Merlin to see the truth.

Just as he was preparing to leave, the doors to the chamber opened fully, and in walked another familiar presence. It was Nimueh.

Merlin went cold to see her. His hands shook in anger as she approached the king and queen, who smiled at her and welcomed her, inviting her to sit with them. Nimueh smiled in return, asking after Ygraine's health, reaching out and placing her hand on the woman's stomach. There was no inkling of guilt on her face, no indication that she knew the woman before her would soon be dead.

Merlin glared at her, but knew he could do nothing. The sight of her repulsed him. He could sense her magic, her powerful magic that would one day be turned against himself and Arthur. She caused this. It was her that had started the Purge.

But why?

Merlin now turned his Dragonsight on her, determined to know the truth. What he saw astonished him.

Power. That was all she desired. She wanted to be the most powerful sorcerer in the land, and to do so, she wanted to eliminate the competition, and had been easing her way into Uther's trust, turning him and his people against ordinary magical users. She wanted Ygraine out of the way to pave the road for her to become Queen. She didn't care how many innocents were harmed in the process. He sensed however, she had not anticipated the almost complete genocide that had occurred. She wanted Uther to rid Camelot of sorcerers, she wanted Ygraine dead so she could be queen, but she had not wanted the Purge to happen. She had wanted control of the sorcerers. She had not told Uther Ygraine would be the one to die, she had wanted to blame that on a natural death in childbirth. But, he also saw that Gaius was suspicious of her, and he had told Uther the truth, but Uther had refused to believe him. Nimueh may have succeeded in her plan had not Gaius seen through her plot.

How could she have been so stupid? She was a Seer, how could she have not foreseen the consequences? The answer was she was too blinded by ambition, too power-hungry. The Purge may have been building up for some time, but it had been she who lit the spark. The world had gone up in flames because she wanted to be Queen. It all seemed so futile. Merlin had never hated her more.

At that moment, Nimueh suddenly stood up, her head twisting and turning, suddenly alert and suspicious.

"What is the matter?" Uther asked, also leaping to his feet and placing a hand on the sword at his belt.

"There is a presence here, a magical presence," she said, her eyes scanning the room. "It is watching us."

Uther's sword was in his hand the next second, and he stood before his wife with his weapon raised. Nimueh was still searching the room, a small smile spreading across her face.

"Who are you?" she said. "Have the High Council sent you to spy on me? Come out, won't you? Let me see you."

Merlin longed to show himself, to confront her and kill her now so his younger self wouldn't have to. She had begun roaming the room, and had stopped almost exactly before the spot Merlin stood. She was almost close enough to touch …

"Are we in danger?" the Queen asked, wrapping her hands protectively around herself, a terrified look on her face.

"I will allow no sorcerer to touch you," Uther said fiercely, and Merlin almost snorted. Little did Uther know, magic had already done its damage to his queen.

Nimueh was still smiling, smug and self-satisfied. He had ended the spell, yet he could still see the truth of her motivations surrounding her. She had resented the way the High Council had treated her, the youngest of the group. She had wanted to prove herself, tired of the old rituals and slow pace of life. This was her defining moment, her chance to show the Druids just how powerful she could be.

Merlin shook his head in disgust, and turned to leave. He walked through the doors Nimueh had left open, not stopping to look back at the family and the temporary happiness they were experiencing. He had seen all he needed to. He had seen what the Old Religion wanted him to.

It was time to head back to the Isle of the Blessed and apologise to those he had wronged. For the first time in months, he knew what his destiny was. He believed in it once more.

Chapter Text

"Are you sure he's still in the city?" Hermione asked Balinor for the third time that morning. They had risen with the sun and already started on the path towards Camelot, Balinor leading the way.

Balinor however was patient. "Yes," he replied. "I am certain."

"But why has he stayed?" Ron asked. "What's he planning?"

"I'm not sure he's planning anything," Harry said. His eyes were straight ahead, focused on the road before them that led to Camelot. "I can't feel anything." He glanced at Balinor and then lowered his voice. "If he was planning on changing the timeline, I think I'd know. I get this feeling when bad stuff is about to happen, so surely I should know already?"

"Then why is he in the city at all?" Hermione asked.

"Reliving the past," Luna said quietly.

Harry turned back to the road. Despite his internal assurance that Merlin wasn't about to expose them all, he couldn't help but feel a pit of worry in his stomach. Forget it, he told himself. Have faith.

The path they were on opened out as it emerged from the trees and swerved to the left, following the course of a narrow ridge that led to the valley floor. Now that the trees were gone, the view before them was unobstructed. All six people from the future stopped in amazement. Camelot was before them.

Harry had seen a portrait of Camelot before in Hogwarts, he'd even been to its ruins before, but nothing could have prepared him for this. The painting had captured the glorious nature of the castle, but not the sparkling brilliance it had underneath the sun's early morning rays, the fluttering flags on its turrets, the sounds, even from this distance of being going about their business. It was magnificent. He felt a change inside of him, a feeling of recognition on a soulful level. This was home.

"It's beautiful," said Ginny beside him, her eyes aglow. "Better than I had imagined."

Nods of agreement met her words, and Harry couldn't help grinning.

Balinor was staring at them all. "Have you never been to a city before?" he asked them bemusedly. "I assure you, there are cities even grander than this."

"There aren't any better than this," said Hermione, though quietly, so he couldn't hear. "Think of what happens to this place, what it becomes. It's a beacon of hope and tolerance for centuries to come."

Balinor just shook his head, and continued down the path, muttering something about foreigners. Harry tore his eyes away from the vision before him and began to follow.

"Come on," he said to the others. "We can't stare at it all day. We need to find Merlin."

Their journey down to the front gates took less time than he had thought, and soon they were passing guards wearing the Pendragon crest Harry recognised from the apparitions of Arthur and his Knights he had encountered, and then they were inside.

It was busier than he had thought, more cramped and noisy, with a less than pleasant aroma lingering in the air, but none of that mattered. He found himself looking from left to right as eagerly as he had on his first ever trip to Diagon Alley, trying desperately to take everything in. He saw all manner of people, selling all manner of things in the market, strange sights and smells greeting his senses as they pushed their way through the bustling crowd. All the while he tried to compare this with the silent hillside he knew of as Camelot in his own time, but refused to believe it was the same place. How could somewhere like this vanish so easily. It was so full of life.

Now he saw how busy it was, he began to despair of finding Merlin in the crowd. Balinor led them down a small side street and gathered them all around them.

"I shall wait here in the market," he told them. "Something tells me I should not come with you any further."

"But how are we supposed to find him?" Ron asked.

"He's in the royal courtyard. Just sitting there. I do not know why."

"You can track him down as precisely as that?" Hermione asked.

Balinor looked troubled at her words. "Yes," he said slowly. "It's strange … Our abilities allows Dragonlords to track down people, but usually such precise locations are limited to people that the Dragonlord knows extremely well. I wouldn't say that about myself and Malcolm. The only other exceptions are blood relations."

Harry and the others glanced at each other in alarm. Luna stayed calm however.

"Well, you are kin, aren't you?" she said. "Aren't all Dragonlords distantly related?"

"I suppose," said Balinor, though not looking convinced.

"We should get going," Harry said, wanting to turn this particular conversation in a different direction. "Which way is the royal courtyard?"

After Balinor had given them such hasty instructions, they hurriedly pressed their way through the crowds, following the long winding route that led up to the palace. As they drew closer, Harry looked upwards at the castle, drinking in every detail. This had been Merlin's home once. The idea was a strange one.

The courtyard was before them, and surprisingly, there were quite a number of the townspeople milling around. They seemed to be waiting for something. Harry scanned the courtyard quickly, taking in the impressive façade of the castle and searching for Merlin. Was he inside of the palace?

"There!" cried Luna, and she darted off into the crowd, the others following quickly. They pushed through some annoyed looking people, until they cleared, and Harry could see a well before him. Merlin was sitting on the small wall that surrounded it. He was staring straight ahead, a melancholy look on his face.

"OI!" Merlin started, as Ron stormed towards him. "What are you doing here, you bloody idiot? You scared us all half to death!"

"Sorry," said Merlin, and Harry was surprised to see he didn't look defensive at all. In fact, he looked genuinely sincere, even a little guilty. "I was going to come back last night, but then I felt my father searching for me, so I guessed you'd all be here sooner or later. I wanted you to see it."

"What are you doing here, Merlin?" Hermione asked. "You haven't-"

Merlin laughed, and shook his head, and Harry was astonished to see a genuine smile on his face. "No, though I wanted to. You don't need to worry. I was an idiot, to all of you. You were right. I think it took finally coming back here for me to realise that."

"So, you're not going to try and change the timeline?" Malfoy asked. "Why? Don't you want to make things better?"

Merlin met his eyes. "Things are the way they are meant to be," he said. "I fought it for a long time, but I see the truth now. I'm sorry for everything. I've been pushing you to accept your family's past and move past it, but not doing the same myself. I was a hypocrite."

"You mean, you're not going to try and find another way to fight the Liberators?" Harry asked, hardly daring to believe it.

"No," said Merlin, smiling again. "I've realised what I need to do now." He looked around, and sighed slightly. "I deluded myself into thinking that Camelot was this perfect place, both before and after the Purge, but that wasn't the case at all. There was fear and hatred here even before magic was outlawed, and now that I think about it, even those years I spent in Camelot as Court Sorcerer weren't perfect. We had enemies back then as well, people who were angry at magic being legalised again. Peace doesn't always mean the same thing." He paused for a moment. "I should have been happy with the situation back in 1999. I couldn't just let myself live in the moment. I was chasing a dream, a dream I now realise didn't exist even back here. The Old Religion had returned, I should have focused on that. Just because we had some problems shouldn't have meant I gave up."

"But I thought you hated the fact that you'd never get to see Muggles and wizards living side-by-side again, like you remembered?" Hermione asked.

"Things are never the way we remember," said Merlin. "I idealised Camelot, and I forgot or just ddidn't just care about the problems that had existed here as well. I see it now. A time of peace can never be achieved when Muggles and sorcerers are forced to live side-by-side. The only reason we had any peace, is because the two sides came together willingly. Me and Arthur wanted peace, and that's why it worked, and why it won't work in 1999. More time is needed. What we have to ensure in the future is that the means to peace are preserved, so that when the day comes, we will be ready. And hopefully, so will the Muggles as well."

"And what caused this revelation?" Harry asked, though a smile was spreading across his face, understanding now why he had not felt dread when coming here.

Merlin also smiled. "I remembered how to listen to the Old Religion, just like you said."

They looked at each other for a moment, the silence broken a second later by Ron swearing loudly.

"You couldn't have figured this out before we trekked out here after you?"

"Then you wouldn't have got to see Camelot," Merlin said. "What do you think of it?"

"It's incredible," said Harry, looking around again. "It's actually like being inside one of the legends."

Merlin nodded, and looked away, focusing his eyes on the spot he had been looking at when they had arrived. "See that window there?" he asked, pointing. "The second one to the left? That was my bedroom when I first arrived here."

The others followed his gaze, and they all looked interested, though the window itself looked pretty nondescript. Then Merlin's hand dropped and he nodded at the door directly across from them, where several people were standing.

"That man there, standing in the doorway," he said, "with the long hair and satchel over his shoulder. That's … that's Gaius."

Everyone turned to him eagerly, and Harry saw an older man with fair hair and a kind face smiling as he spoke to the friends around him. Even from this distance Harry could tell there was something magical about him, though the man betrayed no sign of it.

"Oh, Merlin ..." Hermione said, but Merlin shook his head, smiling for some strange reason.

"Seeing him again isn't as painful as I thought," he said. "Gaius died an old, old man. I have no regrets as far as he is concerned. I'm just happy to see him. I've never seen him without white hair and a frown before!"

"Who are the others, do you recognise them?" Ginny asked, and Merlin's smile grew, though a distinct sadness was in his eyes.

"Some," he said. "Though I can't remember all their names. That man to his right is Geoffrey of Monmouth, he wrote down a lot of the legends. Jazzed them up slightly though. Next to him is Sir Leon's father. I didn't know him well, he died not long after I arrived in Camelot actually, and I can't remember his name. I only know who he is because he looks so much like Leon. And the woman on Gaius' left," Merlin stopped here for a moment, fixing his eyes on her with a huge grin. "That's my mother."

"Your mother?" repeated Harry, staring at the woman, amazed he hadn't seen the family resemblance before. While like Balinor in expression and demeanour, Merlin had his mother's raven black hair, sparkling blue eyes, and the same smile. She was young, and beaming with happiness as she talked to Gaius.

"She used to come visit Gaius before I was born," Merlin said, watching her with a fond expression. "He's a distant relative or something; you know, one of those people you know you're related to but you aren't quite sure how. The visits stopped when I arrived though. She didn't want to risk it, what with my magic and all, especially as I couldn't always control it. I've never seen her so happy, she was always so worried about me. I'm glad I got to see her once again."

"She's beautiful," said Luna, placing one of her hands on Merlin's shoulder. "I'm glad to have seen her."

Merlin nodded, still watching her. "I've been here for hours," he admitted. "Stayed at an inn last night, and then hung around here hoping to see Gaius before I left. They've been standing there for ages."

"What is everyone waiting on?" Malfoy asked, looking around at the growing crowd.

"It's an annual festival," Merlin explained. "To mark the foundation of the city. The lords and ladies, as well as some of the locals ride out or walk around the boundaries of the city, to inspect them and make sure the city is ready for attack. There's a celebration in a local meadow afterwards. It's usually just an occasion for everyone to get as drunk as possible." He stopped speaking and frowned. "It means I can more precisely date where we are exactly in the timeline. Arthur will be born in less than two weeks."

"Two weeks?" Hermione asked. "What if we don't get the spell from the High Council in time? Will we be stuck here during the Purge?"

"I don't think so," said Merlin. "We won't be here that long."

Before Harry could ask him any further questions, there began a sounding of trumpets that almost deafened him. The crowd began to part, and the sounds of horses hooves became louder.

A loud bellowing voice rang out over the crowd. "Make way for King Uther and Queen Ygraine!"

Harry's stomach leapt, and he watched in astonishment as two horses, each with finely decorated reins and saddles passed them. King Uther first caught his attention. He was tall, and proud, a crown set firmly upon his brow, and he lifted his hand to the now cheering crowd, but did not smile, just acknowledged them with a cool nod of his head. His face was not particularly unkind, but Harry could easily imagine it twisted in a cruel hateful expression. He shuddered.

The horse beside him however, bore a much more agreeable personage. The woman, blonde and happy, waved to the crowd enthusiastically, accepting small bouquets of flowers from the peasant women who approached her horse. A servant led her horse, and she sat side-saddle, one hand on her reins, and the other resting on a large belly.

"Is Arthur in there?" Ron asked in amazement, and Merlin rolled his eyes.

"Unless he had an evil twin I don't know about."

"Blimey," said Ron, as though he'd never seen a pregnant woman before.

"Just look at him," Hermione said, her eyes fixed on Uther. "Can you believe all the evil things he'll do in the future?"

"I can't believe she'll be dead in less than two weeks," said Ginny. "It's so unfair. She looks so happy."

Merlin said nothing at this, and watched the two of them pass by with expressionless eyes. But his face darkened when he saw the next figure.

Harry looked back at the procession, and saw another young woman, this one dark haired and pale with bright red lips. His skin crawled as he looked at her. He didn't like the way she looked at the crowd, the glint in her eyes. As she drew closer, he felt the power that she possessed; Old Magic, strong and wild, twisted for the wrong reasons.

"Nimueh," said Merlin, though Harry had already guessed as much. He laughed darkly. "I wish I could stick around for another twenty years to see the look of surprise on her face once more when I defeated her. All of this, it's down to her. She's pure evil, and she's not like Morgana, turned evil by circumstance and years of fear and hatred. No, she's evil just for the fun of it."

"And still the High Council are pretending that she's back all cosied up in the Inner Sanctum on the Isle of the Blessed," said Ron, looking at her in disgust. "Why didn't they try and stop her? Why aren't they trying to get her away from Camelot?"

"Because the damage has already been done," Merlin said, watching her with an almost dangerous expression.

He didn't say another word for the duration of the procession, though every so often a spark of recognition would cross his face at another noble person on horseback. Eventually, the courtyard began to clear, as most of the townspeople decided to follow their leaders. As the crowd dissipated, they saw Balinor coming towards them. Merlin leapt to his feet immediately.

"I'm glad they've found you," he said to Merlin as he approached. "They worried about you, and so did I."

"You did?" Merlin asked.

"Yes, though why I feel such a connection, I do not know," Balinor said, examining Merlin closely, his eyes so intense. He broke the look however, both of them evidently uncomfortable, and instead gestured back to the procession. "Uther is a dangerous man these days," he said darkly. "The crimes he has begun to commit against our people do not bode well. And there I see Lady Nimueh riding behind him! It is true what they said, one of the High Council has betrayed our Order. We should leave. We've got to get back and tell everyone."

"Should we?" said Hermione. "I mean …"

Harry could tell what she was thinking. Would the knowledge that Nimueh was in Camelot and not in the Isle change the past? Would it make the Druids more likely to act? Or would it make no difference at all? Bringing Balinor may not have been the greatest idea. Yet, no alarm bells were ringing in his mind.

"It'll be fine," Harry said, looking directly at her, letting her know he understood her fears. "Balinor is right. Things have been set in motion and can't be undone." After all, he thought, Arthur was ready to be born soon anyway. Removing Nimueh could not change that. "We should leave. That is, if you're ready?" he said, looking at Merlin.

Merlin spent one last long minute looking around the courtyard, and then looking back at Gaius and his mother, who had begun to follow the crowd. He watched them wistfully for a moment before nodding. "I'm ready."

Balinor nodded, and began to lead them away. As they moved into the crowd, Harry saw Balinor turn his head curiously and stare at something. When he followed his gaze, he realised he was looking at Hunith.

"Come on," said Harry, pushing him from behind, realising he had slowed his pace to look at her. "We need to get back. There'll be plenty of time to introduce yourself to her in the future."

Balinor looked at him strangely, but did so, casting one glance back at her. She looked up at that moment, and for a second their eyes met, and then they were lost in the crowd. Harry looked to his left, and saw Merlin also watching. A small smile was playing across his lips. He met Harry's eyes and grinned. "Not every day you get to see your parents meeting," he whispered gleefully.

Harry smiled, amazed at the transformation in Merlin from the day before. None of them had wanted Merlin back in Camelot, worried about the effect it would have on him. What none of them had realised however, that Camelot may have been the very thing that Merlin had needed to save him from his depression.

The eight of them met up outside of Camelot at the spot where Harry and the others had evidently left Fawkes, but as soon as the phoenix had seen them he had swooped over the Merlin, nuzzled him affectionately in greeting for a moment and then disappeared. It seemed that he had no intention of transporting them back to the Isle of the Blessed. Instead, they travelled by magic themselves as far as they were able, before the protective enchantments prevented them going any further. From this point, it was at least another days journey.

Merlin didn't mind. He even enjoyed himself, despite the long walk. It was as if for the last several weeks, months even, he had been walking around with heavy chains around his neck that dragged him deep into the earth, but now they had been removed. His thoughts took on a much lighter tone, his body felt lighter and freer and he began to recognise his old self once more.

He was still sad, in a way; seeing his parents, mentor and old home without being able to appreciate it fully was still painful, but bearable, and for the first time, he also found the happiness as well. He had seen them again, he had walked the streets of Camelot once more. Years of regret seemed like nothing now. He now felt surer of himself than he had in a long time. The Old Religion had brought him back here for a reason, and now he saw it.

The others chatted animatedly about what they had seen in Camelot, sometimes coming close to revealing a little too much within Balinor's hearing. He himself looked intrigued at what they were discussing; Merlin could tell he was confused by their eager interest in what appeared to the rest of the world as a normal royal pregnancy, one that didn't even affect them in any way. He was far more concerned with Nimueh, and Merlin could see the burden this knowledge had on him. He interjected in the conversation every so often, speculating as to how and why Nimueh had managed to worm her way into Camelot, all of them trying hard not to reveal the truth. Balinor seemed to realise this.

Merlin caught Balinor staring at himself more than once, a keen look in his eye that had never been there before. He examined him intently, and Merlin was more than a little uncomfortable.

They rested that night by a small brook, uncomfortably as none of them had thought to pick up supplies in Camelot. As Merlin sat by the brook, Balinor approached him.

"Shall we resume your training?"

Merlin saw the strange look in his father's eyes, and stood up.

They ran through some spells, locating people and performing other acts whilst drawing upon their Dragonlord magic. Merlin found little difficulty with any of it, and thoroughly enjoyed himself; the weight that had been lifted from him had somehow also affected his magic, making it more powerful than before. The others sat on the ground watching.

"Excellent, remarkably so. Now, let us practice Dragonsight," Balinor said, still watching him curiously. "Ask me three questions, and I shall give you two truths and one lie. Go."

Merlin obliged, entering the state of Dragonsight much more easily than he had before. He stared at Balinor, seeing the now clear as day aura that surrounded him. He pondered which questions to ask.

"Where were you born? What was the name of your father?" Merlin asked first, wanting some more harmless information about his father's life. But he wanted more besides. "And, what is your worst fear?"

Balinor frowned a little at the last question, and sighed before answering. "I was born in a village called Theoron." Merlin nodded, that was the truth. "My father's name was Aelthrath." Another truth. "My worst fear is dying without making a difference to the people that I love."

Merlin watched his father's aura for a few moments before responding, his heart a little saddened. "That wasn't a lie," he said, "but it wasn't fully true either. Your worst fear is that everything you hold dear will be lost, and you will not have done enough to save it. That the world will forget about you because you failed in your task."

Balinor nodded. "Do you think that will be my fate?"

Merlin looked away, a little discomfited. "I'm not sure."

"You looked into my future once," Balinor said. "You said that you saw pain there and death. Do you think it is my destiny to die a lonely bitter old man who has lost everything?"

Merlin did not answer, sensing the others watching closely. Balinor laughed softly. "What would you know of the future after all," he said. "I do not intend to die thus, Malcolm. I will die protecting what I love."

"Yes, I believe you will," Merlin answered, trying hard not to let the emotion show, let Balinor see the memories that were playing in front of his eyes at this moment.

"Let's swap for a moment, shall we?" Balinor said, stepping closer. "I shall ask the questions this time. Do you agree?"

Merlin nodded, his eyes fixed on his father's, not heeding Hermione's panicked intake of breath.

"Very well," Balinor responded, and began the spell. He focused entirely on Merlin. "What is your name? What year were you born? What is your true purpose here?"

The others were now staring wide-eyed, and a little unsure, but Merlin stayed calm. He knew Balinor was no fool. He had guessed at their true natures.

"My name is Malcolm," Merlin answered. "I was born twenty-three years ago. My true purpose here … I came to right a wrong. To learn how to fight against an evil. I came to discover my true purpose and once more find my place in the world. I came to learn about myself, to have faith once more. Above all, I came so that the people I care about will be protected, and the world I love not fall to darkness."

Balinor and Merlin stared at each other for several moments, and Merlin could almost hear the others holding their breaths. Suddenly, Balinor smiled.

"That was two lies and one truth," he said. "I don't think you quite understood the rules."

Merlin also smiled, and the others breathed a sigh of relief. Balinor mentioned for Merlin to move closer, away from the small group. They stood on the banks of the little river, and Balinor turned to look at him.

"Did you find what you were searching for in Camelot?" he asked.

"I did, and more," Merlin answered. "I stopped being so bitter and hopeless. I've realised what I am supposed to do."

"I am glad," Balinor answered. "I … I worried for you. Throughout our lessons, I had sensed that you felt lost, abandoned by your faith and you despaired of ever finding peace once again. Have you found it now?"

"Not quite, but I know how I can," Merlin said. He looked over at his father. "You fear for the future of our people," he said. "What will you do if what you fear comes to pass?"

"I think you are perhaps better placed to tell me that than I," Balinor responded. "I saw as much when I just asked you when you were born. I did not prod further than needed, but I learned enough to finally be sure of my suspicions. You are not exactly from this place, are you?" Merlin remained silent, and Balinor laughed again. "Don't worry, I shan't question you much further. Just tell me, do I lose all hope? Do I become that lonely bitter old man?"

Merlin paused a moment. "You give it your best shot," he murmured. "But you find your way again, before the end."

"And we know each other," Balinor pressed, "where you are from."

"Yes, we do," Merlin said, now looking down at the ground, almost overcome with emotion. He felt the Old Religion pushing him ever further. He knew this information would be safe to give, even if Hermione would not approve.

"Will you give me no clues?"

Merlin laughed, knowing that he could not reveal much more than this. "Ealdor," he said simply, meeting his father's eyes. "That is all I shall say."

Balinor looked like he wanted to know more, but managed to control his curiosity. "Thank you," was all he said. And together, the two of them stood, listening to the sounds of the night for what felt like hours.

The Isle of the Blessed seemed much the same as when they had left it two days previously, and for the first time, Merlin did not look at it with a heavy grief in his heart. He could do nothing about the oncoming slaughter, but he wasn't about to let himself waste away thinking about it. What happened had already happened by his perspective. There was no point in pining for what was. He should have learned that after all these years.

"I can't wait to get inside and finally get a good kip," said Ron, yawning. He hadn't taken kindly to sleeping on the ground with no blankets.

"You can go if you want, but there's something I need to do first," Merlin said. "Something I should have done ages ago."

The others exchanged glances, but asked no questions, and they followed him into the castle and into the central courtyard, where Niamhrach lay. She lifted her head as they entered, and Merlin sensed a great satisfaction coming from her.

"You have returned, and all the better for your journey I sense," she said, her eyes sparkling. "Thank you, Lord Balinor, but this is a conversation we must have alone."

Balinor stopped in surprise, and looked uncertainly at Merlin and the others before bowing and leaving. As soon as he was gone, Merlin stepped closer to her.

"I've been an idiot," he said to her. "I refused to listen to the Old Religion because I didn't like what it was telling me, and it could have had dire consequences. I have accepted what I must do now. I am only sorry it has taken me so long."

"Time is never an obstacle," she said in reply.

Merlin took a deep breath. "You said I'd have to accept myself before you could ever accept me. That there had to be no dishonesty between us. Well, I'm ready to finally be honest."

Harry and the others looked slightly alarmed, but Merlin was certain of what he had to do.

"My name is Merlin Emrys," he said, making sure he was meeting the dragon's large eyes. "I will be born in less than two years time in a village called Ealdor to a woman named Hunith and a Dragonlord named Balinor. It's my destiny to restore peace to the lands of Albion, and I do it in many years time. I remain immortal however, and the Old Religion goes into decline until one day, more than thirteen hundred years from now I meet these people, and together we defeat our enemies and restore Old Magic to the world. But I wasn't content, and couldn't or wouldn't believe in peace any more. I wanted more and I was blind to what I should have been doing instead. So, we came back here to right the wrongs that I helped create in the future. I need a spell from the High Council, and then we need to get back to the future. I need to have faith in myself once again, not ignore the happiness that I had found there, not ignore the dragons of my own time, but finally be at peace. Is that enough for you?"

Niamhrach stared at him for several moments, her beautiful large eyes blinking slowly. A deep rumbling noise came from within her, and Merlin realised she was laughing.

"It is more than enough, Emrys," she said. "Your journey here to the past has not been in vain. You have learned what you needed to."

"And so have I."

Merlin turned, and then to his horror, saw Rhona standing there. It appeared as if she had been standing behind one of Niamhrach's enormous legs. Her healing supplies fell from her hands. She was staring at Merlin as if he had just grown two new heads.

"I knew there was something funny about you boy!" she said, her face set in a deep frown. "The future? You have lied to us all. You know what darkness lies ahead, and yet you have refused to tell us, or help us to fight it!"

"Don't blame him!" Harry said, coming to stand by his side. "It wasn't his fault."

"It's alright, Harry," Merlin said. Niamhrach had allowed her to listen in for a reason, the same way Aithusa had allowed Hermione to listen in when Merlin had been discussing his true identity so many months before. "She won't tell anyone."

"Won't I?" snarled Rhona. "And why not? You've neglected all of your duties and betrayed our trust. Why should I keep your secret?"

"Because we're family," Merlin said simply.

"If you're talking about how all Dragonlords are kin," Rhona said, "you needn't bother. You don't deserve the title-"

"I wasn't," said Merlin, smiling, despite her obvious antagonism. "Didn't you listen to who I said my father was?"

The anger on Rhona's face disappeared suddenly, and was replaced with wide-eyed shock. "Wait," she said, blinking furiously. "That means-"

"You're my great-aunt," Merlin said, enjoying the dumbfounded expression on her face. "'Great-aunt Rhona'. Has a nice ring, don't you think?"

Rhona was still in shock, and Merlin couldn't help but laugh. Two familiar presences appeared behind him, and he turned to see High Priest Findan and High Priestess Melian standing there.

"Is it time?" Merlin asked.

"It is," said Melian, smiling. "You have proved your worth to us. Come now to the Inner Sanctum, and there you and your companions may make your request of us."

Merlin grinned, and followed the two sorcerers as they left the courtyard, his heart leaping. Now they could finally fix the mess that they had left back in the twentieth century. He'd had to truly believe in his mission before they would allow him access.

He turned back the courtyard as he left, seeing Rhona still standing there, her face slack with astonishment.

"Did you know this?" Rhona asked Niamhrach weakly. "That he was my great-nephew?"

"Of course," Merlin heard Niamhrach say as they were almost out of site.

"Then why did you let me treat him like that?"

"To help you see that we should always respect each other, for we do not know what secrets they are clutching to their chest. It is time you stopped being resentful for not being a Dragonlord and instead do something to help preserve our race in the future."

Merlin did not see Rhona's reaction, but he smiled to himself. He might not be able to tell his father who he was, but this seemed the next best thing.

He hoped they could reconcile before they left.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Merlin crumpled to the ground as Kilgharrah's spell deposited them back in the twentieth century. As before, he was momentarily stunned by the nausea of travelling through thirteen centuries of history, and lay there until the queasiness in his stomach and the ringing in his ears had ceased. He forced himself to his feet.

"Come on," he said shakily, breathing deeply.

He was met with groans from the ground, but slowly, the other six also stood up, clutching their stomachs. Ron in particular looked somewhat green.

"Where are we?"

Merlin, who had by now assessed his surroundings, pointed to a spot behind him. "Not far from where we started."

They were standing on the shore of the Isle of the Blessed, the ruined structure only just visible through the mist. Still humming with a vibrant magical energy, it nevertheless looked sad and derelict, a grotesque monument to the suffering it had seen so many years ago.

"Oh my," said Hermione, covering her mouth and staring straight ahead. "It looks dead."

"It doesn't feel it though," said Harry, and he glanced at Merlin. "The magic's still there. That's what matters in the end, isn't it?"

"Yes," said Merlin, pushing aside the sadness. "It is. And we have to make sure it stays that way. Come on."

With effort, he turned away from the shore and began to follow the overgrown path. Fawkes sat on his shoulder, his warmth spreading from his feathers into Merlin's body and his heart. He felt himself suffused with a new found sense of determination.

"Is this the same path we arrived on?" Hermione asked, tugging her medieval-style dress free from some brambles.

"Yes," said Merlin. "The magic around the island means we can't leave here by a spell. We have to follow the road far enough away from the island and then Apparate back to Grimmauld Place. It was a security defence."

"Didn't help them much though, did it?" Ron asked.

"No," Merlin said, hanging his head. "As you saw for yourselves. Magic may be powerful, but Muggles were more plentiful, and not every Druid could use magic, or wanted to use it to kill, even to defend themselves. Uther scattered the nomad tribes, slaughtered them, forced them all onto the Isle to be penned in and picked off one by one."

"Could the High Council do something?" Ginny asked. "Surely their magic would have been powerful enough to protect the whole island?"

"Probably," said Merlin. "But fate is fate, and no amount of power can change that."

They fell into silence, and continued following the path. Gradually, the overpowering feeling of magic around them began to dim. After about half an hour wandering aimlessly through the trees on a path that was barely visible they emerged onto a country lane. Muggle road signs lined the road, but there was no sign of any other people.

"The magic ends here," Merlin told them. "Back to Grimmauld Place."

They all nodded, and the next second, they had all either Apparated or Transported away. Merlin felt himself melt into the crushing darkness and swirling winds. When the world came into focus once again, he recognised the drawing room of number twelve. Straight away, he realised appearing by magic in this room had probably been a bad idea. The room was filled with Muggles. They were injured, lying on small camp beds or blankets on the floor, and all screamed at the sight of them.

"It's alright!" Harry and the others tried to reassure them, but they had caused quite an uproar. Fortunately a few of the Muggles recognised them as the wizards who had rescued them and managed to calm the rest. Still, the fear lingered in their eyes, the same hopeless fear that Merlin had seen in the eyes of the refugees on the Isle of the Blessed. The world had not changed as much as he had once hoped it had. It had taken his journey into the past to realise that.

The door to the drawing room opened, and a shriek met their ears.

"You're back!"

Tonks came flying towards them, her hair a sad mousy brown and grabbed as many of them into a hug as her arms could hold. She fell on each of them in turn, Draco included, who flushed pink and then finally squeezed Merlin tight. He was surprised to see her normally cheerful composure break. Her faced was lined and looked paler than normal.

"How long have we been gone?" Merlin asked her.

"Almost two weeks," she said, giving them all a second hug. "We thought something had gone wrong, that you'd gotten stuck in the past. I mean, why couldn't you have come back to the exact moment that you left rather than leave us hanging all this time?"

"Kilgharrah obviously didn't know what exact time and date to send us to," Hermione said. "We're lucky he got us as close as he did."

"Don't get me started on Kilgharrah," scowled Tonks. "Every day we've been asking him when you're coming back, if you're coming back and every single bloody time it's 'When they're ready.' So he sent you back? He knew all along that you would be okay and come back to us? He wouldn't tell us a thing!"

"He's like that," agreed Merlin.

"Did it really take you two weeks to get the spell?"

They exchanged glances. "We there a lot longer than two weeks," Harry said. "But yeah, it took a while."

"I can tell," said Tonks, wrinkling her nose. "Didn't they have soap in that century?"

"Where are the others?" Merlin asked, feeling as always a slight, irrational annoyance at every attempt to criticise the century in which he had been born.

"Downstairs in a meeting," Tonks said. "I only came up to see what the noise was." The Muggles around them had either wandered off or were listening in with befuddled expressions. "They'll be so glad to see you lot. We were just talking about you. We didn't know if you were coming back! Come downstairs."

The seven of them began to follow Tonks, but Fawkes had leapt from Merlin's shoulder and was now perched by some Muggles. Merlin saw the glint of water at his eyes and realised what he was doing. Hopefully, soon, they would cast the spell which would mean none of these people had been injured in the first place.

Harry thought Mrs Weasley was about to burst at the sight of them. When they had first walked into the kitchen, she had shrieked even louder than Tonks, and pulled them all into even tighter hugs. Harry's glasses were knocked off more than once by her enthusiasm, which was almost matched by everyone else who had leapt to their feet at the sight of them and embraced them, shook their hands or just patting their backs. He felt bruised all over.

Kingsley alone had restrained himself, but Harry could tell he was enormously relieved to see them. He tried to start speaking but was drowned out by the gaggle of red heads that were converging on Ron and Ginny. He laughed, and sat back down at the kitchen table, where he was joined by Remus, after he had embraced Harry and everyone else gradually as the hysteria evaporated.

They seven time travellers took seats at the table eventually, as the rest of the Order also sat or lined the walls of the room. The excitement was almost tangible. The mood however was only temporary. After the happiness of a few moments before, the room turned serious as they all remembered the reason for the trip to the past.

"I speak for all of us when I saw how glad we are to have you back with us," Kingsley said, to many murmured agreements. "We had almost despaired of seeing you again. Only Kilgharrah seemed calm."

"Well he would be," said Ron. "We met him back then. He's the one who sent us back. He knew all along, the big liar."

"He knew?" Kingsley asked, eyebrows raised. "But, wouldn't meeting him have upset the timeline?"

"Don't know," shrugged Ron. "Don't think so, but I can't understand it all. I'm just glad to be back to a time where I don't have to worry that stepping on a bug could erase my own existence. Meddling with the past is exhausting."

"That is exactly what we need to do however," said Kingsley, and he turned his gaze on Merlin. "Did you get it?"

Merlin nodded and withdrew the scroll from his pocket. The eyes of everyone in the room were upon it.

"All of this death can be solved by something as small as that?" Remus said, staring at it. "Incredible."

"What's more incredible is how long it took them to give it to us," Ginny said. "They knew all along we were from the future. They had expected us. But still they had to wait weeks and weeks and let us prove ourselves."

"Weeks and weeks?" Mrs Weasley asked. "You've been gone that long?"

"Yep," said Ginny. "All the time trying to avoid messing anything up. You know how hard that is? Being around people you know are going to die any day?"

"I thought you were going back to before the Purge?"

"Yeah, two weeks before."

"Two weeks?"

"Merlin met his father."

"What?"

"This isn't important," Merlin said, as everyone turned to stare at him. "We can tell you all about our experiences later, but now we have to focus on this spell."

Kingsley nodded. "I agree. Have you read it?"

"No, we only got it this morning. Well, when I say this morning …" Merlin shook his head, not even attempting to make sense of the peculiarities of time travel. "I'll read it now."

He opened the scroll slowly, and carefully read the several lines of script. The language used was old, older than even he could apparently decipher easily. The spell was obviously ancient. He read it through a few times, and then furled the parchment once more.

"Well, aren't you going to do it?" Charlie Weasley asked impatiently.

"It has to be done at night," he explained. "Midnight."

"Of course it does," Malfoy said, rolling his eyes.

"We've waited this long, a few more hours won't hurt," Merlin said, but Harry could see the restless way he tapped his fingers against the table. "We can take the time to rest."

"Finally," said Ginny, sighing. "We were in a battle this morning you know. With Muggles and swords and everything. I can't wait to get some sleep."

"Same," said Ron, who was yawning. "A proper bed, proper food, proper bathrooms, proper clothes."

"We were wondering when to bring that up," Fred said, sniggering. "You look even worse than Mundungus on a bad day."

"And smell worse," George added.

"I've grown quite used to them actually," said Hermione fiddling with the corner of her dress. "I found the cultural experience quite fascinating."

"I never expected anything different from you," said Ron, yawning again. "Just show me the nearest bath and bed and I'll be happy."

"You'll need to go to the Burrow if you want a bed," Mr Weasley said. "This place is filled with Muggles in every room. The Burrow is less crowded. There's a room or two to spare."

"I forgot," Ginny said, her voice hushed. "There are still Muggles out there dying, aren't there?"

"There won't be soon," Merlin said firmly, and he stood up. "We'd better get some sleep, all of us. This spell will require a lot of power."

"We can all help," Bill said, and everyone around the table nodded.

Merlin smiled, and glanced at Harry and the others. "I've already got a plan."

He turned and left, and the people in the room began to drift away, or press closer to the six travellers and ask them questions. Ron and Ginny were soon once again surrounded by members of their family. Harry made for Remus instead, who placed his hand on Harry's shoulder. His lined face smiled at him.

"I'm glad you're back safe," he said. "You had us thinking you'd all been burned at the stake!"

"Not quite," Harry smiled, but the smile was forced, and there was a sinking feeling in his gut. "How bad has it gotten?"

Remus' smile had now also become forced. "Very," he said. "Rogers has declared war on us. They're rounding us up in the streets, or at least they think they are. Lynchings are commonplace almost everywhere now. And it's spread all around the worl; America, Australia, Africa … it's good you've come back."

Harry nodded, trying not to let it get to him. "Are there still refugees at Hogwarts?

"Yes, the place has filled up quickly," Remus said, frowning.

"Is …" Harry hesitated before continuing. "Are my aunt and cousin there?"

Remus' face creased in sympathy. "They were," he said. "But your aunt … well, let's just say she didn't take to it. We moved her to the Burrow, and Dudley went with her. She's actually been pretty useful; she's tended to some of the Muggle refugees that are staying there. Not without cursing us all to kingdom come however."

"Obviously," said Harry. He sighed. "She'll never forgive me."

"If you succeed, your uncle will never have died," Remus reminded him.

"Yes, but …" Harry trailed off. How could he explain how he felt about the whole situation? He'd seen enough Muggle prejudice against magic to last him a lifetime, and though the Dursleys had never been as violent as others it still bothered him. He was trying to stop the persecution, had wanted to do the same back in the seventh century, but even if he succeeded, he'd never be able to wipe it out in his own family. Uncle Vernon had died essentially because his views on magic had so alienated Harry as to make him forget all about him when they needed him. Fighting ignorance was the hardest battle of all.

"I suppose I'd better get over to the Burrow then," Harry said.

Remus nodded, and then left to talk some more to Kingsley. Harry looked around the room and he saw mixed expressions of worry, nervous anticipation and relief. He felt a churning in his own stomach. What if they turned back the clock only to fail anyway? Would they be able to prevent the Liberators from revealing themselves?

Standing outside the Burrow, it was difficult to imagine that the world around them was literally going up in flames. The farmhouse, slightly hunched to one side looked as it always did, calm and peaceful and welcoming. Merlin didn't go inside, instead, he turned his attention to the field before him and waited patiently.

Presently, he heard the sound of wings, and two massive forms landed before him, causing the ground to tremble beneath his feet.

Aithusa bowed her head but Merlin's attention was fixed solely on Kilgharrah. There seemed to be a sort of smile on the great dragon's face which would have infuriated Merlin once, but was now only a minor annoyance.

Merlin looked up into his giant face. "You knew."

Slowly, Kilgharrah chuckled.

"I know a great many things, Merlin," he said. "What exactly are you referring to?"

"Don't play stupid," said Merlin. "You knew we would run into you back then."

"Naturally, would I have sent you back if I were not entirely sure of you being able to return?"

"That means," Merlin ploughed on, "that when we met in Camelot, you already knew everything. You knew everything that would happen to me."

"I did," said Kilgharrah. "And that is what gave me strength in those long years of captivity beneath the city. I knew you would one day come for me. I knew one day that you would succeed in fulfilling your destiny. I always had faith that you would grow into a powerful sorcerer, a good, kind, wise and strong man because I had already seen it. "

Merlin stared at him for a long moment, and then to his own surprise began to laugh.

"What's so funny?" Aithusa asked. "I thought you would be furious!"

"I should be," Merlin said, still laughing. "But I'm not. I finally understand it all, or at least I think I do. I can't make sense of it, but I get it."

"Good, because I don't," said Aithusa.

"I spent so long doubting everything," Merlin said, still looking at Kilgharrah. "Doubting myself, doubting you, doubting the Old Religion, but I shouldn't have, because it all ties together perfectly. Destiny isn't a separate distinct part of my life, it's something that binds us all together. It's more complex than I could ever imagined, and I understand only one small part of it, but that doesn't matter, because we aren't meant to understand its intricacies. Because I finally have faith in everything once more. I can put my trust in it again. You drive me crazy sometimes, but I finally understand why. Destiny, and knowledge of it can't just be dished out like sweets, it's something we can only discover on our own. By living it."

Kilgharrah looked pleased, and Merlin grinned.

"I'm sorry," he said, looking between the two dragons. "I've never been the Dragonlord that I should have been to the two of you. I've never truly understood my place in the world and I resented the two of you for that fact. It was my own fear of destiny and fate that stopped me from behaving as I should have. I apologise."

He looked to Kilgharrah now. "This is why you never told me about Dragonlord magic or Dragon Magic, isn't it?"

"Partly," Kilgharrah said. "But there is one other reason."

"What is that?"

"I thought that your father would be the best teacher you could have," Kilgharrah said, smiling.

Merlin nodded, feeling oddly emotional. He reached into his pocket and withdrew the book that Rhona had given him. He held it up to Kilgharrah.

"This will ensure I never forget my duties again," Merlin said. "I won't let our two races be forgotten. Not again."

"I have every faith in you, Merlin," said Kilgharrah. "And there is yet more I can teach you that Druidess Rhona did not know." He leaned down here, until his face was almost on a level with Merlin's. "I have never formed a Bond with a Dragonlord before, Merlin," he said. "I have never linked with one, though many have tried. Your father came the closest. I have never found one worthy of such a Bond."

Then Merlin felt a change over him, like being submerged in a warm bath, he felt tingly all over and infused with a new sense of life. His heart skipped, and he gasped.

"That is, until now," Kilgharrah said.

Merlin grinned. "I am honoured to be the first," he said, fixing his eyes on Kilgharrah. "I hope I do not disappoint."

"Such a thing is impossible, Merlin."

They stared at each other for a moment or two, and were then interrupted.

"I've never formed a Bond either," Aithusa pouted.

Merlin laughed and turned to face the younger dragon. "Because I am the only Dragonlord you've ever known," he said to her. "And I've been a pretty terrible one. Do you forgive me?"

Aithusa tilted her head to the side in mock consideration. "I suppose I might be able to."

As the feeling washed over Merlin once again, he close his eyes in sheer bliss. This was how his life was always supposed to have been. He would never doubt again.

Harry had arrived at the Burrow at the same time Kilgharrah and Aithusa had landed in the adjoining field. He watched them from a distance, but decided that they deserved some time with Merlin, and instead took a deep breath and headed for the front door.

He entered the kitchen to find several Aurors and Healers either sitting at the table or sleeping with their heads on it. They looked up as he entered but said nothing, despite obviously recognising him, evidently too exhausted. It was strange to see the Burrow filled with people but with no red head in sight. They made no objection as he passed through the room and climbed the stairs. He peeked in at the rooms as he passed, seeing Muggles lying there in varying states of pain, and some more Healers. He didn't stop however, and continued climbing higher until he found the person he was looking for.

Before he did however, he saw another familiar figure coming down the stairs towards him.

"Dudley?"

Dudley stopped in amazement, dropping the dirty sheets he was carrying. His jaw dropped.

"Harry?" He took a step closer. "Is it really you?"

"Who else would it be?"

"They told us that you were missing," Dudley said. "That you hadn't been seen in two weeks."

"Getting worried about me?" Harry said, and was shocked when he saw Dudley nod. "You were?"

"Of course!" Dudley said, face going slightly pink. "I mean, you are my cousin. And I know that … well, that you're the only one who would be able to stop all of this."

"Not the only one, Merlin did most of it," Harry said, embarrassed.

"Have you found a way to help us?"

"We're doing it tonight," Harry said.

Dudley nodded, not asking any more.

Harry pointed towards the sheets. "Since when did you do laundry?"

"I've been helping," Dudley said, shuffling his feet. "Thought it was the least I could do. I'm not hurt after all. Those Healer people do most of the work though. It's not bad here, despite all the horrible stuff going on. The only problem is the noise that comes from the attic. It frightens everyone that comes here. I … I think it's a ghost."

"Nah," Harry said. "Just a ghoul. And he's harmless."

"A ghoul? How do you know?" Dudley asked, eyes wide.

"This is my friend Ron's house."

"Is it?" Dudley said. "This is where you come every summer?"

"Yep," Harry said. "I love it here."

"I can imagine," Dudley said, looking around. "It's nothing like home."

"No," Harry said. "It isn't." He laughed. "I bet your mum hates it though."

Dudley's face darkened. "Of course she does. Talking mirrors, dishes that do themselves, little potato things running around the garden … then again, she prefers it to Hogwarts. It looks a little bit more normal if you know what I mean. She hated it there."

"And what did you think of Hogwarts?" Harry asked, smiling.

A light came into Dudley's eyes. "It was amazing," he said. "You never told me your school was in a castle! It was strange, and bizarre and I was scared half the time because of all the weird stuff around, like moving staircases and portraits and ghosts. But I liked it. I stayed in Gryffindor Tower. One of the boys there told me that's where you live when you're there."

Harry just stared at his cousin. He couldn't be more shocked at the difference between the man before him and the one of his childhood.

Harry nodded. "If all turns out well, Dudley, I'll take you back and give you a proper tour."

"I'd like that," Dudley said.

Harry smiled, and sighed. "I'd better go, I've got someone else to talk to."

"Dudley grimaced. "Good luck."

"See ya. Big D."

Harry moved past his cousin and started back up the stairs again. He saw her standing in the door of what had once been Fred and George's old room. She looked into the room, a frown on her face, arms folded across her chest. She turned around at his approach, and her frown deepened.

Harry stopped just in front of her.

"So you aren't dead then?" she said. "They told us you'd gone missing."

"Disappointed?"

She shrugged. "Makes no difference to me."

"Do you care?" Harry asked, wanting to know the thing he'd always wondered. "Do you care about me, even a little bit? Have you ever? Do you ever feel bad for the way you treated me all those years? Did you hate my mother that much?"

"I never hated Lily," Petunia said, blinking hard. "Never truly anyway. I despised her lifestyle, her world."

"Then why did you act the way you did?" Harry asked. "Why treat her the way you did? Was it jealousy? I know that you wrote to Dumbledore to ask to go to Hogwarts as well."

Petunia started, and then glanced around the corridor as though terrified someone had heard.

"How do you know that?" she hissed.

"Doesn't matter," he said. "If you ever truly loved your sister, then why did you treat me the way you did?"

Petunia looked away from him pointedly. "Because I hate magic," she said, her voice trembling. "I hated it for taking my sister from me. For driving a wedge between us that could never be fixed. For killing her before we made things right. You reminded me of all of that."

"It wasn't magic keeping that wedge between you," Harry said sadly. "It was you. You could have fixed it. You could have had a second chance with me. You threw that away."

Petunia turned back to him, her face furious. "Well, I was right," she said. "Look what magic brought us! My husband is dead because of you and your world."

"He wouldn't be if you'd faced up to your responsibility," Harry said. "If you'd treated me for what I am, your own flesh and blood, the first thing I would have done when all of this started was make sure you were safe. But I forgot all about you. What does that say about you?"

Petunia glared at him, but had no answer.

"You've seen what hatred and bigotry like yours leads to," he said, gesturing to the room beyond and its occupants. "Your husband died because of the same prejudice he has. Ironic really. Will you never see the truth?"

"What good would it do me now?" she shot back.

"It would do the world some good," he replied. "I understand now more than ever what views like yours lead to. Maybe I can't change your mind, but I know that deep down, in your heart, you know what I'm saying is true. I know that because I know you did love my mother. If you didn't, you would have chucked me in an orphanage, even though that would have left me open to attack. You need to remember that love. You need to honour her memory. You can't apologise to her, but that doesn't mean you can't make amends. Even now."

Without another word, Harry turned and headed downstairs. Why he was telling her all of this, he didn't know, because she wouldn't remember the conversation if they were successful in changing the past. But it felt important that he say it.

Several hours later, after he had showered and slept in Ron's room, Harry and the rest of the Order of the Phoenix had assembled in the kitchen of the Burrow, the Aurors and Healers unceremoniously expelled, and there was a barely concealed excitement in the air. The kitchen windows had been thrown open, and Kilgharrah and Aithusa were outside, occasionally poking one large eye towards the window, unable to get any closer, but wanting to take part in the discussion.

Kingsley had arrived just a few seconds earlier and now everyone's eyes were flicking between him and Merlin, and then up to the Weasley's clock, where all hands pointed to ''Mortal Danger".

"Half an hour to go," Kingsley said, looking at Merlin. "Do you know what you have to do?"

Merlin nodded, and opened the scroll once more. "I have to cast this, and then the world will go back to a specified point in time that I will have to focus on. I'll make that the morning of the Liberator's attack."

"Isn't that too late?" Bill asked. "They'd exposed themselves before that."

"Yeah, and everyone's all riled up," said Charlie, but Merlin shook his head.

"It is hard enough to go back to that one point, without adding on even more time," Merlin said. "We don't know exactly when the Liberators started their operations, we can't estimate when to go back to stop them before they wriggle their way into position. It could be months, and to turn back the time so much would be dangerous. Besides," he said. "The issues that were raised by the Liberators, although controversial, needed to be raised. They needed to be addressed. They will be."

"All right," said Kingsley. "We shall trust your judgement in this. How will the spell work exactly? Will we be able to remember?"

"Some of us will," Merlin said, reading the scroll once again. "People in direct contact with the caster will retain their memories of the last several weeks, everyone else will just be living the days over again."

"Doesn't that create a paradox though?" Hermione asked. "If we go back and change the past so that the Liberators didn't expose us all, doesn't that mean we would have never had to go back to the past at all to get the spell in order to cast it?"

"Time is complex, young sorceress," said Kilgharrah from outside the window, making everyone jump. "It is more flexible than we think. It shall resolve itself."

"So, how many of us will need to remember?" Harry asked.

Merlin looked at him. "Everyone who went back to the past should remember," he said. "You've all learned too much on the Isle of the Blessed to forget."

Harry nodded, relieved that he wouldn't forget all the incredible things he had seen.

"Kingsley should remember as well," Merlin said, looking at him. "You could help us from the Ministry."

Kingsley nodded, but he frowned somewhat. "It makes me uncomfortable however that so many people need to forget," he said. "We have all grown so much in the last few weeks. Many around this table have demonstrated acts of great heroism and sacrifice that deserve to be remembered. It would be a waste to throw all of that away."

"I agree," said Merlin, "but the more people remember, the harder the spell. There are millions around the world who deserve to remember, millions who have realised that they were braver than they thought, discovered what is really important in their lives. But they can't all remember."

"At least they'll all be alive," Fred said. "Still, I don't like the fact that I won't remember all of this. It feels like dying somehow. The person I am now won't exist again. I've seen things that have changed me."

Everyone looked glum, but the mood was broken by one cheerful voice.

"I've got an idea."

Everyone turned to stare at the speaker. Luna was smiling.

"Dumbledore's Pensieve," she said simply.

There was a moment of silent confusion. Then it hit Harry,

"Of course!" he said. "Take the memories of the last few weeks and put them into bottles that we can take with us. Then once it's all over you can all take them back and watch them in the Pensieve."

"That's brilliant!" said Bill, but Hermione was shaking her head.

"When we go back, we'll be going back to the exact same place we were that day, wearing the exact same clothes. We can't take anything with us."

Harry's mood was killed somewhat, but was raised again when a voice came from the window.

"We can help with that."

Aithusa had pressed one eye up against the window. "We won't be affected," she said. "Dragons do not exist according to the normal rules of time. That's how we can see the future. It isn't linear for us. We exist separately. If we will it, we can be left completely unaffected."

"The young one is right," Kilgharrah said from behind her. "We can remain constant, even if the world changes around us. It will require effort, but it can be done. If you give the memories to us, we can keep them safe."

"Excellent," said Percy. "Now, who's first?"

Slowly, wands came from pockets and small glass vials were being conjured. People's faces screwed up in concentration as they brought wispy silvery strands from their heads and trapped them in the vials. They handed them over to Merlin who was closest to the window. Some however shook their heads. They obviously were happy to not remember.

"Should we do it?" Ginny asked, gesturing to the time travellers.

"No," said Merlin. "I'll need you lot to help me in the past. It would take too long to get your memories back. We'll need to move quickly. The others can wait."

"What exactly will you do?" Mr Weasley asked.

Everyone looked at Merlin.

"We'll all be in separate places," he said. "We need to regroup as quickly as possible. Head to Grimmauld Place. We'll need to get to Verax and get him to call off the attacks."

"How will that work?" asked Remus. "You can't force him to do that."

Merlin cast a half-glance at the dragons.

"I could if I needed to," he said. "I … learned some new abilities on the Isle of the Blessed. But I would rather not." He thought for a moment. "There will be eight of us who remember," he said slowly. "The Liberators exposed themselves in seven cities: London, Edinburgh, Cardiff, Belfast, Dublin, Paris and Berlin. If one person went to each location, they could stop the attacks before they happen."

"And how would we do that without exposing ourselves as well?" Ron asked. "Wouldn't a duel in the middle of Trafalgar Square be just as bad?"

"That's why it's only a back-up," said Merlin. "I'll be going after Verax himself. Hopefully, you won't have to do anything but watch."

"You really think you can make Verax change his mind?" Remus asked.

Merlin nodded. "I believe I can."

Harry looked away. He knew that Merlin could use his new Dragonlord abilities to force Verax to do what he wanted. He also knew that doing so was an ability that Dragonlords had seldom used due to its severity. It felt like the Imperius Curse to him. But there was too much at stake.

Merlin glanced at the clock. "It's almost time."

"Wait!"

Harry jumped at the sound of his cousin's voice. He watched in astonishment at Dudley squeezed himself into the crowded room, which was no mean feat, and approached Merlin. Aunt Petunia followed him mutely, all but glaring at everyone in the room, avoiding looking towards the window and the two dragons outside it. The two of them for some reason had been listening in the hall.

"I want to remember as well," Dudley said, looking nervous at all the wizards around him. "I mean, I don't quite understand what it is you're all saying, but I get that once you do this spell, whatever it is, I won't remember the last few weeks. And I want to." He took a deep breath and looked at Harry. "All of these people fighting each other over who's magical and who isn't … it's so stupid. All this hatred and prejudice has killed thousands of people, my dad included. And I don't want any part of it. I want to remember this. I don't want to go back to hating magic. I need to remember this. I can't go back to being the bully I was to you Harry. I'm sorry for everything I did to you back then. Please don't let me forget this. Maybe I can help end the prejudice in at least one Muggle family."

Harry couldn't quite get over his shock. He stared at his cousin, oddly touched.

"Who are you and what have you done with Dudley Dursley?" he murmured, and Dudley chuckled nervously.

He looked at Remus. "Can Muggles use Pensieves?"

Remus nodded. "I believe so. There is no magic involved."

Dudley looked pleased though he obviously had no idea what a Pensieve was.

Remus stood by Dudley and touched his wand against his temple, causing him to flinch. "Focus on the last few weeks," he said. "Let the memories fill your mind, how you felt, how you acted, every little detail."

Dudley's face screwed up so tightly it looked as though he might burst. Slowly, silvery wisps of memories leaked out of his head. Petunia gasped and moved forwards but someone held her back, and soon it was over, and the memories were encased inside a vial. Dudley breathed a sigh of relief.

"That was weird," he said, sounding dazed.

"And what about you?" Remus had said to Petunia. Harry noticed his expression hardened when he looked at her.

Petunia grudgingly moved forwards, looking at the ground. "I want to remember as well," she said.

"But why? Surely the memories are painful?"

She cast a half-glance at Harry. "I … " she began, unable to speak for a moment. She continued, her voice barely more than a mumble. "I owe it to my sister."

"And not to your nephew?" Remus said, his expression showing exactly what he thought of her. "She talked of you a lot, you know. It broke her heart that you acted the way you did. She would be so upset at the way you treated her son."

"You think you knew Lily better than I did?" Petunia said, looking at him finally, eyes shining. "She was my sister."

"And you abandoned her," Remus said. "You should never have done that."

She looked away again. "Will you help me remember or not?"

Remus watched her a moment, and then repeated the memory process with her. Petunia flinching and clutching on to her son so tightly he cried out in pain. The magic repulsed her.

"I don't know why I want to remember," she said, when it was over. She glanced at Harry. "But Lily would want me to. And I owe her that at least. But don't expect me to-"

"Like magic, yeah, I know, you still hate it," Harry said, unsurprised. "I don't care why you want to remember. But I'm glad you do. Maybe one day you'll see why it was so important."

She looked away, folding her arms tightly across her body and did not speak again. Her bottle, along with Dudley's went to the pile in front of Merlin. The pile glowed golden for a second and then were gone.

"I have them now in my safe-keeping," Kilgharrah said from outside. "Merlin, the time is now."

Merlin nodded. He held the parchment tightly in his hand and took a couple deep breaths. Harry and the others who would be remembering took this as their cue to crowd around and lay one hand on him. He closed his eyes for several minutes, and when he opened them, it was a bit of a shock. One eye was the same golden colour as Kilgharrah's scales, and one was pure white, like Aithusa's.

He's Bonded and linked with them, Harry thought. Thirteen hundred years to Bond and all it takes is a few weeks in the past to learn how to do it.

Then, Merlin began reading, and his voice sounded deeper and harsher than usual, each word laced with powerful energy. Gold and white light surrounded his palms as they gripped the scroll. Harry was shocked, that despite Merlin reading in an archaic form of English, he was able to understand the meaning through the unfamiliar sounds. "Turn back the days. Let the days be redone. Let time be reset. Turn back the days."

Merlin completed the last word, and there was no swirling winds or light surrounding them like the last time they had travelled through time.

All there was, was a sudden blackness.

Chapter Text

The darkness ended abruptly. Merlin waited for some sense of nausea or dizziness, or indeed any sign of magic, but there was none. The spell was over in a blink of an eye. The last several weeks had just been completely erased, and there was no outward suggestion whatsoever. It was disconcerting to cast a spell that left no visible mark.

But something had definitely changed. He was standing on the streets of London, when a split second before he had stood in the kitchen of the Burrow. Cars and buses trundled by noisily, and people passed him on every side, moving about their business as normal. Merlin blinked for a few seconds, momentarily disorientated. The trips back and forward from the seventh century might have been uncomfortable, but this was worse somehow. It felt somehow that everything that had occurred the last few weeks had been a distant dream.

But it was no dream, for straight across from him stood a newsstand. Shock landslide for People's Party read the headline. He had made it back.

"Merlin?"

He jumped when he realised Fred and George were standing on either side of him. They were both watching him with concerned expressions on their faces.

"You alright, mate?" George asked, placing one hand on his shoulder. "You've been staring into space."

Merlin snapped out of his daze immediately. "What time is it?"

"Just gone three, why?"

Merlin twisted around and saw Draco standing behind him, looking just as disorientated as he had felt. "We don't have much time," he said urgently. "We need to get the others and get to Grimmauld Place."

Draco nodded, his eyes coming into focus.

"What's going on?" Fred asked. "Why do you need to get back to Grimmauld Place?"

"I'll explain later," Merlin said, looking around the street.

"But-"

"Trust me," he said, looking at the two of them. "Something very bad is about to happen. Ask us about it later."

And without casting another look at their very confused faces, he and Draco disappeared immediately, reappearing in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. Tonks was there, and she jumped at the sight of them.

"What are you doing back? I thought you'd be at Diagon Alley all day. Has something happened?"

"Not yet," said Merlin. "Is Kingsley here? Harry?"

"No, why would they-"

At that moment there was a popping sound, and Kingsley Apparated into the kitchen. He immediately met Merlin's eyes. "We are cutting it a little short, aren't we? The Liberators will make their move in less than an hour."

"There's nothing we can do about that now," Merlin said. "We just have to wait for the others."

"The Liberators? What are they going to do?" Tonks said, standing and withdrawing her wand.

"No time to explain, Dora," Kingsley said. "But you may be able to help now that you're here. What you'll hear when the others show up won't make much sense, but I'll need you to trust us, and do what we say. Can you do that?"

She nodded, and a wind blew through the kitchen as Ron, Harry and Hermione appeared in the kitchen.

"I thought you said we'd be going back to the morning of the attack!" Ron said, annoyed. "We won't have enough time!"

"Yes we will," Merlin, pacing the kitchen, trying to quell his racing heart. He needed to have faith now; it was more important than ever.

They waited several more agonising minutes in silence, before another wind blew around the room, and Luna and Ginny joined them.

"Sorry for the delay," Ginny said. "We were in Transfiguration, and McGonagall wasn't happy about us trying to leave halfway through."

"As long as we're all here," Merlin said. He stopped his pacing to face them all. "You need to all do as I say, and go where I tell you. One in each city, remember?" He didn't wait for them all to nod, but ploughed on instead. "Apparition can't cross oceans, but Transporting can, so the ones with Old Magic will have to go the furthest."

"I'll take Paris," Ron said immediately. "Fleur's been teaching me French," he said shrugging, as everyone turned to look at him.

"Fine," said Merlin. "Luna, you take Berlin."

"Alright, I don't speak any German though," she said.

"Doesn't matter, just look for anyone suspicious," he said. "Draco, you take Belfast, and Harry, you do Dublin. Ginny can do Cardiff, and Hermione, can you do Edinburgh? Excellent. Kingsley, you go to Trafalgar Square, and take Tonks as well. From what I remember there were about twenty of them, and they started with Nelson's Column. Someone set fire to it before the rest of them Apparated in though, so that means that there's at least one Liberator at each location already in place; they all set fire to something, remember? If we can stop them from doing that, then the Liberators that Apparate in afterwards may not be so noticeable and we can deal with it discretely."

"How are we supposed to discretely Stun twenty people?" Draco asked, and Merlin was stumped for a moment. Even he couldn't do something like that, not without affecting the Muggles around them.

"Anti-Apparition Jinxes," said Hermione. Merlin turned to stare at her.

"Of course, that's brilliant, Hermione," he said, making her blush. "I forgot about Modern Magic completely. As soon as you've all arrived, cast the spells to stop others Apparating in. None of them know Old Magic so they won't be able to Transport in."

"We'll have to make it cover a big area though," Ron said, "so they don't Apparate to the next street away and try to walk in."

"I have faith in you all," Merlin said. "Now you should all go and get started. Hopefully though, you won't have to do anything."

"If you can get through to Verax," Kingsley said, and Merlin saw that he and everyone else looked doubtful.

"Yes," he said. The next moment, everyone except himself had left the room, either Transporting away, or walking upstairs to go outside the protective enchantments to Apparate away. He sat himself at the table and closed his eyes. He forced himself to forget the panic that threatened to overcome him at every second, and tried to relax, reaching deep within himself to his inner Dragonlord magic, balancing the raging forces that lay inside of him. Quicker than he had ever done before, he brought his magic into alignment.

He let the magic wash over his senses, and then focused it into one pursuit. Where is Verax?

His mind was blank, his magic seemed to spread out from his body, digging its way into a whirling fog outside his immediate senses. It hit him the next second.

He snapped open his eyes, and muttered the spell for Transporting without another second's thought.

Harry walked nervously around O'Connell street in the centre of Dublin. He stood before the Post Office building and its huge imposing sculpture and glanced as surreptitiously as he could at every person passing him, wondering if they were Liberators. Most however were just Muggles, businessmen and women off to work, tourists snapping pictures and shoppers carrying heavy bags; it was one of the busiest streets in Dublin. A little way away, a camera crew were setting up, and Harry watched it with a growing anticipation. Every city that had suffered an attack had had a camera crew 'conveniently' filming nearby to maximise the exposure. In the UK, those cameras had been interviewing disappointed election candidates, here however it looked like some sort of charity stunt; Muggles were nearby dressed as cartoon characters rattling buckets of change at passersby. The entire thing was a little bizarre.

Harry's wand was in his pocket; he'd just used it to cast the strongest Anti-Apparition spells he knew around the entire street. He'd even ran through adjoining streets casting them as subtly as he could from his pocket. He was still wearing his Hogwarts robes at the time and was attracting a few odd stares, so he ducked into a side street and cast some Disillusionment charms over himself. He hoped the others would remember to do the same; nothing would give the game away to the Liberators more than the sight of instantly recognisable wizards and witches watching them.

He strained his neck looking at every passing face, looking for someone who looked as if they weren't accustomed to dressing in Muggle clothes, but with the presence of all the ridiculously dressed charity campaigners, this was difficult.

The camera crew were getting closer and closer to completing their setup. The interviewer, a severe looking Muggle in a suit who seemed disgruntled at being asked to report on something so trivial, was also getting ready, reading through some notes on a notebook. The moment was drawing nearer.

He glanced behind him at the building which would shortly erupt in emerald flames if he was not careful. Although none of the Muggles had been hurt by the flames or other Liberator actions (at this time at least) the whole thing reminded him of the fires of the future if he were to fail.

He went back to searching the crowd, feeling a growing desperation. How was he supposed to find this person before they set fire to the building? Would it matter if the others couldn't Apparate in? The camera crew would film it certainly, but couldn't they just explain the whole thing away? Or would the lone Liberator take matters into their own hands when their pals didn't show up?

He tried to push back the fear. He had to have faith in Merlin's plan. He wouldn't fail them.

Merlin had expected someone with such visions of grandeur like Verax would have picked accommodations of a slighter higher standard. The leader of the Liberators was currently holed up in a small pokey flat in Croydon above a Muggle fast food restaurant. Merlin was standing on the street outside, frowning as he double checked his spell to ensure that he was in the right place. Once certain, he did not waste any more time. He started to Transport, easily bypassing the weak enchantments Verax had placed around the dwelling and the next thing he knew he stood in a dark and stuffy living room, the smell of days old food meeting his senses.

Verax himself was sitting in a moth-eaten armchair before a small television, which was flickering with images from the day's news, evidently waiting for the live broadcasts he had arranged. It took less than a second for him to notice Merlin's presence, and he leapt to his feet, mixed fear and surprise on his features.

"Merlin!" he cried, trying to adjust his robes as though ashamed of his appearance. Merlin ignored this, and with a flash of his eyes, Disarmed the man before him. Verax's eyes widened, and he took a step backwards as his wand flew from his pocket.

"What are you doing?" he said. He was once again using his silky manipulative voice, taking on an expression of sincere innocence and confusion. Merlin was not fooled this time.

"I'm stopping you before you make the biggest mistake of all history."

Verax blinked slowly, still looking innocent, but Merlin had detected a flicker of alarm in his eyes.

"I'm afraid I don't know-"

"Save it," Merlin snarled. He gestured towards the television. "I know what you're planning. I've seen it, and let me tell you, it doesn't work out the way you want it. Thousands of people are going to die by your actions."

Verax was definitely panicking now. He had gone deathly pale.

"Seen it?" he repeated, glancing towards the television. "You- you mean the legends are true? You can see the future?"

"Something like that," Merlin said. "You need to stop this now. Call it off. It's not too late."

Verax scowled, and stood up straight, chest puffed out importantly. "This is necessary," he said. "We need to end this Long Separation! I thought you realised that?"

"I let my own selfish desires cloud my judgement," Merlin responded. "This is not the right course of action, Verax. This will solve nothing."

But Verax shook his head, face determined. "The Muggles need to know about us so that we can live together once more, with you at our head."

Merlin had had enough. He didn't have time to argue with this man. As his father had taught him, he entered the state of Dragonsight in an instant. He searched the aura of the man before him, sorting out the man's thoughts, desires and motivations. It was true what he said; he had never wanted co-operation with Muggles, like he had professed, only subjugation. He genuinely believed Merlin would be the one to lead them. He was corrupted by centuries of lies about Merlin and his role in Camelot. He also saw that the man did not believe Merlin when he said this was the wrong course of action.

Merlin peered deeper. Verax was not an evil man, at least, not entirely. He did not want planet wide massacres. He accepted that there may be casualties, but he believed Merlin would keep them to a minimum. He believed that these deaths were worth it to have wizards once again in their rightful place, ruling over Muggles in a time of forced peace.

He would not be persuaded like this, Merlin decided. He was too firm in his beliefs. He would have to go further.

Merlin penetrated though Verax's aura and dug directly into his mind itself. Verax gasped in shock and pain as Merlin's mind moulded to his. He tried to fight back desperately, but Merlin was far stronger and was soon in full control. He could now force Verax to call off the attack.

Yet, as he was about to do so, his mind shrunk back. Eldron and his father's warnings rang in his ears. Forcing another to do your bidding using this magic was seldom used for a reason; it was wrong. It was little better than an Imperius Curse.

But there was too much at stake, Merlin argued with himself, whilst Verax's mind was held in suspension with his own. One man's mind was not worth thousands of lives.

But other warnings came back to him. Peace cannot be forced. This was the wrong path. Forcing Verax like this would solve their immediate problem, but it would not solve the wider problem of the growing dissatisfaction within the wizarding world. He could not do it like this.

He looked again at the man's motivations and desires. He truly did want peace, a corrupted peace, but peace nonetheless. He truly did not understand. He had to help him to.

Merlin opted for another tactic instead.

Verax gasped as a huge outpouring of mental energy came hurtling towards him from Merlin's mind, a rush of visions, memories and feelings spanning thirteen centuries. Merlin showed him Camelot, Arthur and the Knights, and the way he had achieved peace in that city, his true role in the legend. He showed him the years afterwards, the persecutions, the killings, the years of death and despair. He showed him his memories of the Founders, the reasons they had built their school, the way all four had sought to protect Muggle-Borns and fight for a fairer society, his and Slytherin's involvement in the Wizards' Council and it's corrupted notions of what constituted peace. He showed him the centuries since, the witch-hunts, the signing of the Statute of Secrecy, the fear and injustice and destruction that had caused it to come into being. Finally, he showed him his memories of the last few weeks, of what came of his current plan, the sight of the whole world in flames and their trip into the past. He showed him every instance he could think of that proved to him how blind he was to what he was truly suggesting. He had to help him see how unready the world was for the peace he sought, how wrong his vision was. He had to impart his own certainty of a time of peace in a far future when the world was ready.

Merlin ceased the flow of memories abruptly, and Verax cried out in pain and fear as he fell to his knees trembling violently. Merlin's own mind was spinning, and he could only imagine how Verax was feeling; thirteen hundred years of another man's memories, feeling centuries of pain and suffering all in the course of a few seconds would be enough to overwhelm even the strongest of people. For several minutes, Verax lay curled up on the floor of his musty little flat, shaking and retching occasionally. His aura was a turmoil of emotions, and attempted to sort through them all made Merlin's mind ache so he retreated, and waited until Verax had begun to sort through his own emotional state. His eyes flickered towards the television anxiously; the news was filled with information about yesterday's election, but there was no sign of the interview in Trafalgar Square yet, or any other, it showed only studio reporters. But he didn't have time to waste.

Verax spluttered, and lifted himself to his knees shakily. He looked up at Merlin, his eyes watery and face pale and distraught. Sweat stood out vividly on his brow. He looked like a broken man, all signs of his confident exterior had vanished. This man was a coward. He was a shadow of his former self.

"You understand now?" merlin said, keeping the anger in his voice under control with difficulty.

Verax nodded, blinking rapidly. He looked too weak for words. His entire world had crumbled around him. Merlin had little sympathy.

"Will you call it off now?" he asked urgently, noticing that the television had switched to news reports in the field, though thankfully not yet in any of the targeted locations.

Verax's lips were trembling. "I can't," he said, his voice hoarse. "I- I don't know how. I can't contact them. They're already in place. They were ordered to ignore any external contact."

"Try!" Merlin said, losing patience, and seizing Verax's robes, but the man just continued to shake his head.

"I can't. I can't. I just can't," he babbled continuously, a growing horror in his eyes. "What have I done?"

Merlin dropped Verax in disgust, and the man curled up on the floor, beginning to weep. The man had chosen the worst possible time for guilt. A quick glace using his Dragonlord skills however told him that Verax was telling the truth. He could not stop the attack.

Merlin cursed loudly. How was he to stop the attacks?

He paced the room, ignoring the prone figure of Verax. He'd have to trust in the others. Trust that they'd prevented the other Liberators from Apparating in. but would they get the one that was already there? Would the reinforcements simply just execute their plan in a different location if prevented from reaching their original target?

Merlin looked back at Verax, probing the man's memories using Dragonsight. The advance group of Liberators had already been in place for several hours. They would have been unaffected by the arrival of Harry and the others. The reinforcements were ordered to regroup in a safe-house if things went wrong, so no problem there. The only issue was the advance party. He'd have to hope Harry and the others got to them in time. But how? They were disguised, and even Verax did not know their exact identities.

He'd have to go there himself, he decided. He could tell which ones were Liberators using his new skills.

It was funny, he thought, while tying up Verax and getting ready to Apparate away. When he'd first learned his new magic, he thought he could use it to force peace, like Verax wanted. Then he'd realised he couldn't. It turned out his trip to the past had been for more than he spell, but so he could learn this magic. He couldn't use it the way the originally wanted to, but this was the next best thing.

Harry glanced at a nearby clock urgently. The time was almost here. The camera crew opposite him had already begun filming, and he had still not found the Liberator. He pushed his way through the crowds, head turning this way and that, but what use would it be? He couldn't recognise the Liberator on sight. His only bet was to stand apart from the crowd and act the exact moment he saw something suspicious. It left him precious little time.

He heard a clock striking, and he felt fear clutch at his heart. Any second now.

Struck by a sudden crazy idea, Harry twisted around towards the camera and cast the first spell that came to his lips, not even caring who saw the gold in his eyes. The invisible spell hit the camera and lighting equipment, which promptly exploded with a loud bang, spouted large quantities of smoke which drew the attention of the crowd. The charity fundraisers ran screaming from the smoking electrical equipment, and the interviewer stumbled away coughing.

Harry nodded in satisfaction. It might buy him a few minutes. He jumped violently the next moment when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Was that you?"

Harry breathed a sigh of relief as he recognised Merlin's voice.

"I can't find the guy," he explained. "I thought, at least this way it we could lessen the amount of people that see it."

"Good thinking."

"Didn't you get through to Verax?"

"No time. Explain later," Merlin said, and Harry could see he looked out of breath. A sudden surge of Old Magic alerted Harry to the fact Merlin was using his Dragonlord magic to search the crowd. Harry watched fascinated as Merlin's eyes darted back and forth, searching for the wizard who was concealing himself.

"There," Merlin pointed to a man standing by a phonebox. A newspaper was in his hand, having been blended into the crowd a moment before. Now he was looking around furtively. "He's rattled. Doesn't know whether to continue now that you destroyed the camera. You can handle him can't you?"

"Of course," Harry said, fixing his eyes on the wizard. "What are you going to do?"

"I need to get to the others," he said. "I've already been to Berlin, Paris, Belfast and Cardiff, all in the last five minutes picking out the Liberators, and I've still got Edinburgh and London to do. Bring him to Grimmauld Place when you're gone."

"Good luck," Harry said, but Merlin had already disappeared.

Harry wasted no more time but darted forwards through the smoke and commotion caused by the camera explosion. Muggles from nearby shops were already running forwards with fire extinguishers, but Harry slipped around them. The wizard by the phonebox had apparently made up his mind. His wand had now emerged from his pocket-

Harry grinned. He felt his eyes burn golden, and the next second, the man had collapsed as a silent spell hit him straight in the chest.

Harry reached him the next second, and immediately seized the man's wand and shoved it in his pocket. He grabbed the man's shoulders and turned him to face him. He was unconscious. He posed no more threat.

"Fainted at the shock of the explosion," Harry said to the concerned Muggles who had crowded around. "He'll be alright in a minute."

He pretended to tend to the man in front of his audience, his heart still racing. Disaster had been prevented here, but would Merlin get to the other two cities in time?

Merlin felt himself fall hard on a cobble-stoned alleyway in Edinburgh, and he lay gasping in exhaustion for a moment. Travelling to six cities over hundreds of miles of land and ocean in as many minutes was draining, and he felt a sharp pain in his chest, almost as if he had physically run the entire way from Dublin. He had no time to waste though. He had only just averted trouble in Ireland, which meant it was due to happen any second now in Scotland.

Despite his fatigue, he dragged himself to his feet and began to run. He came out of his secluded alleyway and pelted down the street, avoiding commuters, shoppers and tourists alike. He ran past Waverly train station and crossed the road, causing a red sightseeing bus to come to a screeching halt before him. Merlin barely heard the driver's angry insults before he hurtled into Prince's Street Gardens. Edinburgh Castle was high on the extinct volcano before him, a mile or so away on the horizon, but his focus was on a closer landmark: the Scott Monument, which any moment was due to erupt in emerald flames. He glanced behind him at the clock on the tower of the Balmoral Hotel. This Liberator was behind schedule. Did that mean Hermione had caught them?

Merlin skidded to a halt at the base of the giant monument and looked around for Hermione, but saw only elderly men and women on park benches, ice-cream vendors, cyclists and people lying on the grass enjoying the unexpected May sunshine. A camera crew was nearby, but they were not filming. Instead, they were standing around scratching their heads and tinkering with buttons; Hermione had evidently thought along the same lines as Harry and disabled the camera, albeit in a more subtle manner.

A piercing cry came from behind him, and he turned to see Hermione and the Liberator locked in a fierce duel before a statue at the base of the massive structure. Lightning fast, Hermione threw spell after spell at the Liberator witch, who was barely maintaining a weak shield. The people around them ran screaming, mothers grabbing their children and tourists snapping photographs. Before Merlin could intervene however, Hermione broke through the witch's shield with one last powerful spell which Merlin suspected she had learned on the Isle of the Blessed. The witch cried out as she fell motionless to the ground. More screams came from the surrounding Muggles. Hermione turned, as if suddenly realising she had an audience. Her eyes met Merlin's immediately and she looked panicked. She had completely frozen.

Seized by sudden impulse, Merlin ran towards her. She was still wearing her Hogwarts robes, and he whipped her hat from her head and threw it at the ground before her.

"Performers from the Royal Academy, ladies and gentlemen," he said to the still terrified audience, his heart pumping. "Raising money for our upcoming production!"

He stared at the audience, trying to act confident but hardly expecting this flimsy excuse to hold up. Apparently, however, Muggles were more gullible than he thought.

A slow applause began, and people who had been terrified and running away moments before in terror began to laugh at their own stupidity in not realising it was a street performance. A few people came forwards chucking pound coins and notes into the hat on the ground. Hermione stood there awkwardly, trying to smile, but slowly inching towards the unconscious Liberator as though trying to conceal her from view.

"I need to get to London now," Merlin said to her urgently, turning away from the audience. "Keep her here until the crowd goes away and then Apparate her to Grimmauld Place. And don't feel guilty about that money," he said, noting Hermione's glance at the rapidly filling up hat. "Give it to charity later if you want. I need to go."

She nodded, and he ran off. He ducked behind a statue and Apparated immediately, feeling himself dissolve into the crushing darkness. When he emerged from the darkness into central London, he realised straight away that he was too late. Nelson's Column was already wreathed with emerald flames.

He paused in horror for a moment, before pulling himself together. The other Liberators were nowhere to be see, and the giant lion statues had not yet come to life, so Kingsley and Tonks had been successful in that regard at least. Terrified people were trying to flee the scene, but Merlin pushed past them towards the giant pillar. Wordlessly, he cast a strong spell which immediately extinguished the flames. However, the Liberator was not done. As before, the fountains erupted like geysers, soaking the fleeing Muggles and frightening them more.

"Stupefy!"

Merlin turned as he heard Kingsley's deep voice even over the screams. A jet of red light was gone in an instant, striking down a man only a few feet from Merlin. Kingsley and Tonks came running up, wands being hastily stowed away, but since they were both wearing colourful flowing robes, this did not make them much less conspicuous.

"I'm sorry, Merlin," Tonks said as she approached. "We couldn't get to him in time."

"It's alright," Merlin said, looking down at the man at his feet. "I got to the others in time, more or less. We can cover this up can't we?"

"I believe so," Kingsley said. "We Confunded the Muggle news reporters and had them believe they were supposed to be conducting their interview outside parliament. The man they were supposed to be interviewing was a bit confused when he turned up, but none of this was caught on camera. I can use some of my influence to have this all hushed up." He looked around at the now almost deserted square and up at the slightly scorched column. "A few Confundus Charms and a good cover story might be able to swing it. I'll get the Disinformation Squad out here right away. Leave it to me."

He hurried off back towards the Stunned Liberator and Apparated away with him, and Merlin went in the opposite direction. Tonks followed him as they emerged out into the surrounding streets. Traffic was at a standstill as the roads around the square were jammed with cars, buses and taxis that had had their owners vacate them in a state of panic. Some people were still running away, rapidly spreading the story and panicking those who had not witnessed the attack personally. Merlin listened in on the conversations. 'Terrorist attack', 'elaborate stunt', 'explosion' and 'accident' were the phrases he heard most often. They might just be able to get away with this.

He hurried through the streets looking for a particular kind of shop, Tonks following looking confused but remaining silent. Eventually, he found what he was looking for; an electronics shop. He pushed open the door, ignoring the shopkeeper's questions about 'all that hullaballoo' and instead stood in front of one of the display televisions which was showing a news channel. Although he could not hear the programme, he could see they were still on the topic of the election. There were no reports from cities of widespread carnage, which meant Harry and the others had been successful in apprehending the lone Liberators in each city. He watched for a long time, eventually seeing a breaking news bulletin come up about an 'engineering fault' in Trafalgar Square, where a slightly dazed looking police officer told reporters what had happened. Kingsley, already dressed in a smart Muggle suit, stood in the background.

Only now, Merlin allowed himself to relax. He found himself sinking to the floor breathing heavily, finally succumbing to his exhaustion. He was trembling, but in a good way this time. They had succeeded.

Tonks slid to the ground beside him, hugging her knees to her chest. She was also watching the screen out of curiosity.

"What happened, Merlin?" she asked. "What was so terrible?"

Merlin smiled weakly. "You'll know soon enough. Just be glad you didn't have to experience it."

She obviously did not understand, but her professional Auror demeanour had taken over, and she just nodded silently, trusting him to reveal the truth when he was ready. Merlin rested his head on the cabinet behind him, eyes still glued to the screen. So close, but it was behind them now. The Long Separation would end, but hopefully not for a long, long time yet.

"Oi!" the shopkeeper said, rounding the corner. "This ain't your living room. Buy a telly or get out!"

Chapter Text

"Wait, you're telling me you were actually on the Isle of the Blessed?" George was asking.

Harry sighed, and resigned himself to explaining it all over again. About half of those who had handed over memories to the dragons had regained them, but the others, waiting their turn, were full of questions.

"Yes," he said. "Kilgharrah sent us back."

"In order to get this spell to turn back time?"

"Yes."

"Why couldn't he just send you back to the day the Liberators attacked?"

"Why don't you just wait until you get your memories back?" Ron grumbled. He was sitting opposite the two of them in Grimmauld Place's drawing room.

"But how can we 'get back' memories of things that never happened, things that happened weeks from now?" Fred asked, face screwed up in confusion.

"Ask Kilgharrah," Ron said. "I don't get it either."

The twins nodded, though still looking both confused and amazed. The Order had been recalled to Grimmauld Place, and all day people had been wandering in and out, going to Hogwarts to relive their memories in Dumbledore's Pensieve. They came back dazed and in complete shock. No one quite seemed to believe it had happened at all. Harry couldn't imagine how bizarre this must feel for them all; to watch personal memories of something that never happened, and never would happen.

Kingsley was at the Ministry, and had set his (very confused) Aurors out to round up the Liberators at the safe house Verax had told Merlin about. Verax himself was in custody at the Ministry. They weren't quite sure what to do with him.

As though knowing what Harry was thinking about, Hermione turned to him.

"What will they do with Verax though?" she said. "They can't put him in Azkaban for a crime he hasn't committed yet, can he?"

"But he did," Ron pointed out, "technically at least. The Liberators did try to put their plan into action. We only stopped it from working. They did try and break the law."

"What do you think, Merlin? Merlin?" said Hermione. Merlin was sitting in a chair by the window. He was fast asleep. Harry and Ron exchanged a grin. Merlin was almost never caught asleep by anyone.

He noticed Fred and George were also both grinning to each other. Hermione saw this however.

"Don't you dare," she scowled.

"Don't what?"

"You know what," she said. "He has literally been chasing the Liberators all over Europe. Let him get some rest."

"We wouldn't have done anything!"

"Yes, you would," Merlin said, opening his eyes. He stretched and sat up straight. "I'm not stupid enough to fall completely asleep in the same room as the Weasley twins. Thanks anyway, Hermione."

"Did you hear what we were talking about?" Ron asked as Hermione smiled smugly.

"No, but I can guess," he said. He sighed. "I'm not sure how to move forwards from this. I never gave it much thought. All I focused on was stopping them. But we can't just hope to pretend that it never happened. The roots are still there. People are still arguing over the pros and cons for revealing ourselves to the Muggles, with or without Verax. He's stirred something up that won't go back down easily."

"People wouldn't believe us if we told them what had happened," Harry said. "Not with everyone doubting us all. If they don't trust Kingsley, then they don't trust me or you."

Merlin looked thoughtful, but before they could continue the discussion, the door opened and Remus walked in, fresh from Hogwarts. He spotted Harry straight away, and crossed the room towards him, hugging him tightly as he did so, leaving Harry a little breathless.

"I'm so proud of you," he said, pulling back, a smile on his lined face. "That's twice within the same year you've saved our world from complete destruction. How do you do it, Harry?"

"I have some help," Harry said, blushing, and looking at Ron, Hermione and the others.

Remus just continued smiling, and placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I can't quite believe everything that happened," he said. "You'll have to tell me all about the Isle of the Blessed. I'm quite envious."

"Course I will," Harry said.

He noticed Hermione had pulled her chair closer. "I think there's something I might have to show you, Remus," she said. She waved her wand, and the large bulky bag she had brought with her from the Isle of the Blessed flew to her hand.

"Bloody hell, Hermione," said Ron, ducking as the bag flew over his head. "You trying to knock us all out?"

Hermione ignored him and dove into the bag. Harry could see that she had magically enlarged it as she had the beaded bag she had used last year, and several large books were sitting inside. She pulled out one particularly large one.

"Blimey, Hermione," said Fred as she dumped it on the table before them. "You didn't steal that from the Druids, did you?"

"Of course not," Hermione frowned, and Fred nodded.

"Good, because that would be too hard to believe."

"The library there was filled with centuries of knowledge that had died out with the Old Religion," she said, flicking through the book. "And Merlin said it would be okay to bring some of it back to the future so we could study it. He's got his Dragonlord book after all now. Anyway, I duplicated some of the more incredible books I found, and some others that I couldn't read but looked important and kept them."

"I'm actually impressed," said George, peeking in the cavernous bag.

Hermione finally reached the page she was looking for, and hesitated before showing it to Remus. The pages, crisp and new despite being thirteen hundred years old bore an illumination of a man. Before their eyes, the illustration changed into a wolf, and then back again. Small sentences of writing in Ancient Runes and another unknown script popped up labelling the drawing at various points. Remus stared at it unblinkingly.

"The whole book is like this," she said in a rush. "It has loads about werewolves and other human-animal transformations. Half of it is in Ancient Runes, but the rest, including most of the stuff on werewolves is in a language I can't read. But there's loads here. I mean, surely some of it might be useful?" She glanced at Merlin, who had stepped forward to read the pages. "I didn't want to say anything back then when I found it; we all had our minds on other things. But, do you think there could be something here in Old Magic that could help Remus?"

"You told me once that Old Magic had no known cure for lycanthropy," Remus said to Merlin, though still staring at the continuously transforming illustration.

"None in my time," Merlin said, pulling the book closer. "But this is before my time. Maybe there's something here that has long been forgotten." He turned the pages, eyes skimming over the words on the page, mouthing the words as he went. He began to smile. "I don't want to get your hopes up, Remus. There may be no cure here. But at the very least, based on what I can read here, we may understand it better. Maybe we can find a way of helping you or others like you."

"Even a little bit would help," Remus said, meeting his gaze. "We know almost nothing about it as it is. Any help you could give … I'd be eternally grateful. Even more so than I already am for everything you've done for us. And you," he said, turning to Hermione, a huge smile on his face that seemed to strip away the years from his face. "You are by far the most brilliant student I have ever taught, Hermione. Never lose that thirst for learning. I'll always be grateful to you for this."

Hermione flushed crimson, but she looked pleased.

"Forget Lupin," George said, grabbing the bag and rummaging deep inside it. "Any spells here for re-growing ears?"

"Are you sure about this?" Kingsley said to him for the hundredth time, but Merlin nodded. It was now almost a week after the Muggle election. Kingsley had successfully managed to capture every liberator involved in the plot and also used his influence to have the Muggle election declared invalid and ordered a return to the polls. Rogers was not too happy with that turn of events, but Merlin was, after personally assuring himself that every aspect of Liberator influence over the Muggle election had been eradicated. The only issue was now the wizarding world.

Kingsley, at Merlin's request had called a press conference in the Atrium of the Ministry, bringing reporters from all over Britain, Europe and indeed the world. They were now in a small antechamber off the Atrium preparing for the media onslaught.

"You know what you're doing?" Kingsley asked again. He was not especially happy that Merlin had not been particularly forthcoming about what he was going to do.

"Yes, trust me," Merlin said. He stopped closer to the Minister and smiled. "I know you might find that difficult after everything that happened. I wanted to say that I'm sorry for everything I said and did before the attack. I was irrational and foolish. I should have listened to you."

Kingsley sighed and shook his head. "I do trust you, Merlin," he said. "There is no need to apologise. You did what you thought was necessary, as did I. And when you made the wrong choice, you were big enough to admit it and you helped to make things right again. I am grateful to you for that. There are no hard feelings."

"Good," Merlin grinned. He took a deep breath. "Well, we'd best get out there then, hadn't we? That includes you, by the way."

This last comment was directed at the figure skulking in the corner. Verax scowled at him. "Must we do this?"

"You agreed to it," said Merlin in a warning tone. "Don't back out now. I thought you realised how important this was?"

"I do, but the humiliation-"

"Is entirely of your own doing," said Kingsley unsympathetically. "Come."

Verax's scowl deepened. He did not look as terrible as he had done after Merlin's trip into his mind, but he did not look good either. He was a shadow of a man now. Merlin had tried to read his aura, but saw only a confusion of guilt, stubborn pride and relentless questioning. Whether he truly understood what he had done, Merlin still wasn't sure.

The three men left the room to a media frenzy. As soon as they appeared, flashes of light and puffs of smoke greeted their senses, as did a roar of voices and questions. Merlin did not look at any of them until he had reached the podium at the head of the crowd. Kingsley stepped forwards to speak first.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, the crowd immediately falling silent. "I have called you here on a very urgent matter. One week ago, members of the Order of the Phoenix managed to foil an attack of the most serious nature from the Liberator group, led by this man, Cicero Verax. If the Liberators had succeeded, many hundreds if not thousands of Muggles and wizards would have perished in the most brutal way imaginable. The exact circumstances of how this happened are almost unbelievable, but you all deserve to know the truth, even if you find it hard to comprehend."

Kingsley then launched into an explanation of the events surrounding the attack, and Merlin watched the crowd's reactions. At first there were eager curiosity, then shock, horror, and then scepticism and disbelief from some. Quills rapidly crossed parchments trying to record every detail. Merlin said nothing, and Verax stood there staring at the ground, though out of guilt, shame or petulance, Merlin wasn't sure.

When Kingsley was done, there was a flurry of questions, which Kingsley answered patiently. After half an hour, he stepped backwards. "Any further questions must wait," he said. "Now, the most important part of proceedings must take place. Merlin desires to speak to you."

Merlin took Kingsley's place and was momentarily blinded by the flashing of cameras. He took a deep breath before beginning.

"I know many of you will doubt who I am," he said, noting that the room was now deathly quiet. "Many of you believe that I am an imposter, many countries have denounced me, but I am not about to try and offer you further proof. I understand your scepticism, I understand your frustrations, but that is unimportant. What is important though, is the disaster that has just been narrowly avoided." He surveyed the room. "I cannot explain to you all the importance of understanding exactly what happened. You will all hopefully never know that despair and level of suffering. The world was burning, I saw it and you all have a duty now to try and stop it from ever happening again."

He saw a few sceptical looks. "I could make you believe me," he said honestly. "I could force myself into your minds and make you relive my memories, let you see for yourself what happened. But you would all merely accuse me of fabrication. It doesn't matter if you believe what happened or not. What did happen wasn't something new. The things I saw across the globe a few weeks ago have happened before. All though history we have persecuted each other, Muggles against Muggles, wizards against wizards, siblings against siblings. We as human beings have not learned. Take it from someone who has seen it all, disputes arising, being forgotten about, and then revived centuries later in a new context with no understanding of what came before. This must end."

His audience were rapt with attention now. "The Long Separation is something which has always pained me," he said, trying to let them see just how truthful he was being. "Ever since the moment I saw the International Statute of Secrecy signed I have detested it. I have always hated the fact that we have been separate from our Muggle brethren. As a Half-Blood who grew up entirely around Muggles, how could I not? But I never saw the good in it. I was blind to its necessity because of my own desires. I still hate the fact that it exists, but it is necessary, because I have seen what would happen if it were not in place. We are not ready for reuniting with Muggles. Only last year, a Half-Blood raised with Muggles like myself was running around killing his own people because of his own twisted hate. He may be an extreme example, but prejudice still exists within our society. Even those of us who embrace Muggles and Muggle-Borns are ignorant of their ways and treat them like children who need our guidance. We are not benevolent beings, and we are not merciful masters. We need to once again regard Muggles as true equals before we could ever hope to join them once more. One day, we will be ready. I won't be here for that, and neither will you. What we can do, is lay the foundations for that peace, here and now. One day, we will be ready, and so will they."

He stepped away from the podium, noticing that the room was still silent, as though all bound in complete shock. Merlin motioned for Verax to step up, which he did, if grudgingly. He cleared his throat and began to speak, though his alluring tone had been replaced with one of extreme fatigue.

"Merlin has shown me what the consequences of my actions would have been," he said, staring downwards rather than at the audience. "I believe what I saw was true, and regret my course of action." He began to shuffle his feet. "My … my motives were wrong. I was entirely mistaken in what I wanted to achieve. I never wanted that level of suffering. The people that died are still with us, but Merlin and the others who retain their memories still remember that suffering, and I doubt any of them will forgive me any time soon, so in a way, I still carry the weight of those deaths with me." He sighed heavily, looking up to the crowd wearily. "I am a proud man," he said. "I would not be standing here before you admitting my faults if I did not truly regret what I did. I was foolish, and it took Merlin to make me realise that. What he says is true. Peace cannot be made through actions like this. I am one of those he refers to; I have never truly understood Muggles. That is a fault we all share. Something that must be fixed."

He turned to glance at Merlin here, and for the first time, Merlin truly saw the remorse in his eyes. "I now face time in Azkaban, time I will serve without protest," he said, hanging his head. "I speak now to all my former supporters. Do not pursue this course of action. Listen to Merlin and Minister Shacklebolt. Countless lives depend on it. That is all I have to say."

He moved away from the podium, shuffling his feet, and Merlin and Kingsley also left, despite the clamouring of the reporters who had broken their combined silence. Kingsley motioned to some nearby Aurors to escort Verax away which they did wordlessly. Kingsley led Merlin back to the antechamber, where they closed the door against the noise of the crowd.

"Do you think any of them will listen?"

"I hope so," Merlin said, collapsing in a chair. "Some of them won't, but I have faith that common sense will prevail. Eventually."

"You have more faith than I do," Kingsley said, coming to sit opposite him. "How can you trust so after everything you have seen over the centuries?"

Merlin smiled. "You forget, Minister," he said. "That as well as centuries of torture and suffering, I have also seen centuries of the best of humankind, of kindness, compassion and mercy. There's always hope in the world, it's just harder to see at certain times. The world will never truly be at peace, not in my lifetime, but I'm more than happy to live in it the way it is now. There is hope for the future now. And I'm going to trust it."

He leaned back in his chair. "I spent yesterday in Azkaban with Draco Malfoy visiting his father. They'll never be the way they were, but there is hope. Who would ever have thought a Malfoy would risk so much for the life of Muggles? If there's one thing I've learned, it is that nothing is ever hopeless."

The party in the Gryffindor Common Room was in full swing when Harry eventually tried to duck away. He was ecstatic with happiness, and not just at accomplishing everything he had went back in time to do. It was now several weeks later, and he had just succeeded in leading the Gryffindor Quididtch team to victory in the House Cup in his last year as Captain. It was a small victory in the grand scheme of things, but Harry was deliriously happy nonetheless. It was the small things in life that mattered the most, he decided. This was how his life always should have been; focusing on school and sports like any other normal kid instead of fighting for his life all the time. He'd never have a normal life, but this was as close as it came.

The party had become increasingly raucous, so Harry found some quiet refuge in the corridors of the seventh floor, casting a quick Old Magic spell over himself to hide. No one would miss him; Ron and Ginny were as much the stars of the team as he was, and were being thoroughly pampered by the rest of the House. Carried by a whim, he allowed his feet to take him on a meandering path through the corridors until he reached a portrait of a magnificent castle: Camelot. He stared at it intently, deciding that his opinion when he had first seen the city itself was right; the portrait did not quite capture its glory, its magnificence or its importance.

He felt a presence drawing near, and did not feel in the least surprised to find that it was Merlin. He came and stood behind him.

"Nice match," Merlin said.

"You were watching?"

"Of course I was. Remember, I helped you get to this position despite not sitting on a broomstick for about two hundred years."

"Oh yeah, I forgot," Harry said, smiling as he remembered Zacharias Smith's face when he'd realised he was playing against Merlin. "Thanks for that by the way."

"No problem," Merlin chuckled. "It was worth it. Now that Voldemort's gone there's no pressure to become an Auror, you know. You could join a professional team."

"Voldemort's gone but there's still bad people out there," said Harry, shaking his head. "I can help stop them, especially now with my Old Magic."

"There will always be evil people out there, Harry," Merlin said, fixing his eyes on the portrait. "That doesn't mean we should stop pursuing our dreams. You've done more than enough."

"But what about Old Magic?"

"I'm working on it," he replied. "I'll be starting to teach it here in September remember, as well as the classes I run at the Ministry. Kingsley's arranged with the International Confederation of Wizards to have other countries send specialists to learn from me and then teach others in their own countries."

"That's a lot of work."

"I spent thirteen hundred years doing virtually nothing, it's time I put some work in," Merlin laughed. "I need to keep active in my old age."

"Do you think it will work?" Harry asked, turning away from the painting. "Have the Liberators and all the other doubters been put off?"

"I don't know," he said, sighing heavily. "The Liberators have disbanded, but they're still out there, disgruntled and confused, a bit like the death Eaters I suppose. And there are those who do not believe. It'll be a constant battle to keep the peace, like always."

"You never catch a break, do you?" Harry said, but Merlin just laughed.

"That's what I've always thought," he said, "but I don't realise how lucky I am. I'm mortal, I have friends once again, I'm better connected with the dragons than I've ever been, I even have some of the knowledge of the Old Religion restored including information about my own people and maybe even ways to cure people like Remus who Modern Magic has failed. I managed to get to know my father for the first time, and above all, I've come to peace with myself."

"So you're okay with the fact that you won't get to see a time of peace here again?" harry asked.

"Yes," Merlin said. "Because it's enough to know that there will be one again. And remember, there are still prophecies yet to be fulfilled. Arthur was the Once and Future King, he will return one day. He's been here the entire time in Avalon guiding me and helping me try to create peace within the Wizarding World, and when he returns to the Muggle world, I will be there in Avalon to help him. Only when the two worlds are at peace with themselves can peace be created between the two. When that day comes, we'll both be there."

Harry just stared at him, amazed at his faith. Merlin turned away from the portrait and began walking down the corridor, Harry at his side.

"True peace may not yet exist in this time," he said, "but I can create my own happiness here, my own time of peace. And that's an opportunity I intend to take."

They walked together down the corridor and eventually back to Gryffindor Tower, where they were both met with cheers and were dragged into the centre of the party. Harry laughed more than he had in a long time, and he saw Merlin doing the same.

Merlin was right. He remembered Dumbledore saying something: "It is important to fight and fight again, and keep fighting, for only then can evil be kept at bay, though never quite eradicated." This struggle would always exist, but that just made moments like these more precious. World peace was perhaps a far distant dream, but inner peace was far more important.

They were both happy, completely and utterly. And it was a long time since either of them could have said that.