Chapter Text
It has always been strange, the name tag that hovered over his Professor’s footprints, the consistent muddy blur over the persistent pacing feet. Harry unfolded more of the map as he followed Professor Amber through the halls, it will always be strange how the old man with aeon old eyes always loops back to the same place.
Laying the map out further on his bed he could see everyone’s places; Hermione was already in the library with Ginny and Neville, Dumbledore was pacing - again, and Professor Amber was standing in an empty tower in the east wing - it was abandoned and looked over the viaduct and lake. Maybe Amber went there for the view, but for the past five years? Perhaps more?
Now, it’s not how Hermione or Ron really believe, this isn’t Harry going mad with suspicion like the past four years; it might seem mad but Harry would actually like one school year to be normal. And he really does like the Professor, he isn’t magnificently terrifying like McGonagall or mad like Trelawney; Amber was passionate but also level headed. There wasn’t a single student in all the twenty five years he had been teaching at Hogwarts that could name a time when Amber snapped and got angry.
The man always seemed to keep to himself, the only strange thing about him is what happens at christmas but Harry always likes to make him feel better with some presents. Professor Amber seems to like the hand carved figures at least. But apart from that, Amber was almost silent, you wouldn’t notice him until someone had to point him out to you.
Though there is a specific reason as to why Harry is so enamoured with the strange old man. Now Amber certainly wasn’t a looker, maybe he was in the past from the pictures Harry has seen. It was the twinkle in his eyes, the inconsistent stories that never seemed to match up correctly as if he was purposefully changing parts of the story, it was what happens at christmas, it was the creative history lessons that manage to even keep Seamus engaged, then there was also the fact about Amber’s magic and name on the Marauder's Map of course.
So telling Harry to not follow his suspicions is like telling a bird not to fly, and in this case it seems curiosity is what will kill the cat.
Ron side eyed him as Harry folded up the map, Ron in the most Ron-like-fashion groaned. “Mate, you better not be doing what I think you’re doing.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Harry muttered as he stuffed the map into his trouser pocket.
“Amber, c’mon mate, don’t do it, we’ve only been back three weeks.” Ron swung his legs over the edge of the bed so he was sitting up. “He’s a nice guy, he’s been teaching here for years now! I mean he taught both of our parents, all of our brothers! You really think he’s a You-Know-Who supporter?”
“What?” Harry exclaimed, he rolled his eyes and pushed his glasses up for the millionth time that day. “Of course I don’t, he literally told the entire class off because Malfoy made a rude comment in first year.”
Harry headed towards the door but Ron called after him. “Don’t do anything stupid, Umbridge is still iffy, and you don’t want a detention from a ministry worker.”
“You know who you sound like?” Harry said from the doorway.
“‘Mione?” Ron replied, unimpressed.
“No, your mum.” Harry wore a shit eating grin as he left Ron squawking in their dorm. “See you at dinner!” He called behind him.
It was always nice to be home, it was as if he never left, as if the dementor attack never happened. Ignoring that horrendous incident, Harry strolled along the halls.
The portraits were ever polite and cheery, the ghosts were merry and there were already students milling about the place with either their friends or their books. It was the cold Scottish air that filled his lungs as he passed over the stone bridge, a shortcut, that made him really feel at home. Compared to the stuffy mugginess of Privet Drive, it was refreshing.
With the rhythmic movement of his accent up the stairs, it allowed Harry to actually consider what he should say to the Professor. Maybe some questions about his parents? Or about the map? Or anything really.
At the top, on the landing, Harry peaked around the arched doorway, he saw Professor Amber.
The History professor was standing there opposite a large tapestry that took over almost half the wall and that swept from ceiling to floor. If Harry was being honest, if Amber wasn’t six times his age, looked a bit younger and wasn’t his teacher, then maybe Harry might think he was attractive. But that will never happen.
“Mr Potter.” Harry jumped as he heard his name. “I hope your stalking won’t become a regular occurrence.”
Amber turned away from the tapestry, the long and elegant robes that he was known for owning flowed with each breath the teacher took. The beard that hadn’t a hair out of place with a matching mop of hair on the top. If Harry wasn’t his own tawny brown compared to Professor Amber's snow white, he would have thought they were related just from their hair.
And his eyes, those blue eyes that matched the sea, the ones that looked as old - or even older - as the castle itself.
“No, sir.” Harry remembered to say after an embarrassing pause. “I just had some questions.”
“A lot by the looks of it.” Harry must have pulled a face because Amber chuckled in a similar manner which he had seen Dumbeldoor do, must be an old person thing. “You have the same look on your face like Miss Granger has in class.”
Walking over to Amber, Harry began, “You knew my parents, didn’t you?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I did.” It seems the use of past tense saddened both of them. “James and Lily’s year joined a year after I had first started at Hogwarts.”
“Did you know them well?” Harry couldn’t help the interest and wonder shine through his voice.
“Most certainly.” Amber looked back to the tapestry, Harry copied him.
It was a portrait, each thread had been arranged with precision, but there were parts that were missing; the people’s faces. There must have been at least twelve there, each was different, their heights, skin, hair, clothes or armour, though there appeared to be a lot more men than women.
“Your parent were geniuses, they were ahead of their own time, and I’d like to say that I was good friends with the both of them.” Looking up to the older man, Harry couldn’t tell if the sadness in Amber’s voice was from talking about his parents or the tapestry he hadn’t looked away from. “Even when James and his friends were getting up to no good.”
“What do you mean?” Harry was of course curious, he had heard things from McGonagall and the random tidbit from when he got to see Remus and Sirius, but he never really knew the whole picture.
“I’m sure Minerva has been telling you how brilliant James was, and she isn’t wrong, but James, Remus, Sirius and Pettigrew left the entire castle unturned in their wake, quite literally once, forever cheeky pranksters.” Amber continued to stare at the empty faces, mainly at the man with golden threaded hair who stood in the centre next to a woman with beautiful earthy skin and curly long hair tied into a braid.
“Really? Could you tell me more?” Harry was eager to learn for once, maybe this history would be more interesting than what he learned in class.
“I could, I’d love to, I can tell you some of the details for some of their pranks, after all, I did help with some.” Beneath the thick and wispy white beard, Harry saw the childlike smile he only knew on Sirius’ face, it seems the Marauders were infectious.
“You really were close with them then.” Harry murmured to himself in amazement.
“Oh yes, I know a lot. Also how I know how you have the map.” Amber turned away from the tapestry and looked down on Harry, for such an old man - even if he was younger than Dumbledore - he was quite tall, yet to hunch over due to backaches and the shores of time.
Harry guessed him to be somewhere around his early seventies to mid eighties.
“Wha-” He was caught off guard by Ambers statement.
“And I know that you’re wanting to ask me about my name on the map.”
How in Merlin’s name does Amber know that?
“How do you…” Harry trailed off in amazement.
“Sometimes ignorance is better than a headache,” Amber's words surprised Harry. It seemed the old Professor didn’t want Harry to know about this truth, whatever it might be. “And in this instance, I am begging you, Harry, to choose ignorance because the headache will never be worth it in the end.”
Professor Amber didn’t talk to him like he was a petulant silly little child, he talked to him like he knew the burden of what it was to be the Chosen One, as if he too had a prophecy of his own. His words were warning and carefully chosen, perfectly rehearsed and repeated.
Harry had been taught by the Professor for five years now, and the man was still an entire mystery to him. So hearing the man talk in such a ominous manner was odd, Amber had a very limited emotional range on him.
Polite and happy, or strict and stern.
On the other side of the castle the clock tower rang out through the castle’s halls and rooms; it was time for dinner.
“I believe we’re having venison and potatoes tonight, my favourite.” Amber had already started to disappear down the stairs, leaving Harry and the tapestry behind.
Taking one last fleeting look at the hand sewn people, Harry ran after the teacher and down the stairs.
The strange thing about the tapestry that Harry had failed to notice was that it didn’t move in the wind, this east tower was abandoned, dust and rocks littered the floor, just around the corner from where the arch to the stairwell was there was a huge ragged hole in the wall, it stretched into the ceiling and bleed through the rocks. Even in the cold Scottish autumn, the tapestry failed to move in the wind.
And the people didn’t move, unlike all of the other pieces of art in Hogwarts, its characters didn’t move. Most of them looked like knights, there were five surrounding the centre couple, the pale blond man and the dark skinned woman. To the left in the corner it was as if there was an infection, two people, a woman and a young man stood off to the side, their backdrop was different, the threads were ragged and shaky, almost careless. There were others, another couple, a tall black bearded man and a brunette woman with a hair wrap, there was an old man hunched over with white hair.
You might be wondering who these people are, and why they don’t move in any way, why they’re hidden in a tower no one hardly visits, or remembers. They are forgotten. Their bodies long gone and their faces left to the ravages of time.
Even the man who made the tapestry, the same man who visits the tapestry almost daily, cannot remember their faces, too afraid to go back in his own memories and too scared that he might find someone who he has forgotten.
Professor Amber doesn’t remember the day he made the tapestry, but he remembers why. To make sure that even if doesn’t remember their faces, he will know their names; just like how he knows his own. Merlin.
As it has been for the past twenty five years, Merlin sat at the end of the table on the left side, he looked over the Hufflepuffs and the Ravenclaws. It was nice to sit at the end of the table because he didn’t have to deal with the conversations of his fellow teachers. In this new life, as Professor Maverick Amber, he allowed himself to be quiet and to keep to himself.
After one thousand five hundred and twenty two years of Arthur being dead, Merlin was slowly becoming more shut in, the only thing that was stopping him was this job: the Professor of History at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He has been dipping through the jobs at Hogwarts numerous times over the past millennia, he had been trying to avoid history for obvious reasons but a quarter of a millenia ago he couldn’t help himself, he was bored.
So this is how Merlin found himself, living through yet another war, losing yet even more friends, alone. So, so, lonely. And waiting for a man that will never ever come back.
Leaning back in his chair, which made Merlin wish Albus chose muggle seats instead of uncomfortable wooden chairs, Merlin sulkily prodded at his potatoes, shimmying them from one side of the plate to another.
If Gaius were here he would tell Merlin off, Merlin wishes he was being told off.
Everyone looked up as they heard the doors to the Great Hall open, Flich was doing that strange run of his as he ran down the centre aisle between the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor tables.
Merlin rolled his eyes and continued to eat, if it was something serious, perhaps another war, it would be unlikely that he will be able to do anything useful, stupid Goddess, stupid prat for dying, stupid prophecy.
Yes, Merlin was bitter, and he was allowed to be within every right.
But then he heard whispers of an intruder, and the next word he heard being called out made his blood run cold.
A voice echoed throughout the walls, a lost wandering voice. It called out, “Merlin!”
He immediately sat up and looked for the voice, a man stood in the doorway to the Great Hall, and Merlin saw red, literally.