Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Hermione, where have you brought us this time?" Ron complained.

"Ronald, if you deigned to pay the slightest bit of attention, you would know," Hermione huffed, as she swung her leg to avoid a thick branch laying on the ground.

"But we're in the middle of nowhere!" he groaned.

"He does have a point, Hermione," Harry added, swatting at a tree branch before the leaves could smack his glasses off.

"What you plant now, you will harvest later," quoted Hermione, as she ducked under an overbearing bough.

"Not when the plants are out to get you," Ron retorted.

"And when spiders seem to literally be coming out of them..." Harry trailed, eyeing a line of spiders coming out of a tree hole.

"Where?" Ron asked, frightened.  He latched onto Harry's arm and whimpered. "Let's go home."

"We have come too far to turn back now," Hermione said, determinedly.  She had resorted to using her bag to push through the branches. "Besides, don't you want to get good grades on our History of Magic essays?"

Ron and Harry looked at each other.  Then, they turned back to Hermione.

"Not when we might die first," Ron grumbled.

"Honestly, Ronald, you are such a drama queen," Hermione sighed. "We have faced much worse circumstances.  We are hardly going to die going to a bookshop, are we?"

"Depends on the bookshop," Harry piped up. "If we had found Riddle's diary in a bookshop..."

"I think it's there!" Hermione suddenly exclaimed and disappeared through the branches.  Harry and Ron raced after her.

They came to a clearing where a small cottage stood with steam puffing out of the chimney.  Ivy crept across the coarse stones.  The windows creaked against the breeze.  The door was left ajar, with an enticing warmth spilling out and beckoning the trio in.  

"The cottage looks like it came straight out of a fairytale," Hermione gushed.

"Yeah, like the cottage of the Wicked Witch from Handel and Petal," Ron said, uneasily.

"Don't you mean Hansel and Gretel?" Harry frowned.

"No, I mean Handel and Petal." 

"Let's go inside, shall we?" Hermione suggested, her need to get the book for their essays outweighing her need to tell them that they were the Muggle and Wizarding versions of the same story.

She tentatively pushed the door open.

"Hello?"

They were met with silence.

They crept in, not wanting to make a sound.

A loud crash was heard behind them.  Harry and Hermione turned around.

Ron was crouching down and trying to brush shards of a vase together with his sleeve.

"Oops?"

Hermione tutted and vanished the shards.

"Honestly, Ronald, you can really be.."

"Hermione, you can't use magic in the summer holidays," Harry hissed.

"This is a wizarding shop," Hermione sniffed. "Our magic will blend in with the grown-ups'."

"Welcome, young ones!" 

They jumped.

An old man with spiky grey hair, a white goatee and a brown leather coat hobbled towards them.

He looked over his spectacles at them, examining each one.

They squirmed under his gaze.

"It is not often that I get young visitors such as yourselves," he mused with his gravelly voice.

"Sir, we're here to buy a book for our History of Magic essay," Hermione explained. "Do you have a copy of The Grumblings of Grotteth the Great?"

"Yes," the old man hummed, limping towards them. "I believe so.  I am surprised that you would be looking for such an obscure book on a little-known goblin from the 18th Century, considering that there are more prolific ones out there?"

"It's for an essay," Harry said.

The old man raised an eyebrow.

"School is not supposed to have started yet.  Isn't it the summer holidays for you?" 

"We're doing History of Magic homework for extra credit.  We're going to get 5 House Points each," Hermione explained, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Professor Binns recommended the book."

"I see.  I can't believe that young professor is still kicking about," the old man snorted. "He was a ghost droning on about the Goblin Rebellions, the last time I checked.  I'm surprised he even had the presence of mind to set such a task, considering that he is not even mindful of his current state."

He shrugged, "Who am I to prevent young ones from the pursuit of knowledge?"

He disappeared as quickly as he entered.

"Well, that wasn't creepy," Ron muttered sarcastically.

Harry set about looking at the shelves winding around the walls.

"Hermione, I thought you said this was a bookshop?" Harry asked, edging closer to the various knick-knacks dotted around everywhere.

"It is, but Professor Binns said it was also a curiosity shop," Hermione explained, tilting her head to read some of the faded titles on the shelves. "Ooh, I've been looking for that book!"

"Let's hope we don't die here," Ron joked. "Oi, Hermione, what do you think you're doing?"

Harry turned.  Hermione was standing there with a pile of books jiggling precariously in her arms.

"Browsing?"

Ron sighed, took her bag from underneath her arms and opened it up. "Put them in here."

"Thank you, Ron," Hermione said, uncertainly. "That's very thoughtful of you."

"Why are you so surprised?" Ron asked, heaving the tomes into the bag. 

"I'm not s-surprised," Hermione stuttered, a slight blush to her cheeks.

"Blimey, Hermione," Harry said, amazed. "How come your bag doesn't seem to get full?"

"Extension charm," Hermione quickly said, grateful for the change in subject. "I perfected it over the summer for my schoolbag."

Ron finished dropping the books into the bag, "How are you going to get them out again to pay for them?"

Hermione gave him a deadpan look.  

"How do you think?"

"Uhh, Accio?" Harry suggested.  

A compass zoomed around and smacked him in the forehead in response.

"Ow!" Harry exclaimed.

Hermione smacked him around the back of the head.

"Ow!" Harry exclaimed once more.

"Be careful about saying that!"

"Thanks for the warning," Harry muttered, picking up the compass to examine it.

"Aha!"

The trio jumped again.

The old man had appeared just behind them.

"It appears you have found the Compass of Congruence!" he laughed, clapping his hands together.  He leaned towards Harry.

"It is said that it will point you where you need to go," he said knowingly, tapping his nose. "Get it?"

He snorted uncontrollably, then promptly had a coughing fit.

"Yeah, point like a compass," Harry laughed weakly, perturbed, but still gently patted the old man's back.  Harry was scared to even touch his back, it seemed so fragile.  But when he did, it felt stronger than it seemed.

"Thank you," the old man rasped out. "You have a good heart."

His eyes peered into Harry's, as if he could see into the very depths of his soul.  Harry realised that his eyes seemed very old, too old to even fathom.

Harry shivered.

Hermione cleared her throat, "Sorry sir, what about the book?"

"Ahh, yes!" the old man exclaimed sprightly, as if he had not almost died a second ago from making a pun. "I will go get you your book."

He hobbled past, but paused in the doorway.

He turned.

"Sometimes, the unexpected path can be the one which leads you to where you need to go."

He disappeared from sight.

"Well, that was bloody cryptic," Ron concluded. 

"Agreed," Harry concurred.

Hermione felt disturbed for a second but brushed it away.  She looked at her watch.

"I really hope he can find it soon," she said. "Mrs Weasley is expecting us back at 4 for tea."

"Well, if you hadn't taken us to the middle of nowhere," Ron argued.

"This isn't exactly the middle of nowhere.  Your Mum Portkeyed us and thought it would be safe to leave us."

"It's still the middle of nowhere."

"It's the only place we can find the book, Professor Binns said."

"Since when do we listen to him?"

The bickering continued.  Harry was used to it.

He started to examine the compass again.  There was something about it.  

He opened it.  

Light burst out of it.

"Harry, what are you doing?!" Hermione cried, shrilly.  

Harry could feel a pull coming from the compass.  Frantically, he reached towards Hermione and Ron.  He managed to grasp their hands before his vision filled with light.  

He felt like he was falling.  The last time he felt like this was when he fell off his broom in Second Year.

It was over in an instant.

The three children landed with a thud.  

Harry opened his eyes blearily.  

His gaze travelled from the dusty ground all the way up, noting worn brown boots, faded red robes that had seen better days and long, white straggly hair.  He finally rested on eyes that seemed ancient and young at the same time.

Merlin sighed. 

It looked like he was not going to get a peaceful day after all.

Chapter Text

Merlin had woken up that day with a hope that it would be a peaceful day. He hadn't had this hope often since the days of Camelot. The sun was shining, the scent of spring was in the air and the porridge he had set bubbling the night before seemed to have turned out rather alright.

After slurping up his porridge (his table manners hadn't really improved since his time with Gaius), he started to gather his potion supplies. He got the flame going beneath the couldron with a flash of his eyes. He dumped the majority of the ingredients inside and got them to waltz around in a particular pattern with a flourish of his fingers.

'I just need some Hellebore,' Merlin murmured.

His cloak flew to him and settled around his shoulders. He was ready to step out when his cloak insistently poked at his shoulder.

"What is it?" he asked calmly, trying not to get irritated on this peaceful day.

The cloak pointed at his television.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, "I almost forgot, thank you."

He went over and slotted a blank VHS tape into the player, ready to record the latest episode of Eastenders in the evening.

"They certainly know how to entertain people nowadays, without the need for grubby bloodshed," Merlin mused to his cloak. "Back in my days, knights would have to dress up in their armour, usually done by me, and slash at each other with swords and whatnot. And the cleanup! Done by me, once again. You're lucky that you don't have such a poor excuse for entertainment and have to witness such pointless drivel."

Merlin sensed that if the cloak had eyes, it would've rolled them.

"Oi! Watch the attitude."

The cloak pointed at the clock.

"Fine," Merlin sighed. "Let's go."

He picked up his staff and trudged out of the cottage.

"Such a beautiful day!" Merlin laughed. He promptly sneezed.

His good mood soured slightly. He forgot about his nemesis - pollen.

He might have been known as the Prince of Enchanters or the Greatest Warlock Who ever lived. Pollen seemed to disregard this and totally disrespect him.

With the changing times came changes in the atmosphere and therefore changes in allergies, even if Merlin was several centuries old.

A hankerchief flew into his face and blew his nose.

A potion bottle unscrewed itself and smacked itself into Merlin's hand. He downed the potion and screwed on the lid.

"That should keep me going for the day."

In Merlin's heart, he hoped it would, but knew that in reality, it would only last an hour.

"Where's the Hellebore?" he asked no one in particular.

He started to drag himself in the vague direction he sensed it would be.

Merlin could have been slumped on the sofa, flicking through channels on his TV, with not a thought or care in the world.

The problem was that a couple of decades ago, he thought he had better resume earning money to build up his reserves. A dent was made in them after going on a party crawl for a few years with Kilgarrah in the early 70s.

A couple of centuries ago, he had figured out how to make Kilgarrah turn into a human. Well, "figured out" was a loosely subjective term. He just made it happen one day. It was like "Anti-Transfiguration". From then on, Kilgarrah could shift to being a human and back to being a dragon at will.

Over the years, they would come together and drift apart, with Kilgarrah in either form. But they would never remain separated for too long, for the bond between the two seemingly immortal creatures as Dragonlord and Dragon would always link the two together.

After his poor but fun decision to party with Kilgarrah, Merlin decided to earn some money. He had turned to Kilgarrah to shoulder some of the responsibility but as usual, the dragon had fled.

He'd worked at various professions over the years, using his magic to disguise himself and would drift away when he stayed for too long. This time round, he was feeling nostalgic. He became interested in potion-making once more. Whenever he made potions, he would fondly remember his days as an apprentice to Gaius. "Apprentice" was another loosely subjective term. But he learnt enough from Gaius and had built up his knowledge over the years. Plus, his magic gave him a helping hand.

So, he supplied his potions to various hospitals and apothecaries around the world. He set up a company to handle the adminstration and inquisitive inspectors. But he never revealed himself, nor would he reveal quite how the potions came to be. Inspectors would find themselves passing the company for inspection, but the memories of inspecting the potion-making process were always slightly out of reach. Merlin realised that this was ethically probably not the right thing to do but necessary to keep his anonymity. His customers would send him letters, wondering how on earth he managed to create potions that were much more effective than the existing competition. They would receive letters with one word in cursive - "Magic". And if the potions happened to help in the Wizarding War, even if Merlin sensed that he could not intervene directly himself, so be it.

And so, here he was, gathering Hellebore for his latest potion. He was making his own version of the Draught of Living Peace that was just a tad too effective.

Merlin was peacefully picking flowers in the meadow, when he felt a shift in the air.

"Crumbs."

He dumped the Hellebore in his basket and disappeared in a gust of wind to see what was going on. Maybe a cat had strayed into his cottage again. He had put up so many defences to keep his cottage safe but all sorts of animals still ended up in his rooms. Perhaps, there was no defence for cuteness.

He reappeared in his cottage, only to find himself face to face with the Golden Trio.

Merlin sighed.

It looked like he was not going to get a peaceful day after all.

"What are you three doing here?" he asked, wearily.

The three scrambled up and looked at each other in a panic.

Harry spotted the cauldron with the ingredients stirring themselves. The others glimpsed the cauldron too.

They nodded at each other.

They started to babble out explanations.

"The old man-"

"Our History of Magic-"

"Stupid compass-"

Merlin held up his hand.

"One at a time."

Hermione piped up.

"We went to a store to look for a book for our History of Magic homework. Harry accidentally summoned a compass and we got transported here."

Merlin could feel a headache coming on.

"Do you mind if I see that compass?"

Hermione handed it to him.

He examined it. It looked disturbingly familiar.

"An old man in a leather coat said it was called the Compass of Congruence. I don't suppose you know anything about it?" Ron asked.

Harry elbowed him.

"He looks as ancient as Dumbledore. Chances are he might know something," Ron whispered.

"Just because he's old, doesn't mean he knows everything," Harry whispered back.

"I can hear you," Merlin grumbled.

"Sorry, sir," they both apologised in unison.

Merlin could tell that was not the first time they did so.

Then his thoughts stalled.

"Did you say an old man in a leather coat?"

"Yeah, with spiky hair and a goatee."

Merlin's thoughts stalled further.

"Did you say the Compass of Congruence?"

"Yes."

Merlin pinched the bridge of his nose.

He enchanted the compass just one time to help him find some lost underwater city. Then, it got a mind of its own, as his possessions often did, and disappeared.

From time to time, it would go around summoning people to him for his help, often at inopportune times. The last time, he was in the middle of an arm wrestling match down by the pub. He got distracted, lost the match and lost the money he bet on himself. He had to tow along the people who got summoned and run away from his creditors when they realised that the money that they won from him disappeared.

Kilgarrah would often steal the compass and send people to him. There always seemed to be a reason but Merlin knew that Kilgarrah just wanted to mess with him.

Why would Kilgarrah send these three to him?

He used his magic to look into the compass. Yep, it was definitely his compass.

The compass disappeared.

The two boys started to panic.

"Where did it go?"

"How do we go back?"

"Sir, please could you apparate us back home?" Hermione pleaded.

"I'll try."

The two boys sighed in relief.

Merlin had a sinking feeling.

"Alright, everyone hold on to each other," he ordered.

They all held hands and closed their eyes. Merlin tried to transport them back to The Burrow. It didn't work.

"It's no use," he sighed. He plopped down in his armchair.

Hermione cracked one eye open.

"Did you try to apparate? You have to swivel-"

"Yes, I tried to apparate," Merlin said shortly, holding his head in his hands. "It's not going to work."

"Why not?"

"Because that stupid Compass won't let you go back until it thinks you're ready."

"Since when do compasses think by themselves?" Ron demanded.

Merlin had no answer to that.

"How can a compass stop a fully grown wizard from teleporting?" Hermione asked.

Merlin did not have an answer to that either.

"Why don't we just take the Knight Bus?" Harry suggested.

"You can try," Merlin sighed.

The three children ran outside. They all stuck their arms out. But it was no use. No one came.

The three children trudged back inside to see that Merlin had not moved from his position.

"If you don't mind me asking, how did you know?" Hermione asked.

"It's not my first time dealing with the Compass."

"Do you know who the Compass belongs to? Maybe we could-"

"The Compass has no owner. Even if it does, it doesn't listen because it's a stubborn old fool."

That last bit was pointed to the Compass.

They fell into silence.

The children started to feel uncomfortable.

"Apologies sir, we haven't introduced ourselves," Hermione said, guiltily. "I'm Hermione. This is Harry and Ron."

She pointed to each of them in turn and the two boys waved.

"What's your name?"

Merlin deliberated. Which name would he choose this time?

"My name is-"

The kettle started to screech like a mandrake. The three children were used to the sound of mandrakes, but not like this.

"Sorry, won't be a moment."

He slowly got up, his bones creaking as he did so. Harry thought it was the floorboards for a second.

Merlin ambled over to the kettle and leaned over it.

"Do you have to be so loud each time?"

It went silent, but wiggled in defiance.

He stuck his finger into the kettle and tasted some of the muddy liquid that was inside. Some of it plopped down onto the counter.

"Did you add ketchup?" he asked the kettle, with his hands on his hips.

The kettle shrunk slightly.

He shook his head.

"Too much sugar isn't good for you," he scolded the kettle, wagging his finger.

"He's barmy," Ron whispered to the others.

Merlin turned to the children.

"Would you like some tea?"

The three looked at each other.

"Yes, please," Hermione replied, in an effort to be polite.

The mismatched armchairs dotted around in random places in the living room scooted themselves together to arrange a circle around a table.

"Do sit down," Merlin said, kindly.

The three children tentatively sat down onto the armchairs.

Four teacups marched onto the table and Merlin poured the tea from the kettle.

Well, he tried to pour the tea, but it ended up plopping into the teacups due to its thick consistency.

It just occurred to Merlin that the tea looked rather like that time he tasted the troll potion that Gaius made for Queen Catrina. Merlin laughed to himself.

"Please, have a sip."

The three children looked at each other, uncertainly.

Hermione tried the tea first. Her eyes widened.

"It's delicious!" she exclaimed, shocked.

The other two grimaced and took a sip. They were flabbergasted.

"That's scrumptious!" Ron laughed.

Merlin poured some more for them.

"Would you like some biscuits?"

"Yes please!" Ron said with enthusiasm.

A biscuit tin appeared from nowhere. The lid flipped itself open to reveal biscuits.

"What are those?" Ron asked, digging his fingers in.

Harry and Ron started scoffing them down.

"Jammie Dodgers," Hermione explained, looked quizzically at Merlin. "They're a Muggle biscuit."

"They do come up with good ideas," Merlin shrugged.

"Not a lot of wizards would know enough about Muggle culture to know about them..." Hermione trailed off.

"Are you Muggleborn, sir?" Harry asked.

Ron elbowed him.

"You can't just ask someone if they're Muggleborn," Ron hissed with his mouth full.

Merlin laughed, "No, I'm a Half-Blood."

"Like me," Harry said, quietly.

Merlin looked at him.

"Yes, Harry," he said, gently. "Just like you."

Young Harry was like him in other ways too, but Merlin didn't want to tell him why.

He slapped his hands to his thighs loudly before his thoughts could become too loud.

"Right, when you're done, I've got a task for each of you."

His eyes gleamed.

The three children looked at each other, uncertainly.

Chapter Text

"The Compass is a stubborn little thing, it won't let you go until it thinks you're ready. I can cobble together a potion that will send you back regardless," Merlin babbled, as he started piling ingredients into a fresh cauldron. "In the meantime, I'd like your help around the cottage to keep things going while I'm making the potion."

He lit up the cauldron without even glancing at it. Hermione's eyes narrowed at this particular type of wandless magic. She smoothed away her expression before Merlin could see.

He plonked a lid with a final clunk. He let his hand rest on the lid for a second with a contemplative expression on his face.

"Who knows? Maybe you'll learn a thing or two along the way..."

"What can we do?" Hermione asked eagerly. Ron and Harry looked slightly less enthusiastic.

Merlin considered for a moment.

He handed Harry a broom.

"Please could you sweep the floor in this room? Magic won't work."

He led Hermione to a room with a rocking chair and a patchwork quilt draped over it haphazardly. He scrabbled around in a chest sitting on the floor and found a sewing kit.

"Please could you have a go at mending this? There's a few rips here and there."

"Surely you could use Reparo?" Hermione asked uncertainly.

Merlin snorted.

"I've tried. Somehow, it doesn't work - it needs a non-magical touch."

He hobbled out of the room.

He approached Ron, who was licking the remnants of the Jammie Dodgers from earlier off his fingers. Merlin didn't even want to comment on this.

"Come along, I've got something to show you."

Ron trudged along behind Merlin, who took him to a stack of stones next to a flower bed.

"Please could you build a little wall around this flowerbed using these stones?" Merlin requested.

Just as Ron opened his mouth, Merlin countered, "Magic won't work. The stones are impervious to it."

Ron closed his mouth.

Satisfied, Merlin gave a nod and disappeared with a gust of wind.

In different areas of the cottage, the Golden Trio were left absolutely flabbergasted.