Chapter Text

Chapter 1: A Question of History

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry — September 1992

Draco Malfoy had stolen something.

In fairness, she came from a family with a long and distinguished history of acquiring objects through questionable means. Her father had an entire collection of magical artifacts that would undoubtedly interest the Ministry if anyone ever bothered to investigate where they had come from. Nevertheless, Draco had never particularly aspired to continue that family tradition.

Especially when her latest acquisition was a shabby black diary stolen from an eleven-year-old girl.

She remained seated in the Quidditch stands, keeping her arms folded over the book hidden beneath her robes. Below, Marcus Flint was loudly congratulating Crabbe and Goyle on their performances during the Beater tryouts, while simultaneously informing the other candidates that they ought to consider alternative careers. Something involving less flying and, preferably, fewer opportunities to embarrass themselves.

Draco could hardly blame him. Crabbe and Goyle had demonstrated surprising competence. Neither possessed much elegance, but when it came to hitting heavy objects with considerable force, they were apparently natural talents. She supposed everyone had their strengths.

Beside her, Ginny Weasley was watching Harry with an expression of such transparent admiration that Draco almost felt sorry for the girl. Almost. Harry, blissfully unaware of the effect he was having, was explaining something about flying technique.

Draco barely listened. The diary rested against her side, its narrow spine pressing uncomfortably into her ribs whenever she moved. She had watched Lucius slip that very book into Ginny's belongings at Flourish and Blotts.

At the time, the gesture had seemed merely suspicious. Her father possessed an extraordinary talent for making perfectly ordinary actions look like the beginning of an international conspiracy. Unfortunately, Draco knew him rather too well to dismiss such suspicions.

She also knew what had happened during her second year the first time around. The Chamber of Secrets had opened. Students had been petrified. Fear had spread through Hogwarts, particularly among Muggle-born children, while her younger self had been delighted by the entire affair.

Draco remembered that enthusiasm now with considerably less pride. Colin Creevey. Justin Finch-Fletchley. Hermione. She could remember their names. She could remember laughing about some of the attacks. What she could not remember was precisely how the Chamber had been opened or who had been responsible.

It was infuriating. She had lived through seven years at Hogwarts, survived a war, endured Azkaban, and somehow been granted the opportunity to live her childhood again. One might reasonably have expected that experience to provide her with some useful information.

Instead, she remembered which professors had assigned particularly unpleasant essays and approximately four different occasions when Harry Potter had nearly died. The details of a monster attacking students beneath the school? Apparently less important.

Wonderful.

"Draco?"

She looked up. Harry had climbed the steps toward her, his broom resting over one shoulder. His black hair was even more disheveled than usual, which Draco had previously believed impossible.

"We're finished. Are you coming?"

"Obviously. I was merely enjoying the spectacle of Flint discovering that he possesses two functioning Beaters."

Harry grinned. "They were good, weren't they?"

"Good at hitting things. Let's not get carried away."

"You sound surprised."

"I am surprised. I've known those two since childhood. You would be astonished how many things they've managed not to hit when explicitly instructed to do so."

Harry laughed. Draco rose, carefully adjusting her robes. The diary shifted. For one unpleasant second, she imagined it slipping free and falling between the benches. She pressed her arm against her side.

Harry noticed. "Something wrong?"

"No."

"You're holding your ribs."

"Am I?"

"Draco."

She looked at him. He was giving her that expression again. The one that suggested he had noticed something she would rather he hadn't. It was becoming terribly inconvenient.

"Harry, I am perfectly capable of standing without your assistance."

"I didn't say you weren't."

"Then stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you've decided I'm about to collapse."

Harry considered her for a moment. "Well, you have been acting strangely."

"An accusation you make with alarming frequency."

"Because you keep acting strangely."

Draco sighed. A year ago, she would have been tempted to tell him to mind his own business and leave her alone. Nowadays, she found herself considerably less enthusiastic about the prospect.

That was rather the problem with friendship, she had discovered. Once people started caring about you, they became distressingly difficult to get rid of.

She had once regarded Harry as a potentially useful acquaintance. The Boy Who Lived possessed connections, influence, and a remarkable talent for emerging victorious from situations that ought to have killed him. Securing his goodwill had seemed an excellent investment.

Somewhere between helping him survive his first year and watching him confront the man responsible for his parents' deaths, Draco had rather unfortunately stopped thinking about investments. Now she simply wanted him to remain alive.

A deeply inconvenient development.

"Come on," Harry said. "I'm starving."

"You're always starving."

"I'm growing."

"Then perhaps you should inform your body. It doesn't seem to have received the message."

Harry gave her an offended look. Ginny giggled. Draco smiled despite herself and started toward the stairs.

She still had a mysterious diary to investigate, a father to outmaneuver, and a future to prevent from collapsing into another catastrophe. But for the moment, at least, Harry was smiling. She supposed that counted for something.

⁂

Hermione Granger was having a disagreement with a book.

This was not particularly unusual. What made the occasion remarkable was that the book in question concerned one of the most celebrated wizards in history, and Hermione had discovered that its author apparently possessed only a passing acquaintance with the concept of chronology.

"That cannot possibly be right."

Ron Weasley looked up from his essay. "What?"

Hermione turned the book around. Ron examined the page.

"Merlin?"

"Yes."

"What about him?"

"Look at the dates."

Ron stared at the book again. After several seconds, he frowned. "Which ones?"

Hermione took a slow breath. "The dates of the events described here. According to this account, Merlin served as King Arthur's advisor several centuries before Hogwarts was founded."

"All right."

"But another book says Merlin attended Hogwarts."

Ron blinked. "So?"

"So he cannot have attended a school that didn't exist!"

Ron considered the matter. "Magic?"

Hermione stared at him. "Ron."

"What? He's Merlin. Maybe he did something clever with time."

"That is not how historical research works!"

"Well, I don't know, do I? You're the one reading the books."

Hermione rubbed her temples. She liked Ron. Really, she did. He was loyal, brave when it mattered, and possessed an extraordinary talent for wizard's chess. Unfortunately, his enthusiasm for historical scholarship could best be described as nonexistent.

She turned back to the volume. The problem had begun with an innocent question.

Why was Slytherin House treated as though its students were somehow inherently untrustworthy?

Hermione understood that Salazar Slytherin had held objectionable beliefs concerning Muggle-born witches and wizards. She understood that certain families continued to embrace those beliefs. She had personally encountered enough of them to know that the problem was not imaginary.

But Harry was a Slytherin. Draco was a Slytherin. So were Millicent and Blaise. And while none of them was perfect, Hermione was growing rather tired of people behaving as though the green lining of their robes constituted evidence of criminal intent.

Merlin, according to several books, had also been a Slytherin. The same Merlin who had championed Muggle rights. That seemed rather difficult to reconcile with the popular understanding of the house.

And when Hermione had begun investigating his life, she had discovered something even stranger.

The dates were nonsense.

One historical account placed Merlin centuries before the founding of Hogwarts. Another described him as a student of Salazar Slytherin. A third claimed that he had personally assisted with enchantments that were still used in the castle.

Taken individually, each account appeared perfectly respectable. Taken together, they suggested that Merlin had somehow lived several different lives in entirely different centuries. Hermione was not inclined to accept that explanation without considerably more evidence.

She turned another page. An illustration caught her attention.

It depicted a dark-haired young woman standing beside a wizard beneath the arches of Hogwarts. Both were dressed in robes that looked remarkably similar to old-fashioned school uniforms. The wizard was laughing. The woman had one hand resting upon his arm.

Hermione examined the caption. The picture supposedly represented one of the earliest confrontations between Merlin and the infamous sorceress Morgan le Fay.

She frowned. They didn't look as though they were confronting each other. They looked rather happy.

She read the accompanying paragraph. Apparently, Morgana had been one of Merlin's greatest enemies. Their rivalry had supposedly lasted for decades, eventually becoming entangled with the adventures of King Arthur Pendragon.

Yet the illustration was said to have been based upon an authentic portrait. Hermione turned to the footnotes. Then she stopped.

"Oh!"

Ron looked up. "What now?"

"There's a portrait!"

"There's several on that page."

"No, Ron. An actual magical portrait. Of Morgan le Fay!"

She read the reference again. The original painting had once been displayed in the western portrait gallery at Hogwarts.

Hermione sat straighter. A living magical portrait could potentially answer questions that no book could. And if the woman had genuinely known Merlin, she might be able to explain the chronological inconsistencies. Or at least identify which historians had got their facts wrong.

Hermione closed the book. "Ron, I need to find Draco."

Ron blinked. "Why?"

"Because she'll be interested in this!"

"In a history book?"

Hermione gave him a look. "Draco finished first in our year, Ron. She knows an extraordinary amount about magical history, and she's a Slytherin. If anyone would be interested in a historical mystery involving Merlin, it's her."

Ron considered that. "Fair enough."

He looked down at his unfinished essay. "Are you going now?"

"Yes."

"Could you wait until I've finished this?"

Hermione glanced at the parchment. There were approximately three paragraphs, one of which appeared to be a description of a goblin's hat.

"Ron, you've had three days."

"I know!"

"And you've barely started."

"I know!"

She sighed. "Fine. Finish your essay. I'll see whether Harry and Draco are still in the Great Hall."

Ron stared at her. "You're actually leaving me here?"

"Yes."

"But I thought we were investigating something!"

"We are. Once you've finished your homework."

He opened his mouth. Then closed it.

Hermione smiled sweetly. "Don't forget the conclusion."

She gathered her books and left before he could protest.

⁂

Draco had nearly finished her dinner when Hermione appeared beside the Slytherin table carrying a book thick enough to stun a troll.

Harry looked up immediately. "Hermione!"

"Hello, Harry."

She smiled at him, then turned to Draco. "Draco, I've found something you might be interested in."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "An effective method of getting Professor Lockhart to stop talking?"

Harry snorted into his pumpkin juice. Hermione looked momentarily tempted.

"No. Although if I discover one, you'll be the first to know."

"How thoughtful."

"It's about Merlin."

Draco paused. "Merlin?"

"Yes."

"Historically speaking, I assume. Not another one of those ridiculous expressions people insist upon using."

Hermione placed the book on the table. "Did you know he was a Slytherin?"

"Of course."

Harry looked surprised. "You did?"

Draco turned toward him. "Harry, every reasonably educated pure-blood family has at least one book about Merlin. My father used to quote him whenever he wanted to make some tedious point about magical excellence."

She paused. "Conveniently omitting his views on Muggle rights, naturally."

Hermione nodded eagerly. "Exactly! That's part of what I've been researching."

Millicent leaned across the table. "Merlin supported Muggles?"

"He supported their rights," Hermione clarified. "There's a difference."

"Still seems strange for a Slytherin."

Draco gave her an exasperated look. "Millie, you're proving Hermione's point."

Millicent considered that. Then shrugged. "Fair enough."

Blaise, who had spent the last several minutes attempting to balance a spoon on his nose, lowered it.

"Are we discussing ancient wizards? Wonderful. I was beginning to worry dinner might become interesting."

Hermione ignored him. "The problem is that the historical accounts contradict each other. Some put Merlin centuries before Hogwarts was founded, but others place him here as a student. And then there's Morgan le Fay."

Draco glanced at the illustration Hermione had opened. "The sorceress?"

"Yes."

"The one who supposedly fought Merlin and Arthur?"

"That's her. Except this illustration doesn't look anything like a confrontation."

Draco leaned closer. She studied the picture for several moments.

"Hmm."

Harry looked between them. "What?"

"The clothing is interesting," Draco murmured. "That looks like an early Hogwarts uniform. Or at least someone's reconstruction of one."

Hermione nodded. "That's what I thought!"

"And the architecture is unmistakable."

"Exactly!"

Draco examined the caption. Then frowned. "Why does it say they're fighting?"

Hermione looked triumphant. "Because apparently nobody bothered to examine the picture properly!"

Blaise leaned over Harry's shoulder. "Perhaps they're fighting over who gets to hold whose hand."

Millicent laughed. Draco ignored him.

"Where did you find this?"

"In the library. And there's something else."

Hermione turned to the footnotes. "The original portrait of Morgana is supposed to be somewhere in Hogwarts."

Draco looked up. "A magical portrait?"

"Yes!"

"Of someone who knew Merlin personally?"

"Precisely!"

For the first time since Hermione had approached the table, Draco forgot about the diary concealed among her belongings. An enchanted portrait from Merlin's lifetime would be an extraordinary historical resource.

Not merely for Hermione's research, either. Draco knew enough about magic to appreciate just how valuable such a source could be. There were spells that had been lost for centuries, enchantments that modern wizards barely understood, and entire branches of magical theory that had fallen out of favor.

She had once possessed knowledge far beyond that of an ordinary first-year. That advantage had proved useful, particularly when helping her friends. But she was painfully aware of how much she didn't know.

And now Hermione was telling her that there might be a portrait of someone who had personally known one of the greatest wizards in history.

"Where?" Draco asked.

Hermione smiled. "I thought you'd want to come."

"Obviously."

Harry grinned. "Guess we're going exploring, then."

Draco glanced at him. "Harry, you don't have to accompany us merely because we're investigating something academic."

He looked offended. "Why not?"

"Because I distinctly remember having to explain three separate historical events to you last week."

"Two."

"Three."

"The third one was complicated!"

"It involved a goblin rebellion and a missing cauldron."

"Exactly!"

Hermione laughed. "You're both coming. I'm not wandering around the castle on my own."

"Where's Ron?" Harry asked.

"Finishing his History of Magic essay."

Draco blinked. "The one Professor Binns assigned on Wednesday?"

"Yes."

"That's due tomorrow."

"I know."

Draco sighed. "Well, that explains why he isn't here."

Harry looked toward the Gryffindor table. "Should we wait for him?"

Hermione considered the question. Then shook her head. "He can join us when he's finished. Besides, I want to find the gallery before it gets too late."

Draco closed her book. "Very well."

She stood and gathered her belongings, carefully keeping the mysterious diary concealed beneath her Transfiguration textbook. Hermione noticed the unusually protective way she held her bag but said nothing. Not yet.

"Come on, Harry," Draco said. "Apparently we're going to correct several centuries of historical incompetence."

Harry laughed and followed.

Behind them, Blaise raised his goblet. "Do try not to get yourselves killed by a painting."

Millicent elbowed him.

"What? It's Hogwarts," Blaise protested. "It's a perfectly reasonable concern."

Draco decided not to disagree.

⁂

Finding the western portrait gallery proved considerably more difficult than Hermione had anticipated.

Hogwarts possessed a remarkable number of corridors, staircases, and passageways that appeared to have been constructed by architects who considered ordinary geometry a personal insult.

Their first attempt led them to a locked classroom. Their second brought them past a group of fourth-years arguing about whether a particular staircase had moved. Their third resulted in an encounter with a portrait of an elderly wizard who insisted that the western gallery was located in the eastern wing.

Hermione attempted to explain the contradiction. The wizard accused her of being impertinent. Draco suggested that the man had perhaps spent too much time alone with his own thoughts.

Harry nearly choked trying not to laugh.

Eventually, they found a narrow passageway concealed behind an old tapestry. A tarnished brass plaque hung beside the entrance.

WESTERN PORTRAIT GALLERY

Hermione beamed. "Found it!"

Draco examined the plaque. "How fortunate that someone thought to label it."

Harry grinned. "Would've been helpful if they'd put a sign somewhere else, too."

They entered.

The gallery was long and dimly lit, its walls lined with portraits of witches and wizards whose names had apparently faded from common memory. Dust lay thick upon several benches, and heavy curtains covered the windows. The enchanted lamps along the walls still worked, although their light barely reached the far corners.

Some portraits contained sleeping occupants. Others were empty. A few depicted landscapes without any visible figures.

Hermione walked slowly along the wall, examining the nameplates.

"Professor Elsbeth Wycliffe... Lord Edric of Northumberland... Sir Alaric the Unreasonably Brave..."

Harry stopped beside that last portrait. It showed a knight hiding behind a tree while an enormous dragon occupied the foreground.

"Unreasonably brave?"

Draco looked at the painting. "Perhaps his unreasonable bravery consisted of standing within five miles of the dragon."

The knight opened one eye. "I heard that."

Harry jumped.

Draco smiled politely. "Then your hearing is considerably more impressive than your courage."

The knight looked offended. "Young lady, I'll have you know I once faced down an entire army!"

"From behind a tree?"

"That was a tactical position!"

Harry burst out laughing.

Hermione turned around. "Will you two stop bothering the portraits?"

"We weren't bothering him," Harry protested.

"He started it," Draco added.

Hermione stared at her. Draco maintained an expression of perfect innocence.

The knight withdrew deeper into his painted forest, muttering something about the decline of proper manners.

They continued.

Eventually, Hermione stopped before a large painting near the far end of the gallery. A dark-haired woman sat beside an open window, a book resting upon her lap. She wore an elegant blue gown embroidered with silver, and a small emblem upon her breast resembled a raven.

The nameplate beneath the frame was obscured by dust. Hermione drew her wand.

"Scourgify."

The dust vanished.

MORGANA

Beneath the name, in smaller lettering, was a single word.

RAVENCLAW

Hermione stared. "Oh!"

Draco leaned closer. "Well. That's interesting."

Harry looked at the inscription. "Ravenclaw?"

"Apparently."

Hermione glanced between them. "I don't think I've ever seen a history book that mentioned which house she belonged to."

"Most historical accounts are rather more concerned with describing her alleged wickedness," Draco observed.

Harry frowned. "But if she went to Hogwarts, shouldn't that be common knowledge?"

"One would think so."

Hermione stepped closer to the frame. The woman inside appeared to be asleep.

"Excuse me?"

No response.

"Lady Morgana?"

The woman's eyes opened. They were dark, intelligent, and distinctly unimpressed.

"Yes?"

Hermione nearly dropped her wand. "Oh! I'm terribly sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you."

"Then why," the woman asked pleasantly, "did you spend the last minute calling my name?"

Draco coughed into her hand. Harry looked away. Hermione flushed.

"We were hoping to ask you some questions."

"Naturally."

The woman closed her book. "Nobody ever visits this gallery simply to admire the artwork. A dreadful shame, really. I was rather fond of the painter."

Hermione straightened. "My name is Hermione Granger. These are my friends, Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter."

Morgana's gaze moved between them. "A Gryffindor and two Slytherins?"

Hermione nodded.

Morgana smiled faintly. "How refreshing."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Refreshing?"

"Oh, certainly. In my day, students occasionally remembered that the houses were intended to provide a community within the school, not four conveniently organized armies."

Harry grinned. "I think I like her."

Morgana looked at him. "And you must be Mr. Potter."

"Harry is fine."

"Very well, Harry."

She turned toward Draco. "And Miss Malfoy."

"Draco, please."

Morgana's expression softened slightly. "How polite. Very well, Draco."

Hermione was practically vibrating with excitement.

"Lady Morgana, I've been researching Merlin and the early history of Hogwarts, and I've found some rather serious inconsistencies."

Morgana raised an eyebrow. "Only some?"

Draco smiled. Hermione blinked.

"Well... rather a lot, actually."

"That sounds more accurate."

Hermione retrieved her notebook. "I was hoping you might help clarify them."

"I suppose that depends upon the questions."

"First, did you really attend Hogwarts with Merlin?"

"Yes."

"And King Arthur?"

Morgana's expression changed.

"Arthur."

She said the name with the particular weariness of someone remembering a lifelong irritation.

Draco noticed. Harry noticed. Hermione, who was busy preparing her quill, did not.

"Yes," Morgana said eventually. "Arthur attended Hogwarts."

Hermione smiled. "Wonderful! Then the accounts placing Merlin centuries before the school existed must be wrong."

"Almost certainly."

"Can you tell us when Merlin was born?"

Morgana regarded her thoughtfully. "My dear girl, I could tell you a great many things about Merlin. Unfortunately, the last time someone asked me to explain the man's life, they proceeded to write a book containing approximately three accurate sentences."

Draco's eyebrows rose. "That sounds suspiciously like most of the books in our library."

"Doesn't it?"

Harry laughed. Hermione looked mildly affronted on behalf of the library.

"But surely the historians had sources!"

"Oh, they had sources."

Morgana's smile became rather dangerous. "That was precisely the problem."

Hermione frowned. "What do you mean?"

Morgana leaned back in her chair. "Tell me, children. What do you know about King Arthur?"

Harry shrugged. "Not much. He was supposed to be a great king, wasn't he?"

"And he fought loads of battles," Hermione added. "There was the Round Table, the knights, the sword in the stone—"

"The love affairs," Draco supplied.

Harry looked at her. "What?"

"Really, Harry. You ought to read more."

Morgana closed her eyes. For several seconds, she appeared to be counting. Then she sighed.

"Oh, Arthur."

Hermione hesitated. "Is something wrong?"

"My dear girl, Arthur was a Gryffindor."

Harry blinked. "That's not surprising."

"No," Morgana agreed. "It isn't."

She opened her eyes. "Unfortunately, he was also convinced that he possessed a remarkable gift for literature."

Draco went very still. "Literature?"

"Yes. Fantasy, principally."

Hermione lowered her quill. "What does that have to do with the historical accounts?"

Morgana smiled. "Quite a lot, as it happens."

She rose from her painted chair and walked toward the window.

"Arthur wrote a novel. A dreadful, self-indulgent adventure in which he imagined himself a noble king, Merlin his wise and loyal advisor, and myself..."

She paused.

"...a treacherous sorceress."

There was silence. Harry stared at her. Hermione stared at her. Draco slowly lowered the notebook she had borrowed from Hermione.

"I'm sorry," Draco said carefully. "Are you suggesting that King Arthur wrote the legends about himself?"

"Not all of them, naturally. Other people contributed their own embellishments over the centuries."

Morgana folded her arms. "But his ridiculous manuscript certainly provided the foundation for several of the more imaginative tales."

Hermione opened her mouth. Closed it. Then opened it again.

"But—"

"Yes?"

"But there are historical artifacts!"

"Of course there are."

"And records of Arthur's existence!"

"Naturally."

"And Merlin's magic!"

"Quite genuine."

Hermione stared helplessly at her notes.

"Then—"

"Miss Granger," Morgana said gently, "the fact that Arthur existed does not mean that every story he wrote about himself actually happened."

Draco made a small sound. Harry looked at her. She had covered her mouth. Her shoulders were shaking.

"Draco?"

"Nothing."

"Are you laughing?"

"Certainly not."

Morgana regarded her with obvious amusement. "Oh, go ahead, dear. I assure you I laughed considerably harder when the first historian presented Arthur's manuscript as an authentic historical account."

That did it.

Draco started laughing. Harry followed a moment later. Hermione, however, looked as though someone had informed her that the Hogwarts library was constructed entirely from counterfeit books.

"But surely someone checked!"

Morgana sighed. "One would think so."

"Someone must have noticed the contradictions!"

"Indeed."

"And the dates!"

"Precisely."

Hermione stared at the portrait in horror. Morgana smiled sympathetically.

"Welcome to historical scholarship, my dear."

Draco eventually recovered enough composure to speak. "Please tell me Arthur knew what had happened."

"Oh, he knew."

Morgana's smile vanished.

"And?"

"He thought it was hilarious."

Harry laughed again. Draco shook her head.

"I rather suspect I would have hexed him."

"Oh, I considered it."

Morgana looked wistful.

"Frequently."

Hermione glanced down at her book. "Then what about the rivalry between you and Merlin?"

Morgana turned. "The what?"

"The rivalry. Most accounts suggest you fought constantly, sometimes quite violently."

Draco glanced toward Hermione. Something about Morgana's expression suggested they were rapidly approaching dangerous territory.

Hermione, unfortunately, continued. "Did you really fight that often?"

Morgana looked at her. Then a slow, positively wicked smile spread across her face.

"If by fought you mean fucked, then most certainly, yes."

Silence.

Complete silence.

Harry's face turned bright red. Hermione's quill slipped from her hand. Draco stared at the portrait. Then, very slowly, she covered her face.

"Oh, Merlin."

Morgana laughed. Hermione appeared to have temporarily forgotten how breathing worked.

"L-Lady Morgana!"

"Yes, dear?"

"You can't just—"

"Answer your question?"

"Not like THAT!"

Harry was staring determinedly at a crack in the wall. Draco was making a heroic effort not to laugh. She was losing. Badly.

Morgana looked delighted. "Oh, honestly. You did ask."

Hermione retrieved her quill with trembling fingers. "I was asking about historical conflicts!"

"And I was clarifying a historical misunderstanding."

Draco gave up. She laughed so hard she had to lean against the wall.

Harry looked at her in disbelief. "You're not helping!"

"I know!"

Morgana waited patiently for them to recover. Eventually, Hermione managed to straighten her robes and regain something resembling dignity.

"Then what exactly was your relationship with Merlin?"

Draco made a strangled sound. Harry looked as though he wanted to disappear.

Morgana blinked. Then laughed again.

"My dear Miss Granger. You truly have no idea, do you?"

Hermione's cheeks remained scarlet. "No."

Morgana's laughter softened into something warmer.

"Merlin was my husband."

Hermione froze. Draco stopped laughing. Harry looked up. For several seconds, nobody spoke.

Then Hermione whispered:

"Your... husband?"

"Yes."

"Merlin?"

"Unless I married another Merlin without noticing."

Draco slowly lowered her hand. "Well."

Harry looked at her. "Well?"

"That," Draco said, "would certainly explain the illustration."

Morgana smiled. "Which illustration?"

Hermione hurriedly opened her book. "This one!"

Morgana examined the small reproduction of herself and Merlin beneath the arches of Hogwarts. For the first time, the sharp humor in her expression gave way to something gentler.

"Oh."

Her voice softened. "I remember that day."

Hermione hesitated. "You do?"

"Of course."

Morgana looked at the picture for a long moment.

"Merlin had just managed to convince a rather stubborn professor that an entire section of the curriculum was based on fundamentally incorrect magical theory."

Draco smiled. "How did the professor react?"

"Poorly."

"And Merlin?"

"Rather smugly."

Harry grinned. "Sounds like Hermione."

"Harry!"

Morgana chuckled. "Then I imagine Miss Granger would have liked him."

Draco looked thoughtful. "I rather suspect Merlin and Hermione would have been unbearable together."

Hermione gave her an offended look. "I beg your pardon?"

"Two exceptionally clever people, both convinced they're correct, both determined to prove it."

Harry nodded solemnly. "Terrifying."

Hermione glared at them. Morgana laughed.

"Oh, I think I shall enjoy your visits."

The laughter gradually faded. For a while, the woman in the portrait simply looked at the reproduction Hermione held. Then she smiled faintly.

"He was a good man."

Hermione's expression softened. "Merlin?"

"Yes."

Morgana returned to her painted chair.

"He could be arrogant, infuriating, and so absorbed in his research that he occasionally forgot the rest of the world existed. But he was kind. Kinder than most people knew."

She glanced toward Draco and Harry.

"And very proud of being a Slytherin."

Harry smiled. "Really?"

"Very."

"Even with everything people say about the house?"

Morgana studied him. "Especially then, I imagine."

Harry considered that. Morgana's expression became more serious.

"Merlin believed that magic was a gift, not a justification for cruelty. He argued that those born without it deserved the same dignity and protection as those fortunate enough to wield it."

Hermione nodded eagerly. "That's what I read!"

"And he never believed that ambition was inherently wicked."

Morgana looked directly at Harry.

"Ambition can build hospitals, discover cures, create protections, and improve the lives of thousands. It can also destroy them. The difference lies in what one chooses to pursue."

Draco listened quietly. She thought of Lucius, of his obsession with bloodlines and influence. She thought of the Dark Lord, of the terrible things she remembered from her previous life. And she thought of herself.

For years, she had been ambitious because she wanted power, status, and her father's approval. Now she wanted something considerably simpler. A future in which the people she loved survived.

It was an ambition all the same. Perhaps that was the point.

"Was Salazar Slytherin really as terrible as people say?" Harry asked.

Morgana was silent for a moment. "Salazar," she said thoughtfully, "was a complicated man."

Hermione leaned forward. "He opposed admitting Muggle-born students."

"Yes."

"And he eventually fell out with the other founders."

"Yes."

"Then—"

"Miss Granger, acknowledging a man's accomplishments does not require pretending his mistakes never happened."

Hermione stopped. Morgana smiled faintly.

"Salazar was brilliant. He helped build this school and contributed a great deal to its magical foundations. He also held beliefs that caused considerable harm."

She glanced at Harry.

"Both things can be true."

Draco lowered her eyes. She had a rather uncomfortable suspicion that this conversation was becoming personally relevant.

Morgana continued. "But his failings do not condemn every student who follows him. Any more than Godric's virtues automatically make every Gryffindor noble."

Harry grinned. "Ron might disagree."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Ron thinks Slytherins are suspicious by default."

"Then Ron," Morgana said pleasantly, "sounds as though he could benefit from an education."

Draco smiled. "Oh, I like her."

"So do I," Harry admitted.

Hermione sighed. "Please don't encourage her."

Morgana laughed.

For several minutes, the conversation continued. Hermione asked about the early years of Hogwarts, its founders, and the differences between the school of Morgana's youth and the castle they knew. Draco contributed questions of her own, particularly concerning magical theory and the teaching methods of the period.

Morgana appeared increasingly pleased to discover that the children were genuinely interested in learning rather than merely collecting stories about famous witches and wizards.

Eventually, however, Hermione noticed something. Whenever Merlin was mentioned, Morgana's expression changed. Sometimes she smiled. Sometimes she looked amused. But beneath it all, there was an unmistakable sadness.

"Lady Morgana?"

"Yes, dear?"

"May I ask something personal?"

Morgana raised an eyebrow. "More personal than the questions you've already asked?"

Hermione flushed. Draco coughed into her hand. Harry looked away.

"Please," Hermione said.

Morgana smiled. "Go ahead."

Hermione hesitated. "Do you ever speak to Merlin?"

The question seemed to catch Morgana entirely off guard. For a moment, she said nothing. Then her smile faded.

"No."

Hermione frowned. "Doesn't he have a portrait?"

"He does."

Draco looked up. "Here at Hogwarts?"

"Yes."

Harry glanced around the gallery. "Then why isn't he here?"

Morgana lowered her eyes.

"Because I don't know where he is."

The three students exchanged glances.

Hermione leaned forward. "What do you mean?"

Morgana folded her hands in her lap. "Merlin's portrait disappeared from Hogwarts centuries ago."

Hermione stared. "Disappeared?"

"Yes."

"But surely someone must have moved it?"

"That is what I assumed."

Morgana looked toward her painted window.

"For a very long time."

Draco frowned. "When did this happen?"

"1469."

Hermione immediately began calculating. "That was more than five hundred years ago!"

"Five hundred and twenty-three," Draco supplied automatically.

Harry blinked. "You worked that out quickly."

Draco looked at him. "Harry, it's subtraction."

"Right."

Morgana gave a faint smile. "Five hundred and twenty-three years," she repeated quietly. "Yes. That sounds about right."

Hermione looked horrified. "You haven't spoken to your husband for five hundred and twenty-three years?"

"No."

"But that's awful!"

Morgana's expression softened. "Yes, dear. It is."

For the first time since entering the gallery, Draco felt genuinely uncomfortable. She knew something about losing people. She knew what it felt like to be separated from someone with no certainty that she would ever see them again. And she knew, perhaps better than any ordinary twelve-year-old ought to, what desperation could do to a person.

Morgana had spent centuries wondering what had happened to her husband. That wasn't funny. Not even a little.

"Have you tried asking the other portraits?" Draco asked.

"Many times."

"And?"

"Most know nothing. Others are too young to remember. A few have been strangely reluctant to discuss the matter."

Hermione frowned. "Reluctant?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I wish I knew."

Draco considered that. "An enchanted portrait doesn't simply disappear," she said slowly. "Not one belonging to someone as famous as Merlin."

"Precisely."

"And even if the frame were moved, the portrait's occupant should ordinarily be capable of visiting other paintings of himself."

Morgana regarded her with sudden interest. "You know something of portrait magic?"

"A little. My family has several enchanted portraits. Some are quite capable of appearing in more than one place."

Draco paused.

"Although our ancestors have an unfortunate tendency to appear precisely when nobody wants their opinions."

Harry laughed. Morgana smiled faintly.

"Merlin's portrait was rather special. The enchantments were considerably more sophisticated than those used for most ordinary paintings."

Hermione brightened. "Did he create them himself?"

"Partly."

Draco's interest sharpened. "Then he may have been attempting to preserve more than a typical portrait's personality."

Morgana nodded. "He wanted to retain as much of his knowledge as possible."

"That must have required extraordinary magical work."

"It did."

Draco thought for a moment. "Then destroying the portrait would be a tremendous loss."

Morgana's expression darkened. "Yes."

Harry looked between them. "Could someone have stolen it?"

"Certainly," Draco replied. "Although stealing a portrait from Hogwarts would be rather difficult. Particularly one as important as Merlin's."

"Unless someone inside the castle helped," Hermione suggested.

Draco nodded. "Or arranged for it to be moved officially."

Hermione was already reaching for her notebook. "The school must have records!"

Harry sighed. "Oh, no."

Hermione looked at him. "What?"

"That look."

"What look?"

"The one you get when you've decided we're going to spend the next three weeks in the library."

Draco smiled. "Only three?"

Harry stared at her. "You're encouraging her!"

"Naturally. I'm curious."

Hermione looked delighted. "I knew you'd understand!"

"Of course. A missing enchanted portrait, strange behavior among potential witnesses, and five centuries of unexplained history? It's practically begging to be investigated."

Harry folded his arms. "And what exactly are we supposed to do?"

Draco considered that. "Well, Hermione can investigate the historical records. Hogwarts must have maintained some form of inventory over the centuries."

Hermione nodded enthusiastically. "And Draco can help me identify the relevant magical records!"

"Precisely."

Harry looked at them. "And me?"

Draco smiled. "You can investigate the portraits."

He blinked. "Me?"

"Yes. You've spent a year wandering through parts of this castle you weren't supposed to visit. Surely you've encountered a few portraits that might remember something useful."

Harry considered that. "Actually..."

Hermione leaned forward. "What?"

"There are some really old paintings near the third-floor corridor. I remember passing them last year."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Before or after we nearly got eaten by a three-headed dog?"

Harry grinned. "Before."

"How reassuring."

Hermione was already writing. "We can check those tomorrow!"

Harry sighed. "I knew it."

Morgana watched the three of them with an expression of growing amusement.

"You are quite certain you wish to involve yourselves in this?"

Hermione straightened. "Of course."

Draco nodded. "We can't promise to find him, but we can at least investigate."

Harry smiled. "And I suppose I'm coming along whether I want to or not."

"Naturally," Draco replied.

He laughed.

Morgana looked at them for a long moment. Then, very quietly, she said:

"Thank you."

Hermione smiled. "We haven't done anything yet."

"No," Morgana agreed.

Her gaze moved toward the empty stretch of wall beyond her frame.

"But you're the first people in a very long time who have seemed genuinely interested in trying."

⁂

They left the western gallery shortly before curfew. Hermione walked ahead, already discussing possible sources of historical information with Draco.

"The library's older catalogues might list the portraits that used to hang in the castle."

"Possibly," Draco agreed. "Although I suspect the actual movement of enchanted paintings would have been recorded elsewhere."

"Where?"

"Maintenance records, perhaps. Or the headmaster's archives."

Hermione looked thoughtful. "The headmaster's office!"

"Exactly."

Harry followed them, looking increasingly resigned. "Do either of you realize how difficult it is to get into Dumbledore's office?"

Draco glanced over her shoulder. "Harry, you've already been there."

"That doesn't mean I can just walk in whenever I want!"

"How unfortunate."

Hermione smiled. "We can ask Professor McGonagall."

Draco considered that. "Yes. Although perhaps we should investigate the ordinary library first. I doubt she'd appreciate being asked to provide access to the headmaster's archives on the strength of a conversation with a portrait."

Harry grinned. "Especially if you tell her the bit about Arthur."

Hermione groaned. "Oh, don't remind me!"

Draco started laughing again. "I still can't believe it. Imagine writing a novel about yourself and having the entire world mistake it for history."

"Maybe it was a good novel," Harry suggested.

"Apparently it wasn't," Hermione said. "Morgana seemed quite certain about that."

Draco smiled. "I wonder whether there's still a copy somewhere."

Hermione stopped walking. Her eyes widened.

"Oh!"

Harry looked alarmed. "What?"

"Of course!"

Draco realized her mistake immediately. "Oh, no."

"If we could find the original manuscript, we might be able to distinguish the fictional accounts from the historical records!"

Harry looked at Draco. "You had to say it."

Draco sighed. "Apparently."

Hermione, however, was already scribbling another note.

"Arthur Pendragon's original manuscript. We should definitely investigate that!"

Harry stared at the ceiling. "Brilliant. Now we're looking for two things."

"Three, technically," Draco murmured.

He looked at her. "Three?"

"Merlin's portrait, Arthur's manuscript, and the reason the portraits have been so reluctant to discuss either."

Harry considered that. Then sighed.

"Right."

They reached a staircase leading toward the Gryffindor Tower and the route down to Slytherin's dungeons. Hermione paused.

"I'll tell Ron what we discovered."

Draco smiled. "Please do."

Harry looked suspicious. "Why are you smiling like that?"

"Because I should very much like to hear his reaction to the news that Merlin married the supposedly wicked Morgan le Fay."

Hermione's expression became pained. "Please don't tell him about the other part."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Which other part?"

"You know perfectly well!"

Harry blushed.

Draco smiled sweetly. "Of course, Hermione. Your dignity is perfectly safe with me."

Hermione stared at her. "That is not reassuring."

"How unkind."

Harry laughed. Hermione sighed, although she was smiling now.

"Good night, you two."

"Good night, Hermione," Harry replied.

Draco waved. "We'll see you tomorrow."

Hermione disappeared up the staircase.

For a moment, Harry and Draco walked in comfortable silence. Then Harry glanced at her.

"You really want to find Merlin's portrait, don't you?"

Draco considered the question. "Yes."

"Because of the magic?"

"Partly."

"And the history?"

"Naturally."

Harry smiled faintly. "Anything else?"

Draco hesitated. She thought of Morgana, sitting alone in that forgotten gallery. Of the way her expression had changed whenever Merlin's name was mentioned. And of what it must feel like to wait five hundred years for someone who never returned.

"Because I think she deserves to know what happened to him," Draco said quietly.

Harry looked at her. Then smiled.

"Yeah. Me too."

Draco returned the smile.

It was a small moment. An ordinary conversation between two friends walking through their school. And perhaps that was why she valued it so much.

Her first life had ended surrounded by loss and regret. This one, for all its complications, contained people who genuinely cared about one another.

She intended to keep them.

Whatever it took.

They reached the entrance to the Slytherin common room. Harry gave the password, and the concealed doorway opened.

Draco followed him inside, one hand resting briefly against her bag. The diary was still there. Its black cover remained hidden beneath her books.

She had not forgotten it. But she could wait until tomorrow to investigate. For one evening, at least, she wanted to enjoy the knowledge that something good might come from their latest discovery.

Besides, she thought as she climbed toward the girls' dormitory, what were the chances that a dusty old portrait and a mysterious black diary were connected?

Hogwarts was enormous. Not every mystery had to be part of the same catastrophe.

Surely.

⁂

Far beneath the occupied corridors of Hogwarts, beyond staircases that no longer appeared on modern maps, a single portrait hung against the wall of a forgotten chamber.

The room was dark. Dust covered the floor, and ancient enchantments shimmered faintly across the stone. The door had not opened in centuries.

Not since 1469.

The portrait depicted an elderly wizard with a long beard, sharp eyes, and an expression of extraordinary irritation.

His mouth was moving. Furiously. His hands gestured toward the door. He appeared to be shouting.

In fact, he had been shouting for a very long time.

Unfortunately, the chamber had been enchanted to prevent even the slightest sound from escaping. The spells were remarkably effective. Whoever had designed them had clearly understood what they were doing.

The wizard stopped, drew a deep breath, and glared at the door. Then he began again.

Five hundred and twenty-three years.

He had counted.

Every.

Single.

Day.

Merlin had experienced imprisonment before. He had endured battles, curses, betrayals, and an extraordinary number of people insisting that they knew better than he did. He had even survived marriage to Morgana, which he considered one of his more impressive achievements.

But nothing in his long and eventful existence had prepared him for five hundred and twenty-three years of being trapped inside a painting where nobody could hear him.

San Bakar.

That miserable, sanctimonious—

Merlin launched into another furious tirade.

The chamber remained perfectly silent.

Far above him, three students had just decided to begin searching for his portrait. He had no way of knowing that.

As far as Merlin was concerned, the entire world had apparently forgotten him. Which was particularly insulting, considering how frequently people continued to invoke his name whenever something surprising happened.

If he ever escaped, he intended to have words with whoever had popularized the expression 'Merlin's beard.'

Very strong words. Possibly accompanied by hexes.

But first, he needed someone to open the bloody door.

He drew another breath.

And shouted.

Again.

Five hundred and twenty-three years.

And counting.

End of Chapter 1.