Merlin returned
Part 1
Dumbledore looked unhappy when he called me into his office, but he said that the Ministry had decided that it was for the best. And so I found myself on the train to London one Friday evening. No one bothered to tell me what was going on. They just shipped me off on the train with the assurance that someone from the Ministry would be there to meet me.
That someone, some wizard whose name I barely remember, didn't show up until the next morning. He knocked on the door of my room at the Leaky Cauldron before I was even awake and hurried me through breakfast. He fussed over my dress robes until another Ministry member showed up with a car.
They still hadn't told me where we were going.
We drove through London and stopped at a gate that led to a castle or palace of some sort. They didn't tell me where we were, and I didn't ask questions. They probably weren't Death Eaters, and since I had to be there anyway, it didn't seem to matter where, exactly, there was.
We went in to the palace, and a servant, a butler, I suppose, showed us in. He left the Ministry people there and insisted that I continue on alone. Again, there didn't seem to be any point in resisting. The butler, or whatever he was, knocked lightly on a door somewhere down a maze of hallways.
"Come," a voice called.
The butler opened the door and bowed, then gestured me in. "Mr. Potter, Your Highness."
I recognized him, of course. I'm not that far removed from the Muggle world.
"Ah, good. Thank you. That will be all."
The butler bowed and left again.
"Harry Potter." He held one hand out to me. "So good to meet you."
"Your Highness," I said, taking his hand. The title tasted strange on my tongue.
"Wills, please." He gestured at the cozy arrangement of couches and chairs around a coffee table already set with a tea tray. "Do have a seat. Would you care for a cup of tea?"
"Yes, please."
He poured, the silence broken only by his polite requests about cream and sugar. He spoke again when we were both comfortably ensconced on facing couches with warm cups of tea in our hands. Such a comforting, English ritual, tea.
"I'm sure you're wondering why you're here," he began. "My," he paused, searching for the right word, "advisors," he decided on, "tell me that you're quite famous. In fact, they tell me that there are rumors, whispers in the wizarding community." He paused to sip his tea. "The people, it seems, believe that you are Merlin, returned to usher in a new age of Arthur."
I knew people talked about me--how could they not? I was the boy who lived--but this was one rumor I hadn't heard. I studied the boy--yes, a boy he was, two years younger than me--across from me. Merlin. I was starting to see why I was there.
"I'm not Merlin."
He looked at me over the rim of his teacup. "Perhaps Merlin had black hair and fetching green eyes. Perhaps he did not. Either way, it hardly matters. What matters is that they believe it." He put down his cup and stated things plainly. "I will be the next King of England, Harry." His eyes never left mine, but something in his voice told me he wasn't speaking only to me. "With your support, I could be the next Arthur."
I wasn't sure what I was supposed to say. He'd been brought up to play political power games and make alliances. I'd been brought up to defeat the greatest dark wizard anyone has ever known. They were different worlds. I settled for merely sipping my tea.
"Well," he said. "You don't have to decide just now. But do think about it, and let me know when you have an answer. I'll have someone show you out."
And that is how I met the future King of England.
Part 3
Dumbledore looked unhappy when he called me into his office, but he said that the Ministry had decided that it was for the best. And so I found myself on the train to London one Friday evening. No one bothered to tell me what was going on. They just shipped me off on the train with the assurance that someone from the Ministry would be there to meet me.
That someone, some wizard whose name I barely remember, didn't show up until the next morning. He knocked on the door of my room at the Leaky Cauldron before I was even awake and hurried me through breakfast. He fussed over my dress robes until another Ministry member showed up with a car.
They still hadn't told me where we were going.
We drove through London and stopped at a gate that led to a castle or palace of some sort. They didn't tell me where we were, and I didn't ask questions. They probably weren't Death Eaters, and since I had to be there anyway, it didn't seem to matter where, exactly, there was.
We went in to the palace, and a servant, a butler, I suppose, showed us in. He left the Ministry people there and insisted that I continue on alone. Again, there didn't seem to be any point in resisting. The butler, or whatever he was, knocked lightly on a door somewhere down a maze of hallways.
"Come," a voice called.
The butler opened the door and bowed, then gestured me in. "Mr. Potter, Your Highness."
I recognized him, of course. I'm not that far removed from the Muggle world.
"Ah, good. Thank you. That will be all."
The butler bowed and left again.
"Harry Potter." He held one hand out to me. "So good to meet you."
"Your Highness," I said, taking his hand. The title tasted strange on my tongue.
"Wills, please." He gestured at the cozy arrangement of couches and chairs around a coffee table already set with a tea tray. "Do have a seat. Would you care for a cup of tea?"
"Yes, please."
He poured, the silence broken only by his polite requests about cream and sugar. He spoke again when we were both comfortably ensconced on facing couches with warm cups of tea in our hands. Such a comforting, English ritual, tea.
"I'm sure you're wondering why you're here," he began. "My," he paused, searching for the right word, "advisors," he decided on, "tell me that you're quite famous. In fact, they tell me that there are rumors, whispers in the wizarding community." He paused to sip his tea. "The people, it seems, believe that you are Merlin, returned to usher in a new age of Arthur."
I knew people talked about me--how could they not? I was the boy who lived--but this was one rumor I hadn't heard. I studied the boy--yes, a boy he was, two years younger than me--across from me. Merlin. I was starting to see why I was there.
"I'm not Merlin."
He looked at me over the rim of his teacup. "Perhaps Merlin had black hair and fetching green eyes. Perhaps he did not. Either way, it hardly matters. What matters is that they believe it." He put down his cup and stated things plainly. "I will be the next King of England, Harry." His eyes never left mine, but something in his voice told me he wasn't speaking only to me. "With your support, I could be the next Arthur."
I wasn't sure what I was supposed to say. He'd been brought up to play political power games and make alliances. I'd been brought up to defeat the greatest dark wizard anyone has ever known. They were different worlds. I settled for merely sipping my tea.
"Well," he said. "You don't have to decide just now. But do think about it, and let me know when you have an answer. I'll have someone show you out."
And that is how I met the future King of England.
Part 3