Chapter Text
It was still the beginning of fourth year and already so much had happened. Harry still couldn’t believe that he’d learned he was Merlin, and not only that but remembered every detail with the precision of having lived it. While it initially had seemed like he was housing two different souls, Harry had eventually come to realize that the memories were just that – memories, not an old life hanging onto a new one, but a consciousness that disappeared when accepted as his own, leaving only the sharp details in his memory. In such a short span of time, he had aged nearly a century.
Harry occasionally liked to reflect on it.
His first week had been filled with strangely hovering magic and mysterious humming from a Charms Award Harry had later recognized as the Cup of Life. Soon after came the whispering voice that was so like parseltongue and yet not. He'd found it was a dragon, held in a room he didn't know existed. That had just been the start.
The dragon had recognized him immediately: “Merlin,” it had said, as though welcoming an old friend, but Harry hadn’t understood. So the dragon had done what it did best – it manipulated him to make the decisions that set destiny on its course. And though Harry now felt kin to Kilgharrah, he could never shake the annoyance that came with Kilgharrah’s disregard for his right to make a choice.
Anyway, he’d gone down the same path, believing himself to be in control – an idea that was snuffed when he’d found the book with the golden magic. It had felt wonderful just to touch it again, to relive the amazement and the comfort that came with knowing he was connected to something so profound. The magic had fought its way into his soul, finally having found its long lost vessel. The problem was, he was inexperienced, and it activated power he hadn’t imagined existed, and therefore couldn’t control. And so the wonder only lasted a short while before the fear of what the magic meant began to kick in.
Then the memories had come, first in spurts and then by the droves. Hogwarts’ innate magic called to him from every corner, but still Harry refused to look inside the spell book he’d found. It wasn’t until he had nearly been driven mad by the book’s call that Harry finally relented, opening the book and causing the cascade of memories that revealed everything. With that had come the worst of it – the pain, the sadness, the disbelief and the denial that he could be the greatest wizard of all time. There had been headaches, arguments and battles of will against the powerful wizard, but when Harry had stopped fighting and finally looked, he’d realized the truth, and wondered why he'd been so stubborn.
With he and Merlin as one person, his magic and skill had flourished. Magic became as visible to him as colour. His wand finally adjusted his loyalties and spells came to him with little effort. It was truly amazing, except he couldn't share any of it, not with Hermione and Ron, not with his housemates, and certainly not with his Professors - at least not if he wanted to be treated the same, or to keep his identity from the Ministry. So he'd tried to hold back in every class, to seem like a fourth year student, but even then he'd excelled, and been the recipient of many a lecture about not doing his best. His knowledge of herbs and remedies had boosted his understanding of potions, but hadn't won him any favours with Snape. The potions master had nearly marched him to Dumbledore then and there for even suggesting the remedy they were making was useless and there was a much better potion out there. Coupled with the fact that Harry still had trouble brewing new draughts, it was obvious his performance certainly wasn't going to win him any awards.
Then Hermione and Ron had begun to get sick of his secrecy, and had taken measures of their own. Hermione had initially been angry at Harry's use of the golden magic, but had suddenly withdrawn, going to the library every evening and giving Harry odd stares in all his lessons. Ron was the polar opposite, either ignoring Harry or arguing with him. Harry wondered if he should just tell his friends, but he couldn't see any positive outcome to that, and chose to avoid them instead. That had proven more difficult than he thought and Harry spent endless hours dodging questions and ignoring suspicions cast in his direction. He'd become all but a hermit, spending his lunch and break in the common room, looking at the fire.
Not long after, Harry's doubts about being Merlin had come out to play in a nightmare. The idea of being the head of the Ministry of Magic had troubled him, and in his dream, Harry was running, denying his identity, ending up in the dungeons. He'd heard a familiar voice – the voice of a friend long dead, and had looked up with hope, only to find Draco. His disbelief provided no comfort. The link of destiny still joined them even after all these years, and waking up to find such an unwelcome fact had soured his day significantly. It bothered him so much that he'd snapped at Hermione and Ron several times, eventually realizing that he needed to talk to someone. That is, someone who wasn't the dragon because he knew how that usually ended.
For some reason, he'd chosen Hagrid as his confidante. He supposed it was because the half-giant had been the first wizard he'd met, and the first one to protect him. But most importantly, Hagrid had believed Harry about his predicament, and about Merlin. So he'd marched to the half-giant's hut, desperate for some advice. Hagrid had been more than a little awed but very willing to give him help, even if Harry felt the advice wasn't exactly what he wanted to hear. And in the end, Hagrid had been right - Harry was doing his friends an injustice by keeping them in the dark.
Before Harry could make the decision of when and where to break the news to Hermione and Ron, he'd found his choice made for him. The very next day, Hermione and Ron had essentially chaperoned him to lunch and insisted he wasn't leaving until they'd been given some answers. It would have been touching if it wasn't so embarrassing. All the Gryffindors had watched half in fear, half in amusement as his friends dragged him in the Great Hall like a prisoner. But Hermione and Ron had been so surprised when he'd agreed to their demands that they'd let him go, hesitating only a minute before following him out the door and to someplace more secret.
Their reactions were something else. Ron hadn't believed him – he'd expected that – and Hermione was convinced that he was possessed. Harry would have found that laughable if he hadn't thought the same thing himself just days ago. He'd led them to the forbidden forest in an effort to show them irrefutable proof. Harry had conjured up memories of his former life on the surface of the water, allowing his friends to see a deconstructed, un-god-like Merlin. He hoped they would see how similar Merlin actually was to him and understand.
Hermione had clutched her wand in her hand as she watched, ready to face down the great wizard if necessary, but she had come around when she'd seen the huge thing that connected him and Merlin - dumb luck. Ron acknowledged it too, but found it difficult to reconcile with his own preconceptions about Merlin. However, Ron actually went within a two metre berth of Harry, so he considered that a victory.
The next few days had been full of awkwardness, silence, and hidden elephants in the room. Hermione eventually found some peace with the whole thing, and Harry made more of an effort to joke about the things they always had, hoping he and Ron would find some common ground. That had worked for a while until Ron began avoiding them both. Harry assumed Ron was still overwhelmed and figured it best to let him process things in his own way.
But just as things were getting better, he'd run into Draco. The Slytherin had started an argument and once realizing he was bested, had insulted Hermione's blood status. Harry had been surprised at the sudden drop of books behind him, indicating Hermione's return from the library, and quickly moved to stop a confrontation. As usual with Harry, though, nothing ever went to plan. It was bad enough knowing that Draco very well might be – oh gods, who was he kidding anyway, Draco was – Arthur. But Draco was sending insults his way, baiting that part of him that hated the Malfoys and he felt himself responding, escalating things when he should have just calmed down.
Then Malfoy had said it.
"I could take the mudblood down with one swipe of my wand, and you too."
Harry's heart nearly stopped. He couldn't move, couldn't think, but the retort escaped his lips so easily that he wondered if it had been fate acting through him.
"I could take you down with less than that."
The memories replayed in Harry's head and he breathed in, barely hearing Draco's taunt of "Come on then! Come on!"
And he had. His magic had just left him, pulling the carpet directly out from under Draco's feet and the Slytherin wizard fell back, hitting his head on the floor.
Harry swallowed nervously. Draco had sat up then, his eyes following something Harry couldn't place and he wondered, is Draco remembering?
Hope and dread battled in his gut, but the finality came when Draco muttered, "Not Potter, anyone but Potter."
Harry couldn't describe how much that both hurt and angered him, so he put on a farce.
"Welcome back, Arthur," he said with feigned exasperation.
"Shove off, Merlin," Draco snapped.
And Harry was filled with equal bits of hope and sadness as he watched Draco leave the room.