Thursday, 19 December 1991
"Oh, my little puppy!" Sirius crowed, much to Harry's embarrassment, as he spotted his son stepping off the train. "Come here, Bambi, give your old man a hug!"
Harry huffed, cheeks pink, as he very pointedly went to hug Remus first.
"Oh," Sirius cried, as dramatic as ever, "you wound me, Harrison James. Picking favourites in front of the masses, I simply can't believe it."
Harry still didn't respond, hugging Arcturus next while happily ignoring his father.
"Hi there, rí beag," Merlin whispered as Harry stepped away from his grandfather to hug him, also happily ignoring Sirius' antics. "There's a couple things we need to talk about over break, would you be able to spend some time just the two of us this evening?"
"Course," Harry agreed easily.
"Now is it finally my turn?" Sirius said with a truly impressive pout. 'Puppy dog eyes' didn't even begin to describe the expression he was wearing. Harry needed to beg his father to teach him his ways because he was rather certain that look could be weaponized.
Harry grinned as he took a running start, jumping up and wrapping his arms around Sirius' neck and just hoping he'd catch him.
"Oof," Sirius huffed as he wrapped his arms around Harry's waist and spun them around twice before setting his feet back on the ground, "you're getting tall, mon soleil, pretty soon you're going to end up knocking us both over."
"That's probably not going to make me stop," Harry laughed, only slightly loosening his grip when Sirius set him down.
"Good," Sirius said, happily holding on until Harry finally squirmed out of his grasp. "I missed you, Bambi."
"I missed you too, Papa."
* * *
Merlin climbed out after Harry and settled on the ledge on one of the castle's highest turrets. There were several safer places to perch on the roof, such as any of the several keeps or watchtowers, but this was their place. They'd never shown it to anyone else even after the six years they'd all been living here. Arthur had shown it to Merlin once, many moons ago when the Round Table Knights were in residence and he'd gotten sick of the noise. They'd spent so many nights sitting here with only the stars as witness.
Sometimes, when he came out here alone, he could swear he felt the phantom warmth of Arthur's arm pressed against his. He could hear the quiet words that sounded almost like confessions if only they'd been a little braver, a little more free.
He took a deep breath and looked over at his dearest friend's legacy. He looked so much like Arthur like this; staring up at the stars and pretending, for a few short moments, like the weight of the world didn't rest on his shoulders.
For the longest time he'd thought his greatest wish was Arthur's return. And when he'd realized that his return was unlikely, he'd longed to join him in the great beyond. Now, though? All he wanted was to see this child succeed, to see him feel joy and know love. It was truly his greatest desire … it'd simply be all that much sweeter if Arthur were here.
Merlin waited until he saw Harry take a deep breath and turn his head slightly, indicating he was ready to talk, before he said, as quietly and gently as he could, "you need to be introduced to the fae courts."
"Right," Harry whispered before resting his head back against the turret stone, "you'd mentioned that, something about the Unseelie Court calling me?"
"I've spoken with the Seelie King and I'll introduce you as my Heir next Summer Solstice, give you some more time to adjust to being back in the real world. I'll remain our ambassador with the Seelie Court but the Unseelie Court hasn't called upon me since you were born, I think they're waiting for you."
"Why?" Harry asked, so softly it was hardly audible over the midnight breeze.
"Your connection to Death, rí beag," Merlin said as he reached out to brush the curls off Harry's forehead. Merlin counted himself lucky that Harry hadn't yet decided he was 'too old' for casual affection. "They'll likely wish to crown you, you don't need to accept but it is a great honour."
"Of course," Harry muttered, running both his hands down his face with a disgruntled, incoherent grumble. "What would being crowned actually mean? Also, might I remind you, I'm 11."
"I'm aware of how old you are, brat," Merlin said, a teasing grin on his face as he pinched Harry's cheek lightly. "All it means is that you'll be viewed as a Prince in their Court. You'll be able to call upon them in times of need and your opinions will be heard. I was crowned by the Seelie Court and I can say with certainty that it's far less of a headache than being around Sirius when he's in a pranking mood."
"So we'll divide the responsibilities to the Seelie and Unseelie Courts between us?"
"Yes but I can also go in your place to the Unseelie Court if you need, I want you to focus on school and as a family we need to focus on getting rid of Voldemort. We'll have to discuss whether or not we plan to share the knowledge of the Fae Courts with the public but that can wait until we're starting in our plans regarding Camelot, alright?"
"Alright," Harry said softly, leaning over to rest his head on Merlin's shoulder. "I missed you."
"I missed you too, mo mhac," Merlin whispered back, resting his head atop Harry's. He loved this child more than he'd ever loved anything which was an admission he never thought he'd make. To love anything, anyone more than he'd loved Arthur? It was an impossibility until that moment a decade prior when he'd seen this miracle child half asleep on that bed in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing, a fresh bolt of lightning etched down his perfect little face. "Tell me everything about school, nothing is too insignificant, I want to hear it all."
* * *
Saturday, 21 December 1991
Merlin sat under the blood red full moon atop a hill on the edge of the Peverell property on Cape Matapan, Greece. He and Harry had arrived that afternoon when Harry's instincts told him he needed to be here tonight. They'd left Sirius and Remus behind in Camelot and Arcturus had moved over to the Black Castle to begin Yule preparations. It was a rather auspicious day, a blood moon lunar eclipse on the day of the Winter Solstice; the Eve of the Wild Hunt.
Merlin could feel the magic shifting and could nearly see the Threads of Fate weaving closer.
A few minutes prior, Harry had woken him up dressed in pitch black robes with a determined furrow to his brow, looking more like a Peverell than he ever had. His hair, which had been tawny blonde when he went to bed mere hours earlier, was jet black and his eyes were pure green, shining with an almost eerie light. In that moment, he was no longer Harrison Pendragon, Crowned Prince of Camelot. He wasn't Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. He was Harrison Peverell, the last of a family whose blood hummed the tune of the Underworld, he was Death's Chosen, the prophesized Master of the Hollows.
Silently, Merlin had slipped on a cloak and followed Harry outside where he'd perched atop a hill and watched this child, all of eleven, stride toward the tree line like a general into battle with his shoulders back and his steps sure.
Between one heartbeat and the next Harry disappeared into the shadows and Merlin blew out a harsh breath. He wanted to follow him into the trees, he wanted to stand between Harry and danger. But he couldn't. This wasn't his journey.
* * *
Merlin watched in slightly distracted awe as the stars spun past the glowing moon and the occasional meteor danced across the night sky. Harry had been gone for nearly two hours and he'd convinced himself to not get nervous until it actually crossed the two hour mark but even the endless beauty of the Heavens wasn't quite enough to fully distract him from the fact that his Heir, his child in all but blood, was currently cavorting with the darkest the fae world had to offer.
Just as he was about to abandon his plan and dig his way into Unseelie Lands, Harry stepped out of the trees, head held high, an iron crown carved with ravens and serpents perched upon his curls. He was hardly visible against the backdrop of night, lit only by the moon and the otherworldly glow of his green eyes.
"It's done," he said softly as he settled next to Merlin. He took a deep breath before pulling the crown off and tapping it with his forefinger. Like the Crown of Camelot, it shrank until it was ring-sized. As he slipped the crown onto his right ring finger, his hair lightened and his eyes shifted back to their normal hue. "The King also gave me this," he said, voice still soft, just barely audible over the distant sounds of the sea. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a length of wood that looked almost charred, "it's Olive but it's been bathed in the Phlegethon."
"That's quite an interesting balance," Merlin said quietly, watching Harry's face closely to see if he was truly as alright as he seemed. "Olive trees represent peace and reconciliation and while the Phlegethon torments, it also burns away sin."
"That's what I said," Harry whispered. "Do you think it'll balance with the Oak from Camelot and the feather Perses gave me?"
"What do you think?"
Harry went quiet as he thought it over. Merlin watched as his eyes flickered shut, a sure sign he was communicating directly with his magic as he pondered the question. It was truly one of Harry's most impressive attributes; this ability to pause and consider. He certainly still ran head first into chaos, but when he needed to, when it was really important, he was entirely capable of weighing the outcomes, of asking questions of the world and waiting for a response.
"It needs a second core," he said quietly. "The fire of the Phlegethon unbalances the components, it needs something grounding. Something like Unicorn or Thestral hair or…" he trailed off as a wet nose pressed against his cheek.
They both startled at the sudden appearance of a massive black dog. For a moment Merlin thought it was Padfoot and then he looked closer. This dog had eyes of smoke, it's fur was made of shadows. This was a true Grim, a companion of Death.
"Hello," Harry said quietly, holding out his hand palm up for the hound to sniff. "Do you have something for me?"
The Grim nodded slightly and let out a huff, smoke billowing from its nostrils as it laid its head down in Harry's lap and hit its tail against the ground with two pointed thumps.
"A hair from your tail?" Harry asked softly. The hound nodded again, effectively burrowing against Harry's stomach as it released a contented sigh. "And this'll balance my wand?" the hound nodded once more and Harry carefully plucked one of the hairs from the centre of its tail, obviously surprised when he realized it had a physical weight even though it looked to be nothing more than shadow, and placed it gently into his inner pocket along with the Olive branch. "Now I just have to figure out how to put this all together."
"I'll help," Merlin said quietly, reaching out to run his fingers through Harry's curls. "Did you purposefully change your appearance earlier?"
"I looked different?"
"Your hair was black and your eyes were green."
"Hmm," Harry hummed, leaning with his hands pressed into the grass and his head tilted back as he gazed up at the sky, "I honestly didn't notice. I was in a bit of a trance until I crossed the tree line, though thankfully awake enough to get you before I wandered into the night."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"No," Harry decided. "I think I'll keep it to myself."
"Alright," Merlin agreed easily, "so long as you're okay."
"I'm great," Harry said with a look of genuine joy in his eyes. "I think I might have accidentally acquired a Grim, though."
"I'm not sure that's on Hogwarts' approved list of pets."
"Something tells me he knows how to stay hidden."
* * *
Sunday, 22 December 1991
Harry carefully wove the hair of the Grim (freshly dubbed 'Moose' … Merlin had said that was an insane thing to name any dog, let alone an actual Grim … Moose and Harry were agreed that Merlin was the insane one) around the shaft of Perses' feather before laying it between the two clippings of wood; Oak from Camelot representing strength, stability, wisdom, and protection and Olive bathed in the Phlegethon from the Unseelie Lands representing peace, reconciliation, and longevity along with a physical tie to the darker, more mythical parts of his lineage.
They were hidden away in the Heir Suite in Black Castle, avoiding the entirety of the Black Family who'd all descended upon the castle that morning to set up for the upcoming Yule Ball. Harry was aware that it was an important event but if someone asked him his opinions on the texture of velvet one more time he was going to light something on fire.
He felt the comforting weight of Merlin's hand settle on his shoulder for a moment before he drew away, allowing Harry to take this step on his own. He hovered his hand over the materials before closing his eyes and searching for the seemingly endless stream of magic that wove through his very being. His magic danced behind his eyelids, an enchanting tangle of fiery red and gold with calmer swirls of blue and green, he felt it spark at his fingertips and he directed it toward the elements that would make up his wand.
He saw it assemble in his mind's eye; the deep reddish brown of the oak wove with the charred black of the Phlegethon bathed olive, the core elements sunk into the wood like it was molten metal, defying all laws of physics. With one last pulse of magic, the wand solidified and dropped to the desk with a light thunk.
When he picked it up, his magic sang in a way that he never could've imagined. It was like it was flowing freely through his veins and bleeding into the world around him. It wasn't so much a channel for his magic as it was a projector. He knew right away that he shouldn't be using this wand unless he was in an actual battle. He also knew, intrinsically, that it'd never respond to another.
"It's beautiful, rí beag," Merlin said quietly. "Well done."
The wand was only slightly longer than his Holly wand, maybe 11 ½ inches, but that was where the minor similarities ended. Where his Holly wand was a raw looking cylinder with a wider handle, this wand was almost entirely smooth with the only obvious detail being delicate griffin feathers and sparking flames carved around the grip. The wood was seamlessly woven together, reddish brown and coal black swirled through the wand in an intricate pattern.
He could feel Death's magic wrapping around his core in a semblance of a hug. It felt a little like using Ignotus' wand, but was magnified by the secondary core and the woods that were better matched to his own magic. He scanned the wand once more and his eyes caught at the base, at the very bottom of the cylinder a symbol was carved; a circle inside a triangle bisected by a line.
The Deathly Hallows.
A reminder of all he was meant to become and everything he already was. The Future King, a Child of Death, and still, just Harry.
This wand was perfect, and it was his.