To Walk the Earth

Prologue

Aithusa. Oh, Aithusa. A dragon’s word was always the purest and noblest, but Merlin did not want to believe her this time. How could innocent, dear old Hogwarts show him the answer? The warlock had lived for a millennia and seen the rise and fall of many great civilizations; it was always a foolish messiah. But this person had powers fabled to rival Merlin’s - maybe even surpass. Could this great evil be within the walls of his own creation?

The thought made him terribly anxious.

Though, there was one comfort: it brought him back to his origins. The ground he stood was once the citadel of Albion, and the stone fortress of the magical school bore likeness to the castle of Camelot. It reminded Merlin of when he first arrived in the Citadel. At eighteen years, he was naught but a callow, oafish boy, his ears too big for his head and his heart ruling his mind.

In the quaint village of Ealdor, whispers of Merlin’s “oddness” ran amok. To preserve his secret, his mother, Hunith, sent him to Camelot to be the apprentice and ward of Gaius, the Court Physician and an old friend. During King Uther’s fervent persecution of magic, Gaius had helped Balinor escape and hid him with her. The two fell in love, but shortly thereafter, Uther’s men found Balinor. He had no choice but to flee.

Merlin never saw his father until he and Arthur sought him out on Gaius' claim that Balinor was the last living Dragonlord and the key to ending the wrath of the Great Dragon, Kilgarrah. Merlin knew from early childhood that he was born with magic; he did not know then, however, that he was the son of a Dragonlord, and as tradition had it, destined to continue his father’s legacy. For centuries, Merlin’s birth was prophesied in many circles, particularly the Druids who called him "Emrys". Immortal.

His first encounter with destiny was also the first execution he ever witnessed. It was a frightening glimpse of King Uther’s unwavering detest of sorcery (not to mention a very poor welcome to Camelot). The severed head belonged to Cerdan, the Druid Boy’s father.

Merlin wondered that if he had known the fate of the young druid boy, would he have helped him avoid capture? It is most unlikely, for that boy became the most feared name in all of Albion.

Mordred.

He helped the good-natured child escape Camelot, unaware that he would grow to be his sworn enemy. According to Kilgarrah, Merlin was born to become the greatest, most powerful warlock there ever lived, to stop Mordred's corruption of the Old Religion, to free the magical people, and to reunite the kingdoms back into Albion. Above all, Merlin needed to protect and guide Arthur Pendragon all the way to the throne, so that he may one day rule Camelot with a strong and tolerant hand, ending his father’s tyranny.

In the end, Merlin had fulfilled his destiny, indeed becoming a most formidable force of old Magick. But centuries later, the title carried little prestige; there were no other true warlocks - only wizards and witches who use wand magic, a weaker variation borne of the Old Religion. The Druidic tribes, already diminished by the Great Purge, were completely wiped out from the Battle of Camlann. And with the pollution of magic also came the death of Avalon, the land of eternal youth.

The gentle humming of Fae can no longer be heard.

Camelot, too, is gone, replaced by the excesses of the Enlightenment. Built upon the ruins of its grand citadel is Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a school that Merlin himself had helped found. It would have seemed impossible - the idea of sorcerers attending an establishment for magic - but Merlin vowed that he would free his kind. After Arthur’s passing, Queen Guinevere became the sovereign, and, upon hearing Merlin’s secret, legalized the practice of magic. A long-time friend, she appointed Merlin as the Court Sorcerer, and he served loyally until the Queen lost a harrowing battle to scarlet fever.

Merlin immediately set about devising plans for the finest magical institution there would ever be. He partnered with Godric Gryffindor, a dear friend of his. He first met Godric at a banquet, who was there on behalf of the Queen. Godric was a close relative of the Pendragon family, so naturally, she offered him a position on the Round Table. But he politely declined. It was true Godric valued courage and honor above all; however, he was a prolific sorcerer with intentions of someday passing on his knowledge. He always lamented how self-taught he had been. The next generation would have wise men and women to guide and steer them from corruption.

There were three other sorcerers that shared Merlin’s and Godric’s views and agreed to help in the school’s creation: Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff, and Salazar Slytherin. Unsurprisingly, they were also considered to be the most brilliant in all of the kingdoms. What was so verily remarkable was how each of the Founders (as they became known) imbued a part of themselves into the school - especially in the division of students. The Founders’ surnames became the names of the four Houses. Each eleven year old child was grouped in the annual Sorting Ceremony, accompanied by the Headmaster’s speech and the homecoming feast. How they were Sorted depended on their strongest qualities, whether it be the bravery of Gryffindor, the loyalty of Hufflepuff, the wit of Ravenclaw, or the cunning ambition of Slytherin. (Though, Salazar was notorious for declining entry to his House on basis of “blood inferiority”, something that eventually led to the end of his friendship with Godric).

The founders were unsure of how they would Sort the students when they were dead. To remedy this, Godric removed his hat, and the four of them enchanted it to be a sentient artefact capable of Sorting. From then on, it was to be known as the Sorting Hat, an enduring relic of the great Godric Gryffindor.

Unlike the founders, Merlin never left anything behind, for he didn’t have much to pass on, hailing from a rather humble village. Moreover, the warlock did not wish to be credited as a fifth Founder; he preferred his anonymity. Besides, he owed it to Gaius’ memory to do what was right and never ask for reward.

How odd that after all this time, Merlin would come back to where it all began. A place he intended to be for enlightening young minds about magic. A place he believed to be harboring an evil spirit.

The one who defiles.

...

Chapter I


Walking down the vast courtyard, Merlin felt the exaltation stir in his chest. The stone structures were atavistic, telling. So very out of place in the modern age. Like him, they told of war and hardship but also of wisdom and tradition. Some may have thought it pathetic that he was close to tears, but very little in the new world could honestly make him feel at home. Even after assimilating to the changing centuries, nothing caused more consternation to Merlin than the towering, concrete behemoths that dominated every city. Everything lacked a certain finesse he was accustomed to.

With a flick of the hand, Merlin opened the doors to the great Hogwarts. In the guise of Dragoon the Great, the warlock proceeded to where he was certain the Headmaster’s office was. It was not until he stood in front of the gargoyle that he realized he had not a clue of the password.

Before Merlin could try using magic, someone turned the corner: a tall, stern-faced, raven-haired woman in emerald garb. She exuded a formidable air, and even as nearly a thousand years old, Merlin did not seem too keen on speaking with her. It was very unlikely this woman would give him the password if she knew it - at least, not without trouble.

She frowned at him, and straightening her square spectacles, asked, “Who are you?” The woman had a thick, harsh Scottish brogue, which made her all the more intimidating.

Merlin introduced, “My name is Merlin.” Now, it may not have been a most solid pretense, but he wanted to gain trust, and the only way to achieve that was by truth. Even if he knew the chances of her believing it was close to nothing.

“Charming.” The severe woman said, jaded. She looked older than her estimated seventy years. Perhaps tending to unruly children did that to a person, and by the look of it, she considered him to be one, too. A child in an decrepit body.

Merlin was about to clarify, when she asked, “Are you here for an appointment?” He hastily nodded. (He had no intention of, as Arthur would say, “Mucking it up”.) When she gave the password to the gargoyle - “Licorice wand” - he knew it had went well. Thank Gaea she was too busy and bored to cater to a Ministry official, an old codger with an immature sense of humor. She turned to leave, but Merlin quickly asked for her name.

The woman was absolutely befuddled. Who from the Ministry did not recognize her? “I am the Deputy Headmistress, Professor Minerva McGonagall,” she replied dryly, “Good day, sir.” She turned and strode briskly down the corridor.

He gratefully stepped in the entryway, and the spiral staircase ascended. The warlock rapped twice on the office door. “Come in”, boomed a voice. Merlin pushed open the door and was greeted by a large, circular, and ornate room with many eccentricities. Curious silver instruments stood on spindle-legged tables, whirring and emitting puffs of smoke, and the walls were covered with portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom were snoozing gently in their frames. He stopped after a moment, wanting to avoid the impression he gave to Professor McGonagall. Somehow, though, he felt the queerly dressed man before him was not all too different. Clearly not one to forgo manners, the benign headmaster rose from his chair and looked at him expectantly.

When Merlin struggled to provide an appropriate response, the Headmaster said, with a chuckle, “Nervous, are you? Well, have a seat. Care for a lemon drop?”

“No thanks, sir.” Merlin was not exactly sure how best to address him.

“Why the formality? We’re both old men. Call me Albus.” he said pleasantly.

“Of course, Albus. I am here...because I have a favor to ask you. I’m not sure if you’ll believe me, but-”

“Ah, I doubt it. I have heard many strange tales.” When Albus spoke, Merlin noticed this time a glint his blue eyes. It was not malicious, but knowing. And it made him feel bare.

The warlock dismissed it as a manifest of his anxiety and said, without hesitance, “I am Merlin. Some call me Emrys. There are various legends regarding me and my origins, but I can assure you, most are false. For one, I have never taught King Arthur, at least not consciously. The disguise I am currently in is not how I was in his company. I was a young man. I was also his manservant, gaining a level of prestige only after his death. Though I was not a mentor, I did guide Arthur to succeeding his father. Furthermore, I am the last Dragonlord and a creature of the Old Religion. And though I never took credit for it, I am indeed the fifth Founder of this establishment. Godric Gryffindor was a dear friend of mine.”

Seeing the gobsmacked expression on the headmaster’s face, he ushered on, “Before you say anything, as I’m sure you have many an inquiry, I must tell you that I’m not here for mere nostalgia’s sake. I must restore the balance to the Old Religion. It is being corrupted beyond reasonable limits; if I do not cease it now, the damage may be irreparable and crippling to all worlds. I do not know the perpetrator, but I think that I may find out here. My dragon advised it, and she is never wrong. Tell me now if you have any idea of who it is. If not, would you help? I am a foreigner in these times and sadly, do not pay mind to what goes on. Though, I am aware that there is currently...a war? Is that right? That would be most strange considering one ended here, I think, just half a century ago...”

Merlin stopped to ponder how the Wizarding World could have once more fallen under such unfortunate circumstances. Meanwhile, Albus was quietly unravelling at this admission. He was known for always keeping composure in great crises, but what the public didn’t know was that he had anticipated it. This was most definitely unaccounted for.

A man, who he had mistaken as someone sent on behalf of Rufus Scrimegour, turned out to be the greatest warlock who ever lived. Some would think Albus a fool for believing this at face value, but it’s not true. (He’s a fool for entirely different reasons.) Something about the stranger’s eyes made him trust wholeheartedly and forgo his usual Legilimency.

He was worried about how the warlock’s presence would change the prophecy. Surely, it would impact Harry’s fate. Not wanting to convey his surprise, Albus responded in the only way he knew how. It was what he told all his pupils. “Yes, but of course. Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it.” And it was exactly what Merlin wanted to hear.

The old warlock smiled a bit. “Good. Where do we start?”

“I think it best if you remove your disguise, Merlin. It would help you blend in. You see, if you wish to gain intel for this corrupter of old magic, would it not be advantageous to do so in the safest environment in our world? Appearing as a student would allow you avoid arousing suspicion. You could be passed off as my distant nephew going into his...sixth year, who up until now, has been home-schooled. Of course, you needn’t reside in a dorm with other children. The guest suite perhaps?”

Merlin considered this. If he needed to shed his disguise for this task, then so it would be. It wasn’t as if anyone would recognize him from a thousand years ago. “Yes, that would be fine. I can stay in the suite to prevent any...unfortunate incidents. One question, though, Albus. Why sixth? Correct me if I’m wrong, but you sound a bit particular.”

Albus had to give the man credit for being even more intuitive than himself; but he wasn’t ready to admit that he also wanted him to protect Harry, given the boy had been subjected to Voldemort’s possession. Albus doubted it’d be the worst to come, and he needed to ensure Harry’s safety.

Telling Merlin directly would insinuate that he, the headmaster, was not capable. Besides, he was sure Merlin would form a natural bond with Harry, anyway. Albus replied, “I simply believe that it would allow you to have advanced classes to prevent any boredom without necessarily being a seventh year. This way, you have some flexibility with time. I’m assuming you’ll need more than a year’s time in the castle.”

“Ah, I see. That sounds quite right. I do not know how long it will take to find this person, let alone defeat him,” Merlin agreed, before adding, “Or her.” You know what they say about assumptions.

“So it’s settled, then. Time to get you Sorted.” Albus was hesitant in proposing that the culprit was Voldemort, because if it was a matter of the Old Religion, surely the transgressor would be manipulating ancient magic. But from what he’s seen, Voldemort only used modern magic, albeit wandlessly.

Shaking the troubling thought from his mind, the headmaster plucked a worn wizard’s hat that rested on a shelf behind an enormous, claw-footed desk. “This is the Sorting Hat”, he introduced, “Students don’t arrive until tomorrow, so we might as well have it done now.”

Seeing the shabby hat, Merlin cried, “Ah, Godric’s hat! I knew it was here somewhere.” He looked at it adoringly before putting it on. He didn’t hear anything and shook his head at the headmaster, who looked amused at his enthusiasm.

“The Sorting Hat works for young people. Your appearance may be confusing it. Try removing the disguise.” Albus suggested.

Merlin reached into his cloak and pulled out a small pouch, which contained the antidote. He drank it, and the aging spell was reversed instantly (he had to make a few changes to Gaius’ invention). Albus was amazed at the young, lanky boy that sat before him. The old staff in his hand looked incongruous amidst protruding ears, smooth skin, and mussed black hair. But the eyes were the same: dark blue that had seen far more than any man.

The now fresh-faced warlock lowered his barriers once more for Godric’s hat. 

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