Chapter Text
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1991
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Never tickle a sleeping dragon.
This was something Godric Gryffindor had learned quite literally over a thousand years ago when he was seventeen and so drunk off his arse he thought sticking a feather up the nostril of a beast called Kilgharrah would be an excellent idea.
Naturally, the dragon had been rather miffed about the whole affair.
Theatrically monologuing how he was going to wear Gryffindor’s innards like a meat necklace, Kilgharrah had only stopped breathing fire when a crazy old man in maroon robes suddenly appeared. The old man had then proceeded to yell jibberish at the creature and waved a knobbly staff at the dragon as though it was a stray squirrel he was trying to shoo off his begonias.
By the time Godric had realised he wasn't to be human jewellery, the dragon had huffed and flown off and the bearded old coot had whacked Godric solidly about the head for a full minute with the staff before he eventually got tired and invited him into his hut for a cup of tea.
"And that," boomed the present-day painting of Gryffindor grandly as he puffed out his watercoloured chest and tried his hardest not to burst with reflected glory, "was how I first met the great Merlin himself."
His audience -- which consisted of a large group of first year students, a few of his fellow portraits, one amused-looking professor and a large pet toad -- all peered up at his mounted portrait with generally underwhelmed expressions.
"That was it?" an unimpressed blond boy at the front eventually drawled out, sandwiched between two larger boys on either side of him who looked like they had been eating all his food. "That was how you met the greatest wizard of all time?"
"Oh yes," said Gryffindor happily, clearly missing the looks of disappointment as he carried on. "He also called me a whole range of colourful insults while he was hitting me. He was incredibly inventive, you know. Some of those names were truly inspired. To this day, I've never really found out what a 'dollophead' is."
"But what was he like?" a girl called Parvati pushed, looking a little frustrated by Gryffindor's bluster. "Personally?"
"Personally? " Gryffindor responded, making a face as though he hadn't the foggiest what that had to do with anything. He stroked his auburn beard thoughtfully, however and gave it a go. "A grumpy sort of fellow, I suppose. Gravelly voice. Mad as a hatter. Prone to walloping. Brilliant dancer and I've never seen anyone pickle an egg so wonderfully. Bit of an alcoholic though and for some reason he always seemed to be at the tavern..."
"But what about his magic," an Irish voice called out from the back, sounding decidedly exasperated now. "You must have seen him do some spells!" The boy even windmilled his arms about, trying to physically demonstrate what spell-casting looked like. The haphazard movement of his body clearly explained why Seamus Finnigan always seemed to set his eyebrows on fire.
"Ah! You wanted to know about his magic? Well, why didn't you say earlier, my boy!" Gryffindor cried out with enthusiasm, clutching his chest in a way that made the greying professor standing at the back roll his eyes with a snort. Godric was known to be something of a thespian. "How remiss of me! What would you like to know?"
A plethora of questions were immediately shouted out by the students in attendance, each as excitedly phrased as the next.
"Was he really the first ever person born with magic?"
"Is it true he didn't need a wand?"
“Could he really command dragons?”
"Did his eyes really glow golden every time he did an enchantment?"
"What are the significance of his pants?"
"What about the rumour that he's the giant squid in disguise?”
"Good god, child, what have they been teaching you?" Godric said with a start, so concerned about that last question that he looked a hair away from taking young Ernie Macmillan aside there and then for personal tuition. When he didn't, the boy let out an exhale of relief. "But yes, to answer the first few questions, Merlin was the first person ever recorded to be born with magic and the last known dragonlord, a gift that no one since has possessed. Some theorists waffle on about him being the father of magic and the inadvertent creator of the very first modern purebloods but all that seems a little romantic when I remember the batty old man who kept grousing about his hip and couldn't find a pair of matching socks to save his life.
"But even with his many eccentricities (and believe me, there were many), Merlin's magic was the most breathtakingly powerful -- the most beautifully elemental -- thing I have ever encountered.” Here a smile briefly twitched behind Gryffindor’s whiskers, somehow both fond and melancholy at once. “I once saw Merlin control the weather of an entire town with just a raise of his left eyebrow when he thought his hydrangeas were getting a little dry. Another time, he froze time itself when we were happened upon by bandits and then continued to let it stay frozen for a day and a half while we ate all their dinner and played a round of dice with the slaves we freed. He even sprouted countless apple trees -- creating actual life out of nothing! -- purely because he wanted to entice Helga to make her famous apple pies. Poor Helga, they followed her around for five days until she finally gave in.
"And his powers only got stronger with every spell he performed,” Gryffindor continued, sweeping his own arms in imitation. “By the time my fellow founders and I had started Hogwarts, he had stopped speaking out incantations altogether. It got to the point where the world just did what he wanted, as though pleasing a favourite child. I've never seen anything like it and I doubt I ever will again! Dumbledore has come the closest to mind but Albus is the first to admit that Merlin was in a league of his own.”
“So... he-he was there when you founded the school?" another student timidly asked, this one round-faced and huge-eyed as the toad in his pocket happily jumped out when he wasn't looking and headed towards the kitchens for a snack.
"Yes, he helped us build the library," Gryffindor replied, remembering the elderly man asking the animated books to move in single file toward their appropriate shelf. Godric had distinctly recalled having to break up a skirmish when An Encyclopedia of Mythical Creatures and A Magical Hunter's Guide had a difference of opinion and snapped angrily at each other, pages flying everywhere. It didn't help that every edition of The Trouble with Trolls kept lumbering unknowingly into the fracas, large, confused and with no idea what section they sat in. "In fact, some of the very books you've seen in the library today were from his own personal collection. Miranda Goshawk herself admits that her Standard Book of Magic series is an abridged version of Merlin's very own spell book.
"He also added a few things to Hogwarts none of us were even aware of! A couple of those trick steps were pranks that ended up lasting because the strength of his magic didn't fade. The Room of Requirement itself seemed to have just accidentally magicked itself into existence when he couldn't find the toilet. Of course, being Merlin, he had somehow managed to break the laws of alchemy and magicked a solid-gold toilet of all things. The solid-gold toilet paper wasn't nearly as comfortable, however. I can't count how many times he grumbled about how chafed his nether regions were."
The entire group laughed at this with the marked exception of one girl. She stood tiny and bushy-haired at the front of the group and, were her lips not pursed in a thin line, her overly large front teeth would have been visible. With a large book almost half her size clutched to her chest, she had been looking unconvinced by Gryffindor's words the entire tour. Now, however, she seemed at her limit because she had finally expelled the breath she had been holding and threw her hand up in the air, as though she would physically drop dead if she didn’t interject.
"Forgive me, professor," she said her words coming out all at once with her veracity, "but surely none of that could have happened. According to Merlin: The Myth and the Man , Merlin was born in 513 AD. I know that wizards live longer lives than muggles but that would make him over four hundred by the time Hogwarts was founded. How could that be possible?"
"Because Merlin's immortal, obviously," the red-headed boy next to her said, rolling his eyes like it was obvious. He was covered in so many freckles himself that it would have taken an immortal being to count them all. "He's still stuck in a tree or something," he said knowledgeably to the dark-haired, bespectacled boy beside him. "Mum told me."
"Well, using immortality as an explanation seems rather illogical to me," the girl sniffed, her nose pointed so high towards the ceiling that it was a wonder she hadn't fallen backwards and landed on her bushy head. The redhead let out a cough that sounded remarkably like 'The Philosopher's Stone'. The dark-haired boy unsuccessfully stifled a snigger.
Hermione Granger gave both Ron Weasley and Harry Potter an irked stare, as though she wasn't quite sure why she put up with either of them, before addressing Gryffindor again.
"Surely you don't really think Merlin's stuck in a tree, do you, professor?" she asked, as though worried about the state of Gryffindor's sanity.
“Merlin, did someone say Merlin?” an excited new voice suddenly cried out before Gryffindor could reply.
A tiny knight and his rather fat pony stumbled into the frame beside Gryffindor's, causing Gryffindor himself to groan piteously and the bathing wood nymphs in the frame to shriek and duck behind the nearest object to hide their nudity. Two ended up in a bush, one clambered up a tree and the last one jumped all the way into Gryffindor's frame, who gallantly handed over his robe, even as he sighed heavily at the little knight.
“Sir Cadogan, I thought we talked about this," he said wearily.
The tiny knight, who had toppled spectacularly off his pony, apparently didn’t hear Gryffindor because he clanked heavily to his feet in his armour. He then tried to open his helm for a full minute, failed and eventually gave up to boisterously address the children.
“If you hearty young knights and maidens want to know about Merlin, come to me, Sir Cadogan, your resident knight around the Round Table!" he said dramatically, almost knocking himself out with his own greaves as he gestured animatedly with his hands. "I'm the local expert on him, you know. Merlin was one of my greatest friends and the finest sorcerer I have ever seen. He was the one who got me my appointment with the knights after he and I thwarted a monster straight from hell itself, a beast that rained fireballs from its mouth and swallowed men whole! After slaying this hellish fiend, I found myself sat at the Round Table, right beside the honourable -- and incredibly large! -- Sir Percival. Do you young whippersnappers know I sat at the round table?"
"Really, Sir Cadagon," Gryffindor rebuked, letting out a huff of impatience. "What have I told you about trying to hijack my part of the tour? It was bad enough last year when you re-enacted pulling Excalibur from the stone -- and don't get me started on when you put on a dress and sacrilegiously paraded around as Queen Guinevere -- but now this is getting ridiculous."
"Hijack?" Sir Cadogan repeated, mortally offended as he gave another flailing gesture with his hand that one of the wood nymphs luckily managed to duck before it broke her nose. "Brave sir! I would never-!"
"And that's the tour concluded," the professor leading the tour suddenly cut in, clapping his hands and smiling around at his students. "I think we've bothered Professor Gryffindor and Sir Cadogan here more than enough."
"Oh, it's no bother!" Gryffindor boomed magnanimously as he purposely turned his back on Cadogan, whose pony was now idly chewing on the wood nymphs' discarded small-clothes. "I always enjoy talking to the students. It makes me feel young!"
"It'll take more than that to make that old codger young," Seamus Finnigan muttered again from the back of the group, his words accompanied by titters.
The presiding professor gave Seamus a pointed stare before turning to the rest of the group. His thin lips were twitching despite himself, however.
"Alright, ladies and gents, your rumbling tummies are beginning to get embarrassing now so go and enjoy your lunch. Oh, and don't forget," he called after the retreating backs that had already made themselves halfway down the hallway, "you have to make sure to read Chapter Six of Hogwarts: A History for our next lesson. We have a test!"
When Neville Longbottom responded to this by squeaking with worry and tripping over his own feet, the professor tried his hardest not to break into a smile. This was a battle he soon lost, however, when Trevor the toad bounced back from the kitchens and jumped into Neville's pocket without the boy even realising. A stolen and rather sizeable chicken drumstick was now clutched in the toad's mouth.
There really never was a dull moment at Hogwarts.
"On the subject of outrageous behaviour," said the amused professor, turning to face the portraits of Sir Cadogan and Gryffindor, trying to look stern and failing completely when he broke into a silly grin, "the fighting is getting slightly out of hand, boys. Do I have to worry about wands at dawn or will you both promise to behave yourselves?"
Both paintings had the good grace to look abashed under the professor's gaze.
"The pony ate my wand," Gryffindor muttered somewhat sullenly, "so no wand here."
"Aye, he ate mine, too!" Sir Cadogan said quite happily, patting the grazing pony on its fat flank with affection as though it had done something precious. The pony ignored him completely and continued to chew the underpants in its mouth. "He's going through a phase at the moment. It's all natural materials with him right now. It was nothing but tuna sandwiches and sausage rolls last month. He's a connoisseur of fine cuisine."
Sir Cadogan's proud smile dimmed slightly as the professor looked pointedly at him.
The teacher was middle-aged, with greying hair, dull brown eyes and a remarkably plain face that would have almost been forgettable had it not been for the curiously large ears on either side of his head.
He also had a gaze that somehow managed to reduce the two veteran portraits into naughty school children.
"We'll behave, sir," said the paintings in unison, hanging their painted heads with repentance. Sir Cadogan's armour in particular creaked with genuine despondency.
"Good," said the professor with a firm nod, mouth twitching at how sincerely contrite their expressions were. "It's not that I don't appreciate the stories, boys, even the embellished ones..."
"Embellished!" Sir Cadogan cut across him, clutching at his chest as though he was mortally wounded by these words. "My dear friend, I would never-"
" ‘Raining fireballs from its mouth like a monster straight from hell itself’?" the professor repeated back to him, raising an eyebrow.
Sir Cadogan opened his mouth and then closed it, confused. Quirking his head curiously, his armour squeaked once again.
"Is that... is that not what happened?" he asked, genuinely unsure as he turned to Gryffindor for confirmation.
Merlin, even under the imperceptible glamour charm clinging to his features, couldn't stop himself from looking amused for all the galleons in Gringotts.
"No, Cadogan, that's not what happened," he said firmly, his affection obvious in his tone. "I distinctly recall the wyvern being too old and too fat to fly more than a metre in the air before it passed out from the exertion and fell asleep. It was still snoring pretty cheerfully when we moved it away from the village it had been terrorising to the beach, where I heard it happily spent the rest of its retirement sea bathing."
"Oh," said Sir Cadogan, momentarily deflating before he stood up straight again and lifted his chin. "Well, your bravery still knows no bounds, sir! And I am convinced that that monstrous beast had a hidden agenda of some sort. He had a look about him. Shifty. Crafty. Had he seen us, I'm sure he would have bitten our heads off!"
"I'm sure he would have if he had any teeth," Merlin said with gentle patience. He couldn't help it. He had always liked the courageous little knight, even when Arthur had thought the man was off his rocker. Even now, Merlin grinned when he remembered the pole-axed look on Arthur's face when a newly knighted Cadogan theatrically fell to his knees in reverence and sloppily kissed at Arthur's hands with such genuine adoration that Arthur had looked mildly terrified.
"Anyway," Merlin continued, "despite the inflated stories, I did want to thank you both for the tour, even if that strange rumour about me being stuck in a tree surfaced again." Merlin wrinkled his nose. "Honestly, sometimes I don't know what Geoffrey of Monmouth was sniffing when he wrote that. He had probably been at the wine again. God knows I drove him to it."
"Ah, good old Geoffrey! He hated me so!" Sir Cadogan boasted happily, as though he was recalling some pleasant memory. "I could barely cross the threshold of the library before he shrieked at me to get out! Heaven knows why!"
Gryffindor, who was wincing at the volume of Sir Cadogan's words, looked like he knew exactly why. The bold look of disapproval on his face reminded Merlin so much of Arthur that his heart suddenly panged with genuine pain.
Even after all these years, it really never got easier.
Trying to swallow it down, Merlin cleared his throat and tried to plaster on a smile.
"You know, that was a pretty fancy description you made up for me back there with the new students, Godric. Father of magic, one of a kind? Good dancer? I think I'm blushing. I'm glad you never told the story about my lost underpants, though, I never would have lived it down. Those briefs have already made it into the common vernacular. I totally never lost my socks though, you liar."
"Actually, you did. Constantly," Gryffindor reminded him in a voice Merlin had often heard exasperated children use on their out-of-touch parents. "Most of the time, you lost them while you were wearing them and had your shoes on, which to this day I'll never understand."
Merlin sighed with fake annoyance.
"Tell the students all my secrets, why don't you?" he teased.
Gryffindor's good-humoured smile softened slightly.
"I did leave some things out," he said, looking across his frame to share a look with Sir Cadogan
"Yeah, thanks for not outing me," Merlin replied with a wry look, snorting at the thought of it. Hermione Granger would have lost her mind. "I'm not sure how well 'Merlin? Why, he's standing in a disguise right behind you!' would have gone. It would have been like a bad panto."
"It would have been more of a Greek tragedy, Merlin," Gryffindor said, looking so painfully sympathetic that Merlin felt a little winded under the weight of it. "I wish I could do something to alleviate all the sadness you carry with you."
“Aye,” Cadogan piped up in agreement, uncharacteristically sombre for him as he stroked down the grazing pony’s mane. His eyes, which were always kind, seemed to look straight into Merlin’s soul. “Your wounds are still so fresh, my old friend.”
Throat dry, Merlin didn't try to deny it. It was as true today as it was a dozen centuries back. If anyone knew that, it was this man who had known him longer than almost anyone else.
"He'll turn up, you know," said Godric suddenly, as though he had read Merlin's thoughts. Merlin forced himself to give him a smile. Godric had been reassuring him with the same line for so long now.
"I know," said Merlin, not really knowing at all. After all, he had quite literally waited for hundreds of years and Arthur still hadn't returned.
Plague, religious upheaval, political instability and war -- two of those being World Wars -- had all hit Albion as well as both Grindelwald and Voldemort's rises to power but apparently none of those had been dire enough situations for the return of the Once and Future King.
It was enough to make Merlin lie awake at night, heart empty and magic pining as he wondered if Arthur would ever return.
He needn't have worried, however.
Three days after the conversation with Gryffindor and Cadogan, Uther Pendragon was ushered onto the throne and it changed everything.