Yo! So I mentioned this one-shot idea in a fic, like, a year ago. Here it is finally after rotting in the Doc Manager since sophomore year. Rocker On, if you're reading this, you NEED to get an account I can PM because I really want to talk to you about your review on AFKJ. You're taking ideas a far sight farther than I ever thought of, and it's blowing my mind. Why aren't you writing the story?

Anyway, enjoy!

It took all of Harry's willpower to stay alert and not just stare as he swam through the almost ruin-like village of the merpeople. He shivered at the sight, despite the effects of the gillyweed. The buildings were all made of stone harvested from the lake floor, and draped in moss or algae that gave of a faint yellow-green glow, giving the entire area a sinister feel. Fish and other random aquatic creatures swam in and out of the homes and aquatic plants with little care, even slithering across his skin for split-seconds.

The atmosphere was creepy to the nth power, and Harry wished that he was able to swim away from the place and back up to the sunlight of the surface; but according to Moaning Myrtle, Ron was somewhere around this mervillage, and Harry had to save him.

A glint of sea glow reflecting off something shiny flashed in his peripheral vision, and Harry slowed his kicking and began to descend. Shiny objects were out of place in this world of water, dirt, and stone. Whatever it was had to be important.

It appeared to be some kind of open air tomb. A rectangular pedestal with walls enclosing its contents, reverently kept clean of moss and dirt, barred an unmistakable resemblance to a coffin in a mausoleum, and inside, positioned respectfully on a wooden boat, was a body.

This observation should have scared Harry away - what time did he have anyway for this (disturbingly fresh-looking) body, a person beyond his help, when his best friend was in grave danger? - but he found himself instead being drawn irresistibly to the open tomb.

The body was a young man who looked to be in perhaps his late 20's or maybe early 30's. His hair was the color of dirty straw, and he possessed a strong jaw that had not even the slightest bit of stubble. More unusual was his attire. The man was decked in chain mail and chest armor, with brown trousers, boots, and black leather gloves. A scarlet red cloak was fastened around his neck, and was folded in such a way that a hint of a golden symbol was just barely visible. Weirder still were the dents and gashes in the armor that had appeared to have been attempted to be repaired. They indicated a great battle having been fought, but they gleamed as if they were new and untested. The boat the body was resting on also looked pristine, despite the age that must have past in these dim waters.

The man appeared to have gone through a war and died in it, but not a single mark marred any of his features. If Harry hadn't known any better, he would have said the man was simply sleeping, albeit in damaged medieval armor. After all, despite the long years that the body must have been exposed to the elements since his death, there were no signs of decay anywhere.

Magic, Harry thought. It had to be. How else could a body have been repaired so well and then been perfectly preserved underwater? Had there ever been any mention of an underwater tomb in the Black Lake in History of Magic or Hogwarts; A History? Harry couldn't remember, but that didn't mean anything. He wasn't Hermione, after all. But now he was curious. Who was this young man to have such an extent of magic applied to him, yet forgotten from common knowledge of Hogwarts?

Harry's hand moved to reach for the fastenings of the cloak. There was some kind of symbol engraved on the circular disks; logically it was probably the same one as the one on the back of the cloak, and he didn't feel like disturbing the body to try to examine the one on the back. Maybe he could make out the symbol and later research (read: get Hermione to help him research) it and find out something about this man. As he did, though, his fingers brushed against the conductive armor, and sent the buzz of Harry's natural magic running up the man's entire body, signaling to the spells keeping the body safe that a human warlock had found King Arthur Pendragon of Camelot, Once and Future King of Albion, and it was time for him to wake up. In a flash, Arthur's grey-blue eyes snapped open for the first time in over a thousand years.

Arthur's eyes opened, and that in itself was a complete surprise. Arthur had thought that he would never open his eyes again, unless it was somewhere in an afterlife. Briefly, Arthur considered this idea, but dismissed it immediately as he could feel something hard beneath him. He blinked his eyes to try to focus on his surroundings, and spotted a black haired boy hovering over him, almost face-to-face close.

"Merlin?" He gasped - or at least, he tired to. Instead of taking in air, water - dirty lake water, to be precise - flooded into his lungs. He began violently coughing, choking on water as his lungs desperately tried to force it out in favor of air, but to no avail.

And the boy wasn't even Merlin, to Arthur's vague annoyance. They both had black hair, but the boy in front of him was younger with green eyes behind thick black glasses and normal-sized ears. Plus, Arthur thought as his frantic eyes snagged on another detail, I'm pretty sure Merlin doesn't have gills. But then, Merlin was a sorcerer. Maybe he could, or did. Arthur amended deliriously as he felt himself begin to drown and die for a second time.

The boy, for his part, seemed to be panicking as he watched Arthur thrash in the water (On a - boat?! He thought. Underwater?!) Suddenly, though, an idea light up in the boy's green eyes, and he began frantically rummaging through the fabric of the peculiar outfit he was wearing. Finally, he pulled out a small wad of what looked to be some kind of weed. Arthur didn't have the strength to fight him as the boy shoved it into his mouth and forced Arthur to swallow it.

Arthur began to convulse, aches and tingles flying through his body and clustering in his feet and hands. His mouth and nose were being smothered, like a pillow was being pressed against them, and a sharp pain was piercing either side of his neck and -

- and he could breathe. He didn't know how that was possible, but air was flowing in and out of his body, and he did not protest it as he took in greedy lungful after greedy lungful. Oh, sweet mercy, he wasn't going to drown. He wasn't dead; he was alive.

The black-haired boy smiled, relieved that his plan appeared to have succeeded, but worry still strained his expression.

"Where am I?" Arthur asked - or attempted to. All that came out, though, were bubbles and unintelligible noises.

The boy pointed to his (not Merlin-sized) ear and shook his head. He could not understand him.

The boy hesitated, then held out his hand. To Arthur's shock, the hand was webbed. Looking down at the boy's feet, he noticed the space between the toes was webbed too. Other than these distinctively amphibian features, though, the boy looked just like a normal child. How had the boy come to be? Magic?

Arthur's eyes widened. The boy had just given him a plant that had allowed him to breath. His hand flew to the side of his neck, and his breathing was impaired as he felt three flaps in his skin.

Gills. The boy had given him gills.

Said gills flapped frantically as Arthur's breath grew quick with panic. Sorcery! His mind screamed. Who knew what else this magic had done to him?!

The boy looked at him in uncomprehending worry. He made gestures in the water, asking him to calm down.

Arthur attempted to. He was underwater; breathing problems were not something he needed.

Maybe . . . maybe it wasn't sorcery. It was a plant, like the things Gaius used in his medicines. Those seemed like magic if you didn't know the science behind them. Maybe there was a natural plant that allowed its eater to grow gills and webbed extremities.

This didn't seem likely, but the possibility went a long way to calming Arthur down.

The boy smiled in relief as Arthur regained some control over his breathing, and held out his hand once more. This time, Arthur, didn't hesitate in taking it.

He was pulled up into an upright position, and he took the opportunity to examine his surroundings in case he needed to flee from the unusual boy or any other kind of . . . thing that might show up.

He appeared to be in some kind of peasant village, but it was unlike any he had ever seen. The buildings were constructed completely out of a pocket-marked type of stone he had never seen before, and covered in . . . glowing moss? Well, that explained why he could see when he was so far underwater he couldn't see the surface or the sun.

He turned in a slow circle, and felt slightly disturbed as he noticed that all of the buildings were constructed around where he had been lying. A shiver trickled down his back that had nothing to do with the chill of the water. How long had he been down here?

A wave of a webbed hand in front of his eyes reminded him of his companion. The boy was gesturing to follow him as he slowly drifted away in one direction. Arthur considered not doing so, but he had no idea where he was, or how long the weed he had been given would last, so he began swimming after him.

It was soon clear to Arthur that the boy didn't actually know where they were going. His movements, though swift once made, were hesitantly made, the boy's green eyes taking in every detail before moving on. Was the boy looking for something, Arthur wondered. It seemed like it.

But before Arthur had long to wonder what this thing was, his question was answered. The boy abruptly shot forward in the water, purpose in his storkes. Arthur hurried to catch up, and before him was the sight that had produced such a reaction in the boy.

Floating in the water, chained to the bottom of the lake (Was it a lake? It was a rather large one, but the water didn't taste like the sea) by long, thick binds, were four bodies. There were three girls: a brunette, a foreign girl with black hair, and a younger girl with silver blond hair that gave her an ethereal aura. The final body was that of a boy with flaming red hair and numerous freckles, and this was the one that the black-haired boy was swimming for.

Arthur swam after him, nearly freezing however when he saw the - the creatures that formed a ring around the four bodies. He had never seen such things, beasts with fish tails and hideous human heads and torsos. The eyes of the creatures followed the black-haired boy, but neither they nor the spear-like weapons in their hands moved to impede him.

Hesitantly, Arthur swam after the boy. The creatures did not budge for him as well, though (it might have been his imagination) he thought he saw some vague recognition in their eyes.

The boy was examining the red-haired body, while casting concerned glances at the girls. He seemed to know them. Pursing his lips in a determined slit, the boy dove to the rocky bottom, sorting through the rubble until he came up with a fairly pointed stone. Rising back up, the boy proceeded to begin rubbing it against the roped of weed tying down the red head.

Arthur got it now. A rescue mission! This was something he understood.

He swam down to where the boy was working and tapped his shoulder. The boy looked up, and Arthur gestured for him to move aside. He did, albeit reluctantly, and Arthur drew his sword. Murmurs too low for Arthur to fully make out sprang up behind him, but he ignored them, pulling the binds tense and unleashing a powerful overhead stroke with his sword.

The countless hours spent training to wield his weapon paid off. The bindings snapped cleanly, and the boy immediately swam up to the red-haired lad, grabbing his arm and keeping him from floating away.

A tap on his shoulder had Arthur spinning around, sword automatically coming up in an offensive position. It was one of the creatures that had been guarding the perimeter, raising its hands in a peaceful gesture. Slowly, Arthur lowered the point of his blade, but readied himself to bring it up again if need be.

"You have awakened, our king." The voice that issued forth was rough, like rocks rolling about and banging together, but also perfectly intelligible.

"You know who I am?" Arthur tried to speak once again, but still all that came out were bubbles.

A look of amusement touched the creature's features, but it continued on as serious as before. "We have waited a long time for this day. I am sure this is disconcerting, but rest assured Merlin should be aware of your return soon, if he isn't already."

"Return?" Arthur mouthed. Had he left? And just how long was 'a long time'? What was going on here?

The creature's features changed into a fierce scowl, and it shot behind Arthur. Dazed, Arthur turned to see the boy attempting to cut through the bindings of the brunette girl. The creature pulled the boy away, snarling in a language that Arthur had never heard before. The boy, though, seemed to understand it, mouthing something back and pointing at the girl furiously. The creature shook its head, and the boy reluctantly backed off, arms crossed over his chest in blatant disapproval.

Arthur swam over and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, leveling his sword at the creature's throat, but the boy forced it down, shooting Arthur a look he could not quite decipher.

"It is a quest, our lord." The creature gnashed. "The boy is only to save his own hostage."

Arthur blinked. What kind of quest was that?! You rescue all hostages in a rescue, not just one!

The voices of the creatures rose behind them, and Arthur and the boy turned. Behind them, another boy was swimming towards them. He wore similar clothing to the black-haired boy, but his was yellow instead of red, and he had brown hair instead of black. His features were nearly impossible to make out, looking wobbly and stretched, and as he drew nearer, Arthur realized that there was some sort of bubble around the boy's head. Was that how the boy was still alive and breathing at this depth? A form of magic Arthur could not deny, but it made sense to him. The boy would not have been able to make it down here without it, and if he too was here to rescue these hostages, then it was a necessary evil.

The brown-haired boy mouthed something to the black-haired boy, then pointed at Arthur in asking. The black-haired boy shrugged, then pointed up to the surface. The boy hesitated, but nodded, swimming up to the black-haired girl and, using some kind of knife, cut her free, and began to swim upwards.

The black-haired boy did not budge after that, continuing to scan the horizon for any sign of another arrival. Arthur glanced at the two remaining girls. If there was one hostage for each rescuer, then that meant two more people should be arriving soon.

Sure enough, not five minutes later, a new figure came swimming out of the gloom. The figure wasn't quite shaped like a person, though, and when Arthur finally saw why, he jumped back and raised his sword.

Like the brown-haired and black-haired boys, it wore strange loose clothing on its legs and torso, which looked remarkably human, but from the neck up – Arthur didn't know what it was. Gray and pointed with dark soulless eyes and several rows of razor sharp teeth in its maw. Instinctively, Arthur out himself between it and the dark-haired boy, blade ready to strike.

The boy pushed in front of him, though, and gestured to put his sword down. Arthur's instincts screamed at him to charge the creature instead, but this boy was infinitely more knowledgeable of the situation, and the last thing he need was to alienate him. He planted the tip of Excalibur into the silt between the rocks below.

The thing didn't even stop to examine them, just swam to the brunette girl the boy had been trying to free before, and used its many teeth to rip through the weedy ropes and pull the girl towards the surface.

For all his earlier concern, the boy did not seem particularly bothered to watch the girl being dragged away by a horrifying monster. His attention was now focused again to the horizon – presumably looking for the final rescuer.

But time went by, and minutes later, no one had come to claim the girl with the ethereal blond hair. Every second that ticked by saw the boy grow more and more unsettled. Finally, Arthur couldn't take it anymore.

He kicked his way over to the girl and, before anyone could stop him, sliced through the restraints, quickly rising to grab the girl's arm. He dared the creatures to stop him with the fiercest glare he could muster, but they did not move to stop him. He waved the boy up to him, and dragging the freckled boy behind him, he did so.

Together, Arthur and the boy kicked for a good 3 minutes, carrying the two children with them to the surface. Finally, the water began to grow lighter, until the water above them gave way to cool fresh air. A sharp pain stabbed the sides of Arthur's neck, and he hoped that was the gills disappearing.

The red-haired boy and blonde girl had woken up, apparently. Their eyes were open wide and they were jabbering away in two different languages, neither of which Arthur recognized, except that the one the red-haired boy was speaking was the same the creature in the lake had spoken to the black-haired boy . . .

. . . and that was being spoken all around him.

They had surfaced by enormously tall wooden platforms jutting out of the water. Crammed on these multi-leveled platforms were dozens, maybe hundreds, of screaming children ranging from maybe 10 to 18 years of age. It took Arthur a moment to process that the crowd wasn't just screaming, it was cheering, much like the crowds in tournaments. Was that what this was, some twisted kind of tournament?

The crowd roar wasn't all enthusiastic noise, though. There was a confused undertone running beneath the clamor, and Arthur had a sinking feeling that it had something to do with him.

"Gabrielle! Gabrielle!" A high-pitched shout filled with desperation pierced through the drone of the crowd, and Arthur's vision focused on a tall girl who look so similar to the squirming, terrified girl in his arms that they had to be related.

Conveniently, the platform the shouting girl was on was also the least crowded, so Arthur kicked his way over (followed by the two chattering boys), and drawing on some hidden reserve of strength, lifted the girl out of the water and into the arms of the woman that must have been her sister, judging by age.

The woman said many more things as Arthur hauled himself out of the water, the amour he wore feeling heavier than ever, but the only thing he understood was the tone of desperate relief, a feeling he was well aquatinted with.

Besides the two sisters, there were 9 other people standing on the platform. Arthur recognized the black-haired girl and the brown-haired boy from the bottom, as well as the brown-haired girl; however, he did not recognize the rugged young man standing next to her, who reminded him vaguely of Percival.

The other 5 were grown adults. A foreign man with crooked teeth and a thick accent was shouting, along with the biggest woman Arthur had seen in his life, at an ancient man wearing gaudy robes, whose silver hair and beard brushed the floor. A young man with blazing red hair was stuttering heavily and being ignored completely, while a blond man was simply watching the scene with confusion and a tad bit of awe.

Finally, after the two boys had pulled themselves onto the platform and been handed towels to dry themselves off with, the old man pulled out a long carved stick, and stepping away from the pair of angry people, pressed the stick to his throat.

A single word boomed form the man's mouth, impossible loud, reaching even the mountains ringing the lake's distance edges. The word must have meant "quiet", because everyone fell silent afterwards, including the foreign man and shouting children.

Slowly, the old man turned to the black-haired boy that had led Arthur here, and began to speak to him.

Dumbledore silenced the other students (and confused and furious judges), and slowly approached Harry. Ron hastily stepped aside and moved towards Hermione, who was standing next to Krum and casting worried looks at both him and the blond man in armor.

"Harry," Dumbledore began softly, "who is this man, and how did you come across him?"

"I don't know, Professor." Harry said honestly. "I was looking for Ron when I saw him lying on a boat at the bottom of the lake inside this stone box thing. I - I thought he was dead." And Harry thought that that had been a perfectly reasonable assumption to make. "I wanted to know who he was, so I leaned in to try to see the symbol on his cloak. I must had leaned in too close, though, because I accidently touched his armor and . . . he woke up." Harry gestured helplessly.

It had nearly given him a heart attack, when the man had opened his eyes at Harry's touch. The man was so obviously dead; he should not be opening his eyes! Harry's heart problems hadn't decreased, either, when the man had immediately started drowning. He could only thank God and Dobby that he had thought to use the leftover gillyweed.

"I couldn't just leave him there to drown, so I gave him my gillyweed and had him follow me. The merpeople - seemed to know him." Harry couldn't keep a slight note of frustration out of his voice. "He helped me free Ron and Fleur's sister, and seemed to want to . . . protect me." And hadn't that been fun, trying to communicate that the merpeople and Krum weren't threats and that he needed to put the sword down?!

"And that's it, sir. We came up here, and that's all I know."

Professor Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Well, then let's see what our new arrival himself has to say. Will you accompany me, Harry? You are the closest thing this man has to a familiar face."

"Of course, sir!" And here Harry had been thinking they were going to go over his head.

Dumbledore and Harry turned and moved in front of the blond man. His expression was one of defensive wariness, but at least he didn't draw his sword again.

"Hello. What is your name, good sir?" Dumbledore questioned amiably, as if sword-wielding strangers popped out of the lake every day.

"Ni allaf ddeall i chi. Beth sy'n Digwydd? Ble ydw i?" The man said quickly, nervous anger glowing in his stone-colored eyes.

"What language is that, sir?" Harry questioned. He had never heard anything like it, not even in Muggle movies or Binns's lectures.

"I'm afraid I do not know, Harry." Dumbledore frowned. "This complicates things somewhat."

"Beth ydych chi'n ei ddweud? Dwy ydych chi? Beth sy'n mynd ymlaen?" The man's questions were growing more frantic, but unfortunately no clearer. His hand twitched, and it seemed to be inching towards his sword hilt. Harry could understand; if he were in the mans (ruined) shoes, he would want to keep his hand on his wand at all times. But he couldn't let the man draw his sword. Karkaroff and Bagman already had their own weapons at the ready if need be, and Harry doubt that stunning the stranger would make him any more open or friendly.

Harry stepped forward, ignoring the gasp from Hermione. "Harry." He said clearly, tapping a hand to his chest. "Harry."

He pointed at Ron. "Ron." Then to Dumbledore. "Dumbledore."

Then he pointed to the man.

It may have been his imagination, but he thought he saw the man lift a corner of his mouth in a quick half-smile.

The man touched his chest plate. "Arthur." He enunciated, nice and slow so that his words could be heard by everyone there. "Arthur Pendragon." The man grabbed the corner of his long scarlet cloak and flipped it so everyone could see the golden dragon stitched on it, wings stretched out as if to take flight from the crimson background.

And that's when the voices of over 800 students broke free.

Whatever force that had been keeping the children silent (Arthur was not sure if it was magic or respect - because there was clearly sorcery at work here) was not strong enough to hold back the tide of voices that broke over him. He couldn't understand the words themselves, but he heard the tones of awe, disbelief, and excitement, along with many repetitions of his own name. Hopefully that was a sign that they were friends of Camelot - though if the old man was a sorcerer, this might well be the death of him (again).

He took a glance at the faces of the old man the boy had identified as "Dumbledore" and the boy self-identified as "Harry". They did not look murderous; in fact, they seemed almost frozen in shock.

The man Dumbledore seemed to shake off this shock, though, and pointing the stick from before at the sky above the lake, caused purple lights and loud bangs to appear over the water in an attempt to quiet the crowd (Arthur barely kept himself from flinching at this blatant show of magic, and the possible implications meant by this gesture).

"So you have heard of me?" Arthur said, instantly cursing himself for something so - so - Merlin-ish.

Dumbledore shook his head, moving his hand in a gabbing sort of way. He could not understand him. Arthur sighed. This could take forever.

But then the man's face lit up, and he turned to the boy Harry, pointing to something on his wrist. Harry glanced down at it (and Arthur did too, noting it was a circle with arrows and dashes, bound to the boy with a leather band), and with confusion in his voice, handed it over. Dumbledore tapped it with his stick and spoke a few words, then handed it out towards Arthur.

Arthur took a step back. "No way!" He shook his head vehemently. He had been handed and been cursed by more than enough magical items to even dare touch something that he outright knew had been tainted with sorcery.

For a moment, the man looked disappointed, but then took the object back, tapped it again, then held it back out.

Arthur scowled. Was this man stupid? "No means no." He said, violently shaking his head.

But the man smiled, and Arthur got the sinking feeling he had just been tricked. And in his experience, being tricked by a sorcerer rarely led to anything good.

Dumbledore turned to young Harry and held out the object. The boy looked shocked, and pointed to himself while exchanging words with the old man. The man said something back, and with a smile, placed the object he had taken back into the boy's palm. The boy strapped the object back around his wrist, then turned to face Arthur.

"Can you understand me?" Harry hesitantly asked.

It was with a sense of great relief that Arthur grinned and said, "Yes!"

Harry grinned back. "Brilliant!" But then his grin faltered. "Er, are you really King Arthur? Like, the King of Camelot?" There was something akin to awe beneath the nervous suspicion, and Arthur couldn't help but smile.

"I am." Arthur nodded. "And I would appreciate it if you could tell me where I am and what is going on."

"Wow . . . " The boy muttered, but quickly shook himself into the present. "Well, er, sir, you're at a place called Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts?" Arthur couldn't help but repeat. He had never heard of such a place; he thought he would remember such a name if he had.

"I didn't name it!" Harry defended. "If I did, I definitely would have picked something a bit cooler." He blushed. "Er, Your Highness." He tacked on.

Arthur waved him off. "Arthur or sir is fine, Harry." Formalities would only slow and stunt the conversation.

"Er, Arthur." Harry corrected himself. 'Well, Hogwarts is a school for magic, and -"

"An entire school for magic?" Arthur interrupted with shock. He had known magic was being used openly here (made bluntly obvious by Dumbledore), but an entire school?! All those children around him, being taught to use sorcery? How had these people (Arthur was tempted to call them Druids, but they didn't seem like the peaceful people who lived at Camelot's borders) managed to hid something this big?

"Yeah!" Harry answered with an innocently excited grin. "They teach us how to control our magic so we don't end up blowing ourselves up or turn our relatives into balloons on accident." From the sheepish tinge his smile took on, Arthur guessed he had done one of these things (whatever a balloon was).

"Why -" Arthur cut himself off. He had so many questions, all clamoring over each other to be expressed, and he didn't know what to ask first.

"Were we down in the lake?" Harry offered as a possible continuation of Arthur's "why?". Arthur nodded. It was as good a question as any.

"Well, Hogwarts is hosting a tournament between us and two other magic schools. A representative from each school is chosen to be the school's champion, and the champions compete in three tasks for points. The champion with the most points at the end wins. This was the Second Task, to rescue our friends from the lake."

Arthur's head was spinning. Two other magic schools?! How many were there, training children in powerful magic? Arthur didn't know what to say.

"But -" A thought struck him, something that didn't jibe with Harry's story. "If there are 3 schools, why were there four hostages?"

Harry winced and sighed. "I'm an illegal champion. My name was chosen, and if I don't compete, I lose my magic, so -"

"You're being forced to compete." Now this was a situation that Arthur was familiar with.

Harry nodded. "No one knows why I was chosen. My school already had a champion, and I'm not even of age yet." He flushed. "But you probably don't want to hear about that, sir."

"Any information helps." Arthur assured. The last thing he wanted was Harry to clam up and not mention something potentially important. "But can I ask something of you?"

"Of course, sir!" Harry nodded.

"Do you happen to know of a man called Merlin?"

The boy's features froze, then took on an apprehensive expression. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there.

"Merlin?" Harry repeated.

"Yes, Merlin. Do you know him? The creatures down there said that he was coming."

"Merlin's coming back, too?" Harry exclaimed, eyes growing wide.

Arthur frowned. "What do you mean, 'coming back too'?" Harry stiffened, and once again, Arthur got a sickening feeling in his stomach.

Merlin's eyes glowed golden, and with the lowest of murmurs, belongings began floating to their proper places in his flat. A couple of hand movements, and a pre-packed backpack shot out of a dresser drawer and to his feet.

Just minutes before, he had felt something shift in his magic, something old but familiar, achingly so. It had taken him precious seconds to realize what it was.

Arthur. It was the return of Arthur.

Before he had left what had once been called Camelot, he had cast wards on the whole property, especially the castle walls, the surrounding grounds, and the lake and its shore. They were protective in nature, but he had also added a ward of alarm to alert him if Arthur were to return while he was away.

This had been centuries ago and Merlin had almost forgotten their placement. But now they had been triggered, and Merlin was vibrating with more excitement than he had had in almost a thousand years. Arthur was back.

With one last sweep around the room, making everything remotely magical and/or cause for the police to arrest him was put away and magically hidden, Merlin locked his door and grabbed the crystal hanging on a chain around his neck.

It had taken him years to learn how the sorceress he had seen on his very first day in Camelot had managed to vanish into thin air, and even longer to gather all the supplies need and perfect the method. It was worth it, though, as it provided him with a way to instantly escape danger if need be, and now to immediately arrive at the area currently christened Hogwarts.

The reminder of the magical nature of the current inhabitants of the castle made Merlin wince. Arthur would not be happy to learn sorcerers had taken over what was once his kingdom. Merlin could only hope he had not yet worked up the energy to confront any of the people in the castle. He would have just swam out a lake in chain mail, so it didn't seem likely.

And besides, Merlin thought as he grasped the crystal tightly and hissed the foreign-sounding words of magic, how many people could possibly be gathered out at the lake shore in February to come across Arthur?

And like this day needed to get any weirder, a man fell out of the sky.

That's it, Harry thought. I quit. Triwizard Tournament, King Arthur rising from the dead, men falling out of the sky? I'm done!

King Arthur(!) had just asked what Harry had meant by "coming back", and Harry was trying to figure out how to break the fact that he had been dead/asleep/gone for a thousand years, when a large clap of thunder bellowed and a mini-cyclone appeared 50 feet above the lake, about 15 feet to the left of Harry and Arthur.

Out of said cyclone dropped a man. He looked tall, thin, pale, and raven-haired, and was flailing widely as he shouted and fell into the lake with a large splash.

To Harry's shock, King Arthur did not draw his sword at this. Instead, he let out a sigh of what may have been relief and a slight smile played over his lips. "Of course." The king muttered.

The black-haired man surfaced by the platform, a ginormous grin stretching from ear to ear. It looked, Harry thought, both strained and sincere. The man's stormy eyes were glossy with something Harry didn't think was lake water.

"Trust you to be clumsy even with magic, Merlin." King Arthur deadpanned, even as he bent over to give the man a hand out of the water.

Merlin?! This man, who looked no older than 25, was Merlin?!

The man's grin got wider and brighter and even more pained, if that was possible, and he reached out and clutched Arthur's hand tight, practically leaping out of the water and tackling Arthur in a bear hug.

"M-Merlin?" Arthur sputtered, his arms automatically, awkwardly, returning the hug,

"Oh gods, you have no idea how much I have missed you." The man - Merlin - said. His voice was thick with an accent that Harry couldn't identify and was maybe a bit choked, but other than that, he sounded perfectly normal to Harry. Certainly not like the most powerful wizard to ever live.

A hand tapped on his shoulder, and Harry looked behind him to see Dumbledore gesture to the soaked man.

"Merlin." Harry answered, hoping names would not get translated. Judging by the looks on everyone's faces, they didn't. In fact, Karkaroff's face was steadily growing redder and redder.

"Yes?" The thickly accented voice pulled Harry back into the conversation he had been having. Merlin had let Arthur out of the hug, but one arm remained intertwined with one of Arthur's, Merlin's hand clutching Arthur's leather-gloved one tight, like he expected Arthur to vanish in the next moment.

"You're - you're actually Merlin?" Harry asked.

"I am. Don't look anything like the wise old bearded man with a star-studded cap, huh?" Merlin grinned knowingly.

Harry couldn't help but smile back as he shook his head. Dressed in black jeans, a red T-shirt, and a brown leather jacket with a blue scarf wrapped around his neck, he looked more like a university student than the Merlin in Harry's textbook. The goofy ears and grin didn't help.

"Wise?" Arthur cocked his head. "Since when have you been wise?"

"Always, dollophead."

A heavy sigh. "Still not a word, oh wise Merlin."

"Sure it is; I'm wise, I would know." Merlin smiled at the King teasingly, then looked back at Harry. "And who might you be?"

"Harry Potter, sir." Should he be bowing? This was the closest figure the Wizarding World had to a god, after all. Harry felt like he should be doing something.

"Harry Potter? Oh yes, you would still be in Hogwarts, wouldn't you?" Merlin rubbed his chin in an imitation of stroking a beard. "I was tempted to enroll again when you began first year, but I figured I should just let destiny take its course. It always does, in the end. Oh, and please, don't call me sir. Merlin's just fine."

"Uh, sure, uh, Merlin." Harry fumbled. Merlin just grinned, though.

"Now then, this will probably go a lot faster if we could all understand each other." Merlin gestured to the other people on the platform, held only at bay by Dumbledore's frantic effort and, Harry suspected, a shield charm.

"Are you going to use magic?" Was it just Harry's imagination, or did King Arthur seem wary about Merlin using magic?

Merlin nodded, an odd, almost bracing expression on his face. "Yes. I'm going to magically teach your brain to speak English. Don't worry, you'll still be able to speak the language of Camelot like I'm doing now."

Arthur pursed his lips, as if having an internal battle, but eventually nodded. "Alright."

Merlin raised his hands and pointed his palms at Arthur. "Aprender a lingua English." Merlin's eyes flashed a molten gold, Harry saw with a gasp. He had never heard of golden eyes or a spell like the one Merlin had uttered.

"Now, Harry, you can take that translation spell off. Arthur should be able to join our discussion."

Harry yanked his now almost useless watch off and shoved it into a pocket.

"Hello?" King Arthur said slowly in heavily accented, but perfectly understandable, English.

Dumbledore looked extremely relived. The headmaster opened his mouth to speak but -

"Finally dropped the act?! Who do you think you are?" Karkaroff barked, striding forward past Dumbledore, wand gripped tightly in front of his chest. "Appearing and bringing strangers into Hogwarts, interfering in the tournament, pretending to be King Arthur and claiming that this boy is Merlin -"

Arthur drew his sword, flashing the flat of the blade at the hilt in Karkaroff's face. In the sunlight, Harry could see runes carved into the gold, and for once wished he had signed up for Ancient Runes so he could read them now.

"I am King Arthur Pendragon of Camelot." Arthur said coldly. "I wield Excalibur and wear the symbol of Camelot's knights. Surely you recognize one or the other, sorcerer."

Karkaroff's eyes went cross-eyed as he read the symbols. "Easily faked." The Durmstrang headmaster bluffed.

Arthur's eyes grew dark. "I have no reason to prove myself to you. Simply let my manservant and I pass. Or, actually -" Arthur turned to Merlin, "could you take us away the same way you came?"

Merlin shook his head. "One use only, and I haven't set up another one to take me back to my apartment."

Arthur frowned. "Ah-par-ment? Not your room in Camelot?"

Merlin winced visibly. "Arthur . . . I haven't lived in that room in years. That's one reason why I'd rather settle this peacefully." Merlin looked Karkaroff directly in the eyes at this proclamation, a hint of gold flickering behind his pale orbs.

Arthur looked like he would like to say quite a few things about what Merlin had said, but when Dumbledore stepped forward to speak to Merlin, he let the old man.

"Excuse me, but I am a bit confused. You say you are Merlin, but, ah, Arthur called you his manservant."

Merlin turned his gaze to the wizard. "The stories got a few things wrong. Quite a few, actually. I'm honestly not sure how I went from manservant to Court Sorcerer. My best guess is that Gaius and I were merged somewhere down the line, and the rest is due to exaggeration and embellishing."

"Court Sorcerer?" Arthur blurted out. "In Camelot after my father's reign?"

Merlin shook his head. "I really have no idea how that happened. It's quite odd, really. There's no indication of the Great Purge in the stories whatsoever. Uther himself barely makes an appearance in a lot of versions. The point is," Merlin included Dumbledore, "a good 80% of the myths and legends you've heard are wrong."

"Stories? Legends?" Arthur's face was pale, and a horrible mixture of weary, sick, and crestfallen. "Merlin? What has happened? You speak of years passing, of our names being myth, yet you have not aged a day. I died, Merlin, and woke up in the bottom of a lake surrounded by sorcerers and children training to become sorcerers as well. What happened?"

Merlin's face was grim, and in that moment, Harry had no trouble believing that Merlin was as old as the stories claimed him to be. A cloak of weariness enveloped him, and he seemed to sag under Arthur's words.

"Arthur, it's a long story." He whispered. His head rose and scanned the surrounding platforms that rose from the Black Lake, alive with the mutters of the Hogwarts. "One I would rather not get into here and now with so many witnesses."

Merlin turned. "Headmaster Dumbledore, could I trouble you for a boat back to the shore and a 5 minute head-start?"

"Where -"

"Not far, Headmaster. Simply to the castle for some privacy. Don't worry, I know my way around."

Dumbledore's eyes were almost twinkling. "I suppose you'll be taking the boat either way?"

"Yep." A small twitch of the lips. "Just thought I'd be polite about it."

"The boat I can do, but you understand that quite a few people will come chasing after you to validate your claims." A not-too-subtle look at Karkaroff, who was fuming and looked about ready to charge at the two young men, regardless of the blonde's sword or Dumbledore's' obvious disapproval.

"We'll join you later, then, at -" Merlin paused, "not lunch, far too late for that, dinner, I suppose?" He didn't wait for a response. "Come on, Arthur."

"Since when did you start giving orders?" But Arthur followed to one of the boats docked at the platform, severing the rope tether as he and Merlin clambered in.

"Now wait one -"

"Velocidade en dirección terreo!" Merlin hissed, his eyes glowing gold. The boat zoomed away from the platform, skipping across the lake like a throwing stone, water splashing five feet high in their wake.

"MER-LIN!" Arthur's voice echoed across the lake valley in panic. A small, high laugh could be heard as the pair rocketed to the other side of the lake, to the castle gates.

Silence fell on the group of wizards and witches.

"What in the bloody h*** just happened?" Ron blurted.

So . . . Likes, dislikes, comments, complaints? I don't think I'll continue this (if I do, it'd be like a drabble update once a year), but I'd love to hear your thoughts!

-Seidr