Avalon - Chapter 16 - The Lady
The Lady
She watched the slow rising and falling of his chest intently.
His posture and expression were equally relaxed, showing none of the usual tension he carried in his shoulders. It had taken some time for Harry to achieve such a peace, but now that he had, he fell into so naturally.
“Good,” Morgana whispered. “Now, familiarise yourself with what makes you who you are. You must find the truth of your nature, Harry, and embrace it, flaws and all.”
He gave no response, and she continued to hold his hand, just in case she needed to guide him back to her.
No such intervention had been necessary thus far, but Morgana was aware of how the demons locked within someone could surface when someone was so vulnerable to themselves, and Harry certainly had his own monsters to contend with.
“What can you feel?” she asked curiously.
“I feel light,” Harry whispered. “I can feel my magic, and yours.”
“You can feel my magic?”
Harry nodded.
“It’s different to mine,” he said thoughtfully. “It feels alive like the forest, free and unbound. It is warm now, but it can be colder, like it hides in the shadows.”
Morgana swallowed deeply.
“You can feel that?”
“I can.”
“Where can you feel it?”
“Everywhere,” Harry answered. “It is all around me, but it is coming from you strongest. Can you feel mine?”
Morgana had not attempted to thus far beyond picking up on how it felt whenever Harry cast a spell. She had not wanted to interrupt his meditation or distract him from what he was trying to achieve.
Besides, how someone’s magic felt in its natural state was a rather personal thing, and indulging in it was a level of intimacy not shared so readily.
Such a thing was reserved for lovers or those one trusted implicitly, and yet, Harry had managed to envelope himself in hers without even attempting to do so.
It was a realisation that made Morgana nervous, and she didn’t even know that she had let him in.
Perhaps it had been an unconscious occurrence for them both.
Naturally, she had resisted the urge to invade his privacy, even if Harry was unlikely to know she’d done it.
Morgana would not break his trust, but given that he’d invited her to do so, she had no intention of resisting further when there was no reason to.
Closing her eyes, her hold on his hand tightened slightly, and though it felt strange to be so open with another person, she allowed herself to truly open herself to Harry, to let him in.
They both shuddered, and it took several moments for Morgana to settle enough to comprehend the influx of foreign magic that seemed to have set all of her senses ablaze.
At first, it was an overwhelming experience, likely for them both, but as she focused on what did not belong to her, the differences between them became quickly apparent.
“I wasn’t ready for that,” Harry murmured breathlessly. “It feels as it did, but much stronger.”
Morgana nodded as she steadied her own breathing.
“I wasn’t either.”
“So, what does it feel like?” Harry asked curiously.
It was hard to put into words the myriad of sensations she felt.
Harry’s magic was indeed so different to her own.
“Like a contained fire that could either burn or freeze me to death,” she answered. “It is like a controlled chaos that answers only to you, but it doesn’t feel dangerous to me. It is hot and cold, but…”
She broke off and Harry gave her hand a squeeze.
“But?”
“It feels warm and wishes me no harm,” Morgana continued, “but it could be truly harmful to your enemies.”
It was almost as though Harry’s magic was contrary to itself.
The was an undeniable heat it exuded, but within it, there was a coldness that made Morgana shudder.
Death.
The only way to describe the underlying sensation wrapped within such a heat was as death itself.
“What is it?” Harry asked.
Morgana shook her head as she released his hand.
“Your magic is you, Harry,” she answered thoughtfully.
“There’s something you’re not saying.”
Morgana deflated.
“It’s almost like a part of you has died and has been replaced.”
He did not react to the ominous assessment of his magic, which Morgana found rather curious.
“Did it?” she pressed gently.
Harry nodded.
“The night my parents were killed, the man who did it tried to kill me. He cast the Killing Curse, but it was deflected back on him. It was magic in its purest form that saved me. My mother sacrificed herself so that I might live.”
Morgana swallowed as she took his hand once more.
It was an incredible feat of magic, but one that she understood.
Sacrificial magic was an exceptionally complex thing to comprehend, and even with understanding of it, was a most dangerous undertaking.
“Your mother must have loved you so deeply for her sacrifice to negate such powerful magic,” Morgana murmured.
Harry nodded.
“She did,” Harry whispered, offering her a sad smile.
“And you are still here,” Morgana pointed out. “Despite what happened then and since, you are still here. Your magic is quite unique to you, Harry. You should spend more time getting to know it. It will serve you well.”
“Salazar said the same,” Harry chuckled amusedly.
“And he’s right. When you know it better than anything else and accept it and yourself for what you both are, your connection to the fang and venom will establish itself, and you might even discover what, if any creature you can become at will.”
“What creature do you think I would be?” Harry asked curiously.
Morgana hummed and a smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.
“Maybe a louse.”
“Thank you,” Harry said dryly. “You really know how to make someone feel better about themselves.”
“What’s wrong with a louse?”
Harry frowned before nodding thoughtfully.
“It would actually be quite useful,” he mused aloud. “No one would ever suspect the louse.”
Morgana tutted as he grinned at her.
“Of course, you would find the positive in it.”
Harry nodded as he stood.
“I don’t see why it has to be a negative thing,” he sighed, looking towards the moon above. “I should probably get some rest before Godric drags me out of bed. Even a louse needs to sleep.”
“They do,” Morgana agreed. “I’m sure I will see you soon enough.”
“Maybe,” Harry replied. “You never know where the louse might appear next.”
He chuckled to himself as he headed back towards the castle, and Morgana could only shake her head in response.
It had not been an easy few weeks.
With what had happened in Hogsmeade, and the start of the new school term, they’d not seen as much of one another as they had become accustomed to, but Harry still made time to come to the lake, even if it was only for a few hours late in the evening.
With Godric having returned to Hogwarts only the previous week from his venture on the continent, the time she had with Harry had lessened still, but Morgana understood.
From what little Harry had learned, Godric had not found Strenger, and it was as though the an had vanished entirely.
He’d not been spotted in Britain or anywhere overseas since the night Helena had been murdered.
Nonetheless, Morgana was confident the Godric and Salazar would find the man in due course, and she would not wish to be Strenger when they did.
He would undoubtedly suffer for what he’d done.
Morgana shook her head of the thoughts of the unpleasant incident and lost herself in what had just happened.
Harry being able to feel her magic was quite the achievement, and once more, they’d shared quite the moment with one another, even if he didn’t quite understand how just how intimate was.
Maybe it just felt so natural for him to open up to her in such a way, and though it was nerve-wracking for Morgana, she wouldn’t deny that it hadn’t been so hard for her either.
It seemed that their relationship simply became more and more personal the more time they spent together, so much so, that even the magic each possessed had begun to seek the other out.
It was an odd thing to experience, but Morgana found that now it had happened, she yearned for it to once again.
(Break)
He watched as the bloodied Strenger fled from the tavern, and Myrddin followed the man closely, turning back to face the village once more as a piercing scream filled the air.
Strenger did not stop.
He continued to flee into the distance, but with him in sight, he could not hope to escape the pursuing Myrddin.
With a well-aimed spell, Strenger collapsed to the ground, and with another, the man was bound, staring up at Myrddin with wide eyes.
“You have nothing to fear from me, Phillip. If anything, I suspect you will be thanking me in the coming moments. You can’t believe you have any hope of escaping.”
“I would have had you not intervened!” Strenger growled.
“No,” Myrddin denied. “They would’ve captured you.”
“They will now.”
Myrddin shook his head.
“Keep your wand and blade where they are and you will be far enough away in a moment that they will not find you, but you must follow my instructions.”
“Why should I trust you?”
“Because you have little choice, but my assistance comes with a price.”
“Name it.”
“Not yet,” Myrddin said firmly. “I will likely have use of a man of your calibre one day. You will give me your word that when that time comes, you will serve your purpose.”
Myrddin untied Strenger and offered him a hand.
“Time is running out. Either trust me or die at the hand of an executioner.”
Reluctantly, Strenger accepted the proffered limb.
“You have my word.”
Myrddin smirked as he felt the thread of magic connect them.
“Good, now take this,” he instructed, handing Strenger a seemingly regular stick. “This will take you deep into Daneland, and when you arrive, you will see a large willow tree. Beneath it will be an old boot. It will take you to the continent. I will make the arrangements for the men you brought to join you there. Go, before you are too late.”
“Why are you helping me?”
“Because you will be useful to me one day.”
Strenger frowned, but as the sound of approaching footsteps could be heard, he activated the portkey and vanished.
The moment he did so, Myrddin waved his wand to conceal himself and dampened the traces of magic Strenger had left in his wake.
It wouldn’t prevent him being followed entirely, but it would grant him enough time to make his escape.
When a stream of people began flooding the clearing a short distance away from the village, Myrddin made his way back to blend in with the gathered crowd, who’d been attracted by the bloodcurdling scream.
He’d known that Strenger was pursuing Helena Ravenclaw the moment he’d seen them both in Hogsmeade, but he’d felt no need to prevent them from coming together.
He was not to question Strenger’s motivation for wanting the young woman dead, and in truth, Myrddin cared not for his reasons.
He’d met Helena a few times when she’d been a girl, and she had been unpleasant at best.
Her death meant nothing, but if he could take something away from it other than securing the services of a most useful man, it was that he felt as though he’d gotten one over on Rowena, who had indeed proven that she was not on his side.
Myrddin knew she’d seen something in the stars, and that she was keeping vital information from it.
He had seen it in her eyes despite her best efforts to hide it from him.
What she had seen remained a mystery, but with the murder of her daughter, Myrddin felt somewhat satisfied that his former mentor had been suitably punished for the transgression against him and the effort he was making to unite the country.
Perhaps now Rowena would see that it was what was best for Britain.
Men like Strenger would not be allowed to flourish here under Arthur’s rule, and women like Helena would not have to be collateral damage on the toad to establishing Arthur as the one true king.
Still, Myrddin had done what he’d felt was right in the moment, and he could not profess to feeling any regret for it.
His eyes narrowed, however, as he remembered the aftermath of his apprehension of Strenger, and the incident which involved some damned fool throwing horse manure at him.
It had been an embarrassing occurrence for Myrddin, but it only became even more so when he failed to locate the culprit.
He shook his head as he watched Arthur mingling with his guests.
The various -self-proclaimed kings across the country who had accepted the invitation to Camelot had begun arriving the previous day, and though most were not worth sacrificing an inevitable marriage for, there were a few strong candidates amongst them.
“He seems overwhelmed, doesn’t he,” Lancelot chuckled.
Myrddin hummed as his gaze shifted towards the undeniably unhappy Gwendoline.
Fortunately, Garth had not discovered what his daughter and Arthur had been doing behind closed doors, but the girl was doing a terrible job at hiding her envy at seeing Arthur spending time with other women.
“He does,” Myrddin chuckled.
Arthur was currently dancing with King David’s daughter, a man with a small kingdom to his name not so far from Camelot, but with a large army.
From what Myrddin had discovered about him, he would make a fine ally.
“You know he is not interested in her.”
Myrddin sighed as he nodded.
“She is not the comeliest of suitors.”
“Some of the men David brought along are comelier than his daughter.”
Myrddin shot Lancelot a reproachful look.
“It is unbecoming of a knight to speak so lowly of the fairer sex.”
“Even when it is true?”
“Especially when it is true,” Myrddin said firmly.
Lancelot merely quirked an eyebrow in response before turning his attention to the woman who’d caught his attention the moment she’d ridden into Camelot atop her horse.
Guinevere was the daughter of King Leodegrance of Cameliard is the southwest of the country, who had been a close friend of Arthur’s father.
Myrddin had noticed the hunger in which the young knight looked at the woman. It was a troubling, but much less so than the way Arthur’s attention was focused only on the princess.
Guinevere was not to be trusted.
Myrddin had met such characters throughout his life, and the princess was teeming with a cunning and guile that even Salazar would be proud of.
She was softly spoken, graceful in her ways, and on the surface, a perfect lady that few would find fault with.
Myrddin, however, saw through the façade.
Oh, she was indeed the image of beauty and grace, but there was much more beneath the surface; the very traits she had inherited from her late mother.
Myrddin had not met the woman, but what he’d heard was that she was not a faithful queen.
She had a way of manipulating Leodegrance, so much so that she was considered the true ruler of Cameliard.
Rumours were abound that Leodegrance had discovered his wife’s infidelity and had quietly had his wife and six men of the castle executed.
Of course, they were only rumours, but Myrddin had taken the opportunity to peer into the man’s mind and had seen more than enough to determine the truth.
Whether Guinevere was truly his own daughter was something the king ultimately chose not to ponder, but Myrddin was not convinced.
She shared little resemblance with Leodegrance but was certainly similar to the woman that had birthed her.
Her legitimacy would remain a secret, but Myrddin would not see it impact Arthur’s kingdom, though it seemed the young king had other ideas.
He watched carefully as the duo came together to share a dance, and Arthur was immediately enchanted by the princess.
To them, they were alone in the room, and as he led her around it, he seemed to only fall foolishly deeper into her.
Myrddin released a deep sigh.
He could see his way to guiding Arthur away from much of the temptations that would always surround him, but love was an exceedingly powerful magic that not even the cleverest sorcery could disrupt if it was so true.
“I think he may have made his choice,” Lancelot declared, chuckling humourlessly.
Myrddin nodded defeatedly.
“And yet, you seem rather unhappy.”
Lancelot shook his head.
“No, he should have a beautiful queen. How can a lowly knight like me hope to compete with a crown?”
He left the great hall of Camelot, and Myrddin watched him through narrowed eyes.
He remembered the vision he’d seen of the faceless woman and the perilous dragon.
Was this the beginning of that coming to life?
Myrddin hoped not, but he was filled with an immovable sense of unease as he continued to watch Arthur seemingly falling in love in front of his very eyes with a woman he should be avoiding.
(Break)
“Your lot did this to my daughter!” Thomas whispered dangerously.
The man was trembling with rage and in a drunken state, but Rowena was not concerned for her safety.
Godric was not so far away, and it wasn’t as though her husband would ever forget what had almost happened to him the last time he’d met her friend.
“Do you think I wanted this?” she whispered.
“You never loved her!”
Rowena swallowed deeply.
“I was never allowed to love her,” she retorted. “You turned her against me and she came to Hogwarts despising me.”
“You abandoned us for the blasted school!”
“No, Thomas, I abandoned you because you are a monster and you tried to make one out of our daughter! Do not try and lecture me about what happened. I will carry that guilt for the rest of my life, but it as you that made her the way she is. I tried to be there for her, but you ensured that I couldn’t be. You made her hate me out of your pettiness, and now she is dead.”
“Because she was murdered by one of you ungodly monsters!”
Rowena chuckled humourlessly.
“If blaming me helps you sleep at night, then I can only wish you the best. You will wake up one day and realise the part you played in all of this. Neither of us were good parents, but at least I can admit to my shortcomings. Goodbye, Thomas. I truly wish I could say I feel a sense of sadness for no longer having you in my life, but I do not. If your god does exist, I expect he has a special place reserved for you in the deepest pit of hell.”
That was the last thing Rowena had said to her husband, and from the moment she left her marital home, she knew she would never see him again, or so she hoped.
It had been nothing but a marriage of convenience between two people so poorly suited for one another, arranged by an aunt desperate to be rid of the burden of another mouth to feed, and accepted by a man who wished only to continue his line.
Thomas Ravenclaw had been a monster, but little more than a pathetic and petty man.
Not that Rowena would claim to be morally better.
She had failed Helena and had done so easily just to avoid being around a husband she was both fearful of and despised in equal measures.
To most, it would seem ridiculous that she had once been terrified of Thomas, but in the beginning of their marriage, he was all she’d had.
That had indeed changed upon meeting Helga, Godric, and Salazar, but the damage to Rowena had already been done.
Even now, she shuddered at the memories of the first years of their marriage, and only more so when she’d been all but forced to fulfil the promise she’d made to provide her husband with a child to continue his family legacy.
After twenty years, she still smelled the stale alcohol and sweat from the night he’d impregnated her, and Rowena was only grateful it had happened so easily.
Thomas could go back to his mistresses, and Rowena back to teaching.
If only life had remained so simple.
“You have received more flowers,” Elrond announced quietly as he entered her office.
Rowena nodded and watched as the man arranged them with the many other condolences she’d received.
Burying Helena had been the most heart-wrenching thing she’d ever experienced, one that she wouldn’t ever come to terms with, but the arrival each day of sorrowful words only made Rowena feel that much worse.
Strenger had stabbed her daughter through the heart, and still, the man had not been found.
After the burial, both Godric and Salazar had taken time away from teaching to find the man, to no avail.
Strenger was gone, and though both of her friends assured her they would find him, Rowena could not even think of him without feeling sick to her stomach.
“Thank you, Elrond,” she murmured.
The man offered her a bow before leaving her alone once more, and Rowena found herself crying again; crying for the daughter she’d lost, her failings as a mother, and for a close relationship she’d hoped to have with her daughter that would never be.
(Break)
He blocked the flurry of spells sent his way with the flat of his blade and nodded appreciatively at the accuracy. Harry had always been exceptionally precise with his magic, but being under Godric’s tutelage for several months now, his aim was getting as close to perfect as can be.
The young man continued to progress at an astound rate, but Godric knew there was more in him.
It was almost as though he was holding back, that at times, he was not giving his all.
With a nod to himself, Godric blocked another onslaught before unleashing his own, a little faster and more aggressively than he normally would to see how Harry would respond.
He avoided the offering and looked at Godric in surprise at the unusually fierce response and frowned at the smile given to him.
“Come on, Harry,” Godric goaded. “You’re getting too comfortable. Show me what you’ve got.”
The rebuttal came swiftly, but Godric laughed at the lack of conviction.
“Is that it?” he snorted. “Am I wasting my time with you, boy? I don’t think your parents died for this from you.”
Harry paused, and Godric immediately knew he’d crossed a line he’d dared not even toe before now.
The expression of the young man was twisted with utter loathing, and the onslaught that followed was like nothing else the Founder had experienced from Harry.
The sword he held was torn from his hand, and Godric was forced to use his wand to defend himself.
Spells flew at him thick and fast, but it wasn’t until a searing pain ripped through his shoulder that he realised that Harry might just be trying to kill him.
Had he been prepared for such a vicious response, he would’ve been able to defend himself from it, but Godric had been taken by such surprise at the sudden shift in violence that he’d immediately found himself on the backfoot.
Fortunately, he was able to apparate within the grounds of the school, and he did so, appearing a safe enough distance away from the raging young man, cursing under his breath as he inspected the wound.
It would leave quite the scar, and it was already weeping a yellow pus that burned the flesh around it.
“Well, it serves me right,” Godric sighed.
He didn’t know why he had wanted to push Harry just that little harder.
Perhaps it was simply because he wanted to see what the young man was capable of when pushed too far, but Godric knew it was not merely that.
No, he felt the need to unburden himself of his own anger at what had happened to Helena.
He’d never liked the girl much, but the way in which she’d been killed and the effect it had on Rowena had left him furious.
He’d searched just about every hovel he could find across the continent for Strenger, but he’d had no luck.
Still, goading Harry in such a way had been both unwise and unfair, and as he approached the pacing young man, he held up a placating hand.
“I owe you the sincerest of apologies, Harry. I allowed my own foolishness to get the better of me. I should never have mentioned what I did.”
“No, you shouldn’t have,” Harry replied darkly.
There was something quite terrifying about an angry Harry, and there was a part of Godric that pitied any enemy he would face.
He had no doubt that Harry looked up to him and he’d not hesitated to unleash the pent-up anger he’d carried since he was a babe on him.
What he would do to someone he disliked, Godric could only imagine, but somehow, it made him proud of Harry and gave him hope that he might just emerge on the other side of what he faced.
He seemed to be doing well enough thus far, and the memory of Myrddin being hit in the head with the horse manure was something he’d always enjoy, despite having chastised Harry for doing so.
“You’re bleeding.”
Godric nodded.
“No less than I deserve,” he sighed. “I should be grateful it wasn’t my neck.”
Harry winced at the thought and Godric shook his head.
“I am sorry, Harry. I should never have mentioned what happened to your parents in such a way. I am truly ashamed of my behaviour.”
“It’s fine,” Harry sighed. “It’s just that anyone else who ever spoke of them used them to mock me. Until I met Sirius, I knew next to nothing about my mother and father.”
“And now?”
Harry shrugged.
“I still don’t know very much. I know they met here, they left and got married before I was born. Other than that, I know about as much as you do.”
Godric shook his head.
“It saddens me to hear that. I expect they would be very proud of you and everything you have achieved. I can’t comprehend them having considered that you would find yourself here, but you have comported yourself and adjusted admirably.”
“It’s still hard,” Harry admitted. “I still miss a few of the friends I had, and I know that Sirius will be wondering what happened to me. He will either think I’m dead or that I ran away from everything.”
Godric offered him an encouraging smile.
“I cannot envision you running away from anything.”
“That’s why I’ve almost died too many times,” Harry snorted.
“But you’re still here,” Godric pointed out, “and despite what you will face, I cannot fathom you perishing.”
Harry frowned thoughtfully before his expression became sober.
“How good is Myrddin?”
“He is perhaps the most exceptional wizard to have ever lived,” Godric answered honestly. “I will not lie to you, Harry. Doing so would only be a disservice. Why do you think we push you so hard? We know what it is you are up against, but there is time.”
“I’m nothing special.”
“But you were chosen for this, and I cannot imagine you would’ve been so if the Lady in the Lake thought of you only as a lamb for slaughter. I see flashes of incredible brilliance in you, Harry, and I do not doubt that there is much more to come. If I didn’t believe in you, would I be here with you now?”
Harry shrugged.
“I would not,” Godric said firmly, “and nor would Salazar or the others. Our time would be better teaching you to hide yourself from the danger, not to confront it.”
Harry nodded.
“Well, I’m glad someone has faith in me,” he chuckled humourlessly.
“And there is the girl.”
“Morgana doesn’t know much of anything. She knows a little about my life before I came here.”
“Will you tell her?”
“I will, when the time is right.”
“Good,” Godric said encouragingly. “Go on, I’d best get this fixed,” he added, gesturing to his weeping wound. “It really hurts.”
“You deserved it.”
“I did,” Godric agreed, “but it’s just another scar to add to the collection. We both have our fair share.”
“With many more to come,” Harry snorted, offering him a wave before making his way to the castle.
Godric watched the retreating young man and nodded.
“Oh, Harry,” he sighed. “You’ll make it, lad. Especially if you give the bastard a few of these,” he concluded, wincing as another wave of pain lanced through his wounded shoulder.
(Break)
Morgana frowned, murmuring under her breath as she continued her work.
For much of the day she’d been poring over another brew she’d been working on, and if it worked, it would be quite the revolutionary creation in the healing field, but the mixture was not ready yet.
An ingredient or two was missing, and what she believed she needed was not something so readily available.
Perhaps she would need to ask Salazar if he had some or could source it for her.
For now, however, her attention was on something a little more recreational, though no less important to her, but it was incredibly puzzling.
Using the tip of her wand, she added another formula to her work before erasing parts of it to fit in with the rest of her calculations.
“It still doesn’t make sense,” Morgana huffed irritably, narrowing her eyes at the mixture of symbols, numbers, and runes.
She’d made no mistake in her work, and yet, the conclusion she reached was not the outcome that had been achieved.
“That is quite the ensemble,” a curious voice commented.
Morgana had been so immersed in her work that she had not heard Salazar approach.
“It’s wrong,” she replied irritably.
Salazar hummed as he read through what she’d written and held up a hand to prevent her from talking.
When he was done, he turned towards her with a look of questioning and an edge of warning.
“You know,” Morgana said accusingly.
“I do, and your work is not wrong. By all calculations, he should be dead several times over.”
“But he isn’t.”
“No, he is not,” Salazar agreed. “It is quite the marvel, but knowing Harry, it is not as fantastical as this suggests. He truly is exceptional.”
“What are you not telling me?”
“Many things,” Salazar answered. “There are things that are not my place, but what you have in front of you is not even close to the full story. I see you know about the incident with the basilisk and phoenix,” he continued, pointing to one of the formulas she’d written. “Quite the contradictory occurrence of magic.”
“I’ve been helping him connect with the other side of his magic.”
Salazar nodded approvingly.
“He resists it still, but it is hardly surprising given where it came from.”
Morgana frowned.
“Where it came from?”
“Ah, something you don’t know,” Salazar mused aloud. “One of those things that is not mine to tell, but you are aware of his ability.”
“He’s a parselmouth.”
“He is, and it is something I am helping him with.”
“But he is not a relative of yours?”
Salazar shrugged.
“Perhaps he is, but I do not believe that is something we will ever be certain of. What is undeniable is that he possesses an ability I am famous for, and one I have passed on to my children.”
Morgana could only shake her head in confusion.
“I’m lost.”
“And so it shall remain until, when and if, Harry tells you all there is to be told. He is much like you in that he is careful whom he shares his secrets with, but I suspect he has given you much more than you have him.”
Morgana swallowed deeply as she nodded.
“Maybe he will only think me weak.”
Salazar snorted.
“You are anything but weak, but you are fearful of appearing vulnerable. It is understandable. No one wishes to be seen in such a way, but if there is anyone who understands, it will be Harry.”
Morgana said nothing as she looked over her calculations once more.
Harry should be dead.
Even with the protection afforded to him by his mother, it should not have been powerful enough to negate the Killing Curse in such a way.
No, Morgana was missing something; either a magic she had not considered, or something else entirely.
Regardless, she did not have the entire story or knowledge to finish her work, and with a wave of her wand, the calculations vanished.
She would not push Harry to satisfy her curiosity, not if he wasn’t ready to share more than he already had.
“Why did you come here?” she asked.
“Just to check on you. I did not do so after your latest exposure to Myrddin.”
“You mean when Harry threw horse shit at him?”
The corners of Salazar’s lips twitched in amusement.
“I reprimanded the boy for being reckless,” he huffed. “He may be a snake, but he is too much like a lion in many ways.”
“That’s not so bad,” Morgana pointed out.
“It is not,” Salazar muttered, “but you will not tell him I said that. Still, it was a foolish thing to do. It is not wise to draw such attention to himself.”
“Is that why you disguised him? Are you trying to keep him from Myrddin?”
“You are much too perceptive for your own good, but once again, it is not my place to explain it.”
He turned to leave and Morgana found herself more confused after the conversation with the man.
“Wait, can you get powdered dragon claw?”
“Powdered dragon claw?” Salazar asked, quirking a curious eyebrow. “Any breed in particular?”
Morgana nodded.
“Preferably Ridgeback or Vipertooth.”
Salazar frowned.
“What do you need it for, a brew?”
Morgana gestured for him to follow her where her concoction was brewing, and upon arrival, Salazar peered into the copper cauldron.
“Something pertaining to blood?”
“I’m attempting to create a potion that will help the body replenish blood quickly.”
“For people who have been injured or poisoned,” Salazar whispered appreciatively. “That would be quite the breakthrough.”
“If it works.”
Salazar nodded.
“I will get you the claw,” he assured her. “You know, I do not think I tell you enough just how proud I am of you.”
“You are?”
“Of course,” Salazar said with a smile. “You knew what you had to do to be at your very best, and you did it, despite what anyone else thought of it. Keep going, Morgana. I expect more exceptional things from you.”
He left, and Morgana took the time to stir the bubbling potion.
‘He’s right…’
Morgana turned sharply and drew her wand as the voice sounded so closely that it felt as though someone was whispering in her ear.
“Who’s there?” she demanded when she saw no one.
‘You will achieve exceptional things…’
“Harry, if that is you…” Morgana warned, following the voice to where it sounded the second time.
It continued to speak, though she could hear no more of the words. When she reached the lake, the voice seemed to fade into the water, and Morgana listened intently.
‘When the time is right, we will meet…Take my gift and use it well.’
Morgana frowned as something bobbed to surface and began floating towards her. As it came to rest on the shore, she picked it up.
It was an intricately designed glass bottle of sorts, but it was what within that piqued her curiosity.
Two fairies, one as black as night and the second as white day sat perched on a branch, peering at her with human-like eyes.
Morgana had never seen such creatures before.
“What’s wrong?”
She turned to see that Harry had arrived, and Morgana looked down at the fairies once more before shifting her attention towards the lake.
“I don’t know if you would believe it,” she murmured as she inspected the bottle once more.
When Harry said nothing, she looked up at him and he had paled, though his fists were clenched in anger and his eyes seemed to be burning in the moonlight.
“You!” he growled, looking towards the lake.
Morgana followed his gaze and frowned deeply.
Sitting on the surface of the lake was a woman who appeared to be more of a ghost than made of flesh, but more human than she was ghostly at the very same time.
She said nothing as she eyed them for a moment before vanishing beneath the surface with a gentle splash.
Were it not for the ripples in the waters of the lake she’d left behind, Morgana would not have believed what she’d seen.
‘We will speak again soon enough, Harry Potter… Your journey has only just begun…’
“Your journey?” Morgana asked.
Harry merely nodded in response, and she took his hand.
“Maybe it will be our journey,” she whispered, squeezing it comfortingly.