Harry Potter and the War of Morgan le Fay

Chapter 9

"Harry! Harry, let's go!"

Harry looked up at the shout from outside and grinned. He shoved his last rasher in his mouth and grabbed his buttered bread before hurrying out the front door, finding Cyrus waiting.

Cyrus Hurst was a village boy Harry's age and the son of Hogwarts' Herbology professor, Elric Hurst. He was similar to Harry in height and build, both thin with subtle muscle, Harry's from a life of forced labour with the Dursleys and Cyrus' apparently from a life of strenuous gardening with his father. Cyrus was more sun kissed than Harry, getting far more time outside. His oval face was framed with long, chopped, honey blonde hair, fluffy bangs parted on his forehead and tucked behind his ears over the long sections that hung down the sides of his face. The rest was pulled into a ponytail that sat on his neck. His sea green eyes were slightly square in shape and he had thin, pink lips.

He had met Cyrus-and a few others-a week earlier when he'd been, once again, watching the village kids while wishing he was one of them. Severus had convinced him to try and make friends, reminding him no one knew who he was in Camelot the way they did back in their time. He'd resisted only for the man to all but physically drag him to the kids; there had been a relatively insistent and aggressive shove though. He'd joined the village kids, quite awkwardly, but, after a few 'you're the time kid, yeah?' comments, he'd been pulled right in. He and Cyrus had been particularly drawn to each other, Cyrus' kind boisterousness acting like a flame for Harry's quiet moth. He didn't know what it was that caused him to become friends with people so much different than him, but he found he really liked Cyrus. Not to mention they would be dormmates come their return to Hogwarts in just under a week.

"Come on, we're gonna be late," Cyrus told him impatiently.

"Harry?"

Harry turned at the voice stopping him before he and Cyrus could take off. Griffin had come down the side of the cottage while Galen was still at the paddock, brushing Aspen, though he was looking towards them.

"Does Severus know where you're going?" Griffin asked, brushing his hands together to remove an accumulation of dirt.

"I'll tell him on the way, promise," Harry replied quickly. "We have to go. Bye!"

He and Cyrus dashed away before Griffin could say anything else. They ran down the road, skidding around corners, and past the goldsmith and mason into the village square. They weaved through villagers, laughing as Breone, the village's English Spaniel, bounded after them, barking her clueless excitement. They were about to head up the north road between the apothecary and the weapon maker when Harry found an arm shooting out and a hand wrapping gently, but firmly around his upper arm, pulling him to a stop. He turned to Severus who had clearly just exited the apothecary with Adeline who was standing behind him.

"Oh, come on, we're going to miss it," Harry said with a bit of a whine.

An arched eyebrow at the uncharacteristic attitude was the immediate response he received.

"Where are you off to in such a hurry?" Severus asked, glancing at Cyrus who was a few steps ahead up the road, waiting anxiously.

"The field," Harry told him. "Guinevere and Godric are finally going to duel today like they promised."

"You remember we have a commitment this afternoon?" Severus gave him a pointed look.

"Yeah, I know, Tintagel Castle," Harry said shortly. "Can we go now?"

"You know where to meet, yes?"

"Here in the square." Harry nodded. "Please, can we go?"

Severus gave him an exasperated smile while Adeline chuckled lightly behind the man. Severus ran his fingers through Harry's hair in a new, unexpected, but becoming common form of affection. "Go, brat. Do not be late later."