Start-of-Term Feast Part 2

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Merlin followed after Dumbeldore in silence, eyes making notes of any changes. There weren't many, perhaps a new painting or two, but for the most part, nothing had changed. He didn't know if it was a good or bad thing however. He didn't want the magical world to fall so far behind the non-magical. He didn't want them stuck living in the past like he himself had done so. Merlin had stuck to a cabin next to the lake of Avalon for over a hundred years before he gathered the courage to venture out. He would've gone insane if he stayed there. If his only reason for living had become about watching a sign, the slightest ripple in an otherwise still lake, that Arthur's time had come.

He's come to like both sides of the magical and non-magical world. He liked the technology of today, the photographs, the electricity, the modern fashion. He liked the old things that reminded him of home, of his friends and family, he liked the smell of ink and the flourish of a quill. Both sides could learn from each other, Merlin thought. Arthur's job was to reunite both worlds but he didn't get to complete his dream of an equal and fair world because Merlin failed. This time he had no intention of such a thing happening, he would help Harry as much as he could. He just hoped the Goddess knew what she was doing putting the future in the hands of one so young, someone who didn't deserve what destiny had in store for the boy.

Merlin's breath hitched at the sight of the Great Hall. Enchanted night sky still in place, elongated tables serving as seats for the hundreds of magical students. Merlin could just picture what the hall would look like with laughter and smiles decorated around from the children greeting their friends they hadn't seen all summer. It made him smile as he thought of Hogwarts very first start-of-term-feast. He remembered the nervous glances and cautious stares as they looked at the magic intricately woven. During those times, magic had begun to be taboo, something shameful and vile, a mark of the devil in one's child. They had been afraid, but also curious, they had wanted to learn to control their gifts, someone to tell them they were special and that they could still live a normal life.

Dumbledore had split from Merlin to talk to one of the teachers in an emerald green robe, leaving Merlin to his own devices. Merlin spotted the ghosts conversing in a corner of the room, The Fat Friar in monk style clothes conversing with Nearly Headless Nick (Boastful boy he was), the puffy outfit still adjourned to his spectral form. The Bloody Baron was simply taking in the room, their eyes met and the Baron beckoned him over with his gesturing hand. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Merlin made his way over.

"Emrys, I see you survived in one piece,"  the Baron stated, eyeing him over.

"Better than you it seems," Merin teased. They had known each other too long for Roman's death to be a sensitive subject.

"Naturally," he rolled his eyes, drawing out the word. Merlin smirked, happy his companion hadn't changed much.

"Have you seen Helena?" Merlin asked, he hadn't seen his granddaughter, he hoped she came down from Ravenclaw tower, to enjoy some company at the least.

"She will come, but not until the feast is well underway."

Merlin knew Helena was still a touchy subject with the Baron, Merlin too, but it had been over a hundred years since he had last seen her. He nodded, letting the conversation shift from something neither wanted to dwell on. He rather enjoyed his talks with the ghost, he reminded Merlin of Arthur at times with his sarcastic remarks, usually at Merlin's expense, but he found he didn't mind the jabs. Merlin had been gone from Hogwarts for at least a decade by the time Roman had started Hogwarts and a few years after that he had followed Helena to Albania, where he had killed both of them.

Merlin nodded, leaving the ghost behind shortly after to introduce himself to the other teachers.

"Hello," Merlin greeted as he came to a man. He was extremely short and Merlin could detect hints of old magic, more specifically goblin. He offered his hand to shake which the man who was part goblin gripped it back in welcome.

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