Serpent's Bloodline: Legacy of the Basilisk

Once upon a time, long before his name turned into a legend, long before he was remembered as an old, wise man with a wicked sense of humour and one of the greatest wizards of all times, Moridunon Ambreys - later only called 'Merlin' - was nothing but a wanderer.

When he had been young, barely old enough to leave his parents, the raven haired man had gone and travelled the world. He had left and travelled year after year, from one end of the world to the next, barely keeping contact with friends and family.

But, like all things, the wish to travel and see new things ceased over time.

In the end, gold-eyed Moridunon, tired of travelling, returned to the Isles he had called home when he was young.

He had entered the isles of Clas Moridun'n high in the north and had from there traveled south, towards Kaerlud - a settling that would hundreds of years later be part of a city known as Londinium.

Moridunon, a bit tired of wandering, had settled into a clearing for the night. That night when everything had changed for him.

The man who looked to be barely thirty years old- he was by far older, but such was the fate of children born like him - had just eaten and now settled back to sleep, his long, black locks tightly tied with a short leather string for the night and his golden eyes half-lidded, when destiny decided that his life wasn't exciting enough.

So, instead of leaving Moridunon to his well-deserved rest, fate woke him before he could even go to sleep with a loud bang and a blinding flash of white light.

For a moment, the whole clearing lit up, bright as a thousand suns, then a body appeared in the middle of the flash and everything returned to darkness.

The body, face down on the ground, was small compared to a man. For a moment, Moridunon actually wondered if the body was a woman. But then the foreigner groaned and Moridunon reverted his thoughts.

A boy.

The stranger was a boy.

Maybe fourteen or fifteen years old.

Moridunon stared at the child.

Oh, he knew that theoretically the boy in front of him, had he been mundane, or non-magical, would have been considered a man already. However, the boy was magical - therefore a minor, and still in need of a guardian.

Magical children needed their parents until they were at least twenty, maybe even twenty-three years old, until then, a child's magic still wasn't mature enough to shield most of them properly without a parent's guidance. Being without a parent beforehand would not only endanger the child, but also everyone who came into contact with the untrained magic of said child.

There were few exceptions. Trained children, who had finished their education early. The finished education ensured that children knew how to stabilize their magic, which ensured that they could live without a guardian.

But children like that could be felt by other druids - trained magic was always a lot more contained than untrained - and the boy didn't feel like he had finished training at all.

Seeing that the boy was untrained and therefore not yet old enough to be alone, Moridunon took a closer look at him. He had short, oddly cut raven hair. The clothes he was wearing were made of a strange material that Moridunon couldn't remember encountering before and their cut… Moridunon had never seen anything like that. The tunic was too short, the pants… well… the blue colour was unheard of in clothing and the material looked like nothing that could have been made anywhere near Clas Moridun'n or the countries Moridunon had visited… The material was foreign and they seemed to hold up without a girdle.

Of course, there was also the fact that the clothes seemed to be cut for an entirely different person, because they were hanging on the boy. The tunic had a bright coloring Moridunon had never seen before. They were no hide or fur, like Mordiunon knew clothes to be.

Moridunon would have thought that they were high ranking clothes, if they had fitted the boy and had fewer holes. As they were now, they seemed more rags than clothes. And rags for a boy like the child in front of him…

No, something was wrong.

Wrong with the clothes.

Wrong with the boy.

Wrong with the whole situation.

"A young druid," Moridunon figured with a frown, deeply concerned. "Not old enough to have fully matured magic. So most likely accidental magic brought him here."

But druids where revered - young ones nearly as much as older ones - so, no matter how Moridunon looked at it, the clothes the lad was wearing simply weren't appropriate for his assumed rank.

Nevertheless, Moridunon hesitated for another moment.

No matter how innocent the child looked, there were druids out there who were twisted inside - and willing to twist children's minds until the child in question was as twisted as they were themselves.

Moridunon had met people like that.

Moridunon had fought people like that - and he still shuddered in disgust at the memory.

In the end, no matter Moridunon's experiences in the past, his need to help won out and he stepped forward to take a look at the lad.

Nevertheless, no matter how much he wanted to help, Moridunon still took his staff with him before approaching the young stranger.

The boy was unconscious.

He had blood on one side of his face - a cut that had bled quite a bit - and after Moridunon had crouched down next to him and touched him to assess the rest of him, Moridunon also noticed a slight concussion which was easily treated - if not fully mended in another day or two.

As if it had only been the concussion that kept him unconscious, the boy groaned slightly just after Moridunon healed him.

His eyelids fluttered.

"Are you awake, child?" Moridunon asked but the only answer he got was another groan. Then, the boy's eyes blinked open, revealing a stunning green that had Moridunon blinking in surprise.

Green.

Moridunon couldn't remember any magical or mundane who had ever had eyes as green as the boy's - with one exception…

Sadly, the exception made the explanation how the boy could have ended up alone even worse. Children from that family were jealously guarded - so a boy going missing should have basically been impossible.

For a moment, Moridunon's and the child's gazes interlocked, then, the boy sat up gingerly, his eyes travelling away from Moridunon's golden ones to look around the clearing.

The child frowned, obviously not expecting to wake up far away from the place he had been before.

And it had to be far away, because Moridunon couldn't see even the slightest bit of recognition in the boy's eyes, only confusion and a slight intrigue, as if the child had never seen a forest like the one surrounding them before.

Moridunon wondered if the child's home had no forests - or if the forests looked far different to the untamed wilderness with its thick coppice of shrubs and other kinds of wood.

For a moment Moridunon thought back to Persia and the different landscape he had encountered there and he wondered if the landscape there would have been more familiar for the boy…

On the other hand, the clearing Moridunon had searched out was full of old and very large trees. Two of them had been used by Moridunon to span a leather awning for the night - just in case rain started to fall. The clearing was surrounded by shrubbery, some raspberry bushes, some currant ones and even a single bilberry shrub.

A bit further away, a small well could be found that gave enough clear water for Moridunon to have a comfortable camp for the night to come.

The boy took all of that in and frowned even further, his green eyes full of confusion and no understanding for his current situation.

It was clear that the boy had no idea where he was and what to think of the place he had woken up at.

"A burst of accidental magic and suddenly he is somewhere he has never been before," Moridunon thought while looking the boy in front of him over. "He seems not old enough to be without a parent. His magic is simply not mature enough to be fully controlled by himself."

While there existed some differences between one druid to the next, the times when the magic of a child matured where nearly constant. The first time it would happen to a child would be at ten or eleven. That was the time a child would usually start to train in gaining control since training before that was basically useless because no matter what, a child wouldn't be able to direct their magic until that point of time.

The next change would happen between about seventeen and eighteen. At that point, the magic of the child would start to fully stabilize and accidental magic would totally cease to exist. After that, the last time magic would mature was between twenty-two or twenty-three years of age. Only after that time, a child would have their full strength and all the abilities it was born with. At that time, magic would be stabilized and under absolute control of the trained druid.

On the other hand, if a child wasn't trained, it would be at that final maturity that they would die. Most untrained druids would die earlier - especially if they tried to suppress their own magic - but the strongest, even those who ha managed to survive against all odds, would still die at that point.

The child in front of Moridunon looked too young to have experienced more than the first maturity, so seeing him appear out of nowhere in a bout of accidental magic wasn't that surprising at all. Children his age had done stranger things, as far as Moridunon knew.

Still, no matter how common accidental magic was, it didn't explain why the boy had appeared near Moridunon. Normally, bouts of accidental magic like that were there to ensure a child's safety. Sending a child to a stranger, who knows how many miles away from home, was anything but safe for the child…

Moridunon couldn't figure out how accidental magic could have brought the child to him when accidental magic's sole purpose was to bring a child to safety.

And that thought made Moridunon frown.

His eyes travelled down the child's clothing.

The clothing, foreign as they were, were clearly rags.

The shoes… Moridunon had no idea what kind of material they had been made off, but they sure didn't look like leather. They were ragged and kept together by barely more than a thread.

The clothing itself was far too big for the child and the child…

Moridunon's thoughts trailed off in dark thoughts when he noticed that the boy was clearly a bit too thin for it to be natural.

Did his family have problems?

Famine?

It wouldn't be unusual… but nevertheless, for a druid's child to be unable to get enough to eat was troubling. Normally, druid parents always looked out for their children first since they were a lot more vulnerable until they at least matured a second time…

In that moment, the child's bright green eyes returned Moridunon's gaze.

Moridunon looked back somberly.

"Where do you come from, lad?" Moridunon asked. The lad starred at him as if he was a foreign creature.

Did he not speak Cymráeg?

Moridunon supposed that it shouldn't surprise him too much. Cymraég was one of six dialects the people of Clas Moridun'n spoke. Moridunon guessed that people from outside would see all six dialects as one language, but there were too many differences between at least half of them for people all over the Isles to communicate without trouble.

Indeed, more than two thousand years in the future, most people would think that the Isles had only had one language at that time. They'd call it Common Brittonic.

"Where do you come from, lad?" Moridunon asked again, this time in Brezhoneg, another dialect that was spoken more near Kaerlud, not sure if he should continue with the languages of Clas Moridun'n or try Persian immediately. Again no reaction.

For a moment, Moridunon thought again about trying Persian, but then, jumping that far thanks to accidental magic would imply the worst, so he didn't want it to be true.

So Moridunon tried the next language: Kernewek, then Gaelg, Gaelige and Gàighlig. Nothing.

In the end, he gritted his teeth and tried Persian, nearly expecting the boy to react.

Nothing.

Another try with one of the Asian languages he spoke, Norse, Greek and Egyptian. Still nothing - and there was no other language Moridunon could think of that he knew how to speak.

The lad had not shown interest in any of the languages Moridunon had used.

So wHere did he come from, that he didn't know any of these languages?

Then the lad opened his mouth and babbled something. The language he used had a slightly familiar sound, a little like Norse, but as much as Moridunon tried, something prevented him from actually understanding the lad.

A Norse dialect?

After all, the Isles had their dialect - so why shouldn't the Norse have their dialects as well?

"Say it again," he said in Norse but of course, the boy didn't do like he was asked.

Clearly, he hadn't understood Moridunon's words any better than Moridunon had his.

Moridunon sighed.

Not a dialect, then?

Maybe another country with a language with little relation with Norse?

Perhaps a country behind the final boundary of the Norse lands?

How far away would that be?!

"He must be from the other side of the world," Moridunon mused and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Powerful accidental magic indeed. His parents must be proud of him…"

Of course they would only be able to be proud of the lad if Moridunon found some way to send him back to them. If he didn't, they would be nothing but worried, instead.

But to get the child back to where he belonged, Moridunon would have to find a way to communicate first. He stared at the boy, pondering.

How should he start…?

He stopped mid-thought, the answer reaching him the moment he had started to wonder.

It might not be much - but at least the first step was an easy one…

"Moridunon Ambreys," Moridunon said, pointing at his chest. "Moridunon Amrbeys sā-Mons Ambres."

The lad blinked, his face showing his bewilderment. Then his eyes cleared and he seemed to understand Moridunon's actions.

"Harry," He said. "Harry Potter."

Moridunon wrinkled his nose in dislike.

Harry.

That name might have been perfectly normal where the child came from - but on Clas Moridun'n, people would look at Moridunon strangely if he used it.

In the ears of the Isles' people, the name sounded like something a baby would coo. It sounded like something a parent might give a child to show they cherished it - but nothing a lad like the boy in front of him should use as a formal name.

Maybe it was a normal first name in the home country of the lad - but he was in Clas Moridun'n and here the name didn't fit for a young boy like him. Here on the Isles, a name like that was used by parents for their baby boy, a name of endearment, but not by anybody else.

Moridunon frowned.

He knew some names that used 'Harry' as an endearment as long as the child in question was still a toddler; names like Haraldr, Harastrix, Hadrian - but the child had solely named himself 'Harry'…

It was nothing Moridunon would like to be seen calling the lad in public. People would look at him funny if he'd actually went and cooed at a lad of maybe fifteen years of age.

Moridunon sighed and unconsciously slipped into his mother's native language when he finally went and decided on a course of action.

He couldn't coo at a lad - so there was only one solution…

" I will have to search for another name to call the lad, " he murmured under his breath, his voice sliding through the hissed vowels like it was made for speaking like a serpent.

" Why? What's wrong with my name? "

Moridunon's head snapped up when the lad actually managed to produce some words Moridunon actually understood. One moment Moridunon was absolutely speechless, then he suddenly understood why he had actually understood the lad this time around.

" A Parselan," Moridunon shook his head, " I never even thought of trying to use Parseltongue. "

" Parselan? " The lad asked. " What's a Parselan? "

" It's a person who can speak to snakes, " Moridunon answered absentmindedly while his thoughts turned towards the fact that the boy actually spoke Parseltongue. It felt strange to speak to a person who wasn't his mother in the language of the snakes, but it seemed as if Parseltongue was the only language they had in common.

" A Parselan is a parselmouth? " The lad confirmed.

" Parselmouth? " That was a word Moridunon had never heard before.

What an odd word to use when it came to a Parselan…

Moridunon wondered how many differences existed between Moridunon's Parseltongue and the boy's.

Dialects?

Variations that only occurred in the boy's home country?

Other reasons?

Moridunon shook his head.

It didn't matter.

He finally found a language that was similar enough that he and the lad could talk. A different word here and there should be easily explainable - and was a small price to pay for understanding.

" If a Parselmouth is someone who speaks to snakes, then it seems to be the same, " Moridunon finally answered. The boy stared at him intensely, but finally nodded.

" Well, yes, then I'm a… Parselan, " he finally said, then he stopped and his gaze intensified. " Are we talking in Parseltongue? "

" You can't tell? "

The lad shook his head.

" I never could. It all sounds like English for me. "

The word was foreign to Moridunon. English… whatever language it was, it hadn't been translated into Parseltongue by the lad and therefore didn't have a corresponding association in Moridunon's mind. Not that Moridunon expected a translation of the language name. The serpent's tongue rarely had a word for the different human tongues.

" Eng-glish? " Moridunon therefore asked. "Is that the language you are normally speaking? "

The lad - Harry - nodded.

" What's the name of the land you are from, lad? "

" Britain. " The boy answered and Moridunon crooked an eyebrow. That word sounded somehow familiar. While most people called the isles they lived on Clas Moridun'n, there was also another name commonly used by mostly the people living around Kaerlud.

It took a second for Moridunon to remember that name.

Britannia. They called it Britannia… which sounded a lot like the word the lad had used right now…

" Britain - you are talking about Britannia? "

" Britannia? " The lad stopped and seemed to think about that. " Well… yes… but I have never heard someone calling Britain Britannia in a normal conversation before… "

" You do not speak any of the languages of Britannia, " Moridunon clarified. Originally, Moridunon had wanted to say 'dialects' instead of 'languages' - but that word seemed to be one of the untranslatable ones… which made Moridunon wonder about how a language could have different words for the same thing, yet no concept of dialects…

The lad meanwhile blinked at him in surprise and confusion. " But I am! " He insisted. " I speak English - like everyone in Britain! "

" Lad… there is Cymráeg, Kernewek, Gaelg, Gaelige, Brezhoneg and Gàighlig - there is no 'English' to speak. "

" C… Cymáeg?! " The lad stared unbelieving at Moridunon. " Gaelige?! What are these bloody languages? I've never even heard of them! "

Moridunon snorted.

" You definitely would have, if you were from here, " he pointed out.

The boy looked around with a frown on his face.

" I doubt that I am, " he said, his gaze traveling over the trees surrounding the clearing. " Wherever I am… it looks foreign. I can't believe that this place belongs in Britain somehow. But I know that Britannia is another name for Britain, so it should be the same, at least theoretically! "

That answer stopped Moridunon's thought-process from one moment to the next.

The boy was sure that Britannia was a different name for his home country.

The boy spoke a language that sounded a bit familiar, yet foreign all the same.

The boy didn't recognize his surroundings and even went so far to describe them as foreign…

Did that mean that Britannia wasn't Britain?

Or did it mean that Moridunon was missing something when it came to the answers the lad had given him so far?

Maybe a country with a similar name?

Maybe… something else?

Moridunon interrupted the second thought. He wouldn't ponder the unknown until he hadn't manage to rule out every other possibility that would at least vaguely explain the lad's odd circumstances…

Nevertheless, Moridunon couldn't help but wonder.

With a shake of his head, Moridunon finally decided to go and actually ensure that there wasn't a possible explanation that Moridunon had somehow missed…

In the end, Moridunon decided to check the more likely of the possibilities by asking some further questions.

He had been travelling the last fifteen years throughout Persia, a small part of Asia, Greece, Egypt and the Norse lands, where the Germanic tribes lived - so asking the boy if he recognised any of the places Moridunon could name might work.

" Tell me: Have you ever heard about Lacedaemon? " Moridunon finally asked, going with an advancing state which had slowly been gaining renown in recent years. " Or maybe Massalia? "

Massalia was one of the most important trading ports that Moridunon knew of.

" Lacedaemon? " The lad asked bewildered. " Massalia? "

Moridunon frowned, but decided to not give up immediately.

" Lacedaemon's main settlement is Sparta, " Moridunon said, concentrating on the first question. " Have you ever heard of Sparta? "

" Yes," the lad answered bewildered.

" That's good, " Moridunon sighed. " So tell me: where is Sparta from your home? Is it in the West? The North? The South? The East? "

Now the lad looked as if he was utterly confused.

" It is nowhere from my home, I think, " he finally answered. " I've no idea if the city of Sparta still stands, actually. I just know that the Spartans don't exist anymore. "

" They don't? "

The answer was something that Moridunon hadn't wanted to be true, but at the same time had already suspected.

The boy nodded.

" Their kingdom has been gone for… I don't know… a few hundred years? "

Which only left one conclusion - no matter how much Moridunon had wanted to deny the theory at first.

" How many winters in the future are you from?! " Moridunon asked, feeling overwhelmed by his proven yet so unlikely theory, while in the same moment, the lad cried.

" When by Merlin am I?! "

Those last words from the lad just affirmed Moridunon's conclusion.

The lad was not from this time.

"He travelled in time… " Moridunon thought a bit stunned that something like that was actually possible. "He actually travelled in time."

It sounded unbelievable - yet it was the only conclusion that fit the evidence.

And yet, Moridunon wasn't sure how much he could help the lad with his question of when he was. He had travelled the world, had seen different cultures and people. And Moridunon hadn't been travelling for just a few years - he had travelled quite a few centuries. He had seen people change, had seen cultures change and had learned that nothing was stable - so he was quite sure that no matter what he told the child, he wouldn't be able to answer a question like when… especially when there were hundreds of different ways to count the years and measure time.

The only one who could eventually measure the time between the here and now and the time the lad had come from was the lad himself.

" Can you possibly guess how far back you are? " Moridunon asked the lad.

The lad frowned and Moridunon sighed.

There was not only the problem with the boy actually having travelled in time, but also with the fact that the boy most likely didn't have any family anywhere near here - and a young druid without family or guidance… Moridunon sighed and shook his head while contemplating if he could get the child to Persia and his family.

He dismissed that thought.

The lad's family wouldn't know about the lad's time jump and Moridunon knew that if they told anyone, there would be repercussions for the lad.

Somebody who knew the future would be highly valuable - and never able to live a normal life.

That wasn't something Moridunon wanted the lad to face… but, what other possibilities were there?

It was at that moment the child hesitatingly spoke up.

" I… I don't know, " the lad said. " I've never been good in History… well, it's a dull subject anyway… and Binns definitely doesn't help… "

The lad pondered that a little bit more.

" Guess some things might have happened in between the story of Sparta I know and my times… Hermione definitely would know all that, but… " the lad shrugged at that. " But it has definitely have to be some time. A few hundred years at least. "

" A few hundred years. "

Well, that would explain the foreign and strange clothes the boy was wearing as well as the language he was speaking.

" So English is the language of another conqueror of Britannia? " Moridunon asked to clarify the language problem while at the same time wondering who else but the Celts had decided to make Britannia their home. He knew, the lad would likely not know, but it couldn't hurt to hear a second theory.

" Er… " the lad seemed to be a little bit unsure at that. " I think 'English' is… well will be the name of one of your languages… or something like that… I don't know. But even if it is one of your languages… it… well… the words will a little bit… change over time… I think… "

" Surely, " Moridunon agreed. He had lived more than enough centuries to attest to the fact that languages changed - by wind and fire, even Parseltongue seemed to be prone to changing over time considering the different word the lad had used, even if it seemed to change a lot slower than the languages humans spoke. " Languages change over time. It's a fact of life ."

The lad crooked his head and looked at Moridunon with a frown as if he couldn't understand how Moridunon could speak of something like that with such surety.

Moridunon looked a bit amused at the child.

" You're still young, " he told the child. " You will learn over time. "

The lad frowned.

" How…? "

" Just like every young lad, " Moridunon said, amused, " you will grow old. "

For a moment, the lad looked about to object, but then he blinked and frowned.

" My teacher… he lived longer than average… that's normal? "

Moridunon frowned, but then guessed that the lad was probably like most children who lived with just their family and a few neighbouring magical families - unused to more than just a few druids… and therefore not used to seeing more than a few old druids, if any at all.

Of course, there was also the fact that not only were there different life-expectations with druids - depending on their heritage - but also the fact that the lad most likely hadn't grown up with the most of his family in Persia… if they were still there and hadn't moved to Clas Moridun'n all together some time in the future…

" It's normal for magical beings to live longer than non-magicals, " Moridunon finally settled on.

" Oh, " the boy said, before hesitating for a moment. " Say, Mori… Mordi… "

Moridunon laughed a bit.

" Moridunon Ambreys, " he corrected the lad. " It's Moridunon Ambreys ."

The lad sighed.

" Can't I just say 'Mori' ?" he asked with a frown. " Mori… Mordidu… "

He stopped and sighed.

" Moridunon Amreys… Ambreys," he corrected himself slowly. " Is such a long name! "

" It's part title, part name, " Moridunon corrected.

The boy blinked in surprise.

" Title? "

" Ambreys, " the older man explained. " The name is part of my duties. I am responsible for Mons Ambres, so my name implies that responsibility. "

" It's not part of your name… or a last name? " the child asked surprised.

"Last name? " Moridunon asked with a frown.

" Family name, " the lad corrected himself.

That at least Moridunon understood.

" It's a duty, " he said. " Just like your family's name came from their duty. If I will ever have a child, they will be Ambreys like I am. It will be a family name one day. "

" Potter was a duty? " the child asked confused and Moridunon sighed.

" Your family's name - not their mundane occupation, " he corrected the child.

The lad frowned and opened his mouth to ask further questions, but Moridunon interrupted him before he could ask further.

" But if you really don't like my name, " he added a bit amused. " Most people in this day and age call me Myrddin. Myrddin Emrys. "

The child blinked, but nodded slowly.

" Myrddin, then, " he agreed. " Do I really have to call you Myrddin Emrys? "

Moridunon sighed, feeling more amused than angry at the disrespect of a child to his elder.

" You may, " he agreed, before looking the child over.

His clothes were made in a way that Moridunon had never seen.

His shoes were strange.

His language not even understandable.

" How well do you know the night sky? " he asked the lad, changing the topic before the lad could come up with even more silly ways to change his name.

The child frowned.

" I… I learned some… but… " he looked upwards and his frown deepened.

" Not enough, " Moridunon concluded with a sigh. " Not enough to understand or see the difference to what it was like in the time you came from - if there was a difference at all. You might be only from a few hundred years in the future, after all. "

The lad sighed but nodded.

" I'm sorry ."

Moridunon waved it off.

" Don't be. You're a child. You're still learning. "

Nevertheless, if the child really was only from a few hundred years in the future, he might live long enough to see his family again… even if he couldn't find a way back.

Moridunon narrowed his eyes at the lad.

Time travel.

Moridunon might not have any experience with it - but he also knew some of the laws of old and he guessed that they wouldn't change when time travel was added… which also might mean some trouble in the future for the child in question…

He sighed inwardly and dismissed the thought.

There would be time for that later.

Until then, there were other important things to think about.

" Myrddin," the child said in that moment. " Do… do you have a way to bring me back? I mean… home? "

Moridunon frowned.

" To the future? " he asked rhetorically and sighed. " Time travel… "

Moridunon trailed off and shook his head.

" Accidental magic has its reasons, " he told the child. " So ending up here will also have its reasons. "

The child opened his mouth, clearly to object to something Moridunon had said, before closing his mouth again, frowning.

Moridunon watched the lad with attentive eyes.

" You might find a way if you dedicate your time searching, " he told the child. " But until then, there won't be a way for you to return to your home. "

The lad's frown deepened.

" Searching? "

Moridunon sighed.

"I am a master in my own way, but my duties have never contained time, " he said. " You will have to learn about it from somebody else. "

The lad sighed, but nodded in acceptance.

Nevertheless, the question reminded Moridunon about the child's predicament.

The lad was out of his time, without family, without any kind of relatives near him - and without someone who could train him in his magic. Of course, there was his family - but Moridunon feared for the lad if he actually handed him over.

The Persian family would look after him, Moridunon didn't doubt it, but the family would use the lad's knowledge - and Moridunon didn't want to ensure imprisonment of the lad by the family, even if they might mean well.

Nevertheless, the child needed the training… and without the family, there was no-one there who could train him but Moridunon.

Moridunon sighed and then gestured towards the lad to follow him before he returned to his camp.

The lad followed.

He gestured for the child to sit down and then pulled out some of his dinner that he had planned to eat for breakfast.

" It's late, " he said. " And you're in parts unknown for you. You will stay with me for the time being. "

The lad frowned.

" You mean until I find someone who can bring me home? " he asked but Moridunon shook his head.

" No, " he corrected the lad. " You will stay with me until you're old enough and trained enough to stand on your own feet. Then - and only then - you may go and search for a way back on your own ."

Immediately, the lad opened his mouth to protest, but Moridunon silenced him with a look.

" Don't, " he interrupted the lad before he could say something. " You're untrained. You need somebody to train you - or there'll be no chance that you will be able to even attempt magic as complex as the kind most likely required for time travel. "

The child frowned, clearly wanting to protest for a moment anyway, then he stopped, thought it over and sighed.

" I guess, " he said reluctantly.

Moridunon's lips twitched at that answer.

The lad was still a child - no matter how reluctant he was to agree to anything that would make him look like one.

" You're going to need your staff if you want to continue your training, " he added and looked at the lad, expecting him to pull out his staff and check it over for damage.

Instead, the boy frowned.

" Staff? " he repeated.

" The thing you use to help you manipulate your magic, " Moridunon explained and pointed at his own in his hand.

Didn't they have staffs in the future?

The lad blinked in surprise, but then he searched his clothes before running back to the space he had been lying in when he arrived to search the floor.

" Where is my wand? Do… do you have it? " He finally asked, still searching.

Now it was Moridunon's turn to be confused. " Your wand? " he repeated and wondered if that was one word that had changed over time even in Parseltongue. " Is this the tool you use as a conduit for your magic? "

The lad looked at the staff Moridunon was carrying, hesitated and then nodded.

" I guess? " he said, sounding a bit unsure. " But a wand is smaller. I doubt we have long… staffs like yours anymore… "

Well, that made sense.

Moridunon himself was shrinking his staff often - if they had found a way in the future to have it constantly short while still being able to contain all the ingredients then it was not surprising that they had smaller staffs.

" Maybe you lost it before coming here, " Moridunon mused thoughtfully.

The lad fixed his glance at something just he could see, while he was thinking back.

" Maybe, " he finally said. " I… was in trouble, back home. There were Dementors… I… I could not focus and the Dementor started to suck out my soul… I… might have let it go… "

Moridunon knew nothing about Dementors. He had heard about the creatures, knew that they were one of the Firbolg - immortal magical creatures - but he had never met them. They lived far beyond Egypt. Had they come here, to Britain in the future?

"You can't change it anyway, so stop pondering," Moridunon reprimanded himself aloud.

" Well, you will need a staff and a new master to teach you until you find a way back to where you come from. I already told you, I'm willing to be your new master, nevertheless, you will have to look into a way back on your own once you're trained. I won't stop you from looking, but it'll only be by chance if you find something. Until then, I will teach you all I know - but first I will take you to Kaerlud to get you a staff. You'll need a staff to properly learn how to focus your magic… "

He looked the lad over.

There was just one more important question when it came to teaching magic.

" How many winters have you seen, lad? " he asked the child.

The lad blinked, a bit confused, but answered nevertheless.

" Er… fifteen since a few days."

That meant that Moridunon had been right with judging the lad's age. The lad had just matured one time in his life. It also meant that they'd have some time until the child's next maturity - no matter if Moridunon's suspicion was right or not.

He sighed and then gestured for the child to return to their camp for the night.

" Let's settle for the night and tomorrow we'll start travelling towards Kaerlud, " he decided. " On the way, I'll also start judging your knowledge of magic and teach you the languages of Clas Moridun'n. "

The child frowned, but in the end acquiesced.

For the night, Moridunon ensured that the lad would be the one laying in the safer part of his camp - near the trees and away from the clearing - while Moridunon took the unsafe part where wild animals would reach first.

Of course, there were wards that could be drawn for protection, but those were intricate and time-consuming, so doing it the mundane way was his best option.

The next morning, they started to wander the moment the sun rose.

" We're walking? " the lad asked while falling into step with Moridunon. " What about brooms? "

Moridunon frowned.

" Brooms? " he asked.

The lad shrugged.

" Well, I know that Floo-travel is out of question… but port-keys? Brooms? "

At that, Moridunon sighed.

" I have no idea what a port-key is, " he said. " And I can't even imaging why you'd need a broom to travel. "

The boy shrugged and then launched into a vague explanation that didn't actually contain a lot of information about how to build something like the things described.

Moridunon guessed that while the elders of the boy's time might have known, the boy hadn't been trained long enough to even understand the theoretical aspects.

" They don't exist here, " he said when the lad stopped speaking. " I fear we'll have to use the old-fashioned way and walk. "

The answer was a sigh, but the child accepted it with a nod.

Moridunon decided to distract the lad and instead started to ask him questions to see how much he knew about magic.

He found he wasn't impressed with the answers.

The boy had no idea about rituals, about runes or their equivalent in the future and no idea how to even start using Arithmetic to calculate his magic. He was passable at plants and herbs, less so in potions and reading the night sky seemed to be centered on things that Moridunon had never heard about - or maybe knew under different names.

In the end, Moridunon decided to return to the basics.

" Did your parents teach you to control your magic? " Moridunon knew that this was the most important question.

" Er… no. " This was an answer Moridunon hadn't expected.

" No? Your parents didn't teach you any kind of control?! "

" I… my parents are dead, sir. "

" But your relatives trained you, didn't they? "

It was the duty of the elders to train the young ones, after all, so no matter what, the lad should have been trained at least a bit…

" Er… my aunt doesn't have any magic, " the child answered nervously. " But I went to Hogwarts. "

It sounded natural, as if the lad actually expected Moridunon to know what he was talking about - as if that man was somebody well known all over the Isles in the lad's time.

It felt bad to disappoint the lad, but Moridunon wasn't willing to lie even for something small like a famous teacher. Training was built on trust, so truth was the best way to gain it.

" Hogwarts? I fear I have never heard of him. Is he your master? "

As soon as he asked the question he knew he had asked the wrong thing because suddenly the child's face fell and pure horror crossed his features.

"Lad? Are you alright?" Moridunon asked worried.

" I… no! No! No! No! NO! " The lad suddenly cried. " Please… please tell me you know Hogwarts! "

Moridunon frowned.

It was a man.

A single man.

The lad shouldn't have been so upset about the fact that Moridunon didn't know him even if Hogwarts might have been the old man - the teacher - the lad had mentioned before. Every life started some time, and maybe the life of this master hadn't started yet, or he wasn't well known yet…

It shouldn't have mattered.

It was a little thing, in the end - even if it might mean that the lad was a bit further in the past than he had thought. A year less or more shouldn't be that upsetting, after all…

Nevertheless, the child ended up in tears with that revelation.

For a moment, Moridunon hesitated.

Then he sighed and reached out towards the child to hug him.

Normally, tradition said that children not your own or not your relatives' shouldn't be touched - it was basically as bad as lying with somebody else's wife - but the lad was alone and the only one he had was Moridunon - so touching the child was what Moridunon did, even if it basically meant that he promised the child to be his teacher.

" I'm sorry, lad," he said. " But that's how it is. People are born, they live, they die - and even if they end up well-known, at the beginning, they start like everybody else. "

The answer was tears, thousands and thousands of tears.

Moridunon pulled him closer and the lad turned into his embrace.

Fingers tuck into Moridunon's tunic and the lad took ahold of him as if his life depended on it.

Moridunon grimaced.

It was bad.

Really, really bad.

That, at least, he understood even though he didn't understand the reason why.

In the end, Moridunon didn't know how long it took him to calm the lad down before he finally let go of Moridunon to wipe away his tear tracks.

" Are you alright, lad? " he asked.

The child sniffed, but nodded, and Moridunon made a mental note that he had to train the lad in customs as well. It seemed that customs had changed over time and Moridunon wasn't sure if it was for the better…

" If you are… care to explain what shook you so much? "

" I… well… Hogwarts isn't a person, " the lad finally replied. " In my time it's… it's a place… to learn. And… it's been a place to learn for at least a thousand years. If… if you don't know it… "

And suddenly Moridunon understood why the lad had suddenly been that distressed.

A place to learn, founded a thousand years in the past - and yet, Moridunon had never heard about it ever before.

The way it sounded, that place had to have been huge.

There must have been at least fifty or more people there to learn.

And it must have been a good place to learn, well known all over Clas Moridun'n.

No wonder the lad had expected Moridunon to know about it.

No wonder the lad had been so shocked when Moridunon told him he had never heard about it.

" I guess it's well-known where you come from? " Moridunon asked.

The lad nodded.

" Everyone goes there, " he agreed. " Well, everybody in Britain. "

Moridunon was guessing that the lad had exaggerated the whole thing a bit, but he acknowledged that at least quite a few children must have gone there to learn their magics.

He wasn't sure if that was such a good idea considering the boy's obviously lacking education, but he guessed that the reason the lad didn't know those things lied in the different times he came from…

Not that Moridunon agreed with whatever reason might have been named by the lad's teachers!

Far too many important things were unknown to the lad, and it would be Moridunon who'd be forced to correct them.

In the end, Moridunon just commented on the one important fact that the lad had drawn from the conclusion.

"This means, you ended up a lot further back in the past than you originally thought," he concluded with a sigh.

This also meant something else for the lad: he had no way to return home until he found one and until Moridunon could either dismiss his guess as wrong or find facts to conclude it as right, the child would also be forced to think that he'd never see his friends and family ever again. He wouldn't live long enough to do so - even if the lad was one of those few druids who'd live longer than a few hundred years, which weren't many, and even fewer when it came to those who would reach a thousand years of age.

" Even if his blood might show that it's pure enough, " Moridunon thought with a mental sigh. " Reaching a thousand years for an Olde one with the blood of the immortal creatures in their veins is nearly impossible. "

Moridunon knew that.

There were precious few in this day and age who had pure enough blood to live that long - in the future, there'd be even less…

" Yes," The boy replied in that moment while trying to stop his still flowing tears. " And if I don't find a way back, I'll never see my friends again - and they'll never know what happened to me either."

Moridunon understood the lad's fears.

The child had been ripped out of his time and now there was a possibility that he'd never return home… nonetheless, it wouldn't do the lad any good if he dwelt on it right now. There was nothing he could do until he was old enough to find a way back home by himself.

" There's always an answer, " he said instead. " If you search for it, you might find it. But for now, you won't be able to go searching - you need someone to guide you, you need someone to teach you. I will do it, for now. Everything else will come later. "

With that, Moridunon changed the topic and started to expand the lad's knowledge of plants.

For the first few minutes, the child looked as if he was unwilling to listen, but in the end he huffed and actually focused on the lessons.

Of course, that didn't mean that it turned out to be the last discussion with the lad, instead, it was just the first in many.

" Why do you always call me 'lad'? " the child complained just a few hours later. " I have a name! "

" It's a baby's name, " Moridunon countered. " I'm not going to go around and call you a baby's name. "

The child frowned.

" It's a normal name, " he countered. " I bet there are at least a dozen Harry James Potters all over Britain! "

That actually stopped Moridunon mid-step.

" Harryjames? " he repeated. " Your name is Harryjames?! "

The lad frowned at him.

" Yes… " he agreed slowly, clearly not understanding why it had stopped Moridunon in his tracks.

The older man sighed.

Of course, the lad wouldn't understand.

Harryjames, unlike Harry, was a very respectable, even exclusive name. Normally, it was a name only used in the Pendragon family - one of the oldest lines in Clas Moridun'n who were, thanks to their dragon heritage, masters of the land - but maybe that had changed over time…

It wouldn't be the first name which changed that way, after all.

But the lad didn't seem to understand it's meaning.

"Alright, " Moridunon finally agreed. " Harryjames it is. I will call you by your name from now on. "

The lad frowned.

" It's just Harry, " he started, but Moridunon stopped him before he could continue.

" I'm not using a nickname, " he countered the child's objection. " It's either 'Harryjames' or 'lad', choose. "

The child mulled over that for a moment before he sighed.

" Harry James it is, " he agreed and Moridunon nodded before he went back to teaching.

Over the next weeks, Moridunon slowly started to introduce the lad to the languages of Clas Moridun'n, added to his herb and plant knowledge as well as his knowledge about stars, and also started him on writing and the first attempts at controlled magic.

Of course the lad had to make it difficult.

" I can't do magic! " he objected when Moridunon actually suggested to learn how to levitate a stone. It was one of the easiest things to start with when it came to a child's magic. " I don't have my wand! "

Moridunon sighed.

"You don't need a staff for this," he countered in Cymráeg. "It's an easy manipulation, not a complicated runic spell. We definitely won't start on those or on rituals until you have your staff. Runes might be able to support a spell by themselves, but for a beginner or for long spell sequences, working with a staff is always easier when it comes to them."

The child just glared at him.

" I have no idea what you're talking about, Myrddin! " he told Moridunon unhappily in Parseltongue instead of in Cymráeg, which he should have been using. " And I can tell you that without a wand, whatever you want me to do won't happen! "

Moridunon sighed a bit at the disrespect.

" Don't argue with me, " he reprimanded the child, before pointedly continuing in Cymráeg. "It's unbecoming for a child - especially if you don't have valuable arguments to counter me with and use disrespect while talking to me!"

The lad's glare intensified, but he nodded anyway.

"My apologies, Master," he said in Cymráeg, clearly gritting his teeth.

Moridunon sighed, before picking up a stone and handing it to the lad.

"Do as I say," he commanded in the same language.

The lad's lips pressed together, but he took the stone in his left and then used his right to make some odd gestures.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" he cried and Moridunon couldn't help but wonder who had taught the lad such falderal.

He sighed and took the stone from the lad before letting it rise in his hand without any unnecessary gestures or words.

The lad gawked.

" What?… How? " he stuttered, falling back into Parseltongue. " That… that shouldn't be possible! "

Moridunon sighed again.

"It's a simple manipulation," he countered, letting the lad's lapse into Parseltongue slide for the moment. "Of course it's possible."

For a moment the child frowned, but when Moridunon handed back the stone he took it and then stared at it.

Moridunon let him, a bit amused when the lad's face took on a highly concentrated look which ended with the lad nearly walking into a tree or two if Moridunon hadn't reached out and steered him away from them.

Amusingly enough, the lad didn't even notice.

It took nearly three hours until something changed.

One moment the lad was still holding the stone, the next it shot up into the sky as if somebody had thrown it upwards with all their strength.

Of course, that surprised the lad that much that he lost concentration, and therefore his control over his magic.

But then there was a reason why children needed somebody to teach them magic.

Moridunon reacted instantly, the shield he brought into being over their heads with a single rune stopping the stone from actually hitting the child on its way downwards.

The lad gawked.

" Was that me?! " he exclaimed in Parseltongue.

"Yes," Moridunon answered in Cymráeg, amused. "A bit less power might be a good idea for the next time, don't you think?"

The child blushed.

"Er… yes," he agreed, this time actually using Cymráeg. "A bit."

Nevertheless, Moridunon had to admit that he hadn't expected a reaction like this for at least another three to four hours, so he guessed that he might be able to teach the child a bit faster than he had originally expected.

Three hours later, the lad had actually managed to stop throwing the stone as high as he could and instead balanced it about a foot above his hand. It was still a bit high up, but at least it was visible and not trying to reach the clouds anymore…

Of course, this might have been their first, but definitely not their last, argument.

"Why do I need to learn Arithmancy?!"

"Do you or don't you want to learn your rituals and runic casting?"

"What do I need it for?"

"Nothing if you continue to talk to me like that."

…

"I apologize, master. Please, what do I need… rune spells and rituals?"

"Why."

"Yes, master. Why do I need rune spells and rituals?"

"Because you're a druid and I'm your master. I won't let you run around half-trained and unable to do more than a few tricks to entertain children."

And when the child pouted after that, Moridunon just looked at him with a frown.

"If you don't learn to behave like you should," he threatened. "Then I will add healing and wound treatment as well to your current schedule."

Of course, the threat didn't actually stop the child from getting into another argument with Moridunon some time later.

" Why do I need that knowledge about plants? " he complained. " It's not as if they're useful for anything but cooking. "

"They're useful for your survival," Moridunon countered and glared at the child. "And we're using Cymráeg."

The lad just rolled his eyes.

" I'm still learning it, " he countered stubbornly in Parseltongue. " And I don't understand why you added all that knowledge about hunting and plants useless for potions and- "

"If it's useless, how about you go and search for our food for tonight," Moridunon countered with a raised eyebrow.

That actually stopped the child dead in his tracks.

" What? " he asked, confused. " Why? You have stuff in your bag! "

"Which won't last forever," Moridunon countered. "And where do you think I got it from?"

The lad mulled about that for at least a minute before he slumped, resigned.

"From… forest, master?" he offered sheepishly in Cymráeg.

"Yes," Moridunon agreed while staring at the child seriously. "From the forest."

After that, he added the basic knowledge about healing and wound care to the child's daily routine.

"You are… punishing… me with… that," the lad concluded while searching for words.

"It's useful knowledge," Moridunon countered. "And if you don't stop behaving like an outcast, I will add lessons in Brezhoneg and Gaelige as well."

That at least ensured that the lad learned behaviour suitable for children - not that it meant that he would escape those promised lessons forever…

PS: Explanations for those who are interested:

1. Moridunon: The name is, according to my research, the oldest version known of the word that later turned into Myrddin and then into Merlin. While I decided against it in the first version, this time I thought 'why didn't I?' and decided to give him the oldest version I knew for a name, since this chapter is from his PoV instead of Harry's (who will use (continue to use) Myrddin).

2. Ambreys: Is suspected to be a title for the high priest of Stonehenge, hence Moridunon's full name 'Moridunon Amrbeys sā-Mons Ambres' (basically: Myrddin Emrys of 'Stonehenge'). The name Ambreys later changed to Emrys. I'll be using the newer version from now on.

3. Clas Moridun'n: Should be 'Clas Moridunon', but I wanted to show that the change was already starting into 'Clas Myrddin/Merlin'. It's an old name for Britain and means 'Isle of the Sea Castle'.

4. Kaerlud: is the suspected name of London in the times of the Celts before the Romans entered the Isles.

5. Massalia: ancient Greek name for the city today known as Marseille. Back then, it was a very important port when it came to trading - especially with the Celts.