Someone kill him now, again.
There was no reason for a ghost to smell that much, Harry thought as he weeded Aunt Petunia's Garden. Granted he himself could not smell the ghost, but the ghost sure did like complaining that he smelt and would like a bath. Perhaps he had smelt bad when he died, though Harry would never know, seeing as his ghost friend had died over a thousand years ago.
Arthur was always not subtly hinting about his life. Odd words about stone castles, knights, and various other things. When Harry was younger, he would ask countless questions, about Camelot, about being King, about being free. Harry liked knowing what freedom was like, and Arthur liked telling Harry about it. Arthur mostly just liked the wistful smile that would appear on Harry's face as he dreamed about finally being free of his family.
"Harry, Harry, Harry." Arthur sighed; his ghostly form sprawled out on the grass. "I was great."
"Yes, Arthur." Harry mumbled, not even slightly paying attention to the blonde. "The greatest."
Arthur turned to look at the boy, whose back was turned to him. Harry, in the worst way, reminded Arthur of Merlin. Merlin. Harry had the same messy black hair, the same gangly messy-limbed body, they even had similar sarcastic eyerolls. But what really struck him was his one hazel eye. The other was a brilliant emerald green, but it meant nothing to Arthur. No, it was that hazel eye.
That hazel eye was Gwen's hazel eye.
And if Arthur looked closer, Harry's smile looked like his own.
And the way he held himself, that was Uther. The curve of his nose was Morgana's. And those hands were the same hands he saw in his grandmother's portrait back home.
Harry, somehow, was his descendant. How he wasn't quite sure. May haps his lovely Gwen had been pregnant when he died, and his child had survived the fall of Camelot. Harry had told him a long time ago that Camelot was gone, likely fallen shortly after he did, and that he was considered to be more myth than fact these days. He was not around to raise that child. He would raise Harry.
That night, as Harry slept in his cupboard, Arthur raked a hand through his hair.
Harry deserved better, better than the Dursley's and their horrid treatment. Arthur could see the magic sparking beneath his skin, magic that reminded him of Merlin, but he didn't know how to help someone with magic.
................................................................
Harry scoffed as he stood next to Hagrid. Diagon Alley was amazing, full of sounds and color and MAGIC! He had never felt so at home before, and Arthur was ruining it.
"It's too bright." The king complained.
Harry ignored him. All the way through the street and into the bank, Harry ignored the ghost. Harry ignored him when Hagrid spoke to the teller, Harry ignored him when the teller took him away from Hagrid and sat him in a strange room, Harry ignored him as a goblin walked in.
"Mr. Potter, I am Tripfin, the accounts manager for the Potter family." Tripfin nodded at the young boy, and gruffly sat across from him at the desk.
"Nice to meet you." Harry greeted the goblin, "Hagrid said that I had to do a blood test?"
Arthur began poking around the room. He bothered the books and paintings and such while Harry listened to his account manager.
"Yes, it is custom that when a child has been raised in the muggle world, no matter their blood status, they take a blood test here at Gringotts, to ensure that there are no lasting effects on their magic." Tripfin spoke like Harry's preschool teacher had. Soft, yet concise, gentle, yet firm. It was comforting.
"Why at Gringotts, this is a bank." Arthur muttered.
Harry parroted the question. Normally when Arthur pried into something, it was smart to listen. Arthur had very good instincts about things.
Tripfin cocked his head, "The ministry recognized that our establishment simply has more time and sees muggle-raised children every year regardless. Along with the blood test, it allows for new customers an easy start to open an account."
"That's very smart." Harry said.
"It is." Tripfin acknowledged, sliding a blank piece of parchment forward. "Now, all you must do, Mr. Potter, is prick your right ring finger with this needle, and let it drip a bit onto the paper."
Arthur leaned over Harry's shoulder as he did so, curious as to how this test worked. As his finger bled, the red liquid seeped into the parchment. As Harry took his finger away, the whole piece turned blood red before pale white words began to form. Tripfin took the test and began to read it aloud.
"So far, Mr. Potter, your magic seems to be in perfect health. A fair bit more than most muggle-raised children are. I must also inform you that there seems to be an existing betrothal contact signed by your parents before their passing, to a Miss Daphne Greengrass. "
Harry paused, and looked towards Arthur. Arthur sighed, "I'll explain at home."
Harry smiled and let the goblin guide him down to his vault before he went to shop with Hagrid.
........................................
As Harry slept in his bed, all packed to head to Hogwarts tomorrow morning, Arthur paced. Harry, despite the lack of a proper family and good influences, was rather well adjusted for an eleven year old. Once he had explained what a betrothal contract was, Harry seemed to just accept his fate, and smiled about getting to have a built in friend while at Hogwarts,
Arthur, of course, was unphased by the idea. Camelot and his time was filled with such relationships, though himself and Gwen had been lucky, and often times the two parties could even find themselves in love. He supposed Harry had spent so much time with him, that Harry himself felt more Camelotian than English. He could see it in the way Harry hated the paved roads they put in a few years ago, taking away a lovely small forest.
He looked out the window, to the moon, sighing to himself. He was lonely whenever Harry slept. He'd do anything to see Gwen again. Or Merlin. He really wanted to see Merlin.