The Next Great Adventure
Arthur’s heart stops in first period.
The world goes dark as his brain stops receiving blood and oxygen. His body shuts down. A multitude of black moths fill his head and he drowns in their thousands of fluttering velvet wings.
Awareness returns to him slowly, consciousness as fluttery as the loss of it was. The moths are still fuzzy, still all-encompassing, but Arthur can see the light through their wings now. They’ve gone white. They fade like spots out of his vision, bringing existence back with their departure. Arthur’s fingertips tingle as feeling returns with his circulation.
He puts a shaky hand in the air.
“Mr. Penn,” comes the cold drawl.
“May I be excused?”
The class titters around him. No one’s allowed to interrupt Snape’s lectures, particularly not for bathroom breaks.
“It can’t wait?” the great vulture man sneers dangerously, advising Arthur to think carefully about his answer.
“No,” Arthur replies as solemnly as he can, trying to impress the importance of it into Snape with his gaze. “I have to go.”
“Go,” Snape bites shortly, to the shock horror of the class. Arthur hardly notices, already halfway out the door.
Arthur flies through the halls, following the screaming of the castle. He doesn’t even pause to draw breath, skidding after falling portraits and wildly swinging chandeliers, trusting Hogwarts to see him true.
He ends up right back where he lost him, and he throws the bathroom door open with a great SLAM.
Arthur’s heart stops again when he sees Merlin lying prone on the floor, stiff as a post, those clever blue eyes staring sightlessly forwards. Empty.
All logic leaves him. This is it. This is finally the time he’s been terrified of, that makes him melt with fear every time he feels the Merlin half of him die. No matter how many times it happens, and Merlin wakes up and teases him stupid, he still worries that this will be the time he doesn’t wake up. And here he is… not waking up.
Arthur blanks, and then he’s on the floor gathering him up in his arms, hands snapping over him mechanically because it’s what he knows. Eyes. Hands. Pulse.
Please, please, please.
Please please please please pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease–
–Oh gods he can’t tell if it’s his heartbeat or Merlin’s since they match–
–Is the beat in his head or is it Merlin’s–
He can’t tell, he can’t tell, he can’t tell, but he thinks it’s there. It has to be. He doesn’t know what he’d do if it’s not, so it has to be, that’s…
Calm down. He won’t know until he calms down.
Merlin’s alive, he tells himself. He’s not sure, but he has to say it to believe it and calm down. Merlin’s fine. He’s fine. He’s fine. He’s fine. He’s fine. He’s fine.
Arthur pulls Merlin’s cold hand into his own chest, kisses it clumsily, and bows his head into it, rocking back and forth and focussing on the weight of it and his breathing. Just like Merlin does with him to calm him down. He’ll be back soon, there’s no need to worry. He can card his hand through Arthur’s hair all day and call him stupid names that he made up but insists are real. He’ll wake up any minute now. Any second.
Arthur keeps rocking. Arthur keeps breathing.
Merlin does not wake up.
But unless his brain is lying to keep him sane, that heartbeat is real. Merlin has a pulse. He is alive.
THUD.
THUD.
THUD.
Right in time with Arthur’s own, same as it always is.
So, then. Just unresponsive.
He’s fine.
All the air rushes out of Arthur as he lets himself believe it and he touches his forehead to Merlin’s chest.
“You… do not get to do that to me,” he hears himself say shakily. “Swear to God, Merlin…”
He sniffles thickly, sounding like the snotty, lost little boy he is, and thinks about it for a second. Well, actually, he curls into Merlin's chest like he can fit into it if he tries hard enough, hoping he gets snot all over Merlin's stupid shirt but not willing to pull back to check, and then he thinks about it.
Merlin’s unresponsive, eyes wide open, body stiff and stone cold. Even his hair has frozen solid. No signs of frost. Not a curse. Petrification?
Right, the cat was petrified, wasn’t she? Another wave of relief washes over Arthur. That settles it. Merlin must have figured out this chamber monster or whatever and, of course, rushed in without a plan or even telling Arthur, the absolute twat.
Arthur hits Merlin hard on the chest. It should make him feel better that Merlin can’t react, but it just makes him sick to see the blow land like he’s hitting a plank of wood. Lifeless is not a word that should ever be associated with Merlin. Not his Merlin.
“Some WARNING next time, you fucking idiot!” he yells at him for good measure, missing his grown man's voice that made sure everyone in the country heard him when he wanted them to. “Serves you right!”
Which is about when Peeves swoops in, delighted by the ruckus, and stops short on the scene. If ghosts can pale, Arthur believes Peeves does then. His eyes go wide as they snap between Merlin’s b- Merlin and Arthur.
“Is- Is he-?” the Poltergeist stammers.
“Go tell them to get a bed ready in the infirmary, and tell Albus I want to speak with him.”
Peeves shoots one more disturbed look at the prone Merlin and then all but disappears.
Arthur looks back down at his useless husband. Time to figure out how to carry him from point A to B, preferably in the most humiliating way possible.
It’s illogical, but Arthur still gets Pomfrey to check Merlin’s pulse.
“I’ve seen this before. He’ll be the second. He’s petrified, but he’s alive.”
Right. Right. Arthur knew that. If Merlin was dead, he’d be dead, but it’s still good to hear.
Arthur’s hesitant to give Merlin up to her, but a voice sounds in his head that sounds like Merlin’s: I’m fine, you possessive old clotpole. You’re being suspicious.
Arthur stands back, but only enough for her to work, keeping his eyes on Merlin and watching the healer's every move. He doesn’t care how protective he’s being. He’s fucking earned it after that little heart attack.
Albus strides powerfully through the infirmary doors in another few minutes. Arthur hardly spares him a glance, busy glaring at Merlin, who will be going absolutely spare about the fact that he can’t glare back. He hears the headmaster’s steps stutter, though, upon catching sight of the very dead-looking Merlin in the cot.
“Albus,” Pomfrey gasps as soon as she catches sight of him, looking horrified. “Another petrification!”
“You’re sure?” Albus snaps.
“Positive.”
Arthur is still not happy to leave Merlin, but they can’t have this discussion in front of Pomfrey. He steps past her and meets Albus’ confused eyes, guiding him aside and away from the Matron and her patient. When Albus speaks, he keeps his voice low so it doesn’t carry.
“Tell me what happened.”
“He died.” Arthur sighs. “He must have found your monster.”
“But he lives.”
“He always does. Whatever killed him must have had a petrifying effect on the body as well, so when he woke up he couldn’t move. Mentally, I’m pretty sure he’s awake.”
Albus’ eyebrows twitch in a complicated blend of things, amazement most prominent.
“He died and returned? How do you know?”
“I felt it.”
Albus goes very still and Arthur gets the disarming impression that he’s listening with every atom of his terribly curious being.
“No one noticed. When my heart restarted I asked Snape to be excused and went after him, found him on the floor of the second girl’s bathroom, the one by the message.”
“When your heart-?”
“We were wed by the Balance itself. If he dies, I die. I don’t usually have to wake up to find him un-fucking-responsive, but such are the joys of being married to a royal idiot,” Arthur explains with a sarcastic smile.
Albus blinks, looking rather like he’s been slapped across the face with a heavy book.
“He will be fine. He said Sprout was working on something to reverse it, he was going to help her. It won’t be ready for a while, though. I could try, but he’s the doctor, and it would be suspicious if he up and recovered from petrification anyway. Still, it bothers me that we don’t know what he knew. What hit him. Clearly he figured it out, but he was in his focussed little frenzy, and I’m not allowed to talk to him when he’s like that, so he didn’t tell me anything either. He was in the same place as the first attack. Something to do with that corridor…?”
Albus straightens and pulls himself together succinctly.
“I believe I may have some of those answers, or at least a place to start.”
💀
Albus does well to keep up with Arthur’s speed-stomping. Even Merlin at his gangliest has trouble doing that. To follow him all the way through the castle to his own office and up Eadwig’s stairs, no less- quite a feat.
“Salazar!” Arthur barks, slamming the door open and striding in. He vaguely processes Helga shoving the guilty party forward and ducking for cover behind Godric. He doesn’t mean to scare his kids, but he’s rather low on patience right now. Well, Sal always did deal with that best.
“Da,” Sal replies, snapping to attention and mirroring Arthur’s seriousness without question. “How did it go?”
“I don’t know, I died in the middle of Potions class, and I found your mother petrified on the floor of the bathroom. Albus says he popped by. Enlighten me.”
Sal’s eyes widen, flying back and forth as he parses this information. He seems totally bewildered and… hurt. Arthur hears Helga gasp and Rowena drop her book, Godric letting out a loud ‘WHAT!’
“Is he alright?” Rowena demands.
“Alive but unresponsive. Sal,” Arthur encourages a little more gently.
“...Basil,” Sal says thickly, running a wrinkled hand over his beard, eyebrows furrowing in disbelief and concern. “He came to ask about Basil. Said they had- that someone was misguiding them. That they were opening their eyes.”
Arthur feels his own eyes slip closed. Of course. A basilisk’s eyes kill with the effect of petrification. Mrs. Norris must’ve seen them indirectly, and Merlin directly.
But, Basil? They’re still alive? Killing people? That’s absurd. Almost enough that Arthur can’t believe that’s it, but it must be.
“Why would they be doing that?”
“I don’t know. That’s what I told mum. He said he didn’t know either. He wanted the word to open the chamber. I think he was going to go see them and figure it out, because it’s just not like them, you know it’s not.”
“I know, I know,” Arthur assures him. Sal almost sounds like he did as a kid, begging Arthur to let him keep the little snake he found in the gutter, promising he’d train them real good, just please let him keep them, pleeeeaaase. And every time Basil made a mess or killed a bat and left it in their nice clean bed, Sal would get this whine in his voice and beg Arthur not to take his friend away, they didn’t mean it, he promises. At some point it stopped becoming a real concern, Basil having been inducted into the family, becoming an undisputed fact. Arthur never thought he’d hear Sal whine like that again, like Arthur might actually take Basil away.
“We’ll figure it out, Sal," he promises.
So, it’s safe to say that tackling Basil is out. If Merlin couldn’t do it, Arthur has no hope. Basil always liked Merlin better. Arthur thinks they never stopped holding a grudge for that time he turned on the shower and got in only to step on a snake that was happily asleep a moment ago. Arthur maintains it was their fault for sleeping in the shower.
Arthur’s going to have to tackle the other half of the threat- this ‘heir’. Which is bullshit, by the way- Sal never had any children, biological or otherwise. It’s an effective fear tactic, but that’s all it is. Which brings Arthur no closer to figuring out who they are. But that’s what he’s gonna have to do.
Classes are still going, so he takes the time to trudge up to the greenhouses in search of Professor Sprout. He pulls her aside from her lesson prep to ask her about the cure for petrification.
“Oh well, that’ll be the mandrakes. It’s early stages right now, we just got them all repotted last week. Everything’s on track though. With Em’s help it should go quicker, if he still wants to spend his breaks with his stuffy old teacher gettin’ his hands dirty,” she chuckles. “You tell him he can back out anytime, I won’t be offended.”
Arthur has a lot of practice informing friends and families that their loved ones aren’t coming home, but it never gets better. Even when it’s just temporary. Even when it’s Merlin. Maybe it’ll actually be worse. Everyone adores Merlin.
Sprout drops her watering can when he tells her. Then she pulls him into a shaky hug, tells him they’re going to fix this, and promptly races off to see her favourite student.
With that out of the way, Arthur sets to work.
He identifies the most strategically beneficial paintings to inform and informs them, fully expecting the whole school’s furnishings to be buzzing with it within the hour. They’ll all be on the lookout for the culprit now. He handpicks certain trusted portraits with certain jobs, sending this one to that corridor specifically because he knows it better than anyone, and that one to the tower because she has an excuse to hang around, etc. The founders, he sends to prepare for special missions that will come into effect later tonight. He gathers the ghosts, debriefs them, and sets them their duties. They are out for blood. He canvasses the area he found Merlin, interrogates Myrtle, traces Merlin’s flight through the castle and puts together a timeline of events. And he’s not finished.
“I’m holding council at seven tonight. Tell Gryffindor, and make sure everyone’s present. No absences,” he notifies the twins.
“Council?” one of them says. Arthur’s stopped trying to figure out which.
“House meeting,” he clarifies.
“We don’t have those, except when McGonagall calls them,” the other refutes.
“We do now. Seven. No. Absences.”
“Yes chef!” they both snap automatically and make themselves scarce.
Now comes the hard part.
He swings back around to the infirmary. Pomfrey and Sprout are conferring in the corner of the wing. Pomfrey looks up at his entrance and makes like she might stop him, but Sprout catches his eye and gives him a solemn nod, and keeps her back.
Arthur approaches Merlin’s bed and makes sure to lean over him to stay in Merlin’s rigid line of sight.
“Hey,” he says softly under his breath. “I’m putting an end to the infighting tonight. Basil won’t talk to me, so I’m working on the heir. We’ll sort this out. Meantime, I’m gonna bring the kids to see you. If that’s not okay, slow your heart rate.”
Arthur keeps his fingers on the pulse at Merlin’s wrist for a few solid minutes before he surmises that it is okay. Arthur knows Merlin won’t want them to see him, but they both know there’ll be no keeping them away once they hear. At least this way Arthur can go with them and make sure… well, nothing, really, but he’d like to be there anyway.
“Don’t worry, class will be over in fifteen minutes, so by the time I get there they won’t be missing anything. I’ll make sure they bring their bags. Just slow your heart rate if you want them gone.”
Arthur hopes Merlin doesn’t get hot under all those layers. Or cold. He frowns and taps a gentle charm into him just in case.
Last thing, Arthur checks Merlin’s scarf. If it’s not frozen to his body, Pomfrey might try to take it off, and that’s a no-go. Mm, not frozen. Arthur will have to keep an eye on her, then.
Arthur puts his hand up in surrender, because he can almost hear Merlin hitting him and saying ‘stop fussing’. Then he hears himself snort.
“Kings don’t fuss, Merlin. Certainly not over dollopheads who get themselves petrified. Right, not starting this argument now, I’ll be back with children.” He ducks back with a cheeky wink after another second because the opportunity’s too good to resist and adds, “Don’t go anywhere.”
🏥
Harry’s getting worried.
None of them have seen Arthur since he marched robotically out of Potions without a glance at anyone. It was freaky. He looked dead asleep, so much so that Harry was starting to think Snape would notice any second. Then all of a sudden he shot up like he was on a hinge, and without blinking, asked Snape to go to the bathroom in the middle of a lecture. And Snape let him.
No one’s seen Em either. At first Harry was certain they’d come in bickering as usual through the day with some great story to tell them all, but it didn’t happen. Not through second period, break, third, lunch, fourth or even fifth.
Draco’s been getting quieter and quieter all day, his face getting more and more serious, and it makes Harry scared that he’s putting something together they won’t like.
As they walk tensley out of last period, it’s hard to ignore the whispers. Something’s wrong. It takes Harry a few corridors to realise it, but the ghosts are gone. He hears people talking about how they’ve gone missing. The few occupied paintings they pass are in too much of a rush to answer any of their questions. There are even rumours someone saw Dumbledore striding about looking grave earlier. No one knows what’s going on.
“I saw Professor Sprout crying,” someone hisses as they pass by, and Harry finally cracks.
“OKAY, that’s it, what’s going–”
“Arthur!” Ron yells over him.
Sure enough, there’s their solidly built friend trekking boldly through the stream of kids to meet them, missing his characteristic smile.
All of them scramble over and he juts his head off to the side and leads them on, ignoring Hermione’s mouth already going a mile a minute.
“Did you find him?! Nothing’s wrong? No one knows a thing, we’ve been so worried, what’s Em said? Where have you–”
“Come with me,” Arthur says, and his tone does nothing to soothe Harry’s worries. He exchanges an alarmed look with Ron. If Arthur’s freaking out, it’s bad.
“Tell us if he’s alright first,” Draco demands.
“He is. I’ll explain when we get there.”
As unsatisfactory as that is, they all make the rest of the trip in charged silence. Harry’s gut sinks with every step they take in the direction of the infirmary until he can’t deny that’s where they’re going. But Em’s alright, isn’t he? Arthur said so…
Arthur nods them all in first, and Harry looks as hard as he can, but he can’t see anything in Arthur’s face that gives the situation away.
Hermione shrieks and Harry’s head whips forward. All of them race to the only occupied bed after her, and it isn’t until they get there that Harry sees why.