Heavy Is The Crown (Harry Potter × Arthurian Legend)

A/N:... So it kinda slipped my mind that Arthur already preformed an amazing display of Transfiguration during the banquet, so please look pass her surprise reaction.

[Third Person's PoV] 

Professor McGonagall's class was well underway, and from the moment it began, she made her expectations abundantly clear: extensive note-taking was mandatory. She paced the front of the room with crisp authority, her chalk gliding across the blackboard with practiced precision as she outlined the theory and fundamentals of basic transfiguration.

Arthur sat tall at his desk, quill moving lazily across the parchment—not because he struggled to keep up, but because he had already committed most of this information to memory long ago. Everything she said was familiar to him. Transfiguration principles, magical theory, wand movements—he had studied all of it under the rigorous tutelage of Merlin long before ever stepping foot in Hogwarts. This was all review, if not a bit too easy.

He might've felt completely alone in that regard… if not for Lance.

Lance also seemed unbothered by the pace of the lesson. His handwriting was neat and confident, and there wasn't a hint of confusion in his expression. He was composed, collected—clearly not hearing any of this for the first time. It caught Arthur off guard. He had assumed, perhaps arrogantly, that only someone like Merlin—or himself—would come into Hogwarts with such a well-rounded magical education.

'Just what kind of childhood did Lance have…?' Arthur wondered, now even more intrigued by the quiet, competent boy he'd started to regard as a friend.

Once the note-taking portion of the lesson concluded, McGonagall clapped her hands and strode to the center of the room. "Now then," she said with a stern but expectant look, "I want each of you to take one of these." With a flick of her wand, a box of wooden matches floated into the air and distributed one to every student. "Your task is to transfigure the matchstick into a needle."

The class murmured with excitement—or anxiety—as students began readying their wands and reviewing their notes. Arthur and Lance, however, looked monumentally bored. Matching expressions of mild disinterest sat on their faces as they casually raised their wands and, in perfect sync, chanted the Latin incantation.

In a blink, both matchsticks shimmered and then transformed, narrowing into sharp, metallic needles with a faint glint in the light.

McGonagall turned to survey the room and immediately noticed the transformation. Her brows arched sharply.

"What's this?" she asked, striding over. "You two already completed the spell? And on your first attempt, no less?"

All eyes turned toward Arthur and Lance. Whispers echoed from nearby desks. Even Hermione, who had been meticulously reviewing her textbook, looked up with genuine surprise, clutching her untouched matchstick.

"Are you two perhaps familiar with the subject?" McGonagall asked, her tone curious but clearly impressed. "You performed that transfiguration with a ease."

"I practiced," Lance replied politely, his tone respectful and measured.

"As did I," Arthur added, nodding slightly in agreement.

McGonagall studied them both for a moment, then gave a crisp nod of approval. "Very well. Impressive spellwork from both of you. Five points to Gryffindor and five to Slytherin for demonstrating exceptional proficiency. Carry on."

"Thank you, Professor," they both said in unison, their voices overlapping perfectly.

As McGonagall moved off to assist a pair of struggling student, Arthur nudged Lance subtly with his elbow and leaned in.

"Here," he whispered with a smirk. "Check this out."

He pointed his wand at his newly-formed needle and gave a different incantation—this one purely for fun. The needle wobbled, twisted, and then folded in on itself, forming a tiny humanoid figure with spindly limbs and a sword made from a sliver of its own form.

"En garde," Arthur declared in an exaggerated French accent.

Lance's face lit up with amusement. He raised his own wand and attempted the same transfiguration. It took two misfires before the spell took, but on the third try, a second needle-man popped into existence beside Arthur's creation.

"En garde," Lance echoed with a grin, mimicking Arthur's tone.

Their desk quickly turned into a tiny battlefield. The needle-men clashed with soft tink-tink sounds, their little swords colliding as the boys manipulated their movements with subtle wand gestures and whispers of magic. The mini duel had both of them chuckling quietly to themselves, heads bent close over their shared spectacle.

Their moment of mischief was short-lived.

A long, unmistakable shadow fell over their desk, and both boys froze mid-spell. Slowly, they turned around to find Professor McGonagall looming behind them, arms folded and expression stern.

"Mr. King. Mr. Demere," she said, her voice clipped. "Would I be correct in assuming that you're bored in my classroom?"

Both Arthur and Lance straightened up immediately, their laughter vanishing as they tried to look innocent.

"Apologies, Professor…" they murmured in perfect sync.

McGonagall's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "If you've both finished your assignment so quickly, don't you think it would be far more productive to assist your classmates who are still struggling? Or do you believe putting on a puppet show is a better use of your time?"

"Certainly, Professor," they said quickly.

"Then I suggest you get to it. Now, if you please."

Without hesitation, the boys split up—Lance heading toward the Slytherins and Arthur toward the Gryffindors. As they left, McGonagall remained behind just a moment longer, casting one final look at the two dismantled needle-warriors still lying on the desk. A quiet, almost imperceptible scoff escaped her lips, and a slight smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth before she turned and walked off to resume her rounds.

…

Over the course of their first week at Hogwarts, Arthur and Lance spent most of their time together. Many of their classes—Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, History of Magic—were shared between Gryffindor and Slytherin, giving the two boys ample opportunity to bond. Their natural chemistry as friends, coupled with their similar levels of magical knowledge and capability, made them an inseparable pair in the eyes of many.

However, not every class allowed for that kind of familiarity.

Herbology, which met three times a week, was a notable exception. Unlike their other lessons, this one was shared with the Hufflepuffs. For Arthur, that meant spending time not with Lance, but with Gwyneth.

And Gwyneth, at that moment, was not particularly pleased with him.

"Come on," Arthur said as they worked in the greenhouse under Professor Sprout's cheerful but distracted guidance. "I've already apologized—like ten times."

Gwyneth stood next to a row of Flutterby bushes, arms folded across her chest, her chin tilted high in a show of defiance. She deliberately turned away from him, her expression distant.

"I don't care if you apologize a hundred times," she snapped, her voice hushed but sharp. "You took advantage of my trust, Arthur. That prank you pulled—it was cruel."

Arthur flinched slightly at her words, lowering his gaze. He knew she had every right to be angry. Even though the prank had been harmless—at least in his mind—he hadn't considered how deeply it might affect someone who genuinely trusted him. Especially someone like Gwyneth.

"I'm not even sure I can trust you anymore," she added quietly.

The two of them stood toward the back of the greenhouse, partially obscured by tall vines and potted Mandrakes, speaking in low voices. Professor Sprout, bustling around the front of the class giving instructions on soil composition, didn't notice they weren't paying attention.

Arthur sighed, then looked back up at her with determination. "How about a gift?" he asked. "Something to show you I really do mean it when I say I'm sorry."

"A gift?" she asked, glancing at him with a skeptical brow raised.

"Yeah- wait hold still—you've got something near your ear," Arthur said casually, stepping closer.

Before she could react, he reached toward her, and with a graceful flick of his hand, he summoned a vivid blue rose from thin air. It shimmered into existence, blooming slowly as it floated toward her like a scene from a storybook.

Gwyneth blinked in surprise, taken aback by the sudden appearance of the flower. The soft glow of the rose reflected in her eyes as she looked up at Arthur—who now held it out to her, offering it with a gentle, sincere smile.

"I really do apologize," he said earnestly. "I'd hate to lose a friendship I just gained. So… can we start over?"

Gwyneth stared at the rose, then at Arthur. In that moment, with the sunlight streaming through the greenhouse glass and the magical flower gleaming in his hand, he looked like something out of a fairytale—a prince offering a peace offering.

She could practically see a sparkling aura around him. 

"Seriously…" she mumbled under her breath, her cheeks flushed a deep red, "how unfair…"

Her expression softened as she reached out and took the rose delicately in her hands. She looked down at it, then back up at him.

"Fine," she said at last, her voice barely above a whisper. "Only because I can tell you mean it. I forgive you."

Arthur's smile widened with genuine happiness. Gwyneth quickly turned away before he could see how flustered she was, but a small smile tugged at her lips as she faced the front of the class again. She cradled the blue rose in her hands, bringing it to her nose to inhale its sweet scent, and let out a soft giggle to herself.

---

Later that day, during their lunch break in the Great Hall—the same place they had first experienced Hogwarts' magic during the opening feast—Arthur sat quietly, pushing food around on his plate. His gaze drifted toward the Ravenclaw table where Merlin sat. Despite being in the same year, they had almost no classes together. Arthur hadn't realized how much that would bother him.

They barely had time to talk, let alone hang out. And while Arthur enjoyed his time with Lance and now Gwyneth, part of him missed the easy conversations he shared with Merlin.

Still, the day went on. After lunch came their final set of afternoon lessons, bringing them one step closer to the weekend.

---

That night, long after the castle had gone quiet and most students were tucked away in their dormitories, Arthur, Lance, and Merlin met once more under the cover of moonlight to explore the castle's hidden corridors. But unlike their last outing, they weren't alone this time.

"What exactly are we waiting for?" Lance asked, scanning the empty corridor as he folded his arms.

"Stop being so impatient," Arthur replied with a smirk.

Moments later, a cautious head of wheat-blonde hair peeked out from behind a corner. Gwyneth emerged from the shadows, letting out a breath of relief as she approached.

"I seriously thought you were lying about this," she muttered as she joined them.

"Gwyneth?" Lance asked, clearly surprised to see her.

"Yeah," Arthur said, grinning. "I thought it'd be unfair if we explored without her. So, I invited her to come along."

Gwyneth looked unsure, glancing around the dimly lit corridor. "Is it really safe for us to be wandering around this late?"

"As long as we don't get caught," Arthur said with a shrug, "we're not technically breaking any rules."

"What—? That doesn't even make sense," she said, her brows furrowing.

"Rules," Arthur said with mock wisdom, raising a finger, "are merely suggestions. Now then—onward!"

Without missing a beat, he turned and marched forward down the hall, cloak fluttering behind him. Merlin and Lance exchanged a look, then followed, amused.

"Wait! Don't leave me behind!" Gwyneth called out, rushing to catch up with them.

And so their nightly adventure began.

---

The rest of the week continued in a blur. Slowly, the four of them fell into a rhythm—classes during the day, quiet mischief at night. The first week had been mostly introductions: getting to know the school, their teachers, and each other. Friendships were forming and for better or worse, they were settling into the strange, magical world of Hogwarts.

And by Friday, their final class of the week arrived—a subject whispered about in both excitement and dread.

Potions.

And with it, their first encounter with the infamous Professor Snape.

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