Heavy Is The Crown (Harry Potter × Arthurian Legend)

[Third Person's PoV] 

Having spent the majority of the week exploring every corner of Hogwarts, both Arthur and Lance had gradually developed a small routine they decided to put into action early Friday morning. Their goal was to begin before anyone else woke up and well before their first class of the day with Professor Snape. The cool morning air greeted them as they met outside in the castle yard, where the horizon was painted in soft hues of orange and blue—neither fully night nor completely day, but somewhere in between.

Clad in their training gear, the two boys stood side by side, their breath visible in the crisp air. Arthur wore a black, long-sleeved compression shirt that clung tightly to his form and extended up to his neck. The top of a grey jumpsuit was tied securely around his waist, the fabric swaying slightly with each movement. Lance, on the other hand, wore a short-sleeved compression shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants, offering more flexibility for his swift movements.

After tightening the straps on his gloves, Arthur let out a sharp breath, then rolled his shoulders and stretched his arms across his chest. Lance, balancing on one leg, extended the other outward in a fluid motion, leaning into a deep stretch.

"You ready?" Lance asked, a faint, confident smirk playing on his lips.

Arthur scoffed with amusement. "Is that even a question?"

Without another word, the two boys burst into motion, taking off in a synchronized sprint. Side by side, they dashed across the castle grounds, their hair swept back by the wind their speed generated. They had set their sights on completing a full lap around Hogwarts, a daunting challenge given the castle's massive size and complex layout.

Arthur's initial burst of speed gave him an edge, launching him ahead with a powerful stride. However, Lance's natural agility and finesse allowed him to catch up and, after some time, inch ahead. Their friendly rivalry pushed them harder, each determined not to fall behind the other.

From a distance, Hagrid—already up and about tending to his morning duties—caught sight of the two boys in motion. His eyes widened slightly in surprise. To most, it would have looked like a race, but to Hagrid, the most astonishing part wasn't their competitive spirit—it was their raw speed. They were fast, far faster than he'd expected for first-years.

They continued their run, muscles burning and lungs laboring as the distance wore on. Sweat glistened on their skin, soaking through their shirts, and their breaths came in ragged bursts. Eventually, Arthur began to regain the lead. While Lance excelled in agility and speed, it became clear that Arthur held the advantage in endurance and power.

By the time they completed their full circuit around Hogwarts, they were both thoroughly spent. Lance collapsed sprawled on his back, panting heavily, while Arthur bent forward with his hands on his knees, gasping for air.

"You're pretty fast," Arthur said between breaths, wiping the sweat from his chin with the back of his hand. "I'm impressed."

"Says you," Lance replied softly, still catching his breath. "Your stamina is insane."

Arthur offered his hand, and Lance took it gratefully, pulling himself up. "So," Lance asked, "should we start our duel now?"

Arthur paused to consider the question. "Nah," he finally replied, straightening up. "We'll be late for class, and we need to be at our best. Since tomorrow's the weekend, let's do it then. We'll have more time to spar freely."

"Fair point. Tomorrow it is then," Lance agreed with a nod.

"Now let's get going before we miss breakfast," Arthur added, giving Lance a friendly tap on the arm before turning toward the castle. "And we definitely don't want to be late for Potions. I've heard Professor Snape isn't exactly the warm and welcoming type."

Lance chuckled faintly and nodded, falling into step beside him. He had heard the same rumors by now, and neither of them wanted to be on Snape's bad side this early in the term. Together, they made their way back inside, the quiet satisfaction of their early morning training lingering with every step.

…

After refreshing themselves and changing out of their training gear, Arthur and Lance made their way to the banquet hall for breakfast. As they stepped inside, they were met with the warm scent of freshly baked bread, sizzling sausage, and the low hum of chatter from students already gathered at the long house tables.

The morning buzz was amplified by a flurry of wings overhead—Owls swooped through the enchanted ceiling sky, delivering letters and packages with practiced ease. Feathers drifted through the air like snow, and students paused mid-bite or mid-conversation to catch their deliveries.

As Arthur found a seat at the Gryffindor table, a familiar flash of silver caught his eye. Mercury, the owl he shared with Merlin, glided gracefully from the direction of Merlin's table and landed softly in front of him. Tied to Mercury's legs were three neatly wrapped letters.

"Thanks, boy," Arthur said warmly, reaching out to gently stroke the owl's feathers. Mercury nuzzled his hand in return before hopping aside to enjoy a treat from Arthur's pocket.

Untying the strings, Arthur glanced at the senders. One envelope was from Perenelle, another from Nicholas, and the third bore the official seal of Gringotts Bank.

Arthur chuckled under his breath. 'Seriously? They live together. They could have just written one letter.'

Next to him, Harry received his own letter from Hagrid, a grin spreading across his face as he received his very own letter from someone.

Perenelle's and Nicholas's letters were filled with warmth and curiosity. They asked Arthur how he was adjusting to life at Hogwarts, whether he was making friends, and if the castle lived up to its legendary reputation. They both wrote in their distinct voices, filled with wisdom and affection. Goburk, the goblin managing Arthur's business affairs, wrote with the usual professionalism—detailing the shop's performance during Arthur's absence, recent transactions, and a few items requiring Arthur's approval.

After replying to each letter—scribbling quick but thoughtful responses—Arthur tucked them into Mercury's satchel and allowed the owl to return to its perch. Breakfast passed quickly afterward, filled with laughter, buttered toast, and goblets of pumpkin juice.

Once the meal concluded and students began trickling out of the hall, it was time for their next class: Potions with Professor Snape.

---

The Potions classroom was deep within the dungeons of Hogwarts, its stone walls damp and cold. The moment Arthur stepped inside, he felt a chill wash over him. The air was thick with the scent of musty stone, dried herbs, and something bitter and metallic. Glass jars lined the walls, filled with strange ingredients—bat spleens, powdered root of asphodel, shriveled leeches—and an array of spare cauldrons rested along the back shelf.

He spotted Harry and Ron already seated near the front and gave them a nod before settling in next to Lance, who was flipping through his potions textbook.

The room filled gradually as students from both Gryffindor and Slytherin entered. When everyone was seated, the door closed with a sharp click, and the classroom fell silent.

Professor Snape glided into the room like a shadow, his black robes billowing slightly behind him. Without a word of greeting, he began taking roll in a voice that was both low and drawn-out—cold, detached, as though each name bored him more than the last.

When he reached Arthur's name, Snape's lips curled ever so slightly, his voice laced with unmistakable disdain.

"Ah yes… Arthur King. Dumbledore's new toy. One of the many little celebrities we seem to have in this class."

The words struck like a blade.

Arthur, who was usually composed, calm, and patient—even with those who tested him—felt his jaw tighten. His eyes narrowed as he stared at Snape.

"What did you just call me?" he asked coldly, voice sharp as glass.

The room froze. Even the bubbling cauldrons seemed to go still.

Snape arched an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. "Is your name not Arthur King?" he asked with mocking indifference.

Arthur noticed the Slytherin students snickering under their breath. Lance looked at him, confused by the sudden tension and the dangerous glint in Arthur's eyes.

"It is," Arthur said slowly, his tone icy. "But it seems you mistook me for something else when you called me a toy."

Snape's eyes darkened. "Are you talking back to me, Mr. King? Do you believe that, just because you have Dumbledore's favor, you can be disrespectful to your betters?"

Arthur straightened in his seat, his gaze unflinching. "Forgive me, Professor, but I thought conversation required speaking back. Was I mistaken?" He let the question linger a moment before adding, "And as for my betters…"—he looked around the room slowly, dramatically— before he looked directly into Snape's eyes, "…where exactly are they?"

A wave of gasps echoed through the room. Every mouth hung open, every eye fixed on Arthur. For one brief, electric moment, Gryffindor and Slytherin shared the same stunned expression.

Even Lance looked at Arthur like he didn't recognize the boy beside him. Arthur had just done the unthinkable. He had not only talked back to Severus Snape—something most students feared doing—but he had done it with such calm, collected boldness that it bordered on legendary.

Arthur, undeterred by the silence, merely sat back in his seat as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

And so, in the early days of the school year, Arthur King managed the impossible: uniting Gryffindor and Slytherin, if only for a heartbeat, in complete and utter disbelief.

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