[Third Person's PoV]
Arthur finally arrived at the Gryffindor dormitories after navigating the twisting, shifting staircases and passing by a multitude of talking paintings, each offering greetings, unsolicited advice, or grumbling about students disrupting their slumber. The castle felt alive, and in a way, it was.
When he entered the dorm room assigned to first-year boys, Arthur found his luggage already waiting for him—neatly placed at the foot of his bed, along with Cosmo's cage resting gently atop the duvet.
"I'm sorry, Cosmo~" Arthur cooed as he unlatched the cage and gently lifted out his sleek black cat. Cosmo blinked lazily, clearly displeased at having spent the journey confined, but he purred almost immediately as Arthur began to stroke his head and cradle him like a baby.
"Here," Arthur murmured, setting Cosmo down briefly as he opened his suitcase. From the magically expanded compartment inside, he pulled out a silver-trimmed cat bowl. He then closed the case and placed the bowl on top of it. With a practiced motion, Arthur began reaching into the many inner folds of his wizarding robes, withdrawing food from the various pockets like a magician performing a trick.
First came a roasted drumstick, then a half-moon slice of pumpkin pie, followed by a cube of cheddar cheese, and even a mini sandwich. He placed each item into the bowl carefully, forming what could only be described as a feast fit for a feline king.
"There you go," he said softly, running a hand through Cosmo's fur once more as he set it down at the foot of the bed. "Enjoy your feast, buddy."
Cosmo let out a pleased meow and immediately dove into his bowl, tearing into the drumstick with regal savagery.
Arthur, meanwhile, failed to notice the curious and slightly bewildered looks the other boys in the dormitory were giving him. They had paused mid-conversation or in the act of unpacking, blinking in confusion at the boy casually pulling an entire meal from his robes like it was the most normal thing in the world. Still, no one said anything. It was late, they were tired, and their stomachs were full from the feast in the Great Hall. Curiosity could wait until morning.
Once Cosmo was occupied, Arthur began decorating his space as best he could with the trinkets and items he'd brought from home. Small, hand-crafted charms hung from the headboard. A framed photo of himself and Merlin—taken with a moving camera, of course—was placed carefully on the nightstand.
It wasn't long before everyone began to turn in for the night, their chatter fading to yawns and silence. Soon, the soft sounds of snoring filled the room, and even Cosmo was curled up at the foot of Arthur's bed, full and content.
Arthur, too, climbed under the covers, but "slept" only in pretense. An hour passed—enough time for the others to fall into deep sleep—and when the room was quiet save for the steady breathing of his dormmates, he made his move.
With slow, practiced movements, Arthur sat up, careful not to wake Cosmo, who had moved during the night and was now curled against his chest like a living scarf. The cat stirred slightly, opening one eye to peer at him.
Arthur placed a finger to his lips and made a gentle "shhh" sound. Cosmo blinked once in response and nestled closer.
He pushed the blanket away and stood. Draping Cosmo across his shoulders, he padded silently across the room. As he passed each bed, he gave its occupant a quick glance—until he reached Ron Weasley's.
There, lying on his side and snoring softly, was Ron, and nestled under his arm was his pet rat, Scabbers.
Arthur's nose wrinkled with disdain. 'That is so disturbing on so many levels I don't even know where to begin,' he thought, grimacing. 'I'll have to do something about that rat eventually... but I'll need time and careful planning.'
Cosmo hissed lowly as he stared where Arthur was looking, clearly also displeased by the sight.
"Calm down, boy," Arthur whispered, scratching the cat's ear soothingly. "Not now. Later…"
He left the dormitory and entered the Gryffindor common room, the fireplace casting a soft, flickering glow across the furniture. It was empty and peaceful at this hour.
As he stepped into the hallway, the Fat Lady's portrait stirred, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.
"Shouldn't you be asleep, little boy?" she asked, her tone both curious and mildly scolding.
"I have to tinkle," Arthur replied innocently, flashing her a polite smile.
She squinted but said nothing more, allowing him to pass through without further questioning.
The castle at night was a world of its own. Shadows danced on the walls, torches flickered, even the suits of armor seemed to follow him with invisible gazes. Every creak and whisper of wind echoed through the corridors, creating an image of mystery and magic. Arthur was mesmerized.
He wandered through hallway after hallway, pausing to study the tapestries and inspect odd carvings etched into the stone. Even the very floor beneath his feet seemed to fascinate him. He rounded a corner and found it empty—just the way he liked it.
But then, a voice called softly from the side, tentative and unsure.
"My liege?"
Arthur turned, confused. "Hm?"
It was a painting—a large one—depicting a knight in faded armor leading a plump gray pony by the reins. The knight's face was aged, framed with grey hair and a mustache, and his hand trembled as he reached toward Arthur, though still confined within the painting's magical borders.
"Is it… is it really you, my liege?" the knight asked again, voice cracking, heavy with emotion.
Arthur blinked in surprise, staring at the knight's expression—one of reverence and disbelief.
"Huh?" he asked quietly, taken aback by the knight's tears.
With reverent solemnity, the knight dropped to one knee, then the other, as if he had seen a miracle unlike any other. "By Merlin's gorgeous beard…" he whispered.
Arthur stiffened. "I'm sorry, but I'm not—"
"I be a foolish knight, my king," the man said quickly, cutting him off. "But I am a knight nonetheless. Please do not insult the pledge I once gave to you. I shall never forget the face of the man to whom I devoted my life and sword. Even if you now appear as a young adolescent, your noble visage is not one easily forgotten."
The knight bowed his head, tears slipping from his eyes and vanishing as they touched the painted floor.
Arthur scratched his head, one hand resting at his hip, and let out a quiet sigh. His posture slowly shifted—his slouched frame straightening into something more dignified. He adjusted his gloves with purpose, a newfound authority settling over him like a cloak.
"Tell me your name, admirable knight," he asked, his voice steady and commanding, yet respectful.
The knight in the painting fumbled for a moment, startled by the sudden change in Arthur's demeanor. Quickly regaining composure, he seized his sword and dropped to one knee, planting the blade into the painted ground before him. With his head bowed to the hilt, he spoke with pride.
"I am Sir Cadogan, a once humble knight of the Round Table, my liege."
Arthur's eyes softened, and though his tone retained its regal cadence, there was a hint of melancholy beneath the surface. "Well then, Sir Cadogan, I must regrettably inform you that I am not the king to whom you once pledged your undying loyalty. I am merely his descendant—one who bears his name and features, nothing more."
Sir Cadogan's expression dimmed, a flicker of sadness settling behind his brave facade. "I see…" he murmured, lowering his gaze. "Still, it brings me comfort to know that his bloodline endures. That his legacy, even now, continues on in the world—it is a joy in its own right."
Arthur offered a solemn nod. "As the current head of the House of Pendragon, I feel it is my duty to express my deepest gratitude. Though you may be but a painted echo of your former self, the loyalty within you remains unwavering. You hold your pledge as if it were etched into your very soul. For that, Sir Cadogan, I—Arthur Pendragon—thank you. Your steadfast devotion to the Pendragon name honors us all."
Sir Cadogan trembled, his gloved hands clutching the hilt of his upright sword as tears streamed down his face. His voice wavered with emotion. "I, Sir Cadogan, am unworthy of such words. But I accept them with the deepest reverence. Though you claim not to be him, your noble bearing, your visage—these are no mere accidents. The heavens themselves must have chosen you. It is a sign—a herald that Great Britannia may yet rise once more, return to a golden age of chivalry and virtue. May your journey be long and prosperous, young lord of Pendragon."
Arthur gave a single respectful nod, acknowledging the knight's heartfelt vow without another word.
After a brief pause, he added, "One word of caution. Here at Hogwarts, I go by the name Arthur King. For my own safety and privacy, please be mindful of how you address me in the presence of others."
Sir Cadogan straightened, thumping his armored fist over his heart in solemn salute. "Worry not, young lord. Your secret is safe within the confines of my painted frame. Should you ever require my aid, do not hesitate to summon me. My blade may be but a memory, but my loyalty remains ever sharp."
A smile tugged at the corner of Arthur's lips. "Very well. I'll be counting on you in the days to come."
With that, they exchanged parting nods, and Arthur continued his moonlit journey through the castle's mysterious corridors, Cosmo perched faithfully on his shoulders.
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