Disclaimer: The characters and premise of Harry Potter are property of JKR. Characters and premise of Chronicles of Narnia belong to CS Lewis, and those of The Dark Is Rising are owned by Susan Cooper. Count Meren and his world are property of Lynda S. Robinson (and yes, some sections there are lifted directly from the text for verisimilitude and are not mine). I lay claim to interpretations and combinations only.

Author's Note: This is just because I think it could work. And. . . yes, a bit of history, because I think JKR took the easy way out by giving HP's world a crappy History of Magic Professor, and thus ensuring she never had to delve more deeply into the question of where magic came from and the possibilities inherent. Yes, I'm on a fix-it rampage again. To those from the TDIR fandom, this could stand alone, but reading some of the EC fics, all under my bio, might help.

Summary: In the fight against darkness, allies are everywhere; if you know where to look. Follows 'Shield of David' in the universe of 'Elijah's Cup'.

LAMPPOST

--July 7, 1994--

"Do you mind if I sit here?"

The blond man glanced up, a brief smile almost hidden by his beard. "No. Please." One hand welcomed the stranger to the other seat at the café's small outdoor table.

He doesn't look more than thirty. But Will, seating himself carefully, knew how slippery the grasp of Time could be. And he could feel the High Magic, drawing him as a pure, high chime drew the parishioners to worship. He'd felt it clear across the city. He's drenched in it.

"Peter Pevensie," the man introduced himself, closing a text.

"Will Stanton," he said, on impulse. Now why did you do that?

Warm azure took in the straight brown hair falling into grey eyes, the unremarkable face and stature. And saw him, as none had since the Old Ones had passed out of time, twenty years ago and more. "Pleased to meet you."

"And you," he managed, stunned. Groped for something to say, before seizing on the book sitting heavily on the beveled glass table-top. "Light reading?"

That sunlight-through-clouds smile again. "Something like that. I'm waiting for my family."

Family? Will decided to ignore the waves of High Magic pulsing around him, shutting away senses that were slowly wakening, for the first time since the Dark had been cast from the world. "Wife and children?"

One hand resting protectively on the text, the blond head shook. "Brother and sisters. What brings you to London?"

Will offered a smile of his own. "I'm on my way to King's College. Interview."

Surprise, and a sharper gaze. "I didn't take you for a student -"

Will laughed. "I'm a professor." At least, I hope so. "Anthropology, and Philosophy unless I can avoid it."

"Nature of mankind?" Something tightened in the other man's face, despite his genial expression. One hand calmly lifted a cup, sipping at steaming tea.

Risk it. "Oh, yes, that too," Will answered cheerfully, conveniently forgetting both his distaste for philosophy and his usual solemnity. "Meaning of good and evil, battles between light and darkness, that sort of thing."

Whatever Peter Pevensie might have said was pre-empted by the waitress' arrival with cordial questions and an order pad. Politely declining an offer of tea or coffee, Will made a quiet request that was jotted down, and gazed back at the kingly man across from him. He – he reminds me of Bran. Not the arrogance, but the assurance. A fine distinction, but there was no mistaking it.

"Sounds like heavy subject matter." The light tone was not at all what Will had expected – but he wasn't truly sure what he had expected. Certainly not to encounter a Lord of the High Magic at a sidewalk café in London.

He lifted one shoulder in a shrug, fingers slipping up his left sweater-sleeve to rest on defined scar tissue. "It's usually introductory. 'What is thought?' and the like." Will kept going, before the other could say anything. "But you don't work in academia?"

"Government," was all the other would say.

Into the uncomfortable silence came the young waitress back again, with a clear glass of water and a small pastry. Will thanked her, and made his move. Reaching for the plate, hiked-up sweater sleeves bared forearms; one unmarked, and the other clearly branded with a circle, quartered by a cross.

The Sign of the Light flashed briefly across the table, and then was hidden as wool slipped down again.

"Ah."

The mouthful of sugary dough turned to paste on his tongue. Will met the other's eyes, and was shocked when the next low words that came out of the blond man's mouth were in a tongue no one else on this Earth was supposed to know. "Weighty subject matter, indeed."

He swallowed hard, trying not to cut himself on the sound of the words. "Battles between Light and Dark usually are, my Lord."

Pevensie raised a blond brow. "And you are so certain the battle is over, Watchman?"

A blizzard took up residence in his bones. No. He reached . . . . and was overwhelmed by the sheer force of it. Black spots swirled in front of his eyes. There was a rushing sound in his ears – water? But the sky was clear –

"Breathe. Will, it's alright."

The waitress's voice babbled somewhere above him; firmly set aside by another, soothing but firm. Gone, just as quickly as it had come. He concentrated on pulling air into his lungs. Blood pulsing from his heart was the only sound he could make out clearly.

Minutes passed. Gradually, darkness receded.

"Will." A calm demand, but it came from a Lord of the High Magic. Obey.

"My Lord?" He wasn't dazed enough to miss the warning glance, and shook his head, raising a shaking hand to push overlong brown strands from his eyes.

"I'm sorry." Will blinked at the surprising words. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

The Watchman nodded, glass chill against his lips. Beads of water slipped against his skin. And he had been frightened, for one wild moment – opening all his senses as far as he could, to seek out the taint of the Dark in the world around him. And had instead been swamped by the High Magic pouring not just from the man across the table from him, but three other nearby sources as well.

But there is a Darkness. The Old One within him had recognized it, faint and far away as it was. A Darkness that had grown from the natural clouded nature of man into something more malevolent. But it was not wholly of the Dark – it could not be. It had been born of humanity.

Still, it was more than reason enough for the Watchman to be on guard. It was faded strength – but strong enough that I should have noticed, close as it was. How did I miss it? He tasted the memory again, alarmed when he realized that he hadn't noticed, after all. And a power like that . . . he should have.

Fingers curled around his shoulder, and he realized that the other man had been trying to get his attention for some time. "I'm sorry," Will managed. "What were you saying?"

"I wanted to know if you were alright."

"I'm fine." And it was almost true by now. The Old One was tucked deeply away, but Will's curiosity was roused. Concern tightened his muscles. Urged on by the blond man, he took another sip of water.

After a moment of careful glances and steadying breaths, Peter Pevensie retreated back to his side of the table.

As they sat in silence, Will struggled to find something to say. But it proved unnecessary; the book the Lord had been reading was pushed over to him. Bound by tooled burgundy leather and pages gilded with gold, words leapt off the page at him. It was a history; one of strange, human magics he had known existed since his reading of Gramarye, but had never otherwise come across.

Which is why I never sensed anything other than the barest traces of the Dark, he realized. It wasn't truly of the world he inhabited, but another, lying just under the skin of what the people around him called reality. Separate, and submerged.

"It wasn't always this way." He was startled at the sound of his own voice; mind cast back to a room of books and a clock with a deadly pendulum, a memory that walked hand-in-hand with that of a dapper, bright-eyed little man in a green velvet coat.

"Excuse me?"

Will found himself in the present, with the surprising realization that for all this man was a Lord of the High Magic, he was just as human as Will. In his own way. Not that that's saying much. He offered a smile, taking a moment to sink teeth into sugary croissant. When it rested warmly in his stomach, he reached for words again. "There was once no separation between the Wizarding World, and that of normal humans."

Alert attentiveness pierced him, from across beveled glass strewn with plates and the leavings of food. Will recognized with no little chagrin something of what had brought him to London this day. The will of the High Magic is never clear until the moment it chooses to be.

When the Book of Gramarye had been destroyed, it had been saved from falling into the wrong hands. An Old One's memory was sufficient to preserve the knowledge – and to disperse it as needed, in times to come. Did Merriman know this day would come?

It was dangerous to speak of such things in such an open place; mortals of every stripe made their way past on the sidewalk an arm's reach away, filling the buildings lining the bustling street. Any of them could be listening, be something more than what they professed to be, or even something less. But there was a measure of safety in who he was speaking to. They couldn't be overheard. That a Lord of the High Magic wouldn't know this hadn't crossed Will's mind until this very moment. He chewed pastry, savoring the rush of sweetness.

"The first true harnessing of magic began thousands of years ago." The Watchman's mind swept him across the world of ten thousand years past. "Humans knew something besides themselves existed in the time before that, when the people wandered in scattered bands across the face of the Earth. The Celtic tribes were especially strong with it, but it was on every continent, with every people, though the names and ways it manifested were different."

A thoughtful nod told him the other man was with him; Will felt almost as if he was lecturing. Water eased the tension in his throat at the thought of what he was saying. "It wasn't fully grasped, however, until just about five thousand years ago, with the first rise of Ancient Egyptian civilization. The priests were servants of the gods, and different from the everyday person." Pylons and obelisks towered in his mind; precious metals shone from palace walls and quiet figures marched by in finest linens.

"The first pharaoh said to have unified the Two Lands was called Min. And it is widely believed that he first conceptualized the structure of magic as it is used today."

--3050 BC, Season of Harvest--

"Did you see that!"

Wide eyes, dark and startled, snared his. "Your Majesty?"

The hand of the divine one, Strong Bull of Horus, Beloved of Re, and the King of Upper Egypt, flapped impatiently. "Never mind that now, Nebankh! Did you see it?"

Smoke did not reach his nose; there was no fuel for the flames to eat, and they burned yet. "Yes, Majesty." And Nebankh, councilor, vizier, hereditary prince, and trusted friend of the king, had no idea what to make of it.

Pharaoh, however, apparently did. "It was harnessed! Controlled! By a word

"It appears so, Majesty." Cool as it was in shaded stone halls, sweat beaded his upper lip.

The ruler, long-since divested of the royal garments of court, let loose a not-quite-divine snort. "When we were youths, you would not have been so unaffected!"

In truth, Nebankh was a little frightened. "Thou art truly the son of the Sun, to capture the power of the gods in the people."

Royal eyes beseeched the ceiling for patience. "Nebankh, that is not the point!"

"Majesty?"

"You know this power." Royal feet paced the lavish palace hall, emptied now of courtiers and ambassadors. The two were alone among sculpted columns and painted walls. "It may be used by any, be they peasant child, laborer, craftsman, or the king. It is a sign from the gods, from Atum himself, that Egypt is favored over all the barbarian Nubians and Asiatics."

"We know this, Majesty." His attempt to calm his sovereign was trampled beneath the king's sandals.

"But it has never been more than an uncontrolled whim!" The king snorted heavily, muscles bunching as powerful fists clenched. Nebankh knew Min longed for his mace, battle gleaming in his eyes. "The child has as much ability with this power as a man grown. But -"

He did not like the sudden speculation in the royal eyes turning to him. "Majesty?"

"If one can control it, then perhaps others may," was the thoughtful determination.

Fright seized hold of his heart, and Nebankh forgot himself. Control it? "Min -"

Min grinned at him. "If I can, so can you."

"You are king!" Nebankh protested. "It is a gift from the gods to the divine one, and this humble cupbearer dares not -"

"I have seen you," his stubborn majesty insisted. "In battle, years ago – you know what I'm talking about, Nebankh. That barbarian caught me by surprise and would have spitted me like a haunch for the fire had you not thrown him off. You were not even touching him, Nebankh."

He had been frightened, seeing his friend and king one step from eternal judgment in front of Osiris. Nebankh hadn't been ready to lose Min to the Duat. Not yet. And it was only when he was terrified, in fear of his life, that he could grip that elusive power –

Heat scorched his skin. At his side, flames roared with sudden life.

Nebankh fell back, scrambling to keep his feet, scrambling for something to douse the flame. A word flitted into his heart, and he threw it from his tongue in panic. "Water!"

A deluge, cool and smelling faintly of fish, drenched not only the flames but the two men as well. From nothing, water splashed down, leaving them standing in a large puddle and soaked to the skin.

The pointing finger shook, dropping to his side. Nebankh closed his mouth, and tasted the Nile when he swallowed.

Min said his name, softly, and Nebankh shivered. "Majesty?"

"We will control this, Nebankh. We will learn, and practice – and then we will train the armies. With this . . . I will conquer Lower Egypt, and unify the Two Lands."

--July 7, 1994--

"China, of course, has had a longer continuous civilization. But their tradition of magic is entirely different than what is found across Europe, and both differ from the native magics of Siberia and the Americas. What is in use in the Wizarding world of the United Kingdom and Europe harkens back to the Romans, and the Egyptians before them."

The same hot sun that had illuminated those events caressed Peter's cheek as he listened, millennia later. Incredible. . . and more than a little worrying that he was hearing these facts from a complete stranger. Not a wizard. Though everything, from his clothes to his presence in Muggle London, made that obvious. The Watchman was known to the Pevensies through their time in Narnia, though they had never met.

Dumbledore never told us. No one in the Wizarding world did – and none of the histories even made mention of it. An offhand comment by Harry entered his mind – something about History of Magic being the most boring class, and taught by a ghost to boot. This certainly isn't boring!

The story continued in Will's serene voice, pulling Peter from another memory; one of Cair Paravel's great library and the scrolls Susan had read to them all. Called Old Ones, they exist in Time out of mind, across all the faces of Narnia and its neighboring countries, though they are seldom seen.

"Much of the structure – for example, the idea of confining and focusing magic with words, comes from that time period. After the first collapse of Egypt, priests took over the refinement and training of those who were able, during the Middle Kingdom."

"The priests," murmured Peter quietly. A piece of information tickled the back of his brain, darting away before he could grasp it and filling him with foreboding. Priests. And . . . oracles? Su read something . . . But he couldn't remember. Peter settled deeper against uncomfortable metal rods. Ridiculous chair.

Will nodded, one finger tracing hieroglyphs in the remnants of powdered sugar dusting the small plate. "It is rumored that the fall of the Middle Kingdom some three and a half millennia ago was in great part a result of the priests attempting to gain more power. The struggle between the pharaohs and the servants of the gods was an ongoing political undercurrent for much of the history of that era and the one that followed."

"The New Kingdom?" Peter hazarded. It had been a long time since he had last learned ancient history.

"And there's where things got complicated," Will agreed. "Very complicated, very quickly. And it stayed that way."Peter watched as fingers resisted the urge to clear sugar off on his slacks; Will did have an interview shortly. The Watchman groped for a napkin. "Relatively early on, a heretic king named Amenhoteph IV styled himself as Akhenaten and attempted to revolutionize Egyptian religion. He reasoned that since the priests were causing so much trouble, he would get rid of them, replacing the many gods that Egypt had worshipped for thousands of years, with a single deity."

Crumpled paper bounced irritably on the table. Peter's brows disappeared under his bangs. Tea, long since gone cold, sat forgotten in the patterned saucer. "Not a good idea?"

Will shrugged. "It was something akin to the Pope claiming that Jesus didn't really exist, and that Christians should all begin to worship someone else – one of the archangels, perhaps."

Peter's wince told Will that he'd made himself clear. "I don't suppose that lasted very long."

Glass scraped as the sugared dish was shoved sideways. Solemn gray eyes stared into the past. Peter waited.

"Longer than you'd think – though Egypt nearly fell apart in the meantime. After Akhenaten died, his second successor, Tutankhamen, reverted back to the old gods. But the damage was done."

--1339 BC: Year Five of the Reign of the Pharaoh Tutankhamen--

"Cousin."

"Ebana," Meren tilted his head, pushing back the roar of his heart in his ears.

"I haven't come for a loving family talk. I come on business from the priests of Amun," his cousin snapped. The two men, with their aristocratic features and charioteer's forms, still looked as if they had shared the same womb. "The golden one -"

"Court is not to begin for an hour yet, Ebana."

The priest sniffed, glaring at him. "I could tell the priests how you denied my entrance to Pharaoh's presence -"

Meren remembered when Ebana had begun practicing his priestly demeanor. Had they not shared childhood, he would not have been able to read anything in the other's expression. The Eyes and Ears of Pharaoh sighed. "You'll only create further strain between the temple and the court."

"Really?" Ebana turned his head then, and the scar tracing from his temple to chin stood white against dusky skin.

"You know I tried to warn you, Ebana."

"Did you?" Old hurt flared between them. Under his elaborate wig, jewels, and transparent over-robe, Ebana's black eyes were furious. "I'll never believe that you didn't know Akhenaten had condemned me. You knew how unpredictable were his humors."

"Why won't you understand?" Meren's ka wailed in pain, but the words were tired, with the weight of many arguments lending them only a bitter sorrow. "He almost killed me as well. I'd barely been released when I discovered he had sent men after you -"

"Men who killed my wife, and dashed my infant son's skull upon the rocks of the street," came the hissing accusation. Pain took the place of fury. "The guards dragged me away – for all my spells and curses. I never saw them again."

"I am sorry, Ebana."

"Are you?" Sorrow was shed from black eyes like water from the back of a duck, replaced by clinging, raw anger.

"You know I concealed their bodies – the old king never found them. I tried, Ebana."

"You wallowed in his blasphemous court," his cousin sneered. What peace had held between them rotted like meat in the sun. Meren swallowed, forcing down the rancid taste of failure. That he had had no choice about his service to the heretic king was not important, to either of them.

Watching his cousin stalk towards the palace's cool shelter, Meren stood beneath the light of Re and wished with all his ka that the gods had never afflicted Akhenaten on Egypt.

--July 7, 1994--

"The separation between Wizards and Muggles?"

Will signaled the waitress for more water. "It began there," he nodded. "Egyptian civilization was on the whole very conservative. This aspect helped incredibly in preserving knowledge, which built and grew. But the society also tended to reach heights and then stagnate, without developing further and even backsliding at times. Change was very gradual, until this point."

"And from then on, the division was permanent?" Fingers raked at overlong blond strands; distress colored summer-sky eyes.

Water slipped down his throat, bringing with it cool relief. "The training and use of magic had been in the hands of the priests for thousands of years at that point. Though the talent was still found in anyone, and the royal family especially, control over it was more use than the ability itself. And after Akhenaten, the priests became even more secretive. The people still knew and believed that the gods placed individuals in their classes for a reason, and one only rose from his station by their will. The occupation of scribe was open to any boy with a willing and clever heart, and while the priesthood used to be the same for those who could use magic, the priests were fearful. They became selective, and it is from this fear that the roots of the separation we see now was born."

A sound of despairing disgust colored the air between them. He's taking it quite well. Will hadn't been exposed to the Wizarding world enough to feel the anger that Peter was obviously entertaining. But he knew enough of humanity to understand, and even pity the fear that had driven the priests.

"But Egypt collapsed," Pevensie finally said, his voice quiet.

Wind brought stray bits of conversation to Will's ears, blowing strands of straight brown hair into his eyes. "Around 343 BC." The unspoken question was, How much of their legacy survives? "But with the later foreign forces, especially the Romans, the divide only grew." He swallowed, blanking the image of flames from his mind. Even so, his heart twisted in his chest. "The burning of the Library at Alexandria destroyed most of the knowledge collected by the Egyptians – and by that time, their civilization had long since dissolved."

"But surely all the knowledge wasn't lost?"

"No. Not all of it. Not quite." Enough of it was eaten by the fire. And if the flames were stoked by the new Christianity, who now would know? Will forced himself to meet shocked blue, but there, words failed him.

"My brother remarked that quite a few wizard's spells sound like Latin." It could have been an offhand comment. By the seriousness in the regal features, it wasn't. Each fixed their gaze on the heavy book resting on clear glass.

Lips twisted in a wry grin; Will nodded. "The idea of controlling magic spread to the Romans through their contact with Egypt, and it was there that most of the Roman conceptions about magic came, including solidifying the division between the people."

The other was clearly startled. "But -"

"Captiva Aegypta was written on their coins," Will cut in, with more than a little irony. The hand not wrapped about a slippery water glass tapped the leather cover. "It only strengthened the secrecy and segregation of the individuals who could control magic, from those who could not. But Rome became a vast empire, spreading far out of Italy into Europe – and with it went the stolen ideas and mistakes of the Egyptians, along with many of the refinements added by the Romans themselves. And Egyptian stratified society had nothing next to the rigidness of the Romans. And as the magic-users became more selective and secretive -"

"The non-magic folk would have been afraid of them, and even violent at times." Pevensie clearly understood people. I shouldn't be so surprised. But an Old One did not think of a Lord of the High Magic as . . . human.

"It's the way of mankind." Will could be more objective, and at that moment felt very far away from Peter's regret.

"And then Christianity -"

"It furthered the segregation," Will nodded. "The burning of the Great Library at Alexandria, the witch hunts of the middle ages. . . ."I didn't expect him to jump to that so quickly. "There were many Dark times for man, after Akhenaten."

If he hadn't been listening so closely, he would have missed Peter's voice entirely. "And another one is upon us."

Will blinked. He sounds so sure. How, how could he not have felt it? But the Old One discounted that thought. No time for blame. Unearthing a pen from his case, Will scribbled a number onto a napkin. "This is where you can reach me." I am limited, but there is help I can give. Knowledge, if nothing else.

Peter glanced at the digits, and twitched the pen from his grasp. A few scribbles later, and Will had a corresponding napkin in his own hand.

"It's not much," the Lord of High Magic murmured, a grin quirking at his lips.

Will pocketed the napkin securely. " 'When the Dark comes rising, six shall turn it back.' We were not many, but we prevailed."

"Even with armies at your back, I find that the actions of one person can turn the tide of battle," Peter said slowly. "A single lamppost can be the most effective barrier against the Dark. No matter how dimly it might shine."

Amen to that, thought the purely human part of Will. He was reminded, then, of a little church in Buckingham, and the pastor of his childhood; of singing choirs, and quiet faith.

"About that interview . . ."

Will snapped back to this Time, flushing to have been caught wandering. And was smacked with the realization that if he didn't hurry, he was in serious danger of making an unfavorable impression at his interview. His watch was insistent – How did I lose track of the time?

"How important is that to you?"

"Excuse me?"

"Would you be open to another teaching offer?"

Old One or not, he had to eat. "That depends." Will pushed the ornate chair up to the table, ignoring the skreet of metal against concrete. "What position? Where?"

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." A rueful smile lit azure eyes. "The History of Magic professor is quite literally past his time."

Old Ones were powerful, serene, and never shocked. Will picked his jaw up off the ground, gathering briefcase under one arm and coat over the other. When words decided that he'd suffered in stuttering silence enough and came to his aid, the best he could come up with was, "I'll think about it."

"I hope to see you again." Peter offered a hand; his grip was sure. Three more nexuses of power were approaching. His family? Two women, and another man, and all of them looking as if they hadn't a care in the world.

Unlike Will, who was going to be late. But I have a feeling . . . No more than a tickling in his mind, the Old One within stirring to wakefulness once more. "I can guarantee it," Will Stanton murmured.

And as he left the café, striding quickly down the pavement, he tasted the idea once more. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I wonder . . .

Fin