Harry gazed around, astounded. He didn't know how, but he was in the Middle Ages. All around him, people dressed in twelfth century garb strolled about, busy with their peasant lives. Many carried baskets of food or blankets, while some of the men toted swords. A blacksmith chinked away in his forge. The babble of the marketplace filled Harry's ears, while the godawful smell of the town assaulted his nose.

"This is fantastic," he breathed.

Beside him, Professor Dumbledore gave a small nod. "Yes, Camelot was a fascinating city."

"But why are we here, professor?" Harry wondered.

The old man looked around. "A history lesson," he replied. "I find the architecture rather pleasant, wouldn't you agree?" He blinked. "Look, Harry." Dumbledore pointed one gnarled finger into the street. "The boy with the scarf. Do you see him?"

Harry followed his headmaster's finger, his brow furrowing as he spotted the lanky youth, laden down with an armful of armor. "Yeah. Why?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled knowingly. "That boy is Merlin."

Harry's eyes widened in shock, and he whipped his head around to see the boy again. As he watched, Merlin tripped and fell forward, spilling the armor onto the muddy road. "That's him?" Harry cried in disbelief. "That's the greatest wizard of all time? The one who saves all magic folk and all that?"

"You seem surprised," Dumbledore remarked.

Harry shrugged. "Well, I don't know, I just expected him to be a bit more… impressive."

The professor gazed at Harry from behind his half-moon spectacles. "Impressive?" he repeated curiously.

"Yeah, you know, important-looking. Intimidating. Strong." Harry folded his arms, observing with no small amount of mirth as Merlin knelt in the mud and scowled at the dirtied armor.

Dumbledore paused a moment, folding his hands in front of his robes. "Harry," he began pleasantly, "have you ever looked in the mirror?"

Harry's amused smile vanished in a heartbeat.

*shame on me. I wrote a crossover. But I couldn't resist.*