Harry potter: I am the king of United Kingdom

The soft hum of quills scratching against parchment filled the air as Professor McGonagall guided the class through another meticulous Transfiguration lesson. Sunlight poured in through the tall arched windows, illuminating the room in a golden glow. Arthur sat at the back, his Blackthorn wand resting idly on his desk.

Though the room buzzed with quiet activity, Arthur felt strangely disconnected, like a passenger watching the world through a foggy window. His mind wandered, half-focused on the assignment, half-distracted by the unease that had settled in his chest since the morning.

"Mr. Pendragon," McGonagall's sharp tone snapped through the haze like a whip. Arthur's head jerked up, meeting her piercing gaze. "Perhaps you'd care to demonstrate the spell we've been practicing? Transforming this beetle into a button."

Arthur rose slowly, his chair scraping against the stone floor. The classroom fell silent, all eyes on him. He felt the familiar weight of expectation settle on his shoulders, the same weight he'd carried his entire life as a Pendragon.

He focused his gaze on the tiny beetle crawling across the desk at the front of the room. Taking a steadying breath, he raised his wand and gave it a precise flick. The creature shimmered, twisting and reshaping until it became a gleaming silver button.

McGonagall nodded approvingly. "Impressive as always, Mr. Pendragon. But I would appreciate it if you remained focused throughout the lesson."

Arthur returned to his seat, her words a gentle rebuke. Yet, despite her praise, a heavy weight remained in his chest. Something felt wrong. The air carried an oppressive tension, like the calm before a storm.

The lesson continued, but Arthur couldn't shake his unease. The hum of quills and the droning lecture became distant, his thoughts slipping further into the storm brewing in his mind.

Then, the knock came—a sharp, unexpected rap on the door. The class collectively paused, heads turning as a small, somber-looking owl swooped into the room, clutching an envelope with the unmistakable Pendragon seal.

Arthur froze, his heart dropping into his stomach. The owl landed gracefully on his desk, tilting its head as if urging him to take the letter. Slowly, with trembling hands, Arthur broke the wax seal and unfolded the parchment.

His vision blurred as he read the words.

"Lady Morgana Pendragon, beloved mother of Arthur Pendragon, was found dead this morning within the halls of Pendragon Castle. A spear was embedded in her stomach, and the circumstances of her death remain unknown. Authorities are investigating, and her loss is mourned by all who knew her."

Arthur's chest tightened. The words seemed unreal, impossible. His mother—his strong, indomitable mother—couldn't be gone. Yet the official tone of the letter left no room for denial.

"Mr. Pendragon?" McGonagall's voice was softer now, laced with concern. But Arthur didn't respond. He stood abruptly, clutching the letter in his shaking hands.

"I—I need to go," he stammered, his voice cracking. Without waiting for permission, he bolted from the room, leaving his bag, books, and bewildered classmates behind.

Arthur ran blindly through the castle corridors, his footsteps echoing against the stone walls. He barely noticed the students who turned to stare as he passed, their whispers blending into an indistinct hum.

When he finally burst outside, the crisp autumn air hit him like a wave. He stumbled toward the Black Lake, his legs giving out beneath him as he collapsed onto the damp grass.

The letter crumpled in his fist as sobs wracked his body. The pain was all-consuming, an unbearable ache that seemed to hollow out his chest. Memories of his mother flooded his mind—her warm smile, her commanding presence, the way she could make him feel safe no matter the storm.

And now, she was gone.

The sound of approaching footsteps broke through his despair. Arthur didn't lift his head until a familiar voice spoke.

"Arthur."

It was Aurelius. His cousin knelt beside him, his usual composed demeanor softened by sympathy. "I heard," he said quietly. "I came as soon as I could."

Arthur's voice was hoarse. "She's gone, Aurelius. She's really gone."

Aurelius rested a hand on Arthur's shoulder, his expression darkening. "I know. And I know how much she meant to you. But I also know this—whoever did this will pay."

Arthur's grief began to harden into something sharper. He clenched his fists, his gaze blazing with quiet fury. "They'll regret it," he whispered. "Whoever they are, they'll regret it."

Aurelius nodded, his own resolve matching Arthur's. "We'll find out who's behind this. Together."

The two cousins sat in silence, the wind rippling across the surface of the Black Lake. For Arthur, the grief was still raw, but Aurelius's presence grounded him. He wasn't alone in his pain, and he wouldn't be alone in seeking justice.

When they finally stood, the sky had begun to darken, streaked with hues of orange and purple. Aurelius placed a firm hand on Arthur's shoulder. "We'll start with the castle," he said. "Whatever clues there are, we'll find them."

Arthur nodded, his resolve solidifying. His mother's death would not go unanswered.