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Chapter Text

“IT'S HERE, IT'S HERE!” yelled a cheery voice and footsteps thundered down the stairs. A little boy, no older than eleven, raced through the house, clutching a fat, cream-coloured envelope in his hand. He ran into the kitchen and doubled over as he tried to catch his breath whilst an older man laughed.

“What’s here, son?” he asked, stirring the soup on the stove with his wand. “What’s gotten you so excited?”

The boy ripped open the envelope with a never-before-seen level of happiness. He threw the other pieces of parchment away as one caught his eye, and he cleared his throat and began to read aloud, 

“Dear Mr Derwyn,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall”

“Calm down, son,” said his father — Cerdan — with a laugh but the little boy began to jump around the small kitchen with excitement. “When should we get your supplies then?”

“Right now!” He eagerly searched through the previously discarded parchment until the boy found a list. “Here, we have to get all of these things, right now.” His father chuckled as he read the list, his smile dimming.

“Mord, I know you’re excited, but I need you to calm down and be mature, yeah?” The little boy — Mord — nodded solemnly as his smile was replaced with a very serious expression, which his father snorted at. “We can order most of your books but Madam Malkin will most likely want your measurements, and you can hardly order your first wand,” he said in a worried tone. “I need to ask around to see if anyone can take you.”

“Why can’t you come?” asked Mord sadly.

“Son, we’ve talked about this before, it’s not safe for me to step outside,” said Cerdan gently. Mord nodded as they walked out of the kitchen, both carrying a warm bowl of pumpkin soup. For the past couple of years, they had rarely left the house for fear of his father’s safety. Their recent excursions had only been as far as the river or the woods. “I’m sure Aunt Saoirse can take you when she takes Kara. I wonder, will Kara be going to Hogwarts?” he mused aloud.

“C-can you say no? Can you choose not to go?” asked Mord, stunned. He had assumed attendance was compulsory. But then again, who would turn down a place at Hogwarts? It was simply the best school.

“Saoirse isn't the biggest fan of Albus Dumbledore — of course, it’s Professor Dumbledore now,” his father answered as he blew on his soup. “You can decline but people don’t usually choose that option.”

Mord swallowed his own spoonful and relished in its slightly spicy yet overall sweet taste. He would definitely miss this when he went to Hogwarts. Suddenly, a wave of homesickness washed over him, even though he hadn’t left yet. Could he leave his father?

“What’s wrong, son? Why the long face?”

“I—I don’t think I can go, Father,” he said in a quiet voice. Cerdan smiled as he pulled Mord into a hug. “Who’ll look after you? I—I’ll say no. I won’t go.”

“Nonsense. Listen to me, Mord Derwyn, your old man can look after himself just fine, yeah?” said his father seriously. Mord looked up to see a rare frown marring his father’s expression. “You were so excited to go! I’ll be just fine, alright?” 

Mord nodded but still felt unconvinced. His father had never been alone since the incident. The incident which alienated them from their loving community, which forced them to hide and to never come out. His father had never seen the negative side of his condition before, always saying that it gave him new opportunities, like learning to grow their own food and showing him who his true friends were, but Mord often heard his father stay up late, speaking sadly to Aunt Saoirse.

“You may even get to go to Diagon Alley all by yourself…” suggested Cerdan with a twinkle in his eyes. “I know you’ve always wanted to go outside, and I think you’re responsible enough to look after yourself now.”

Mord sat up straighter as his father praised him but pouted slightly when he spoke to his bowl of soup. “I wanted to go with you, though.”

“Mord, not this again—”

“I KNOW!” yelled Mord. He flinched at his own shout and repeated himself more quietly, “I know, werewolves don’t have it easy and all, but it’s not fair. Everyone else gets to go with their parents, and I, I can’t.” He sighed and polished the rest of his soup off with a bread roll. It really was a good soup. “But thank you, for trusting me enough to send me by myself.”

Mord left for his room quickly, not wanting to hear his father’s response. It wasn’t his fault. How could Cerdan be blamed for protecting Mord? If he hadn’t stepped in, it would have been Mord who could never live a normal life again. As he sat on his bed, Mord felt shame overtake him. He shouldn’t have yelled. He was just annoyed and besides, it was just his frustration that poured out. Mord convinced himself that he didn’t need to apologise. 

But what if his father thought he wasn’t mature? Then he would never agree to send Mord to Diagon Alley.

He ran down the stairs again and rehearsed a short apology. Mord was going to Diagon Alley, no matter what.

Chapter Text

“Make yourself at home, Merlin, dear,” said Mrs Weasley as he struggled out of the cramped car. The Ford Anglia didn’t look like it could fit eight people and six trunks, but it was surprisingly spacious on the inside, something which Mr Weasley looked guilty about when Ginny mentioned it. Merlin found himself squeezed between Fred and George, who kept whispering jokes about Percy every time his head was turned. It was a real struggle to keep a straight face.

Merlin began to unload the trunk with his magic and the suitcases neatly marched out and stacked themselves against the tyres. Mrs Weasley frowned at this display, even though Mr Weasley and the twins joined in. “Right, now that that’s been done, please give me your wand Merlin,” said Mrs Weasley as she took Ron’s and Ginny’s as well. “I don’t want to see any more displays of under-age magic.”

“But, Mum, it’s not even a big deal,” grumbled Fred as he handed her a sleek black wand. “They can’t even tell who does magic!” She took it with a stern glare, only to immediately drop the wand as it transformed into a rubber chicken. As Mrs Weasley yelled at the twins, Fred covertly whispered to Merlin, “We’re experimenting. That there is a joke wand. Still a prototype, but what do you think?” Merlin laughed and admired the magic, although a part within him was still shocked at the misuse of magic. The small part which sounded a lot like Gaius which he quickly shushed.

Mrs Weasley turned to Merlin with her hand out, waiting expectantly. Merlin fished out his wooden stick from within his jumper and gave it in. Draco had warned him to keep it within arms reach at all times but Mrs Weasley didn’t look like someone he wanted to argue with. She reminded him of Cook from Camelot — Cook meant well but she was also a force of nature.

Ron furrowed his eyebrows. “But Merlin doesn’t even need a wand, so how is that fair? He can still do magic, unlike us!”

“Everyone needs a wand to do magic, Ron,” said Mr Weasley at once as he emptied the car of the mess. “There. Now we can go inside.” Merlin shrugged apologetically and a part of him wondered if he could teach his magic to other people. After all, wasn’t magic the same for everyone?

He shook himself out of his thoughts and finally turned his attention to the enormous house that stood in front of him. The base looked like a regular stable house, the kind where Arthur’s horses lived their lavish lives, but on top were plenty of boxes of houses stacked precariously on each other. Merlin squinted, trying to see what material they were made of. It wasn’t like the Malfoy Manor, which, like Arthur’s castle, was made of stone, but had peeling paint sticking to a brown wall. Although the house looked unassuming, there was no way it held up without magic. Fat, brown chickens ran to greet the family and Mr Weasley gently guided them back into the safety of their pen. By the front door lay a rusty cauldron and a couple of old boots and Mrs Weasley sighed irritably as she kicked them away and allowed Merlin to go in first.

“It’s not much,” whispered Ron uncomfortably but Merlin cut him off. He loved it. The amount of magic that radiated from the walls was just like how it was in Hogwarts, and nothing made him feel more at home than that comforting feeling. Mrs Weasley disappeared into the kitchen at once and Mr Weasley quickly left for the garage, saying the car needed some fixing or other. Percy was gone the second they entered the house, muttering about some school work or other.

“Well, we’ll be off too,” said George heading up the stairs.

“Where?” asked Ginny.

“Oh, I wonder, Ginny, maybe our room?” answered Fred sarcastically. “Come, Fred, let’s start our homework, yeah?”

“And I thought that was Fred,” said Ron with a roll of his eyes. “Anyway, come Merlin, you’re sharing with me. I’ve got the worst room in the house.” He started running up the stairs and Merlin quickly followed him, leaving an exasperated Ginny behind.

“It’s right at the top,” said Ron, panting. They finally made what felt like 5 staircases to Merlin. He was surprisingly out of breath, which was strange considering Arthur made him train harder than this even though he was only a servant, but then again, it had been a long time since he left Camelot, thought Merlin painfully. He pushed the feeling away as Ron threw open his door and they stepped inside.

It was like walking into a furnace: nearly everything in his room seemed to be a violent shade of orange: the bedspread, the walls, even the ceiling. Then Merlin realised that Ron had covered nearly every inch of the shabby wallpaper with posters of the same seven witches and wizards, all wearing bright orange robes, carrying broomsticks, and waving energetically. Was this his favourite quidditch team?

“The Chudley Cannons,” said Ron as he noticed Merlin’s inquisitive look. “Ninth in the league. ‘Course, the league only has ten teams, but it’s any day now.” Merlin nodded along dumbly. As interested as he was about brooms and the game in general, he just couldn’t bring himself to follow any of the teams.

Their trunks sat at the end of the bed, magicked up by Mr Weasley beforehand and Ron quickly busied himself with unpacking. Merlin continued to look at the artefacts scattered across the room, nothing like his small chambers back in Camelot. He had never really gotten round to decorating there, always scared he would have to leave in an instant, should Arthur find out about his secret. But here, it truly seemed like a warm and loving home.

“Oh, thank you,” said Ron, his cheeks turning slightly pink. Had he said that out loud? “I would have thought Malfoy’s room was as large as the Burrow itself. And I should warn you, there’s a ghoul in the attic and I’m right underneath him. He’s always banging on pipes and groans and—”

“Ron, seriously, when I was younger, my mother and I had one room. That was our kitchen, our bedroom, our living room, our everything,” interrupted Merlin. “Compared to that, everything is a luxury.”

“Oh,” muttered Ron, sounding slightly uncomfortable. “Did you live with your mother up until you left for Hogwarts?”

Merlin cocked his head. “No actually. I was sent to learn magic with my great-uncle, but he was in a place that wasn’t safe for sorc— I mean wizards. So I had one magic book to learn from.”

“Wait, so you learnt how to do wandless magic from a book?” Merlin turned to face Ron, who was staring at him with apparent wonder. “No way! There are adult wizards who can’t do wandless magic even after Hogwarts.” Well, he was, as Kilgharrah often mentioned, the greatest sorcerer to ever walk the Earth. Maybe this was one of the perks.

“Hermione’s gonna be so mad when she finds out about this,” continued Ron with a grin. “She’s under the impression that you used to have private tutors because of your — well — your name. Y’know, because you’re a Pureblood.”

Merlin nodded slowly, his thoughts drifting from the conversation. He still didn’t understand how Emrys had gone from being one of his titles (as though he were some fancy lord!) to an important family name.

“Are you listening?” Merlin blinked out of his stupor. In front of him stood Ginny who rolled her eyes. “Mum wants you two down in ten minutes for tea.” As she left, she yelled over her shoulder, “Not your owl, Ron!”

Chapter Text

A couple of days passed with Merlin at their house and so far, there were no complaints. Actually, none of them had any but Mum had plenty of complaints. To Ron’s, Ginny’s and the twin’s horror, Merlin enjoyed doing chores! He didn’t even need to be told; in fact, he was discouraged, but he still found a way to wash the dishes or clean up their messes. That too without magic. All this succeeded in doing was annoying Molly that her own children couldn’t compare.

Nevertheless, Ron was happy — his parents adored Merlin and so did the twins. Dad had someone willing to listen about the inventions of Muggles with rapt attention (seriously, did Merlin not get bored?) and Ron slightly envied the way Merlin was welcome in Fred and George’s room whenever. Not to mention the way he included everyone at the dinner table meaning that Ginny was smiling more often and even Percy laughed. That night, everyone was shocked, no more than Ron himself, who almost swore as he heard Percy’s high-pitched giggles.

The only downside was the lack of magic. Mum hadn’t budged on her strict rule but Fred and George had found a way to get their wands back. They even offered to get Merlin’s but he refused. Then again, Ron remembered bitterly, he didn’t even need it. He tried asking the twins to get his and he should have been more wary when they readily accepted but Ron didn’t realise.

“Oh look, they actually got it for me,” said Ron with a surprised laugh as he walked into his room with Merlin. On his bed lay his wand, looking slightly darker than he remembered. Maybe they had even polished it!

“Wait Ron, I don’t think—”

A sudden blast interrupted Merlin as Ron tried to pick up his wand. The black smoke erupting from the tip cleared to reveal a large live parrot. Ron screamed, causing the parrot to scream as well. Footsteps thundered up the stairs and the door to the attic room was thrown open.

“Oh Merlin, he waved it!” Fred and George ran in at once and burst into laughter as Ron glared at them. The parrot squawked loudly and impatiently as it tried to fly out of the closed window, only to bang its head and fall to the floor.

“I can’t believe you would do that!” said Ron angrily as he let the bird out of the window. “You even offered to get Merlin’s. I’m your brother!”

“And that’s why, for a special discount, we can get your wand, Ronnikins,” said George. “3 Knuts.” Ron’s mouth fell open comically. A small knock interrupted them as Percy peered through the door.

“Evening, all. Please keep it down, I am trying to do some very important work,” he said with his nose in the air. “And Ron, please come to my room once you have finished here.” He was about to leave when he turned and added, “Remember to knock.”

“Well, brother dear, we’ll get going seeing as His Importantness wants to talk to you,” said George with a mocking bow. “Come, George, we know where we’re not wanted.”

“How can I still not tell the difference between them?” muttered Ron as Merlin examined the fake wand with extreme interest. “How can you do it?” Ron was fairly certain Fred and George only liked Merlin because he could tell them apart. That was also why they liked Bill and Charlie. Even Harry was close to making the list.

"I don't know, actually. I just, they have different magic signatures so it's honestly easier that way. Anyway, you should go find out what Percy wants,” added Merlin hurriedly after completely confusing Ron. Yes, he should get going. It wasn’t often Percy had visitors but when he did, he treated with extreme formality.

Percy’s room was next door to the twins’ on the second floor, much to his chagrin. He frequently complained of explosions and alike but after every complaint, Percy would appear the next morning with a neon green face that lasted for a good hour. The complaints stopped immediately.

“Ah, Ron, excellent,” said Percy importantly. Ron debated stepping inside, knowing full well Percy never allowed anyone into his room, but then again, he was (personally) invited. “Oh no, no need for you to come inside. I wanted you to have this,” he said, holding a small brown rat. Ron took the gift hesitantly, half convinced it was already dead. “I am most likely going to be Head Boy, and Mum will want to buy me a present so I thought long and hard about who I want Scabbers to go to.”

“Th-thanks, Percy,” said Ron stroking the rat. It quivered under his fingers, a small hint of life still beating through his frail body.

“You are the one who I believe will follow in my footsteps. The twins are a lost cause,” he said with a dramatic sigh, “and Ginny worships them far too much. Scabbers will bring you good luck, Ron.” It was hard for Ron to believe that the dying rat he had in his hands was going to bring him luck, but he accepted it anyway and left quickly.

Ron didn’t know about good luck, but Scabbers definitely made things more interesting. The very next day, they were all gathered in the dining room for lunch and as usual, Mum was serving them whilst once again frowning at Merlin’s skinny appearance. Ron decided not to mention that he had actually fattened up since their first meeting, which Merlin seemed to appreciate.

“Really, Merlin dear, you look as though you’ve never been fed!” she said, making sure to pile Merlin’s plate with plenty of roast potatoes. As usual, Merlin distributed them quickly and efficiently to Ginny and Ron, who sat on either side of him. Mum was none the wiser, especially as nobody complained.

“Molly, dear, let the boy eat in peace,” said Dad, also as usual. However, here there was an interruption to their normal daily activity. The dining room had a large window which overlooked the garden. It was so large it functioned as a backdoor and while nobody really used that entrance, a well-dressed man stood outside and knocked impatiently.

As Mum opened the window by a small crack, the man barged in uninvited, closely followed by others who held Muggle cameras and brandished what Ron guessed were Quick-Quotes Quills in the air. They circled the dining table and quickly descended on their targets, who happened to sit in a line together.

“What’s going on?” asked Dad but he was shushed with a badge to his face. “Reporters from the Daily Proph— hang on, we don’t want to talk to the press!” He was ignored as a reporter shoved a camera in Ron’s face, who panicked and held up his hands, forgetting that Percy’s rat was still sitting from when Merlin was petting it. The reporter unwittingly captured a beautiful shot of Ron hiding his face behind Scabbers and sighed with frustration.

“How did you open the Chamber of Secrets, Ronald Weasley? Did Harry Potter help?” The barrage of questions didn’t cease as more people shoved their quills and cameras close to them. Merlin froze at the sight and Ron kept his mouth tightly shut. The Prophet would use anything and everything as a quote. “What about Merlin Emrys? Are you friends with him because he is an Emrys, Ron? Is that why he’s here?” They moved on to Ginny, who was calmly eating her potatoes. “Ginny! Ginny, tell us how you opened the Chamber! Did you attack the Muggleborns on purpose? How do you feel Arthur, knowing your own children attack Muggles?”

“Stop!” yelled Mum loudly. For a brief second, the reporters froze, before carrying on.

“Molly, what do you think? Do you think your house is fit for an Emrys? Do you feel ashamed to be serving the last Emrys, what is this, boiled potatoes and steak? Emrys! How does it feel to be eating peasant food?”

Dad suddenly stood up, one hand clutching his wand so tightly that it released a shower of red sparks into the reporters' faces. He directed the press outside whilst Percy shielded the three of them from any more photos. Fred and George stuck their feet out, tripping up the press and finally, the mob cleared out. Ron blinked — what had happened?

“Good heavens!” said Dad as he sat down, sweat glistening on his forehead. He speared a potato angrily. “Chased us to our house! Really getting out of hand. I’ll be having a word with them, don’t you worry.”

“They didn’t get any photos, did they?” asked Mum anxiously. Percy shook his head, referring to his valiant attempt at blocking the reporters.

“They got one of Ron,” said George. “His face wasn’t too visible, but Scabbers was there.”

“I’m sure that’s alright,” said Dad in a restrained voice. “But well done, Weasleys — and Emrys — for not saying a word. The Daily Prophet will spin anything you say into a sensational tale.”

“Even if you don’t say anything, they’ll make up a story,” said Fred with a snort.

“Looks like Scabbers will get his moment of fame,” said Merlin finally. He carried on eating his food but Ron thought he looked slightly off. Then again, they were just attacked, and Ron too felt shaken after the incident.

Scabbers did indeed get his moment of fame when Dad returned the next day, furiously throwing the morning edition of the Daily Prophet down on the dining table. On the front cover was Scabbers’ close-up with Ron’s face just visible behind the rat. “I thought I made it clear to Patti, but apparently I wasn’t clear enough,” said Dad after a long time. Percy skimmed the article and reported in an overly formal tone that the article was essentially rubbish.

“At least it's only the picture then,” said Mum in a hopeful tone.

Chapter Text

Harry frantically packed his trunk. What had he done? Fishing out his wand from underneath his bedspread, he tucked it into his back pocket. Right, he needed some clothes. Harry was glad he hadn’t unpacked much and threw in the few clothes he had worn for the past couple of days. Urgently, he scanned his room for anything he might have left behind. His schoolwork was already in the trunk, along with the Invisibility Cloak, and his wand. He didn’t need anything else, right?

Harry took a deep breath and walked quietly down the stairs, making sure his trunk didn't bang against the walls. His mind was so cluttered and he begged himself to calm down. He had to think rationally. But first, he had to get out of here.

“BOY! YOU BRING HER BACK! YOU BRING HER BACK AND PUT HER RIGHT!” yelled his uncle from the other room. Harry flinched but carried on walking towards the front door. If he turned back, there was no telling what he would end up doing. As quietly as he could, Harry turned the door knob. To his immense misfortune, the door creaked loudly.

Almost instantaneously, his aunt appeared by the door, ready to slam it shut. His uncle and Dudley ran in much slower, owing to their large sizes. Poor Aunt Marge was still floating in the dining room. “You can’t leave!” shrieked Aunt Petunia.

“Didn’t you all want me out of here?” asked Harry boldly. Petunia stared at him, not expecting Harry to answer back. “I’m going, and you can’t stop me.”

“W-What about Marge?” asked his uncle shakily as she began to wail loudly in the dining room. Even though he was terrified of how he had just blown up his aunt like a balloon, a small part of him enjoyed the fear on their faces. For a brief moment, he wished fiercely that she would stay like that forever. That would teach her to belittle his parents.

The moment passed and Harry dashed out of the door. What was he thinking? He had just hurt his aunt. And did magic in front of Muggles! Hogwarts was going to expel him. His wand would get snapped in half. Where was he going to go? Harry cursed himself as he remembered his promise last year to stay out of trouble. So much for that.

Harry stood underneath a flickering street lamp just beyond Magnolia Crescent and considered his options. He could always go to the Burrow, although he had no idea how to get there. Could he fly? But he had no idea where it was anyway. Mr Weasley had said something about it being unplottable, so asking for directions wouldn’t help. Besides, would he even be welcome? Harry remembered how inconvenient it had been last year and he didn’t want the Weasleys to struggle again. Not to mention Merlin was currently staying there so who would he even share with now?

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw some movement. Harry held out his wand and muttered “Lumos.” After all, if he was going to be expelled anyway for blowing Marge up, he might as well use magic before they confiscated his wand. A big black dog came into view and it cautiously approached Harry. He watched warily as the dog sniffed his open hand and licked it. Harry smiled and began to pet the dog who sat beside him.

“Hey boy,” murmured Harry. The dog looked up expectantly. “Don’t suppose you know what to do, do you?” The dog whined and laid its head on his lap. The chill in the air lessened and Harry found himself being able to think clearly. “Right, first order of business, I need to find a way out of here, before the Ministry finds me and puts me in prison. Does the Wizarding World even have a prison system?” he wondered before shaking his head. Now wasn’t the time to get side-tracked.

The dog sat up and stuck its right paw out suddenly. Harry frowned and continued petting the dog but it stepped away and repeated the action. “What is it, boy? What do you want?” asked Harry. The dog kept sticking its paw out until Harry tentatively copied him and the dog wagged its tail. “You want my hand?”

The dog then found a stick and gestured sticking its mouth out which was holding the stick. Now he understood! It wanted him to stick his wand out for some unknown reason. Harry obliged the dog and flung out his right hand holding his wand.

A loud bang echoed through the empty street and Harry staggered back, tripping over his forgotten trunk. Sharp beams of light shone into Harry’s eyes and he blinked away the spots to see a large purple bus stop right by his feet, literally.

“Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this eve — Wha’ choo doin’ down there?” said a little man wearing a matching purple uniform. He looked expectantly at Harry who stood up and hastily brushed his jeans.

“Uh, I tripped.”

“Wha’ choo trip over for?” he asked with a snort. Harry rolled his eyes and tucked his wand back into his pocket as he began to drag his trunk over. The conductor — Stan — was nice enough to help him load his luggage though. Harry turned around but the black dog had vanished into the night.

“Well, come on then. Let’s not wait for the grass to grow.” Harry shook his head and climbed aboard. “Step on it, Ern!” Harry lurched back and clung tightly to a nearby pole. “Choo gonna jus’ stand ‘ere then?”

As it became apparent that the driver wasn’t going to slow down, Harry slowly made his way down the bus. Unlike other buses he had been on, this one had no seats. Instead, there were huge brass beds that looked like they could do with a polish. Each bed was accompanied by a window, through which the traffic passed in a blur. With each break, the beds skidded forward and backward. There were a couple of people peacefully sleeping and Harry settled down on an empty bed as he fished out some money.

“Oi! New boy,” called Stan as he stumbled over towards Harry’s bed. “Wot you say your name was again?” Harry hesitated.

“Uh, N-Neville. Neville Longbottom.”

“Well then, Neville, where you off to? And no matter where we droppin’ you off at, still costs eleven Sickles. Unless you wanna hot chocolate, which is on’y firteen. Fifteen gets ya a hot wa’er bottle and a toofbrush in the colour of your choice, so what’ll it be? And where to?” he said quickly. Harry counted out eleven silver coins and dropped it into Stan’s waiting hand.

“The Burrow, please.” Stan frowned and he asked where it was. “I, uh, I don’t know. I thought you knew.”

“Son, we only know big places,” said a voice from the front.

Stan nodded. “Aye. Ernie’s right as always. You can’t expec’ us to know evry place in the country!” Harry reddened as he tried to think of another place. He pulled out his wand in order to get comfortable and a scrap of parchment fell out. What was this? As he read it, an idea formed in his head.

“Malfoy Manor?” Stan looked closely at him. “Wot choo wan’ there?”

“My friend invited me over,” answered Harry, praying that Malfoy wouldn’t turn him away at the door. He really, truly, had nowhere else to go.

“If you’re sure son,” said Ernie, throwing a dubious look over his shoulder.

Harry tried to close his eyes and relax but the sudden lurches from Ernie’s driving made it hard to fall asleep. Instead, he looked around and his eyes caught on a newspaper that Stan was reading. On the front page was a haggard and dishevelled man who was shying away from the camera. It was also the same man that was on the Muggle news that his uncle loved to watch.

“That man! He was on the Muggle news,” said Harry, catching Stan’s attention. “Who is he?”

“Who is that? That’s Sirius Black, that is. And I ain’t surprised he’s on them Muggles’ news, Neville,” he snorted. As Harry still looked confused Stan asked, “Don’ tell me you ne’er been hearin’ o’ Sirius Black?” Harry shook his head. “A murderer,” said Stan, enjoying this. “A cold-hearted murderer. Got ‘imself locked up in Azkaban.”

“Azkaban?”

“Wizard prison. Blimey, Neville, you really don’t know nuffink!” exclaimed Stan. Harry laughed nervously and made sure to cover his scar properly. “‘Course, he escaped, innit?”

“How’d he escape? Is it possible?” asked Harry. He might as well find out some more about this cold-blooded killer who was on the prowl, even if it meant Stan was a bit suspicious.

“Yeah, well, no one knows,” he whispered dramatically. “He’s the firs’ that’s done it. Gives me the collywobbles thinking he’s out there, though, I’ll tell you that. Big supporter of You-Know-‘Oo, Black was. You gotta have aheard o’ him?” Stan squinted at him and Harry reassured him that he was well aware of Voldemort. “Hmm. Well, Neville you take care o’ yourself, yeah?”

A short while later, Ernie pulled up by the gates of the Malfoy Manor. Although it was pitch-black now, Harry could see a long pathway illuminated by magical candles which led to an incredibly large house. Harry squinted, trying to make out why there were so many people milling around.

“We gonna drop you ‘ere, son,” said Ernie gruffly. “Not sure your lot would wanna ‘ave us any closer.” Harry thanked them anyway and began to drag his trunk off the bus. As he wiped his brow afterwards, Stan gasped and pointed to Harry’s forehead, his eyes wide.

“Ern, Ern look ‘ere. It’s ‘Arry Potter! ‘Arry Potter, on our bus!” Harry shushed them but Stan was too excited. Thankfully, all the other passengers were asleep, or that’s what Harry wanted to believe anyway. “‘Ere, ‘Arry, lemme help you.” Stan whipped out a long wand and muttered a few words. Instantly, Harry’s trunk became lighter than a feather and Stan grinned as Harry lifted it much more easily now. “Off we pop then, Ern.”

With a loud crash, the Knight Bus disappeared and Harry began his slow walk down the path, hoping he had done the right thing.

Chapter Text

“Smile, Draco,” reminded his mother as she passed by and Draco exhaled loudly, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. This ‘gathering’ was getting on his nerves. He had been banished to the front door just an hour after the first guest arrived, with the express instructions to greet whoever turned up at the door and to check their invite. He still didn’t understand why stupid Dobby had been taken off this task! Draco groaned as he had to leave his friends, but was secretly pleased: ever since he began spending time with Merlin, the other Slytherins were becoming more unbearable to be around, with their single-minded hatred for Gryffindors/muggleborns. He didn’t like those two groups any more than the average Slytherin (which, naturally, did not include Merlin), but it seemed so boring to constantly complain. Surely being Slytherin meant more than this?

Draco promised Pansy he would return and tried his best to not throw up at her simpering smile. He was certain his duties were to just smile politely at the guest and their ticket and direct them inside — how long could he be busy for?

He soon realised that, as the greeter, he was the first to receive extravagant smooches, complaints about the weather and aggressive pinches to the cheeks. He wasn’t flushed from the heat, he was flushed from the constant abuse he was subjected to! No wonder the smile slid right off Draco’s face. A new party made their way over from the Apparition Spot and Draco straightened his back, ready to go into battle again. It seemed that he had a long night ahead of him.

After a few traumatic minutes, involving Draco refusing entry to an already drunk lord whom his father disliked anyway, he internally sighed. The clock on the wall only read 10:30. Knowing his parents, this was likely to go on well past midnight. Then again, the arrivals were slowing down and soon enough, Draco was sure they would stop and he could go back to relaxing in Pansy’s lap. He didn’t really like her, but she was one of the few Slytherins who still worshipped him. Draco needed her so as to keep his father’s suspicions off him. That was the only reason he tolerated her love-sick behaviour.

A flash of light snapped him from his thoughts. Draco frowned and rubbed his eyes. Was he imagining things, or had someone turned up with a trunk. Oh, he was going to hate telling this person they couldn’t stay overnight. He groaned internally again. Why was he subjected to this torture? The figure was also the most shabbily dressed person Draco had ever seen. Even the house-elves had better fashion sense, and they weren’t even given clothes.

As the person approached the light, Draco grew pale. It couldn’t be! Expect, there he was, standing boldly. What, in the world of magic, was Harry freaking Potter doing at his house?

Draco stepped outside and quickly closed the door. He could make excuses later for his sudden disappearance but if anyone had seen Potter here, there would be no telling what happens next.

“Are you out of your mind!” whisper-shouted Draco the second Potter was within earshot. “What are you doing here of all places?”

Potter at least had the decency to look chastened. “I, I didn’t know where else to go. I messed up, Draco.”

“What about all of your other useless friends? You seriously didn’t consider the Weasel’s house?” Draco found that very hard to believe. Had it been Merlin on his doorstep, he would’ve understood, but this was Potter, the one who was never found without his Gryffindor bridal party!

Potter glared. “I didn’t want to come here either! Your address was the only one I had. Remember when you gave me this?” He threw a crumpled piece of parchment at Draco, which he recognised as the note he had pressed into Potter’s hands last year. 

“Yeah, for you to write!”

“How was I meant to write without an owl?” shouted Potter. Draco quietened him with a nervous glance at the door and turned back to Potter.

“You don’t have an owl? Well then, why didn’t you say anything?”

“You never gave me the chance, Malfoy.” He did remember hurrying away, only because Zabini had been following him, eager for an invite to one of the parties. Draco knew he would have certainly used Draco being seen talking to Potter as leverage to get invited if needed. “So can I come in or not? And what’s going on, why are there all of these people?”

Draco quickly explained the stupid party he had been condemned to attend in a hushed tone. Potter did not sympathise with him at all and instead laughed loudly. “I can leave you out here while the Slytherins hex you to death, if you’d like?” Potter shut up instantly.

“We need to sneak you in,” said Draco, his mind already racing with possible ideas. “I can’t hide you in any room because someone’s bound to find you, and I can’t keep you out here either.” Potter hummed and began to speak but Draco shushed him. “Now isn’t the time for your Gryffindor attitude. Let me guess, you want to do something insane like disguise yourself?” Considering his defeated demeanour, that was exactly Potter’s plan. “There’s no way you’d fit in with those shabby clothes.”

“Yeah, well, these are Dudley’s hand-me-downs. The only set that somewhat fit me.” Draco looked him up and down. If that were his best-fitting clothes, Draco shuddered to think about the others. “I could wear your stuff?”

“Okay, Potter, use your head. My room is stuffed with Slytherins who will definitely attack on sight, but ignoring that fact, let’s remember that the entire house is filled with my parents’ friends who can and will recognise you from your gaudy fashion accessory,” said Draco in an overly patient tone as he gestured to Potter’s forehead. Granted, the scar was less visible through his unkempt hair, but his point still stood.

They were back to square one and Draco was incredibly worried about his prolonged absence. His mother would certainly notice it. What if she already had? Maybe she had already readied Dobby as a search party? Draco paused — of course, Dobby! “On second thoughts, Potter, that’s the best idea you’ve had.” Potter raised an eyebrow but there was no time. “I’ll get Dobby to bring some of my old clothes. Dobby!”

With a crack, the house-elf appeared, already half bowing. Potter flinched from the elf and looked at Dobby with immense interest — had he never seen a house-elf before? “Dobby, bring some of my clothes for Potter. And make sure none of the Slytherins see you.” The elf, who was busy staring at Potter somewhat reverently, bowed deeply and disapparated. “It’s a house-elf,” said Draco in answer to Potter’s inquisitive expression. 

“A house-elf?”

“Didn’t you see one at the Weasel’s house? All Pureblood families have at least one.” Draco decided to not explain what it meant if they didn’t have one and it was, in his opinion, a wise choice, given Potter’s hot-headed, Gryffindor tendencies. Dobby reappeared with one of his three-piece dress robes and accessories but Potter looked at the clothes with hesitation.

“I have to get changed out here?”

“Oh, my apologies, let me just whip out a dressing room,” said Draco sarcastically. “I won’t look, just get changed here!” A short while later, Potter stood in front of him looking disdainful yet instantly better dressed. The navy suit was a brilliant upgrade from the potato sack Potter had before and he actually looked decent for once in his life. Not perfect, though, and Draco immediately got to work, tucking the cream silk shirt into his trousers. Potter danced around but with one sharp glare from Draco, he was able to finish sorting out the suit. He even remembered to leave the last button of the waistcoat unbuttoned — something his mother always pointed out.

Meanwhile, Dobby handed Potter a tie, which he looked at blankly. Draco sighed out loud but tied it up properly, biting his tongue to avoid insulting Potter. After all, if his aunt and uncle were putting bars on his window, they wouldn’t exactly be around to teach him how to tie a tie. Do muggles even know how to tie a tie?

As Potter stepped into Draco’s old pair of Oxfords, Draco and Dobby surveyed him critically. Dobby had brushed the messy, untameable hair so that it was neatly decorating his face (probably with plenty of house-elf magic) and his glasses had been repaired and polished. Potter was good to go, if it weren’t for the glaringly obvious scar in the middle of his forehead.

Dobby had an answer for this as well. “Harry Potter sir will look unrecognisable, Master Draco, if we is using this!” He brandished a small tube of Draco’s mother’s makeup, which Draco raised an eyebrow at. “This is Mistress Narcissa’s concealer, Master Draco.”

“I’m well aware of what it is, Dobby.”

“Apologies, Master Draco, but if we is using this, it is covering any marks!” Dobby reached up onto his tiptoes, ready to apply it onto Potter’s forehead who ducked instinctively, as though Dobby and the concealer was some sort of Bludger.

“Whoa, whoa, I’m not wearing makeup! B-Boys don’t wear it.”

Draco raised an eyebrow as he held Potter still for Dobby to cover up the offending mark. “Try not to be so old-fashioned, Potter. Even Slytherins these days are trying out for modernity.” Once again, they both looked at Potter. The flashy scar was definitely an attention-grabber, and without that, he looked almost like a proper Slytherin. Except… “The glasses are a giveaway — anyone in our year will be able to tell. Get rid of them,” Draco said to Dobby.

This time, Potter decided to ask Dobby nicely to stay away from his glasses. The emotional fool melted and began worshipping Potter, much to Draco’s dislike. “Anyway, if you get rid of my glasses, I’ll definitely trip and bring down a couple of your esteemed guests. Now, wouldn’t that be an embarrassment,” challenged Potter slyly. Draco conceded, internally unable to believe that he was bested by a pair of glasses. A snap of Dobby’s fingers meant the luggage was transported inside, leaving Draco to do the heavy-lifting — transport Potter without arousing suspicion.

They had spent far too long and so Draco gripped Potter firmly by his upper arm and dragged him inside. He anticipated plenty of questions, for someone to point and shout, “What’s Draco doing with that Gryffindor?” and “Why is Harry Potter here?” But thankfully, those questions never came. In fact, no one even gave them a second glance. Draco pressed Potter against the wall as he saw his mother approaching, but to his immense luck, Aunt Bellatrix had intercepted her and they were free to slip away.

The grand staircase was in view, from which they could take a shortcut to an empty storage room, but a large group of guests blocked the entrance. Draco surveyed the area but there was no other way: they had to walk through the crowd. It was relatively easy at first to just push through and politely apologise as he stepped on a few toes, but then they had to go back because stupid Potter had lost his glasses. How could you lose something that’s meant to be on your face? Nevertheless, they were almost there when a hand landed on Draco’s shoulder.

He froze and turned around slowly as the cheerful voice of Gomez Addams called out, “Draco, my boy!” Gomez and his wife Morticia pushed through as Thing kept a firm grip on him. He plastered a smile, hiding the sheer horror of finding a disembodied hand resting on his shoulder. “Draco, good to see you old chap! How are your studies?” He leaned in closer to whisper, “Is it pure torture?”

“Yes sir.” The Addamses were an odd pair, revelling in slightly unique (for lack of better description) practices. Nevertheless, they were his father’s oldest associates and somewhat a breath of fresh air amongst these stuffy Slytherins. Still, Draco hoped that was the end of it but then Morticia smiled at Potter.

“Who’s your charming companion, Mr Malfoy?”

“This is,” Draco hesitated. What on earth was he going to say? And then, he had a brilliant idea. It was certainly going to get him in big trouble later on, but that was a future Draco problem. “This is Maechiaven Snape. You know Professor Severus Snape?” Gomez nodded. “This is his son.”

Morticia and Gomez gasped and looked at each other in surprise, with the latter doing a fantastic impression of a fish. Even Thing collapsed dramatically on his shoulder. Draco prayed to all of his ancestors that they would believe him and move on. Potter did have some resemblance to Snape anyway, so it wasn’t too outlandish. Potter seemed to disagree as he gaped dumbly at Draco, who glared at him. As though that were not enough, Draco received a sharp poke into his side. He was going to have words with Potter later.

“Severus has a son?” asked Morticia with a slight hint of doubt. Draco eagerly nodded and stepped on Potter’s foot to get him to agree too. “Well then, my apologies, Mr Snape, we were unaware. I trust your father is in good health?” Draco nodded again, hoping it wouldn’t look too suspicious. “I suppose it is possible we missed this, mon cher,” she continued delicately, “it has been so long since we’ve spoke to Severus.” Gomez agreed instantly as always. Morticia held out her gloved hand to Potter and Draco tensed — would Potter know to gently kiss her hand? Would he grab it like the uncultured Gryffindor he was and try to — Merlin forbid! — shake it?

Potter looked at the hand with a slight frown as he tentatively brushed his lips against it. Morticia seemed to be satisfied (at least, Draco definitely was) and they were about to leave when the stupid, utter fool had to go and open his stupid, foolish mouth. “What do you do for a living, Mr Addams?” he asked and Gomez tilted his head, looking slightly confused. His wife whispered something and Gomez shook his head with a laugh.

“Oh, cara mia, you are, as always, right! My apologies, my dear boy, I do forget that, with a working father, your circumstances are different. I am a lawyer by trade,” he stated proudly. “Although, you know how it is, with the old ‘investments’ and the like. I can, however, assure you, no Addams has had to work for 300 years!” Potter suddenly started choking and Draco bashed his back, which only made it worse. Thing pushed him aside and lightly hit Potter’s back in the middle, solving the issue straight away.

“It leaves him time to pursue his other hobbies,” said Morticia with a small smile. Gomez stared dreamily at her face and Draco was seconds away from crying at his bad luck. As he was internally pitying himself, Draco failed to notice the dangerous gleam in Gomez’s eyes.

“En guarde!” he yelled, brandishing a fencing sword out of thin air. Draco blinked and found Thing pushing an similar sword into his own hand (also summoned from another realm apparently) and that was how Draco found himself in a fencing match in the middle of the large room. He could feel Potter’s incredulous stare on his back as he parried and attacked with significant skill, as Draco liked to think. Inevitably, he was bested by Gomez, who simply had years of experience, and with a good natured pat on his shoulder, Gomez and Morticia finally left, with Thing running (handing?) after them. 

Draco continued walking as fast as he could through the crowd, ignoring the many calls an keeping a firm grip on his companion. He could even feel Potter’s protests to the pace but Draco wasn’t stopping, even if the Great Merlin himself decided to appear.

“You know, I just realised, I have an Invisibility Cloak,” whispered Potter suddenly. Draco halted and looked at him, with pain in his eyes. All of that struggle was unnecessary? “Then again, everyone would notice because they would feel me, so it wouldn’t have worked anyway.” Draco was certain he was only saying that to make him feel better.

“Are we going to your room?” asked Potter, deciding to forego whispering and bellow like a common Banshee. A few heads turned and Draco heard more than one scandalous whisper. He tried smiling politely but when it was clear the guests had questions, he dragged Potter behind him up the grand staircase.

“Do you even hear yourself sometimes?” hissed Draco. Given that the storage room was no longer empty — two young adults were passionately getting to know each other and they had no business interrupting the event — Draco had two choices: his bedroom, or the informal dining room. His bedroom almost certainly meant disaster, what with curious Slytherins milling around. Not to mention the rumours that would almost definitely start, thanks to Potter’s bold statement. No, the dining room was a better choice. Draco was fairly certain it wasn’t going to be in use today. He pushed open the door and led Potter inside.

“You’re going to stay in here for the rest of the night. I better not hear or see you for the rest of the party,” he threatened. Potter began to argue as always but Draco had to go. It would be miraculous if his parents hadn’t noticed his prolonged absence by now. “‘You’re gonna get bored?’ Fine. Dobby!” The house-elf appeared at once, already sinking into a bow. “Keep Potter amused for as long as I’m gone. And make sure no one sees him. Oh, and you both are not to leave this room.” Dobby bowed yet again and, with one last look, Draco ran out.

Chapter Text

Harry threw on his least Gryffindor-like sweater and smoothed out the wrinkles desperately, glancing momentarily at the full-size mirror to make sure his hair was somewhat neat. Malfoy was helpful as ever, tapping his foot impatiently as Harry got ready but soon, the time came to head downstairs.

Yesterday had been going quite well, to his surprise. Sure, he blew up his aunt, ran away from home, turned up at the one house he never would have guessed, gatecrashed a party at said house, dressed up in a disguise of a ridiculously wealthy person who was also Snape’s son!, wore makeup, somewhat fitted in with a whole houseful of Slytherins who would’ve eaten him on the spot otherwise and hid for the rest of the night. All in all, it was a typical day really. But all good things must come to an end, although he had never planned for his to end like that.

Just as Harry had disappeared under his Invisibility Cloak last night, the door to the extravagantly decorated dining room opened. Malfoy was dragged in by two well-dressed people who Harry assumed were his parents. Harry held his breath and made himself as small as possible but it was no use — they knew about him. Mrs Malfoy looked straight into his eyes and Harry was fully-convinced the witch could see through the Invisibility Cloak. It didn’t help that all they had to say was, “We shall discuss this in the morning.”

“Leave the talking to me,” hissed Malfoy as he marched in front, which Harry gladly accepted. Why would he want to talk to the Malfoys? They walked practically a mile to get to an even larger dining room, where Malfoy’s parents sat, along with another man. His rumpled grey hair contrasted with Lucius Malfoy’s long blond hair and Narcissa Malfoy’s sleek black hairstyle. His pinstripe suit and scarlet tie made him look like a Ministry official, which once again reminded Harry of his imminent expulsion.

“Ah, Draco,” greeted his mother, “you remember Mr Fudge, the Minister?” Malfoy nodded and shook the man’s hand. The Minister turned to Harry as well and greeted him warmly. Harry tried not to tense immediately under the adults’ gaze but he didn’t need Malfoy’s shove or his raised eyebrow to understand that the Minister meant bad news.

“Ah, Mr Potter — Harry — good to see you. Gave us all a fright there, running off like that,” said the Minister with a short laugh. Harry smiled nervously as sat down opposite him. In front of him were an array of steaming, freshly cooked dishes that could rival Hogwarts: the Cauldron Cakes and Pumpkin Pasties looked deliciously soft and fluffy. The only thing that held him back from helping himself was Malfoy’s deathly glare, which was very off-putting. “You’ll be glad to hear that late last night, your uncle’s sister was located just south of Sheffield, circling a chimney stack. The Accidental Magic Reversal Department was dispatched and she’s been properly punctured and her memory modified. She has no recollection of the incident whatsoever.”

The Minister tucked in and helped himself to plenty of food, which seemed to prompt everyone else to start eating as well. As Harry reached for the Steak and Kidney Pie, which was just out of reach, Draco slapped his hand away and passed it over, leaning to whisper, “You’re meant to ask, not just reach over for stuff!”

Lucius wiped his mouth slightly as he asked, “Punctured? Whatever do you mean Minister?”

Fudge turned to Harry for an explanation and he hesitantly spoke up. “I, uh, I lost control of my magic and I, uh, I accidentally, I hit her with an inflating charm,” he said, hastily carrying on, “but I’m not going to be expelled?”

“Expelled? Whatever for, dear boy?”

“I broke the law. Underage wizards aren’t allowed to use magic at home, so I th—”

“Oh, come now, Harry. The Ministry doesn’t send people to Azkaban for blowing up their aunts!” Next to him, Draco sniggered into his pie. Harry glared at him before turning back to Fudge, who gulped down the sparkling wine and spoke up again. “On the other hand, I must discourage you from any other thoughts of running away, what with present circumstances,” said Fudge, muttering the last part of his sentence. Harry reassured him that he had no more plans, making a mental note to ask about what ‘present circumstances’ meant. “It is gracious of Mr Malfoy and his family to look after you until school starts,” he simpered to Lucius who smiled, although it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Actually, I was planning to go to Ron’s house later on,” said Harry. He saw Draco flinch out of the corner of his eye but ignored him. Maybe he had broken another stupid Pureblood custom of not mentioning other families or something insane like that. As Fudge looked confused, Harry expanded, “Um, Mr Weasley’s house?”

“Oh, well, I see, yes.” Fudge cleared his throat. “That would help, what with buying your school supplies and so. Best if you don’t go alone.”

“Why not?” blurted Harry. He couldn’t stop himself anymore.

The Minister grimaced. “Well, you understand, there’s a, nothing to worry about but—”

“There’s a murderer on loose,” said Lucius succinctly. Sirius Black, supplied Harry’s mind, all too calmly.

“Although I’m sure Mr Potter won’t be involved with that,” commented Narcissa, taking a sip from her silver goblet. She turned to the Minister and said, “We will personally deliver Mr Potter, Minister.” Narcissa looked briefly at Harry who suddenly felt strangely lightheaded. She turned and the feeling subsided, leaving him to clutch his head with mild confusion.

“Jolly good!” Fudge finished his plate and snapped two fingers. A house-elf, not Dobby by the looks of his? her? its?? blue eyes, instantly appeared and cleaned his plate. “Well, Lucius, Narcissa, I must get going — the office needs me!” he said with a laugh. Harry watched as Lucius and Narcissa smiled tightly but Fudge didn’t seem to notice. “Draco, best of luck for your next year and Harry, don’t give us any more frights, eh?” As he pulled on his travelling cloak and a lime-green bowler hat, Harry suddenly had an idea.

“Sir? Could you maybe sign my Hogsmeade slip? It’s just, my aunt and uncle were going to before the incident and…” he trailed off, looking hopefully at the Minister. The older years had ensured them that the best method was to request early on and get it sealed so that when the Hogwarts letters came in, it would be a quick signature. Harry had followed their advice but just before Uncle Vernon had agreed, he had to go and blow Aunt Marge up.

Fudge looked around uncomfortably. “My, Harry, what you’re asking… I mean, I’m not in a position to do that. It really has to be your guardian and— well, given the state of things, it’s probably for the best.” With a final word of goodbye, he headed out quickly, leaving Harry to internally sigh.

Almost the second Fudge had left, Lucius glared at his son. “Draco, explain to me why Mr Potter has appeared at our home on such an important night?” Harry decided to drink his pumpkin juice as he remembered Draco’s explicit warning to stay quiet.

“Father, I gave Potter our address,” he started, avoiding their eyes, “because I wanted him to write to me. I understand why you’re angry but after last year, I felt it would be good to keep in contact.”

“It doesn’t explain why Mr Potter is dining with us today,” said his mother icily. Harry watched as Draco hesitated and answered instead.

“I, I didn’t know where else to go, Mrs Malfoy. It wasn’t safe, you see, with my uncle…” Harry trailed off, deliberately avoiding Draco, who was no doubt looking at him with pity. “Merlin Emrys told me last year how, how remarkable your hospitality was and I panicked and this was the first place I thought of,” he said, subtly glancing at the Malfoys, who slightly pinked with the praise. “He’s right, your home and your food and your company have been amazing.”

Draco raised his eyebrows, a surprised smile playing on his lips but Harry didn’t care. His parents looked less like they were going to murder him on the spot, which was definitely an improvement. “Regardless, Mr Potter, you will leave this afternoon,” stated Lucius, which Harry readily agreed to. He didn’t want to stay here any longer either.

Chapter Text

Merlin hurried to the door. He was slowly getting used to life at the Burrow, and it couldn’t be more different to his time in Camelot. The biggest change was the fact that he had nothing to do! From morning to night, he was free to read whatever he wanted, play Wizard’s Chess against Ron or to simply relax in the sun. Merlin had even started flying on a broom, much to Ron’s delight, and they had had a couple of friendly races through the trees while he got accustomed to sitting on a glorified mop. It was nothing close to flying on Kilgharrah's back but Merlin appreciated the wind in his air and the adrenaline of it all anyway. Ron was convinced that he too could play Quidditch some time soon but Merlin wasn't too eager — he was happy to watch.

The twins sometimes wanted his input in their experiments. The next step in their prankster careers, as they had called it, was to spread their knowledge. Merlin expected them to write a book or something but given their flair for Transfiguration and Potions — which Merlin doubted the other Weasleys didn’t know — Fred and George had decided to start making things. So far, they had progressed from trick wands to food and Merlin vowed silently to never accept anything they offered him.

Despite his couple of days at the Burrow, they had never gotten any visitors. So when the doorbell yelled, “SOMEONE’S HERE!” Merlin was very curious and ran to answer it at once.

“Harry!” Merlin hugged him tightly as soon as the door opened, which gave the others enough time to come too. “Finally! Why haven’t you answered any of Ron’s letters? Oh, Draco, you’re here as well.” For indeed the Malfoy family stood a short distance away, looking disdainfully at the Burrow. Draco managed a discreet wave, which was a big achievement considering his parents' matching looks of disgust.

“Lucius,” greeted Mr Weasley. He didn’t sound too joyful.

“Arthur,” returned Mr Malfoy, sounding equally depressed. “Let’s go Draco.” Harry picked up his trunk and Merlin helped him carry it inside as Draco smiled slightly. As Merlin closed the door, he could hear Mr Malfoy’s parting comments, “While you may see it fit to befriend Harry Potter, I will not see you around that filth. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes father,” replied Draco dutifully. He glanced covertly at Merlin before they apparated away. As he returned, Merlin could already hear Mrs Weasley’s fretting. As much as he loved having a mother figure, Mrs Weasley could be rather suffocating at times.

“Dear me, what business did you have, Harry dear, at their awful house?” She didn’t wait for an answer as she immediately rushed around the kitchen, fetching ingredients whilst muttering. “You should have come straight here!”

“I tried, Mrs Weasley,” said Harry but she was in no mood to listen. In seconds, a hot onion soup sat in front of him, alongside a couple of fresh bread rolls. “Oh, Mrs Weasley, I’m so sorry but I just had lunch there. I couldn’t possibly finish this.”

“Nonsense, Harry dear. I want all of it gone,” she said but Merlin could see her frowning anyway. When Mrs Weasley turned to direct the washing up — because even that could be done with magic here! — Ron and Merlin stepped in to help. After all, Harry did look like he was going to burst.

They ran upstairs once he finished and Harry began unpacking a few of his belongings whilst Merlin watched, munching on a fresh apple. “So, why did you go to the Malfoys anyway?” asked Ron.

“It wasn’t my first choice, but basically I summoned the Knight Bus, the ‘emergency transportation for any stranded witch or wizard’ apparently, and they didn’t know where the Burrow was,” said Harry, fishing out a sock. “Then I remembered Malfoy giving me his address to write to, but I don’t have an owl so I just showed up there instead. They were having a huge Pureblood party or something. Oh god, I need to tell you about that!”

For the next hour, Merlin and Ron laughed as Harry dramatically explained what he claimed was the “Most eventful night of his life — seriously, even fighting Quirrell doesn’t compare to the dread I felt when Malfoy called me Snape’s son!” All in all, Merlin was quite thankful he hadn’t decided to stay with Draco this year. He always hated the ridiculous parties Uther had thrown, and then Arthur, because it was the perfect opportunity for rogue sorcerers to strike. Not to mention all of the servants had to work day and night catering to the noblemen, all to get yelled at if they forget even one thing. Even Arthur always looked tired after banquets, but his job was to just stand and look pretty, which Merlin didn’t understand how it could be tiring.

“Boys!” Mrs Weasley called from the garden, which surprisingly carried over the five stories up to Ron’s window. “Hermione’s here!” They ran downstairs again to find a thoroughly winded Hermione sitting on her trunk.

“Blimey, ‘Mione, did you walk here?” joked Ron. Given Hermione’s glare, Merlin assumed that she had indeed walked here.

“Unfortunately, Ronald, the Muggle bus driver didn’t know where the Burrow, a magical location, was,” she said crossly. “I had to walk from Stoatshead Hill!” Mrs Weasley interrupted Hermione’s rant with a cool fruit salad.

“Poor dear,” said Mrs Weasley sympathetically. “I doubt even the postman knows where our house is.” She enchanted the luggage to travel slowly up to Ginny’s room, on the first floor. Hermione trudged up behind her trunk, promising to come up after a long shower.

“Hang on, you didn’t take Hermione’s wand!” said Ron to his mum. “Or Harry’s, for that matter.”

“Yes, because they can be trusted. Isn’t that right, Harry dear?” Merlin laughed as Harry blinked. He tried to disagree but Mrs Weasley smiled at him.

“What, so Merlin can’t be trusted then?” he asked, rolling his eyes. She glared at him and changed the subject, asking them to help with dinner.

Merlin soon became lost in his thoughts as he worked on the pie filling — he didn’t need a wand, and Draco would definitely be angry if he lost it, so it was best that Mrs Weasley looked after it. But then again, he felt a small sense of injustice. Was this because he was a Slytherin? Was it because Mrs Weasley was looking out for him? But that was a good thing, right? So why was he feeling this way?

“Merlin? I think you can stop now.” He jerked suddenly as Harry shook him and the pot of pie filling fell to the floor, spilling the bits of pumpkin everywhere. Harry froze the second the pot hit the floor, therefore standing clearly in the firing zone and ended up with a fair amount of spicy filling on himself. Mrs Weasley tutted as she flicked her wand at the magical dustpan and brush to sweep up the mess.

“Dear oh dear, what a mess. Really, Merlin dear, you ought to be more careful next time.” She brushed as much of the pie off Harry as she could before sending him up for an outfit change. Harry still looked a bit shaken, which prompted Ron to accompany him.

“Sorry, Mrs Weasley, I was busy thinking about, about nonsense.” Mrs Weasley’s frown was exactly how Merlin felt — since when did he daydream? It was because of all this lazing around, he thought as he remembered how he felt in Camelot. Sure he was tired every single day, but he had never once messed up his duties. Unless he was really tired; but that was different. The main thing was Merlin needed to keep busy, to stop stupid thoughts from interrupting his work.

After another half hour, dinner was finished without further involvement on Merlin’s behalf. He decided to stay quiet and eat his pie quickly, content hearing about Hermione’s holiday. However, Harry seemed to notice his silence as he leaned over and whispered, “Sorry I just ran out after you dropped pie on me, I just panicked because of the dish falling. It’s, it’s just that whenever I drop anything, I get told off pretty bad and so I got scared for a second but it’s stupid anyway and—”

Merlin squeezed his hand gently and cut Harry off. “Hey, I should apologise for throwing pie on you like that. And it’s not stupid, it’s alright, I completely understand. But Harry?” Merlin stopped, unsure how to proceed. Harry’s aunt and uncle sounded like a right piece of work, but were they hurting him as well? Then again, Merlin thought sadly, Harry sounded like he was already hurt mentally. “Do your, does your aunt, or your uncle, do they h-hit you?”

Harry immediately shook his head. “No, of course not!” His voice rose suddenly and Merlin internally groaned — this wasn’t going the way he hoped. “Okay, they put bars on my window and whatever, but they never hurt me. And I’m really thankful for that.” Although he wasn’t shouting, Harry had certainly garnered the twins’ interest, along with Ron and Hermione’s. He took a deep breath and carried on in a cold tone. “So thanks, for your concern, Merlin, but it’s not needed.”

Dinner was wrapped up early and as they turned in, Harry avoided any and all attempts of Merlin trying to apologise. When Harry left for a shower, Ron came up to Merlin. “I don’t think you did anything wrong and neither does Hermione, but I think Harry, he, y'know, he’ll feel like no one’s on his side. But I’m sure this will blow over and all, I think he was just worried that you’d get worried.” Ron nodded awkwardly and Merlin smiled slightly wishing he had never said anything in the first place.

Chapter Text

A flock of owls flew in, eight, to be precise. They were all brown and carried the Hogwarts crest. Once their load had been relieved, the owls ruffled their feathers importantly and departed at once, not stopping for even a quick drink. Hermione chose to open her letter properly, unlike the boys who began ripping theirs open at once. 

Inside was the usual letter, informing her that term started in a couple of weeks and the books she was required to purchase. An extra paragraph accompanied, asking for her parents’ permission to visit Hogsmeade. Hermione put the permission slip in an envelope and neatly wrote her home address. She was going to post it later today.

Now for the best part, she thought, as she read the book list eagerly. Unlike the previous years, where everything was required, a set of books had been listed for their elective subjects. But Hermione was very sure they hadn’t picked their electives. Unless they picked them when she was petrified?

“How do we know what our electives are?” asked Merlin to no-one in particular. “Do we get told separately next year?”

“You’re meant to pick them in second-year,” answered Fred with a yawn. He passed his list to Mrs Weasley and carried on with his breakfast. “Did you decide to not do it last year?”

“I mean, this is Merlin we’re talking about,” said George, grinning. “The only one McGonagall would allow to get away with things.”

“Given last year’s circumstances, Professor Dumbledore thought it best if you pick your electives in the summer,” said Percy helpfully. “I suggest you write to Professor McGonagall, or to Professor Snape in your case, Merlin, what electives you would like to do. I believe there is Divination, Arithmancy, Muggle Studies and Study of Ancient Runes.”

“And Care of Magical Creatures,” reminded George. “Divination and that were the easiest subjects we ever did.” Fred nodded, stifling yet another yawn.

“You must pick at least two,” continued Percy, frowning slightly at Fred and George. “And no, Ron, you cannot drop Potions, no matter how ‘useless’ you find it," he said without pausing, raising an eyebrow as Ron glared back. Mrs Weasley lightly chided him as the twins began to tell him off too, imitating their mum. “And,” said Percy loudly, “I have indeed been made Head Boy.” 

“Oh, Percy dear, that’s brilliant news!” said Mrs Weasley, hugging her son. Behind her, Fred and George made mocking face expressions behind her and Hermione rolled her eyes at their antics. Ron snorted loudly and his mother spun, just in time to see George pat Fred’s head, who was doing a crude impression of Percy. “Will you two behave! I notice you two haven’t been made prefects.”

“Why’d you wanna be a prefect?”

“It’d take the fun out of life.” 

After Hermione congratulated Percy, she looked again at the book list. It was hard to pick just two, what with Arithmancy, Study of Ancient Runes and Muggle Studies — she wanted to see how wizards perceived Muggles. In the end, Hermione decided to just try all of them. She could drop some later on, after all.

Harry and Ron were in a deep discussion, debating each option and Hermione left them to it as she looked at Merlin. “Hmm, what have you taken, then?”

“All,” she said, somewhat proudly. Merlin looked at her with surprise, as though he hadn’t considered this option, and happily wrote down all of the electives as well. Hermione smiled; it would be nice to have a friend in her lessons and all, but some part of her wasn’t convinced. Merlin definitely had more powerful magic than she did, although he was a little clueless at times. What if only one student could do so many subjects, and he was picked? Then again, Merlin had broken so many school rules. Would he get that privilege? Hermione tried not to worry as she turned her attention to what the school year would be like. 

“Today’s a good day to go to Diagon Alley,” said Mr Weasley thoughtfully. And it was decided. Hermione grabbed her coin pouch — she’ll have to exchange some notes for galleons at some point, especially if she was going to go to Hogsmeade as well this year — from Ginny’s room and they were ready to go.

“We’re going to use the Floo network, to The Leaky Cauldron. Hermione, dear, have you used Floo powder before?” asked Mrs Weasley, to which Hermione shook her head. She had read about it though. “Maybe Percy should go first and you all can step out only when you see Percy, alright. Especially you two,” she added with a stern glare at the twins. “Go on, Percy. Watch closely, Hermione.”

Stepping inside the fireplace, Percy threw a handful of the blue Floo powder as he said, “Diagon Alley!” Hermione also noted the way he tucked his elbows in, something her book had mentioned in a footnote. Next, it was her turn. Following the manual’s advice, Hermione made sure to speak clearly.

It felt as though she was being sucked down a giant drain. She seemed to be spinning very fast — the roaring in her ears was deafening — now it felt as though cold hand were slapping her face — squinting through her tightly shut eyes she saw a blurred stream of fireplaces and snatched glimpses of the rooms beyond — she closed her eyes again, feeling mildly nauseous and then… it stopped. 

She opened her eyes to see Percy, who gave her an appreciative nod. “Well done, Hermione.” She never wanted to do that again. “Step out so the others can come too.” Next Fred came, soon followed by George. After that, Harry and Ron came in quick succession and then Ginny, before her parents. Hermione frowned: where was Merlin?

Mrs Weasley stepped out of the grate and looked around, panicked. “Did you find Merlin? Oh, don’t tell me he’s stepped off at the wrong fireplace!”

“Molly, it’s okay, he couldn’t have gone far. Right, Percy, go to Muggle London and check he hasn’t ended up there,” said Mr Weasley. Percy nodded and set off. “Now, you two,” he said, gesturing to the twins, “check the local shops. Ron, Hermione and Harry, have a look in the streets and see if you can find him and Ginny come with us. We’ll search in Knockturn Alley. Meet up in Flourish and Blotts, okay?” 

They stepped out into the magical world and rushed around, dodging other people. Diagon Alley wasn’t too packed, but Hermione clung tightly to Ron and Harry just in case. It was bad enough that Merlin was already lost. “I feel like it was my fault,” said Harry as they took a quick break by a small restaurant which hadn’t opened yet. “Maybe he was upset with me and got lost.” 

Ron shook his head, as he said, “Nah, it’s really easy with Floo to get lost. I know Fred once stepped off at a random old witch’s house instead of our Great Aunt Muriel’s. He said it was an accident but Mum didn’t believe him.”

“But anyway, Harry, I still think you should apologise. Merlin just asked, he didn’t mean anything by it,” said Hermione. She still didn’t understand why Harry was angry with Merlin, regardless of how many times Ron tried to unsuccessfully explain it. And besides, why did Harry care so much about his aunt and uncle, especially when they weren’t nice to him at all?

“Yeah,” he agreed slowly. “I just, I panicked. But you’re right.”

They resumed their search but it was unfruitful, eventually hoping that the others may have found him. They made their way to Flourish and Blotts, where Percy was already waiting. Merlin wasn’t with him. Hermione tried to stay rational — maybe Mr and Mrs Weasley had found him? — but looking at Harry and Ron, she too began to lose hope.

Just then, Ron’s parents walked in, followed by Ginny and Merlin. Hermione hugged Merlin tightly as she whispered, “Don’t you dare do that again!” to which Merlin laughed and promised her to not. Harry hovered behind her and Merlin pulled him into a hug as well. After a final headcount once the twins came back, delighted to see Merlin as well, they set off, first to Gringotts.

Hermione stopped by the exchange desk and quickly exchanged her notes for plenty of wizarding money. The Weasley family — Hermione now decided to include Harry and Merlin in that description, just to make it easier for herself — waited outside Gringotts in the long queue, which was not unusual for the building. Thankfully, the exchange desk was outside, under a small gazebo, and was nowhere near as busy.

As she rejoined the Weasleys, the goblin in charge of the exchange desk followed her path with his eyes. She only stood for a couple of seconds before the same goblin approached them and bowed deeply. Hermione frowned, trying to remember if this had ever happened before, but then again, she hadn’t entered Gringotts until now. Maybe this was a goblin custom she was unaware of? Hermione made a mental note to consult the library when they got back to Hogwarts.

The goblin gestured for them to follow him and they complied, although Hermione noticed the confused expression on Mrs Weasley. They skipped the queue and regardless of the outrage from the other witches and wizards waiting patiently in line, for whom Hermione felt slightly guilty, they were all at the reception. Upon their entry, the goblins inside took one look and bowed almost instantaneously.

“What’s this about?” asked Mr Weasley to the goblin who brought them in. His nametag informed them that he was Bodrag III, which aligned with Hermione’s knowledge that goblins preferred to name children after prominent goblin ancestors. Bodrag was well-known for shaping the design which was now a Galleon. “Goblins have never bowed to wizards before.”

Bodrag the Third ignored Mr Weasley and instead bowed again, this time solely directed to Merlin. Hermione watched as he bowed back at once, looking very confused at the same time. Another goblin walked to them, dressed in extravagant jewels. This was the mark of the Head Goblin, and his nametag read ‘Grendyr’.

“Lord Emrys, it is our greatest pleasure to welcome you once more to Gringotts,” said Grendyr, finally straightening up. Merlin was a lord? Hermione stared at him in shock, and she wasn’t the only one — the rest of the Weasleys too were stunned. 

“I’m– I’m not a lord!” squeaked Merlin, turning very red very quickly. The goblin raised an eyebrow. He stared tensely at Merlin, who seemed to jump slightly before slipping on a neutral expression — with relative ease, noted Hermione. After a short while of intense eye contact between Grendyr and Merlin, he turned to Mr and Mrs Weasley. “I, um, I forgot that I had a vault here because of the accident and all, but apparently my vault is filled with junk so we’ll need to go to the Hogwarts Funding Vault. And I, uh, also forgot that I was a lord.”

Fred and George gasped dramatically, clutching their chests in sync and as they visited all of the vaults in turn, Hermione had to listen to their assumptions of what Merlin’s family was like, in order to end up as a lord. She tuned them out fairly quickly: they were right, the lordship was interesting, but not because of what the twins, and now Ginny, Ron and Harry as well, were laughing about. As far as Hermione knew, which was quite far, she thought proudly, goblins never deferred to any wizard. Only wizards foolishly considered them lesser, but goblins were very proud. And while Hermione didn’t know how goblins would treat old Pureblood families, she was very certain they wouldn’t bow. Not unless the family was very respected.

But if they were that respected, then why would Merlin be bouncing around homes? He would surely have his own mansion somewhere. And yes, he had forgotten all of his past with the exception of the last couple of years, but surely somebody would come asking for him? She vaguely noted the stark contrast between Harry’s vault, which had had literal stacks of gold and silver and not even a single Knut, and Ron’s parents’ vault. In the middle were a small pile of Sickles and a single gold Galleon. Mrs Weasley scooped the entire lot into her purse and Hermione looked away, trying to offer them some privacy regardless of her curiosity.

They left Gringotts soon after but not before the goblins spotted Merlin again and insisted on bowing right until they stepped out, after which Merlin sighed. Of course, Fred and George now began insisting on calling Merlin, “Your Lordship,” much to his embarrassment and even Mrs Weasley didn’t stop them, throwing suspicious looks at Merlin now and again. 

Mrs Weasley gave Hermione, Harry, Ron and Merlin a shopping list between them and they were allowed to buy all of their other supplies, provided they met up at Flourish and Blotts in half an hour to buy their books. Only Ron and Merlin had needed new robes so Harry and Hermione decided to buy parchment in the meantime, with her having to practically drag him from Quality Quidditch Supplies. Honestly, they were just sticks! They all stopped for ice cream at Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour, which was just opposite Magical Menagerie. As Hermione licked her strawberry and peanut butter ice cream, her eyes caught on a bright orange cat. Instantly, she knew she had to have it.

That was how she walked out of Magical Menagerie ten minutes later, her arms wrapped around Crookshanks. Of course Ron hated him already, warning her to keep him away from Scabbers, but Crookshanks had higher standards anyway. Harry picked out a beautiful snowy white owl and named her Hedwig. Merlin looked at all the pets on offer but he walked out empty-handed, claiming none of them spoke to him, but he loved them all anyway. 

The rest of the shopping trip was very uneventful, but Hermione was happy anyway. She was able to find all of her schoolbooks and had had enough left over to buy a new reading book: The Moste Anciente Recorde of Prominente Wixen (Now Updated!). It was promisingly fat and filled with tiny writing which had made Ron shudder unnecessarily. Given their shopping, Mr and Mrs Weasley decided it were best if they purchased a single-use Portkey. Even though they had had to walk a long way (though nowhere near as far as she had had to walk from the bus stop), Hermione preferred this over Floo. 

Chapter Text

Mord wrapped his cloak around himself tightly as he walked home, but even the chill in the night air couldn’t dampen his excitement. Diagon Alley had been mind blowing! There were simply no words to describe how amazing today had been. But he decided to save it all up for when he got home — Mord was certain his father would love to share his joy with him.

Once home, he was treated to a lovely warm pie and Mord practically inhaled it while his father laughed. Finally, they gathered in front of the fireplace and finally his father was free to listen to his wonderful adventure. “So Aunt Saoirse dropped me off at Gringotts and honestly, Side-Along Apparition is the worst thing I have ever done! Seriously, I’m never apparating — I’d rather just walk — but I picked up some money from our vault. I tried not to empty it but…” Mord trailed off, not wanting to make his father uncomfortable. They didn’t get much in benefits and he didn’t know what to say but Cerdan didn’t say anything either.

“Anyway, I picked up three robe sets and the lady there offered name tags as well which I needed so while she was sewing them into my clothes as well as my pointy wizard hat, which was a bit big for me but I tried to find the smallest size available but the lady there said I would grow into it and—”

“Mord, breathe,” interrupted his father with a smile. “Take your time!”

“Sorry! Then I went for my books and Flourish and Blotts were doing this deal thing. Basically, they were selling all of the first year books together but I checked anyway just to be sure and it was fine so I bought them. Then I got my equipment, which were also available in a bundle but the bundle was too expensive and it was actually cheaper to buy the scales, cauldron and telescope separately. Would you believe that? I hope it was a mistake, and that the shop isn’t really trying to fool people. Anyway finally, I went to buy a wand, which was the most exciting bit,” said Mord, trying not to rush. He took a deep breath and carried on.

“Mr Ollivander was terrifying but I actually got my wand on the first try!”

“That’s quite unheard of, Mord. Let’s see your wand then.” Mord ran downstairs and gently fished out the wand box. He presented it to his father who turned it appreciatively in his hands.

“It’s an inflexible 10 1⁄2 inch wand. It’s made of acacia wood and has a dragon heartstring core. Mr Ollivander wasn’t expecting this wand to choose me, but he had a feeling and tried it,” said Mord proudly. Even Ollivander was quite surprised when the wand released silver sparks upon touching Mord.

“Acacia, is it?” murmured his father absent-mindedly. He returned the wand back to his son as he said, “Acacia’s a rare wood, not readily one to choose wizards. I’m surprised Ollivander even has some, given the effects it has in the wrong hands. Regardless, this is a fine wand, Mord, and not to mention I’m very proud of how maturely you handled today.”

Mord tucked his wand away safely and smiled at the praise. “I feel a lot more confident with you going to Hogwarts after today, but promise me, son, to write at least once a week?”

“I’ll write every day, father!” Cerdan laughed at his son’s enthusiasm. “Will you be alright, father, with me gone? You won’t be lonely, will you?”

“I have plenty of people, Mord, who I can rely on, don’t worry about that. Not to mention, I may have made a new werewolf friend,” said his father with a small smile. Mord gasped and begged for more details, which Cerdan relented. “Saoirse mentioned a new community for werewolves which met once a month — not on a full moon actually,” he added sarcastically. “But today was a day they were meeting and I decided to go on a whim. It was all very dark and didn’t feel too safe, but then again it’s not like the Ministry would give us a meeting hall so I tried to be brave, but I backed out at the last second.”

Mord sighed. It was great Cerdan was trying to go out more but this fear was something he needed to work on. “As I left, I came across this other man who seemed to have the same thoughts as me and we spoke for a couple of minutes before going our separate ways.”

“Wait, so that’s it? You just spoke to another person for maybe 5 seconds and you decided he was your friend?” Given his father’s sheepish expression, that seemed to be the case. “Do you even know his name?”

“I’ll meet him again,” said Cerdan hopefully, but Mord sighed louder this time. He and Aunt Saoirse had been working for months trying to get his father to meet some people but they were having very little success. “Mord, that’s not fair. I just, I don’t if I can trust anybody. ‘Specially with the times that we’re living in. That reminds me, at Hogwarts, I want you to be safe, alright?”

Mord nodded, deciding to pursue his father’s issue later. They had less than a week until school started and this was more important. “What about the Parasite?” Mord, admittedly, knew very little about the Parasite. He didn’t even know who it was, except he had heard a lot about him when they were still part of their community, ‘The Druids’. Considering how no one even called the Parasite by his name told Mord how dangerous the man must be.

“Right, I think it’s about time I tell you,” said his father with a small sigh. He disappeared downstairs and walked up with two large hot chocolates in hand. Giving the one topped to the brim with marshmallows to Mord, Cerdan settled comfortably on the bed. “What do you know? You must’ve eavesdropped with Kara, Mord, don’t try to pretend otherwise.”

“Um, well, all I know is that the Parasite is evil? Really, father, Kara and I soon gave up because we just didn’t understand,” said Mord, sporting a beautiful foam moustache.

“Right then, we’ll start at the top.” Cerdan took a long gulp of his drink before clearing his throat. “The Parasite is the name we, The Druids, have given him but the rest of the Wizarding World knows him as Lord Voldemort,” he stopped and shuddered involuntarily, “but no one calls him by his name. People refer to him as You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, which is what you will likely hear at Hogwarts.

“The Parasite was a wizard like you and I, but he craves power and magic. He’s taken it upon himself to rid the world of Muggle-borns, considering them lesser to himself. However, in his cruel hunt for power, he doesn’t care who gets harmed, meaning everyone is under threat. We don’t know much but the Elders believe he intends to live forever using dark Old Magic. There is a prophecy which speaks of a child who has the power to defeat the Parasite, but until then, we must suffer so.”

Mord finished his hot chocolate as he took in the new information. It didn’t seem very fair to him, leaving a mass murderer and power-hungry man for a small child to deal with, but if a prophecy stated so… Mord was well aware of the importance of prophecies, given his lessons with a Druid, a member of their old community. He still didn’t understand one thing though.

“If this Parasite is using old magic, how can someone defeat him? I mean, if he’s using old magic, then surely that means everyone else is using new magic so how can he be defeated if no one else practises that magic? Unless it’s just a figure-of-speech,” he added, uncertain.

Cerdan hummed thoughtfully. “Many have had the same question, and the answer is we don’t know. We can hope the boy gets help but your concern is valid. Now, you will definitely meet the prophesied boy — Harry Potter — at Hogwarts but you must never inform him of this prophecy, is that clear, Mord?”

Mord nodded, agreeing to never reveal this. “It is common knowledge that the Parasite has singled Mr Potter out, given the fact that Mr Potter survived a Killing Curse at the hand of the Parasite,” said his father as Mord gasped. How could someone survive the Killing Curse? It was that: a Killing Curse! “And no, I do not know how Mr Potter did that as a baby but many wizards believe that the Parasite will meet his end in Mr Potter’s hands. That being said, this prophecy is not known by anyone, for the Great Goddess trusted only The Druids with the prophecy, and while we may have been forced out, we still bear this responsibility. Until it is naturally revealed, you must keep this secret.”

Mord nodded again. He wondered if he’d ever meet Harry Potter, but promised internally to always help him — his life was hard enough already.

Chapter Text

Merlin plopped down into his seat and rested his head against the cool window. He’d entered the train first and secured an empty compartment whilst the others said their goodbyes. Mrs Weasley had offered him a hug when handing his wand back but given her slight hesitation, Merlin stuck with a sunny smile. Harry and Hermione entered first after loading their trunks up, closely followed by Ron and Ginny, the latter of which soon left for her own friends and the rest trudged down the train down to the last compartment, which was thankfully empty.

They spoke amongst each other but Merlin’s mind slowly drifted as he thought back to Camelot. It seemed so strange to think that he had already spent more than a year in this weird place. He’d done a great job adapting, and the comforts here — such as a flushing toilet! — could never rival those in Camelot, but he still couldn’t wait to go back.

Merlin frowned at himself. Hogwarts was everything he had dreamed Albion to be and yet he still wanted to go back to Camelot, where he could be killed for just being alive? Here, he could learn magic! But it wasn’t the same. There was no Gaius here, no Gwen, no Arthur. He even missed Kilgharrah, and that was when Merlin dragged his mind back to the present.

To his surprise, the compartment had some new additions. Firstly, Gana and Gwen smiled from beside him, apologising for not coming over in the summer. To be honest, the Burrow was already stuffed with him, Harry and Hermione on top of the Weasleys so Merlin didn’t necessarily see their absence as a bad thing. Next, Draco popped his head in, informing them he would go sit with the Slytherins for a while so that his “parents won’t get suspicious because Zabini and Lestrange can and will rat me out.”

It was the last visitor that had really surprised Merlin. And not just him — the rest of the compartment was also quite shocked when a Professor Lupin introduced himself. “Sorry everyone, I’m afraid all the other compartments were full, so may I sit here?” he asked. They nodded and Merlin watched as the professor, whose slightly torn clothing was quite unlike the other professors’ high quality robes, stored his suitcase with their trunks and sat in front of him. Almost instantly, he fell fast asleep and for a considerable amount of time, no one spoke, for fear of waking him up.

Ron, who was next to the man, kept eyeing him until he finally spoke up. “Is he even a professor? It’s just, he doesn’t look like one.”

“And professors don’t ride on the train,” added Hermione quietly. “What if it’s a random man?”

“What if it’s Sirius Black?” whispered Gwen, her eyes sparkling with concealed amusement and Gana nudged her gently.

“Oh that reminds me. Your dad,” said Harry looking at Ron, “gave me a whole speech on why I shouldn’t go looking for Sirius Black. I don’t even know why they thought I would do that,” he added as an afterthought.

“It could be because of your tendency to attract trouble,” suggested Gana with a laugh.

“Yeah, well, so does Merlin!”

“Ah, you see Harry,” started Merlin, clearing his throat, “My good looks and incredible amounts of charm mean that people don’t realise that I’m secretly a trouble magnet.” They giggled quietly so as to not wake the alleged professor.

The Trolley Witch soon appeared and Harry glanced hesitantly at Professor Lupin, who was still asleep. “Do we wake him?”

“Don’t worry, dear. I’ll be at the front if he wakes,” answered the Trolley Witch. Harry and Gana bought a couple of each type of snack and they had a massive feast, making sure to not make too much noise. Draco entered just then and added a couple of Cauldron Cakes and Pumpkin Pasties to the collection.

“Dumbledore must have really ran out of options for Defence,” said Draco once they’d finished eating. “He looks like he’s been living on the streets, good Merlin!” Merlin turned and Draco rolled his eyes, “Oh not you, the other Merlin.” A loud hoot interrupted the next part of Draco’s sentence.

“Hedwig’s probably hungry,” said Ron and Harry slowly opened his trunk, freezing as the hinges squeaked loudly. Professor Lupin carried on snoring. He rifled through the clothes and shut the trunk, his hands empty.

“I think I forgot the owl pellets,” he said, looking slightly worried. “I must have left them on your table.”

“Oh, Harry, I have some. Would you like them?” Gana quickly looked through her own bags as she said, “I bought them for my owl. Lady Morgause gifted Neamh to me, but I sent her straight to Hogwarts — I didn’t have enough space for her cage—  aha, here we go.” She passed a bag of brown pellets to Harry who offered them to his owl.

For a second, his heart stopped as Merlin swore he had just heard the name 'Nimeuh' and hoped the similarities between the owl's and the former High Priestess' names were merely coincidences. A heated argument prevented him from worrying too much though.

“Crookshanks will get tired of being locked up in his cage, Ron! I’ll just let him out for a couple of seconds,” whisper-shouted Hermione.

“Like hell you will! That beast will eat poor Scabbers the second it gets out. Look at it, already eyeing Scabbers,” shuddered Ron. Merlin did see a point in Ron’s claims — Crookshanks was staring at the rat with a hungry look, but then again, he was a cat. Albeit a rather large one.

He was certain Professor Lupin was going to wake up with their yelling, but then, something unexpected happened. The train began slowing down and Ron shut his mouth with an audible click as he looked out of the window. It was very dark now but even with a bit of magic enhancing his vision, Merlin still couldn’t see the castle.

“Are we there?” asked Gwen, craning her neck to see outside.

“We can’t be. I heard the prefect just mention we were half-way there to a first-year,” said Draco with a frown. Harry and Ron stepped out of the compartment, followed by Gana before the lamps suddenly went out. The entire train was plunged into darkness and everyone began screaming.

“What happened?” asked Hermione, sounding very panicked.

“Ouch! Ron, that was my foot!” came Gana’s voice. “We need to sit back down again.” Merlin looked out of the window again and a bunch of people seemed to be approaching the train.

“Have we broken down?” asked Harry, his voice coming from the left of Merlin. Just then, the compartment door slid open and someone shuffled in. “Who’s that?”

“Wait, where am I?” came a girl’s voice, sounding suspiciously familiar.

“Ginny?”

“Merlin? How did I end up here? I just wanted to get to my own compartment.”

“No idea, Weaslette, but sit down,” said Draco before adding, “Not here! I’m here.”

"Don't call her that!"

There was a loud hissing and a yelp of pain; Ginny had tried to sit on Crookshanks. She quickly rectified her mistake but not before the commotion woke Professor Lupin, who roared, “Quiet!”

Everyone watched with bated breath as he conjured a ball of bright yellow flames, not unlike the ones Merlin often created. He held them up, illuminating the professor’s tired, pale face but his eyes were alert as he took in the scene in front of him. “Stay exactly where you are,” he continued in a slightly hoarse voice as he departed from the compartment with a swish of his shabby robes.

The light went with him and Merlin had an idea. He berated himself for not thinking of it earlier as Merlin held out his palm. A replica of Professor Lupin’s light was created with soft blue light. He threw it up into the air and everyone breathed a sigh of relief as they could at least see each other. At the door, Lupin seemed to have returned as he cast an appreciative glance towards Merlin’s light.

“What’s wrong, Professor?” asked Hermione timidly. But before he could answer her question, the door to the compartment slid open again.

Standing in the doorway, illuminated by the shivering flames in Lupin’s hand, was a cloaked figure that towered to the ceiling, almost blocking the blue light from entering the corridor. Its face was completely hidden beneath its hood. Merlin’s eyes darted downward, and what he saw made his stomach contract. There was a hand protruding from the cloak and it was glistening, grayish, slimy-looking, and scabbed, like something dead that had decayed in water — it reminded him of the strange water disease he and Gaius had come across in his first year in Camelot. Was Nimeuh back? After all, he had just been thinking of her...

The creature retracted its hand at once into the folds of its black cloak. The thing beneath the hood, whatever it was, drew a long, slow, rattling breath, as though it were trying to suck something more than air from its surroundings. Whatever it was doing, it seemed to succeed as Merlin felt a sense of pressure on his chest.

The compartment suddenly became very cold and Merlin fought to breathe. The cold slipped under his clothes, beneath his skin, right into his heart and he shuddered violently as his muscles tried to desperately warm up. A thick blanket of cold air pressed against his face and Merlin thrashed to fight off the pressure, to just take a breath.

Then, a voice screamed. “SAVE US, EMRYS!” It sounded like an old woman as she sobbed by his ear and Merlin tried to ask what happened but his mouth was sealed shut by the cold. Another voice joined in as a young boy begged for Merlin’s help. Voices kept piling on top of each other until all Merlin could hear were cries and screams in all directions. He tried to comfort them but his arms were stuck to his body and a thick fog surrounded him, shutting out the people slowly.

He stopped moving and focused his energy on breaking free from the restraints of the cold and the fog. Magic ripped through his body and a familiar gold glow cocooned his body. More magic flowed from his fingertips like water escaping the confines of a dam and the cold was banished. Merlin finally took a deep breath, no longer feeling the pressure on his chest.

“–lin! Merlin!”

“First Harry and now—”

“Oh my god, what’s happening to them!”

“Merlin! Oh! He’s awake — Merlin’s awake!”

Merlin opened his eyes, finding himself face to face with a very angry Draco. Behind him, the lanterns had come on and the regular movements of the train were back. They were moving again. Merlin tried to sit up — how had he ended up on the floor? Draco stepped away quickly and Merlin leaned against one of the seats. Next to him, Harry was in a similar state, although he had a blanket around his shoulders and a half-eaten shard of chocolate.

“Take this, Merlin.” Gwen gave him a blanket and Merlin wrapped it around himself. He was still slightly cold but the buzzing feeling of his magic was slowly warming his hands and feet up. His eyes darted to the door but the strange creature had vanished. “W-What was that? An-and why were you all screaming?”

“Did you hear that too?” asked Harry suddenly. “I heard a woman screaming for help, but apparently no one did.” He turned suspiciously to the huddle of girls who quickly shook their heads.

“There were s-so many people screaming,” said Merlin with a slight shiver at the memory. “Th-they were all yelling f-for me to s-save them.”

Professor Lupin handed him a shard of chocolate, a considerable amount bigger than Harry’s, saying, “Eat this.” Merlin nodded but dropped the chocolate aside.

“What was it, then?” he asked Lupin.

“A Dementor. They guard Azkaban, the wizard prison. Eat your chocolate,” he added. Merlin frowned — how could chocolate help him? But everyone else was nibbling on their pieces so he hesitantly bit a small piece off. To his great surprise felt warmth spread suddenly to the tips of his fingers and toes, warming them quicker than his magic had so far. He quickly finished the rest off, feeling much better.

“Right, I’ll need to go speak to the driver now. Come find me if there’s any problems.” He swept out of the compartment again. Harry staggered as he stood up and sat on the cushiony seats of the train. Draco heaved Merlin up, who was quite comfortable on the floor actually, until they were all seated.

“Are you alright now?” asked Draco glaring into his eyes. “You won’t start having a fit again like Potter, will you?”

“Yeah it’s fine, I’m fine, but what happened?” asked Merlin.

“Well — that thing — the Dementor — stood there and looked around (I mean, I think it did, I couldn’t see its face) — and you — you” trailed off Hermione, wringing her hands.

“Like Malfoy said, you and Harry, I thought you guys were having a fit or something,” said Ron, who still looked scared. “You went sort of rigid and fell out of your seat and started twitching, both of you. Well, Harry just twitched but you, Merlin, you were, like, screaming.”

“You were yelling something but we couldn’t understand you,” added Gwen. “It was like a different language or something.”

“But then Professor Lupin stepped over you, and walked toward the Dementor, and pulled out his wand,” said Gana quietly, “and he said, ‘None of us are hiding Sirius Black under our cloaks. Go.’ But the Dementor didn’t move, so he muttered something, and a silvery thing shot out of his wand at it, and it turned around and sort of just glided away…. "

“It went so cold all of a sudden,” said Draco with a gulp. “And the darkness didn’t help.”

“I felt weird,” said Ron, shifting his shoulders uncomfortably. “Like I’d never be cheerful again….”

Suddenly, Ginny gave a small sob as she lay huddled on the seat. Gwen wrapped an arm around her and whispered some things to her as Gana picked up Merlin’s discarded blanket for Ginny.

“Before you woke up though,” started Harry in a rough voice, “a wave of golden light just exploded from your body. I had just woken up and it warmed me up at once.”

“Yeah, your magic or whatever was really strong,” added Draco. “Even Lupin looked stunned for a second.”

“I guess that’s what I get,” muttered Merlin quietly, “being Emrys and all.” The experience had reminded him of who he was. He had started believing that Emrys was just a name, his family name as though he were some fancy noble. But the screams, they called him Emrys! Were they the souls of everyone Uther had killed? Of all the magic he was supposed to restore to Camelot?

“How are you doing, Harry?” Lupin had returned and he smiled at Harry, who hastily answered as he kept his eyes glued to the window. Merlin wondered if he was feeling embarrassed — he felt slightly awkward at his dramatic reaction. “And you? Who are you?”

“Merlin.” Lupin’s eyes widened.

“He’s not the Merlin, just Merlin Emrys,” said Draco quickly as Lupin laughed slightly.

“I had deduced that, given that the Great Merlin wouldn’t be around now.”

They didn’t talk much during the remainder of the journey. At long last, the train stopped at Hogsmeade station, and there was a great scramble to get outside; owls hooted, cats meowed, and a pet toad croaked loudly from under a seat. It was freezing on the tiny platform; rain started driving down in icy sheets.

From the distance, Hagrid’s booming voice could be heard, signalling for the first-years to follow him. Merlin couldn’t remember his own journey across the lake but looking at the inky-black water which the rain was hitting sharply, Merlin didn’t feel too envious of them. He felt himself being swept along with the other students towards the coaches. Merlin climbed inside, averted his eyes from the skeletal horses in charge of pulling the coaches — everyone else was ignoring them and there was no need to draw attention to something so depressing. Gana and Gwen entered his carriage and they flew at once.

Chapter Text

As the carriage trundled toward a pair of magnificent wrought iron gates, flanked with stone columns topped with winged boars, Merlin saw two more towering, hooded dementors, standing guard on either side. A wave of cold sickness threatened to engulf him again; he leaned back into the lumpy seat and closed his eyes until they had passed the gates. The carriage picked up speed on the long, sloping drive up to the castle; Gwen leaned out of the tiny window, watching the many turrets and towers draw nearer. At last, the carriage swayed to a halt, and Gana and Gwen got out, with Merlin close behind, forcing himself not to throw up.

“What’s this, Potter? Did you really faint?” Lestrange and Zabini had soon approached once Harry’s coach landed and they elbowed past Hermione and Ron. Catching sight of Draco, Lestrange added, “Tell us Draco, was the Weaslette telling the truth?”

“Shove off, Lestrange,” said Ron with a glare. Zabini turned to Ron and began a crude imitation of high-pitch screams when a voice came from behind Merlin.

“Is there a problem?” Professor Lupin stepped out of another carriage. Zabini and Lestrange took one look at him and quickly left, materialising next to Pansy Parkinson in the next instance.

As they were walking up to the castle, Merlin nudged Draco. “You should’ve asked them to stop. They are your friends after all.”

“‘Friends’ is a loose term,” he answered with a short huff.

They stepped through the giant oak front doors and into the cavernous entrance hall, which was lit with flaming torches, and housed a magnificent marble staircase that led to the upper floors. The door into the Great Hall stood open at the right; Merlin followed the crowd toward it, but had barely glimpsed the enchanted ceiling, which was black and cloudy tonight, when a voice called, “Mr Potter! Miss Granger and Mr Emrys! Into my office, please!”

Merlin turned to find Professor McGonagall gesturing for the three of them to come towards her. He agreed with Draco to meet him later and Merlin, along with Hermione and Harry, followed Professor McGonagall as she walked briskly to her office. Merlin was sure he hadn’t done anything to warrant a telling-off so early in the school year but the feeling of foreboding stuck. Maybe collapsing in the train was now officially against school rules?

They accompanied her across the entrance hall, up the marble staircase, and along a corridor. Once they were in her office, a small room with a large, welcoming fire, Professor McGonagall motioned for the three of them to take a seat. The door didn't even close before Snape entered, eyes narrowed in dislike at Harry already. She settled herself behind her desk and said abruptly, “Professor Lupin sent an owl ahead to say that you were taken ill on the train, Potter, Emrys.” Snape's glare turned to Merlin and he could've sworn the man's eyes had momentarily flickered with concern. The moment was up and he too was subjected to an indifferent eye-roll.

Harry, unaware of Merlin's observations, ducked his head with embarrassment but a small knock at the door interrupted Merlin’s reply: something Snape seemed pleased with. Madam Pomfrey came bustling in within a second and immediately began examining Harry first as he turned a darker shade of red. Once she was done with him, Merlin was the next target as Pomfrey prodded his back with her wand. He shied away from the jabs, unsure of their use.

“Oh, it’s you two, is it?” said Madam Pomfrey, ignoring this and bending down to stare closely at him. “I suppose you’ve been doing something dangerous again?”

“It was a Dementor, Poppy,” said the professor, exchanging a dark look with Pomfrey, who was now feeling Merlin’s temperature with the back of her hand.

“Setting dementors around a school, she muttered disapprovingly, pushing back Harry’s hair and feeling his forehead as well. “They won’t be the last one who collapses. Yes, this one’s all clammy too. Terrible things, they are, and the effect they have on people who are already delicate–”

“We’re not delicate!” said Harry quickly. “We’re fine.”

"I do believe you aren't the one with Healer qualifications in this room, Mr. Potter," said Snape softly, his words laced with venom as he carried on, "but please, correct me if I'm wrong."

“Madam Pomfrey will be the judge of that, Potter. What do they need? Bed rest?” suggested McGonagall, much to Harry’s dislike. “A night in the Hospital Wing should put them straight.”

“No, no, no, honestly Professor, we’ll be fine,” said Harry and Merlin nodded too. Draco would probably flip out if he saw Merlin in the Hospital Wing.

“Well, if you insist,” said Pomfrey, sounding doubtful. She peered into Merlin’s eyes and checked his pulse. “They should have some chocolate at the very least.”

“We’ve had some. Professor Lupin gave some to Harry and me. He gave it to everyone.” Instantly, Snape rolled his eyes and Merlin smirked — clearly Snape and Lupin didn't seem to get along. He received a glare in response, which was really getting quite old now. He made a note to inform his professor of this fact.

“Did he, now?” said Madam Pomfrey approvingly. “So we’ve finally got a competent Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?”

“Poppy!”

“I didn’t say anything,” said Madam Pomfrey with a sly wink at Merlin. She packed up her things and left promptly with a final nod to McGonagall, not even sparing Snape a glance.

“Very well, Potter, you may go join the feast. Granger and Emrys will join you shortly.” Harry hesitated but he soon crumbled under Professor McGonagall’s stern look. He stepped out and she turned to Snape, who hadn't moved from his position by the wall. "Severus, I will see you in a short while." A thin eyebrow rose on Snape's end at the dismissal but with a last look towards Merlin, he too left silently.

McGonagall flicked her wand in the direction of the now closed door and began, “Now, am I correct in believing you both intend to take all of the available electives?”

“Yes,” answered Hermione eagerly whilst Merlin nodded.

“Miss Granger, given your excellent progress in school work and outstanding homework pieces, I have no reservations against your request; however the same cannot be said for you, Emrys.” Merlin, who had been watching Hermione beam with pride, suddenly turned to McGonagall as she frowned at him. “Given your first-year, where you hadn’t been able to do any magic, I am quite concerned that you may not be able to cope with the stress. Even in your second-year, I cannot speak for other subjects, but your work in Transfiguration has been mediocre at best. I have seen some advanced displays of magic from you, but I am not convinced, Emrys.”

Merlin carefully considered her words. He couldn’t remember his first-year, but he still found it almost impossible to believe that he had no magic. There was no possible explanation how he, the greatest sorcerer (as proclaimed by the Druids), wasn’t able to do any magic unless he had either been cursed or Merlin had chosen not to. As for second-year, that was Draco’s doing — he would hide half of Merlin’s work so that the teachers weren’t too suspicious and wouldn’t give him extra work. 

“Where I come from, professor, magic was basically illegal. I knew only one other sorceress and I even had to learn what little magic I knew from a single book,” said Merlin. He had no idea where he was going with this but continued anyway. “And yet people said that I was very talented and destined for great things, but I never felt that way. I never felt like I knew what I was doing and I didn’t because knowledge was forbidden. That’s why I was probably like that in first-year — I was pretending to not know because I didn’t know if I could trust this place.” An idea formed in his head and he carried on quickly. “I’m convincing myself that Hogwarts is safe, that I can do magic freely here and that’s why I haven’t been performing as well as you rightfully expect me to. I feel confident now, but it’s up to you,” he finished. 

Merlin was fairly certain his words would convince her and he was right — McGonagall discreetly sniffed and cleared her throat. “I hope you do indeed live up to my expectations, Emrys.” Merlin almost missed her next words as he internally cheered. He really was determined to learn more magic as how could he hope to fulfil his destiny equipped with one (1) spells book, a Gaius and a scaly lizard who spoke nonsense? “The reason I’ve called you both here is because many of the subjects run at the same time as each other.”

“So we can’t do it?” asked Hermione, disappointed.

“Not quite. I have, with extreme difficulty, procured these.” McGonagall reached into her drawers and pulled out two identical necklaces. Merlin picked his up and twirled it around his fingers. It seemed to be made from gold and had an intricate design of an hourglass, filled with what looked like magic dust. “These are Time-Turners, highly controlled devices which the Ministry is very, very careful about. I had to write many letters, promising them that these would only be used by my very best students and only for their studies,” she added with a glare at both of them but especially Merlin.

He slipped his necklace on and tucked it under his robes. “One turn means one hour. If you turn it back, you go back in time and vice versa. You must never be seen by yourself, nor must anyone come across the two versions of yourself. And most importantly, you must never change any event,” she stressed. “A past event, no matter how unfortunate or preventable, must face its consequences. If you ever change even a single thing, regardless of its significance, you may end up with terrible outcomes. Many great wizards have ruined their own existence because of a small mistake. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes Professor,” they said at once.

"Not a single person can find out," she continued. "That includes your friends and for you, Emrys, not even Professor Snape." Merlin nodded slowly but McGonagall's sharp glare didn't waver. "Very well. If there are any problems, you must come straight to me. Do I make myself clear?" she repeated and once again they agreed promptly.

After another intense look, McGonagall nodded and led them out of her office and back to the Great Hall, just in time for the feast.

Chapter Text

Draco rolled his eyes as he waited in the common-room. How long did Merlin take to get ready? Contrary to popular belief, he would actually like some breakfast today but Merlin’s inability to get dressed on time seemed to get in the way of Draco’s food. He tapped his foot impatiently, seconds away from running back upstairs and screaming at his friend, when suddenly Merlin materialised at the foot of the boys’ dorm staircase.

“Sorry, couldn’t find my socks,” he panted, running his hands down his robes in a desperate (yet futile) attempt to make himself look more presentable. “I kept finding two same socks instead of different ones for some reason.”

Draco raised an eyebrow but decided ultimately to not comment — Merlin would definitely give him a thorough explanation behind his thought process which his stomach just couldn’t handle. As they walked past the leather sofas facing the fireplace, Draco heard the familiar voice of Professor Snape and paused, resulting in Merlin crashing straight into him.

“Ow! Why’d yo—”

“Sh!!” He listened closely and thankfully, Merlin shut up.

“…you don’t bring disgrace to this house, like others have done before you,” said Snape, glowering. Draco inched closer and saw that Snape’s intended audience were the little first-years, who were cowering away from him already. 

“Does he always tell the first-years off before they’ve even had a lesson?” whispered Merlin. Draco shook his head.

“He didn’t do this to us and I don’t know about the year after us, but I’ve heard the prefects talking about how the teachers are disappointed with the amount of rule-breaking going on. This is probably because of you, Potter and the Weasel and your rendezvous with the Basilisk last year,” he hissed pointedly with an eye on Snape, who hadn’t seemed to notice them yet. “Still can’t believe how you left me!”

Merlin huffed loudly, attracting the attention of a few first-years. “Am I interrupting your conversation?” asked Snape suddenly. Draco stiffened and prayed that he wasn’t speaking to them when Snape carried on, “No no, Mr Derwyn, do not stop on my account,” he said silkily. The crowd was deathly silent and Draco grabbed Merlin’s sleeve — now was the time to get out of here. To his immense horror, Merlin didn’t budge.

“S-Sorry Professor, I just, I was just asking w-what your name was,” said a timid voice, sounding close to tears. Draco sighed internally. Now Snape was going to target this kid. Oh well, it was a rite of passage to get bullied by Snape. 

“Keep walking, Merlin.”

“We can’t just leave the poor boy,” said Merlin with a frown. Snape had now singularly focussed on the first-year and everyone else had cleared the scene. Draco would have gladly joined them but Merlin had decided to be a Gryffindor today. He marched up to Snape and stood between the professor and his target.

“Stop yelling at him, he just made a small mistake!” Snape eyed Merlin and sneered at him instead. Draco groaned quietly as he too stood by his stupid friend’s side. The year hadn’t even started and Merlin was going to cost Slytherin house points. Everyone would hate them.

“Thank you, Mr Emrys, for volunteering to show everyone how not to behave,” he said sarcastically. Draco braced himself. It was going to come any minute. The most epic loss of house points in the century. He imagine Weasel laughing to his death and Draco decided this was the day his friendship with Merlin ended. To his and Merlin’s immense surprise, Snape only glared at the two of them. With a swish of his cloak, he left the common-room. Merlin and Draco followed suit after a short pause, to make sure they wouldn’t run into him again. Draco didn't dare celebrate too early though. He knew his godfather: the man would retaliate when you least expected it.

“Why did you feel the need to interrupt Snape’s lecture? How did I make friends with someone so stupid?” lamented Draco as they finally walked to breakfast. His stomach was very close to complaining loudly but he wasn’t going to stop for anything now.

Merlin laughed suddenly, stopping at once from Draco’s glare. “Sorry, you just reminded me of someone. But the poor first-year didn’t even do anything wrong.”

“And? We all know what Snape’s like. Anyway, he’s somewhat lenient on Slytherins so it wouldn’t have been a big deal.”

“I couldn’t just stand there,” said Merlin, shaking his head. 

“And you’ll make a fantastic prefect, I’m sure,” muttered Draco with a grimace, Merlin laughing at his horrified expression. They quickly sat down at the silent Slytherin table and helped themselves to the last couple of pumpkin waffles left. “Just so we’re clear, once you become prefect, I don’t want to be seen around you.”

“It can’t be that bad. And no, I really don’t think Snape would make me a prefect. After Harry, I’m the one he hates the most in the entire school.” 

“Oh no, it is that bad. Sure, you get a bathroom and you can take points away and all but the responsibilities!” Draco shuddered involuntarily. Even though he hoped desperately to never be subjected to that torture, he knew his father was expecting him to be a prefect. Maybe even Head Boy. Draco didn’t know which one he disliked more: his father’s disapproval or the boring patrols of corridors and helping stupid first-years. That was definitely Merlin’s forte. 

“Anyway, did I miss anything before the feast yesterday?” asked Merlin as he wiped his mouth with a napkin. 

“Nothing really. That Lupin professor is here to teach Defense and the oaf Hagrid is going to take over Care of Magical Creatures but I’m not even taking it so I’m just glad I won’t have to see his stupid face anymore than necessary,” said Draco thoughtfully. And then he remembered. He was going to see that oaf's face, wasn't he? And it was his own stupid decisions which had led to that unfortunate fate. He decided to lament about his misfortunes later and to fill Merlin in with the rest of the news. “Oh wait, you know those Dementor things from the train?” Merlin shuddered slightly and even Draco felt a similar way. “Yeah well, you’ll be seeing a lot more of them. Apparently they’re going to guard the school until they catch Sirius Black.”

“The mass-murderer?” 

Draco nodded. His parents had been unusually tight-lipped about the matter even though a Black was involved. Then again, blood purity didn’t matter if the person was a cold-blooded murderer so Draco assumed they were simply trying to protect him.

“Couldn’t they just employ extra serv— staff?” asked Merlin. “Seems like overkill, especially when they’re practically the Dorocha’s cousins.”

“The what?” Merlin waved his hand dismissively and Draco frowned, unsure if this was another ‘Ew! Same socks!’ situation or something of actual importance. Oh well. It was Merlin. Things were rarely of actual importance. “Okay, well Black did escape from Azkaban so…”

“Is that a big deal? Prisoners escape all the time from the dungeons,” shrugged Merlin nonchalantly.

Draco took a sip of his pumpkin juice if only to contain his horror. He tried his best (he really did) to forget that Merlin had, for lack of better description, an interesting childhood, but then he would make silly claims like this and everything would hit him like the Hogwarts Express. “Azkaban is not something you can just run away from, Merlin," he said, making sure to drawl the last syllable of his name. "They have dementors guarding every inch of that place. Remember how you felt on the train?” Merlin nodded, a far-away look in his eyes. “Well, multiply that by a thousand times. Oh, and it’s just a remote island — you have to swim to make it to civilisation.” Draco hoped his explanation had gone through the boy's thick skull. He was like a more animated version of Greg and Vince. Just as stupid and empty headed but with occasional bouts of wisdom.

“Right, right. Completely get it now. Sirius Black — super dangerous. Azkaban — nothing to joke about.”

Timetables floated down and Draco watched as Merlin stuffed his almost immediately into his bag. Whilst other people were comparing their lessons, Merlin beamed uselessly at the other tables. Draco surveyed his own critically. His parents had picked Study of Ancient Runes and Arithmancy as his electives in exchange for Hogsmeade privileges but Draco had added Care of Magical Creatures onto the list before returning to the owl. He didn’t particularly like Care of Magical Creatures or anything but he did like the fact that his parents didn’t approve of it.

“Ooh, I think we have all our lessons together,” chirped Merlin, gulping his orange juice down like a dehydrated owl. 

“You could just look at your timetable.” One day, he would receive an Order of Merlin for dealing with this Merlin.

“Oh, no need,” he answered hurriedly. “Come on, we’re gonna be late to Charms.” Merlin stuffed one last slice of toast and fumbled with the front of his robes, turning away from him. Draco frowned — Merlin was hardly what he would call 'normal' but this behaviour was slightly strange, even for him.

Chapter Text

Mord pulled out his Potions textbook and settled on an armchair by the fire. He had Professor Snape first thing the next day and he was determined to get back in his good books. What better way to do that than answer one of his questions?

He’d barely glanced at the first page when someone dragged a bean bag and sat next to him. It was the first-year he had sat next to on the train — Gilli Brigyn. “Hey Mord,” greeted Gilli as he laid out his own Transfiguration work. They had an essay from Professor McGonagall but it was due in a week; naturally Mord wasn’t going to start it any time soon. “Is that Potions? We haven’t even had a lesson yet though.”

Mord explained how Professor Snape had already told him off and how a kind older year had stepped in to help. “Oh wow. And you just wanted to find out Snape’s name? He seems very strict.”

“Oh, that he is,” said Mord with a sarcastic laugh. “Wait, weren’t you there?”

“I had a meeting with Matron,” answered Gilli hurriedly. He fiddled with his quill, pointedly avoiding Mord’s eyes. “Anyway,” he continued, quickly changing the subject, “do you know who the older student was?”

“No,” sighed Mord. He had tried to remember something about the other boy but he had been too busy in the moment berating himself to note down key details. “I really should thank him for possibly saving me from detention.” He shuddered — detention on the first day? That would have been a nightmare. His father would have been so disappointed.

“We could ask some of the other students?” suggested Gilli. He suddenly scribbled through the entire first sentence of his essay and dropped his quill with frustration. “Ugh! I just— I can’t start this essay for some reason. I wish we could just start with actual magic instead of all this useless theory work.” 

The first-years had had Transfiguration and Herbology that day and whilst Mord appreciated being around plants, he had also been quite disappointed when Professor McGonagall announced that they were going to first focus on the theory of spell-casting. She had explained the problems with letting students loose with wands and while that did make sense, Mord had dreamt of an array of colourful flashes and heroic moments.

The common-room was suddenly filled with the sound of raucous laughter as a group of what looked like second-years burst inside. There were two girls and a boy and the blonde girl caught sight of Mord and Gilli and rushed over immediately, dragging her friends behind her.

“Oh Merlin, look at these cute first-years!” she exclaimed loudly. Peering over Mord’s shoulder, she grimaced. “Have you had Potions already? Who’s Snape picking on for your year?”

“No, not yet,” answered Mord as he put his books down. I’ll study later, he promised himself. He moved the arm chair and the second years dragged other stools over and formed a small circle. “But I already upset Professor Snape. So I guess that’s me.”

“Wait! Are you the first year who Snape was complaining about?” gasped the other girl eagerly as she tied up her brown hair into a precarious bun on the top of her head. The boy stuck Gilli’s abandoned quill through it and she glared at him. “Aaron! Honestly,” she muttered and turned to Mord expectantly, who nodded and tried to smile with the others but he was horrified to hear that Snape hadn’t forgotten about him yet. It was even more important now to impress Snape! She nudged the first girl and reminded her, “you know, Grace, the one that Emrys stepped in for.”

“Is that you?” asked Grace sympathetically. “Yeah, Snape is big on his monologues. Remember, Ali, when Snape wa—”

“Did you say Emrys?” interrupted Gilli, his earlier apprehension disappearing. “As in the Emryses?”

“Oh, of course, better get it over and done with,” said the boy — Aaron. “Right, in the year above ours, so the present third-year, there is a Merlin Emrys and a Harry Potter.”

Mord’s eyes widened. Merlin Emrys? The Druids were firm believers that an Emrys would assist Harry Potter to defeat the Parasite but they were also disheartened when they lost track of the last living Emrys centuries ago. Now, only the oldest Druids held onto this hope, with the younger members treating the Emrys family as an extinct species of dragon. He had only heard of the full prophecy after begging the old Druid Leader for days and while he hadn't understood it then, Mord couldn't believe it now.

Here was Harry Potter and Emrys in the same year! Did this mean the Prophecy was true? Mord hadn’t ever outwardly questioned his father’s beliefs but some part of him had found all of the Druidic theories far-fetched at times. If everything was 'written in the stars' then free will couldn't exist, right? 

Grace shook him gently. “Hey. Are you stunned by the amount of celebrities Hogwarts has?” she grinned. Mord smiled back, resolving to thank Merlin Emrys at the earliest opportunity, and to hopefully make friends with him. Maybe he could work alongside them and defeat the Parasite together? Mord internally laughed at his day dreams — they had never come true yet but he still held hope.

“Now is an excellent time to tell you to steer clear of both Potter and Emrys,” said Aaron sternly. The girls immediately began nodding and if it weren't for their solemn expression, Mord felt like laughing. “Potter is in Gryffindor so I shouldn’t be seeing you two around him anyway, and Emrys is a magnet for trouble.”

“Yet Malfoy’s friends with both of them,” said Ali with a raised eyebrow. “My father told me to follow Malfoy’s footsteps religiously because of the current state.”

“What do you mean, current state?” asked Gilli but Ali just patted his head gently. 

“Well, I don’t know about that, but if either of you want a peaceful year,” said Aaron gesturing to Mord and Gilli, “you’ll stay well away from them. You know Emrys, he claimed he was attacked by a teacher in his first year.” Upon seeing Grace’s confused look, he clarified, “a prefect told me. It was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!”

“Is he alright?” asked Mord worriedly. Teachers attack students? And here he was thinking that Hogwarts was a safe place. Maybe Aunt Saoirse was right about not sending Kara here.

“It can’t be true,” said Gilli, trying to be reassuring but the undertone of concern gave him away.

“Dumbledore believed him and so did Professor Snape,” said Aaron, shrugging. “But they could just be humouring him given his Emrys background.”

“You know, I’ve heard a rumour that Emrys doesn’t actually have a home,” whispered Grace dramatically. “He’s probably not even an Emrys!”

“Okay, let’s not go that far,” said Ali, snaking her arm to clamp her friend’s mouth shut. “We’re just here to guide you through your time at Hogwarts. Not here to accuse one of our own. As long as you two stand up for Slytherins, stay away from Gryffindors and earn plenty of house points, you’ll fit right in.” She stood up and prepared to leave, gesturing for Grace and Aaron to follow her as well. 

“And remember, the further you are from Potter and Emrys, the better,” added Aaron.

As the group left, Mord heard Grace laugh to the others, “I swear, we weren’t anything like them last year!”

“Wow,” said Gilli, looking at Mord. “I literally don't know what to say.” He began piling his textbooks back into his bag. "I'm gonna head up."

Mord debated packing his books but he knew he wasn't going to get any work done as his mind replayed the past interactions. And what was he going to do about Emrys? A part of him knew that it was the right thing to thank Emrys, especially given the teacher was Snape. Then again, he couldn't just forget the pretty strong warnings he had received from the second-years. Mord mentally drew up a pros and cons chart.

Pros: 

- Emrys might be impressed by his gratitude. 

- He could boast to Kara that he was on first name terms with an Emrys.

- He could meet Harry Potter!

- His father would be proud of his connections.

- Maybe he could have a part in defeating the Parasite!!

Cons:

Mord made up his mind. There were no cons at all and his plan was perfect. He was going to thank Emrys as soon as he saw him and everything would work out. Mord joined Gilli, satisfied with his work.

Chapter Text

“How do you already have homework, Hermione?” asked Ron, frowning. Hermione tensed and hurriedly scrolled her parchment up on which she had noted down the readings for Professors Burbage and McGonagall. Muggle Studies didn’t set the readings, per se, but Hermione didn’t want to rely only on her lived experience as a Muggleborn. What if it wasn't enough? She glanced nervously down her robes, hoping the Time-Turner was tucked away and caught sight of Ron’s inquisitive glances. If she wasn’t more careful, he’d definitely suspect something was up.

“It’s not homework, Ronald. I’m just, I’m reading ahead for Defense. I, uh, I heard a fourth-year student say that Professor Lupin was, um, really strict.” Ron raised an eyebrow and even Harry looked at her, slightly sceptical, but thankfully the door to the classroom opened and the students filed in. Hermione let out a small sigh of relief, before berating herself — they had already met Professor Lupin, of course they knew what sort of person he was!

She sat down in the front row and gestured for Ron to sit next to her. However, soon the door opened again and a harried-looking Professor Lupin entered. “Stop! Don’t sit down. Grab your wands and follow me.” He stood by the door and directed the late-comers in a similar fashion and Hermione took this time to quickly pack her stuff up again. 

Ron led them out, nervously spinning his wand as he glanced back at the other two. They made their way to the front of the line, eavesdropping on the Slytherins’ conversations to see if they somehow knew anything more. On their way, they narrowly avoided collision with Merlin, who Hermione noticed was whispering to Malfoy. She cleared her throat and instantly Merlin turned around, a guilty expression evident on his face.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. What had he been talking about? She waited for an explanation but Merlin plastered on a cheery smile and hugged them all. “Long time, no see, how are we?”

“You literally saw us yesterday, Merlin,” laughed Harry as they continued walking. Hermione inched closer towards Professor Lupin as the boys carried on joking.

“What’s today’s lesson, Professor?” asked Dean Thomas. She paused elbowing the students and tried to listen carefully.

“Mr Thomas, is it? Well, last night I was made aware of a magical creature — one that is hard to come by — who had taken up residence in one of the staff-rooms. I do believe it would be an excellent teaching opportunity to learn how to banish it!” answered Professor Lupin, looking much calmer now.

“So you’re taking us straight into a monster’s lair?” asked Lestrange loudly. A hush spread through the crowd, making Hermione’s job of eavesdropping much easier. “Our parents wouldn’t be happy with our lives being in danger, would they, Draco?”

Malfoy grimaced and stuttered out a response but Professor Lupin cleared his throat and stopped walking. “I can set you theory work but trust me when I say that this safe practical demonstration will help you more. Of course, if anybody believes otherwise, they’re welcome to sit out for today.” Everyone looked at each other but ultimately, nobody moved. The professor nodded and carried on walking, leaving the students to hastily follow him.

“I don’t think that’s true,” said Hermione with a frown once the others caught up to her. “How can one practical lesson be more helpful than properly learning theory?” Harry shrugged in response.

“I don’t know, it seemed pretty wise to me,” he said. “I mean, you’re really clever anyway, Hermione, but maybe this is just another way to learn.”

Hermione disagreed. How could anything be a better teacher than books? And she was the best example of that! Hermione’s method of religiously reading the history behind spells and the correct pronunciations and wand movements was what allowed her to do so well in class. There couldn’t be any doubt about her way now, could there?

The staff room — a long, panelled room full of old, mismatched chairs — was empty except for one teacher. Professor Snape was sitting in a low armchair, and he looked around as the class filed in. His eyes were glittering and the usual look of disdain was on his face. As Professor Lupin came in and made to close the door behind him, Snape said, “Leave it open, Lupin. I’d rather not witness this.”

He got to his feet and strode past the class, his black robes billowing behind him. At the doorway he turned on his heel and said, “Possibly no one’s warned you, Lupin, but this class contains Neville Longbottom. I would advise you not to entrust him with anything difficult. Not unless Miss Granger is hissing instructions in his ear.” Hermione refused to feel embarrassed and instead held her head up high even as the Slytherins sneered at her. There was nothing wrong with helping people, and she wasn’t about to allow other spineless snakes to make her feel bad for being a decent person! 

“Potter and Malfoy! Come to my office after your class.” With that, Snape left and Hermione heard Neville’s sigh of relief as she glared at Harry — what rules had he already broken? Harry pointedly avoided her gaze.

“Well, Neville, I was hoping for your assistance actually.” said Professor Lupin once Snape left. Neville squeaked and Ron patted him on the back as Hermione squeezed his hand. The professor didn’t seem to notice as he carried on, “Now, then,” and beckoned the sceptical class toward the end of the room, where there was nothing but an old wardrobe where Hermione supposed the teachers kept their spare robes. As he went to stand next to it, the wardrobe gave a sudden wobble, banging off the wall.

Several students stepped back in alarm and a couple held out their wands nervously. “Nothing to worry about,” reassured Lupin but Hermione ran through a list of safety spells just in case.

“Inside, there is a Boggart. Boggarts like dark, enclosed spaces,” said Professor Lupin. “Wardrobes, the gap beneath beds, the cupboards under sinks — I’ve even met one that had lodged itself in a grandfather clock. This one moved in yesterday afternoon and is excellent for practise.

“So, the first question we must ask ourselves is, what is a Boggart?” 

Hermione put up her hand. The reading ahead she had done always paid off. This was why she preferred learning theory first. “It’s a shape-shifter,” she answered. “It can take the shape of whatever it thinks will frighten us most.” She had spent some time considering what her own fears would be: getting expelled ranked first, with all her friends leaving her coming a close second.

“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” said Professor Lupin, and Hermione glowed, forgetting all about her list of fears. “So the Boggart sitting in the darkness within has not yet assumed a form. It does not yet know what will frighten the person on the other side of the door. Nobody knows what a Boggart looks like when it is alone, but when I let it out, it will immediately become whatever each of us most fears.

“This means,” said Professor Lupin, choosing to ignore Neville’s small sputter of terror, “that we have a huge advantage over the Boggart before we begin. Can anyone guess?”

Hermione’s hand shot up and so did Ron’s, albeit much more tentatively. Seeing this, Harry too joined in but Lupin only nodded appreciatively.

“Anyone from Slytherin? Mr Emrys! Have a go!” Next to her, Merlin jumped slightly as Professor Lupin seemed to have interrupted his conversation with another Slytherin. Hermione kept her hand up, knowing Merlin would shrug as usual and smile brightly.

Instead, he cleared his throat. “Uh, is it because we can frighten it instead?” The students sniggered quietly and even Merlin grinned.

“Not quite, have another go.”

Hermione sighed loudly as Merlin joked again. Even though she understood just how powerful Merlin sometimes was, Hermione could now see exactly what Professor McGonagall meant when she felt that Merlin wasn’t up to standards. Did he ever take anything seriously? Judging by the playful thumps on the back he was getting from the Slytherin boys, Hermione got her answer. 

To Professor Lupin’s credit, he was very patient, giving Merlin far too many chances and eventually, Merlin ran out of silly excuses and answered the question.

“Yes. It’s always best to have company when you’re dealing with a Boggart. It becomes confused. Which should it become, a headless corpse or a flesh-eating slug? I once saw a Boggart make that very mistake — tried to frighten two people at once and turned itself into half a slug. Not remotely frightening.” Some of the students looked slightly relieved as Lupin spoke. 

“The charm that repels a Boggart is simple, yet it requires force of mind. You see, the thing that really finishes a Boggart is laughter. What you need to do is force it to assume a shape that you find amusing. You may have come across this branch of magic known as Visualisation Magic. It is where you picture something in your mind’s eye. The clearer your imagination, the easier it is.

“Of course, there is a charm as well. We will practice without wands first. After me, please — Riddikulus!”

The class chorused, “Riddikulus!” and the professor made them repeat it several more times until he was happy with the pronunciation. So far, Hermione had to admit that this practical lesson wasn’t unlike theory lessons with Professor McGonagall. The only downside was that she couldn’t take notes. Oh, and her feet ached.

“And now, for the hard bit.”

Chapter Text

The sound Neville made was almost pitifully and even Merlin paused his whispering and paid attention. After all, he was hear to learn magic, not gossip around like the servants! He could feel Gaius' disappointment already.

“As I said before, nothing to worry about,” said Professor Lupin firmly. He smiled at Neville and gestured for him to come closer to the wardrobe. Merlin closed his eyes in this time and reached out with his magic. The room was dotted with small sparks of golden light but inside the wardrobe, the light was almost muffled, as though it were blocked by some cloth. What, in the gods’ name, was this being?

The wardrobe shook again, though not as much as Neville, who walked forward as though he were heading for the pyre. In fact, prisoners in Uther’s time walked with more conviction than Neville did in that moment. “Right, Neville,” said Professor Lupin. “First things first: what would you say is the thing that frightens you most in the world?” Neville’s lips moved, but no noise came out. “Didn’t catch that, Neville, sorry,” said Professor Lupin, slightly too cheerfully.

“Professor Snape.”

The Slytherins burst into raucous laughter, undeterred by the angry glances from the Gryffindors. Even Merlin smiled slightly which was much better than Draco, who howled with laughter. 

“It’s not like Snape loves you either,” whispered Merlin once Draco finally finished laughing. “What was that about, wanting to see you and Harry after class?”

“Oh, that,” said Draco, hiccupping quietly, “no idea. Truly. Although, I have a sneaking suspicion it’s about a, well, a joke Potter and I played in the summer.”

“You and Harry are pranking people together now, are you? When can we expect a happy announcement then?” He didn't even finish his sentence before he was shoved. Hard.

“Professor Snape is it? Well, Neville, I believe you live with your grandmother?” replied Lupin after some thought.

“Er — yes,” said Neville nervously. “But — I don’t want the Boggart to turn into her either.” More laughter, but this time the Gryffindors joined in too. Lupin asked him to elaborate on his grandmother’s way of dressing, which Neville did with a decent amount of hesitation. “A hat. A black one with a stuffed vulture on it. And a long dress. I don’t think she’s ever worn anything else. Oh, and a red handbag.”

“Excellent, excellent. Now, Neville, I want you to picture these clothes very clearly in your mind’s eye, alright? With as much detail as you can.

“I’m going to open this wardrobe and when the Boggart comes out, it’ll assume Professor Snape’s form,” said Lupin, holding his wand out. Neville shuddered at once and Lupin carried on, “don’t worry and don’t get scared. Just keep picturing your grandmother’s clothes and say the spell calmly, okay? Say ‘Riddikulus’ clearly whilst waving your wand like so.”

Lupin flicked his wand and the class scrambled to copy it. Merlin patted his robes down for his wand and cursed himself internally — he had forgotten it somewhere as usual. He glanced subtly towards Draco, who didn’t seem to notice yet, and thanked the gods for the small miracle. Sticking his hand into a large pocket, Merlin closed his eyes and visualised a normal stick. One without any leaves or knobbly bits. Oh, and relatively small.

He breathed out quietly and felt a light weight press against his palm. Merlin whipped out the stick, glad to find a good wand replica in front of him, and hastened to flick the wand as demonstrated.

“Yes, like that. Now, if all goes well, we will see Professor Boggart Snape forced into that vulture-topped hat, and that long dress, with that big red handbag,” finished Lupin with a sly wink. Now it was the Gryffindors’ turn to roar with laughter. Merlin joined in, unable to stop himself from imagining the spectacle and turned to Ron and Harry, only to find them sprawled on the floor crying from laughter. Next to them was Hermione who was struggling between the hilarity and the horror of such an image. 

Lupin released some red sparks from his wand and the class gradually quietened. “The Boggart will then turn to the rest of us. I want you all to name what your greatest fear is and how you plan on overcoming it.”

Merlin looked around hesitantly but everyone’s eyes were screwed shut and some whispered what their plan of action was going to be. He thought about his own fears but found he couldn’t name any, which was strange given his time in Camelot where even regular chores could have easily resulted in his death. But here, apart from the fact that Merlin missed the others — Arthur, the Knights, Gwen, Gaius, his mother and so many other people — he felt oddly at peace. What would his Boggart be? Would he even have one?

Draco gulped audibly but before Merlin could ask him what he was imagining, Lupin cleared his throat again. “Let’s get started then. Right Neville, we’re going to just step back and give you some space, okay? Then after Neville’s done, I’ll call the next person, and so on.”

They all retreated, backed against the walls, leaving Neville alone beside the wardrobe. He looked pale and frightened, but he had pushed up the sleeves of his robes and was holding his wand ready. “On the count of three, Neville,” said Professor Lupin, who was pointing his own wand at the handle of the wardrobe. “One, two — three — now!”

The door banged open and for just a second, Merlin caught sight of an inky blackness that swirled out. It morphed into an unmistakeable replica of Snape, down to his greasy hair and permanently displeased expression. The Boggart advanced towards Neville, its eyes flashing almost identical to its real-life counterpart. Even Merlin felt sorry for Neville, who was backing away steadily.

“Come on Neville!” cheered Ron. The other Gryffindors slowly began clapping and shouting words of encouragement, which seemed to work. Neville held out his wand and stuttered, “R-riddikulus!”

There was a noise like a whip crack. Snape stumbled; he was wearing a long, lace-trimmed dress and a towering hat topped with a moth-eaten vulture, and he was swinging a huge crimson handbag. There was a roar of laughter and Merlin even saw a few Slytherins snicker. The Boggart paused, confused (which was a very disorientating sight — to see Snape unsure) and Professor Lupin pointed at one of the raised hands to go next. “You! Miss Patil, is it? Up you go!”

Parvati walked forward, her face set. Snape rounded on her. There was another crack, and where he had stood was a bloodstained, bandaged mummy; its sightless face was turned to Parvati and it began to walk toward her very slowly, dragging its feet, its stiff arms rising —

“Riddikulus!” cried Parvati. A bandage unravelled at the mummy’s feet; it became entangled, fell face forward, and its head rolled off. Merlin had to admit, this was hardly an improvement but the forced laughter worked and the Boggart crossed its arms.

“Who’s next?” Lupin’s eyes laid on Ron who was shaking his head vehemently. “Come on, Ron, have a go.”

Harry thumped his friend on the back and Merlin too smiled at him. Ron leapt forwards and the mummy was replaced by a giant spider, easily six feet tall and covered in hair. It began advancing on Ron, clicking its pincers menacingly. For a moment, Merlin thought Ron had frozen. Then, he shook himself free.

“Riddikulus!” bellowed Ron, and the spider’s legs vanished; it rolled over and over; Lavender Brown squealed and ran out of its way but she was up next. The Boggart transformed into a room which squeezed itself smaller and smaller. Then it became a cracking sound of lightning and then a vampire. 

Finally, Harry volunteered, along with Hermione who finally wanted to have a go, it seemed. However, Lupin ignored them both.

“Any Slytherins want to go?” yelled Professor Lupin quickly. Many of them looked reasonably excited but no one put their hand up. Merlin decided to speed things along. “Yes, thank you Mr Malfoy for volunteering. Boggart’s all yours!”

The glare from Draco was almost worth it when Merlin saw him slightly hesitate. What great fear did Draco have? As he approached the Boggart, the bleeding patient disappeared, replaced by a tall man clutching an intricately carved cane.

Everyone gasped when the Boggart revealed its face. In the middle of the classroom stood Lucius Malfoy. Merlin blinked — he knew Draco wasn’t the world’s biggest fan of his father but for him to his greatest fear? What had that man done?

Lucius Malfoy glided towards Draco, one hand flaunting a white wand. Whereas none of the boggarts had spoken before, this time, Mr Malfoy was very apparent with his disgust in Draco.

“Making friends with worthless peasants,” he spat. “I’m disappointed in you, Draco.” The words themselves were chilling but the tone the Boggart used was no better. Draco, to his credit, was gripping his wand tightly as he tried to make the illusion disappear. “You just wait. It’s because we have been too soft on you,” continued Mr Malfoy in a whisper, yet everyone could clearly hear the threat in his voice. “You just wait until you face some real punishment. Not long now.”

“Mal— Draco! Remember the spell,” called Lupin but it was no use. Draco was frozen. Merlin could almost slap himself — why did he have to push Draco forward? He had to do something. This was all his fault!

Without thinking, Merlin stepped forward. He shook Draco hard and finally the hold the Boggart had on Draco was released. “Riddikulus!” shouted Draco leaning heavily on Merlin and Lucius Malfoy turned into a casually dressed Muggle. It didn’t last for long, however, as the Boggart turned towards Merlin.

Merlin’s earlier sense of calm went straight out of the window as the Boggart once again grew blonde hair. This time, a red cape adorned it and a sword glittered at its waist. The very sword Merlin had had burnished for him. An ornate crown sat atop its head and finally it opened its eyes. The blue eyes he hadn't realised he missed so much.

“A-Arthur?”

“You sorcerer!” A harsh voice, not anything like his King’s, answered Merlin. He tried to tell himself that it was just an illusion, that it wasn’t real, but Arthur carried on. “You betrayed me. I trusted you and you lied to me every day.”

“I-I-I had to, A-Arthur. I, I didn’t want to, ever! I just,” whispered Merlin incoherently.

“Lies!” He jumped as Arthur took another menacing step towards him. “That’s what you are, you sorcerer. You’re just a liar.” Every word was like a physical blow to him and soon, Merlin felt tears run down his cheeks as he continued to beg for Arthur’s forgiveness.

“Sorcerers don’t get mercy! And you don’t deserve that, do you?”

Merlin looked up, tears clouding his vision. Even then, Arthur stood in front of him, proud and strong. “Wh-what do you mean?”

“Look at you, enjoying this place like the traitorous sorcerer you are—”

“Arthur, stop, please! I beg you!”

“You couldn’t care less about your friends! Were they even friends or were you lying about that too?”

Merlin hunched over, sobs shaking his whole body. The only sound in his ears was the cold, disdainful whisper of Arthur and he didn’t know what to do! Merlin kept repeating his apologies, asking him to stop but to no avail.

“Look at me.” Merlin complied almost immediately and scrambled backwards in shock. In front of him leered Arthur with an inhumane look in his eyes. His face was filled with bleeding cuts and his blond hair was now red. But the most horrifying sight was Excalibur buried hilt-deep into his chest. Blood trickled out and down his armour, the one Merlin polished to shine. He sobbed and screwed his eyes shut but it was no good.

“No! No, no, no, no, Arthur!” He couldn’t breathe. The scent metal filled the air and memories flickered through except… except he didn’t recognise any of them. There were images of a battlefield, of collapsed bodies dressed in Camelot’s capes, of lightning and an old man with a staff. The worst of which was Arthur on his knees. But, but when did this happen? Merlin shook his head desperately to get rid of the false images. They hadn’t happened! It wasn’t real!

“Look at what you did to me, sorcerer!” said Arthur, drawing Merlin’s attention and, with a manic grin, he wrapped his hands around the hilt and Merlin pleaded him to let go. Arthur didn’t listen and slowly drew the sword out of his heart. Even more blood cascaded out of his wound and stained the floors and even Merlin in the deep Camelot red, a cruel reminder of his old life. “Did you even care about me? Did I mean anything, Merlin?”

“STOP!” 

Merlin felt his magic surge out of him. He had no control over it. It ripped through him and left him feeling empty. Although nothing could hope to recreate the feelings of hopelessness left by Arthur. No, he corrected himself, left by the Boggart. Not Arthur. Never Arthur.

A lot of things happened afterwards but to him it just seemed like a haze. At some point, someone had wrapped him in a blanket. He heard low voices now and again but it seemed too much effort to understand their meanings. Some part of him knew that there would be so many questions, so many consequences but that wasn’t for now. For now, he needed to forget. He was good at that.

Chapter Text

“Will he be alright?” asked Harry worriedly for what he was certain was the thousandth time. As ever, Madam Pomfrey reassured him before kicking everyone out, stating that Merlin needed his rest which the others couldn’t argue with. He was in safe hands.

Harry followed the others to the Great Hall, eager to finally eat something, when Malfoy stopped him in his tracks. “Have you forgotten? Professor Snape wanted to see us.” No, Harry had not forgotten, he had merely hoped to ignore it. Then again, Snape would probably give him life-long detention if he found out that Harry had intentionally shown him up.

Bidding a sorrowful goodbye to the others (and to the prospect of a lovely lunch), Harry and Malfoy walked down to the dungeons together. He genuinely had no idea why Snape wanted to see him, let alone with Malfoy! They hadn’t even been in school for long enough to break any rules yet somehow Snape had already found something to criticise. Typical.

“What an end to the lesson,” muttered Malfoy half to himself. Harry frowned — Malfoy was speaking to him? Voluntarily? Or was he just speaking out loud? “And of course, Merlin has to go and f— mess things up as usual.”

Harry snorted involuntarily, making Malfoy jump. “Sometimes, I feel like Professor McGonagall sees me as the world’s greatest trouble seeker when that title actually belongs to Merlin.” He glanced subtly at Malfoy and saw him relax slightly, as though he was worried that Harry would bring up the lesson again. The moment disappeared instantly and his regular demeanour was back again.

“It’s not like you’re innocent either, Potter,” said Malfoy with a roll of his eyes. “It’s a good thing you two aren’t in the same house, otherwise I’d genuinely pity your Head of House.” He grew quiet for a while before continuing, “But, Merlin doesn’t seek out trouble either. He just ends up in these strange circumstances. Only half the time that is, mind you,” added Malfoy quickly.

“I guess. Especially when Quirrell attacked him,” said Harry. Although Voldemort (or, at least, some part of him) had made an appearance at Hogwarts, Harry still couldn’t believe that a teacher would attack a student. Even if that teacher was sharing a body with Voldemort.

“That, but also his magic. I don’t see people mentioning it enough but half of his skills should be impossible at our age,” said Malfoy as they entered the dungeons. Instantly, the cold seeped down Harry’s robes, chilling him and the somewhat friendly atmosphere that they had developed. 

“Hermione definitely mentions it,” said Harry with a dry laugh. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she has a list of all the crazy things Merlin has done.”

“I hate to admit it, but Granger is the only sane person around here. Even the teachers go about their day as though we don’t have a miracle, albeit a foolish and idiotic one, sitting in our classes.”

Malfoy pushed open the door to Snape’s office and they stepped in. Harry looked around and tried not to shudder — the gloomy room had a few weak candles which were failing to make the place look more inviting, although that was probably never Snape’s intention. Most of the walls were covered with bottles of potion ingredients with faded labels and a large cauldron stood proudly in the centre of large room.

A table was pressed against the far wall where Snape sat, furiously writing on what looked like a test paper. It looked like someone had seriously messed up their test. Snape glanced at them and pushed the paper away.

“About time, Mr Malfoy. I had expected you two earlier,” said the professor, already sneering at Harry as though it were his fault.

“Merlin had an accident in Defense, sir,” said Malfoy to which Snape simply closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Then again, Harry supposed he had a lot of experience with Merlin and his antics.

“What has the boy done now?” he asked yet almost instantly, Snape amended, “forget it. I’m sure I’ll find out some other way. Anyway,” he said and paused. Reaching into his desk, Snape pushed pieces of parchment aside until he found what he was looking for. He handed it to Malfoy and continued, “read this, Mr Malfoy. Aloud.”

Malfoy glanced nervously at Harry but cleared his throat and began, 

“‘Dearest Severus,

How are you, old chap? It has been simply too long since Morticia and I have last spoken to you! I had hoped to see you at Lucius and Narcissa’s extraordinary gathering but my love reminds me of your busy schedule. What was unexpected was running into your son, Maechiaven, whom the young Draco Malfoy introduced to us at the rendezvous! We were charmed by the clever and polite boy, a clear credit to your (and dare I say your wife’s?) upbringing. It only tortures us (and not in a pleasurable manner, might I add) that we were unable to meet the whole family but I declare that must change immediately! Write to me, old friend, with your earliest convenience and my darling Morticia and I will be most repulsed to receive you and your family at our home. It will be a perfect time for young Maechiaven to meet Wednesday and Pugsley — he can tell my dear daughter all about his agonising school life to prepare her for next year!

Yours most sorrowfully,

Gomez Addams’”

Harry pointedly avoided the professor’s face as Malfoy read the letter but he made the mistake of briefly looking up once Malfoy finished. Snape seemed to close to exploding as the vein in his temple stood out prominently and Harry scrunched his eyes up, waiting for the two of them to be expelled on the spot.

“Explain,” he forced out eventually, his face still a deep shade of red which could almost put Uncle Vernon’s to shame. Harry didn’t need the nudge from Malfoy to understand — under no circumstance was he going to explain. Snape hated him on a good day. Now? Now, Snape might just curse him.

“Sir, it was an honest mistake. I— it was all my fault,” said Malfoy, hanging his head. “I panicked and I could hardly introduce Potter as himself for obvious reasons so I—”

“Decided to bring me into this mess, did you?” interrupted Snape harshly. Malfoy gulped audibly and Harry couldn’t watch quietly anymore.

“We can explain it to Mr Addams, professor. I can write to him and apologise. You can give us detention as well!”

“Don’t tell me what I can do, Potter!” spat Snape. “You two will be in detention, don’t you worry about that. For the rest of this term, I will personally ensure that you are suitably occupied.” That certainly meant Dungeon Duty, thought Harry as he remembered the Weasley twins complaining last year. “As for Addams, I expect you two to each compose a letter of apology detailing the extent of your lies. If Addams wishes to speak to you personally, I will provide him every avenue to do so,” hissed Snape, his eyes narrowing. “I need not say that you two, nor your useless friends, should ever pull a stunt like this again.”

“Yes professor,” mumbled Harry and Malfoy simultaneously. Snape glared at them and finally nodded, which Harry readily accepted as a dismissal.

“Professor, how did you know it was Potter?” asked Malfoy, voicing a question Harry had too. It was now his turn to poke Malfoy sharply but he continued as though nothing happened. “I mean, Mr Addams only mentioned me.”

Snape’s mouth thinned and Harry was certain they weren’t going to get an answer when he finally said, “I wrote to your father who informed me of a surprise guest at his house. Besides, it could only either be Emrys or Potter who would be foolish enough to try this trick and Lucius confirmed my suspicions. Now get out of my office.”

Chapter Text

Merlin paced in front of the door to Snape’s office, waiting for the hourly gong. For once in his life, it seemed he was early to something — what a shame Arthur wasn’t there to witness this astounding phenomenon. He quickly decided that being early was even worse than being late as he kicked a rogue pebble in an effort to kill some time. 

The door to the office opened and Merlin looked up, expecting Snape’s displeased demeanour. Instead, he was faced with two miniscule Slytherins, one of which looked oddly familiar. Merlin was certain he had seen the curly brown hair somewhere, but he couldn’t make the connection. He didn’t need to though, because the child recognised him and gasped.

“Oh my! Oh it’s him! You’re Merlin Emrys!” babbled the first-year, his blue eyes wide with surprise. He grabbed his friend, who looked equally stunned and Merlin smiled, slightly nervous and dodged the outstretched finger. Those blue eyes were looking very familiar now and as he stared, his mind swapped out the blue eyes for gold ones and suddenly, Merlin took a staggering step back as he finally recognised the child — no, the future murderer! — in front of him. 

It was none other than Mordred, Arthur’s bane.

“I’m Mord, Mord Derwyn,” said the boy excitedly, unaware of Merlin’s inner turmoil. “I just, I really wanted to thank you for stopping Professor Snape on the first day.” He stepped closer and Merlin pressed himself against the stone wall, looking around for any form of weapon. “I honestly thought I was going to get detention and I was so scare—”

“Get away from me!” yelled Merlin harshly. Mordred broke off, his face contorting into shock but Merlin wasn’t paying attention as he summoned his magic and pushed the two boys away. They collided roughly against the opposite walls and reached for their wands. It was no use as Merlin sealed the other boy in a tight mesh of magical fibres and turned to Mordred, a ball of gold fire sitting ready in his palm. He watched as Mordred eyed the fire.

“What have I done?” gulped Mordred, fear apparent on his face. Merlin hesitated. The countless warnings Kilgharrah gave him about Mordred rushed through his head and while he was destined to hurt Arthur, he hadn’t done anything yet, had he? After all, Morgana was the one to open the Veil and Merlin was able to speak to Gana without the same resentment. 

Merlin looked deep into Mordred’s tear filled eyes but all he could see was the betrayed expression. It was the same face Morgana had when Merlin poisoned her. He stepped away from Mordred with a shudder and the ball of fire in his palm fizzled out. He was making the same mistake. 

Without warning, Merlin’s feet gave way underneath him and he felt his head collide sharply with the floor. Pain blossomed on the right side and something warm trickled down the side of his neck and Merlin shakily wiped his head, discovering a small pool of blood. His vision swam in front of him as Merlin looked up and willed his eyes to focus. Above him stood Mordred with his wand out and a terrified expression on his face.

“What is the meaning—” Merlin felt hands on his head and he tried to pull away but the movement was more painful. He felt a cold sensation envelope the pounding headache and slowly, the fog inside his mind lifted. Merlin opened his eyes, thankful to find everything firmly in place. He looked around and saw Snape’s concerned expression. Clearly, he was now hallucinating.

“In here, now!” Merlin pushed those thoughts away as he followed Mordred — the evil little cockroach! — into Snape’s office. Behind him came a strangled cry and Merlin realised he hadn’t released his cage on the other boy. He waved his hand and the boy shot him a dark look as they entered the room.

“Explain,” Snape said tightly and immediately the traitor began sobbing hysterically.

“I, I, I was thanking Em-Emrys and he, he shot some spell at Gilli so that he couldn’t m-move and, and made these flames appear,” he started with a hiccough. Snape flicked his wand and a glass of water appeared, which Mordred accepted and drank it hurriedly. “I, I had to defend myself, sir!”

Snape’s glare turned to Merlin who could only shrug. It was quite hard to explain his reaction in any sane manner and he knew it. Realising he wasn’t going to get anything else, Snape said, “Detention, I believe, for the two of you, and 20 points from Slytherin for the ridiculous fighting I had to witness.”

“But sir, Mord was only protecting me!” said Gilli and it took all of Merlin’s efforts to not roll his eyes. The cage wasn’t even life threatening, unlike the little scorpion’s spell. How could a first-year even do that?

“Let’s make it 25, shall we, Mr Brigyn? I will send word of the time and place of your detention, Derwyn. Now, out of my office, both of you!” Merlin was once again subjected to two death stares and he twirled his fingers, conjuring the gold fire again. He smirked at the way Mordred shuddered. “Really Emrys?” asked Snape once the door had closed.

“Sir, I—”

“Save it, you’ll have some convoluted explanation, as always,” said Snape with a sigh. He moved the piles of parchment on his desk so that Merlin could now properly see the professor. “While you may have had a difficult start to the year, I will not condone any more attacks on innocent first-years, do I make myself clear?”

“He’s hardly innocent.”

“Do I make myself clear?” repeated Snape louder. Merlin nodded. “Very well. The reason I’ve called you here is because Professor Lupin came yesterday,” immediately, Merlin noticed the look of disdain that flashed over his face, “and mentioned his concern for you.” Merlin nodded again as he thought back to the two times Lupin had spoken to him, and how both of those times coincided with his fainting episodes. His concern was quite natural, in Merlin’s opinion, and so he told Snape.

“I will pass on that you are in agreement,” drawled Snape. “Now if I could perhaps ask you to explain what has been going on?”

A long pause followed as Merlin played with a small cauldron figurine sitting on Snape’s desk, aware of the keen way the professor’s eyes tracked him. “I honestly have no idea why—”

“I did not call you here to listen to the same lies you’ve told the headmaster, Emrys,” cut Snape. Merlin’s hands faltered and he looked up, unsure of what to say. He watched as Snape’s eyes seemed to soften slightly as he continued, “You are a terrible liar, Merlin.” Merlin snorted involuntarily. “After your first year, while you have not outwardly fed the headmaster lies, you have offered half-truths wherever possible. And I,” Snape paused and sighed again, “I have encouraged your behaviour. Though now, I need to know everything if I am to help you.”

“I’m alright. I don’t need help,” said Merlin quickly. This was definitely a lie and the look on Snape’s face told him that it didn’t go unnoticed. “I mean, I would like to not collapse every second and definitely not hear those screams again, but I…” he trailed off. 

A part of him had wondered if the Dementor and the Boggart were to remind him of his duty. For the past two years, Merlin had been living guilt-free at Hogwarts, behaving like the child he looked like but definitely wasn’t. And sure, Merlin missed everyone in Camelot (even the frequent death attempts on Arthur — they added some drama to his every-day life) but he had grown used to the comforts here. He was, in all honesty, hiding from his old life. Otherwise, why hadn’t he taken Dumbledore up on his offer to investigate Merlin’s past? Why hadn’t he begun researching to find out what happened? When had he looked at Gana and stopped seeing Morgana? He’d even forgiven her! Maybe the effects of the Dementors and the Boggarts were necessary.

“What are you scared of, Merlin?” said Snape, breaking his spiral of thoughts. Merlin gulped as he looked straight into the professor’s eyes. When was the last time someone had looked at him like that? “Why do you feel the need to punish yourself?” His resolve broke and Merlin began speaking at once. He told Snape everything he could remember, from how the Dorocha had touched him to how he had woken up, unable to understand a single word.

Merlin explained how he hadn’t recognised a single face for the first few months afterwards (though decided to not mention how Snape had reminded him of a certain evil  Agravaine). Throughout Snape hadn’t shown any sign of recognition and merely stared at him impassively but the lack of interruption had certainly helped Merlin, who was now explaining his reservations against talking to Draco about his magic until he had shown Merlin his wand, and of course how said wand had shattered in his hands. How he had clearly stunned Draco with his magic once at the Hospital Wing and repeatedly in when saving the Philosopher’s Stone.

In a similar vein, he explained how he had brought a dead sunflower back from the brinks of death at the start of last year by simply feeling sorrow for it. Snape’s cool exterior briefly cracked as he seemed to slightly shudder. Merlin ignored it and carried on with his dislike for Gana and how he had gotten over it when she helped him when terrifying scenes of impossible scenarios had flashed through his head. Snape gestured for him to continue and Merlin said slowly, “They used to come at all sorts of times last year but now, scenes like my —my friends dying or me failing my destiny, they only haunt me at night.”

Snape blinked slowly. Without warning, he stood up and paced around the office as Merlin returned to playing with cauldron statuette. “I must admit, when I asked you to tell me everything, I did not think you would. It only arises more questions now,” he said with a short, bark-like laugh. “Who’s Arthur?” asked Snape suddenly.

Merlin turned to him, his eyes wide. So far, he hadn’t explained any of his internal battles and now, it seemed like he was oversharing. “Arthur is my friend,” he said hesitantly as Snape sat down again, impassive mask back. “I— why do you ask?”

There was a short silence before the professor finally answered. “You had nightmares once you woke up. I was called for most of them because I did not give Pop— Madam Pomfrey the Dream Delight Potion, much to her exasperation, because you talked a lot. There was always one name which came up: Arthur.” Merlin nodded slowly. “And then the Boggart — Lupin mentioned your significant reaction to who you identified as Arthur. So significant, he said, that your magic rushed out of your body and tore the Boggart to shreds. Is he still just your friend?” 

Merlin sighed again. “He’s someone very important.” A silence followed as Snape waited but Merlin had no more to offer. “Sir, is this even important? I just, I want to get my memories back. I want to know why I was here in the first place.” Snape nodded, his eyes narrowing in thought.

“I called you here because I assumed that you revealing your secrets would solve these problems, so to speak,” said Snape quietly, “but as I’ve said, I’ve underestimated the extent of it all.” He paused and Merlin observed the discomfort in Snape’s eyes before the mask of cold indifference returned. “I am a somewhat competent Legilimens,”he admitted after some time. “Not the best, of course, that title belongs to another.”

“Professor Dumbledore?”

Snape frowned. “Another. But I can look into your mind to see your memories. It’s possible for your unconscious mind to have the answers.”

Merlin, however, wasn’t listening, still stuck by the fact that Snape could actually look into other people’s heads. “You can mind read?”

“Only fools refer to it as mind-reading,” sneered Snape, though the expression didn’t have its usual bite. “The mind isn’t a book, to peruse at leisure. It is the most complicated structure known to wizard. Immense amounts of magic is needed to even look inside, and even more to understand it. But, if you are willing?” Merlin considered it briefly. He didn’t have any more secrets and at this point, he was tired of all the mystery surrounding his past. He nodded. “Very well. Think of the time you woke up, at St Mungo’s,” said Snape as he rose from his chair, wand in hand.

Merlin closed his eyes and thought back to how he had awakened to strangers. He brought those memories to the front of his mind as he heard Snape cast, “Legilimens!”

The effect was instantaneous. A thousand memories rushed through his head and Merlin fought to keep up. It felt as though there was a hand inside his brain, digging through his memories and reaching deep inside him. Merlin felt a searing pain and finally the assault ended as he opened his eyes, wishing the ear-splitting headache would stop. He found himself lying on the floor and picked himself up, wincing at the pain.

A glass of water was offered to him and he accepted it, hoping the refreshing water would help. After a few minutes, Merlin looked up. The brief look of concern on Snape’s face vanished, replaced by a disappointed expression. 

“I had assumed that with forewarning, you would at least make an effort to not be so hostile,” he remarked sarcastically, “but regardless, there is a section of your mind that is inaccessible. I tried to force my way in but to no avail.”

“It felt like you were gouging my brain,” muttered Merlin, rubbing his head. The pain had thankfully begun to subside now.

“There’s only one thing left now,” said Snape as he sat down again. “You will go to the Headmaster.”

“But you’re the one who doesn’t trust him! How can yo—”

“Because I know his interest in you will be purely predatory!” hissed Snape, his patience now finally wearing thin. “He looks at you already as though you are merely an interesting puzzle.” He took a deep breath before carrying on in his usual disinterested tone, his mask firmly back in place again. “The Headmaster will have the necessary resources to help you. It is more important to make sure this is solved first.”

Merlin nodded and picked up his bag. As he headed for the door, Snape added, “I want you to come to me, Emrys, if there is a concern. Anything. Do I make myself clear?” Merlin voiced his agreement and left, a new headache in place.

Chapter Text

Hermione was struggling. There was no other way to put it. She had a lot on her plate and while she would quite simply die than admit it, it was true: third year was getting a bit much for her. The most embarrassing fact was that this was only the fourth day of school.

It wasn’t the school work that was problematic. Had Hermione been a lesser student and not read through her textbooks in their entirety at least twice over the summer, she would have found the curriculum difficult (this was definitely not an observation she had made from Ron and Harry). She had already earned 15 points for Gryffindor and was pleased to see that there were significantly more rubies compared to the other gems.

The real problem was the Time-Turner. It was a struggle to find somewhere she could disappear and reappear without anyone being spooked to death. Hermione had used the toilet up until Lavender Brown had nearly walked in on her materialising out of thin air. Time and time again she wished there was something that could tell her exactly when someone was going to walk in. Hermione had wondered on many occasions how Merlin had been managing, given Malfoy was pretty observant. Harry and Ron probably couldn’t tell the difference between her and a dressed up troll. Well, even an ordinary troll would have posed a challenge.

Nevertheless, she ran into Divination slightly breathless and tried to inconspicuously tuck the Time-Turner away. Unfortunately, this was the one time Ron had decided to pay attention and he narrowed his eyes at her harried appearance. Hermione held her head up high and waited as Professor Trelawney directed them to stained cushions, leading Hermione away from the boys and towards Merlin, who was trying to engage a dark-haired Slytherin in conversation.

“Hermione!” greeted Merlin brightly. “Meet Theo.” She nodded stiffly at who was apparently Theodore Nott and watched as also acknowledged her (which was a surprise in itself given that most of Slytherin, with the exception of Malfoy and Merlin, only glared at her — a sentiment she repeated).

Trelawney began her lesson and Hermione flicked half-heartedly through the textbook — for the first time, reading a textbook had left her with more questions than answers. She couldn’t tell if the book was badly written or if Divination was just as confusing. Regardless, she was determined to try and soon, they were asked to collect tea cups from the shelves, with Trelawney already ‘predicting’ Neville’s accident with the pink tea cups. Hermione would have been impressed except given the crowd at the shelves, it didn’t take a genius to figure that some cups would end up breaking. Moreover, as much as she liked Neville, the boy was known for his clumsiness.

She waited for the crowd to die down and unfortunately, Ron and Harry seemed to have the same idea. That, or the more likely explanation was that they were waiting to pounce on her. “Where did you go?” hissed Ron the second she reached the cups. Definitely the latter, then. “You were right behind us after Charms!”

She was indeed right behind them, except she had to empty out her bag to make space for the Divination textbook. She made a mental note to research space-maximising charms as she glared at Ron, “I didn’t go anywhere, my bag broke.” He looked warily at her admittedly brand new bag and Hermione rolled her eyes. “I fixed it, honestly, Ronald!”

“Leave it,” muttered Harry and they hurried back to their seats just as Trelawney ushered everyone to fill their tea cups. Due to the odd numbers in the class (something Trelawney saw fit to say, “Come March, our numbers will be even!”), Hermione was stuck with Merlin and his new friend. Apparently Nott had gone first and she swilled her tea cup as she tried to subtly listen to their conversation.

“Hmm, I see…” Merlin drew out his syllables as he spun the saucer around. Hermione had tried to peer over his shoulder and truly, the dregs were in a mess. Internally, she scoffed — this was a lesson? Honestly the class was a joke and she had no shame saying it. 

Nott took back his saucer and cocked his head. “That looks like a knife,” he said, drawing Merlin’s (and Hermione’s) attention to a misshapen lump. Somehow Merlin had seen something because he began nodding, albeit hesitantly. “What does it say in the book? Look, will you Granger?”

Hermione jumped and her tea cup clattered on the desk, thankfully landing upright. Clearly she hadn’t been very subtle at all and covered up her momentary surprise by coughing… quite unconvincingly, even in her opinion. “There’s no knife, but it says a dagger means the drinker will either get help from friends or provide help to ‘one they do not see as an enemy’,” she read, trying not to scoff.

“Enlightening.”

“Okay, my turn.” Merlin grimaced at the taste and flipped it onto the saucer. This time, Hermione looked unabashedly at the saucer but it was no use. There was nothing useful visible and it reminded her yet again of how much time she was wasting.

“Broken sword, right there. There’s something wiggly — snakes or worms? Plenty of mountains behind it. That looks like a crown and that’s either an Abraxan or a unicorn,” finished Nott, his trademark smirk back in place. “Anything to add, Granger?”

“You couldn’t have possibly seen all that!” said Hermione, unable to contain her disdain any longer. Next to her, Merlin was still tracing around the blobs and muttering to himself. 

“What is it, Granger? Can’t handle not being top of the class anymore?” he mocked and Hermione took a deep breath to control her anger. She decided to interpret the patterns instead and nodded sharply at Merlin to take notes.

“Sword says there are lovers quarrels, which is stupid given that Merlin doesn’t have a lover,” she began, rolling her eyes nearly missing the way he stiffened beside her. “Nothing about a broken sword, but the footnote adds that pieces around the sword can be blood, referring to the victory of an enemy. Next, worms, right?”

“Or snakes,” interjected Nott.

“Well worms are secret enemies, apparently, and a snake is a general bad omen.” It took all of Hermione’s effort not to roll her eyes again — how was interpreting these woolly predictions even a class? Once she was Head Girl, removing Divination would be one of her many suggestions to Professor Dumbledore. “Mountains mean enemies, again, but this time they’re powerful. Abraxan means being led astray by evil forces but once again there’s no further explanation.”

“Theo said it could also be a unicorn,” added Merlin, dutifully writing everything down.

“A unicorn signifies scandals so knowing Merlin, it could be either,” said Hermione wryly, earning a reproachful look from him and an involuntary snort from Nott. 

“The crown,” said Nott, gesturing to another shapeless mess. She opened the book again but Merlin shook his head.

“No, I, uh, I don’t think it’s got anything to do with this,” he trailed off vaguely.

“I agree. A crown signifies success and honour.” Merlin glared at her openly now.

“I see why Draco insists on parading you around with the Gryffindors,” said Nott, smirking yet again. “You wouldn’t last a second with a Slytherin.”

“And how could you know that, Theo?” asked Merlin without looking up from his parchment. He finished the last looping letter with a flourish and finally gave it to Hermione, who began copying the observations immediately, adding in her own thoughts for each one. “Thanks to Draco, you’re the only other Slytherin I have spoken to properly.”

“Well, think of Granger as introductory course to Slytherins. That’s a compliment,” Nott clarified as she glared at him. Ron would be beyond livid to hear that she was an ‘introductory course to Slytherin’. “Do you like Emrys, Granger?” he asked suddenly.

Hermione hesitated for a second but it was enough for Nott to nod sagely. Merlin turned to her with an expression of mock-outrage. She quickly spoke before he could begin his dramatics. “Merlin, I do like you! It’s just, sometimes, you’re a bit interesting and confusing.” 

Merlin snorted instantly. “Never in my life has anyone used ‘interesting’ to describe me. Confusing, I get.”

“It’s your behaviour, it’s how you—”

“How you don’t ever seem to have a wand yet you never need one, how you have fool around constantly yet somehow actually excel at lessons, how you’ve never read the assigned chapters but stay up late to read for your own interest,” finished Nott quietly. Hermione cleared her throat, if only to avoid looking like a gaping toad. Had other people realised that Merlin was simply as juxtaposition? She assumed her interest in the strange boy had only developed as a result of the fact that he always seemed to outdo her in class without any effort but clearly, Merlin’s talents weren’t going unnoticed in his own house.

“Wow, fan behaviour,” stated Merlin with an easy laugh. She narrowed her eyes and caught a flicker of his exterior crack, replaced by an incredulous expression. Had Merlin not realised he was a juxtaposition? With a quick smile, he began packing up his books and Hermione belatedly realised she had spent the entire lesson focused more on Merlin than on the subject (granted, the ‘subject’ didn’t even deserve a second glance) and hurried to Ron and Harry but not before she felt a slip of parchment being pressed into her hands.

Owlery, after dinner.

Chapter Text

“What was that all about?” asked Ron as the two returned from the teacup stand and Harry simply shrugged in response. Unlike Ron, Harry hadn’t noticed anything off about Hermione. Sure, she seemed a bit more tired but she had chosen to take all of the available classes; a feat Harry couldn’t dream of doing. 

He nudged at Ron just as Trelawney shuffled past, her multitude of bracelets jangling cheerfully in his ears. Ron chugged his drink and flipped his cup at break neck speed, some of the tea grains flying straight into Parvati’s long braid. Harry avoided Ron’s eyes, knowing full well he was going to burst into laughter otherwise. He turned his attention to the saucer which thankfully had some grains on it.

Trelawney had declared in her usual mystic manner that the tea leaves held the essence of time and could show the future. However, unless Ron was going to somehow become a slug and live in this dirt, Harry was quite doubtful of the entire claim. He still opened the textbook but even after a few minutes of careful squinting, both of them shook their heads. He pointed out a vague lump and suggested, “A pumpkin? Maybe you’ll become a pumpkin farmer.”

“You try,” said Ron and Harry drunk his tea whilst he accepted his fate of never becoming a Seer. It was something he could live with, actually. His own saucer was decorated with more soggy, brown specks, but this time, they were arranged in a very misshapen, almost unrecognisable form of a… 

“Sheep,” announced Ron.

“Nah, that’s more wolf,” said Harry, pushing his glasses up. Maybe he needed to clean them.

“A dog?” Ron sounded less confident now and Harry could only shrug as he squinted at the blob.

Behind them, someone gasped loudly. Harry turned, finding himself face to face with none other than Trelawney, whose jaw was hanging open. Her shawl slipped over her shoulder (revealing yet another patterned shawl) but she made no move to fix it as the professor appeared by their side and snatched the saucer.

“The Grim!” proclaimed Trelawney, effectively gathering almost everyone’s attention. “That is but the Grim! The great hulking beast, the black dog that certifies a doomed fate. An unmistakeable omen of death, my boy,” she stated dramatically, welcoming more gasps and sounds of horror, none louder than Parvati and Lavender, who seemed to be auditioning to become a 2-person Greek Chorus. Harry ignored them and instead frowned.

“Death? But I, I saw a dog. A big, black one. You know, the night I went to the Malfoys,” he added in an undertone to Ron. “Nothing happened to me then — I’m fine, aren’t I?” he continued aloud. “Maybe that’s just a random dog?”

Trelawney didn't look impressed. “There are no random dogs. The Inner Eye does never lie! Mark my words, boy, you will meet your end before your time here ends,” she finished in an ominous tone. Next to him, Lavender and Parvati gave him sympathetic looks.

As Trelawney moved onto Neville (who had cracked his saucer this time), Harry turned to Ron. “That can’t be true, right? I mean, a black dog? How can that be a sign of death?”

“I don’t know, mate,” said Ron uneasily. He looked oddly pale all of a sudden which was ridiculous because Harry was hoping to laugh about this with him. “I know I said Trelawney’s barmy and all but the Grim… The Grim is real.” Harry's frown deepened. This wasn’t like Ron, to believe all this nonsense. Either it wasn't nonsense or... Ron had lost it. “In the books Mum used to read when Ginny was little, they’d always end with the evil person getting eaten by a huge hound that was as black as the night sky. That was the case in Bryke and the Magical Teacups, in The Three Nights of Yuletide — each one saw a black dog before their death.”

It took all of his effort not to scoff as Ron carried on reciting every bedtime story which ended like this. Clearly, Ron had gone insane but part of him was fascinated by how many stories he knew. Harry knew only one — Sleeping Beauty. It was actually his first present, thrown out by Dudley, who had no interest in fairy tales or books in general. Of course, Harry wasn't allowed to read it more than once because Aunt Petunia believed there was nothing to be gained from idly reading books and that princes didn't exist in real life anyway. Never had he been read to and Harry found himself missing something he had never experienced. But now wasn't the time as even throughout his daydreams, Ron was still going. Harry had to stop him.

“Ron! Listen, the night I ended up at Malfoy’s, I saw a dog then. A great, big black one. And I played fetch with it! Nothing’s happened to me, alright?”

“You played fetch with the Grim?” repeated Ron faintly. Harry grimaced — he shouldn’t have said that. Ron looked close to throwing up as he now turned pale green and Harry needed back up. He turned to Hermione’s table in the far corner, convinced she could change Ron’s superstitious beliefs. Although he shouldn't have been surprised to find her buried in her work, Harry was surprised: had she even heard Trelawney’s loud address? It was remarkably hard to miss but Hermione looked quite busy.

His eyes flicked over to Merlin, who was sat next to her and a Slytherin boy whom Harry was quite certain wasn't Malfoy, given he had dark hair. But that would mean Merlin was sitting with other Slytherins. He paused. He had, for some inexplicable reason, assumed Merlin would sit with him in the absence of Malfoy. Why had he done that? And, more importantly, why hadn't Merlin done that? Harry watched as Merlin threw his head back and laughed before playfully glaring at the other boy. Now, Harry's thoughts were further muddied as he wondered about what were they talking about. Was it something to do with Slytherin? Or was Merlin telling the new boy about himself? And why had Merlin never laughed like that with him?

“Harry!” He flinched and Ron jumped too before pointing at the front of the class, where Trelawney kept staring at him and muttering unintelligibly under her breath. The picture of Merlin stayed in his mind even as he packed up and listened to Ron grumble about “the stupid dream diary, as if the stupid Charms essay wasn’t enough!”.

The two of them waited by the door for Hermione, who was frowning at something in her hand but Harry’s eyes were fixed on Merlin. He didn’t even notice Harry and Ron as he ran behind his new friend. What on Earth was that about? He knew he should be happy that finally, Merlin looked like he was settling into his House but he felt weird about it. Something inside him didn't quite like how Merlin had breezed past him. His first friend had fully ignored him.

Once again, Harry was jolted out of his reverie by Ron, who nudged him in the ribs sharply and pointed at Hermione, who was now sorting the front of her robes.

“Did you see that?”

“Ron, I have no idea what I’m meant to be looking at,” said Harry honestly, wondering if Hermione knew what Merlin was discussing with his friend.

She finally caught up and was instantly on the receiving end of Ron’s glare. “What were you doing with them? You should’ve sat with us, Hermione! And why are you constantly so fidgety? What’s going on?” he asked immediately, his eyes narrowing at her. Harry simply shrugged when Ron and Hermione turned to him. He hadn't particularly noticed these signs but if Ron said so, it must be true. Then, he remembered how Ron fully believed a dog was going to be Harry's end and revised his stance.

Hermione blinked. “Professor Trelawney didn’t give me a choice, Ron. I was sent to sit with Merlin.” That was a good point and Ron looked momentarily stumped.

“Yeah, well, that could’ve been avoided if you hadn’t turned up late! Where were you?” he interjected. Harry’s stomach grumbled loudly.

“I told you, I had to pick up a book!” she spluttered. “And, and, and I’m agitated because I, I am allergic to flowers! Yes!” Harry glared at Parvati and Lavender, who were eyeing Hermione as they walked past. Sure, she was slightly hysterical and her hair had started escaping its confines as it does whenever Hermione interacted with Ron but at least she wasn't moaning operatically after Trelawney's words like they were. Who were they to judge? “Haven’t you ever realised, Ronald? I can’t be around flowers or floral scents and Professor Trelawney had plenty of those.”

Ron looked down at the floor, his own face flushed. He muttered, “Sorry, ‘Mione,” and Harry quickly copied as Hermione’s raised eyebrow turned to him. He hadn't exactly joined in on the impromptu trial headed by Ron but neither had he stopped him. His chastised look hadn't lasted long though because his stomach growled yet again and after a few minutes of silence, they decided to head to lunch.

Chapter Text

Hermione wasn’t sure why she hadn’t just told Harry and Ron about the note. She was already keeping a surprisingly large amount of secrets from them (given that a few weeks ago, there was nothing she had hidden) but this was something she could share. It wasn’t like the Time-Turner.

So why hadn’t she?

A part of her knew Ron would throw a fit. Harry would too, to a certain extent. Of course, Hermione couldn’t be sure who had slipped her the note, but between Merlin and Nott, it was obviously not the latter. And while Ron had generally warmed up to Merlin, his distrust of Slytherins was still apparent with how he regarded Malfoy. It was just easier to pretend she was off to the library after dinner, just like always.

She entered the large room, shivering as the open windows let in plenty of the cool night breeze. Hermione glanced quickly around the room, covering her nose so that the smell of droppings wouldn’t suffocate her. Merlin hadn’t arrived yet.

“Have to say, I wasn’t expecting you to turn up, Granger,” said a disembodied voice to her left. She spun and out from the shadows, emerged the figure of Theodore Nott. The wind hadn’t touched him in the slightest as he stood there with an unimpressed look. Hermione was well aware her hair was flying freely and made no move to tame it. That’s what he deserved for picking such a ridiculous place to meet.

“What do you want, Nott?” she asked, crossing her arms. Although she had been expecting Merlin, Hermione wasn’t actually too surprised to see Nott. After all, Merlin didn't particularly need to meet in private to talk to her.

His features slipped into his usual smirk as he leant against the side wall. Hermione eyed his relaxed posture but didn’t copy him: she wasn’t prepared to lower her guard. At all. “Surprised the Gryffindork bodyguards aren’t here.” He leant forward, his green eyes boring into Hermione’s. She vaguely noted their similarity to Harry’s, except there was no warmth here. Only cold curiosity. Hermione couldn’t wait to leave, if only she wasn’t curious herself: why had he called her here? “Potty and Weasel don’t seem like the type to let their darling Granger meet with dangerous Slytherins alone at night.”

“Don’t call them that!” She was close to just turning and leaving anyway, curiosity be damned.

“Unless… but of course not! Granger wouldn’t keep secrets from her best friends, would she?” mused Nott, stressing the last parts of his sentence. She rolled her eyes, hoping he would get to his point before curfew. “After all, it’s not like they don’t know about her research on Emrys, is it?” Hermione paused as she made her way out. She had been careful in revealing her interest in Merlin’s past to her own friends yet here was a Slytherin claiming to know about it.

It wasn’t exactly a choice, but Hermione had figured sometime over the summer that her questions regarding Merlin wouldn’t exactly be welcomed. After all, Ron was mainly positive though he still glanced at Merlin distrustfully every now and then and Harry was on the other end of the spectrum. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes of Merlin and Hermione didn’t want to get in the middle of that, whatever that was. Malfoy would naturally see her as a threat, having grown protective of the boy. Even Gana and Gwen seemed to love Merlin regardless of how he acted at the start of last year.

All in all, everyone had accepted him with open arms and Hermione didn’t want to disrupt the peace. She couldn’t expect them to research logically and act rationally when their emotions could cloud their judgement. So she took it upon herself. And so far, no one seemed to question her choice of extra-curricular readings, deciding that only Hermione would look at genealogy books. Well, that was until Nott appeared, it seemed.

“How do you— what do you mean?” she corrected herself, not willing to verify his statement. It didn’t work. Nott’s green eyes suddenly grew wide and glittered in the dim light from the candles placed around the Owlery.

When he answered, all traces of his excitement were gone and replaced by the usual apathetic drawl. “Please Granger, unlike the filth you usually surround yourself with, some people actually have basic observation and some critical thinking skills.” Hermione frowned, unsure how this was an answer and Nott sighed. “Is it really so hard to think that Hermione Granger, Brightest Witch of Our Age, would readily accept what is essentially a mystery personified?”

She hadn’t actually registered any of his explanation, frozen by the fact that Nott had called her the Brightest Witch. “Nobody calls me that,” she muttered, suddenly embarrassed. It was one thing to be top of the class but the Brightest Witch of the time? That was an exaggeration.

“I thought Gryffindors were meant to be arrogant,” said Nott, rolling his eyes. “Think I’d actually prefer that to this… humility,” he finished, spitting the last word.

Hermione pushed this aside and focussed on the other part of what he had said. “Okay, so what’s it to you? Merlin also wants to know his past, especially after he’d forgotten everything in first year.” Well, she didn’t know what he wanted, but it didn’t seem irrational. Then again, Merlin was anything but rational.

“You’ll need my help.” Hermione raised an eyebrow. Clearly Slytherins were the arrogant ones.

“I’ve been managing fine, actually.” He didn’t need to know that she hadn’t actually found anything yet. After all, she just needed to look at more books — how could Nott help her there anyway? “Why did we even meet here, of all places? The Library would have worked fine.”

Nott raised an unimpressed eyebrow. Something about his face made Hermione bristle. It was a perfectly reasonable question! Why had she had to endure the smell of owl droppings? “Really Granger? And to think you’re the supposed Brightest Witch of Our Age.” Now she was really annoyed. Hermione spun on her heel and headed for the door.

A loud screech interrupted her determined walk and she involuntarily turned. Next to Nott stood an eagle owl which could the Malfoys’ one to shame. Hermione never imagined that an owl could look so haughty yet Nott’s owl had somehow pulled it off. He carried a package wrapped neatly in brown paper, yet the coverings couldn’t contain the foul black smoke that was being emitted. She assessed it warily as Nott unburdened the owl, who hooted proudly and took off again, deciding that spending even a second in this degenerate place was beneath it.

“Why does anyone come to the Owlery, Granger?” asked Nott, a smug smile in place as he tore the packaging. “This will change your mind and you’ll beg for my help.”

She couldn’t help her curiosity and so she hesitantly approached him. Nott placed the contents on the table and as the smoke cleared, Hermione saw a small, red book. Tendrils of black smoke curled out of the pages and snaked their way across the table. She backed away slightly as one came dangerously close to her skirt. Otherwise, it was unassuming so she didn’t understand why Nott was sure this would convince her.

“What am I looking at, Nott?”

“A book, Granger.” Hermione glared at him as he smirked. He was insufferable! “This is my great-great-great grandfather’s personal journal. He was a huge fan of history.”

“So he researched about family records? You think he’ll have something on the Emryses,” said Hermione and Nott only smiled slightly. “But what on earth could he have found out? Some books I’ve read don’t even acknowledge their existence!” Her fat book from Diagon Alley had been a massive disappointment in that area, even if it gave her plenty of facts about the Weasley family tree, which Ron didn’t care much for. Not even for the riveting fact that he and Harry were actually related, albeit distantly.

“That’s because your books aren’t written by determined purebloods who want to preserve magical blood lines,” said Nott smoothly. “And with a name as ancient and elusive as Emrys, my great-great-great grandfather would definitely have dedicated his efforts to it.”

Hermione frowned as she mulled his words. Nott was surprisingly convincing and logically, she knew having him on her side would be beneficial. He didn’t particularly care for Merlin either and so could be trusted to act rationally. 

But then why was Nott so interested in Merlin’s past?

“Why do you want to work with me? Why do you care for Merlin?” she asked, drawing her eyes from the book and its curious smoke. For the first time, Nott faltered and his eyes darted around the room. A long silence followed her questions and Hermione accepted that she wouldn’t get an answer.

“Well Malfoy’s obsessed with him,” he said finally and refused to elaborate more. She nodded, determined to answer that question later.

Hermione turned back to the book. “And what’s stopping me from taking this? I don’t need your help if I have this book.”

Nott’s smug smirk returned. “You can’t possibly think its not warded against Mudbloods?” he asked incredulously.

“What’s a Mudblood?”

His teeth flashed in a crude smile. “Ask your pet Weasel. The book can only be touched by a descendent of Nott,” he clarified and Hermione rolled her eyes. She hated warded books and how their knowledge was confined to certain people. What a waste of a book! “Besides, I can get you more of these.”

In the distance, the curfew gong sounded and Hermione jumped. “Fine. But we’re doing it my way.” Nott held his hands up in a surrendering gesture. She nodded. “We’ll meet in a week’s time. In the Library,” she added as she picked up her belongings. “And bring the book.”

“Anything else, Professor?” called Nott mockingly as Hermione reached the door. 

“Yes.” She stopped and smiled slightly. “Read the book and take thorough notes. At least three feet’s worth of parchment.” She relished the stunned look on Nott’s face before hurrying to the Gryffindor tower, hoping her absence hadn’t been noticed.

Chapter Text

Draco stood outside the Arithmancy class and cracked his knuckles methodically, grateful his mother wasn’t around to admonish him. After all, it wasn’t becoming behaviour of the future Lord Malfoy. He took a deep breath as he tried to clear his mind. Thinking of his future had always left Draco strangely out of breath, as though a vice had clamped around his chest. It was oppressive to think ahead as he realised: his future was not his.

Draco was jolted out of his reverie by loud laughter and noticed Nott covertly whisper something to Merlin, who was already in hysterics and he collapsed against the wall, unable to hold himself up any more. He had noticed this new friendship all throughout last week as well but for some reason, Draco couldn’t draw his eyes from the unlikely pair. 

He had strived so hard to keep Merlin away from the rest of the Slytherins, worried what his radical opinions — like treating Mudbloods as alive beings — would mean for him. Yet here was the boy fitting in just fine! Had Draco’s fears been unnecessary?

Or was Nott poisoning Merlin’s brain? Draco didn’t dare admit it but he appreciated Merlin’s refreshing way of thinking. It really was tiring to hear his childhood friends parrot the same nonsense fed by their parents. Mudbloods were inferior, yes, but at least he had the self awareness to accept that not all of them were illiterate pigs. Draco didn’t want Merlin to lose his views, which was certain to happen considering Nott’s upbringing, which was very similar to Draco’s and his cousin, Lestrange’s. Maybe it was time he stepped in. After all, this could’ve been a temporary arrangement from one of Merlin’s other classes.

Professor Vector finally opened the door to the class and they filed in. Inside the room were numbers. Everything was made of numbers. The teachers desk was comprised of the number seven, with the numbers six and nine as legs. The students’ desks were arranged nonsensically in rows of 2, 3, 5, 7 and 11. Instead of portraits, the paintings held a random mix of letters and numbers and Draco frowned. This was nothing like the Arithmancy his governess had introduced him to! 

“Before you take a seat,” said Professor Vector in a surprisingly deep voice, “can anyone tell me what’s special about these desks?” Draco also looked around, desperate to understand what was special about those random numbers. 

Unsurprisingly, Granger’s hand shot up and he rolled his eyes. Of course she’d know. “They’re prime numbers, professor.” Draco huffed. What, in Merlin’s name, was a prime number? For the first time, his heart filled with hope at the fact that Granger was wrong.

“Excellent, take five points to Gryffindor.” Draco deflated again. On one hand, he was glad that even Nott looked puzzled but on the other, he heard a few of the other irrelevant Mudbloods whisper eagerly that they knew that too. Unlike in other classes, where Draco was behind Granger, much to his father’s chagrin, in Arithmancy he was going to be behind Granger and a bunch of Mudbloods. “Right, sit then.”

There was a rush as everyone headed to the table of 11 at the back of the class. Draco lingered at the back, trying to catch Merlin as he walked past except that never happened. He had decided to sit at the very front, for some inane reason, on the table of 2.

Nevertheless, Draco was nothing but accommodating and made his way to sit next to him when Nott barged into him. Definitely on purpose. “Oh, didn’t see you there, Malfoy,” he drawled and Draco glared at him, wishing they were in the common-room and free to curse each other.

“Sit Theo,” said Merlin. The traitor! Nott smirked as he sat in Draco’s rightful place, his eyes never leaving Draco’s death glare. He avoided both of them and looked around. Brilliant. His luck was simply amazing today because the only other available place was next to Granger’s. She frowned at him but a quick scan of the room told her he had no choice.

Still, Draco felt the need to clear the air. “Just for the record, I don’t want to be here any more than you want me here.” Granger nodded and he pretended he didn’t notice her smile. In front of her was a pristine copy of Basic Arithmancy and Introduction to Numeracy. Next to it were three quills — talk about being over prepared! He unpacked his things and looked up as Vector began teaching.

“Arithmancy. This is the one area where Muggles are initially more knowledgeable than wizards.” Draco scoffed audibly, ignoring the way Granger bristled by his side. “Yes, Mr Malfoy. A hard truth to accept for some but an important one to acknowledge. For instance, how many of you know what a prime number is?” A few hands rose somewhat timidly, those belonging to Mudbloods. “Exactly. Muggles are taught the very basics of Arithmancy in their primary education. Not the magical aspect of course, but they have a rudimentary grasp of the subject.”

Immediately, Granger’s hand shot up. Vector nodded at her. “Professor, when does magic enter Arithmancy and it’s no longer Maths?” The professor smiled slightly.

“Well Miss Granger, magic is always everywhere. The Muggles come up with their own convoluted explanations when confronted with the inexplicable but that doesn’t mean magic isn’t present. Think of triangles. Why are triangles the strongest shape?”

Draco waited for Granger to inevitably wave her hand in the air, desperate to show off. It never came. He turned to her, stunned and was more stunned when someone else answered.

“Because no matter which direction you turn it, a triangle can bear weight,” said Merlin to everyone’s surprise. “It’s why they are used in architecture, like bridges.” No one was more surprised than Draco though. Vector nodded, unaware of importance of the rare scenario she had just witnessed.

“That is what a Muggle has discovered so that they have an explanation. Of course, triangles are the strongest magical shape, as is seven the most magical number.” Granger looked horrified but he couldn’t tell if it was due to her own inadequacy, or the fact that Merlin, of all people, had been the one to outshine her. “But shapes and trigonometry is a later chapter.”

Vector flicked her wand and notes appeared on the blackboard. Instantly, the room was filled with the scratching sounds of quills running across parchment. “As I’ve said, today’s lesson is one of a kind. You will do research upon numbers. First, I want definitions of these words.” Draco narrowed his eyes as gibberish filled the blackboard.

Integers, square/cube numbers, prime numbers, triangle numbers, complex numbers… the list went on. He reluctantly opened his new textbook, already annoyed at the fact that this was common knowledge for Granger. “Afterwards,” said Vector. “I want a 2 feet essay on the occurrences of magic in each of these types of numbers. You can consider this homework for next lesson if you do not finish now.”

Great. His work was cut out for him. Clearly his governess had been an imbecile, thinking it was sufficient to only cover even and odd numbers. Draco began combing through the book and tried to also pay attention to Merlin and Nott’s conversation. How had they become so close?

“My friend, he was, er, he was in charge of building bridges, among other things,” said Merlin with a nervous laugh. “He wouldn’t shut up about the efficiency of triangles.” Draco subtly adjusted himself so he could hear Nott better but then Granger decided to interrupt his process.

“Malfoy, you’d know what Mudblood means, right?” she asked casually. Draco dropped his quill and turned to her, trying to think of any time he had accidentally said that out loud. He was quite sure to not call Granger that in public, knowing the Weasel would be a hot-headed idiot about it.

“I— where did you hear it?” he asked. Only Slytherins really used Mudblood and of the only two Slytherins Granger spoke to, one was basically a Hufflepuff and he was too smart to let things like this slip.

She shrugged unconvincingly. “I, uh, I just heard it. In the corridors!” Draco raised an eyebrow, insulted by her assumption that he would believe that. Merlin, even the Weasel was cleverer than that! “So, what does it mean? I was going to ask Ron but—”

“Thank Merlin you didn’t!”

“I didn’t think that would be good,” she finished but her eyes glittered. “It’s something bad, then? I mean, I figured, given who said it but…”

“Granger, it’s really bad,” said Draco, hoping to leave it at that. He felt strangely uncomfortable all of a sudden and busied himself with his textbook.

“But what does it mean?”

He pursed his lips, cursing all of the deities above. Today was shaping up to be the worst day. “It means dirty blood, alright?” he snapped. She fell quiet and the horrible feeling inside Draco worsened for some ridiculous reason. 

“It’s a slur for Muggleborns?” Draco nodded, desperate to know who said it to her. Was it Merlin? How did he even know this word, let alone call Granger that? Draco shot a glare at Nott, certain it was his influence.

A long silence followed and while the rest of the class asked Vector useless questions and otherwise engaged in the lesson, Granger was noticeably quiet. Draco had tried to put their conversation out of his mind but he couldn’t. He couldn’t stop feeling annoyed that she had asked him of all people and had put him in this position.

Draco had to restart his essay multiple times given how distracted he was, but he noticed he was still ahead of Nott and Merlin. His mood improved slightly. How had his parents approved of Arithmancy when there was apparently a lot of Mud— Muggle influence? 

Draco’s quill stopped. Why had he corrected himself?

He had happily called Mudbloods by their appropriate name until now. But was it right to call all Muggles that? Maybe Granger wasn’t the exception to the rule, but the rule had changed?

Draco shook his head, trying to clear himself of all these traitorous thoughts. He didn’t have the freedom to think this. And besides, while he appreciated Merlin’s viewpoint, Draco also appreciated his parents’ lifestyle — a direct result of their thinking. His father had often hinted (much to his mother’s disapproval) that the future would ensure Purebloods had their rightful place in society. 

Granger interrupted his thoughts rather rudely with her cough. “Malfoy, you’re friends with Nott right?”

Well, he wasn’t but Granger didn’t need to know about the tense atmosphere in the boys’ dorm. He grunted his assent as he dutifully crossed out another sentence. Maybe he should’ve written a plan first instead diving into the essay like some pig-headed Gryffindor.

“What’s he like? Is he— what do you think of him?” asked Granger vaguely. Draco turned to her with a scowl.

“Please Granger, be more vague. What do you mean?” She rolled her eyes and he felt even more irritated. Her question was the more ridiculous one here!

“Just— what’s he like to be around?” she said with a shrug. 

“He’s alright,” said Draco, the last part of his answer sounding more like a question. Nott never seemed to draw attention to himself and rarely expressed any opinions. Well, that was until he began talking to Merlin and nothing good would come of that, Draco was certain. He could’ve sworn Nott had stilled in front of him; he most likely eavesdropping. “Why do you care?”

“No reason,” she squeaked before clearing her throat. “No reason at all. Just, just curious.” Draco eyed her, wondering if she was naturally so fidgety or was hiding something. If Granger were a Slytherin, it would be neither of course, but he could never tell with these Gryffindors. “I just wanted to know who I’d be working with.”

“Working with?” repeated Draco with a frown. Granger blushed and stammered out a feeble excuse and while he would have been hard-pressed to believe it, Nott chose that moment to turn around smirk deviously, confirming his suspicions.

“Just slipped, Malfoy. Really, I was just curious,” said Granger firmly with a nod, as though that would be enough to convince him. Draco turned back to his essay, wishing the lesson would end already. He didn’t mind Arithmancy but he hated being kept in the dark more.

What was Nott’s plan? And why did he need Merlin and Granger? 

Chapter Text

“Mord? Mord Derwyn?” Mord looked up from his book and an older Ravenclaw standing in front of the library armchairs, beaming. “Oh, it is you! Don’t you remember me?” He wracked his brains as the girl looked and sounded oddly familiar. “I’m Gana Le Fay,” she said and laughed as suddenly Mord’s eyes widened in recognition.

“Oh yes! You were the really nice person who gave Kara and me an extra slice of cake at one the Druid gatherings!” he blurted. “I mean, it’s nice to see you. How, how are you?”

“I’m very well thank you. How are you? You’re in first-year, aren’t you?” said Gana, dragging another arm chair and sitting beside him. “How are you finding it so far?”

“Hogwarts is so fun! I literally love it here,” he said as Gana smiled brightly. “It’s so cool to finally be able to do magic. It feels really different, if you understand?” Mord trailed off. It was hard to explain the pure thrill he felt when he held his wand, as the magic ran through him and demanded to be let free. 

Gana nodded along dutifully. “It’s like the magic is another limb. Like you’re not controlling it but it’s another being that acts alongside.”

“Exactly! No one has ever put it like that,” mused Mord. “I tried to tell Professor McGonagall once but she just thought I was making an excuse. It’s like the magic has its own mind.” He looked up and for a split second, it seemed as though Gana was frowning. Just as he was about to ask though, she smiled back.

“So what about other things? Apart from school work. You have your eye on any clubs?”

Mord gasped again, excited to explain about his interests in duelling magic. “It’s so cool to be able to just flick your wand and attack people.” This time Gana frowned quite clearly and Mord quickly amended his phrasing. “I mean, to defend myself, of course. Not to attack. But anyway, I can’t join yet because it’s only open for second years and above, so for the meantime I’ve decided to go to Charms and Chess club.”

“I went to Charms last year,” she said. “You’ll have lots of fun, Professor Flitwick teaches you spells like being able to change the colour of your nails and if you ask nicely, he’ll teach you the spell which makes your laces stay tied.” Gana noticed the stunned look and happily continued explaining all of the other spells she had learnt, courtesy of the club. 

As she spoke, Mord felt a tear roll down his cheek but he couldn’t tell Gana why. Maybe it was the fact that he felt so alone living with Cerdan, the man who took him in as his own, that Mord had never felt the love of family and friends to this extent. The tears continued as he thought about Kara, Aunt Saiorse and the Druids, even if they had turned them out without a second thought. They were family and yet they weren’t here.

But here was a new family. Gilli refused to leave Mord’s side and it was only at his regular Matron appointments that Mord would have to be by himself. All of the Slytherins were looking out for them and he loved watching the subtle curses fired towards any Gryffindors who tried to trip him up. And now, he had Gana. 

Gana, who had conjured up a tissue and hugged Mord as he sobbed of all the great people he had met. “What was that about?” she asked in a soft voice as he dried his tears. “What’s wrong, Mord?”

“Nothing, I promise. I just, I felt really happy,” he replied in a shy tone. “I promise I’m not normally this weird though.”

“Mord, there’s nothing weird about feeling things strongly,” said Gana sternly, although the smile on her face said otherwise. “And more importantly, weird isn’t bad. Weird is what makes us unique. Besides, you remind me somewhat of another friend. He too is an absolute treasure. Well, once you get past the strange exterior,” she added as an afterthought. “He’s in your house as well. Something tells me you’ll get along extremely well.” Mord looked at her, curious. “Have you heard of Merlin Emrys?”

Mord’s happy expression immediately fell as he remembered his last encounter with Merlin Emrys. The one which led him to getting his first (and hopefully last) detention. “I have,” he said slowly. He didn’t really want to tell Gana what he thought about her friend, especially not after how nice she had been to him. But, if there was one thing Mord was truly terrible at, it was keeping secrets. “I have detention because I tried to apologise to him but for some reason he attacked me and then Professor Snape caught us,” he blurted.

Gana blinked. “You apologised and Merlin attacked and now you have detention?” she asked finally, her eyes narrow.

“No, well, we both do. Maybe Snape is trying to make sure we get along?” said Mord weakly. Gana didn’t look too appeased. “I mean I also attacked him afterwards…”

“But you were defending yourself!”

“And he started bleeding,” finished Mord. Gana gasped.

“Good Goddess, Mord! I mean, I’m glad you can hold your own but I thought the Druids didn’t condone violence?” Mord shrugged. After they were unceremoniously abandoned, his father, and so by extension, Mord didn’t strictly follow their ideals. “But the main question is why did Merlin unleash upon you?”

“I honestly have no idea. I was truly going to thank him,” said Mord. He too had wondered this for the past few weeks, trying to think of anything he had done which could’ve been perceived as a threat.

Gana hummed thoughtfully. “You know, Merlin’s done this before,” she said in a somewhat amused tone. Mord frowned and she carried on. “Well, back then I was terrified like you but now it’s quite silly to look back on.”

“You? Merlin hated you?” He found that quite hard to believe.

“Accused me of being a murderer, actually.” He gasped — a murderer? Was Merlin insane? “But you’ve probably heard of his accident in first year, right? I’d be surprised if your house didn’t mention it to you.”

“I’ve been warned, but no one really believes it.” He leaned closer, hoping Gana could verify the rumour.

She laughed and shook her head. “No, I don’t know either. I only transferred last year. But his friends say his accident has left really paranoid and his memories are a confused jumble.” Be that as it may, Mord still couldn’t understand how Merlin had accused Gana, of all people, of murder. What sort of accident was that? “And back then, I thought it was just an excuse. But then I got to know Merlin.

“He’s really, he’s an interesting character, that’s for sure.” Gana sighed and rearranged herself in her armchair. “He’s really loyal actually. There was this one time,” she said with a wistful look, “when Professor McGonagall had caught me out after an early curfew because last year was quite dangerous, and Merlin was with me. He immediately took the blame and the week’s worth of detentions even though I’d been the one to drag him to go see Gwen.”

“Wow,” said Mord, thoroughly confused. How did someone go from such a deep level of mistrust to friendship?

“But that was after I helped him when he was having a panic attack. I think that made him realise I wasn’t whoever he had mixed me up with. After all, the murderer Morgana would hardly sit beside him and coax him out of his terror, would she?”

Mord cocked his head, certain he had heard that name somewhere. “I think that’s what you should do as well,” continued Gana. “There’s probably someone who looks a lot like you and Merlin was threatened by them in his messed up memories. Just, just do something really nice. I know everything you do is really nice,” she added with a bright smile.

“You’re right,” said Mord, copying her smile. “I really wanted to properly talk to Merlin. I’m sure this is just a really big misunderstanding.” He glanced at the clock and jumped. His detention! “Gana, I’m so sorry, I need to go. Professor Snape would probably hunt me down and stick me on Dungeon Duty!”

Mord packed his stuff at lightning speed as Gana laughed about Dungeon Duty. Honestly, he didn’t know what Dungeon Duty was, or whether it was even real or not, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

Chapter Text

“I am thoroughly disgusted by your behaviour, Mr Emrys, Mr Derwyn” said Professor Snape stretching Mord’s last name as he leaned back in his chair. Mord hung his head in shame — he would have preferred the professor to just yell at him than this soft tone. “Slytherin always protect their own, remember that. Whatever problems you have, deal with them in the common room. Where I do not have to witness the disgrace.”

He sneaked a glance at Merlin and envied his nonchalant expression. How was he so unaffected? Snape carried on. “Imagine if another house had seen that appalling display. Our reputation is at stake out there everyday, and I’m ashamed of what I had to see. Fighting like Gryffindors,” he added, his lips curled in disgust. “Never again. Outside of your common room, you two will act like brothers, do I make myself clear?” 

“Yes, Professor,” whispered Mord, tears threatening to run down his face for the second time that day. Merlin only nodded. Snape continued to look at them with narrowed eyes and finally stood up, gesturing them to follow him to the back of the class.

“Your task will be to clean these,” he said and Mord looked at the dozen or so cauldrons he was pointing to. They were caked in grime and had crusty orange chunks decorating the rim. The inside was coated with a semi-solid yellow liquid: how old were they? Definitely more than a few decades, at the very least. “Unlike your class,” continued Snape with a cursory glance at him, “the other first years were remarkably incompetent with their shrinking solution. But you both will ensure they are returned to their former glory. Without magic.”

Mord nodded, quelling the rising panic. He deserved this. He never should have attempted to defend himself. Maybe Merlin had a good reason to act like that. Snape left without another word and Merlin rolled up his cloak sleeves and picked up a cauldron. Mord followed suit, wishing the other boy would say something to him.

Should he apologise? Would Merlin accept it? He ditched his own cloak and soaked the cauldron, subtly copying Merlin’s technique. Mord wet his sponge and began scrubbing the inside, trying not to recoil as some of the gelatinous gloop touched him. 

Surprisingly, Merlin was quite skilled and within seconds of starting had managed to clean the outside, unearthing a deep shade of black from beneath the dirt. Mord wiped harder, trying not to fall too behind. 

His mind wandered, returning back to the same old topic of ‘to apologise or not to apologise?’ Mord’s pros and cons list came to mind, as did his conversation with Gana. Both of those had indicated all of the benefits, hadn’t they? And what if he had just caught Merlin on a bad day?

But then, how much of a bad day was it that he had attacked Mord within seconds of laying eyes on him? Or, Mord thought with a chill, maybe Merlin knew something he didn’t. Something which justified his cautiousness.

“Stop,” said Merlin, interrupting his thoughts. Mord dropped his sponge as the boy walked over and took his cauldron from his hands. “Rubbing back and forth won’t do you any good. Small circles, like this,” he demonstrated, slowly rotating his sponge in a circular motion. Mord nodded wordlessly and picked up his own sponge.

He copied the motion and Merlin nodded with a hint of a smile. Mord gulped. It was now or never. Merlin was in a good mood. He should do it now. “Merlin, I’m really sorry,” he began hesitantly, his eyes fixed on the cauldron. He didn’t really know why he was apologising, now that he thought about it, but Mord knew this was a good start. “I—I shouldn’t have—”

Merlin cut off his stammered apologies with a huge sigh. Mord tensed — he had messed up already, hadn’t he? “Stop Mordre— Mord.” Brilliant. Fantastic. He probably made things worse, knowing him. “I should be the one apologising.”

What. 

“You honestly didn’t do anything wrong. I just,” Merlin paused and took a deep breath, his cauldron laying forgotten on the table. Mord chanced a look at the professor, but his eyes were on the work in front of him as he frowned. “I always do this. You look — no — you remind me vaguely of this person I know,” he continued and Mord nodded. He expected something similar to what Gana had experienced but still he couldn’t help but worry — what had his counterpart done to Merlin? Was he also the lookalike of a murderer? “The person was destined to kill A— my best friend.”

Mord gasped involuntarily. “Merlin, I would never! I promise, I wouldn’t ever hurt anyone, let alone your best friend! Truly, I—”

“I know, Mord,” said Merlin with a tired smile. It was small but it was genuine and something inside Mord jumped up in joy when he saw that. “It’s really my mistake.” 

Mord returned his smile and the two boys looked away. He half-heartedly scraped his cauldron before looking up again. “You say destined — does the other person ever get round to…”

Merlin shook his head. “I don’t think so. Why?”

“Well, it’s just that, the other person may never actually, you know, do that. He’s destined to, but destiny is fickle,” said Mord, reiterating the words of the Druid Leader Iseldir. After any mention of a prophecy, it was the phrase the druids repeated without fail. Nothing was set in stone, everything was bound to change with one small action. 

“I’ve heard that one before,” grinned Merlin and Mord stared unabashedly. He really, truly wanted to spend time with Merlin now. There was something about him. Something that felt like home. Maybe things had finally worked out. Everything was perfect, right?

No. The Fates were against Mord yet again. Because as though a switch flicked, Merlin frowned, his previous happiness wiped. He avoided Mord’s gaze pointedly and completely shut himself away.

“I’m sorry Mord, but I can’t. I know that you’re not him but I can’t take any chances. I’ve already lost my family and these guys, they’re like my family now. It seems like a really big coincidence and I don’t want to risk what I have. Not again,” finished Merlin. Although his tone was filled with regret, his eyes pointedly avoided Mord. Instantly, the warm, homely feeling inside him vanished and Mord knew just then that he would do anything to get it back.

“Please Merlin, don’t say that!” said Mord, dropping his sponge and he walked to Merlin, determined to get the older boy to look at him. He didn’t care if the professor was even watching or not. “I— I honestly wouldn’t do anything. Please!”

Merlin just turned away, his shoulders hunched. As the harsh sounds of scraping filled the room, Mord sighed deeply and nodded sharply. He had to respect his wishes, even if it felt as though he had taken a part of Mord with him. He still didn’t understand how Merlin had such a strong impact on him. 

“Is there anything I could do to convince you?” he asked, clearly unable to let go of it. As expected, Merlin shook his head and Mord sighed again. His half cleaned cauldron looked back at him and he imagined it telling him that the grime wasn’t going to clean itself. Reluctantly, he walked back and continued cleaning, his mind still on the dilemma.

Mord was torn: on one hand he was happy Merlin no longer hated his very existence but on the other, he would have actually preferred the anger over this. He now knew what he missing out on and nothing felt worse. He blinked back the tears swimming in his eyes as he belatedly realised he had dropped his sponge and had been scrubbing with his fingers.

The grating sound enveloping them was interrupted by Merlin yet again. “Mord, I, I have an idea. But you might not like it.” Mord looked up, reassuring him eagerly that he didn’t mind. Anything, he had promised and he was determined to carry that out. “You could—” Merlin broke off and took another deep breath; what was his idea? “You could swear on your magic never to harm Arthur…” 

Mord froze. Swear? On his magic? Those were infinitely more binding than a regular promise. Did it matter though? He didn’t know anyone named Arthur but more importantly, Mord wasn’t going to harm anyone, regardless of their name! He literally wasn’t making any sacrifices.

“Yes.” 

Merlin frowned as though he wasn’t expecting Mord’s easy agreement. “But— I mean, that’s great,” he amended, his face contorting into a tentative smile to which Mord beamed. “Give me your hand.”

Mord could feel the strong flow of magic within Merlin’s palm and he nearly jerked away. It filled him with pure exhilaration — was this how Merlin felt every day? No wonder he reacted so strongly to what he perceived as a threat. Merlin just cocked his head: apparently he hadn’t realised that most people didn’t have such powerful magic. 

Mord was unsure of the procedure behind swearing on one’s magic and given Merlin’s expression, it seemed he didn’t have a clue either. Nevertheless, the two stood, the cauldrons serving witness, and held hands. “Do you, Mord Derwyn, solemnly swear upon your magic to never directly harm nor cause any indirect harm to Arthur Pendragon, lest you face the wrath of Emrys?”

A golden tendril twisted out of Merlin’s hand and wrapped itself around their joined hands three times. Mord eyed it nervously as it prepared to seal itself upon his agreement. He raised his eyes and stared deeply into Merlin’s, which were no longer their usual blue but now flickered gold. This was it. He gulped involuntarily and said hoarsely, “Ye—”

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING!” Mord felt an invisible force knock him back and he collapsed onto the floor, his head mere inches away from the table stacked tall with cauldrons. He looked up, just in time to witness the gold ribbon of magic disappear into the stones of the floor. The promise hadn’t been made. 

Snape strode over, his cloak billowing behind him as Mord hurriedly got to his feet and tried to help Merlin up. “Get out! Both of you. And not a word of this to anyone!” Mord grabbed his bag and ran out of the door, not needing to be told twice.

Chapter Text

Gwen took a long sip of her hot chocolate, ever thankful of the close friendship the Hufflepuffs had with the house elves. She didn’t particularly look forward to a day of playing catch up without the sweet treat they all but forced into her hands that morning.

Well, she wasn’t behind with homework just yet. She had decided to start going to Charms club, especially after Gana supported her idea but right now, Gwen was really concerned her school work would suffer. So she was taking a leaf out of Hermione’s book and started reading ahead. It wasn’t all too bad for subjects like Herbology and Charms but Transfiguration and Potions were definitely a struggle.

The autumn sunlight filtered through the windows of the library and in the distance, she could see the Ravenclaw tryouts, which was where Gana was. She was determined to become a Chaser and Gwen was nothing but a supportive friend; she had a small cupcake in her dorm which she intended either to be a celebratory or a consolatory prize, depending on how the tryouts went. She wondered if the other houses had their tryouts that morning as well, which would explain the general emptiness of the library. Then again, Saturday’s weren’t nearly as busy as Sunday nights, when everyone poured in to finally start their homework.

Gwen drew her eyes away from the window and looked around the room. To no one’s surprise, Hermione had already set up her books on the table next to hers, but to everyone’s surprise, Hermione was whispering to a certain Theodore Nott. 

As expected, Gwen wasn’t too close with the Slytherins, if you discounted Merlin and Draco, but she knew who Theodore was, given her dorm mate Rizvia’s not-so-subtle crush on him. Gwen was subjected to plenty of late night discussions concerning Nott’s sharp eyes and haughty demeanour. Well, they weren’t discussions given the lack of involvement on her part and were more Rizvia’s spirited monologues.

A part of Gwen knew she shouldn’t eavesdrop and she really should just get on with her work but the other part was intrigued and ultimately won the battle. She angled her chair slightly so she could catch most of their conversation and still appear focussed on her books.

“…I said minimum 3 feet, Nott. You’ve had close to three weeks and you strut in with a foot’s worth of notes?”

“Granger, I hardly do the work McGonagall sets me, what makes you think I’d do what you say?” scoffed Nott and Gwen leaned closer involuntarily. What work was this? Was it a project? But she hadn’t heard of any group work being assigned.

“Oh, well, I don’t know, maybe because you were actually dedicated to this?” Hermione sighed and shook her head, nearly catching Gwen in her unsubtle eavesdropping attempts. She jumped back and waited until Hermione leaned forward again. “…I don’t need your help, that’s for certain.”

Nott whispered something unintelligible and Gwen decided to scooch closer under the pretence of searching through her bag for a quill. Realising this wasn’t a long-term solution, she instead pulled out her reading book of the week and pretended to peruse it with great interest as she sat finally within full hearing distance of this strange alliance. Gwen was certain there was a harmless explanation but she couldn’t help her curiosity and with a brief muttered apology to Hermione, she continued listening.

To her misfortune, Hermione and Nott fell silent and so Gwen’s eyes darted up to discover the two keenly observing a scroll of parchment. Well, Hermione was certainly keen but the same could not be said for Nott, who was currently examining his nails. Gwen nearly giggled aloud but stopped herself in time, her gaze drawn by an unusual looking parcel sitting by Nott’s bag. It had a black cloud of smoke veiling it and, as if that wasn’t an indicator in itself, it radiated a feeling of intense evil which had Gwen subconsciously recoiling from.

What on Earth were they doing?

Her questions were going to be answered though because Hermione finally looked up, prompting Gwen to turn her attentions back to her book. “This… is thorough,” said Hermione at long last, sounding physically pained. “But why wouldn’t you look through the whole book? You’re clearly good at analysis—”

“Ah, ah, Granger,” said Nott smoothly. A small gap followed but just as Gwen was tempted to look up, he continued, “I’m disappointed to find that you have merely skimmed my essay.” Hermione practically squawked in offence and even Gwen raised an eyebrow: Hermione was incapable of skimming anything, that was a given. 

“I have not!”

“Then did you decide to ignore my final conclusions?” he questioned lightly. “Specifically where I mention how my dear grandfather Cantankerus Nott, despite his claims to leave our ancestry to his descendants, fills the rest of his journal with what he can find about the Notts after they arrived from France.” Gwen didn’t have to sneak a glance to picture the scowl on Hermione’s face at discovering a mistake she made. “He does have to travel to Avalon to find the Emrallts, after all, which he thinks are the surviving descendants of the Emryses. Is this another detail you have, what is the word? Oh yes, skimmed. After all, then you would know why I didn’t have to read further.” Nott sounded frustratingly smug and Gwen would have walloped him with her own book if she could but she held tightly to her self control, certain Hermione could handle herself.

Hermione’s method of handling herself was to scoff. “Who works backwards?” she asked disdainfully. “It makes more sense to find a family tree from the top rather than work upwards from the descendants.” Nott offered no response which Gwen counted as Hermione’s victory, even though it was more likely to be his disinterest which stopped him from engaging. “Besides, I’m surprised to find you didn’t read the rest just to inflate your stupid ego over how pure your family is or whatever.”

Nott, for some insane reason, sounded delighted as he asked excitedly, “Oh did you ask the Weasel about what I told you? I wonder what shade of red his face turned into…” His tone sounded almost wistful and now Gwen had to look up because this was unprecedented for any Slytherin to sound so full of emotion. Nott seemed to realise this too as his impassive mask returned with astonishing speed. 

“Why don’t you want to read about your roots, then?” Hermione continued her line of questioning, leaning forward to narrow her eyes. “And why are you so interested with about this? It can’t simply be because Malfoy is, is it?” Gwen hid behind her book as she watched Nott’s eyes darken and his posture stiffen further, as though Hermione had touched a nerve. She, however, didn’t stop. “More importantly, why is it that you need my help? You have the book, you have the urge to find out, though I can’t understand why, and you have the skills clearly,” added Hermione, gesturing to the script in front of her. “So why—”

“Because I thought your methods were thorough!” hissed Nott, his eyes flashing dangerously as his voice rose with each word. Gwen abandoned her book and drew her wand from her robes, ready to step in if required. “Clearly, I was mistaken because you can’t even read!”

Hermione’s wand let out red sparks as she too began shouting. “You’re not any use either! This book is utterly pointless, just like your entire house.” Nott didn’t reach for his wand yet but his words were loud and angry enough for Madame Pince to materialise by their side, ready to kick them out.

She took one look at Hermione and her expression changed, leaving them with a strict warning instead. In the kerfuffle, Gwen was watching sharply, her book laying forgotten. Though silence enveloped the two again, she waited for any hint of trouble.

It never came as Hermione took a deep breath and whispered again. “Maybe your grandfather’s next journal has some answers.” Nott was silent for quite some time before he nodded jerkily, seemingly agreeing with Hermione’s unvoiced suggestion to maintain peace to achieve their goal, whatever it was.

“I know he kept an archive but it won’t be easy to find. He kept it warded against magic and house-elves, only to be read by his blood — he was incredibly paranoid even by our standards,” he said, so quietly that Gwen had to strain her ears to catch it. “It will take a lot of searching.”

“Well it’s a good thing holidays are coming in two weeks,” said Hermione, getting ready to leave as she packed away her impressive array of quills and inks. “We can look for it then.”

Her methodical packing up meant she missed the way Nott stiffened at the suggestion, no doubt shocked by her suggestion. Still, he didn’t vocally oppose it, instead following her cue to put away his stuff as well. Seemingly, their conversation and strange partnership seemed to end there as they left with no further discussion and a simple shared nod, leaving Gwen to wonder just what she had witnessed.

Chapter Text

The next day passed in a similar fashion, with Merlin once again sitting by Theo’s side in the double Potions. This change didn’t go unnoticed by Snape, who eyed his new position with mild interest for precisely 5 seconds before descending upon poor Neville, who had committed the cardinal sin of washing his cauldron. Merlin looked away quickly, instead hoping to catch Draco’s attentions. He didn’t mean to ignore him but Merlin wanted to expand his circle of friends in his House. As much as he liked Draco, it felt too similar to his time in Camelot, when he would spend every waking moment with Arthur and subsequently alienate the other servants.

Of course, there he had no other choice, but here, Merlin wanted things to be different. He didn’t want to leave Draco, not at all, but it seemed Draco wanted that as he refused to even glance in Merlin’s direction. 

Merlin sighed and turned back to his cauldron, which was still empty, despite everyone having progressed to the 3rd step and their cauldrons released silvery fumes into the dungeons. He half-heartedly got to work and began but the morose chopping of his daisy roots caused Theo to shake his head as he scooped them up and replaced them with his own thinly sliced ones. “What’s gotten into you then?” he asked sharply.

“Draco—”

“Is a prick,” finished Theo with an eye-roll. “Daddy never taught him to share and he’s incapable of realising that people make their own choices.”

Merlin nodded slowly, still feeling guilty. Draco had stood by him for two years now and had dealt with the aftermath of the memory loss incident, which itself was an immense task. Maybe he should have just stayed with Draco — did it really matter if he only had one friend in Slytherin? Maybe there was a good reason for why Draco never really introduced Merlin to his other friends.

“Look,” continued Theo, taking over the chopping completely after Merlin’s Shrivelfig watched him dither around sadly and frowned, rolling away, “you just need to show Draco you’re fine without him. Then he’ll realise that you’re your own person. Right now, he sees you as an extension of himself, his to order around.” Theo’s tone was light but his words somehow left an impact on Merlin, who agreed. That was what Arthur had thought too, wasn’t it? And when he spoke to Lancelot or Gwaine, Arthur would glare daggers at him.

Well, not any more. Merlin was going to do what he liked. He said as much and Theo smirked. “You do that, Emrys. Here, why don’t you sit with us in the common-room after dinner? Play cards and dice?”

Merlin looked one last time at Draco, who was unhappily listening to Ron and Harry, and nodded at once.

///

Potions was followed by their first Care of Magical Creatures lesson and Merlin didn’t know what to expect. Theo hadn’t signed up for the class and scoffed when Merlin said he had, rolling his eyes and muttering something about Draco leading him wrong again. Merlin didn’t mention the fact that he was in fact doing all the classes and instead left for the grounds.

He hurried slightly and caught up with Draco, whose eyes widened upon seeing him but then he frowned. “Your new best friend left you already?” he huffed, walking slightly faster.

“Theo doesn’t take Care,” said Merlin simply. “Anyway, he’s not my best friend, Draco.”

Draco didn’t stop nor slow down, marching purposefully as he pursed his lips. “Something more then?”

“What!” Merlin grasped Draco’s shoulders, stopping him. He could see the boy’s narrowed eyes, and the hurt in them. Despite Merlin’s intentions, it seemed Draco had really taken his new friendship to mean a something serious “Draco, I— what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” he said bitterly. He tried to leave but Merlin’s grip was firm. “We’ll be late, Emrys.”

“Forget about that, what’s gotten into you? Are you really angry at me for sitting with Theo?” asked Merlin. Draco didn’t offer an answer but the way he avoided eye contact was enough. Merlin couldn’t believe it. Draco really thought he owned him! At least Arthur had had the excuse of being the Crown Prince and later the King to behave like a prat but Draco didn’t have that. “You don’t own me!”

Merlin’s tone was admittedly not as even as he had hoped it was but really, he couldn’t believe the audacity. Draco really couldn’t fathom the idea of sharing him. Still, he had a reason for his anger. So why was Draco looking at him with equal fury?

“What? Emrys, you are impossible!” he yelled. For a second, Draco paused and looked as though he wanted to shake sense into Merlin, but the moment passed and he pushed him away roughly. “Forget it.” With that, he strode away, leaving Merlin to stare at his retreating back, stunned.

He was broken out of his shocked reverie by Gwen, who was walking in arm with Gana. She placed a hand on his and looked at him with concern. “Is everything alright?” asked Gwen and Merlin shook his head.

Gana and Gwen shared a questioning look and Gwen probed him further but Merlin didn’t have it in him to explain further. He was still reeling from that encounter with Draco and he didn’t really know how to feel. Was he in the wrong? Maybe Draco was right to be angry with him.

“Do you want to talk after dinner?” offered Gana kindly as they walked alongside him to Care. 

Merlin dragged himself back from his thoughts to shake his head again. “No, I’m… I’m busy.” Gana wasn’t appeased though and began to suggest another time. “I’m, uh, always busy after lessons now. But it’s fine, it’s not anything to worry about. I— I don’t want to burden you guys—”

Gwen stopped him before he could even finish his sentence with a firm look. “Merlin, we’re your friends. It’s not a burden at all. Why don’t we go to Hogsmeade together then? We can all catch up?” she suggested brightly, not giving Merlin the opportunity to refuse. “It’s settled then.”

///

Dinner was a quiet affair and soon, Merlin was led back to the common room, guided to an enclosed space at the back of the large room. He and Draco didn’t spend much time here, opting for the Library or the Great Hall, where they could meet the others, or even by the Great Lake if the weather wasn’t too foul. 

As such, he had never really paid much attention to the place, though this was also in part because of Arthur. Despite not even being there, Arthur’s love for Camelot red had run so deep that even Merlin, who wasn’t particularly drawn to the colour nor that shade, had felt an odd sense of nostalgia whenever he saw Gryffindor’s decorations. Merlin hadn’t paid green much attention, but that changed once he passed through a gauzy curtain separating the nook.

Inside were an abundance of pillows in all shades of green, ranging from as light as an apple to so dark it appeared to be nearly black. Dotted around were floating candles, illuminating the area just enough for Merlin to appreciate the plush, silver rugs and throws which somehow accentuated the pillows even more, distracting him from the portrait which hung across the entrance.

It held a wizened old man, hunched over a knobbly stick as white as bone. His white beard curled around his thin frame and, like all portraits in the school, he doddered around the empty scene, smiling widely to reveal his crooked teeth. He looked oddly familiar but Merlin couldn’t place where he had seen this man before.

He sat down on the unoccupied pillow, deciding it would come to him later. Theo and Blaise sat either side of him and opposite Merlin were two girls he hadn’t really spoken to before but he recognised Pansy Parkinson. After all, she did constantly stare at Draco. The other was Daphne Greengrass.

“Why is he here?” asked Pansy, sounding incredibly bored as she examined her nails. She handed the playing cards to Daphne, who sighed and began shuffling them. “Did he get tired of being a blood traitor?”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to trail after Draco any more?” suggested Daphne. “Staring at that blonde head day after day would do me in.” She started passing the cards out, making sure everyone had 13. Daphne flipped the next card to reveal the three of spades and placed it in the middle. “Wild card is Jack.”

Blaise picked up his cards and sniggered. “Speak for yourself, Daph. I’m sure Pansy would love to be in that position.” He was rewarded with a pillow flying to his face but it didn’t wipe the smirk off his face.

Merlin noticed he didn’t have a pile in front of him but Theo answered his unasked question by showing him his cards. Leaving him out was a good decision, on second thought, because Merlin had no clue what he was looking at. The cards seemed to be random and yet Theo was arranging them around until it was his turn to pick up a card.

“So, what is he doing here?” probed Pansy once Theo had finished his turn and Merlin decided this game must be to make a sequence of numbers based on how Theo had inserted the nine of clubs next to eight and seven of clubs. 

“We’re taking in strays, Pans,” answered Blaise, his eyes glittering as he picked a card up from the larger pile. He discarded the two of hearts and Pansy made a disgusted face, though it wasn’t clear if she was more offended by the card in front of her or by Blaise’s statement.

Daphne laughed. “Blaise, you’ll give her a heart attack!” She ignored Pansy’s discarded card and instead went into the pile, frowning as she dropped that very card. “Go on then, Theo. Why is he here?”

“I am right here.” The words escaped Merlin before he even realised and he was faced with three expectant looks. Theo continued playing his game, humming as he considered Daphne’s abandoned card before tucking it in. “I, uh—”

“Is no one else curious to find out why Draco insists on keeping Emrys exclusively with those Gryffindors?” remarked Theo casually, directing their attention. “After all, we’d all written him off as a—”

“Lunatic,” supplied Blaise helpfully, “no offence,” he added to Merlin.

“Lost cause,” continued Theo as though he hadn’t been interrupted, “and yet Draco persisted. I thought it was about time we find out why.” He punctuated his statement by dropping a king of diamonds and Blaise pounced on it.

“Aha!” He scooped it up and closed his game, revealing his cards which were haphazardly arranged into two sequences and two triplet sets. “I win, as always! Pay up, pay up.”

Blaise was showered with galleons which he stacked into a pile as Pansy served the cards for the next round. Now having got the hang of it, Merlin was granted his own spot in the game and he frowned in concentration.

They were quiet for a while until Pansy broke the silence, not looking up from her game as she addressed Theo. “And what have you found?”

“That Draco was right, Merlin’s better off with the Gryffindors,” he answered. Slightly too quickly, realised Merlin, as he eyed the others’ reactions.

“Come of it,” snapped Pansy, grimacing at the card in her hand. “You never admit Draco’s right. What’s going on, Nott?”

Theo didn’t grace her with a response, choosing to carefully consider his game instead. Pansy grew annoyed and descended upon Merlin once it became clear she was going to be ignored. “So? Why does Draco keep you around then?”

Merlin shrugged, keeping his focus on his game like Theo. It wasn’t going well. He needed a sequence without a wild card and yet he had an abundance of wild cards that he didn’t know what to do with. Besides, he didn’t particularly want to think about Draco. Not after he behaved like a real prat before Care.

“I bet Lucius said something,” remarked Blaise off-handedly, winking as he threw down an ace of hearts again, causing Pansy to throw him a dark look. She paused as she considered his words though.

“Do you think—”

“There’s nothing to think,” cut Theo smoothly, piquing Merlin’s interest, who listened carefully. “Draco’s just being charitable, taking care of Emrys here. Especially after his first-year.”

The others snorted and now Merlin had to speak up. “What happened?”

“You can’t expect people to take you seriously after proclaiming you lost your memories because a teacher attacked you,” explained Daphne with a simple smile. “Why, before that, even older years would’ve conceded to you!”

“Except you were a blood traitor so any Slytherin worth their salt would’ve kept their distance,” added Pansy. She looked up briefly to find Merlin utterly stunned by this revelation and a disbelieving expression crossed her face. “Are you really surprised to find that your name, a name so old it’s considered royalty, has influence?” she asked incredulously.

Merlin stilled, not picking up the card even though it was his turn. Royalty? Him? Arthur would have been in stitches to find that out. Instead, he cleared his throat. “Draco told me Emrys has some meaning but I don’t think it’s got anything to do with me.”

“Damn right,” agreed Blaise. “No true Emrys would have been seen as a Mudblood lover.”

Theo smiled slightly, an action which didn’t go unnoticed by Daphne, but Pansy drew everyone’s attention by closing her game, a predatory smile in place. “I win,” she stated. After a pause, she added, “I don’t want gold.” She turned towards Theo and her evil grin grew wider. “Just, tell me the truth.”

With no choice, he sighed and met her eyes. “There’s nothing more to it, Parkinson. Emrys really is Draco’s pet project.”

“And he’s definitely not someone the Dark Lord would be interested in?”

Silence followed her words as the other’s cast wary glances around the small area, as though looking for eavesdroppers. Pansy looked unrepentant even as Theo glared at her. “I don’t know anything about that,” he answered, looking cagey.

Pansy rolled her eyes. “It’s just us here. Stop lying, we know your Father—”

“Shut up,” advised Theo quickly. Turning to Merlin, he glared. “Don’t even think about telling anyone what you hear here, understand?”

Merlin didn’t have the time to answer because Daphne got there first. “Of course he won’t, he’s a Slytherin.” Her tone was suddenly very chilling and Merlin could just agree as he wondered what he was about to find out.

Theo still didn’t look convinced but Pansy wasn’t going to wait any longer. “Fine,” he said at last. “All I know is that there are talks about a new leader being in place. And with the entrance of an Emrys, it’s not hard to see who’s being considered.”

Blaise and Daphne shared a meaningful look as they considered Theo’s words but Pansy rolled her eyes, not willing to even hear them in their entirety. “The Dark Lord hasn’t disappeared forever,” she said dismissively.

“That’s what’s being said,” shrugged Theo, scooping up the cards to start up the next round. “‘Course, if they knew what this Emrys was really like, I’m certain they’d be singing a different tune.”

“So Lucius did say something,” said Daphne at the same time, looking at Blaise. “That’s why Draco—” Pansy suddenly gasped and leapt to her feet, leaving them as she ran towards the girls’ dormitory.

“Probably gone to give her mother the hot news,” commented Blaise. He took one look at his cards and threw them down. “I’m out too.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve lost your luck, now that Pansy’s left,” joked Theo but he too began to pack up after Daphne flicked her wand, extinguishing the candles. 

He gestured for Merlin to follow him and Blaise as they walked up to their room once they bid Daphne a goodnight. In front of the room, he paused, nodding for Blaise to go in. “Emrys,” he said, his green eyes suddenly analysing him, “regardless of whatever’s going to happen, I can tell you this. Draco doesn’t have your good intentions at heart.”

Merlin didn’t react though internally he could see the truth in Theo’s words. Today had told him that. “He’s the heir to two houses, did you know? House of Malfoy and House of Black, through his mother. A friendship with the House of Emrys will make him untouchable, no matter how touched in the head the heir of Emrys is.” Merlin bristled at those words but Theo continued. “Your memory loss, no matter how insane those circumstances were, put you in a fragile position and he took advantage of it.

“You weren’t even particularly close with Draco before. He saw his chance and began shaping you into someone who can only benefit him.” Merlin took a deep breath, realising the gravity of the situation. Still, Theo wasn’t done. “You have your own duties, as an Emrys, a Slytherin, as the heir to the oldest House, possibly. Draco doesn’t care for that. It’s not his fault, I guess. He just does what his parents say, but you need to learn to stand up for yourself.”

Merlin nodded with a gulp. Theo laughed at his serious look and pulled him into a very quick hug. “Don’t worry, we’re here,” he added with a grin and for the first time that day, Merlin smiled back.

Chapter Text

Ron tapped his foot impatiently, not understanding how Hermione was running behind. She was the one rushing them (for classes, of all things!) and yet when it mattered, Hermione was taking her sweet time. He wanted to go to Hogsmeade already!

“Won’t be too long now,” reassured Harry and Ron nodded, feeling guilty. Apparently the permission slip for Hogsmeade had been a requirement and McGonagall hadn’t taken kindly to their ill-advised attempts at forgery. It was truly lucky she hadn’t purposefully scheduled their detention for the Hogsmeade weekend. Still, Ron felt horrible for leaving Harry behind.

“Sure you don’t want to try sneaking in with your Invisibility Cloak?” he tried again, missing the way Harry’s eyes widened. Ron soon realised why.

“Ron, stop trying to get Harry to break the rules,” came a disapproving voice from behind him. It seemed Hermione had finally decided to appear, wrapped warm in a thick scarf and woolly mittens. She frowned as she took in Ron’s appearance, who had just about remembered to pick up his travelling cloak. “You’ve already gotten detention once: this time, Professor McGonagall will definitely take points off.”

Hermione turned to Harry and looked apologetic. “It’s not that I don’t want you to come,” she added earnestly.

“Hermione, it’s fine,” said Harry but he was still on the receiving end of a tight hug from the two of them. Ron took the opportunity to promise to return with plenty of sweets and, with a final goodbye, he and Hermione lined up to pass Filch’s checks before they were allowed out.

They stood behind Susan and Justin, who were eagerly looking around and caught sight of them. “You’ll never guess what!” said Justin, brimming with excitement.

Hermione and Ron shared a glance, wondering if they had missed some news. This level of excitement, in Ron’s opinion, was only warranted if Snape had somehow been cursed so that he could only take points off Slytherin. That would be a very joyful occasion. “What?” asked Hermione slowly.

“We’re having a Halloween dress up!” said Susan brightly. “It was a few of the first-year Puffs who came up with the idea but the Heads think it’s a great idea for inter-house unity.”

Ron was confused. Dress up for Halloween? It seemed like a really strange idea but to his surprise, Hermione looked just as excited as the Hufflepuffs, her eyes shining as she asked them for more details.

“It is tomorrow,” said Susan with a slight grimace yet she was just as animated as before. “But you can shop for your costumes today, pick up lots of sweets, plan out tricks so there’s plenty of time! You don’t even have to buy sweets or tricks though, we can provide.”

“We need to get as many people to dress up,” added Justin, “so we’re just telling everyone but the one rule is that you can’t come as a wizard or a witch because that’s too simple.”

“It would be rather ironic to dress up as muggles,” said Hermione with a laugh. “But that’s a really lovely idea those first-year had. I’ve missed dressing up for Halloween ever since I came to Hogwarts.” She sounded wistful and now Ron was perplexed. Was this some sort of muggle tradition?

“So we can count on you guys to come?” asked Susan hopefully and Hermione nodded at once, promising to bring a few others too. They were rewarded with tight hugs, which Ron accepted in a daze, and the Hufflepuffs moved down the line to invite others. Once they left, Ron turned to Hermione.

“What was that all about?”

Hermione looked at him as though he was the strange one and then her eyes widened. “Oh! I’ve forgotten wizards don’t do it! Basically, muggle children dress up on Halloween night as scary things — think witches, wizards, vampires, ghosts and the like — and they go around to peoples’ houses and, well, basically threaten to play a few harmless tricks unless you give them sweets.”

Ron listened with interest and slight wariness. Muggles sent their children to random houses? If you didn’t give sweets, they were allowed to throw eggs onto doors? If anything, this just highlighted how weird muggles were but he couldn’t deny how much Hermione loved this particular tradition as she eagerly explained her own costumes from her childhood. For the first time in weeks, she looked alive and Ron couldn’t help but be excited alongside her. 

They were finally allowed to leave the castle and despite the muddy trail they had to walk through, the view of Hogsmeade made up for all of their struggles. Ron was used to wizarding villages, namely Ottery St Catchpole where Mum used to take Ginny and him before they were old enough to go to Hogwarts, but Hogsmeade was on another level.

“Wow,” breathed Ron, taking in the thatched cottages which were dusted with snow and the frosted glass on the windows of the shops. The whole place glittered with magic, filling them with warmth even though the chilly air nipped at their face. Ron clamped his teeth together to prevent them from chattering, knowing full well Hermione would disapprove.

“I know, right?” she said instead, her eyes wide as well as she turned her head from side to side rapidly. “It’s the only all-wizard village in Britain.”

Ron made the mistake of engaging with her and was promptly on the receiving end of multiple ‘fun’ facts about Hogsmeade and how it was founded at the same time as Hogwarts and how the village had been the wizard’s headquarters during the goblin rebellion. Admittedly, he had a few opportunities to cut in and change the topic but he didn’t particularly mind her excitedly sharing whatever it was she had read. It was just a way to fill the silence. 

Eventually, Ron tuned back in to find her unroll a scroll of parchment with a neatly drawn map. “I made a list of places we should go see,” she explained, sounding breathless. He looked over her shoulder and shuddered at the detail.

“Blimey, Hermione, how long did that take?”

“I asked a few older years for recommendations. Anyway, we should check out the Three Broomsticks, which should be on the left, and the Post Office is just after—”

Ron made a face. “Why would we go see a Post Office, Hermione? Pass the map.” He surveyed it and read it out, “‘Zonko’s Joke Shop’ is good, ‘The Magic Neep’ is a grocery store so no way, ‘Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop’ sounds like a bore, you’d like ‘Tomes and Scrolls,’ ‘Honeydukes’ has lots of sweets so we have to go and probably the ‘Shrieking Shack’ is the last worthwhile place on this list.”

Hermione snatched her map back and sighed. “Fine, the Three Broomsticks is just there, then.”

The tables were all full though and, deciding to return later, they stepped inside Honeydukes to buy as many sweets as Ron could fit in his pockets for Harry. Hermione took her sweet time dithering between Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum and the sugar quills but then settled on Toothflossing Stringmints which sounded dreadful. Noticing his judgemental look, Hermione got defensive. “You only have one set of teeth for the rest of your life.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to sacrifice taste,” muttered Ron as he pushed his way to pay. Once out, the two headed to Zonko’s to find Fred and George there, along with their friend Lee Jordan. The three boys were in serious discussion with the shopkeeper and, noticing Ron, George stepped aside.

“For Quidditch,” he clarified. “Once we beat those Slytherins, these bad boys are set to leave a lasting impression.” George beamed proudly at the bags of fireworks by his feet.

“What happens if we lose?” asked Hermione and was faced with four stunned expressions. Ron dragged her away before something happened and shook his head.

“House pride, Hermione!”

Hermione shrugged but her attention was drawn by a shop with plenty of books in the window. She completely forgot about Ron as she walked over, transfixed, and he sighed and followed her to Tomes and Scrolls. A considerable while later, they exited with a large paper bag which the two struggled to carry between themselves.

“We should stop shopping,” panted Ron, wishing he knew the spell for lightening a load. Beside him, Hermione as angrily muttering about some extension charm or other but she too agreed.

“We’ll go to the other shops next time.”

They decided to finish up by paying Shrieking Shack a visit but that was when Ron remembered the rat tonic he was supposed to buy for Scabbers. “Shrieking Shack will have to wait then,” decided Hermione, pushing the bag into Ron’s hands and ignoring his complaints about the weight. She pulled out her map and studied it. “The pet store is in the next street, across from the Herbology store, ‘Dogweed and Deathcap’.”

The walk wasn’t too long but they had to move slowly as it started to snow again. They passed a clothing shop with lurid socks on display and this reminded Hermione of the Halloween party. They began thinking of what they could go as and Ron suggested pumpkins which Hermione shot down with an unimpressed look. “Ron, we have the pick of anything in the world to dress up as and you want to go as pumpkins? They’re not even scary!”

“Fine. Spiders.”

Hermione didn’t grace that with a reply. Instead, she looked around for inspiration and caught sight of a large, black dog which ran up to them, tongue hanging out as it barked joyfully. It was remarkably thin but kept bouncing around them, eager to be petted.

She bent down and stroked its head but Ron stayed back. Was it just coincidence or was this related to the Grim from Divination? He wanted to walk away but Hermione saw his hesitation. “Ron, I… are you scared of dogs?” she asked, her tone bordering on amusement.

“No!” But he didn’t sound convincing enough and she burst into laughter. “I’m not! I just, I don’t like them.” He didn’t mention the Grim given how Hermione was already giggling to the dog.

“You don’t like cats, you don’t like dogs — what do you like?”

Ron didn’t answer her, still warily eyeing the dog but it was running around Hermione happily and he resolved to just kept his distance. Grim or not, the dog loved to slobber. “Can we keep moving?” he asked snappishly, convinced his toes were frozen to his boots.

Hermione reluctantly left the dog but she didn’t need to feel sad because the stupid thing followed them, its tail wagging in delight. Ron sighed. “What will we go as then?” he asked her, keeping his eyes on the street and not on the dog.

“Well, it can be something scary or something to do with pop culture,” she said with a thoughtful hum. “I don’t really know any wizarding pop culture though.”

Ron grew silent as he thought for a while. There were a few who came to mind like the Weird Sisters (Ginny’s obsession) and Celestina Warbeck (Mum’s favourite) or even his favourite band, the Hobgoblins, but how would they dress up as any of them? And then he had a brilliant idea.

“There’s Lockhart,” he said with a grin and predictably, Hermione huffed.

“Not after last year.” She paused and looked down at the dog, which was still trailing after them, though now it looked a little more tired. Ron noticed the way its ribs pressed through its skin and he suddenly felt bad for it. For some reason, it reminded him of Harry but that was insane. “We could go as Muggle celebrities?” suggested Hermione slowly.

He drew his eyes from the dog and shrugged. He didn’t particularly mind and it seemed Hermione was more excited about this whole affair than him anyway so he agreed. “Oh! We could go as characters from my favourite movie!”

“A movie?”

“Moving pictures,” said Hermione, explaining how they were like portraits but showed a story instead of a person or a repeating moment. Ron couldn’t believe that it didn’t need magic and that Muggles had been the one to discover something wizards were still working on but he didn’t mention it. Hermione would probably take offence to that. 

“But this movie’s about time travel and it’s really cool because the main character accidentally stops his parents from meeting and he has to get them to fall in love or he’ll be wiped from existence. He obviously succeeds and there’s a second movie where he goes into the future which was cool as well but the movies were the reason why I began researching the physics of time travel and how wormholes would theoretically work. ‘Course, it’s not theoretical if you have magic, but I didn’t know that when I was six.”

Hermione’s words went in one ear and out the other as Ron just nodded along. “Anyway, I could be Doc, a mad scientist who builds the time machine, which is actually a car so your dad would love it,” continued Hermione excitedly. “And you’d be good as Lorraine with her brown hair—”

“Hang on, I’m a girl?” Hermione simply laughed which Ron didn’t appreciate. “No. No way.”

“You look just like her! Come on, Ron, it’s literally just for tomorrow and it’s dress up as well. Nobody will care!”

Ron narrowed his eyes. “And Harry?”

“The main character, I suppose, Marty.” Ron rolled his eyes. Of course Harry gets to be a boy.

“Why can’t I be what you are?” he asked, trying not to pout.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Do you have a lab coat?”

“A what?”

“Exactly. I have one because my parents thought Potions needed it and besides, you could wear one of Ginny’s dresses!”

Ron shook his head, stunned by her suggestion. To his surprise, the dog seemed to agree with him as it pressed against his legs and barked at Hermione. “Good boy,” said Ron with a smile, leaning down to stroke the dog. Its fur felt rough and he wondered if the dog was a stray or if it had been abandoned. The dog licked him and Ron’s smile grew. Maybe the dog wasn’t all bad. “Make Harry dress up as the girl,” he said between licks.

That was when things went downhill. At Harry’s name, the dog barked loudly, waking up Scabbers, who had been napping in Ron’s pocket. Scabbers took one look at the dog and leapt away, sprinting for his life. The dog spotted the blur and tore down the street, all traces of friendliness disappearing as it gave chase.

“Scabbers!” yelled Ron, his eyes widening. He turned to Hermione, panicked. “This is why I hate dogs!” he managed before scrambling after them to rescue poor Scabbers. It took a while but Ron found the rat cowering in a gutter, the dog nowhere to be found. Ron scooped him up and carried him back to the pet store, petting the greying fur and sighing in relief to find him still alive.

Hermione looked sympathetic and suggested they returned, showing him the tonic she had bought whilst she waited. He gave a few drops to Scabbers and watched as he perked up slightly, promising him some chicken when they got back.

Chapter Text

As Gwen had promised, she waited outside the Slytherin common room on the morning of the Hogsmeade weekend with Gana in tow, ready to drag Merlin the second he stepped out. Although he still felt like he was unloading his struggles onto them, seeing their bright smiles convinced Merlin everything would be fine.

He was promptly enveloped in a tight hug and they joined the queue to leave for Hogsmeade. Merlin made sure to present his permission form, which had been signed by Snape after Draco realised he wouldn’t be allowed leave otherwise. Thinking of him caused Merlin’s chest to tighten slightly as he remembered yet again how attentive Draco was, making sure Merlin didn’t struggle at all.

But at the same time, he felt entitled to Merlin. That was why he was here with Gwen and Gana in the first place. As soon as they entered the Three Broomsticks and secured a table with a decent amount of difficulty, Gana disappeared and returned with three foaming tankards.

Their booth was far from the door, where most of the kerfuffle was, and Merlin quite liked the atmosphere of the inn. It reminded him oddly of the Rising Sun, though he had never spent much time there, stopping only long enough to scrape Gwaine off the floor and haul him back to training. 

Merlin took a tentative gulp of the drink placed in front of him and sat back, shocked at the taste. It was sweeter than the royal mead (Merlin may or may not have had helped himself when Arthur wasn’t looking) but it wasn’t sickly. He finished it in a few gulps, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as the others laughed.

“I wonder if Merlin likes Butterbeer,” teased Gana as Merlin flashed a look of mock-hurt. “I just can’t tell! Can you, Gwen?”

“A true mystery,” said Gwen. After a few moments of silent drinking whilst Merlin contemplated ordering another, she set her tankard down and sighed. “So. What’s going on with you then?”

“And don’t say nothing,” chimed Gana, ruining his answer. “Something’s up.”

Merlin paused for some time as he considered his response. A few things were definitely on his mind and it wasn’t just how he felt about Draco. Since last week, Merlin had spent some more time with Theo and Blaise, choosing to sit with them for lessons and playing cards with them after dinner. At some point, he had stopped looking for Draco and he didn’t know how to feel about that.

He decided to just start from the top and told them of his wish to diversify his friends, which the two girls understood at once. They even looked appropriately stunned by Draco’s reaction and when Merlin paused to catch his breath, Gwen firmly shook her head.

“That’s not right. Friends let each grow,” she said seriously, “Gana and I meet after dinner but in lessons, I have my own friends and she has hers. We go to a few clubs together but we also have different interests which we respect. I enjoy going to Care of Magical Creatures club but Gana goes to Charms. She plays Quidditch and I don’t but I’ll still go to all of her matches. That’s how it should be.”

Gana took over as Gwen left to bring another round of drinks. “Don’t feel bad because you want to make more friends, Merlin.”

He nodded along and took a deep breath. Draco was being a prat, clearly. Merlin pushed the thoughts of him out of his mind and smiled at Gana. “There’s a Charms club?”

Sh brightened up and enthusiastically told him of the charms she had learnt. “Who knew there was a charm to tell you what the weather would be like the next day? And I can just tap my tie and it ties itself,” she laughed just as Gwen sat back down again.

“Charms club? Gana loves it! I literally never hear the end of how amazing it is,” she added with a long-suffering sigh but Gwen was beaming proudly at her. Merlin couldn’t help how he was reminded of Morgana and Gwen from his time and how close their bond had been. Before…

Before he had poisoned Morgana. 

She had come to him, scared of her abilities. She didn’t know what it was and she simply needed a friend. And what did he do? He pushed her away until Morgana sought support in Morgause. Merlin was responsible for Morgana’s actions. If he had listened to her, taught her control and gave her strength, she wouldn’t have joined with Morgause. She wouldn’t have killed Uther and unleashed the Dorocha to kill Arthur.

He wouldn’t be in this position now had it not been for his own actions so long ago.

“Merlin?” Morgana smiled at him from across the table, her face kind and concerned as it had once been. And Merlin was the one responsible for its disappearance.

“Merlin, are you okay?” He shook out of his reverie and attempted a feeble smile. It wouldn’t do to get lost in his thoughts and what would have happened had he done things differently. He was given a second chance here at Hogwarts. One where his mistakes were wiped clean.

A second chance. A thought came to him and he turned to Gana. “I… I know a few spells. I can teach you, if you’d like. Because you like Charms,” he added weakly. His idea sounded better in his head.

Gana grinned. “I would love that! Oh, I could bring someone I know too — they love Charms as much as I do.” Merlin agreed and felt a little lighter than before. He had done the right thing.

///

After finishing the second round of drinks, they decided to shop around and Gana apologetically slipped away, mentioning the need to purchase Quidditch robes. Merlin and Gwen dropped her off in front of Spintwitches Sporting Needs and walked down to Gladrags so that Gwen could look for a present for her dad’s birthday.

Merlin asked her about her family, wondering if it would be similar to Gwen’s from his past. “Well, I have a dad and a younger brother,” she said as she inspected a pair of bright green socks which screamed ‘MY FEET DON’T SMELL, YOURS DO!’ She quickly decided against it and turned to the robes section. “My mother died a short while after Ely was born.”

Gwen sighed and walked out of the store. “I think the best present to get Dad are some new dragon-hide gloves. He works a lot with fire, you see, and his current ones are quite tattered.”

“Is your father a blacksmith?” asked Merlin, to which Gwen hummed.

“He makes magical metal objects so I suppose yes. I learnt a few spells before I came to Hogwarts but I can’t remember them now,” she said with a short laugh. “I do quite like helping Dad in the forge.”

Merlin remembered how skilled Gwen had been in Camelot too, working to craft her own sword. “You are very talented in blacksmithing,” he said sagely. Gwen shot him a puzzled look.

“And how would you know that, Merlin?”

“I just do. I’m a psychic.” Gwen raised an eyebrow at Merlin’s response and the two descended into giggles.

They continued walking for as long as they could before their fingers threatened to freeze up and drop off, at which point they headed back to the castle, promising to catch up again in a week’s time and to definitely check out Shrieking Shack in the next Hogsmeade visit.

Chapter Text

“Hogsmeade’s really not all that it’s cracked up to be,” assured Ron that evening when they sat in the Gryffindor common room with the fire crackling merrily in front and a few of the first years chattering away at the back. Ron and Hermione had returned with heavy bags and plenty of sweets just after lunch and the three of them sat together, swapping stories and sweets. “Yeah, okay, Zonko’s was to die for and you haven’t lived until you’ve been to Honeydukes but otherwise it wasn’t that cool.” Ron’s casual tone was betrayed by the faraway look in his eyes as he remembered the trip and Harry just snorted.

He told them of how he had spent the day with Hagrid, who was planning on bringing something called a Hippogriff to the next Care of Magical Creatures lesson, to which Hermione looked surprised. “They’re classified as XXX; are they appropriate for a class of third-years?”

“Hagrid says they’re fine,” shrugged Harry as he tore open a sample of new fudge from Honeydukes. It was rich and creamy and just as it melted on his tongue, fireworks exploded inside his mouth. It was heavenly.

“Good, isn’t it?” grinned Ron, throwing another sample at him. “I can’t wait for them to release a bar of this stuff.”

Harry’s face fell as he remembered the fact that he would never be able to go to Hogsmeade but he fought to smile back. Hermione seemed to notice and she put her book down, deciding to change the subject. “Have you heard? There’s a Halloween party tomorrow.”

He had seen the first and second years run around eagerly all day, planning for some party but he hadn’t paid much attention. Hermione filled him in about the party being hosted the next day and the important requirement to dress up and it reminded Harry of the time his aunt and uncle wanted to take Dudley trick or treating. Of course, they hadn’t bothered with Harry until they realised they couldn’t leave him alone at night. It wasn’t a fear for his safety, just for the safety of their house.

Anyway, they had taken him along and Harry was allowed to wear Dudley’s scraps. He wasn’t sure what his costume was supposed to be when the neighbours asked but Uncle Vernon had an answer ready. “He’s an orphan.”

“I thought we could all dress up as characters from my favourite movie,” finished Hermione with a bright smile. Instantly, Ron disagreed.

“I am not dressing up as the girl. Harry can put a wig on or something but I can’t be the girl. Fred and George won’t let me live it down.”

Hermione turned to Harry with a hopeful look and he shrugged which she was satisfied with and ran to her dorm at once to bring out all the required costume pieces. “Blimey, I’ve never seen her this excited for something that wasn’t books or studying,” commented Ron.

Harry’s only response was to help himself to the last sample of fudge.

///

The next day began as any other but there was a distinct lack of students at breakfast and lunch as they were no doubt hurrying to assemble their costumes and do their makeup in time for the party that evening. Harry and Ron took advantage of the emptiness at mealtimes to pile their plate with enough food to last a week and then took another plate back for Hermione, who didn’t join them.

Instead, she emerged from her dorm a few hours before the party was set to start with her arms full of clothing. She laid it all out on the armchairs in the common-room and collapsed onto a bean bag, looking tired. “I’ve spent all morning planning these out and they should be perfect,” she said with a long sigh.

Harry and Ron surveyed her work to find several pieces. There was a curly brown wig which was not unlike Hermione’s own hair except shorter, and a purple collared shirt along with a blue skirt. There was also a chequered shirt and denim trousers along with cropped red robes with their sleeves cut off. 

“Hermione, this is insane,” said Ron disbelievingly as he tried on the robes, marvelling at how his arms were exposed. “Did you buy all of these?”

She sat up and pointed to different items to explain their origin. “The wig I designed after my hair using a spell from a book on hair spells and I dyed and cut up one of my old robes from last year. The clothes are my dad’s and the skirt is my mum’s,” she said proudly.

“Wow,” managed Harry, smiling even though he remembered his previous Halloween dress-up experience. He had assumed that he would never get another chance but thanks to some Hufflepuffs and Hermione’s dedication, here he was. He didn’t realise when he wrapped Hermione in a hug nor when Ron joined them but they eventually pulled away and got to work getting ready.

///

The party was in full swing by the time Hermione finished getting ready but the wait had been worth it once she revealed her costume. Harry and Ron stared dumbfounded as she came down, looking nothing like the Hermione they regularly saw. 

She had somehow made her normal brown curls disappear, replaced by frizzy white hair which stuck up in all directions. Around her neck were some green goggles bound by a leather band and she pulled off her bright yellow gloves so she could put the goggles on. The rest of her costume was largely made up by a white lab coat with a stuffed brown journal in one of the pockets and a piece of paper in the other.

“How do I look?” asked Hermione nervously, drawing attention to the wrinkles she had spelled onto her face to give her an aged look. 

“Bloody brilliant,” said Ron at long last, circling her to appreciate it. “How long did this take you?”

“All night,” she admitted, holding out wicker baskets for them to take. “That’s why I could only spend the morning on your costumes. Speaking of which, you guys look great too.”

Harry had switched out the skirt at the last second, deciding it was too much, but he had the wig on and Ron had assured him that it was fine as he pulled on his jeans and marvelled at the feeling. “Muggles wear this everyday?”

“I guess,” said Harry. Uncle Vernon had opted for formal trousers all the time and Aunt Petunia was never seen in anything other than a dress as she held strict opinions on how people should dress. The few times he had stepped outside the house, he noticed a rising amount of people wearing blue trousers but Harry had never spent long enough to properly take note.

“We should go now,” said Hermione but she didn’t move, instead turning around to look at the other people in the common room. Harry and Ron copied her and their attention was immediately caught by a 12 foot tall Percy. Stunned, the three hurried over and upon closer inspection, they realised it was none other than George.

“Like it?” he yelled from the top to which Harry laughed and nodded whilst Ron poked the clothes, curious.

“How did you do this?” asked Hermione. “A growth spell?”

“My dear Hermione, you forget,” came a voice within the clothes and George grinned as he pulled up the oversized shirt to reveal Fred inside, “there’s two of us.”

“If you fall, you’re going to break all your bones.”

“Oh, ickle Ronniekins,” said George with a sigh.

“You sound awfully like Mother dearest,” continued Fred.

“‘Be careful, boys!’” added George in a shrill voice.

“Why don’t you be more like Percy?”

“So we became him!”

Fred and George winked at them in sync before walking as one to a group of fifth years and towered over them to discuss a few tricks they were planning. With one last look, Harry followed Hermione and Ron to the Great Hall.

“We should go to Hufflepuff,” said Ron once they passed a few first-years who had dressed up as colours of the rainbow and had somehow charmed two of their friends, dressed up as clouds, to float alongside them. “I heard they’ve convinced the House Elves to make all the sweets from Honeydukes.”

Harry supported this idea mainly because his mouth watered as he remembered the fudge from the previous day but also because he wanted to see a few more costumes. It seemed the overall trend was that the younger years had dressed as characters, be it werewolves, vampires, ghosts, goblins, unicorns, and the older years had gone down a realism route. He saw one sixth year with peeling makeup on their face and it reminded him of how Quirrell had looked before his death and he firmly put that thought away.

Hufflepuff was filled with students from all the houses as they raided the snacks and subjected each other to friendly tricks. Harry watched a Ravenclaw and a Hufflepuff charm each other to dance faster and faster until their spells collided, hitting a group of Gryffindors some distance away. They tripped, bringing down plenty of others with them yet everyone laughed it off and he too smiled, feeling at home in the atmosphere.

Ron dragged them to the far end and began filling his wicker basket with the treats there when they were greeted by a mouse. Gwen, to be more specific. “Hi!” she said, enveloping them in a hug. “Oh, you guys are a group! That’s so smart!”

“Can you tell what we are?” asked Hermione, a hint of nervousness crossing her. 

Gwen tried to scrutinise their costume but she was assisted by a fourth year Ravenclaw, who was passing through with her friends and had stopped in her tracks. “Back to the Future!” she exclaimed. “Oh, that’s my favourite! God bless muggleborns.”

Hermione beamed and the two engaged in discussion about the movie and as the fourth year was pulled away by her friends, she promised to meet Hermione another time. Harry was glad that somebody got the reference and turned back to Gwen, who was standing with Gana. She was dressed as a blue cat and with the two together, both Ron and Hermione gasped, understanding their costume.

“Tom and Jerry!”

“Morty and Jeremy!”

They turned to each other, convinced the other was completely crazy, while Harry just shrugged. Ron tried to convince Hermione that he was right, not willing to accept her explanations at all. Gana and Gwen simply stared and they turned to Harry. “We just thought it would be funny to go as a cat and a mouse,” said Gana quietly.

///

Fred and George had managed to play a few tricks on all the houses before the feast, their most successful one being on Slytherin which Harry had unfortunately missed witnessing. He had dragged Ron and Hermione, and unexpected Gwen and Gana as well, to find Merlin when Gwen frowned.

“I don’t know if he’ll be dressing up,” she said to Gana and Harry’s interest was piqued. 

He slowed down, allowing Ron and Hermione to bicker up front about some dog or other, and turned his attention to Gwen and Gana’s conversation. “After yesterday?” asked Gana and Gwen didn’t answer, leading Harry to conclude she must have nodded. “Well, he might. He’s always the one convincing Draco to loosen up and have fun, even if his definition of fun is a little strange.”

“I don’t think so,” said Gwen, sounding hesitant. “He didn’t seem very much like himself yesterday. I think the fight with Draco is just the tip though — I’m going to get the rest of it out from him.”

“There’s no one else who’d be able to.”

Harry tuned out the rest of their conversation, wondering what fight Malfoy and Merlin had. Was that why he was sitting with Nott more often? He didn’t have time to consider it further though because the 12 foot Percy made a reappearance, this time running away on his comically short legs whilst being chased by younger Slytherins. The older ones settled for long-range hexes but he couldn’t watch any more as Hermione dragged them away from the firing line.

Back in the Great Hall, the feast had begun and, having worked up an appetite from visiting all of the common-rooms, Harry and Ron dug in. They piled their plate high with traditional Halloween dishes that Hogwarts brought year after year, and were coincidentally their favourites, ignoring how Hermione eyed them with disapproval.

“Would it kill you to eat properly?” Her disgust was mostly aimed at Ron, who was tearing into two chicken legs at the same time. Harry was more restrained, opting for wolfing down leg after leg. She shook her head in disbelief and helped herself to a plate.

Harry didn’t even notice where the first two courses went until it was time for dessert which was none other than pudding. He looked around, realising almost everyone was now eating, including the teachers, who had dressed up as well. Sprout was a bright green pumpkin and was engaging McGonagall in conversation, who had replaced her usual black robes for maroon ones. Snape’s appearance hadn’t changed, down to the usual greasy hair, flowing robes and sneer, but Dumbledore’s robes were striking. He was in bright pink robes and wore a fluffy hat.

“A Pygmy Puff,” supplied Angelina when he wondered out loud what Dumbledore was. Her explanation was interrupted by a shrill shriek.

“OH MY GOD, THAT’S SIRIUS BLACK!”

The effect was instantaneous as the room erupted in panic. Students leapt from their seats, convinced Black was under their tables and teachers rushed to calm them, convinced this was an idiotic joke. Harry, along with the rest of the table, whipped around to find who yelled but he didn’t need to struggle because a figure stood up.

He had torn robes and slashes across his gaunt face but the resemblance was identical to the picture in the Daily Prophet. Sirius Black stared back and, for a second, no one moved. He searched through the crowd of students, stopping when he came to the Gryffindor table. His eyes caught Harry’s but just then, Dumbledore stood up, his wand held out. Black, however, was quicker. He ran in the direction of the large window by the Ravenclaw table, uncaring for the fact that there was no exit, and jumped through.

Shards of glass crashed to the floor and a few of the prefects ran up to the broken window to catch sight of a figure running into the night. 

That put a pretty definite stop to the Halloween party, with students being sent up to their dorms and teachers patrolling common-rooms and corridors to be absolutely safe. Harry followed the rest of the boys, listening half-heartedly to the eager discussions around him about how Black knew about the party. He was more curious to find out why Black had come to Hogwarts at all. Was it really something to do with Harry?

Chapter Text

November started off with the year’s first Quidditch match, having been postponed twice already due to some explanation or other but it was finally happening. The match was officially between Gryffindor and Slytherin but it was a long standing tradition for the other houses to pick a side and get equally riled up.

Gryffindor was backed up by Ravenclaw, who had gone all out in their decorations with magnificently lifelike lions roaring from their blue banners, whilst Hufflepuff rallied behind Slytherin, showing their pride through green biscuits shaped like the Quidditch trophy. Oh, and they could only be safely eaten by Hufflepuffs or Slytherins.

All in all, Quidditch in general was no small affair and, encouraged by the fan response, the teams didn’t hold back either. The first game of the season was off to an excellent start when it was mentioned all of Slytherin would be playing with flagship broomsticks, courtesy of Lucius Malfoy. Draco Malfoy, the team’s newest Seeker and the youngest player for Slytherin, did not wish to comment on the general consensus which was that he had, in fact, bought his way onto the team but Harry Potter, Gryffindor’s Seeker and the youngest player ever, came to his aid, stating only talent gets in. 

This author only wonders if we are yet to see a Romeo and Juliet romance between the two young Seekers.

The game was intense, with neither team playing to lose. Gryffindor snagged the lead at first with 4 goals and forced Slytherin to up the ante, which they did by targeting the Chasers on the Gryffindor team. Distracted, Gryffindor fell behind, allowing Slytherin to crawl up to 50 points. But Gryffindor retaliated quickly and strongly as their Keeper and Captain seemed to give the all-clear to the Beaters, who went straight for the Slytherin Keeper. Taking two Bludgers to the abdomen was still not enough for Madam Hooch to declare a penalty despite the green and yellow crowd arguing passionately but our Slytherin Keeper was made of sterner stuff.

Slytherins’ Beaters didn’t take kindly to the assault and the bloodbath continued with Slytherin maintaining a lead of 10 goals. Ravenclaw and Gryffindor were on the edge of their seats and even their lions were subdued, encouraging Hufflepuff and Slytherin to celebrate boisterously.

But, I fear to report, the celebrations were hasty by far as our Romeo and Juliet Seekers, the stars of any Quidditch match, turned the game around in mere seconds. Harry Potter spotted the Snitch — to readers wishing to know where he bought his glasses from, please stay tuned for the next edition where I will personally interview Mr Potter — and tore down it. Draco Malfoy noticed it a second too late — one wonders if he’ll be the first amongst my readers to eagerly await the news of Mr Potter’s glasses company — and with a fifty point lead, Gryffindor emerge victorious.

The crowd erupted in cheers and Ravenclaw and Gryffindor ran inside for the after-game party, hosted by the latter and, more specifically, Fred and George Weasley. On the other side, Hufflepuff and Slytherin morosely ate their own biscuits. At the end, as everyone left the pitch, they failed to notice the large black dog which had been eagerly watching the match from the sidelines and had celebrated too upon Gryffindor’s victory.

Of course, I noticed but the narrative wanted me to, my dear readers.

That’s all for the sports correspondence from Hogwarts Times, folks. Flick on over to find out which teacher was spotted buying Muggle lipstick! (Hint: his cloak enters the classroom a full working day after he does.)

///

Gana

Gana knocked on the door to the Charms classroom. Behind her was an excited Mord, practically bouncing around since she asked if he would like to learn a few new spells. His smile dimmed when she had mentioned Merlin would be the one running it but she promised him everything would be fine. If not, Gana knew Gwen would happily bring this behaviour up with Merlin at their next friendship date.

But they had nothing to worry about: Merlin didn’t even bat an eye at Mord’s presence and ushered them in quickly, checking to make sure they weren’t spotted. “I didn’t exactly book this room,” he explained sheepishly once he closed the door. 

“We should be fine until curfew,” reassured Gana and Merlin nodded. “So, what spells will we learn?” She had spent all of dinner eagerly wondering what spells Merlin knew and what he would teach her. It was certainly unexpected though as Gana had heard of how Merlin struggled himself in first year but now, she was certain he and Hermione were top of their year. Hermione’s achievements were to be expected, what with her dedication to school work, but Merlin had taken everyone by surprise with his recent improvements. Maybe he would tell Gana and Mord of his secrets.

Next to her, Mord still looked nervous, wiping his palms on his robes repeatedly. Gana placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder and though he flashed a quick, grateful smile, it didn’t calm him very much. Merlin didn’t appear to notice as he sat upon the teacher’s desk at the front and rubbed his hands.

“So, um, I think firstly I need to confess,” he started, laughing awkwardly. “I, uh, I do magic differently and I don’t know if it’s easier or not than how these sor—wizards do it but I can’t compare it because I can’t touch a wand so…” Merlin trailed off and while Gana digested what he had said, Mord frowned.

“You can’t touch a wand? Why?”

Merlin grimaced as he explained how wands seemed to explode in his hand and Gana was curious as she asked, “So you don’t need a wand to do magic, then?”

“I have to use a stick,” he shrugged, “because Draco doesn’t want anyone to find out for some reason or other but I’ve never used wands before. It was only here that I found everyone clutching to twigs.” Mord snorted, looking relatively at ease as Merlin grinned at him. “But anyway, I think the way I do magic is easier, at least for me, because it just… happens.”

“It’s instinctive?”

“That,” said Merlin, “and I don’t personally use spells, I just sort of… think and it happens, but the spells are easy enough and it’s also not like you’ll be relying on a wand, which your enemy could just steal to neutralise you. Did these wizards not consider that?” he asked with a genuinely perplexed expression. Mord and Gana just shrugged and Merlin shook himself. “Anyway, I thought we’d start off with an easy spell.”

He hopped off the desk and looked around. “Um, I think it’d be better if you sit so you can focus completely on the magic.” Mord took the middle table, pulling up two chairs so that Gana could take a seat too.

“Right,” said Merlin as he held out a hand with his palm facing up. “So this is just a small fire spell and I’ll demonstrate first. Forbærne.” 

Two things happened. Firstly, a small flame flickered into existence and danced in his palm which Gana had expected but as she looked up, she found Merlin’s eyes were no longer blue. They were gold. She stared at him, shocked. 

When Gana had discovered her eyes could glow, it had changed her. At first, she loved the new skill and how freeing it was to bring to live what her mind dreamt up but soon, she couldn’t tell imaginations from reality. The pictures morphed from innocent flowers, butterflies and her family to white dragons, crowns and blood. They seemed familiar though she was certain she had never seen them before. And then Lady Morgause found her.

It was the first and last time Gana had been punished. A week without food nor water left her weak and in pain but it couldn’t compare to her confusion and fear: what had she done to deserve this? When Lady Morgause could bear to look at her again, she had simply made her promise never to let anyone find out. 

Gana had tried to get answers from her. She argued and refused but instead of an explanation, Lady Morgause began crying. Deciding it wasn’t worth it, Gana agreed quickly and they never spoke of the incident again. She struggled to never think about it again and sometimes, Gana found herself slipping and letting the gold return. It was never something she wanted.

And yet here was Merlin practically encouraging them to do so! She wanted to ask him what it all meant but she knew he couldn’t have the answers. Lady Morgause’s reaction seemed to indicate of some deep personal memory. She pushed those thoughts out of her mind and focused on the conservation in front of her. 

“Your eyes!” breathed Mord. “Will my eyes glow too?” Merlin nodded with a smile at his enthusiasm.

“Didn’t the Druids teach you this?” asked Gana curiously. When she attended a few Druid gatherings, she had noticed that the Elders lacked wands, relying on staffs to cast spells and their eyes would glow too. It was why she hadn’t been too surprised to find herself with golden eyes. After all, her mother had been a very skilled Druid.

Mord looked away and Gana regretted her question. Before she could apologise, he morosely said, “I wasn’t allowed to learn.” Gana hugged him tightly though she couldn’t believe how wrong her initial impression of the Druids being kind-hearted individuals was.

“Druids always suck,” offered Merlin. Mord nodded and he returned to his usual self as he held out his palm, ready to cast the spell. Gana copied his position and grinned in excitement. “When you say ‘forbærne’, make sure to picture a small flame.”

At his nod, Mord and Gana tried the spell and… nothing happened. But Gana hadn’t expected immediate results and was quite encouraged by the prickling she felt in her hand. She kept pushing, picturing the flame dancing as clearly as possible.

Next to her, Mord was struggling. Merlin drew up a chair next to him and corrected his pronunciation but there was no change. Gana watched out of the corner of her eye and felt sympathetic as he grew more frustrated by the lack of results. To make matters worse, she finally managed to produce a small flicker which disappeared in a fraction of a second. Still, it was progress and Merlin came onto her side to congratulate her.

“If you keep practising, you can make it bigger and last longer too.” Gana nodded and got to work immediately. Mord looked happy for her as well before he returned to his palm with renewed vigour. His efforts paid off when he gasped.

“I felt something!”

“That is a strong start,” acknowledged Merlin and it was enough for Mord to beam proudly. He cleared his throat as if to add more but was interrupted by the curfew bell. They jumped in unison, unable to believe 2 hours had passed already. “It’s probably best we stop now though,” said Merlin, “because you don’t want to overexert your magic.”

“Or get caught by Filch,” added Gana.

“Can we do this again?” asked Mord hopefully and he was answered by two immediate nods.

“Next week,” promised Merlin. “We can practise lighting candles and, if there’s time, I’ll teach you a new spell.”

///

Gwen

Gwen took one look at Merlin and broke down. She couldn’t hold it in any more and began sobbing, fully aware that everyone else was probably staring at her. She felt a tight hug engulf her and was distantly aware of being led out of the Great Hall but Gwen couldn’t bring herself to look up.

She burrowed further into Merlin’s arms and kept crying, wishing she could stop and absolutely mortified of how she just descended into hysterics. Merlin felt like home though for some inexplicable reason and the fact he just kept his arms around her made it all the more comfortable to stay with her head resting on Merlin’s chest.

Eventually, Gwen pulled away and wiped her face, embarrassed to find Merlin’s sweater damp. “I’m so sorry,” she said with a hiccough but was promptly shushed.

“Okay, here’s what’s going to happen,” decided Merlin, “we’re going to get some food from the kitchens and then we’re going to have a picnic outside where you’re going to tell me what’s wrong, okay?” Gwen nodded slowly, still taking a few deep breaths to calm down.

They did exactly that with almost everything going to plan. There were a few surprises, such as Merlin receiving quite a strange welcome from the house elves in the kitchens. The creatures took one look at him and bowed, low enough for their noses to graze the immaculate kitchen tiles.

Gwen turned to Merlin, shocked but he looked equally stunned at the display. “The Great Lord Merlin is coming back to visits us! Your Lordness, we is thanking you for your much kindness!” said a high-pitched voice in the crowd. They straightened and one of them, with a star on its robes, sent the others back to their work. It bowed yet again and gazed at Merlin with pure adoration. “How is we able to help, Your Lordness?”

Merlin exchanged a questioning look with Gwen, having frozen at the address. She laid a comforting hand on his shoulder and took over, asking politely for a few sandwiches and scones. The elf bowed and left, reappearing almost instantly with a basket filled with all kinds of delicacies.

“I… I’ve so many questions,” managed Merlin finally once they made their way to the entrance hall. The doors were closed but upon their arrival, they opened to reveal a raging storm outside. Gwen sighed heavily — even the weather felt down. She glanced morosely at the picnic and once again wondered if she should have just slept off her bad mood. 

She felt a hesitant squeeze on her arm to find a determined-looking Merlin. He was staring at the sky and Gwen could have sworn his eyes were pure gold as he somehow forced the pouring clouds in the sky to part away, revealing blue skies. Though she had often heard of his insane power, this was the first time she could witness the magic herself.

It was amazing.

Once Merlin was satisfied, he ran out and set their chequered picnic blanket under a tree. As soon as Gwen took her seat, he pounced. “What was that all about?” he asked in a soft tone.

Gwen broke. She told him of the fifth-year Hufflepuff who had recently taken it upon himself to make her living hell. Gwen had ignored his taunts but the boy didn’t appreciate the lack of attention and began physically intimidating her. She had naturally sought help but her House found it hard to believe the boy who appeared kind and loving to everyone else could cause such problems. The teachers were no help either, maintaining the firm opinion that Hufflepuff students could do no wrong.

She hated mealtimes and going back to the common-room, tired of having to put up with him but after he cornered her after she came out of her dorm-room, Gwen was now terrified. She told all of this to Merlin, who listened without interruption and when she stopped, he pulled her into another tight hug.

“Thank you for telling me,” said Merlin simply. He conjured a handkerchief and offered it along with a glass of water and Gwen accepted both after a few deep breaths. “What’s his name?”

Gwen eyed Merlin warily. She had been hesitant to tell her friends for that very reason. None of them were ones to be forgiving and they loved her too much to let something like this go. Gwen was immensely grateful, of course, but she had wanted to handle this by herself if only to prevent her friends from getting in trouble. 

Merlin met her gaze as he bit into a scone. “Merlin…” she began, her eyes narrowed. 

“If you think I’m not going to do anything after you came running to me in tears, I’m afraid you don’t know me at all, Gwen.”

She couldn’t help the wide smile on her face at his words but still she refused. “I want someone to listen to my problems, Merlin. Someone to give me the strength to fight my dragons by myself.”

“But I want to ki—”

“No,” cut Gwen, helping herself to a sandwich. “I appreciate your protectiveness but I want to deal with this myself. I just need some encouraging. That’s why I couldn’t go to Gana either — she wouldn’t see reason and hunt him down. I want you to be different, Merlin.”

Merlin didn’t look like he fully agreed but he nodded. “Very well. How about I give you ideas and you tell me if you like them or not? I was thinking scorpions in his bedsheets.”

Gwen snorted at Merlin’s overly innocent expression, feeling lighter than she had all week. She had made the right decision coming to Merlin.

///

Hermione

Hermione balled up the note and set fire to it, rolling her eyes at Nott’s insistence for such drastic security measures. They were simply meeting to research Merlin, not to overthrow the government!

The note informed her that Nott ‘had the goods’ and ‘despite his wishes’, needs to meet with her ‘at the earliest convenience’. It was awfully formal but she penned back a missive to say Sunday after dinner was fine with her and now waited patiently until the time came for her to see the journals.

Though Hermione disliked warded books and how they were restricted to majority of the population, she was interested in the mechanism. Not that she would ever require such privacy measures but Hermione felt it wouldn’t hurt to learn how to ward. But first on her list was a space maximising charm because her poor school bag couldn’t take any more of the abuse it faced daily. 

By dinnertime, Hermione had made good progress with the charm and now her pencil case could comfortably hold several feet worth of parchment. It wasn’t completely undetectable despite what her book said and so Hermione decided to refine her technique slightly before applying it to her bag. This would have to wait, though.

Harry and Ron were already piling their plates with steak, potatoes and Yorkshire pudding, avoiding the vegetables as though they were cursed. Hermione watched with amusement bordering on exasperation as George playfully threatened to put carrots on their plates. 

They scarfed their food down but she made to leave early, pretending to have homework for tomorrow. For a second, Ron looked unconvinced. “Hermione, you always do your work at least a week before it’s due,” he stated accusatory.

Hermione blinked. When had he become so observant? Yes, she made it a rule to finish work in advance and use the spare time to do extra reading. Even with her tight timetable this year, Hermione was proud to say she was 3 days ahead of schedule. So Ron wasn’t wrong. But she couldn’t tell him the truth.

“I, uh, Professor McGonagall set me extra work,” she lied feebly. Ron wasn’t happy even now but Harry distracted him with desert. Hermione didn’t wait a second longer and sprinted to the library.

“You’re late, Granger,” came a snooty voice and she resisted the urge to sigh. Nott had pushed two tables together and atop were journals neatly organised into two rows. It seemed he had pulled out all stops after their last meeting to source these. 

Hermione’s eyes widened at the sight and it took all of her effort not to immediately pounce on the nearest one. Nott noticed her expression and snorted. “Well watching your mouth drop open was certainly enough to warrant the questions I faced from the house-elves.”

She shook herself and drew up a chair. “Have you read any?” asked Hermione, looking up at him. He shook his head.

“Unlike the others, these are warded.” Nott took a seat too and touched the tip of his finger to a journal. The demonstration ended with a pin-prick wound developing, which he showed her with a blank expression.

Hermione nodded. “So we’ll have to break through them,” she said. Without thinking, she tapped her wand against his finger.

“Granger!” Nott leapt away from her touch, anger evident. He glared at her and though Hermione berated herself internally for not asking him (she was used to healing Ron and Harry’s simple bruises without comment), Hermione couldn’t understand why he was so mad. 

“What!” she asked loudly, belatedly remembering they were in the library and Madam Pince wasn’t too far. In a quieter tone, Hermione carried on. “I just healed the wound!”

Nott didn’t care for her explanation. He looked her straight in the eyes as he said clearly, “Don’t ever use magic on me again.” Hermione would have argued, called him ungrateful and insisted that she was just trying to help, but something flickered in his green eyes. 

It reminded her of Harry in first year. When he accidentally tugged at her homework too sharply, resulting in a tear. The fear in his eyes as he apologised profusely was a sight Hermione could never forget.

And now Nott, of all people, looked back at her with the same wariness. As though he had expected something else from her. She didn’t know what caused him to react like that but Hermione pushed away her own feelings and agreed easily.

A short silence followed as the two maintained their focus on the books in front of them. Hermione eventually grew tired of how much time they were wasting and crossed her arms. “We’ll have to work together to break the wards,” she stated. It was a test, really. Would Nott still work with her or had their unlikely relationship ended?

“Yes,” he acknowledged stiffly. “I suppose you know a few spells?”

Hermione did not. But she did have a book. “I do. If we meet after dinner, we can work through them.”

And so they did. Hermione brought her curse-breaking book with her — an old copy of Bill Weasley’s, offered after she told Molly of her interest in reversing spells — and Nott brought the journals. Together, they made significant progress and within 4 days, they had successfully opened 3 of the 8.

Agreeing to work through the others later, they each took a book to read through, leaving one for whoever finished first. A competition, in other words. Hermione’s journal had relatively little content pertaining to their request but Cantankerus was passionate in his description about French wizarding culture, which she read with interest. It was awfully snooty, just like the Nott who sat in front of her, but Hermione tried her best to ignore it. Needless to say, she wasn’t going to be finishing first.

Despite this, Nott somehow finished his book in less than a minute. Hermione raised an eyebrow but Nott was unbothered. “That was fast,” she said when it became clear she would have to press him for an explanation.

“Yes.” Hermione was going to snap his neck.

“How did you finish so quickly?”

Nott smirked and she felt her blood pressure spike. “Grandfather took his liberties — dedicated a whole book to the Druids.” He pushed the book in question away but Hermione stopped him.

“A whole book?” Nott nodded, looking unbothered. “Then it’s probably important. You should read it!”

“Granger,” he started, his tone dripping with condescension, “Cantankerus didn’t write this like a textbook — not everything is relevant.”

“I think we should read it.” Hermione refused to budge, convinced she was onto something. A whole journal was suspicious and though she didn’t know Cantankerus too well, she could tell he regarded those with traditional magic as better than all others — he was Slytherin, after all. And the Druids specialised in using their nature to their advantage, favouring it over their wand at times, so why would Cantankerus take so much interest in them? Unless if it was linked to the Emryses somehow.

So her reasoning made perfect sense. Nott could see it to as he finally gave in and picked up the book again. “I’m telling you now we’re just wasting our time.” Except that wasn’t true as the next evening, Nott sighed. “You were right,” he said with great difficulty. “There’s a prophecy.”

“What?” Hermione heard him the first time but she pretended to have missed it, too involved with the wards of the fourth and fifth book. It wasn’t everyday you heard Slytherins admit they were wrong.

“You heard me,” snapped Nott. “Apparently the Druids had a prophecy on Emrys. He ran out of space before he could write about it.”

Hermione’s eyes flashed with excitement, completely forgetting to be smug. “That’s perfect! The third journal must have it then.”

“Always with the obvious statements,” he sighed but it lacked his usual bite as he too quickly skimmed through the next book. Hermione went back to the wards and didn’t take much longer to break through the fourth one’s defences.

As she turned her attentions to the last few, she was distracted by Nott’s surprised sound of disgust. “Cantankerus going on about Celtic wizards — there’s nothing about the Druids!”

Hermione abandoned her work and plucked the book from him, flicking through the pages quickly. There was no mention about any prophecy, just as he said. “How, what? But—”

“We’re missing a book,” concluded Nott. He lined up the books, spelling the warded ones to their place. When put together, Hermione noticed a very small drawing at the base of each spine, linking the books. She slotted the book in her hands to its place but there was an obvious gap. “There aren’t eight—”

“There are nine,” finished Hermione. “Did you not find another one?”

“Oh, no Granger! I purposefully left it behind,” said Nott sarcastically. She held back the urge to respond, knowing that was what he wanted, and Hermione simply ignored him. “I’ll look for it,” he added quietly. 

“And I’ll read this one then,” she said gesturing to the book that had disappointed them.

///

Merlin

Merlin found himself sitting with the Slytherins more often. And yes, Draco was also a Slytherin but he wasn’t like Theo and the others. They were… different. 

First off, in public, they hardly interacted with each other. Pansy and Daphne kept to each other, sometimes engaging with the other Slytherin girls Merlin had yet to learn the names of. They wouldn’t even accidentally acknowledge Blaise, Merlin or Theo. Merlin wasn’t allowed to attract their attention at meal times nor try and sit next to them in lessons.

Despite this, once in the common-room, the four of them were inseparable and they dragged Merlin along with them. Pansy would happily show off whatever gifts her mother sent her whilst Blaise and Daphne talked. Theo would be buried in some old book but he still sat with them. Merlin did not understand their dynamic.

So one day, when they all decided to play cards again in their private nook, Merlin seized the opportunity to ask his questions. “Really?” asked Pansy, looking surprised. “You seriously didn’t figure it out?”

Daphne rolled her eyes at her tone and answered him as she served the cards. “You should never show your true loyalty to your enemies.”

“Enemies?”

“Gryffindors,” supplied Blaise. “You don’t want them finding out who to target if they really want to get to you.”

“But then they’ll see use together,” said Merlin, gesturing to himself, Blaise and an amused Theo. “How does that make sense?”

“Because Gryffindors aren’t the real enemy,” said Theo finally when he wasn’t getting a response. “Forget this, Daphne. We need to teach Emrys the Slytherin way first.”

“Hold it!” said Pansy, throwing a hand out to stop Daphne from packing up. “Who are you and what have you done with Theo? A few weeks ago you refused to even entertain that thought and now you’re here giving Emrys a crash course?”

Theo grinned brightly, reminding Merlin oddly of Harry with his bright green eyes and suddenly innocent face. The openness disappeared quickly though, returning back to his sly expression. “Because I’m starting to understand just how important he’s going to be.”

Pansy’s eyes glittered as she turned her hungry graze to Merlin. “So it’s true then?”

She received neither confirmation nor denial but somehow she was satisfied, letting Daphne tidy up. “Right,” said Blaise once they were done. “Where do we start then? It’s not like Emrys is thirteen years behind or anything.”

Merlin pursed his lips, slightly offended. The more he listened to their conversations, the more he was reminded of Arthur’s court. Or, to be precise, Uther’s court. Arthur hadn’t seen the need for secrecy, replacing most of his advisors with those he could actually trust, but Uther hadn’t ruled like that.

“You don’t want your own house to see where your true alliances are,” he said quietly, taking everyone by surprise. Everyone except Theo. “That’s why Pansy won’t be seen with Theo nor Blaise and Daphne.” Merlin wasn’t too sure of what their specific interfamilial relationship was but he knew he had hit the nail on the head when the three of them froze.

“Draco outranks all of you, doesn’t he? Anything he does, you all follow. Or, you’re supposed to, but you four don’t agree so that’s why you all meet up in secret. So that Draco doesn’t find out. He’s the enemy.”

Merlin’s observations were rewarded by another sly grin from Theo. “Guess we’re not working with a complete beginner then.”

“I can’t believe he’s actually got working eyes,” said Pansy with a snort, recovering from her state of shock. “Something Draco’s yet to realise.”

“It’s those Gryffindors,” said Blaise, clutching his heart dramatically as Daphne giggled, “they’re changing him.”

“So how is Draco above all of you?” asked Merlin. He hadn’t considered the possibility before but after constantly hanging out with the Slytherins, Merlin wondered if they were nobility. It would explain why Draco lived in a castle — despite his insistence that it was just a manor. Was Slytherin the house for children of aristocracy? Then what was he doing there? “Is he a duke?”

“A what?” asked Blaise before shaking his head. “No, Draco’s an idiot. His father, on the other hand, is a crafty bast—”

Daphne loudly cleared her throat to drown out the tail end of Blaise’s sentence but the wink he sent explained enough. “Have you heard of the Dark Lord?” she asked, her voice hushed as though she was concerned of being overheard in the private corner of the common room. 

Merlin shook his head. It was similar to how some of the townspeople referred to Morgana as the Dark Lady but the Dark Lord was new. 

“Salazar he really has been under a rock,” muttered Pansy.

“The Dark Lord isn’t your concern right now,” said Theo, shutting down the explanation he was going to get. “He won’t want anything to do with you — or us, for that matter — unless you actually start acting like a Slytherin.”

“And how do I do that?” asked Merlin, tired of being told of his inadequacies. It was just like Camelot again, where he was given multiple responsibilities and yet no guidance whatsoever. “I’m hopeless! You’ve all been taught this stuff and—”

“And they teach you.” He looked up to find them staring at the portrait which hung at the back of the nook. An old man grinned mischievously back at them. He hobbled to the front of his frame, relying heavily on the curved stick he had in one hand, and squinted at Merlin. “Just like I remember.” 

Theo eyed the portrait with suspicion as he turned back to Merlin. “It’s not hopeless, just follow our lead. Within a few months, you’ll have the respect you deserve.” His determined look convinced Merlin. 

“And when the Dark Lord comes, we’ll be in his favour,” added Pansy, smirking.

Chapter Text

Severus tried to mask the look of indifference on his face as he watched the Quidditch match. It was clear from the start that Gryffindor would beat Hufflepuff, what with Potter’s mere presence on the team, and he felt it an insult to have to referee.

But that was what Albus intended. Severus was indeed being punished. And it was thanks to Emrys, as always. For some reason, the boy had decided to exclusively surround himself with Slytherins and more specifically Nott and Parkinson. In theory, Severus should be thankful for the two of them — they had achieved what he had spent two years trying to facilitate either directly or through Draco: stop Merlin from embarrassing their house.

In reality, Severus was not pleased. Throughout November, Merlin grew quieter and more reserved (the picture of a Slytherin of his standing) and Albus was curious. It was never a good thing when Albus grew curious. His plans for Potter were concerning enough and Severus struggled to care for the boy so he was understandably worried to find Albus’ growing interest in Merlin.

Albus had tried to get him to discover the source of Merlin’s shift in his behaviour and Severus had tried on multiple occasions. He spoke to the boy, to Nott, to Parkinson — why, he’d even given Zabini detention once to get it out of him but they were all smart. They were, after all, Slytherins he thought with pride but it didn’t help how they played the fool quite convincingly.

And now he looked like the fool.

Severus really did dislike his job. If it weren’t for his circumstances, he’d often wondered how different his future would be. Then he promptly reminded himself that things would have never gone the way he dreamt of and that whether he liked it or not, this was his life. Watching buffoons struggle.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by the sudden darkness which had taken over the bleak winter morning. A cold breeze, colder than anything he had ever felt, wrapped around him and Severus looked around, his heart stopping as he took in the scene in front of him.

The game was still going despite the thundering rain but one player wasn’t up with the others. They plummeted down, their broom no longer in sight as it flew off into the woods. At the base of the stands stood the culprit — three hooded Dementors. They tracked the falling figure and began drawing back their hoods, ready to savour their meal.

Severus leapt to his feet, casting a Patronus charm without a second thought. It erupted from his wand and chased down the Dementors after briefly eyeing a nearby black dog with curiosity. In the meantime, a stretcher was conjured just in time for the falling player to land on, manned by Albus and he shot red sparks to end the match but it didn’t matter as the Hufflepuff seeker looked down in horror, one hand firmly around a struggling Snitch.

He started to follow Albus when his eye caught movement in the stands. “Professor!” yelled Parkinson and Severus tensed — he knew something had happened to Merlin.

As ever, he was not wrong. The boy was convulsing in his seat, his skin deathly pale and glimpses of gold light spilling from his fluttering eyelids. Severus froze at the sight, watching aghast as Merlin fell still suddenly, looking once more as he had after that three-headed dog had attacked. He urged himself to move, to pick up the boy but before he could react, he was pushed aside.

Draco took one look at Merlin and scooped him up, running back to the castle as fast as he could. Severus berated himself internally for his moment of hesitation, refusing to even consider why he had reacted so intensely, and set off to find Dumbledore. He needed answers now, damn Albus’ need for secrecy.

///

“I’m afraid I don’t have the answers you seek, Severus,” said Albus lightly, refusing to acknowledge his entrance with even a glance. Severus was ready to strangle him, his master plan be damned. Albus didn’t seem to recognise the look of cold-blooded murder on his face and instead focused his attentions on the small figurine in front of him. “But what you say is interesting.”

“You told me the Potter boy is like that because of what the Da— because of his past,” amended Severus after a minute pause. “You said that Emrys’ reaction was a one-off.”

“My dear Severus, you misquote me. I merely said it was likely a one-off.” Albus’ eyes twinkled as Severus took several deep breaths to calm his rising anger. “Though I wonder…”

“What?” Severus wasn’t proud of how he snapped but it was a lot better than grabbing Albus by his robes and shaking some sense into him, which was what he wanted to do.

Albus finally looked up and for a second, Severus thought he saw something that genuinely terrified him. The moment passed as Albus smiled kindly again, looking nothing more than the pleasant old man he liked to present himself as. “It is nothing to concern yourself over, Severus.”

Severus huffed but given how Albus returned to tinkering with his toys, he had effectively been dismissed. He swept out of the Headmaster’s office, making sure to let his cloak knock over a portrait as he left. Serve Albus right, he thought bitterly as he decided to go to the Hospital Wing.

Merlin lay unconscious in front of him and Severus simply sighed, wondering why the boy was such a mystery. Next to him was Potter and once again, he couldn’t help but question how the school’s two most problematic boys ended up as friends.

Potter was born to an attention seeker so it made sense for him to end up like this but what was Merlin’s past? Who was he? Severus could feel a headache developing from all these questions. He hoped, at least for the boy’s sake, that nothing too interesting would come of him.

Chapter Text

Harry wrenched his eyelids open, wondering why he felt so tired. The last he remembered was the Quidditch match but he couldn’t recall anything about how the game ended and how he’d won.

He blinked a few times to find Ron, Hermione, Gana and Gwen all gathered around his bedside. He looked around and… yes, he was in the Hospital Wing, again. Why was he surprised? Harry froze, his head whipping to the side to find Merlin unconscious on the next bed, with Malfoy towering over him. What had happened now?

“How are you feeling?” asked Gwen when she noticed he was awake. Harry just smiled, more curious about what happened with the match. Ron’s disappointed expression didn’t fill him with hope though.

“Diggory caught the snitch just as you fell, mate,” he said glumly. “Can’t even hate the guy because he wanted to have a rematch when he realised but…”

Harry sighed alongside him. It was a fair victory and yet it was the first they had lost since he started playing. Gana pulled him into a hug, patting his back. “It’s not your fault.”

“Oliver looked like he wanted to cry,” added Ron and Harry grimaced. He knew how important the match was to Oliver — he had grilled in techniques for the past month until the team begged for no more. “Heard he’s trying to drown himself in the showers but that was from Fred and George so—”

“It’s just Quidditch,” said Hermione in disbelief, “you can’t seriously be this upset over a game?”

“It’s not just Quidditch, Hermione!” Ron slumped onto the bed, holding his head in his hands. Harry could understand how he felt and it seemed Gana could too as she gave him a hug as well. From the side, Gwen and Hermione exchanged a look.

“Right, time to clear out,” came a voice and Madam Pomfrey appeared. She shooed them all out not unkindly but sternly followed Malfoy as he attempted to slip past her notice and stay behind. Harry grinned as she threatened to cuff his ear and lead him out.

That image would heal him perfectly.

The room was relatively silent for a while afterwards, with Merlin still peacefully sleeping next to him. Harry looked to his bedside, shuddering as he found his schoolwork staring back at him. Hermione’s doing, no doubt. Thankfully, Ron had managed to sneak in a book on Quidditch tactics so Harry flicked through that instead, making notes on techniques he wanted to try.

“Harry?” Professor Lupin greeted him, a brown paper bag in one hand. He flicked his wand and a chair appeared by Harry’s bedside and Harry put the book away. “I hope I’m not disturbing your… reading.” Lupin’s curious smile grew as he noticed the title. “That’s more what I’d expect as Ja—” He stopped himself abruptly, his expression changing. “How are you feeling?”

Harry shrugged. His limbs felt heavy and his throat raw, as though he had just screamed at the top of his lungs, but otherwise he felt well enough to leave. Lupin nodded along sympathetically. “Why do the Dementors keep targetting me?” finished Harry, unable to keep the frustration at bay any more. He was grateful Merlin was as affected as he was; otherwise, Harry would’ve gone insane.

“I may have an answer,” said Lupin after a pause. Instead of launching into explanation, he reached into his bag and pulled out two bottles filled with an amber liquid, topped with cream. “But first, I want to introduce you to Butterbeer. Did you know it’s a wizarding tradition to bring a sweet treat when visiting a sick person?”

He took a long sip and sighed with content. “I approve of this tradition.” For the first time since arriving, Lupin grinned widely.

“Well, it’s usually chocolates but I believe I’m right in thinking you’ve had your fill?”

“Why do chocolates work against Dementors?” asked Harry, taking another swig. He was torn between savouring the treat and finishing it in as few sips as possible.

Lupin considered his answer as he drank. “I wouldn’t say it works against them but they’re said to increase happy chemicals in your brain. I’m sure you can recall how you feel when the Dementors come close,” he said. Harry shuddered involuntarily and Lupin took pity on him. “They inhabit the foulest, darkest, filthiest places upon this earth and their very presence drains their surroundings of any happiness and hope. Even Muggles can feel them but they can’t see Dementors.”

“That’s terrifying,” commented Harry to which Lupin nodded gravely.

“Of course, Muggles can’t protect themselves against Dementors and so they are more successful in their mission there.” Harry looked quizzical but Lupin answered his unasked question. “Dementors feed on people — their joy, their pride, their dreams and their peace — until it can turn you into a version of itself. An empty shell of a person.”

Harry fought to contain his fear, hiding his face behind his bottle, but Lupin laid a comforting hand on his knee. “But this is not something you should constantly worry about. Very few wizards meet Dementors outside of Azkaban.”

“The prison? The one Sirius Black escaped from?” A flash of an indescribable emotion crossed Lupin’s face but it was quickly masked with a cool nod. Harry hesitated, wondering if he should ask the question that had been bothering him for the past few months.

“Before you ask, Harry, I’m afraid I am none the wiser as to how Black did it,” he said heavily, finishing his drink and taking Harry’s empty bottle.

“No, I just, why is Black after me?”

A moment of silence followed but Harry couldn’t bring himself to regret asking. He had received multiple warnings to stay away from him and then there was the Halloween party. What did Black want with him?

“Harry,” started Lupin before stopping. He paused for some time, looking conflicted. Eventually, he sighed. “Black was friends with your father.”

“What?” Harry’s mouth dropped open. Black… knew his father? His father was friends with a mass-murderer? These questions were replaced by a more pressing one. “Then why does he want to kill me?”

Lupin looked uncomfortable again. “Harry, I’m being fully honest with you, I do not know. I don’t know what happened to Black after he left and when he started…” He trailed off, a strange look in his eye. “I don’t know what went wrong.”

Harry sneezed and Lupin jumped, as though remembering he was still there. “But you need not worry about Black. He will be caught soon enough and you won’t have to see the Dementors again.” He said this firmly and Harry knew he wouldn’t talk further about Black.

He had thought answering his questions would help but all it served was to raise more. Still, Harry pushed it away for later and turned back to his main problem. “But isn’t there a way to attack Dementors? You did it on the train, didn’t you?”

“There are ways to protect yourself, yes,” nodded Lupin, sitting with ease again. “Certain defences to use if faced against one—”

“What defences?” said Harry at once. “Can you teach me?”

Lupin shook his head apologetically. “I don’t pretend to be an expert at fighting Dementors, Harry… quite the contrary in fact.”

“But if the Dementors come to another Quidditch match, I need to be able to fight them! Oliver’d kick me off the team if I faint again.”

Lupin looked into Harry’s determined face, hesitated, then said, “Very well. I can try to help but I must stress this is far beyond your level. You may find our lessons to be utterly useless.” Harry’s expression didn’t waver and he was rewarded with a smile. “Much like your mother,” said Lupin quietly before carrying on louder, “But next term. I fear the next few weeks will be quite eventful for me.”

Chapter Text

Merlin opened his eyes to darkness, with little candles dotted around to give some light. It was enough to tell him where he was and why was he surprised to find himself in the Hospital Wing? Of course something happened again. He chuckled to himself, picturing Gaius’ disappointment at his tendency to constantly end up in trouble.

Now that he thought of it, Draco was quite like Gaius in that manner. In fact, Draco even had Gaius’ white hair! Merlin snorted before remembering it was the middle of the night and he needed to be quiet. He stretched and looked around, feeling hungry.

Instead, he found something which distracted him completely. It was a sleeping Draco, curled up in a chair by his bedside. Merlin wanted to know how he had avoided Madam Pomfrey’s keen glare but more importantly, Merlin was moved by the gesture. Despite their recent argument, Draco was still looking out for him.

He swung his legs over the side of his bed to look at the sleeping boy closely. Was this concern all because Draco’s father wanted him to be friends with Merlin for power? Or was it genuine? Merlin wished Theo was here to help him understand the Pureblood customs because were Draco’s actions merely an act for the other Slytherins or did he truly care for Merlin?

At the same time, Merlin knew it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter what Draco’s upbringing was. It didn’t change his actions, which were clear as day that Merlin was important to Draco. In a way, it was like Arthur all over again. Arthur too had been taught by his father to hunt Druids but hadn’t he been the one to free Mordred?

That, he thought with a grimace, was a bad example.

But his point was true. If Arthur could look past his father’s teachings to become a great ruler, then why couldn’t Draco grow too? Why was he defined by what his father wanted of him? Theo was wrong, decided Merlin with a nod. Draco was a good friend.

The fact was that Merlin wasn’t a good friend. He winced as he recalled his recent behaviour — nothing like how he used to be in Camelot! He wouldn’t force children to promise upon their magic not to kill Arthur! What happened to him?

His memories. Undoubtedly, the single biggest change had been his memory loss. Merlin had too many questions and not enough answers. That was why he felt on edge all the time. That was why he was quick to jump to mistrust. And poor Mord and Draco were paying the price.

But there was a way to change that. There had been a way to change this for the past year. Merlin had been a coward though, pushing the idea away each time he wondered. Well, not any more. He jumped down from the bed and let his eyes flash in the dark night of the Hospital Wing. In mere seconds, Draco assumed his position on the bed, tucked under the rapidly cooling sheets whilst Merlin slipped out of the room altogether, his destination firmly in mind.

///

His journey wasn't without obstacles though. Many a time, Merlin pressed himself against the walls as he heard footsteps echo down the corridors and he relied on the discretion of the portraits to not give him away.

Most of them were helpful enough, pretending to be asleep as he snuck around, but one was determined to rat him out. It was the painting of a young boy who couldn't be any older than five.

Merlin had almost gotten away as he stayed still beneath the portrait, waiting for the footsteps to turn around the corner and leave. That was when the boy giggled and, in a very not-quiet way, said, "Are you hiding, Mister?"

"Sh! Yes."

"Why?" The boy flashed a toothy grin as Merlin scrambled to find an answer before he got more inquisitive. "Are you being naughty?"

"No…" Merlin was being the very opposite, in fact. Dumbledore had given him in an open invitation! Albeit that was probably valid during the day only.

Well, he had to try his luck. "I'm going to help a friend," he said and it wasn't strictly a lie. Merlin was doing this to be a better friend to Draco. And to Harry. And Hermione. And Ron.

"Whatever you say, Mister," laughed the boy before putting a finger on his lips and Merlin grinned at him in thanks. In the meantime, it seemed the footsteps had gone, replaced by a strange, breathing sound.

Merlin couldn't control his curiosity and hesitantly looked around to find a disturbing sight. It was none other than Ron's brother, Percy Weasley, eagerly devouring the face of the Head Girl.

///

Merlin hesitated at the door. It was just past midnight and it was a miracle he hadn’t run into anyone on the way there — Merlin refused to count Percy. Would Dumbledore be awake? The gargoyles downstairs assured him he would but somehow, Merlin didn’t really hold the gargoyles in high regard. He knew he should return at a more appropriate hour but he also knew that if he left now, he wouldn’t come back.

So Merlin squared his shoulders, took a deep breath and rapped loudly. He desperately wanted to turn on his heel and flee back to the Hospital Wing but his feet were rooted to the spot. Merlin could do nothing but wait.

And he waited. Though it felt like an eternity, the door opened mere moments later. At the desk was Dumbledore, looking wide awake as he perused the parchment in front of him. As Merlin walked in nervously, he beamed at him.

“Mr Emrys! I must admit, you are a welcome distraction,” greeted Dumbledore, gesturing to the empty seat in front of him and Merlin took another deep breath. There was no going back now. “These too need a break.” He cleared his desk and Merlin could have sworn he saw the text on the pages walk around but it wasn’t long before Dumbledore was back behind his table.

“What do I owe to this pleasure of your company at such a late hour?”

Merlin didn’t hesitate a second longer. “I want to get my memories back.”

Chapter Text

Dumbledore didn’t say anything for the next few minutes. Merlin began fidgeting in his seat, his hands furiously picking at the fabric of the desk as he internally screamed at himself. What was he thinking? That Dumbledore would just snap his fingers and Merlin would remember again?

Yes, admitted a voice inside him.

“I mean, it’s fine,” said Merlin quickly, though not quick enough in his opinion. “I just, I mean the Dementors were saying stuff— but, no, it’s not a problem. I’m sorry for wasting your time, Professor.”

He made to leave but Dumbledore finally looked him in the eye, a curious smile in place. Merlin stopped getting out of his chair and waited nervously. Would Dumbledore tell him off? Or politely let him down?

“That can be arranged,” he said lightly. Merlin blinked, certain he had misheard.

“I can get my memories back? How?” he added, unable to help the bright grin on his face. Finally he’d know why he was in this strange place! Finally he’d know when magic was legalised and when an entire school had been built!

Finally he’d know what happened to Arthur for the past 2 years.

“I’m afraid it is not as simple as me waving a wand and solving it,” smiled Dumbledore. “Though I have achieved many things in my long life, I have yet to uncover the secrets of the mind.”

“Then?”

Dumbledore looked taken aback by his eagerness and just for a second, Merlin thought he saw something cross his blue eyes. He didn’t pay much attention though; a decision he’d come to regret in years to come. But for now, Merlin was simply interested in getting his memories back.

“We will use the approach done many a time before. One as old as time, even. Why, your namesake is credited with its discovery.” Dumbledore kept talking as he flicked his wand, opening a cabinet to his right and allowing a shallow stone bowl to gently float out and land in front of them. Merlin observed the runes around the edges with curiosity, his Ancient Runes classes helping him identify the characters, before looking up again.

“The Great Merlin came up with it?”

Dumbledore smiled. “It is said that he defeated one of his foes through scrying. The Great Merlin then stored his memories for his students, should they need them.” He lightly tapped the side of the bowl and it filled with a shimmery white liquid. “Usually, a wizard uses this — a Pensieve — to look upon selected memories which he keeps in a vial.” Another tap and gold light flooded the bowl. “In my youth, I worked on this: a method to see memories lost to the sands of time.”

Merlin watched the liquid swirl around, mesmerised by the pattern. Dumbledore held out his hand, breaking Merlin’s concentration, and took Merlin’s left finger. “Are you ready, Mr Emrys, to see what you have forgotten?”

He stared into Dumbledore’s bright blue eyes and nodded. “I am.” Dumbledore’s smile grew and Merlin felt a sudden chill down his spine but he couldn’t back out now as Dumbledore dipped his finger into the liquid.

///

They landed gently and Dumbledore brushed invisible dirt from his robes. Merlin followed suit, finding his hands covered in a light shimmer. He looked up questioningly to Dumbledore.

“We are merely observing moments in your life. Spectators, or perhaps spectres, even.”

Merlin didn’t fully understand how the magic worked but decided to ask later. Instead, he tried to pay attention as a flurry of scenes passed before his eyes. He caught snippets of words and chose to focus on the pictures.

One moment it showed him and Arthur laughing together and the next it showed Lancelot’s still body. Merlin wasn’t allowed to process it though because the scenes shifted again, now showing Percival carrying Merlin’s limp body. The scene changed, now showing Mordred on his death bed and Merlin heard himself declaring magic had no place in Camelot to Arthur.

Though his confusion grew, it was replaced by shock and horror as the final scene played out: a battleground littered with dying bodies greeted them. As far as the eye could see, there were men crying for the sweet release of death. Still, it wasn’t this which had Merlin aghast.

No, he was more taken aback by the way Mordred sheathed his sword in Arthur in one swift motion.

Merlin let out a choked cry and he felt a hand wrap around his arm and a sharp tug before his legs gave out under him. What was that?! That couldn’t have been the memories he had lost! Arthur couldn’t have died!

A glass of water was pushed into his hands and he took a few shaky deep breaths before gulping it down. It was after a considerable amount of time that Dumbledore spoke, his voice soft as Merlin cried silently. “Merlin… I understand that was hard to witness. I would wish nothing more than to declare this unnecessary and that a simple mug of hot chocolate is all you need but I’m sure you agree with me—”

“This has to be done,” agreed Merlin numbly. “Are they… are they really my memories?”

Dumbledore nodded. “My boy, may I inquire as to what upsets you so greatly?”

“He died. After all I did, M-Mo… he killed him.”

“Who died, Merlin?” pressed Dumbledore.

“A-Arthur.” Saying the name filled Merlin with another wave of sadness and fresh tears rolled down his face. How had he let that happen!

“Arthur Pendragon?” Dumbledore’s tone was sharp but it wasn’t enough to draw Merlin away from his spiralling thoughts. “King Arthur Pendragon?”

He nodded glumly. “Is there any way to prevent that from happening?” he asked, a new idea forming. Maybe he could do something! Give up his own life for Arthur — what was his life worth next to Arthur's?

“No.” Merlin had expected this answer but he hadn’t prepared for it. He wiped his face and helped himself to some more water. “But,” started Dumbledore with a hastily hidden smile as Merlin looked up to meet his gaze, “you can stop history from repeating itself, my boy, if you should like.”

“How?”

“The lessons of the past can inform the actions of the present.” Dumbledore waved a hand and a light tune began playing from one of the many trinkets on his desk. Merlin found himself slowly being lulled to sleep and fought to keep his eyes open, if only to stop the inevitable nightmares that would plague him following what he had witnessed.

“I can stop Arthur from dying? How!”

“Not Arthur,” said Dumbledore. “But one so much like him. Tell me, why are you so drawn to Harry?” Merlin didn’t answer him immediately and so Dumbledore continued. “Perhaps somewhere within, you see the late King in him?”

“L-Late,” repeated Merlin as tears threatened to spill again.

“And it is clear to see you have failed one. Would you like Harry to suffer similarly? Place all his trust in you only for you to let him down as you did Arthur?”

Each word felt like a knife to Merlin and he didn’t even attempt to hold his sobs back as he shook his head desperately.

“But Arthur was not the only one you killed,” continued Dumbledore, still in his soft tone. “The knight…”

“Lancelot,” supplied Merlin, somehow allowing fresh tears to escape as he thought of his good friend. His good friend who had suffered a similar fate.

“Sir Lancelot’s death too, as well as all of your friends and family… why, Merlin, the fall of Camelot could be the consequences of your actions.”

Merlin wanted to beg for mercy, to hear no more of his wrong-doings, but he knew he deserved it. How dare he live so happily for the past 2 years whilst killing everyone he ever loved! And now, he was bound to do it again! Harry, Draco… all of them would die by his hand.

“Please! How do I save Harry?” managed Merlin between his sobs. “I can’t! Not again—”

“I will need you to trust me,” said Dumbledore simply, placing a hand on Merlin’s shaking frame. “We will look through more of your memories to see where you went wrong. You have nothing to fear with my guidance.” Merlin looked up into his bright, blue eyes and nodded immediately. “And I’ll need you to promise me. Promise me you’ll do anything to save Harry Potter.”

The sentence spilled from his tongue with ease. He couldn’t repeat his mistakes again.

“I promise.”

Chapter Text

Harry waved goodbye to Hermione and Ron with another forced smile. Despite his half-hearted attempts, it was hard to muster up the same enthusiasm for Hogsmeade given practically everyone third year and above was allowed to go. Not even the promise of bottled Butterbeer from Ron could raise Harry’s spirits.

What was worse was that he couldn’t even fly. Apparently the kerfuffle from the last Quidditch game had resulted in his broomstick flying into the Woods. Right into the Whomping Willow. Oliver had attempted to piece it together but after a risky test flight where Harry nearly broke his arm, he was forced to use the school brooms.

Flying in training was bad enough, with his slow, stuttering broom holding the team back. He hated using them when necessary: no way in hell was he going to fly on them as practise.

Hermione was the only one who saw any positive in this whole ordeal, chirpily claiming that Harry could use this extra time to, “catch up on your studies!”

Harry still shuddered as he remembered her words. He trudged back to the common-room, settling for watching the first and second years play Exploding Snap or Wizarding Chess. Perhaps if he died from boredom then McGonagall would realise her grave error of not allowing him to go to Hogsmeade.

Slightly cheered up this idea, he walked faster and collided roughly with none other than Fred and George, who looked like they had just heard Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup. “Well if it isn’t the devil!” said Fred, draping an arm around Harry’s shoulder.

“What?”

“We were just coming to find you,” clarified George, grabbing hold of Harry’s other shoulder. Together, the twins led him down multiple corridors, passing many paintings before stopping at a random statue of a humpbacked, one-eyed witch on the third-floor.

“What are you— why haven’t you guys gone to Hogsmeade?” asked Harry, looking around curiously.

“We’ve come to give you a bit of festive cheer before we go,” said Fred, with a widening grin. “Come in here.” He nodded toward an empty classroom to the left of the one-eyed statue.

Harry followed Fred and George inside, his curiosity rising. George closed the door quietly and then turned, beaming, to look at Harry. “Early Christmas present for you, Harry,” he said.

Fred pulled something from inside his cloak with a flourish and laid it on one of the desks. It was a large, square, very worn piece of parchment with nothing written on it. The two of them looked at it as though it was the Holy Grail, which Harry didn’t understand in the slightest.

Was it another one of their jokes?

“This, Harry, is the secret of our success,” said George, patting the parchment fondly. Harry was convinced he’d gone insane.

“It’s a wrench, giving it to you,” said Fred, “but we decided last night, your need’s greater than ours.”

“Anyway, we know it by heart,” said George. “We bequeath it to you. We don’t really need it any more.”

Harry blinked. “This tattered piece of parchment is your prized possession?”

“Tattered parchment!” said Fred, closing his eyes with a grimace as though Harry had mortally offended him. “You’re lucky we like you more than Ronniekins. Explain, George.”

“It was a bright sunny day in our first year and we simply thought the day required some more oomph—”

“So we set off a few firework to bring the excitement we all so desperately needed—”

“But Filch caught us—”

“Party pooper—”

“And, as he rattled off on all the things he wanted to do to us—”

“The usual being detention and the new being disembowlment—”

“We saw a drawer which caught our eye. One labelled ‘Confiscated, Highly Dangerous and Downright Illegal,’” finished George. Harry’s smile grew as he understood where they were going.

“Let me guess, you helped yourselves?”

“It was calling to us, Harry!” sighed Fred mock-dramatically. “Begging to be explored. So George set off another firework—”

“Always carry one in case of emergencies—”

“And I grabbed this.” They gestured grandly back to the torn parchment and frankly Harry wondered if it was worth the struggle. “We saved it from a lifetime of living with Filch. We don’t think he ever figured out how to use it.”

“But he definitely knew of its powers,” added George. “Probably spent many nights trying to work it.” Fred and George sniggered.

“And you know how to use it?”

“Oh yes,” said Fred, smirking. “This little beauty’s taught us more than all the teachers in this school.”

“No way in hell,” said Harry, looking at the ragged old bit of parchment. “You’re having me on!”

“Oh, are we?” said George. He took out his wand, touched the parchment lightly, and said, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

Harry watched in awe as at once, thin ink lines began to spread like a spider’s web from the point that George’s wand had touched. They joined each other, they crossed and fanned into every corner of the parchment. Then words began to blossom across the top in great, curly green script, that proclaimed:

Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs

Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers are proud to present

THE MARAUDER’S MAP

It was a map showing every detail of the Hogwarts castle and grounds. But the truly remarkable thing were the tiny ink dots moving around it! Each was labelled with a name in minuscule writing, following the little dots as they moved around.

Astounded, Harry bent over it. A labelled dot in the top left corner showed that Professor Dumbledore was pacing his study; the caretaker’s cat, Mrs. Norris, was prowling the second floor; and Peeves the Poltergeist was currently bouncing around the trophy room with Filch hot on his tail.

That wasn’t all though. This map showed a set of passages he had never entered, tucked away in corridors he often walked past.

And many of them seemed to lead— “Right into Hogsmeade,” said Fred, tracing one of them with his finger. “There are seven in all. Now, Filch knows about these four” — he pointed them out— “but we’re sure we’re the only ones who know about these.”

“Don’t bother with the one behind the mirror on the fourth floor,” chimed George. “We used it until last winter, but it’s caved in — completely blocked. And we don’t reckon anyone’s ever used this one, because the Whomping Willow’s planted right over the entrance.”

“But this one here, this one leads right into the cellar of Honeydukes. We’ve used it loads of times. And as you might’ve noticed, the entrance is right outside this room, through that one-eyed old crone’s hump.” The twins looked at Harry proudly as he struggled to express his astonishment.

“These guys… Moony, Padfoot, Prongs, Wormtail — they were students?” he asked to which Fred and George nodded.

“We owe it all to them. Helping the next generation of mischief-makers with their crucial invention.”

“And we’re passing it on,” said George. “Now, most importantly, once you’re done with it, you must wipe it clean.”

“Otherwise anyone can read it!”

“Just tap it again and say, ‘Mischief managed!’ And it’ll go blank.”

“So, young Harry,” said Fred, in an uncanny impersonation of Percy, “mind you behave yourself.”

“See you in Honeydukes,” said George, winking.

They left the room, both smirking in satisfaction as Harry’s mind raced with possibilities. Looks like he wasn’t going to be dying of boredom then.

///

“Bloody hell, you’ve learned to Apparate!” yelled Ron as Harry appeared behind him. Harry filled him in on the Marauder’s map and Ron instantly scowled. “I’m their brother! I should be the one to get it,” he said, his tone dropping to a whisper as several other shop-goers turned to stare in the bustling store.

“They knew I’d share,” lied Harry and Ron looked slightly appeased. “Where’s Hermione?”

“Oh she turned back almost immediately after we left. Said she’s got tons of work.” Ron dragged him over to the barrels by the far corner and Harry dumped a handful of each sweet into his bag. “I told her that’s why they give Christmas holidays but you know Hermione.”

Harry nodded before scooping a few shelves clean. Next to him, a fifth year glared at him but he couldn’t bring himself to care — Honeydukes was like a dream come true. “Her loss,” he decided and the two of them went to pay, with Harry grinning as he passed Fred and George.

“Fancy seeing you here, Harry.”

Ron gave him a whistle-stop tour of Hogsmeade, pointing out sights like Shrieking Shack; “they say it’s haunted and that’s good enough for me,” the Post Office; “tell me why Hermione wanted to go look at post being delivered?” and Zonko’s Joke Shop; “that crowd… we’ll get trampled, mate.”

“What about there?” pointed Harry, gesturing to a lively pub and Ron brightened.

“Three Broomsticks, yeah! We’ll get you Butterbeer in a proper tankard”

A few moments later, the two of them were in a booth with two empty glasses in front of them. Harry sat back with a satisfied smile. This was what McGonagall was denying him of. His haze meant he didn’t realise who approached them until Malfoy sat beside them with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, Potter, managed to sneak past Filch?”

“Something like that,” said Ron before Harry could answer him before shaking his head at Harry. “Where’s Merlin?”

“As if I’d know,” said Malfoy with a shrug. “Probably off somewhere sucking Nott’s—”

“Oh hello,” came a cheery voice and Gwen appeared, “I didn’t know you were coming here too! We’re sitting over there,” she added, gesturing to a far corner where Gana waved. “Merlin’s getting drinks and I thought I should come say hi.” With that, Gwen left but not before leaving Malfoy a disapproving look, which didn’t go unnoticed by the others.

Almost immediately, Ron turned to Malfoy eagerly. “What’s that about then?”

“Nothing.”

“Didn’t look like nothing to me.” Harry joined in, grinning with Ron as Malfoy scowled.

“None of your business. If I were you, I’d be more concerned with Granger.” Malfoy took a long sip from his Butterbeer and smirked as Ron glared at him. “I’m just saying…”

“What do you mean, Malfoy?” asked Harry, urging Ron to calm down. “What do you mean about Hermione?”

“You seriously haven’t noticed how much time she spends in the Library?”

Ron scoffed. “What’s new about that? I’d be worried if Hermione wasn’t going to the Library!”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “And what about how much time she’s spending with Nott?”

Harry and Ron shared a look before shaking their heads. “Hermione? With Nott? You’re going blind, Malfoy.”

That resulted in him leaving at once and Harry and Ron continued enjoying their day, sniggering as they randomly recalled Malfoy’s ridiculous statement.

Chapter Text

Draco crumpled up the elegant invitation, seething. Apparently his mother deigned thirteen year olds were old enough to invite to her Yuletide Ball in the break. And that meant he would be required to dance.

Dance!

Draco despised dancing. Of all the useless lessons he had had with his governess, waltzing was the worst, closely followed by etiquette. Though after seeing how Weasley and Potter attacked the food during dinnertime, he was grateful for those classes.

He looked around the Slytherin table and sighed as he recognised the dark green envelopes in almost everyone’s hands, those without too young to attend. Still, they were just as excited and the table erupted in enthusiastic discussion on what they would be wearing.

Seeing as Draco would be in the family colours, he saw no need to participate in the trivial discussions and instead turned his attentions to Merlin. He too had an invitation in front of him as he smiled to Theo and Blaise, who sat either side of him.

Something about Merlin looked different. Draco couldn’t quite put his finger on it but he decided it was a mixture of the way he carried himself and his face expression. Gone was Merlin’s inability to act like a normal, functioning member of polite society as he asked for the bowl of roast potatoes to be passed to him.

Draco shuddered as he recalled how Merlin had lunged across several seats to grab a chocolate pudding last year. Yes, it was a year ago but the memory was ingrained into his skull. And while Merlin looked like those days were past him, Draco was justly worried.

What if Merlin made a scene at the Yuletide Ball?

His last appearance at the Manor had been unremarkable in comparison with Potter’s but Draco knew his parents weren’t all too pleased with him. They hadn’t completely accepted that Merlin had really lost his memories and given how his demeanour had changed drastically, Draco couldn’t fault them.

But he knew why Merlin was still invited. It was all part of the image they had to maintain as Malfoys. Salazar knew how many people would talk if it came out that the Lord Emrys was slighted by the Malfoys. Even if that Lord Emrys is completely, utterly a Hufflepuff.

Draco sighed. He knew how unsuitable Merlin was as a Slytherin and still chose to keep his company but no. The fool wanted to spend his time with those who didn’t even really like him. Draco was sure Theo just wanted to piss him off (and he was ashamed to admit it had worked) but then he saw the shift in Merlin’s behaviour.

If he had to pinpoint a moment, it seemed Merlin really changed after that Quidditch match with the Dementors. At least before, even though he chose to sit with Nott and Zabini, Draco still caught Merlin staring at him. But now… Merlin refused to acknowledge him, instead turning pale and immediately walking away any time they ended up next to each other.

Draco tried not to take it personally.

Despite what their status was like in school, he was well aware of the responsibility on his shoulders. Many prominent purebloods would be at his mother’s ball and they would all expect him to be almost inseparable with Merlin. And for that, he needed Merlin to stop regarding him as a ghost.

///

The week passed and Draco was no closer to his goal. That was not to say he hadn’t tried his level best. There hadn’t been a single lesson in which Draco hadn’t attempted to sit next to him nor a single dinner time in which Draco hadn’t attempted to engage him in conversation. Why, Draco even went as far as locking himself in a cupboard with Merlin.

He had no idea why there were now hushed whispers following him around the school and why Snape keeps refusing to meet his gaze.

It hadn’t even worked because of course the idiot somehow banged his head on the door and fainted within seconds, leaving Draco back at square one. But it was too late to try anything now and he sat alone in the carriage, knowing Merlin was in the next, laughing along with Nott, Zabini, Parkinson and Greengrass.

He hated it. Merlin was his! He was the one who had stuck by his side for the past two years, helping him with spells, with essays, with basic human functions like wearing matching socks! But none of that meant anything clearly.

Draco couldn’t being himself to hate Merlin though. He was, instead, proud. Merlin was finally acting like the Slytherin he wanted him to be. If only he could acknowledge Draco as well…

///

“Draco?”

He turned and his mother’s critical eye swept down him and Draco tensed. He thought he looked fine in his deep green robes, but a single look from his mother could go as far as resulting in an impromptu shopping trip. He prayed it wouldn’t come to that and his prayers were answered as she nodded sharply.

“Your father wanted me to give you these,” she said, offering silver cufflinks. Draco fastened them around his wrists, keeping his thoughts private because his mother didn’t need to hear that he disliked the shape of them but couldn’t help the grimace on his face. Something his mother picked up on. “It is important to not carelessly throw them aside.”

“I’m aware, Mother.”

“Regardless of how useless they may seem,” continued Narcissa pointedly, “because there will always be snakes waiting in the wings to slither in. To claim what should rightfully be yours.” Draco nodded silently. She wasn’t talking about the cufflinks any more.

He used to write to his mother of how annoying it was to shepherd Merlin around like his keeper and now it seemed she misunderstood the situation. He hadn’t abandoned Merlin. No, Merlin was snatched away.

Well, Draco wasn’t going to correct her. All that would do is result in a lecture of how he should be closer to Nott and Parkinson because they were ‘respectable’. Instead, Draco was going to reclaim his property.

And he knew exactly what he was going to do. Deal with the thieves themselves instead of the stolen property.

///

Draco waited the entire night to strike. He made sure to dance as required, though he strictly limited it to one, and for the rest of the evening, Draco tailed Merlin, who couldn’t be separated from Nott no matter what. The two were engaged in some private conversation and absolutely ignorant of the multiple girls who tried to secure a dance and eventually left, annoyed.

His chance at conversation came thanks to Nott and Merlin accidentally ending up next to none other than Draco’s father, who pounced on them. All Draco had to do was stand by his father’s side and wait.

“It is relieving to see the younger generation taking an active role. All too often these days, an increasing number of purebloods are trying to deny their roots and play pretend with… others we shouldn’t mention in polite company,” said Lucius.

“Of course sir,” said Nott immediately, smiling widely at Draco. He refused to cower though — yes, he was spending more and more time with Potter and his lot but he knew of Nott’s secret meetings with Granger.

Nott was rewarded with a small smile from Lucius before he turned to Merlin. Draco watched him closely, wondering if he would react the same way to his father’s interrogation as he did the year before. It was, it seemed to him, proof that Merlin hadn’t changed completely.

“And you? Have you still forgotten who you are?” It was only years of training which meant that Draco didn’t outwardly wince at his father’s tone. To his, and most likely his father’s, surprise, Merlin didn’t react.

He didn’t beam like a simpleton nor look nervous. Merlin simply held his head high. “Unfortunately yes sir, but Professor Dumbledore is helping me rectify that. Until then, I am grateful to have friends like Theo on my side to help me find…” he trailed off, looking at Theo.

“Yes, Draco and I’ve worked hard to show Merlin his rightful place in our world,” supplied Nott and Draco’s years of training went out of the window as he gaped at the two of them. What was going on? What had happened to Merlin!

He hurried to fix his face as his father turned to him with an approving nod, one Draco fought to earn on many occasions and yet here he was, receiving it with no effort on his part. “Most pleasing to hear this. Times are changing,” added Lucius smoothly, “and it is important we find ourselves in this new society.”

“Of course, Father,” agreed Draco and sighed internally as Mr Greengrass and Mr Parkinson arrived to steal Lucius. Draco used this opportunity to pull Nott away from Merlin and into a side room.

When he finally stopped and turned, it was to find a smirking Nott in place. He looked ready to say something but Draco cut in. “What are you playing at?” Nott’s smirk grew.

“Why, Draco,” he drawled, “this is a strange way to express gratitude. After all, I could have let slip exactly who you choose to surround yourself with. I’m sure Mr Malfoy would be thrilled to learn his darling son was frolicking with Gryffindors.”

Draco took a shaky breath in, trying so very hard to control his anger. He needed to get the upperhand here. “Oh I suppose my father’s joy would be nothing compared to yours when he learns of how his son is arranging secret meetings with Granger.”

He noticed the way Nott paled suddenly and Draco was certain of his victory. That was until Nott’s eyes flashed. “Jealous, Malfoy? Don’t tell me you’re playing the long game. Befriend the ilk to get into the Mudblood's—”

“What do you want with Merlin?” Draco didn’t have time for this nonsense. Nott simply shrugged.

“We’re friends,” he said. Draco narrowed his eyes and waited until Nott carried on. “Well, that’s what he thinks.”

“I swear to Salazar, Nott, if you’re playing with him—”

“You are rather possessive for someone who carelessly let him go,” commented Nott and the next thing Draco knew, his hands were on Nott’s dress robes.

“I did not let him go! Back off, Nott, he’s mine!”

“Really, Draco?” came a voice and it was none other than Merlin. Draco dropped Nott but it was too late. “You know, I actually thought… never mind.” Merlin refused to even look in the same direction as him and turned to Nott. “Theo, I want to leave.”

“Merlin—”

“Now.” The single word felt like a slap to Draco but yet he still tried to talk to Merlin. He needed to understand! It was fruitless though as Nott slithered in like the snake he was and removed Merlin from the room within seconds.

Draco stared at their retreating backs, wondering if he should have tried harder. Perhaps if he forced Merlin to stay and listen… no. Merlin wasn’t his responsibility, he told himself. If Merlin wanted to make bad decisions and listen to snakes who clearly didn’t want the best for him, then that was his decision. Draco was done looking out for him. Merlin had his friends and Draco had his.

Whatever happened from here on out, he decided, was Merlin’s own doing.

Chapter Text

“Harry, what’s that?”

Ron’s panicked tone was more concerning for Harry than the content of his sentence and he looked up from his breakfast, only to be confused. A brown owl bearing a small cap with an even tinier crest was soaring towards him bearing mail. This wasn’t the strange part though.

It was the fact that the owl was carrying a long, thin package. One which was characteristic of a broom.

Harry was certain it couldn’t be for him. He hadn’t yet ordered a broom from the catalogue, much to Oliver’s anguish. Unless Oliver had personally bought him a broom, it couldn’t be for him.

But the owl had different instructions as it dropped the package practically on his face. Hermione quickly moved his abandoned toast out of the way just in time for the broomstick to land and Harry picked it up after slight hesitation. He tore off the paper and just stared because in his hands was none other than the Firebolt.

The very Firebolt he had kept flicking back to in the catalogue. The one he knew he could afford if he emptied out his savings and had no regard for the next 4 years of his life. The one both him and Ron daydreamed about in every lesson.

And here he was, holding it.

“That can’t be… tell me it’s not… a Firebolt?” whispered Ron in awe. “Did you buy it without telling me?”

“No!” Harry turned it around in his hands, hoping to find some more information as to where it came from or who bought it but it was totally unmarked. Harry gave the packaging a cursory glance before abandoning the thought and turning to the Firebolt. His Firebolt. He rubbed a thumb over the name stamped in gold lettering and gasped as the broom vibrated in return.

Harry tentatively released it and the Firebolt parked itself in the air, the perfect height for him to mount and ride. Ron whistled appreciatively, attracting the attention of a few others.

“Woah Harry, is that your broom?” asked Neville.

“Bit late for a Christmas present but you wouldn’t hear me complaining if it’s that,” commented Seamus Finnigan.

“Got a rich aunt and uncle, have you, Harry?” asked Dean to which Harry snorted.

“I can safely say the Dursleys aren’t behind this.” The commotion finally caused Hermione to look up from the tattered book she was reading and she frowned.

“That’s a good broom, isn’t it?”

“Hermione,” came Ron instantly, his tone filled with fond exasperation as the onlookers sniggered, “that’s not just a good broom, it’s the best in the country! In the world! Better than all the Slytherin brooms put together!”

“Right,” said Hermione without much regard. “And we don’t know who sent Harry such an valuable present?”

“He’s got a fairy godmother,” joked Dean.

“What’s wrong, Hermione?” asked Harry when she bit her lip, looking unsure.

“Well… it’s just… what if it’s cursed? What if… what if it was sent to harm Harry?” Hermione narrowed her eyes as she analysed the torn paper and the broom. “In fact, I think we should check it for any enchantments before you ride it.”

“No!” Ron lowered his voice as the neighbouring tables quietened at his shout. “You can’t! We need Harry on the Firebolt for the next match against Hufflepuff if we want to stay in the tournament.”

Hermione scoffed, looking around for support. “Really? Harry’s life means less to you than some stupid Quidditch game?”

“Hermione,” tried Harry in a placating tone, “it’s not going to be anything like that. It’s really just an ordinary Firebolt.”

“How can you be sure?” retaliated Hermione. “What if… what if Sirius Black sent it!”

There was a pause before Ron burst into laughter. “You really think Black, a wanted criminal, would find the time to stroll into Quality Quidditch Supplies whilst on the run?” he asked after several moments of fighting to catch his breath back. Dean and Seamus began laughing too and even Harry snorted which only resulted in Hermione getting angrier.

“Boys!” she yelled in frustration before scooping her things up and practically running back in the direction of the common-room. Harry felt bad — she was only looking out for him — but he pushed it away as he turned back to the new broom.

“Can I have a turn after, Harry?” asked Ron to which Harry naturally nodded and the other boys quickly joined in, hoping to get their turn too.

///

For the second time that day, Harry received another owl delivering his post. This time, however, he knew exactly who the sender was. Partly because they signed it but also because he recognised the writing.

“Dear Harry,

“Apologies for interrupting your evening with such short notice but I have finally managed to secure a (somewhat) willing Boggart to help us with what we discussed last term. Please join me after you have finished your dinner in my classroom.

“Professor Lupin”

Harry passed the note to Ron and gulped the rest of his pie down, washing it down with pumpkin juice when it burned his throat and leapt to his feet moments later. Hermione pointedly avoided his gaze and so Harry promised to see Ron later as he ran towards the Defence classroom.

///

“Ah, Harry, glad you could make it despite my last minute note,” greeted Professor Lupin. Harry smiled back and dropped his bag by the door way as he made his way inside.

Gone were the chairs and desks, replaced with a single, large cupboard which was rattling ominously. Harry refused to let his anticipation show but he had to wipe his palms on his jumper — a move Lupin noticed.

“It’s not too late to turn away, Harr—”

“No.” He was not leaving without learning the spell. He couldn’t risk another Quidditch match just because the stupid Dementors wouldn’t leave him alone. Nor could Harry let his brand new Firebolt suffer the same fate as his old broomstick. “I’m not leaving.”

Lupin looked rather proud of his stubborn attitude, much to Harry’s surprise, and gestured for him to come closer. “If at any point you change your mind, we can stop right there.” Harry nodded without paying attention. “Very well, first we’ll practise without the Boggart.”

He rolled his shoulders and held his wand out. “First, when you go up against a Dementor, you need to ensure your mental defences are very strong. This is a recurring theme in mental magic and you’ll learn about it more in sixth and seventh year when you learn about Occlumency and Legilimency. Conjuring a patronus is mentally draining too as the form it takes reflects its individual.”

“Wait, so they can be different?” interrupted Harry.

“Yes, they’re unique to the caster. Now, there are 2 ways to make sure you are in the right frame of mind to cast.” Lupin prompted Harry to copy his pose. “First, you must stand prepared. That goes for any Defence spell but more so with mental magic.”

Harry nodded along, adjusting his feet and forcing himself to stop bouncing in anticipation. “And the second?”

“This is specific for the Patronus charm. You need to think of your happiest memory. One of your brightest memories, one you remember in detail and you must think of it as you say the incantation.”

Harry cast his mind about for a happy memory. Certainly, nothing that had happened to him at the Dursleys’ was going to do. Perhaps the time he met Ron and Hermione? Or maybe the time the Sorting Hat declared he was in Gryffindor?

Finally, he settled on the moment when he had first ridden a broomstick. “Right,” he said, trying to recall as exactly as possible the wonderful, soaring sensation of his stomach.

“The incantation is this —” Lupin cleared his throat. “Expecto Patronum!”

“Expecto Patronum,” Harry repeated under his breath, “Expecto Patronum!” The words were foreign and he couldn’t help the worry that he’d forget them as soon as he saw a real Dementor and then he’d fall down again and he’d hear her again—

“Concentrating hard on your happy memory?”

“Yes!” said Harry, quickly forcing his thoughts back to that first broom ride. “Expecto Patrona — no, Patronum! Expecto Patronum, Expecto Patronum —” Something whooshed suddenly out of the end of his wand; it looked like a wisp of silvery gas. “Did you see that?” said Harry excitedly. “Something happened!”

“Very good,” said Lupin, smiling. “Right, then — ready to try it on a Dementor?”

Harry’s worry returned again but he firmly pushed it aside. After today, he wasn’t going to fall prey to a Dementor again. And that woman’s voice, whoever she was, wasn’t going to plague his nightmares any more.

“Yes.”

Harry gripped his wand very tightly and moved into the middle of the deserted classroom where the cupboard still rattled ominously. As he passed Lupin, Harry felt an encouraging squeeze on his shoulder and he took a deep breath as he waited.

The door opened with a click and Harry flung his wand out, the incantation desperately spilling from his lips. He wasn’t going to go down! Even as he screamed at the Dementor as it rose from its confines, its hooded face turned toward Harry with one glistening, scabbed hand gripping its cloak.

The lamps around the classroom flickered and went out and yet Harry didn’t give up. He continued chanting but he couldn’t see the same white gas from before. The Dementor started to sweep silently toward Harry, drawing a deep, rattling breath. A wave of piercing cold broke over him and he lost all rational thought.

The classroom and the Dementor were dissolving. Harry was falling again through thick white fog, and the woman’s voice was louder than ever, echoing inside his head and impossible to ignore— “Not Harry! Not my son! Please— I’ll do anything!”

“Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!” came the high-pitched voice, familiar and strange at the same time.

“N-Never!”

“Harry!”

He jerked awake and instantly sighed. Of course he had fainted again. Lupin had a Chocolate Frog ready and Harry morosely bit into as he considered what just happened. Usually, he would hear a woman’s scream as she begged someone to “Not Harry!”, whatever that meant, and Harry tried not to think about it too much. This time was different though — the woman had said “Not my son!”.

Was she his mother? Was she begging Voldemort to spare him?

“We can stop if you’d like,” said Lupin gently. “We’ve certainly made a lot more progress than I anticipated. Perhaps continue another night?”

“No.” Harry brushed himself off and got to his feet. “I’m ready, I promise.” He wasn’t going to faint any more.

Lupin looked unsure but complied and headed to open the door. Harry took a deep breath and tried to think of a different memory. One guaranteed to smite the Dementor where it stood.

As he considered his options, a part of him didn’t want to continue. After finding out it was indeed his mother, Harry didn’t know if he was ready to never hear her voice again. “Ready?” asked Lupin and Harry forced himself to concentrate as he nodded.

He thought hard and decided his feelings when Gryffindor had won the House Championship last year had definitely qualified as very happy. Harry gripped his wand tightly again and took up his position in the middle of the classroom and finally, Lupin opened the cupboard.

The room went icily cold and dark once more. The Dementor glided forward, drawing its breath; one rotting hand was extending toward Harry. “Expecto Patronos— Patronum!” Harry yelled. “Expecto Patronum! Expecto Patr—”

White fog obscured his senses, big, blurred shapes were moving around him… then came a voice he’d never heard before, a man’s voice, shouting, panicking.

“Lily, take Harry and go! It’s him! Go! Run! I’ll hold him off—”

The sounds of someone stumbling from a room — a door bursting open — a cackle of high-pitched laughter, the same from before…

“Harry! Harry, wake up.”

Lupin gently shook his shoulders as Harry opened his eyes. This time it was a minute before he understood why he was lying on a dusty classroom floor and the first thought that came to him was how Filch needed to do a better job cleaning.

“I think we’ll stop there,” said Lupin firmly.

“I heard my dad,” Harry said numbly. He looked up to catch the tail-end of Lupin’s reaction and hastily continued. “I mean, I think he’s my dad. I usually hear a woman — my mother… but for the first time, I heard him."

"You heard James?"

"Y-Yeah," said Harry trying to desperately remember what the voices sounded like. "He was, he was telling my m-mum to run… that he was going to hold Voldemort off…" Harry trailed off and it was here he realised what Lupin had said. "You knew my dad?"

There was a pause before Lupin spoke. "I did, yes," he answered and managed a sad smile as Harry turned to him, questions evident. "Your dad — James — he showed me great kindness when I was your age. He was the bravest man I ever knew and… I'm not surprised he was determined to save your mother and you."

Lupin closed his eyes for a while before looking up again. "And now you're being very brave learning this spell. Even fifth-years can't manage to last that long in front of a Dementor so you should be very proud of yourself."

"I know I can do it though," said Harry fiercly. His determination seemed to convince Lupin as he sighed and stood by the cupboard door again, this time with a disapproving expression.

"This is the last time we're trying today. You can't wear yourself out—"

"Yeah, yeah." Harry knew he needed a new happy memory, one that was just pure elation. And he knew nothing was better than finding out he was a wizard. That day Hagrid had broken into the shack, insulted Uncle Vernon, terrified Aunt Petunia and half-transfigured Dudley into a pig — that had been the best day of his life. "Open it."

“Very well,” conceded Lupin, who looked as though he were doing this against his better judgment. “Concentrating hard? All right — go!”

He pulled off the lid of the case for the third time, and the Dementor rose out of it; the room fell cold and dark, the lights began to flicker…

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!” Harry bellowed. “EXPECTO PATRONUM! EXPECTO PATRONUM!”

The screaming inside Harry’s head had started again, except this time, it sounded as though it were coming from a badly tuned radio — softer and louder and softer again — and the Dementor was still there, but it stopped in its tracks. Harry continued screaming, feeling faint from the effort he was charging into his wand, but then a huge, silver shadow came bursting out of the end of Harry’s wand, to hover between him and the Dementor, like a wall.

Harry couldn't feel his legs anymore and he knew he was going to fall but not because of fear, but from overexertion. He didn't have it in him to see what shape his Patronus had taken nor could he notice what the Boggart changed into when Lupin stepped forward to deal with it but Harry didn't care. He had done it! He had conjured a Patronus!

“Excellent!” Lupin said with a beam, striding over to where Harry sat. “Excellent, Harry! That was definitely a start!” Harry managed an exhausted smile.

“Maybe I should try again — make sure it wasn't an accident?”

“Not today,” said Lupin swiftly and it was for the best. Harry was yet to regain his vision, which had a slight haze in it. “You’ve had enough for one night. Here.” He handed Harry a large bar of Honeydukes’s best chocolate. “Eat the lot, or Madam Pomfrey will use me for her Blood Replenishing potions. Same time next week?”

“Okay,” said Harry. He took a bite of the chocolate and watched Lupin extinguishing the lamps that had rekindled with the disappearance of the Dementor. Despite his bone-deep weariness — which was rapidly disappearing with each bite of chocolate, he couldn't help the grin on his face. He had nothing to fear now.

Well, except for Sirius Black being after him. But Harry felt as though his impressive Patronus could easily take him down.

A thought occured to him. "Sir? If you knew my dad, you must have known Sirius Black too, right?" Lupin turned immediately, dropping his wand in his hurry. Just like the time in the Hospital Wing, he looked increasingly cagey and Harry made a note of this to mention later to Ron and Hermione, if she had forgotten her grudge by then.

“What gives you that idea?” he said sharply. Definitely very suspicious.

“Nothing — I mean, you said they were friends so…"

Lupin’s face relaxed. “Yes, I knew him,” he said shortly. “Or I thought I did. You’d better be off, Harry, it’s getting late.”

Harry left the classroom, walking along the corridor and around a corner, then took a detour behind a suit of armor and sank down on its plinth to finish his chocolate, wishing he hadn’t mentioned Black, as Lupin was obviously not keen on the subject. Perhaps he was just searching for something which wasn't there. Perhaps Black and Lupin hadn't ever gotten along.

Then Harry’s thoughts wandered back to his mother and father. He felt drained and strangely empty, even though he was so full of chocolate. The thought of never hearing their voices again… well, he didn't like it. But he had to get used to it.

“They’re dead,” he told himself sternly, convinced he looked like a madman to anyone passing by. “They’re dead and listening to echoes of them won’t bring them back. You’d better get a grip on yourself if you want that Quidditch Cup. Do Oliver and that Firebolt proud. And… Mum and Dad.”

Chapter Text

Merlin sprinted down the corridors, berating himself internally. He had completely lost track of time, sitting with the Slytherins, and had forgotten all about his promise to meet Gana and Mord.

"You guys practise magic after dinner?" Pansy had said with a derisive snort. "Nerds."

"I think it's cute," said Daphne, sending Pansy a look. She rolled her eyes and turned back to Merlin, who was packing his things up without paying much attention to their conversation.

"Careful, Daph, your crush is showing," remarked Theo from where he reclined on the sofa, carelessly flicking matches as they played Wizard's Chess on the floor.

Daphne sent him a look too but Theo missed it and so she decided to bat him with her pawn. "I do not have a crush on him!"

"You might not, but half the girls here do," added Blaise morosely. He moved his knight to check Daphne's king but the joy of finally winning a match wasn't enough to lift his spirits. "Stop threatening my position as the ladies man of third year!" He shouted half-heartedly as Merlin left, muttering afterwards, "how different he used to be just a month ago."

Merlin stopped for a second to catch his breath outside the room and he could hear Gana and Mord inside. The two were laughing boisterously and the sound was enough for Merlin to smile at.

He was quite proud of how his heart didn't immediately fill with dread upon seeing the two of them together. A lot of it had to do with Dumbledore's offer, he decided. To find out just what went wrong last time, well, it would certainly bring him the peace he needed.

Even so, Merlin was certain he knew of a few reasons. For Mordred to… do what he did — Merlin was clearly responsible for that. He wasn't sure what exactly led to Mordred siding with Morgana but Merlin wasn't completely innocent either. He had scorn him in Mordred's youth and had passively attempted to ensure his death.

Mordred's grudge on Merlin may very well have led to his actions.

But Merlin was now taking steps to change that. This was the start of something new! History would not repeat itself again and Merlin was going to make sure Harry didn't suffer the same fate as Arthur.

Feeling inspired, he stepped in, ready to teach his proteges his favourite spell — how to conjure a butterfly.

///

Hermione tapped her foot impatiently. They were supposed to meet right after dinner but she had the privelige of watching Nott walk away with his friends and Merlin, which was certainly surprising. She had briefly entertained the thought that Nott had replaced her with Merlin but dismissed it quickly — Merlin, for all his smarts in class, was woefully uninformed in research.

Nott knew this too and that was why he continued to see Hermione, despite her status being oh-so-very beneath his. And she too benefited from their unlikely partnership — perhaps even more than Nott.

She pulled out her private notes after checking the library was still empty. Right now, they only deviated slightly from the notes they had made together and it was namely to do with Malfoy and Merlin.

Hermione was fascinated by the two and the increasing cold civility in which they greeted each other. Malfoy had glared at her any time she brought the topic up and before the Firebolt fiasco, Ron and Harry were the only ones who'd entertain her theories. Well, Harry not so much and Hermione was sure Ron was only half-listening, but it was nice to speak aloud and think through the ideas like that.

Now she had to simply re-read them:

M and E not sitting together as much

Why?

When? (Before Halloween but Harry mentioned Gwen knowing something — explore!)

Related to E choosing N? N in charge, manipulating E? Or E's own wish?

Did M do something?

Did E do something?

If so what??

After Christmas:

E not even talking to M — why???

Admittedly, she had more questions than answers right now but Hermione was still of the sound opinion that she benefited more than Nott. She had considered the idea of showing Nott this — he could definitely have a few answers — but she knew that was a bad idea.

He was a Slytherin. He couldn't be trusted.

Nor could Nott show up on time, she thought angrily, as she checked the clock for the tenth time since arriving. There was only half an hour left before curfew and if Nott didn't show up, Hermione was going to burn all of their work.

She had sacrificed so much to make sure she wouldn't be late! Her Arithmancy homework had been subpar (in Hermione's opinion — Professor Vector would probably request to copy it up again as an exemplar for younger years) and Divination had set them a whole dream diary which Hermione had neglected for the past few weeks.

With a frustrated groan — not too loud though because she was still under the watchful eye of Madame Pince even if the library was otherwise empty — Hermione decided to leave. Fine! Perhaps Nott hadn't even found the missing book. He couldn't handle the shame clearly and that's why—

"Going somewhere, Granger?" came a smooth voice behind her. Hermione spun instantly, her hand accidentally connecting with someone's cheek. Upon seeing his still-smirking face, she stopped feeling bad.

"Yes because I actually have places to be," she responded testily.

Hermione continued packing up but Nott didn't look too concerned as he threw himself into a chair and began lighting matches with no regard for the books around him. "Well then, off you pop. The third journal can't compare to the crucial meetings Grand Sorceress Hermione Granger has."

She faltered for a second. "You found it?"

"And read it."

"What did it say?" Hermione waited very, very patiently as Nott took his time putting his matches away and slowly drew out a leather-bound notebook. "Well?"

Nott threw the papers in her direction and Hermione, against her wishes, bent to pick them up. How she hated Slytherins! But she put that thought aside and eagerly read the pages.

"Salazar, do you really think I'll sit here and watch you read?" remarked Nott derisively. Hermione ignored him until he reluctantly pulled out his own notes. "Grandfather found the Druids, was stuck with them for about a year because his wand snapped and they offered to fix it in return for his labour and that was when he learnt of the prophecy."

"What prophecy?" asked Hermione, reaching for the book to read for herself. Nott smacked her hand with his parchment and pointed out the section where had made his commentary.

"Apparently it's intertwined with another prophecy concerning some Parasite or other which Cantankerus couldn't discern but what piqued his interest was one concerning Emrys." Hermione glared at him and Nott finally stopped beating around the bush and read from the page, "'Emrys, a House known for their affinity of Old Magic, will be both the Boon and the Bane for the future of magic.'"

A silence followed Nott's sentence. The two just looked at each other, unable to make sense of what they read. "Old magic?" asked Hermione finally. "Isn't magic the same throughout time?"

"No," said Nott, sounding slightly dreamy, "it was stronger then. Wizards back then didn't need wands or proper incantations, just… intention. Or so I hear," he added, his relaxed demeanour returning like a mask. "There's no evidence of it ever existing and, in all seriousness, it's probably how Mudbloods concealed themselves."

Hermione stopped paying attention as she thought back to Merlin. Merlin who definitely didn't need a wand, despite what Malfoy wanted everyone to believe. She wondered if it was something to mention to Nott but she never got the chance as their secret meeting was interrupted.

"Hermione Jean Granger!" yelled Ron, marching towards her furiously. Hermione jumped. "How could you do this to Harry!"

"Do what?" asked Hermione as soon as she recovered. She looked at Harry questioningly, who was just looking at her sadly. "What's wrong?"

"Don't pretend to be innocent. You told McGonagall, didn't you?" Ron folded his arms as he glared at her and when she still looked back, utterly confused, he rolled his eyes. "About the Firebolt!"

Oh yes. Hermione had mentioned the highly suspicious gift to Professor McGonagall and felt relieved when McGonagall agreed with her. "And what about it?"

"She took it," said Harry quietly. Hermione blinked — she hadn't expected the broomstick to be seized. "Said she was going to search for curses by, by… by stripping it." He shuddered and Ron pulled him into a comforting hug, maintaining his glare at Hermione.

"That's good, right?" said Hermione nervously. "If it's safe, you'll get it back. And if not, it's a good thing you didn't use it—"

"It'll be ruined!" Ron's tone was like poison and Hermione backed away on instinct. "The Firebolt will be useless and it's all your fault!"

Hermione scoffed. She had been ignored for the past two weeks and now that Ron and Harry finally deigned to talk to her, it was to berate her? For looking out for them? "Oh well forgive me for ruining your dreams of getting killed by broomstick!"

"Who cares!" Hermione stared. Boys and their priorities!

Ron made to leave with Harry before he noticed the silent spectator. "Nott?!" He looked at Hermione with such utter shock that she felt ashamed of herself. "Malfoy was right about you. You really were disgracing—"

"Stop!" Hermione's scream surprised even herself. "You will not talk to me like that! You cannot! Leave, Ron."

///

Unlike practically every other time in his life, Merlin made an effort to show up on time to this meeting. It was perhaps the most important meeting he had ever been to. It was finally time to meet Dumbledore.

He paced outside the door, buzzing with excitement and slight anticipation. His last meeting hadn't gone quite so well, all things considered. Merlin had left in tears and refused to even close his eyes, certain the images he had seen not even an hour before would haunt him.

And they did. Merlin tried to keep a positive attitude during the day, pandering to the Slytherins' expectations so well that he himself began to adopt the changes innately. The problem started at the dead of night.

Sometimes it was Lancelot's face, other times it was Arthur who'd appear to cry to Merlin. Once, even Mordred had visited and Merlin awoke, covered in a light sheen of sweat as he felt the ice cold blade pierce his side instead of Arthur.

Merlin shuddered as he remembered the nightmare. But he refused to think more of it and knocked on Dumbledore's door. The door opened within seconds and just like before, he was back on the plush armchair opposite a pensive Dumbledore.

"I must say, Merlin, despite our agreement, I had not expected to see you again." Dumbledore paused but not long enough for Merlin's answer. Instead, he uncovered an ornate tea cup with a light green drink inside. As he stirred it with a teaspoon, Merlin watched the colour change to an almost pure gold concoction. Dumbledore pushed it to Merlin and he took it without a second thought.

Only when Merlin placed the empty cup back on its saucer did Dumbledore finally smile. "And now, we shall begin."

Chapter Text

"This is late, even for Merlin," said Gana as she worried her lip. Mord could only nod — after the first successful gathering where Merlin taught them how to use magic his way, they had met another 5 times. Each time, Merlin would follow a similar format where they practised a few old spells before he teased them with a new one.

Mord absolutely loved the lessons and wished they were held more frequently but he could understand Merlin's other commitments and especially when Gana told him how much hard work Divination and Ancient Runes were — the two classes she shared with Merlin. Nevertheless, Mord was happy and instead used the extra time to practise. He was still the weakest and while that was great because Merlin would offer him individual advice, Mord didn't like the feeling that he was being a burden.

And even now, as Gana hung by the door to wait for Merlin, Mord focused on what Merlin had said in their last lesson at the end of January. He sat with his back straight and eyes closed, blocking out the nervous pacing of Gana. Mord pictured his magic as a gold liquid, travelling alongside his blood. He imagined it leaving his heart and coursing down his blood vessels, pooling at his fingertips.

Mord tentatively opened an eye and could barely contain his joy when he saw wisps of gold emanate from his palms and fingers. Last time he could hardly sit still long enough to visualise his magic inside him! His practise had paid off and Mord knew Merlin was going to be proud of him.

Speaking of, Gana joined Mord at the table, having abandoned her post. "Maybe he got held up," she decided sadly. "Oh well, I suppose we can take today off."

"Or you could teach me something?" suggested Mord. "Lady Morgause must have imparted some wisdom… or did you not pay attention?" he added with a cheeky smile.

Gana scoffed but her grin couldn't be contained. "Respect your elders, Mord. But I do have something. It's not what Lady Morgause taught but — I know it'll be fun. First, we need parchment and a quill."

"We're taking notes? I think I prefer Merlin's method actually." Mord ducked as Gana playfully swatted at him. Even so, he obediently brought out the required items and waited patiently as she digged in her satchel.

"Right. Okay, so, um, well—" Gana stopped and took a deep breath as Mord gave her an encouraging smile. "This is something that really just came to me. Okay, so, just draw anything you like."

"Anything?"

"Yeah. I drew a wizard one time and a dragon another." Gana sketched a few lines and Mord quickly recognised the form of a sword. He dipped his quill and attempted to copy her but somehow ended up with a snake instead. Oh well. "A snake?" commented Gana and Mord nodded — he wasn't going to embarass himself by pretending it was supposed to be a dagger.

"Now what?" Mord added a few stripes to his snake as he waited for Gana to finish her details.

"You don't need to necessarily draw out the figure but it might help you with the next step," she said as she watched Mord draw another snake after the last had too many stripes and looked quite severed. This one just had plain old scales. "Okay now for the fun part. Um, I don't know how to explain it, but it's similar to what Merlin taught us last time. You just… you picture your magic bringing the drawing to life."

Gana demonstrated by letting her eyes flash once and the sword suddenly became animated and coloured. Mord watched the red stone on the hilt catch the light and he thought he saw letters on the blade but they were too miniscule to make out. He turned to his snake and attempted what Gana had said.

For a while, nothing happened but Mord perservered. It was the main thing Merlin kept saying — don't give up instantly. He pretended it was just like before, where he pictured his magic pooling at his fingertips. No snake involved. Mord didn't open his eyes until he felt a slight prickling in his hands and when he looked at his drawing, the snake's tail gave a few feeble twitches before it opened its tiny mouth to yawn.

"I did it!"

Gana hugged him tightly and Mord revelled in his success as he watched his little snake slither around a bit. It was then he saw Gana's sword glint in the candlelight before cutting off his snake's head in one clean sweep.

Mord just stared as blood spurted out, contrasting the green of the snake. Next to him, Gana was very apologetic as she tried to stop the magic but Mord simply sighed wistfully. "Oh well, it's not real."

Gana looked slightly nervous as she agreed with him and though Mord wanted to explore it further, the curfew bell rang loud and clear. With another sincere apology, Gana bid him goodnight and Mord sneaked back to his common-room, an eye out for any patrols. It seemed he was too careful though because Mord somehow crashed into someone who seemed to be running in the same direction. He picked himself up and went to help the other person but stopped in his tracks.

It was Merlin.

But he looked unrecognisable. Merlin's usual bright grin had slowly disappeared over the past month and Mord had chalked it up to stresses around exams but now Merlin looked pale and gaunt — nothing like his healthy self. The sight was so terrifying that Mord had to look away.

He was certain the ghosts looked more alive than Merlin did at the moment and Mord knew he had to say something. Perhaps Merlin was sick? But that didn't explain why his eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. As though he had been crying.

And then there was the direction from which he was running. The first years had dubbed it the Gargoyle Corridor and Mord knew only the Headmaster lived there. Why was Merlin visiting Professor Dumbledore? And why did he look like this?

"M-Merlin?" Mord tried not to let his fear show but it was a hard ask. "What's wrong?"

Merlin looked like he was in a daze. Like he couldn't tell what was real and what wasn't. This idea was only strengthened by the way his eyes widened and Merlin grabbed onto Mord's face. Hard.

"Mordred! You're alive," he managed breathlessly. Mord was very, very terrified. "Forgive me!" Merlin took another breath but he never finished his thought as he suddenly stopped, spooked. The next thing Mord knew, he was once again alone in the corridor and he saw a flash of Merlin's cloak disappear around the corner..

What that all about?

///

Obviously, Mord knew he had to seek Merlin out the next day. If only to see how he is, he told himself, though Mord also wouldn't mind an explanation for what happened the previous day.

He wondered if he should mention something to Gana. After all, she was closer than him to Merlin and could maybe provide a few answers. But Mord found Merlin before and decided a first-hand account was better.

The first thing he noticed about Merlin was that whilst he still looked sallow in appearance, his features looked… sharper. More defined. Mord was still scared of him but this time, it was because Merlin didn't look entirely human any more.

Mord gulped. "How are you feeling, Merlin?" His voice sounded like a squeak even to him. "Last night you seemed—" Mord had no idea how to put yesterday's horror picture into words. "You seemed off."

"I'm very well, thank you," came Merlin's answer. His tone too sounded unlike himself. Clipped and formal. Merlin seemed to realise this too as he attempted a grin. Attempted being the key word because whatever face he had just made, that was not a smile in any way, shape or form.

All in all, Mord didn't know if he recognised who stood in front of him any more.

Chapter Text

"Excellent work, Harry," said Lupin just as Harry collapsed from the effort of holding his spell. As always, he was rewarded with a chocolate frog and Harry dutifully finished it. He wasn't seeing any progress but Lupin's encouragement convinced Harry he was improving.

His Patronus was still no more clearer than the haze he formed on his first attempt but Harry squinted anyway to see if he could recognise what shape it would take. Each time Lupin caught him, Harry sheepishly apologised as Lupin promised him that his achievements were already very great for a thirteen year old.

"Many grown wizards can't conjure anything close to what you're managing, Harry," said Lupin as he wrapped up another session and pulled out two bottles of Butterbeer. "I seem to remember you enjoying this."

"I have to be honest, it tastes better in the tankard," said Harry without thinking. Lupin gave him a strange look and he quickly continued, "at least, that's what Ron told me."

Harry decided it would be better to distract Lupin before he got too suspicious and asked him wizard used Dementors, if so many couldn't control them. "It's why Azkaban is so successful — Dementors are powerful against weakened individuals and with no mental defences against them…"

"Sirius Black found a way," pointed out Harry. He belatedly remembered of his decision not to bring up Black around Lupin but it was too late.

Lupin didn't seem to mind though as he sipped his Butterbeer thoughtfully. "Perhaps his conviction was stronger than we gave him credit for." A silence followed and Harry fiddled with his sleeves as he wondered whether to bring up his question. "Go on," said Lupin with a smile.

"What did Black get sentenced for?" asked Harry, trying not to come across as too eager. If there was anything he learnt, it was that Lupin was more forthright when he didn't seem to realise Harry was there.

"He was never sentenced," he said, his voice slightly strained. Lupin cleared his throat and continued, "during and immediately after the War, the Wizarding World was very volatile. Anyone even suspected of working with You-Know-Who was immediately hauled off to Azkaban with a trial being a mere formality. After how Black was found… the evidence against him was quite damning."

Harry couldn't contain his curiosity. "What happened?"

"Well, I won't pretend to know much but your father and mother had to go into hiding once they learnt You-Know-Who was after them to protect you." Harry sat very still, internally urging Lupin to continue. "There's a spell — the Fidelius Charm — which can conceal you from everyone apart from who the Secret Keeper decides to tell. That is all I know about it and I'm sure Professor Flitwick is more knowledgeable in this area but from what I heard is that Professor Dumbledore urged your parents to use this spell.

"They took up his offer and selected Black as their Secret Keeper. They should have been completely hidden from everyone," said Lupin, quickly brushing at his eyes. "But that wasn't true—"

"Black sold them to Voldemort?" asked Harry numbly. Lupin neither confirmed nor denied his theory but it was crystal clear. How else would Voldemort have found them? "He betrayed his friend! My dad was his friend!"

"That was what Peter said. Peter Pettigrew, another friend of ours. He… he found Black in an alleyway littered with Muggles and he, he decided to confront him there." Lupin downed the rest of his drink in one go as Harry was left to guess what happened to Peter Pettigrew.

"Black killed him?"

"All that was found was Peter's toe." Harry shuddered. Black was a psychopath through and through.

And he was after Harry.

"He wants to kill me now," he said, realisation dawning upon him. "Finish what Voldemort started — to please his master! Well I won't let him." Lupin finally looked at him.

"Harry, Black is deranged at the very least and dangerous at the most. You cannot take risks with him!" But it was useless. Harry had made up his mind.

///

"Don't you see?" stressed Harry, pacing as Ron, Hermione and Malfoy sat in front of him by the Lake. "I have to go after him!"

The three spectators exchanged looks amongst themselves. Ron was the first to speak, only because Hermione seemed to still hold a lot of guilt as she was distinctly less vocal about her opposition.

"Mate, it's Sirius bloody Black! He already killed that Pettigrew guy — what's to say he won't, you know, kill us?" Ron looked pale as he considered the idea.

"He's right, Harry," said Hermione and was immediately subjected to a cold look from Ron. Nevertheless, she persisted. "Actively seeking him out is a very bad idea. We could get expelled!"

The look she received for that statement bordered on confusion and exasperation by the boys. Even Malfoy joined in, shaking his head. "If Black was the Dark Lord's right hand man, what makes you think a bunch of teenagers are going to do?"

"I can't just let him walk free!" Harry stopped his pacing to look at them in the eye. "He killed my parents! He's responsible for their deaths. And now he wants me. I'm not going to make it easy for him," he added more to himself, "I will make him pay."

"You're not going to do it alone." Ron stood up, looking almost reluctant as he hugged Harry. "You're my best mate — I can't let you do something stupid by yourself." Since learning about Black, Harry finally smiled. When they pulled away, Ron looked to Hermione and gave her a questioning glance. "Wanna join or will you run to McGonagall again?"

She scoffed but got up anyway. "Without me, you'd be long dead. Malfoy?"

"No, Granger." Malfoy paused until they stared at him sceptically. "Without you, we'd be expelled." And with that, he too stood up. "What's the plan, then?"

Though Harry was prepared to fight Black by himself, he couldn't deny the strength that filled him knowing his friends were right beside him.

///

The plan was set. Hermione kept track of each time Black had made an appearance — Halloween and the last Quidditch match, the latter of which was unconfirmed as far as Malfoy was concerned.

"I'm just saying, those Dementors could've flooded the pitch for any reason," he said. "What's to say they didn't just see Trelawney and get confused?" Ron sniggered.

"Both do look deranged enough."

Hermione pursed her lips. "Well I'm saying that Black always attacks near Hogsmeade dates. And the next one is this Saturday. Given he hasn't appeared yet, he'll almost certainly try something next week."

"Not if we get to him first." Malfoy rolled his eyes at Harry's determined tone but he had to agree after Ron and Hermione nodded. "We'll catch him in Hogsmeade on Saturday."

///

And so it went. Ron and Hermione left together, ignoring Parvati and Lavender's comments about how "cute it is to see a friends to lovers trope!" If they'd known Harry was gatecrashing their supposed date, they probably wouldn't have the same opinion. If they'd known Malfoy was joining the group too… well, that information would be highly coveted for by the Slytherins at the very least.

Regardless, they planned to wait in Honeydukes until Harry could join them and then they were off to the Three Broomsticks. Here, the plan was to use the Marauder's Map to find Black in Hogsmeade and then hunt him down.

Hermione didn't have much say in the actual battle plan.

Malfoy too didn't like how crude their idea was and so deviated from it slightly. In the Three Broomsticks, whilst Ron and Harry — under his Invisibility Cloak, of course, because he still wasn't technically allowed out — surveyed the map with a stressed Hermione, Malfoy went to talk to Rosmerta, the barmaid.

"Sirius Black? Scaring away my customers, he is," she said over her shoulder as she filled a few tankards. "Hardly anyone steps out these days, what with those despicable creatures roaming around. I'll be the gladest to hear of his arrest, let me tell you."

"But have you seen him here?"

"Seen him? Boy, be sharp about it, you think you'll find that man walking these streets without a care in the world?" Rosmerta turned around and raised an eyebrow. "You're Malfoy's kid, aren't you? I'd recognise that blonde any where."

Malfoy took the Butterbeer with a quick word of thanks and conveyed what he'd learnt to the others. Of course, the stupid Gryffindors were convinced their plan was perfect. It felt like déjà vu to first year only this time, Granger was half on his side.

"Maybe we should wait until he attacks?" she suggested, fiddling with her tankard. "At Hogwarts, we'd have back up as well in case he… well, he tries something."

"If you're scared, Hermione, you can leave," said Harry from underneath the cloak. Hermione's indignant squawk answered him and he continued. "Let's go look for Black."

///

To no one but Ron and Harry's surprise, their plan wasn't efficient nor successful at all. After several hours of navigating each street of Hogsmeade and patiently scouring the map for any mention of Black's name, Harry had to admit Hermione and Malfoy's doubts were right.

Hermione resisted the urge to gloat for about five minutes before caving in. "Yes, you were right," grumbled Ron.

"Please, Granger, you hardly have a leg to stand on," scoffed Malfoy. The next part of his sentence died when he saw the crowd outside the Three Broomsticks. It was made up of Hogwarts students who were chattering amongst themselves.

Malfoy, Ron and Hermione infiltrated the crowd whilst making sure Harry stayed aside so his cover wouldn't be blown. "What's going on?" Ron asked Dean Thomas who was standing next to Seamus Finnigan.

"Apparently Sirius Black broke in again. Hogwarts is on a lockdown until find him." At Hermione's disbelieving look, he added, "It's true! Professor Lupin and Snape just came around with a register to account for everyone."

Malfoy pulled out his fake smile as he grabbed Hermione and Ron and dragged them back to where they left Harry. "What?" said Ron, shaking off his hand.

"They're going to realise Potter's here!"

Hermione bit her lip, casting the empty gap next to Ron a worried look. "He's right. Harry, we need to get you inside somehow."

"We can't get through this crowd though," said Ron, gesturing to the people who arrived after them. "It's impossible to get to Honeydukes now!"

Harry pulled off the Invisibility Cloak with a surreptitious glance around to make sure no one saw. "Well, they're hardly going to notice me in this crowd then, are they?" The others looked at him with doubt.

"Oh yeah, totally, it's not like Black is out for you or anything, right Potter?" Malfoy shook his head. "Look, we should—"

"Silence!"

Snape stood behind them, his wand held out. He flicked it once and their names formed from black glitter before turning green. All of their names, except Harry's, whose turned red. "'Mr Potter,'" he read silkily, "why am I surprised?"

Harry gulped. "S-Sir…"

"Save it, Potter. I am in no mood to hear how you decided rules put for your own benefit were optional. I think we'll remove 50 points from Gryffindor, however, for your misbehaviour. Though I sincerely believe expulsion to be the most fitting punishment, we shall have to settle for—"

"Harry!" Lupin pushed through the crowd and reached for his shoulder. "Thank Godric you're here!"

"Yes, and we were just working out how long he'll be serving detention for," said Snape icily. "Perhaps I can convince the Headmaster to consider removing Mr Potter from the Quidditch team too." This prompted quite the reaction, with

"He didn't sneak out of Hogwarts on a broomstick!" scoffed Hermione, much to everyone's — including her own — surprise. "I, I didn't mean to say that.. out loud."

"Not to worry," said Lupin somewhat cheerfully as Snape blanched. "I'm sure Professor McGonagall, as Head of Harry's house, can deliver whatever punishment she deems necessary." And with that, he steered Harry away. As they walked, Harry tried to apologise but Lupin wouldn't give him the chance and he quietened. Knowing McGonagall, she would stick him in year-long detention. Harry knew had he been in Snape's house, he would have gotten away with a minor loss in points.

Once he deemed they were far away enough, Lupin turned to Harry with a disappointed frown. "I'm not going to tell Professor McGonagall. I should, but I am honestly glad to find you." The word 'alive' went unsaid but Harry could tell. "What were you thinking, Harry? Disappearing without anyone knowing where you were…"

"I'm really sorry, sir." Harry bowed his head, deciding not to share what his plan had initially been today. "It was all my fault."

Lupin sighed and patted him on the shoulder. "I suppose the most pressing enquiry I have is how you avoided Filch and his formidable approach to ensuring only those allowed out may leave."

Harry hesitated. Should he reveal his map? A voice, sounding oddly like Hermione, told him it was the right thing to do and Harry relented. Lupin didn't seem to look surprised upon seeing the Marauder's Map; instead smiled slightly before tucking it away.

"I don't have to tell you that it is now confiscated… but, I will award you 25 points for being honest," he added with a wider smile.

Chapter Text

Minerva folded the missive up again and set it down. What did Albus mean by that? She wished to march up to his office and demand an explanation but the Headmaster seemed to have predicted her reaction and had left that morning for London.

She didn't even have time to consider Albus's proposal as Mr Emrys and Ms Granger were due any moment.

Though generally, students were supposed to discuss their subject reports and progress with their own Head of House, given the sensitive nature of the Time Turner, Minerva had taken it upon herself to see to Mr Emrys as well as her own Ms Granger. Granted, Severus didn't give him up with a fight, but it wasn't anything Minerva couldn't handle.

Just then, a timid knock prefaced the opening of the door and in walked Hermione and Merlin. Minerva gestured to the seats in front of her and smiled. "Thank you for meeting me. I trust the past week has been productive?"

The two nodded but Minerva wasn't so easily fooled. She cast a critical eye on the students in front of her and noticed many interesting facts. Namely, Hermione's jumper was inside out. Minerva discreetly flicked her wand to right it for her but then noticed her creased collar, as though Hermione had taken to sleeping in her clothes. Minerva couldn't help wondering if the pressure of so many subjects as well as the burden of hiding the Time Turner was getting to her.

What was more surprising was to find Merlin perfectly functional! Minerva had, in all honesty, expected the roles to be reversed. She wasn't proud of her bias but the facts had led her to believe this — Merlin had always been a mediocre student at best and had only recently started improving in class.

To see him outperforming Hermione… well, Minerva was pleased for him, yes, but also confused. Because now it really didn't explain Albus' strange request.

"Very well to hear," she smiled. "As you are no doubt aware, these meetings are especially crucial for you as taking eleven classes is no easy feat. Your progress in all your classes has been exceptional but should there be any difficulties, now is the time to tell me. "

A part of Minerva hoped Merlin would make it easy for her. But he did no such thing. At Hermione's glance, he cleared his throat. "No complaints from me, Professor."

"Apart from finding an isolated place to jump, same from me," said Hermione with a nervous laugh. She turned to Merlin. "I've been meaning to ask, how do you make sure no one sees you? I mean, your friends don't seem to ever leave you alone so unless you've told them…"

"Mr Emrys?"

"Oh no," said Merlin with a short laugh. "I just make myself invisible." Hermione's mouth dropped open and even Minerva's eyes widened as she looked at him. A third year mastered the Disillusionment Charm? Who was teaching this boy?

"How?" asked Hermione within seconds. Merlin gave a half-hearted shrug.

"I just imagine myself blending in with the background." Minerva breathed a sigh of relief. It was just Manifestation: a branch of magic so simple that she had almost forgotten about it. But it seemed Ms Granger still had questions as she probed Merlin, who answered politely.

It was during this exchange Minerva noticed another strange detail. Not once did Merlin smile. He laughed when required but never did it reach his eyes. Merlin joked as before but he lacked his usual warmth.

But Minerva didn't take it too seriously — Severus did require his students to look permanently depressed and it was anyway a consequence of the natural transition into adulthood to lose one's childhood innocence and charm.

With that in mind, she turned to Ms Granger. "I am happy to say your report is very satisfactory and I have no complaints, my dear." If there was one thing about the girl that sat in front of Minerva, it was that she could hardly take a word of praise. Every time Minerva would read her report, Hermione would turn as bright as a tomato as she quietly thanked her.

Like always, Hermione was reduced to shy nods and Minerva looked at Merlin. How was she going to deliver this?

"Mr Emrys. Your report is, for lack of better words, simply extraordinary. Professors Flitwick, Babbling and Vector all comment on your 'admirable dedication to mastering theory before lessons' and I find I must agree with them. It is near impossible to show as much aptitude as you do in Transfiguration without a thorough comprehension of the background. Why, even Professor Snape has acknowledged your work with a comment. He normally just leaves a score."

"Thank you, Professor," said Merlin with another one of his not quite sincere smiles.

"Which makes it difficult for me to say this next part." Minerva sighed and took time to clean her glasses as the children watched her closely. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to take your Time-Turner from you and ask that you drop two subjects."

Chapter Text

"Hermione…"

"She's panicking! What do we do?"

"Hermione… breathe…"

"Get her some water!"

"That's right, deep breaths. Forget everything else, Hermione, just listen to my voice."

The fogginess began to clear and Hermione found herself seated on the cold, hard floor with a blanket over her. Ron's voice filtered through the haze as he urged her to follow his breathing and it was a simple enough ask that Hermione complied.

Though it felt like hours, she was feeling much better within moments and after a sip of water offered by a deeply concerned Harry, Hermione rose unsteadily to her feet. "I, I don't know what happened." She took a deep breath and plastered on a smile. "But I feel much better now."

The boys looked unconvinced but she brushed off her robes and made to go up to her dorm, stopped only by Harry's quizzical look. "Where are you going? We have Divination in five minutes."

"What?" Hermione checked the time and yes, it was indeed just past breakfast. "But I went to McGonagall—"

"Hermione, that was last night. Have you… haven't you slept since then?" The worry was back in Ron's voice and she quickly back-tracked.

"N-No, I'm okay." Hermione was not okay but they didn't need to know that. "Let's go, we'll be late." She ran ahead, leaving Harry and Ron no choice but to follow her. The walk, however stressing it was to make sure they wouldn't be late, helped her to clear her mind a little. She always benefitted from organising her tasks into schedules and lists and she decided to do the same with her thoughts.

There were two things that were primarily stressing Hermione out. One was quite obviously how Professor McGonagall had said her report was 'satisfactory' and the second was Merlin. She put the thoughts about Merlin aside and considered her report first.

Satisfactory. Hermione hadn't achieved anything great. She had just gone and done what was expected of her. But she should have anticipated it — Hermione had slipped up. Usually, she wouldn't dare submit work that wasn't at least a foot longer than necessary but for the past couple of months, what with the research on Merlin and her extra subjects meant she just had enough time to survive.

That had resulted in her handing in work which could, in all honesty, be mistaken for Ron's.

But that was going to change, she decided. Mealtimes could be skipped — Hermione could just ask the boys to get her something for dinner — and who really needed eight hours of sleep? Plenty of fifth- and seventh-years were seen in the common-room at all times of the night and now she was going to join them.

Hermione was determined to pass this year with the most full marks ever recorded in history.

Feeling slightly better, she moved onto the second pressing concern: Merlin. Lately, he seemed to always cause problems for her but this one was less to do with him and more what it meant for Hermione. After all, his report had been glowing and though Hermione reminded herself that Merlin had Old Magic which was clearly an unfair advantage, it was incredibly difficult to let go of her resentment.

This was the boy who fooled around like crazy for the past two years! One who could hardly walk from his common-room to the Great Hall without Malfoy by his side and now Merlin had changed so much! It was almost unfathomable. Hermione felt her resentment was fully justified but it wasn't helping her state of mind so she refused to think about Merlin's unfair magical prowess.

Instead, she was worried. If Merlin, receiver of even Professor Snape's good word, could get his Time-Turner taken off, then what guarantee did she have with hers? He didn't even look like he was visibly struggling with the extra workload yet Professor McGonagall had unapologetically stated he was unfit for the privilege.

This was what had truly been plaguing Hermione. She couldn't imagine herself in Merlin's shoes; finding out that she was inadequate, that she didn't deserve magic. Of course, Merlin in all his Old Magic glory, had been apathetic as he returned his necklace with no complaint but Hermione knew she wouldn't go down without a (respectful) fight.

"Right on time, my dears," said Professor Trelawney in her usual mystique manner even though it was pretty clear that they were late. Hermione hurried towards her seat, stopping only when she noticed it was occupied by none other than Gana.

"Professor Trelawney said I should join your class today for some reason," she explained apologetically. Hermione waved her off as she pulled another chair, now ending up in between Merlin and Gana somehow.

Given that Merlin and Nott were in quiet conversation, Gana had taken it upon herself to explain the tasks. "She wants us to gaze into crystal balls because the fates have informed her that our exams will test it."

Despite the rough morning Hermione had, she couldn't forget her disdain for Trelawney's bogus 'predictions'. “Well, honestly! 'The fates have informed her'… who sets the exam? She does! What an amazing prediction!” she said, not troubling to keep her voice low. Gana fought hard to contain her snort and it seemed even Merlin and Nott heard her as they hurriedly coughed to disguise their laughter.

Trelawney didn't appear to notice as she sat beside Parvati and Lavender, undoubtedly her favourites as they hung onto her every word. For once, Hermione was completely okay with not being the teacher's favourite. All she needed was to learn the subject, score the highest and never think about what stupid tea leaves or tarot cards mean ever again.

With that outlook, she stared at the ball in front of her, not knowing what she was looking for. Perhaps the fog was the answer? But to what question? Certainly Hermione didn't know as it wasn't written in the textbook!

It didn't help that Merlin was already dutifully noting down whatever he saw and even Gana was observing her crystal ball, raptured, as though the most entertaining movie was playing on it. Hermione sighed and looked up. "There's nothing visible! This is useless."

Gana took pity on her and offered to look for her. Perhaps Hermione just needed a starting point. "First, you need to clear your mind. Imagine you're alone in the water and let the pictures form. Don't go looking for them. For instance, there, do you see that furry body?" Hermione stared very hard in the location where Gana was pointing but all she could see was the swirling clouds. "It's kind of like a squirrel? Or maybe a weasel actually."

"So there's a weasel infestation in Hogwarts?" asked Hermione flatly.

Next to her, Merlin snorted. "It's not always so literal. If I saw a weasel, it'd probably mean something like a traitor. Same with a rat, really," he offered.

"Or it literally means Weasley — biggest blood traitors there are," supplied Nott.

Hermione shook her head. "Gana, I'm sorry but I just don't get this!" But Gana wasn't listening anymore. She was intently gazing into Hermione's crystal ball.

"Yours has so much! Merlin, come look."

The two of them took turns to label the apparently numerous images in Hermione's ball, calling out various things without a pause. Each time, she squinted alongside but the fog refused to clear away and her irritation grew.

"Say, is that a horse? It has wings!"

"Maybe a unicorn?"

"No, what was I going on about? That's clearly a dragon! Can't believe I didn't recognise that."

"A dragon in Hermione's future? Wow. Wait, look! It's a moon?"

"Or a bald head," smiled Merlin. "Careful, Hermione, a bald-headed man will attack you on a full-moon—"

"I give up!" Hermione's shout rang clear in the otherwise quiet room. "I can't do this any more! I can't pretend that this," she said, violently gesturing to the room and nearly smacking Merlin in the face, "isn't all nonsense! I'm leaving."

With that, she scooped up her books and piled them into her bag, glaring at Trelawney throughout. In her haste, she knocked the ball to the floor but Hermione didn't care. She swept out of the place, not noticing Ron, Harry and Gana chasing after her.

Only Merlin was there to witness the black smoke curling out of the broken crystal ball.

Chapter Text

"Hey," said Gana and Gwen flashed her a quick smile before returning to the frog in hand. Professor Flitwick had had a small emergency during Frog Choir and, being close by, Gwen had volunteered to train up the frog. "You wanna meet later?"

"No, no. I've given the frog some vocal exercises so it should be fine for the next couple of minutes." With that, Gwen nodded to the frog one last time and turned to Gana. "Besides, any later and I'll forget what I want to say."

Gana settled in her chair and waited patiently as Gwen hesitated. "It's not so much that I'll forget per se, it's just… I'll lose my steam because it's really not that big of a deal but—"

"Gwen. Tell me."

She laughed before obliging. "It's Merlin. You know how we meet up like once every two weeks to chat?" Gana nodded along.

"You see more of him than you do me." Gwen rolled her eyes fondly but she couldn't help her widening grin.

"Don't be jealous, dear," she tutted. The frog hiccoughed and Gwen continued after offering it water. "Well, in the last of our many meetings, he seemed a bit… off." At Gana's intrigued expression, Gwen shrugged nervously. "It's probably, I mean, it's definitely nothing, but it seemed odd to me." She started shaking her head, deciding it was a foolish concern. After all, exams were coming up! Perhaps Merlin just became more stressed than others.

"Gwen, whatever you're thinking, stop," ordered Gana as soon as she noticed the head shakes. "We both know your best ideas are the ones you feel are too out there. Remember Jerry and his—"

"Yes, yes," cut Gwen hastily. She was indeed right about Jerry and his… problem. "Okay, fine. Merlin looked like he was, I don't know, like he was pretending to be himself. Like, like someone told him 'Act like Merlin' and he has no clue how to do it. He's not himself." Gwen didn't know how to communicate the deep unsettlement she felt yesterday. Somehow, Gana still understood her perfectly.

"Something is different about him," she agreed. "I sat with him in Divination a few weeks ago and he was just polite to me. Like he didn't really know who I was. And it's been more than a month since Merlin's joined Mord and I for our magic club. Speaking of, you really need to come!"

"No, Gana, I'm going to be awful. Your first-year friend would laugh," protested Gwen but it was a futile attempt.

"Mord? No, he's the sweetest. You'd love him!" tried Gana. When that didn't work, she resorted to the only weapon left in her arsenal: puppy eyes.

Gwen threw a cushion at Gana as she sighed. "You win. You and your eyes, Gana!" Gana didn't care though as she leapt to wrap Gwen in the tightest hug. "But this means you're auditioning for Frog Choir with me next year," she managed.

///

Merlin gave the second-year boy a cursory glance before raising his eyebrow. Immediately, he burst into tears and ran away but it couldn't be helped. Merlin had high standards. The person he chose would be responsible for corroborating information from the lower school to prefects.

Technically, that was their job role. In reality, these chosen individuals reported to the most powerful people in their House. For other, lesser Houses, this was quite obviously the prefects but in Slytherin, the politics weren't so simple.

Ever since Merlin's first year, he was supposed to be the bearer of all of the happenings in Slytherin and he would choose what to pass on to who. Given his unique circumstances and Draco's decision to essentially abandon his responsibility, the prefects took over. Now, with Theo, Pansy, Daphne and Blaise all vouching for Merlin, he was given his role back. And it was a role he took seriously.

"I know we were worried he'd pick the first one he saw, but at this rate, we're going to run out of eligible second-years," said Daphne. When Theo and Pansy didn't give her the response she wanted — or indeed, any response at all — she groaned in frustration before turning to Merlin. "We gave you the list of all the perfect candidates; what in Salazar's name are you still looking for?"

"Perfect candidates?" scoffed Merlin gesturing in the direction which the girl had just run in. "You mean the one I overheard eagerly gossiping to his friend?" Daphne rolled her eyes but her response was ignored in favour for the next hopeful applicant. One who looked significantly more promising than the three others rejected earlier.

A short distance away were Pansy and Theo, the latter of which had been watching the scene with something akin to pride on his face. "You don't need to act like a proud father," grumbled Pansy.

"Aren't you proud to see our child flourish? To become everything we wanted?" he sighed, paying no attention as Pansy started laughing.

"Our child? You wish! My mother would never allow an arrangement with you."

"No," agreed Theo. "You're hoping for a certain blond moron and I'm afraid I can't deliver on both accounts." Pansy looked indifferent as she continued staring at Merlin, who was now entertaining his potential minion in conversation and was looking increasingly bored — a skill she had taught him herself.

"Next year, Draco will be mine," she promised. "He's had his fun. It's time for him to honour the betrothal contract."

"You'll have to compete with that Mudblood tramp," Theo pointed out. "She's wound him around her muddy little finger."

Pansy raised an eyebrow. "You're asking me to compete with a Mudblood? Don't debase me so, Theo." He laughed in response as she smacked him but the two fell quiet as they noticed the scene in front of them.

Merlin was still entertaining the second-year girl, who was indeed looking promising as she had yet to cower before him, when an older girl came up. She barely gave him a second to acknowledge her before informing Merlin that she would be the designated person from fifth-year whether he liked it or not.

Well, she never got to finish her sentence because Merlin simply glared at her, his bright blue eyes piercing through the girl. "You appear to be mistaken," he started coldly, "I don't remember asking you to speak."

Pansy turned to Theo and tried to hold her grin back. "Maybe you're right. It is rather satisfying to see the fruits of our labour."

Chapter Text

Unlike the past few months, April and May passed without much excitement. Harry kept badgering Professor McGonagall for his Firebolt and Professor Lupin for the Marauder's Map but was equally unsuccessful in both. Hermione continued to push herself to the brink as she stressed over the coming exams more than half of the fifth-years did. Ron was torn between encouraging Harry and supporting Hermione but choice was made for him when it was discovered one Sunday morning that Hermione's cat had finally gone and done the inevitable.

"YOUR CAT ATE SCABBERS!"

The shout woke up those who were lying in — so all of the House — as Ron charged out of his dorm with his bedsheets in tow. "HERMIONE JEAN GRANGER!"

Plenty of people rushed down but Hermione wasn't one of them. Instead, she was passed out on the armchair, multiple stacks of books towering over her sleeping form. Ron shook her awake and thrust the sheets in her face, not even giving her a second to adjust to the bright sunlight filtering into the now-packed common-room.

"Explain this!" he yelled and Harry pushed his way to Ron, not understanding what the conflict was about. He had been having a very fulfilling dream where he was flying on his Firebolt and produced a perfect Patronus. "Your prick of a cat went and killed Scabbers!"

"Ronald!" Hermione got to her feet, suddenly feeling wide awake. She glanced at the bedsheets and the dried specks of red which admittedly did look like blood and then looked back at a fuming Ron. "Crookshanks did nothing of that sort."

This only served to enrage Ron further. Harry tugged at his pyjamas as he lunged forward but Hermione stood firm, if a little exhausted. "Then explain these," he spat, shoving something into her hand. Upon seeing them, she grew pale and stammered but Ron didn't let her explain.

"I KNEW IT!" Harry craned his neck to see what this evidence was and his eyes widened as he caught sight of the spiky, ginger hairs in Hermione's palm. Ones definitely from Crookshanks. "I told you, over and over again, Crookshanks was out for him. The pool of blood… your stupid cat made Scabbers suffer too!"

Harry rubbed Ron's back comfortingly and, making sure Ron couldn't see, gestured to Hermione to apologise. It was the least she could do. Unfortunately, Hermione didn't seem to get it.

Or she simply believed otherwise. After all, it was in a cat's nature to hunt for mice and rats. If anything, it was Ron's fault for not taking care of Scabbers because she could hardly chain Crookshanks up. Besides, Scabbers was quite old and feeble — wasn't death kinder than forcing him to be alive?

She said as much, not taking a hint as multiple people around her tried to intervene and save Hermione from the hole she was digging herself into. Even Harry discreetly shoved a tower of books so the top one would fall and at least Hermione would switch tracks to yell at him for breaking a book. Instead, she picked it up whilst continuing her rant.

Ron left without another word but somehow, the entire House could tell that a war had started in Gryffindor.

Chapter Text

Cliques had well and truly formed in the two months and whether Draco liked it or not, the Slytherins had almost definitively ousted him. Somehow, Merlin was now reigning the whole House, a fact Draco discovered when he tried to return to his bed after an evening of studying in the Library with Granger — it was undeniable that she knew how to revise better than anyone. Upon his return, instead of the portrait of the snake charmer, he was greeted by a weedy first-year.

Assuming this was the replacement, Draco stated the password, "Snakeskin," and went to push the door, only to find it still locked.

"Sorry, Mister," squeaked the boy, "but Lord Emrys says anyone who can't offer the correct password must make other arrangements from now on."

Draco blinked. Merlin said that? Merlin? The fool who happily gave up his bed when Draco complained of a lump in his? "There's been a mistake, clearly. I'm Draco Malfoy."

He expected the boy to stutter various apologies, perhaps even go as far as cry for his forgiveness and Draco decided to go easy on the kid. Except that never came. Instead, he stood firm. "I was told the rules apply to everyone." The boy looked at him expectantly and eventually, Draco accepted his dismissal.

As he left, he could hear echoing laughter from within. Still, he held his head high. He would get them in the morning.

And he did. After a rough night, Draco did the unthinkable. He went and sat with the Gryffindors for breakfast. Despite his detestation for the useless social rules his father had instilled upon him in his childhood, Draco was aware that others treated them like religious scriptures. Others like Nott.

Draco knew it wasn't Merlin making these decisions. Turning him away from the common-room: this had Nott written all over it. They were just using Merlin's name as a cover. Well, Draco knew just how to get under their skin.

Him sitting at Gryffindor would appear perfectly normal to Merlin and would seem as though Draco was going above and beyond complying with Merlin wishes to not see him. But to Nott? Well, publicly declaring a private feud was incredibly dishonouring for all parties involved. And while Draco couldn't care less what the rest of the school thought — Salazar knew he abandoned that care when he started spending time with the Gryffindors — Nott would be highly affected.

So Draco breakfasted with Potter, Weasley and Granger, who were having their own mini-feud. He hadn't inquired the specifics but the numerous shouting matches helped him understand the gist of it which was that Granger's cat ate Weasley's rat. Draco found it hilarious.

Anyway, he and Potter seemed to be the glue holding the two together and so it was that fine Tuesday morning when Terence Higgs approached the Gryffindor table. Draco continued to expertly slice his sausages without regard for the visitor — why would a fourth-year Slytherin be coming to talk to him? Perhaps Higgs had some secret girlfriend he was going to dramatically reveal.

Now that would be entertaining.

Unfortunately, no such reveal happened as Higgs stopped right behind Draco and cleared his throat. "Lord Emrys wants you to join the Slytherin Table."

Draco simply raised an eyebrow. Clearly things had changed more than he realised and perhaps Merlin wasn't as innocent as he initially deemed. Why else would he send an older year to do his work for him? "I've nothing to say to him," he replied coolly.

He was aware the table, no, the entire room, had fallen silent. "This isn't a request," answered Higgs and Draco felt a sharp prod to his back. Higgs had pulled out his wand on him.

Draco looked to the teacher's table, certain somebody was going to step in, but he noticed each teacher was conveniently held up in conversation with various young Slytherins. Merlin had certainly won the loyalty of the House well.

With no other choice, he admitted his defeat and returned to his usual place. As expected, Draco didn't receive the warm welcome he had dared to hope for and he felt each stare as a knife piercing him. The worst of all was Merlin, who didn't even accidentally look in his direction as he chatted with Nott, Zabini, Greengrass and Parkinson.

Cliques had well and truly formed, hadn't they?

Chapter Text

Harry hated exams.

He didn't know if they had always been this awful but he hated the tests this year. There were the usual horrors in the forms of Transfiguration, History of Magic and Potions, each of which he somehow got through without causing a major disaster, but the real problem was with Divination.

After a year of spouting useless garbage and playing the Grim up to earn Trelawney's favour, Harry had learnt absolutely nothing. Except the fact that he should place two life-threatening disasters within days of each other as that meant Trelawney would fret for his life and tell McGonagall to keep an eye on him.

So when he walked into the Divination exam, ahead of Ron because of the order and so he made Harry promise to tell him everything, he didn't know what he was getting himself into. "Come, dear," greeted Trelawney with her usual air of mystique.

For the exams, she had decided to 'help' by pumping gallons of lavender scented smoke into the room for it's so-called calming properties. This, combined with the chamomile tea Harry had been offered downstairs, served to lull him into a sleepy haze.

"Kindly gaze into the orb," she said and Harry distantly noted the crystal ball sitting expectantly in front of him. "Tell me everything you See."

He complied and bent over the crystal ball and stared, stared as hard as he could, willing it to show him something other than swirling white fog, but nothing happened. If nothing else, it seemed the room was also getting just as foggy and he had to shake his head to focus.

“Well?” Professor Trelawney prompted delicately. “What do you See?”

The heat was overpowering and his nostrils were stinging with the perfumed smoke wafting from the fire beside them. Was the lavender candle setting the pillow on fire? Harry couldn't tell any more. But, he could understand the increasing impatience Trelawney had and decided to do what he did best: spout garbage.

“Er —” said Harry, “a dark shape… um, I think…”

“What does it resemble?” whispered Professor Trelawney. “Think, now… an animal?”

Harry cast his mind around and it landed on Scabbers. Though Ron and Hermione had picked a tentative truce, the loss of the rat had hit their friendship hard and now, Harry was prepared to milk it for all it was worth.

"A rat," he said firmly.

If Trelawney was surprised, she didn't show it. Instead, she jotted it down on the parchment beside her and urged him for more details. Well, more details she was going to get.

"It, uh, it's fat," added Harry rather pathetically. "But alive." It's the least he could do for Ron.

"Right," said Trelawney after a pause. "Well, dear, cast your mind back to our lesson. What less literal meaning can a rat have?" Harry didn't catch her drift and so just stared. "Remember how rats can mean… traitors?" she supplied when it was obvious Harry wasn't going to answer. "Perhaps you see something else, showing you who the traitor is? Perhaps a certain Slytherin?"

"Merlin," whispered Harry. Was he a traitor now? With Quidditch, school work and keeping Hermione and Ron together, not to mention his determination to make Black pay, Harry had clean forgotten about the others — Merlin, Gana, Gwen. It wasn't until Malfoy had sat at the Gryffindor table a few days ago that Harry realised how much things had changed.

"You See Merlin?" Trelawney's squawk drew Harry from his thoughts. "The great wizard? Or that student?"

"No, I don't See anything."

"Perhaps you See young Malfoy being a traitor?" she tried. The hope in her voice sounded off to Harry and he once again wondered if Hermione had had the right idea.

"Nope," he said firmly. Malfoy, surprisingly, had been alright to them lately and Harry wasn't going to pay him back like this. "The rat really is a rat. Oh look, he's running away."

Professor Trelawney sighed. “Well, dear, I think we’ll leave it there. A little disappointing, I must admit… but I’m sure you did your best.”

Relieved, Harry got up, picked up his bag and turned to go, but then a loud, harsh voice spoke behind him.

“IT WILL HAPPEN TONIGHT.”

Harry wheeled around. Professor Trelawney had gone rigid in her armchair; her eyes were unfocused and her mouth sagging.

“S-sorry?” said Harry.

But Professor Trelawney didn’t seem to hear him. Her eyes started to roll. Harry stood there in a panic. She looked as though she was about to have some sort of seizure. He hesitated, thinking of running to the hospital wing, perhaps calling Ron — and then Professor Trelawney spoke again, in the same harsh voice, quite unlike her own:

“THE DARK LORD LIES ALONE AND FRIENDLESS, ABANDONED BY HIS FOLLOWERS.

"HIS SERVANT HAS BEEN CHAINED THESE TWELVE YEARS.

"TONIGHT, BEFORE MIDNIGHT… THE SERVANT WILL BREAK FREE AND SET OUT TO REJOIN HIS MASTER.

"THE DARK LORD WILL RISE AGAIN WITH HIS SERVANT’S AID, GREATER AND MORE TERRIBLE THAN EVER BEFORE.

"HE WILL RISE TO HEIGHTS NEVER SEEN… WITH THE BANE BY HIS SIDE…

"THE DARK LORD WILL BE UNSTOPPABLE.

"TONIGHT… BEFORE MIDNIGHT… THE SERVANT… WILL SET OUT… TO REJOIN… HIS MASTER… TO MEET… THE BANE.”

Professor Trelawney’s head fell forward onto her chest. She made a grunting sort of noise. Then, quite suddenly, her head snapped up again.

“I’m so sorry, dear boy,” she said dreamily, “the heat of the day, you know… looks like I drifted off for a moment…”

Harry stood there, still staring. The Dark Lord? She couldn't have meant Voldemort, could she? Was the servant Black? And who was 'The Bane'?

“Is there anything wrong, my dear?” she asked cheerily.

“You — you just told me that the — the Dark Lord’s going to rise again… that his servant’s going to go back to him. And something about a bane.”

Professor Trelawney looked thoroughly startled. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? My dear boy, that’s hardly something to joke about… Rise again, indeed —”

“But you just said it! You said the Dark Lord —”

“I think you must have dozed off too, dear!” said Professor Trelawney, looking increasingly agitated. “I would certainly not presume to predict anything quite as far-fetched as that!”

Harry climbed back down the ladder and the spiral staircase, his head reeling. Had he just heard Professor Trelawney make a real prediction? Or had that been her idea of an impressive end to the test?

"Harry? Mate, why d'you look so pale?" Ron narrowed his eyes as Harry brushed him off.

"Come to the common-room," he managed before taking off. Prediction or not, it seemed tonight was the night Black would strike. And succeed.

Chapter Text

Despite his earlier state of panic, by the time Harry got back, he had reasonably calmed down. How many times had Hermione mentioned Trelawney was fraudulent? Perhaps this was just another attention-seeking attempt from her.

This was what he told himself firmly during dinner and as he got ready for bed. Just as he started to actually believe it, Harry noticed movement out of the window. His bed was right by the window and it was hard to miss the way the shadow darted to the Whomping Willow as he prepared to sleep.

Was it Black? Or was it just an animal?

Against his better judgement, he tucked himself in and tried to sleep but it was impossible. His mind wouldn't stop painting scenarios where Voldemort rose to power simply because Harry had prioritised his sleep.

He opened his eyes and sighed. He had to do something. And this resulted in Harry digging in his trunk for his Invisibility Cloak, trying to keep quiet. His extra attention to not making sound was his downfall as he accidentally dropped a book — definitely a forgotten Christmas present from Hermione — which landed with a loud thud.

Harry froze, listening closely to see if it had woke anyone up. Thankfully, most of his dorm had heavy sleepers so he quickly got to his feet. Only then did he realise that Ron had been silently watching him.

"Are you going to explain why you've been acting so strange then?" he asked, sounding oddly like Hermione.

Harry filled him in on everything Trelawney said and with each sentence, Ron's eyes widened. "That sounds like an actual prophecy, mate," he said in awe.

"So I have to stop Black," said Harry in determination. "I can't let him join Voldemort."

Ron nodded, trying to hide his apparent fear. "I'll come with you. No, don't even think about stopping me," he added firmly. The look in his eyes caused all of Harry's numerous arguments to die as he settled for a nod.

"We can't tell Hermione though. She'll—"

"Turn us in," finished Ron, still annoyed about the Firebolt. Harry couldn't blame him.

After a few moments, the two of them descended down the stairs, hoping to find an empty common-room now that all the exams were over. Instead, they found Hermione frantically looking around.

Harry and Ron stilled and looked at each other. This wasn't part of the plan. Hermione hadn't noticed them yet and there was still the chance to sneak back upstairs and try later. Or not because she turned in that moment and started sobbing.

"Oh, you guys, I lost Crookshanks!" exclaimed Hermione. "I haven't seen him all day and, I, I don't know where he's gone."

Ron awkwardly patted her, biting back his usual mean comments about the cat. At the end of the day, cats eat rats and anyway, Scabbers was an ancient thing. "He'll come back," he offered.

Hermione wailed louder. "I usually see him once a day, at least. He's constantly by my feet or curled on that armchair, waiting for me to come back after lessons! I'm scared the, the Dementors did something to him…"

"Let's go out and look for him," decided Harry. He pointedly looked at Ron — they could direct the search party to the Whomping Willow, where he saw that shadow, and deal with Black at the same time.