Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

At over a thousand years old, there wasn’t much that could shock Merlin. Surprise, sure—the world’s constant shifting and growing never ceased, and no amount of power could stop Merlin from allowing himself to enjoy the wonders it still held. But Merlin had seen the shaking dawns and bloody deaths of empires, the ever-worsening horrors of never-ending wars, the lengths that people would go to in order to further their own greed or stand up for what they believed in. At this point, Merlin was quite certain that only one event could ever truly shock him, and as time went on, he became less and less sure that that day would ever come to pass.

So he was surprised to suddenly hear the name of an old friend in the twentieth century, but he was certainly not shocked . When one’s life and friends—and name —become legend, one gets used to hearing it repeated.

“I hear he’s descended from the Pendragon line,” said a young witch to a group of what seemed to be third-year students. She was waving her hands excitedly and obviously trying to keep her voice from carrying, but her efforts were in vain—the train platform was relatively quiet, and she’d attracted the attention of not only her rapt group of friends, but a few other scattered students nearby. “I’ve never met a Pendragon!”

“Pendragon?” A wizard in the group echoed. “As in Arthur Pendragon? From the legends?”

“The very same,” answered the first witch.

“They trace their lineage back to the Arthur Pendragon,” explained another witch. “While Arthur himself didn’t have magic, they claim that his children did. Something about ancient magic being introduced to his bloodline back when it was at its strongest.”

Merlin couldn’t help but snort at the news. He’d heard of this so-called Pendragon line, but he never tired of their antics. Their family was powerful and may have even been able to trace their ancestry back a thousand years, but Merlin knew for a fact that Gwen and Arthur never had children. He had been there, after all.

“Something funny, loser?” Another wizard from their group, taller and broader than the others, took a menacing step towards Merlin.

Merlin grinned innocently, raising his hands to show them that he didn’t even have his wand out. Not that he needed it, but what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. “Just remembering a joke I heard earlier, that’s all. Nothing to do with you or this Pendragon fellow.”

The wizard stared at him for a few more seconds, likely trying to ensure he was properly intimidated, before nodding gruffly. “Mind that it stays that way.”

Merlin suppressed the urge to roll his eyes—he would have to go to school with these people, and he wanted to draw as little attention to himself as possible—and he tuned back out of their conversation. The magical Pendragon line, he’d discovered long ago, was a dead end in terms of finding Arthur again.

“Tough crowd, eh?”

Again, Merlin was not shocked, just startled, when a voice sounded next to him. He turned to see a witch around his age with shoulder-length dark hair offering him a lazy smile. She was carrying a smaller trunk than most of the other students on the platform, and Merlin found himself wondering if she’d actually managed to fit all the supplies they were meant to bring.

Merlin shrugged in reply. “I suppose I can’t expect everyone to find as much humour in life as I do.”

His new friend’s smile broadened. “Hear, hear! What’s the point in life if you can’t have fun with it?” She took off one of her leather gloves and offered a hand, which Merlin readily accepted. “The name’s Gavina, by the way. Gavina Greengrass.”

“Merlin.”

Gavina frowned. “What’s that? Something wrong with my name? I swear I’m not some prejudiced arse—”

Merlin shook his head with a rueful smile. He knew this would be a problem if he chose to go with his real name for the first time in centuries, but something told him it was the right thing to do this time around. “No, that wasn’t—I wasn’t swearing. My name is Merlin Ealdor.”

Gavina laughed and clapped Merlin on the back. “Yeah, and I’m Prince Arthur of Camelot.” At Merlin’s lack of a response, she paused in her merriment. “You can’t be serious. Your parents actually named you Merlin ?”

“Er—not exactly. I was sort of abandoned as a child, and when the orphanage found me, I told them my name was Merlin because I’d always thought it would be fun to be a wizard. Now it’s my legal name and apparently I’m an actual wizard, so that’s fun. Six-year-olds should never be in charge of making major life decisions.”

Merlin tried not to be offended when Gavina absolutely lost it at his explanation. Sure, it wasn’t his real backstory, but Gavina didn’t know that. Besides, Merlin thought it made sense. For the most part.

“Well, Merlin ,” Gavina said, grabbing his shoulder in a gesture that was either meant to be friendly or to help her keep her balance after making herself light-headed with laughter, “I like the way six-year-old you thinks. Merlin’s a splendid name.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“So, Prince of Enchanters,” Gavina started, making Merlin roll his eyes, “what are you doing at King’s Cross so early?”

“First of all, please don’t make ‘Prince of Enchanters’ a thing.” Judging by the look on Gavina’s face, she had no intentions of agreeing to his request, but Merlin didn’t really mind. As long as it was still a joke, and she didn’t find out that he was the actual so-called Prince of Enchanters, it should be fine. “And I left early because I’m chronically late due to unforeseen circumstances, so I gave myself some extra time just in case.”

That part was actually true. He’d already been held up for nearly two hours by various creatures sensing his magical energy and asking him for some form of aid. Such was the cost of being the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the earth, he supposed. It wasn’t quite how he envisioned Albion, but his destiny was to serve the magical community and he would do so in any manner possible.

“Sounds like a tough way to live.”

“Well, it’s not all bad,” Merlin assured her. “Life’s best adventures are unexpected. It’s like you said—what’s the point in life if you can’t have fun with it?”

Gavina studied him for a second, eyes narrowed, before a smile broke out on her face. “I like you, Merlin. Which is bad news for you, because I’m told I can be quite the leech. Once I’m attached, you can’t get rid of me.”

“Well, lucky for you, Gavina…” Merlin smiled back at her as the Hogwarts Express made itself heard in the distance. “I think I can handle a leech or two.”

Hogwarts Castle was just as beautiful as it was on the day it was built. Even having seen it a hundred times, Merlin found himself looking around to properly take it all in as he followed the rest of the first-years down the corridors to reach the Great Hall. Its similarities to Arthur’s castle always pained him, but the familiarity was welcoming despite how much it hurt. He felt at home within its walls, even if he knew he could never return to the place where he truly belonged.

Professor McGonagall, the head of the Gryffindor House if Merlin wasn’t mistaken, was explaining the Sorting process and the Houses of Hogwarts. Merlin had heard the spiel enough times—he was there when the ideas were conceived, and he’d attended the school a fair amount of times in the last millennium—but he made an effort to at least appear as though he were listening.

“Excuse me, young witch,” McGonagall said, interrupting her own speech, “is there something you would rather be doing right now?”

Gavina startled almost imperceptibly and turned to face McGonagall. “Apologies, Professor. I was just enchanted by the scenery.”

Her charming smile didn’t seem to impress McGonagall, who gave her a stern look before returning to her explanation. Merlin decided then and there that he liked McGonagall and her no-nonsense attitude. It reminded him of Gaius.

McGonagall disappeared for a moment, leaving the students to talk amongst themselves until the ghosts showed up. Most students gasped, but Merlin knew this song and dance and just shook his head in fond amusement. The ghosts knew they weren’t supposed to let on that they recognized him, but Helena sent him a wink when she caught his eye and he gave her an answering smile.

Eventually, they were ushered into the Great Hall. Merlin never tired of seeing the incoming students’ faces as they saw the room for the first time. He remembered when they completed the enchantments and he finally got to see the finished product in all its glory. It wasn’t just about the beauty, though—in some ways it reminded him of when he first arrived in Camelot. These young witches and wizards were discovering their new home.

He’d forgotten how horrendous the Sorting Hat’s singing voice was. He hated to disrespect one of Godric’s most prized possessions, but there was no denying that it sounded like… well, a bunch of leather trying to make music. He tried to pretend he was listening as he surveyed the room.

There was an empty seat at the far end of the staff table, in front of where the Slytherin students sat. Based on past years, he assumed that this was the seat for the head of the Slytherin House. So why was the seat empty on the first day?

Glancing through the rest of the table’s occupants, he felt his eyes catch on someone’s bright turquoise robes that stood out like a peacock amongst crows. Merlin liked the eccentricity, but after a few moments of studying the wizard, he wasn’t sure whether he would like the man himself. He reminded Merlin of a noble or politician with his charming smiles, and Merlin had always preferred honest and straightforward people.

Finally he looked at the current Headmaster and narrowed his eyes. There was something familiar about the man, but he wasn’t sure what. His appearance actually reminded Merlin of his own disguise as Dragoon the Great, which he’d brought out several times in the past in order to teach at this very school, most recently sometime around a century ago. Perhaps this was one of his former students.

The whispers started when his rather unorthodox name was called, but he ignored them and found himself smiling as he approached the stool. He hadn’t spoken to the Sorting Hat in almost a century, and he didn’t have many other friends that he’d known for over a millennium. 

“Well, if it isn’t the Great Emrys himself, returning to grace the halls of our humble school,” the small voice said into his ear as the hat covered his eyes and shrouded his vision in its comforting darkness. “Welcome back to Hogwarts.”

It’s good to see you, old friend, Merlin thought in reply.

“I have no doubt that it is.” The small voice was amused now, and Merlin grinned as well. “What House are you hoping to join this year, then? You were in Gryffindor last time, if I’m not mistaken.”

Correct as always, Merlin confirmed. Let’s see... I’ve been told I’m very loyal. I’m used to a lot of hard work. Plus, I’ve been pretty patient these last thousand years, if I do say so myself.

“I must say I’m surprised, Emrys,” the small voice said. “I believed you were due for Ravenclaw or Slytherin again by now.”

This just feels right for some reason, Merlin thought. Before I go, though, how is Hogwarts? How are you?

“I’m afraid I don’t have much to share in regard to the latter,” the small voice said. “I don’t have many opportunities for great adventures, unlike my students. As for the school, I’m sure you’ve heard of the encroaching darkness?”

Something about a Dark Lord and a lad named Harry Potter, I believe. I must admit I haven’t been keeping up with the wizarding world as of late. I’ve kept you too long, though, and I don’t want to make a scene, so perhaps we can continue this chat later.

“Very well, then,” the small voice answered. “HUFFLEPUFF!”

Merlin gently placed the Sorting Hat back onto its stool and made his way over to the Hufflepuff table, warmed by their heartfelt cheers. Gryffindor was always the loudest, followed by Slytherin, but he always felt that Hufflepuff was the most genuinely welcoming of the Houses on the first day. 

“It’s rare to see a near hatstall for a Hufflepuff,” a second-year witch told him as he sat down at the end of the table. “What did it say?”

“I think it found my wit rather charming,” Merlin answered. “It said something about putting me in Ravenclaw.”

A few nearby students joined the witch as she giggled at him. “Well, I’m certain you’ll love it here in Hufflepuff. I’m Hannah, by the way, and next to you is Justin.”

Merlin took her offered hand, then Justin’s. “I’m Merlin, as I’m sure you heard.”

“Oh, we heard all right,” Justin said with a slightly confused grin.

“Yeah, about that,” Hannah said, “I don’t mean to be rude, but—well—you don’t often meet people named after the most famous wizard of all time. It’s a bit—well…”

“Taboo,” Justin finished for her. “No offense.”

“Oh, no, it’s my own fault,” Merlin assured them. “I wanted to be a wizard when I was six and the rest is history.”

Hannah and Justin were definitely confused by his response and Hannah opened her mouth to say something, but just then another student sat down across from Merlin.

“Hello there,” she said, smiling at them nervously. “It’s nice to meet you all.”

Merlin smiled back at her and offered a hand. “The pleasure’s all mine. I’m afraid I missed your name, though.”

She shook his hand a bit awkwardly—how come the table suddenly felt as though it were in the way when he just finished shaking hands with two other magicians? “Oh, I’m Lyn Fynn.”

“Lyn Fynn?” Justin repeated. “And here I thought ‘Merlin’ was a strange name. No offense.”

“None taken!” Lyn was quick to assure. “Lyn’s a nickname, actually, but it’s what all my friends call me.”

Merlin missed whatever Justin said next as he noticed McGonagall walking briskly out of the room. She was by no means sneaking, but she must have slipped away from the staff table without anyone noticing. Merlin couldn’t see her face from this angle, but her posture was stiff in a way that reminded him of Rowena preparing to lecture one of her students. He wondered if McGonagall wouldn’t have made a fine Ravenclaw.

He also wondered where exactly she was going. First the head of the Slytherin House, now the head of Gryffindor... What kind of trouble could there be this early in the semester that drew two prominent professors away from the Sorting? Merlin was glad he’d come to evaluate the school; it seemed there was a lot to keep tabs on.

“You alright there, Merlin?” Hannah asked, giving him a look of concern that roused him from his deliberation. Justin and Lyn both turned to him at her words, along with another new student whom Merlin hadn’t even noticed yet.

“Oh,” he said, shaking his head to clear it, “no, I’m—”

“Pendragon, Arthur!”

It was as though the world stopped in that instant. Maybe it did. It was certainly within Merlin’s power, and he was—for lack of a better word—shocked. 

His head snapped to the front of the Great Hall, searching out the man who was meant to accompany that name. He knew that his new friends were asking him something, concerned about his mental health no doubt, but he couldn’t understand a word they were saying past the ringing in his ears and nothing could cause him to look away from where his eyes were currently glued.

There was no handsome blond king at the staff table, as he knew there wouldn’t be. His heart had hoped, but common sense told him that fate wouldn’t act in such a simple and straightforward manner. Instead, he saw movement in the line of students as one of them separated from the line and strode to the stool where the last student had left the Sorting Hat. Merlin was too far away to see him clearly, but—

The second he had the thought, his vision seemed to focus and enlarge the image before him. It had been centuries since he’d last done accidental magic like that, and his current emotional state was likely to blame. 

The boy had blond hair, but it was shorter on the sides and longer on top, a more modern look compared to the Arthur that Merlin had known. This Arthur had blue eyes as well, similar to those Merlin remembered, but they were definitely not eyes that he recognized. His gait was also different; it had the confidence borne of high birth, but where his Arthur’s pride was derived from his determination to lead his people well, this Arthur’s ego seemed to come only from arrogance. 

Despite his confident gait, it seemed like this new Arthur was taking forever to reach the stool and Merlin belatedly realized that he had accidentally slowed time in his shock. He shook himself out of it when the boy was a few steps away from the Sorting Hat, but Merlin still couldn’t force himself to look away.

“—coincidence, right?”

“Do you think he’ll end up in Hufflepuff, too? We could fancy ourselves the Knights of Camelot at this rate.”

“Yeah, right. Family history aside, a kid named Arthur Pendragon can’t end up in anything but—”

“GRYFFINDOR!”

The hat had barely come within a foot of his head, and Merlin found himself chuckling as the boy’s new House burst into applause. He was sure that his Arthur would be rolling in his watery grave if his namesake had been placed in any House other than the one that prided itself on its bravery and chivalry. 

For that’s all that this boy was: a namesake. As much as Merlin wanted to believe that his long wait was finally over, he was sure he would have felt some sort of cosmic shift once Arthur came back. He didn’t sense any sort of unusual magical aura coming off of the boy, or at least not anything different from a regular wizard of his age, and destiny didn’t wash over him the way he’d grown accustomed to feeling every time he looked at his Arthur.

Besides, there was no way Arthur Pendragon would ever be caught dead in a school of magic.

Chapter Text

The Astronomy Tower had always been one of Merlin’s favourite places to visit. He’d never taken an interest in reading the stars, having dealt enough with prophecies and destiny without ever seeking them out, but the tower had one of the best views in all of Hogwarts. In the stillness of the grounds and surrounding countryside, Merlin felt his age weighing on him more than it had in decades.

“It’s a beautiful night,” a quiet voice spoke from behind him.

Merlin didn’t turn as the figure approached the railing next to him, not quite leaning against it. He’d felt their presence as they appeared and welcomed the companionship. “It’s been too long since I’ve last seen this view.”

“I’d tend to agree with that,” The Bloody Baron said. “You know we love it when you visit.”

“As do I, Alastair,” Merlin said. “No matter how long this school stands, it rarely seems to change.”

“It makes it feel as though a hundred years pass in the blink of an eye.” A new presence joined them, floating to Merlin’s other side.

He inclined his head. “Helena.”

“Hello, Merlin,” she greeted. “How have you been since we last saw each other?”

Merlin smiled, a bit wistfully. “I was travelling, as I usually am. I just came from a few decades in the Amazon, connecting with the magic there, and after that I was catching up on some changes to American muggle culture. The music has changed somewhat drastically since my last visit, and I’ve become quite fond of a song about wanting your lover to wake you up before they leave to go dancing. A clever play on words, really, with the ‘go-go’... right, you have no idea what I’m talking about. Well, as you’ve been isolated from the muggle world, so have I from the wizarding world, so it seems I missed some important news about this so-called Dark Lord returning. Mind catching me up?”

Helena and Alastair were quite used to his nonsensical rambling at this point, so they took it all in stride with only a minor confused glance shared between them. 

“Right, well, it began with a man named Tom Riddle…”

As Helena launched into a story about wizarding wars, prejudice, and family, they were soon joined by the other ghosts of the castle, all of whom attempted to help in the explanation. Merlin had a feeling that Helena’s own account would have worked perfectly fine and been much easier to follow, but it was somewhat helpful to have various opinions on the matter.

“Wait, so this Harry fellow was sent to live with a family that hated him and his magic?”

Sir Nicholas grimaced. “I’m afraid so. Headmaster Dumbledore thought it would be best; You-Know-Who would be after the boy, and the only wards strong enough to protect him would be the ones borne of familial love.”

Merlin supposed that made sense. He tried to remember that not everyone had his wealth of magic at their disposal, and therefore would have to make do with other sources of power. 

Still, he felt for the boy. He knew what it was like to be hated for how you were born, for having something as beautiful as magic, but even then he’d always had his mother, and Gaius, and Lancelot, who’d accepted him for what he was. He’d also had friends like Arthur, and Gwen, and Gwaine, and Percival, and Elyan, and Leon, who may not have known about his magic, but made him feel at home in Camelot. It seemed as though this boy had no one, and Merlin hoped that had changed when he started at Hogwarts last year.

“I can understand his—wait, did you say ‘Dumbledore’? As in Aberforth and Albus Dumbledore?” No wonder the headmaster had seemed so familiar; Merlin was correct in his guess that he had been a former pupil. “Does that mean Aberforth became the headmaster?”

Robert—or the Fat Friar, as Merlin would have to call him in front of others—laughed boisterously at Merlin’s guess. “Aberforth? Of course not! You know how he was never an exceptionally strong student. Albus is the headmaster.”

“Albus?” Merlin echoed. “The boy who set fire to his curtains in his fourth year? I always thought he was too much of a troublemaker to become headmaster.”

“Troublemaker?” Sir Nicholas questioned. “He was a prefect—Head Boy, actually, if you recall.”

“Well, yes,” Merlin allowed, “but I always thought that was just favouritism because he was such a strong wizard. Half of the ‘accidents’ that happened during his time weren’t accidents at all; in fact, I may or may not have had a hand in a few of them myself.”

Helena rolled her eyes as Alastair and Robert laughed and clapped Merlin on the back. 

“Shame you’re not in Gryffindor this time around,” Sir Nicholas said. “You would get on splendidly with the Weasleys and that Jordan fellow.”

Merlin shrugged. “I can be friends with people in other Houses,” he reminded them. “This whole separation really wasn’t a thing until a few centuries ago.”

“See how some of the current students feel about that,” Helena said. “They think this is just how Hogwarts has always operated, that there’s a good reason students don’t associate with those outside their House. Maybe you’ll be a good influence.”

“I hope so,” Merlin said. “Now, enough about Dark Lords and inter-House politics. You must have some good stories from the last hundred years or so.”

Merlin groaned as the brightening sun made sleep impossible. As fun as it was to catch up with his old friends the previous night, he made a mental note to not stay up so late on a school night, especially on his first day. 

Looking around the chambers, he figured his roommates must have already left for breakfast. That was fair, he supposed; they didn’t know him well, and it didn’t seem as though he’d be horribly late, so they had no reason to wake him. Still, it was a little lonely waking up to an empty room. Merlin, of course, was plenty used to that, though.

After dressing in the ridiculous robes that the wizarding world considered fashionable, Merlin made his way down the tunnel that led to the common room. Once there, he was surprised to see another student sitting quietly in front of the fireplace.

“Lyn?”

She startled when he called out, quickly looking up and giving him a warm smile. “Merlin!”

“What are you doing in the common room?” he asked. “Shouldn’t you be at breakfast by now?”

Lyn blushed, looking down at her hands in what seemed to be embarrassment. “Well, yes, but I saw that you weren’t with the others and I wanted to make sure you weren’t alone on your first day—not that you would be alone for any reason—it’s not that I think the others don’t like you, it’s just that I didn’t see you and I thought—”

“Lyn,” he interrupted with a warm feeling in his chest, “that was very sweet of you. Thank you.”

She smiled again and stood up, brushing at her robes and walking to the crawlspace that led to the kitchen corridor. “Shall we?”

Merlin gestured for her to go ahead and took one last glance around the common room before following her. It hadn’t changed much in the past century, with the painting of Helga still hanging above the mantel (who winked at him when they made eye contact) and the usual overstuffed furniture, but Merlin noted that there were some new plants scattered around the room that hadn’t been there before. Perhaps the current Head of House was a Herbology professor. 

Merlin and Lyn got to know each other a bit while they walked to the Great Hall. Well, Lyn got to know a falsified version of Merlin that included a few hand-picked truths. Oh well.

“Sounds like an amazing birthday party to me,” Merlin laughed as they neared the Great Hall. “Certainly memorable.”

“And a terrifying way to find out you have magic!” Lyn exclaimed, swatting at his side in mock anger. “I could have died!”

“I’m sure you’re tough enough to survive a few candles,” Merlin said. 

“Not a house burning down, which very nearly happened!”

Merlin forced himself to stop laughing, but he couldn’t keep the smile from his voice. “I’m sorry, Lyn, it must have been traumatizing.”

After a moment of awkward silence, she let out her own giggle. “It was pretty funny to see the look on Lindsey’s face when she realized her eyebrows were completely gone. She’d been a right bully up until then.”

Just then, they reached the doors to the Great Hall and Merlin jogged ahead a few steps to open them, gesturing for Lyn to go ahead. “After you.”

She blushed again, giving a mock curtsy before going in and immediately turning around, walking backwards with a hop in her step as she grinned at him. “Isn’t this exciting? We’re really going to a school of magic!”

As far as Lyn knew, Merlin had grown up in an orphanage with no idea he was actually a wizard. He’d figured it was simpler to say that instead of inventing false parents. He’d done that before, and it was extremely difficult to keep track of two conjured magicians when he failed to find anyone willing to fill in for a meeting with the current headmaster. 

“It’s incredible,” he agreed, taking his own look around the hall. Today the enchanted ceiling was overcast, but it couldn’t ruin the beauty of the room itself, with the happy students and proud professors overseeing everything. Merlin hoped everyone stayed this happy for their whole academic career and he would be able to stay in the background, not worrying about problems in the school.

He and Lyn found a spot near the end of the Hufflepuff table, near some of the students in their year. Merlin regretted to realize that he’d forgotten all of their names, but he was able to pick out a few during their conversation. Benjamin was the rather loud and excitable one with the brown hair, Gertrude was a bit quieter and took some prompting from the others in order to join the conversation, Penny was the one who told the best jokes and had the rest of the group cracking up more than once. 

“I see the Prince of Enchanters here didn’t follow in his namesake’s footsteps and join the Slytherin ranks.”

A warm body inserted itself between Lyn and Merlin, unceremoniously shoving the latter over and nearly causing him to spill his pumpkin juice. 

“Gavina!” Merlin yelped, rushing to steady his goblet and not let it tip over.

“Good to see you, too, Merlin,” Gavina said with a wink. She turned to her other side and held out a hand to Lyn, who took it warily. “Gavina Greengrass, at your service.”

“Lyn Fynn. Aren’t you in Gryffindor?”

“Right you are,” Gavina said. “I had to stop by and visit my friend here, though. There’s no rule against visiting other tables, right?”

“That’s right,” Gertrude spoke up, surprising her housemates. When she noticed everyone’s attention on her, she shrunk down in her seat a little. “Er—my older sister goes here, so I know a few things. It’s not against the rules to visit other tables, but most students prefer to stick to their own Houses.”

Gavina frowned at her. “I’m not most students. Besides, my Housemates are a bit insufferable at the moment.”

“Already?” Benjamin questioned. “It hasn’t even been a full day.”

“Yeah, well, that Pendragon fellow is something else,” Gavina said. “I’ve never met anyone so self-centered and arrogant in my whole life.”

Against his will, Merlin’s mind immediately flashed to another time, another Pendragon. 

(‘I could never have a friend who could be such an ass.’

‘Or I one who could be so stupid.’)

He shook his head to clear his thoughts, but couldn’t help glancing over at where Arthur Pendragon was sitting next to a curly-haired Housemate. His head was thrown back in laughter, and Merlin’s mind superimposed another face over it. He saw a banquet, the Knights of the Round Table all trying to one-up each other in their banter, until Merlin had muttered a quiet retort while filling the king’s goblet that caused Arthur to nearly choke on his dinner. 

It was those moments he missed the most, now.

“Right, Merlin?”

Gavina’s nudge to his shoulder brought him back to the moment, and Merlin gave her an apologetic look.

“Sorry, I was zoned out for a moment there. What was the question?”

Gavina followed his gaze, frowning when she saw Arthur and his friends starting to roughhouse and consequently spilling a bowl of fresh fruit across their table. “Don’t tell me you’ve got something for his royal highness. Wasn’t I just telling you how much of an ass he was?”

Merlin quickly shook his head. Gods, no, he was a thousand-year-old sorcerer surrounded by school children. “No, no, nothing like that. He just reminds me of an old friend, is all.”

“Was your friend an absolute arse as well?”

Merlin laughed. “Yes, actually. At first we completely hated each other. He was a right prat and I didn’t hesitate to call him on it, but eventually we learned to get along. He was the best friend I ever had.”

“What happened?” Lyn asked, leaning around Gavina to talk to Merlin. “Did you have a falling out?”

“A few,” Merlin said with a fond smile. “But that’s not what happened. He was taken away from me, sent to a foster home, and I never saw him again.”

“That’s horrible,” Lyn whispered, hands over her mouth, and Merlin allowed himself to show a fraction of his grief on his face.

“It is,” he agreed, “but I believe we’ll find each other again someday.”

With one last glance at Arthur Pendragon, he returned to his food and let the conversation wash over him as it picked up again. 

“So, Gavina,” Benjamin started hesitantly, “I don’t want this to come off as rude, but… I thought the Greengrass family was all in Slytherin, yet you’re in Gryffindor?”

Gavina’s face darkened as she turned away from her conversation with Lyn to find the whole group looking at her in curiosity. Now that Benjamin mentioned it, Merlin realized it was a bit odd that a Greengrass was in Gryffindor. Their family comprised pure-blood supremacists, and most of them were placed in Slytherin as far as Merlin was aware. He spent so much time away from the wizarding world that sometimes he forgot about their absurd ideas about bloodlines and Houses.

“I may be a Greengrass in name, but nothing else,” Gavina snapped. “My cousin at the other table can go on spouting her supremacist nonsense, but I’d prefer to judge people based on their merit, not their ancestry.”

“I didn’t mean any offense,” Benjamin said warily, shrinking back from Gavina’s glare. “I think that’s pretty awesome of you, actually. To go against your whole family to stand up for what you believe in.”

“I can see why you’re in Gryffindor,” Merlin agreed.

Gavina’s glare lessened and she opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a voice screaming across the hall. Merlin jumped and sent his spoon clattering against Benjamin’s goblet.

“Sorry!” he said, speaking up so as to be heard over the screeching.

“—LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT, I THOUGHT YOUR FATHER WOULD DIE OF SHAME, WE DIDN’T BRING YOU UP TO BEHAVE LIKE THIS, YOU AND HARRY COULD BOTH HAVE DIED —”

Merlin winced in sympathy as he looked over to the Gryffindor table and saw a second-year wizard sinking into his seat in embarrassment, his bright red face nearly matching his hair.

Eventually the Howler was finished and burst into flame, leaving the hall in silence for a few seconds. 

“Well, I’m glad I chose to come over here,” Gavina said after a moment. “I can’t imagine I’d be able to hear after being so close to that racket.”

Sure enough, another glance at the Gryffindor table and Merlin saw more than a few students rubbing at their heads in pain. When his eyes found Arthur Pendragon again, he saw the boy glaring daggers at the red-haired wizard, who seemed oblivious to his anger.

“I take it that’s Harry’s group?” Merlin asked. He supposed whatever incident led to the Howler was the same one that caused McGonagall to leave the hall so abruptly during the Sorting. Well, troublesome children were a lot better than magical dangers causing the staff to panic.

“Harry, Ron, and Hermione,” Gavina confirmed. “Though Hermione wasn’t involved in their exploits last night.”

“Exploits?”

“You haven’t heard?” Gavina said. “No one in Gryffindor could stop talking about it. Apparently they missed the train and flew a car into the Whomping Willow. What I wouldn’t give to have seen that.”

Merlin snorted while Lyn tried to look horrified but was obviously holding back her own laughter. 

“Were they hurt?” she asked.

“If they were, they’re fine now,” Gavina said with a shrug. “I’m sure they’d be trapped in the hospital wing if it was anything serious.”

“Is the healer strict then?” Merlin asked, trying not to sound like he was investigating the school. Which he was, but Gavina didn’t need to know that.

“As far as I’ve heard,” Gavina said. “I’ve yet to meet her myself, but I have a feeling we’ll end up being pretty well acquainted by the time I graduate.”

Merlin laughed along with the rest of the group, not doubting Gavina’s predictions. 

Their Head of House—Professor Sprout, fittingly enough for a Herbology professor—came by to hand out their schedules. She looked strangely similar to Grunhilda, but Merlin shook that thought away. (*note: this is the same actress lmao)

He frowned as he saw the name of their Defense Against the Darks Arts professor. ‘Gilderoy Lockhart’ seemed familiar, but he wasn’t sure where he’d seen the name before. 

“Sweet, we’ve got Defense together,” Gavina noted. “We can play so many pranks on Lockhart.”

“Who is that, by the way?” Lyn asked. “I was there for the whole thing with him and Harry at Flourish and Blotts, but I had no idea what was going on. Is he some sort of magical celebrity?”

Gavina rolled her eyes. “You can say that again. Every book on the syllabus is just another one of his ridiculous stories. Pretty genius, though, I must admit. He might not be able to teach us anything about Defense Against the Dark Arts, but I’d take a publicity class from him.”

Merlin noticed the turquoise-clad professor sweeping across the room with Sprout in tow, the latter looking rather annoyed. He nodded at the pair. “Is that him?”

Gavina and Lyn followed his gaze and both nodded. “The very same,” Gavina added. 

Well, he certainly looked like the sort of person who would force a group of schoolchildren to read his own books for an entire year of their education. 

“I’ll help you prank him,” Merlin decided, prompting Gavina to clap him on the back.

“Attaboy!” she said. “I’m almost disappointed we’ll only have him for a year.”

“Why’s that?” Lyn asked.

“Apparently there’s some sort of curse on the Defense professors,” Gavina told them. “They only last a year at most. It’s been that way for nearly fifty years.”

“Strange,” Merlin said, mostly to himself, as he watched the professors leave the room. 

Maybe Merlin’s investigation would be a bit more fruitful than he’d hoped.

Chapter Text

Their first class was Potions, which Merlin found himself looking forward to. He’d always loved potions classes since they brought back memories of working under Gaius, as well as the times he’d taken to working as a healer. 

Merlin was sorely disappointed, then, to meet the Potions Master. He was nothing like Gaius or the past professors that Merlin had come across. His all-black ensemble and greasy dark hair were more reminiscent of Agravaine than anyone else, and his constant sneer brought back memories of some of the worse nobles in Camelot’s court as well as others.

Sadly, they were paired with the Slytherins in this class instead of the Gryffindors, otherwise Merlin would have asked Gavina to add Snape to their pranking hit list. As it stood, he was sure this class would prove to be entertaining if he had anything to do with it. 

They began with roll call, and when Snape paused after “Duncan, Marie,” Merlin was pretty sure he knew what the problem was. 

“I believe I’m next on the list, sir,” he called after a moment. “Merlin Ealdor.”

“It seems so,” Snape drawled. “Did you choose that name yourself, or were your parents under the effects of a Potion of Insanity?”

“I chose it, sir,” Merlin confirmed. “And I was only under the effects of a Capri Sun.”

Snape stared at him for a moment in clear bewilderment. 

“Should we continue with the roll call, sir?” Merlin asked after a beat. “I believe Lyn Fynn should be next.”

Snape sighed in disdain after hearing Lyn’s name, causing Merlin to bristle on his friend’s behalf. Sure, people could make fun of his name all they wanted, but Lyn didn’t deserve it. 

“Excuse me, but is something the matter?”

Snape looked up at the interruption, his sneer momentarily disappearing in his surprise. “What was that, Mr. Ealdor?”

“It’s just that you seemed rather upset just a moment ago, after I mentioned my friend’s name,” Merlin said. “I was wondering if there was some sort of problem.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed as Merlin smiled innocently, ignoring Lyn’s elbow in his side. “In the future, Mr. Ealdor, I would appreciate it if you waited to be called upon before asking questions. And rest assured, I will let you know if there is a problem that I require your help to solve.” Judging by his voice, Snape didn’t think this was a possibility.

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

Snape frowned. “Sir, ” he corrected.

“Yes?”

Evidently, that was the last straw. “Five points from Hufflepuff for your tone, and for refusing to address your professor in an appropriate manner.”

There were some angry murmurs at that, as well as a few snickers from the other side of the room, but Merlin ignored all of that in favour of beaming at Snape in what he knew was an irritating manner, based on how much it had tended to rile up his king. 

“I’m afraid you’ll have to take five points from Slytherin as well then, sir,” a voice spoke up from a desk in the back of the room. “I think Merlin was right to speak up.”

All heads in the room turned to stare at the Slytherin wizard in question, who was glaring at Snape with steely determination. Merlin dropped his ridiculous grin in favour of a more genuine smile in the boy’s direction, which he returned with a nod, never taking his eyes off Snape.

“And you are?”

“Marcus Murry, sir. I’m afraid you didn’t have a chance to get to my name since you were so busy mocking Merlin’s and Lyn’s.”

“Very well, then,” Snape growled. “Five points from Slytherin for your insolence.”

There were angry whispers from the Slytherins, but Marcus leaned back with a smirk that Snape resolutely ignored. From what Merlin had heard, Snape had a reputation for favouritism when it came to his own House, so Marcus managing to get him to take points from Slytherin so quickly seemed to be quite the feat. 

After roll call, Snape stalked slowly in front of his desk, then leaned against it. “Well, Mr. Ealdor, since you seem to have so many opinions about how I should run my class, I’m sure you can answer a few basic questions. Let us start with an easy one: what colour should a Shrinking Solution be?”

“Acid green,” Merlin replied easily.

“And what does Amortentia smell like?”

“To you? Probably dragon dung and the tears of failing students.” That got a few quiet laughs from the students who’d heard of the potion before. “To me, though, it’s the forest after rain, old parchment, and strawberries.”

“And why would that be?”

“Amortentia is a love potion, and those scents remind me of things I love.”

“And how does one make an Elixir of Life?”

“Well, one probably doesn’t have access to a Philosopher’s Stone and would therefore have a bit of trouble making it, but if they did happen to have the Stone, they would soak it overnight in an infusion of wormwood, then remove the Stone and mix in crushed fairy wings and doxy eggs over heat, stirring until it reaches a deep purple.”

Merlin had been friends with Flamel when he first invented the potion. Of course he knew how to make it. Granted, most students probably wouldn’t, but Merlin couldn’t pass up the chance to mess with this Agravaine look-alike even if it outed him as being a bit more knowledgeable than he was meant to be.

Snape’s glare only deepened. “And where did you learn how to do that?”

“I read it in a book.”

Merlin’s answer only served to aggravate Snape even further, as there were likely few books that a first-year muggle-born student could find with a recipe for the Elixir of Life. 

“Very well,” Snape snapped. “Mr. Murry, what is the difference between wolfsbane and monkshood?”

“Oh, I have no idea,” Marcus said. “I’ve never heard of anything you two were just talking about. Are we going to learn how to make the Elixir of Life, sir?”

“No,” Snape replied in a tone that indicated that the answer to the question was obvious. “The Elixir of Life is beyond what you’ll be learning to make in your Hogwarts years.”

Marcus assumed an expression of bewilderment. “Then why would it matter whether Merlin knows how to make it? Since you said you were quizzing him on this year’s content.” He frowned in obviously feigned confusion. “Sir,” he added belatedly, as though it were an afterthought.

As Snape’s right eye began to twitch, Merlin spoke up again. “I don’t mind, Professor. I can answer any other questions you have, too. I’m here to help.”

“Today we will learn how to make a cure for boils,” Snape snapped, stalking over to the board and writing the name of the potion. His knuckles were white on the chalk. “It is a relatively simple potion, so I expect you to be able to follow the instructions without trouble. You will work with a partner.”

He continued to write the instructions on the board as the class started pairing up, many of the Hufflepuffs exchanging grins at the chaos that Merlin and Marcus had already wreaked in the classroom. 

“Hey, Lyn, do you want to partner up?” Penny asked from behind them, leaning forward across her desk. “We never got to finish our conversation from breakfast.”

Lyn glanced from Penny to Merlin and back again. “Er—I would love to, but I was going to partner with Merlin.”

“No worries,” Merlin spoke up quickly, glancing towards the back of the room. “I’m sure I can find another partner if you two want to work together.”

“Oh,” Lyn said. “Well, if you’re sure…”

“Don’t worry about me,” Merlin said with a grin, briefly squeezing Lyn’s shoulder before making his way across the room.

Sure enough, Marcus was looking around the room uncertainly, though he did a fairly good job hiding it. The Slytherins were steadfastly refusing to even look at him, let alone partner with him, and the Hufflepuffs had already partnered up amongst themselves—there were an even number without Merlin in their midst.

“Marcus, was it?” Merlin asked as he approached. 

Marcus eyed him thoughtfully. “That’s right. And you’re Merlin?”

“The one and only,” he replied. “Well, there may be one or two others, but that’s neither here nor there. Want to be partners?”

“I’d like that,” Marcus said. “I’m warning you, though, I wasn’t kidding when I said I had no clue about what I’m doing.”

“And I wasn’t kidding when I said I’m here to help,” Merlin told him. “Although I have a feeling Professor Snape didn’t appreciate the offer.”

Marcus laughed and grabbed his cauldron. “Give him some time. Maybe he’ll warm up to us.”

“I hope not.”

By the end of the lesson, Merlin and Marcus had produced a perfectly crafted cure for boils with which even Snape couldn’t find fault. As much as it clearly pained him to do so, he was forced to give them full marks for the day. 

“It was brave, what you did back there,” Merlin said as they started packing up their cauldrons. “But… well, I mean this in the nicest way, but I can take care of myself. It’s only our first day, and you’re already making enemies within your House. I don’t want you to be ostracized on my account.”

“Yeah, well, I was ostracized the moment I was Sorted,” Marcus pointed out with a roll of his eyes. “I’m a Muggle-born in a House that’s obsessed with pure-blood ideology. Nothing I can do or say will ever make them like me, so I may as well just do what I please. If I’m going to be shunned, I’d rather it be on my own terms.”

Merlin considered Marcus for a moment. He was quite sure of himself for someone so young, and Merlin felt a spark of respect for the boy currently staring at him in defiance, jaw set and chin raised. As hard as he tried to pretend otherwise, it was also clear to Merlin that his House’s condemnation affected Marcus more than he let on. His school years wouldn’t be easy, and he would need that determination if he wanted to survive the next seven years. 

He would also probably need a few friends.

“Well, if you ever want to hang out with people who won’t judge you for something as stupid as your family tree,” Merlin said, taking a few steps towards the Herbology greenhouses, “you know where to find me.”

“Right.”

Merlin turned to catch up with Lyn, who was waiting for him a few metres down the corridor, but paused when Marcus spoke up again.

“And Merlin?” 

He turned back around to see Marcus smiling at him—a genuine smile this time, not the smirk he’d given Snape earlier. 

“Thank you.”

Herbology passed without incident, thankfully. Sprout’s lecture was informative, if a little boring. She didn’t take to insulting and humiliating her students in some weird power struggle with eleven-year-old children, so that was a plus. They just went over different terms and general concepts in Herbology and practiced potting a few simple plants, nothing too complicated.

“That was nice, wasn’t it?” Lyn said as they left the greenhouse. “Professor Sprout seems nice. Better than Professor Snape, at least.”

Merlin nodded his agreement. “I hope the rest of the professors are more like her.”

“I hope so, too,” Lyn said. “I’m excited for Herbology, though. I think I’ll like it.”

Merlin looked over at her, taking in the dirt under her nails and the bounce in her step. “It suits you.”

“You think so?”

Gavina joined them again for lunch, as did Marcus. The two were wary of each other at first, the former being a member of an elitist pure-blood family and the latter being part of the House that was infamous for espousing pure-blood ideology, but quickly realized that neither of them took any stock in those beliefs. 

Some of the other Hufflepuffs eyed their group a bit strangely, but no one seemed to be upset that Merlin and Lyn were welcoming members of other Houses to their table. 

They were in the courtyard after lunch, exploring the grounds. Merlin knew the layout already, but the rest of them were experiencing Hogwarts for the first time. 

There was a commotion near the steps as some blond Slytherin wizard started yelling about the Harry Potter lad handing out signed photos. That seemed strange; Merlin hadn’t gotten the impression that Harry Potter was one to take advantage of his fame. He was a twelve-year-old boy, though, and Merlin didn’t think it that odd for someone in his position to be a bit taken in by it all. He’d known Arthur when he was twenty and the power had certainly gone to his head at the time. He was sure this Potter boy would grow out of it. 

The Slytherin boy continued mocking the trio, though Merlin couldn’t hear what he was saying from his position. When Ron whipped out his wand, though, Merlin decided it had gone on long enough and took a step forward to cut in.

Someone else beat him there. Lockhart’s bright turquoise robes were unmistakable even from this far away, and Merlin watched as he took control of the situation. At first he thought that maybe he’d misjudged Lockhart—it seemed like he’d successfully diffused the confrontation—but then he realized that the professor was actually posing for a picture with his student.

Yikes.

“I can’t wait for our first Defense class,” Gavina said next to him, grinning at Lockhart’s display. 

“He does seem like an absolute wazzock,” Merlin agreed. 

“You’re excited for his class?” Marcus questioned. “I highly doubt it’ll be helpful in any way.”

“But it will be entertaining,” Gavina said. “Merlin and I are going to make sure of that.”

Marcus looked from Gavina to Merlin, then back again. “I want in.”

Gavina and Merlin shared a glance. 

“We have Defense together, so we were planning to do most of it in class,” Gavina told Marcus. “You can definitely help us plan, though. Maybe we can pull something off outside of class, too. I doubt it would be too hard to sneak into his office or do something in the Great Hall.”

Marcus grinned. “I’d like that.”

Well, this sounded like a foolproof plan that couldn’t go wrong.

Chapter Text

“Lockhart’s class did what, now?”

Benjamin was eager to share the story, leaning so far across the table that he was practically laying on his salad. Next to him, Clyde Griffis had tears in his eyes due to how hard he was laughing. The only member of their group who wasn’t laughing was Gertrude; Lyn put up a good fight, but she was clearly struggling not to join in.

“You should have seen their faces!” Clyde choked out. “I’ve never seen a group of Gryffindors look so panicked.”

“Clyde caught them on their way out of class,” Penny explained, “when the rest of us were still packing up.”

“I heard Neville was carried by the ears and left on the chandelier!” Benjamin said. “Ernie heard it from his brother, who heard it from his Housemates. Lockhart is insane!”

“We shouldn’t judge him before we’ve even had a class with him,” Gertrude argued. It was the first time Merlin had heard her disagree with someone so far, and he wondered what prompted it.

Gavina put an elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand. “I don’t need to have a class with the man to know he’s an absolute idiot.”

“I’m just saying—” 

“He released a batch of pixies on a group of second-years and then fled the scene,” Benjamin said, interrupting whatever Gertrude was going to say in Lockhart’s defense. “I think it’s safe to say the man is an absolute nutter.”

The creatures referred to by the modern wizarding world as ‘pixies’ were quite different from the ones like Grunhilda, Merlin had learned. Cornish pixies resembled the Sidhe themselves more than their servants, and Merlin was fairly certain that they were actually more closely related to the former than the latter. He wasn’t sure exactly what caused the change in terminology, but he’d had his fair share of dealings with Cornish pixies and knew that, despite being tiny creatures, they could cause all kinds of chaos when allowed to roam free.

“They were recaptured, though, right?” he asked, just to make sure. He sincerely hoped he wouldn’t have to go on some sort of pixie hunt during his first week. 

“The trio got them,” Benjamin confirmed. “Although I’m pretty sure Hermione did most of the work.”

“I’ve come to learn that that’s not unusual,” Lyn said, gazing thoughtfully at the witch in question, whose nose was currently buried in a copy of Voyages with Vampires. 

In comparison, their group’s first few classes had been pretty boring. They’d had double Transfiguration, in which McGonagall had them going over the basic rules and trying out rudimentary spells. Merlin had plenty of practice hiding the true extent of his powers, so he’d waited until the end of McGonagall’s lesson to finally transfigure the match into a needle and earn five points for Hufflepuff. He figured he owed it to his House after his behaviour in Potions. 

They had their first Defense Against the Dark Arts class the next day, and Merlin wasn’t sure whether he was looking forward to it or not. Sure, it would probably be entertaining to some degree, but he also had to actually pay attention in this class. Not to learn the content, of course, but to take note of exactly what Lockhart was doing. He was already positive the man was a complete fraud, but he needed to gather evidence if he wanted to actually do anything about it. If what Gavina said about the curse on the DADA teaching position was true then he might not need to worry about getting Lockhart fired, but it was better to be safe than sorry. 

If Merlin had been hoping for something exciting like pixies—which he wasn’t, since he was in a class full of eleven-year-olds who could get hurt—then he would have been sorely disappointed. They began their class with a knowledge test. It would have made some sense to do a placement test, Merlin supposed, even if he preferred a more hands-on approach to learning. 

Their test, however, seemed to be entirely based on Lockhart’s own adventures. The content wasn’t even related to the DADA curriculum—one question was about Lockhart’s ideal date, which seemed entirely inappropriate to ask his students to answer.

“Wanna bet I can get more right than you?” Gavina whispered, leaning over slightly to make sure she wouldn’t be overheard. “I think I could get a solid thirty percent.”

“You’ve got an unfair advantage,” Merlin argued. “You actually knew who he was already.”

“I knew his name, not whatever the hell is on his test,” Gavina said. “I’m going off of my incredible sense of intuition and common sense.”

Glancing back at the questions, Merlin figured there was no way either of them was going to get anything right. “You’re on.”

Gavina did in fact manage to get a solid thirty percent, versus Merlin’s fifteen. 

“Let’s call it a storyteller’s intuition,” she said to Merlin as Lockhart proclaimed her the second-highest scorer in the class and awarded Gryffindor five points. Gertrude was the best overall, earning ten points for Hufflepuff.

“More like a rubbish radar,” Merlin said. “Your stories are just as bad as his. No wonder you were able to BS your way through that.”

Gavina gasped in mock outrage. “You dare question my integrity?”

Merlin shrugged. “You were the first to guess that Lockhart was a complete fraud. Takes one to know one, I’d say.”

Before Gavina could argue, Lockhart was calling their attention back to the front and asking them to open their copies of Wanderings with Werewolves. He then proceeded to re-enact the first few chapters of the book, calling on his various self-portraits around the room for help playing the different characters.

“I’ll need a real person for this part,” Lockhart announced as they reached the part where he actually fended off the first werewolf. “Any volunteers? Ah, how about you, Mr. Pendragon?”

“Absolutely not.”

Merlin couldn’t help but snort at Lockhart’s expression when he was turned down so bluntly. 

“Are you alright there, Mr. Ealdor?” Lockhart asked, his smile looking a little more forced now.

“Just something in my throat,” Merlin assured him.

“Good, good,” Lockhart said. “Now, Mr. Pendragon, there’s no need to be shy. Your family may be a bit reclusive, but your peers will welcome you—”

Ah, so that’s why he wanted Arthur Pendragon to come up to the front with him. While he hadn’t drawn nearly as much attention as The Boy Who Lived, there were still a relatively large chunk of students whispering about the fact that a Pendragon, named Arthur no less, was attending Hogwarts for the first time in centuries. Since Harry wasn’t in this class, Lockhart must have been trying to get a bit more chummy with some other quasi-celebrities. 

“It’s still a ‘no,’” Arthur interrupted. “Try someone else.”

Lockhart blinked a few times before turning to Merlin, who faked a cough just as Lockhart opened his mouth to, presumably, ask him to volunteer. 

“I’ll do it!”

Merlin choked on his fake cough as Gavina spoke up next to him, rising from her seat before Lockhart had the chance to accept or decline her offer. 

The performance was absolutely amazing. Gavina’s acting was so over-the-top that the whole class was struggling to hold back laughter the entire time. When Lockhart pretended to hex her, she fell back across his desk and managed to upset the stacks of finished tests there.

“I suppose this is the end for me,” she cried, throwing an arm across her eyes and stretching out next to the scattered papers. Peeking out from below her arm, she began obviously searching through the tests with her free hand. “I always knew it would come too soon, but I still hoped I might have longer.” She evidently found the paper she was looking for, as she waved her arm a bit and whispered something under her breath. Merlin realized she must have hidden her wand in her sleeve. 

The class was nearing its breaking point, as everyone could clearly see what she was doing. Merlin doubted she actually cared about her grade enough to try and fix it; this was all part of the performance. 

“You, brave warrior, have bested me,” she cried. “I shall never be able to recover in both body and honour— ammendo scripturam— for as long as I live. Which, now that I think about it— ammendo— isn’t that long at all— scripturam— oh, come on!”

Evidently giving up on her spell, Gavina fully collapsed on the floor, letting her body go entirely slack. Whatever Lockhart said after that was drowned out by the standing ovation from the class. Someone wolf whistled. It might have been Merlin. 

Lockhart offered a hand to Gavina, who readily accepted it and allowed Lockhart to pull her to her feet with all the grace of a baby deer learning to walk. She nearly slipped on the tests still scattered across the floor, but quickly righted herself in time to bow with a flourish that matched Lockhart’s. 

“Thank you, Miss Greengrass!” Lockart said, gesturing for her to return to her seat. “A truly masterful performance. I can see you have all the makings of an amazing actress, if you choose to pursue that career path. I hope the rest of you were taking notes!”

“Were you trying to correct your test?” Merlin whispered as Lockhart continued to blabber on about their readings for their next class. 

“I was,” Gavina confirmed. “I think I got the spell wrong, though. Damn it all.”

“I think you were going for ‘emendo scripturam.’ Your pronunciation was a little off.” Merlin paused in his efforts to pack up his stack of textbooks, giving her a grin. “This was possibly funnier, though.”

“I wasn’t going for humour,” Gavina insisted. “This is my acting debut. I’m going for a classical technique, here.”

“Right.”

“How’d you know the spell, anyway?” Lyn asked, catching up with them as they started filing out of the room. “I thought this was your first time in a magical environment.”

Oh shit.

“Er, I—” 

“Gavina!” 

The three of them turned around a few paces from the door to find Arthur Pendragon with his arm in the air and a charming smile fixed in place.

“I loved your performance back there,” he said as he got close to them. “It was definitely entertaining—I like a girl with a sense of humour.”

Gavina gave him an unimpressed look. “What are you trying to say, Pendragon?”

“Here, let me try again,” Arthur said, running a hand through his hair in a way that an eleven-year-old probably thought was appealing. “We’ve been learning about important dates in Binns’ class, right? How do you feel about being one of mine?”

Gavina hummed thoughtfully. “I kinda slept through that class to be honest. I’m sure someone else could lend you their notes.”

Arthur frowned. 

Merlin tried not to laugh at his reaction, but it was pretty funny. Gavina’s acting in class may have been atrocious, but she could certainly play dumb when she wanted to. 

“I don’t think you understood my intentions,” Arthur said, trying for another charming smile that looked a little tighter than the last one. “I—” 

“Um, sorry to interrupt,” Lyn said, sounding nervous yet not apologetic in the least, “but I don’t think she’s interested.”

Arthur blinked at her in surprise, as if he’d only just realized she was there. “I didn’t ask you,” he said shortly. Turning back to Gavina, he smiled again. “Anyway, as I was saying—” 

“She didn’t have to ask me,” Lyn cut in again. “She said no.”

Arthur’s smile completely faded, turning into an angry scowl as the tips of his ears turned red—in anger or embarrassment, Merlin wasn’t sure. Perhaps both; maybe the latter played a role in the former’s escalation. “Stay out of this, you stupid Mud—” 

“I wouldn’t finish that sentence if I were you.”

Arthur glared at Merlin. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Merlin took a step forward, in front of Lyn. If this turned into a fight, he wanted to make sure she was protected. “If you want to go after someone, take on me.”

Another great song. Merlin missed America. 

“What exactly do I have to fear from some Mudblood Hufflepuff?” At some point in the exchange, Arthur had drawn his wand and was now twirling it around his fingers. He was probably trying to be intimidating, showing Merlin how proficient he was with his wand. Merlin just thought it looked dumb. “You know, I’ve been learning hexes since before I could walk.”

“I see,” Merlin said, drawing his own wand. “And at what age did you begin to study the art of being a complete and utter prat?”

(‘And how long have you been training to be a prat?’

Despite himself, Prince Arthur let out a laugh. ‘You can’t address me like that.’

‘Sorry. How long have you been training to be a prat—’ Merlin bowed mockingly, raising his head to meet the prince’s eyes— ’my lord?’)

With a shout of anger, Arthur pointed his wand at Merlin. “Aurisaugeo!”

Recognizing that the hex wasn’t a dangerous one, Merlin allowed it to hit. He ignored the feeling of his ears growing—a less harmful hex than he’d expected, really—and countered with his own. “Silencio!”

Arthur opened his mouth to cast another spell, but no sound came out. He settled on glaring at Merlin and stalking towards him, putting his wand away as he neared.

“Colloshoo!”

Arthur’s movement abruptly stopped as his shoes stuck to the ground, rendering him unable to both move and speak. His already furious glare grew even more so as he tried to rip his feet from the ground to no avail. 

Gavina whistled. “A stickfast hex and a silencing charm? That’s some pretty impressive spellwork for a fifth-year, let alone a first-year.”

Merlin shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a quick study.” He neglected to mention that they hadn’t even started their Charms class and definitely hadn’t learned this in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

A boy began pushing his way through the crowd. Leo Macmillan, if Merlin remembered correctly, also known as the guy who was always following Arthur around. 

Before Leo could reach them, Lockhart’s voice sounded from the door to his classroom. 

“Boys, boys, boys,” he admonished, shaking his head in disappointment. “It’s only the second day of classes! Plenty of time for duelling later—I’m planning to start a club, you know, and I think you would be an excellent addition, Mr. Ealdor—”

“What is going on here?”

Merlin couldn’t decide whether he was more relieved or panicked at the interruption. He’d let himself get carried away in the moment—he shouldn’t have been drawing attention to himself by duelling in the corridors, let alone using such high-level spells. How was he going to explain this?

McGonagall was walking briskly towards them, her footsteps echoing in the ensuing silence and a stern expression sharpening her features.  If looks could kill, Merlin was pretty sure that she would have ended his immortal life right there, which he thought was unfair since Arthur did technically start the fight. 

Wow, being eleven was really getting to his head.

Flitwick, the Charms professor, was keeping pace with McGonagall, though his expression was considerably less angry. In fact, he looked rather intrigued for some reason.

McGonagall reached them quickly and levelled them both with a look that could probably turn them to stone if she so chose. “Mr. Ealdor, Mr. Pendragon, what do you have to say for yourselves?”

Merlin didn’t have anything to say for himself, so he wisely decided to keep his mouth shut. Arthur, on the other hand, seemed like he had a lot to say based on how much he was opening and closing his mouth. After watching him struggle for a moment, McGonagall seemed to realize what was wrong.

“Finite Incantatem.”

“—motherfucker!”

Realizing that he was now audible, Arthur’s eyes widened as he looked at McGonagall in trepidation. She was glaring at him now, which made Merlin feel a bit better about the whole situation. He also felt better when he felt his ears start to shrink back to their normal size.

Arthur immediately tried to backpedal. “Sorry, professor, I didn’t mean to—” 

“Twenty points from Gryffindor,” she interrupted. Before Arthur could object, she added, “And twenty from Hufflepuff as well.”

Arthur, unsurprisingly, was not appeased. “Now hold on—” 

“And you’ll both have detention for the next two weeks. We don’t tolerate this sort of behaviour at Hogwarts, and it’s best that you learn that sooner rather than later.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Merlin agreed quickly, not wanting to anger her further. He sent Arthur a look that he refused to acknowledge. “Arthur,” he whispered after a moment.

“Yes, ma’am,” Arthur grit out after a second, practically smoking at the ears like he’d eaten a Pepper Imp.

“See to it that this does not happen again.” And with that, she turned on her heel and strode back down the hallway, presumably to the Great Hall since it was now time for lunch. 

Flitwick, however, remained where he was for the moment. He was considering Merlin with a curious gleam in his eye, which was unnerving to say the least. He looked like he knew something the others didn’t, but Merlin had no idea how he could have found out even a hint of the truth. 

He did look slightly familiar, now that Merlin thought about it. If he took away the moustache and the hair, replaced it with a hat, maybe put him on a bridge…

Before Merlin could even finish that thought, he realized why Flitwick was eyeing him so strangely. 

He had goblin ancestry. 

Like pixies, Merlin had come to learn that his idea of the goblin species was incredibly limited. He had met only one goblin during his time in Camelot, and he was only a single member of a single race of a relatively diverse species. The goblin race that was known to the wizarding world was far removed from the mischievous race that Merlin had encountered so many centuries ago. 

However, all goblin races had one thing in common: they were creatures of the Old Religion, even if magic no longer went by that name. Different from wizards or even followers of the Old Religion in Albion, who served more like conduits of magic, creatures of the Old Religion were born of magic and intrinsically tied to it. 

Which meant that they could sense Emrys’ presence. 

Flitwick wasn’t looking at him in awe or shock, though, which was almost worse. Merlin had no idea how strong his goblin ancestry was, and therefore couldn’t tell how much Flitwich sensed from him. Did he just seem like a powerful wizard? Did he just have a strong aura? Bad breath?

“You just had to butt in, didn’t you?” Arthur seethed next to him, venom staining his words. “This is all your fault. You couldn’t just keep your mouth shut and mind your own business, huh?”

Merlin rounded on Arthur, Flitwick momentarily forgotten. “Me?! You fired the first spell, if you recall. Or is your brain too small to hold onto five minutes’ memory? Besides,” he continued before Arthur had a chance to reply, “this wouldn’t have happened at all if you weren’t harassing my friends.”

“Harassing?” Arthur repeated incredulously. “The Greengrass family should not be consorting with the likes of you . I’m doing her a favour.”

“ She can speak for herself,” Gavina cut in, giving Arthur a look so cold it made even Merlin shiver, “and she would appreciate the courtesy of being trusted to make her own decisions. Come on, Merlin.”

And with that, she was dragging Merlin off down the hallway, Lyn falling into step on her other side. 

As they passed him, Arthur caught Merlin’s robes at the shoulder and held him back. “This isn’t the end of this,” he hissed. His hand tightened momentarily before falling away, evidently having said everything he wanted to say. 

Merlin held his eye for a moment longer. Unsurprisingly, Arthur’s were full of anger, but after a moment, Merlin realized that wasn’t the issue. In the stubborn set of his jaw, the pursed lips… he was angry, but he was humiliated. The boy may have been a right git, but he had just been publicly turned down and easily bested in a duel before being scolded by his Head of House. In his mind, Merlin saw another young man who was afraid of being vulnerable and buried his feelings of inadequacy, preferring to lash out at those who tried to help him. 

He surprised himself by clapping his new rival on the shoulder and giving him a genuine grin. “I look forward to the next time, then.”

Merlin could feel Arthur’s bewildered gaze on his back as he caught up to his friends, and he couldn’t help but wave over his shoulder while he walked away. 

He turned his grin to Lyn and Gavina, who were also looking at him in confusion. 

“So,” he said, “that went well.”

Chapter Text

“Ealdor!”

Merlin rolled his eyes and continued eating his breakfast, doing his best to ignore Arthur’s taunts. As much as he loved to banter, the Great Hall didn’t seem like the best place for such an exchange. 

Evidently, Arthur didn’t see it the same way.

“I know you can hear me!”

“Just ignore him and maybe he’ll go away,” Marcus muttered from his place next to Merlin at the Hufflepuff table. 

“What, like a T-Rex?” Merlin said. “Don’t move and he won’t see us?”

“Might work,” Gavina said, winking at Marcus. “He doesn’t exactly seem like the brightest wizard in the school.”

“Or the most observant,” Marcus agreed.

“You’re being mean,” Lyn admonished them both. “We may not like him, but—” 

Suddenly there was an arm slung around Merlin’s shoulders and a person wedging themself into the space between him and Marcus. “Come on, Merlin. You’re not backing down already?”

“Who, me?” Merlin finally said, shrugging off Arthur’s arm. 

“He speaks!” Arthur proclaimed. “I was starting to think you were scared.”

(‘Aw, don’t run away!’

Merlin paused, finally giving in. ‘From you?’ 

He turned around to face his destiny, though he wouldn’t know it yet.

‘Thank God. I thought you were deaf as well as dumb.’)

“I don’t see anything to be scared of,” Merlin said, making a show of looking Arthur over. “Actually, on second thought, I could be allergic to stupid arrogant jerks, so if you could kindly leave…”

“That was incredibly funny and witty, Merlin,” Arthur said flatly, “but I did come here for a reason. Believe it or not, I don’t actually want to hang out with you.”

“Well, I’m told I’m very charming, so I’m not sure I believe you.”

“Shut up. Anyway, Professor McGonagall told me to tell you that our first detention is today in the Dungeons at seven o’clock.”

Merlin groaned. He’d been hoping to sneak off to the Forbidden Forest that night to talk to a few of the magical creatures there. “Do you know what we’re doing?”

“Probably some ridiculous waste of time like writing lines,” Arthur said. “You know, ‘I will not duel idiotic fools in the corridors, no matter what stupid, ridiculous thing they’ve just said.’”

“Sounds about right,” Merlin agreed. “And what would you be writing?”

“You really never stop, do you?”

“As entertaining as this is,” Gavina cut in from her seat across from them, “I’d like to go back to my breakfast now. So if you two don’t mind…”

“Not at all,” Arthur said, rising from his seat and giving Merlin one last clap on the back. “I wouldn’t want to stay too long—the idiocy might start to rub off on me. And Gavina, if you ever decide to stop hanging around such… low caliber acquaintances, remember there’s a spot for you at our table. You would be most welcome.”

With one last wink, he finally left them alone and returned to where Leo was waiting for him.

“What a git,” Marcus growled the second he was gone. 

“Agreed,” Gavina said. “Although I do wonder if he was flirting more with me or our Prince of Enchanters here.”

“What?” Merlin nearly dropped his fork in surprise. If banter was considered flirting, then he had a lot to reconsider in his life. 

“I’m just saying, there are some sparks.”

Merlin snorted. “Yeah, no.” For all that he may look and act like a child at the moment, he wasn’t about to start dating them.

“If you say so,” Gavina acquiesced. 

Lyn, who had been frowning in thought throughout the conversation, spoke up. “It is strange, though, the way you two act… it’s almost like you know each other. It seems so familiar.”

Benjamin and Penny had been engaged in a separate conversation, but Ben turned around to give his two cents. “It was pretty weird,” he agreed. “Like you two were in your own world and no one else could really keep up.”

 Merlin shrugged, uncomfortable now with their attention. It was just banter, right? There was nothing odd about enjoying a good- (or bad-) natured ribbing. “I told you already—he reminds me of an old friend.”

Marcus frowned. “Don’t tell me you’re actually going to try and befriend him.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Merlin said, shaking his head. “That friendship was once-in-a-lifetime; I could never recreate it.” He turned back to his food, not wanting to continue talking about his past and his Arthur. He’d been through the story enough times by now that he knew rehashing it wouldn’t help. He’d processed it as much as possible, but nothing short of Arthur’s return could help to mend his heart.

The rest of the group seemed to recognize that this was not a subject he wanted to broach, as they sat in silence for a few moments before Penny awkwardly asked Lyn about their Transfiguration essay. 

Merlin continued to poke at his food, his appetite receding as he found himself lost in his past.

Merlin never tired of flying. Of course, a broomstick could never compare to riding on the back of a dragon, but it was still thrilling in its own right. 

Madam Hooch seemed to be a capable, if blunt, professor. She didn’t have the same brisk air as McGonagall, but Merlin could tell that she was also not someone to be messed with.

She guided them through the first few steps of riding, telling them how to summon and mount their broomsticks. Merlin hesitated before summoning his, not wanting to draw even more attention to himself for being more capable than he should be. Having tons of practice, Gavina, Arthur, Leo, and another Gryffindor student—Ginny Weasley, if he remembered her name correctly—were able to summon theirs right away. Merlin waited until after he’d seen Ben succeed before allowing his own broomstick to fly into his hand.

He could feel Arthur’s smug gaze on him, but grit his teeth and ignored it. He knew he had no real reason to feel embarrassed, but it was hard not to get caught up in the life of the young student he was pretending to be. 

When it came time to climb onto their brooms, he tried to look nervous and not at all like he’d been riding them since they were invented. He figured he’d managed it well when he saw Gavina giving him a concerned look and heard Arthur snickering to Leo. He eased into it a little bit more and rose gently, hovering about five feet off the ground. 

“It’s not so bad, right?” Gavina asked, pulling her broom up between his and Lyn’s. 

“It’s terrifying,” Lyn said, her voice wavering. Merlin noticed her broom was shaking slightly, though he wasn’t sure if it was the broomstick itself or her nerves acting up.

He reached a hand out to cover one of hers and it helped to ease the movement somewhat. “I’m sure we’ll get used to it soon enough,” he assured her.

“I hope so,” she said quietly, looking down at where Merlin’s hand was covering hers. With one last squeeze, he let go and was glad to see that she seemed to be less scared.

Madam Hooch told them that they could fly anywhere on the lawn as long as they didn’t go higher than ten feet off the ground. Merlin did some slow circles around Gavina and Lyn, watching as the former helped the latter with her posture and confidence. After about ten minutes of practice she was able to stop and start without too much trouble and follow Merlin’s idle path through the training grounds.

“Hey, Greengrass,” an annoying, arrogant, prattish voice spoke up from behind them, “what do you say we go for a race? Just a friendly competition.”

“Sod off, Pendragon,” Gavina said without turning around. “I’m not interested in some dumb little race. As you can see, I’m in the middle of a conversation.”

“I’ll race you.”

All of them turned to find Ginny hovering a few feet behind Arthur. Merlin didn’t know much about Ginny—just that she was Ron Weasley’s sister and was known to be energetic and witty but occasionally shy around a certain person, if Gavina could be believed. Taking in the determined gleam in her eye and the confident hold she had on her broomstick, Merlin felt inclined to like her. 

“Are you sure that would be fair?”

Merlin rolled his eyes as Arthur spoke. Sometimes it felt like just being in his vicinity made you more of an asshole. 

“Why?” Ginny questioned, levelling him with an unblinking stare. “Afraid you’ll lose?”

Arthur snorted. “As if. Very well, you’ll have your race. First to reach Leo wins.” As Leo flew an appropriate distance away, Arthur made a show of lining his broomstick up with Ginny’s, ensuring that neither had an advantage over the other. “I can give you a headstart, if you’d like.”

“Gavina, could you give us a count?” Ginny asked in lieu of a reply.

“Gladly,” Gavina agreed with clear amusement in her voice. “On your marks… get set… go!”

Ginny shot off like a rocket, impressing even Merlin. He could tell from the faces around him that everyone was equally awed by her control. For an eleven-year-old, she was certainly quite good. Arthur was also doing well, and may have even beaten anyone else in the class save for Merlin, but he was no match for her. Merlin thought she could have a future as a professional Quidditch player. 

Arthur, unsurprisingly, was not a gracious loser. “You cheated!” he yelled the second they got back, his face turning almost purple in anger and embarrassment. 

Ginny raised an eyebrow at him. “And how would I have done that?”

Arthur spluttered for a moment before sitting back a bit on his broomstick. “Next time I won’t be so easy on you.”

“Well, which was it?” Gavina questioned, smirking and crossing her arms. It was actually kind of impressive to fly with no hands. “Did she cheat or did you let her win?”

“Er—both!”

There were a few scattered giggles from the crowd around them and Arthur stalked off across the grounds. Well, he couldn’t exactly stalk on a broomstick, but Merlin thought he got pretty close. The intent was definitely there.

As he watched Arthur sulk off, though, Merlin couldn’t help but feel a bit bad. He was a git, sure, but he was still humiliated— again —and his only friend, Leo, seemed unsure of whether or not to follow him.

“Excuse me,” he said distractedly to Gavina and Lyn, who were almost definitely looking at him in complete bewilderment. He didn’t spare them a glance, though, as he flew off to follow Arthur.

“Your flying was pretty good, too, you know,” he said carefully as he approached where Arthur was evidently working off his anger by flying around like a madman. 

At Merlin’s voice, he stopped but didn’t turn around. “Leave me alone, Ealdor.”

“I’m just saying, it looked cool. If you hadn’t ruined it by opening your big mouth, I might even be impressed.”

At that, Arthur finally turned to glare at him. “And what would you know about flying? You’re a Mudblood; you hadn’t even seen a broom before today.”

“Of course I’d seen a broom,” Merlin argued. “I have swept before. You do know what sweeping is, correct?”

“What are you doing here?” Arthur spit out. Obviously Merlin’s antics hadn’t calmed his frustration. Strange.

Merlin swung a leg over his broomstick so he was sitting on it sideways, helping him face Arthur better. Arthur’s eyes tracked the movement in confusion. Right—he was supposed to be uncomfortable on a broomstick. Whoops. 

“It’s just that…” Merlin paused, trying to figure out exactly what he wanted to say. He wasn’t quite sure what had prompted him to follow Arthur; it just seemed like something he should do. “You probably could have beaten anyone else in the class. You’re actually quite good, really, even if Ginny is clearly a natural. There’s nothing wrong with coming in second—” 

“She’s a girl!”

“And you’re the only one who cares about that,” Merlin told him. “No one was mocking you for losing to her, Arthur. They laughed because you were a sore loser and refused to accept that she’s just that talented.”

“Because she must have done something!” Arthur argued. Okay then, still a stubborn asshole. Maybe this was a bad idea. “She cheated. That’s why she won.”

Merlin made a face as he pretended to consider it. “Hmmm… it didn’t seem like she was cheating…”

Arthur glared at him. “Leave me alone.”

“Fine,” Merlin snapped, “but just know that people would probably actually like you if you weren’t such an asshole all the time.” With that, he got back into a flying position and turned around to leave.

“I don’t care what a bunch of Mudbloods think of me, anyway!” Arthur called at his retreating back.

Merlin didn’t glorify that with a response. That guy was really a piece of work.

“This is such a waste of time,” Arthur grumbled under his breath as they sat in detention later that day.

All of the professors were otherwise engaged, so Merlin and Arthur were brought to the Dungeons for their first detention. Besides Filch checking in on them from time to time, they were completely alone with nothing to do.

“Better than signing Lockhart’s fanmail,” Merlin said. “I heard Harry’s doing that for his detention.”

“At least it’s something to do,” Arthur argued. “Scrubbing floors would be better than this.”

“Oh, wow, His Majesty enjoys manual labour? I wasn’t aware that was something you even knew how to do.”

“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur replied, not missing a beat. It seemed like it had become an automatic response at this point.

“I’m just saying, it wouldn’t hurt to—”

“Come… come to me…”

Parseltongue? Was there a snake in the building? If so, it seemed like a quite large snake.

“Let me rip you… Let me tear you… Let me kill you…” 

Alright, a large evil snake. This didn’t seem like a good thing to have in a school full of children.

“—suddenly go deaf or something?” Evidently, Merlin had missed something Arthur was saying to him. “I didn’t think that was possible, but I wouldn’t put it past you of all people to mess a spell up that horrendously—”

“There’s a basilisk in the school.” 

Arthur immediately stopped rambling. “Excuse me?”

“I’m a parselmouth,” Merlin explained, straining to hear more words. “I learned I could talk to snakes a few years ago and researched what it meant. And now there’s a voice in the walls speaking parseltongue.”

His explanation wasn’t quite true. Or at all true, really. He’d taught himself parseltongue when he first learned it was possible to talk to snakes. Salazar himself had actually taught him, though it wasn’t quite the same as learning a human language. It was more magical in nature, which meant that Merlin picked it up pretty quickly. Apparently that wasn’t true for most wizards, though, since they considered it an inherited trait instead of something that one could learn.

“Let me get this straight,” Arthur started. Merlin tried to shush him, but he barreled on with no consideration for Merlin’s attempts to hear more of the voice. “You’re hearing disembodied voices in the walls of the school speaking in tongues and you expect me to just go along with it?”

“They’re not speaking in tongues,” Merlin said. “It’s parseltongue. I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”

“So you hear hissing. That’s so much better.”

“That’s not how it works,” Merlin told him. “Now shut up and let me listen.”

They were silent for all of ten seconds before Arthur spoke up again. “We could always sneak out to track it down.”

“Do you actually believe me or are you trying to get out of detention?”

“I’m offering to help you, aren’t I?” Arthur retorted. “I thought you’d see that as a good thing. I don’t offer my aid very often.”

“Clearly,” Merlin muttered. “Otherwise you’d probably be a bit better at it.”

“I heard that!”

“You were meant to,” Merlin said distractedly, now looking around for the secret entrance to the room. He remembered there being an escape route from detentions somewhere around here, but it had been a while since he’d had to use it.

“Are you looking for something?” Arthur asked, for once actually sounding curious instead of prattish. Well, he always sounded prattish, but right now he wasn’t being purposely dense. 

“The escape route,” Merlin explained. “I heard there’s one around here.” He moved a painting of an old professor but found nothing behind it save for a cloud of dust that made him cough for a good ten seconds. 

“How do you know so much about magic and Hogwarts, anyway?” Arthur questioned. “You’ve been here for less than a week.”

“I’m a fast learner,” Merlin said. “Plus, I’m actually nice to people so they enjoy talking to me and telling me things.”

“I highly doubt anyone could actually enjoy talking to you,” Arthur said. “They probably just give you information to keep you occupied so they can slip away.”

“I know it’s hard to understand since the word ‘nice’ doesn’t seem to actually exist in your vocabulary,” Merlin told him, “but when you say things to other people that don’t make them want to punch you in the face, you can actually make friends.”

“Is this the entrance?” Arthur asked, completely ignoring what Merlin was saying. That was probably for the better, anyway—they likely could have stayed there arguing for hours if nothing had interrupted them. 

Merlin made his way over to where Arthur was standing next to the cabinet he’d just pulled away from the wall. Behind it was an opening and a tunnel that faded into darkness just a few feet ahead. 

“That’s it,” Merlin confirmed. “Lumos.”

With the light of his wand, they could see that the tunnel was only a few feet wide and barely tall enough for a seventh-year student. Luckily, being first-years meant they were able to fit easily. It also seemed to be disgustingly dank, but that’s just how the dungeons were at Hogwarts. 

After piling in and pulling the cabinet back into place behind them, they made their way quickly through the tunnel. Occasionally it branched off and led to an entrance in another part of the school hidden by a painting or statue or some other decoration. 

“What happens when Filch gets back and notices we’re gone?” Arthur asked from behind Merlin, who was leading the way in hopes that he’d hear the basilisk again and be able to find it. He would try to sense its presence magically, but there was so much magic in the castle that he couldn’t pinpoint it. He didn’t know any wizarding spells that were strong enough to be any more accurate than his natural senses, and doing it via the Old Religion would definitely give away that he wasn’t a normal wizard.

“I heard him put some sort of charm on the door the last time he left,” Merlin said. “Probably some sort of minor ward that lets him know when we cross it. I doubt he’s coming back anytime soon.”

“And if he does? I really don’t want to suffer through these detentions with you any more than necessary.”

“Trust me,” Merlin said, “neither do I. But we really need to find this basilisk.”

“Yes,” Arthur agreed with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “The completely real and not hallucinated giant snake.”

The tunnel eventually connected with a few other passages, ultimately leading to an exit near the Room of Requirement. Merlin stuck his head out to make sure the coast was clear, and resisted the urge to jump when he felt Arthur’s breath on the top of his head as he also looked around. Apparently the prat couldn’t just trust Merlin to tell him if someone was there.

“Get off of me,” Merlin hissed, shoving him back. He then walked casually out of the tunnel as if he hadn’t just spent the last ten minutes running around in a gross, dark tunnel that he was definitely not supposed to know about, let alone use to escape detention. “ Nox. ”

They continued walking through the hallways in a silence that probably would have been awkward if either of them had actually felt as though they should have been making conversation. Despite their lack of a distraction, though, Merlin couldn’t hear the snake at all. He considered just ignoring the consequences and going for a quick magic-detecting spell, but he could always do that later if he really needed to. 

Lost in his thoughts, he nearly choked when Arthur’s hand suddenly slammed into his chest, backing him against a wall.

“Wha—”

Arthur slapped a hand over his mouth, shaking his head and nodding at the hallway they’d been about to turn down.

Ah.

Merlin nodded back as well as he could with Arthur’s hand restricting his movement. When he didn’t remove it after a few seconds, too busy peeking around the corner, Merlin made a decision befitting his eleven-year-old persona.

“Did you just lick me?” Arthur whisper-shouted as he yanked his hand back and wiped it on his robes.

Merlin shrugged, grinning unabashedly. 

Arthur glared at him for a moment before taking another look down the hallway. “I think we’re clear. We’re also close to your dorms, which means I can finally be rid of you. Thank Merlin .” 

“You’re welcome.”

Arthur glanced at him for a second in confusion before visibly going back over what he’d just said and sighing. “Shut up.”

“You’d hate that,” Merlin told him. “Where else would you get this amazing banter?”

“I don’t want your stupid banter,” Arthur said. “We’re rivals, not friends.”

“Rivals?” Merlin echoed. “That seems a bit harsh. Besides, the line between ‘rivals’ and ‘friends’ is thinner than you’d think.”

“If it’s half as thick as your skull, we’ll murder each other by Christmas.”

Merlin had to admit he had a good point. When he finally got back to his dorms, though, he found himself falling asleep with a smile on his face.

Chapter Text

Having a rival turned out to be more fun than Merlin expected. Well, he found it fun. He was sure Arthur must be enjoying it more than he let on, too, since he insisted on going after Merlin every time they saw each other over the next few weeks. From sending stupid notes in Defense Against the Dark Arts to taunting him in the corridors between lessons, he was constantly trying to rile Merlin up. Merlin, of course, gave as good as he got and actually did look forward to the next time Arthur attempted to roast him so he could reply in kind.

It had been a long time since he’d allowed himself to interact this much with other people. During his time in America, he generally kept to the sidelines. He had a part-time job as a bartender and was friendly with his coworkers, but he was careful not to form any lasting relationships. He’d learned to be picky about when and where he bonded with people; the more friends he made, the more he had to eventually lose.

So Gavina, Marcus, Lyn, Ben, Penny, and his other Housemates were nice to have. They were fun to talk to and helped ease his loneliness, even if it did feel a bit odd to only associate with people who were so young. 

Arthur, though, was different. They certainly weren’t friends, but Merlin didn’t hate the boy. He was young and impressionable, and Merlin was sure that he could do with a few positive influences in his life. That wasn’t surprising; as someone who helped shape thousands of lives, Merlin was used to acting as a sort of subtle guide to people who seemed lost.

What was surprising was how much he actually enjoyed talking to Arthur. It may have been the association with his Arthur that subconsciously influenced his opinion, but Merlin was fairly sure that he would have felt the same way even if the boy didn’t share his king’s name. In a strange way, he felt like he was being himself for the first time in centuries, exercising a part of his personality that had been lying dormant for too long. 

He frowned as he felt something hit the back of his head in the middle of Charms. It was barely hard enough to grab his attention, let alone hurt him, but it was nevertheless annoying. Especially when it did it again a few seconds later. And again a few seconds after that.

After the fifth hit, he managed to snatch it out of the air without turning around and making a scene. Flitwick seemed to like him for some reason, but Merlin didn’t want to risk getting even more detention by interrupting his class for no reason. 

The object turned out to be a piece of paper. Merlin was curious despite himself, so he unfolded it.

IDIOT

Alright then. It seems Arthur’s wit was truly boundless; Merlin took back everything he’d just said about enjoying their banter. He missed talking to adults.

He saw a sudden flash of Gwaine at a council meeting, trying to subtly flick specks of wood across the table at Arthur’s hair. He’d failed in the subtlety aspect, of course, but by the end of the meeting Arthur looked like he’d spent the day rubbing his head against a woodcarver’s floor.

Yeah, maybe adults weren’t always better.

When he was sure no one was looking, Merlin glanced at the paper and watched as a few words scrawled themselves across the top of the page.

“Pass it on,” he whispered at Gavina, charming the paper so that it grew legs and walked its way across the desk to her.

When it reached her, she frowned. “‘Arthur is an idiot’? Isn’t that a bit lame?”

“I’m eleven,” Merlin retorted. “What do you want from me? Besides, he started it.”

“We’re all eleven, dipshit,” she whispered back, but dutifully nudged the paper spider so it crawled its way to the next desk.

Deathdays were always a blast. Unlike living people, ghosts only tended to celebrate larger milestones instead of having a party every year. When you live for so long, it becomes a chore to try and plan hundreds of parties. Since they were so infrequent, though, it became a big ordeal when they did happen.

The last one he’d attended at Hogwarts had been the shared nine hundredth deathday of Alastair and Helena. Theirs was always a bit awkward, what with the former being the one that killed them both and all that. They tended to disagree about who to invite, too, since many of Helena’s friends held a grudge against Alastair. For obvious reasons.

Nick’s parties, on the other hand, were generally quite lively. Er—maybe lively wasn’t exactly an accurate term, since most of the guests were dead. But there were always great stories and party games and, later in the night, alcohol so strong that even a ghost could taste it. 

Merlin had plenty of practice ignoring the stench of rotten food and the chill of the room at these celebrations. He cast a couple of quick charms to weaken his senses a bit so they weren’t so noticeable.

“Merlin!” 

Turning around at his name, Merlin spotted Robert waving wildly at him from where he was standing with a group of ghosts Merlin vaguely recognized. 

He made his way over to them, desperately trying to remember a few names. “Robert!” he greeted. “Nice to see you. And you, of course, William, Cassandra, Frederick—”

“Are you having a good time?” Robert interrupted before it became obvious that he didn’t remember any other names. Merlin could kiss him if he wasn’t noncorporeal. 

“It must be such an honour to have the Prince of Enchanters attend your deathday party,” said one of the ghosts whose name he couldn’t recall. “Nick must be so glad.”

“I can often make time,” Merlin told her. “Send me a message when you’re planning your next one and I’ll do my best to attend.”

That turned out to be a mistake when all the ghosts started clamouring to tell him all about their upcoming deathday plans. He tried to slow them down, but it was nearly impossible. Eventually he just resigned himself to committing each date to memory and hoping that he wasn’t mixing them up.

“Enough about us, though, tell us about your travels!” Cassandra said, going to grab his arm before evidently thinking better of it. “I hear you spent some time in America before coming here.”

Merlin indulged them, launching into a story about an adventure involving a cursed frog, the underground club scene—literally underground, since it was vampire clubbing—and a few flying motorcycles. By the end of it, Robert was wiping ghostly tears from his eyes and attempting to clap Merlin on the back. He failed, of course, but Merlin grinned at him anyway. 

“I haven’t had a chance to see Nick himself yet, though,” he told the group regretfully, “so I’m afraid I’ll have to take my leave. Could someone point me in his direction?”

A few ghosts pointed across the room, and Merlin turned to follow their directions. To his surprise, though, Nick wasn’t entertaining a group of ghosts. Instead, there were a few students looking quite uncomfortable.

Not just any students, actually. That was definitely Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and— 

Hermione Granger was staring right at him with a calculating look in her eye.

Well, fuck.

Merlin was sure that she hadn’t figured him out yet. If she had, she would almost definitely have a bit of a stronger reaction. Besides, hanging out with a few ghosts wasn’t exactly the missing puzzle piece. It probably did seem a bit suspicious, though.

Before he had a chance to greet Nick, the Headless Hunt made their appearance.

Loud and obnoxious as usual, they completely stole the show from Nick with their jokes and games when he was trying to give his speech. Merlin felt bad for the guy; it was his five hundredth deathday, and that was a big milestone for a ghost. 

As Merlin made his way to the podium, he noticed the trio of living students slowly backing out of the room. Good—he was about to do something that would definitely be suspicious and may even give him away, but he couldn’t just let this happen.

“Excuse me, everyone!” he called to the gathered guests. 

The effect was instantaneous. The game of Head Hockey immediately stopped and a hush fell over the crowd as the ghosts all realized who was speaking. Sometimes the fame was pretty useful. 

“I believe my good friend here has something to say,” he said, motioning for Nick to come a bit closer. He would have put a hand on his back if he was actually able to touch him. “And I’d encourage you all to remember who was gracious enough to invite you to this event.”

There were some guilty murmurs mixed in with the awed ones and Merlin felt like his goal was accomplished. He gave one last smile to Nick before stepping down from the podium. “Take it away, old friend.”

He may have been laying it on a little thick, but it was worth it to see Nick’s grateful returning smile. 

“ … kill… time to kill… ”

Merlin felt the blood drain from his face as he heard the basilisk’s voice coming from somewhere above him. With his dulled senses, he may not have heard it even if it had been speaking for a while. He’d almost completely missed something terribly dangerous because he was busy partying with a bunch of ghosts.

“I have to go.” He tried to keep his voice down, but it still carried through the hushed room. “Something bad is happening. I’ll see you later—and happy deathday.”

With that, he hurried from the room and went to track down this stupid snake. He didn’t make it far, though, before spotting Harry, Ron, and Hermione also rushing suspiciously down the corridors. Harry was looking around wildly, saying something to the others. It looked like he was following something, just like Merlin.

Well, it would make some sense that the child of prophecy whose fate was tied to Voldemort’s would also be a parselmouth. Just because wizards all seemed to think it was a trait that was only inherited didn’t actually make that true; magic was never so simple. From what he remembered, Voldemort was a parselmouth with some sort of connection to Salazar himself, so it wasn’t surprising that his counterpart would be one as well.

It also wasn’t an inherently evil trait, but Salazar’s influence had made it seem so. Being a prominent parselmouth who chose snakes as his symbol and also helped to father the pure-blood supremacy movement kind of made all those things seem a bit intertwined. Really, there was nothing wrong with snakes or their language, much in the same way that there was nothing wrong with magic itself. However, Merlin knew from his experiences with the majority of Camelot’s population during Gwen’s reign that it wasn’t easy to persuade people to be open-hearted about something they’d been taught to fear.

He ducked into an alcove as Harry glanced back down the corridor, still searching for the voice. The group continued on and Merlin followed after them until they suddenly stopped. Hermione pointed down the corridor at something, but Merlin couldn’t see it from his angle. He was about to extend his magic to get a better view when he heard a cacophony of footsteps nearby and was forced to hide himself even further. 

Yikes. That really sucked for the trio of students still standing next to whatever scene they’d stumbled across. Students fell silent as they flooded the corridor, all staring in shock at the sight before them. Merlin surreptitiously joined them, sidling up to Gavina, Lyn, and Marcus. He answered their questioning look with a shrug, not really sure what was going on. 

That is, until he saw the message.

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. 

ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE 

Well, that couldn’t be good.

The Forbidden Forest was a welcome sight after so many years spent away from it. Most students—and professors, probably—would naturally be wary of the abundance of magical creatures hidden in its depths, but Merlin felt at home with them. He was a creature of magic, too, so in a way they were kin. It wasn’t quite the same as his connection with dragons, but it was a connection nonetheless.

“What can we do for you today, Master Emrys?”

Merlin smiled and inclined his head as the centaur seemed to melt from the trees. “Magorian,” he greeted. “Last we met, you were but a child. I hear you’ve done well for yourself.”

“You can say that again,” another voice agreed. Merlin turned to see a centaur he didn’t recognize appear behind him. “He’s been a strong leader these past fifty years.”

Soon, the whole herd had materialized from the surrounding forest. Merlin recognized a few, but many were too young for him to remember. 

“To answer your question,” Merlin said to Magorian after greeting the rest of the members, “I will ask a few of my own. I’m afraid that even after all these years, I find myself avoiding the gift of Sight in fear of creating more problems than I solve. I thought to seek your advice, if you would be willing to give it.”

“We are proud to serve the mighty Emrys,” Magorian assured him with a shallow bow. It was always strange to see such a proud species bow to him when they resisted serving any others, but it was hardly the first time it had happened and surely wouldn’t be the last. “Am I correct to presume that this concerns He Who Shall Not Be Named?”

“I believe so,” Merlin told him. “The ghosts told me the story so far, but something has been happening lately and I’m not sure what to do about it.”

“As you must discover your destiny on your own terms, so must the young child of prophecy.”

“Right.” This was entirely too similar to talking to Kilgharrah. The thought of the old dragon sent a pang through Merlin’s heart and he felt a bit guilty for thinking badly of him, but man did that old lizard talk in riddles. “So I’m supposed to ignore this whole business with the Chamber of Secrets and the Heir of Slytherin?”

“It is Harry’s destiny to defeat He Who Shall Not Be Named, not yours,” a new centaur spoke. Merlin looked away from Magorian to see a centaur with white-blond hair take a few steps forward. “You are not meant to interfere. If he is to be ready to face this great evil, he will need to prepare himself. That being said—”

“That is all there is to say, Firenze,” Magorian interrupted with a stern look at the other centaur.

Firenze stared back, undeterred. “But if he were to die, then all hope would be lost.”

“It is up to the fates to decide whether the boy lives or dies.”

“That’s not—”

“ Enough !”  

A silence held suspended in the air between them, fragile yet unyielding. It was clear that this was not the first time they’d had this argument. 

“So I’m not meant to do anything about Voldemort?” Merlin asked after a moment. “That’s up to Harry?”

“I believe we can all agree on that,” Magorian confirmed, shooting another pointed look at Firenze. “Your purpose here is to do what you always intended to do.”

Fuck this. Who thought asking a bunch of centaurs about anything was a good idea? “What does that mean?”

“That is something only you can know, Emrys.”

And with that, the centaurs retreated back into the forest, leaving Merlin with more questions than answers. And a hell of a lot of frustration.

After a few days of contemplation, Merlin decided that the only thing he really intended to do at the school was to investigate the staff and ensure they were all doing a proper job educating and protecting their students. Since he wasn’t supposed to solve the issue of the Chamber of Secrets—he knew Salazar was up to something, but had decided to leave the building of Hogwarts to its founders—that left just going through with his original plan.

He needed a conspiracy board.

He couldn’t exactly walk to the nearest DIY shop, so he figured conjuring one up was the next best thing. Surely his fellow Hufflepuffs wouldn’t mind a big rolling bulletin board being set up in their common room? 

“What the hell is that?”

Merlin turned around to find a boy in his year frowning at the board. Lance, if he recalled correctly. He seemed like a nice kid—friendly, kind, good-natured. All-around good Hufflepuff. 

“Do you kind of hate Lockhart?”

Lance blinked at him. “Lockhart?”

“Yeah.” Merlin gestured at the board, where he’d begun to compile some excerpts from Lockhart’s books and quotes from class. “Lockhart.”

“Er—he’s a professor,” Lance said, sounding unsure. “And he can’t be hiding You-Know-Who in his hat or anything since he doesn’t wear one. I guess he could be in his robes, but—”

“We’re getting off track,” Merlin interrupted. “This isn’t about whether he’s working with Voldemort—I doubt he’s competent enough for that—it’s about whether he should be working at Hogwarts. So do you hate him?”

“‘Hate’ is a strong word,” Lance started. At Merlin’s raised eyebrow, he paused and glanced at the board again before sighing and answering in a quieter voice, “...I want to feed his guts to the wolves.”

Okay. Wow. Merlin was expecting a ‘yes’ or ‘no,’ but this worked. “Alrighty then,” he said after a moment. “Do you want to help me get him fired?”

“God, yes,” Lance said, moving to pick up one of Merlin’s Defense Against the Dark Arts books—he wouldn’t be using them anyway—and searching through it to find something that should be included. “Are we trying to expose him as a fraud, then?”

“Yup,” Merlin confirmed. “He’s said way too much wild shit to get away with it all. We need to get rid of him before he has a chance to ruin our education any further.”

“Hear, hear,” Lance agreed, finding a choice quote and carefully ripping it out of the book. “Is anyone else helping you with this?”

“I was thinking of asking Lyn, but she’s not awake yet.”

“Oh.”

Merlin glanced up at Lance, wondering if something was wrong, but he was just using a sticking charm to put his excerpt up and connecting it to one of the quotes from class by drawing a red line with his wand. 

They worked in companionable silence for a while before it was eventually time for breakfast. Merlin told Lance to go on ahead to the Great Hall while he waited for Lyn. He got quite a few looks from the other students, but no one seemed upset and he counted that as a win.

“Oh, Merlin. ”

Merlin wasn’t sure if she was expressing her exasperation with him or cursing with his name, but that wasn’t really important in the grand scheme of things. 

He grinned at her. “Hello, Lyn.”

Lyn walked up to the board, taking a closer look at what he’d already charmed onto it. “Is this for Lockhart?”

“Sure is,” Merlin said. “There’s not enough to get him fired yet, but there will be soon.”

“Why not just go to Dumbledore?”

Merlin had, in fact, considered the idea. There was a slight problem, though. “I’m, like, ninety percent sure that he’s already fielding complaints left and right and we’re barely two months in. If we want Lockhart gone, we’re going to need some hard evidence that he can’t ignore.”

It was strange, really. Albus had always struck him as a reasonable boy, if a little mischievous. He was surprised that he wouldn’t listen to the students’ concerns. Maybe Merlin had misjudged him or forgotten something in his old age. 

Lyn still looked unsure, but Merlin gave her his patented ‘please-help-me-I-need-you’ look and she eventually caved. No one could escape his puppy-dog eyes.

“Fine, I’ll help you,” she said with a sigh. “Where do we start?”

Chapter Text

“I just don’t see the point in throwing a ball around while flying around on broomsticks and trying not to fall off and die,” Lyn was grumbling as they made their way to the quidditch pitch to watch the first match of the semester. “Er—no offense. I didn’t mean to be rude; I just don’t really get it, I suppose.”

“None taken,” Marcus assured her. They were walking together a few paces in front of Gavina and Merlin. Two months into the semester and they were thick as thieves, which Merlin supposed shouldn’t surprise him. They were very different, but similar in their kindness and strength of character, which was enough to form a lasting friendship. “It’s not for everyone. It’s hard to describe what it’s like, though, for those of us who really love it. It’s exhilarating, yes, but there’s also something to be said for the feeling of looking around at your teammates and knowing that you’ve accomplished something together. Even if it’s just a game.”

“Spoken like a true Slytherin,” Merlin remarked. He understood it, though—he’d gone for a professional career with the national Welsh team in the nineteenth century and thoroughly enjoyed his time there. The camaraderie he felt on the pitch didn’t come close to the feeling of being surrounded by people who would fight and die for each other, but it was still fun. 

From what he’d heard, Harry Potter was allowed to join the Gryffindor team in his first year as an exception to the usual rules. However, Draco Malfoy, his rival—and not a fun rival like Arthur—was competing for the first time today and many students were eager to watch the outcome. 

Ben, Lance, Penny, and Clyde were waiting for them near the stands already, their cheeks pink from the chill. Marcus waved as they neared and the rest of the group followed suit. 

“So, who are you rooting for?” Ben asked as he offered his scarf to the seemingly cold Lyn, who politely accepted it. 

“I can’t decide between House loyalty and wanting those fuckers to get pummeled,” Marcus said. “I’m just here for a good time, really.”

“I’ll go for Gryffindor,” Gavina said, sending a wink Marcus’ way. “The Weasley twins seem fun, and the others all seem alright, too.”

There were a few general nods of agreement from the group of mostly Hufflepuff students. Despite Marcus’ shred of House loyalty, it seemed clear to them that they should support Gryffindor. 

Merlin shrugged. “I don’t really care either way,” he said. “May the better team win.”

As the match started, Merlin quickly realized that something was wrong. Poor Harry Potter was being relentlessly chased by a Bludger that was clearly enchanted. Merlin was surprised that no one was calling foul or stopping the game when it was so obviously unfair and dangerous.

Reaching out to the Bludger with his magic, he tried to see if he could get a sense of what type of spell was being used. To his surprise, it didn’t feel like wizarding magic at all. This was a more instinctual magic, not unlike his own; it wasn’t magic of the Old Religion, but it did come from some sort of magical creature. 

Why the hell would a house elf be trying to injure Harry Potter? 

Before Merlin had a chance to do anything to help or warn anyone else, the Bludger hit the poor boy and he sped towards the Malfoy kid, reaching past him—was he going for the fucking Snitch? Still ? What the hell were they teaching these kids? 

When the boy fell, Merlin instinctively cushioned his fall enough that the only injury he seemed to sustain was a broken arm. Merlin longed to do a more in-depth examination of his health, but Lockhart got there first and did… something.

Oh, gods, that was so gross. 

Merlin had seen worse, of course, but that didn’t make the moment feel any better. Arms certainly weren’t supposed to wiggle and… flop… like that. 

This was definitely going on the board. 

“ I wanna hit that hiiiiiiiiiigh… ”

Merlin bounced along to the music as he set about attaching the newest Lockhart Mistake to the board. Technology wasn’t allowed in Hogwarts—a rule that Merlin thought was lazy on the part of the professors and stifling to the students, since the magic issues could easily be solved with a few well-placed charms—so the Walkman he was using was hidden under his robes and charmed to not interfere with the wards or others spells being cast. Sure, he could just conjure the music himself, but where was the fun in that? He liked the aesthetic of these little human inventions too much to completely leave them behind. 

“ Yeah, yeah, yeahhh…”

He did hope that he wasn’t interrupting anyone’s sleep with his obnoxious singing. He had put a quick silencing charm on the common room so that he didn’t disturb anyone, but charms didn’t work on vibes. 

The thing about silencing charms, Merlin remembered later, was that they worked both ways. He knew that already, of course, but he hadn’t thought about what that would mean in the context of his whole ‘being a protector of these children and keeping an eye on what was happening in the school’ thing.

Suffice to say, Colin Creevey was Petrified and Merlin just let it happen. Not a great time all around. Well, actually, Merlin did have a great time and that’s what made it all worse—some poor innocent child was Petrified and the Great Merlin was busy listening to American 80s pop and adding to his conspiracy board side project. 

Being over a millennium old was supposed to make you smarter, right?

“O Great Merlin, why is thy face so long?”

Merlin smiled sadly at Gavina as she came to sit next to him on the steps by the courtyard. “It’s nothing, really. Don’t worry about it.”

“Is it about Colin?” she asked, unrelenting. “I saw your face when they announced the news at breakfast. Were you two friends?”

Merlin shrugged. “I didn’t know him. I just felt like I should have done something.”

“You know you’re not actually the Great Merlin, right?” Gavina asked after a moment. “What could you have done? Stood in front of him and gotten yourself killed?”

Merlin just shrugged again, not having the heart to play into his character. Or worse, actually tell her that, yes, he was ‘ actually the Great Merlin’ and he could have easily saved Colin from his fate.

“Besides, I heard that they’re making an antidote or something,” Gavina added. “So it’s not like he’s not coming back. If anything, I should be the one upset—he offered to do my Charms homework if I got him Harry’s autograph. Am I supposed to do it myself now?”

When Merlin barely cracked a smile, Gavina let out a put-upon sigh. “Alright, fine. I guess I have to take matters into my own hands.” She stood up, pulling Merlin with her. “We’re going to pay a visit to the lake.”

“What? Why?”

“Because that’s where Lockhart brought his fourth-year class,” Gavina said. “He’s enacting one of his god-forsaken stories again, and I thought we could spruce up his performance a little bit.”

It only took them a few minutes to sprint to the Great Lake, and by the time they got there, Lockhart’s performance was in full swing. He was gesticulating wildly, giving a monologue that they couldn’t quite hear from their hiding spot behind a nearby tree. Something about a werewolf and a fashion magazine? Merlin might have understood if he’d actually read a word of Lockhart’s books. 

Gavina whispered a spell that made a banana peel appear in the middle of the scene. Lockhart, not noticing, stepped directly onto the peel and landed ass up in the mud. 

“Oh, that’s gotta hurt,” Merlin whispered with a snort as Lockhart stood up and unsuccessfully attempted to brush the mud from his knees. He whispered another spell that made Lockhart’s robes wrap him up like a burrito and send him back to the ground.

“Not bad,” Gavina commented. “I think I can do you one better, though.”

And with that, she did the most beautiful thing Merlin had seen in the past fifty years. Suddenly Lockhart wasn’t just writhing on the ground in his ridiculous turquoise cape—no, he was now accelerating down the banks of the lake at a truly alarming speed, like he was using one of those slip ‘n’ slides the non-magical world had created. It was a sight like none he’d ever seen before. Lockhart screamed bloody murder as he slid straight into the depths of the lake.

“Yikes,” Merlin said. “Do you think he’ll be okay?”

Gavina shrugged. “Probably.”

Just as Merlin considered diving into the lake and executing a beautiful rescue mission that would earn them at least thirty points for Hufflepuff, a voice spoke directly to his mind.

Emrys, the voice of the giant squid echoed in his head, did you drop this?

And with that, a giant tentacle shot out of the water with a sopping wet Lockhart-shaped burrito dangling from the end of its limb. The class gasped and began cheering and clapping for his performance. 

Merlin whistled. “Beautiful work!”

Shall I deposit him here?

Right over there in that mud puddle would be great, Merlin replied. And thanks for the clutch, by the way.

Of course, Lord Emrys, the squid said. It dropped Lockhart into the mud and he splatted like a pancake. Also, could you return later? There is much to discuss.

Sure thing.

He sought out the house-elves next.

It was remarkably easy to sneak into the kitchens when they were right next to the Hufflepuff chambers. Honestly, Helga probably designed them that way. Everyone always went on about Rowena’s intellect, but Merlin personally thought that Helga knew what was up.

“Master Emrys!” 

Several voices called out to him as he entered, and Merlin smiled at a few familiar faces. 

“I’ve asked you not to call me that,” he admonished, jokingly shaking his finger at Bink and Litzy, whom he remembered as being fairly young the last time he’d visited. They now seemed to be among the senior elves. “I am no one’s master.”

“It’s such an honour to meet you!” one of the elves exclaimed, coming forward to shake his hand. “I’m Donyl, Mr. Emrys.”

Nearly every elf in the room tried to introduce themself after that. Merlin got lost after the first three—Mippy, Rooper, and Wimly—and tried his best to smile patiently at the rest of them. 

“How is the work these days?” he asked after introductions were finished. “Is Albus treating you well?”

“Oh, yes, sir!” Wimly spoke up. “Living at Hogwarts is a dream!”

Merlin fought down the urge to raise an eyebrow in disbelief. Instead, he nodded at Wimly’s assertion and looked to Bink for confirmation.

Bink shrugged. “The kid’s new,” he said quietly. “He just came from one o’ them pure-blood houses. Treated like crap there, he was. You know how they can be. Ever since he came here, he’s been singing Dumbledore’s praises left and right.”

Merlin glanced over at Wimly, who was still grinning ear-to-ear. “Is that the general consensus, then? You’ve been living well, no unfair demands?”

“Nothing to speak ill of here. It’s honest work here at Hogwarts,” Litzy confirmed from his other side. “And I thank you for that, Sir Emrys.”

Merlin couldn’t help but laugh. “Ah, Litzy, I’ve never been knighted in my long life. ‘Merlin’ is fine.” He surveyed the rest of the room, taking note that everyone seemed to be in good health and joking around with each other as they worked. “And I can’t take credit for what you’ve accomplished here.”

Merlin had only learned of the ridiculous magic rules surrounding house elves a few centuries ago, and fighting them was incredibly slow and difficult. He never fully understood their culture and views on wages or obedience, but he did understand service and loyalty. The least he could do was help them petition for laws governing their fair treatment, even if he would rather them not be enslaved at all. Even all of his magic couldn’t stand up to the powers of bureaucracy, though, and it was a struggle to get the Ministry to actually enforce the laws. He’d always thought there might be some sort of solution to achieving free will without being offensive to the house elves’ culture—

“Well, Merlin, is there something we can do for you while you’re down here?” Bink asked, interrupting his thoughts.

“Oh, yes, I almost forgot.” Merlin looked around at the few elves that were still gathered in their little group. “Does anyone here know about magic being used in a Quidditch game yesterday? A Bludger was enchanted and it felt like it might have been a house elf, though I can’t be certain.”

Donyl frowned, glancing around at the other elves and leaning in to speak to Merlin quietly. “If it was house elf magic, sir, it wasn’t from one of us. We can’t use our magic to harm students here.”

“It might have been a rogue elf,” Litzy added. She said ‘rogue elf’ the way a pure-blood would say ‘mudblood,’ and Merlin tried not to wince. 

Bink was nodding along. “A couple o’ elves’ve left the castle recently,” he added. “We’s not sure how they got themselves the clothes, but Zinky and Hilch stopped showing up for breakfast a few weeks ago, and I haven’t seen Hopsy and Jorin since Halloween night. They right abandoned us, must’ve got some big ideas about freedom since that Dobby fellow started hanging around.”

Huh. Merlin had never heard of so many house elves leaving Hogwarts before. “Right,” he said. “Well, thank you all for your time. I really do appreciate it. And please let me know if any more elves disappear.”

“‘S always a pleasure to help you, Merlin,” Bink said. “Why don’t you take some pies with you?”

“And a brownie!” Wimly called.

By the time Merlin was making his way out of the kitchens, he was laden down with so much food he thought he might need to make a second trip. Then he remembered he had magic and he could just make it lighter. He did that.

The sun lit up the walls of the castle, brightening them to a blinding white. On such a nice day, the market was bustling with activity as commoners and nobles alike tried to make the best of the weather. Despite the noise, though, it felt as though all of Camelot had stopped to watch the interaction that was unfolding.

“Do I know you?”

“Uh, I’m Merlin.”

“So I don’t know you.”

“No.”

“And yet you called me ‘friend.’”

Merlin paused, looking over Arthur critically. “That was my mistake.”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Yeah,” Merlin said with a challenging grin. “I’d never have a friend who could be such an ass.”

“Or I one who could be so stupid.” Arthur put a casual hand on his sword. “Tell me, Merlin, do you know how to walk on your knees?”

“No.”

“Would you like me to help you?”

“I wouldn’t if I were you.” 

Arthur laughed at this strange boy who had the bravery to stand up to a prince, of all people. He couldn’t help but be intrigued, and continued to taunt the young man until he snapped and threw a truly horrendous punch. Arthur restrained him easily, twisting his arm painfully behind his back. “I’ll have you thrown in jail for that.”

“Who do you think you are, the king?”

“No, I’m his son. Arthur.”

For a second upon awakening, Arthur thought he was still in the dream world. There was something familiar about the Gryffindor chambers, the stone walls and stained glass windows, the red bedding and tapestries decorating the room. He felt for a moment that he was a different person completely, with a different life, different expectations, different experiences, different friends… actually, no his friends were quite familiar…

Arthur rubbed his temples. He was starting to get a headache, and it wasn’t even breakfast yet. 

He’d managed to nearly forget about the dream until he caught sight of Merlin in the Dining Hall.

“Uh, I’m Merlin.”

Why in the ever-living fuck had he been dreaming of Merlin? It was bad enough that they shared classes and detentions together; now the idiot was even intruding on his beauty sleep?

Merlin looked up at that moment and tried to wave, looking way too chipper for this godforsaken hour of the morning. Arthur flipped him off.

“You’re just mad because your spellwork is trash.”

“Well, you are what you eat.”

Merlin grinned as Arthur let out a genuine—if surprised—laugh. They were supposed to be washing the floors of some of the classrooms for detention, but it was as if the professors forgot they had magic. Merlin had charmed the water bucket to infinitely refill while Arthur had enchanted the sponges to move in circles. They made a pretty good team, Merlin thought.

“What the hell does that even mean?” Arthur said as he looked up from where he’d been attempting to make a fortress out of Lockhart’s selfie stash. Yet another thing to add to the board. 

Merlin shrugged and swung his legs a bit from his perch on the edge of a desk. At least being eleven meant his legs were short enough to swing around as he pleased. “Beats me. It just felt right to say, you know?”

“I really do think you’ve got a few loose screws,” Arthur remarked, then swore as his fortress toppled over for the twelfth time. Merlin tried to look innocent and wondered how long he could get away with creating gusts of wind in a room with no ventilation.

“Probably,” Merlin agreed. “I’ve been locked up with a psychopath and forced to do nothing but clean for the last week, so excuse me for losing my mind a little bit.”

“Wouldn’t you be used to cleaning at this point?” Arthur abandoned his fortress and stood up from the desk he’d been using to build it. “I thought that was something that people did in muggle orphanages.”

“How do you know I grew up in an orphanage?” Merlin asked, genuinely surprised. He’d only told a few people about his fake past—not that he thought there was anything wrong with his falsified background. He just found it easier to not talk about it rather than try to remember all the details that he told people. 

Arthur scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Believe it or not, Merlin, I am capable of hearing information and storing it in my brain.”

“Holy shit,” Merlin breathed, “a breakthrough!”

“Shut up,” Arthur said. After a few moments, he spoke up again, not looking at Merlin’s face. “Was it difficult?”

“Hmm?” Merlin had gotten distracted by one of the creepy Lockhart selfies winking at him, but he focused his attention back on Arthur when he heard his quiet question. “Oh, the orphanage?” 

He scrambled for a second for something to say—he hadn’t actually grown up in an orphanage, though he had volunteered for a few over the years. “Well, it wasn’t exactly the best. It was crowded, and we don’t get enough funding, and there’s not enough to go around. But I’ve learned to find the good in the bad—there are a lot of good people there, you know? People who care.”

Arthur nodded, still not making eye contact. He was clearly embarrassed at having asked in the first place, being the emotionally stunted arrogant boy he was.

“What about you?” Merlin prompted. “As long as we’re having a little heart-to-heart here, you might as well tell me about your family.”

“None of your business,” Arthur snapped. Well, there went that. “Anyway, aren’t we going to do something? Chase down your little snake friend?”

“What?” Merlin blinked. “First of all, the snake is almost certainly not ‘little.’ And since when are you so eager to break the school rules?”

“It seems strange to sit in here wasting time when there’s a mystery to solve,” Arthur said. “Besides, anything would be better than wasting away in here. Your presence is infuriating.”

“Thank you,” Merlin said. He thought for a moment. “Have you ever broken into the library?”