Merlin Drives A Hard Bargain

Merlin...I am going to take so much crap from the purists for this! Only in fanfics... And I am still doing all of my other stories, but when this took root I couldn't not type it.

Disclaimer: I do not own or seek to profit from the Harry Potter books or characters. This is for fun and whimsy. I have no gold because the Black family crested-goblets are not the only riches that Mundungus Fletcher got away with.

Chapter 1: Stolen Moments

All was peaceful and calm on the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Not a creature was up; not a Peeves, or a lonely, half-crazed squib even, who maintained the castle.

Not even that sickly-looking cat that hated people.

As the dark-cloaked and hooded figure approached the descending spiral stone staircase that led down to the dungeons, he never failed to marvel that he had been leaving the grounds at all hours of the night for years and years, and had always came and went completely undetected.

Even Dolores Umbridge couldn't figure out how he'd done it during her tenure at the school.

His lip curled in silent pleasure.

It was a combination of things; magic that most of the castle's occupants would never imagine.

Even Dumbledore had proclaimed some of the things Snape had told him about as ingenious, crafty, and quite innovative.

Well, the Headmaster was the only one who would understand the necessity of his utilizing such spells, seeing as they shared a common goal.

As his black boots reached the last step, he looked around quietly but it was unnecessary. Everyone was asleep. The only sound he heard was the dripping of the water leaking through the stone cracks that made up the walls of the Hogwarts dungeons, where his classroom, office, and living quarters were located.

His home.

A wand protruded from the inside of his black travelling cloak and not a sound was made as the door to his office clicked noiselessly and opened.

He went inside quickly, closed the door, and turned his wand to the door again to enchant it to keep anyone but the Headmaster out of its depths.

When he was satisfied that the door was properly charmed, he lowered his hood, and then deftly removed his cloak.

He went over to his favorite chair by the fireplace and sat down.

He really should look on the bright side. Though he was morose.

He had achieved much success this very night.

The Dark Lord offered him some complimentary words about the information he provided him which was rare.

Which really meant, in essence, that he had succeeded for Dumbledore, because he hadn't really told the Dark Lord anything useful really, or that could hurt anyone.

Wormtail had been hexed for failing to carry out a deed the Dark Lord had asked him of him.

He smiled in amusement to himself. One side of his mouth not quite rising to meet the other side, which was his way of smiling; a delighted smirk one could say, that distracted him a bit from the wave of despair that was threatening to engulf him.

He was making progress on a new contact in order to help Dumbledore.

And then his rarely raised spirits fell. And the side of his mouth joined the slack side once again.

He could pursue his work. He had grown quite crafty in dodging the Dark Lord and fooling him.

But though he was expert in fooling others…he had never been quite good at fooling himself.

And he cursed himself and Merlin for gifting him with astute intelligence.

Because this was becoming a problem…this was not going to go away quite so easily…and he wanted it back…

He bloody, damn well….he couldn't say it…he could barely allow his thoughts to acknowledge what his sub-conscious apparently had in the Forbidden Forest.

And he was acting like a complete madman and he had never believed he was capable of such sheer lunacy.

He believed, what was the expression? That he was beyond damaged….beyond help…

Circe, er, Vector, made him act like a complete idiot.

Foolishness and buffoonery that surely knew no bounds…and then the unthinkable….

The Forbidden Forest…

He had been walking at a rapid pace that night. For a thin and tall man nearing his 40's, who was not one for much healthy eating or exercise, he was in superb physical shape.

Well, he was in terrible mental and psychological state, intermingled perhaps with emotional anguish and severe internal torture, so he guessed physical fitness was one good thing at the very least.

Nobody could ever witness his patronus. He would die. The game and his duplicity would be up. He could serve neither Dumbledore nor the Dark Lord at any rate, if it ever happened, so he was always deeply cautious if he needed to contact Dumbledore.

Nobody else could know. Ever. The Order communicated via patronus but he could not.

True Death Eaters were unable to conjure one once they received the Dark Mark.

Even if it could happen, the magic of the Dark Mark made the incantation and ability to call it forth impotent.

Only Dumbledore who truly knew some of his feelings and exactly where his loyalties lie had seen him conjure a patronus…the knowledge in the wrong hands would be the death of him.

Dumbledore saw the doe…because sometimes Dumbledore and he had to communicate without anyone being the wiser.

That night, Dumbledore had said he would be out on urgent business, but that Snape should go forth into the Forest as usual to let him know he had arrived safely back to the castle and to arrange a time that they could meet to discuss recent events from both their watches and any intelligence they had gathered.

He had walked swiftly and silently through the forest. Not even alerting an animal, a centaur, nothing in fact, due to his powerful silence and disillusionment charms that he had cast on himself before departing from the castle.

When he had walked so deeply into the Forest that it would take him nearly a quarter of an hour or so to return to its border with the castle, he halted.

He removed his wand from the inside pocket of his cloak and raised it out in front of him.

It was his most ardent and revered moments of his life. It was her. He could see her…as she burst forth from his wand….pearly white…gentle….soft…innocent…docile….waiting to assist him…never far from him and always a part of him…and bound among the living once more. His lovely elegant sweet doe….Lily's patronus in life…

All right, it matched Potter and the little, insolent, miniature version of his arrogant self that he had created with her…because they had been married and had most certainly… but he always pushed this from his mind.

Because thinking of what could have been ripped him apart inside, so much so, that he couldn't bear the thought of it.

But this was their time now. His doe…his secret that the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters would never know about….his protector…his love…what he had learned in time, and Dumbledore had even asserted once, was the best part of him.

He took a deep breath and thought of her…a happy memory…so easy for him when they were connected in any way to her and their youth.

He was 10 and turning 11. They were in the park. She was teasing him, the wind whipping the glorious red hair into her brilliant green eyes and she was laughing and told him that she wasn't using magic today, and that he could push her on the swing in the park.

If he was strong enough…that is…and she gave him a daring smile and one eyebrow rose to entice him into a friendly challenge.

He remembered the pleasure that warmed him. It started from his stomach and spread throughout him.

Because if I had to push…I might just have to touch her to do so.

It was one of his favorite memories. He used it quite often when conjuring a patronus. It was far too easy….he knew the rush of feeling and what to expect….he closed his eyes and thought the incantation….

The doe would spring forth from his wand and listen to his thoughts and tilt her head to one side to listen intently, much like she had, and carry out his instructions with ease. It would let him reach out and pet a pearly white coat of fur that he could only imagine feeling. He just wished to show this doe affection because it had done so much for him.

Magic at its most graceful and intricate in its beauty…

Power that the Dark Arts was incapable of understanding or ever mimicking in essence or in nature.

His thoughts reverberated within him…."EXPECTO PATRONUM."

His hand shook and he felt the warmth rush from his hand to his wand…

And then nothing.

What the…? His eyes were slits as he stared at the wand in his hand in utter confusion and made a curious expression on his face.

He was perplexed. The last thing he had heard about unusual wand behavior was that connection that Potter's had with the Dark Lord…even Dumbledore couldn't exactly explain this bit of bewildering wandlore.

It had never failed him. He was an expert wizard and very rarely erred and his knowledge of spells was what muggles would call encyclopedic. He never forgot how to cast one.

This wasn't exactly muggle electricity. Spells just worked…they didn't need fixing or maintenance or wear out like machines.

A bit of fear and apprehension entered him. He felt a cold sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He rarely faced magic he didn't know about. Even if he hadn't performed it, he usually had an idea of its origins or could make a connection somewhere along the line.

No, this was alarming…had never heard of this happening…

Unless….

Was he sick? Was something wrong? Was it stress like that Nymphadora Tonks, which, he didn't think was stress solely, but nothing he could yet confirm. And anyway, this was not a change, it just…hadn't…worked.

What had happened to him?

With fear in his heart he made the decision to try again…

He thought of his doe…the park…the smile…the red hair…Lily….and he raised his wand. This time, his wand jostled about and a few pearly whisps of smoke came out, but still nothing happened.

He absent-mindedly began to pace while brandishing his wand, in a panic.

What was wrong? Was he losing his powers? But how could that be? He felt fine up until this nonsense.

He then proceeded to grow angry, very angry and worked himself up into quite a lather of lividness and decided to push these thoughts out of his head and try again.

He planted both black boots firmly on the ground and felt his confidence seep back into his soul, with power and determination like a soothing balm. The concentration and sheer steely mind frame that he had to put himself in when the Dark Lord performed legilimancy on him to test him from time to time to soothe his own paranoia.

He was so diligent in his concentration and single-mindedness that he thought the spell without the memory he had previously used and before he realized it happened.

EXPECTO PATRONUM!" he thundered silently to himself.

And pearly white rays burst forth…with a whoosh…like water…and the creature emerged…and floated in place to gaze at him as curious about him as he was about, he guessed, er, her.

And it was good that she floated because she didn't have human feet, so he couldn't exactly gather how she would have stood up with fins.

Because before he passed out…he realized that his patronus had changed… to a mermaid