Well, to be honest, Merlin had planned on getting involved in the War from the start.
It was simply a matter of timing. Jump in too quickly and they wouldn't learn anything. Jump in too late and, well . . . They're probably all dead.
He remembered when he was at that stage (though he supposed his recollection may be a bit spotty after 1,500 years), how he hoped that someone, some powerful leader, would take his place and complete his destiny for him. But then he remembered the rush of victory after he overcame an impossible barrier. How proudhe'd been, how proud Gaius had been! How happy they all were.
Until at least, they weren't.
Until he failed . . .
He swallowed a lump. 1,500 years and it's still a sore subject . . .
But that wouldn't happen this time because he was here and if it looked like everything was going sour, then he'd jump in and prevent it. He was Magic, after all (and Balance on Tuesdays and Thursdays).
He just wasn't expecting trouble to find him so soon. He had planned to show up at the final battle anonymously and help the light wizards win. There would be no need to reveal that the greatest and only warlock of all time was alive and well and—this might be important—immortal!
No need for that, none at all. He was quite happy living an unassuming life whilst he waited for Arthur, thank you.
But his plans came crashing down when he bumped into Destiny's current rag doll and his sidekicks.
Merlin resisted the urge to glare at the black-haired boy for finding him so soon. Couldn't he have things go his way? Just for once?
Who came in the dingiest cafe in all of London at night anyway? This was just his luck!
The boy may be under the Invisibility Cloak but such an artifact could never fool Merlin's eyes. He made the Cloak, after all (after the Peverells threatened to reveal his identity; nasty lot they were.)
Harry trailed behind his two friends—a tall, paranoid ginger in jeans at least two sizes too small and a pretty brunette who could have been having a seizure (she looked behind herself so often that he genuinely could not tell—it reminded him of a bobble head, really, only one that bounced left and right instead of up and down).
Merlin was a bit put out. They really couldn't have been any more obvious. He was tempted to take pity on them and put them all under Invisibility spells.
They took a seat in the very back corner, fidgeting slightly and jumping out of their skins when the waitress asked for their orders. After the waitress left, the brunette briefly surveyed the dingy, old cafe while the ginger conversed quietly with Harry. But she didn't even notice Merlin. It wasn't like he was hiding . . .
What terrible situational awareness.
Sure, the café was all-around unremarkable. The cash register stood like a dirty, washed out statue in the back of the shop, surrounded by a bar, coffee makers, and cups (though the waitress was giving it some damn good competition). A couple of dusty tables sat here and there, leaving a space in the middle for a nonexistent line. But even if the place was a garbage heap, that shouldn't stop the observant and cautious man from memorizing every scrap and dust particle in the pile.
(Though, of course, Merlin ate his own words daily—one doesn't live this long without becoming a hypocrite).
Merlin supposed he could use their lack of awareness to his advantage though. Maybe he wouldn't have to interfere now. They certainly weren't looking in his direction; their eyes were glued to the door.
He took another sip of his coffee, cringing as he swallowed the slime. Well. He was ever coming back here again.
He stood up to throw the cup away, trying to avoid the gazes of the three teenagers. The trash can was right beside the door, though, next to some burly, glowering men who had just entered the establishment (A.K.A dump).
He sat back down, deciding the effort was not worth it. With a quiet snap of his fingers (and several glances around the cafe), he vanished his cup into ether. Leaning back in his chair, he tried to decide how to leave. He could just teleport out, go through the back door, skip out of the building . . .
And yet, he couldn't help but glance back at the trio and the two new customers on the right.
Wait a minute . . . Narrowing his eyes, he scrutinized the two men. He could see their magic—their black, slimy, disgusting magic. His eyes widened as they took out their wands and began firing at the trio.
"Expulso!"
Light sprung forth from their wands, as fast as a bullet, and Merlin worried for a second that the trio might fall prey to it.
But Harry didn't delay even a second.
"Stupefy!"
A jet of red shot from the tip of Harry's wand, like a mini-torpedo zeroing in on its target. The boy had stopped, dropped, rolled, and abandoned the Cloak as the two men sent deathly curses his way.
The ginger and brunette, meanwhile, had dived to the floor, the ginger struggling to pull his wand out of his tight trousers.
(. . . Shameful, Merlin groaned, shaking his head.)
As Ginger struggled, the brunette whipped out her own wand, flinging her own repertoire of curses at the two assailants. Each side huddled behind upturned tables, almost as if they were forts. Merlin idly wondered how long the brittle wood would last.
He heard a soft shriek of surprise and his head swiveled to the source. The waitress was huddling in the corner, petrified as the light show continued.
Merlin pursed his lips.
So much for not interfering.
Muttering a spell, his eyes glowed a startling gold and he eased the waitress into sleep, deleting her memories of the previous hour.
Damage control, check.
(There was a time where that wouldn't have been necessary—Gods, if only Arthur had lived!)
Merlin made a face as stray curses shot off his way. He dispersed them easily enough (a wave here or snap there) but, on principle, having to do so annoyed him. He didn't like getting caught in the crossfire of others' battles. It just wasn't polite to battle with innocent bystanders around. Why couldn't they take it outside?
Bloody wizards . . . he grumbled as he banished a green curse (the Killing Curse was it? That was the name, right?).
Ah.
Dark, treacherous eyes rested on his own and the owner's lips curled up into a sneer. It seemed that the battling wizards had finally noticed him.
No, that's okay. You can go back to battling yourselves and I'll just catch up with you guys later. Say . . . the final battle?
He cursed when one of the men (the bigger one with yellow teeth) grinned maliciously at him and sent a blue curse his way. Merlin ducked, motioning to a chair next to him to whack the man on the head.
(Serves him right for ruining a perfectly good evening.)
The man dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes, eyes rolling to the back of his head. Merlin furrowed his eyebrows. This man looked oddly familiar . . . Thon? Thone? Thorne? Something like that. He recognized the man from Voldemort's merry band of Death Munchers.
(The meetings were actually quite dull - not at all rich in tension or theatrics! That's why he never bothered to infiltrate them himself anymore. That's what voice recorders were for.)
Silence had descended.
Merlin looked to his right and found that the other man was down, too. Nasty-looking bloke, really. Long, greasy black hair and a toad-like face, as if he were born with a perpetual scowl and temper. The cuts and bruises decorating his face like medals didn't help the image either. Snorting, Merlin's gaze passed over the three teenagers. They breathed roughly, sheens of sweat coating their foreheads, and wands raised with the utmost caution. They didn't say a word.
Merlin frowned and tried not to fidget as the uncomfortable silence grew longer. He could never stand awkward silences. (Especially when he wasn't even standing.)
". . . I'm not an enemy, if that's what you think," Merlin finally offered, bemused.
Didn't they wonder how the bigger man went down? Unless they thought they sent him down . . . Well, that's rather presumptuous.
Harry stepped forward, wand still raised. The brunette hissed a warning, "Harry!"
"Who are you?" the boy asked, eyes narrowed. He motioned to Thon (or whatever the hell the bloke's name was). "Is that your doing?"
Merlin gave him a positively glowing smile. "How nice of you to notice! That is my handiwork, I'm afraid. He tried to hit me with a bludgeoning curse. Oh, and I'm—"
He paused, about to say Merlin.
His mouth formed an "O" for the barest of moments before he masked his slip, "I'm Marvin Emrys. Nice to meet you. I think. I'm pretty sure these two clotpoles here are your fault, though . . ."
He looked expectantly at them but they appeared stupefied by his demeanor. It took all of Merlin's self-control not to laugh at them. Ginger looked like a cross between a fish and a deer-in-the-headlights while the brunette looked positively horrified and Harry simply appeared dazed.
What? Did he have something in his teeth? He knew that slimy coffee was a Bad Thing . . .
"Er . . ." Harry started. Well, at the very least, they were lowering their wands. "Right. Well, we'll just be on our way," he muttered.
He turned around but the brunette pulled him back. "Not yet," she said, "we have to do something about Dolohov and Rowle."
Oh. He'd been way off. Oops.
She sent a wary glance his way, but as he wasn't doing anything, she barked commands to her fellow teens, "Close the doors and turn off the lights. Harry, can you help me get both of them into chairs?"
Ginger took out some silver device and clicked a latch; immediately, all the lights in the cafe flickered out of existence. Only the street lights illuminated the room (if that). Nifty little device that, Merlin decided. Though perhaps not as effective as simply snapping one's fingers.
"Wingardium leviosa," Harry whispered as the brunette followed suit. They levitated each man off the ground and into the chairs, each facing the other. The two men were slumped over in their chairs, unconscious, which was why Merlin didn't flinch when the two sickening cracks let loose from the table as the two men's heads impacted with its surface.
The brunette breathed a sigh of relief but it was fleeting.
"What should we do?" she moaned. "We can't just let them walk free. And oh!" she gasped, eyes searching the dark cafe. "The waitress!"
Merlin decided to step in. "I already erased her memory. She's sleeping in the corner."
Huh. Maybe he should have stayed quiet because he just brought their attention back to him. The brunette swiveled around, dark eyes boring into his. "Oh. . ." she murmured. "Thank you." Merlin seemed to have given her an idea and, acting on it, she stepped in front of Dolohov, took a deep breath, a curious wrinkle marring her forehead, and whispered, "Obliviate." She repeated the same procedure with Rowle. Not long after, the trio left, throwing suspicious looks at him all the while.
And Merlin? Well, he just sat and finished his coffee. Not the coffee he'd gotten from here, but one he kept in store. The coffee from this dump deserved to rot in Hell.
Odd trio, he mused. But cautious enough.
They would probably recognize him when it came time for his intervention but, now, he'd disappear from their minds soon enough. Maybe he could just waltz in with a cape and mask in the final battle. He'd always wanted to do that, actually. It'd certainly preserve his anonymity.
Taking one last sip from his coffee, he stood up and threw the cup away. In the next moment, the cafe was empty, except for the snores of three Obliviated victims.
"Bloody hell!" Ron remarked. "Who was that? He seemed a bit touched in the head, didn't he? He didn't even ask who we were or why there was a fight in a muggle shop!"
Hermione shushed him, "Quiet down, Ron! We're not safe yet."
"When are we going to be safe?" he muttered darkly. "We don't even know how those two Death Eaters found us!"
Harry grimaced, looking back at the formerly destroyed cafe. "They must have some way to track us but . . ."
Hermione blanched. "Harry . . . you don't suppose you still have the Trace on you?"
"What!" Ron gasped. "That's impossible. The Trace breaks when a wizard turns seventeen—that's Wizarding law!"
"But if you were desperate enough, couldn't you find a way around that? The Death Eaters might have—they control the Ministry now," Hermione insisted.
Ron plowed on, "If they did, they'd have to be around Harry to do that and he hasn't been around any Death Eaters before Dolohov and Rowle. Right, Harry?"
Harry nodded, eyebrows furrowed. He looked behind him, back at the little cafe, oddly contemplative. Hermione didn't say anything. Instead, she guided them into a dark alleyway.
"We need to go somewhere," she murmured, "somewhere safe."
"Yeah," Ron agreed, "but what is safe anymore? They—they invaded the Burrow." Ron looked sick.
"Grimmauld Place," Harry offered. Hermione sent an alarmed gaze his way. "What? No! Snape knows where that is! He could bring Death Eaters in with him."
"And because of that, it'd be the last place he'd check, right?" Harry countered. "Besides, Mr. Weasley said they'd put jinxes up against Snape."
"Still, Harry, it's too dangerous—"
"Yeah, well, it's the only choice we've got, Hermione," Harry interjected. "If I've still got the bloody Trace on me, then we'll see squadrons of Death Eaters following us around anyway. I'll take my chances."
"Wait," Ron said. "Do you think that bloke in the cafe sent them to us? He was there before we were, right? Maybe watching for us."
Hermione frowned. "No, I don't think he was responsible. He took one of them down, remember? He even Obliviated the waitress for us."
"That could have been to gain our trust," Ron pressed on, "and now he's contacting his buddies and telling them where we are."
Harry sent another glance towards the dark cafe, pondering. The man didn't seem like a Death Eater . . . but who knows anymore?
"That doesn't make sense, Ronald! If he were a Death Eater, he would have attacked us as well because he's supposed to capture us, not let us escape."
Ron shrugged, muttering, "Just saying. I suppose he was too odd to be a Death Eater anyway. Too cheerful."
Harry nodded, "He reminded me of Luna . . ." Ron snorted.
"So . . . Grimmauld Place?" Harry posed again.
Hermione's expression soured but she grabbed onto their hands and Apparated to Sirius' childhood home.