Albus Dumbledore was a busy man, even in the summer. He had schedules to plan, teachers to organize, and even a few to hire, depending on the general mood of the previous year. Of course, this meant that his duties included personally overseeing professors and their own preparations for the school year ahead.
And so, this led him to the dungeons, where Horace Slughorn had insisted on having an additional classroom for his NEWT level Potions class. To be fair though, Dumbledore mused, the man's results were far too good to complain about his eccentricities. His NEWT classes were almost full this year! Yes, he had no reason to complain.
The dungeons were rather dark, but impeccably clean as always. House elves were odd creatures, but he simply adored them, especially with their insistence on cleaning, even with no children to create messes.
As he turned the corner to find Horace's chambers, he was greeted by a new door, one he had never seen in all his years in the school. His brow raised in thought, but he paid it little mind.
As he turned away to continue, a thought occurred to him. This, he knew, could be the classroom for Horace's NEWT level Potions! A perfect location, not too far from the stairs, and close enough to the man's personal quarters that he could just walk in from the room down the hall!
It was a brilliant solution, and the old wizard's face wrinkled into a soft smile. He turned the doorknob, success at his very fingertips, and opened the door.
Merry slept in his little nest in the corner of the room, the paper and fabric beneath him indented into his shape after calling the room home for so long.
He didn't even need to sleep, but it was surprisingly comforting. The dungeon floor, once so cold, was warmed by the small fire that flickered within the jar at his side, blue flames waving, dare he think it, merrily(he wanted to tell someone that pun and hear them scold him for it. God, how he craved sound).
He was brought out of his sleep by a sound. It was foreign, after so long, and he found himself at a loss for what it could be.
What did it even matter? It was a sound, and he didn't cause it! He whirled around in his nest, limbs flailing for a moment, and his breath caught in his throat.
The door.
The door existed.
The door was open.
He could get out.
He scrambled to his feet and ran as fast as he could for the door, bare feet meeting the stone floor painfully, but he didn't care. Freedom was within his grasp!
He collided with the person who had opened the door, sending him falling back onto his rear. He cringed in pain for a moment before snapping his gaze back to the door, terrified that it would disappear again, not even caring for the old man he had nearly bowled over in his attempt(I'm sorry but you aren't important I'm so close).
Dumbledore remained on his feet, even as he was run into. He blinked owlishly at the young boy on the floor before him. Where had the lad come from?
Merry quickly got to his feet, fully aware of the stranger staring at him, and made another dash for the door. He couldn't stop!
He pushed past the man and ran all the way up the stairs, around the corner, and into the main hallway of the castle.
He was so close!
Finally, he thought, the doors. He slammed his body weight against them just as the old man, along with a woman who he presumed was his friend, appeared in the hall he had come from.
Minerva McGonagall, who had been rudely interrupted from her afternoon tea by the commotion, raised her wand to stop the frantic boy, but was stopped by the Headmaster raising a hand. "Let us see where he will go, before we do anything."
The boy let out a shout as he ran into the doors again, and they refused to budge under his pitiful weight. He snarled in anger, fully prepared to ram them again, before he stopped.
He had endured this torture long enough!
He drew his wand, pointed it at the door, and made a wordless cry(open open open please I need this). The doors were flung open and no sooner than they were then he was sprinting through them to the field.
He collapsed into the grass of the courtyard, knees wobbly and head fuzzy.
He flopped onto his back and stared up at the sky, drinking in sunlight(real, so real, realrealreal), and panted for all he was worth. He hadn't gotten to run so far in so long.
When Dumbledore and McGonagall finally caught up to him, he was laying in the grass, face content and body relaxed. There was no sign of the lunatic that had nearly run over the headmaster or attempted to blast open the Entrance Hall doors, just a happy child, though he looked quite worse for wear.
The pair exchanged a look before they turned their attention to him.
He was a very small boy, short and terribly skinny. He had a mess of dirty blonde hair on his head and dark brown eyes. His face was thin, but not gaunt, and his skin was tanned and seemed healthy.
It was Minerva McGonagall that finally spoke. "Sir, what business do you have, running through these halls like a madman? Albus?"
The boy showed no signs of even hearing them, seemingly content to ignore them(oh the sun warm warm warm).
She snapped, "Sir!"
He jolted up, a confused expression on his face. Were they talking to him? Wait, what were they even saying?
"Tha, chaill?" He said, uncertain.
The two adults blinked in confusion. What language was that? It was Minerva that figured it out.
"Albus," she started slowly, "I believe he's speaking Gaelic. Where… did you say you found him?"
Dumbledore suddenly understood. He looked intently into the boy's eyes and entered his mind, scanning the boy's subconscious. Flashes of memories and feelings of confusion wracked his brain before he withdrew as gently as he could from the boy's mind.
"Minerva, I believe that this young man is very lost. Perhaps we will understand much more if we could first understand him."
The Scottish woman nodded, and drew her wand. She aimed it at the boy and muttered under her breath, before stowing it away again. "That should do it." She nodded, satisfied.
The older man slowly sat down, so as not to startle the boy and the woman followed suit, with a slight grimace. They remained a short distance away from him, giving him space.
The old man smiled at the boy and began gently, "Now, can you tell us about yourself?"
The boy looked amazed that he could understand them finally, and nodded.
"Um, yes sir, my name is Merry Rolfe. Can you tell me something, uh, as well?" His voice shook with uncertainty, hoarse with disuse.
The old man nodded encouragingly.
"What's the date?"
"The date is July 2nd, 1973. Hogwarts just released for the holidays."
He stared at them in wonder. "1973? I… what? How could that…"
It had been a long time, indeed. He tried a different approach, instead.
"It has been a long, long time since you entered that room, Merry. I would venture to say it has almost a thousand years."
Merry's face lost all color and his eyes filled with tears. "But, but what of my professors? Lord Godric? And, and the Ladies Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff? And Lord Slytherin? Are they…"
Minerva blinked once. Then again. "Mr. Rolfe, do you mean to say that you have been taught by the Founders?"
Merry nodded quickly.
"Yes, of course! They're the best magic users of all time! But, if it's truly been as long as you've said..." His lower lip quivered, "then they're..."
The Headmistress was at a loss for words. This was a student from the Founder's time? Surely not! But the look on the Headmaster's face did not lie.
"I'm afraid that we did not go about this very well. I am Minerva McGonagall, the current Headmistress of Hogwarts. This is Albus Dumbledore, the current Headmaster."
There was no twinkle in the Headmaster's eyes, only a sad light. "I wish we could have met under better circumstances, my boy."
Merry's eyes dimmed. "Aye, sir."
Minerva leaned forward, her eyes wrinkling with concern. "If you don't mind me asking, Merry, how did you end up here?"
"I," Merry swallowed, "There were Muggles, ma'am. They stormed the castle, I don't know how. Maybe someone let them in, or maybe they captured a magical and… forced them, to tell. They came in the entrance hall, through the double doors. They carried torches, and weapons, all manner of things. I was coming up from the dungeons, I had been working with Lord Slytherin for extra lessons, and I saw them. They, they saw me. I panicked, I should have led them somewhere else, I…"
His eyes filled with unshed tears and he hunched his shoulders in on himself. "I was never a very good Gryffindor. I ran back down to the dungeons, and they caught up so quickly. I ran to a classroom and locked myself in, but they were at the door. I couldn't move, I was so terrified. There was banging, and screaming, and I saw their torches from the crack under the door. I couldn't take it, and I looked away. Then, all of a sudden, it was muffled. When I looked again, the door... it was gone… and it never came back until today. I don't know why, but I was in there for so long. I never grew hungry, or thirsty, and I never grew. I had nothing to do, but I had my wand."
Dumbledore sighed heavily. He understood that this was a matter that needed the utmost care, and it was a burden that weighed heavily on his mind. Suddenly, an idea struck him.
"I see. I find myself at a loss for what to do, but you're a student, and we take care of our students. So, how would you feel about continuing your education here, at Hogwarts?" His eyes did not twinkle, not to the boy who had lost so much.
Merry took a breath. What was he to say? How could he stay in a place that had done this to him? He wilted sadly.
He knew that despite what had happened, he still loved Hogwarts. It was his first home, and it was clear that it was the legacy of his professors. He could never hope to be them, but that was okay, wasn't it? Their legacy remained, and he could only do one thing.
"I would like to, sir. I want to honor the legacy of… of everyone from before." His voice was choked with emotion.
The man nodded. "Alright, then we will have to make arrangements. In the meantime, it is summer, but I imagine you are unfamiliar with the concept, yes?"
Merry nodded.
"The students take a few months off from school to reconnect with family and prepare for the following year, lad." Minerva explained, and her Scottish accent comforted him just a bit.
Merry made a small noise of understanding, not trusting his voice to conceal his emotions.
"Minerva," Dumbledore directed her attention to him, "I need to make some arrangements for him for the rest of the summer. I trust that you'll stay with him while I do?"
The woman nodded, "That won't be a problem."
"Excellent, then I shall return in a bit." He rose to his feet, brushed off his robes, which were an interesting shade of violet, and started off to his office.
He had a few people to floo call, after all.
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