Chapter 2: Lady Helen
The chatter of the first years in the Entrance Hall was laced with as much excitement as apprehension. All of them, at least half a head shorter than Merlin at their tallest, were effectively bouncing on their feet as they waited. Like crickets. Or grinning jack-in-the-boxes.
Merlin deliberately turned away from them towards the closed doors of the Great Hall. They were impressive, to say the least, even given that Merlin recognised them from touring the entirety of the school with Gaius for most of the day. They towered nearly the height of the Entrance Hall itself, wrought in intricate patterns of gold and silver and bronze that reflected the torches lining the spartan room. Merlin knew what was beyond those doors, had peered through them briefly alongside Gaius and stared wide-eyed at the cavernous roof, the ceiling with its depiction of the sky on the other side, the hanging candles, stone walls bedecked in tapestries of the school's houses. Even the long, polished tables, four in parallel lines truncated at the end by a dais holding an adjacent table, was impressive. Merlin had never seen a building quite so big as Hogwarts before, the majority of the those but for the church in Ealdor being low-level and contained, and the Great Hall was by far the largest of the rooms in the castle. It was positively awe-inspiring.
By now that hall would be filled with waiting students slouched onto their pews, seating themselves at the empty tables and laughing and talking and bemoaning the wait they would have to endure as their juniors were sorted into their Houses. Merlin could see them in his minds eye, and the mental image made his stomach flip. He knew of the ceremony that was to come as Gaius had told him but that only seemed to make it worse. Not only did he have to go through an incredibly revealing process, being sorted into a House that apparently aligned with his skills and personality type, but he had to do it in front of the entire school.
Even worse, Merlin was a good two years older than all of the rest of the students being sorted. He struggled to swallow down the rush of bile rising in his throat at the thought of standing not amongst but in front of so many people – he rarely cared what others thought of him but it would be nice to at least make a good first impression. His nervousness set him to plucking at the sleeves of his new school robes as though to pick them of their threading.
A hand dropping onto his shoulder caused Merlin to startle, despite knowing that Gaius was still at his side. Blessedly, far from abandoning him despite what convention dictated, Gaius had stood in stoic companionship as Merlin waited for the older students to pass alongside him into the hall – avoiding their curious gazes as resolutely as he could – and then waiting for the jittery first years to haul themselves up from the Black Lake they'd apparently crossed as a sort of tradition instead of riding the carriages up to school. Merlin had to wonder at the sense of that approach – really? Across the lake in the dark? – but he managed to hold his tongue when Gaius had told him.
"Calm yourself, Merlin," Gaius murmured soothingly, quietly enough to avoid being overheard by the waiting first years. Enough of them were already attending to Gaius because "oh, look, it's a professor!", as though he were some rare beast sighted in an unexpected context. "You do yourself no favours to be a bundle of nerves for the ceremony. No one is going to judge you."
"I'm pretty sure there'd be some judgement if I fall on my face when I inevitably trip over my own feet," Merlin muttered in reply. His clumsiness, what appeared to be a product of the cursed 'puberty' was, according to his mother, endearing. Merlin found it anything but; it was humiliating to trip on air, to fumble with feet that seemed to much prefer a position above his head. Not to mention it was painful, both physically and psychologically. Merlin had grown quite adept at healing grazes and bruises from his many stumbled and face-plants, as much as he had with forcing the memories deliberately from his conscious mind. It was a wonder he hadn't broken more bones than he had; twelve was negligible, all things considered.
Before Gaius could reply, there was a creak from the doors into the Great Hall that immediately silenced the first years. The murmuring chatter of those within filtered out for a moment, floating about the head of a tall, dark-haired man in regal, high-necked robes with a lined face and almost uncannily broad smile. As though charmed to do so, the doors clicked shut behind him. He was the same man that had disappeared only briefly after leading the first years from the shores of the Black Lake. Professor Debois, Gaius had called him.
"Alright, children, settle down, settle down." Debois held a hand aloft, patting at the air to quell the voices that had already silenced at his reappearance. "Now, your future seniors are ready for you. If you'll all form two lines, we can make our way inside and sort you into your houses." His dashing smile somehow broadened further in a way that was probably supposed to be reassuring as the first years immediately scrambled to form the requested lines.
Debois nodded approvingly, and, sparing a glance for Merlin and Gaius that held a knowing curiosity, turned and strode with an impressive sweep of his robes back into the Great Hall. If anything, Merlin thought he looked like a bat; a big, cumbersome bat struggling to flap its wings in an attempt to climb into flight. If nothing else, the impression eased Merlin's nerves slightly, leaving him chuckling internally at the image his mind presented.
The Great Hall was an entirely different room when brimming with inhabitants. It seemed smaller, yet infinitely louder and more intimidating. Merlin had never been around so many people before, not in such close quarters, and the brief confrontation with the Hogwarts masses as they passed him minutes before hardly prepared him for it once more. Multiple expressions, of curiosity for a peers whispered words, boredom for the act of enduring the same procedure they did every year, amusement as fingers pointed out the nervous figures of the first years stumbling over their robes as they made their way to the far end of the Hall. Merlin was glad that Gaius touched him with a gentle hand and urged him to remain back at the door. They halted silently, easing along the wall and, to Merlin's relief, appeared to garner little additional attention. Barely a handful of students glanced towards him, some nudging their fellows, but most were distracted by the first years and Debois.
Said professor, striding at the head of the lines like a proud mother goose leading her goslings, held up a quelling hand that halted them in a stumbling steps. One boy with sleeves dangling past his fingers actually fell to the ground, eliciting several snickers from the watching students and faintly indulgent smiles from the distant array of professors. Merlin didn't smile. He felt an onrush of queasiness well within him once more because had the situation been different, had he arrived two years earlier, it would most likely have been him who had fallen to the ground in a furiously blushing heap.
Debois seemed to pull a stool from thin air – he very likely actually did – and with the efficiency of long practice settled the stool upon the dais before the teacher's table and placed a similarly conjured ragged old hat atop it. Silence flooded the room for a moment as everyone stared, seeming to wait for something.
Merlin waited with a different kind of attentiveness. His eyes felt drawn to the hat like a wanderer to a will o' wisp. He could feel it thrumming, hear the almost audible humming and feel the cool waves that radiated from it in almost visible waves. Magic. The slumping old, patch-worked pointed hat seemed so richly embedded with magic that it seemed to have sprung from the fabrics of natural core of earthly magic itself.
Magic spoke to Merlin. It seemed to draw his focus, magnetised, as it didn't really seem to for most others. His mother had said it was because he had a noticeably deep well of magic to draw upon himself, and Merlin could only agree with her idea. He knew no other reason why it would be so. All he knew was that the hat – and the school itself, though in such a more diluted degree comparatively that it seemed almost thinly spread – glowed like a beacon in the dark to his magical senses, rippling through him in hot and cold waves. It set his teeth on edge in a confusing mixture of good and bad tremors, raised the hairs on his arms and drew a shiver across the surface of his skin.
He hardly had long enough to contemplate the feeling, however, for a moment later, as Debois stepped back and folded his hands respectfully before him, the hat seemed to shake. To quiver with something other than the invisible tremors of magical containment. With a faint tearing sound, a poorly sewn seam at the front of its fabric split and gaped wide like a yawning mouth. From it spewed a growling voice that sung the music of magic into Merlin's ears.
Listen well, young warlock,
Dear priestess and kind seer.
For I've a word to tell you,
That may, to you, seem queer.
It starts as grand as olden tales,
As deep, bold and profuse.
Yet hearken to my knowledge,
And I'll offer what you'll use.
For my duty is to place you,
To look inside your head.
To poke and prod, to peer and squint,
And place you in your stead.
Blind I am, nought but a mouth,
Yet disregard me not.
For with my magics I can see,
The character you've got.
So slip me on your head, my dears,
And let me take a peek.
I'll not be cruel but kind, you know,
And place you where you seek.
You might belong in Gryffindor,
Where dwell the brave at heart,
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry
Set Gryffindors apart.
You might belong in Hufflepuff,
Where they are just and loyal,
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true
And unafraid of toil.
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,
If you've a ready mind.
Where those of wit and learning,
Will always find their kind.
Or perhaps in Slytherin,
You'll make your real friends.
Those cunning folks use any means,
To achieve their ends.
So put me on, don't be afraid,
And don't get in a flap.
You're in safe hands, though I have none,
For I'm a Thinking Cap.
Silence.
The words hung suspended in the air, trembling slightly, discordantly, as the hat closed its seam and fell into silence once more. Merlin blinked, feeling as though he'd broken through the surface of a pond and gasped into clear air. The words weren't anything particularly poignant, nor anything he hadn't really already known from reading a number of books regarding Hogwarts and its procedures. He knew all about the houses, had known about the Sorting Hat too, even if the tangible magic it possessed had rocked him on his heels slightly. That dislocation clung to him, even as Gaius patted his arm as though he knew what he'd felt, even as Debois stepped forwards once more and, after a brief statement and another dashingly reassuring smile, began to read out a list of names from an unrolled parchment scroll.
Merlin tried to listen. He really did. But once more, his small town mindset was thrown off balance by the flurry of names. He had never been confronted with more than the few hundred that populated the little township of Ealdor, and in that town everyone knew everyone from birth. It was just the way it was.
Listening to the listed names and watching each unfamiliar face trot and scramble, slip and flinch their way to sitting on the stool and nearly disappear beneath the hat that Debois placed delicately upon their heads, Merlin was overwhelmed for a second time. It took him halfway through the ceremony to realise that Debois was actually reading the students surnames first. After that, Hillberry became James who was sorted into Gryffindor, Nemeth of Ravenclaw turned out to be Mithian, Pinkling was actually Ursula and sorted into Hufflepuff while a slip of a boy, Yendin, the one who had fallen over before to the amusement of the entire hall, was Daegal and sorted into Slytherin. And, before Merlin could shake his head and file the clamouring names neatly into his head, that was the end of them.
Debois stepped sidelong up to the stool once more and, as a babble of chatter arose from the student body, raised his hand for silence in that way that he seemed to be fond of – entirely demanding of attention. Merlin thought he seemed a bit of a prat for the presumptuousness, but kept the thought to himself.
When the noise gradually died, Debois flashed his smile once more. "Now, before we all tuck into our dinners alongside our newly acquired housemates, we have one final sorting to undertake." With a gesture towards the back of the room towards Merlin and Gaius still standing alongside him, Debois offered what could have maybe been considered a welcoming smile. Merlin's stomach, abruptly frantically struggling to tie itself in knots, wasn't given with that impression at all. "We have a knew transfer student joining our third years this evening. As tradition dictates, he too will be sorted into one of our houses and join the ranks of the exemplary students at this school." Another flashing smile. "I would like everyone to please make Mr Merlin Emrys feel welcome. Mr Emrys? Would you come forth to be sorted?"
It took a deliberate nudge from Gaius to urge Merlin to move. He was frozen in a state of mortification at Debois's words, but more than that at the sudden attention that each and every student in the hall abruptly turned upon him. They were like a field of sunflowers turned towards the sun, yet their faces were hardly as adoringly merry, filled more completely with confusion, surprise and, in some few cases, suspicion. One, Merlin noticed, who he took barely a moment to recognise as being Arthur Pendragon, even rolled his eyes before turning his gaze away and dropping his chin into his palm.
Merlin felt his shoulders hunch with the urge to withdraw and had to forcibly shrug off the inclination. With another nudge from Gaius, he jerked forwards and made his slow yet increasingly rapid way down the central aisle of the Great Hall. The words don't trip, don't trip, don't trip chanted like a mantra in his head, and was probably the main reason, even more than a desperate need to avoid those staring eyes, that he kept his gaze firmly affixed to his feet. He nearly fell into the stool Debois gestured towards in relief, even more grateful for the hat that settled upon his head and nearly covered his eyes entirely. Any chance to avoid the gazes of his soon-to-be fellow pupils he would grasp with both hands.
At least, that was what he thought until he felt an upwelling of magic flow over him, wrapping around his head and seeping into his ears like flooding water. He started slightly, all consideration for onlookers discarded, and immediately turned his attention towards the hat upon his head. Like a wary hand, he welled his own magic up within him. Just in case.
"My, my, what a curiosity we have here," a voice whispered into Merlin's ear. No, not his ear, or at least he didn't think so. It sounded more like it was spoken directly into his mind, in the gravely, magic-rich tones that had sung but minutes before. "What a curious mind you have here."
Curious? Curious how?
Merlin didn't speak his thoughts aloud, but the voice seemed to hear them anyway. "Oh, just that it seems a little jumbled all over the place. It will take a moment, I think, to discern which House would be best suited to you." The voice – the hat – hummed thoughtfully. "I don't suppose you have any preferences?"
Preferences? Merlin attempted to train his thoughts directly towards the hat, though he'd never had a whole lot to do with telepathy. It was largely considered to be a near impossible area of magical specialisation. I didn't know my preferences were considered.
"Of course they are. I always consider personal preferences. Above all else, in fact. One cannot learn efficiently if one dislikes the House one is sorted into." The voice paused expectantly, then prompted with, "So?"
Preferences. Merlin hadn't really thought about it. He'd just expected to get slotted wherever he fit. Maybe into the house with the least number of students to bulk out the ranks or something. But the hat seemed to suggest that there was a whole heap more to it than that.
"Well?"
Well… if I had to choose… I don't really care. Only –" An image of Arthur Pendragon rolling his eyes, of Arthur sneering on the streets of Hogsmeade, flared into his mind. If I could choose, I'd not want to be in the same House as him.
"Arthur Pendragon? You don't get along."
Not… as of yet, it would seem, no. He's a bit of a prat.
As had occurred earlier in the day, the words – or thoughts – slipped out before Merlin could even consider withholding them. He pressed his lips together as though that might do anything to prevent a further repeat performance. He doubted it would. Thoughts were even harder to control than words.
The hat only chuckled in its deep, gravely voice, a sound that was more reminiscent of a cough than an actual laugh. "Well then, I suppose Gryffindor is off the table."
You said it, not me.
The hat laughed once more. "That I did. A shame, though. You have enough bravery and courage to adequately sit within such a proud house."
Bravery and courage? Merlin did his best to attempt a mental snort. Are we in the same head here?
"Indeed we are," the hat continued. "But then… I'm not sure that they are the foremost of your characteristics. Perhaps, but then… no, it is all very tangled in here."
Sorry about that, Merlin thought, shifting uncomfortably on his seat. He was aware for a moment how long he'd been sitting there and felt the urge to hunch arise once more. But it was only for a moment as the hat continued as though he hadn't spoken.
"A keen mind, yes, and enough wit to fit you comfortably within Ravenclaw, but you hardly seem inclined to put your intelligence to studious use. Also a fierce loyalty and compassion for those you hold dear, which would suit Hufflepuff nicely. But then… what is this? What secrets you hide, that you struggle so fiercely to conceal? Such tentative cunning you harbour, alongside a determination to reach your goal…"
Merlin felt his gut clench, felt an uncomfortable tightness constrict his throat. He swallowed convulsively, hands twitching on the cuffs of his robe with the urge to reach up to the hat and fling it from his head. He didn't want the magical voice to poking around in his book of secrets. Certainly not one secret in particular. Please don't look at that.
"Calm down, calm down, I will not pry. And even if I did I would hardly tell anyone." The voice likely meant to be soothing but Merlin was strung too tightly to hear it. "But I think… yes, I think I have decided. Unless, of course, you have anything to add?"
Merlin shrugged, physically this time and was aware an instant later how strange it probably looked to the silent audience before him. He brushed the thought aside a moment later; such considerations had never bothered him before – he didn't care what people thought. Not usually. Fire away.
The hat gave another chuckle, mumbled something unintelligible that was probably directed to itself more than to Merlin, before its voice rung out in a sharp crack through the hall. "SLYTHERIN!"
There was a pause, a pause of silence as Debois lifted the hat from Merlin's head. Then, as though attempting to make up for their momentary delay, the house clad in green and silver ties abruptly set about with a raucous applause. Merlin wasn't sure, but it sounded almost as though it was louder than those that had been offered to the first years. Jumping off the seat and nearly falling prey to a heart attack as he slipped momentarily on the hem of his robes, he trotted down the steps towards the waiting House. A space between two boys who looked about his age appeared with some deliberate reshuffling and he fell into it gratefully, sparing a glance either side him before falling onto the pew.
He caught a glimpse of Gaius as he seated himself down silently and unobtrusively at the professors table beside a woman Merlin recognised as being his wife, Alice. Gaius nodded his head in recognition, not any particular flicker of approval or disapproval colouring his features. Merlin knew his uncle had been a Hufflepuff and had wondered, but… no, Gaius didn't seem concerned in the slightest at his placement.
It was the glimpse he caught as his eyes grazed briefly over the rest of the hall that gave him pause. On the far side, in the table seating countless boys and girls in red and gold ties, Arthur stared at him pointedly. Merlin didn't know why his gaze settled upon the other boy for a moment, but he wished it hadn't. Especially when Arthur, aware of their mutual stare, very deliberately rolled his eyes and mouthed silent words that could only be "Of course".
Merlin snapped his attention away a moment later. He didn't know what Arthur had meant by that, but it hardly mattered. He'd already decided he disliked the other boy, which was significant for him as he'd rarely felt anything more negative than a mild annoyance towards another person in his entire life, with the exception of maybe Kanen from back home. But in this instance, that annoyance had grown to something deeper and Merlin was instantly relieved that he had asked the hat to place him in a house other than that which Arthur seemed so righteously comfortable in.
Anything to be away from the giant, pig-headed prat.
"Wait, so your mother is Hunith Emrys?"
Merlin shrugged, as had become his customary response to any question that seemed vaguely accusatory that evening. He took pride in the fact that he was already sifting through his repertoire of responses and evidently allocating the correct ones to the appropriate situations. "Last time I checked, yeah."
"You mean your mother is the famously acclaimed experimental Healer? The one who discovered the magical cure to blindness and made the first big leap in remedying optical deficiencies?" The fourth year girl who, as far as Merlin could tell, was named Meira – first name or last, he wasn't quite sure – leaned across the table towards him intently. The grasp she held upon her knife and fork turned her knuckles white.
Merlin shrugged once more, fighting the urge to shift uncomfortably. It wasn't that he felt ashamed or even uncomfortable talking about his mother – far from it, in fact – but Hunith's skills and practices in experimentation had become something of a taboo topic at home after her accident. She was nervous enough using any sort of magic, let alone speaking of her past endeavours in complex practices, and Merlin had adopted some of her uneasiness.
Meira sat back in her seat, falling into the paradoxically straight-backed slouch that seemed to be favoured amongst a number of the Slytherins. She shook her head, a hint of wonder touching her features. "Unbelievable. I can't believe I'm sitting across from Hunith Emrys' son."
Fidgeting awkwardly, Merlin went back to swirling at the peas on his plate. He hadn't much of an appetite, what with the fading adrenaline only just seeping from his veins to be replaced by nervousness when his surrounding housemates had begun a rapid fire of questions towards him almost as soon as he'd sat down.
"Where are you from?"
"Why are you starting school in third year?"
"Is your name really Merlin? Seriously?"
"What was your pre-school Minor Magicals Exam score?"
"Emrys? I'm not altogether familiar with that name. Are you a pureblood? Half-blood? You couldn't be a Muggleborn, surely."
And, perhaps most cuttingly of all: "Did you even learn anything from home schooling? It seems an awfully unproductive method of education."
Merlin had answered as best he could without giving offence. That he was from southern Ireland, towards the lower reaches or Cork. That his mother had suggested he would learn more holistically through institutional education, having reached what she considered the furthest extensions she could manage in some subjects. That yes, his name really was Merlin and no, he hadn't taken his Minor Magicals Exam, that no one from his town had and that he didn't think that meant he was so underachieving that the Ministry didn't bother with requesting their results. He was a third generation half-blood on his mother's side and no that did not mean that her ability to home school him was inadequate.
All of which Merlin had said with as much courtesy as he could attempt, of course. He sincerely didn't want to offend anyone, despite the fact that the sharp-edged questions seemed to have little to no consideration for offending him in return. At least Meira had interrupted with her question before he could grow too uncomfortable and hiss objections at the next person who dismissed the knowledge acquired from home schooling.
"Salazar, you're such a Ravenclaw, Meira," a boy – he looked about fifth year – rolled his eyes from beside her. "Honestly, how is it that you've heard of someone like that? Medical magic isn't even offered as a school subject."
Meira scowled at the boy and flipped her dark hair at him in a way that whipped dangerously close to his face. He didn't even flinch. "Haven't you ever listened Livingstone? He always talks about his protégé Hunith, reminiscing about the fact that he'd never seen a student quite so naturally gifted in the arts of doctoring as she was. How have you not heard of her?"
"Well, I have," the boy replied with a pursing of his lips. "But it's not like I go and look up every name that is whispered by every single professor. Honestly, you're so Ravenclaw."
Meira was effectively distracted by her aggressive form of defence, turning towards the boy, and Merlin sighed at being momentarily released from being at the centre of attention. It wasn't exactly somewhere that he liked being; he didn't have a problem with talking to others, quite enjoyed being around people, actually, but so many people? And all talking at once, and asking questions that he wasn't sure were directed towards him, and demanding answers when he thought those questions weren't for him but actually were… It was all a little overwhelming. Merlin was happy for the moment to fall back to prodding his peas and peering around the room.
It was a different perspective afforded entirely glimpsing the Great Hall from a seat at the Slytherin table rather than from the doors at the back of the room, or the daunting elevation of the stool atop the dais. It was far less intimidating, for one. Merlin could observe others without being the focus of attention himself, and scanned each table, attempting to familiarise himself with faces for no other reason than that it felt strange not recognising any of them. Other than Arthur Pendragon, of course, and Michael Morris, and several other boys that he recalled from encountering earlier that day scattered about the hall. He deliberately looked over each of them, even Michael who, he had noticed, actually glared at him accusingly when he met his gaze. Merlin felt mildly indignant of that. What had he done wrong, exactly, other than try and defend the other boy?
Whatever. It's not like I have to talk to him if he doesn't like me. At least he's not one of my dorm mates.
The sound of dinnertime chatter echoed around the cavernous hall, weaving through the aromas of steaming platters and sweet juices. The clink of cutlery chimed alongside the clatter of cups as they were snatched up, sipped at and dropped back onto the hardwood tables. It was loud, louder than Merlin was used to, but not necessarily in a bad way. He found that, at least when he wasn't at the mercy of merciless questioning, it was quite comfortable. Entertaining, and curious. There was always something happening, always something to look at.
Like the square-faced boy on Ravenclaw table who snorted pumpkin juice from his nostrils as he and his friends descended into guffaws of laughter.
Like the second years at the end of Gryffindor table who appeared to be competing to see who could fit the greatest number of baked potatoes into their mouths.
Like the precise and somehow subtle food fight that was taking place at Slytherin table, with one person unobtrusively launching a pea at their fellow several places down, only for the victim to retaliate to the wrong suspected attacker. Somehow they managed not to descend into all-out warfare.
Even the kind-faced girl at Hufflepuff table who seemed to have taken it upon herself to comfort some of the evidently nervous first years at her table and engage them in animated conversation caught Merlin's eye. The girl herself didn't look any older than he was.
It was all fascinating to watch, not so much because any particular behaviour was unusual but because there was simply so much happening at once. Merlin almost couldn't keep up, his eyes flickering from student to student, tilting his head at each noise and fighting the urge to spin in his seat to see everything better. He didn't want to look strange, at least not on his first night.
It was the professors table that captured his interest most, however. He'd heard tell of each of the figures, had a hazy suspicion of who was who from the descriptions Gaius had given him, from those that Alice had relayed in her letter. It was a different thing entirely to see them for himself, however. Distracted even from fiddling with his peas, he studied one professor in particular, a bowed, elderly woman with more wrinkles on her face than even Mrs Featherbell back home had. He blinked in bemusement as she preened over a creature that perched waveringly upon her shoulder. It looked like a bird of sorts, vaguely reminiscent of an owl except for the fact that it had four legs. Grey of colour save for a pair of startlingly red wings, it peered around the Great Hall with pupil-less yellow eyes. It completely ignored the woman whose shoulder it perched upon, too. Merlin thought that she might have been Professor Collins, but he couldn't be sure. Alice hadn't suggested she was that old.
"Which one are you having trouble with?"
Merlin turned from his study to the boy seated to his right. He'd been introduced briefly as Muirden, just as the boy on his other side, Sigan, and that seated next to him, McCavrick had voiced their own names and identified themselves as being his dorm mates. Muirden hadn't introduced himself but had left the role to his peers.
He was evidently a quiet boy, softly spoken, though he didn't appear shy. Dirty blond hair hung across his forehead and he'd kept is chin tucked for the majority of the welcoming feast. It was only when he turned towards Merlin, speaking to him for the first time, that Merlin caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a mottled birthmark streaked across the entire right side of his face. Or at least Merlin hoped it was a birthmark; he had his suspicions that it might have arisen from magical origins, however, given that it was white like scar tissue rather than ruddy and had a slightly silver sheen to it.
Merlin slowly drew his gaze away from it as soon as he noticed it; he'd been introduced to enough of his mother's patients, maimed, injured and diseases magical and otherwise, to know how to respond. Don't stare, but don't ignore entirely because that's just as obvious and demeaning as staring, Hunith's words rung in his mind as though she spoke in his ear.
'Trouble?"
Muirden nodded his head towards the professor's table. "Which professor? Which one are you trying to work out? I could help you with identifying them if you'd like."
Understanding, Merlin made a vague gesture towards the head table. "The one with the bird. Is that…?"
"Collins," Muirden supplied, confirming Merlin's suspicions. "She's a bit of strange one." He shot Merlin a sidelong glance that told him 'a bit strange' was an understatement.
"She teaches Herbology, doesn't she?" Merlin asked. He strove to keep his voice casual, when in actuality he felt a rush of relief that the boy beside him, the boy in his own year, was speaking to him. He'd had little enough friends in his life and hadn't really wished for more, but it would be nice to have someone to talk to. Or at least someone who didn't actively ignore him.
Before Muirden could reply, however, the boy Sigan on the other side of Merlin spoke for him. "That she does. We all think she grows something that sends her loopy. Gilli swears he saw he smoking one time just before one of our lessons last year." He smirked, an expression that seemed to fit his thin face a little too well, as he gestured to the plump boy beside him. "Tell him, Gilli."
McCavrick – or Gilli, apparently – nodded and held up a finger in the universal sign for 'wait' as he finished a mouthful of kidney pie. When he spoke, it was in an accent thick with a Scottish lilt. "I did. I swear I did. And I'd bet she saw me too, from how she treated me afterwards."
Sigan rolled his eyes. "You can't blame the fact that you nearly failed your exam last year on some perceived dislike for you."
"I can if it's true."
"Which it's not."
Gilli shrugged, seemingly unconcerned, and turned back to his pie. "Believe what you want."
Sigan rolled his eyes once more and turned his attention back towards Merlin. "Anyway, regardless of Gilli's perceived slight –"
"It's real," Gilli muttered through another mouthful.
Sigan ignored him. "Edwin's right. Collins is a bit of a weird one."
"I think that might be the first time you've ever actually agreed with something I've said, Cornelius," Muirden – or Edwin, it appeared – murmured. "There you go, there's a first for everything."
Merlin shook his head as Cornelius replied with a scathing remark. Cornelius, or Sigan, and Edwin Muirden, and Gilli McCavrick … why did everyone have to call each other by their surnames one minute and their first names another? Merlin didn't particularly care which was used but it would be easier for him to remember if people just stuck to using one name.
Glancing back up towards the head table, he gave another small bemused smile as he watched Collins attempt to feed the bird on her shoulder what appeared to be a leaf of some kind. The bird was having none of it, turning its golden beak resolutely in the opposite direction, though Collins didn't seem to realise its indifference to the offering. "Why does she have a bird?" He'd have thought that if anyone would have one it would be the professor for Care of Magical Creatures.
Cornelius, who seemed to have taken over from Edwin's quiet attempt to converse with Merlin, swung his attention back to him. "You mean Lady Helen?"
Merlin raised an eyebrow. "Helen?"
"Yeah, that's the name of the bird. 'Lady Helen'." Cornelius rolled his eyes once more in a gesture that Merlin was rapidly realising was something of a favourite of his. "Stupid name, I know. Anyway, she got this strix egg from some breeder or other about two years ago or something and has been nesting it since. It hatched last year."
Merlin felt his eyebrows rise. He thought the bird had looked familiar; he'd seen a small sketch of it in one of his textbooks years ago. "A strix? Aren't they dangerous? Don't they –?"
"Feed on human flesh and blood?" Edwin muttered with something like exasperation at Merlin's side before Cornelius could beat him to it. "Yes, they are. But not until they're fully matured, and females take two years to do so to the males' one." He frowned up at the head table. "Helen's a female so she's probably got a few months left in her before the Headmaster tells Collins she has to ship her off."
"If he could manage to convince her," Cornelius muttered, snorting loud enough that he drew a startled frown from Gilli.
Merlin turned once more towards Collins and her bird. Even knowing, and recalling with growing certainty, the words from his textbook that validated Edwin's words, he couldn't help but feel uneasy with the presence of the bird in the school. No, they might not be classified as 'dangerous' until matured, but that didn't mean he was entirely comfortable with waiting for that maturity to blossom within the strix. What if the bird decided to mature early?
Glancing towards Edwin – who seemed to be the more educated on the subject of the two boys – Merlin idly picked up his fork and plucked at it nervously between his fingers. "Don't they have that song thing? Isn't that sort of dangerous?"
"The Song of a Hundred Year Sleep." Edwin nodded, pausing to grimace in distaste as he flicked a mushroom from his boeuf bourguignon. "Yeah, but that's only the males. They sing the prey to sleep, then the females go and eat them."
"Tough life," Merlin murmured, offering a half-smile in an attempt to lighten the mood. "Sucks to be a bloke."
It worked, for Edwin chuckled too. He blinked, seemingly surprised by the fact, before replying. "Yeah, I guess so." He shook his head. "Good thing Lady Helen's a girl, I guess."
Their conversation was cut short by a startling vanishing act that disappeared every dish and half-eaten meal from the table. An instant later, piles of pudding, buckets of ice-cream and platters of artfully cut fruit appeared in their place. "Dessert!" Gilli announced unnecessarily, and he wasn't the only one. One of the girls across the table who Merlin considered were probably in his year, echoed him moments later with a delighted flap of her hands.
Cornelius, predictably by this point, rolled his eyes. "Merlin, you're such a child."
"What?" Merlin asked, glancing towards him at the mention of his name.
Cornelius blinked, frowned, then snorted in amusement. "Bloody hell, that's going to get confusing. Do you ever find it annoying when people invoke the Great Wizard Merlin around you?"
Merlin, understanding, bit back a sigh. No, he didn't find it annoying. Mostly because everyone in Ealdor actually seemed to automatically accommodate his name and remove such invocations from their vocabulary at large. He hadn't anticipated that a resurfacing of confusion that had largely been absent from his life would cause difficulties. "I guess."
Cornelius shook his head and even Edwin adopted an expression of sympathy. "Sucks to be you. Your parents were obviously cruel."
"Not really," Merlin muttered, but he doubted either Cornelius or Edwin heard him. They'd already set about refilling their plates.
Throughout dessert, Edwin made good his offer to help Merlin identify the rest of the professors. Or at least he tried to, all the while evading Cornelius's interruptions. For all that he was quietly spoken, and had remained mute up until he'd first spoken to Merlin, he was more than capable of rattling off his personal opinion of each of
"Master Livingstone you obviously know, and Professor Livingstone too, I guess?" He nodded towards Alice and Gaius. The short, elderly witch with her permanently affixed smile that drew wrinkles across her face less disastrously than those on Collins had waved to Merlin already throughout the evening before turning back to her conversation with her husband. "She teaches Potions and she's actually probably one of the nicest teachers. A shame that she's Hufflepuff's head teacher and not ours, though she's probably a little too soft-hearted to be Slytherin.
"Next to her is Aredian." He gestured towards a thin man with downcast eyes and a receding blond hairline. "He's… well, he's not cruel –"
"He's a wanker," Cornelius said around a mouthful of apple pie. "Good thing he only teaches Arithmancy so we don't have to have him if we don't choose his subject."
"Yes, thank you for your input, Cornelius," Edwin murmured, too quietly for Cornelius to hear properly. Cornelius glared at him anyway and Merlin had to bite back a smile. "Anyway, next to him is Alator, and he teaches History. He's –"
"Also a wanker," Cornelius supplied, cutting across Edwin. At Edwin's long-suffering sigh, he frowned. "Well, he is! He teaches so boringly –"
"That's just because his subject is dry," Edwin muttered.
"- and then complains when we have trouble remembering which day in which months in which year the goblin Grumblesnatch fell over and stubbed his toe."
"Grumblesnatch? I haven't heard of him. Is he very famous?" Merlin asked innocently.
Cornelius stared at him for a moment, blinking. It was only when he noticed Edwin struggling to hide a snigger at his side that he adopted a smirk once more. "Ha. You're alright, Merlin. Even if you do have an appalling name."
"Thanks?"
"The professor next to Alator," Edwin continued, evidently deciding to move on from Cornelius's interruption once more and pointing to a plae-haired man with a kindly face, "is Gorlois. He's –"
"He teaches Charms," Cornelius supplied, though the words were barely understandable though the mouthful of ice-cream he'd spooned into his cheeks like a chipmunk. "Real master of spells, he is, and he's supposed to be an incredible dueller. Which is a shame because –"
"Let me guess. He's a wanker?" Merlin asked.
Cornelius snorted, chuckling around his mouthful. "No, actually, he's alright. One of the better ones, actually. I just meant that it's a shame that Debois teaches Defence Against the Dark Arts because Gorlois would make a pretty adept instructor for that subject if he wasn't. Nicer, too."
"He's Ravenclaw's Head of House," Edwin added. Merlin nodded his head and offered a grateful smile. He'd already known that but wouldn't spit the offer of information in the face.
"Debois's the professor on the other side of the Headmaster, right? The one who did the sorting?"
Edwin nodded. "Yeah, he's the Deputy. Head of Gryffindor and –"
"A wanker," Cornelius interrupted. Merlin couldn't help but laugh, which was a surprise in itself. He still felt a quiver of nerves in his belly and hadn't anticipated himself capable of open laughter. At least not yet.
"Why is he a wanker?"
Cornelius shrugged. "Just is. He's really biased towards Gryffindors and everyone knows that Gryffindors carry a stigma against Slytherins."
"It's true," Edwin said, agreeing with Cornelius with evident reluctance. "And worse than that, he always wears this really obviously fake smile when he talks to you that I suppose he thinks is fooling everyone but anybody with half a brain can see straight through."
Merlin nodded his understanding. He hadn't seen much of Debois but he knew the smile Edwin referred to. He'd seen through it in a second and was mildly relieved that he hadn't been the only one to do so. He vowed to keep the stigma that Edwin mentioned in mind, though made the resolution to reach his own conclusion on the matter – it wouldn't do to immediately jump on board with other's resentment . "So the professor next to him must be Professor Catrina?" The only other witch on the predominantly male staff table was a regally attractive middle-aged woman, sitting straight backed and coiling a curl of her long, dark hair around a finger as she picked daintily at her dessert. "She's Head of Slytherin, isn't she?"
Edwin nodded. "Dame Catrina, yeah. She's nice enough. Next to her is Iseldir – he teaches astronomy and you usually can't find him any time the sun's up – and he's talking to Osgar who takes Ancient Runes. He's apparently good enough at his translations but a bit of a slacker with teaching so keep an eye out for him if you've taken his subject." He pointed his fork towards the man next to Osgar, dropping an elbow into the table. "That there's Professor Smith. He's –"
"Got to be one of the best teachers there is," Cornelius overrode Edwin. "Somehow he manages to make Muggle Studies seem fun. Shame he's got such a shitty subject."
Merlin had to bite back the urge to speak in defence of Muggle Studies. He personally found Muggle culture fascinating, what with having so little to do with it at all in the Wizarding community of Ealdor. Most of his town was like that – they didn't have all that much to do with the Muggle world but generally seemed to find it interesting enough. Certainly enough that several Muggle artefacts had made it into Mrs McCaulough's Bits and Bobs store.
The few trips Merlin taken to Cork had been a whirlwind of fascination that was as unhinging as it was captivating. Evidently Cornelius didn't show similar appreciation for Muggles and their world. Merlin would have to keep that in mind too; he didn't approve of many of the prejudices towards Muggles and Muggleborns, what with his mother's steadfast appreciation for the world at large and the vague interest of the rest of his town. But even so he felt it was too early in their tentative friendship to attempt to rectify Cornelius's views. He'd rather approach the situation slowly and cordially than speak his mind immediately and risk annoying the other boy. It was a struggle to hold his tongue – something that Will had always commented he was poor at and teased him for – but he somehow managed.
"Smith is next to Geoffreys – he's the librarian – and on the end is Seward. He takes Magical Creatures."
"Right," Merlin said, nodding slowly. He thought he had it, could stick the faces and demeanours to the names he'd memorised before coming to Hogwarts. He frowned, however, as he did a quick count of heads. "Who's missing then?"
Edwin smiled with a hint of approval that baffled Merlin. It was almost as though he viewed him as having passed some test of sorts, though if that was the sort of test he posed it was terribly easy. "Yeah, Taliesen takes Divination but he's absent even more than Iseldir is from the Great Hall. Doesn't like to be around people all that much."
"And…" Merlin raked through his memories. "Professor Tauren, was it? He teaches –"
"Alchemy," Edwin nodded. "But… no, forget what I just said, 'cause he's the most absent out of all of the teachers. You won't see him unless you take his class."
"Why's that?" Merlin asked curiously.
"He hates the Headmaster," Gilli said, leaning around Cornelius to partake in the conversation he'd appeared hitherto oblivious to. "Word is that they had this massive tiff years and years ago, something about pureblood and Muggleborn conflict, and he's resented Headmaster Pendragon ever since."
"Would you not spray me with pudding," Cornelius scowled, elbowing Gilli away from where he half leant across him. Merlin though he was merely being objectionable to Gilli's input because he hadn't seen and sprayed pudding. The plain, square-faced boy appeared nice enough, if a little nonchalant towards the prospect of engaging in conversation. He appeared anything but nonchalant under the abuse of Cornelius's elbow, however. Unfortunately – or perhaps fortunately – any objection he may have given was stemmed by the abrupt vanishing of dessert, platters and cutlery all.
As one, despite the speckling mutters of complaints at the suddenness of the disappearance of sweets, every head in the Great Hall turned towards the head table. Or, more correctly, towards Headmaster Pendragon as he rose from his throne-like seat and raise a hand for silence. He did it far less presumptuously than Debois had, however; Merlin was given the impression of a stately king quelling the flurry of his people rather than the petulant lordling straining for every inch of height as he threw orders around willy-nilly.
The effect was intensified by the figure Pendragon presented himself, a figure that Merlin immediately saw so much of Arthur in that it would have been impossible for him to consider them anything but related. Pendragon was tall and broad, with wide shoulders that were hidden not at all by the elegant fall of his dark grey robes. He shared the same hard, straight features of his son, and even from a distance the keen sharpness of his eyes could be discerned. His hair was more on the cusp of becoming grey, gold paled to ash-blond, yet though wrinkles lined his forehead just noticeably he still held himself straight and presentable. Merlin was given the impression that, should he have the misfortune of still knowing Arthur in thirty years time, he would be the spitting image of the Headmaster.
The voices of the students ceased more rapidly than Merlin would have thought possible given their number – two-hundred and fifty by his count, give or take a few. Merlin could almost see ears pricking as Pendragon began to speak, his deep, rich tones cast throughout the hall in an effect that seemed almost magical.
"Welcome, dear students. Welcome those returning and those beginning anew. As ever, it is a delight to see such promising, eager faces, no doubt keen to begin a new term of education." There was a faint play of amusement on the headmaster's lips that suggested he spoke with just a little sarcasm. No one spoke, though several of the teachers smiled too. "I have but a few announcements to make before I will release you to seek your beds. Firstly, I would like to congratulate Mr Bedivere of Gryffindor house and Mr Valiant of Slytherin house for their promotion to captains of their respective quidditch teams. We look forward to what you both can bring to the game this year."
There was a polite round of applause, led by the headmaster, to which Merlin dutifully added his own claps. Dutifully because he hardly cared much for quidditch at all. Nor really even for flying, despite that Will was an avid participant of the sport. He almost had to be, what with his father being a broom-maker.
Pendragon continued as the applause trickled into silence. "Secondly, I would caution that students remain at a minimum ten meter distance from both the Black Lake and the edge of Forbidden Forest this year unless accompanied by a professor. We have been gifted with two remarkable events this year in our magical creatures capacity; not only has our harem of unicorns produced a trio of foals but the sirens of the lake have birthed their own daughter for the first time in over a decade." The headmaster actually smiled at that, though only slightly. "Very happy times indeed, though undoubtedly both species will be exceptionally territorial in the coming months."
Not applause but whispers sprung to life the wake of Pendragon's words. Merlin blinked in faint surprise as much as his own incessantly budding curiosity. Though he'd read of the array of magical creatures kept on the grounds of Hogwarts – from unicorns and acromantula in the Forest to mermaids, sirens and grindylows in the Black Lake – he'd not known that they were quite so populace as to have anything resembling herds. It was quite exciting, actually, and Merlin felt a tingling ripple well within him.
He wasn't alone in considering it curious, it would seem, as far be it from appearing fearful of the potentially dangerous sirens – unicorns were hardly concerning, being about as placid as creatures came – the surrounding students seemed to bubble with something like excitement, with a few expressing faint apprehension at worst. The whispers were silenced a moment later, however, when Pendragon held up his hand once more.
"And finally, as always, a simple reminder that the Eastern Wing of the dungeons is out of bounds. Any found wandering the corridors in that region will be allocated a detention." The headmaster gave another tokenistic smiled, though it was tighter this time and faintly regretful. "Now, on that happy note, I draw our welcoming feast to a close. Goodnight to all."
Happy note indeed, Merlin muttered to himself. He hadn't especially needed the reminder of the restrictions and protocols that would be instilled upon him for the first time in his life. Oh, Hunith had been severe in her reprimands and hard-hearted in her punishments in the instances of Merlin's foolishness, but she had never grounded him as he knew some parents did, nor ordered him to do anything more strenuous than chores.
That detentions would be reminiscent of chores was all Merlin could hope for. Not that he intended to subject himself to detentions but it was a possibility. He was not unaware of the fact that he had never – ever – been in a situation similar to that which he was about to inflict upon himself. It would be a miracle if he didn't slip up at least a couple of times.
The scrape of benches signalled the rising of students to their feet, the chatter of conversation picking up once more. Merlin rose beside Edwin and Cornelius, peering along the length of the table for the house prefects. They would be the ones to lead the first years to the dormitories for the first time, and though Merlin was sure he would find his way simply by following his other housemates, he'd rather learn the route from those that were supposed to be directing the newbies. Besides, apparently the common rooms and dormitories had a password of sorts that only the prefects knew on the first night back on school grounds. Merlin didn't much fancy sleeping out in the corridors because he didn't know the password into his bedroom.
He wasn't given a chance to make his way to the nearest prefects, however. Nor was anyone else for that matter. Not a person had taken more than a handful of steps towards the doors of the Great Hall when a sudden burst of music sliced through the air.
Everyone froze. As one, steps ceased, heads cocked, eyes widened and wondering smiles touched lips at the sound that rippled like a wave through the air. At the music.
Everyone except Merlin.
It wasn't music to Merlin. It was pure magic that coiled like a ribbon and reached out to every pricked ear and tilted head. Not as powerful but thicker than the magic that he'd felt from the hat. But more than that, it was shadowed. It was opaque and almost visible. It carried the weight of compulsion that Merlin had only felt once before but would never forget.
Merlin's hands slapped to his ears almost painfully with the speed that he raised them. His magic welled within him, reacting to the flipping in his gut, and stoppered his ears more effectively than his fingers could. As though shuttered behind thick, impregnable windows, the music magic abruptly ceased to pervade his senses.
Slowly, Merlin turned in the direct he could still feel the magic pulsing from. He couldn't hear it anymore, but it brushed and tickled past his magical sixth sense, fluttering like droplets of icy droplets of rain against his skin. To his magical sight, it draped across the air in wafting tendrils, sticky and gossamer thin like threads of a silver-white spider web. His eyes drew towards the head table, towards the professors, drawn as though magnetised to the –
To the strix.
The owl-like bird – Lady Helen, Cornelius had called her – was standing tall upon Collins' shoulder, beak stretched wide and golden eyes glowing luminescent. Her red wings were stretched slightly from her body. No, not her body, Merlin abruptly realised. Realised as his eyes darted to those around him, to the frozen figures that listened as though spell-bound – which they quite literally were. They only made a motion from their rigidity when, slowly at first but then with increasing speed, eyes slipped closed and legs folded as consciousness slipped into induced sleep.
His song. The song of the male strix. Somehow, impossibly, the sex of the strix had passed undetected by Collins and just about everyone else.
Glancing quickly towards the head table, hands still clasped as a precaution over his ears, Merlin shook his head in horror. How could the professors not have known? How could they not have realised? He'd thought it daring to have even an immature female strix in the school, but the male was evidently matured enough to manifest its verbal magic. And whether it was the fact that they were closer to the bird than the students or were simply just as unprepared as everyone else in the hall, most of the teachers appeared to be drifting towards sleep themselves. The headmaster had slumped back into his seat, eyes hooded and a relaxed smile upon his face. Those alongside him looked similarly comfortable and languid, while Collins was already out for the count, slouching fully back in her seat with mouth hanging open and eyes folded shut.
In fact, the only other person in the hall that appeared unaffected by the magic was Seward. And so he should be, Merlin thought, eyes darting towards him. He's the teacher for Care of Magical Creatures. He should have recognised the song, if not the magic. He should have recognised that the strix was a boy!
Seward had his hands similarly clasped over his ears, but it didn't seem to be doing all that much good save to staving off the immediate effects of the magic upon him. His eyes were wide, something bordering on panic visible even across the distance between them, and he was breathing heavily enough that his ruddy cheeks quivered with each inhalation. It took Merlin a moment of uncomprehending wonder – because why wasn't he doing anything? – before he understood the dilemma.
Seward couldn't drop his hands from his ears. He couldn't spare even the few seconds to grab his wand and counteract the effects of the strix's voice. Despite the fact that an increasing number of students were slumping to the ground, that several of the professors – including Gaius! – had slowly closed their eyes, Seward couldn't do anything.
You've got to be kidding me.
Merlin started when, at his side, Edwin slipped with a tumble back onto the bench. He made a grab for him before the other boy could slide to the floor and crack his head on the marble. Edwin's face was spread into a blissful smile that didn't look quite natural upon his face, his eyes closed as if in sleep. Which, Merlin realised, they were. The Sleep of a Hundred Years, unless he did something about it.
Cornelius's body thumping to the ground behind him decided him. It wasn't that he didn't want to help his fellow students but… but Merlin had never been in a situation like this before. He'd never had cause to force himself to act in desperation for the communal benefit of hundreds of people. But there was no one else, apparently, because some eccentric Herbology professor had decided that she were going to hatch a dangerous magical creature and keep it. On school grounds. Amidst hundred of under-aged witches and wizards.
Such foolishness didn't do much for Merlin's confidence in the school.
Lowering Edwin to the floor, wincing as Gilli joined the rest of the students falling around him, Merlin started to his feet. Nearly tripping in his haste, he scrambled towards the head table. It was a struggle to clamber over as much as through the spellbound students.
Whether the strix foresaw the impending danger or not Merlin didn't care. He didn't give the four-legged bird a chance to do more than flutter in an ungainly fall from Collins' limp shoulder onto the back of her chair before he lunged across the table and wrapped both arms around it. Around its neck, to the screech and mad, scrambling batting of its wings. He ignored the sharp, curved beak that turned upon his fingers, scratching stinging gashes into his skin just as he ignored his natural hesitancy to cast magic at all – hesitancy that Merlin had always felt just a little. He pulsed a caging ring of magic from his hands, wandlessly and wordlessly, and wrapped it around the bird's throat. A burst of golden-white magic sprung from his fingers and, like a collar, fastened shut around its neck.
Merlin released the bird the second he was certain that the magical binding was completed. Stumbling backwards and nearly falling head-over-heels down the steps of the dais, Merlin retreated from what was abruptly and obviously a very angry bird. The pupil-less golden eyes glared at him and its beak opened and closed in snapping clicks, wings still batting violently enough that Collins' wispy hair was cast aflutter.
But there was no more music. No more magic. Merlin could see it, the silver spider webs of magic that had erupted into existence at the strix's song fading like sunlight before shadow. The bird's wings snapped and flapped, scattering feathers of down about it in a snowstorm of indignation.
Merlin took a slow, deep breath and closed his eyes. Well. Not exactly how I'd hoped my first night at school would go. He shook his head. Then nearly fell over once more in a start of surprise as a hand touched his shoulder.
It was Seward, Merlin realised. The portly young man – for he couldn't have been much older than twenty himself, as became apparent from viewing him up close – was opening and closing his mouth in an attempt to speak. No, he was speaking, Merlin realised; Merlin just couldn't hear him. With a hasty tap of his fingers to his ears, he drained out the magic that had deafened him.
"… alright, then we'll see what we can do about the strix," Seward was saying in slow, deliberate words. He evidently hadn't realised that Merlin couldn't hear him, but it hardly mattered. Merlin could guess at the words he'd missed. "You just take a seat here, and I'll make sure everyone's alright."
Nodding, more than grateful for the opportunity to pass the situation over to someone else – even if that someone else was apparently largely incompetent – Merlin lowered himself to the steps of the dais and wrapped his arms around his knees. His hands were smarting and he winced as he inspected his fingers, his knuckles and his palms that dribbled droplets of blood from numerous shallow slices. Easily fixed, however; Merlin knew more than his fair share of cutaneous healing charms. He didn't like casting spells around other people, not where they could see him and feel the spells effects – which was something that being at school was likely going to help him get over – but then… well, he'd already done more than demonstrate a noticeable magical display.
"Curareo," he muttered, easing out some of his magic from the cool, calm centre in his chest and directing it towards his hands. He was practiced with simplistic magic, had long had basic first aid drilled into him by his mother, so it wasn't particularly difficult, even as tightly strung as his nerves were. He spoke the spell, however; it was always easier to speak the specific words of instruction when he had deliberate intent than to simply want an outcome. In other cases, as with the strix, he'd simply reacted instinctively. All things considered, he was lucky that things had worked out as well as they had.
Raising his gaze from the skin on his hands knitting itself rapidly into repair, Merlin glanced around the room. Slowly, with jerks from some and yawns from others, the students before him seemed to be crawling out of their induced slumber. Even those that had collapsed to the floor were awakening with groans, rubbing at bruised heads and scratching at eyes abruptly turned gritty.
Turning towards the head table, Merlin was relieved to see that the majority of the professors – with the exception of Collins' – had regained their own consciousness. Aredian and Alator were wearing identical expressions of distaste as they gestured and wove their wands in a series of wordless motions, directed towards the stix and evidently meant to bind it in place for the invisible yet tangible magical strands that wrapped the bird. Merlin could feel them if not see them, and felt marginally reassured by their presence.
His attention was drawn to Seward, however, as he spoke quickly and quietly with the headmaster. Merlin could only just make out his words.
"It must have been a male, obviously, though I don't know how it concealed its gender. Some species have been known to do that; it's likely an attempt of lulling potential victims into a false sense of security before spontaneously initiating the song."
Pendragon shook his head, his face grim as he set a stare that was nearly a glare upon the bound strix grumbling on its chair-back perch. Though his eyes still wore the heaviness of sleep, there was hard determination in the set of his jaw and the thinness of his lips. At least Merlin was reassured that he was unhappy with the situation; hopefully that meant that such attacks weren't all that common of an occurrence.
Hopefully.
"But why did it start to sing at all?" He asked. "What triggered it?"
"My best guess?" Seward shrugged, though the gesture was anything but casual from the tightness of his shoulders. "It saw the departure of the students as potential victims escaping and so took measures to prevent them from doing so."
Pendragon shook his head once more. His lips thinned further as he turned to Seward. "You counteracted the song, then?"
Seward shook his head. "No, Headmaster, not me. I was not able to draw my own wand." He half-turned and gestured towards Merlin. Some of his tension eased into appreciation bordering on something that Merlin hadn't seen before and couldn't quite identify. "That would be our newest student's efforts." Raising his voice just slightly, Seward took half a step towards Merlin. "You cast a variation of a Deafening Charm upon yourself, did you not, Mr Emrys?"
Merlin felt his cheeks flush, both to be caught eavesdropping and to be the focus of their combined attentions. Pendragon and Seward, and that of several other professors too as they turned their attention towards the headmaster's conversation. Swallowing down his discomfort, Merlin shrugged before realising that such a reply was probably not adequate for his superiors. "Um… yes, sir. At least, I think so. Sir."
"You think so?" Pendragon raised an eyebrow and for an instant looked so much like his son that Merlin almost flinched. Except that on the headmaster, there was curiosity with only a touch of confusion driving the expression rather than condescension and mounting anger. "What do you mean by that?"
Merlin shrugged once more before he could help himself. "Just that I sort of… I sort of just cast magic on myself and it did what I needed it to."
"Wandlessly," Seward added. "Just as he did on the strix."
"This is…" Alator, evidently listening in on the conversation as well despite being halfway along the professor's table, leaned in to peer at the collar. The strix snapped its beak close enough to cause him to swiftly jerk his head away once more before turning his attention towards Merlin. Merlin wondered if he constantly had a scowl affixed to his face or if he truly was considering accusatory thoughts. "This collar, it is a variation of Silencio of some kind, is it not?"
"I'm not sure, sir. I just sort of… sort of cast my magic around it too."
"Wandlessly?"
"Yes, sir," Merlin mumbled. He had hoped to pass under the radar for at least the first few days, to keep his wandless magic as hidden as possible despite the fact that of course the teachers would know about it, because Hunith had told the headmaster about it. But evidently that wasn't going to happen. Merlin had somehow made sure of that in the most extreme and overt way possible.
The professors expressed a range of surprise, curiosity and that same colouration that Seward had worn to his features that Merlin didn't recognise. Even Alator seemed to lessen his scowl a little. After a moment of what appeared to be silent communication, as Merlin glanced between the professors one by one – meeting Gaius' and Alice's eyes briefly and easing slightly with their nods of approval – the headmaster seemed to reach a decision. Stepping towards Merlin so that, still seated on the step as Merlin was, he towered over him, Pendragon adopted what could be considered a benevolent expression. Except that 'benevolence' didn't quite sit comfortably upon his features.
"You have done this school and its students a great service this evening, Mr Emrys," he said, and his words were loud enough to echo slightly through the Great Hall. Certainly loud enough to draw the attention of the recovering students, which Merlin confirmed did indeed appear to be the case with a glance over his shoulder. "And more than that, Master Livingstone's words as to your competency with wandless magic have been more than adequately proved." His smile widened slightly, and though it wasn't quite kindly it wasn't as disastrous in its attempt at benevolence as his previous expression had been. "We shall surely have to ensure that your skillset can be appropriately tailored for in your classes."
Merlin worried at his lip for a moment before Pendragon's expectant gaze. It was only at a sidelong glance at Gaius' pointedly widening eyes that he realised a reply was required. "Thank you, sir. I, um… I appreciate it?"
"Not at all," the headmaster replied. "It is the least that can be done for a student of Hogwarts. And quite aside from that, it is rather you who should be thanked." Pendragon bowed his head in something that wasn't quite a nod. "I'd sincerely like to express my gratitude, Mr Emrys. Your actions were indeed commendable. If you've anything to ask of me, I offer you the opportunity to do so and as a headmaster, I will do what is within my power to provide it. Within reason, of course."
Pendragon gave a faint smile, slightly tight and a little self-deprecating at his own words. It was that more than anything else that quelled Merlin's inclination to rear back in frustration and annoyance. A favour? Was that what he was offering? What, as payment? Did he honestly think that Merlin wanted payment? There wasn't anything – well, apart from…
Once more, as was so often want to happen, Merlin's tongue spoke before his mind had the chance to contribute. It was likely a combination of his dwindling adrenaline alongside his irritation at the situation at large. When he spoke, his words were bereft of any filter.
"Can you just get rid of that bloody bird, please?"
A/N: Hi everyone! Hope you liked the chapter. The wonderful matchboximpala has made some gorgeous art for this part that you can find here ( /works/7873801). Take a look!