Merlin remained in a fuming rage just barely held in by his own sheer will until just before supper time, when, across the courtyard, he caught a glimpse of an extremely familiar face. Even seeing the back of her head made Merlin's state of anger and stewing in things he should have said disintegrate.
"Guinevere," he cajoled over the crowd and, diving around a couple of younger Ravenclaws that scattered at the sight of him, grabbed her around the waist from behind. He felt her choke in surprise before bursting into half-giggling snorts.
Swatting his hands away as he attempted to lift her feet up off the ground, she cried "Let go of me, you imbecile!"
Setting her down with a grand flourish, he said "Missed you, too."
Gwen Grace spun around to shove lightly at his shoulder with her own gloved one, a bright and beaming smile on her pleasant and dimpled features. Dressed pristinely in black and yellow with a book bag slung over one arm, she looked like the model student. Which, of course, she was – Nothing Gwen did was ever wrong. Gwen was perfect. Merlin would destroy anyone who ever thought otherwise.
She was also one the only people that actually liked him. It was nice, being liked. Not a thing often experienced in Merlin-land. Highly appreciated.
"How was your summer?" Gwen grinned, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Elyan and I went on holiday to France, it was lovely."
Her brother, Elyan, on the other hand, did not like Merlin. But he was a Gryffindor lackey of Arthur Pendragon, so such things were only to be expected. But Merlin wasn't thinking about Arthur Pendragon right now, because only pain abounded in that particular recess of his brain.
"Nothing much – watched a lot of television, visited my aunt in London one weekend," Merlin shrugged noncommittally. Gwen was Muggle-born and was the only one of Merlin's peers who wasn't under the assumption that his blood was as pure as the driven snow. Or whatever the expression was. "How was your History of Magic seminar?"
Gwen glowed. She was looking to be a wizarding historian after she finished Hogwarts, keeping track of records and dates and the like. It sounded dead boring to Merlin, but Gwen had a real passion for it. She and Professor Monmouth never stopped talking about Goblin Wars. "It was fantastic, I learned loads. In fact, Monmouth thinks…"
Merlin never learned exactly what Monmouth thought, for a new voice entered the conversation; a body had sidled up between them throughout the conversation.
"Hello, Gwen."
"Hi, Leon!" Gwen beamed sunnily up at the tall, overcast shadow that Leon cast over the courtyard's dying sunlight. Leon's smile down at her was quiet and reserved, but Merlin could feel the underlying affection in it. "I tried to find you to see if you wanted to come and eat lunch at the Hufflepuff table, but I couldn't find you."
Leon and Gwen had been best friends since birth, practically, Muggle-born neighbors who had bonded over their Hogwarts letters arriving on the same day. Merlin, feeling pinpricks of exclusion, inserted himself into the fray.
"What, no hello for me?" Merlin complained loudly as Leon gave him a horribly pained look. Gwen giggled at the pair of them as Merlin continued bemoaning his friend's betrayal. "Is this how it's going to be this year? Our final year, Leon? You're going to ignore me in favor of pretty girls?"
"I've always ignored you in favor of pretty girls," Leon rolled his eyes. Gwen widened hers.
"You think I'm pretty?"
Merlin snorted as Leon stammered out something borderline romantic that made Gwen's cheeks darken. The two of them had been dancing around each other like this for years now.
Luckily, their awkward mutual blushing was interrupted by a tiny blonde girl nearly plowing Merlin over. He let out a surprised choke as a hand grabbed out for his falling book bag. It didn't reach it in time, however, and the bag thudded to the floor. Merlin would have been worried about the state of his inkwells if he wasn't too busy trying to regain his breath.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," a fretful Elena reached for Merlin's shoulders without touching him, which was probably a good move. Merlin stood up straight and took in a deep, glorious breath of fresh air.
"Its fine," he assured her and he bent over to pick up his books. "Nice to see you again, Ellie. I thought you broke your wrist?"
"I did," Elena winced.
"I saw it," Gwen chimed in. Leon reached around Merlin to pull Elena into a hug on his side. She barely reached his elbows – Elena was the shortest person Merlin knew. "Double Transfiguration with Gryffindor, she tried to change her eye color and…I don't know exactly what happened after that?"
"A long and dreadfully boring story," Elena shook her head in mock defeat. She brightened up immensely in the next moment. "Percival carried me to the hospital wing, though!"
As Elena rambled on for a few minutes about how swoon-worthy the tall, handsome, freakishly muscled Hufflepuff Quidditch player was, an idea occurred to Merlin that blew away all lingering feelings of resentment and frustration that Arthur had left in his wake.
"Hey," Merlin spoke up when Elena took a breath. Three pairs of eyes flickered to meet his. "We should do something special tonight, to commemorate our last first day of school. I know Isolde has some firewhiskey – we could make an evening out of it!"
"Breaking the law on the first day of school? Sounds like a hell of a lot of fun."
Merlin took back anything he thought about the disappearance of his unhappiness. It was very present, threatening to bubble over.
"Fuck off, Pendragon," Merlin couldn't see the Gryffindor's face, but the looks of his friends ranged from concerned (Gwen), confused (Elena), and slightly terrified (Leon). Merlin guessed Arthur was standing directly behind him with all the fire and passion of his forbearers.
Merlin turned to face him. Ding. Got it in one. He should be on a Muggle game show.
"I just wanted to inform you that you being half-blood will not excuse you from your bigotry," Arthur said hotly, and Merlin's mouth fell open. This wasn't happening. "Plenty of dark wizards have been half-bloods."
What the hell is your problem? Merlin felt like screaming. His friends were behind him, for Christ's sake. At least they weren't Slytherin peers who had heard exactly what his heritage was, but they could easily get the wrong impression from Arthur's words.
"I – I can't – Come with me," Merlin reached out and yanked Arthur away from the courtyard by the tie. He felt the other boy choke in surprise as he was frog-marched far, far away from anyone whose opinions mattered to Merlin. He made a point not to look back.
"What's wrong with you?" Arthur yelped, shoving Merlin away from him almost the second they had reached the interior of the castle. The halls were hardly busy, what with the remnants of summer still in the air. Only a few first years littered the walkways, so Merlin made a mental note not to swear too loudly.
"You!" Merlin made clutching motions toward Arthur's perturbed and annoyed face. He groaned at the lack of response it merited. "I don't know if you realize this, Pendragon, but I'm an actual, real person, not a punching bag. And those were my friends you just humiliated me in front of back there!"
"You have friends?" Arthur sounded disturbed.
Merlin wanted to die.
"Yes, I have friends, you arrogant – clotpole!" Merlin bit his tongue.
Arthur snorted. It almost sounded like actual, genuine laughter, which obviously couldn't be the case, as Arthur was the incarnation of the devil himself. "What's a clotpole?"
"You, you are a clotpole," Merlin muttered darkly but he had lost his heat. He sighed as Arthur did something that could only be described as giggling. "You're just looking for any excuse to hate me, aren't you?"
Arthur's laughter switched off as his face turned to one of neutral defense. "I don't need any excuse."
"Look," Merlin said, enunciating his words for proper understanding. "You call be a bigot and an elitist, but I have never done anything to suggest that I am one. There is nothing wrong with the way anyone is born, be it pure-blood, half-blood, or Muggle-born. I may be a Slytherin, but I am not a bad person. Now will you please leave me alone?"
"But – you can't just – it's not that simple!" Arthur flapped his arms in a way that was more comical than actually threatening. "That's not all there is!"
"What are you talking about –?" Merlin began, but was cut off by a raucous shout from just outside the double doors leading back out to the grounds.
"Arthur, mate, Elyan heard from his sister that we're sneaking up to the Astronomy Tower tonight to get smashed," A boy with long, thick hair and the beginnings of a beard and moustache duo flung himself through the doorway like a model on the runway. Of average height and relatively stocky, his Gryffindor uniform was nowhere near standard, with an untucked shirt and his tie around his head.
When the boy saw Merlin, he nodded with something akin to respect. "Emrys."
"Green," Merlin responded automatically. Gwaine Green was an annoying Gryffindor tosser, but he was always respectful to him. He'd seen Merlin do something scary once.
"Cool," Arthur said, argument apparently forgotten as he thumped Gwaine on the back in one of those heterosexual male forms of affection that Merlin had never fully understood. He gave Merlin a cursory glance, recognizing that this was Merlin's party. Technically. His idea to have a party, at the very least. "Heading to dinner, then?"
When the two Gryffindors disappeared around the hall's bend, Merlin let his head fall backwards to hit the stone wall.
"Fuck my life," he groaned, earning him more than one revolted glare from a group of second years.
It was a good thing Isolde had brought the firewhiskey.
It wasn't a good thing when Merlin arrived too late to actually drink any of it.
"You couldn't save any of it for me?" Merlin complained loudly in Isolde's ear. He had to be loud to be heard over the yells and shouts of seventh years and some sixth years from what looked like every house. The Astronomy Tower was more crowded than Merlin had ever seen it, including actual classes. A radio was crooning out an old Celestina Warbeck hit from back in the '70s, students drinking and partying like they wouldn't have to head to class in the morning with a raging hangover.
Luckily, Alice was up to speed on all the parties and knew exactly what mornings she needed to brew extra draughts of hangover remedies.
"You snooze, you lose," Isolde flashed him a smile, using his own coined expression, from where they were sitting, leaning against one of the pillars as the excitement raged around them. Merlin even saw Leon getting his crazy on, chugging butterbeers with Gwen and Mithian.
"I would like to take the credit for plotting this entire escapade," Merlin announced, despite Isolde being the only one in earshot. "Although in my original plan, I was the one getting drunk. And there were far fewer people."
"I know," Isolde sighed dramatically. "The Gryffindors far outnumber us."
Merlin hummed noncommittally, taking note of a few Gryffindor girls hanging all over Percival while he was trying to converse with Elena. And of course, one could not forget Arthur Pendragon and his friends. If Merlin craned his neck, he could see Lancelot, the quieter one of the pack, and Gwaine having a contest as to who could drink the most in a five minute time span. Even Merlin knew Gwaine would be winning that one.
Tristan appeared a moment later to sweep Isolde off her feet, and Merlin reminded himself that the bubble of jealousy in his chest was most definitely not allowed to be there.
"Emrys."
"Fuck!" Merlin nearly jumped a foot in the air as a lean, dark-haired girl lowered herself to his level, Slytherin tie immaculate as her black manicured nails. "Morgana, you scared the shit out of me."
"Easily startled," Morgana let out a chuckle as she leaned against the pillar. "You look lonely."
"I'm not," Merlin said. "Lonely, that is. I am enjoying my alone-ness immensely."
Morgana laughed. The sound rumbled deep in her throat. It was an attractive sound, but not one Merlin could hear without getting shivers down his spine. "Will you be going to the first Hogsmeade weekend?"
"Probably," Merlin answered after a second's hesitation. Was Morgana asking him on a date? She was gorgeous, but he was relatively certain that a date between the two of them could only end in fire and brimstone. Also, he would most likely be killed. "The date hasn't been announced yet…Why?"
"A little birdie told me something about you, and I'd like to know if it's true or not," Morgana rose elegantly to her feet, Merlin scrambling up after her.
"Erm – what?" He racked his brains, trying to think of whom the bird could be and what they told her. He came up blank.
"I'll see you later," Morgana said as she melted into the crowd. A blink and you would have missed her.
Merlin was starting to think that this year could only get worse from here.
He was right.
Just after two, the party breaking up, Merlin, slightly tipsier than he had been before, figured it was about time he headed back to his dormitory with the fervent hope that Alice would have something special prepared for him in the morning. Stumbling down the staircase to the entrance hall, he was relatively certain he was alone.
This was most assuredly not the case.
"Merlin," a pompous call echoed in the darkness of the castle and Merlin felt a heavy weight against his back.
"Pendragon?" Merlin groaned, not nearly sober enough to recognize the voice. Keeping himself upright, he hauled the figure behind him to his feet. It was indeed Arthur Pendragon, entirely unkempt in every way and far too drunk for him to register this as a real conversation.
"Hi," Arthur draped himself over Merlin's shoulder. He buckled under the extra weight.
"Okay, get up," Merlin pushed Arthur upright again. The boy swayed a few times before falling back against him. This battle was one Merlin would lose. He threw in the towel early, letting Arthur settle comfortably onto him.
"I got lost," Arthur mumbled into the crook of Merlin's neck. "Gwaine's a dick."
"I'm sure," Merlin said. "And I suppose you want me to help you out of – what? The goodness of my heart?"
"No, you're evil," Arthur said, because of course Arthur said that. "Redeem yourself."
"I could leave you here," Merlin informed him tartly. "Sprawled out on the floor for the professors to find you in the morning. Then we'll see what they really think of the Gryffindor golden boy."
Arthur didn't respond, other than making unintelligible sounds into Merlin's sleeve.
Merlin took a moment to consider just how good a person he really was.
Goddamn, he was a pushover.
"You're not even going to remember this in the morning," Merlin said, cursing all the deities he knew as he put an arm around Arthur's waist, keeping him standing. "I hate you."
"Hate you more," Arthur said, but there was a smile to his words that Merlin had never heard when the boy wasn't overly intoxicated and in his right mind.
Luckily, Merlin did not have to depend on Arthur's shaky mental state for directions. He knew exactly where Gryffindor Tower was – well, really, he knew where all the House common rooms were. He had far too many friends in Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, and they had friends in Gryffindor. There had been quite a few major blowout parties there in sixth year that Merlin had stolen Leon's Ravenclaw tie to get into.
After half-carrying Arthur up more staircases than he was worth, Merlin deposited his barely conscious body in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady.
"You're not supposed to be here," she gazed down at him reproachfully.
Merlin refrained from sighing. "I'm aware. Look, he's really drunk and probably needs a bed. Can you please just let me in so I can go and get Gwaine Green? Or Lancelot Du Lac?"
She sniffed. "Of course not. You need a password."
"I don't have a password!" Merlin said. "This isn't my house. I just want to make sure that he doesn't, you know, die from alcohol poisoning." He gestured over at Arthur with the hand that wasn't supporting him.
"Password."
"I can't just take him back to my house!" Merlin said, getting desperate. Dragging Arthur's sorry arse up here was one thing, but subjecting the Arthur to the Slytherins – or, rather, the Slytherins to Arthur – would lead to nothing short of a bloodbath.
Arthur, in a showing of alertness, stood up a little straighter, though still very much supported by Merlin, to whisper "Scamander."
"What?"
"S'the password, Merlin."
"Scamander!" Merlin repeated loudly. The Fat Lady, curse her overlarge bosom, nodded curtly before swinging open. He shoved Arthur through the portrait hole less than lightly.
The Gryffindor common room was more welcome than the Slytherin one, what with the roaring fire and plush chairs, all bathed in a golden kind of glow that Merlin associated with warmth and coming home. Not that he didn't love Slytherin, but there were advantages to other ways of life.
He deposited Arthur one of the couches. He would already be getting enough shit for this, and he didn't feel like getting caught taking Arthur up to his dorm. Knowing the Gryffindor mentality, he would probably be accused of drugging Arthur, or raping him, torturing him, having intentions to kill him…Merlin would just rather avoid that.
"You could say thank you," Merlin grimaced down at Arthur as he began to walk away, thoughts of his own bed in mind.
"I can't, I have to hate you," was Arthur's barely intelligible mumble.
Merlin paused. Arthur might be drunk enough to be honest with him. He might not have the opportunity to ask again. He had to take advantage of situations like this.
"…Why?" He asked cautiously.
"Cause of what you did," Arthur blinked blearily over at him. "What he did. You…You…You didn't do anything, did you?"
Arthur's eyes widened in supposed realization before drooping shut. "Arthur?" Merlin said, tentative. "Arthur?"
He had passed out.
Merlin went to sleep even more confused than ever.
