Chapter 4: A Meeting With A Dragon

… so annoying, I can't even tell you. But Mum insists that I have to spend some time with other kids my own age – God only knows why – and Benny's the best of a bad lot, you know? Personally, I'd prefer to just hang out with the Peeta and Gyselle but nooooo, of course Mum has a problem with that. Who cares if they're three years younger than me? They're better conversation partners than bloody Benny, you know?

Mum's driving me up the walls a little bit, actually. I think it's probably because I'm spending more time at home. I blame you for that actually, Merlin; since you left to go to school 'for your education', Mum seems to have gotten it in her head that the pace she's set for my schooling is too slow. She's added a whole extra hour of study to my day. A whole hour! Dad's absolutely hopeless, too, because he caves under any suggestion Mum makes. I've actually started spending a bit more time at your place, because your mum always says she likes the company and you know when she's feeling a bit upset how she always bakes, like, a shit-tonne? Yeah, well, I've been stuffed to the brim with jam tarts and cream biscuits for the past two weeks.

I blame you for that too, you know…

"Merlin. Merlin."

Blinking up from Will's letter, Merlin glanced towards Gwen at his side. The Hufflepuff girl was hissing at him just loud enough to be heard, her eyes wide and meaningfully flickering to the front of the room. Merlin just managed to tuck the letter out of sight before Professor Alator descended upon him like an avenging angel.

"Do you perhaps find my class unstimulating, Emrys? That you don't need to listen?"

Merlin blinked warily up into Alator's scowling face. He was a tall, beefy man, with a patchy beard that did little to hide the frequent angry flushing of his cheeks and heavy brows that seemed permanently set into a frown. He seemed to be competing against Aredian for the Least Agreeable Professor Award, though strived for it in an entirely different approach. While Aredian was colder, chilling with his hard gaze and quite, sharp voice, Alator was more prone to shouting and huffing, to looming over desks and demanding attention from his cowering pupils.

Not for the first time, Merlin was relieved that he hadn't chosen Arithmancy as one of his electives. At least he only had to face one of what were affectionately termed the 'Demon Duo' by attending History.

Swallowing down the nervousness that always arose within him at being the centre of attention, Merlin kept his face as calm and collected as possible. "No, sir."

"Then perhaps you could enlighten your classmates as to the catalyst behind the seventeen eighty-one treaty between the goblins of northern and southern Ireland?" Alator's cheeks were, naturally, flushed, and he spoke with a sharp exclamation that was nearly a shout. If anyone in the room had somehow missed his first fuming reprimand, they were certainly aware of it now.

Merlin kept his gaze upon the desk before him, refusing to look up at the stupid, blustering man who seemed to take savage delight in terrifying his students. If there was anything to dissuade him from continuing with taking History as a subject when he had the option to do otherwise, it was Alator's teaching methods. He felt his cheeks cool and the blood rushed from them, as they always did when he felt distinctly uneasy and his magic crawled to the surface protectively.

Thank God Mum made me study the Goblin Treaties earlier this year, was all he could think as he resolutely ignored both Alator's attention and the sympathetic cringe of Gwen to his right. Merlin wasn't book smart – he knew this – and had found that hours upon hours of reading did little for his education, but this, miraculously, he remembered.

"The treaty was catalysed by a bonding union between two high ranking goblin Jarls. The families of those Jarls decided that they were willing to sacrifice the independence of their high ranking monarchical members to lessen the tendency towards political and civil warfare between the peoples."

Merlin stared at his desk in silence when he finished. That silence stretched for so long that, unintentionally, his gaze flickered up towards Alator across the room. The professor was openly scowling at him, as though he'd said something wrong, or indecent, or plainly stupid. If memory served him correctly, Merlin was fairly sure he hadn't done any of that. Though his tongue often blurted out words for him, he was always aware afterwards of what he'd said.

Alator's cheeks had taken on mottled purple colour that made Merlin wonder momentarily if he was actually breathing. That wonder was alleviated moments later, however, when the History professor gave an audible grunt, turned, and began pacing back and forth across the front of the room once more. And Merlin could breathe easily again, exchanging a sidelong glance of relief with Gwen.

"The bonding union between Jarls is a long-standing and sanctified ritual that involves a number of significant elements concerning timing, seasonal temperature and the nature of witnesses…" Alator's grumbling drone begun once more.

"Good on you for answering him correctly," Gwen congratulated Merlin ten minutes later when they were let out of the classroom. "I was prepared to have to pick up the pieces after he chewed you up and spat you out."

Merlin, walking alongside her and her housemate Sefa – Sefa seemed largely aloof to his presence though hadn't objected as of yet – tugged awkwardly at the cuffs of his robes. "It was just lucky that I'd already read about it, I guess. But Alator was staring at me so hard that I could have sworn I'd given him the wrong answer."

"You didn't," Gwen reassured him, offering him a smile. "Trust me, you'd know if you said the wrong thing. But you know, I think you don't give yourself enough credit. You're actually quite smart, Merlin."

"No, I'm not. I suck at remembering stuff when I read it. In one ear and out the other."

"You don't suck," Gwen corrected, with that hint of motherly condescension that she wore so well. "I think you're probably just not very theoretically based. You're pretty good at Charms and Elyan says you're up there with the best of them with practicals in the lessons he has with you. And that's with wandless magic."

Merlin opened his mouth to object, but snapped it shut at the rise of Gwen's eyebrows. The Hufflepuff girl was like that, Merlin had come to realise in the week that he'd been 'officially' friends with her. She was persistent, and as stubborn as Will could be at times though far more rational with her perspective in contrast to Will's foolishly opinionated mulishness. He found it more comforting than anything that she demonstrated such a similarity.

Far from dropping him on his arse after the explosion on Saturday, Gwen seemed to have taken it upon herself to stick to Merlin's side like glue at every opportunity. That meant that, instead of leaving him to sit alongside an alternatively hot and cold Edwin in class, she slid in beside him, usually dragging Sefa along behind her, and engaged him in chatter about what was often the most inane of subjects.

At first, Merlin had responded as he did with everyone who spoke to him. Light-heartedly, casually, little more than a superficial exchange of pleasantries that he accepted would amount to nothing and only be repeated with slight variation the next time they spoke. But Gwen persisted and pushed past that. Somehow, quite without his knowing how, she was pulling stories from him, dragging him along to study sessions in the library, and encouraging him into a teasing exchange of banter that left them both shaking with laughter more often than not.

It would seem that, quite without his deliberate intention, Merlin had found himself a friend at Hogwarts after all.

"Thanks for giving me the heads up, by the way," Merlin said, offering Gwen a grateful smile.

Gwen beamed in reply as though he'd given her the moon. "That's okay. It's happened to me more times than I can count."

"I don't believe that for a second. You're a goody two-shoes."

"I am not!" Gwen exclaimed indignantly, though her smile still remained affixed. "I'll have you know that I got a detention last year actually."

Merlin raised an eyebrow at her. "Really?"

"Really."

"And why was that? Caught out after dark because you were rescuing some lost first years or something."

Gwen shouldered into him affectionately. "I'm not that altruistic," she said, but Merlin noticed she didn't deny his guess. "What were you reading, anyway?"

Merlin's had drifted unconsciously towards his pocket. "Just a letter from home."

"From your mum? Or from Will?"

"From Will," Merlin said. Gwen had somehow along the way become familiar with more aspects of Merlin's town and home life, his childhood and his friend, than he would have ever thought himself ready to share with anyone else. He could hardly find it within himself to feel resentful of her prying, however, not when she offered an equal insight into her own life. He'd learned more about Gwen than he had of all of his housemates combined; that she and Elyan were both in third year despite him being nearly a year older than her, that her father was single, never married, and seemed quite happy for it, and that they lived in the middle of Muggle London and revelled in the intimacy it provided with non-magical folk. Little bits and pieces that built the picture of Gwen herself and only made him grow fonder of her. It had quickly surpassed simple gratification for her inclusion of him; he truly enjoyed her company.

"What's he got to say?" Gwen asked.

"Oh, same as usual. Cursing me for leaving home, complaining about his studies, trying to make me jealous with my mum's cooking. Nothing out of the ordinary."

Gwen gave a gentle smile as they turned a corner. Sefa trailed after them, apparently barely even hearing their exchange. Merlin had attempted to talk to her, but she seemed resistant to any attempts at friendliness. Gwen had told him not to worry about it, that Sefa rarely spoke to anyone except her, but he still felt a flicker of guilt whenever she sat in silent detachedness beside them. He wondered if she resented the attention Gwen seemed all too keen to shower upon him.

"I think he probably just misses you," Gwen said softly.

"I think he probably exaggerates just how much," Merlin muttered in reply.

"Maybe. But that's not what it sounds like. It sounds like –"

"Gwen! Gwen, I need your help! Gwen, can you help me?"

Pausing in step beside Gwen, Merlin glanced over his shoulder as she turned and offered a faintly worried frown to a second year girl nearly tripping over her robes to hasten towards her. "What's wrong, Mathilda?"

Matilda, cheeks flushed and huffing slightly as though she'd been running, slid to a stop before Gwen. "Polly's upset again because she thinks Catrina is mad at her for answering the question she asked her wrong, and even though I told her that she wasn't she won't listen and she thinks –"

"Calm down, Mathilda, calm down." Gwen raised a hand and waved it at the second year girl soothingly until she stuttered to a halt. "Where's Polly now?"

"She went to the third floor bathrooms and locked herself in a stall and won't talk to anyone even when we knock and –"

"Alright, I'll come and see what I can do." Turning towards Merlin, Gwen gave him a faintly exasperated, faintly apologetic smile. "Sorry about this. I'll catch you later?"

Merlin brushed aside her words with a wave of his hand that he deliberately mimicked from Gwen. He could hardly accept such an apology, not when it was from Gwen and not when it was for the sole reason that she was flying to the aid of someone else. A first year from what he could tell from Mathilda's babble. Merlin didn't quite know how Gwen had come to be the go-to person for distressed youngsters in her house instead of one of the numerous prefects or teachers but he knew why.

Gwen was just too good of a person to say no. She would never walk past someone in need. Merlin often suspected that was the driving force behind what had led to their friendship.

"No worries. You've got DADA next, haven't you? I'll see you at dinner maybe."

"Yeah, see you," Gwen said once more as she made her way after Mathilda at a brisk stride. Sefa, naturally, turned and followed right behind her. Merlin was surprised to notice that the quiet girl cast him a long-suffering glance over her shoulder as she disappeared back around the corner, however, as though to say "can you believe this? Again?" Merlin found himself smiling as he turned towards his Potions class.

The dungeons had become something of familiar territory for Merlin over the past two weeks. At first, Merlin hadn't been too fond of the stonewalls, of the gloominess illuminated only by torches on the walls, of the claustrophobic sensation inflicted by low ceilings and a distinct lack of windows. He'd always been fonder of the open air, of the sunlight and a cool breeze, the rich smell of soil and grass to the backdrop of chirping birds and chittering squirrels.

He'd started to grow used to it, though, even if he doubted he'd ever be particularly inclined to seek the solace of the underground darkness. And though his very magic seemed to protest as to the restriction of the enclosed walls, he was learning to overlook it. To ignore it or to soothe its disgruntlement by taking a brief trip outside when the claustrophobia grew too profound.

At least Alice took his Potions classes. Kindly and welcoming as she was, her attitude helped to soothe the feeling of disgruntlement acquired from being deeply embedded floors under the school. Had it been Alator or Aredian who took the class, Merlin thought that he would seriously consider skipping Potions entirely. It was bad enough that the Slytherin common room was in the dungeons; he didn't need to be tortured there too.

He wasn't the first one in the Potions class, though he was the first Slytherin boy. The girls were all huddled in their usual seat, crowded around the back right hand corner bench and whispering amongst themselves. All of them except Freya, that was, who gave him her usual customary smile upon his entry before turning back to watch with half-attentiveness as Lamia Mendez muttered to the other two girls next to her. Lamia hardly seemed to notice Freya was there.

At the front of the room sat the majority of the Gryffindor third years. Merlin noticed two of the girls whose first names he wasn't quite sure of though he recognised them by face – one could hardly miss the pointed nose of the blonde girl for all that it waved proudly in the air, while her companion had a habit of fiddling with her brown tresses and leaving every class untangling them from the multitude of braids she'd wound them into.

Across from them, the Gryffindor boys slouched in varying degrees of slovenliness. Gwen's brother, Elyan, looked like he was actually reading through his textbook, while the big burly boy, Legaloise, sat at his side with his own book flipped open before him, though he instead frowned thoughtfully at the distant wall. Arthur and De Grace, the curly-haired boy who seemed to be something of Arthur's right hand man, leaned against one another as they spoke idly about something that sounded like it had to do with quidditch.

Merlin wouldn't be surprised. All four of the third year boys had somehow managed to get a place on the Gryffindor quidditch team and all basically lived and breathed the sport.

At Merlin's entry, as they were want to do, Arthur's eyes drew directly towards him. Quite aside from flooded with the aggression they'd carried for the first week of school, however, he didn't glare but simply… stared. Stared as though Merlin was a mildly frustrating puzzle that he was attempting to unravel, a puzzle that was apparently eluding him. Merlin wasn't entirely sure as of yet whether he preferred being glared at or the subject of such intense study. It unnerved him that Arthur apparently changed his attitude so abruptly. Or at least he appeared to; for all that he didn't glare at him, the headmaster's son was still prone to dropping muttered comments when Merlin answered a question and rolling his eyes away from him when he realised Merlin had noticed his attentiveness. Merlin wondered if Gwen had said something to at least stop the glaring. He wouldn't put it past her, what with the verbally defensive response she'd demonstrated the weekend before.

Settling himself into his seat, Merlin set about pulling his books and potion-making equipment from his bag, flipping to the page in his textbook that they had left off on in the previous lesson. The bell had just rung by the time Gilli and Cornelius – Edwin having slipped in minutes before – hastened into the room. Cornelius immediately slowed to a stroll as though trying to convince everyone that he hadn't been running, while Gilli panted slightly and wiped a hand across his head. He looked a little pale, almost unwell if Merlin was to be honest, though from his near-lateness or otherwise he wasn't sure.

Alice swept into the room from her adjacent office moments later, wand aloft and flicking towards the chalkboard. The stick of chalk immediately began scrawling upon in a cursive hand Merlin recognised as being of his aunts. "Right, we'll be continuing with our Shrinking Solution today, starting with some brewing. First potion of the year, boys and girls. Look lively; this is exciting!"

Alice's wide smile swept around the room, only widening further at the snickers, the snorts and the rolled eyes as the students before her offered their varying degrees of exasperation and ridicule for her enthusiasm. Merlin met her smile with one of his own. He personally enjoyed her bubbly mood, even more so given that he felt almost as enthusiastic to be brewing, and was rewarded with the brief flutter of a wink.

"Get to chopping then, everyone. Instructions are on the board as well as in your books. I'd like you to read both versions if you would; the one used in the textbook is a little archaic with some of its terms and references so you should compare those you don't recognise with the more familiar ones I've given you." Alice pointed her wand towards the storeroom and the door swung open. "Working in pairs, one of you will get the ingredients and the other can start with setting up." She paused, hands dropping to her hips and skimming her gaze around the room expectantly. "Well? What are you waiting for? On with you."

The scrape of chairs scattered around the room. Edwin rose to his feet beside Merlin, offering him a nod and heading towards the store cupboard. Evidently he was in one of his non-speaking moods that day. Merlin didn't really mind. He set about pulling stirring rods, mortar and pestle and his collection of vials from his bag instead, turning his gaze to the blackboard and Alice's neat handwriting.

Merlin quite enjoyed brewing, something that had horrified Cornelius when he'd admitted it to him on his first Potions lesson. He enjoyed the way that he could combine ingredients into a greater whole, how it applied knowledge and precision yet similarly required him to get his hands dirty and become actively engaged in the process. Gwen was right on one count, at least; Merlin didn't think he was particularly smart, but he knew for sure that he wasn't as good at learning through theory. A practical approach always seemed to stick better in his mind, and, as with spells, when he'd managed to brew a potion successfully once he could do so again with relative ease. Sometimes even just off the top of his head.

In the past, throughout his education under his mother, he had been somewhat restricted in what he could brew. As with the casting of spells, Hunith was wary of anything that could prove even remotely dangerous in magical studies. Anything volatile, that involved a step where a simple slip up, a rearrangement of added ingredients or a slight excess in measurements, that could prove explosive or disastrous, and Hunith steered far clear from it. Merlin had restricted his brewing to when Alice visited on occasion; he had considered it beneficial on a number of counts in that it meant his mother was given the reassurance of a master Potioneer teaching him what he needed to learn while not having to become directly involved in it himself, while Alice got to share the knowledge she loved.

Merlin worked quickly and efficiently through the brewing process. He juiced the shrivelfigs and chopped daisy roots, leaving most of the stirring to Edwin who seemed content to simply sit and gaze listlessly into space, shifting only with Merlin's prompting that he stir a little faster, or change the direction of that stirring. Time flew in the class, even more than it usually did, and Merlin lost himself to the simple concentration of brewing.

He was interrupted, however, when Edwin pulled himself from his thoughts and nudged him under the table with his foot. "Hey, is it just me or does Gilli look like he's going to puke."

Glancing up from where he was juicing the leeches, Merlin peered across their table towards Gilli. The quiet boy was leaning heavily upon the bench and he did indeed look unwell. Merlin had to agree that Edwin's diagnosis was rather accurate – he'd long since been aware of basic medical assessments and scanning for signs and symptoms of disease from his mother's work. He knew what stomach sickness, or more likely food poisoning, looked like and Gilli did appear to be on the verge of vomiting from the faint trembles and the sweatiness of his brow. More than that, from the heaviness of his eyes, the paleness of his skin and the faintly apparent venation at his temples at neck, Merlin wouldn't have been surprised had he passed out.

Frowning, he lowered the leeches to the table and leant towards the other boy. "Gilli, are you alright? Maybe you should sit down?"

Gilli blinked up at Merlin hazily, offered a poor attempt at a grateful smile and shook his head. "I'm not… I'm not feeling very well."

Cornelius, who as usual seemed to be doing the absolute minimum of work, suddenly found cause for attentiveness. Starting up from his slouch on the stool, from where he'd been mulling over the very first step of the brewing process while Merlin and Edwin had already completed the seventh, he leaned with exaggerated concern towards Gilli. "Yeah, you don't look very well at all. Maybe you should go to the Hospital Wing?"

"I'm f… I'm fine…" Gilli mumbled, but Cornelius ignored him completely.

Standing up and raising his hand in a wave, Cornelius called for Alice's attention. "Professor Livingstone! Gilli's sick and I think he needs to go to the Hospital Wing."

Alice, currently preoccupied at the Gryffindor girls' table, turned with a questioning frown and started towards them. Her frown became more pronounced and visibly concerned the nearer she came. "Goodness, McCarvick, you certainly do look unwell. What's wrong with you, boy?"

"Not… feeling… well," Gilli managed, raising a hand to cover his lips. They'd turned a faint shade of blue.

"I tend to agree with you," Alice said, nodding with an expression of faint concern. "Take yourself up the see Master Livingstone, I think. Do you need someone to come with you?"

"I'll take him, Professor," Cornelius offered, his voice still laced with exaggerated concern as he already started for the door. Gilli, all but abandoned in his wake, shuffled slowly to follow after him.

"Thank you, Sigan," Alice said as they disappeared from the classroom. Merlin didn't think she was any more fooled than he as to the nature of Cornelius's sudden concern for his fellow student; he'd take any chance to escape from doing work.

"I hope he's okay," Merlin muttered, more to himself that to Edwin. Edwin only grunted in reply.

The rest of the lesson passed relatively uneventfully, if one didn't count the shrieks from the Slytherin girls' tables when Eira Vanning flung a handful at leeches at Lamia. Alice ignored them but for a disapproving frown in their direction, which was always her approach to everything foolish, and they subsided sheepishly. Merlin barely spared them a glance but to notice that Freya was shaking her head resignedly as she stirred her own cauldron.

A full ten minutes before the end of class and Merlin was ladling a phial-full of the Shrinking Solution into a testing glass and making his way up to the front of the room. As he passed the Gryffindor boys' tables, he overheard Arthur muttering to De Grace with a tone of disgust. "It looks like it's been fermenting for years. Look at it! It's basically liquefied."

Merlin spared a glance towards as he passed to see De Grace holding the jar of diced rat's spleen aloft and peering at it with an expression as disgusted as Arthur's tone. "Do you think it would kill you if you ate it?"

Arthur snickered. "Dare you to try."

"You try it."

"I dared you first."

"I'm not going to eat it. I value my health, thank you."

"Pansy," Arthur snickered once more as De Grace uncorked the lid of the jar and raised it above the cauldron to pour it in.

Merlin shook his head at their words as he passed. Seriously, what idiots. Firstly, it's just a spleen. The Preservation Potion it's sitting in would probably do more damage than –

Seeing disaster out of the corner of his eye, Merlin lunged. He nearly knocked over Arthur's and De Grace's cauldron as he snatched the jar of spleen from the curly-haired boy's hands. The pair of them started from his abrupt intrusion, De Grace even letting out a yelp of surprise as Merlin snatched the jar from Preservation Potion sloshed over his fingers onto the desk with a chilling sting that Merlin hardly noticed. With a sigh of relief – they'd dodged a hex with that one – he pushed himself from the desk a moment later, hands clutching in one his own phial of Shrinking Solution and in the other the rat spleen.

Arthur started to his feet, cheeks already flushed with his rising anger. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Merlin held up his hands in an admittedly impeded attempt to profess his innocence. "I –"

"Merlin, Emrys, do you make it your life's work to make my own as frustrated as possible?"

"No, I –"

"Because if you are, you're doing a fantastic job of it."

"I didn't mean to –"

"What's going on over here?"

Merlin glanced over his shoulder and cringed slightly as he noticed that not only was Alice heading across the room towards them but the entirety of the class was attending to them as well, paused in whatever acts they were doing to watch the display.

Biting his lip and fighting the urge to hunch his shoulders, Merlin lowered both jar and phial to the splashed table. "Sorry, Professor, I was just… I thought that there might have been an accident if they… I mean, if I didn't…" How best to phrase this without making Arthur and De Grace both look like idiots? Is that even possible?

Alice paused at his side, eyes flickering over his shoulder to glance at the arrangement of ingredients and utensils scattered on the Gryffindor's working desk. Her expression was not scolding but only mildly reprimanding when she turned once more towards Merlin. "Go on? Something to do with the rat's spleen?"

Gnawing his lip almost savagely enough to tear skin, Merlin glanced back towards De Grace. Not to Arthur, as he didn't think he would be able to speak with civility if he beheld what was surely a hateful glare. "You've got to shake it before adding it to the potion," Merlin said, keeping his voice carefully formal. "It wouldn't matter so much in most situations except that I just noticed you still had your cauldron heating. If you'd just added it, it would probably have exploded in your face."

De Grace blinked at him in blank-faced shock for a moment, before he hastily took a step away from his desk, casting an uneasy glance towards the cauldron. "Seriously?"

"Pretty sure."

"You are entirely correct, Emrys," Alice said from his side, a note of carefully muted approval in her tone. "Five points to Slytherin for avoiding a disaster of unnecessary proportion." She touched him briefly, unobtrusively, on the arm before turning her attention towards the room at large. "Can anybody tell me why such an effect would have occurred with the combination of heat and unshaken diced spleen?"

The class was silent, watching with wide-eyed attentiveness. Merlin had to wonder at that; everyone seemed so much more focused when the potential for something going wrong arose. Alice scanned their upturned faces before turning back towards the Gryffindors. "De Grace? Pendragon? Any suggestions?"

Merlin didn't mean to, but his gaze drew towards Arthur's. He didn't know what he'd been expecting – perhaps a savage glare, resentment twisting the Gryffindor boy's face into a snarl – but it certainly wasn't what he saw. Far from even guilt for his stupidity, he seemed enraptured by Alice's words, blinking as attentively as his fellow pupils as though he was genuinely curious as to the answer to the question given. At least, he was until he noticed Merlin staring at him, upon which the expected glare arose once more. For the first time in a week, granted, but Merlin had become more than familiar enough with it in that first week of term for him to recognise it in a second.

He's resentful to me? Stupid prat, I just stopped his friend from exploding his face off and he's glaring at me? Yes, very mature, Mr Pendragon-twat, very mature.

"No one?" Alice continued. Then she glanced towards Merlin. "Emrys?"

Merlin fiddled for a moment with his Shrinking Solution phial. He did know this. He did, if he could just remember what it was exactly. He flicked through his brain, filing through the crowded contents of textbook understanding. "Is it because… because if you don't shake it then the crushed spleen becomes unevenly concentrated? And with the increased temperature, that makes… that makes it react faster, so everything would all just, um… explode?"

Alice's lips quivered on the verge of amusement by the time he finished. "Are you asking me or telling me, Emrys?"

"That depends on whether I'm right or not," Merlin replied before he could stop himself.

Thankfully, Alice only smiled indulgently. "Correct." She nodded her head approvingly. "Another five points to Slytherin. Have a little more confidence in yourself, Emrys."

"Yes, professor."

"Is that your finished phial?" She asked, gesturing towards the glass bottle in Merlin's hands. He nodded and handed it over to her when she held out a hand for it. "Good work. Now go and help Muirden clean up your table."

Merlin nodded once more and turned to head back to his desk. Only to have himself nearly tugged from his feet as De Grace suddenly grabbed at his arm. He steadied himself and glanced over his shoulder towards the other boy, meeting wide, guileless eyes.

"Sorry," De Grace said, releasing his hold of him and grinning sheepishly. "I just, ah, I just wanted to say thanks for that. I mean, I probably should have been watching what I was doing a little bit closer."

Merlin nodded. "Yeah, or reading the instructions," he said before he could help himself. He immediately repented for his offhanded reprimand and offered a grin to soften the blow. "No problem."

De Grace gave a tentative smile back before nodding and turning back towards his cauldron. After shifting the cauldron off the heat, he very deliberately picked up the jar of rat spleen, capped the lid on top, and shook it vigorously.

Merlin couldn't help the widening of his smile as he turned and headed back towards his own table. He was halfway through packing away when he realised the slight weight he'd subconsciously felt resting upon him were someone else's attention. He glanced up to meet Arthur's eyes, staring at him intently from across the room.

Naturally, as soon as he noticed him watching him, Arthur adopted a scowl, narrowed his eyes in a glare, and turned back towards his own table. But just for a moment, just before that, Merlin was sure he'd almost, almost been something approaching neutral. Not kind, or grateful as De Grace had been, but it was a sure sight better than how he'd been only a week before.


Merlin… Merlin…

Blinking his eyes open, Merlin stared up at the dark roof framed by the curtained four posters of his bed. It was dark in the dormitories, even darker for his curtains, and utterly silent. Or at least it was silent in the room.

"What do you want?" Merlin whispered aloud. It sounded more like a hiss than a curious query, even to his own ears. Probably because he was bloody tired of waking up three nights in a row to some stupid dream voice that decided it was suddenly mute the moment that he was conscious.

Merlin was not a Dreamer. He had dreams, yes, but he was realistic enough to know that they were only dreams. He had no hidden seer talents in him, he knew, no capacity to see prophecies. People started to develop those abilities before their teenage years at the very latest. Truthfully, Merlin didn't even know why he'd taken Divination in the first place. Curiosity, probably, and the fact that Hunith had only ever mentioned it in passing with a comment on how rare an ability it was to be actually prophetic.

This dream, this voice, was not prophetic. If Merlin was to hazard a guess, he would think it was a fellow student pulling a prank on him. He'd remained resolutely silent in the hopes that the prankster would simply stop. They hadn't.

Is it funny to tease the new kid? Or is this some sort of rite of passage or something? A test maybe, to see how long I'll endure being woken up in the middle of the night before I crack and spit fire.

A grumbling chuckle answered his thoughts. Spit fire. Such an interesting turn-a-phrase.

With a jolt, Merlin sat up in his bed. Blinking into the darkness he peered around him. Was that… did someone… was someone in the room? No, it had definitely been the same voice as that which incessantly called his name. It was the first time it had said more than his name.

"Hello?" He whispered into the darkness. "Can you hear me?" Silence, that seemed glaringly loud in its absence of reply. "Why are you talking to me? What do you want?"

Another grumbling chuckle sounded. Come and find you and maybe I will tell you…

And then it fell silent once more. Merlin was left sitting upright in bed, staring into the darkness, with the very distinct impression that the voice was indeed gone for the rest of the night. A relief, Merlin told himself, as it meant that he would be able to find undisturbed sleep within the privacy of his own mind once more. That was what he thought, even as he swept the blankets aside, swung his legs over the edge of his bed and into a waiting pair of slippers and slipped through the curtains of his four-poster bed.

The dormitory was silent, with Edwin and Cornelius's beds similarly curtained as his own. Gilli was still in the Hospital Wing after several days of ensuing sickness, and after his recent visit to Gaius on the weekend Merlin had been concerned to note that he looked no better than he had in the last Potions class he'd seen him in. It didn't look much like the effects of food poisoning anymore, especially given that Gilli had apparently done little but sleep and sweat and moan in his borrowed bed for three days straight.

More concerning than that was that a number of other students had apparently fallen prey to whatever sickness had taken Gilli. Eira from Merlin's house cohort, as well as several others in his house, were similarly absented. Gaius was studying the effects but was baffled as to the cause. And frustrated besides; Merlin knew that Gaius hated feeling helpless in the face of the sick and the ailing.

Stepping past Gilli's bed, Merlin made through the near-impregnable darkness towards the door and beyond. He passed through the empty common room, the low-burning fire casting a yellow glow upon green and silver furnishing, reflecting off the black of the leather couches and emphasising the absence of students as they had all sought their beds. The snake-hands on the clock above the doorway ticked just past two o'clock and Merlin scowled. I should be in bed and sleeping. Class is tomorrow; no one in their right mind wanders through the castle after dark. And besides, I'm pretty sure that's forbidden.

And yet, even with that thought, he edged through the doorway with only a single backwards glance.

Merlin didn't know where he headed. At least, he didn't consciously know; perhaps whoever the voice had belonged to was leading him, for his feet set themselves on a path of their own making and as soon as he stepped into the dimly lit corridor outside of the dormitory they set off at a quick step down the left hand passage. Merlin had only a brief moment of concern – what if the voice and hence his director was malicious? – before brushing it aside. If nothing else, he felt himself entitled to tell whomever it belonged to shut up and let him sleep.

Long minutes of walking led Merlin to a section of the school he hadn't explored before. Still in the dungeons and perhaps even deeper than the common room, it seemed even darker than the more travelled corridors despite the same number of torches lining the walls. A distant dripping, like a leaking tap, pattered from an unseeable source and echoed down the corridor. It gave an altogether ominous ambiance.

Finally, Merlin reached the end of his route. The end because there was quite literally nowhere else to go. A literal dead end confronted him in the shape of a stone wall. The cracks and crevices of mortar meeting brick were emphasised by the dancing lights behind him.

Staring at the wall, Merlin sighed heavily before turning his eyes skyward. "Great. Fantastic. I'm so happy that I made the effort to wander through the castle at night to see a wall." He shook his head. "It couldn't even be a picture or something?"

A jarring crack and crumble started him in place the second Merlin stopped speaking. Stumbling backwards several steps, Merlin blinked as, in a puff of dust, the stone wall split and shifted and in place of its unbroken solidity a plain black door sprung into existence. He stared at it warily for a moment as it seemed to stare back at him just as expectantly before, with a snick and a creak of hinges, it swung inward into a dark, cavernous blackness.

"No, that's not creepy in the slightest," Merlin muttered to himself, suddenly wishing he'd brought Zee with him if only for the comfort of her presence. Ignoring every instinct within him urging him to turn tail and hasten with as much speed as his eternally tripping limbs would allow, he edged forwards, heart thumping loudly in his ears, and peered into the room.

It wasn't quite as dark inside as it had appeared from the hallway. Or maybe the candle in the very centre of the spacious room had simply been lit in the moment that Merlin glimpsed inside. He could make out smooth furniture that could have been beds as easily as it could have been a ring of divans circling in the centre of the room. Something that was most definitely a bookshelf lined one wall, though it was filled with glass ornaments and metallic devices as much as books. A desk of dark, pockmarked wood was angled awkwardly from one corner, half filled with scrolls and parchments, sad-looking quills and overturned inkwells that were, thankfully stoppered. It appeared, if nothing else, an abandoned study, surprisingly free of dust though the air hung thickly with musty staleness.

At least, Merlin thought it was abandoned until the voice spoke. "There, was that so hard? You found your way well enough."

Whipping his head towards the source of the voice, Merlin squinted into a deceptively shadowed corner of the room. It must have been magically shrouded, for the feeble light of the candle didn't breech the darkness as it did the rest of the room.

Heart skipping a beat but grasping onto the courage that had dragged him to some unknown source – and still more than a little disgruntlement over his disturbed sleep – Merlin deliberately leaned against the doorframe. "Who are you? What do you want?" Then, because he realised at the same time he spoke that the grumbling growl was the same that had awoken him, "and why do you keep waking me up?"

The deep, gravelly chuckle rung through the room, echoing as it shouldn't outside of a vast, cavernous space. "I apologise. Did I interrupt your sleep?"

Merlin glared. The nervousness that had set his heart to pounding in a deafening drumbeat was lessening slightly to give way to his disgruntlement more completely. Not that he didn't hold his magic at the ready, however; he'd be a fool not to be prepared for the unexpected, especially when strange, hidden sleep-attackers drew him from his bed at night. The memory of the strix incident and his scepticism as to the true depth of consideration of the headmaster for Hogwarts' students was too fresh in his mind. "You know you did."

Another chuckle. "Yes, I suppose you're right." The voice hummed, considering, as though it – or he, for it definitely sounded male – hadn't contemplated the reality of his own actions.

Merlin waited for him to continue but, when he only proceeded to hum thoughtfully, he frowned and spoke. "Well? What do you want? I have class tomorrow morning – this morning actually; in, like, six hours – and I'd like to try and get a little more sleep." He paused, then, because it seemed like the right thing to say and he wasn't completely heartless, "do you need help with something? Is that it?"

"Ah, Merlin, how you haven't changed. Always moving at hundreds of miles a minute and so keen to speed faster. And yet despite your haste you are always ready to offer a helping hand."

Merlin shifted uneasily, taking half a step back through the doorway. That reminded him… "What are you talking about? And how do you know my name?"

"I know much about you, young warlock. You are not the same person you once were, but the changing of times doesn't serve to erase every aspect of your being."

"You know, no one uses the term 'warlock' these days," Merlin said before he could help himself, before he could fully consider the faceless man's words. "It's wizard. Or witch, though that's usually to replace priestess or whatever."

Another chuckle. "Indeed, indeed. I stand corrected. But regardless, it is of little concern. You asked what it is that I want?" The voice hummed once more, and Merlin could swear that he saw the shadows shift slightly in movement. "Think instead of how I could help you with what you need."

Merlin blinked. "What? What I need? I don't need anything."

"You need a teacher –"

"I have teachers. Heaps of teachers."

" – but you just don't realise it yet as your powers have not truly manifested."

Merlin felt himself freeze, felt his tongue dry immediately and his heart stutter to a momentary pause. Powers… surely he didn't mean… "I don't know what you're talking about. The professors are helping me with my studies, and I don't think I need –"

"I was not speaking of your collective studies of magic, Merlin," the voice interrupted him, and through Merlin's unease he though it sounded faintly condescending. "I refer to your more unique Gifts."

Swallowing, Merlin fought the urge to retreat from the room further if only for the disconcerting feeling that, if he didn't dissuade the owner of the voice from his speculations before he left, than he would surely know. For sure. And Merlin's mother had enforced, time and time again, that no one must know. "I, um, appreciate your… offer? But it's really fine. The professors have been really, ah… really good with helping me to use my wandless magic. I thought it was unusual too, since I was really the only person who used wandless magic back in Ealdor, but it turns out it's not that unique. I mean, people use it all the time, though I suppose you have to have a certain level of strength or whatever to do so, but –"

"That is not the Gift to which I refer, Merlin." The voice interrupted what Merlin realised had been his babbling with a firm slice. "I speak of your other Gift. Your true Gift. I am certain that I am not the only one to sense it but I am likely the only one who truly knows of its nature."

A cold rush swept through Merlin once more. An even more intense chill than before. He knew without having to behold his own reflection that his cheeks had gone deathly pale, that his skin had dropped several degrees in temperature and his breath was likely on the verge to puffing in foggy clouds. His magic slithered and whipped in his core, extending tentative and nervously twitching fingers in an attempt to soothe the terror that flooded through him. 'The freezes', his mother called it, and it was another thing – apparently – that was fairly unique to Merlin. His magic responded to his fear, to his near panic, in a completely useless way that made him appear nothing if not a dying boy creeping towards hypothermia. It was an utterly useless occurrence, benefiting Merlin only in informing him of just how terrified he was.

Taking a shaking breath – and yes, he saw his exhalation was slightly visible in a cold, white cloud – Merlin fought for composure that he didn't think would fool anyone. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, but I think you do," said the voice, and it was more persistent this time. More demanding. "I think you do indeed. For I would hardly be able to sense it had you not used it at least once."

Merlin shook his head firmly, hoping it didn't look as frantic as he felt. His fingers were curled into fists from the coldness that his body radiated. "I don't have any real Gifts. I don't use Dark or Black magic –"

"There is a difference between Dark and Black magic," the voice interrupted, and it sounded nothing if not exasperated. "Black magic thrives upon the negative, upon inducing pain and compelling. Upon destroying and overpowering. Dark magic is simply that which we have not yet fully understood."

"I think you might be getting your definitions mixed up a bit," Merlin muttered, because he honestly couldn't think of anything else to say. He wished abruptly that he hadn't let his curiosity get the better of him and had stayed in his bed.

A hum that Merlin pictured as accompanying the shaking of his head sounded in reply. "Not at all. It is witches and wizards of today that have confused the definitions. I would know, after all, given who I am."

The phrase was such a deliberately dangled carrot that Merlin almost rolled his eyes and ignored it entirely. But, as so often happened, he found himself speaking before he could quite help himself. "And who would that be, exactly?"

"Exactly?" The voice chuckled in amusement. "I can't profess exactly who I am. But I can tell you what I have been and that is the once sitting professor of the Dark Arts of Hogwarts." The voice paused and gave a very definite harrumph. "The foolishness of the ministry years gone by forbade the teaching of such arts under the same ignorance that you have just demonstrated. Since, I have been made somewhat… redundant."

Merlin shifted in place, feeling himself slowly, gradually, begin to unfreeze. He was no less wary, but the sudden shock that had gripped him, that had reared his magic in a blizzard of defence that chilled him to the bones, was slowly fading. Only to be replaced by a deterrence from the hidden owner of the voice instead. A Dark Arts professor? "I don't- I don't think that you could help me –"

"I think I could."

"- and though I appreciate the offer, it's pointless." Merlin shook his head stubbornly. "I don't have any Dark magic Gifts that I need help learning."

That at least was true. Even if he did possess a Gift of Dark magic, there was no way that Merlin would be prepared to hone that Gift. Despite Will's assurances as to its 'goodliness' and how it could 'help people', Merlin had no urge to use it. It was just simply… there.

And if he left it alone, then he wouldn't need to learn how to use it.

"That is not entirely correct," the voice murmured. "Even should you leave it untouched, your Gift will rise to the fore as your magic develops. Magic wants to be used, Merlin. Denying it will only make the beast grow ever more agitated and keen to spread its wings."

Merlin flinched at the analogy. He didn't like to think of his magic as anything so untamed, even if it did feel as such sometimes. But more than that, "Could you please not listen to what I'm thinking? That's kind of rude." Merlin didn't know the protocol of telepathy, never being adept at it himself, but he was sure that eavesdropping must break them, surely. "And besides, you're wrong. It won't. If I just leave it alone, then it will just… go away."

"No, it won't." The grumbling reply completely overlooked Merlin's reprimand.

"Yes it will. That's what Mum always says."

"Does she now?" The voice raised in pitch slightly, in genuine surprise. "Now that I don't believe. I doubt your mother would be quite so foolish as to consider that to be a truth."

Once more, Merlin shifted uneasily. That was true, even if he chose to deliberately ignore that truth. Hunith had always coached him not to use it for fear that his Gift might be discovered, but Merlin had to admit that she had never claimed that it would simply 'go away'. That was just Merlin's wishful thinking. "Whatever. I don't care, I'm still not going to use it."

"Never?"

"Not ever."

"Not even if it could be used to help someone?"

Merlin uttered a pained squeak before he could help himself. The voice was using his own internal arguments against him. "Stop listening to my thoughts."

The voice chuckled. "I am not. At least, not in this instance. It is mere logic that would drive me to say as such. Tell me, Merlin. Would you withhold from using your Gift if it could help someone?"

Merlin chewed his lip, fingers tugging with unnecessary force on the cuffs of his pyjama sleeves. He would. He knew he would. He had done it before, with Will, as both Will and his mother knew. And… and in other instances that he hadn't told anyone else about.

The voice continued before he could reply. "I do not possess your particular Gift, Merlin – for truly, there are few enough people throughout history who have – but I have a sound theory of many areas in the Dark Arts. Or at least as sound as any could have in such unknowable magics. I can help you to harness that gift, to use it before it uses you."

Shuddering at the words – it sounded too close to compulsion for Merlin's taste – he shook his head. "Why? Why would you want to help me?"

"Other than a past debt unpaid and hitherto unpayable? I am simply curious. Not to mention that working with you would be intriguing for me. I have never met one who had your particular… inclinations."

Ignoring the reference to the debt – Merlin didn't think he knew anyone who owed him a debt and he was fairly certain he'd never met the owner of the voice before – he shook his head. "I don't want to. I'm not going to use it, and I'm not going to learn how to use it. So you might as well just accept that."

The voice sighed. "So stubborn. Always so stubborn."

"Don't act like you know me," Merlin grumbled, but quietly beneath his breath in a way that could have been overlooked had the voice across the room chosen to do so.

He did. "Perhaps not now. Perhaps in time you will come to realise the benefits of my offer. Until then… perhaps I can help you in other ways."

Merlin discarded the suggestion of a future revision of his resolution, but couldn't help but pursue the second offer. If only out of curiosity. "Help me how?"

"You possess significant skill in wandless magic. From what I can tell, you appear almost more natural in casting wandlessly than through the channel of a magically-imbued instrument. That in itself is unusual, if not quite as much as your Dark Gift." He paused, and Merlin was given the impression that he brooded in something of a sulk for Merlin's repeated deflections.

He spoke again a moment later, however. "I myself was once considered a master of such skills," he said without a hint of arrogance. Somehow, that just made Merlin more disgruntled than if he had spoken with excessive pride. "And unless Uther takes it upon himself to teach you himself, you will not have a one professor so learned in wandless magic that could adequately instruct you."

It took Merlin a moment to recall that Uther was the headmaster, and when he did he nodded in acceptance of the truth. Though Pendragon might have offered to support Merlin in his education in any way possible, he did not himself become actively involved in such teachings. As far as Merlin could make out, he took only the first year's flying lessons and refereed the quidditch matches, and that was simply because he had such a deep affection for the sport. Merlin tried not to consider what a doubt standard that was.

Instead, he turned his attention back towards the shadowed corner. "Why are you offering to help me?"

"I told you, you interest me. And, as I have said, it is my hope that you will one day soon see the benefit of practicing and learning of your Gift."

Merlin bit back the urge to correct the speaker once more; they were obviously viewing Merlin's resistance from very different perspectives. Instead, he contemplated the suggestion. It was true, he did enjoy using wandless magic more than he did wielding a wand. It felt somehow freer, that he was more in tune with his magic when he simply spoke the words or, occasionally, didn't speak them at all and simply bent his magic to his will. And the voice had been right; thought he professors urged him to attempt to cast spells wandlessly after managing with a tool, it felt very much as though they were simply ticking a box. That they had to push themselves to remember to direct him to do so and that it was an added and unnecessary extension of his skills rather than an exploration of that which he ardently wished to learn.

It didn't anger Merlin so much as it saddened him. Here he'd thought, from the words of his mother, that school would be more tailored to his needs. And it was in many ways; though he still had to slog through textbooks, it had the added element of practical use that had been minimal at best under his mother's tutelage. But it just didn't feel… enough.

Squinting in an attempt to peer into the shadows further, Merlin set to chewing his lip once more. Tempting… it was very tempting… "Why are you hiding in the corner?" He asked.

The voice didn't respond immediately, and Merlin was given the impression that he was faintly surprised by Merlin's question. When he replied, it was more tentatively than he had spoken at all before. "I am simply aware that many – most – find my visage disconcerting. I did not wish to distress you."

"Well, if I'm going to learn from you, I should at least see who I'm learning from." Merlin shrugged. "Besides, how will I be able to copy what you do if I can't see you?"

There was an extended pause under which Merlin was unsure if the voice would actually respond. Then, with a scaping of what sounded faintly like skin on stone, a rustle of clothes, the shadows morphed and from their depths stepped a figure.

He was an incredibly big man. Huge, to say the least. Not broad and powerful as the headmaster was as much as simply… large. Long limbs were muscular and lean but not bulky, and the dark robes that hung from his frame did little to hide the fact. He moved with slow, deliberate steps but a stride or two from his corner before stopping and presenting himself for Merlin's inspection.

At first, Merlin didn't know what was so disagreeable about his 'visage'. He was a large man, yes, and that largeness could be deemed intimidating. His greying hair was a little shaggy, overgrown and hanging to his shoulders, and his wide-set eyes flashed amber, almost red in the candlelight. He had a way of standing that made it seem as though he teetered on readiness to lunge, and Merlin was admittedly relieved that he stood an entire room away, especially given the visible claw-like nails that curled and snicked against his palms as he flicked his fingers. Merlin thought that, more than anything else, it was the fact that he had declared himself capable of wandless magic that was disconcerting or worrying.

That was until Merlin perceived that the patching of his skin, the bubbly contours and the scab-like impressions that made him look almost scaled, were not a product of the poor lighting. He looked like a victim of a horrifying burn incident, or perhaps a plague of boils that hadn't healed properly, or a hex that had calloused his skin into an uneven carpet of dry skin and protrusions. It made it next to impossible to discern his age, any wrinkles he may possess effectively masked by the damage wrought upon his skin. Merlin understood what the man meant then; to many, such a visage would probably be horrifying to behold.

But Merlin had seen worse. Or at least he'd seen bad before, from patients who had travelled great lengths to visit his mother and bow beneath her healing hands. Not for some years, given that she had long since regressed into only simplistic healing arts, but he could recall them nonetheless. And this man, this Dark Arts professor, wasn't so different from any of them.

"S'not so bad," Merlin said with a shrug before he could help himself. "Not something I'd recommend you show off to the superficial idiots of the world, but yeah. Not so bad."

Thankfully, the man didn't appear offended. Instead, he blinked blankly for a moment, amber eyes puzzled, before he uttered his grumbling chuckle. "Only you, Merlin. Of course you would think as much."

Merlin didn't like to contemplate what the man meant. He didn't like the repeated references that insinuated a familiarity Merlin didn't feel. It was disconcerting. Turning from the room, he paused with a hand on the doorframe. "I think… I'll have to think about it. I would like to learn wandless magic better but…" He trailed off. He wasn't deterred by the man's physicality, not in the slightest, but more the emphasis he'd placed upon progressing towards learning to use his Dark magic. He didn't want to go that far, and if he worked with the man, regardless of what he might say about restricting it to simply practicing wandless magic, Merlin was sure that the topic would be far from abandoned.

The man only bowed his head. He didn't look saddened or disheartened, or – blessedly – angered by Merlin's hesitancy. He merely shrugged. "Of course. Take your time. I've no doubt you are still coming to terms with the foreignness of your context. Hesitancy is not unexpected."

Merlin pursed his lips at that and shrugged once more. "Right. Well… I guess I'll see you if I see you?"

"You know where I am," the man replied with an inclination of his head.

Just as Merlin stepped back into the corridor, easing the door closed behind him, the man uttered one last phrase. It was barely audible, and Merlin hazarded that it was as much self-directed as it was spoken towards him. "I have to wonder how long it will take for you to settle… how long it will take to realise, once more, that you two aren't so different as you always seem to believe yourselves."

Merlin closed the door behind him. He didn't know what the man referred to, who he spoke of, and though his curiosity was once more sparked, he turned deliberately and made his way back through the corridors to the Slytherin common room. It was only when he found himself traversing familiar corridors that he realised just where he had been.

The Dark Arts professor was embedded in the depths of the Eastern Wing of the dungeons. In the region restricted by the headmaster from student access. With a touch of guilt, a flicker of unease, Merlin contemplated just exactly what that meant as he slipped back into bed once more. The thoughts washed away as soon as his head hit the pillow, however, and he fell into sleep without the cursed interruption of a grumbling old professor breathing incessantly into his ear.


A/N: I hope you're liking the story! I just wanted to say a special thanks to lilyblaney for your reviews. It's really lovely of you, so thank you! I feel like I have to say this though to avoid future disappointment. Sadly, Gwaine won't be seen in this story *sob sob* This is only actually based on season 1, I'm afraid. You have no idea how much I wanted to include him, though. Sorry about that.