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Merlin

Merlin awoke the next morning with a headache (which he blamed a certain group of ghosts for creating). They were more persistent than usual and wouldn't leave until he resorted to threatening to jinx them.

He hated keeping his ghostly friends in the dark, but he had convinced himself that it was probably for the best that he did so. He didn't want to worry anyone other than himself with the thought of the most powerful and evil sorceress of the past returning. He could handle her and send her back to wherever she went after she died - he was sure that she definitely didn't go to the same heaven as Freya - then ensure that she couldn't come back.

He groaned and pushed himself out from under the covers of his bed. It was the first day of Christmas break and most students should be getting ready to go back to their homes by now. He was honestly very glad that it was a school break. Teaching was a stressful job already, so when burdened with the thoughts of Veils tearing, Horcruxes being made, and whatever the heck Dumbledore had up his star patterned sleeves had gotten rid of any emotions that weren't fear, anxiety, and stress. A whole lot of stress.

He planned to use this break to its full potential. Hopefully he'd manage to figure out the mystery of Morgana, as well as discern whether Voldemort really was creating Horcruxes.

He smiled sadly. One would think that he would be able to just snap his fingers and then wham! no more Voldemort. After all, he was the most powerful sorcerer to ever exist, right? He could block the killing curse, he had survived multiple executions in the past, he had controlled the weather and shaped oceans, he had done so many incredibly powerful things that not even Morgana could hope to achieve. A small wizard who is forced to use a stick to cast their spells shouldn't be a problem, right?

If only. Throughout Merlin's thousand years of being alive, he had begun to notice some things about his ability to use the Old Religion, and one thing he had realized was that it was not all powerful, albeit certainly stronger than today's source of magic, it still had its flaws. One of those flaws being that it was literally connected to the earth. His magic was stronger in rural and uncivilized places compared to a bustling city, but even if he went to Antarctica or the middle of a Brazilian jungle, his powers simply couldn't compare to what they used to be.

The earth was hurting. Humans were becoming more industrial, which was resulting in more smog in the sky, more cities, more people, more land torn apart, and more unnatural illnesses. Global warming, oil spills in oceans, rising or falling water levels, endangered species, an over abundance of others, and so much more was a result of this. It hurt the Old Religion. It was like when someone gets sick, that person is still them, still eating, still working, but they're weaker because all of their energy is being taken up by trying to heal themselves instead of being put into doing other things.

Merlin knew the Old Religion was 'sick', and until it healed itself, he would be content with the less than powerful form it was currently taking. Of course.. he basically was the Old Religion. He did have the ability to disregard that his magic was sick and still use it to its full potential, but again, like a sick human, if it was over used and forced to do more than it was capable of, it would most certainly either get worse, or die.

Thinking of what the world was like today when it was just 'sick', he didn't want to imagine what it would be like if it got worse.

So he had resolved to use the Old Religion as little and as gently as possible until it got better. But because of this, he couldn't just go out and destroy Voldemort with a wave of his hands and a poof of smoke. What he had to do was do it the old fashioned way: shoulder work.

He had to go out and discern if Voldemort really did use Horcruxes, find them, destroy them, and then use a good old spell from a wand.

Speaking of Horcruxes, they would also be a huge problem concerning his original magic. They didn't exactly go against the laws of the Old Religion… if anything, they followed the rules in their own twisted way.

They were created by a man named of Herpo the Foul many centuries ago when the Old Religion was still accessible - if only slightly - to the common person (The Old Religion was still slightly available to be used by people all the way up until 839 A.D, unlike the common belief that it disappeared overnight). It was created by the unspeakable act of murder and splitting oneself's very soul. The soul could be placed in anything; a family heirloom, a weapon, a pet, a random rock, even another living person.

Once the soul was split and in its new container, it would literally chain the owner of the soul to the world of the living until all parts of the soul were destroyed.

That was the science and present understanding of it.

It was known that Horcruxes were hard to destroy, yet people didn't exactly ask why. Why were they so hard to destroy? The answer could only be found in the Old Religion.

The basic law of the old form of magic was this: something cannot be given unless something of equal value is taken. It was the rule of equivalent exchange. You couldn't create something from nothing, nor could you lose something without gaining something back. Think of it like baking, you can't make a magnificent cake with only a cup of cake batter.

Horcruxes, though abominable and so evil that it was almost a sin to even speak of them, followed the same rule. The person who created a Horcrux gained life and a close form of immortality by taking away another's life. It was a disgusting and terrible practice, but it followed the rules and it worked. A life taken for a life given.

Merlin shivered at the logic, he had lived a long time and he had enough experience of that law to know it was true. He almost lost many of his loved ones to that rule, he had saved Arthur when the questing beast injured him by it, he had also lost his good friend Lancelot by the same thing. He didn't need more convincing to know that concerning life, equivalent exchange was very relevant.

A slight knocking on his door brought Merlin out of his thoughts. He sighed and stood up to make his way over to whoever the source of the knock was after wrapping a bathrobe around his body. He tried his best to fix his hair and wipe the tiredness out of his eyes before opening the door.

What he found surprised him.

Harry, previously.

Memories of the night before swam somersaults around his exhausted head as Harry slept. Over and over both conversations between the four ghosts and the two people Harry disliked more than anyone (excluding Voldemort himself) replayed. Each time the two conversations replayed more questions arose and none got answered.

First question: what did the ghosts mean by the Veil?. He remembered, sadly, the night almost a year ago when his godfather died. He was struck by the killing curse then fell through something called 'the veil'. Harry honestly did not want to think of that night, it still hurt him to this day and was the source of many of his nightmares, but at the same time he couldn't shake the feeling that what Sirius Black fell through was somehow connected to the 'Veil' that the house ghosts were talking about.

Second question: who was the person the ghosts were going to for help? He already knew some information on this one. Dumbledore trusted them (which didn't really mean anything to Harry because Dumbledore also trusted Snape and Harry was convinced that Snape was completely bat crap psycho), they were a teacher (again, didn't mean a thing to Harry because the same bat crap psycho person was also a teacher), he was connected to the 'Veil' like the ghosts were… whatever that meant, he knew the founders (this fact Harry was still trying to comprehend, especially if the long life of this person wasn't caused by the Philosophers Stone), and the most curious thing of all, this person knew what was going on.

With these facts alone, he definitely couldn't find out who this person was without some serious detective work. All he knew about this guy was that he was a dude and a teacher. Nothing about what he looks like or what subject he teaches. This teacher could be Flitwick, Slughorn, Snape even, or for all he knew it could just be a random elective professor that taught about magical bugs or something. It literally could be anyone, and without more information other than gender and profession, Harry was stuck.

Third question: what was the 'Tear'? Going on basic knowledge of what a veil was - a barrier between the land of the living, and the land of the dead - Harry could guess that the 'Tear' was a word for something broken in the veil which allowed the living and the dead to pass through willy-nilly into both worlds. That thought alone made Harry shiver.

These were the three main questions Harry had concerning the conversation he conveniently overheard between the ghosts. Of course he had subquestions, more than he cared to list, but Harry had a hope that if he figured out the three main ones, the smaller ones would be answered along the way.

Now, concerning the conversation between Snape and Draco, he got more 'jumped to conclusions' than questions. One thing he knew for sure, was that Draco was most definitely a Death Eater, and there was nothing anyone could say to convince him otherwise. The way he acted during his words with Snape basically screamed "I'm a Death Eater and I'm doing a job for the Dark Lord", and the 'job' he was doing Harry could only conclude that he was either trying to find something in the school or he was trying to kill Dumbledore. Harry had the feeling that both were correct.
Another conclusion, was that Snape was most certainly a Death Eater as well. After all, what decent person would practically beg to help on a job assigned by Voldemort?

One question Harry had was why in the world did Draco get the job and not Snape? Draco was 16 years old and still in school, Harry had to guess that he hadn't even been working a year in the service of Voldemort, while Snape was experienced, knowledgeable, and a long time supporter of Voldemort. Why would Voldemort choose to give this important job to a teenager? Harry could only infer.

One last conclusion was that Draco was involved with Katie Bell's accident at Hogsmeade, and Snape knew about it.

Before he could think more into each individual detail of both mysteries he eavesdropped on, a soft hand shook his shoulder.

"Harry… Harry wake up," a voice said.

He groaned and attempted to wave the voice away like it was an annoying fly. He could bet that the voice belonged to Ron, and if it did… Ron had a terribly grumpy Harry to look forward to in the future.

The hand shook harder. "Oh for Merlin's sake, wake up!"

Wait. The voice definitely didn't belong to Ron… it was… feminine. Even though Ron acted like a girl didn't mean his voice sounded like one. The sudden image of Ron talking with a higher octave voice than what he did now made him chuckle.

"Harry James Potter, if you don't wake up now I will never let you copy my Transfiguration notes ever again."

Harry started awake. "H-Hermione!" he whispered/yelled at the sight of the girl beside his four-poster bed. The window he slept next to showed the sun just barely rising and a chorus of snores belonging to the other boys in the room proved just how early it was.

Hermione glared at his outburst and rolled her eyes. "Harry I really need a favor," she started as she ran her hand through her rat nest of bed-head hair. She looked like she had been left in a hurricane then put to tumble dry in the dryer. Her hair was ten times poofier than normal - which was saying something - and slight traces of makeup littered beneath her eyes. She was still dressed in her pajamas which were slightly disheveled and twisted like she had just barely rolled out of bed.

It took a bit to find his voice again, because honestly, her looks literally startled him into a somewhat speechless silence. "What do- what… Hermione why did you wake me up so early?!"

Harry was afraid that Hermione's eyes would fall out of her head at the intensity that she rolled them. "I just said, I need a favor." When Harry just gaped at her she decided to continue before he could ask something again in his stupid morning mindset. "Look, I woke up this morning ready to pack up (she ignored Harry's "You woke up this early just for that?!"), and I noticed I left my bag in Charms yesterday… so when I went to the classroom to find Professor Flitwick, I found that he wasn't there and the classroom was locked," she explained.

"What do you need me for then?" Harry asked.

"I need to borrow the Marauders Map to find Flitwick so I can ask him where my bag is."

Harry stared at her and she stared back.

"C- can't you just ask a teacher or someone to unlock the door?" he asked, surprised that Hermione would try to get the map instead of simply asking for an adult's help.

Hermione glared, which made Harry think she looked like a bear that had just awoken from hibernation when combined with her physical appearance. "Do you think I haven't already tried that? Nearly Headless Nick was walking… floating by and I asked him to see if my bag was in the classroom. He came back and told me that my bag wasn't in there. I asked him if he knew where Professor Flitwick was, and he said he didn't know. I decided to ask you for the map instead of going on a wild goose chase. Does that explain it?"

Harry sighed. "Okay, okay… I'll let you use the map. Just one last thing though," he said, trying not to flinch away from the annoyed stare down Hermione was giving him, "Why do you need your bag so much? Can't you just wait till the break is over?"

"Harry, I have homework in there!"

He should have known

Without another word he slid off his bed and sluggishly made his way towards his trunk. He opened it and started to look through it for the yellowing parchment that Fred and George had given him in his third year. "Aha," he said when he found it buried at the bottom of his trunk. He carefully pulled it out and handed it to Hermione.

"Thanks," she mumbled as she opened the map up. "I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good," she said with a sigh.

Harry sat down on his bed and waited for her to be done. He let his eyes wonder around the room before they snapped back to his friend when she let out a startled gasp.

She stared at the map with a mixture of horror and surprise, and the look only served to make Harry suddenly very anxious. "Hermione… what's up?"

She jumped at the sound of his voice and her gaze flickered between him and the map. "I- I… I'll be right back."

Before Harry could do anything, Hermione shot out of the room faster than a jackrabbit being chased by a fox.

"What in the world happened to her?" mumbled Ron from his bed sounding extremely sleepy. His face twisted into one of confusion. "Oh wait, I'm mad at her…"

Harry rolled his eyes.

Hermione

She sprinted out of the Gryffindor tower (startling the Fat Lady half to death in the process), and made her way through the long corridors still holding the Marauders Map.

It just wasn't possible! How could something like this even happen? She glanced at the name again that was still in their bedroom, and cursed out loud, earning a gasp from a nearby picture of an old woman holding two cats.

The map never lied, and it was never wrong. It didn't mater what a person went by or who they were disguised as, it still showed the true name of the person no matter what. And the name that was being shown to her forced billions of questions to form in her head.

She stopped suddenly and panted to catch her breath. She looked one more time at the map and eyed the name. She then looked up at the door which the name was coming from. She mustered up all the courage she had and knocked on the door.

Which was opened a few seconds later by a black haired man wrapped in a bathrobe.

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