A/N: Although there's great tragedy, there's also great beauty in this story. It has helped me deal with a lot of things that have personally plagued me and in writing a story for Draco, I feel I have been able to address the things we sometimes brush off as insignificant.

I hope this story can bring about not only a sense of familiarity with the characters, but also a sense of hope as we venture into a new year with new possibilities.

1

"I fought the fight now only dark remains"

Much had changed since the battle of Hogwarts; especially for the atavistic Malfoy family.

Even though they had left the scene before the final battle had commenced on the grounds of Hogwarts, they were still held accountable for their role in the war. They remained out of the public eye, but after the Ministry had been reinstated, the Aurors came for one Lucius Malfoy.

Narcissa had managed to convince her husband to go quietly for the sake of the family, and with a subdued arrogance, Lucius Malfoy was sent to Azkaban Prison to serve out his sentence. Draco, on the other hand, had to face the repercussions of his actions, and was taken to the Ministry to receive trial. He would have received the same sentence as his father, had his mother not appealed against it.

Draco attended hearing after hearing, and answered question after question with as much candor as he could muster, his voice never wavering once. The one thing that kept him sane throughout the entire ordeal, was his mother.

Four weeks later, the verdict had been released. Draco could still remember the deep baritone of the Minister as he addressed the Wizengamot.

"The case for Draco Lucius Malfoy has been one for speculation amongst all departments within the Ministry. However, after further investigation and evidence provided by one Narcissa Malfoy, née Black, it has been considered by the Wizengamot that during the time of his alleged crimes; including but not limited to, aiding in the murder of one Albus Percival Wolfric Brian Dumbledore and serving as a spy to the Dark Lord; Mr Malfoy was in fact, still underage and can thus not be held accountable to the degree of others that have commited similar crimes."

Draco remembered the roar of outrage among the various witches and wizards that attended that day, most of whom had every reason to be upset by the declaration. Draco had made life difficult for many people in various ways; he was quite surprised that they hadn't hexed him the moment he walked in.

"Calm yourselves," Kingsley declared, ushering them to silence. Once he was certain the silence would remain, he continued. "The Wizengamot has reached a unanimous decision to excuse Mr Malfoy from trial and prosecution of the crimes he committed while under the legal age of seventeen. However, his actions during the war cannot be excused in the same fashion."

The list of Draco's transgressions had been substantially shortened due to the small detail of his age, but that had in no way lessened the severity of his actions thereafter. He hadn't made eye contact with the Minister at all as he listed the transgressions Draco would be held accountable for. He truly believed he would be joining his father in Azkaban, when Kingsley directed his attention to Draco.

"Your actions have cost a great deal for many people, Mr Malfoy, and by rights, you should be in a cell of your own in Azkaban prison. However..." Kingsley paused, and then turned to face the Jury. "Mr Malfoy has aided Mr Harry Potter a total of three times during the war in the attempt to defeat the Dark Lord. The first, I believe, was in Malfoy Manor when the defendant concealed Mr Potter's identity. On a second account, the defendant blatantly acted against the Dark Lord when he ran to aid Potter in handing him a wand. The third account was brought to my attention by Mr Potter himself. In the Forbidden Forest, Mrs Malfoy concealed Mr Potter's state of living from the Dark Lord, which inevitably led to our victory. Her actions as such, extend unto Mr Malfoy in the regard that she had done so only to confirm Mr Malfoy's safety"

There was a deafening silence in the courtroom.

"The Wizengamot has thus decided... to grant Mr Malfoy amnesty. Should he confess to his part in the war, his sentence will be limited to a house arrest until Hogwarts reopens in September. He will then be tasked to complete a full year at the institute and follow…"

Draco wasn't sure he had heard the last part of the Minister's speech, either from lack of memory, or pure shock at what he had just heard. He wasn't going to prison. And seeing the tears well in his mother's eyes was probably the last coherent thing he remembered of that day.

Which explained why the current conversation with Professor Slughorn was causing the nauseated feeling to bubble up in his throat. He knew there were rules he had to follow and abide by, he just didn't realise how difficult that would be at the time. Hogwarts had changed with the damage and out of it grew a world Draco didn't quite understand.

"Mr Malfoy, it pains me to say this, as you were one of my best students in your years," Slughorn had started, sitting behind his desk. It was his responsibility to tend to the case that was Draco as the Slytherin Head of House. "My boy, while you have a brilliant mind, it just seems that you can't quite put that part down on paper,"

Draco stared up at the aged wizard in front of him, a frown maring his stoic features. Since he had returned to Hogwarts, Professor Slughorn had been the one teacher that had actively shown him kindness. He was also the one most easily persuaded.

"I've been looking into your test scores on the subjects you've been taking and while your knowledge in Potions and Arithmancy are quite extraordinary, your percentage in Muggle Studies and Charms have been slipping. Muggle Studies especially. It's a rather tedious subject indeed, but your amnesty agreement has it listed as a mandatory subject. One which you must pass." Slughorn studied Draco carefully. "I know you are a bright young man, but it would seem you aren't, how can I put this… invested? Yes, invested in your studies. It is imperative that you succeed in them, which is why I'm wondering if there is something that might be causing this conundrum?"

The old professor fixed him with an empathetic look.

"I know you have always been rather closed off since… well," he trailed off. "But should you ever find yourself wishing to discuss the matter-"

"That won't be necessary, Professor," Draco interrupted, his voice firm. "I'll pass the next test. I was just having a difficult few weeks." The lies sprang forward so easily and yet, his face was contrite and strained.

"Ah yes," Slughorn responded, shaking his head as if he were chastising himself for forgetting something of importance. "Your father, his case is being revisited this month, is it not?" There was a slight flicker of something in Draco's eyes, however it vanished almost as soon as it arrived. He nodded stiffly under Slughorn's gaze.

Then Draco felt it, the sudden prodding in his mind.

"And how do you feel about that, Draco my boy? It must be a relief knowing your father might be offered a shortened sentence, perhaps even parole for his cooperation?"

Occlumency was, in the most basic sense, a shield cast around the mind. It protected the user, much like the walls of a fortress protected its inhabitants. However, delving into Occlumency meant delving into one's own mind. In order to comprehend itself, the mind presents itself as a place that the Occlumency user is exceptionally familiar with, each memory and thought locked away in different areas. It came as no surprise to Draco that his mental fortress took on the guise of Malfoy Manor.

A sudden jab against his mental walls echoed in his mind. His gaze lifted up to meet Slughorn's dull grey ones. This wasn't the first time he had tried to enter Draco's mind. Slughorn was convinced that if he could find a way to break through Draco's defenses, that he would be able to understand him better. Perhaps even relate to him. The idea always made Draco scoff.

Draco's eyes became cold, a sudden steeliness settling within them as his mental walls solidified. The prodding stopped immediately.

"I don't believe my family's business has anything to do with my studies, Professor. How I feel about it doesn't change anything I am doing here," Draco responded curtly. A saddened expression crossed Slughorn's features at Draco's reluctance to open up.

"May I be excused." Draco stated, more than asked, slowly standing to his full height. Slughorn managed to stutter a small 'of course' before Draco deftly exited the office.

2

"The answer isn't' where you think you'd find it"

It had been two days since Draco's meeting with Professor Slughorn and he had finally managed to bide some time to escape to the still slightly damaged library. Another requisite for his amnesty was that he take part in one social club or activity and aid in a community activity at least twice a week. There was little time to do what he really wanted to do, which was probably the whole idea behind the ruling. He found solace in being able to visit places like these without a court ruling telling him to.

As he passed through doors to the library, a young first year student by the name of Reginald Blackmoore came rushing out, bumping into him. A small yelp escaped the boy as a look of mild fear crossed his features. Draco had barely glanced at him before he had scurried off. The fact of the matter was, it wasn't an uncommon thing nowadays. He supposed he was quite off putting in some sense. His hair had turned a stark blonde, growing out slightly, but not enough to be considered messy. His face had a rather ashy tone and his eyes, although still a vivid blue, seemed hollow paired with the growing shadows under his eyes. Sometimes, he would be reminded of the days in the Manor during the Dark Lord's residency when he saw his reflection in the mirror, and somehow it comforted him, knowing that despite his eerie appearance, it was still him.

Draco walked quietly through the library, stopping suddenly at the hallway of bookshelves, two words tapered across the top of the aisle: Muggle Studies. This would be the fourth time this year that he had come to stand in front of the aisle, but not have the courage to walk down. Each and every time he would be filled with anger, frustration and shame, all at once. This was what it had come to. Draco was a proud man, and seeking out help wasn't his strong suit, which is probably why he had chosen to fail the last few tests for Muggle Studies rather than seek out aid in the library.

He swallowed thickly, almost as if in disgust, before he walked down the aisle for the very first time. Fifteen minutes later, he was just about ready to throw all the books off the shelf. He breathed out thickly through his nose before rounding the corner and walking up to the librarian.

"Excuse me," he started, earning him a rather strange look from Madam Pince. "Do you have this book available?" he asked, producing a small piece of parchment with a neatly scribbled title:

The Muggles of Suffolk: A Wizard's Field Guide

By Eugenie Briarwood

Madam Pince picked up the piece of paper, and gave it a once over. A curious expression crossed her features as she fixed Draco with an incredulous look. She quickly schooled her expression before handing the page back to him. "Unfortunately not," she replied sternly. "The last copy was checked out earlier today."

Draco's jaw locked and unlocked as he processed the information, before reigning himself in again.

"Who was it?" he asked. Madam Pince gave him a stern look of disapproval, to which he added, "If it isn't too much of an inconvenience." There was quite obviously some malice laced within his words, and he knew he was pushing his luck, which was why he wasn't surprised to see the librarian glare daggers at him. A sigh escaped his lips, his eyes shutting briefly.

"Never mind. I'll find something else," he answered, tucking the note in his pocket and turning away. He had barely made it a few feet when he heard her even tone waft over to him in the hollow library.

"Not that it's any of my business, but perhaps you could find a tutor for the class. There are quite a few of them to choose from," she stated, directing him to the sign-up sheet near the entrance of the library. "But with your attitude, I doubt very many would put up with you for the rest of this year."

Draco felt a sneer forming on his face, his lips quirking downward slightly as he stood for a moment, contemplating what he had just heard. His eyes darted toward the small table next to the large mahogany doors, a large book laying open on top of it and a small roster placed above it on the wall. He studied it for a few moments.

If he failed any more tests, they would certainly through his sorry arse in Azkaban, most probably in a joined cell with his father. The thought sent a cold shiver down his spine. He breathed in deeply before walking over to the little desk where he was certain his pride would die from embarrassment.

The book that lay open on the desk had various columns on the page with spaces to fill out your name and year, the class you want to be tutored in and the name of the tutor of your choice. The page was almost full, with names of students ranging from the third year through to the seventh. At the top of the page it said to refer to the roster above for a list of tutors. Draco's eyes darted up to the page, his eyes studying the document intently.

The roster consisted of mainly fifth and seventh year students, each with their names listed under a particular subject. There was a small note at the bottom, mentioning that each of the above mentioned tutors received a stipend from the school for services rendered, ensuring that they did their best to aid the students.

Draco merely rolled his eyes at the notion and returned his attention to the seventh year class roster. Defense Against the Dark Arts had seven available tutors, almost all Gryfindors. Herbology had three tutors, Divination had four, and Arithmancy had two. He continued searching the page until his eyes fell onto his sought after class. A bitter taste filled his mouth as three names were listed beneath the title stared back at him.

This had to be some sick joke.

Of all the people they could possibly have listed, Hermione Bloody Granger had to be at the top of that blasted list. Of course he had to be reminded of the mud- the muggleborn. It was a bad habit, the nickname he had given her, saying it outloud or in his head. One slip of the tongue in the wrong setting and he could find himself behind bars sharing a sweet kiss with one of those blasted dementors. He wasn't about to let that happen.

But he would throw himself off the Astronomy Tower before he asked Granger for help. Not that she would help him anyway. After all that they had been through; after what happened at the Manor.

Suddenly, his mind raced back to that fateful day; the screams echoing through the halls of his home, the vivid image of his aunt towering over her. His breathing had increased dramatically, and while he looked collected on the outside, his eyes betrayed him. Asking Granger or any of the others for help was most certainly the worst idea he had ever heard.

That was never going to happen…

3

"Great is the weapon that cuts on its own…"

Draco awoke in much the same manner he had over the past several months: shaking. It was an odd sort of feeling, gasping awake only to find your body jerking about slightly. The nightmares hadn't left. His mother had always told him that what makes a man was his nobility and how he exuded it.

"We are what we project, Draco," she had told him one year when he was still so very young. But he found fallacy within her words as the test of time ran its course. Because in the end, what makes a man is not his nobility, but rather, what he wished he could forget.

The room was dark and cold, as the dungeons always were, the cold breeze cooling his blazing skin. Small droplets of sweat had formed on his forehead as he remained still in the silent embrace of the shadows around him. Slowly, surely, the vivid images from his dreams seeped back into his subconscious mind and let him be; now once again a man who chose ignorance instead of horror.

Gingerly, he slipped out of bed, drawing the drapes back from his bed, before getting ready for the day ahead. In the common room just outside the joined bedrooms, the mahogany grandfather clock struck five o'clock.

4

"Your mind is playing tricks on you, my dear…"

Draco's first class for the day had been Defense Against the Dark Arts. Hogwarts had procured an array of new professors that year, considering many of them had suffered terrible fates during the war. The DADA class was the one position that took the longest to fill. It had only been a month ago when they had finally found and convinced a worthy candidate to return to Hogwarts.

Aberforth Dumbledore was a wise instructor indeed. He knew what he was talking about and knew how to teach the subject. But while his appearance brought about comfort in those who remembered his brother, Draco found none of the sort. His gaze would linger on the old Professor every now and then, remembering the old fool that had once been his lookalike, before looking away.

It had become one of his worst classes to date. And yet, he still managed to pass it with flying colours. It turns out, spending a year and a half with Death Eaters breathing down your neck did that for you.

His other classes were also not exactly proving to be troublesome, other than the Runespoor in the room which was Muggle Studies. The memorial plaque for Professor Charity Burbage was nailed against the one wall of the classroom, the words 'in loving memory' engraved at the bottom.

The professor that had filled her position was strict, and graded their tests with veracity and precision. If something wasn't phrased 100% correctly, it was marked as an error, which could be seen as harsh, but considering Muggleborns had been the target of the last war, it was quite understandable. It didn't make the class any easier for Draco, however.

The first two periods of the day passed by in a flurry and before he knew it, his third lesson for the day was reaching a close. To say he was thankful would have been an understatement, as his third period Ancient Runes class was with the Gryffindors. Those who had returned, at least. His gaze had landed on Granger quite a few times during the lesson, his mind wandering back to the previous day in the library. Madam Pince must surely have known. He couldn't fathom the thinking of the daft witch to even suggest the Granger girl as a tutor. She must have been hooked up on the fumes of the burnt books.

Yes, that had to be it. Draco had tried to focus on the class being presented, but somehow, his gaze always found her lithe figure. He had been aware of her return to Hogwarts this year, in fact, he would have been quite surprised if she didn't return.

Professor Babbling was explaining something about the homework she had just assigned, when Draco's gaze flitted to Granger once again. She was listening attentively to the older witch's explanation, her face studious and attentive. Draco thought to himself that it was impossible for someone to be that dedicated to their schooling, someone who had just lived through a bloody war, for Merlin's sake.

And then it hit him. As sudden as a cloudburst, a distinct memory slipped through his Occlumency shields. It was as if it was happening at that very moment. He was back in the Wizengamot, back in the early days after the war had concluded. He was staring up at the Minister as he called witnesses to the stand. Draco couldn't remember exactly what for, but he remembered the moment Granger and Potter had walked in. If the Weasley was with them, he couldn't recall it in the hazy memory. It was as if he were underwater, his Occlumency shields blocking out the sound.

Potter took the stand first. He was saying something that he couldn't quite make out. It was all so terribly vague. There was applause, as there usually was whenever Potter was involved. Then, Granger took the stand. And where Potter had addressed the jury of witches and wizards, Granger was looking right at him.

Draco was jerked out of his mad reverie quite suddenly when a hand grabbed his arm. He turned around, an accusatory glare at the ready. He was met by a slightly confused Blaise, who recoiled almost instantly.

"You looked really out of it for a moment, like you were having a stroke or something," he said in a hushed tone, leaning back into his seat. Draco stared at him for a few more moments, his brows set in a deep frown.

"I'm fine."

The class concluded shortly after, and while everyone else filed out, Draco felt alarm spread through him. How had that slipped past him?

5

"Old soul. Your wounds, they show."

The great minds once said, if you endeavour to achieve, given enough resolve, you can accomplish most anything. So why in Merlin's name am I still failing this bloody class?!

Draco scribbled angrily in the yellowed pages of his Amendment Journal.

His Amendment Journal, yet another prerequisite of his amnesty hearing, was his personal record of everything he had been doing at Hogwarts this past year. For every class he attended and every activity he participated in while at school, a professor or teacher's assistant had to sign it and rate his performance and behaviour during the lesson. It was to be handed over to the professor in question before class started and retrieved directly after to repeat the process. It was also required of him to write a personal reflection each week on what he had learned and how he had adjusted and what his thoughts were on his experiences at the school. It was utter bollocks if you asked him, and there was nothing he would want to do less. But it certainly felt good to write down his frustrations. Not that it would help him in any way once McGonnagal read it.

Yes, the oh so lovely Transfiguration teacher that never liked him during his youth was the one that was supposed to read his pathetic little thoughts about how much he hates Muggle Studies. But that wasn't really the truth, not entirely at least. Draco only ever hated something that either turned out to best him or made him look like a fool. This class did both.

He was angry, because no matter how hard he tried, he never seemed to be able to pass a bloody test. It had been almost a week since his visit to the library and two days since he was handed back his Muggle Studies test. The words, 'You can do better,' were scrawled over the top next his grade.

Classification: Poor

Draco slammed his journal shut, raking a hand through his hair as he sat next to the fireplace in the Common Room.

"Everything alright, Draco?" Pancy asked, looking up from her homework. She was in the far corner of the Common Room, seated next to Blaise at the ornate study table. The two of them often left Draco alone to mull over his thoughts when he pulled out that yellow book of his. Pansy had very little patience for the thing, mainly because she felt it was to blame for Draco's change in behaviour.

Before the war, they had been close friends. At least, she thought they were. She had been in crush with Draco since her third year at Hogwarts, and those feelings continued to grow over the years. However, Draco never seemed to notice. If he had, he had never tried to reciprocate in any way, shape or form. But that didn't change her opinion of him. He was perfect to her. He was handsome and popular, funny in the most incredible ways, he was the heir to a wealthy family and he was really smart, too.

It never bothered her when he would boast about all his accomplishments, because in her mind, he was brilliant and deserved the recognition. And if no one was going to give it to him, he had every right to demand it. She might even go as far as to say that she loved him. The boyish smile that would appear when he thought no one was looking, the sense of maturity when it came to certain things. The way he controlled the crowd around him. She loved all of him. But then, he started changing…

6

"Everything they put you through left you with an anger that just cannot be contained"

In their sixth year, he came back.. different. He was more serious. He didn't joke around as much as he used to. He was quiet most of the time and his scathing remarks had more of a bite to them than his usual jests and taunts. He suddenly stopped being so charming. The boy she had fallen for was slowly disappearing.

He was just no longer the boy she had known. She was quite shocked when Draco mentioned he might not be returning for their seventh year. She would have chastised him for the silly mistake he was making, but then he had shown them his mark. She was overwhelmed by admiration for the courageous act, while Blaise seemed utterly displeased.

That had been the last time all of them, Crabbe and Goyle included, had sat together at the same table. Blaise had drifted away and Draco went off on his own a lot. The other two were merely there, not really serving any particular purpose other than waiting for Draco to bark out an instruction.

Draco eventually did return for their seventh year, but he might as well have never returned in the first place. She rarely saw him, and when the Carrows started wreaking havoc in the school, torturing the first years. Snape as the new headmaster and just like that, Hogwarts had become the home of the Slytherins.

Draco never returned after spring break. At least not as a student. And now, staring out at him across the room, she felt as if he would never be the same man again. She had hoped that after the war, after they returned to Hogwarts, things would be different. That they could be the children they once were, whether it was laughing at a Gryffindor's misfortune, or mouthing off on the various ways in which blood traitors and mudbloods were contaminating the wizarding world.

She had hoped. And thus, her fall was harder than she could have imagined.

Draco hadn't traveled with them to Hogwarts this year. She wasn't quite sure how he arrived at the school. What she did know was that when they arrived at the common room that evening on the first of September, he was there.

The Slytherin Common Room was altered slightly after the war; she wasn't too sure about the other houses however. The first to sixth years all had their respective communal bedrooms, however, the seventh years had a few more students this year, considering that a few hadn't completed their final year, herself included. When the fighting broke out, her parents believed it was too dangerous to stay at Hogwarts, and so she was pulled out of school before she could complete her NEWT exams. In total, six Slytherins had returned for their eighth year, which brought the total number of Slytherins for the seventh year class to 26.

Among those that returned were Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, Draco and herself. Daphne Greengrass returned as well, but mostly for her sister's sake. At least that's how the story goes. However, due to the larger number of students, the seventh year dormitories were slightly enlarged, so much so that the beds were cordoned off from each other, large dividers expanding between them. Pansy swore there was a silencing charm placed on them as well, since she couldn't recall hearing Astoria's small anxiety attack one night. It was only when she saw her bed empty the next morning, that Milicent informed her what had happened. She wondered if the boys had the same set up in their room.

Pansy's eyes lingered on Draco's form for a moment, her eyes snapping away quickly as he turned to face her with those stormy gray eyes. She had always admired the way they swirled with the various emotions, but lately, they always seemed dark, almost ghost-like. And when mixed with frustration, Pansy was ashamed to admit, they frightened her.

She eerily remembered the day she had developed that fear. They were sitting down by the fireplace one evening, just the two of them. And he was sitting with that silly yellow book again. It was making him so frustrated, his brows furrowed in a way that didn't suit his handsome features. She had just wanted to cheer him up. And so she made a grab for the book. It was causing his foul mood, so surely if it wasn't there anymore, he would be happy again, right?

He had slipped the book out of her reach, a menacing glare aimed at her. She thought he was just being stubborn, as all boys were at times. She had told him to stop being so uptight, to relax once in a while. And she made to grab the book again. Draco stood up abruptly, putting some distance between them. He clutched the book to his side, using some choice words that Pansy wasn't entirely sure she wanted to recall. But at the time, she was desperate. She just wanted the old Draco back. And so, she raised her voice with some choice words of her own. She wasn't sure which word it was that made him react the way he did. Was it "Mudblood"? Was it "Death Eater"? Was it even a word at all? She couldn't remember.

What she did remember, was standing across from him; she couldn't remember when she had risen, to be honest; and lunging for the book. Her one hand grasped the book, while the other encircled his wrist. She could recall a sudden intake of breath coming from Draco before it happened.

One moment, she had her hand clutched on the book. The next, something strong and hard slammed into her chest and she was flung back a few feet across the room. She remembered looking up and seeing those dark stormcloud eyes rumble with thunder as he shouted at her. He had told her to never touch him again. And after that day, she never did. The eyes that stared back at her weren't those of the boy she had loved for all those years. This was someone else entirely.

"I'm fine," Draco finally responded, before rising from his seat and retiring to his room.

"And my name is Harry Potter," Blaise mumbled quietly after Draco had descended down the stairs. The two of them continued to work in silence.

7

"I'm fighting a battle. I'm fighting my shadow"

Blue sky had turned to the blackest night. The dream-world in which Draco found himself had become the land of horrors he had come to witness in the dead of night. The worst of memories found him in the place where no soul could escape them.

Memory haunts in a way that no spirit can, and incurs a debt that demands to be paid. It is said that at times, a memory or dream can be so traumatic, so dangerous, that the mind will elect to make its host forget, in an attempt to protect itself. Draco used to ponder the validity of that statement during his youth. Now it seemed quite redundant.

His eyes shot open, his body trembling as quiet, shaky breaths escaped him. It was indeed true what the poets had said; you can run from sorrow, but it will always find you within the Sea of Subconsciousness. And how it did.

Draco couldn't remember the details of his dream, but he sure as hell felt it. He thanked Merlin for his Occlumency proficiency, as he was certain it was keeping the memories at bay. As much as he prided himself in being of noble blood and being capable of most anything, there are certain things that a person cannot feel all at once.

Draco sat up in bed, his nightshirt clinging to his skin from the cold sweat he had broken out in. He raked a hand through his hair, clenching it tightly as the familiar sharp pain shot through his head. This always happened after. It would feel as if the walls in his mind were closing in on each other, as if the foundation on which they were built was crumbling and they were destined to cave in. It always took him a few minutes to settle his mind into a state of stability, after which sleep was entirely out of the question.

Draco lifted his head slowly from the hunched over position on his bed and stared at the small clock on his nightstand. Quarter past four.

Merlin, help me.

A/N: Thank you for taking the time to read this piece. The next update will be posted soon, however it is a bit longer than this chapter by quite a few hundred words. I would love to hear your thoughts.

As always, disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this story, only the plot. The quotes are all from song lyrics or phrases from video games and books.

Many thanks,
Sera