[18]

Samhain

The world rusted.

Trees wilted and threw their leaves to the ground, bloodied and infected with vermilion. The air grew crisp, the cloying scent of decay and musk belonging to late autumn. October set over the school like a chill, chasing the students down corridors trying to catch and settle in their bones. But she was not winter yet, just a little promise of what was in store for them.

Professor Snape liked this time of year. Perhaps that was due to his fascination with the dark arts, to the way his core responded to the nearing of Samhain. Though the traditions of old had long since died out and no one alive quite knew what rites the Priestesses had practiced, all of wizardry held All Hallow's Eve dear. Children who had never yet exhibited magical abilities were more likely to do so that night, and indeed, it was the night that most muggleborn witches and wizards were discovered. And, it was the night Lily had died.

He had thought that would ruin the event for him. After all, how could he like the day the only woman he had ever loved was taken from him? He had actually tried to hate the holiday, tried to procure a grudge against it and dread it's coming but he couldn't. Against his will, his magic tingled and grew jittery, soaking in some source of power he didn't fully understand. At Hogwarts the sheer concentration of witches and wizards seemed to amplify the feeling.

Which meant there were a lot of foolish children behaving erratically.

Snape could remember the first Samhain after the Weasley twins came to Hogwarts with such clarity that he doubted anyone would soon forget it. The pumpkins in the Great Hall had all turned black and begun to melt, like tar. He was certain that hadn't been the twin's intention – probably a spell gone wrong – but the widespread panic and fear as inky black pumpkin insides fell on their heads had been chaotic to say the least. Luckily that had been the first and last time they had attempted to sabotage the decorations of the Great Hall.

Snape had honestly expected something like that from Merlin Evans. As the days grew closer and closer to the date, and the attention of the student body became preoccupied with the coming holiday, Snape waited nervously for the boy to do something just as impulsive and reckless. But, it quickly became apparent that Mr. Evans did not intend to set any Halloween pranks. In fact, Snape wasn't sure Evans intended to anything except sleep.

Ever since that night Evans had run in and out of his office without a word, he had started sleeping during class. Snape might not have minded, were it not for the fact that his quality of work had also taken a steep turn downhill. He didn't pay attention whatsoever in class, half-assed his potions, and didn't do homework at all. And, apparently, he was like this in every single one of his classes.

Snape shook his head, glancing over at the boy in question. Draco Malfoy was making their potion alone, Evan's head bobbing up and down. The blond kept glancing at him, a mixture of resentment and concern on his face as he watched his friend give in to sleep.

At this rate, Evans was going to completely fail first year.

Snape could only hope that this new attitude would end after Samhain. But at the same time, the memory of Evan's face when he read the letter from his foster brother – that hadn't been the face of relief. The second time too. Evans had brought a letter for him to send on to Silas, and his brother's reply had been just as concerning. He had actually watched Evan's smile slide from his face, his eyes narrow and fill with worry. Was he having trouble sleeping because of it?

He glanced at the clock.

"Your potions should be done by now," he said, noting the pale look on the Longbottom boy. "Fill a vial and bring it to my desk." He watched as Draco filled a vial and nudged Evans, nodding for him to clean up the cauldron. Evans looked surly as he pulled out his wand and carelessly waved it. Snape wondered what exactly that pathetic gesture was supposed to achieve when – the contents of the cauldron vanished. Snape blinked – he hadn't expected anything to happen. Had Evans even said an incantation? Snape shook himself, of course he had, he just hadn't heard it because of everyone else cleaning up.

"Here, professor," Draco drawled, putting his and Evan's vial on his desk. Snape looked up at him.

"Would you please inform Mr. Evans that I wish to speak to him after class?"

Draco paused a moment and then nodded. Snape thought he saw the glimmer of a smile before the boy turned away and hurried back to his desk and his snoozing partner. He no doubt thought Evans was going to be reprimanded. Well, he was right.

Draco muttered the message into Evan's ear and the boy cracked open his eye, meeting Snape's own. He seemed to challenge him, an exhausted "don't want to deal with this now" hanging unsaid over his lips. Evans gave a jerk of a nod and shut his eyes again, seeming to decide to catch a few more winks as the class departed. Snape wanted to shake him into wakefulness, but he didn't. He waited at his desk, writing the potions given to him into his ledger and making a note of which ones were toxic. When everyone had finally left – Granger had dithered about, clearly hoping to catch Evans on the way out – Snape looked up.

"Evans," he spat. "While the potion used to abate fevers is simple, I think you might find it more interesting if you could open your eyes."

Evans blinked awake and looked up at him, staring blurrily for several moments. "That's nice," he said finally, getting to his feet and stretching. "But I think I'd rather keep my eyes closed."

Snape's lip curled. "Do you recall a conversation we had earlier in the year, Evans?"

"We've had a lot of conversations."

"When you perform poorly in class, it reflects negatively upon your entire house," Snape ground out. Evans was more sarcastic than usual. "Are you planning on becoming the only first year Slytherin to be held back in over a decade?"

"I think Crabbe might beat me to it," Evans countered with a sneer and Snape slammed his fist onto his desk.

"Am I laughing, Evans?" Snape shouted at him. The smile fell from the boy's face, and he grew somber.

"No, sir."

Snape hadn't heard him refer to him as "sir" in a very long time. He pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering why he was taking such a keen interest. Students failed classes all the time, he never molly coddled any of them. And yet, here he was trying to persuade Evans to take his classes more seriously. What had become of him?

"Why are you not sleeping?"

Evan's face became impassive. "I sleep just fine."

"That, I highly doubt," Snape said raising his eyebrow. He paused. "Is your foster brother worrying you—"

"It's nothing," Evans interrupted, and he grabbed his bag from his chair. "I'm leaving."

"I did not dismiss you," and Snape got to his feet. There was only so much insolence he could tolerate. Evans froze at the cold fury in his voice and very slowly turned back to him. "Sleeping through your classes is not only insulting to your professors, but also a distraction to all the students that are there to learn. If you want to sleep, do it in your bed. But do not come to my class planning to attract flies the entire time!" Snape ground out.

Evans didn't reply. He stood in stony silence, as though chewing his tongue. Snape walked around his desk to stand in front of him. From this distance the dark circles beneath the boy's eyes were clearly evident, the pallor of his skin. He had probably taken to sleeping through meals - he was going to make himself sick if he carried on much longer like this. Even though he was angry with the boy for his rude behavior, concern melted it away.

"Now, what's wrong?" Snape asked. "Or do I need to slip a truth serum into your evening pumpkin juice?"

Evans didn't seem to like that idea because he paled slightly. He didn't reply though, he merely cast his head down, staring at his shoes. "I don't want to talk about it," he finally whispered. But somehow Snape thought he heard him catch on the word want. As though, that wasn't the word he wanted to use. And for a moment Snape wondered what secrets were so large that a child was willing to lose sleep over it for weeks on end.

And not for the first time, Snape wondered about just who Merlin Evans was.

"I see," he said slowly. There was not point in pushing the boy. Something about Evans staring at the ground, looking hopelessly exhausted reawakened those strange protective feelings he had felt back at the broomstick incident. Almost on impulse, he put his hand on Evan's shoulder and it seemed to slump under the weight. Evans looked up, a little startled.

"But when you do," Snape told him, "my door will be open."

Only A Boy

"Would you stop avoiding me?"

Merlin tripped over his feet, skidding ungracefully to a halt before he crashed into the girl that had appeared before him. Hermione Granger was doing her best impression of his mother, her youthful face filled with the lines of frustration and worry. Merlin stifled the groan that rose in his throat, the desire to push past her and collapse into one of the black couches in the Slytherin common room.

He couldn't go out to see Kor everyday anymore.

It was as simple as that. He was too tired, too cranky, and too many people were beginning to notice. So much for helping his problems – he only had more now. When was the last time he'd had a real conversation with anyone? He felt like he had forgotten how to deal with people – or rather; he was just too exhausted to put up with everyone else. But if Snape's conversation was anything to go by, this behavior needed to stop. But there was something else beneath his reasons of going to see Kor every night, and that was because he couldn't sleep.

He was too worried about Silas. To worried about Kor. And he could feel the coming of Samhain.

"Hermione, hey," he shook his head and brought his hands to smack his cheeks. He needed to snap out of it. He couldn't do this to the people around him anymore, even if every single one of his nerves felt like someone was running an electric current through them. "Why would I be avoiding you?" he asked looking at her confused.

Hermione raised an eyebrow and folded her arms. "Our study group?"

Merlin blinked.

"Leaving me alone with Malfoy?" Hermione continued. "Ringing any bells?"

"Oh!" God that had been weeks ago. All the days had started to blur together. "Right," he said slowly. Silas had completely taken over his thoughts during that study group. "I didn't mean to do that I—"

"Merlin," Hermione interrupted. "He threatened me. I know you think he's your friend but that doesn't mean I'm ready to be alone with him, and he sure as hell isn't!" Merlin cringed as her voice got louder, echoing off the dungeon walls. He glanced around, hoping that none of his classmates were waiting for him in the shadows. She gave a profound sigh, which seemed to deflate her of all hostility toward him. When she looked up into his eyes, he didn't see anything except worry.

"What is the matter with you recently?" but she said it softly as though she was really talking to herself, despite his being before her. Merlin swallowed and scratched his head, offering her a smile that recently turned into a rare thing.

"I'm working on it," he told her.

"I hope so." Hermione surveyed him for a moment longer before walking away. Merlin watched her go. He had disappointed her. He wasn't sure why that bothered him, but it did. He'd lost whatever shred of admiration he'd gotten from her – and he wanted to get it back.

Merlin groaned, rubbing his hands through his hair causing it to stick up in every direction. First Snape, now Hermione? No doubt Draco would jump on this bandwagon sooner or later. And if Snape tried to push Draco about his sleeping habits, he was doomed. He didn't think that Draco's loyalty would extend to lying to his godfather.

Merlin even hated lying to Snape.

For one wild moment, he'd been ready to tell the man everything. He had been able to tell Gaius everything, after all. Stop it! Merlin started walking down the corridor. He could handle this if he got his act together. He needed to stop acting like a child – even if that was his instinct. He couldn't afford to be distracted so close to All Hallow's Eve. His magic vibrated with the increase of magic in the air, the sensation of closeness to the other side. No, if this Tom Riddle were going to make a move it would be on this day – on the day when he was strongest.

He couldn't afford to be off his game.

That evening, he ran into the forbidden forest. He had only an hour before he needed to be back inside before curfew, but he was sure he could make it. The forest was sticky with the smell of decomposition, the musk and crisp sweetness of red leaves. Cool wintery wind snapped at his nose, and he shivered beneath his summer cloak. He got to the clearing that had been designated as theirs and smiled – he didn't have to call Korrizahar to him.

The dragon had grown over the weeks, but only just. He had been concerned at first – he'd read in a book that dragons grew rapidly, and then he remembered how many years it took Aithusa to reach maturity. The dragons of ancient magic were unique in that sense.

"Merlin!" Kor glided down from the branches of a large elm and onto his shoulder, nuzzling his face against Merlin's neck. "You're early tonight." His voice was nothing like the croaking of Aithusa, or the refined gruff tones of Kilgharrah. It was husky and smooth, like furls of smoke that dissipated into the air, an alto that promised to lower with time.

"I can't stay long," Merlin told him in between a large yawn.

"You look dead on your feet," Kor said staring at him with his large golden eyes. "I told you, you were pushing yourself too hard. You're not an adult anymore, Merlin! You're a kid who needs eleven hours of sleep a night." The dragon nuzzled him again. "Don't come see me tomorrow."

Merlin stared at him. "What? No—"

"I'll be okay." Kor lifted his lips in a toothy dragon smile. He turned his head toward the mound of white that lay on the far side of the clearing. Aithusa's scales gleamed in the twinkling starlight and she seemed to light up the woods around them. "Besides," Kor went on, "she'll keep me safe."

Merlin brought a hand to rub the warm scales beneath Kor's head and he closed his eyes, vibrating with a graveled purr. "Maybe you are smarter than I give you credit for," he said and Kor snapped playfully at his fingers.

"No, I just have common sense."

"Uncommon you mean, otherwise more people would have it." Merlin chuckled at his own joke and set Kor onto a tree limb. "Okay, how about I visit you every Friday night only?"

"And emergencies, I trust. If you find this Tom Riddle I'm not going to wait a week to hear about it!" Kor reproached him and Merlin laughed, smiling for the second time that day.

"Yes, for emergencies too." He shook his head. "Well, I need to run if I want to make it back before they count heads."

Kor nodded and was silent for a moment, watching as Merlin yawned again. "Be safe," he whispered.

Merlin blinked, "What? I should be telling you that!" he said indignantly, but Kor didn't give him a dragon smile in reply. He lashed his tail, impaling his branch with spikes.

"I'm serious. Samhain has me all jittery. And by the looks of it, you're more reckless than I am." Kor lay down along the branch, his large golden eyes reflecting moonlight.

"Now you sound like your dad," Merlin said and Kor gave one of his dragon smiles. He liked it when Merlin talked about Kilgharrah. He'd been the topic of conversation for more than on night. Merlin brought his hand up in a wave and he made his way back through the trees. He looked down at the ground and found that he had started to beat a path into the ground from all his trips in. Not good, he'd need to take a different route next time – or obliterate it with magic.

He slipped into the Slytherin common room without a minute to spar. One of the prefects by the door frowned as he burst in, gasping for breath. "Cutting it a bit close?" they snapped but Merlin only shrugged in reply. It was considered 'Gryffindor' to sneak out after dark, and so all the prefects discouraged it. Merlin disagreed – it was very Slytherin. Gryffindor had been the goody-two-shoes one. Back in the day, at least.

Merlin headed up to his dormitory, finding that most of the boys were already lying down in bed. Nott was reading a book by wand light, and the two bodyguards were already snoring. Merlin passed by Draco's four-poster, the curtains already drawn, and got into bed – kicking off his shoes.

"You're not going out tonight?"

Merlin jumped. Draco had pushed back his hangings, and was looking at him with some surprise. "Yeah," Merlin said and he flopped back into bed, sighing with relief. "I forgot how comfortable these beds were."

"They're okay, I guess…" Draco shrugged. Then he smirked. "Did Snape give you a scolding?"

Merlin rolled over and propped his head on his arm. "Not really," which was strangely the truth. He was silent for a long moment, watching as Draco re-fluffed his pillow. He could feel the boy's magic, strumming the strings of the world. All of them, he could feel them more powerfully each day it got closer to Halloween.

"Can I ask you something?" Draco asked him suddenly. He was lying flat on his back, staring up at the paneled wood above him.

"Uh, sure?"

Draco rolled over to look at him. "Is the reason you don't confide in me because I'm a pureblood?" he whispered. He bit his lip and then turned quickly away from him. "I mean, are you worried I'd make fun of you or something? Like your foster brother, Silas. Is that why you didn't talk to me when you were worried?"

Merlin stared, wordlessly at Draco. "I—" he spluttered. "I didn't talk to anyone, Draco. Don't take it personal."

"Right." Draco rolled away from him. Merlin new he didn't believe him. "But you talked to Hermione today, right?"

Hermione?

"If by talk, you mean she yelled at me for my stunt at the library, then yeah."

Draco sat up and turned to him. "Yeah! That! What was that?"

Merlin was only growing more confused by the moment. "We've seen each other every day for weeks since then. You're only now bringing it up?"

"This is the first time I've been able to have a conversation without you dozing off on me!" Draco snapped back. From across the room someone shushed them – probably Blaise. In a quieter tone, Draco continued, "I just don't know what's been up with you, recently. Are we even friends?"

"Of course we are," Merlin admonished, sitting up as well.

"Good, because I was worried." He huffed and lay back down.

Merlin watched for him a moment. "Is yelling at me making you feel better?"

"Yeah, a little bit."

Merlin chuckled and second later, Draco joined in. It felt good, and Merlin couldn't help but wonder how many late night conversations he'd missed out on because he'd cut Draco out of his life. He's just pushed everyone else away because of his worry.

"I am worried about Silas," he finally admitted. And so many other things.

"I know." Draco paused, and then, "Are you going to tell me why you've been sneaking out, yet?"

"Nope."

"I didn't think so." Draco sounded a little disappointed though. Of course he would be. Keeping secrets from friends was hard. Until he told him, this would always be between them. This would be the constant reminder that they weren't best friends, and that he didn't completely trust him. Merlin could say what he wanted, but Draco would always feel the distance.

And it bothered him.

"Goodnight, Draco," Merlin muttered and he rolled over in his bed. He thought he heard a murmured reply, but he was half asleep by the time he closed his eyes. A world of blackness enveloped him, the soft confines of his bed leagues beyond the couch by the fireplace.

The court of Camelot swam before his gaze, the bright vibrant colors of a feast in session. Arthur was laughing, raising his goblet in a toast. He could see the knights, Gaius, even Gwen. And he stood, behind the tables in cheerful solitude. Any minute, Arthur would shout for him to fill his goblet. Maybe he should surprise him and do it without reminder – as if. He was too distracted. The world pulsed beneath his feet; the air was intoxicating, sweet and full of life. The day was coming. Samhain was just minutes away, and the entire world soaked in the magical power crossing through the veil into the physical world. The barrier was at it's weakest, and his nerves were on fire because of it.

And then something screamed. It stabbed a dagger into his mind, into his brain and numbed him to everything. An old woman stood before him, but she looked sad. The memory churned and shook, the horror that gripped his heart insurmountable. It was unlike anything he'd ever felt in his life. The veil had been pierced, someone had ripped it wide open and it gushed blood like a gaping wound. He fell to his knees, and his eyes rolled as the cold hit him. The worst cold he'd ever felt; a cold that froze his bones.

And then he saw the wisp of smoke, the ghosted face stretched with grotesque beauty, it's hands outstretched as a shriek dragged him into oblivion.

With a cry, Merlin sat up straight in bed, his whole body covered in cold sweat. The memory of the Dorocha as it attacked him still painfully vivid in his mind's eye. He shook his head, swallowing gulps of air and looked outside to the light blue of the coming dawn.

Samhain had finally arrived.

Only A Boy

Halloween.

The air jumped with static magic. Merlin had never felt it so powerfully as he did now; the sheer concentration of so much magic in one place was acting like an amplifier. Those who didn't understand what was going on – the majority of the first years – were particularly loud and obnoxious, feeling braver and more reckless due to the power they felt.

Merlin felt a little overwhelmed, to be honest.

That evening, all of the Slytherins met up in the common room before heading up to the Great Hall together. Something about wanting to make an entrance. Merlin didn't really pay much attention; he was too distracted by the magic swirling through the air. Draco was boasting loudly of his father's Halloween parties and how it was such a shame that he couldn't go. But as they were passing the potions classroom Merlin came to a dead stop.

For a moment, he couldn't really understand why. Something had touched the back of his neck, all the hairs standing on end and his arms covered in goose bumps. He turned quickly to look behind him, noting how his breath frosted in the air.

"Merlin, what are you doing?"

He turned back to look at the green and sliver clad group that was leaving him in the dust. Draco had realized that Merlin wasn't beside him and had stopped as well, frowning at him. He opened his mouth to say something else when he paled and looked at something that had just emerged from the potions classroom – but Merlin hadn't heard a door open—

"Ah, young Mr. Evans, heading up to the feast are we?" It was the Bloody Baron. Merlin could feel the ghost's essence like a chill through the air. He was reminded of the Dorocha and shivered, unable to push the memory of their horrible shrieking from his mind. The Baron surveyed him with curiosity, and Merlin lifted his head to an arrogant level.

"Yup, I heard it's going to be delicious. You know, for those of us who can eat."

Draco made a noise like a dying cat. "Merlin—"

"I see," the Baron interrupted, his blank silver eyes narrowing. "It seems prudent to have another one of our chats regarding respect to elders. Perhaps being late to this delicious feast will help you to remember it."

Merlin tried to look upset by this. But he hadn't talked to the ghost in quite some time and he was eager for an update. He turned back to Draco and briefly widened his eyes, hoping to convey some sort of panic.

"You can leave now, Mr. Malfoy," the Bloody Baron shot, and Draco almost ran down the hallway. He looked back over his shoulder though, seeing Merlin smile reassuringly at him before disappearing from sight.

"I think you've scared him, Baron," Merlin said with a dark chuckle. The ghost rolled his eyes and floated back through the closed door of the potions classroom. Merlin's eyes flashed gold and the door opened, allowing him to follow into the cold quiet of the deserted room. For a long moment, the ghost didn't say anything and Merlin started to feel rather uncomfortable. Like the Dorocha, the Baron gave off that same aura, the aura belonging to the dead. He'd never noticed it before – and probably wouldn't notice again once the night passed – but now it wrapped around him, misty and tart with decay.

"I didn't mean what I said about the food—" Merlin began in an offhand way, but the ghost chuckled and he stopped. The Baron turned to him, shaking his translucent head.

"My silence is that of man searching for the right words, not of anger." He glided over to Snape's desk.

Merlin watched him. "Start with the most important?" he suggested watching as the ghosts tried to touch the wood. Perhaps he could feel it to some degree tonight.

"Tom is back in England."

"Wow, you don't sugar coat it at all." Merlin swallowed. "Are you sure? Where?" He crossed through the dark pews until he was standing in front of the ghost.

The Baron gave a sigh of frustration. "That is impossible to know. It is my personal belief that Tom has moved up from possessing animals to people."

"What?" Merlin felt rather sick.

"It hides his presence most effectively. However, he was sensed within Gringotts at the end of July. He must have separated himself from his host for a moment, and that was when one of the ghosts there felt his presence." The Baron shook his head.

"We really need to work on the speed of your information," Merlin muttered, running a hand through his hair. The ghost nodded somberly. Merlin leaned back against one of the desks and asked, "Do we know why he was there?"

"Not for certain. Did you hear that Gringotts was broken into?"

Merlin blinked. "Maybe…"

"That was the same day. But, the vault had already been emptied by our very own Severus Snape."

Merlin stared at him. He looked around the classroom, at the jars filled with pickling potion ingredients. He could remember Snape taking him to Gringotts and then saying he had his own errand to run. Had that been it?

"What was in the vault?"

Baron shook his head. "It was a closely guarded secret. I only know that it was and is in Headmaster Dumbledore's possession."

Well, at least that was something. But, if Tom was in England something big must be happening, and soon. Merlin chewed on his bottom lip, thinking. And if he was possessing a human body, that meant he could be anywhere – even Hogwarts. Merlin swallowed and looked up at the ghost before him.

"I want you to inform the headmaster of these developments. He might already know, but if he doesn't it's too important to be kept quiet." Merlin knew he was taking a huge risk. "I trust you won't flip on me?" he added with a nervous laugh.

The Baron gave him a very soft expression. "I swore to your service, not to his."

Merlin nodded. "Tell him that you were sent by the Warlock. I hope that when Dumbledore realizes there's another ally in this fight against Tom, he will share his information as well."

"Indeed, but I recommend you enchant me to keep your secrets."

Merlin blinked. "Is that possible? To enchant a ghost?"

"It is. I hold your secrets, Merlin. I need to keep them." The ghost floated down to stand before him. "Your enchantments will work tonight." Merlin nodded and held his hand out toward the ghost, his eyes flashing bright gold. His lips fluttered with the spell, half murmured and within a moment it was done. The Baron nodded and stepped back.

"Enjoy the feast, young Warlock," the Baron told him with a nod, and then he rose into the air, disappearing through the stone ceiling. Merlin stared at the spot for a moment before departing the classroom and making his way up the stone stairs. He hoped he had done the right thing – it felt like the right thing.

He didn't completely trust the old wizard but he did trust Snape, at least, to some degree.

The great hall loomed ahead of him, wafting scents of roast and caramel making his mouth water. But before he had taken his first step through the doors another smell reached him. It went straight through him, for it was the scent of magic. Merlin paused and turned around, wondering why it felt so familiar. He hesitated, wondering whether or not he should just ignore it, but curiosity drove him up the stairs. It felt organic, a rich, almost soiled type of energy. Like the goblins but considerably more animalistic. A touch of worry hit him as he reached the second floor – had something escaped from a defense or magical creature class?

The corridor was completely deserted. He couldn't tell whether the energy was coming from one floor higher or from down the corridor – was it both? That didn't make sense. He heard the clatter of footsteps behind him and he dived into the crook of a corner. It was probably Filtch and he did not want to deal with his questions.

But it wasn't Filtch.

It was Quirrell. Merlin stared as the professor hurried up the stairs, heading for the third floor. Why wasn't he at dinner? Hadn't Dumbledore mentioned that the third floor corridor was forbidden but—what on earth was that smell?

It was pungent, and he covered his mouth to stop himself from coughing. It was rotted, fragrant with the smell of decomposing meat and curdled milk. Choking, Merlin got to his feet and darted down the hallway, hoping to out run the smell. It was blocking all his other senses – he was going to throw up. But for some reason it felt familiar. At the end of the second floor corridor, right next to the girl's bathroom he straightened up. There was a draft here from a gap in the stones and he sucked in the clean air hungrily.

It almost smelt like—like a—

And then he felt hot breath on his head, rancid and broken by a cruel grunt.

Only A Boy

"Hey, where's Merlin?"

Draco gave a shrug. "The Baron wanted a word with him," he told Blaise, feeling nervous as he said it. The ghost had felt particularly vindictive today for some reason, or maybe it was just the spirit of Halloween going to his head. He glanced toward the double doors at the end of the hall but he didn't see Merlin walking through them. He hoped the idiot was okay – and why had he deliberately antagonized the ghost? Everyone knew that the Baron was the most feared – only he could control the poltergeist. Which was why nearly every Slytherin student was left in peace.

Did Merlin want detention?

Feeling eyes on him, Draco scanned his table. And then he looked over to realize that Hermione Granger was watching him. When she'd caught his eye, her lips moved to form a word. Merlin. Before he knew what he was doing, he had shrugged in reply and she'd dropped her gaze to look at the doors as well.

He felt horribly conflicted toward her. Her words at the end of the study group repeated themselves over and over in his mind, and he couldn't help but think that there was some truth to them. Merlin's answer to his questions last night didn't comfort him in the slightest. He knew who his father was, he knew who his family was – muggle haters. And, for eleven years, he had accepted and lived that fact as though it was just as true as the sun rising each day. But for the first time in his life he was questioning what he'd been taught. Sometimes he caught himself believing Merlin, or maybe just wanting to. He was the only friend he'd ever truly had. And it pained him to realize that even though he considered Merlin his best friend, Merlin didn't.

Merlin didn't trust him.

And for good reason, in all honesty. He had befriended Merlin because of his father, and had put up with him because of the possibility of his becoming an ally later. A Whomping Willow wand was, after all, unheard of. Draco was no fool; he knew his father thought that Merlin might be a potential pupil for the dark magicks. Only Draco had realized that idea was completely wasted on Merlin – he'd never hurt others. He was the kindest person he'd ever met.

And part of him wanted to change to be more like him.

But he couldn't just start flaunting an acceptance of muggleborns. He couldn't just start associating with Gryffindors, no matter how Slytherin-like they were, and he couldn't just forget who he was. If his father found out he was even considering it—Draco shuddered.

The doors were thrown wide open and he turned, praying to see Merlin making a ridiculous entrance but he didn't. Professor Quirrell ran straight through the tables, all the way up to the high table and collapsed to his knees in front of Professor Dumbledore. "Troll," he gasped. "In the dungeons—thought you ought to know." And he collapsed in a dead faint.

Fear unlike he had ever felt seized him. The entire great hall rose to their feet in a great uproar, but their shrieks and panicked questions were lost on him. His ears had stopped working properly. Almost in a haze, he looked over and met Hermione's eyes. Her horror-stricken face looked exactly how he felt, and then her lips, trembling, formed a word.

Merlin.

All of the color had left Draco's face by that point. Merlin was still in the dungeons. He was in the dungeons with the troll. Or had he made it out already? He had no idea. Dumbledore finally managed to calm everyone down, but he could barely understand the instructions he gave. As everyone got to their feet and started moving, Draco made a beeline toward her. He would later claim the crowd had pushed him, but at the time all he knew was that she was the only other person who was as worried about Merlin as he was, and they needed to help him together.

"He's in the dungeon," he said once she was beside him. "Merlin's in the dungeon," he repeated, his hands starting to shake. A troll could kill an adult, much less a kid. They had to find him.

"Don't panic," Hermione muttered to him. They were swept up the stairs by the crowd. The Slytherin students were going to the library while the dungeons were sealed off. "We need to slip away, okay? Are there any other entrances to the dungeons?"

Draco paused for a moment, sweat breaking out on his brow. "Uh, maybe? But I don't know where. My God, what if the teachers don't—"

"They are headed toward him already. They'll find him, okay?" Hermione was silent for a moment then she grabbed his arm and led him down the second floor. "There's another staircase at the end back to the great hall. We can wait outside the dungeons and maybe tell a teacher what's—" she skidded to a halt. Draco jerked her back behind a column.

Professor Snape was ahead of them, racing toward a staircase toward the third floor corridor. "What are you doing?" Hermione hissed. "We should grab him, tell him that Merlin's in trouble!"

"No."

"No? He can help!" Hermione snapped back. "Don't be an idiot!" And she tried to break free of his grip and run after Snape. Draco groaned and jerked her back.

"No. If he sees us, he'll send you to your common room and me to the library." And he might tell my father he saw me consorting with a mudblood. Draco shook his head. "We need to find Merlin ourselves.

Hermione looked like she wanted to protest but thought better of it. "Fine, arguing isn't going to help us anyway. Let's go."

Once Snape had rounded the corner; they shot down the hall toward the staircases. But as they neared them, a smell suddenly reached Draco and he came to a stop, grabbing Hermione's arm again and pulling her into a corner. "What are you—" she began to say but then the smell must have reached her too, because she fell silent.

It was coming from a hallway around the corner. Draco gritted his teeth and walked toward it, Hermione following him very slowly from behind. His heart was in his throat, and his stomach seized, as they got closer. He pulled his collar over his nose. At the edge, he stopped, leaned against the wall and peered around. He would never forget the sight for as long as he lived.

Standing in the middle of the hallway was a twelve-foot mountain troll. Its skin was gray, leathery, and covered with this awful dark clay that gave off the most putrid odor. Its arms were so long that they almost dragged along the floor, and in its enormous hand it held a gnarled wooden club. The creature ran its clawed feet along the stone floor, as though preparing to charge. It threw back its enormous head and opened jaws that could crush an entire watermelon, long lethal looking tusks glinting in the torchlight. The roar it made sounded like a cross between an elephant and the cry of a falcon, a harsh sharp sound that made Draco wince. And standing across the monstrosity, was Merlin Evans.

Hermione came up beside him to look too, positively shaking. When she saw Merlin, she opened her mouth to scream—Draco clamped his hand over her mouth. Something didn't feel right. Merlin hadn't noticed they were there; his icy blue gaze was fixed on the troll before him. Hermione tried to make Draco let go of her, but he held fast – she needed to be quiet. And maybe she realized why when she looked at Merlin too, he didn't really care. All he knew was that he was scared of Merlin.

He was facing down the troll, holding himself differently than usual. But he wasn't standing tall, holding his head arrogantly like he had against the Baron. No, he was completely relaxed, with his body facing against the wall and his head angled in such was that it seemed like he was only barely considering the beast before him. The troll raised its club, but it hesitated before it took a step toward him and it was then that Draco noticed scorch marks on the stone by the creature's feet.

"Leave the castle," Merlin spoke. Draco had never heard Merlin use such a cold tone before; it sent a chill through him. "I will not warn you again."

The troll let out another piercing shriek. It lifted its club high above it's head and started lumbering toward Merlin, gaining speed. Something gold flashed in the shadows, a bright clear color that somehow managed to be both warm and cold at the same time. There was blinding flash of light, Draco felt a hot breeze blow down the corridor, and the troll crumpled with a pitiful whine. It smacked against the stone floor and lay still.

Draco didn't move. Hermione, who had started crying at the second bellow of the troll, was shaking. For a moment, there was no sound, and then the clatter of footsteps as Merlin walked away. When they had vanished, Draco finally let go of Hermione. She didn't make a noise though, merely staring at him in shock.

"What—what just happened?" she gulped, too scared to look around the corner at the motionless corpse in the hallway.

Draco stared back at her. "Merlin just killed a troll."