[25]

Checkmate

"You say he fell down two flights of stairs, professor?"

"I-I-indeed, M-madam P-P-Pomfrey."

"It looks like his magic protected him from the worst of the damage, but even so if you hadn't found him—"

For a few moments, Merlin couldn't understand the conversation. The only thing he could focus on was the awful thudding in his head, the throbbing of his right foot, and the general soreness that wracked his entire body. He felt as though he had managed to hit every single step on his way down—his way down—

"Quirrell!" He shouted, ignoring the pain and sitting bolt up right in bed. The two adults beside him started, and Merlin saw to his horror that the person he had just named was one of them. His eyes widened, confusion and panic fighting for dominance.

What was he doing here?

"Lay back down!" Madam Pomfrey barked, putting her hand on Merlin's shoulder and forcing him back in the bed.

"But—he—" Merlin tried to say but she forced a vial of potion into his mouth and he spluttered, coughing as only half of it made it down the right pipe. He hit his chest, trying to regain his breath. Quirrell was still standing there, looking far too calm.

"Really Evans, I would have thought you'd be more careful. Slipping at the head of the stairs?" Pomfrey was saying as she bustled around him, waving her wand over his elbow, which he saw was deep purple and scratched.

"I didn't slip," Merlin immediately said, his voice starting to shake with anger. "He pushed me," he continued, pointing toward Quirrell.

"Now, really," Pomfrey admonished, raising her eyebrows. "Professor Quirrell found you. And lucky thing too—"

"No! It's a trick." Merlin interrupted, his voice growing louder. "He's just pretending. He's going too—" and he tried to get back up but Pomfrey wouldn't have it.

"Calm down, Mr. Evans!"

Quirrell donned a hurt expression when Merlin accused him and looked at the nurse. "P-Pomfrey he's o-obviously d-d-distressed. P-perhaps a sleepless p-potion?" he suggested lightly and Merlin saw the smallest smile tugging on the corner of his mouth

"No. I'm fine. Really," Merlin said quickly but madam Pomfrey forced the potion down his throat with a flick of her wand anyway. All Merlin wanted to do was find Snape, and he was willing to bet that Quirrell had told Pomfrey that they shouldn't worry him until, well, until Merlin was unable to tell him anything.

Before, Merlin had wondered why Quirrell hadn't just killed him. Silence him before he could tell Snape or anyone else what he had seen. But now he knew. If he had died he would never make it near the stone, especially when an investigation revealed that Merlin hadn't just slipped. No, this way Quirrell looked like a hero and he could discredit Merlin's words as the rambling of a child who hit his head too hard.

And his injuries would make it easy for him to influence madam Pomfrey to knock him out until the deed was done.

Merlin coughed and tried to spit it out, but he'd choked and most of it made it through. As the hospital wing started to grow hazy, Merlin mustered his remaining strength to glare at Quirrell and whisper, "I'll stop you," before his eyelids dropped.

Only A Boy

He was not worried about Merlin.

Just because he'd left to grab his bag from Quirrell's classroom and hadn't come back yet didn't mean anything. And three hours was surely no cause for concern. The castle was large after all, and there always the possibility that Merlin had somehow winded up in the Astronomy Tower instead of the dungeons—or maybe he'd met up with those blasted Weasley Twins again and were off pushing Filtch's buttons.

Yes, that must be why Merlin hadn't returned to the common room yet.

Draco sat there on one of the black squishy armchairs, chewing his tongue. Blaise had already made fun of him, sitting there like a worried adult. But, Merlin had gone to Quirrell's classroom. And, Draco knew exactly what that man was up to. Unable to bear the wait any longer, Draco got to his feet and left the common room, ignoring the call from behind telling him curfew was in a few minutes.

He was going to ask Snape. He wasn't fool enough to go try take Quirrell on his own – he wasn't a Gryffindor. He was a Slytherin, and Slytherins knew when to ask a teacher for help. When he reached Snape's office to his surprise he found the door ajar. Inside, Snape was pacing back and forth, looking bad-tempered and worried. Draco cleared his throat.

"Uh, Professor?" he asked timidly. "Do you—do you know where Merlin is? It's almost curfew—"

Snape shot him a look that made Draco take a step back. It was as though he'd poked a sharp stick into the professor's gut, said something that had physically pained him. Draco's heart sank and he swallowed, panic-stricken thoughts coursing through his mind.

"Evans," Snape said slowly, "was found a few hours ago at the bottom of the stairs, having had a—" he paused a moment, "—a nasty fall."

"What?" Draco exclaimed, his heart hammering in his chest. "What happened, is he okay?"

Snape shook his head. "I don't know. I don't trust anything that Quirrell says, but Madam Pomfrey says she has given Merlin a sleeping draft to last the night."

"Quirrell?" Draco repeated. This was looking worse by the minute.

Snape nodded and spat, "Apparently it was he who found Merlin." Snape scoffed and shook his head. "But it's too late. We'll have to wait till the morning." He sighed heavily. "Go on back to the common room. I'll get you when Merlin wakes up."

Draco stood there frozen for a moment, thinking quickly. All he could picture in his head was Merlin, covered in bandages and just barely holding onto life and he knew he would never get to sleep with that picture in his head. So, he gave a jerky nod to Snape and left the office but instead of heading back to the Slytherin common room, he ran up the stairs.

He didn't know what to do. Absolutely no clue and the only person he knew that might have one, was Hermione Granger.

So here he was, a Slytherin, running up to Gryffindor tower…wherever Gryffindor tower was. He'd ran as fast as he could up the stairs toward where he'd seen the Gryffindor's heading to after dinner. He reached the sixth floor, completely out of breath and lost. He looked around, trying not to think about the fact that it was probably past curfew by now, and looked for something that looked like it could be the entrance to Gryffindor.

Or was he on the wrong floor? Draco had no idea. He wandered around, up and down the corridor and just when he had started to consider shouting Hermione's name, two red haired boys appeared on the staircase looking puzzled.

"What are you doing up here, Malfoy?" one of them asked, glancing toward his brother and walking forward. "Where's Merlin?" But from the look on his face, Draco had a funny feeling he knew where.

"I—" Draco started before shaking his head. "I need Hermione."

The Weasley stared at him. "You need Hermione," he repeated slowly.

Draco frowned. "Yes! It's important and it concerns Merlin, all right?" he snapped. He didn't feel much like going into the specifics with them. They were friends with Merlin, they weren't friends with him and he wasn't sure how honest Merlin was with them. He just—he needed Hermione's help.

Maybe something of his desperation showed on his face, because the twins exchanged looks and sighed. "All right," one of them said as he shook his head. "Wait here a second." And he quickly ran back up the stairs—wrong floor then. Draco felt awkward, the other twin had stayed behind but neither of them seemed to know what to say.

"I'm Fred," the twin finally said raising his hand and offering a small smile.

"Right," Draco said nodding stiffly to him.

"The other one's George."

"I knew that. Process of elimination and all that," Draco muttered back. He knew the twins' names, he just never knew who was who. He leaned from one foot to the next, praying that George hurried back with Hermione.

"So, is Merlin okay?" Fred finally asked, his smile faltering some.

Draco swallowed. "Probably," he said with a weak smile. It was better to think that he was over-reacting than to think that—that—

"Draco, what's happened?" came a shrill voice from the stairs. Hermione was taking them two at a time, George right behind her. "He said something's happened to Merlin?"

"I'll explain on the way," Draco muttered and he motioned for her to follow him down the stairs.

"Let us know, will you?" Fred shouted after them but they were already halfway down the stairs.

"Where are we going?" Hermione asked him, worry seeping into her tone. "It's already curfew and—"

"The hospital wing," Draco cut across and Hermione gasped.

"What's happened?" He could feel her large brown eyes on the back of his head.

He shook his head. "I don't know, Snape said that he fell but he had gone to pick up his bag from Quirrell's classroom."

"You—you think that Quirrell did it?" she squeaked and her pace increased so that she was walking right next to him.

"I wouldn't put it past him," Draco replied darkly. He sighed, his brows furrowing with worry. "I just don't know what to do. If it was Quirrell what do we do?"

Hermione was silent for a moment then, "But why would he do it?"

"What do you mean why—" Draco tried to say but Hermione continued, interrupting him.

"He wouldn't just attack a student, Draco. That's too reckless, what if he was caught? Merlin must have seen something."

Draco nodded, gritting his teeth. "Must have been something pretty big."

Only A Boy

Merlin woke with a start.

He could still feel the last remnants of the potion fighting to bring him back to sleep before his magic finished it off completely. Not to his surprise, Pomfrey had given him a child's dose and he had never been more grateful it wasn't the right one.

He laid still in bed for a few moments just in case, but he didn't see Madam Pomfrey making her rounds around the infirmary. Assuming that she was in her office, Merlin sat up. He still ached all over. His shoulder twinged painfully when he moved it too quickly, and he was pretty sure he'd sprained his ankle. But Quirrell was probably headed for the stone right now, and he couldn't risk sitting here for another minute.

Wincing, Merlin got out of bed and hobbled through the infirmary doors. But just as he was closing them behind him, he heard pounding footsteps and a cry, "Oh, Merlin! You're okay!"

Hermione and Draco were running toward him.

"Shut up! You want to wake the whole castle?" Draco ground at her as they skidded to a halt in front of him but he seemed more worried than angry. "Merlin, what—"

"There's not a lot of time," Merlin cut across and he grimaced as he took another step forward. "Quirrell's going after the stone, tonight." He quickly explained everything he could remember, about going into Quirrell's classroom and seeing the Dark Lord on the back of his head and then waking up in the infirmary the first time. When he'd finished, Draco was pale.

"Merlin—" Hermione started to say but Merlin shook his head. He knew they would try to stop him, but there wasn't time to argue. He was willing to bet that Quirrell had already gotten past Fluffy.

"There isn't time. I can stop him and I will," he told them with such finality that Draco actually took a step back. Hermione swallowed, glanced at the blond to her left and nodded, taking her wand out of her robes.

"You won't far with your foot like that," she told him as she bend down and tapped it with her wand, muttering a spell. A brace appeared around his foot and though walking was awkward, it didn't hurt nearly as much as before.

"Thanks," he told her smiling weakly and he took off down the hallway. "Listen," he told them as they ran, "You two need to go tell Snape what's going on. I'll delay Quirrell until he and Dumbledore can get there."

"No, we're coming with you!" Draco began hotly but Merlin shook his head.

"I can handle Quirrell, so just get Snape!"

"Merlin," Hermione said, sounding scared, "Quirrell is a professor. You're no match for him!"

"And you think you two are any better?" Merlin shot back and Hermione bit her lip. He knew perfectly well that he was more than capable of handling Quirrell but he knew that his friends would never believe it. "I can do enough to delay him," he continued, "So you bring the back-up, okay?"

He could tell that Draco and Hermione still didn't agree, but with a curt nod Draco grabbed Hermione's sleeve and dragged her down a different hallway. Merlin didn't waste time watching them go. He would have knocked them both out if he had too, he wasn't going to let them get hurt by coming with him. The splint Hermione had given him clunked loudly every time he stepped on it. It'd be just his luck if Filtch caught him now.

But somehow, he didn't run into the cranky caretaker and he skidded to a halt outside the locked door to the third floor corridor. Merlin took a deep breath and waved his hand over the door. It opened of it's own accord and Merlin walked inside. As he did, the enormous three-headed dog woke from its snooze and began growling.

Merlin didn't want to hurt Hagrid's pet, but he had to get past it. He grimaced, and held up his hand but before he'd cast a spell he spotted a harp in the corner. He stared at it for a moment and then remembered what Quirrell had mentioned about music. His eyes flashed gold and the harp began playing on it's own. It wasn't really a tune, just strumming the strings but the dog – which had been getting ready to jump – started dozing off at once.

Not caring if he touched the sleeping dog, he made his way across the room and wrenched open the trap door. He couldn't see what lay inside, blackness meeting his gaze. It had to be deep and falling was going to hurt, even if he wasn't injured. He didn't see any stairs either, so the only way he could get down was to jump. Merlin gritted his teeth.

Here goes nothing, he thought and he jumped into the hole.

He landed with a thump on something soft, much to his relief. He had expected hard ground, after all. The room was dark and earthy, the smell of soil filling his nostrils. Beneath him was something smooth and after a moment he realized it was aplant. His eyes adjusted to the gloom at last and he saw thick vines covering the walls. Several things became clear in that instant. First and foremost, he was sitting in a patch of Devil's Snare and second, he wasn't far behind Quirrell.

He could remember dimly Professor Sprout talking about how this particular plant could not stand the light or the heat, and yet the vines felt warm beneath his fingres. In fact, they felt charred. It hadn't had time to recover, but he knew that it was only moments before the plant was attempting to strangle him. Already s some strands were attempting to wrap around his legs. He quickly untangled himself and pressed himself against the far wall, moving quickly to the dimly lit door in the corner.

He had hopped that he would see Quirrell there, but it was another obstacle. It looked like Hermione had been right when she'd said that there would probably be a series of hurdles, blocking the way to the stone and this one seemed to be Professor Flitwick's contribution. The room was tall and brightly lit, with several hundred winged keys zooming in the air above him. In the middle of the room was a broomstick, hovering in the air. Clearly one of these keys was intended to open the door at the opposite side of the room, but he didn't have time to try and catch one of these infernal things. Besides, he couldn't even fly the broom.

He crossed the room and attempted to magic the door open, but to no avail. Merlin frowned and glanced frustrated toward the broom. He couldn't. The broom would explode if he tried to fly it.

Wait a moment.

The memory of the broom exploding gave him an idea, and he quickly pressed his palm against the door. Yes, the door had been enchanted to ignore all opening spells, but that didn't mean it was indestructible; particularly against one of his ancient druidic spells. He took a deep breath, keeping his hand against the door. Beneath his eyelids, his eyes shone gold and he pushed his magic into the door, interfering with the enchanted upon it. He could feel the wood growing warm beneath his touch. He opened his eyes and took a few steps back, and then with another spell he pushed his hands out toward it. The door was knocked off it's hinges with an almighty bang and into the next room.

Allowing himself a small smile, he hobbled over the wreckage of wood and came into an enormous hall. It had to be twice larger than the room he had just left, and dimly let – allowing the shadows to give the illusion of more space than there actually was. Up against the walls on the left and the right were deep marble trenches, filled with what looked like broken statues. The shapes looked somewhat familiar to him, but he knew why the moment he took in the sight in front of him. The dim lights illuminated a life-size chessboard, with enormous marble pieces, each one nearly twice his height, and there – in the middle of the board – was a man in a purple turban.

He had caught up to Professor Quirrell.

Only A Boy

"This is not good. Oh… this is so not good."

Hermione hadn't stopped mumbling the moment they'd left Merlin. Sometimes she would shake her head, thick brown hair swinging before biting her lip and muttering again about how this was, "not good."

It was starting to get on Draco's nerves.

"Everything will be fine," he told her through gritted teeth. "Snape will be right behind him. Quirrell won't have time to even cast a spell."

Hermione didn't look consoled though. She glanced behind her, and said, "We should have gone with him. I bet – I know - more than just more than just that dog guards the stone. He might not even be able to get to Quirrell."

Draco frowned. "He said he would handle it, and I believe him."

"Yeah, but—"

"He took down a troll, and was a perch for a dragon. He can do it," and he almost convinced himself. Merlin was a mystery, someone who didn't look like he could accomplish much but then he snuck up on you and showed you exactly how wrong you were.

They reached the dungeons out of breath, but didn't stop. Draco skidded around the corner and caught sight of the professor's office. With any luck, Snape was still inside. But if he'd gone to sleep—Draco had no idea where the teacher's lodgings were. Crossing his fingers, he barged inside, Hermione staggering behind him. Snape looked like he was in the middle of re-arranging his bookshelf; he had volumes on the floor all around him and was holding several more in his hands.

He stared at them.

"What are you doing out of bed at this hour?" he snarled at them. "Draco, I seem to recall telling you to go to—"

"Professor, please," Hermione interrupted. Draco turned to stare at her. She'd never interrupted a professor before, let alone Snape. "It's Merlin."

Snape, who had been looking murderous, froze. He looked from one to the other before slowly setting his books down. "Merlin is in the hospital wing, Granger. He will be perfectly fine after a night's rest."

Draco gave a hollow laugh. "Oh no, he's not. He's headed to the third floor."

"What?" Snape said softly, his eye widening.

"We snuck up to see him and ran into him in the hallway," Hermione said. "Told us that Quirrell was the one who attacked him, he'd seen him taking to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

"He saw him, actually. On the—on the back of Quirrell's head." Draco grimaced. "The turban wasn't just a fashion statement."

"So he tried to keep Merlin quiet, while he goes after the stone tonight!" Hermione squeaked.

Snape didn't reply. He turned sharply and walked over to his fireplace, igniting it with a wave of his hand and throwing some powder on the flames. Draco glanced at Hermione and saw that she was shaking, chewing on her thumbnail. She looked as worried as Draco felt.

"Albus," Snape shot into the fire. "He's gone after it."

For a second nothing happened, and then Dumbledore appeared in the green flames. The sight didn't bother Draco, he was used to the flu network even if his family preferred not to travel that way. Cheap transportation, his father called it. Climbing out of fireplaces covered in ash was beneath the Malfoy's. Draco had secretly always wanted to try it. Hermione on the other hand seemed shocked as she watched the headmaster climb out of the fireplace and join them in the office.

"Explain on the way," Dumbledore told Snape briskly and he strode for the door. "Perhaps it would be better if you two wait here," he told Draco and Hermione. He didn't wait for a reply. He left the office with Snape right behind him and the door closed with a snap.

Draco stood there, heart thumping. Now that he had a moment to think, he realized what he had just done. He had thrown his lot in with the light. His father would be furious when he found out he had tried to stop the Dark Lord from coming back, that he had involved the headmaster. But Draco wasn't ashamed of his actions. He felt proud. He felt like for once in his life he had done the right thing, and he found solace in that.

Next to him, Hermione slumped to the ground, hugging her knees. "Do you think he's okay?" she whispered.

Draco sat down next to her and patted her back. "I'm sure he is."

Only A Boy

The façade had run its course.

It was time to drop the act, to throw away the skin of a lazy student and reveal how adept at magic he really was. But as Merlin stood tall and took a step forward, he noticed the smallest tremor of his hand. And here, the eleven-year-boy tried to make an appearance. His body, his hormones, his maturity, was caught between an older mind and physical youth. But he would not let childish fears stop him, wouldn't let the anxiety of what was about to come shake him. The instincts of a boy wouldn't stop him from doing what needed to be done.

He had faked incompetence nearly all his life, but these were the moments that stuck out in his mind. The moments he could stop pretending, when it really mattered and he could embrace who he truly was. So he clenched his hand into a fist and let sweet calm wash over him. He fixed his cold blue gaze on the professor in front of him and lifted his chin. He stood between Quirrell and the stone. Between Tom and his return. They both knew it, but only Merlin knew for certain that Quirrell would never make it to the next room.

Quirrell regarded him for several moments, never moving from his square on the chessboard. "What a surprise, Evans," he said, his soft voice cutting across the silent room like a knife. "How did you manage to awaken from your dreamless sleep?"

Merlin smiled in reply. "Does it really matter, professor?" He walked casually to the edge of the board, noting the way the stone bishop turned around as though getting ready to stop him from intruding into the game. "I told you in the infirmary."

Quirrell raised his eyebrow.

The smile fell from his face, his expression growing solemn and not at all reminiscent of the youthful child that had stood there moments before. "I will stop you."

"You will, will you?" Quirrell laughed. But Merlin had seen it in his eyes, the flash of hesitation, of anxiety. He had never encountered something like Merlin before and though he kept telling himself the boy before him was no threat, there was that flicker of doubt. That wonder that this boy had discovered everything, had dragged himself out of bed, and had managed to catch up.

"You really think you can stop me?" Quirrell continued, putting on an air of nonchalance. "A boy who couldn't turn in one scrap of homework?"

Merlin shrugged and started strolling along the edge of the board. "There's only one way to find out."

Quirrell sneered at him. "You're too late. I'm one move away from checkmate, and then I'm moving on to the next room while you're stuck here hopelessly battling your way across the room."

Merlin sighed and rolled his eyes, "Such a cliché statement," he said. He had reached the graveyard of dilapidated black pieces. He placed his hand atop a crumbling castle, feeling the enchantments placed upon it. "Say that when you're holding the prize, when you've destroyed everyone in your path, when you've won." He smiled and said as sweetly as he could, "Because you never know when someone might fuck up your plans."

Quirrell tensed as though he wanted to step off his square, but he didn't. Instead he turned his attention back to the king and shouted, "Castle to E4!" The piece slid across the board and as it neared the king entrapped by Quirrell's bishop and queen, he sneered, "Checkmate."

The king dropped his sword, the bang ringing through the room and all the pieces turned to walk off the board. The doors on the other side opened with a click and Quirrell leapt toward it, victory written on his face.

Merlin's eyes shone gold, he raised his hand, jerked it and Quirrell went flying back. He landed in the middle of the board with a heavy thud and Merlin's eyes glittered again. The doors slammed shut, the destroyed chess pieces returned to their perfect state and climbed back onto the board, forming a barricade in front of Quirrell.

"Oh, shoot. I seem to have reset the game," Merlin said walking onto the chessboard now and scratching the back of his neck. "That doesn't make things difficult for you, does it?"

Quirrell was livid. He got to his feet with billowing robes, bearing a feral look in his eyes. The time of conversation had finished. Merlin knew the instant he saw the professor's arm twitch and Merlin leapt behind the newly reconstructed castle as a burst of green light shot at him, chipping away bits of the marble chess piece as it hit it with an almighty bang.

Merlin ducked out as he whispered, "Wáce ierlic!" and one of the pawns in front of him was blasted backwards at Quirrell, but the professor managed to break it apart with a spell. He yelled and fired another spell though the smoke and debris, but Merlin dodged it easily and hid behind the black bishop.

"You haven't stopped anything," Quirrell screamed, firing destructive spells at random chess pieces, sending rocks and dust into the air. "I'm going to kill you, and continue on my way to the stone!"

"Have fun with that!" Merlin shouted back and he sent another pawn skidding toward Quirrell, but this time it managed to clip the man in the shoulder, knocking him to the ground as the professor's spell skidded off the side and hit the other castle. Coughing in the dust, Merlin peaked around to see Quirrell slowly get to his feet, his turban slowly unraveling. As he watched, the purple cloth fell away completely and a high cold voice chuckled.

"Most surprising, young wizard," it said softly and Quirrell turned his back to Merlin so that he could see the back of his head. Although he had known what he was going to see, seen it before in the reflection of a mirror only hours before, the sight of Lord Voldemort's mutilated soul made him queasy.

Everything was wrong about this man, if he was even a man at all. He was the reason Merlin was here, and the one twisting the ancient magicks. Merlin swallowed and got to his feet. His robes were covered in rock dust, the bruises of his tumble down the stairs not yet healed, his splinted foot doing little to make him appear impressive or intimidating.

Voldemort laughed again, the sound echoing off the marble board and around the stone walls of the room until it made Merlin feel insane just listening to it. "You exhibit a mastery of magic beyond your years, and to think you were the fool in Quirrell's class." Quirrell took a step backward, toward Merlin and the mutilated face sneered at him.

"My young snake," his eyes flickered toward the house crest on his robes. "Do not be foolish. You could be such a master of the dark arts, do not waste your life fighting here. Join me, and I'll show you how to reach your potential."

Merlin felt like puking. "Yeah, thanks but no. I can do that on my own," he spat glaring at those pitiless red eyes.

Voldemort hissed and took another step toward him. "You are a Slytherin!" he screeched. "You are meant to serve the desires of your house! To continue the cause of the great Salazar himself!"

"Salazar would spit on a monstrosity like you," Merlin snarled back. "You pervert the old rites, mutilate the fabric of a human soul. You are less than the ground you slither across, and he would weep at the sight of you!"

If there was one thing he knew for certain about Salazar, despite whatever his pureblood agenda had been was that he cherished the Old Religion. He had honored the rites, had made absolute sure the balance was maintained. He had practiced druidic magic with the dignity and respect it deserved, not with careless brutality. Perhaps that was why he had developed his pureblood ideals in the first place; maybe he thought muggleborns weren't worthy of such dignified magicks after despising it all those years.

Voldemort face contorted, a hellish demon wanting nothing more than claw out Merlin's eyes and devour his soul. "Silence! You will be silenced! Kill him!" he screeched and Quirrell turned back around, twirling his wand in the air.

Merlin dove behind the knight chess piece, and the flash of green light hit the wall instead.

"How difficult is it to kill a boy?" Voldemort shrieked, his words sounding barbed as though he held Quirrell's life in between his teeth. "Butcher him, smear his life across the floor! I want him dead!"

"I'll kill him, I'll do it," Quirrell said but there was fear in his voice. He was scared of his master's fury, terrified of what would happen if he didn't succeed. He cast another spell at the knight Merlin was hiding behind, but this time the stone wasn't damaged. Instead, there was a ripple of magic that ruffled his hair. There was a pause, a moment for Merlin to wonder what Quirrell had done before the stone knight had turned its sightless face toward him and it was too late.

He didn't deflect in time. Even as his eyes flickered with gold he felt the sword smash against his side as though it had intended to separate his torso from his legs. But the blunt stone blade, though perfect for breaking a part stone chess pieces was ill suited for slicing. It was like someone had hit him with a steel rod, and he felt his ribs break with ear splitting cracks.

He crumpled to the ground as he fought off the blackness of pain that threatened to engulf him.

"Checkmate," Quirrell breathed.

Merlin was having difficulty breathing. He wheezed for breath, and it was with more than a whimper that he managed to crane his neck to see Quirrell standing in the middle of such carnage, his robes ripped and some blood dripping from his shoulder and down his hand, to the black and white marble tiles checkering the floor.

"Finish him!" Voldemort cried and as Quirrell raised his wand again, the knight raised his sword.

The boy had surfaced again, the scared little boy that fought for space in his heart. Merlin could see him clearly in his minds-eye. He was hyperventilating, and suddenly he was drowning in panic. The world seemed to slow down, and he looked from Quirrell to the knight getting ready to bash his head in. His magic was expanding, responding the emotion and vibrating chaotically.

He had broken past the emotion threshold, and there was nothing left but to channel the magic building inside him. He didn't even have a second to think. His only goal was making sure Quirrell didn't make it to the last room, that he didn't get the stone and Voldemort didn't return. And he knew one way to do it.

Screwing up his concentration, still trying not to pass out, he croaked hoarsely, "Ic þe bebiede þæt þu abifest nu," and with all his remaining strength, slammed his fists into the ground.

His magic reached a crescendo and shot out; the ground quaked, bending as the shockwave of magic passed through it. Quirrell shouted, and Merlin heard him lose his footing. And then there was a crack as the ground ripped, jagged edges rising up and the entire ceiling collapsed with a colossal boom.

Merlin covered his head with his hands, whispering a shield spell as the room caved in. He couldn't hear anything but the sharp crashing of rock on rock, the sound piercing his eardrums without mercy. He thought he could hear Quirrell screaming, but he couldn't know for sure. The vibrations that shook the ground jostled his injuries, and he swung in and out of consciousness.

And then everything stopped. The crumbling sound of small rocks tumbling down the pile seemed so soft compared to the explosion of before. He felt a rush of wind, and the putrid aura of the Dark Lord left the destruction like a swirl of smoke rising upward. He could feel the hatred, the malice and self-loathing. He could feel it screaming at him, twisting and crying out with anguish before vanishing with a last muted cry.

"Now, its checkmate," Merlin whispered, and it was with a smile that he fainted.

Only A Boy

Soft.

He was lying in the softest bed in the world—of that, he was certain. He sank into it, and it enveloped him with such comfort that he never wanted to leave. But something more important pressed on his mind, told him that he needed to wake up. An image of the steel black knight raising his sword flashed in his mind, the thunder as the ceiling caved in—

Quirrell!

Merlin's eyes shot open and when he saw something move out of the corner of his eye he jerked away, his bed rattling.

"Dear heavens, it's only me my boy."

Merlin blinked, turning to look at the Headmaster sitting in a chair at his bedside. The man's blue eyes twinkled and Merlin saw them crinkle with a smile. "You are a very brave young man."

Merlin slowly smiled. "It's been known to happen." He paused a moment and looked around the infirmary. "What happened to Quirrell?" he asked.

"For attacking a student and attempting to steal the stone, he has been taken to Azkaban. Or rather, will be as soon as he can move again."

"So he survived," Merlin said and he sat up in bed. It wasn't a question.

"Indeed, it seems he managed to get underneath one of the transfigured pawns. Not to say he didn't escape—er—some crushing, of course." He surveyed Merlin for a moment before continuing, "Professor Snape has informed me how you pieced almost everything on your own, and I must say I'm impressed you were able to do so."

"What—what did he tell you?" Merlin asked frowning. Although he surely understood the circumstances in which Snape violated his trust, he still didn't like it. And how much had Snape said— but Dumbledore was waving a hand.

"Merely that. I understand you asked him not to tell me the particulars."

Merlin nodded, relieved.

"I will however mention that what happened down in the dungeon between you and professor Quirrell has made the Daily Prophet," and he grimaced. "The announce of Quirrell's arrest alerted the—ah—more invasive aspect of journalism."

Merlin groaned. "Then I suppose there isn't even a point pretending anymore," he muttered, more to himself than to the aged wizard beside him.

"No, I don't think you can pretend you are bad at magic after you made a gaping hole stretching two floors." He chuckled lightly.

Merlin winced. "Right." He took a deep breath, noting how it was still somewhat tender. He didn't speak for a long moment. He closed his eyes and before he could change his mind said, "I killed the troll on Halloween."

"Did you now?"

"I was late coming to the feast and while everyone was getting away from the dungeons, I saw Quirrell headed for the third floor so I followed him."

"But why," Dumbledore asked gently. "My dear boy, why did you feel the need to involve yourself? You were very nearly killed, twice as I understand it. You could have left it to the adults."

Merlin frowned. "No I couldn't," he shot back. "I stopped Quirrell and I would do it again even knowing what would happen to me."

But Dumbledore seemed to like this reply. He chuckled again and got to his feet. "I do believe this school has underestimated you, myself included." He ruffled Merlin's hair. "I'll be expecting great things from you, Mr. Evans."

As he opened the door to the infirmary he gave a nod and stepped aside. Hermione and Draco ran inside, and he chortled as they sat themselves on either side of Merlin before leaving.

"You're awake!"

"Are you all right?"

"We heard all sorts of stories about what happened with Quirrell."

"What really happened?"

"Whoa!" Merlin said laughing. "One at a time," and Hermione rolled her eyes. Draco was beaming at him, looking relieved. "How long was I out?" Merlin asked glancing from one face to the next.

"Nearly three days," Hermione said promptly. "Oh, Merlin when Snape came back to his office that night I thought—"

"We'd thought you'd died," Draco interjected. "The look on his face, and then the next morning when everybody found the holes in the corridors." He shook his head. "What happened down there, Merlin?"

And Merlin told them. He told them about getting past Fluffy, the Devil's Snare and the flying keys and catching up to Quirrell on the gigantic chessboard. They looked terrified, as he talked, gasping and aweing as he told them how he battled the professor and ultimately brought the roof down. Not that he told them the druidic spells that he'd used, of course. When he'd finished they were staring at him.

"This is one of those rare moments were the true story is more unbelievable than the rumors," Draco said still gaping at Merlin.

"I can't believe you didn't die!" Hermione cried dropping her hands from her face. She had been hiding behind her fingers while Merlin told them about the homicidal knight.

Merlin snorted. "Thanks, you know I really did make an effort but things just didn't work out."

"Merlin!"

And Draco burst into laughter.

"Dumbledore said everyone knows," Merlin said after a moment. He glanced at Draco and the blonde's smile faltered slightly.

"Yeah," he drawled, glancing awkwardly away from them both.

"What is it?" Hermione asked looking from one boy to the other.

"My," Draco took a deep breath. "My dad's not to happy about it. He sent me a letter, the morning of the aftermath." He shook his head and sighed heavily. "He's livid. Wants me to cut Merlin off and make sure not to get in the Dark Lord's way." He scratched his head. "I mean, it's not like he really wants him to come back. He's just scared I think. Knows that if he does come back he'll either be his follower or a corpse."

Merlin and Hermione watched as he sighed again and began fiddling with his tie. "So, am I cut off?" Merlin asked slowly. Draco gave him a look.

"Are you thick? I'm not letting him stop me," and he gave a nervous laugh. "I helped you stop Quirrell. I threw in my lot with the light. There's no going back."

Merlin grinned at him. "Stuck with me then."

"Not if you do this every year, what's the bet you're dead before fifth year?"

"That's not something to joke about," Hermione chided, looking horrified.

"Yeah man," Merlin said shaking his head. "I'll make it sixth year, at least!"

And he and Draco dissolved into laughter, ignoring Hermione's attempts to make them stop joking about it.