Turquoise and Time

"Never saw that one coming."

"Wait—but I thought he failed first year?"

Merlin couldn't escape the whispers. They clung to his robes as he walked to breakfast, tainting his eggs and kippers. A pervasive cloud of questions, all of which seemed too nervous to actually ask. The curiosity from the end of last term had only magnified during the course of summer events.

Merlin pushed one of his fried tomatoes along the rim of his plate, unable to block out the discussion drifting over from the Ravenclaw table.

"Statistically, Slytherin produces more dark wizards than any other house," a girl was saying.

"Yeah, but c'mon—Merlin? He doesn't have it in him," another girl replied. "He's a huge muggle lover."

"Not all dark wizards form anti-muggle régimes. Take Grindelwald for example. And if Merlin could hide the fact he's powerful enough to defeat Professor Quirrell, there's no knowing what other tricks he's got up his sleeve. I mean, just look at what happened in Flourish and Blots—"

Merlin let his fork fall onto his plate with a clatter, stopping the conversation as heads swiveled in his direction. It restarted within seconds however, in softer tones that still none-the less carried and Merlin slouched in his seat, massaging his temples.

Get used to it, he told himself. It isn't going away anytime soon.

If anything, all the whispers, speculation, and even anxiety surrounding his person would just get worse. His fellow Slytherins were more aware of his intentions, as he had a feeling his "room for only one dark lord" statement had been taken exactly as he'd meant it—joking but not really. On the train, he'd thought he had made himself pretty clear: amass a following and defeat Lord Voldemort. And he couldn't exactly do that by keeping his head down and twiddling his thumbs.

But the whispers burned his ears worse than shouting.

Draco looked at him. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Merlin pushed his still full plate away from him, and went back to massaging his temples. "Spectacular." He could feel the headache building again.

"It's not too late to change your mind."

Merlin had a feeling he wasn't talking about breakfast. He'd told Draco late last night about his coreless wand, eager to bring him up to speed. Draco had taken it a little better than Hermione—before more seriously asking when Merlin planned on becoming the next Dark Lord. Which was fine. Totally fine. He just needed to know his deadline for convincing his father to jump the Death Eater ship.

It'd had the same, joking-but-not feel to it.

"Yeah—it is," Merlin said, meeting his eyes.

Draco swallowed. "Right." He looked away for a moment, staring at his own breakfast before sighing. "Right—you're doing this all wrong."

Merlin stared at him. "I'm what?"

"This celebrity spotlight thing—you're not handling it well."

"Thanks, Mr. Obvious."

"I mean," Draco said exasperated, "you're not enjoying it. You're letting what everyone says about it—true or not—get to you because you care too much about what people think. I mean," and he dropped his tone, slinging his arm around Merlin's shoulder so he could whisper, "that dude who killed the troll? I've never met that person—that wasn't you. You're so paranoid that you can't even enjoy being in the paper. Look—" he started to laugh, and nodded behind him. "That girl has been staring at you since last night and you haven't even noticed."

Merlin noticed now. She was one of the Ravenclaws who'd been talking about him earlier. He'd never even met her. She blushed when she caught his eye and looked quickly away.

"So, chill out," Draco said. "You make me want to send a professor to Azkaban just so I can show you how to take publicity."

"You know—I'm sure no one will mind if you send Lockhart," Merlin said smirking. Draco snorted and let go, jokingly punching his arm.

"Don't tempt me."

Feeling better, Merlin pulled his breakfast back toward him. It was hard to explain, the anxiety he felt. He did care a lot what people thought of him—though it was hard to tell Draco how there'd been a time when he could've been executed for doing the simplest spells, let alone demonstrate the full extent of his power. But this wasn't Camelot. The same rules didn't apply, and it was pointless—not to mention self-defeating—for him to be so, well as Draco put it, paranoid. Maybe sometime soon he'd be able to tell everyone he didn't use a wand. That was a nice thought.

"So, Merlin." Pansy Parkinson leaned around Draco in order to look at him. Her hair had grown over the summer, and her face bore a splash of faint freckles that he couldn't remember seeing before. "What actually happened in Flourish and Blots?"

Everyone around them fell silent too, and Merlin hesitated before replying. Draco kicked him from under the table, raising his eyebrow meaningfully. Would the butterflies in his throat ever fly away?

Chill out. "I assume you're not referring to Lockhart," he said, earning a few chuckles.

"No, not that," Pansy said, her lip quirking into a smirk. "Was it really wandless?" she continued.

You always complained you never got enough recognition. "Yeah." He heard a ripple of excited voices. "But you all already knew that."

"Oh, couldn't be too sure," Blaise said, shrugging. "The Prophet's been known to embellish."

Merlin glanced at him, raising his eyebrow. "Well, you should've already known." He'd pushed Blaise back in their dorm room last year.

Blaise blinked, staring at him. "But—I thought that was accidental magic," he said.

"Well, yeah it was an accident," Merlin said and Draco started laughing, "But I mean, you grabbed me from behind. I could've been hurt." He flashed a cheesy smile.

"What about the broomstick?" Pansy asked, her eyes narrowing. "Did you actually—"

"No, that one was out of my control," Merlin interrupted, shuddering at the memory of splinters imbedded in this side.

"And the bookcases in the library?"

"Mostly out of my control."

Daphne Greengrass stared at him from across the table, her eyes wide. Pansy however, frowned. "So you've basically been pulling the hood over our eyes from day one," she said, leaning her elbow on the table. "What, didn't trust us?"

Merlin's lip curled, "Well after Blaise ambushed me," he said slowly. "Can't say I felt an overabundance of trust."

"But—"

"Oh, give it a rest, Pansy," Draco said over her and Pansy fell silent at once, looking startled. "Leave the kid alone." She gave Merlin one last frustrated look before sitting back in her seat, chewing her tongue.

Daphne cleared her throat. "So—so can we see some?"

Merlin stared at her. "See…wandless magic?"

She bit her lip and nodded. Merlin looked around, noting that Blaise had leaned forward, Theodore was holding a fork of food suspended half-way to his mouth, and even the Ravenclaw table had stopped chattering by now. Merlin lost his nerve.

"I dunno if that's a great idea."

"C'mon," Blaise said rolling his eyes. "She doesn't want you to collapse the ceiling, just—make your plate float or something."

"Uh," Merlin looked from him to Daphne, to Draco who shrugged encouragingly. He'd never been one to show off before; first time for everything he supposed. Merlin took a deep breath. Chill out. "Okay." You deserve some fun in the spotlight.

He thought he heard shushing, and smiled. "Hands up!" someone else called and he put both hands up, enjoying himself for the first time that morning. He looked around at them all and said, "Leviosa."

For a second nothing happened, and then the pumpkin juice that had been in Blaise's goblet rose smoothly into the air, twisting and swirling like a long orange ribbon. It went higher, suspended above their heads. The silence that had followed his incantation gave way to muted whispers of awe.

"Having fun, are we?"

As Merlin turned quickly around to find Snape standing behind them, sneering at the sight. The pumpkin juice fell back to earth with a resounding smack and a loud expletive from Blaise, who'd received the bulk of it on his breakfast and robes. Everyone burst into laughter—Draco had tears in his eyes.

"Language, Mr. Zabini," Snape said, but he sounded amused. He waved his hand and the juice vanished, leaving Blaise and his breakfast unsoiled once more. "Course schedules," he said, proceeding to hand them out. "And, I'm sure with Merlin's new proficiency, he'll do marvelous in his classes." Snape's lip curled as though he didn't believe a word he'd said—which Merlin reckoned, he ought not to.

"If you do marvelous in any of your classes," Draco muttered after Snape had continued down the table, "I'll eat my scarf."

Merlin smirked. "Careful, Draco," he said, "That just might motivate me." He laughed when Draco pushed his shoulder, and looked down at his course schedule.

They had Charms first thing that morning, and a couple minutes later he and the other Slytherins headed towards the Charms corridor. Pansy and Daphne loudly traded ridiculous suggestions on what they'd be doing, which included anything from inflating toads to igniting desks. Merlin and the others listened, laughing and groaning at different suggestions.

"By the way," Pansy said, pausing in her competition with Daphne and turning to Merlin, "Are you going to use your wand in class?"

Merlin tripped over the hem of his robes, earning a peel of laughter—with the exception of Pansy. "Well, yeah," he said staring dumbly at her. He wanted to stare at his shoes.

"I mean," Draco said heaving a shrug. "He might be able to do it, but that doesn't mean it's easy." He gave Merlin a knowing look. "Plus, if that's the case he might as well take classes with the fifth years or something."

"Oh, is that an option?" Merlin asked, pretending to sound surprised. "You mean I don't have to attend class with you lot?"

"As if," Blaise said rolling his eyes, "you'd miss us too much."

"I dunno about that." Merlin smirked, and dodged when Blaise tried to shove him. He felt a hand grip his shoulder and knew—knew without looking up who it was. After all, there was only one person he knew who wore that flowery perfume.

"Now, now, boys," said Lockhart, "No rough-housing in the corridors." He flashed one of his perfect smiles, a laugh on his lips. "Can't afford this one breaking any more school property."

Merlin had never seen anyone color-coordinate everything quite like Lockhart. He adjusted a turquoise hat trimmed with gold as he winked, his robes a turquoise beacon in the middle of the corridor. Now trapped at his side, Merlin wondered how such a brightly colored creature had managed to sneak up on him.

Draco cleared his throat. "Right—we've got Charms in a few minutes, Professor," he drawled. "Wouldn't want to be late," he added, sneering.

"Of course not," Lockhart said, and just when Merlin thought the interaction was over, "Tell Professor Flitwick that Merlin won't be long. I just want a quick word."

"All right."

But Draco didn't seem to want to move. None of them did. They hesitated in the corridor, eyes drifting from Lockhart to Merlin. He thought he saw Theodore fidget, and Blaise even raised his eyebrow and gave him the thumbs up. It was with great satisfaction that Merlin realized they didn't trust Lockhart. Not until Merlin had vetted him.

"I assure you," Lockhart said with another laugh, eyes widening in surprise, "that I intend to occupy this post for several years, and I mean you all no harm whatsoever."

Still no one moved. Merlin met Draco's eyes and nodded. He might not like the man, but Lockhart felt relatively harmless. He was too obnoxious for Lord Voldemort in any case. With his nod, Draco and the other Slytherins filed into the Charms classroom. As soon as they were gone, Merlin tried to pull away from Lockhart's grip.

Why did the man constantly need to touch him?

"Merlin, Merlin," Lockhart said, shaking his head. He released his hold, and Merlin turned sharply to face him, folding his arms. "Merlin."

"Yes?" Merlin finally snapped, raising his eyebrow.

It was unnerving how Lockhart could show off every single one of his perfect teeth when he smiled. He smiled now, wide and filled with flawless white. "I suspected—well, I think everyone did." He chuckled. "I mean, all that publicity! Got used to it, didn't you? Got used to making the front page—and I partly blame myself for that. I enabled you." He grimaced and heaved a huge sigh. "But, you can't let it get to your head. Take it from one celebrity, to another."

Merlin stared at him. Was this seriously happening?

Lockhart met his eyes, and waved his finger—what was he a petulant child? "There are much better ways to attract attention than levitating pumpkin juice in the Great Hall. But not to worry—not to worry, you'll have plenty of other opportunities to get your name out there. Being too hasty is bad for your image, see?" Lockhart laughed again.

The shock was starting to subside, leaving indignation behind. Who was Lockhart to lecture him about attention-seeking behavior? "And what would you suggest," Merlin asked, derisive. "Publish a book?"

Lockhart's smile fell for a fraction of a second. "Oh—plenty of time for that when you're older." He shook his head again, the toothy-grin back in place. "I'm sure you'll have plenty to offer the wizarding community then. But if you ever need to talk, want some advice from someone who knows the business and all that, my office is always open."

Lockhart gave one last blinding smile, turned on his heel, and headed back down the corridor with Merlin glowering after him, distinctly disgruntled. He dearly wanted to shout after that turquoise retreated back, shout that he'd never be caught dead in Lockhart's office. He promised himself that he'd never ask for advice from that peacock.

Merlin took a deep breath and walked into the Charms classroom.

Rumor had it that Professor Flitwick was part goblin, and although Merlin had watched him closely during the previous year, Flitwick had given no outward sign that he knew that the goblins of Gringotts had sworn allegiance to him. Perhaps he wasn't in contact with his goblin relatives—or everyone had been wrong about his parentage. In any case, he spotted Merlin's entrance from atop his stack of books and ambled over to him.

The moment Merlin mentioned Lockhart's name, Professor Flitwick pursed his lips in understanding. They were learning the Skurge charm today, with the rest of the class already put to work trying to banish a puddle of green slime from off their desks. The instructions were on the blackboard. Merlin took the empty seat next to Draco, who was carelessly flipping his wand.

He stopped when he saw Merlin.

"So, what did the peacock want?" Draco asked in an undertone as Merlin got out his own wand. Blaise and Theodore—who flanked Draco and Merlin—leaned in to listen too.

"He tried to give me celebrity advice." Merlin rolled his eyes.

"Seriously? What did he say?"

Merlin reiterated everything Lockhart had said. When he'd finished, Draco looked just as affronted as he felt. Blaise however, leaned back in his chair and smirked.

"You know what it sounds like?" he sneered. "He sounds like he's worried you'll take all his fans."

"Come off it," Merlin snorted. "I'm not going to write a book."

"Yeah—you don't need to," Blaise countered. "Lockhart's got to write books in order to get attention for his accomplishments," he said, rolling his eyes on the word. "The media has given you more attention this past summer than he gets in one of his book tours."

"You know, he's probably trying to feed off your fame too," Draco added. "Remember how he dragged you to the front in Flourish and Blots? I bet he wouldn't have gotten on the front page without you!"

"Guys," Merlin shook his head. "I think you're overestimating me. I'm not a celebrity." The word conjured half-a-dozen fans following him around at all times, begging for autographs. And, to his great relief, he didn't see any in the vicinity.

"You're better than that," Theodore said softly. He looked up from the puddle of slime on his desk.

Merlin turned to him. "What do you mean?"

"Well, what you did—it mattered, you know? It was a big deal. Like…" he trailed off, unsure of what to say.

"It's like the fame that surrounds Dumbledore," Blaise finished. "He's not a celebrity, but he's one of the most important people in the wizarding world. If he does something, it's automatically on the front page, you know?"

Merlin stared. "So, what you're saying is I have a lot of potential power."

"Nothing potential about it," Draco mumbled and Merlin kicked him under the table. He could imagine it now: Posters depicting Merlin slaying the troll with recruitment ads for the Death Eater Eaters.

Blaise raised his eyebrow. "Maybe," and he shrugged. "But Lockhart's definitely jealous of the fame you've got right now." He gave Merlin a more serious look. "Be careful, he might not try to kill you, but I wouldn't be surprised if he tried to use you to improve his own reputation."

As Blaise attempted to banish his slime, Merlin frowned. He hadn't considered the idea that Lockhart might resent him for his easy entrance into the public spotlight. Was it possible? He'd spent so long trying to stay out of the public's view that he'd forgotten some people sought the opposite.

"Mr. Evans?" Professor Flitwick had wandered over to him, eyeing the puddle of slime on his desk. "You haven't tried to perform the Skurge charm yet," he said matter-of-factly.

"Oh." Merlin shook his head. He actually had to do classwork this time around. "I'll do that."

But Professor Flitwick didn't leave. He folded his arms expectantly, watching Merlin. He wasn't the only one either. Nearly everyone had stopped casting to watch.

"Uh, right." Merlin brandished his useless wand. "Skurge," he commanded, and with a glint of gold the slime vanished. Professor Flitwick gave a little squeak of excitement, clapping his hands together.

"Perfect! Five points to Slytherin."

There were several hoots of glee at this, and Blaise smacked Merlin's back so hard that it smarted. Merlin gave a small smile, feeling awkward. After pretending to do poorly for so long, this felt weird. And now there was nothing for him to do for the rest of class except twiddle his thumbs—

"Would you like to go around and help the others?" Flitwick asked, intruding on his thoughts. "I'm sure the words of a fellow student would be appreciated."

"Oh!" Merlin grinned. That sounded much more appealing. "Sure, okay."

"Me first," Draco said immediately. "Best friend's got to come with some perks, right?"

Merlin could honestly say he'd never had such a fun class. Before long, his classmates were fighting for his attention and Professor Flitwick vanished from behind one of his books. Charms had always come easily to Merlin. He could understand why the wizarding world had dubbed him The Prince of Enchanters, among other things. But what he hadn't expected was how easily teaching came to him too. By the end of class, everyone who flagged him down successfully vanished the slime from their desks. Course, Crabbe and Goyle had refused to look in his direction—no doubt threatened by their parents to stay way—but Merlin had caught them eavesdropping, and was strangely proud when Crabbe banished his slime.

"Merlin, just a minute," called Professor Flitwick as everyone packed their things.

"I'll wait outside," Draco told him, and Merlin nodded.

Professor Flitwick waited until the last person had left, and positively beamed at Merlin. "I think that went quite well," he said, nodding. "Very well—where was that boy last year, hm?"

Merlin scratched the back of his neck. "Hiding?" he suggested and Professor Flitwick chortled.

"You're very bright Merlin, and I'd hate to see you squander that. Did you enjoy teaching your fellow classmates?"

"Yeah, I did, actually."

Professor Flitwick hummed. "Why don't we do that more often then? And if you're feeling bored, maybe we can work out some special project. I don't see the point of making you write meaningless essays, after all. And you, well, promise not to sleep in my class, all right?"

Merlin laughed. "Yeah, sounds good, Professor."

"Off you go then!"

Merlin practically skipped into the corridor. Draco sneered at him, raising his eyebrow. "Good news?" he asked, as they started walking toward their next class: Herbology.

"Yeah, he said I could do that more often."

"Good, you made more sense in two minutes than fifteen with Flitwick." Draco paused. He chewed his tongue for a moment, glancing at Merlin as they descended the staircase. "By the way," he said slowly, now surveying Merlin's face. "Do you know that your eyes kind of…glitter, sometimes?"

Merlin stared at him. Mirrors weren't exactly common in Camelot, and as he had never actually watched himself perform magic— "They do?" he asked, shocked.

"Yeah. I thought it was a trick of the light at first. It's like a flash of gold."

"Huh." Merlin made a mental note to perform magic in front of the next mirror he saw. "I take it that's not normal?"

Draco hesitated. "Not really. I mean, I haven't heard of it before." Merlin fidgeted. "But I mean," Draco quickly added, "it's kind of cool."

"Right. Should I hide it?" Merlin asked scratching the back of his neck.

"Like with a glamour?" Draco shrugged. "It's not that noticeable. I mean, no one noticed last year, right?"

Merlin nodded, though the idea his eyes actually flashed gold was unsettling. He wrestled with the idea of putting a glamour charm on his eyes—which might be more trouble than it was worth—as they walked through entrance hall.

Outside, the sun clung onto the last vestiges of summer, bathing the landscape in a warm yellow glow. It wasn't until they were halfway down the steps that Merlin noticed a familiar face headed toward them. Hermione Granger grinned at the pair of them, and ran to meet them at the steps. Merlin noticed that she had a layer of dirt under her fingernails.

"Morning!" she said brightly. "How was your first class?"

"Merlin taught charms," Draco sneered. His eyes traveled to her hands too, staring.

"You didn't," Hermione said, her eyes widening.

"Okay, not really," Merlin amended. "But Professor Flitwick let me walk around and give advice and stuff."

"Let me guess," Draco said, "You had Herbology."

Hermione glanced at her hands and laughed. "Yeah. It was fantastic! Professor Sprout had us repot mandrakes!"

"Mandrakes?" Merlin repeated, staring at her. He'd encountered the plant several times in Camelot, and never under pleasant circumstances. Morgana had used the withered root to send Guinevere into an episode of insanity. Not that he thought the school had that particular use in mind when they decided to cultivate it. "What for?" he asked, frowning.

"All sorts of things, but mostly as ingredients for antidotes. I think that's what we're going to do with this lot when they've matured." She grinned.

"Well," Draco drawled, "that's probably what Sprout will have us to as well. We've got Herbology next—"

"Oh, hello there!"

Merlin closed his eyes in horror. Why? Why? Didn't he have a class to torment? He reluctantly turned to see Lockhart striding toward them from the direction of where Professor Kettleburn held Care of Magical Creatures. In his hand he held what looked like a birdcage clothed in deep purple.

He didn't dignify Lockhart with a reply.

"Hello, Professor Lockhart," Hermione said, hiding her hands behind her back. She avoided Merlin's eyes.

Lockhart beamed back at her—making her cheeks flush—before his eyes traveled over the house crest on her robes and he blinked, surprised.

"Well, never thought I'd see that!" he said heartily. "A Gryffindor and a Slytherin putting aside their differences. Splendid work, Merlin!" and he patted Merlin on the back, not noticing—or caring—when Merlin grimaced. "You'll have to tell me how you managed your inter-house connections. Maybe I'll learn something," and he laughed. "You're in my next class, aren't you Miss—?"

"Granger. Hermione Granger," she finished, almost breathless. Merlin caught Draco rolling his eyes.

Lockhart nodded, "Splendid! You can tell Merlin here all about it."

Merlin didn't smile, and Lockhart's grin faded slightly. He wondered what it would take to make it vanish entirely. The effort of not snarling at him sent Merlin's nails digging into his palms—but the idea of detention with him kept his mouth shut.

Lockhart adjusted his hat, snapping his gaze back to Hermione. "I'll see you soon," he said and he winked, before striding past them and into the castle.

"I'll see you soon," Draco repeated in a mocking tone. "You know, he might actually give you extra credit if you decorate your homework in hearts, Hermione."

She flushed an even darker shade of red. "Shove off," she muttered, avoiding his eyes. "I'll see you guys later," and she darted after Lockhart.

"I don't get it," Draco said, frowning after her.

"Neither do I." Merlin heaved a sigh. "Come on, we'll be late for Herbology."

Only A Boy

Draco had gotten used to the way Merlin vanished at night.

Granted, curiosity still clawed at the seams and more than once he'd considered following him. But every time he did the memory of Merlin facing down the troll popped into his head and he changed his mind. And, their friendship meant more to him than satisfying his curiosity.

At this point he just assumed Merlin had a streak of paranoia that pushed him to do regular perimeter checks.

So, when Merlin muttered he had something to do after dinner, Draco had acted lookout until he'd slipped out the front doors. Maybe one day Merlin would relax enough to tell him what he was actually doing, but for now this would have to do. Draco wandered the halls for a time, deliberating on whether or not he wanted to spend the rest of his evening in the common room when his feet took him past the library.

Well, he could never pay attention in History of Magic. He'd probably get more in just one reading about the Medieval Assembly of European Wizards than listening to Professor Binns drone for hours. He hesitated a moment, before pushing open the door.

The library was nearly empty. Which was expected, being the first day in the quarter and all. Draco thought he saw a couple Ravenclaws huddled in a corner and an older Slytherin student surrounded by heavy Transfiguration volumes. He headed for the History of Magic section, but as he passed the shelves he saw something that made him stop. A familiar knot of bushy brown hair was dancing about the Counter-Curse books.

Honestly, why wasn't she in Ravenclaw? Draco watched as Hermione reached for a particularly thick book on the shelf above her head, withdrawing it with practiced ease. He swallowed.

"Hermione."

She turned quickly, surprised. Draco saw her eyes search for Merlin behind him, and when she didn't find him, became even more confused. She raised her eyebrow. "Draco, what's up?"

He walked toward her, leaning against a table she had piled with books. He saw The Counter-Counter Curse Anthology, and When You Can't Wave Your Wand and Wandless Incantations for Beginners. "I take it you didn't get enough homework?" he asked.

Hermione frowned. "Forgive me if I like to do independent research," she snapped.

Draco didn't say anything for a long moment, tracing his finger along the spine of one of the books.

"Is everything—all right?" She asked finally, putting Easy Counter-Curses Everyone Should Know, onto the table.

"I—" Draco shook his head. "Never mind."

"Just say it, Draco."

He chewed his tongue, eyeing her. "How did your parents react when they heard about the wizarding world?"

Her mouth fell open slightly.

"I mean," he continued, now taking a seat at the table. "They found out that everything they've ever believed was wrong. I—my father has lived his whole life in this world. He knows about muggles, but he hates them. I used to understand, or at least I thought I did." Draco closed his eyes. "It was so much easier, just hating all of you," and he gestured vaguely toward her.

"Draco, what's this all about?" Hermione whispered. Her eyes had gone wide.

He stared at a dent on the table as he spoke. "My father and I had a fight, okay?" His voice grew progressively more cynical as he talked, a furious snarl trapped in quiet. "He told me to keep my distance from Merlin, and from you. Consorting with a Mudblood?" he hissed, and Hermione stiffened. "I mean, I don't think he's even talked to a muggle. Ever. He keeps spouting that pureblood supremacy stuff—I mean he always did, but now…"

"It's different."

"Yeah. It's like," Draco heaved a sigh. "I want to hate Merlin for the things he says. I used to. And now he's off doing, who knows what and I'm covering for him without a second thought. And I thought—I hoped my father would understand, especially with Merlin sending Quirrell to Azkaban and coming out as this up-and-comer Dark Lord. But no—instead he nearly transfers me to Durmstrang and tells me I'm going to get all of them killed if I—" he trailed off, breathing hard.

Hermione swallowed. "He said that?" she asked, staring at him.

Draco nodded, and put his face in his hands. "Why am I even telling you all of this?" he groaned, voice muffled.

Hermione didn't answer at first. "My parents were scared." Draco looked up. "Still scared, in fact. They subscribed to the Daily Prophet, you know so that they could find out more about the wizarding world." She grimaced. "They don't know much about the pureblood movement, but they know enough to worry about it. I'm sure part of them wishes they could go back too—back to when they didn't know any of it existed. The world made sense to them then. But they can't."

Hermione gave a sad smile. "I think your dad is scared too. Scared of losing you, of losing his core beliefs. Because then he's got to reevaluate everything he's ever done, everything he's ever fought for. If you tell him he's wrong about muggleborns, well, what else was he wrong about? What about all the work he's done for the pureblood movement?"

"I know—I just," Draco ran his fingers through his hair. "My mom's cousin was actually disowned from his family because he switched to the light."

"Oh, I don't think your father would do that," although Hermione didn't sound sure. "Maybe talk to this cousin about it—he's got first hand experience, after all."

"Maybe." Draco didn't tell her he might get disowned just for doing that.

"And anyway, you said your dad would align himself with the strongest player, right?"

"Right."

"So, just help him see that Merlin is that person!"

"Hermione, I know Merlin's good and all but he's twelve," he rolled his eyes. Blaise had said the same thing on the train. "He's no Dark Lord."

Hermione shrugged. "Well, the—the Dark Lord was twelve once too, wasn't he? Give it time."

"But—"

"Give it time. I mean, what else can we do?"

That had an air of finality to it, and Draco nodded. She was right, of course. Maybe that was why he'd gone to her instead of Merlin or Snape—she had a non-Slytherin perspective. His loyalties kept shifting. He could only hope that his father would come around—before it was too late.

"By the way, what do you know about eyes changing color during spell casting?"

Only A Boy

The cool evening air whipped though Merlin's hair as he raced through the Forbidden Forest. He had worried Snape might try to stop him again, and was relieved when Draco agreed to keep watch. He hadn't even questioned him. Part of Merlin felt guilty about that—why couldn't he just open his mouth and trust his friends with this?

Well. Wandless magic was one thing. Dragons were something else entirely.

As he neared the clearing, Merlin cleared his throat. He started the dragon call, shouting the language into the darkness—but he was cut short when something crashed into his midriff, sending him flying back into a bush.

"Merlin!"

"Kor!" Merlin laughed, pushing the dragon off his chest.

The dragon had grown over the summer, approaching the size of a wolf or a small bear. The red scales had deepened in color and melted into charcoal black patches, turning him into a mosaic of volcanic flame. Smoke curled out of his nostrils, and he nuzzled his head against Merlin's hand—which had doubled in size.

"About time," Korrizahar snorted. He got to his feet and walked with Merlin back into the clearing. "I want to know everything."

The clearing had expanded quite a bit since Merlin said goodbye in June. It cut deeper in the forest, the ground a blend of charcoal, ash, and animal fluff. Aithusa came trotting through the trees, her white scales glowing in the starlight. She grunted and dipped her head in greeting, and behind her Merlin saw Norberta. The dragon had already reached behemoth size, competing with Aithusa for who was larger. Her deep brown scales looked almost black in the gloom, and she clicked when she saw him.

"She's gotten… big," Merlin said faintly. How long until someone spotted her?

Korrizahar seemed to know what he was thinking because, "We've started heading deeper into the wilds—and Aithusa and I keep an eye on her so she doesn't head into populated territory."

"Are you finding enough food?" Merlin asked. He extended his hand to Norberta who, after pausing, touched her muzzle against his palm. Her scales felt hot.

"For the most part. It's harder since we try to only hunt at night when we can hide in the dark."

Merlin wondered if this forest was even capable of sustaining three fully-grown dragons.

"Anyway," Korrizahar said, and he sat down on the ground, tail wrapping neatly around long talons. "Tell me the news! How was your summer?"

For the next few hours, Merlin talked. He talked about life with Florean Fortescue, how Silas would be coming to school next year—Kor was eager to meet him too—about the evidence hearing and the trial, how he couldn't shake this headache since he'd encountered the dementors, and about his first day of school.

When he'd finished, Korrizahar had moved until he was curled around Merlin—the warm scales like a comforting blanket.

"I agree with Florean—if the headache gets worse go to Snape," he said. "Or even Dumbledore, he might know something about memory curses."

Merlin grimaced. "Hopefully it won't come to that."

"Yeah, well, if you did aggravate that curse it'll cause problems. You don't know how you got it, right?"

"Funny about memory curses, they mess with your memory."

Korrizahar snorted, releasing another flume of smoke. "Still. I wish I knew more." The dragon growled. "I feel so useless. All you can do is bounce ideas off me, but I have no knowledge."

Merlin blinked. "That'll come," he said automatically. He would admit that sometimes he wished Korrizahar had the same wealth of knowledge as Kilgharrah, but it was also nice to just have a companion. Someone who knew everything. Who might see something Merlin had missed. He told Kor so, and the dragon hummed, nuzzling him again.

"I just don't want to go to Lockhart's class tomorrow," Merlin groaned, leaning back and staring at the stars. In Diagonally it was too bright, the glare of London washed them away. In Camelot the stars had always ignited the night sky.

"Oh, it'll be fine. You said yourself he's probably not working with Voldemort. He's just a bit—"

"Unbearable?"

"Ostentatious. But hey, you said he's written all these books. Maybe you'll learn something from him," Korrizahar said, poking him with his tail.

The thought made Merlin laugh again—hard. "I guess we'll see tomorrow," he said.

But for tonight, he had the stars.