See author profile for notes

The Dueling Club

Eyes trained on the hem of the Potion Master's cloak, Merlin trudged back to the common room. He was exhausted. They'd spent the remainder of the night in a fruitless search of the school without finding so much as a scale. The student who'd been attacked was Colin Creevey, a Gryffindor first year who had snuck out of bed for a midnight snack—they'd found a bunch of grapes beside his body, in addition to a camera with its internal components melted.

And they had nothing to go on.

Merlin rubbed his bleary eyes. The Gryffindors had been annoying, sure, but no one had gotten hurt. Not really. But with Colin Creevey? Now it was personal, and they'd be worried about the next attack. How far would they go to stop, well, him from doing it again? Even Professor McGonagall had questioned his innocence, voicing aloud whether it was wise to include Merlin in the search party before Dumbledore had exonerated him. And even then, Merlin had felt her watching his every move.

They reached the stone entrance. "Paracelsus," Snape said and the stone slid back for entry.

The common room was deserted so early on a Sunday. Merlin yawned hugely as Snape drew out his wand and brought it to his throat. "EMERGENCY MEETING IN THE COMMON ROOM, NOW."

Merlin winced as the magnified voice rang in his ears, going to lean against one of the couches. Snape stopped him with a simple wave of his hand.

"You're not required for this meeting," and Snape nodded pointedly to the stairwell where his classmates were emerging.

Merlin yawned again as he nodded. Snape would tell them everything he already knew, and he needed to crash. He heard Snape's tenor as he entered the dormitory, the words a mimic from earlier that night.

Another attack. Colin Creevey. Gryffindor. Petrified.

Merlin fell into his bed without removing his cloak, kicking off his shoes as he lay there. He had almost dozed off when he heard someone near his bedpost whisper his name.

"Merlin, you still awake?"

It was Draco. Merlin considered not replying for a moment before changing his mind. As tired as he was, they needed to talk.

"Yeah," he grumbled, and Merlin pulled himself into a sitting position. Draco came around to sit on the edge of his bed, looking grim and tired. He didn't speak at first, staring into the watery blackness of the lake through the window.

"You…" Draco faltered. He shook his head and turned to Merlin. "Stay in the common room today."

"Well, I definitely need to sleep for a week." He managed a weak smile.

"You know what I mean," Draco said, exasperated. "I'll talk to Snape about sending up some food."

"I can't just hide from this. I've got classes."

Draco gave a strained huff of laughter. "Great, now you care about your grades."

Merlin gave him a look. "If I avoid the school I'll only look worse. Besides, the teachers know I'm innocent. I'll stay today," he added when Draco opened his mouth to argue. "But if I let the Gryffindors bully me into hiding I might as well catch the next train home."

Draco grimaced but nodded. He seemed to hesitate a moment, before pulling a piece of paper from the pocket of his robes. "Remember when you gave us permission to write home about you speaking Parselmouth?"

Merlin slowly nodded, his eyes darting down to the paper in Draco's hands.

"Well, Snape informed us that Dumbledore wants to keep these attacks out of the Daily Prophet. He's told the Board of Governors he is confident we will find the culprit, so they're doing some major damage control."

"Wait," Merlin rubbed his eyes, "you think he's censoring letters or something?"

"Dumbledore infringing upon student rights?" Draco snorted. "He probably just calms down the concerned parents. Anyway, most of the wizarding world worships the man so they might just trust him to take care of it." Draco shrugged, "I doubt he even told Creevey's parents what really happened to him, and since they're muggles it's not like they'd understand it anyway—you know it's true," he added at the look on Merlin's face. "But Snape has asked us to be careful about what we put in our letters because of how it could impact you."

"Oh." Merlin paused. "Did you tell him he's a little late? Besides," and he shook his head, "do you really think none of the Gryffindors are going to write home about it?"

Draco grimaced, "I'm sure he's aware of that. Though, let's be fair, their parents are more likely to contact Dumbledore about their concerns than say, use it for a smear job on you. But as it turns out, no one except for me had gotten around to it. I think they were more curious to know what my father would say than theirs, in any case." He took a deep breath. "Snape handed me this after the meeting—my owl had a late-night letter for me."

"You haven't even read it yet?"

"I got two." Draco handed it to him. "This one's for you." Merlin took the letter, and Draco took out his wand with a soft, "Lumos."

It was very short. In a sweeping elegant script were the words:

Full of surprises I see, young Lord.

Merlin looked up to see Draco reading his own letter—it was much longer than his. When Draco seemed to have finished, he handed his message to Draco and raised his eyebrow. "I'm so tired I can't think—What does this mean?"

Draco glanced at it and chuckled, "He used his gold-tipped Verreaux feather quill for this—it's the only one that does this particular loop."

"But what does it mean?"

Draco sighed, "It's not just about what is written here. I know my father; he uses different quills for different people depending on how much he respects them. The minister gets a silver swan feather whereas some pesky underling might get a fwooper quill, you know? Now, this quill is one of his favorites—the feather is from this African black eagle. It's a sign that he respects you, and not just for show. I mean, you wouldn't know what quill he was using just by looking at it."

"Lucky I have you around."

Draco shrugged, "And he might have taken that into account, I'm not sure though I doubt it. He's loath to use a quill for someone who doesn't deserve it." He re-read the message. "He doesn't seem to have switched loyalties but, I mean, we didn't expect him to with just this."

"What, how can you tell?"

"It's the young Lord, here. He's acknowledging your power, but draws attention to your age. If was trying to cozy up to you, he'd have said my Lord." Draco folded the message and handed it back to Merlin, grimacing now. "Also, in my letter he assured me as such. Of course, now if he decides you're not worth the risk he's got the ammunition to blacken your name among the magical community. "

"What did he say?"

Draco hesitated, and then showed him the letter.

Draco,
The Board of Governors was made aware of the events on Halloween as a formality, but this detail was omitted. If the Chamber of Secrets has indeed been opened again, I expect that to change when the letters of concerned parents pour in. That being said, the Headmaster and the Board will do their best to keep a Hogwarts scandal out of the Prophet. I trust you know what this information implies, though I am well aware you would not have told me if Mr. Evans did not suggest it. I also suspect there are other displays of power he has demonstrated in order to earn your loyalty. I trust they will be revealed in due time. When last we spoke I did not extend you the courtesy of listening for I did not realize you could grow so quickly—the price of fatherhood. I will not waste a warning of caution here. You know the blood that runs through your veins.

I look forward to our next meeting.

"You hadn't spoken to your father since you left for school?" Merlin said, handing the letter back to Draco.

"He threatened to transfer me to Durmstrang and then forbade me from associating with you," Draco said rolling his eyes. "I didn't feel particularly eager to let him know I had ignored him."

"Still, it sounds like an improvement."

Draco didn't seem to share his thoughts though. He avoided Merlin's eyes as he folded the paper and stuck it back inside his robes. "I know my blood. You've got his attention now," and he nodded toward Merlin's own letter, "He will keep an eye on your progress and do what he can to help you as long as it doesn't damage his influence with more powerful players."

"Until I become one of those players."

Draco nodded. "He will undoubtedly try to influence you as well. Parseltongue makes you a rare asset."

"Well, influence goes both ways," and Merlin yawned. But there was something else sitting on his tongue, stopping him from flopping back into bed. "What happens if he does have something to do with these attacks?" Merlin's gut clenched and he dropped his gaze. "Would you tell Snape?"

Draco swallowed. "I don't know." He took a shaky breath and Merlin looked up to see him running his hands through his hair. "I just don't know. Even if I did, we don't have proof. It's circumstantial. I might even be wrong."

But from the look on Draco's face, he didn't think he was wrong. "Are you going to tell Snape?" he asked in a bare whisper.

"No," he said and Draco exhaled. "It's not for me to do."

Draco gave a stiff nod. He turned to look out the window again, at the black water shifting to murky green. "I'll let you get to sleep," he said, getting to his feet. "Something tells me you're going to need it."

Only A Boy

The desk behind Ginny Weasley sat conspicuous. She turned around to look at it, remembered Colin Creevey sitting there, shifting and breathless like an overexcited puppy. She had been a little annoyed with him recently. He had taken to snapping photographs of everything, and his boisterous chatter had irked her but—she returned her attention to Professor McGonagall's lecture—the silence of his desk distressed her more.

McGonagall had waited for them in the common room Sunday morning to tell them the news. Somber and thin-lipped, she had explained a new curfew, urged them not to travel alone, and to report suspicious activity directly to her. But when someone shouted Merlin's name, she had shaken her head.

"Merlin Evans has been interrogated by the Headmaster and he believes Mr. Evans was in no way responsible for these attacks."

But McGonagall had looked skeptical. It was clear to Ginny and the other Gryffindors that she wasn't convinced. As soon as she'd left, the common room had exploded into furious whispers and speculations on how Merlin had avoided punishment a second time… and what they were going to do about it.

Ginny swallowed thickly. She had given up taking notes by now.

Had Fred and George been wrong? Had she misjudged Merlin? Was he actually capable of something like this? The Gryffindors had been on the warpath Sunday, probably why Merlin had made himself scarce. But she couldn't help thinking about what would happen when they found him. And even with most of the school yelling for his head, Fred, George, and Hermione had all steadfastly refused to stand down.

She almost admired them. Well, she admired Hermione.

"Have you forgotten about last year? How he stood up to Quirrell and stopped He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?" Hermione had cried in the common room. "You don't know how he's stood up for me and other muggleborns, how he's actually tried to change the prejudices of his fellow Slytherins!"

"He's dangerous, Hermione!"

"It might've all been an act to throw us off."

"He's a Parselmouth!"

Ron especially had tried to convince her to stay away from him. "You could be next!" he had roared in her face. "Don't you care about that?"

"I think I'm safer with Merlin than with any of you!"

"Well when you get petrified, I'll be sure to tell you I told you so!" Ron had shouted at her retreating back.

Ginny thought of the time Draco and Merlin had escorted Hermione up to Gryffindor Tower and chewed on the inside of her cheek. If they really were the ones doing this, wouldn't they have attacked Hermione first? And how could he have found out Colin was muggleborn? She didn't think Merlin had ever even talked to Colin. Well, he had been taking photos of Merlin during the Quidditch match—a fact some Gryffindors used to rationalize their argument—but it still didn't sit well with her.

None of it did.

Class ended without her noticing and with a start, she began to pack up her things. "He'll be all right you know," came a dreamy voice from next to her. Luna was slowly putting her things away, cocking her head slightly in Ginny's direction.

She must've noticed her periodic glances at Colin's desk.

"I'm not worried about that."

"You're worried about something, though."

For someone who's head was always in the clouds she was shockingly observant. "I'm thinking about Merlin," said Ginny as she slung her bag over her shoulder.

"So is everyone else."

"What do you think?" Ginny asked, waiting for Luna to finish packing up so they could walk out of class together.

Luna hummed. "He doesn't look well these days, does he?"

Ginny shook her head. More often than not, Merlin looked distracted, his fingers massaging his temple or, strained with bruises beneath his eyes.

"But, you would think someone stressed by false accusations and personal attacks would look worse for wear," Luna went on.

It took a moment for Ginny to understand what she was saying. "So, you don't think he's the one who did it?"

"Oh, I think the Herbalist Association for the Use and Protection of Rare and Dangerous Plants are responsible—if they prove the necessity of Mandrake cultivation the Ministry will overturn their strict regulations. Did you know how lucky Hogwarts is to grow mandrakes this year? Professor Spout had to pull some serious strings. They require a very high magical content in the soil—it would kill the surrounding non-magical foliage. They also tend to kill any muggles who mistake them for wild potatoes with their screaming."

Ginny stared at her. "You think… a group of herbologists are petrifying kids because they want to grow Mandrakes?"

"It makes sense, doesn't it," and Luna gave a wistful carefree smile. "I'll see you next week," and she skipped away down the hall.

Ginny shook her head. She didn't understand that girl at all. That had to be the most outlandish theory she'd ever heard—and yet— she gave a small smile and made her way down the corridor to Charms.

She had just turned around the corner when two huge figures covered in thick brown fur leapt out from behind a pillar, hissing and spitting. Ginny gave an almighty scream, jumping a foot in the air, and one of the things fell over laughing—fur rolling on the ground.

She knew that laugh. "FRED?" She shrieked. "George? What the bloody hell are you playing at?"

"We know how distraught you were about Mrs. Norris," said Fred, wiping tears from his eyes now.

"Thought we'd take your mind off things."

"THAT'S NOT HOW YOU DO IT!" Ginny screeched. But they only laughed harder, and she stalked away, the back of her neck scarlet. Let's see how hard they're laughing when I perfect my first hex, she thought darkly.

Besides—she took a seat in Charms class and as she began to pull out her things her fingers brushed against the diary—she didn't need their help. She had Tom to talk to now.

Only A Boy

"You really should see Snape," Hermione said, and Merlin had to grudgingly admit she was right.

They were walking down to dinner, having met up with Hermione in the library beforehand. But he wasn't hungry. In fact, the idea of food brought with it a wave of nausea. It wasn't just the headache anymore, though that was still an excruciating factor. He felt drained, exhausted. Draco hadn't been sugarcoating it when he said the Gryffindors would be out for blood. They didn't attack him out right—worried about getting petrified he supposed—but the jeering, hissing, and promises to prove his guilt weighed on him. They dogged his steps all day, hands clamped around their wands as though ready to hex him the minute he spoke Parseltongue. Fun times.

They reached the Great Hall and at the idea of sitting there while his head pounded and his stomach clenched as another swell of hissing burned in his ears, Merlin made up his mind. "Yeah, I'm going to see Snape," he announced. "I'm not hungry anyway."

And he turned on his heel, making a beeline for the dungeons. He thought he heard Draco and Hermione call after him, but Merlin ignored them. He was tired of this, tired of the ache behind his eyes.

Merlin went to barge into Snape's office as he normally did, when he was met with a locked door. He pushed against it for a moment, and was about to blast it open with magic when he groaned. Of course, Snape was at dinner with everyone else. That's why his friends had tried to call him back. It was so obvious he should've thought of it. Merlin brought his fingers to his temples, and closed his eyes.

Get a grip.

"And why aren't you at dinner, Merlin?"

Merlin gave a little jolt and turned to see the Bloody Baron. Merlin gestured to Snape's office with a grimace. "Looking for Snape."

"Ah." The ghost was silent for a moment. "Actually, I was hoping for a word…"

Merlin shrugged and pressed his back against Snape's door, letting himself slide to the ground. He'd have to wait until after dinner anyway. "Now's good."

"You are skipping dinner?"

Merlin shrugged again, and though the Baron raised his eyebrow, he didn't press the issue. Instead he drifted closer to Merlin, glancing once up and down the corridor. "It's this Chamber of Secrets situation. I remember when it was last opened."

Merlin stared at him. "Of course you do!" he sighed and rubbed his temples again. Why hadn't he gone to find the Baron right after Halloween? Somehow it'd totally slipped his mind.

"Are you well, Merlin? I must say you look rather ill."

"Why I'm here, but anyway," Merlin said, shaking his head. "What happened last time?"

"It is complicated," and the Baron shifted uncomfortably. "You recall that as a ghost I need not concern myself with daily events?"

Merlin deflated. "Well, what do you have? Who opened it at least?"

Baron looked rather surprised. "Why, Tom Riddle, of course. But you knew that."

Merlin nodded. "I suspected. It's good to have confirmation."

"Yes. He opened the chamber while he was a student here. Dreadful business, I tell you. I didn't find out until after the fact however," the Baron admitted. "At the time, Rubeus Hagrid was blamed for the attacks."

"What? You're kidding!"

"I wish I was. The lad has always had a bad habit of fostering dangerous creatures, and Tom used it to his advantage. He was a Prefect at the time. He framed Hagrid, but following an investigation Dumbledore was able to acquit him. Still, he had been attempting to raise an acromantula in the school—I'm not even sure how he acquired the thing—and was expelled for endangering his fellow students. Though, I'm sure not everyone at the ministry is convinced of his innocence."

"I see," Merlin said mulling this over. "But who is opening the chamber this time? I wouldn't expect Voldemort to pull the same move twice and possess someone at the school."

"Well, he's certainly not doing it the same way," the Baron said. "Dumbledore took extra precautions to ensure that wouldn't happen. In any case, I haven't head of him leaving Albania."

Merlin frowned. "But if Voldemort is still in Albania—"

"How is he opening the Chamber of Secrets?" the Baron finished gravely. "How indeed? Though I will tell you that no Slytherin left the common room the night the young Gryffindor was attacked—I had been lurking in the dungeons during the occurrence and no snake could have slipped past me."

Merlin ran his fingers through his hair, "But that makes no sense! Salazar's Heir would need to know Parseltongue, wouldn't he? And as far as I've been told, it's a uniquely Slytherin trait."

"I wish I could be of more help," the Bloody Baron said.

"So do I, but I'll take what I can get," Merlin sighed, offering a weak smile. He began to massage his temples again. The Baron watched him for a moment.

I'll fetch Snape for you."

"Oh, I'm fine waiting," but even as he said it, he felt another stab of pain and winced.

"Consider it my apology for not being more helpful," and the Baron rose to vanish through the ceiling.

Now alone, Merlin shivered. The cold dankness of the floor beneath him seeped through his robes, and with some hesitation he got to his feet. He didn't want Snape to find him sitting there, anyway. But what did this mean? He had been so convinced that if Lucius somehow knew the Chamber of Secrets would be opened this year, it meant Voldemort was somehow involved. But the Baron said Voldemort hadn't left Albania since his return at the end of last year.

Maybe Lucius didn't know anything. Maybe he really had just wanted to transfer Draco because of the possibility that his friendship with Merlin could hurt them. Draco would be pleased at least—he'd no longer have to wrestle with himself about turning his father in. But who was responsible for these attacks then? It wasn't a Slytherin, at least according to the Bloody Baron. Snape too hadn't believed any of them were responsible. But the heir would need to speak Parseltongue! Of that, Merlin was certain.

And who could speak it, if not a Slytherin? And if Voldemort was somehow responsible, how on earth was he doing it?

Merlin heard Snape's footsteps and took a deep breath. He'd return to this problem later. The Bloody Baron wasn't with him, and to his surprise Snape looked concerned. His brows were knitted. What had the Baron said to him?

"Sorry to drag you away from dinner," Merlin said as he neared.

Snape halted in the corridor. "You must be ill." He surveyed him for a long moment. Merlin wasn't sure what he was trying to see; the professor's face looked oddly guarded.

"What?" Merlin finally asked, folding his arms.

"This is the first time the Baron has ever fetched me on behalf of a student."

"I asked him nicely."

Snape raised his eyebrow and opened his office with a wave of his hand. "Somehow, I can't picture such a thing."

"Right." Merlin followed him into the office. He squinted his eyes when Snape lit the candles, having gotten used to the gloom of the corridor. It evidently did not escape Snape's notice.

"I gather this is about that persistent headache of yours."

"You would be correct." Merlin pinched the bridge of his nose. "I think it's mostly stress and lack of sleep causing it though."

Whether or not Snape believed him, he didn't know. But after another moment of silence, Snape went into a side room and returned with a small vial. "My personal headache potion—it's a little stronger than the regular potion, but I think you need it."

"I won't argue that," Merlin grimaced, and he downed the drink. It tasted strongly of lavender, which might have been pleasant had it not been so overpowering. He was grimacing at the woody aftertaste when the effects hit him so hard that he swayed. Snape grabbed his elbow to keep him steady.

"The dizziness will pass."

It did, and with it came the realization that it didn't hurt anymore. His head instead felt pleasantly warm, and a little heavy like he hadn't slept well in weeks—which he hadn't. It'd been such a long time that Merlin hadn't realized how much pain he'd been living with everyday. He gave a real smile, and Snape let go of his arm.

"That stuff is amazing."

"You're welcome."

"Oh right, thanks."

"Now, why weren't you at dinner?" Snape asked, taking the empty vial back.

"I wanted to get a headache potion."

"Clearly, you would've had to wait until after dinner."

"Right." Merlin fidgeted. He didn't want to say he had forgotten that detail at the time. "I just, well, I didn't want to be surrounded by people who hate me."

"An understandable notion, but consider for a moment what would happen if there had been another attack during dinner and no one to account for your whereabouts?"

Merlin blanched. He hadn't thought of that either.

"Precisely," Snape continued. "I'd recommend you figure out a way to tolerate the impudent stares and attend every meal. I do believe the Gryffindors will look for any excuse to implicate you in Creevey's attack, or a future one, and there's no reason to make their job easier."

The idea of another attack sat uncomfortably in Merlin's gut, and yet he knew it would be true if they didn't figure out who was responsible. His throat too tight for speech, Merlin nodded.

"Good. Now, lets return to dinner. I left my plate half-eaten."

Only A Boy

In the following weeks, paranoia ran rampant through the students. A few Ravenclaws began selling amulets and talismans that exploded in popularity. At least once a day, a Gryffindor would dangle a rabbit foot or other such nonsense in front of Merlin and order him to speak the truth. He found out after one particularly exhausting day that retaliating in Parseltongue did not help matters.

His fellow Slytherins were similarly strained. Gryffindors and Ravenclaws kept trying to convince them to turn Merlin in, to admit what everyone already knew, though they went about it in different ways. Gryffindors tried to appeal to their sense of honor. Ravenclaws tried to prove his guilt and failing that, bribery. Neither worked.

First chance he got, Merlin asked Fred and George whether they had seen anything on their map.

"We were asleep at the time," Fred said with a grimace. "We'll keep an eye on it though. Maybe we'll get lucky and catch the next one." He hadn't sounded confident though. And, Hermione, Draco, and Merlin hadn't gotten any closer to finding out what kind of snake they were looking for or how it managed to slip in and out of the castle without anyone noticing.

The only good thing was Snape's headache potion, which worked like a charm but didn't last very long. The second time, he had asked Snape how to brew it himself and though Snape had seemed somewhat suspicious—Merlin had told him he was only curious—gave him the recipe. Merlin had then gone up to his dormitory during break and had brewed an entire cauldron full under his bed to use as he needed—which turned out to be every other day. It left him with a heavy sensation of warmth behind his eyes that lasted up until the pain returned, but he hadn't felt this good in weeks, and decided he had enough to worry about. The Gryffindors of course took his improved attitude as proof he'd managed to escape punishment. Just thinking about it almost brought his headache back.

In the second week of December, Snape came around to take the names of everyone going home over the holidays. Merlin signed up at once, as did every other Slytherin.

"Maybe we'll get lucky and the Heir will attack someone over the holidays," Blaise had muttered to him, "At least it'd exonerate us."

But on December 17th Merlin and Draco had come down to the common room to find a new notice on the board. A small crowd of Slytherins had gathered around it.

"A dueling club?" Draco read aloud.

"I can think of so many ways that could go poorly," Merlin said, leaning in to read the sign. It said the first meeting was that night, in the Great Hall.

"Come on, Merlin. I know you have dueling experience but for the rest of us, it's a little hard to come by," said Draco.

"Funny. You imagine dueling this heir?"

"You never know."

And so, ten minutes to 8 o'clock, he and Draco met Hermione outside the library and headed down to the Great Hall.

"Who do you think is going to teach us?" Hermione asked, her eyes bright and excited. "I heard that Flitwick was a dueling champion back in the day."

"Flitwick? I put my money on Snape. My father told me he's a formidable dueler, and everyone knows he's keen on teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts one day."

Packed with what looked like the rest of the school, the four long tables of the Great Hall had been put away. Instead a raised platform with gold trimming was in the middle of the room, a thousand candles hovering in the air above. But as soon as they entered, the cheerful chatter stumbled to a halt as heads swiveled in Merlin's direction.

"I knew this was a bad idea," Merlin muttered through clenched teeth. He was acutely aware of the fact that everyone was holding their wands.

"It's fine," but Draco didn't look convinced. He swallowed, then lifted his head and sneered at anyone who met his eyes as he led the way towards a group of Slytherins huddled in the back corner. Merlin and Hermione followed, students pulling back from him as if he were the carrier of some terrible disease.

Then, from somewhere in the crowd, a voice called, "What's the Heir of Slytherin doing here?"

"We're supposed to be learning how to fight him!"

They reached the band of Slytherins and Blaise stepped forward to greet them, grimacing. "Cheerful bunch, aren't they? Hello, Granger."

"Hello." She glanced behind her, chewing on her bottom lip. Merlin noticed.

"If you want to join them, you can," he said gently, and Hermione turned to him looking startled.

"I don't want to!" she said at once. "I'm just concerned about safety…"

"I was rather thinking that myself!" came a voice behind them, and they turned to see Ron pushing his way toward the crowd to them. Behind him was Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan, along with a few other Gryffindor's Merlin hadn't had the pleasure of meeting. He thought he saw Fred and George making their way over to them in the background.

"I meant Merlin's," Hermione said, and she folded her arms.

At that, there was some scattered laughter. "His safety?" Ron said, his eyebrows rising so high they were in danger of disappearing. "What about our safety?"

"What's the matter, Weasley?" Draco sneered, moving slowly to stand a little in front of Merlin. "Scared he'll petrify you while everyone's watching?"

"He can't. I'm a pureblood."

"I'm sure he could make an exception—"

"That'd be if I was the one petrifying anybody," Merlin interrupted, giving Draco a pointed look. Ron had started white knuckling his wand.

"Hermione, get away from him," Ron glowered.

"How many times do I have to tell you—!" Hermione began, exasperated, but Ron ignored her. He seized her wrist and attempted to wrench her out of the way.

"Hey!" Merlin protested, and on an impulse he stepped forward to intervene. This, however, turned out to be a huge mistake. Jumpy, eager for a fight, Ron jerked his wand at Merlin and shouted, "Everte Statum!"

The force of the spell hit Merlin so hard, it threw him into the group of Slytherins behind him in a mess of tangled limbs. Gasping for the wind kicked from his lungs, Merlin dimly heard a furious roar and the next minute, people were screaming as curses flashed back and forth above his head.

Theodore was hit by a spell from Seamus Finnegan, and he toppled to the floor as he legs froze. Draco hit Dean Thomas, and his legs started moving in an uncontrollable quickstep. Hermione yelled for them to stop, and then hit Ron with a full-body bind. Merlin staggered to his feet, but before he had even decided what to do—and narrowly dodged a flash of red—Snape's magically amplified voice cracked like a whip over the vociferous noise.

"Finite Incantatum!"

Dean's legs stopped moving, Theodore could move his, and Ron got to his feet massaging the back of his head. There was a moment's pause as Snape swept between them, looking from one to the other with silent fury.

"He attacked us first!" Ron shouted, jabbing a finger at merlin.

"I didn't start this!"

"You started it when you attacked Colin Creevey!"

"I'm not the one attacking people, unlike someone!" Merlin bellowed back, and Draco grabbed his shoulder as though worried he might need to hold Merlin back.

Merlin was so fixated on Ron, he didn't notice Gilderoy Lockhart until he stepped in between them, performing a multitude of sweeping placating gestures. "Please, everyone calm down, all right? I'm sure we can sort this out."

No one acknowledged him.

"We all saw you shouting Parseltongue in the corridor!" Ron went on, folding his arms.

"Silence!" Snape hissed, his lip curling and Ron visibly swallowed. "Fifty points from Gryffindor," and at the cries of disapproval he added, "and Detention, Weasley—I know who threw the first punch."

Ron's ears went brick red and though his mouth twisted as if he wished to retort, he bit the inside of his cheek and nodded—throwing a look of utter loathing in Merlin's direction.

Merlin pushed Draco's hand off him, holding Ron's expression. He wouldn't be intimidated. Let Ron come at him—he clearly didn't know whom he was messing with. How could he be so thick? He knew Ron was scared and lashing out, but Merlin found it hard to be sympathetic. This—acting impulsively and violently against what you fear never ended well. It ended with witch burnings and bad blood. It ended with pain and regret.

Merlin had seen it before.

"Now, now," Lockhart said, pushing Draco aside to stand next to Merlin and—of course—sling his arm around Merlin's shoulders. Merlin shot him a poisonous look, but Lockhart wasn't paying attention. He was smiling at Ron like one would at a five-year-old child. "I understand that this is a trying time for all of you, but lay blame where blame is deserved!"

Lockhart steered Merlin toward the stage, ignoring his protests with a whispered, "Trust me." Merlin didn't know anyone who he trusted less, and when he failed to pull away, wondered whether Lockhart used had magic to somehow glue himself to Merlin.

"Professor Lockhart—" Snape began, following them up onto the platform.

"These students are scared of him, Professor Snape," Lockhart interrupted, waving his other arm toward the crowd. "And they have every reason to be. I mean, he's become something of a celebrity for taking down Quirrell," and Lockhart gave a little laugh as though he thought Merlin's newfound fame was amusing. "I understand—I understand, but I assure you, you have nothing to worry about."

"That's what I've been—" Merlin said, trying to wrench himself from Lockhart's grip.

"Not while I'm here!" Lockhart went on loudly over him. "I'll show you all that he's really quite harmless."

Merlin was so surprised he stopped struggled. "I'm sorry?" he said staring up at Lockhart. Was he serious?

Snape cleared his throat and took a slow step toward him, his eyes darting to Merlin and back, "Do you mean to say," he said in clipped tones, "that you intend to duel Merlin?"

"I know you were looking forward to it Professor Snape," Lockhart said with a great sigh, "but circumstances change!" and he gave a hearty laugh. "No—these students think Merlin is Slytherin's Heir. What a better way to show them he means no harm than with a sporting, demonstrative duel? After all, we all know he understands how to duel. I'm sure he'll do the job admirably!"

"Professor—" came a nervous voice from the crowd and Lockhart waved his hand nonchalantly. "Quirrell was nothing compared to me, don't you worry," and he winked in their direction.

Snape's eyes narrowed and he stepped closer to them, his tone dropping. "I hardly think the headmaster would approve of such a thing."

"He's already granted me permission to start this little dueling club," Lockhart replied, not bothering to keep his voice down. "I'm sure he'd approve of anything that would assuage the worries of his students." He looked out to the students gathered and raised his voice, "When I'm through with him, you'll all realize Merlin means you no harm."

"Fine," Merlin found himself saying.

"No—" Snape said, but Merlin met his eyes.

"I'm doing it," he said. At the very least, maybe it'd stop Ron from impulsively cursing him again.

"Excellent!" Lockhart said. Then, he dipped his head to Merlin's ear and whispered, "But of course, it will only work if you let it."

Merlin felt something cold settle in the pit of his stomach. "—What?" he hissed back, narrowing his eyes. "You're asking me to lose on purpose!"

Lockhart chuckled and shook his head, as if Merlin completely misunderstood. "I'm only trying to help you improve your image," he said, giving him a patronizing look.

Merlin grabbed his arm with his hand, trying to pull it off him. He knew exactly what Lockhart was doing. He was trying to make himself look better. This had nothing to do with Merlin at all, and he wasn't going to stand for it.

"Get off me," Merlin spat when Lockhart wouldn't let go. The candles above them flickered as if caught in a sudden wind.

"You must understand—"

"Oh, I understand," Merlin cut across. "I said I'd do it, but I'm not going to just let you win."

"Merlin—"

And like that, his frustration reached its limit. Without really intending to do it, a shock of magical energy rushed through Merlin. Lockhart jumped and let go as if he'd been electrocuted, that plastic smile falling for a single breath. Before Lockhart had a chance to say anything—or try to touch him again—Snape swooped in and ushered him away.

"You should decline," Snape said with a meaningful look at Lockhart, who was now engaging the crowd.

"I'm not going to let him make a fool of me," Merlin retorted, his jaw stiff.

Snape regarded him for a moment before nodding. "Why don't you try using a simple disarming spell? Expelliarmus should do the trick without causing undue panic."

Merlin swallowed hard but nodded in agreement. As much as he wanted to wipe the floor with Lockhart, that would be the last straw for the watching Gryffindors.

"Now," announced Lockhart, waving him over. "The etiquette of dueling requires the opponents to bow to each other—come Merlin—"

With one final look at Snape, Merlin walked forward and gave a stilted bow. Lockhart did his with large sweeping gestures with his hands before straightening again, beaming at him.

"Bring your wand to the accepted combatant position," Lockhart instructed, whipping out his wand and holding it in front of him like a sword. Merlin followed suit. Was he mistaken, or was Lockhart regarding the curled shape of his wand with envy? "Now, on the count of three, we will cast our spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course. Ready?"

Merlin nodded jerkily and tightened his grip on his wand. It wasn't a real wand of course, but it felt nice to white-knuckle something. He repeated Snape's Expelliarmus in his head.

Lockhart took a deep breath. "Go!" and instead of counting down like he said he would, Lockhart waved his wand and shouted, "Garrio!" hitting Merlin square in the chest.

Merlin doubled over at the blow, but though he felt like he'd just been punched in the windpipe, everything seemed to be working. There was an outcry from the crowd. He heard cheering mingled with screams of foul. Merlin bit the side of his cheek and straightened, massaging his throat. He thought he heard Snape ask him if he was all right, but he didn't reply.

If Lockhart was going to fight dirty—

Merlin jerked his wand to Lockhart, and tried to say, "Expelliarmus," but what came out was a half mumbled, slurring of sound. Confused, he tried again but it was like he couldn't control his tongue. At this point, the crowd had noticed and laughter began to swell. Lockhart dropped his wand, looking triumphant. He took a step back, gesturing towards Merlin.

"What did I tell you? Harmless!"

It was his bloody spell! But Merlin didn't need to speak in order to cast a spell. Burning with embarrassment and fury, Merlin stashed his wand back in his robes and began to advance on Lockhart. But just as the laughter took a sudden drop in volume, Snape grabbed him back.

"L-let go of me—he ch-cheated!" he managed to stutter, earning another peel of laughter from the Gryffindors.

"It's not worth it," Snape hissed in his ear.

But that only made Merlin angrier. Was he just supposed to take it? The rational part of his brain tried to say that this was good, that perhaps letting the school see him in a less threatening light would improve relations—or, he argued, it'll just make it look like a professor has given everyone permission to pull their wands on him.

"Would you like a second try?" Lockhart asked Merlin, bending slightly toward him. The condescension in his voice burned in Merlin's ears. Snape might be right that he wasn't worth it, but he certainly didn't need to stand here and let him bully him. And this time, it wasn't wholly accidental when a shock of magic coursed through him—making Snape abruptly let go. Above, a patch of candles flickered and died.

Without looking at anyone, he jumped off stage. "Get out of my way," Merlin snarled at a chuckling Hufflepuff boy, blocking his path to the main doors. His laughter cut off as he jumped to the side, and Merlin broke into a run once he'd reached the entrance hall.

Oh, what wouldn't he give to curse Lockhart into oblivion?