As the term progressed, Merlin's school experience became both better and worse. The dreamless sleep draught that Snape gave him every night worked wonders. He was no longer plagued by bad memories at night and was able to go to sleep quickly and stay asleep without any trouble. He still woke up before everyone else — most likely due to being used to waking up early to serve Arthur — but it was nowhere near as early as before. The downside to this, though, was that his grades were beginning to slip. In class, he had no troubles. The spells and understanding came easy to him, but he now no longer had the time — or more likely the desire — to complete his homework. Writing essays wasn't something that he wanted to do.

Instead, Merlin began to devote his time to figuring out how to brew the dreamless sleep draught himself. Each time that Merlin went back to Snape to pick up that night's draught, his face took on a more and more disapproving look. He was feeling the pressure from the Potion's Master to get better, but Merlin didn't know how. Despite what Snape insisted on him doing, it wasn't possible for Merlin to talk about it with anyone. There was no way to share anything without letting his true identity to be known. So, the warlock searched away, trying to find a way to get around Snape.

Merlin was interrupted from reading a potions book when Ron ran up to him in the Gryffindor common room.

"Have you seen the notice?" he asked, his words spoken so fast that Merlin almost missed them.

"Uh, no?" Merlin answered, unsure.

"We have flying lesson beginning on Thursday," he grinned before adding bitterly, "but it's with the Slytherins."

This instantly got Merlin's attention. He didn't care about the Slytherin part since he never really cared about the whole house rivalry thing, but the flying lessons certainly caught his attention. He wasn't sure how he felt about learning to fly a broom and wasn't really sure if he wanted to. In the end, he was both intrigued and a bit terrified to do so.

Over the next few days, Merlin joined Hermione, with whom he had become rather close with after having spent a lot of time in the library with her, in reading the book Quidditch Through the Ages. He understood the basics of the broom. It was essentially a wooden stick charmed to move how the rider wanted it to. He also learned many different flying tips, all of which he got a review on from Hermione Tuesday morning. Everyone else except Neville seemed really annoyed with her lecture. She was interrupted, however, when the mail arrived.

Merlin hadn't had a single letter since Hagrid's note which didn't surprise him at all. Malfoy, apparently looking to bully someone, attempted to make him feel unappreciated by gloating while opening his constant packaged of sweets from home. That quickly stopped after Merlin had a particularly bad morning and lashed out at the boy, yelling, "well, when my mom was alive, she didn't need to give me constant gifts for me to know that I was loved!"

Malfoy didn't bother him again after that incident. Merlin was glad that he had quit harassing him, but he was troubled by his lack of control of his emotions.

Back in Camelot, Merlin had an iron grip on his emotions. He was able to bottle them up in a blink of an eye. It wasn't really because he wanted to — he had to. Since coming here, it was a lot harder to maintain control, and even still, he tended to have practically no control at all during some moments.

Merlin theorized that it was due to being in a child's body. The physical aspects of being de-aged were quite obvious, but he was beginning to suspect that there were some mental ones as well.

A barn owl brought Neville a small package from his grandmother. He opened it excitedly and showed them a glass ball, which seemed to be full of white smoke.

"It's a Remembrall!" he explained. "Gran knows I forget things — this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red — oh..." His face fell because the Remembrall had suddenly glowed scarlet, "...you've forgotten something..."

Neville was trying to remember what he'd forgotten when Draco Malfoy, who was passing the Gryffindor table, snatched the Remembrall out of his hand.

Merlin saw Ron jump to his feet, looking ready to fight, but McGonagall, who could spot trouble quicker than any teacher in the school, was there in a flash.

"What's going on?"

"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor."

Scowling, Malfoy quickly dropped the Remembrall back on the table.

"Just looking," he said, and he sloped away with Crabbe and Goyle behind him.

At three-thirty that afternoon, the Gryffindor first-years hurried down the front steps onto the grounds for their first flying lesson. Merlin hesitantly followed behind them, only really keeping up due to Hermione's constant glances at him to be sure that he was actually there. It was a clear, breezy day, and the grass rippled under their feet as they marched down the sloping lawns towards a smooth, flat lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the forbidden forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance.

The Slytherins were already there, and so were twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground. Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short, grey hair, and yellow eyes like a hawk.

"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

Merlin glanced down at his broom. It was old and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles. He could feel the anxiety build up in his, and he kept reviewing what he was learned about brooms and flying to try to calm himself down. He kept reassuring himself that it was just a simple broom charmed to fly and move how he wanted it to, and how there was nothing to worry about because magical people have been doing it for centuries. Besides, he's ridden a dragon before. If he could do that, then there should be no reason for him to be nervous about a simple broom.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say UP!"

"UP!" everyone shouted, Merlin included.

Merlin's broom jumped into his hand at once, but it was one of the few that did. It didn't strike Merlin as odd since he was always a natural at magic.

Hermione Granger's had simply rolled over on the ground, and Neville's hadn't moved. A broom, like horses, could tell when you were afraid, thought Merlin; there was a quaver in Neville's voice that said only too clearly that he wanted to keep his feet on the ground.

Thinking about the broom like a horse now, Merlin felt his confidence rise. He was great at riding a horse. He had to be after traveling around with Arthur so much.

Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their broom without sliding off the end and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips. Ron chuckled in delight when she told Malfoy he'd been doing it wrong for years.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle — three — two —"

But Neville, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch's lips.

"Come back, boy!" she shouted, but Neville was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle — twelve feet — twenty feet. Merlin saw his scared white face look down at the ground falling away, saw his grasp, slip sideways of the broom —

WHAM — a thud and a nasty crack and Neville lay face down on the grass in a heap. His broomstick started to drift lazily towards the forbidden forest and out of sight.

Madam Hooch was bending over Neville, her face as white as his.

"Broken wrist," Merlin heard her mutter. "Come on, boy — it's all right, up you get."

"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear."

Neville, his face tear-streaked, clutching his wrist, hobbled off with Madam Hooch, who had her arm around him.

No sooner were they out earshot than Malfoy burst into laughter. "Did you see his face, the great lump?"

The other Slytherins joined in.

"Shut up, Malfoy," snapped Parvati Patil.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" said Pansy Parkinson, a hard-faced Slytherin girl. "Never thought you'd like fat little crybabies, Parvati."

"Look!" said Malfoy, darting forward and snatching something out of the grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him."

The Remembrall glittered in the sun as he held it up.

"Come on, that's enough," Merlin said quietly.

"What was that, Emrys?" Malfoy said mockingly.

"You've had your fun, my friend. Give me the Remembrall."

"Oh, so we're friends now," Malfoy laughed.

"You're right, I'd never have a friend who could be such an ass. How about you give me what's Neville, and you'll be one step closer to growing up and becoming less of an ass," Merlin said cheekily, holding out his hand.

"Oh, you think you're funny, do you?" Malfoy snarled. "I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find — how about — up a tree?"

"Give it here, Malfoy," Merlin said, his calm wavering, but Malfoy had leapt onto his broomstick and taken off. Hovering level with the topmost branches of an oak he called, "Come and get it, Emrys!"

Closing his eyes so that no one could see their flash, Merlin summoned the ball to his outstretched hand. Said ball ripped itself out of Malfoy's grip and sailed directly into his palm. Merlin thanked the gods that his usual clumsiness didn't cause him to fumble the catch.

"Got it," Merlin said, smiling and giving a small bow in the directing of the stunned looking boy still hovering on the broomstick.

"DRACO MALFOY!"

Merlin and the others whipped around to see McGonagall running towards them.

"Get down here this instant!"

A horrified Malfoy carefully flew down and landed a few feet away from the fuming Professor.

"Mr. Malfoy, follow me, now."

Merlin watched in amusement as Malfoy followed McGonagall back inside the castle, his head handing down. Beside him, Ron was practically jumping up and down in glee, telling Merlin how awesome that was. Hermione, however, was thinking something different.

"How did you do that?" she demanded.

"Oh, come off it," Ron said, leaping to Merlin defense before he could say anything himself. "It was probably just some summoning charm. Are you just upset that Morgan here knew a spell that you didn't?"

Merlin stepped in between the two. "Don't be so mean, Ron."

Hermione huffed. "What I meant was, not only is summoning charms not taught until fourth year, but I also didn't see him use a wand."

Merlin's fingers twitched as anxiety began to rise up. "I like to read," he said before Ron cut him off.

"Just because you didn't see his wand, doesn't mean he didn't use it," the redhead said.

Hermione looked unconvinced but fortunately let the subject drop.

It was dinnertime when Ron ran up and excitedly threw himself down next to the already seated Merlin.

"Malfoy is banned from going to any Quidditch games this year," he said in a rush.

"Seems a bit harsh," Merlin said, swallowing his bread.

"Harsh!? Madam Hooch was prepared to throw him out of Hogwarts completely!"

"I suppose you are right..."

"You think that you're so clever and powerful, huh, Emrys," Malfoy said walking up, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. It seemed as though he never went anywhere without his bodyguards to back him up.

"I think that you are just a bully who was just taught a lesson," Merlin replied, taking a sip of water. Showing Malfoy that he was completely unfazed really got under his skin.

"Yeah, well, I could so take you," said Malfoy. "Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only — no contact. What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?"

"Of course, he has," said Ron, wheeling around. "I'm his second, who's yours?"

Malfoy looked at Crabbe and Goyle, sizing them up.

"Crabbe," he said. "Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked."

When Malfoy had gone, Merlin turned to Ron.

"What did you just do, Ron?"

"What? I wasn't going to just let him talk to you like that. I've got your back."

Merlin just shook his head at the loyal redhead who insisted on being his friend. He was brave and wreckless, and it reminded him so much of Gwaine that it hurt. Ron could also rival Gwaine's eating as well.

"Okay," Merlin said, deciding to go alone with him. "So, what is a wizard's duel, and what did you mean, you're my second?"

Ron's eyes lit up before he causally said, "Well, a second's there to take over if you die."

Merlin raised an eyebrow at him.

"But people only die in proper duels, you know, with real wizards," he added quickly. "The most you and Malfoy'll be able to do is send sparks at each other. Neither of you knows enough magic to do any real damage. I bet he expected you to refuse, anyway."

Merlin fought himself to not laugh at Ron's belief in his magical ability and knowledge. Not any real damage? Merlin could probably take out everyone in the whole room without breaking a sweat.

"You're right," Merlin said with a smile.

"Excuse me."

They both looked up to see Hermione.

"Can't a person eat in peace in this place?" said Ron, earning a glare from Merlin.

Hermione ignored him and spoke to Merlin.

"I couldn't help overhearing what you and Malfoy were saying —"

"Bet you could," Ron muttered, now earning an elbow in the stomach courtesy of Merlin.

"— and you mustn't go wandering around the school at night, think of the points you'll lose Gryffindor if you're caught, and you're bound to be. It's really very selfish of you."

Not wanting to argue with her, Merlin just grinned and said, "You won't have to worry about anything."

For the first time since arriving at Hogwarts, Merlin purposely laid awake on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Neville wasn't back from the hospital wing, so he was waiting for Dean and Seamus to fall asleep. Ron had tried to spend most of the evening giving him advice on how to duel. Not wanting to be rude, Merlin made it look like he was taking the other boy seriously.

Honestly, Merlin didn't really want to duel Malfoy. He was only doing it for Ron. The redhead had wormed himself into Merlin's life so much that he didn't want to let him down. He still didn't think of the Weasley as a friend just yet, though. Merlin wasn't ready for it to go that far.

"Half-past eleven," Ron muttered at last, "we'd better go."

They pulled on their bathrobes, picked up their wands, and crept across the tower room, down the spiral staircase, and into the Gryffindor common room. A few embers were still glowing in the fireplace, turning all the armchairs into hunched black shadows. They had almost reached the portrait hole when a voice spoke from the chair nearest them, "I can't believe you're going to do this, Morgan."

A lamp flicked on. It was Hermione, wearing a pink bathrobe and a frown.

"You!" said Ron furiously. "Go back to bed!"

"I almost told your brother," Hermione snapped, "Percy — he's a prefect, he'd put a stop to this. Why are you doing this? I thought that you would be above such childish acts, Morgan."

Merlin sighed. He was a bit annoyed at Hermione, but he understood where she was coming from.

"Listen, Hermione, it's not a big deal..."

"Don't you care about Gryffindor? I don't want Slytherin to win the House Cup, and you'll lose all the points I got from Professor McGonagall for knowing about Switching Spells."

"We can only lose points if we are caught, right? We're not going to, so there is nothing to worry about," Merlin said.

"You can't be so sure," Hermione countered following them out of the portrait hole.

"Sneaking around castles is sorta my specialty," Merlin said with a smile and placing a hand gently on her shoulder. "Trust me."

Merlin could see her resolve begin to waiver.

"All right, but I warned you, you just remember what I said when you're on the train home tomorrow, you're so —"

But what they were, they didn't find out. Hermione had turned to the portrait of the Fat Lady to get back inside and found herself facing an empty painting. The Fat Lady had gone on a nighttime visit and Hermione was locked out of the Gryffindor Tower.

"Now what am I going to do?" she asked shrilly.

"That's your problem," said Ron. "We've got to go, we're going to be late."

Hermione was about to argue, when Merlin hushed her.

"I heard something," he whispered.

"Mrs. Norris?" breathed Ron, squinting through the dark.

It wasn't Mrs. Norris. It was Neville. He was curled up on the floor, fast asleep, but jerked suddenly awake as they crept nearer.

"Thank goodness you found me! I've been out here for hours, I couldn't remember the new password to get in to bed."

"Keep you your voice down, Neville. The password's 'Pig snout' but it won't help you now, the Fat Lady's gone off somewhere."

"How's your arm?" asked Merlin.

"Fine," said Neville, showing them. "Madam Pomfrey mended it in about a minute."

"That's good. Now, why don't we get you and Hermione back into Gryffindor Tower. Ron really wants me to go somewhere with him."

"But I thought we were locked out," Neville said confused.

"The Fat Lady is gone. We can't get back in without her, Morgan," Hermione added.

Merlin winked at them before turning around and walking back to the vacant portrait. He grabbed the side of it, and with a hidden, golden flash of his eye, he pulled it open, revealing the hole to get in.

"How did you do that?" Hermione said in disbelief.

"Magic," Merlin said, trying his best to fake being mysterious as the two climbed in.

"Obviously," she said with a roll of her eyes. "But how?"

"We don't have time for this," Ron pleaded. "We're going to be late."

"Sorry," Merlin said, giving a sheepish smile before closing the entrance way and running down the hall with Ron.

Merlin quickly took lead as they flitted along corridors striped with bars of moonlight from the high windows and through dark passageways only lit but the ball of light on the tip of Merlin's walls. They weaved their way through Hogwarts, making sure that they would not be caught. Soon enough, they were in the Trophy Room.

Malfoy and Crabbe weren't there yet. The crystal trophy cases glimmered where the moonlight caught them. Cups, shields, plates, and statues winked silver and gold in the darkness.

"He's late. Maybe, he's chickened out," Ron whispered.

Something about the situation felt wrong to Merlin. A second later, a familiar feeling seeped into him — Filch is nearby.

Earlier in the term, Merlin figured out that he could use the magic that drenched Hogwarts to help his detect other magical beings — magical people included — when they were close to him. Each person's magical trace was different, and Merlin was starting to be able to recognize a few.

Filch was a Squib, but that didn't mean he was devoid of any magic. Being born from a magical parent and having spent his life surrounded by a heavy concentration of magic, he had some residual magic on him. It wasn't enough to where he could do anything with it, but it was enough of Merlin to detect. It came in handy when Merlin would roam the halls after curfew.

"We need to leave now," Merlin whispered, grabbing Ron's arm and pulling him towards the door.

"We can't leave now," Ron whispered back. "What if Malfoy is still going to show up?"

"He's not. It was a set up."

"What do you..."

"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner," Flich's voice said, causing all the color to drain out of Ron's face.

Merlin yanked him to the door and pulled the frightened redhead alongside him and he raced down the corridor. Taking turn after turn down different corridors before Merlin directed Ron through a series of passageways directing them right to his intended destination. The Warlock laughed as Ron all but collapsed in relief at the sight of the empty portrait of the Fat Lady.

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