'Merlin…was he really that much younger than me? Was he really that much younger than me? Was he really… than me? Than me… Than Me! Arthur, Arthur King. King Arthur! Camelot, Round Table, Guinevere, Lancelot, sword fighting, and Purges! All of these things have been staring me in the face. It has been my own doubts, my own mind disallowing me to see where all the facts lead. The preposterousness of it all has had my head spinning, searching for any viable explanation beyond one that seems so absurd, so inconceivable, and so impossible. Arthur King is Arthur Pendragon reincarnated. Guinevere? Lancelot? Nimueh? Gillie? They are all reincarnated… even me? But who am I? Who am I? Who am I?

"By the Goddess!" Hermione shrieked with a sudden fright. Her head has been reeling since she left A History of Magic this morning. It's currently lunchtime and she is eating at the Gryffindor table with Ron and Harry. She has been so lost in her train of thoughts that she has only managed push around all the contents on her plate with a fork. Ron, however, began coughing up the pumpkin juice he'd been drinking before she made the outburst.

"Blimey Hermione," says Harry, who has been sitting next to Ron, and began patting him on the back. Then he looks back up at the witch and his feelings of confusion turn to ones of concern. Her hands are clasped over her mouth, and her eyes are wide with terror. There is a slight trembling to the small, bushy brown haired girl in front of him. Before he can ask what could possibly be the matter, she bolts from her seat straight through the Great Hall and out the doors. Harry and a newly recovered Ron are right on her tail as they quickly run after their panicked friend.

"Hermione!" She hears the two boys call after her once they too exit the Great Hall's doors.

But she doesn't stop. Her heartbeat is speeding up, her breathing erratic. She's afraid, petrified. Who am I? As ridiculous as it seems, she feels afraid for her life. It's in danger. She's been hunted and she's been caught. Despite still running through the halls of Hogwarts, aware of the castle surrounding her, she feels wet. She can feel cold rain piercing her skin. She can feel the cold metal of the shackles binding her and the cage keeping her in. Barely covered, she's freezing. Clothes tattered and torn, she can't leave. She's going to die. I'm going to die. But someone comes and someone saves her. Who? I can't make out his features. Now she's running and running again, that's what they do. But she can't distinctly make out Hogwarts features; they're fading faster now. They are running away from the cage and away from the man who held her captive. Rain still falls, cold like ice before they reach darkness and the rain no longer touches her.

Hermione still knows she's in Hogwarts, and that her mind is spinning out of control. Two hands clamp down hard on her shoulders to stop her, to keep her in place and stop the running. Harry? Ron? It's one of them. But then her mind is gone, lost in the memory completely and all any of them, her, Ron, or Harry can do, is wait for her to come back.

...

A Flickering torchlight and stonewalls surround her. She is in a very dim room. Terror stricken and fearful, she is accompanied by some unknown man.

"Sorry… sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you. I just thought you might be cold." That voice, I recognize it. Who is this man? His features are blurred and yet I ache to see him again, as though some subconscious part of me already knows what he looks like.

"Why did you do that?" Hermione hears herself ask. Her voice in on edge and unsure, a little accusatory to him for what motive could have possibly led to helping her escape.

"What?"

"Help me."

"Well I saw you and… it could've been me… in that cage." I cannot see his face, only his piercing eyes… so beautiful… so genuine. She looks away from the man, instead eyes are downcast staring at the stone cold floor. "You will be safe down here. I'll come back in the morning with some food and candles. Will you be alright until then?" Still feeling shaky and on edge in the presence of this stranger, she merely nods her head yes to answer. "I'm Merlin by the way?" Merlin?

In a small, shaky voice, "I'm Freya." Is that who I am? Is my name Freya?

"Freya," he says my name and I glance back at him. No longer are his features blurred. He now stands, regarding her in the crisp, clear image of someone she has come to know very well. He wears the very face of the same boy, which has clouded her thoughts these past several weeks. "I'll see you in the morning, Freya."

Merlin, the spitting image of Martin Ambrosias turns to leave the tunnel and everything begins fading to complete darkness before she hears herself call out "Thank you" to him and can't quite recall what happens after that.

…..

"Her…ione. H…mione. Hermione!" It's only now does she realize it's Harry calling her name and the hands holding her are also trying to shake her. Finally opening her eyes she takes in her surroundings. In her blind haste, she made it back to the far corner of the restricted section… where Emrys's study once was.

"Harry? Where is he?" She whimpers, now looking at him.

"Who?"

"Martin!" Rather than answering her, his confused face only deepens.

"Why are you looking for him?" Ron asks instead.

"Because he… Because I… I just… um." She tries to think about it. Why is she looking for him? It there a point? Is her overactive mind causing her to jump to conclusions?

"Hermione, what in the bloody hell is going on?" Asks Ron, high behind Harry, which confuses her. She looks down to see her legs sprawled out next to her; her and Harry are both on the floor.

"We're on the floor," she answers simply.

"Mhm."

"We're in the restricted section."

"Yep."

"Why did you follow me here?"

"What kind of question is that?" Asks Ron. "You practically screamed bloody murder back there in the Great Hall and then ran like your life depended on it."

"Maybe it did," she whispers but only Harry hears her.

"What are we doing her Hermione? Did you have a panic attack?" Harry asks her gently, hands still resting on her shoulders.

"I… I…" she huffs, "I think I made it back here for a reason."

"What? Are you here to run into the bloody wall? You downright nearly did there a second ago." Ron is looking at her with confusion, looking at her like she's crazy. It makes her feel like she's crazy. But I'm not. I just need answers. My mind itches to know everything but it's just out of my reach. There are answers here, there must be. Turning to glare at him, she shoves off Harry's steadying hands, straightens her shoulders and rises, all the while never looking away from him.

"I'm not crazy," she emphasizes the last word. Her eyes are blazing with heat, she just doesn't realize to what extent. But the boys see it though; they see her eyes. They see her eyes glowing a bright gold. Before either of them could utter a word, however, she turns towards the wall and pushes on one of the stones. To their surprise, it moves inwards and a large passageway opens to their right. Then she's gone, up the stairs and out of their sights again. They pause to glance at each other, reading the other's reaction to what just happened before a determined expression cements itself on both of their faces and they rush through the passage and up the stairs after her.

Now that she's back to thinking rationally, her mind feels a lot less hazy. She still remembers everything. Reincarnations… she is one also. The sounds of footsteps could be heard running up the steps behind her. The boys followed, no doubt curios as to the random passageway she just opened up.

"Hermione!"

"Shush!" She hushes Harry.

"But your…"

"Be quiet, I'm trying to think!" She cuts him off.

"Hermione your eyes!" Ron inputs finally.

Her brows furrow. "What about them?"

He continues, "Back there, in the library, your eyes changed."

"Changed how?"

"They turned gold Hermione," Harry now says gently, letting it sink in.

"Gold you say?"

"Yeah, just like all that fifth founder nonsense," Ron inputs.

"But it's not nonsense."

"Think about it. For what possible reason could there be a need for a fifth house, even if the fifth founder was a real person?"

"Give me a second, let me think," she implores. Martin, no… Merlin. Where is Merlin? He knows; I know he knows. I can feel it in my gut. Martin is Merlin and Merlin is Martin. Does He remember? Does he remember saving me? Does he remember Camelot? Of course he does. All those destiny speeches he's made, there's no way he doesn't remember who these people are. So why don't we remember yet? Do I not remember? I feel like I'm starting to. The dreams, the black cat, that's me. I know that's me. What happened to me? Was I a murderer? Merlin will know. Why the fifth house? Hogwarts was Camelot, so Camelot would have already fallen, been emptied before it could have been converted into a school. How long after the kingdom was gone before the founders had already found it?

Harry and Ron stand quietly off to the side, watching her pace around the room spewing off a random word or two every so often like 'how long', 'remember', 'starting to', 'fifth house', etc. Everything is too jumbled though, no way to piece together her train of thoughts.

Who was the fifth founder? Emrys. Who is Emrys? How did he know so much? What was his connection to Camelot, to the castle and the founders? Emrys. That name strikes a cord within me. It's been happening a lot lately. Every time I think about Martin… Merlin. Merlin… could it be? What is it the hat said, those very words that I've been going over and over again in my mind? Those very words that have been driving me through my research these last few months. He is worthy of legends, taught the founders old magic, there was never a man more powerful than he, with golden eyes. Golden eyes, Harry and Ron said my eyes just turned golden. Hermione briefly stops pacing and looks at them still standing of to the side. Concern is written all over their faces but they are respecting her time, her space. Now back to pacing. I had golden eyes. Who else has golden eyes? The fifth founder has golden eyes… golden eyes… golden eyes.

…

She is back in the small stone tunnels; illuminated by the candles Merlin brought her. Footsteps can be heard getting closer and closer and closer, until… "I know, I'm late again. Sorry. But, er, this is going to be the best bread you have ever tasted. What do you want with it? Come on. You can have anything. Ham. Cheese."

"Strawberries."

"Strawberries it is." Merlin clears his throat and rubs his hands together. "Blóstma." His eyes glow a bright, luminescent glow and he opens his hands to reveal a red rose. His eyes. Merlin's eyes glow gold.

"That's not a strawberry."

"Er, it's the right colour."

"Why are you so good to me?"

"Because I can't help it. I don't know. I like you. With you I can just be who I am. We don't have to hide anything." The images start to fade to black again. "We don't have to worry," is the last thing she hears him say before she once again looks around and finds herself in the small octagonal room.

…

This castle had long ago been the fifth founder's home. Long ago, it was a very, very long time ago. Before the founder's search, before they began their search. The old religion is crying out. The old religion… old religion… it is old magic. The old religion is the old magic taught to the founders. He taught them magic both new and old. Never was there a man more powerful than he, but the founders were the greatest magic users of their time. They were the greatest magic users of their time… of their time… of their time. He wasn't of their time though was he? He was of our time, of the others; and mine, the reincarnates. But he lived. He lived… and he lived and he met the founders. But he continued to live… because he never died. Now he's here, with us, remembering while the rest of us cannot. We cannot remember yet, but I'm starting to. Merlin knows. He knows what's coming, what we all need to be prepared for. Hermione lets out a huff of frustration and looks back up at Ron and Harry. They glance up at her face when they realize her feet are no longer pacing. By the look of her expression, it's not good. Then again, Voldemort's on the loose, could it possibly be worse than that. "Something's coming."

"What is? What's coming?" Asks Harry.

"I don't know yet," she whispers. Harry looks confused for a moment until she utters her next words and realization dawns on all of them…

"But Martin does."