A/N: Okay, so it's not a Sunday update like I promised. Forgive me? :)

Harry ducked and dodged as all manner of projectiles were thrown at him from the angry mob in front of him. He'd much rather use a Shield Charm, but they'd all agreed to refrain from using as much magic as possible.

There were about a hundred of them, all yelling and angrily brandishing make-shift weapons. A family were cowering in the gutter, the father lying in the street, blood seeping out of a wound in his head as his wife and three young children screamed and cowered as the mob continued beating the man. Other Muggles were smashing windows, setting fires and chanting words lost in the chaos of the night. It was one of the busiest streets in Manchester, a place for shopping and socialising, yet was now a bloodbath.

Harry and most of the others who had been at Grimmauld Place had Apparated here just moments ago to try and quell some of the violence, but it seemed all their presence did was make things worse. As soon as they had appeared, they had been bombarded with abuse and weapons.

"Get lost, scum!" one man shouted.

"We don't want your kind here!" another shouted.

Their faces were lit in a red light by the angry fires consuming the buildings on either side. Policemen were approaching some members with riot gear but not making much headway as the mob got more and more violent. Order members were tackling fires, trying to push back the crowds using surreptitious spells in order to rescue the victims in the centre. But the crowd did not take kindly to the spells.

But Harry wasn't about to give up. Innocent people were being hurt and he had to do something.

Regardless of the promise he had made and his own safety, he cast a quick Old Religion spell to shield himself and plunged into the crowd. A few seconds later, he was conscious of Ron and Hermione following, protected by Ron's Old Religion shield, though still somewhat flimsy from lack of practice.

The crowd tried to stop them, grabbing at them and hitting them with their various weapons, but each attempt bounced off harmlessly. A couple people screamed at the sight, but most people looked angry, infuriated, murderous.

"Look, it's the kid off the telly!"

"Get him! He's one of them!"

Harry ignored the shouts and pushed himself through the crowd until he came to the spot where the family were huddled on the ground crying, able to do nothing to stop their father being beaten. One of the mob turned to see Harry, Ron and Hermione, and lowered the metal pipe he had been using, slick with the man's blood. He scowled.

"Get lost, you sickos," he growled.

"The only sicko here is you," said Ron. "Leave off him."

"Or what? You'll make me?" he spat. "Go on then! Curse me! Put a spell on me! Get your broomsticks and your black cats."

"My cat's ginger," said Hermione, and without another wasted second, whipped out her wand and Stunned the man and his three accomplices. The crowd screamed as one when they saw this, but Hermione paid no attention and she, Harry and Ron approached the family, Hermione trying to calm the frantic mother and hysterical children.

Harry and Ron approached the father, who was motionless. "We need to get him to Merlin," Ron said urgently. "That wound looks nasty."

Harry nodded, and knelt down to grab on to the man. "I'll take him straight there. You and Hermione bring the others."

Ron moved over to the others to take them to Grimmauld Place, even as Harry gave one last look around. The area they were in now was quieter, the violence having moved further down the street, but the buildings still burned, and he could still see the distant shapes of the Order trying to do something, anything to stop the violence. They were probably only making things worse.

But he couldn't concentrate on that right now. He grabbed the man's arm, and summoned his magic, and uttered the words that would take himself and the injured man inside the protection of Grimmauld Place.

He felt the swirling winds engulf him, and the next moment he was in one of the bedrooms of 12 Grimmauld Place. He'd missed the bed by a few feet, but at least he'd arrived in the bedroom instead of the dining room like last time. Merlin had said only a few weeks ago that he was too inexperienced to learn Transporting, but that attitude had changed within the last few days. Harry had been forced to learn it and so had Ron and all the other Old Magic users, despite the additional danger for them as newer students than Harry; it was far more efficient than Apparition, and meant they could bring Muggles within the walls of the house without removing the protective enchantments. He levitated the man onto the bed quickly.

"Merlin!" he called, but there was already a thundering on the steps and the door burst open before he'd even finished.

Merlin immediately moved over towards the bed and examined the man, swearing loudly when he saw the injury.

"A Muggle?"

"Yeah," said Harry, falling back slightly. "Another bloke was hitting him with a metal pipe. Ron and Hermione are bringing his family here now."

"Did you teach Ron the Old Religion spell to Transport Muggles inside the house's defences?"

"Yeah," said Harry, sinking into a chair, feeling the exhaustion that still came with using an as of yet still unfamiliar Old Magic spell. "He'll be here soon."

Merlin nodded and continued his examination. He conjured some cloths, water and a potion to clean the wound, frowning as he did so. Then, he placed his palm over the wound and began murmuring rapidly under his breath. His eyes glowed, and the wound slowly knitted itself together. Merlin immediately turned to his medical equipment and began mixing up another potion.

Harry stopped paying attention now that the danger was over, and tried to stave away the exhaustion. One week had now passed since the debate in the House of Commons, and complete pandemonium had overtaken Britain, Europe, the whole world even. Every day came new reports of violence and bloodshed. The death tolls increased daily, including in Britain.

Rogers and his government refused point-blank to negotiate with Kingsley now, calling him an enemy of the state and a terrorist fugitive, all facades now dropped. Some politicians spoke out against this attitude, but somehow, they all seemed to disappear or were silenced after Rogers accused them of being guilty by collusion. Some church leaders supported the government's stance and were commended, others called for peace, and they too were suddenly silenced. Officially, the government did not condone the violence, and were using the police and army to stop it, but truthfully, were happy for it to continue. In actual fact, according to the speeches given by Rogers in the last week, he seemed almost to encourage 'ordinary citizens taking it upon themselves to root out the evil in our society.'

The situation was even worse in Europe, where reports of new attacks came almost hourly. The situation was beginning to be reflected in Britain too, with every major city displaying mass rioting and violent attacks, with the unrest spreading to all but the most rural communities as well. As of yet, there was no official death toll, but Harry knew it was high.

The Order had, along with Ministry Aurors, tried to stop the violence as much as possible, and rescue innocent Muggles and wizarding families that got caught up in it, but were having little success. Muggles were hostile to them, both the perpetrators and the victims, and as soon as the violence had been quelled in one city, it arose in another. There was no cohesion, no organisation. Ordinary wizards tried to help their Muggle neighbours, and were turned upon without warning. A refugee centre had been set up in the Ministry for displaced wizards, many of whom had Muggle husbands or wives, as well as the parents of Muggle-Born children and Muggles themselves, traumatised by the events of the past couple of weeks. St. Mungo's was filling up, and so the Order had decided to begin to bring as many rescued Muggles that the house to hold to Merlin instead. The place was crammed with Muggles; the bed occupied by the man from Manchester was the last free one, and campbeds would now have to be brought into this room too. Even the drawing room was filled. Once cured, Muggles were either sent to the Ministry, or into hiding with wizarding families. They could not return home.

Merlin was rushed off his feet. Although wanting to head out into the cities with the rest of the Order to help, Kingsley had asked him to remain, seeing that he was the best and most experienced Healer of all of them, and so grudgingly, Merlin had agreed. He was not happy. Again, he felt useless, and Harry knew he was still blaming himself. Every time an Order member caught a member of the Liberators and brought him to see Kingsley, Merlin looked as though he was hard pressed not to curse them. Harry had not seen such anger in his eyes since he'd faced down Morgana.

A noise sounded on the staircase and the door was pushed open. The man's wife and three children rushed in, each sporting bruises and scratches, looking pale and terrified. Harry immediately stood.

"Is he alright?" the woman asked, running to the best and seizing her husband's hand. "He's not-"

"He's alive," said Merlin. "It was a nasty wound, but he'll live. I've healed the fracture and internal bleeding. If he takes this potion when he wakes he should suffer no side-effects from the damage."

The woman looked stunned as she saw the scarless face of her husband. "You-you healed the fracture? Just like that? He's only been here five minutes."

"Magic can do wondrous things, if people would only give it a chance," said Merlin, as he began putting away his equipment. "Are you and your children alright?"

She nodded, still looking stunned. "Just a little shaken." She turned to face Merlin, and her eyebrows rose. "You-you're the one that was on telly. You're the one that calls yourself Merlin. Why do you do that?"

"Because I am Merlin," he responded wearily, for the hundredth time that week. "Yes, the Merlin. Merlin from Camelot, of the Round Table and King Arthur and all that. Yes, I know I don't look that old. Yes, I know it's impossible. Call me a liar if you want."

"I'm not going to," she said, clutching her husband's hand tighter. "I believe you."

Merlin raised his eyebrows. "You do? Well, you're the first one all week. You seem remarkably calm about it."

"After everything I've seen all week, nothing seems unbelievable any more," she said, looking at her husband.

Merlin nodded, then glanced at her children. All three were clutching each other in the corner, looking too afraid to move, eyes wide and terrified. One was only about four, and judging by the smell, had wet himself in terror. Merlin's face softened.

"They're in shock," he murmured to their mother. "Will you let me give them a potion to help them?"

The mother looked anxious for a moment, but after looking at her children, nodded her consent. Merlin began preparing a small potion in some new vials from his kit, and handed one each to the children. They looked at them, suspicion in their eyes.

"It won't hurt you, I promise," Merlin said softly, crouching down to their eye level. "It'll just stop you from shaking so much."

"What's in it?" the oldest girl asked. "Eye of newt and tongue of frog?"

Merlin smiled, with what looked like great effort. "None of that, I promise. It tastes better than normal medicine too."

"Take it, dears," their mother said, coming next to Merlin and laying a hand on their shoulders. "It will make you feel better."

They still looked suspicious, but swallowed the potions. Immediately, they ceased shaking and some colour returned to their cheeks.

"There," said Merlin. He crossed the room to the cupboard and withdrew an armful of cushions and blankets, which he deposited on the ground by the fireplace, probably deciding to conjure some with magic would only disturb them further. "Now, why don't you all try and get some rest? You can lie here and wait for your father to wake up. Your mother will stay here with you."

They nodded mutely, and settled down on the floor with the blankets, but Harry doubted they'd be getting any sleep tonight. The mother kissed each of them on their foreheads and moved back to her husband, who still lay motionless. Her hands were also shaking. She turned to Harry.

"I saw you bring my husband here using … magic," she said. "Thank you."

Harry shrugged. "It was nothing. Why did they attack you any way?"

A look of pain crossed her face. "My husband's sister," she began, her voice trembling. "She was a … witch. I never knew, my husband never said anything. I knew his nephew went to a boarding school all year, but I had no idea it was a school for magic. Mike told me the truth the night the news broke out. I was angry he never told me … I said such mean things. Some of my sister-in-law's neighbours started sniffing around, wondering where the boy went all year, and why he'd done so many strange things when he was younger. They found out the truth, and it was only a matter of time before they came after us as well …"

A single tear fell down her cheek. "They came in the evening, they accused us of being witches as well. They said they were going to make an example of us. If you hadn't come when you did …"

"And what about your sister-in-law and her family?" asked Harry, chilled at what he was hearing. "What happened to them?"

She shook her head, more tears spilling from her eyes, turning her head so her children couldn't see.

"I don't know. I just don't know …"

Merlin and Harry exchanged grim looks. Merlin placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Try not to think of it," he said gently. "You've all been through an ordeal. When your husband wakes, make sure he drinks all the potion, and then try and get some rest yourself. Your children will need you to be strong."

She nodded, and wiped away her tears. Merlin and Harry stood to leave the room.

"Thank you," she said, looking at the two of them. "I'm grateful, and I'm glad those people were wrong about you."

"And I'm glad that there are people like you still out there," said Merlin, before he and Harry left the room and closed the door.

Ron and Hermione were standing on the other side.

"Will he be okay?"

"Yes," said Merlin. "Until the next angry mob comes along."

"What's going to happen to them all?" said Hermione. "They're refugees. They can't go back to their homes whilst all of this is still going on."

"No, they can't."

They made their way down to the kitchen, where a couple Order members were gathered, nursing superficial wounds and singed robes. The modified television was chattering away as usual in the corner; the Order had decided it was the best way to stay up to date with proceedings in the Muggle world.

Remus was sitting there, staring at the screen with a frown on his face. He barely glanced up as they entered.

"How are we supposed to help when there are simultaneous attacks going on everywhere?" he asked bitterly as the news report flashed more images.

"There's nothing we can do against them except try and rescue some of the people caught up in it," said another Order member that Harry didn't know. "Unless we can make Rogers listen, there's nothing to be done except go back into hiding and hope they forget about us in time."

"Yeah, because that worked so well last time," said Ron.

"The same thing happened last time," said Merlin, looking at the screen. "Wizards went into hiding, but Muggles continued to suffer."

"What did the Ministry do?"

"Nothing," Merlin replied. "'Let the Muggles fight it out amongst themselves', is the exact quote if I remember exactly. As long as wizards were safe, they didn't care."

"We can't let that happen now," said Hermione.

"Obviously," said Merlin. He thought for a moment. "We didn't do nothing though. There was a group called the 'Friend of Muggles Society', and they tried to save as many innocent Muggles as possible, and I helped a little. Eventually they managed to infiltrate parliament and helped pass the Witchcraft Act in 1735."

"And what did that do?"

"Got rid of the death penalty for witchcraft," said Merlin. "They managed to convince the politicians that witchcraft was all fake and no longer a crime. The new law meant it was only a crime to claim to have magical powers. That law wasn't repealed until 1951, but at least people began to believe that witches no longer existed, and the people practicing witchcraft were just charlatans. It took a lot of Confundus Charms to do that. Of course, it helped that the Statute had made it illegal to use magic in front of Muggles. When people stopped seeing magic, they stopped believing in it."

"But that wouldn't work any more," said Hermione sadly. "Not in the twentieth century. People have seen it on tv, it's been recorded, we've stood up in parliament to tell people it's real. We can't backtrack now."

"No, we can't," said Remus. He pointed his wand at the tv screen to turn the sound on. A heated debate was going on around a table on the screen.

"-but Rev., do you seriously wish to return to the old punishments?" the main commentator was saying. "There hasn't been an execution of a witch since 1727 and capital punishment itself was abolished in 1965, surely we're more enlightened now?"

"The law of God has not changed," said the Rev. his dog collar up so high it appeared to be choking him. "'Thou shallt not suffer a witch to live' Exodus 22:18. This witchcraft will pollute our society, we must weed it out."

"But if they've lived amongst us for so long-"

"Exactly my point," said the Rev, his face going red. "How do we know what part of our society is ours, and what they've done to us? I'm sure Father Kelley here will agree with me that such evil must be wiped out."

"I do not agree," said the man who must be Father Kelley, sitting on the Reverend's left. "Such violence is an abhorrence in God's eyes. God gave us reason, and compassion, we must use those gifts, and end this war. Executing witches would be tantamount to returning to the dark and un-Enlightened times of our forebears. We should be making progress, not regressing to an era of narrow-minded foolishness and maniacal persecution of innocents."

"Have you not read the old accounts of the witch trials? All those accused admit to conversing with the Devil himself! It is evil."

"And how many of those 'confessions' were obtained through torture, or were the result of mental illness rather than reality? We cannot compare this situation to that of back then. Mindless violence solves nothing. Mob rule will lead to the destruction of our entire country. We need to make a stand, and solve this in a rational manner!"

"You condone witchcraft and acts of evil?"

"Of course I do not condone evil, but there is no evidence that these people are evil. They have not attacked us, or harmed us-"

"What about the day they revealed themselves?"

"No deaths occurred that day if I recall-"

"You'd be happy to have a witch living next door, would you?"

"If I am perfectly satisfied that they pose no harm to wider society-"

"What is your opinion on this, Mr Burns," interrupted the host, talking to the final guest. "What is the position of the People's Party?"

"We stand by the Reverend's views," the MP smiled smugly. "Executions are perhaps not quite feasible just yet, but we believe this magic to be evil and needs to be eliminated and we will do everything we can to insure that-"

BANG!

Everyone jumped as the screen on the television shattered into a million pieces and the room filled with smoke. Merlin was standing there, his hands shaking, eyes still burning gold.

"That's the fourth screen you've smashed, mate," said Ron, after a moment's silence.

Merlin ignored him and turned away, still with a look of anger on his face, a mixture of hurt and betrayal; he was still smarting from the conduct of the Liberators.

"How can they be so stupid?" Harry heard him muttering to himself. A distraction was created when the door burst open and Tonks and McGonagall hurried in. They glanced at the shattered glass with little interest; knowing without explanation what had happened.

"What's-" began Remus, but Tonks cut him off.

"It's Godric's Hollow," she said, and immediately, Harry's heart leapt.

"What's happened?"

"The Muggles turned against the wizards there," said McGonagall gravely. "It wasn't hard for them to figure out the wizards living amongst them; we tend to stick out."

"It was a bloodbath," said Tonks, looing paler than usual. "Most of the residents were elderly, and didn't have time to get their wands, and even if they did, they couldn't take on all the villagers at once."

"The younger ones tried to," said McGonagall. "Killed as many Muggles as the Muggles killed wizards."

"The place is practically empty," said Tonks, uncharacteristically sounding tearful. "Everyone's gone, or dead. And what's worse, now people have heard what's happened, they've started going after the Muggles in their own villages."

"They've turned on them," said McGonagall. "They want revenge."

Merlin closed his eyes in resignation. "And so it begins," he said. "History is repeating itself."

Harry's heart felt cold at these revelations, remembering the sleepy little village he had visited on Christmas Eve. It was almost beyond comprehension.

His eyes fell on the Muggle newspaper on the kitchen table, hastily printed and filled with nothing but news of the violence. The headline caught his eye: DEATH TOLL IN BRITAIN ESTIMATED TO BE OVER 500, SIMILAR TALLIES ACROSS EUROPE.

Just how many more need to die?

The situation had never looked so hopeless.

"What exactly do they think they're going to achieve here?" Ron grumbled, looking at the rowdy Conference Hall at the Ministry. "This is more of a riot than anything."

"We have to do something," said Hermione, though she too was looking doubtfully at the chaos before her. "We need to come up with a solution together."

"And how 'together' do you think we can be?" asked Harry. "We can't even decide on where we're sitting."

After the Muggle death toll had reached 500 in Britain and almost 5000 across the whole of Europe, Kingsley had called another emergency meeting with Ministry officials, the Order and other prominent figures (plus others who'd managed to sneak in) in the Conference Hall at the Ministry, a room unused for decades, and now filled to bursting with dozens of people. Rows upon rows Of seats faced a high table at the head of the room, where Kingsley, department heads, Merlin and Professor McGonagall were seated, an arrangement that many in the room were unhappy with. People everywhere were arguing over their assigned seating, feeling insulted at being relegated to the back in a debate of such importance. Harry and most of the Order were seated in the front rows, a point that caused much consternation amongst those that accused Kingsley of 'blatant favouritism'.

"Can you believe this?" Fred asked, from further down the row. "The entire world is literally going up in flames and all they can talk about is a seating plan? What are they, children?"

Kingsley shared Fred's impatience. He stood up, and a giant firecracker issued from his wand, immediately demanding silence.

"Please, everybody, take your seats," he said, a note of threat in his voice. "This is too delicate a situation to be squabbling amongst ourselves."

"Exactly," shouted one wizard, though everyone else grudgingly took the seats given to them. "A delicate situation. Why then are your friends the ones you've been talking to, the ones influencing the way you're dealing with this crisis. You turned to them before you turned to your own government, you brought more of them than Ministry employees to the Muggle debate. Tell me, are you the Minister for Magic, or are you the leader of the Order of the Phoenix?"

Several shouts of agreement met these words, and the man sat down victorious. Kingsley glowered at him.

"I am both," he said, speaking louder of the snort of ridicule. "The Order was for a long time the wizarding world's last line of defence. We know how to fight our enemies, they have experience, and I personally trust each and every one of them with my life. Something I can't say about some of the people in this government." He ignored the cries of outrage and scanned the room, fixing his steely gaze on everyone sitting there. "The Order is not the issue here. This crisis is."

"But it is!" cried the same man. He stood up again and glared at the high table, this time, his eyes fixed on Merlin. "You say you trust them, but look at what they've done. They're responsible for this! That man there wanted this to happen!"

"Merlin is not-"

"Merlin!" said the man derisively. "Where's the proof? I don't believe him."

"You believed him last month, Lawson," said Tonks, scowling. "Weren't you begging me to get you an autograph? Did you need proof then?"

"He's taken us all in," said Lawson. "He was lying."

"And what about the evidence? The records? The testimony of the Hogwarts ghosts?"

"I'm not saying he's not long-lived," said Lawson dismissively. "It doesn't mean he's Merlin though. Look at Nicholas Flamel!"

"And what about the Old Magic?"

"Old Magic existed long before Merlin," said Lawson. "It's always been around. He just figured out how to use it and thought he'd impress us all by pretending to be a long-dead hero. Well, I've had enough of him making false claims and keeping the Minister in his pocket. He's to blame for all of this."

Harry felt the anger for this man rise up so strongly he thought he'd burst, and even more so when he saw several nods of agreement.

Ginny was shaking in rage beside him. "How can they be so ignorant?" she hissed. "How?"

Kingsley too looked angry, but controlled it better than Ginny did.

"Merlin's identity is not up for debate here," said Kingsley. "We need to focus on other issues now and not place blame, whether or not it is warranted. Sellick, you're head of the Emergency Committee, what's the latest you can tell me?"

Sellick stood up and gravely began to recite the numerous atrocities that were currently going on and the Ministry's fruitless attempts to counteract it all. Harry, feeling sick at the mention of so many horrors, turned his eyes on Merlin.

He didn't know what he expected, but passivity was not it. Merlin sat there, his face expressionless, not even angry at the aspersions on his identity, not looking pained at Sellick's report. He looked resigned almost. Harry was not used to seeing him look so passive, so neutral. It was almost like he had given up.

For the first time, Harry seemed to truly appreciate everything Merlin had gone through over the last thirteen centuries. True, he'd always felt appalled and sympathetic at his recollections of the awful things he'd witnessed, but it had all just seemed like what it was: history. Now, it was the present day, and Harry was witnessing it for himself.

All of what was happening now, it had happened before, and on a much greater scale, for centuries, and Merlin had watched it all. A few decades of peace in Camelot compared to centuries of fear and death. And he'd been there through it all, without even a friend to comfort him, to be with him and help him see that there'd be a better future one day. Merlin must as felt as hopeless then as Harry did now.

What must it be like for him to see it all happen again? He and he alone fully knew just how bad things could get, and what could actually happen. It must be torture for him to see the return of the killing he had tried so hard to forget. This unrest and violence was not new to him as it was to everyone else here. He'd survived, scarred but alive, hopeful nothing like that would ever happen again, and it had. As if Morgana returning hadn't been bad enough for him, now he was witnessing the return of a way of life that had caused him so much pain. And he must blame himself; he'd been tentatively supportive of the Liberators, put his trust in them, and they had betrayed him.

Harry saw the same look in his eyes that he knew had been in his after Dumbledore had died and left him with the impossible task of tracking down the Horcruxes. It was a look of pure despair.

He shuddered as he realised that Merlin, the great Merlin they all (despite his many flaws) still thought invincible had given up hope. It didn't suit him. Strangely though, it did not make Harry afraid to see him to hopeless, instead, it just ignited a new determination inside of him. Merlin had not given up on harry when everything had looked so hopeless, and Harry would not give up on him. They wouldn't give up, they'd fix this, he had no idea how, but they would. Harry would make sure of it.

The meeting passed without much getting done, just more and more blame being laid upon everyone, from Kingsley and Merlin, to Dumbledore, Fudge, Rogers and a multitude of others. No one had anything productive to say.

"We'll be using Hogwarts as a refuge for all the Muggles and wizards who are being displaced," said McGonagall, who still had not regained her colour after the massacre she had witnessed at Godric's Hollow. "It's the safest place I know, and the Ministry is too full already. I'd also recommend all Muggles who have been placed with wizarding families be taken there as well. It is the safest place for them."

"Muggles at Hogwarts?" sneered one old man at the back. "How do you propose to get them in? Don't they just see a ruin of the place?"

"We shall remove enough of the Muggle-Repelling Charms to let them inside as long as they're guided by a wizard," said McGonagall. "The place shall still be hidden from outsiders."

"And how can you do that?" said the wizard. "Those spells have never been removed in ten centuries, they're woven into the very fabric of the place. You want to tamper with them? Who's to say you won't make a mistake and expose us all? It's far too risky."

"What do you want to do? Leave the Muggles on the doorstep?" Mr Weasley asked, angrily.

"Let them go to their own kind," said the man. "We can't risk wizarding lives for them."

"They can't go to their own kind!" said Hermione, jumping up and glaring at the man, heedless of the dozens of eyes on her. "They're in trouble because of us! We need to help them!"

The man scowled at her, his distaste for her and her blood status evident on his face. "It's not our fault Muggles are stupid enough to kill their own kind. I say we leave them to it and let them fight it out amongst themselves. Our priority should be the lives of wizards."

At this, Merlin looked up and stood slowly, looking at the man, immediately silencing the whispers that had started. His face remained expressionless, but his eyes were burning with an angry fire.

"I've heard words like those from countless Chiefs of the Wizards' Council," he said, his voice strong in the silent room. "Leave them to it, let us look after our own.' They were happy for Muggles to kill each other so long as wizards were safe and sound. Same goes for Muggle-Borns. After all, if they're too stupid to know how to conceal their magic and learn to control it and not get caught, why should we risk wizarding lives to protect them? And poorer people too. Why do they need magic anyway? Why should we risk our lives for theirs if they're too poor and stupid to understand how to hide themselves properly? In fact, why risk pure wizarding blood for anybody? Let's just sit back quietly and let the world go to hell, so long as I'm alright, what does it matter?" Merlin's look now turned to one of absolute fury. "Where do we draw the line? Muggles and wizards are both human beings. Why should one group be more worthy than another? From there it's just a short step to deciding which wizards to save and which to leave to the flames. We sacrifice any humanity we have if we let them perish. We are as much responsible for the violence as they are. We are all in this together."

"And why did you do it then?" asked the man. "If Muggles are so worthy of saving, why did you stand by for centuries and watch them burn? Why didn't you get involved then?"

He had struck a nerve, and Merlin flinched, but soon recovered. "Because then, I was alone, wizarding society was fractured, I had no allies, no friends, no way of ending the violence. I was only one man trying to stop an entire continent from burning. But we can change that now. I'm the one who helped put those Muggle-Repelling Charms on Hogwarts in the first place. I can alter them, without putting anyone at risk, Muggle or wizard."

"That is, if you really are Merlin," grumbled the man, but he sat down and said nothing further.

Merlin ignored him, and resumed staring down at the table in front of him whilst Kingsley and the others outlined their plans for helping evacuate people from the worst areas, and how best to approach the Muggle government once more; no one had any clue.

Harry watched him carefully. Despite his words, Harry sincerely doubted Merlin believed his own statement of changing what was going on.

If the greatest wizard the world has ever seen was afraid, what hope did the rest of them have?

Some, Harry told himself, clenching his fist. We're not dead yet. I won't let Merlin give up.

"Well, that didn't go well," said George, as he, Harry and most of the Order went to the make-shift refugee camp in the Ministry Atrium to help with the removal to Hogwarts. "What did we find out there that we didn't already know?"

"That wizards are beginning to turn on each other, as well as on Muggles," said Harry, still with the image of that bigoted man in his head. "It's like what Remus said on Potterwatch last year: 'It's only a short step from 'wizard's first, to purebloods first'."

"You were listening to that?" asked Remus, smiling despite himself as they entered the Atrium from the lifts. "I'm glad. It was meant to give you hope."

"It did," said Harry. "And maybe you'd better start it up again. It looks like we all need some again."

The Atrium was a hopeless mass of huddled people, heaped together on rickety beds, clutching warm drinks with blankets draped around their shaking shoulders. It reminded Harry of the scene after the Battle of Hogwarts, when all hope seemed to have gone. Some Muggles looked afraid, and were shrinking away from Healers who approached them with potions and drawn wands, some were crying, but most were just staring into space, holding the hands of their loved ones.

"Ignorance did this," said Hermione, shaking her head and looking tearful. "Why do human beings always get it so wrong?"

"Your parents will be alright, won't they?" Ron asked her, as they moved towards the group of Healers. "They won't be attacked?"

"I don't think so," she said, but she bit her lip. "They moved to a different city after they came back where no one knew them, so none of the neighbours know I exist or used to do strange things when I was little. They should be alright."

"They will be," said Ron, taking hold of her hand. "They're smart, like you. They know how to keep their heads down."

They reached the Healers, and, after a quick explanation began to help them and the Ministry witches and wizards guide the Muggles and other refugees to the fireplaces to Floo them to Hogwarts, each accompanied by a wizard to take them past the enchantments. Harry, Hermione, Ron, Fred, George and Ginny were assigned to one fireplace. It took a great deal of persuasion to convince them all to step foot in the flames, some went hysterical at the mere thought of it.

"I can't!" shrieked one woman, holding her child by the hand and looking terrified at the emerald flames. "I'll get burnt!"

"You won't," reassured Hermione. "It's perfectly harmless."

"But- but- how?"

"Magic," said Fred. "It isn't all broomsticks and toads you know. Look, I'll come with you. It's safe, I promise you."

She looked doubtful. "How do I know it's not a trick?"

"You'll have to trust me."

"How can I do that?" she asked, holding her son's hand even tighter. "Last week I didn't even know magic existed."

"Who would you rather trust; the people who threw you out of your home, or the people who took you in and gave you shelter?" said Fred, smiling gently. "Come on, I'll hold your hand and everything. I won't let go. If you get lost up a chimney, I'll be right there with you."

"Lost up a chimney?"

"What Fred means is," said Hermione, cutting across him. "Is that we use Floo powder all the time. It's a little uncomfortable, but it's safe. We know what we're doing."

After a great deal more coaxing, the woman was finally induced to step into the fireplace along with her son, holding Fred's arm so tightly it was if she'd break it off.

"Great," said George, turning to look at the queue. "That's two gone, just another fifty to convince."

"It's only to be expected," said Ginny. "They don't know any better. Asking them to step into a fireplace does sound pretty crazy. I've never really thought of it that way."

"Well they'll just have to get used to it," said Harry. "The sooner they all get to Hogwarts the better."

"Harry?"

Harry turned quickly at the sound of his name, a voice that sounded almost familiar. There was a woman standing behind him, dressed in stained and ragged clothes, face darkened with soot and long brown hair straggling onto her shoulders. She was staring at Harry as though she could hardly believe he was standing there.

"Harry Potter? Is it you?" she said again, her eyes going straight to his scar. He frowned for a moment, before recognition struck him like a blow to the stomach.

"Mrs Walker?" he gasped, suddenly seeing the woman he knew from beneath the grime of the last week. "Is that you?"

She almost smiled. "Harry, I thought it was you. When I saw you on the television … I could hardly believe it. But it makes sense, doesn't it?"

"Who are you?" Ron asked, looking suspicious.

"She was my teacher," said Harry, still reeling. "At my Muggle primary school. She taught me when I was eight years old."

"It makes sense," she repeated again, staring hard at Harry. "All those strange things that happened in the playground. Those stories the kids would tell me about the things you would do. I never believed them. I thought …"

She held a hand over her mouth and tears filled her eyes.

"You're a wizard. It's so obvious …" She shook herself slightly. "And what about Dudley? Is he a wizard too?"

Despite his astonishment, Harry almost snorted. "Nope. Far from it. He's ordinary."

"I thought as much," she nodded. "He was never … he wasn't quite like you. No one was. And now I know why."

"Yeah," was all that Harry could manage, so shocked was he to see her here of all places.

"Was that why he was so mean to you? Because you've got –got-"

"Magic?" he finished, and she flinched. "Yeah. All the Dursley's hated me for it."

"They- the people back home, they said I was a witch," Mrs Walker said, her voice weak and tears in her eyes once more. "They burned down my home. They said my husband's cancer recovery was because of a spell. They took him and they …"

"I'm sorry," said Harry, horror filling him. "I'm so sorry."

She shook her head. "It's not your fault," she said, her voice shaking. "I heard what you were saying on tv. You want this to end. You always were a good boy, despite everything you went through."

She turned and looked towards Merlin, who was on the other side of the Atrium with Kingsley.

"Is he really Merlin?" she asked, a look of wonder in her eyes.

"Yes, he is," said Harry, following her gaze. "I know, hard to believe right?"

"Not really, not after everything else I've learned," she said. "You wrote an essay on Merlin once, didn't you? All the class did, and I remember yours was the only one that actually considered the possibility he'd been a real man. Is he anything like what you wrote?"

Harry almost smiled, remembering the wobbly drawing of an old man with a beard and the entirely fictitious words he'd written almost ten years ago.

"Not at all," he said. "He's better."

"I hope so," she said sadly, twisting her wedding ring around her finger.

She took a deep breath, and gave him a somewhat watery smile. "Thank you for doing this," she said, gesturing around the room. "You could easily let us all die. But you're not, so thank you."

Harry just nodded numbly, unsure of what to say. She looked towards the fireplace.

"I have to go through there?" She nodded when Harry said yes. "You promise me that it's safe?"

"Yes," he said. "Perfectly safe."

She nodded. "Then I trust you."

She took another deep breath, and stepped up to the fireplace, and George Flooed away with her a moment later, leaving Harry feeling somewhat overwhelmed.

"I can't believe it," he said, when Hermione and Ron came closer. "It – it just brings it home to me to see someone I know like that. It's like everything is just collapsing. I never thought my Muggle life and my wizard life would ever overlap."

"I know," said Hermione. "I saw one of my dad's old friends at St. Mungo's yesterday. He didn't see me, but I recognised him straight away. It's surreal. Like my old life never really went away."

"Why didn't you tell us you'd seen him yesterday?" asked Ron.

Hermione's head bowed. "He didn't make it."

Harry turned away, sorting out the conflicting emotions within him. The sight of Mrs Walker had stirred something within him. She'd been one of the few teachers he'd actually liked, the only one that had tried to do anything about Dudley bullying Harry. To see her so traumatised, so afraid … Merlin was right; Muggles and wizards aren't entirely separate. They were all linked in some way or another.

"What about your family, Harry?" Ginny asked gently, seeing his emotions. "If your old teacher in Little Whinging could be attacked, do you think they'll be safe?"

Harry started, and a strange feeling overcame him. Not once in the past week had he considered the Dursley's safety. He'd thought of them, but only to consider how they'd be reacting to the reveal, cursing and swearing at the television and reaffirming their hatred of him and his world as it finally irrevocably intruded upon their own. They'd gone back to their old house after leaving Dedalus' house, and as far as Harry had been concerned he'd had no wish to see them ever again, though he had exchanged one or two awkward letters with Dudley. He hadn't stopped to think about what would happen to them.

"Your face was all over television," said Hermione, her eyes wide. "Your neighbours and your cousin's friends would all remember you acting strangely."

"But the Dursleys are so normal," said Harry, his mind racing. "No one would suspect them of doing something like that. My uncle told everyone I went to St. Brutus'. They all believed him. They all thought I was some sort of hardened criminal."

"But they saw you on tv," said Ginny. "The Dursleys wouldn't be able to deny it. If your old teacher remembered you and recognised you, you can bet all the rest of the people you used to know would too."

Harry froze, an awful feeling of dread coming over him. Had he put them in danger when he'd went to parliament? What had happened to them

A/N: I have now given up on making promises (I have a horrible track record) but I will TRY and get the next chapter for you on Sunday :)