Merlin stared in disbelief at the steady stream of refugees that were slowly making their way into the castle from the steep bank that descended towards the lake. They were huddled together, travel-worn, carrying all their possessions with them, clinging to small children, nursing wounds and bearing their elderly in slings. It was a sight familiar to Merlin, but one that he was shocked to see.

This wasn't right. Gaius and others had always told him of the Golden Years, the time before the Purge when magic was freely accepted and people lived in peace and harmony; it was this ideal he had struggled for so long to achieve in Camelot.

But looking at the harrowed faces of the refugees, he could see that this was anything but the Golden Age he had envisioned.

The refugees began to settle in the main hall, beds were summoned to make them more comfortable, and food and water was dished out by the Druids in voluminous quantities. Merlin moved here and there through the crowd tending to those who were injured. Many bore sword wounds, others were suffering from malnutrition, or were riddled with disease from the unsanitary conditions they had been living in on their long trek here, and Merlin was kept busy whipping up potions and magically knitting flesh and bone back together. But while his hands whizzed back and forth, his mind wandered. How was this happening?

Surely the Purge hadn't started already? No, Cenric had said magic was still technically legal. It was however, apparently condemned, and its practitioners ostracised. But why? Everything Merlin had ever known about history, from before his own time at least, seemed to be crumbling around him. Was anything he knew about the past true?

Harry and the others helped out where they could, mostly just carrying plates of hot stew to the sick and weak or helping them wash away the grim and dirt of the road. Ginny was with a group of children who all seemed to have lost their parents trying to get them to eat something. She was gentle with the children, but when she looked away, Merlin caught the look of anger on her face, an anger that was mirrored in his own heart. The people here were old, young, or too weak to fight; who would have attacked them, and why?

Just as he was thinking this, the doors to the hall opened, and Findan and Melian, High Priest and Priestess both entered. As was usual when either of them entered a room, the chattering in the hall immediately was dimmed, as everyone lowered their voices in reverence of the power in their presence. Refugees and resident Druids alike bowed as they passed. They stopped in their stride once or twice to speak to the haggard men and women who reached out to them desperately but they did not linger, moving on with grim expressions on their faces. Merlin followed them with his eyes; he could tell they were seriously troubled. Did they suspect the true extent of what Nimueh was doing in Camelot?

Hurriedly finishing the potion he was mixing and giving it to a grateful old man, he quickly made his way over to where Findan and Melian were walking, picking his way carefully through the mess of beds, crouched figures and helping Druids. But before he could reach them, a strange feeling came over him.

He paused, trying to figure out what had caused the strange surge in his magic he had just felt. His very being seemed to be tingling. The doors to the hall opened, and a final group of refugees entered, but this time, accompanying them were several younger men, differentiated from those around them by the fact they stood strong and tall with swords strapped to their waists and were wearing clothes that were evidently of superior make to the refugees: dark robes, each with a golden dragon embroidered on the right sleeve. Merlin froze, and he went cold all over. These men were Dragonlords.

He watched in amazement like some awed child as they helped settle the refugees with some gentle words before spotting Findan and Melian and making their way to them. He had never, with the exception of Balinor, met with others of his own kind before, and for a moment, Merlin was actually intimidated. He hadn't expected to feel their presence so strongly. But he overcame it quickly and resumed his path towards Findan and Melian, determined to find out what had happened.

He came to a halt just short of the High Council members, and pretended to be examining a sleeping refugee; he suddenly realised he actually had no right to be involved in these sorts of discussions in this time period, something he would have to get used to again.

"Lord Eldron," said Melian to the apparent leader of the Dragonlords as he approached, a man with a touch of grey in his hair and beard, though still looked as if he was in the prime of his life. "What has happened to these people? What brings you and your companions to this Isle?"

"Lady Melian," he said, bowing his head sharply. "These people were expelled from their homes in Cenred's kingdom and told to settle elsewhere; the man has been increasingly harsh on sorcerers as of late. They went to Camelot for refuge, but were turned away by Uther. He too is beginning to distrust our people. They were attacked by a patrol from Camelot when they left to come here. Myself and my companions were alerted to the situation by the dragon Fenlaron who had a vision of the attack when we were with him. We rushed to their aid immediately."

"And we are grateful you did," said Findan, smiling slightly, though he had exchanged a dark look with Melian during the Dragonlord Eldron's speech. "There were no deaths, I hope?"

"No," said Eldron, his face hard. "But it is only a matter of time until one of the kingdoms declares war on magic itself. Dark times are coming, the dragons have foreseen it."

"We have all foreseen it," said Melian, and turned her head slightly, causing Merlin to dip his back towards the man he was supposed to be tending to. "But as long as one light still burns, all is not lost. We are safe on this island."

"And for how much longer will that light burn, my Lady?" asked Eldron, sounding sceptical. "We cannot evade this evil for long. The world is ready to go up in flames."

"And we shall fight it," said Findan firmly. "This island has never fallen before."

"There is a first time for everything," said Eldron darkly. "Until this day I had never seen such misery in the hearts of those on the sacred isle. I had never before thought I could see unhappiness in these halls. The kings of the Five Kingdoms are turning against us, and I fear they shall not rest until there are none of us left."

"The Old Religion shall remain strong, even if there are none left to worship it," said Melian. "It is our duty to ensure that it does."

Eldron smirked. "And how are we supposed to keep this torch burning from beyond the grave?"

Again, Melian turned her head slightly towards Merlin, this time, a knowing smile on her face. "We must simply pass on the torch to the future."

Merlin froze as she said this, but none of the others seemed to notice anything.

"You are welcome to rest here, Lords Eldron, Berian and Valos," said Findan, and the three Dragonlords nodded. "We shall no doubt need your help again in the near future. Now, we must attend to those who require our assistance."

The small group dispersed to tend to the sick and Merlin sat back and thought for a moment on what he had heard. Again, the realisations that the world was falling to pieces before him shocked him. He suddenly felt a wave of despair; how was he ever going to restore peace in the present when even the past he had thought was peaceful had never been so?

The man he had been pretending to examine woke up and was looking at him strangely, so he decided to move on, drifting between the injured, sick and weak in a daze, only his superior healing skills preventing him from making mistakes in his poorly concentrated state of mind. Harry met his eyes once or twice, but Merlin looked away again. Fawkes sat on his shoulder solemnly, only moving to offer some comfort to a weary traveller.

After Fawkes had proven to be a welcome distraction to the group of delighted but weary children, Merlin left him there and went over to one of the tables piled against a wall to try and collect more stew for them. When he reached the table he stopped as he noticed the Dragonlord from earlier standing there, finishing off a plate of stew of his own. It was evident by the way he was frantically scraping the bottom of the bowl with his spoon that he was just as hungry and weak as the refugees, though hiding it all for their sakes. He eyed Merlin, who was standing there, struck dumb, before he remembered himself.

He approached the table, feeling the man's eyes on him, and bustled about fetching bowls and dishing out several helpings of stew, trying to avoid the man's gaze. He almost thought he had succeeded, and was just about to take the food back to the children when the man suddenly stopped him by holding out his arm.

"Do I know you, boy?" Eldron asked, searching his face.

"No," said Merlin quickly. "I am only recently arrived on the island. We came from very far away."

"Are you certain?" Eldron asked, taking a step closer. "You seem familiar."

Merlin's heart leapt for a moment, before he forced himself to remain calm.

"That does not seem possible. I am certain we have not met."

"It's not your face," said Eldron, frowning. "No … but … something else. Your presence … your magic. I feel like I have been in its presence before."

"I don't know what you mean," said Merlin, though his heart was racing. Did this man know something about him being from the future? Or was there some sort of similarity in Merlin's magic to that of Balinor's? He'd never much noticed magical family resemblances before. Was he just sensing his Dragonlord abilities?

His question was answered a moment later when, without warning, Eldron seized Merlin's arm before Merlin could push him back and his eyes burned golden. As soon as Eldron's hand made contact with the exposed flesh on Merlin's arm, his vision went blank suddenly, and he felt a great surge of his magic that made his heart soar and his soul sing with magical energy. A split second image of a glorious scarlet dragon breathing fire filled his vision before he was jerked back to the Great Hall on the Isle of the Blessed, Eldron watching him with a small satisfied smile on his face.

"I knew it," he murmured, letting go of Merlin's arm. "You are a Dragonlord."

Merlin was still recovering. "What was that?"

"A simple method of testing my theory," said Eldron. "Our souls recognised each other as kin. Welcome to the Isle of the Blessed, my brother."

Merlin tried to compose himself, but his body was still trembling from the power of the magic. He had always known Dragonlord magic to be powerful, but aside from his commands to Kilgharrah and Aithusa, he had never used any of it, having no teacher, and no surviving books on the subject with which to study. He appreciated fully for the first time the power that resided within him; he could hardly believe how untapped it was. In all his years of studying Old Magic, he thought he knew his own power and strength, but now it emerged he had a whole other reserve within him even more powerful.

Eldron laughed. "You cannot have met many Dragonlords, brother," he said.

Merlin shook his head. "No. My father died when I was young, and he never had the chance to teach me anything."

"Too many have the same story," nodded Eldron. "The Old Ways are dying out amongst our kin, knowledge being lost as fathers die without passing it on. The dragons are ever more withdrawn and do not teach the way they used to. I fear for us."

"Why is that?" Merlin asked.

Eldron shook his head. "The world seems be to falling into ruin," he said sadly. "We seem doomed to be forgotten. I suppose that is what comes from being an exclusively oral society; without the words being written down, we cannot pass it on easily. The dragons are our sole repositories of knowledge, and if anything happens to them …" he sighed. "It is a sad affair."

Now Merlin had an explanation for why so little was written about the Dragonlords, but it did not make him feel any better. Here was just more proof of the damage Uther and his tirade had inflicted.

"What is your name, brother?" Eldron asked.

"Malcolm," Merlin said, somewhat surprised that he was able to lie to another Dragonlord when he could not do the same to a dragon. Eldron nodded.

"Well met, brother Malcolm," he said. "I hope we can have opportunity to talk further. If we are doomed to die out, I wish to pass at least some of what I know onto those who know nothing. You deserve to know all that your forefathers did, and what is condemned to be lost forever if the world continues as it is."

Merlin nodded mutely, and Eldron wandered off. Merlin watched him as he met with the other Dragonlords, feeling something strange within him. He suppressed a quick smile. This world may fall, and everything good be lost, but at least he could preserve some of that information. He had the chance to learn from an actual Dragonlord.

That was worth something at least.

"Your skills are improving daily," said the Druid teacher to Harry, the afternoon after the attack. "The magic is strong within you. There are some to whom magic comes as easily as breathing, but they are rare. You appear to be one of them. Magic seems to be seamlessly moulded to your very soul."

"Um, thanks?" said Harry, blushing as the other half a dozen students in the room turned to stare at him, some jealously. As usual, he'd spent the day roaming the halls of the castle and joining in on whatever lesson took his fancy. This class, teaching magical methods of concealment had looked appealing, and Harry had thought it would come in handy in the future when he wanted to hide his identity without Polyjuice Potion. It was the next best thing to being an Animagus. And apparently, he'd successfully managed to transform his appearance.

The teacher nodded, and a hint of a smile broke out on his wizened face. "You have a great gift, young one," he said. "Use it well."

"I'll try," he answered, still shifting uncomfortably.

The lesson did not last much longer, and Harry soon found himself back in the corridors wandering aimlessly, waiting for the bell that signalled mealtimes. It was getting late, and he was starving. Food was now rationed to allow for the newest influx of refugees, since bandits on the roads were making food shipments more dangerous. Apparently, Gamp's Laws of Elemental Transfiguration applied even to Old Magic.

The corridors were deserted, everyone still in lessons, their rooms or the library. He listened at the doorways of every classroom, hearing incantations of every variety and feeling the pulse of Old Magic that came with each one. It was oddly peaceful, like being in the midst of all this magic was like entering a warm room from the cold. It was welcoming, it was familiar. It was different than roaming the corridors of Hogwarts in the day time; lessons here were for all ages and abilities, voluntary, and above all cherished. There were no essays here, no tests or detentions. People were here solely for the joy of learning.

He paused outside of a particularly rowdy classroom, and stared in through the open door. The class inside were practicing what looked like ice magic; the floor looked like an ice rink, and students were stumbling everywhere, snow falling from the roof and ice fogging up the windows. Harry couldn't help but laugh as the teacher fell flat on her face trying to restrain the magic coming from her unruly pupils, who by now were having too much fun making snow to listen to her warnings.

It was then he noticed that Malfoy was also in the room, and he couldn't help but stare as he saw how happy he looked. His face was pink from both exertion and the cold within the room, but he laughed as his pale eyes glowed gold and streams of ice flew from his fingertips. Harry had never seen him like that before. At school, he'd been a bully, who only ever laughed in derision or arrogance, and at Grimmauld Place he'd been sullen and guarded around everybody except Merlin. Seeing Malfoy laugh so joyfully, it was like seeing Aunt Petunia moving into the Shrieking Shack.

The great bell sounded for dinner, and the lesson wound up, the students coming from the room shivering but giggling, even the Druid teacher looked as though she was struggling not to pick up a handful of snow and throw it, something Harry could never imagine McGonagall ever doing. Malfoy came out last, face still pink.

"Having fun?" Harry asked, but Malfoy frowned.

"Who are you?"

"Oh," said Harry, realising his appearance was still in its altered state. "Hang on. Hweorfan."

His eyes burned, and he felt his skin tingle as he took on his former appearance. As soon as Malfoy saw who it was, all hilarity drained from his face.

"Oh, it's you, Potter." He began walking off down the corridor, reluctantly keeping pace with Harry. "You just learn that?"

"Yeah," said Harry, touching his cheeks, which felt a little raw. "I think I need some more practice though."

"Looks good to me."

"It's really hard," said Harry, not revealing what his instructor had just told him. "Apprently, Metamorphagi are around in this time too, but they're called Faceshifters. They're people who're born able to use this spell naturally. That means Metamorphagal abilities are Old Magic."

"But I thought Tonks can't use Old Magic?"

"She can," said Harry. "Merlin tested her, but she didn't want to learn right away, said she was too busy with Teddy and all. But this means she's probably got a really good shot of being really good at it, and so does Teddy. She's been using Old Magic all her life without realising! That'll be something to tell her when we go back."

"Yeah, when we go back," Malfoy mumbled, looking down at the floor.

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but was stopped when they entered the Great Hall. The place was filled with Druid scholars and refugees alike. Harry was unable to make out their conversations, but he could guess the subject by the look on everyone's faces.

He and Malfoy found their usual spot, seeing that the others sans Merlin were already seated there. They too looked grim.

He slipped into a seat next to Ginny, and looked down the table.

"Everyone looks so defeated," he said. "Like they've already given up."

"Most of them have," said Ginny, sadly. "I was helping get them all settled, you should hear what they've been through."

"It's awful," said Hermione. "We've come from a time of violent intolerance, to a time of even greater magical intolerance."

"Yeah, I thought Merlin had said it shouldn't be like this?" said Ron.

"Merlin is realising that not everything was as it seemed," said Luna. "He's seeing true realities now."

"Where is Merlin anyway?" asked Harry.

Hermione pointed to another table, where he was just able to make out Merlin seated at a table with three other men, the Dragonlords that had arrived with the refuges the previous day.

"He's never met another Dragonlord before, not since his own father," said Luna, "he wants to learn as much as he can."

"Isn't that dangerous?" Ron asked. "I mean, we know it's not long until the Purge. His dad will be around, won't he? Those guys might know him. Isn't there a risk he'll bump into him and change something important?"

"I don't think so," said Hermione, though she looked uncertain. "He's magically altered his appearance, so even if he does run into his father, Balinor shouldn't recognise him in the future."

"But wouldn't he be able to … sense it or something?"

"I'm not sure," said Hermione. "I don't even think Merlin knows."

"We can't deny him the chance to be around others of his own kind," said Harry. "Once we go back to the future, he'll never get to talk to another Dragonlord again. He deserves this."

The others seemed to agree, and moved on to other topics of conversation, but Harry's thoughts were still with Merlin. Maybe this would be good for him, talking to them and learning Dragonlord magic. Perhaps then he'd realise coming back to the past wasn't such a bad idea.

"You never told us where you are from?" one of the Dragonlords, Lord Berian said to him. He was younger than the other two, and from what Merlin could tell, the friendliest too.

Merlin was about to respond with the truth, but stopped himself. If there was a chance this information could get back to Balinor, however faint, he had to be careful. No one could know there was a Dragonlord from Ealdor, at least, not for the next couple of decades.

"A village far to the north," he responded with instead. "It's called … Hogsmeade." Hogsmeade wouldn't be founded for another three hundred years or so, surely this was a safe answer?

"I have not heard of it."

"It's very small," said Merlin. He went on, utilising every skill he'd acquired in the last thirteen centuries about lying convincingly. "Almost no one lives there. My … my great-grandfather was a Dragonlord from one of the Dragonlord tribes. He settled there, and his descendants live on. But we don't have many dragons, and so our skills are not very advanced."

"I can see that," said Lord Valos, a battle-hardened man with many scars across his face. He eyed Merlin closely. Merlin could see he was a man who did not trust easily. "You seem to know little of our ways. Where is your sigil, boy?" he asked, gesturing to the golden dragon embroidered on his own left sleeve. "There's not a Dragonlord worth his salt who goes out without one. It is a mark of honour, of pride. Have you ever even encountered a dragon before?"

"Well, there's Niamhrach-"

"Aside from her."

Merlin thought hard about how to answer this. In addition to the lack of records of the names of Dragonlords, there were few names of Old dragons listed throughout history, and of the few names he could bring to mind, he knew very little about them. "Well, there's one," he said vaguely. "I encountered him a few years ago near my village. He was frightening the livestock, and I stopped him, but I never got his name."

Lord Berian looked thoughtful for a moment. "Up north, you say? Bothering livestock? Was he by chance a sky-blue colour?"

"Yes," said Merlin, uncertainly. "I think he was."

He nodded. "It was probably Fiadhach. He roams those lands, and has little respect for the property of humans. He is younger and more rash than the others."

"Yeah, must have been him," said Merlin, nodding fervently, praising his luck.

"Fiadhach is not the best example of his kind," said Lord Eldron. "He is neither as magnificent, as wise nor as powerful as the others. Kilgharrah is by far the greatest."

"So that's why they call him the Great Dragon?" asked Berian, laughing. "I'd never have guessed!"

"It is no laughing matter, Berian," said Eldron, looking severe. "The dragons are beginning to decline. They are losing their wisdom, their knowledge and becoming ever more akin to wild beasts. Some are beginning to fade, and even die. The world is wasting away. Magic is in decline, and darkness grows in the hearts and minds of men, sorcerers included."

"Eldron is always this pessimistic," said Berian to Merlin. "Don't worry, it's nothing to do with you."

Eldron did not look amused. "And we Dragonlords are heading the same way," he said. "Too many are turning from the Old ways, too many abuse the powers with which they were blessed. We are dying out."

"It appears however, that Dragonlords exist in the north," said Lord Valos, squinting at Merlin. "Perhaps there are more of us than we thought. Perhaps five of the original twelve tribes still exist instead of the four we believed."

"Tribes," sneered Eldron. "What constitutes a tribe? A handful of men?" He turned to Merlin. "The three of us are all that remains of the two eastern tribes numbering a thousand men between them one hundred years ago."

"I had no idea there were so few of us," said Merlin. "I- I had no idea this was going on."

"Yes," said Eldron. "And there appears to be little we can do to prevent our kin from declining further. In a few generations, will there be any of us at all?"

Just one, Merlin thought sadly. One Dragonlord, and one dragon.

As the knowledge of the persecution of sorcerers had shocked him, so did this. From the impression Gaius had always given him he'd believed the Dragonlords to be a thriving culture before Uther's inflicted genocide.

"Your father taught you nothing at all, boy?" asked Valos, and Merlin had to try not be annoyed at the term 'boy'. Even without his actual age being revealed, it was obvious by his physical appearance he was hardly a child.

"No," answered Merlin. "I've commanded a dragon, but nothing else."

"You've never hatched one?"

"No," lied Merlin.

"Never used Dragon Magic?"

"What's that?"

Valos seemed to roll his eyes. "It is supplementing your normal magic with that of a dragon. It makes your spells more powerful. Of course, you must be fully cognizant of this magic, and you must have the respect and blessing of at least one dragon. Then, when in battle, you may use his or her strength when fighting, from whatever distance, by combining your magic. You know how to speak mentally with Druids? Good, it is the same principle. Simply contact the dragon with your mind, and then you will have access to the bond you possess, and they shall allow you access to their strength. This ability is the absolute test of a bond between a dragon and a Dragonlord. Each must have mutual respect and affection for the other."

"Thus, why few Dragonlords can use this ability any more," said Eldron, nodding. "They do not take the time or effort to form this bond with a dragon. They are impatient and expect it to come when they will it to."

"I've never heard of this ability," said Merlin, imagining the possibilities if he could mould his magic with that of Kilgharrah's or Aithusa's. A disquiet came over him as he realised Kilgharrah must have known about this ability all along. Why hadn't he ever offered to teach it to Merlin after all those times it could have been useful to him in the fight against Morgana? This was probably the reason Dragonlords had been dying out; dragons were too bloody secretive when it mattered.

"It is difficult to master," acknowledged Eldron. "But not impossible."

"What other magic is there?"

"Too much to tell," said Eldron, "and most is best discovered on one's own through trial and error. Yet, there are still some things we can teach you. The ability to see into the future at will as a dragon does, with no need for such trivialities as crystals or relying on dreaming the right dream. The ability to see one's own destiny, though this is more a curse than a gift, and we seldom utilise it. The ability to tell when one is lying."

Merlin went cold. "You can tell when someone is lying?"

"Not all the time," he replied, somewhat easing the thumping of Merlin's heart. "It is called Dragonsight. Once you enter that state, you can see lies and deception like they were words on parchment. You can see their motivations, their desires, in essence, their very soul. It is also theoretically possible to control someone's actions by compulsion, but we discourage such invasive methods. It is used for interrogations primarily. There is also a spell to locate someone, any other magical being, in the way dragons can, from whatever distance. Useful for us as nomads; we can always find our kin."

Merlin felt his anger towards Kilgharrah grow. Why hadn't he mentioned this spell when they were looking for Morgana? It would have saved them weeks of fruitless searching.

"What else is there?"

And for a while, Eldron and the others spoke about the various spells they knew, learned from the dragons themselves. Most were merely variations on the spells he already knew, but were made different by Merlin drawing on the Dragonlord magic within himself instead of his normal magic.

"But how can I have normal magic, and Dragonlord magic?" Merlin asked. "Why are the two separate? What's the point in using two different sources?"

"You cannot always use your Dragonlord magic," said Eldron. "To do so, would make you more dragon than human. It would not do for you to lose your humanity in the quest for power. Dragonlord magic is used to complement your own magic, not to replace it. To use it too often would destroy you. Dragons, and their magic, are a gift to us, one that is shared with us in return for our protection of them. To abuse it is to go against our nature, and the consequences are dire."

"Think of it as a tankard of mead," said Berian, grinning. "A drink once in a while is great, but drinking it with every meal would probably kill you."

"Thank you for that analogy, Berian," said Eldron. "It is however, somewhat accurate. You must never get carried away with this magic. Power is too often ubiquitous with corruption."

"You may already have brushed against this power within you before when you cast spells," said Berian. "Have you ever found a spell to be a lot more powerful than how you'd intended to cast it?"

Merlin didn't have to think hard to recall several instances of this sort. Times when he'd reached a power deep within himself more powerful than he had thought possible and surprised even himself with the spell's ferocity. Powerful magic that seemed to be out of his reach at all but his most desperate times.

"You mean, I used-"

"Not used," corrected Eldron. "It sort of … leaked through, and gave power to your spells. The real thing will be far more powerful.

Merlin considered this, long after the subject had changed to news of the attacks and speculation over Uther's motives. He was still thinking about it long after night had fallen and he was back in the room he shared with Harry, Ron and Draco.

He was more powerful than he had ever imagined. He had no idea what he was capable of with Dragon Magic and Dragonlord magic, whatever the differences were between the two.

He had felt so helpless in 1999, unable to do anything but watch and yell at the deaf ears of the Muggles in power. Could this spell do something? With it, could he bring the peace he so desired? Was that the real reason he had been sent to the past?

"Merlin?"

Harry was sitting up in his own bed, looking across at Merlin's. He had one of those infuriating understanding expressions on.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" he asked. "I know it must be great for you to be around those Dragonlords, but it is wise to get too involved? I mean, who knows what they might find out about you if they look too hard."

"I know how to cover my tracks," Merlin answered him. "I've been doing it all my life. I cannot pass up this opportunity to learn. You yourself have learned a great deal on this island, I can sense your power growing every day, likewise for everyone else. There is still something that I can learn, and who better to teach it than my own kin?"

"What sort of magic can they teach you?" Harry asked in amazement.

"I am practically completely self-taught," said Merlin. "I've gained my knowledge through studying dusty old books under the bed sheets at night in complete secrecy. I've never had the benefit of an actual teacher. Just because I'm powerful at many types of spell, doesn't mean I know everything. There are huge gaps in my knowledge. Gaps that only Dragonlords can fill. And perhaps there are things they can teach me that I can bring back to the future," he added. "Maybe a way to end the violence back home."

"We already know a way to do that, that's why we're here," Harry said, narrowing his eyes.

"Is it?" Merlin asked quietly, turning over in his bed to face the opposite direction. "Maybe this is why I've come back."

"I thought we'd agreed to go after the High Council's spell-"

"You lot did," said Merlin. "I'm looking for any other way possible."

"Maybe there is no other way, Merlin."

Merlin chose to ignore this last part. Surely he was right? Erasing the past wasn't the answer, it couldn't be. It was his destiny to bring peace, his destiny to learn the magic of his people.

Perhaps then, he could finally create the peace the world needed.

A/N: So glad there are people still following this fic even after the seven month hiatus! Love you all :)