Urgh, I feel so bad for waiting an entire week before uploading despite already having quite a few chapters done, but I don't want to upload three chapters in three days and then wait five before uploading another. That leads to uploading at a constant rate before taking three months to update again—I don't wanna do that.

I will tell you this, though: Merlin has been sorted. I'm sorry if you wanted him to be a Hufflepuff or something. I honestly considered making him that or a Ravenclaw, but it didn't happen. I am a big fan of 'Only A Boy' and the Saga of the Lightning Speaker ^^; He's Slytherin.

Fair warning: This will only fulfill all my dreams of crossovers and AUs, not yours. I'm sorry. I'm selfish.

Modern Travel

The day Merlin finally managed to find his way out of the small house, he went to Diagon Alley.

Kilgharrah accompanied him, clawing at his hair or shoulders when he felt like resting, which Merlin thought should have attracted more stares than it actually did.

His clothes had been too much, but he had found a coat that was almost only too big rather than enormous on him. He tucked a shirt into shorts that constantly fell despite the belt he'd tightened around himself. None of his shoes fit him, so he made due with sandals that scraped and dragged on the ground.

He had grabbed a nice red neckerchief last minute, as though through muscle memory.

Merlin looked ridiculous.

"If someone asks about your parents, tell them your mother is afraid of magic, and your father is busy."

"Why?"

"You are absolutely curious about everything, aren't you boy?"

Merlin thought this was not a fair statement, as he could not remember his parents, but was quite aware of their deaths.

"I just want to know! Why can't I say they are both afraid? How come one of them has to be busy?"

Kilgharrah didn't roll his eyes, but if it had fit his aesthetic, he would have done so at that moment. "It is much easier to imply that at least one of your parents is a wizard. Let's say some families pride themselves in their lack of muggle descendants."

"Then I may as well say one is busy and the other dead!" Merlin, young and stupid as he was, forgot he was walking the streets alone, so let his voice reach a high volume. Many people, most of which Kilgharrah had called "muggles," stared at his passing figure. Oh, now they look.

Kilgharrah rolled his eyes.

"Say what you will, young warlock. Just remember to be less conspicuous. You are practically an orphan, and I doubt the ministry will allow you to continue living on your own if they ever realize your living situation."

"I'm an adult!" Merlin huffed. Kilgharrah chose not to comment.

Time passed, and Merlin found it hard to keep his jabbering to a minimum, much to the dragon's despair.

"What's that?" he would ask, pointing at a building.

"Hey, look! What's that say?" - pointing at a coffee shop sign.

"That looks interesting, do you know what it is?" - staring at a daycare.

Kilgharrah was relieved when he could finally say, "Stop." Merlin did so, and they waited. They weren't entirely alone, but the street was quiet and the strangers silent.

"Well?" the dragon stared at the warlock. Merlin shrunk. Had he forgotten something?

"'Well' what?"

"Call the Knight Bus!"

"Right!" A short pause. "How do I do that?"

"Lift your right hand," the dragon commanded, irritation in his voice. It took a moment to teach Merlin how to hail taxis and Knight Buses.

It didn't take quite as long for Merlin to almost lose an arm, the bus had arrived so quickly!

"It's not night yet," he commented, looking over in the Sun's direction. The sky was red, so maybe it didn't matter.

Why had Kilgharrah not waited until dusk to let Merlin out of the house anyway? Instead, the two had traveled the town, only earning the dragon more irritating questions from the amnesiac.

The boy almost smiled when he realized Kilgharrah had probably known how suffocating it was for Merlin to be stuck inside all day, young boyish energy—as well as magical energy—coursing through his veins, begging for something to do.

Or maybe Kilgharrah had only tired of being in the same room as the other for so long. That was also likely.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for witches and wizards who have been left to their own luck! Tuck your wand, climb on board and we'll take you wherever you need go. My name is Stan Shunpike. I'll be at you service tonight…" The man, Stan Shunpike, trailed off, noticing Merlin for the first time.

"Yeesh," he said, "they get shorter every year." He shook his head and tutted.

Merlin stared. Stan Shunpike couldn't have been much older than him, so maybe he was working part-time. As the warlock understood, most people had to go to school until they graduated or flunked out.

"What are you waiting for," the teenager stared, "come on. What's your name?"

"Merlin-" Kilgharrah glared. "Merlin…erm, Emrys?" Kilgharrah didn't stop glaring. Merlin thought it was an imaginative name.

"You asking me?"

"My name is Emrys," he reaffirmed, forcing his voice to sound honest. It wasn't as hard as it should have been, and Kilgharrah seemed to be placated, though he was still disgruntled by the chosen surname.

"Well, Merlin Emrys, we can take you wherever you want—so long as we can get to it by land, mind you. Can't go underwater. You did call us, right?"

"Yes! I'm going to," the boy struggled to remember the name, "London…"

"You don't sound very sure of yourself, but alright. That'll be eleven sickles, but for thirteen you can get a cup of hot chocolate, and for fifteen a bag of hot water and a tooth brush of your chosen color."

Merlin had found various currencies in a drawer beside his bed, of which Kilgharrah had warned him not to forget (along with a tiny golden key he'd found under his pillow). He had kept them in the pocket of his too-big coat, though they weighed him down incredibly.

He wasn't entirely sure what sickles looked like, but he guessed according to the intensity of Kilgharrah's continuous glare. He eventually distinguished the silver coins from the rest, and handed thirteen to Stan.

He was led to a bed, which might as well have been the norm—this was Merlin's first time on a bus, according to his memories.

"This one's yours. This is our driver, Ernie Prang. This is Merlin Emrys, Ernie." Once introduced, Stan handed Merlin a cup (which didn't feel as sturdy as the boy thought it should be) of warm liquid.

Though it didn't look too appetizing in Merlin's narrow opinion, it smelled great, so he leaned in to drink.

The bus shook, so he only managed a sip of his drink before spilling the cup on the floor. Luckily, only his sandals had gotten wet.

He ignored the discomfort, too busy trying to keep himself upright and glancing at Kilgharrah jealously. The disguised dragon wasn't at all bothered by the turbulent vehicle, as he was safely hanging in midair, flapping his wings with a bored expression.

Deciding he would throw up if he didn't take his mind off the constant movement, Merlin looked out the window. His eyebrows lifted at the sight of streets and buildings blurring past them. The other vehicles—end even some buildings—were all moving out of the bus's way, but no one seemed to see or hear. Merlin was almost entirely certain that "muggles" did not ride buses this haphazard, probably.

To Kilgharrah, he wondered, "Does nobody else notice us?"

It was Stan who answered, "Muggles? They wouldn't, now would they?"

Merlin nodded like he understood. According to Kilgharrah, Merlin hadn't really been part of the magical society. If anything, he'd preferred people with no magic to the workings of the outcast wizarding world.

He spent his time with people who could not perform magic—at least when he could control his own. He refused to refer to them as "muggles." Though, currently, Merlin did not know why, he felt he should respect his wiser self's wishes.

The little English Kilgharrah had managed to teach Merlin (who had been reminded of the written language at a slow, but exponential, rate), had only just served him to read snippets of a nearby paper. The Daily Prophet, it was called. The word "prophecy" had been one of the first to be taught to him.

It wasn't quite a surprise to see the pictures on the newspaper move. It had actually been a bigger surprise to him when he'd found photos of his past companions that did not move in his drawers the first time around.

"How do they stay still for so long?" he had voiced, earning a long look from Kilgharrah.

The bus stopped, letting a passenger leave, though shakily.

"Well, Merlin, where you heading? Which part of London do you want to go?"

Unsure of his pronunciation, Merlin answered, "Uh, Diagon Alley."

"Unsure as ever," Stan grinned, "Hang on."

Though he tried, Merlin didn't manage to actually hang on. He eventually—after a long battle to avoid it—fell off the bed, just as the bus stopped again. He hadn't even been able to enjoy the view!

He managed to stand up again, though staying up was a bigger issue. Stan seemed used to it, as he grabbed the boy's elbow without hesitation.

"Thanks," Merlin breathed. "Bye Ernie, bye Stan," he said, amicable as ever.

"Maybe," Stan gave him his own answer, almost as unsure as Merlin's previous ones. He let Merlin go, ducking as Kilgharrah made his own way out.

"Maybe…" The Knight Bus took off, leaving Merlin with an owl on his head.

Silence.

Finally, Kilgharrah said, "Emrys?"

"I made it up," Merlin grinned proudly.

"No," the dragon shook his head, "You remembered it."

"I remembered!?"

Though owls could not nod in general, Kilgharrah managed. "Yes. I suppose it is not too bad. No one this day and age correlates Merlin to Emrys, though they are still one and the same."

"Oh. Sorry. Why would anyone care anyway?" Merlin asked, turning around to see a tavern—old and a bit dirty. The Leaky Cauldron.

Not many people were passing, it was almost night, but Merlin could feel the magic preventing the few who did from seeing the pub. It was different from the spell he'd place on his own house. For one, his house was actually located between buildings, so it hid itself when he wasn't using the front door.

His house was also under a much more powerful enchantment, old and scary—but safe for him. This pub had unfamiliar and weak magic. It was still nice, nonetheless. All magic was, in Merlin's experience.

"Young warlocks such as yourself should be wary of getting a bigger head than they already have," Kilgharrah warned in response to his question. "But if you must know, you are very famous in the eyes of…well, both the wizarding and muggle world. Muggles, however, believe you to be a legend. No, a myth. A simple fairy tale."

"I'm real," Merlin argued.

"Of course. Even if they all believed you were, they would also think you to be dead. You are past a regular human's prime, warlock." He didn't turn to directly look at the youth, but he did take a glance to see his reaction.

Merlin grinned innocently, "I'm only three days old Kilgharrah, what are you talking about?"

That earned him a wing to the head.

Inside the Leaky Cauldron, strangers saluted genially, though Merlin was generally ignored. Someone asked where his parents were.

"Waiting for me in Diagon Alley," he mispronounced. The stranger laughed and was nice enough to lead him to the back himself.

"Dedalus Diggle's the name," the man with a top hat said, smiling widely.

He was giddy, which prompted Merlin to say, "You're sure happy, aren't you Mr. Diggle."

"Oh yes, yes!" It seemed to be just the right thing to say, as the man held his hat to keep it from falling and began to gush about a certain "Harry Potter" and their meeting.

Merlin could barely keep track of what was being said, the man was speaking so fast, but he congratulated him anyway. He seemed to think he deserved it.

They were in front of a brick wall and a trash can. Merlin would have thought it to be a joke—Diagon Alley? Behind this?—if not for the slightly altered magic around the wall.

Three bricks up, two across, and three taps of Dedalus Diggle's wand had the wall quivering. Though he ought to have expected the scene, Merlin's eyes sparkled at the sight of the widening hole in the wall.

"Whoa!"

Behind it, an entirely new world.

Does this count as a cliffhanger? Nah. Nah. It's called Modern Travel, not...something else...?

I guess this chapter was really only a filler? I want to focus on characters that weren't main characters, and Stan Shunpike seemed like a nice-ish teenager to bring into the story.

Other characters that I will surely involve? Cedric Diggory, Weasley Twins, Dean Thomas, Padma Patil, Ernie Macmillan, Blaise Zabini and Draco Malfoy (duh, lol, OAB fan here), Neville Longbottom (especially), etc. I'll be honest: the "Snape was a Slytherin who was bffs with a muggle-born" and the "Draco can withhold on the prattish-ness" cards are going to be pulled. You are not ready for what I have underway.

See ya, I guess~