Sorry. I'm actually running behind on updating this personally as well. The next chapter isn't done, and I have a very good excuse. High School. I was not allowed a single second to do much other than homework, projects, club activities, more homework, and studying. I didn't even get to study for PSATs, I was so tired~

I hope this doesn't delay the next update like it did this one.

Boy

"Why did Bloodwell invite us to that party anyway?" Merlin asked, days before his first day of school—but weeks after the goblin's death.

The death of a new friend had not gone over well with the amnesiac. The hangover the next morning had brought, as well as the sudden realization that Bloodwell had been murdered, sparked more than just flames in the room he'd been rented out.

But, yes, there had been flames.

Needless to say, Merlin now understood how volatile his magic was.

He had accepted the death quickly, however. It made him feel terrible, but he had journals. He had read of comrades and even cried over a few. Felt a twinge of what he could almost call remembrance for the dead.

His life was intoxicating, he found. Enticing all the same, he could not stop reading journal after journal. Some made little sense, what with the technology Merlin could not hope to remember. Luckily, Kilgharrah was there to answer questions like, "What is a telephone?" and "How do I tell time?"

The youth wondered if he would ever pass through to Avalon himself, but he had cried over a few pages that dictated the answer already. No, he would never. Or at least that's what it seemed like, but there was still hoping, right?

Right now, though, Merlin did not feel he had lived enough. He had things he wanted to do—despite not knowing what it was he wanted to be done—and he had questions he wanted answered—but just as well, he knew not which questions to ask.

Merlin had not lived yet, not enough, so he could only read the basics of life through his wiser self's eyes. For now. He had yet to go to Hogwarts to test out the knowledge he had gained.

The journals had certainly made his goal clear, however. He wanted to meet many people, and learn many things. Merlin would then help others, maybe even teach them! In turn, he could be taught much more than before, meaning he would know much more than before.

Even the wise Merlin knew this was dangerous and obsessive, but he did not stop—going as far as recreating magic!

How did that work anyway?

His thoughts were interrupted before he could think further into magic and recreation.

"That goblin only wanted to ruin our evening, Merlin," Kilgharrah answered. Well, it had certainly ruined the next week for the warlock.

"Don't say that," Merlin muttered, fingering the edge of a journal taking place in the eighteenth century. It was bothersome to see how little Kilgharrah cared for the death of another creature. Would the dragon even be sad if Merlin died?

Right. He could not die. Never mind.

He left the topic alone. Obviously, Bloodwell really had just wanted to make fun of Kilgharrah. As Merlin understood it, many thought themselves to be better than goblins. Kilgharrah had been arrogant, and maybe rightly so, but that gave the dragon no reason to taunt the clever creatures.

With Merlin—the Emrys who had genuinely seen them as a force to be dealt with and, eventually, an ally of sorts—they had truly meant to toast with. They shared a sense of humor, for sure, though Merlin wondered if he was perhaps more restrained than the shorter creatures.

Merlin later read a journal that detailed similar parties, most of which Kilgharrah had preferred to not attend.

"Why was someone in that vault?" Merlin finally spoke again, biting his cheek when remembering the sight of a face that held a death curse. He had been too inebriated to remember any more than a green light, the fallen goblin, and, worst of all, the face.

"I assume it was to pilfer," the dragon answered. Without eyebrows, he still managed to noticeably lift a brow, giving Merlin a steely look.

"Duh," the youth failed to notice the look. "But behind those doors was obviously something important, right? They were better protected than the other doors! Why would someone go into one, knowing they could be stuck there for a long time?"

"Perhaps they didn't know they could be trapped there for a decade," Kilgharrah said, reasonably so. After all, it might not have been a secret, but Merlin knew it surely wasn't common knowledge.

However, Merlin shook his head. "I don't believe that." By the looks of it, Kilgharrah was starting to be a bit dubious as well.

No doubt, precious things were worth the risks.

There was nothing to be done on the matter. The vault had been empty—been checked out that very day. Bloodwell had died for absolutely no reason, and the killer was still on the loose. Merlin almost thought he should warn whoever had the precious secret vault seven-hundred-thirteen had held, but he knew The Prophet would take care of that.

Besides, he was a simple child. A boy, barely a few weeks old!

He should not get involved any further.

He would not get involved any further.

Really.

. . .

"We never got my wand," Merlin exclaimed, jumping from his trunk. He would be leaving for Hogwarts the very next day!

"You don't get one," Kilgharrah answered, bored as ever.

"But it's on the list," the boy said, grabbing the piece of paper. Items were crossed out, all but the wand. "I need a wand to do magic, don't I!?" That was a stupid question, he realized when the socks in his trunk jumped along with him.

"No, of course not," Kilgharrah said, flying from his perch (which was really just a chair) to the drawer next to Merlin's bed. "In here is your 'wand'." Merlin could hear the quotation marks surrounding the word.

"Is it not real?" he asked, approaching the drawer. Opening it brought disorder to the already chaotic things within. There were cards, pens and pencils, small memo pads, and tiny relics—some of which Merlin recognized from journal entries. Most still meant little to him. Some brought nostalgia.

Digging deeper, he found a crooked stick. It looked old, wrecked even, but it was certainly a wand. Wands were, after all, only sticks, right?

"No," Kilgharrah answered. "It's hollow, but the rims are covered in runes. They should help to ease the transitions from Old to New magic."

Truly, there were rims on wand, and just as well, there were runes written on them. Merlin couldn't understand most of what they said, but he could take a guess.

"Why do I have this? I haven't read about needing one. I usually don't go in the magic world."

"You do not, but you have. It is difficult to gain bezoars when you avoid the shops that sell them."

"What's that?"

"Curious as always," Kilgharrah complained, but explained anyway. He also told of Merlin's short adventure as Hogwarts' substitute muggle studies instructor—the only reason he had a pseudo-wand—, and the terrible job he did at keeping his identity a secret.

"You went by the name of Morgan Dredging then. It took you days to finally begin responding to the name," the dragon shook his owl head.

"How come I've never read of this?" Merlin asked. Had he missed a journal somewhere? Maybe the vault had it. He would have to go back to Gringotts if that was the case. He wondered if he had met any promising students or teachers.

Since Kilgharrah had no answer to his question, Merlin simply took to waving his wand around. It was empty movement. Flicks and swishes and waves that made no sense. Why did one even need a wand, he wondered.

His eyes flickered—his pillow flung itself off the bed, at the bathroom door—and the tip began to glow. That certainly made it seem more powerful, but it was still as empty as before.

"Am I not allowed a real wand?"

"It would implode before you could manage a spell," Kilgharrah said. "You were simply not meant to wield wands of new magic. You could use the Sidhe staff if you truly need something to hold."

"What's a sidhe?"

Kilgharrah sighed and rolled his eyes. Nonetheless, he explained.

. . .

And so it begins.

This is what Merlin thought as he passed through the dividing barrier between platforms nine and ten. Past it was, obviously, King Cross' very own platform nine and three-quarters.

Despite the obvious magic surrounding the barrier—something he was especially aware of when he saw a family of strangers pass through, one by one—he had still been doubtful of running through the wall.

He had his story. Kilgharrah would have never let him leave otherwise: His father was a busy man, and his mother dead. It was easier to keep track of a single parent, especially when neither were real.

Nobody bothered him as he made his way to the train. He was alone, surrounded by families saying goodbye to students. Kilgharrah would come to Hogwarts with him, so it was no use saying farewell.

Speak of the devil, Merlin thought, catching sight of Kilgharrah's brown feathers. The owl, also catching sight of the boy, gave Merlin a condescending look and continued to fly. Kilgharrah was out of reach and out of sight before he knew it.

It's was not hard to find an empty compartment. Everyone else was outside with relatives and friends. Merlin wondered if he should feel alone. He was, by all means, alone.

The journals in his trunk seemed to weigh more, and he sat down, anxious to read them. As interesting as the things Merlin knew were, the truly amazing part of his tales were the people he met. They all had things they wanted to do, and more often than not, Merlin had helped them in every way he could—discounting magic, of course.

It was incredible, the things men were willing to do to reach their goals. It stopped at nothing short of murder, but even then some were happy to commit terrible acts. Merlin wasn't quite as happy to help those men.

If Merlin were to describe men, all of them, in two words, he would say they were terrifying, yet terrific. He was only a background character by comparison, or at least that was how he was described in the journals.

The youth couldn't help but smile at the thought of being one of those men who overcame obstacles with sheer will. Maybe it had been due to the friends they had, or the courage to ever begin such remarkable journeys. Perhaps it had only been because they had worked hard in the end, or had it been their ingenuity?

Magic had not taken place, which was also amazing in Merlin's mind. All he knew was of talking owls, spells that could trick the eyes and minds, change his name even. His house was built upon a core of magic, and Diagon Alley had been swimming with power.

The urban and the city had seemed dull by comparison, he realized during his walk through the streets of Colchester, but the new scenery had excited him nonetheless.

He took out a maroon journal, 1900s. The story moved quickly, advancing into words Merlin didn't understand for the life of him before the boy could completely understand how he managed to meet the main character.

He followed the life of Carlos as best he could, but he would have to remind Kilgharrah to teach him Italian as well.

At the very least, Merlin knew there was definitely a lot of trouble, and wiser Merlin, though slightly put off, had accepted the change of pace with open arms.

Somehow, Merlin didn't think it ended too well for his past companion, but he wished the man the best all the same.

"Gran," a boy's voice whined from outside his compartment's open window, dragging his attention away from words he couldn't translate, "I've lost my toad again."

"Oh, Neville," the boy's gran sighed.

He heard a scoff and looked up to see Kilgharrah.

"That's not very nice. I'm sure you've lost a toad or two in your life tine," Merlin reprimanded. "Why are you here?"

"I was hoping to avoid a catastrophe," the dragon said. "Seeing as there is no one with you, my services are not required."

Kilgharrah would have flown then, if not for Merlin's cry. "Wait!"

The owl head turned, and yellow eyes jeered slightly at Merlin's flushed cheeks. "Yes?"

"Um," the boy stuttered. "Do you know Italian!?" The blush was gone, and the boy seemed all too excited to have come up with an answer.

"Of course I do," Kilgharrah answered.

This was how Merlin was almost found talking to an owl.

From outside his compartment came a few shrieks, some shouts of "Spider!"; but Merlin decided that the accompanying laughter meant it was only a prank. Luckily, it had made him and Kilgharrah pause in their lesson plans long enough to welcome a sudden arrival.

"Have any of you—oh," Merlin looked up to see a girl with bushy hair and rather large front teeth at the door of his compartment. "Have you seen a toad? Neville has lost his." He noticed a boy with a round face behind her.

So this was the boy who'd lost his toad. Again.

"No, sorry," he smiled apologetically.

The girl frowned, but thanked him anyway and moved on to the next compartment. Neville timidly followed her with tears in his eyes.

The compartment door closed in accord with Merlin's eyes—now fading from gold to blue—and he laid down, just barely avoiding a wing to the face.

"Do not use your magic frivolously," scolded the owl. Merlin shrugged, laying down when a yawn overtook his body, making him stretch widely.

The disguised dragon settled down on the opposite seat, rolling his eyes. Merlin was truly a child.

"Sleep, young warlock." The boy smiled warmly at Kilgharrah, as if he knew something the dragon did not. He would decidedly ignore that.

"Sure, oh Great Dragon." Kilgharrah huffed at the sarcasm, but took to staring out the window when Merlin finally closed his eyes.

Merlin, himself, felt the warmth of his smile disgustingly well. It was not fair that he should care so much for a dragon when the dragon obviously held little respect for him—especially in the child body of his.

Even so, the fact Kilgharrah would stay with him throughout his entire journey made him want to grin. He did not feel alone because he was not.

He was such a girl.

The boy let his eyes close, knowing Kilgharrah would slap him silly when they arrived at the school.

He dreamt of a sword in a stone.

. . .

Hogwarts was a castle.

Merlin gaped at the large structure, dark and ominous. It loomed over all the students who rode boats—the first years.

The sleek lake he paddled on was black enough to swallow him in darkness, even as he sat on a boat atop it, but that did nothing to daunt Merlin. He was reaching his final destination!

Kilgharrah had told him of a wiser Merlin's exploit in the forbidden forest—which had ended in injury. However, meeting a centaur really seemed like it was worth a fractured ankle.

"Heads down!" the giant man, who the boy that now sat in the same boat as Neville had called Hagrid, yelled. They all did, and the boats steered themselves through a dark tunnel. They were underneath the castle.

"Will you stop?" the boy next to him scowled, "You're getting me all jittery."

Merlin realized he had been jumping in his seat. "Sorry," he muttered.

It was just like that that the blond boy began a conversation, slightly drawling. "Know what house you'll go to?"

House? "No," Merlin answered.

"No one really does," he continued, getting off the boat like all other students. "Well, I do. I'm going to be in Slytherin, we all are," he gestured to the other two, much quieter, boys who had paddled with them. Merlin thought he looked like a stick in comparison, which was a scary idea, so he turned back to the blond.

"What other houses are there?" he asked. This obviously put off the blond.

"You don't know? What, are you a mudblood or something?" This was said with a sneer.

Mudblood? What was that? He decided to ignore the obvious insult and instead ask.

"What's that?"

"You are full of questions, aren't you?" The blond was jeering, a terrible look for him in Merlin's opinion, but he answered all the same, "Mudbloods aren't like us. They are born of muggles. Honestly, they have no business dealing with magic."

"That's not very nice," Merlin frowned. "My father's got magic, but I'm not sure about my mother." Kilgharrah had told him Balinor—an important man to the dragon, apparently—truly had had magic. His mother had never been a topic of conversations for the boy and dragon, however.

That did little to ease the boy's sneer.

"I'm Merlin, by the way," Merlin said. It was no good to make enemies when he could be friends with someone. People were difficult to understand, but the amnesiac knew they all had reasons. Not all his past comrades had been angels, and neither was he.

Merlin wondered, briefly, if Kilgharrah would be proud of him for holding such an adult perspective on the matter.

"Merlin," the blond muttered. "Did your mother name you?"

The ravenhead nodded.

"You must come from a wizard family," he nodded approvingly. Merlin had no idea why that was. "Draco Malfoy. Oh, and this is Crabbe and Goyle."

Merlin refused to laugh at the name "Draco" when he knew he had been named after a bird.

Really.

"So," Merlin began, now easing into his walk with Draco, "What other houses are there?"

"Obviously, there's Slytherin. I guess it wouldn't be too bad to be talking to you if you ended up in Ravenclaw," he said, looking the lanky boy over. "But if you get sorted into Hufflepuff or, worst, Gryffindor, don't ever talk to me again."

Merlin smiled. "Well, I'm not sorted yet, am I? How do we get sorted? Is there a test of some kind? How do you know which house you'll end in?"

Kilgharrah would have been annoyed by the questions by now, but Draco Malfoy liked to hear himself talk.

The blond began to answer, but before he could get a word out, they heard three loud knocks. Merlin looked over to see Hagrid at the front, leading the students to giant castle doors.

Somewhere at the back of his mind, he realized Neville had gotten his toad back.

Yeah, I know. Pretty cringey. Since he's just a little kid, I'd like to think he imprinted on the first adult figure he met. Kilgharrah, obviously.

I wanted a Draco and Merlin relationship like the one in Only A Boy, because I'm a huge copycat and I really love that story. But he also kind of fits in even less than Blaise. However, storywise, he fits in just as well as Padma fits into Parvarti's life (that makes no sense right now, but wait for it). Anyway, since this is about Merlin, I will write about Draco.

See ya, I guess~