LONG TIME NO SEE MY FELLOW EARTHLY BEINGS.

It's been WAY too long since i last updated this, and Merlin has been increasingly knocking on my door these past few weeks. Actually what spurred me into writing again was accidently bumping into this fic online whilst on one of those late night fanfic binges 'til god-knows-what-hour-in-the-morning. And then i checked out the reviews out of curiosity AND OMG U GUYS ARE SO NICE WHAT?! So now that my motivation has been replenished, i feel i owe it both to you, and to Merlin (or should I say Malcolm) to continue his journey in this story.

Naturally and inevitably, my writing style may have changed in this past year and a bit, so apologies if this doesn't quite continue the flow. But i mean, this fic isn't the most orderly one LOL

feels good to be back.

CHAPTER 9 - A little tardiness comes as part of the package deal.

2 weeks later

Tick

Tick

Tick

Tick

A dozen pairs of irises stare unblinkingly at the second hand of the clock, unwavering as it ticks round, round, round again.

Tick

Tick

"Hermione," A student whines, back slouched and head flopped back, "Wazzah time,"

Tick

Tick

"If you would use your eyes like everyone else in here, Ronald, you would see that it's nine minutes past nine."

Tick

Tick

"He's nearly ten minutes late," a voice from the back of the classroom grumbles, "Where is he?"

The responding silence is loud, and it only serves to increase the blasted ticking.

Tick

Tick

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

"Stop tapping the pen!"

"That's it!" Hermione exclaims, jolting her chair out with such a force that it releases a shriek. "I'm going to find him!". The door slams behind her and shakes the room. It makes the dust levitate.

Ah-choo!

"Harry – what are you doing?"

"Going after Hermione, what do you think I'm doing?"

The black-haired and red-haired boys rush out the classroom, the former hauling the latter one out by the hem of his sleeve. The door slams behind them. The remaining students look at each other and shrug.

Tick

Tick

"Hermione, wait!" Harry and Ron yell as they dart through the entrance of the corridor. A familiar curly-haired head springs out from the corner, eyes bright with irritation.

"Come on, then!" She calls back, then continues running without waiting for her two exasperated companions. She turns her head back over her shoulder- "This is the fourth time he's been late for History class in just a fortnight! Do you have any idea how much content I may have missed due to this reoccurring habit of his? All these minutes add up to – oh here it is!" Hermione suddenly exclaims, halting her footsteps without warning.

The boys yelp behind her in indignation and surprise, only just managing to avoid a mild collision.

"Shhhh!" She hisses – "Listen!"

They lean on each other as they attempt to catch their breath, before looking up to see Hermione's classic hybrid look of disbelief and exasperation – a look only reserved for them. She jabs aggressively towards the door.

"Hermione, what-"

"This is Professor Emrys' chambers." She whispers resolutely, "There's someone else in there – listen!"

Harry leans in and hears a faint chain of tumbles and bangs.

CRASH!

They all flinch.

Then – a split second of silence.

And then… a significantly louder – "-AM NOT A SCARED GOD!"

A series of muffled but heated voices follows.

"FOR THE LAST TIME AR-"

The yell cuts off unexpectedly, like a pin into a balloon. The trio exchange bemused looks, and Harry has just enough time to open his mouth to speak before the door is dashed open. A dishevelled figure stands in front of them, positioned strangely with both hands on either side of the doorframe - Harry realises he is blocking the trio from seeing inside his chambers. Or from going inside. Cloak twisted, hair ruffled, eyes dancing wildly – it's as if he's just stepped out of a hurricane.

"Professor Emrys!" They exclaim, shocked.

He responds with a wide, overly innocent grin, twitching with poorly restrained mixture of mirth and panic. A blue butterfly is casually perched on the dorsum of his nose, so that he is slightly cross-eyed.

"Erm… my wonderous students!" He says merrily, albeit unnecessarily loudly, for a reason Harry couldn't bother to fathom. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"What's going on in there?" Hermione asks slowly, history lessons forgotten the instant she saw him. She rises on her toes to peek over Malcolm's shoulder and moves her head sideways, but he only mirrors her movements. He laughs nervously in response to her following glare.

"Erm – yes. Best you don't look in there. 'fraid there was a little bit of an incident." He says quickly, sending a slight hopeful look at Hermione, as if a faster pace of wording would somehow dampen her curiosities. Ron harnesses the opportunity of distraction to duck under Malcolm's arm. "JEEPERS-"

"Merlin's beard…" Ron breathes.

"HA! Told you!" A faint voice calls from somewhere within the chambers.

"Oh just- give over would you!" Malcolm calls back to the voice, "You've barely been here a few hours and you're already giving me a headache!" Sighing long-sufferingly, he resignedly steps back from his guarding position at the doorway and allows Harry and Hermione a view into his chambers, gesturing dramatically to the mess as if introducing an audience to a new West-end musical.

They join Ron in his gaping at the room. And for good reason too – it is as if some giant has picked up the room and shaken it like some maraca. Furniture has been stretched and hung upside-down from the ceiling, soil has crawled up the wall like ants, blue apples levitate by the shattered window, pillow are frozen in mid feather explosion, rugs have grown fingers, cracks and frays of rope are webbed across the array of chaos…and in the midst of it all – a stuffed parrot puppet. Perched perfectly, almost smugly, in the exact centre of the room.

Harry feels himself getting light-headed.

"What happened?!" He gasped.

"Erm…in a rather simplified version of the events, before you came an explosion of extremely raw magic occurred …" Malcolm says almost sheepishly. "And when I say extremely raw…anyway – erm –" He drifts off, scratching his head whilst looking around the room as if seeing the damage for the first time. Hermione starts to speak, but is cut off when and Malcolm abruptly jerks his head to look at the floor beneath Harry and Hermione. His eyes widen in realisation, but also, Harry notes, resignation – as if it were completely expected for the floorboards to be morphing into what looks like blue moss.

The blue moss increasingly saturates the floorboards outside the chamber door like spilt water, and Harry and Hermione resort to standing on tiptoes and making quiet noises of panic.

"Okayyyy-" Malcolm sighs, swiftly and roughly grabbing Ron by the shoulder, shoving him out the door along with himself. The door closes with a large bang! He whips around to face the trio, the sheepish expression still present on his face.

The trio waste no time exclaiming in unison -

"What's going on?"

"The blue moss-"

"What are you-"

"Alright!" Malcolm says, not loudly. "You came at a bad time, an embarrassingly bad time, and explaining to three nosy whatever-year-olds who turn up at my doorstep exactly why the raw magic in there decided to destroy my room and then leak out the doorway to grow blue moss on everything in it's pathway is not a speech I'm willing to sacrifice a braincell to!" He huffs, whipping out a bony wand from his pocket. Half a second later the floorboards are spotless.

"You can use nonverbal spellcasting!" Hermione gasps, excitement levels rising into the danger zone category.

"Hmph," Malcolm mumbles, "knew I forgot something."

"What-"

"Anyway!" He interrupts quickly, "Ron, I apologise for the violent shoving, but it was best you didn't stay in that room any longer – not-that-you-should-have-barged-in-there-in-the-first-place! – any more exposure would have risked your magic shrivelling up more than it already has. So," He claps his hands together and rubs them, "to what do I owe the pleasure of the presence of you three delightful children who are going to forget everything that just happened in the past few minutes?" He says pleasantly, an overly polite smile plastered on.

"You don't know where you're supposed to be right now?" Hermione squinting incredulously. "You know – Professor Emrys?"

"Oh, sweet maiden mother and crone!" Malcolm moans, slapping a palm to his forehead thrice, "I'm a history teacher!"

"Yes…that is what you are,"

"My apologies, me and time never have had a good relationship."

"That's your excuse?!"

"I'm sorry-" Ron butts in before this madness can escalate any further, "I don't know why you two are simply just glossing over the fact that he-" He jabbed his pointer finger firmly in Malcolm's direction (the man in question looked very offended by the gesture) "just said that my magic is shrivelled up! Shrivelled up!"

"Yes – your magic is still intact though – I checked it the minute the blue moss appeared," Malcolm said with practiced patience. "How do I explain this…take a grape for example,"

"Resorting to food metaphors again are you, Malcolm?"

"Shut it, Arthur. Wait- Arthur?! SHUT THE DOOR!" Arthur blinks, and Malcolm yanks him to his side, slamming the door shut with his boot. "You can't just stand there with the door casually lolling open! The magic will start leaking out – almost had a near disaster with this lot!" Malcolm exclaimed, gesturing wildly at the trio.

"Ah – I know you three!" Arthur says, ignoring any further remarks from Malcolm. He smiles strangely at them. Harry smirks at the light blush on the man's cheeks. Clearly the circumstances of their meeting are yet to be forgotten.

Malcolm looks at Harry, and the two unite in smirk-land. "Yep, you remember my friend Arthur! Also known as the guy you met in Diagon Alley who got scared out of his wits by a cat."

Cue the glare and flipping off from Arthur.

But, then something shifts in the way the blond holds himself, and he eyes Malcolm's left forearm, a strange undecipherable expression on his face.

The two men share a long enigmatic look.

Hermione clears her throat subtly, "everything okay?"

They immediately snap out of whatever silent conversation they are having, and Malcolm plasters on a playful demeanour. "He was just admiring my…god complex!" He says, holding up a bicep.

Arthur raises his eyebrows, gripping and shaking Malcolm's arm playfully. "You're a noodle. He's a noodle."

Malcolm yanks his arm from Arthur's grasp with a sharp huff. "Arthur please."

"Why are you here?" Harry questions to Arthur, deciding to ignore the inscrutable interactions of the past thirty seconds.

"Good question Harry, good question." Malcolm says contemplatively, pathetically protecting his ears as Arthur tries to flick them. "I'm not really sure. He just turned up at the door at 5am with two bags of quavers in his hand. Between you and me," Malcolm says in mock-whisper, leaning down to Harry's ear, "I think he was feeling a bit lonely,"

"I had some business to do Harry, and I needed to consult this idiot on a couple things."

"Lonely," Malcolm whispers again, failing to dodge the ear flick this time.

"Enough with the sass Malcolm, I've had entirely enough of it!" Arthur exclaims, violently crossing his arms.

Malcolm raises his eyebrows at the trio, as if to say

see what I have to deal with?

He waves his hand briefly in Arthur's direction, as if swatting at some bothersome fly.

"Now Ron, as I was saying," Malcolm continues, "A grape, when exposed to extreme heat, will revert to the form of a raisin." Malcolm looks at the trio perplexedly when he fails to gain a response. He tries again- "What I'm trying to say is…is that your magic, right now…is a raisin."

Blank expressions are received in response.

"Okayyy…" Malcom hums, scratching his head, "I was trying to explain it in a way that wouldn't alarm you, but my attempt seems to have belly flopped. See, if you had stayed in that room any longer, the heat and intensity of the raw magic would have caused irreversible damage to your own young and fragile flame."

"Young and fragile?!" Ron cries in outrage.

"Healing your magic," Malcolm continues, as if Ron had never spoken, "was not necessary in this case, for the short amount of time you were exposed fortunately means you are capable enough to draw magical threads from external means around us."

"That's…good?"

"Exactly, Ron – I'm so glad you understand!"

"But-"

"Now that that's cleared up," Malcolm says loudly, unabashedly cutting off any further reservations from him, "I think that we'd better get to class now, hm? Not that there's much time left for me to actually teach," He says, mumbling the latter statement sheepishly.

The trio turn to go, but Malcolm is halted from following when a hand whacks forcibly into his chest, holding him back.

"Ouch! Arthur!"

"Malcolm – is it just me or did I hear you imply that you actually forgot to teach your morning class?" Arthur says, nostrils flaring marginally with the effort of reigning in the laughter.

"…"

Arthur guffaws inelegantly, "You never change, do you Malcolm," he says, voice laced with bright amusement.

"If you are quite finished, Arthur, we shall be off," Malcolm says flatly, hurriedly ushering the trio to follow him.

"Hunith would be so disappointed," Arthur calls after them, tutting exaggeratingly.

"DON'T pull the mother card Arthur!"

Arthur's distant sniggers follow after them, and Malcolm sighs at their contagion when he hears supressed snickering from the trio.

well there ya have it. next chapter will be how exactly our favourite warlock and cabbage-head found themselves in this predicament!