Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

December 1981

"Gods, what's taking him so long?" Merlin sighed, half-wanting to press his cheek against the shop's window in a sulk. 

Arthur shoved him — gently, so he didn't topple the stacks of books and quills piled around them — and opened another random book. "Shut up, Merlin. It's like a hunt, you've got to wait for the prey to make itself known first." 

"I hate hunting," Merlin reminded him. Glancing over, he noticed Arthur skimming the pages with vague interest. "What's that one say?"

"Apparently people have a thing for vampires."

"Odd," Merlin hummed, turning back to peer out the window at the people going about their business. There was something comforting in the fact that even if horrible things happened, people still went about, making new memories and living their lives. 

He breathed on the cold glass and tried to draw in it before the fogginess faded. "Fuck," he muttered when his half-drawn picture of a dragon disappeared before he could add the wings. Now it would be a big lizard forever. 

Hah. Blizard. 

"Yeah... Speaking of, did you ever get back to that one bloke? Romanian?" Arthur mused, gazing at an illustration that seemed to be half vampire and half… some sort of naked merman languishing on the banks of the ocean. Merlin wasn’t sure which one it was aiming for, really. 

"Which one is that again?"

"You know. Tall, dark hair, fell in love with an American soldier during the war— I mean, the one with the Nazis." 

"Ohh, Mark? He—" Merlin paused suddenly when his eye caught a peculiar movement in his peripheral vision. He squinted through the window. 

There was a cloaked figure making its way down the streets of Hogsmeade, very obviously not wanting to be seen. The effect was sort of ruined by the fact that their cloak was very swishy. For a split second, Merlin caught a flash of black hair framing the man’s face. 

"Shit, wait, wait, I think that's— Arthur, come here, look—"

Arthur hurriedly closed the book and looked out the window next to him. "That's got to be him," he said and rushed out the shop door. The door's bell rang with his exit. 

"Hey!" Merlin huffed, running after him. Merlin couldn’t help but feel a little frustrated, as hypocritical as that was. They’d talked about this! Come on! No running off without each other anymore, for gods’ sake!

As he caught up, slightly out of breath, he panted: “Slow down, would you? Honestly, what did I say about leaving me behind—"

"Shh, walk slower," Arthur muttered to him as he finally slowed down. 

Merlin rolled his eyes but didn’t deign to respond. Instead, he poked Arthur's side in exasperation, following his more sedate pace as they passed through vague lines of people. They fell into step with each other. 

It was getting dark out, so there weren't very many people out and about now. Fewer witnesses that way, probably. Even better that it had snowed earlier that day — soft flakes descending from the white sky to fall on the ground, only to be trodden on — so the walkways were covered in a white blanket, slowly penetrated by passerby's footsteps like holes in leaves. Merlin and Arthur's boots crunched into the snow as they walked, side by side, trying to suss out where the man was going. 

They were both in disguises that Merlin put together. Arthur was sporting a rather ridiculous beard and fluffy ginger hair, making him look truly reminiscent of Godric Gryffindor. Merlin had pointed out the comparison with a laugh, to which Arthur rolled his eyes and threw a shoe at him. Merlin didn’t look all too different, though; he just settled for more Gwaine-style hair and a bit of a scruff on his jaw and neck. 

Anyway, they definitely wouldn't be recognized by anyone, that was for sure, but it was always nice to be a bit cautious. And it didn't hurt that Merlin had a little fun making up the disguises — it was almost like they were back in Camelot, trying to sneak around the guards and escape from imprisonment for the millionth time. 

"Think he's going to the Three Broomsticks?" Arthur whispered discreetly as they walked together. 

"Has to be, there's no other public meeting place, and I doubt he's going to the woods or something. Too far." Merlin replied. 

It was true; the man had passed all the other shops, even Hog's Head and Madam Puddifoot's, so the Three Broomsticks had to be the designated meeting spot. Besides, it would be quite easy to blend in there; there were probably people having a nightcap there already. 

They followed the cloaked figure but took a quick shortcut so that they walked into the Three Broomsticks first. (They agreed it would probably look suspicious if they walked in right after him, and then probably left after him, too.)

As they walked in, a rush of warm, sweet-smelling air wafted over them and Arthur sighed, the tension easing from his shoulders a little. 

"Butterbeers?" Merlin asked. Arthur nodded and went to go secure them a table, while Merlin went to go (attempt) to flirt with the barmaid to the best of his ability. (They really needed a discount. They weren't... broke, but just hadn't visited Gringotts in... a very, very long time. They were just busy, Merlin would say. Procrastination, Arthur would say.) 

(Also, Arthur was never the one that flirted with the barmaid purely because he was shit at it. He wasn't really good at feelings-type stuff, anyway. At the very least, Merlin had picked up a pointer or two from Gwaine all those years ago.)

"Hello, love, how are you this evening?" Merlin greeted the barmaid cheerfully. She smiled politely at him.

"Just fine, thanks, mate. What're you and your friend having?"

"Oh, we were just thinking about having some—" Merlin was interrupted when some drunk slammed his cup next to him. Rather rudely, he might add.

"Oi, luv, what d'you say about meetin' me out back?" The man gabbed at the barmaid — Rosmerta, Merlin noted from her tag. "'M thinkin' that mouth o’ yers would fit rather nicely around—"

"Had one too many, Gibbs," Rosmerta said tightly, face pinched slightly as she took a step away from the counter to put a bit of distance between herself and the drunk. Poor girl, she seemed to be the only one dealing with the evening crowd. 

Merlin sighed, shucking the charming facade he'd put in place instead for a reprimanding one. Hands on his hips, the same way a mother would scold her child, Merlin interrupted: "Mate, shut the fuck up. I don't know you, but she's clearly not interested in you, anyway. She doesn't need those kinds of comments from dollopheads like you, yeah? So scram, would you?"

The man puffed up, pride squeezing his heart in an iron grip. "The hell are you on about?! Fuck off, ya—"

Merlin rolled his eyes. Gods, sometimes he really questioned how the world was still standing with the weight of so many annoying people. Subtly, Merlin waved his hand at the man with a glare, and immediately the man's mouth clamped shut, teeth clacking painfully loudly together, and he spun sharply on his heel. Stumbling his way out of the bar, he managed to bump into the cloaked man on his way out, who subsequently cursed and shoved at the drunk with a slightly panicked expression. 

Merlin frowned but turned back to Rosmerta. "Sorry, could we get two butterbeers? If that's no trouble? I know you're probably swamped right now, but—"

Rosmerta snorted, waving her hand at him. "Nah, it's no problem, don't worry. On the house. Thanks for that, people usually don't bother this late, especially on the weekends."

"Of course." Merlin beamed, a wave of relief flooding his chest. They really needed to visit Gringotts soon... Honestly, that was entirely Merlin's fault, but he definitely wouldn't admit that or Arthur's head would get too big to fit into the doorway. 

As Rosmerta went about making the drinks, they chatted idly about random things, mostly just small talk to pass the time —

"Heard there's nice weather coming up soon, did you hear?"

"Thank Merlin. The snow's been a beast lately." 

— until finally she asked, "So, who's your friend?"

Merlin smiled sheepishly, having forgotten that Arthur was probably waiting for him to get back. After all, their target had just appeared in the bar. "His name's Arthur."

"Oh? How'd you meet?"

"Ah, you know, just bumped into each other one day. Really hated each other at first, honestly, but now he's my best friend." Merlin grinned in remembrance. 

She nodded in understanding. "The best friendships always seem to start out like that, don't they? Seems like a nice bloke, anyway,” Rosmerta said as she passed the butterbeers over the counter. “Alright, here are your drinks. Thanks— fuck, what's your name?" 

Merlin took them in both hands and turned to walk away. At the last second, he shot over his shoulder: "My name's Merlin."

She immediately began to cackle at the irony, clearly thinking it was a joke. 

Making sure his notice-me-not charm was firmly in place, Albus walked into the Three Broomsticks. His eyes scanned around the room, searching until they settled on a cloaked figure in the corner. No drink in hand — instead, the man was staring down at the table and at his fiddling hands, trying to be as indistinguishable as possible from the rest of the evening crowd. 

Quietly, Albus strode over to the man, making sure to walk at a calm pace for the sake of appearing normal. 

The man didn't notice him as he made his way closer, clearly lost inside his own head as he listened to people chat and drink around him. 

"Severus," Albus greeted softly as he sat down across from him, trying to gather his attention without being alarming. Severus jolted, shocked back into the present at Albus's arrival.

"Professor Dumbledore," Severus rasped in return, looking up at him cautiously. His skin was pale, far too pale, and his eyes were plagued with wariness. The spark he'd once had had long vanished, replaced by a dull monotony and heavy bags under his eyes to signal his fatigue with the world. 

"You look tired," Albus observed, trying to keep his voice kind and gentle. It wouldn’t help if he scared Severus off again. "And cold. Shall I get you a drink?"

Severus's expression pinched. "No, don't bother. I'm fine."

Albus let the matter go, even though Severus was very clearly not fine. The trials had been hard after Voldemort's disappearance. Even with the promise that Albus would keep an eye on Severus, the court had been hesitant to let him go so easily. After all, they needed someone to put the blame on, and with so many witches and wizards claiming that they were under the Imperius Curse... The number of perpetrators was growing thin.

It didn't help that the Daily Prophet exacerbated every little thing nowadays. Hate was such an easy emotion to incite in people. It was so easy to look at a person and decide whether or not you disliked them, just based on hearsay or their appearance. Albus wished that one day such hate would not be the first emotion to triumph in times like these. Alas, people were hurt and missing their loved ones, and therefore weren't willing to look at people like Severus, who were pushed so hard to go their dark ways, with sympathy. It was easy to hate him for not trying hard enough to stop it, even though society dictated the first fall into darkness. 

Albus knew, deep down, that this was certainly not going to be the end of it all. It would only be the beginning. There was a warning in the air that wouldn't go away, especially if you knew what you were looking for. 

Albus sighed, waiting for Severus to gather his courage for whatever question he was going to ask him. Severus looked far too exhausted and visibly depressed. He could find no work, he couldn't talk to anyone, he couldn't go outside without having to hide his face. Sometimes the darkest times come in the aftermath and recovery, after all. Albus only hoped that when he took the position as Potions professor next fall, he would be kept under better protection. 

"How are you?" Albus asked finally when it became clear that Severus wasn't going to say anything, even if he had something on his mind. Severus looked away.

"Counting the days, professor," he muttered.

"Please, just Albus. We're going to be colleagues soon." Albus smiled.

Severus chanced a small smile, but it didn't last.

Albus clung to it, hoping that he would somehow be able to drive Severus away from the precipice he was on. Just one small nudge and he would fall into a cycle of cruelty and hatred, and Severus had so much more potential than that. 

"Who's that he's talking to?" Arthur asked, sipping his butterbeer. 

"Albus Dumbledore. He's under a really heavy disillusionment charm, though," Merlin replied, carefully looking away from the two men conversing just a few tables away. 

"Dumbledore? The old one, right? What's he doing out at this hour?" Arthur said, frowning. His eyebrows scrunched together. Merlin had a strong urge to lean in and kiss the wrinkle away, but he reminded himself that they were on a mission... sort of. 

"No idea, but he's definitely talking to Snape right now. You know how the Prophet said Dumbledore had defended Snape in his trial? Practically saved the man from Azkaban. I can't figure out why, though."

Arthur pursed his lips in thought. Merlin brought his hand down under the table and laced their fingers together, prompting a confused glance, but Arthur smiled at him, anyway. 

"You know, you still look stupid with a ginger beard," Merlin started. Arthur raised an eyebrow at him. "... But maybe not as stupid as I thought." 

Arthur huffed, playing along. "Well, if you're going to compliment me, Merlin, you should at least do it properly. That was practically an insult on its own."

"Hey, someone's got to stop you from growing too big an ego! That's the only way I can tell you things like that without your head growing ten times bigger. Besides, your beard looks ridiculous, even you can't argue with me there."

"You're the one that made it!" Arthur protested. "It's hardly my fault!" 

"So? I was trying to make you look ridiculous!"

"That's just false logic, Mer—" Arthur glanced over at Snape and Dumbledore's table, then cursed. They were both standing up now, looking like they were about to leave. "Gods, they're leaving already—"

Merlin shoved his shoulder and they both downed their butterbeer, the warmth of it settling in their stomachs as they took after the men walking back out into the chill. The air bit at their red cheeks as they followed the two — Merlin cast a quick invisibility charm over the two of them with a flick of his fingers — trying to catch up enough to hear their conversation. 

"Forgot my gloves," Merlin muttered, rubbing at his quickly numbing fingers. Arthur grabbed his closest hand and put it in the pocket of his big coat, and Merlin whispered his thanks. 

"—well, I must leave you here, I'm afraid," Dumbledore's voice said. "Severus, I'm going to offer again: would you like to come and stay at Hogwarts until the next school year starts? You know that we have plenty of room for you there."

Snape's hooded head had already begun shaking before Dumbledore had finished his sentence. 

"I don't think I should be there... so soon after... I wouldn't want the students to feel..." Snape trailed off, shoulders trembling in the cold. 

"You'll be working with them all the same, why not get used to life at Hogwarts again?" Dumbledore pushed. 

Snape opened his mouth to continue, but then paused when Merlin accidentally stepped on a twig. Merlin opened his mouth to say something, but Arthur quickly covered his mouth with his leather-gloved hand, quieting any noise he was about to make. 

For a tense second, Snape and Dumbledore both stared at the general spot they were standing, but there were so many footsteps from the day that it was hard to see if Merlin and Arthur's were new ones or not. 

They both glanced around to see if they could find the source of the sound, but when none presented itself, they turned back to each other, probably assuming it was an animal or something stupid like that. 

Snape was about to argue further, supposedly, but he paused. Dumbledore took his hesitation and ran with it. 

"Of course, you could be given some duties while we wait for your contract to start," Dumbledore said. Arthur slowly removed his hand from Merlin's mouth when it became clear the suspicion had passed. "Our potions supplies are getting inordinately low. I'm afraid Horace is getting a little tired as he reaches his retirement, and he can't keep up with the strange hours that potions require."

Snape was silent.

"Our school nurse would be especially appreciative if you helped her with her healing potions supply, as well." Dumbledore tried. "How does that sound?"

Snape shifted, grumbling a little. "Alright, alright. Fine. You win, Albus. When should...?"

"Anytime you'd like," Dumbledore said, his tone giving away how pleased he was with the situation. "Whenever you like, Severus. I'll notify the house elves of your imminent arrival, I'm sure they'll make a fresh room for you at the drop of a hat. Severus, consider this your apprenticeship before you take the full job, that's all. This is just to get a feel of the ropes, as they say." 

Snape nodded defeatedly. "I'll gather my things by next weekend, I suppose."

Dumbledore inclined his head in agreement, then looked to the sky, which had grown less orange and more navy blue in the past hour. "Ah, it's getting late, isn't it? Well, I shan't keep you away from your sleep any longer, Severus. Have a good night." Dumbledore said as a farewell. He began to turn away, intending to go back to Hogwarts for a good night’s sleep. 

"Wait—" Severus stopped him. Dumbledore paused and looked back at him with a glint of curiosity in his eyes. Snape visibly swallowed, his hands shaking. "I— Thank you, Albus. I... don't know how I'm going to repay you for..."

Dumbledore seemed to deflate a little. "Of course, Severus. It was the right thing to do after my other failures in your regard," he replied, regret heavy in his voice. "Well, good night, then."

"Good night, Albus," 

They parted ways.

Merlin and Arthur stood there in silence, watching the spot the two men had deserted moments before. Cogs were turning in both their heads, until finally, they looked at each other, a mutual conclusion having been reached. 

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Merlin whispered. 

Arthur grinned. "Professors?"

"Professors," Merlin agreed, sharing Arthur's anticipatory smile.

Chapter Text

January 1982

Severus moved back into Hogwarts like he’d never left. It hadn’t even been five years since he’d last roamed its halls. But this time, he wasn’t really a part of them anymore. 

At night, he wandered and looked at the portraits. They were all the same, as far as he could remember. At times, he felt like a ghost, wandering for eternity and wondering why he was still trapped here. He wished he never came back, even though he technically didn’t have a choice. 

He’d turn a corner and suddenly he would be thrown back into 1971, sitting on a bench and reading books while he watched other people make friends with each other. Or, he’d look at the Whomping Willow and remember the strange things that happened there on the full moon. (He wasn’t stupid. He knew what was going on the entire time, but obviously, Dumbledore already knew about it, so he didn’t really say anything about it in the end.) Sometimes he’d walk into the library and see Lily sitting there, unharmed and doing her Charms homework, or go out in the courtyard and see her playing gobstones and snacking on fizzing whizzbees. 

He knew he didn’t have a reason to be so upset. It was all his fault, after all. He wasn’t a part of her life; he hadn’t been for a long time. But why was it that whenever he thought of her, his stomach clenched and he wanted to vomit? 

He wished he was older and more experienced in life. He wished that all this had happened when he was already about to die, just so that he wouldn’t have to live with it like this. He wished he could pass away peacefully in the night, but instead he was given horrifying dreams. He woke up sweating and shaking in the wee hours of the morning, wishing it could all end, but not having the courage to do anything about it. He wasn’t a Gryffindor for a reason.

His birthday passed on January 9th like it did every year. He didn’t say anything to anyone, and no one said anything to him. He turned twenty-two in complete silence. 

He tried to help the best he could without talking to anyone because that was what he was best at. He helped Madam Pomfrey with her potion supply, staying up late into the night to monitor the brews and avoiding sleep. He sat in during Slughorn’s classes to try and learn how to become a teacher — something he hadn’t even considered doing until everything had turned into a mess. 

Admittedly, the potions classes he had watched were incredibly dull. He wanted to be more useful than just a potions teacher, but Dumbledore had declined his application for the Defence Against the Dark Arts position. He didn’t know whether or not he should be bitter or understanding about that decision. 

… It was probably for the best, even if he really didn’t like it. As it was, the students already watched him with cautious eyes. They probably wouldn’t agree to the idea of him teaching defence for a long while yet, if at all. However, the current defence teacher was nothing short of inept. Severus knew he could do better than that, but he said nothing about it. It wasn’t his business anymore.

The days passed by in a blur, and when Severus was in his room, he wondered about himself. Why did he want to be useful? Was it because, thus far, he had been entirely useless? Was he trying to redeem himself? Wishful thinking, probably. 

He hoped the thoughts would go away, but seeing as he had no one to talk to to distract himself from them, they only grew worse. Was he a good person? Was he not a good person? Did he only help because it made him feel better about himself? Was helping the only other way he could find to occupy his time? (No one attempted to start a conversation with him anymore.) Was he hoping that someone might be finally happy with his presence? Was he pretending to be someone he wasn’t? 

He didn’t know who he was anymore. But, he knew other people. He was always listening to those around him and, by consequence, he had observed many things he was probably not privy to.

Madam Pomfrey was overworked all the time. She hid it well, but she was about two seconds away from shoving everyone out of the hospital wing for good. Too many students were injured or pretending to be injured, and she was on her own to deal with them. Students would fake sickness to get out of class. They’d come for treatment after being bullied half to death. They’d come discreetly and quietly, trying to make sure no one knew they were asking her for help in fear that they’d be viewed as crazy, weak, or vying for attention. 

Severus didn’t want to interfere with that. He didn’t know how to offer any sort of support to someone (was that an excuse to be alone, too?). He kept making potions and hoped that would make it easier. 

On the other hand, Slughorn liked to collect people and put them on his shelf. He liked to boast about young people’s accomplishments to make up for his growing lack of them. However, there was something in his eyes. A certain guilt plagued his soul, and Severus had seen him trail off in thought, the smile disappearing from his lips only to be replaced by a haunted look. 

Severus wondered if Dumbledore was keeping him here for observation, too, or if that was just a coincidence. Well, the old man would be gone soon, anyway. Lucky him. 

Dumbledore — Albus — was elusive as ever. Yes, he made sure that Severus had settled in well, but after that, he seemed to leave Severus to his own devices. He’d have to figure out everything by himself. At least when Albus was bothering him to come to Hogwarts early, he saw him on a semi-regular basis. Now he barely saw him. It’s like Severus hadn’t really meant anything at all and he was just a means to an end.  

It was a cool morning. The dew drops were just barely hanging onto the leaves and the blades of grass, and the sky was a calm grey. Arthur sat at his desk, a pile of papers in front of him, with no other desire than to get up and run outside. 

It was so tedious making these application things. Arthur hated it. Well, he hated anything that forced him to sit at a desk and read and write boring passages. 

Arthur leaned back into his chair and stretched. One of Merlin’s paperweights hopped off the bookshelf on the side of the desk and landed on the table with a loud thump. (Arthur had learned a long time ago not to bother being worried about them breaking, but it still managed to… catch him off guard every once in a while. 

(And, even if Merlin said he didn’t do anything to them, they never shattered or dented when they were supposed to. It only happened when it was inconvenient! Then the various objects required endless cooing and pampering! Arthur was convinced it was on purpose.)

The paperweight moved sluggishly, like it could barely pull its own weight, so Arthur picked it up in his hands. 

“What is it?” he asked, stifling a yawn. It was too early for this, honestly. Arthur ought to be in bed still… 

It hopped slightly with all its might, but it didn’t go very far because of how heavy it was. 

“I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean,” Arthur told it. It wiggled from side to side sadly. Or maybe it was frustration. Arthur didn’t really know, he’d never passed a Talking to Objects 101 class.

Speaking of— Wow, look at him, talking to inanimate objects. His father would’ve definitely disowned him if he saw him doing something like… well, whatever this was. Actually, Uther would have definitely disowned him for a lot of things by now. (Not to mention the magical world he was constantly a part of…)

The paperweight shifted indecisively before it gave another shuddering hop as if that might suddenly make Arthur understand what it wanted. 

Arthur still didn’t know. He gave a great sigh, just for show, and muttered to himself: “How awful that I have to stop doing boring things to attend to your needs. Boring things are my favourite things, why would you interrupt me? Now I have to go get Merlin because of you!”

Arthur stood up sharply and walked out of the study’s door with the gait of a man running away from his work. (Because he was. Running away from his work, that is.)

“Really, you should be ashamed of yourself,” he told the paperweight. It just gave a delighted wiggle and wasn’t ashamed at all. Cheeky little— Ah, well, it was obviously Merlin’s fault anyway. He needed to fix his own problems, clearly. 

Arthur walked through their cottage, holding the paperweight in his hand. There were a few paintings on the walls, collected over the years from around the world, and the house itself was very old. He remembered the first time they’d built it up together, bickering over the floorplan and worrying over the protective wards (that was clearly all Merlin). 

By now, the house had been very well-loved, and it knew it, too. Sometimes Arthur would wake up and the tools for breakfast would already be on the counter, and the curtains would already be thrown open to let in the light of the morning. Back in Camelot, Arthur would have definitely thought it was Merlin’s doing, but seeing as Merlin was always still in bed beside him, he guessed it was the house. (What an odd conclusion to come to, really… Honestly, the things he was used to now were getting slightly ridiculous.)

Arthur made it downstairs and saw Merlin sitting on the sofa in front of the fireplace, which was crackling softly. They didn’t really need it to be very warm anymore, but Merlin liked watching Arthur cut wood — he couldn’t even deny it! — so they had an excess of firewood to use by now. 

“Merlin, your paperweight requires attention,” Arthur said as he entered the room. Merlin snorted and turned to look at him over the back of the sofa.

“Really? What does it need?” Merlin asked, bemused. 

Arthur held out the offending paperweight to Merlin. “I don’t know! I can talk to them, but they can’t talk back, Merlin. Now I can’t finish my work because it keeps bothering me! I mean really, just over and over—"

The paperweight sat innocently in the palm of Arthur’s hand. 

Merlin raised his eyebrows and got off the sofa, eyeing the object. “This is the little troublemaker, then?”

“Yes! I don’t know what it wants, it made me come all the way over here to ask you!”

The paperweight hopped in indignation. Arthur tried to keep a straight face as Merlin’s eyes flicked up to meet his, but there was already a grin on both of their faces.

“Really, now? And what does the paperweight want?” 

The last part was directed toward the troublemaker itself, who vibrated a little before rolling off Arthur’s palm, who yelped and tried to catch it — he was not startled! — and it landed with a loud bang on the carpet. Struggling in the direction of the bookcase near the window, it tried to roll again, but it kept tipping back into its original position. 

Merlin laughed at Arthur, who tried to seem like nothing had happened. 

“That should be treason!” Arthur said instead, brushing his hands on his shirt. 

“I’m sure it didn’t mean to startle you like that—"

“I was not startled, Merlin!”

“Right, of course not, sire,” Merlin rolled his eyes, so Arthur cuffed him over the head. “I think it just wanted a change in scenery, though,” Merlin added, then snickered as he smacked Arthur’s shoulder, dodging Arthur’s retaliation with a swift step backwards. 

Merlin picked up the paperweight and moved to put it on its new bookshelf. 

“I think you’ll like this area,” Arthur could hear Merlin muttering, “There you go— Yes, that’s a great spot— You’ll like the window, too—"

Arthur wasn’t sure what to do about the warm feeling in his chest, despite having encountered it numerous times before. So, he said the first thing that came to mind: 

“Spar with me.” 

(He did not blurt it, it was said in a very dignified and kingly manner. Obviously.)

“Yes,” Merlin replied immediately, then looked confused. “Wait, what? Now?” 

“No,” Arthur said. 

Merlin stared at him, clearly confused. 

What on earth are you saying, Arthur thought to himself. 

“Er— later,” he amended. Wow, impressive save. 

“You’re silly,” Merlin said, shaking his head, but Arthur knew he thought his slip up was hilarious. 

“Shut up.” 

March 1982

Minerva sighed, taking her glasses off to rub her eyes. She felt like she was getting too old to stay up like this, even though she’d just turned forty-six last October. Perhaps the war had aged her. 

It had been a whirlwind these last few months. It was hard pretending that everything was alright at school when there was a war going on, but now suddenly it was over and she was happily married. 

How does one move on afterwards? It would seem like something big would change at the school, but she still got up every morning, firecalled her husband, and then prepared for the day. She still taught, she still gave out assignments, and she still made sure the students in her house had their medical examinations. All the while, everything went on like nothing had happened. 

It felt odd, to say the least. Her students seemed a little confused about it as well. Here they were, attending school and stressing over exams as if they and their parents hadn’t all been affected by You-Know-Who’s rapid ascent to power.

But here she was on a Thursday night, trying to get through grading the last of her assignments, when suddenly a phoenix patronus wafted into her office. She felt herself stiffen, already anticipating some sort of bad news, but relaxed when she heard that Albus’s voice was calm and patient, rather than urgent. 

“Good evening, Minerva. I’m sorry to disturb your evening, but I’ve just received two new job applications. However, they both seem a little peculiar to me. If you could pop into my office sometime before the end of the week, I’d appreciate hearing your opinion on the matter. Thank you.” Albus’s voice said from the phoenix’s beak, and then it vanished into thin air. 

Minerva rubbed her temples. Two job applications? What on earth? It was hard enough to find people to fill positions these days, so why two applications all of the sudden? And what had Albus meant by peculiar? Really, she ought to strangle the man for piquing her interest like this so far into the night. Well, there was nothing for it now. She’d have to wait for tomorrow morning. 

With an exhausted sigh, she turned back to her assignments and began marking again, the red ink of her quill illuminated only by the candle next to her and the moonlight.

Albus had looked over the applications nearly one hundred times now, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure them out. 

They seemed perfectly ordinary at first glance, but when he had finally got into reading through them more thoroughly, he found himself more and more confused. Logically, it all seemed perfectly in order, but there was also something about them…

The first one that he’d read was for a man named Merlin Emrys. The name was a curiosity all on its own — what parent would have the cheek to name their child after the father of magic? For comparison, it was like naming a muggle child ‘God’ and expecting to get away with it. 

But, it was not his place to judge such things. After all, Albus’s full name was five names in a trenchcoat. 

(Additionally, the surname ‘Emrys’ tickled something in his brain, but he set that aside to think about later.)

Albus then glanced over the man’s list of previous work experience, his brow furrowing deeper and deeper as the list went on. It appeared that Emrys had been all over the world, from the Americas to Africa to Asia, mainly in jobs that dealt in relief and aid. Even though that was the majority of them, the man had certainly worked in several previous teaching positions — and by several, he meant very numerous — along with jobs in service (surprising in itself), shopkeeping, and some that Albus didn’t even know about. 

Albus was half-inclined to believe half of them were made up the further he read, but his references were spotless no matter how thoroughly he checked them. And he did check them.

He finally came to the conclusion that this man was either not real, or at least the same age Albus himself was growing to be, if not more. 

Putting Emrys’s application aside temporarily, Albus turned to the next from a man named Arthur Pendragon. Again, Albus contemplated the peculiarity of the name but decided it couldn’t be any more peculiar than Emrys’s application, and so he began to read.

It happened again. The man’s previous job experiences stacked almost as high as Emrys’s. Albus was utterly dumbfounded. 

On a whim, he began to cross-reference the two. Immediately he noticed varying similarities. It seemed that while Emrys was in the United States, Pendragon also was, and when Emrys moved to Brazil, Pendragon moved, too. They seemed to have been following each other for years. They must have worked together for a very, very long time. How peculiar…  

Albus placed the applications down on his desk, deep in thought. Fawkes chirruped next to him, flying down to perch on his desk. Absently, Albus reached over and thumbed Fawkes’s downy feathers. Fawkes cooed in a low warble, leaning into the touch. 

The more he thought about the applications, the more and more certain he became. Perhaps… But no, they wouldn’t be so obvious about it, would they? 

There was a possible answer that nagged at him, but he was afraid to assume. It was entirely possible for Emrys and Pendragon to be of the same inclinations as he was, but to make such an assumption could be dangerous. But what else was he supposed to think? That they were close friends? Did close friends follow each other to the ends of the earth? Perhaps it was a modern thing. 

He glanced at the applications again, then sighed and looked at their educational qualifications. They were nearly identical with only a few differences to speak of, but they were perhaps overwhelmingly overqualified for the positions they were applying for. 

Albus put his head in his hands. What kind of strange puzzle was here before him?

Merlin pulled away from Arthur’s mouth, breathing heavily. 

“Do you think we did the right thing?” he asked.

“Hm?” Arthur hummed absently, trailing his lips along Merlin’s jaw. One look at his eyes and Merlin knew his husband’s brain was too soaked up with happy chemicals to actually consider what he was saying. 

Merlin huffed a laugh and shook his head, then poked Arthur’s cheek to get his attention. “I mean, by applying for teaching jobs. Maybe we should’ve pretended to be students?” 

Arthur shrugged, letting his hands trail along Merlin’s sides, then gripped the fabric of his shirt between his fingers. 

“Being a student and being a teacher are equally stressful, Merlin,” Arthur muttered, mouthing a kiss onto the side of Merlin’s lips. “But pretending to be a student takes more effort. Age and slang and all that. At least professors are eccentric enough that we’ll go relatively… unnoticed…” 

Arthur breathed a quiet noise as Merlin rubbed his hands over Arthur’s shoulders, then reached into his hair, gripping the strands to slowly tilt his head back. He exhaled sharply when Merlin languidly kissed his throat and Adam’s apple. 

“Maybe you’re right,” Merlin conceded. “But being a student might’ve made it easier to blend in a little, being one with the crowd and all. Oh, well, we can’t change it now, I suppose.” 

“Right,” Arthur replied, sounding a little breathless. 

“Besides, can’t do this when we’re eleven,” Merlin said and pushed Arthur onto the bed.

“Albus? You wanted to see me?” Minerva said as she entered the Headmaster’s office. Everything was the same here, as always. So many odd knick-knacks that Albus kept — she had no idea what he did with them all! Strange, indeed.

“Ah, yes, Minerva. I’d like you to take a look at these and tell me what you think. I believe I need a second opinion before we go any further with these.” Albus replied, handing over the two applications. 

“Of course. Would you want me to read these now or should I get back to you later?” 

She looked down at the first one. 

… ‘Arthur Pendragon’? What on earth? What sort of joke was this? 

“I’d just like your first thoughts on it if you have time at the moment. I hope you don’t have anywhere else to be right now?” Albus asked.

“No, no. Not until breakfast,” she reassured him. 

She glanced over the pages. Her eyebrows rose higher and higher to her hairline with every passing minute. 

“Are they both like this?” she wondered, half to herself and half to Albus. 

“Yes. They’re almost identical to one another, save a few differences— very few.” 

“I see,” she said faintly. She shuffled back to the front page. “Although, Pendragon has not taken his N.E.W.T.s… Actually, neither of them have.” 

“Yes,” Albus confirmed. 

“How strange,” she paused. “Neither seem to have conventional schooling either, besides the few more recent ones. They didn’t go to Hogwarts.” 

“Indeed. I am torn between believing these are two men that have lived their lives to the fullest, or simply do not exist at all.” 

“What strange names. Do you think they’re fake names?” Minerva said, at a loss for anything else to say. “And did you notice that Pendragon’s skills lie in non-magical subjects? And Emrys’s is solely magical?”

Albus blinked, surprised. “No, I did not. Do you think Pendragon is…?”

“A squib? No, but perhaps a muggle or muggleborn. However, that would mean that he had to have been introduced to the magical world somehow, hopefully through legal means.” 

Minerva finally sat down in the chair in front of Albus’s desk, adjusting her glasses to read more. 

“Minerva, I’ve been wondering…” Albus started hesitantly. 

“Yes?” She raised her eyebrow at him expectantly. 

“I… I ask this as your friend, not your employer. Do you think…” Albus trailed off. 

“What is it? Albus, we’ve known each other for over twenty years now, I don’t think there’s anything you could tell me that would surprise me.” 

Albus smiled, shoulders slumping a little, and finally said in a subdued voice, “Well, I was wondering if you suspected Emrys and Pendragon might be romantic partners or otherwise engaged with each other?” 

Minerva felt a little surprised at the notion. She looked back over the applications, her mind whirring with the possibilities.

“I think… you might be right, actually, Albus,” she said finally.

“Oh?” Albus immediately looked interested. “How so?”

“I’d imagine you’d want to be as near as possible to your partner, and by this, it’s certainly clear that they are willing to uproot their lives over and over if only to travel and be together. But we don’t know, of course, so I think it would be best not to assume anything other than that they are friends. Is that all?” 

Albus nodded, clearly thinking about something. 

“Yes. Do you think it would be a good idea to set the interviews, then?” 

Minerva nodded immediately. “Merlin, yes, of course. These two, if they are real, are extremely overqualified, Albus, and you know how understaffed we’re getting. Besides, I want to meet them in person. I’m sure they’ll turn out to be very interesting people. That is, if they do actually exist.”

Albus inclined his head and Minerva stood, dusted her clothes off, and left with a quick farewell to go have breakfast. 

Chapter Text

May 1982

Once he got onto Hogwarts grounds, Merlin took a moment to just feel the magical energy pulsing through the air. Hogwarts was one of the few places left that had such a rich magical signature and Merlin was gratefully reminded of it every time he returned. That was the beauty of old places like these, there was always something indescribably different about them.

Merlin felt the footsteps of thousands of people as soon as he made it to the front entrance. Some were new, some were old, and some hadn't come to pass, but all signified just how loved this castle was. He might've looked a little odd, standing there outside with his eyes closed and breathing in the crisp mid-day air, but he didn't particularly care. The magic soared through the air and through his veins, burying itself deep into the roots of the castle. It was exhilarating.

For some reason, Merlin could sense a person hiding off to the side in the shadows, watching him intently. Merlin noted it cautiously, but he didn't think they were a threat in the least. Their magic was a little volatile, but mostly harmless. 

Taking a deep breath, Merlin shook the thoughts away and walked through the doors with a refreshed smile. The oak doors had already recognized him, so they let him in eagerly, and a shiver seemed to go through the walls as he stepped onto the familiar stone floor. A warm breeze caressed his hair and enveloped him in greeting. Merlin was prepared this time when the rush of memories flooded into his brain, full of happiness and love, sorrow and conflict, and a feeling of home.

"Hi," he whispered to the walls, running his fingers over the stone gently. In reply, the magic of Hogwarts thrummed happily in tune with his.

With one last pat, Merlin moved on through the halls, following his own internal compass. If his “calculations” were correct, he would arrive in... Um... A long while from now. Since when had the castle gotten bigger? Had they done renovations of some sort?

Merlin peered down a hallway. Hm. Well. Maybe that's the right one? Who knew at this point. Hogwarts seemed to change every single time he visited. 

About a dozen students mingled along the sides, some sitting by the windows to try and catch some sunlight while they still could. Oof, no, Merlin definitely had to go this way, but he really didn't want to run into too many students just yet. He still had to come up with a life story and all that, so he needed to avoid as many questions as possible... Er, well, besides the ones that would be asked in the interview, but Merlin was pretty sure Dumbledore would take some half-baked answers at this point. 

Some of them looked up in alarm as he passed, so he made an effort to smile at them. He didn't want them to worry themselves too much over an intruder like him, but maybe his efforts weren't fruitful... One girl, in particular, was frantically working herself into a frenzy in an effort to figure out who he was. 

"Hello," he said with a wave, but that didn't seem to help either. Her eyes just grew wider. Oh, well.

Just when Merlin thought he was in the clear, he slammed into the corner of a wall and tripped so hard that half the contents of his pockets came tumbling out on his way down. Ow.

He plucked himself off the ground and looked sheepishly at the students around him, who had stopped their conversation to stare at him.

"Sorry!" he said and began to pick everything off the floor. There was his clock, his bar of soap (never know when you might need one of those), his— Oh, there was his stick! He'd wondered where that had gone.

Gradually, he shoved these all back into his pockets, along with some sort of frog carving that he didn't remember obtaining and a couple of random books, and he dusted himself off with a flourish.

"Well, bye," Merlin said to the baffled faces and left.

Alright. Uhh... Merlin stared at the two hallways and thought a moment. Was it—? No, no, the one on the left was definitely a new wing. Right?

Merlin shrugged. Well, he was here somewhat early, so he could always circle around and come back if needed. He took the hallway on the right.

Briefly, Merlin felt around for his mental link with Arthur to check in on how he was doing at home. (Arthur was a hazard upon himself, he obviously needed to be supervised at all times.)

“Everything alright?” he asked, peering down another hallway. Why did they all look the same??

“You’ve only been gone ten minutes! Merlin, I'm fine.” Arthur responded exasperatedly. “I’m reading your manuscript. The one on werewolf rights?”

“Oh? How is it so far?”

“Surprisingly fine, considering your head’s full of cotton,” Arthur said.

"Hey!" 

“Shut up, Merlin, you know that your first drafts are rather lacking at best." 

Merlin huffed. "Rude! You can't write to save your life, you clotpole." 

Arthur ignored that. "Anyway, you might want to go back and add more about lycanthropy itself. And also learn how to spell words in English.”

Merlin groaned. "It's not my fault that English is a mixture of so many other languages!”

Anyway, he already knew he would probably have to extend the actual scientific explanation of lycanthropy, seeing as part of the reason why there was so much stigma around werewolves was that no one had a good understanding of it, especially with how it worked—

Oh, hey! There was a secret passage! Those are always fun.

“Sure," Arthur drawled just to antagonise him. "Tell that to the person that actually has to decipher your handwriting."

Merlin rolled his eyes.

"Besides that, I think it's actually decent for once..." Arthur continued. "Oh, but it might be good to mention other minorities like the vampires, you know? Just briefly. Especially the non-pure ones that have been mixed with human blood, we both know they’re completely harmless and benevolent.”

“Yeah, yeah. Gods, this is turning into quite a project.” 

Merlin ducked under the faux-painting of the passage and crawled on his stomach across the cobweb-filled floor. He paused to spit one of them out of his mouth. 

“It was your idea, Merlin. You don’t have anyone to blame but yourself.” Arthur retorted in his most haughty tone.

Merlin laughed, the sound echoing through the narrow walls of the passage. “Clotpole.”

Was this passage always so cramped, or did someone make it collapse at some point? And, wow, it'd gotten really dusty since—

Merlin sneezed loudly. 

Um... Hopefully no one heard that, or else they'd think someone lived in the walls or something.

Eventually, he made it to the other side and was delighted to find that he was exactly where he had to be: the Grand Staircase. Surely one of them would lead up to the Headmaster's office, right?

Merlin started on the one in front of him. Hey, there was that one painting that spat blue residue at him that one time! Merlin grimaced at the memory. Probably... best to avoid that one, actually.

About halfway up this particular set of stairs, the staircase began to move and change position. Merlin startled for a moment, but then realised it was trying to lead him in the right direction and patted the railing in thanks.

Really, why was the Headmaster's office so high up? It was literally one of the highest rooms! And Dumbledore wondered why people didn't want to apply for Hogwarts — they'd take one look at the stairs and pity their lung stamina. But, Merlin was really making progress! However, of course, that was the moment that Merlin completely forgot about the trick steps.

“Merlin’s beard!!” he shouted when his foot got caught and he went down. 

The staircase stopped short in the middle of changing and the stone tiles went haywire, clapping up and down apologetically.

"No, no, it's f—" Merlin started to reassure, but then paused as his own words echoed in his head.

Did... Did he just—??

He immediately doubled over, wheezing gasps of laughter ripping through him so suddenly that his chest hurt a little bit.

“Merlin’s beard!” he repeated incredulously into Arthur’s mind, voice growing slightly hysterical. Some of the new paintings jumped, awakening from their faux-sleep with alarm, but the older ones rolled their eyes and went back to dozing.

“Only you, Merlin,” Arthur replied absently.

Merlin laughed harder, clutching to the railing of the stairs. “I don’t even have a beard!” Merlin gasped out. A few students who were wandering around looked at him in severe concern, scurrying up the stairs away from him. 

He could feel Arthur’s eye roll from here. “Seriously? Just go to your bloody interview, for gods’ sake!”  

Merlin snorted, but got up off the ground for the second time and began making his way back up the stairs. 

"What on earth?" he muttered to himself in amusement. "Maybe I need to stop mingling with magical folk for a while. At least muggles don't think I actually existed— Oh! Finally!"

Merlin clapped his hands together as he realised he was at the top of the stairs now. Thank gods! Merlin had begun to think they'd added more stairs just to annoy him specifically.

The gargoyle was still there, thankfully, proudly standing guard in front of the Headmaster's office.

"Right," Merlin started, rubbing his hands together. "What'll it be this time, huh?"

The gargoyle stared down at him over her muzzle. Merlin could practically see her raising an eyebrow at him.

"Do you do riddles now or something? I know you liked copying those sphinxes once upon a time."

The gargoyle continued to ignore him.

"Oh, come on, I said I was sorry! I didn't mean to throw a rock at you! And I'm not here to hurt anyone or anything." Merlin paused, then added (just in case): "This time."

She huffed in annoyance and stood still.

Merlin opened his mouth to respond to her unresponsiveness when someone shouted from right behind him.

Merlin screamed and whipped around, smacking the person across the head.

"What the hell?!" the person shouted angrily.

"Oh, gods! I'm sorry! Sorry!" Merlin apologised. It didn't quell the absolutely ferocious glare he was receiving at all.

Snape huffed loudly, his brow shining with sweat and his cheeks spotted with the colour of his exertion. Then, he seemed to remember what he was going to say because he pointed a finger at Merlin's chest accusingly. "You!"

"Me?" Merlin questioned.

"Yes! How—?! I was supposed to escort—" Snape raged so passionately that apparently he couldn't even form proper sentences.

"Oh," Merlin blinked. Oh. Was he the one standing in the shade staring at him earlier? How was Merlin supposed to know he was going to escort him through the castle when he just stood there staring at him like that?!

Snape tried to regain his composure, but it was rather ruined by the heaving breaths he was taking. Gods, the man really didn't need to overexert himself like this just to find him, Merlin wasn't going to do anything stupid—

"Sorry," Merlin offered again. Snape glared at him silently as if his apology wasn’t enough. 

The silence was really getting a little awkward, so Merlin stuck out his hand to shake. "Well, um, hi, I'm Mer—"

"I know who you are, you imbecile!" Snape shouted. Merlin retracted his hand.

"Oh,” Really? Merlin didn’t remember meeting him, but his memory wasn’t great, so he just went with it. “Well, okay. Hi again, then, Severus, how are you today? Have you seen this gargoyle? I mean, really, she's so rude, she won't even let me through! And all just because I threw a rock at her by accident! Okay, maybe it would be more accurate to call it a boulder or something, but—"

"What the hell are you talking about? A boulder from where?" Snape said faintly. "How did you know my name??"

"Um," Merlin said eloquently. 

Shit. Did Snape not know Merlin? But... he just said he did...  Why were modern people so confusing?

Merlin tried to change the subject. "Anyway, can you move the gargoyle? Does she require a password or something this time? I—"

"Did you just call me by my first name?" Snape interrupted sharply.

A moment passed. 

“No,” he said, rather unconvincingly. 

“Did Dumbledore mention me?” Snape insisted because he was clearly adamant about not letting Merlin get away with things. 

"Um..." Merlin searched his memory, trying to remember what that specific letter from Dumbledore had said, but he drew a blank. "Um, yup! See, that's how I knew your name, uh— yeah, anyway, password? Or should I just start shouting random words?"

"Wait— 'this time'—?"

"COLLYWOBBLES!" Merlin said confidently.

There was a very tense silence as he waited for the gargoyle to move. She didn't.

"Bibble?" Merlin tried.

... That was a no, too.

"Come on, I said I would make it up to you!" 

The gargoyle huffed petulantly, which Merlin took as a 'no you didn't'.

Merlin tried to reason with her. "Okay how about this, I'll say a random food item and you move out of the way when you hear the one you want, yeah?"

The gargoyle didn't make a sign that she'd heard him, but he was pretty sure her silence was an understanding one this time.

"Hm... Chilly cheese fries?"

She didn't move.

"Pizza?" No. "Curry?" Nooope. "Dumplings?" Nothing. Merlin thought a moment. "How about fried chicken?"

Snape scoffed. "That's not going to w—"

The gargoyle interrupted him by gleefully hopping out the way of the entrance. Merlin beamed at her.

"Thanks! I'll remember to get it for you this time!" he said as he darted for the stairs, leaving Snape to stare at him and catch flies with his dropped jaw.

Before Snape could follow, the gargoyle closed the path again, unfortunately. Merlin heard Snape swear loudly on the other side.

"Lemon drop!" Snape barked at the gargoyle. She hopped to the side again.

Oh, so that was the password. Well, he was close enough. Fried chicken and lemon drops were both foods, right?

Merlin waited for Snape in front of the Headmaster's door, watching him stomp up the steps angrily.

"What was that?!" Snape demanded.

"Huh?"

"You—! You're not supposed to bargain with—!"

Ah, the incoherent sentences were back.

"Yeah, yeah," Merlin waved him off. Snape grew purple around the edges. "It was nice getting to know you, but I've got an interview now, so ciao!"

"Wait—!" Snape called, but Merlin was already knocking.

"Come in," Dumbledore said on the other side. The door swung open magically and Merlin walked through. It closed with a dramatic slam behind him, right in Snape's gawping face.

With a deep breath, he whispered to Arthur, “Wish me luck.”

“You won’t need it, Merlin,” Arthur responded, but added on all the same: “But good luck anyway.”

“Did you see that guy on the stairs?” Meredith asked her friend as they walked to the library.

“Huh?” Olive replied as she shoved a tart she stole from the kitchens into her mouth. A few crumbs fell on her yellow and black tie, which she absent-mindedly brushed off.

Okay, so that meant that Olive had clearly not seen him. If she had, she would've remembered him. Very vividly. And probably would've thrown in some of her love for tall, gangly men into the conversation, too.

"Olive, he was so weird," Meredith said quickly. Olive sighed, already knowing some sort of rant was coming.

"Why do you say that?"

"He tripped over the trick stair on the third floor, or somewhere like that, and he shouted 'Merlin's beard!', you know? But, like, then he started laughing??" Meredith said, all in one breath. "Like, literally hysterical laughter? It was kinda concerning. And then he said, 'I don't even have a beard!'. What in the hell is that supposed to mean?!"

"You clearly saw an eldritch being or something, like the ones you see behind Tesco at 2 A.M." Olive said. She shoved the other half of the tart into her mouth.

Meredith shook her head. "No, no, I wasn't the only one who saw him! He was real!"

"Right..." Olive said, clearly not believing her, but then her expression changed into one of recognition. "Wait, actually, that reminds me of something. Earlier I was talking to River and there was this hot guy who walked by, but he ran into a wall and fell over."

"What the—"

Olive waved her hand in the air to stop her from interrupting. "No, but that's not even the best part! When he fell over, all the stuff in his pockets came out onto the floor. I swear to god, I saw a book on different types of poisons, a bar of soap, a big stick, and, like, a couple of large rocks. Who carries rocks around? They're literally everywhere outside—"

"Wait, a book on poisons? You don't think he's gonna kill someone, do you?" Meredith asked. Great, now she could worry about something else.

Olive shrugged. "If he gets rid of that Snape guy, he can go right ahead. Besides, someone that pretty can't possibly be a murderer or something, right?"

"That's not a very intelligent way of thinking." Meredith sighed.

Olive grinned. "Thanks! That's why you're the Ravenclaw and I'm not."

Meredith rolled her eyes.  

Severus stalked down the halls, his heart burning with an itching ferocity that wouldn’t be quenched. Students split away from him to make a path more quickly than they usually did, but Severus didn't particularly care anymore.

The audacity! He’d just left Severus there at the entrance without a care in the world! Merlin, how was he so bloody fast?! Severus had been a few seconds behind and somehow he’d ended up kilometres behind the man! 

And— and the hell was with the gargoyle?! That was impossible! It wasn't supposed to just— let a stranger into the Headmaster's office in exchange for fried chicken! That was a serious safety concern! Dumbledore would definitely be hearing about this!

Hot with rage, Severus slammed the door to his office shut and sat down with a huff. He couldn’t even focus on anything now. Damn him! 

Stewing for a moment, Severus ached for something to do, but he didn’t quite know what. He stood again and began pacing, restless with energy he usually didn’t have. He crossed his arms and then uncrossed them seconds later. 

He hadn't meant to just let Emrys wander into the castle on his own! It was his job to monitor him, after all, but—

Severus wasn't sure, but for a split second, the man had almost seemed... familiar. Severus was sure that he'd never seen him before, but there was something about his magical energy that had prompted several visionless, speechless memories to his mind, which had made him pause. Really, they were more of a feeling than actual memories, but nevertheless— Severus had been left confused and before he knew it, Emrys had disappeared.

Bitterly, Severus hoped the man didn't get whatever job he was interviewing for. (He didn’t know which one exactly because Merlin forbid Albus tell Severus anything remotely important nowadays.) And the fact that he could just— talk his way past the gargoyle! That should definitely prevent him from teaching at Hogwarts, right?

Merlin, he needed to stop this, it was entirely childish. Frowning, Severus turned back to his work. He was trying to perfect a potion recipe and it was going well so far, but it still needed tweaking for better efficiency...

As he made a few more notes on his parchment, his mind wandered without his permission. Apparently he was just too distracted now. 

With a growl of frustration, Severus pulled at his hair and stood so fast from his chair that it nearly toppled over. In a flash, he was speeding out of the room and towards the forest in hopes to clear his mind.

Chapter Text

The moment Merlin entered the Headmaster’s office, a million little trinkets scattered around the room went off. 

Weird. Was it because of his magic? Merlin wasn’t entirely sure. Actually, now that he looked hard enough, he definitely saw one of his own little useless creations sitting on a shelf. Did Dumbledore really think it did something or did he just like the aesthetic of it? 

“Good morning, Emrys, I trust you’re well?” Dumbledore asked, drawing Merlin out of his thoughts. 

Merlin nodded. “Oh, yes, of course! I’m sorry, though; I think I might’ve accidentally abandoned the person who was supposed to… escort me. But, well, honestly, I didn’t see him, he was literally hiding in the shadows outside, for whatever reason. Anyway, how are you, Professor Dumbledore?” 

“Very well,” Dumbledore said smoothly. If he thought Merlin’s rambling was a little odd, he didn’t mention it. He picked up a container on his desk and popped open the lid, offering it to Merlin. “Would you care for a lemon drop?”

“Oh, sure, thanks,” Merlin took one with relish. The sound of the wrapper crinkling was followed by Merlin swiftly popping the candy into his mouth. “Is it lemon drop week, then? There seems to be a theme going on or something.” 

Dumbledore also took a sweet from the tin. “What an excellent idea. However, that had not been my intent in the beginning. It’s just a simple pleasure of mine.” 

Merlin nodded in understanding. On a whim, his eyes glanced behind Dumbledore’s shoulder and caught sight of Godric Gryffindor’s portrait looking at him with manic glee. Salazar, to Godric’s right, rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. Merlin minutely shook his head in warning, but Godric just balled his fists together and rocked back and forth on his heels in anticipation. Merlin glared at him but quickly turned back to Dumbledore with an innocent smile, trying to divert the man’s attention from the growing chaos erupting behind him.

“So,” Dumbledore began, clasping his hands together. “Unfortunately, we have become extremely short-staffed during these past few months—”

Merlin side-eyed the portraits again, watching suspiciously as Godric ran to the back of his portrait and began to dig through his things, throwing books and scrolls and even a very ostentatious hat into the air as he looked for… whatever he was looking for. (Merlin really hoped it wasn’t what he thought it was.)

“—and I’m afraid our professors have realised that time is short and there may be, perhaps, better things to enjoy than grading papers and talking to the youth—”

Salazar looked to the ceiling, like he was praying for some sort of divine intervention, and disappeared into Rowena’s portrait for safety. Helga held a hand over her mouth to stop herself from giggling. 

“—so I suppose I am curious as to why—”

“HEY!” Godric shouted. “I found it!” 

Rowena slapped her hand over her face in faux-annoyance. Helga began to turn slightly purple from how hard she was trying not to laugh. Salazar slinked away, but Merlin could see his shoulders shaking. 

“Pardon?” Dumbledore asked politely to Godric’s portrait. 

Merlin mimed a cutthroat action when Dumbledore wasn’t looking. Godric faltered for a moment but ran up close to the portrait anyway, his big beard covering half the painting. 

“Sorry to interrupt, Albus,” Godric said in a voice that clearly said that he was not sorry at all, “I just wanted to show our newcomer a little… a little interesting work of literature! I’m sure Emrys won’t mind, right?” 

Merlin pursed his lips together and shook his head even harder. 

Godric ignored him. “BEHOLD!” He shouted, thrusting the object into view. 

Merlin groaned and Helga burst out laughing at the sight of it, falling over and out of sight in her portrait. 

It was a poem that Merlin had written a long time ago, wrapped around a rather unassuming stick. Every single time he came into this office, Godric always managed to procure it from somewhere. Merlin had no idea how or why Godric’s portrait somehow obtained this particular piece of writing that Merlin absolutely abhorred, but that certainly didn’t stop Godric from shoving it into his face every single time.

“Don’t—” Merlin started frantically because Dumbledore still thought he was relatively respectable, but Godric was already drawing in a shuddering breath. 

“His eyes are blue, 

Like a drop of dew,

He ate a rat, 

What a prat!” Godric recited the first verse in a boasting voice. Helga cackled and Rowena hid a laugh in her hand, trying to pretend she didn’t find this hilarious. Salazar, now in one of the higher portraits, had tears in his eyes. 

“Stop—” Merlin pleaded, but it was fruitless.

“His hair is yellow,

In the green meadow,

He stole my bread,

What a dollophead!”

Merlin laid his head on the desk in front of him and laughed hysterically at his own terrible poetry. Dumbledore had a confused look on his face, but was clearly trying not to look confused. That made Merlin feel even more embarrassed. 

Godric continued the third stanza in a slightly naughty voice:

“He’s a knight,

He’s gorgeous in the sunlight,

Last night he rode,

What a toad!”

“That’s not what that means!” Merlin snorted into his sleeve, his face red. 

“Godric, may I ask what—?” Dumbledore tried, but Helga shushed him. 

“This is my favourite part!” She laughed. 

Godric recited the last stanza in a shaking voice: 

“He’s got a great arse,

That should be a farce,

I’m on a roll,

What a clotpole!”

“Oh, gods—” Rowena wheezed. She ducked out of view, but her laughter was still evident, even over Helga’s loud chuckling and Godric’s guffaw. Salazar hid his face in his long beard. 

At this point, Dumbledore looked completely bewildered but was unwilling to admit it. 

“I’m so—” Merlin wheezed, his eyes watering. “I’m so sorry, Dumbledore— I can’t believe— You didn’t need to hear—” 

Godric’s chortling somehow grew even louder, so much so that the man looked like he was on the verge of peeing himself, and Merlin was helpless to the infectious laughter echoing throughout the room. Several of the other portraits were also laughing by now, or just snickering off to the side. Even Dumbledore had a confused smile on his face, knowing he didn’t understand the inside joke, but finding it funny nonetheless. 

“May I ask what this is all about?” Dumbledore asked once the laughter had died down a bit. 

“Pfft— Oh, you know, we just had to—” Godric broke off, snorting a little, but regained his composure. His ruddy face was drawn up into a wide grin. “We just had to welcome our newest member—”

“I’m not even hired yet!” Merlin protested, but all four of the founders shushed him or waved him off. 

“—welcome our newest member of staff with a little poetry, that’s all—”

“Have I mentioned that Arthur loves poetry?” Merlin said in a very serious voice, unable to help himself. 

That seemed to finally break Salazar, who banged his fist on a desk in a nearby painting and hunched over, shaking with dry, rasping laughter (which he pretended was just a few coughs). 

“Arthur? Pendragon, you mean?” Dumbledore immediately said with interest. “You know each other?”

“Um—”

“They’ve only been married in the ways of the druids for, like, a million years—” Godric said, which prompted the other three to desperately hush him. 

Dumbledore observed the spectacle with curious eyes. “Married?”

Merlin coughed, his face growing a little red. “Um, yes, we— yup. Married.” Merlin quickly tried to change the subject. “Anyway, what were you going to ask me before all… this…?”

Helga giggled unashamedly. 

Merlin took a brief moment to poke around into Dumbledore’s more surface-level thoughts, just to see what his opinions were on his and Arthur’s relationship. (It always helped to have a healthy helping of caution, so…) 

He was happy to say that Dumbledore was mostly feeling vindicated; apparently, he had already had his suspicions after looking at their applications side-to-side. Whoops, Merlin probably should’ve thought about that before they sent them in. Oh, well, it seemed like it didn’t matter in the end. 

Dumbledore visibly shook himself out of his shock and tried to return back to professionalism. Merlin quickly got out of Dumbledore’s thoughts before he could notice the subtle breach. 

“I was going to ask why you decided to apply, if you don’t mind.”

Merlin took a deep breath to calm himself, wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes as he tried to get his brain back into gear. “Well, Hogwarts is well known for being in the thick of things, and I’ve found it’s best to be in the middle of it all, you know?”

One painting nearby snerked in their fist. Merlin squinted his eyes at them and they went quiet. 

“In the middle of it all? Could you elaborate?” Dumbledore asked hesitantly. 

“Well, Hogwarts is really influential and, well, helping the younger generation is going to be extremely important to the recovery of our society, so I figured I would try to help, uh… Make a better world for the children, you know?” 

“Of course,” Dumbledore agreed. “And I understand you requested to teach an elective course rather than a core class. Why is that?” 

“I believe refining skills is a lot more suited for my skill set. Of course, I’m also qualified to teach the general classes as well, but there are a lot of children right now that need help figuring out what they’re going to do and, especially, how it’s going to work in the world we’re living in right now. I feel like elective classes help refine their skills and provide them a better idea of what their future will look like,” Merlin responded. 

Dumbledore nodded. There was a moment of silence as he noted something on a piece of parchment, the scratching of his quill sounding very loud in the stillness of the room. 

“Gods, just hire him already, Albus.” Godric groaned finally. “This is torturous.” 

Rowena reached over to smack him on the shoulder. “They haven’t finished the interview, Godric! Now sit down and be quiet!”

“But he’s going to hire him anyway! What’s the point of continuing this charade?!” Godric protested.

“Routine, Gryffindor. Routine.” Salazar drawled as he walked back into his portrait. Godric mimed a strangling motion with his hands in Salazar’s direction, who just raised an eyebrow at him, knowing Godric wouldn’t ever follow through with it. 

Merlin sighed, about ready to apologise on their behalf, but Dumbledore beat him to it. 

“I’m sorry, Emrys, usually the portraits keep to their own business…” Dumbledore said, evidently very curious by the turn of events. “However, they are quite right.” 

Merlin’s eyebrows raised of their own accord. “Oh?”

“Yes,” Dumbledore affirmed. “At the risk of sounding desperate, I’m afraid that Hogwarts dearly needs educators like yourself at the moment, and I’m very happy to say that you appear to fit all the qualifications. I only ask that you perform to the standards you have set here today.”

Merlin blinked, surprised that the interview had been cut short, but nodded and thanked Dumbledore for the opportunity and went on his way out of the office. 

As Merlin stepped out the door, he let out a long sigh. Well, that… could’ve probably gone better, but it was too late for that now. Best not to think about it too much. Really, did Godric have to bring up the poem during his interview?

Dumbledore had said on his way out that Snape would be waiting to escort him back to the entrance, but the man was clearly not anywhere near the vicinity… Oh, well. At least now Merlin could go say hello to—

“MOUSIEEEEE!” Someone screamed in happiness. Merlin was nearly barrelled over as Peeves came flying out of nowhere. 

The poltergeist in question was practically vibrating in excitement. “Is Dull Mouse coming back to Hogwarts?? Tell Peeves! Tell! Will he start another food fight with the little Gryffindors??? Will he run around with the ghosts and throw ink at the mean oldie portraits with Peevsie?!” 

“Peeves!” Merlin laughed in surprise. “You’re still here! I was so sure they’d kick you out after the thing with the dragon!” 

Peeves cackled. “No one gets rid of Peevsie, Dull Mouse!” 

Merlin flicked the poltergeist with a snap of magic. “Not a dull mouse!”

“Dull Mouse! Dull Mouse! Dull Mouse!” Peeves chanted, flying around Merlin in circles. 

“Hey, did you ever do that thing with the sickles? The ones where you glue them to the fl—”

“Is that you, Emrys?” a ghostly voice asked. Merlin turned around to see the four house ghosts floating toward him.

Peeves squeaked at the sight of the Bloody Baron and quickly made his leave, but not without dumping a bunch of small shells onto Merlin's head as a parting gift. 

Merlin waved, brushing the shells out of his hair. “Hey! How’s everyone?”

“They still won’t let me join the Headless Hunt!” Sir Nicholas lamented, throwing his hands up into the air dramatically. 

Merlin sighed. “I thought they’d budge after I had a word with them. They’re really stubborn, aren’t they? I guess you’ll have to wait until it comes off completely, then, Nick.”

Sir Nicholas moaned. “But that could take ages!” 

“Hush,” the Fat Friar (well, his real name was Robert) said. “You’ve got a long time to wait, mate.” 

“What are you in for this time, Emrys?” the Bloody Baron — Roman — asked curiously. 

“Well, me and Arthur’ll be professors here for a while, or at least that’s what I’m thinking. Sorry we weren’t here sooner,” Merlin grimaced, “I’m afraid we were down in Africa for a while.” 

'A while' actually meant a couple of decades. Merlin and Arthur had been burnt more times than they'd like to count before they actually managed a tan. It was a rather uncomfortable start.

“Well, it just matters that you’re here now,” Helena assured in her wispy voice. Roman looked at her for a moment with bittersweet eyes like he’d not expected to hear her voice at all, then turned away before she could notice. 

“Yeah…” Merlin replied, eyes darting between Roman and Helena suspiciously. “Any thoughts on Snape so far? Have you guys met him yet?” 

Sir Nicholas was the first to answer in his most dramatic voice: “That man seems to be in a very dark period of his life, Emrys, but I don’t particularly care for him. He’s a tad too flighty and a tad too… well, I’m not entirely sure he’ll be good for the children, considering his questionable past.” He said, lowering his voice emphatically. 

“Questionable past?” Merlin inquired.

Roman took over. “It is rumoured that he was a follower of, ah, that Riddle boy, although I haven’t been able to authenticate these rumours yet. He always wears long sleeves, which is getting slightly more abnormal as the weather gets warmer.” 

“Well, that’s very telling on its own, you know,” Bob added. “We’ll have to see what he wears in the summer.” 

“I’ve read in the Prophet that he was put on trial for the whole shebang, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a mark. Helena, what do you think?” Merlin asked. 

Helena held a faraway look for a moment. “I… I admit that I’m afraid of the man, Emrys. His moods change so quickly. One moment he looks so sad that I feel sorry for him, and then the next he’s glaring a storm at a poor first year just because they bumped into him. I’m not sure what to feel. I don’t know what will become of him.” 

The more Helena spoke, the more and more uncomfortable Roman began to appear, much to Merlin’s concern. He fidgeted with his hands, the chains clanking softly with every movement until finally, he cleared his throat.

“I believe I’m needed elsewhere, my lord. I will, of course, come straight to you if I find anything else about him." Roman said quickly, then floated away into a wall before Merlin could remind him not to call him ‘my lord’. 

Bob sighed and shook his head. Merlin couldn't help but agree. This little... thing between Roman and Helena was getting quite exhausting, considering it had been going on for hundreds of years. You'd think there would've been some sort of conversation after all that time, but they just kept avoiding each other. Merlin mentally noted that he should probably have a talk with them again to try and speed things along. He had a suspicion that this issue was the reason why they hadn't been able to pass on yet.

"Anyway," Sir Nicholas interrupted, apparently oblivious to the changing mood. Well, he was the youngest, so Merlin still wasn't sure if he knew what had gone down between the other two ghosts. "I've heard that Snape will be taking over Slughorn's position as the professor of Potions."

"Slughorn? The old guy with the Slug Club?" Merlin clarified, his face scrunching in slight disgust. Really, a club by that name didn't sound appealing no matter what it stood for.

Helena nodded, ignoring Roman's sudden absence entirely. "Yes. I'm afraid I'm not sure what will happen after Slughorn leaves. He is the Head of Slytherin, you see, and if Slughorn leaves, I think that greasy man might be put in charge of the children. I can hardly see him being responsible enough for a class of them, let alone an entire house."

"He can barely take care of himself," Bob agreed. "I mean, really, I don't think he's taken a bath since the Middle Ages or something."

Merlin cringed. "Yeah, I thought that was a fashion choice and chose not to comment, but I'm assuming that it isn't now."

Roman was slightly irked by his own behaviour, but there wasn’t really anything he could do about it now. He’d wanted to clear the air with Helena a few hundred years ago, but he kept putting it off… And now it just felt wrong to bring it up. He didn’t deserve to bother her anymore about this subject just for his peace of mind, he had decided. 

He knew Emrys was disappointed in him, especially after the talk they had had the last time Emrys had graced their castle walls. And that was… a long time ago. Many Death Days had come and gone since then, to say the least. 

What was he supposed to do? Apologise? His behaviour toward her had been unforgivable; how could an apology make any difference whatsoever? There was no amount of talking that would ever be able to fix what had happened. It certainly wouldn’t bring her back to life, or himself for that matter. Besides, he was being punished enough for his actions: just being trapped here with her was enough to make him sick of himself, and guilty enough to chain himself as an act of penance. 

(He welcomed the fleeting memories of his past life because he deserved them. Staring down at his own bloodied hands, the corpse lying in front of him was steadily losing its warmth. His fingers curled around a bloody blade—)

No, he wouldn’t bother Helena anymore. 

After saying goodbye to the remaining ghosts and the gargoyle, promising to send the fried chicken with Arthur next week, Merlin attempted to make his way back down the stairs without tripping this time. The stairs tried to move extra slowly when changing paths, just to make sure he wouldn't slip and fall on his own robes or something... which was a warranted concern at this point.

He managed it down the stairs, so now he was just wandering through one of the corridors in the general direction of the exit. He spoke briefly with a few of the older portraits, who just wanted to know what his business was at Hogwarts and all that. It was all going rather splendidly until he heard loud bickering nearby. One of the voices sounded very suspiciously like Arthur’s. 

Merlin ran in the direction of them, finding that he was actually a lot closer to the main entrance than he thought he was. As he made it to the balcony overlooking the ground floor, he found Arthur and Snape arguing over something at the bottom of the stairs.

Snape now donned a black cloak over his shoulders, and by the leaves sticking out of his hair, Merlin guessed that he'd taken a walk outside for a while. Arthur, on the other hand, was wearing completely muggle clothing, despite Merlin’s warnings not to, especially in the magical world. Snape had grabbed Arthur by the shirt threateningly at this point and Arthur looked about two seconds away from swinging a punch at him. 

“—said unhand me! I’m only here for—”

“I don’t care what you’re here for! You’re on Hogwarts grounds for no verifiable reason!” Snape hissed. “I have no idea how you got in here, muggle, but—”

“Excuse me?! I’m not a muggle!” Arthur shouted. Well, it was sort of half true, technically, but Merlin knew that Arthur wasn’t going to accept it as the insult it was meant to be at the moment. 

"Prat,"  Merlin thought to Arthur exasperatedly. Arthur whipped around, searching for his figure for a few seconds before he noticed him up above him at the top of the stairs. 

“Merlin!” Arthur said, relieved. “Gods, there you are! Tell this man what an idiot he’s being, please!” 

“Oh, was that a ‘please’? From a Pendragon?” Merlin teased, leaning over the railing casually. 

Arthur rolled his eyes. 

“You again…” Snape gritted his teeth. “You know this man?” he said, clearly still very irritated. Arthur shrugged off the hand that had been gripping his shirt, annoyedly dusting off the fabric like it’d been tainted by Snape’s hands. 

Merlin frowned. “I would assume our conversation would be familiar enough for you to assume we were friends at the very least, Sev— I mean, Professor Snape.” 

“That again!” Snape burst out. “I know I didn’t imagine it! How did you know my first name?! I never told you!” 

Merlin raised a well-practised eyebrow at him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You—!” 

“Anyway,” Merlin continued on like nothing had happened, walking down the stairs toward them at a comfortable pace. “Arthur, I thought we agreed you’d wait at home?” 

Arthur huffed, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. “It’s not my fault you were taking so long! Besides, I finished reading your manuscript and I got bored.” 

“Couldn’t you just watch the telly for a bit? You know that’s what normal people do when they get bored, right?” 

Arthur’s frown somehow got even deeper. “There’s nothing interesting on.” 

Merlin’s grin grew larger as he approached him, pressing so close to him that their shoulders were touching. “Admit it, you missed me.”

“I did not—!” 

“How is your interview done already?” Snape interrupted incredulously. 

Merlin scratched the skin behind his ear sheepishly as Arthur stared at him, entirely unimpressed. “I guess I’m exactly what Hogwarts needs in a professor?” 

“What, an eccentric idiot?” Arthur said with a snort. 

Merlin smacked him on the shoulder in reprimand and Arthur burst out laughing. At this point, they had both completely forgotten about Snape, who was still standing there with an expression of vexation on his face, but… Oh, well. 

“Well, since my interview is done already, we can go back if you want. Or we could finally go to Gringotts…?”

“Merlin, I’ve been trying to get you to go to Gringotts for actual years now.”

“Well—! Maybe today’s the day!” 

“Really?”

“... That’s a fair point, let’s go get food first.” 

Chapter Text

Merlin wiped the rest of his plate clean with a piece of naan and ate it with relish. They had gone out to a small little Indian restaurant for a late lunch and were very quickly sated with hot curries, soft, buttery naan, and fluffy rice. Arthur had a little bit of a flush on his cheeks from the spice, and he looked maddeningly lovely in the golden light of the restaurant, much to Merlin’s inconvenience. 

"So," Arthur raised his eyebrows expectantly as he leaned over the table. "You never told me what happened during your interview."

Merlin shrugged (rather suspiciously), which Arthur narrowed his eyes at. "Godric just made a scene, that's all..." Merlin trailed off.

Arthur gave him an unimpressed look. "That's it? Come on, what'd he do this time?"

Merlin coughed into his fist and tried to divert Arthur's attention. “Anyway, do you want to pay now? We should probably go if we want to get—”

“Merlin,” Arthur interrupted, giving him an unimpressed look. Merlin muttered a curse. Arthur knew his tricks by now (clearly) and didn't budge. 

He sighed, relenting. "Fine. You know that time I got drunk?"

"Which one, Merlin? You have to be more specific; you're really quite a lightweight." Arthur teased.

Merlin threw a paper napkin at his face and Arthur sputtered, throwing it right back. He laughed when it lightly bounced off Merlin's dark curls and back onto the table. Merlin shushed him and continued hesitantly:

"Um, that time you went to go get some chips or something and I was stuck with the four of them. Might've... accidentally spouted some spontaneous poetry..."

After a moment, Arthur's eyes lit up in recognition and his grin grew into one of smug delight, looking like the cat that'd gotten the cream. "The one about me, Merlin?" he said, getting all up in his face with it. Merlin made a truly pathetic sound of displeasure. "The one Godric wrote down and kept? That one? The one where you exercised your poetic grace to talk about my arse?"

"Oh my gods, stop," Merlin whined. He didn't know why he was still so embarrassed about it — it had happened around a thousand years ago now — but perhaps it was the fact that he was never going to live it down that made it so terrible. 

"How did it go again?" Arthur insisted gleefully. "He's got a bloody fantastic arse—"

"Shh! Not here!" Merlin whispered frantically, looking around at the other people in the restaurant nervously. There were a few that were glancing at them curiously, but so far, people mostly hadn't noticed that Arthur was trying to create a scene.

Arthur laughed at his pain because he was a royal prat! "Why not, Merlin? It's a work of art! Such a masterpiece needs to be shared with the world! What was the first part?" Arthur took a deep breath with that stupid shit-eating grin of his, and began in a purposefully theatrical voice: "His eyes are bl—!"

Merlin lunged at him, cutting the rest off.

It was an ordinary Wednesday morning as far as Poppy was concerned. She tended to her overnight patients — thankfully, there weren't all that many — and bandaged a few scraped knees. 

Poppy loved working at Hogwarts, even though it could be a little frustrating sometimes. She knew that Professor Dumbledore was incredibly grateful for her work, even if he thought she was wasting her healing talents at Hogwarts. She could be working in St Mungo's, 'saving lives' and 'performing miracles' as they say. However, she enjoyed working with children. Children were easier than adults, and sometimes more intelligent, depending on the comparison. Hogwarts was also a large target to more unsavoury people, so Poppy was trying her best to keep everyone safe. (Even if sometimes it felt like she was the only one.)

She liked the staff as well. Minerva and Pomona were very dear friends to her; they would often have tea together on the weekends. She could honestly care less about Argus Filch, but it wasn't her place to say such things. Everyone else was nice enough, though, even if she didn’t speak with all of them on a daily basis. (Although, Severus was a little too quiet for her tastes.)

Poppy sighed, wiping her hands on a clean towel as she looked out of the crystal-clear windows. Fresh green leaves were beginning to sprout onto the trees again, signalling the coming of spring. Poppy disliked the monotonous drag of winter, where the chill permeated the hard rock of the castle, glazed the sky with frost, and put animals into hibernation. She much preferred the chirping of birds, and the children running around outside with dirt smeared on their knees and their bright, laughing faces.

Yes, she liked it here, struggles and all. Here was her little slice of heaven. Her books, neatly ordered on their shelves; her healing tonics, tucked away in single file lines (cold remedies being the most abundant); her friends, always close by.

Poppy was broken from her revelry by the harsh sound of footsteps clapping down the hallway, running quickly in the direction of her wing.

"Madam Pomfrey!" yelled a student, who she recognised as Miss Olive Bishop, a first-year Hufflepuff. She'd been in for broken bones a month or so ago, having fallen after climbing a tree. 

She had a memorable face, that one. Her eyes were big and bright and her cheeks were round and pink. Mouse-brown hair, stiff and dry like straw, was tangled in her hair tie, and one of her front teeth were chipped. However, her frightened expression was the first thing Poppy noticed now.

"What is it? What's happened?" Poppy asked urgently, quickly running over to the girl.

The girl breathed heavily for a second, hands on her knees as she tried to catch her breath and slow her fast-beating heart.

"It's Snape!" she gasped out finally, her eyes wide and frantic. "He's gone completely mad! My friend — Meredith — She walked into the wrong room, we were both lost on our way to class, I think we— we might've taken a wrong turn— He was so angry, I don't know what— we— we ran away as fast as we could— It was like a hurricane—!"

Poppy's brow creased harshly in severe concern the more the girl stuttered. "Take me to him." she ordered and ran out of the hospital wing after her.

"MERLIN? WHERE'S MY COMB?" Merlin heard Arthur yell from their bedroom.

"Hang on a second!" Merlin called and scrambled up the stairs, nearly stubbing his toe on the protruding edge of one step.

They were finally going to Gringotts today. The plan had been to visit after Merlin's 'interview', but after the... Incident, Merlin had to drag Arthur back to the house in pursuit of other things. No, Merlin wasn't going to specify what those things were.

They ended up putting it off a day or two, but Arthur had woken up this morning fully determined to put their financial woes to rest. Besides, they couldn't go out and buy school supplies without money, so Merlin had to eventually consent.

Merlin walked into their bedroom and found Arthur staring in confusion into their dresser, clearly looking for where Merlin last placed his comb.

"Here," Merlin said, grabbing it from its place (sadly right in front of Arthur’s face). He pointed at the bed. "Sit."

Arthur obeyed, too preoccupied with lacing his boots to bicker with Merlin at the order. Merlin sat behind him, the bed dipping under his weight with a creak and the whisper of crinkling sheets.

Merlin brushed his fingers through Arthur's fluffed-up, unkempt hair. It was always sticking up in places in the morning and after a few years of knowing each other, it simply became Merlin's job to smooth it down every day. Merlin certainly didn't mind this; in fact, he found the act of combing Arthur's hair to be soothing nowadays. The world changed all of the time now, but at least Merlin would be able to wake up in the morning and do this for Arthur. 

Merlin hummed happily as he gently brought the comb through Arthur's hair. Arthur jerked his head as he leaned forward, muttering an ‘ow’ when the comb pulled too hard on a knot. "Stop moving, you idiot," Merlin muttered, poking him in the back. Arthur squawked at the sudden touch, arching his back away.

"Just— hurry up. At this rate, they’ll close before we even get there." Arthur complained, but he did take care not to move his head too much.

The comb ran through Arthur's golden hair, starting with the centre of his head before moving to smooth down the sides. Merlin carefully manoeuvred the comb around Arthur's ears, removing the small knots that had accumulated from yesterday, the needles gently scraping his scalp. Merlin did one more pass for good measure, then set it aside.

Arthur was wearing a thin red tunic for today's outing, which he insisted was for comfort more than anything, but Merlin still didn't believe him. Many years ago, Merlin had laughingly made fun of how low Arthur's shirts dipped — his whole chest showed sometimes! — and Arthur had been shocked. Apparently, he hadn't even noticed it! It'd driven Merlin to distraction so many times (it still did), and Arthur hadn't even known. How was that possible? 

Merlin remembered this with a fond smile, bending down to press a kiss to Arthur's nape. "Done," he said into Arthur's skin. Arthur turned around and kissed him slowly in thanks, his eyes closed contently. Merlin was about to tilt his head and deepen it, but Arthur pulled away and stood from the bed with an air of immovable resolve.

"Let's go," Arthur urged, motioning Merlin to move. Merlin sighed like this was a great chore.

"Maybe we can go tomorrow—"

"No!" Arthur protested. "Merlin, that's been your excuse for the last— gods, I don't even know anymore— We have to go today or we never will. So, get off your bottom and let's go!"

Merlin sulked. "I hate when you're right."

It was a Wednesday morning when Severus finally broke.

In hindsight, he knew it wasn't that student's fault for wandering into the wrong room, but it didn't change the fact that it had broken his desperately needed concentration. He'd skipped meals trying to regain any semblance of productivity, but it never worked. He couldn't make himself pay attention to what he was doing; his mind kept wandering off into the abyss of memories and things forgotten.

The bone-chilling fear on that student's face was burnt into his mind and it was his fault, he was entirely aware that he was losing it, but once he'd started yelling, he just couldn't stop. Everything, every little frustration and grievance he'd had over the past few months came pouring out onto the student, who Severus knew didn't deserve it, and Severus's hands were shaking and tears were clouding his eyes and glass was falling off the shelves, shattering on the floor, everything was falling apart—

He didn't know when Madam Pomfrey had run in, but he couldn't hear anything over the sound of his thumping heart and the breaths caught in his throat. Someone was taking him by the hands and pushing him back into a chair, shouting his name in his ear, but his eyes were closed, he couldn't see—

"Severus!" Pomfrey shouted. Severus jerked back in his chair, his eyes flying open to see he was still in his office, now wrecked before his eyes. Glass vials were smashed on the floor, books on their backs and their pages strewn open. His notes were thrown into every corner of the room like a great wind storm had come through.

"Are you alright?" Pomfrey immediately asked once she noticed his attention was back.

Severus didn't know what to answer to that, but the trembling in his arms and shoulders must have said enough.

Pomfrey sighed and began to gently pull him up. "Come on, up you get. When was the last time you ate, Severus?"

Severus couldn't remember.

Pomfrey shook her head in disappointment. Once Severus realised she was leading him toward the door, he backed away weakly, trying to pull away. He didn't want to go back out there, he didn't want everyone to see what a mess he was—

However, she pulled on his hands insistently. "The hospital wing isn't far," she muttered to him. "Students are in class now."

Severus shook his head faintly.

Pomfrey put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Come on, now, we'll get you fixed up. Get some food and water in you and you'll feel better."

Severus gave a shaky sigh and relented with defeat, stepping out the door after her.

Merlin looked up as he stood in front of the steps of the Gringotts Wizarding Bank. The building stretched grand and tall in front of him, glimmering marble pillars reaching for the sky on all sides. It was quite an architectural marvel, Merlin thought, considering it was leaning like the Tower of Pisa. Modern-day magical folk sometimes relied a little too much on magic when creating buildings. What were they supposed to do if the magic weakened and the whole thing collapsed? Surely there were safety precautions? 

Not that Merlin could talk; he'd used a lot of magic to build their cottage, even if they had created it mostly manually. When first building the structure, he and Arthur had hammered the nails in together, their arms flexing and straining from their efforts as they sweated through their tunics in the blaring sun. Merlin could vividly remember the way their shirts had stuck to their backs with sweat as they sat on the ground, drinking chilled water from their waterskins. Once that was done, Arthur did most of the hefting while Merlin flew the higher objects up into their places with magic. 

Really, they could've ignored the physical labour altogether and used magic entirely, which was what Merlin had wanted to do (because he knew his magic would keep it together), but Arthur had insisted that it would be more satisfying to do most of it by hand. Merlin had disagreed vehemently after aching all over the first day, but once Arthur had finally climbed into bed next to him inside their new home, he knew it had been worth it.

Merlin came back to the present when Arthur touched his shoulder to get his attention. He was abruptly reminded of why they were at Gringotts in the first place and his shoulders immediately slumped despondently.

"Gods, can we go back?" Merlin's voice dripped with dread. He turned around to try and head back the way they came, but Arthur caught him by the collar and dragged him back.

"Don't be such a baby, Merlin," Arthur chided. "It'll be over soon. It's not like I'm looking forward to it, either."

"No, you're just looking forward to making fun of me," Merlin muttered.

"What was that?" Arthur called as he walked up the steps toward the first set of doors, these ones being bronze. The second set, he knew, were silver.

"Nothing!" Merlin lied, then added under his breath, "Prat."

"Heard that!"

Standing beside the bronze doors were two goblins in scarlet and gold uniforms. Their eyes widened a bit once Merlin approached. Merlin gave a little wave to the nearest one and immediately regretted it when the goblin’s eyes widened even more, looking very much akin to saucepans. The goblin exchanged a look of paralyzed surprise with the other.

Arthur already had an amused expression on his face, so Merlin flicked him in the back of the head with magic. In retaliation, Arthur dragged him through the first set of doors, even if he dug his heels into the ground. 

Merlin looked at the warning poem carved into the silver doors with apprehension. The words were worn and familiar in his mind like the pages of a well-read book.

Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed,
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn,
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there.

It certainly wasn't the most welcoming of poems, but it served its purpose in deterring the faint of heart. Namely, him. He certainly didn't want to enter in the slightest.

Now, Merlin finally admitted to himself — as his shoes shuffled toward the last set of doors — that it was entirely his fault that they hadn't come here recently. There! He said it. No, he wasn't being dramatic, he just—

Merlin watched Arthur go through the doors with trepidation, yelping when his hand shot out to pull him inside, too. Gringotts really was beautiful, almost intimidatingly so; the sleek floors were so pristine and shiny that Merlin felt a little bad standing on it with his dirt-crusted boots. 

Merlin swallowed, ducking his head to try and avoid the eyes of everyone. Arthur shoved his shoulder forward insistently. 

The thing was that... Well, Merlin just... really hated coming here because—

"Emrys!" a voice shouted in a squeaky voice. Merlin internally groaned when many other goblins picked up their heads from inspecting their coins and turned to stare at them. For a moment, it was dead silent. The wizards and witches in the room glanced at the goblins in confusion.

The goblin that had announced their presence, who had just happened to walk by as they entered, dropped everything with a clatter and bowed so suddenly that Merlin worryingly heard his spine crack. He was probably one of the younger ones if he hadn't met Merlin yet; the older goblins just nodded their heads deferentially and politely pretended that they weren’t ogling at him out of the corner of their eyes. 

Beside him, Arthur stifled a snicker and Merlin whipped around to glare at him. Arthur covered his grin with his hand innocently.

"Welcome to Gringotts!" the goblin said to the floor. "What can we do for you?"

Merlin pursed his lips with a grimace and placatingly held up his hands. "Er, no need to bow— Is it Balok?" the goblin nodded enthusiastically, still not daring to look at him. Merlin bit his lip awkwardly, trying to ignore the incredulous stares he was getting from the ordinary witches and wizards in the room. "Uh, well, good to meet you, I suppose, Balok. Is there any chance Arthur and I could make a withdr—"

The goblin shot up with a wide grin full of sharp teeth, nodding his head so fast that Merlin was afraid it would pop off and roll away. "Of course! Anything my lord desires! I'll be right back!"

Balok promptly scampered off in the other direction, leaving Merlin and Arthur to stand there and stare at each other. Arthur's shoulders were shaking suspiciously.

"Every single time," Merlin pouted sullenly. Arthur finally broke and huffed a loud laugh, echoing through the otherwise still room, and wrapped his arm around Merlin's shoulders.

"It wasn't as bad. Do you remember the last one? Probably peed at the sight of you!" Arthur said, which wasn't reassuring in the least.

"I just don't understand how they know!" Merlin exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. "What am I doing that makes it so obvious that I'm—? That we're—?"

Before Arthur could answer, one of the nearby goblins piped up. "Your magic is very recognisable, Emrys."

Merlin frowned. "What do you mean?"

The goblin shrugged, peering down his spectacles at the pile of coins stacked in front of him. They shone a metallic gold from the light of the chandelier up above. "Everyone, as you know, has a unique magical signature, or aura, if you will. Yours is simply very potent which attracts a lot of attention, and that makes it easy for all creatures of magic to know it's you, no matter what form you may take."

"That's just wonderful," Merlin grumbled gloomily.

Arthur rubbed the ring on his forefinger, twisting the metal back and forth as he thought. "That doesn't explain how you recognise me, though. I don't have..." Arthur trailed off, not wanting to alert any witches or wizards listening in on their conversation that he wasn't, in fact, as magical as they thought.

The goblin cackled to himself as he weighed the coins on a little scale. "Forgive me, Pendragon, but I'm afraid you're so soaked in Emrys's magic that it makes no difference whatsoever."

Arthur gaped indignantly at the goblin. “What—!” 

Balok chose that moment to reappear.

"Right this way! Unfortunately, your vault is very far down, but with our mining cart system, you'll be down there in no time at all!"

Arthur groaned at the reminder. Merlin consolingly patted him on the shoulder.

Arthur leaned over as the mine cart finally came to a stop. Gods, was it always this bad? Or had they made it even more unbearable since they'd last visited? Of course, Merlin only looked a little green around the gills. He'd attribute his immunity to motion sickness to his hours of flying through the sky on dragons (specifically Aithusa, who was probably frolicking in a field somewhere back home). Arthur, however, was definitely not immune.

Feeling a little lightheaded, Arthur waved a hand in Merlin's general direction to tell him to leave him there and get what they needed while he tried to calm his churning stomach.

"You could've just stayed at the top, you know," Merlin muttered to him, putting a warm, comforting hand on his upper back. However, Arthur could hear the smile in his voice; this was definitely his revenge for laughing at him earlier.

Arthur whispered a strained 'shut up' over the side of the mine cart, hunching over painfully. Luckily, Arthur had had the foresight to wear a more comfortable shirt for this trip, so at least he wasn't struggling to breathe in a snug leather jacket or something.

Finally, Merlin seemed to take pity on him because he pressed a kiss to his hair and tumbled out of the mine cart, jostling it a little as he tripped over the edge. Arthur's face scrunched up a little at the sudden motion, tensing his body to try and stay as still as possible. 

There was a moment of silence and Arthur tried to take deep breaths through his nose, closing his eyes and staying frozen in place to make the nausea pass. A tightness was in his throat, making him want to throw up a little, but he struggled past it. 

"My lord?" Balok whispered hesitantly after a few minutes. "Is everything all right?"

That's when Arthur realised that Merlin had been unusually silent. Ducking his head, Arthur peeked at Merlin to see him standing there before their vault, his knees shaking like a newborn colt, clutching his head in his hands. Arthur swallowed the rock of worry that built up in his chest.

"Where is he?" Merlin said in a tremulous voice. "He's nearby, where is he?"

"What are you talking about, Merlin?" Arthur asked, hating how strained his voice sounded. Why must Merlin speak in riddles sometimes? "What is it?"

"They have a dragon here somewhere, he's hurting really badly," Merlin bit out. By the looks of it, he was trying to quell a splitting headache.

Balok went silent, but Arthur only needed to take one look at his guilty face to know that he knew what Merlin was talking about.

"I'll be right back," Merlin said vaguely, then disappeared with a gust of air.

"Merlin!" Arthur shouted, but it was already too late. 

He really was a hypocrite! All that talk of 'Arthur, don't run after something without me' and 'Arthur, you can't leave me behind like this'! And then he went and did it himself! How was Arthur supposed to know where he went if he didn't talk to him first??

He exhaled shakily, gripping the edges of the mine cart so hard that his knuckles were white. "Guess I have to get the money," Arthur muttered pitifully to himself, wincing as another wave of ill pulsed through him. Balok made a commiserating sound, having wilted under the heat of Merlin's disapproval.

Chapter Text

Merlin appeared in a small cavern. He hadn't exactly known where he was travelling to, but he'd followed the pull of his magic and ended up here. It was quite damp and dark; the rocks were glistening from the sliver of light coming from up above. It was not exactly the most welcoming. 

He sensed that he was still fairly deep in the underground of Gringotts, but not quite as far as his and Arthur's vault. Now that he thought of it, he and Arthur really should’ve waited before opening a vault, just so they wouldn’t be so far down… 

There was a faint prickle of darker magic chilling his skin and making the hair on his forearms raise, and it was definitely coming inside one of the nearby vaults, but he didn't have time to focus on that now.

Merlin slowly rounded the corner and came face to face with an immense cowering dragon, the sight immediately pulling at his heart. The dragon was frightened, but anyone would be if they'd been stuck in the cramped darkness for so long. He was a paler dragon, and he actually sort of resembled Aithusa in her early years. Merlin hoped the dragon hadn't been kept here as an egg, too. That would've surely stunted his growth. Aithusa was still a little crippled from what had happened; her wings couldn't stretch out all the way. (Merlin had tried his best to repair the damage, but he still needed to work on it a little more before her wings were restored to their fullest potential again.)

Merlin internally seethed. How could anyone think that it was alright to imprison a creature that was meant to stretch his wings and soar great lengths through the sky? How was this small space anywhere near justifiable for a dragon? Especially one of this size? He was clearly a Ukrainian Ironbelly, once you got past the discolouration. That was one of the biggest breeds of modern dragons! In fact, Merlin didn’t even reach past his foot.

Merlin took a deep breath to calm his nerves. If he sounded angry when he spoke, the dragon certainly wouldn’t trust him.

"Hey," Merlin whispered softly, not wanting to startle him.

The dragon's large head turned in his general direction. Merlin realised he might be partially blind once he saw his milky eyes, and mourned a little when he saw that the dragon's scales were weakly pale and flaking off from lack of sunlight and fresh air, coming off in rough patches like spots. His face and wings were marred with scars from old, painful gashes, which made Merlin sick to his stomach.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Merlin said gently, repeating the phrase into the dragon's mind. Modern dragons weren't as good at telepathic speech, but they usually understood what he was trying to say in the end. 

He held his hands out in the universal gesture of surrender, hoping to show the dragon he didn't have any weapons or a wand on him, even if he could barely see it.

The dragon paused, sniffing the air tentatively, then whined softly in the back of his throat. Merlin took a cautious step forward. This dragon could use him as a toothpick, honestly, which wouldn’t be pleasant, so he needed to approach this carefully.

"I can get you out of here, if you'd like," Merlin began, slowly drawing out a massive portal with his hand and a sparkle of golden magic, big enough to fit the dragon next to him. 

The dragon startled at the bright light, ducking his head away and curling in on himself with a low growl. But his head perked up a bit when the portal opened like an eye, revealing a large, grassy meadow full of flowers and fresh air. Merlin knew Aithusa was down there somewhere running around. She would know how to acclimate the dragon to his new home. 

The dragon sniffed again, shifting nervously forward.

"That's it," Merlin encouraged patiently, motioning him to keep going. "I'm not going to hurt you, I promise. We're kin."

The dragon huffed a great breath and took a shaky step forward, his muscles struggling a little after being stuck in a corner for so long.

Eventually, once he was sure no backlash was coming, he moseyed his way over to the portal, his tail jerking weakly side to side at the promise of freedom. With every step, the ground shook and dust fell from the ceiling. Even if he was far too thin and weak, the dragon still carried a lot of weight. 

"Good job, there you go," Merlin praised with a smile once he reached the portal, curiously sticking his head through it to smell the air. Merlin made sure not to touch him since he wasn't sure how the dragon would take to physical contact just yet.

After a little more coaxing, the dragon eagerly wobbled his way into the portal and into the bright meadow. He gave a big purr of excitement, stretching his wings in anticipation to fly.

"Hello?" Aithusa's voice called. Her head poked through the portal, her eyes landing on him. "Oh, it's just you."

"Not disappointed, are you?" Merlin joked.

Aithusa laughed. "Never. Who's this?"

Merlin smiled grimly. "We found a dragon trapped underneath Gringotts. Keep him company, would you?"

"Has he got a name?" Aithusa asked, contently blinking her big blue eyes in the warm air.

"Haven't thought of one yet..." Merlin rubbed his ear for a second in thought. "What about Remus? Does he seem like a Remus to you?"

Aithusa gave the appearance of a shrug somehow, tilting her head minutely. "I suppose it will do," she said, then turned to Remus.

"Hey! Don't leave without me!"

Remus whined at having to wait. Aithusa really looked tiny in comparison to the other dragon; her brilliant white head barely reached Remus’s hunched shoulders. 

“You haven’t flown in years, silly, you might pull a muscle,” Aithusa admonished the bigger dragon. Remus deflated a little and she lightly tapped him with her tail. “Come on, we’ll start slow. You’ll be flying through the sky in no time, okay?”

Satisfied Remus would be alright, Merlin closed the portal with a wave of his hand and popped back down to his vault below to see what Arthur was up to.

“What do you think of Emrys?” Godric asked, fiddling with his fingers nervously. He was sure he hadn’t entirely messed up Merlin’s chances at being hired — after all, Dumbledore had straight up said that he would! But, after Rowena’s constant badgering (hah, or perhaps raven-ing?), Godric was starting to feel slightly bad for ruining Merlin’s first impression with the current Headmaster.

Dumbledore didn’t make any strong show of emotion, but he did have a thoughtful look on his face, which Godric took as a good sign.

“What, feeling guilty for ruining Emrys’s interview?” Slytherin said.

Godric puffed up indignantly. “No! Just— I suppose I shouldn’t have interrupted, Headmaster, I know that you observe the most about a person when you first meet them?”

“Is that what Rowena told you?” Slytherin mocked. 

“Hush, boys, let the adults talk,” Helga interrupted in a good-natured tone. 

“No need to worry yourself,” Dumbledore reassured in a calm voice. Godric breathed out a sigh of relief. “I’ve been simply wondering what house he would be in if he ever went to Hogwarts. What are your thoughts?”

Slytherin cackled smugly and Godric rolled his eyes at the familiar sound. It had been a thousand years and he was still shoving it in all of their faces! Rowena just rolled her eyes and continued to read from her scrolls, whilst Helga pouted. 

“Definitely a Slytherin,” Slytherin said with a wide grin. 

“Hush, you snake,” Godric said morosely, his big shoulders slumping at the reminder of a battle long lost.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrow inquisitively. “What makes you say so, Salazar?” 

Slytherin’s grin did not diminish; if anything, it grew wider. “Simply a gut feeling, Headmaster,” Slytherin said graciously. 

“That’s utter horse shit—” Helga began to say to Slytherin’s overly-pleased face, but she was interrupted by a knock on the door.

Godric frowned. Who could possibly need something now? It wasn’t even mid-day! And weren’t the children supposed to be in class at the moment?

“Enter,” Dumbledore called, seemingly just as curious.

Godric's frown only grew, his red, bushy eyebrows drawing together with worry when a young girl, no more than eleven, anxiously walked into the room, fiddling with her small fingers.

Olive bit her lip nervously as she looked up at the huge gargoyle statue guarding the Headmaster’s office. She’d never been this far up the tower before — she had never needed to. But Madam Pomfrey had asked her to go inform the Headmaster of what had happened, so here she was. 

Olive remembered the way Madam Pomfrey had paused before entering Snape’s office, then sent Olive away with the password to the Headmaster’s office. Olive had been really curious to see what she was going to do to Snape, but apparently, Madam Pomfrey had known that because she didn’t let her stick around to watch. 

(Also — really? ‘Lemon drop’? That was the password? She could’ve gotten into the Headmaster’s office just by shouting her favourite sweets!) 

She had never really had a one-on-one conversation with the Headmaster before, and she sort of felt like she was being a naughty child sent to the principal’s office back in America. She hadn’t done anything wrong, of course, but that didn’t fix the pit of anxiety growing in her stomach. 

Taking a deep breath and wiping her sweaty hands on her robes, she looked up at the gargoyle again and warily said, “Uh, lemon drop…?”

She jumped when the gargoyle suddenly hopped out of the way, but sagged with relief nevertheless. She had been a little worried that the password wouldn’t work, for whatever reason. 

She slowly made her way up the large, polished stairs until she came face to face with a huge door, her small shoes looking like little bugs on the steps. Fiddling with her sleeve, she raised her shaking hand to knock. 

“Enter,” the Headmaster said, and she slowly creaked the door open, peering inside with wide eyes. 

The Headmaster, sitting at his tall desk, motioned her inside with a comforting smile. Olive inhaled shakily and shuffled into the room, her eyes widening in wonder at all the little objects and books decorating the shelves. Meredith would die to know what all those little machines did!

The overall room had a warm, orange-brown tone to it. She already knew a lot of people had entered this office before — it just had the feeling of being lived in, which was a little comforting. And a big red bird was sitting next to the Headmaster’s desk! It was really pretty, but Olive knew better than to try and touch it at this point. 

“Good morning,” the Headmaster greeted, motioning for her to take a seat in front of his desk. She plopped into one of the cushy red chairs, the cushions practically swallowing her small body whole. She wondered if he had made the comfy couches in the Hufflepuff common room, too, or if they were just part of the school’s furniture. 

“What is your name?” the Headmaster asked gently.

“Uh— Olive Bishop, sir,” Olive stammered, suddenly reminded of why she was there.

“I am pleased to meet you, Miss Bishop,” he said. “May I ask what the purpose of your visit is?”

Olive nervously tugged a strand of her hair between her fingers. “Um, Madam Pomfrey sent me, sir.” 

“What for?” 

“Well,” Olive began, her eyes darting everywhere except the Headmaster’s face. “I was… I was walking toward my first class with my friend, but I think… I think we might’ve gotten a little lost. I— I know we shouldn’t get lost anymore since it’s— it’s near the end of term, but—”

“That’s perfectly alright,” he reassured. “I understand. Hogwarts is a large castle.” 

Olive gave a small nod and screwed up the rest of her courage to continue: “Um, well, my friend — Meredith — she walked into the wrong room and it turned out to be Snape’s office. We didn’t— we had no idea that it was his office, and we didn’t mean to interrupt his work, but he got really upset at us. I have no idea what happened, but suddenly everything went crazy and things were flying around the room. I told Meredith to go to class while I got Madam Pomfrey because— I guess I didn’t really know what else to do and I thought she might… be able to help. Then she told me to come and tell you what happened.” Olive finished. 

She finally braved a chance at looking Professor Dumbledore in the eyes and grew a little worried when she saw the perturbed expression on his face. 

“I’m sorry that we bothered him, Professor,” she said quietly. God, if she got expelled for this, her mother would kill her!

He just shook his head, though. “It’s alright, Miss Bishop. Thank you for informing me of this. You may go back to class now.” 

Olive knew a dismissal when she heard one, so she got up and shakily stepped out of the room. 

Well, she thought thankfully. At least that’s over.

“Merlin! There you are!” Arthur called once Merlin appeared in another gust of air, an infuriated look on his face. “About time you showed up. What happened?”

Merlin took a deep breath and quickly ranted to Arthur about the dragon to fill him in, and told him that Remus would now be staying with Aithusa until he decided he wanted to live somewhere else. Arthur nodded cautiously, noticing how irritated he still was about the whole thing. 

“That’s fine, then… Could you transport us back up? I don’t want to take the mine cart again.”

“Oh, but sire,” Merlin simpered in an exaggerated tone. “We have to pretend to be normal citizens. If I popped up in front of a dozen witches and wizards in a building that has wards preventing people from apparating—”

“Oh, alright, just shut up, then,” Arthur groused, shoving a money bag into his hands. 

Merlin took it gratefully, opening it to see it filled to brim with galleons, sickles, and knuts. “Do you really think we’ll need this much?”

“I have no idea when we’ll come back next, so yes,” Arthur said, his voice tinged with annoyance. 

Merlin laughed awkwardly. “Back into the mine cart with you! I have someone to chew out before we leave.” 

He could hardly wait until the mine cart had come to a stop before he was launching out of it in search of the perpetrator of this whole mess, leaving Arthur to fend for himself against motion sickness (again).

“Who was in charge of the dragon?” Merlin demanded once he reached the main hall. 

Arthur, leaning against the wall with a queasy expression, knew not to interrupt at this point. Merlin knew he’d felt the anger sizzling underneath his skin once he’d returned to their vault and he knew better than to try and stop him. 

A couple of the goblins near him were startled at the loud sound of his voice, the coins they were weighing clattering the floor in surprise. Several exclamations of curses followed as they hurriedly popped out of their seats and began to gather them, eyeing the visiting wizards and witches with suspicious eyes, like they might snatch a few and run. 

“What do you speak of, Master Emrys?” the head goblin — Mordak — said from his pedestal. 

Merlin turned his golden glare on him and waited. Mordak visibly fidgeted after a few minutes, growing more and more uncomfortable when Merlin stayed quiet. Finally, he glanced away for a half-second, which was all Merlin needed to know he was guilty. 

“Do you have any idea what kind of offence against nature you’ve been implementing deep underground this bank, Mordak?” Merlin hissed. “How dare you keep a dragon of that size down there like that! It might’ve been halfway excusable if he was a cave dragon and if he was treated fairly, but you’ve clearly disregarded both of those things!”

The head goblin clenched his jaw to keep it from trembling. “We did what we had to to protect the—”

“That’s another thing!” Merlin was full-on ranting now. “You used a poor dragon, my kin, to protect a vault that contains dark magic and gods know what else in it! I know you don’t have any responsibility over what people put into their vaults, but come on!”

The head goblin remained silent. 

“At the very least, you could have taken the dragon out for a fly and given it a proper meal! But no, when I get down there, I see a dragon scared for his life because his caretakers didn’t feed him properly—” Merlin counted the things off on his fingers— “Didn’t give him enough space to be comfortable, didn’t treat him with respect — I saw those scars, don’t shake your head at me — and didn’t give him the sunlight and fresh air that he needed to be healthy and happy.”

Merlin took a deep breath, trying to calm the passionate beating of his heart. “If you really insist on having a dragon in the first place, you need to actually take care of them! However, at this point, I don’t think you’ve earned the privilege.” 

Thoroughly chastened, Mordak could do nothing except nod. His fellow goblins watched the scene unfold, some with uncaring expressions and others grimacing, knowing they would certainly not want to be in Mordak’s place. 

Merlin buried his head in his hands, trying to stop his frustration from overflowing. He felt Arthur’s hand on his shoulder after a few moments.

“You know, you could make a deal with him. He already owes you for the stunt he pulled, and I know you’d feel bad if he lost his job for this.” Arthur said into his mind.

Merlin thought for a moment. “I suppose I could, but what could I possibly want in return from him? I have everything I need, now that I’ve taken the dragon off his hands.” 

“Maybe right now,” Arthur conceded. “But in the future, it might come in handy. You said there was dark magic down there, too — could be worth looking into eventually.”

“You mean I should ask for a future favour?” Merlin peeked out of his hands to look at Arthur incredulously. “There’s no way he would agree to something like that! Even if I’ve backed him into a corner right now, asking for a favour of indeterminable value wouldn’t be fair. We don’t know which vault exactly I would need access to yet.” 

Arthur hummed. “Then make him another offer that he can’t refuse. You’ve taken away the main source of protection those vaults had, so you could offer to replace that security in return for a favour.”

Merlin chewed the inside of his cheek, glancing at the head goblin curiously. “Maybe… Maybe that would work. What’s with you being so clever today? Was there something in your tea?” 

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Very funny. Come on, don’t keep him waiting any longer; he looks like he might bolt in the next few seconds.”

Merlin nodded and took another deep breath. “Alright,” he said, addressing Mordak again. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to make a deal with you. What you’ve done has already deeply offended me, you know, but I’m willing to look past it if you hold up your end of this bargain. Got it?”

Mordak swallowed and cleared his throat, grateful that they had returned to a more professional conversation. “Yes, of course, my lord. What is your offer?”

“I’ve already taken the dragon off your hands, so he’s no longer your responsibility.” Merlin began in a lowered voice, walking up closer to the pedestal so the other humans wouldn’t hear. Arthur trailed behind him for moral support (Merlin really hated doing things like this). “However, I’m aware that this leaves a gap in your security. I’m willing to place enchantments of my own design around the vault. I’m sure you’d agree this would protect the contents of the vault much more reliably than a malnourished and weakened dragon.”

“Of course,” Mordak agreed smoothly, “And what would you require in exchange?” 

Merlin spoke slowly as he tried to figure out the best way to phrase his request. “I sense that I might need to inspect a vault or two in the future. It is my responsibility to deal with things that go against the balance of nature, and I have a feeling that there is something in one of the vaults that might compromise this balance. I only ask that you allow me to do my duty.” 

Mordak hesitated for a moment. He clearly knew that Merlin was essentially asking to be allowed to go into any vault of his choosing, but as it was, Merlin was confident that he wouldn’t be able to deny his request, especially after his mistake… and the spectators that were currently watching them.

Mordak seemed to know this, too, because he glanced back at his fellow goblins and winced. 

“I accept this proposal,” Mordak said. “My apologies for the inconvenience, we had no intention of offending you or Mr Pendragon on your visit to Gringotts this morning. It was a pleasure, as always, doing business with you.”

Merlin nodded curtly. He really just wanted to go home now, honestly. “Thank you, Mordak. I appreciate that you can acknowledge your mistake so professionally. I’ll come back within the next week or so and implement those wards we spoke of. In the meantime, I bid you goodbye.” 

With that, Merlin spun around as dignifiedly as he could and took Arthur by the hand. 

“Home?” Arthur asked, squeezing his hand. 

“Yes,” Merlin muttered, the toll of the day already leaving him exhausted. It probably wasn’t even noon yet, but he really did not like talking to creatures of stupidity. “Would you care for a nap?”

“Sure,” Arthur agreed, still a little queasy. It would definitely help to try and sleep it off, Merlin thought. 

With that, they strode back out into the clear morning side-by-side.

Chapter Text

Severus walked up the steps to the Headmaster’s office with unease. There was only one real reason why Dumbledore would want to see him at this time of day, and Severus was desperately pretending he didn’t know what that reason was.  

He walked into the room with tense shoulders, awaiting some sort of punishment for his behaviour. However, Dumbledore appeared perfectly at ease and entirely unaware that Severus was gearing himself up for a confrontation. 

“You wanted to see me, sir,” Severus said in a low, worn voice. 

“Yes,” Dumbledore confirmed, not even bothering to look him in the eye. Instead, he was looking through a stack of papers. “Please, have a seat, Severus.”

Severus glanced at the chair like it might have spikes protruding from the cushions. He sat down.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. “I’m sure you’re aware of what the… topic of conversation for this meeting is already, so I will not insult you by dancing around it.”

Severus nodded, looking at the table with growing resignation. He was expecting some sort of reprimand, anything to tell him off for his earlier actions, but nothing came. 

“Are you alright?” asked Dumbledore. 

Severus’s eyes flicked up to him thoroughly out of surprise. What was he supposed to say to that? What did ‘alright’ even mean anymore? He couldn’t say yes, clearly; the Headmaster would surely just discard that as a lie, especially after what had happened today.

Severus swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’m trying,” he replied, which wasn’t all that much, but it was the most truthful answer that he could give. It’s not like he had anything besides the truth left to give, anyway. 

Dumbledore sighed like this answer disappointed him. A spark of anger twitched in Severus’s chest at this. What the hell did he want him to say? No?

“I know you’re trying, Severus, I’m only worried if you’re receiving the support you need to recover from your… unfortunate circumstances,” Dumbledore explained gently as if he were talking to a child.

Severus ground his teeth together in silence, glaring at the shiny, polished wood of Dumbledore’s desk. 

Dumbledore frowned at this and decided to pursue a different tactic. “Alas, I know that you surely have other people you would choose to confide in over me. I only hope that you talk to someone about how you’re feeling, Severus. However, I think we should take this remaining time to update you on certain changes that might occur in the next school year,” Dumbledore said. Severus clenched his fists the more he spoke.

He hated it. He hated the way he just… pushed it all aside like that. Wasn’t he going to say anything about it? Or was he just going to ignore it like he’d been ignoring him for the entire time he’d been at Hogwarts? 

Dumbledore carried on obliviously. “I’m sure you’re aware by now that you will not be the only change in staff — you remember I asked you to escort a man named Emrys to my office the other day. Next week — same day and time as Emrys — another man named Pendragon will be coming up to my office for an interview, so I’d appreciate it if you also took the time to escort him through the castle.

“I’m sure you’re wondering what positions they’ll take. For now, I believe I will have Emrys teach an advanced elective class for the sixth and seventh years if enough students choose to take it. As for Pendragon, he has many skills as it is, but I’m thinking that he’ll be the most comfortable if he takes over the position as Quidditch Coach and Flying instructor. I’m sure you know by now that our current instructor has been having some health concerns over the past few years. She mentioned her desire to retire the other day—”

“Stop,” Severus hissed. “Just— stop.” 

Dumbledore, confused, fell silent. 

“Why would you bother with this?” Severus asked, looking at the ceiling with a slightly hysterical laugh. He realised with defeat that tears were pooling in his eyes again. Apparently, his nerves were too frayed for this conversation. “All you’ve done since I arrived is avoid me! You never tell me anything, why start now? ”

Dumbledore peered down his spectacles at him, concerned. “I care about your opinion, Severus.”

“Don’t lie!” Severus shouted, springing to his feet. He was now looking down at Dumbledore, instead of the other way around. “You know what? I could care less about Emrys getting the job! I could care less about Pendragon taking over for the Quidditch coach! It doesn’t change the fact that you still haven’t told me why you insisted I come to Hogwarts early! I don’t want to be here!” 

Severus’s chest heaved for breath at his outburst. Dumbledore was surprised — in fact, Severus had surprised himself, too.

“Severus—” Dumbledore tried to pacify, but Severus ignored him entirely. 

“Why do you insist I stay inside all of the time? Why do I have to—” Severus struggled to find the words, the emotion colouring his voice making it hard to speak— “And I can’t stand it anymore! Do you— Do you know how hard it is? Hogwarts isn’t a home to me anymore!” Severus’s shaking hands came up to wipe his eyes. “I don’t want to be here, Dumbledore, why are you trapping me here?”

“Severus,” Dumbledore finally interrupted. Severus hated how calm his voice was. “I need you to take a deep breath.”

Severus glared at him silently. Why wasn’t he arguing with him? He should! That’s all Severus wanted; he needed to see that Dumbledore was human like the rest of them, instead of an elusive god hiding away in his office, tinkering with their lives behind the scenes. 

A moment passed by, filled with the sound of Severus’s heavy breathing as they both waited for him to calm down. 

Dumbledore nodded encouragingly. “Thank you. Severus, I wanted you to come to Hogwarts because I didn’t think you were going to be safe outside the protection of its walls. I want you to understand that I never intended to cause any distress for you, or for you to feel misled and excluded.” Dumbledore sighed again. “I just wanted you to be safe.” 

That was it? Really? Severus wanted an argument, not a guilt trip. However, there was nothing he could do but grin and bear it. Dumbledore was right; Severus wasn’t really safe outside of Hogwarts, and if he kept this act up, he’d definitely be kicked out before the next school year even started.

Severus clenched his jaw. “I understand.”

“As for my absence of late…” Dumbledore trailed off. “That wasn’t my intention either. I’m afraid I simply did not know how much space you needed. But I see now that I was wrong. I will, of course, endeavour to fix my behaviour toward you, Severus, if you would still welcome it.” 

Severus wasn’t really sure how to feel about this development. He wanted people to treat him like he was there, but not like he was made of glass, and he feared that that was what Dumbledore meant. 

“I wouldn’t want it to become a burden to you,” Severus replied haltingly. “I… understand that you’re very busy, you don’t need to babysit—”

Dumbledore shook his head. “No, I appreciate your company, Severus. However, I sense that this is not the only thing that troubles you?”

“What?” Severus said, his previous anger and discomfort replaced by bewilderment. “What do you mean? What are you talking about?”

“I’m only wondering if you are feeling overwhelmed by your new duties at Hogwarts?” Dumbledore ventured. Severus opened his mouth to protest, but Dumbledore waved him off. “It would be a very natural feeling, Severus. I would understand if you desired a break of some kind. My apologies, I should have realised how hard it would be for you to come back so soon. If you would like, I could clear away your schedule for a couple of days this week. You may go sightseeing, or visit some family perhaps? I would only ask that you take care of yourself and avoid conflict until you get back.” 

Severus gaped at Dumbledore. “Who would I even—?” Severus began heatedly, but paused as a thought crossed his mind.

The Malfoys had invited him to their house for a cup of tea a couple of days ago. At the time, Severus had trashed the invitation — after all, he didn’t want to socialise with his… previous circle of friends more than he had to. However… Maybe he did need a break from Hogwarts. He had already admitted that he couldn’t handle being there all the time with no reprieve. And, if there was anyone more different from Hogwarts, it would be the Malfoys. 

Severus’s shoulders slumped as he came to this conclusion. Well, maybe Dumbledore would finally realise he was useless and discard him after he came back. Because that was what this was about, wasn’t it? Severus needed to prove Dumbledore was like everyone else. 

“Fine. I’ll take a break if that’s what you want.” Severus grumbled. 

“I’m glad,” Dumbledore whispered. “Severus, please, do not hold back on things like this. I need to hear from you.”

Severus pursed his lips at the hypocrisy. “But you won’t let me hear from you?”

Dumbledore glanced away. “This was not my best attempt at making you feel welcome. I shall strive to do better when I can, Severus.”

Severus wasn’t so sure how much of this Dumbledore would hold true, but he supposed it was better than nothing.

Arthur was lying on the bed next to Merlin feeling vaguely disconnected from everything. It wasn’t really anyone’s fault, not anymore, but sometimes right before sleep, old insecurities would bubble up to the forefront of his mind. They were familiar now, habitually turned over in his mind so much that their sharp edges were worn down and relatively harmless, but they still popped up to bother him every once in a while nonetheless. 

Once he’d learnt about Merlin’s magic, he’d been absolutely devastated, but not really for the reasons Merlin expected him to be. Sure, he’d been angry that Merlin had been lying to him, but it was more than that. For one, it was the overwhelming feeling that while Arthur had made a very close friendship with Merlin, it had been one-sided the entire time. It was silly, really, but at the time he’d become afraid that he wasn’t actually that important to anyone because if even Merlin was scared of him — and Arthur could tell he had been to an extent, no matter how many times he’d said otherwise — then… who did he really have? 

Merlin had been (and still was) the most important person in his entire life. At the time, he’d thought this feeling hadn’t been mutual at all if Merlin couldn’t even be comfortable revealing such an integral part of himself. 

Arthur still felt that way sometimes, even if he knew it was clearly false. As the years went by, Arthur often felt like he’d already been lost to history. He had no title, no kingdom, or anything left of his previous life in Camelot — other than Merlin, of course, and the ruins of their castle — and he wondered whether or not he had anything to contribute to society anymore. 

After a while, he’d spoken to Merlin about this — reluctantly — and Merlin had told him not to stake his self-worth on his achievements. That was certainly easier said than done. Even after all these years, Uther still managed to make a shadow on his life, making him question whether he was really worthy of the gifts bestowed on him, or if he was enough. 

“I can hear you thinking,” Merlin mumbled into their pillows, interrupting his thoughts. His eyes were closed and peaceful in the golden glow of afternoon light, his dark eyelashes making shadows on his skin. “Might wanna stop that before you damage something important in that empty cavern of yours.” 

Arthur laughed softly, settling into their banter to distract himself. “If you’re so sure my skull is empty, then there wouldn’t be any risk of damaging anything, Merlin.” 

“I’m sure you’d manage it.” Merlin smiled impishly, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He opened his eyes and squinted against the faint light coming through the curtains. “What’s wrong?”

Arthur gave a small shake of his head, closing his eyes and trying to go to sleep. “Old worries. It’s fine.” 

“Mm,” Merlin breathed, reaching out for him. “C’mere.”

“Hm?” 

Merlin shuffled closer to him on the bed until their chests were pressed together and Merlin’s legs tangled amongst his own. Absently, Merlin dragged a warm hand over his arm and gently up the bare slope of his back towards his nape. Arthur shivered at the feeling of his fingers trailing against his skin so softly, and then Merlin cupped the side of his face, brushing his thumb against Arthur’s cheekbone. Arthur leaned into the touch. 

“Thought I heard an echo up there.” Merlin knocked on Arthur’s skull.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “And you’re the most incompetent, lazy servant I’ve ever had in my life. You must’ve scared the good ones off with your clumsiness.” 

“Really? I’m pretty sure all the others just didn’t have the qualifications I do.”

“And what are those?”

“Loving you,” Merlin whispered. 

Arthur blinked, not expecting the answer. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Merlin said, smiling softly at him. 

“Must’ve gotten hit over the head or something.” Arthur retorted weakly. 

“Maybe,” Merlin conceded, playing with a strand of Arthur’s hair. “It’s been a long recovery process, for sure.”

“Might need to get that checked out,” Arthur murmured. 

“Mm. In the meantime, let me kiss you.” 

Arthur reached over to pull him closer, wrapping his arms around him tightly as he ducked his head to inhale the clean scent of Merlin’s hair. “I don’t recall that being in the job description.”

Merlin shook his head fondly. “That’s all me, I’m afraid.” 

Then, Merlin turned to kiss him sweetly and, honestly, how could Arthur refuse him?

Severus swallowed his tea awkwardly. The clinking sound of him placing his teacup back into its saucer echoed throughout the room. 

Narcissa was bouncing baby Draco on her lap, trying to stop the boy from reaching for the sparkling spoons with his grubby little hands. There were mere wafts of platinum blond hair floating on his head, so scarce that it was safe to say he almost didn’t have any hair at all. He already looked like a little lord himself, actually. Well, when he wasn’t trying to shove silver spoons into his mouth, that is. 

It was a little surreal to finally see Draco after all this time. During the war, Narcissa and Lucius had kept Draco a complete secret, even from their own family. This was the first time Severus had ever seen the boy. For some reason, he was shocked by how similar the boy looked to his father. 

“So,” Narcissa started hesitantly, glancing over at her husband. Lucius was pointedly stirring his tea, not daring to make eye contact with her. Narcissa gave up on trying and turned back to Severus with a kind smile. “How have you been holding up, Severus? I understand it’s been difficult these past few months.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d rather not talk about it.” Severus bit out. He also didn’t dare to meet her eyes. 

“Of course,” she said graciously. She was probably used to her house guests being mildly belligerent at times. “How is Hogwarts then? Anything new happening over there?” 

Severus paused, watching cautiously as Lucius perked up a little to listen more intently. “I suppose… There are a few more changes in staff than is usually normal.”

“Oh? Besides yourself, you mean?” Narcissa asked, relieved that there was finally a conversation pending. 

“Yes. There are going to be two new professors besides myself next year, but there might be a third. You know the rumours about the Defence… position…” Severus trailed off, noticing that Lucius was leaning so far toward him now that his long, near-white hair was almost dipping into his tea. 

Narcissa noticed as well when Severus stopped talking and she hit Lucius on the arm. “Don’t be rude, Lucius,” she scolded, then turned back to Severus with a smile. 

Lucius, thoroughly chastened, leaned back into his seat and set to continue the meaningless task of stirring his tea. 

Severus was struck dumb by a realisation at the sight. There had been a reason why he hadn’t wanted to come here outside of pure anti-socialness — it was because, in the end, even with everything that had happened with the Dark Lord, the Malfoys still had everything he didn’t have. A family, a life, money, love for each other — all of it, Severus hadn’t truly had before. Such things were entirely out of his grasp now. 

Severus watched, feeling very ostracised, as Narcissa hushed Draco, bouncing him on her lap as he whined and tried to grab the teaspoon in Lucius’s hand. She reached into one of the pockets of her purse and pulled out a rattle, which Draco latched on to and shook vigorously to hear the bells jingle. Lucius watched with a warm look in his eyes, and somehow that was what was too much for Severus. He looked back down at his tea with a rock in his stomach.

“So, what were you saying, Severus?” Narcissa continued seamlessly as if nothing had happened in the last thirty seconds. 

“Um, well,” Severus blustered, taken off guard. “The— The Defence Against the Dark Arts position, there’s been rumours of some sort of… curse being put on it. None of the teachers seem to be able to stay in that job for more than a year.” 

“How awful,” Narcissa commiserated. “Is there any way around it? Surely there has to be a loophole in whatever this curse is.”

Severus shrugged. “To my knowledge, no loopholes have been found.”

“I’ve heard that rumour,” Lucius suddenly said. He dropped his spoon into his tea with a loud clank. Narcissa whipped toward him with a fierce glare, but he ignored it, even though there was an uncomfortable grimace on his face. 

“Really?” Severus inquired cautiously. 

Lucius nodded. “I heard that… that the Dark Lord—” Narcissa huffed loudly and clenched her jaw and turned her angry gaze away from him, ignoring him entirely in favour of playing with Draco. Lucius winced, but continued anyway at his own expense: “I heard the Dark Lord, a long time ago, applied for that job at Hogwarts and… Professor Dumbledore turned him down, so he put a curse on it.” 

Severus tried to pretend his shoulders hadn’t tensed at the mention of that man, slowly putting his cup back down onto its saucer. “I see,” he replied in his most polite tone, but even he could hear the strained discomfort in his voice. 

“Speaking of,” Lucius glanced at Narcissa nervously. “Severus, something has been… plaguing my thoughts for a while, and I was wondering if you could shed some light on the topic…”

Severus stared at him impassively. His fist clenched tightly at his side. 

Lucius cleared his throat, tugging at his collar like it was hot, even though the room itself was quite chilly. He clearly wasn’t oblivious to the murderous aura slowly encompassing Narcissa’s form, and neither was Severus. “You were, uh, far closer to— to him, in terms of— uh— trust, I suppose— I was just wondering—”

Narcissa subtly kicked him, but he stumbled on.

“I was wondering if he might have told you anything— If he had any sort of— of— back-up plan should the— incident at the Potters go wrong—”

“Get to your point, Malfoy,” Severus said, grinding his teeth together. 

Lucius swallowed. “My mark, Severus. I swear it— I saw it flicker the other day, and I thought—”

“Lucius!” Narcissa exclaimed in disbelief. Draco watched with wide, naive eyes at the scene unfolding right in front of him. “That is not a topic for a time like this!” 

“Just— just look!” Lucius said desperately, ripping up the sleeve of his shirt to bare his Dark Mark at Severus. Severus flinched immediately at the sight of it, but Lucius continued to look at him imploringly. “What’s wrong with it? I thought— if he was truly gone, it would look more—”

Severus didn’t want to look, but the damage was already done. In fact, he couldn’t stop looking at it now that it was in front of him. Severus watched Lucius’s mark with a dark edge in his eyes. Of course, it was faded — just like Severus assumed his own was — but… maybe… Now that he was closer to it, he did notice that the edges of it— it looked almost like it was… drifting? Like a cloud, but like a cloud, you’d have to watch it for a while to truly see any movement. Were his eyes playing horrible tricks on him?

Severus hadn’t looked at his own mark in months now. He didn’t dare to — he was afraid that once he did, it would come back to life in front of him and summon him once again to some horrid place. 

Instead of replying, his eyes flicked up to Lucius’s threadbare expression with anger in his heart. “This is why you invited me? To talk about— to talk about this?!” Severus seethed. Lucius, already thoroughly subdued, quickly covered the mark again. “After everything that’s—? He almost ruined your lives!”

“I just wanted to be sure that he was— that he was truly gone, Severus, I didn’t mean—” Lucius stuttered, helplessly looking at Narcissa, who stubbornly didn’t meet his gaze.

“I don’t care! I’m not a pawn of his! Not anymore! He—” Severus’s voice cracked— “He’s already ruined my life, how could you still care about him at all? I— Never mind.” Severus swallowed the emotion building in his throat to save face. He needed to get out of here. “Thank you for tea, Narcissa, but I have to go.”

“Severus!” Narcissa yelled after him as he dashed out of the house as quickly as he could. “Severus, wait!” 

Severus made it to the gates before Narcissa caught up to him, the grass and rocks crunching underneath their shoes loudly. Both of them were out of breath, but Narcissa was determined not to let him leave. She grabbed him by the elbow before he could make his escape. 

“Severus,” she panted. “Please, don’t go.”

“Why not?” Severus choked out. “You seem to think I’m still the same awful person I was before, why won’t you let me leave?” 

Severus tried to run off again, but it was fruitless. 

“No!” Narcissa shouted, yanking him with surprising strength, forcing him to look at her. “Listen to me. Please.” 

Severus bit the inside of his cheek, but he knew he couldn’t deny her. After all, she was the only friend he had. “Fine,” he sighed. His struggling stopped, but she didn’t let go of him, even if her grip slackened a little.

“Severus, I’m so sorry about Lucius today,” she whispered, looking up at him with regret in her eyes. “That was not the intention we had when I sent you the invitation.” 

“Then what?” Severus asked flatly. 

“We— Merlin, this is such an awful way to ask you after—” Narcissa made a frustrated noise. “I swear, my husband may be the death of me— Severus, we— I wanted to ask if… If you’d want to be Draco’s godfather.” 

Severus froze. “What?”

Narcissa backtracked quickly, fretting over his less than enthusiastic reaction. “I know this is a horrible way to ask, given Lucius’s behaviour today, but that’s what I wanted to ask you when you came over.”

Severus glanced down at her in utter confusion. “I— but why me? Of all people? Now?”  

Narcissa sighed and patted him on the arm. “Well, I trust you. And Lucius does as well, even though he has a horrible way of showing it. And given—” she cut herself off— “Well, I figured that if either of us might… If we were gone, I want to know that someone will be there for our son. You know my family, Severus. I could hardly ask many of them the same and be sure that they would care for Draco as their own.” 

“So, I am the back-up plan this time,” Severus said slowly. Narcissa shook her head insistently.

“No, not a back-up plan, Severus. We want someone Draco can look up to other than Lucius and I. Promise me you’ll think about it?” Narcissa pleaded. “You wouldn’t have to come over too often, but— It would make me feel better if Draco had someone he could trust, too, when he gets older.” 

Severus opened his mouth to protest but stopped once he saw the earnest look in her bright eyes. He really didn’t understand why they would pick him of all people — he wasn’t that good with children and he surely wasn’t the best role model — but maybe he really was the only person they could ask after everything had happened. 

A crease formed between Narcissa’s eyebrows the longer he stayed silent, and the worry she was radiating was enough to make him break the quiet. 

“I suppose I could think about it,” he conceded finally, and Narcissa breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thank you,” Narcissa whispered, hugging him tightly. “Thank you, Severus.” 

Severus hesitantly patted her on the back, trying to disguise the growing anxiety building in his chest. “Of course,” he replied, his voice stilted. “Anything you want.”

Chapter Text

June 1982

Helena floated towards her favourite window. It seemed gloomy for a summer morning such as this one, but all days seemed gloomy, grey, and dull now that she was dead. The sun didn’t shine as bright as she remembered, the leaves weren’t as green as she remembered, and the sound of laughter didn’t seem as joyful anymore. 

Helena was like a wisp in the wind most days, unwilling to talk to anyone, or do anything but watch the world age around her from her window. She didn’t expect death to be so melancholy, or so… bitter. She shouldn’t have died. She hadn’t done anything wrong, she hadn’t asked for it or wanted it, but she had died anyway. Was it just that unfair? Was death just that cruel? What did she do to deserve such torture? Her killer was in the same castle every day, and whenever she saw him, a pit of dread formed in her nonexistent stomach. 

Agony, in its purest form, was hearing the sound of clinking chains as he floated down the hallways. It was even more painful because she didn’t hate him anymore. The Bloody Baron, for his terrible name, was not so bloody really. Was she wrong for being wary of him for the way he’d treated her all those years ago? It seemed like an age away now. Roman wasn’t the brash, confident young man he once was. Death changed him, just as it had changed her. 

Was that enough for her to forgive him for stabbing her after he’d told her that he loved her?

Helena silently watched the yellow sun rise above the horizon, the sky glowing orange and pink as a new day began. 

Arthur examined himself in the mirror, brushing his hair out of his face. Merlin was behind him, fixing the cuff of his shirt. 

“—So after this, we need to go school shopping—” Arthur said, pulling on his favourite leather jacket. 

“—Yes, and then I need to pop down to Gringotts and implement those wards I promised,” Merlin added with a grimace. He reached over and brushed a feather out of Arthur’s hair. 

“Right, and after that, we need to start lesson planning,” Arthur said. He frowned. “We have barely any time for lesson planning and I haven’t even been interviewed yet.” 

“It’s fine, I think I’ll just pull an old curriculum from somewhere. That, or I’ll just wing it. I’m sure my future students will understand,” Merlin shrugged. 

“I’m sure they’ll appreciate your lack of preparation, Merlin,” Arthur drawled, catching Merlin’s gaze in the mirror as he smoothed out his shirt. He raised an eyebrow at him, unimpressed, and Merlin immediately protested:

“Hey! I’m plenty prepared! I’ve been alive for fifteen hundred years!” 

“Mhm,” Arthur hummed disbelievingly, “Anyway, we need to go because I doubt that Hogwarts is any less of a maze than before, so if you could—?” Arthur held out a hand. 

Merlin rolled his eyes, grabbing Arthur’s hand and apparating them into Hogsmeade with a sharp snap. 

Minerva sighed in frustration and gave herself a moment to look around Albus’s office. All of the portraits still adamantly refused to acknowledge her, even after all these years. One former headmaster in particular was snoring uproariously, which was entirely unnecessary in her opinion. They all knew it was a joke. 

Minerva looked back at the current headmaster, who was determinedly not meeting her eye. They both knew that whatever papers he was reading weren’t actually that important, and it made her temper flare. 

“Albus, I just don’t think that it was a very wise decision. I don’t like leaving that poor boy with those awful people,” Minerva said firmly. “There has to be another way. Do you honestly think that putting that boy with an abusive family will be anything other than a disaster? This is how dark lords are created, not prevented.”

“I am aware of that,” Albus replied, much to her irritation. “But I’m afraid that there is no other way. In order for the boy to be safe, he must stay with his aunt and uncle. That is all there is to say on the matter.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Minerva hissed lowly. “That, or you simply don’t care enough to look for another solution because there is always another way, whether you want to acknowledge it or not.”

Albus’s expression pinched. “Minerva, I have looked at all the options, and this is the best one.” 

“Better for the boy, or better for yourself?” Minerva set her jaw, turning her gaze directly to Albus’s shifty blue eyes. She spoke slowly, “Albus, I value our friendship and you are very dear to me, but I cannot let you push aside my advice and my thoughts so flippantly. I don’t appreciate the way you’ve started shutting all of us out.” Minerva stared at him with hardened eyes, waiting for him to say something, anything. When he didn’t, she sighed deeply, and she removed her glasses to rub at her eyes. 

“It is the only way,” Albus muttered, but she could hear the resolve in his voice. 

Minerva, frustrated and resigned, could only nod. “Fine. I will rely on my trust in you and hope that you are right. But I do not like it.”

Albus nodded in understanding. “I know. All I ask is that you trust me on this.”

Minerva thought back to the little bundle they’d dropped at the Dursleys’ doorstep: a baby swaddled in a thin blanket, with a fresh scar, red and irritated, spanning the child’s forehead. 

Well, if Albus would insist on this, she would need to take things into her own hands. After all, someone had to keep an eye on the boy, and Albus could turn a blind eye, but she certainly would not. 

Minerva stood from her seat, her mind made up. Resolutely, she nodded at Albus and said, “I will not say that I’m not disappointed in your decision, but I will leave it be for the time being. Good day.” Then she left with a swirl of her robes. 

Arthur felt the telltale sign of a notice-me-not charm wrapping its way around his shoulders, and he turned to Merlin in question. Merlin gestured to the side where Snape was hiding in the bushes in front of the gates of Hogwarts, looking like he might ambush the next person to walk in. Arthur rolled his eyes. 

“Have a good day, darling,” Merlin said teasingly in a purposefully high voice, mimicking a housewife sending her husband off to work. He gave Arthur an obnoxious kiss on the cheek for good measure. 

“Oh, shut up,” Arthur huffed, pushing him away by the shoulder, but he couldn’t hide the tinge of red on his ears as Merlin discreetly kissed the corner of his mouth, his jaw, and his neck—

“Merlin—!” Arthur protested, nearly dropping his bags when Merlin practically shoved himself into his arms. “Really, you are so insufferable—! Stop that! I have to go or I’ll be late, you—!”

Merlin laughed into the crook of his jaw and kissed him lightly, caressing his cheek one last time before pulling away. Arthur frowned in annoyance, trying to smooth his hair and his clothes again so he looked halfway presentable. 

“Honestly, Merlin, you’d think that you didn’t have any self-control with the way you act sometimes!”

“Shh, sire,” Merlin mocked, shoving his shoulder, “You’ll be late and you don’t want to keep the headmaster waiting, do you? And on your first day, too!” 

“You insolent little—!” Arthur blustered, but his facade cracked and he smiled, grabbing Merlin and vigorously ruffling his hair in a way that he knew annoyed him. 

“Hey! Assault! Help! This man is attacking me! Stop!” Merlin whinged, poking him in the arm fruitlessly to try and get him to let go.

Arthur released him, failing to restrain his laughter. “Shut up now, I’m leaving,” Arthur pronounced, making a show of gathering his things, but he didn’t move from his spot. 

Merlin, who was now trying to brush his hair with his fingers, raised an eyebrow at him. “Really?”

“Yes!”

“But what about a goodbye hug?” Merlin pouted exaggeratedly just to be annoying, holding his arms open for said hug. 

“Well,” Arthur hesitated. “I’m leaving now, obviously. Goodbye, Merlin.”

Neither of them moved. 

“Oh, for heavens’ sake,” Arthur groaned and he dropped his bag and went into Merlin’s awaiting arms. Merlin snorted into his hair and leaned in for a kiss. 

“You’re so needy, honestly, it's a wonder I can go anywhere at this point without stashing you somewhere for the journey,” Arthur mumbled against his lips. Merlin hummed distractedly and kissed him slowly like he was savouring it, which was really unnecessary because they were literally going to see each other in a few hours at most.

Arthur pulled away and looked at him, looked at the glint in his blue eyes and sighed. 

“You really are the most stupid person I’ve ever met, Merlin.”

“Likewise,” Merlin returned with a grin. 

Huffing, Arthur smothered a laugh. “Alright, leave me alone, I have to do adult things, which you certainly have no part in.” he said curtly, turning on his heel. He heard Merlin snicker behind him, but he ignored him this time, finally feeling Merlin’s notice-me-not charm slip from his body like wax. 

Adjusting his bag (full of fried chicken for the gargoyle, of course), Arthur caught sight of Snape again, lurking in the corner of his eye. Gods, why did the man have to be so annoying? What was the point in trying to scare passersby like that? 

“Are you going to stop skulking around and spying on people, or shall I see myself in?” Arthur bit out, irritated. He certainly had not forgotten their first meeting by any means. The disrespect was just intolerable. 

Snape sneered at him but quickly wiped the expression off his face before Arthur could comment on his rudeness. “This way,” Snape mumbled and walked into the castle without even a greeting. 

Wonderful, this was just a wonderful start, wasn’t it? Hopefully, Arthur wouldn’t run into anyone annoying because he was almost at the end of his rope just by having to be in close proximity to Snape. 

Arthur set his shoulders and followed Snape into the old castle. It’d been a while since he’d been here, and Merlin was definitely right about some sort of floor plan change happening at some point. Arthur recognised some hallways, but others were modified or had disappeared completely. 

Snape was walking far too fast, and he definitely wasn’t checking if Arthur was following him, so Arthur let himself fall behind after a few minutes to truly soak in the atmosphere. It had changed a little — Merlin would probably notice it more — but overall, it was the same warm feeling he always got when he entered. Merlin always described it like the walls were welcoming him in, and at this moment, Arthur understood the feeling entirely. 

If he remembered correctly, the Headmaster’s office was at the top of the main staircase tower. Although… now that he thought about it—

“How’s it going?” Merlin’s voice interrupted in his head. Arthur rolled his eyes and started down a hallway that had the least people in it. 

“I’ve only been gone for a few minutes, Merlin,” Arthur replied, exasperation colouring his tone. 

“Yeah, but I worry. How’s the grease man?”

“Snape? Oh, he already abandoned me. Speaking of, do you remember how to get to the top floor?” Arthur asked. 

“Uh… no,” Merlin replied sheepishly. “I kind of just randomly walked around until I got to the right place. I’m sure you’ll figure it out eventually!”

“How reassuring…” Arthur muttered to himself. 

Turning into a random corridor, Arthur marched onward with determination. It couldn’t be that hard to find the headmaster’s office, could it?

Phoebe watched with wide eyes as the golden-haired man walked with purpose down the hall. He was the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen in her life! 

She was hidden behind a door, so he couldn’t see her. For a second, she pondered on whether or not she should approach him, but his figure was already receding from her view. (It was a very nice view, too.) Phoebe crept out from her hiding spot and followed him, making sure he didn’t notice her. 

Should she introduce herself? But surely he was far out of her league already? Oh, but the way the light caught on his hair, the way his jacket stretched across his shoulders—

“Professor Byrnes? What… what are you doing?” one student asked suddenly. Phoebe yelped and tripped over her feet, accidentally stepping on her robes and falling on her face with a loud thud. She wheezed as the wind was knocked out of her from the force of the impact, then groaned in pain. 

“Are you alright?” a deep, masculine voice said, footsteps fast approaching her. 

Her entire body tensed in mortification, then for another reason entirely when a warm hand was placed on her shoulder in comfort. She could practically feel how strong he was and he had barely touched her. 

“Oh, Merlin!” the student said. “I’m so sorry, professor, I didn’t mean to startle you like that—”

“What happened?” someone else said. 

“She tripped or something, I don’t know.”

“Excuse me, are you alright?” the man repeated, nudging her shoulder. 

Phoebe nodded weakly, trying to regain her breath after it had been stolen from her as her heart began to beat out of control. She was sure this was all a dream created by her lonely subconscious, but when she turned her head to look at the man, he was still there, real and perfect. Perhaps love at first sight really was a real thing. 

“Are you injured at all?” the man asked, slight concern in his perfect blue eyes. Merlin, even the bridge of his nose was perfect. How was she ever going to ask him on a date when he looked like that?

“No, I’m fine,” Phoebe said, her cheeks flushing in embarrassment. She began to pick herself up off the ground, but that was when she realised her ankle was smarting. She dropped back onto the floor with a wince. 

“Right,” he said disbelievingly. 

For a moment, she thought all her dreams would come true and that he would pick her up and carry her to the hospital wing like her own personal knight in shining armour. However, she had forgotten that she’d never seen him at Hogwarts before, so he wouldn’t know where the hospital wing was in the first place. 

“I think her ankle might be sprained,” the man explained, peering down at her. “Can any of you please escort her to the physician?” 

“Physician?” someone asked.

The man glanced away with a wince. “My apologies. I meant the, uh, nurse.” 

“I’ll go,” one of Phoebe’s students volunteered. 

The man nodded and began to help Phoebe up to her feet. Her heart fluttered at the firm grip he had on her waist as he hauled her up, and she could faintly feel his soft breaths against her skin. If she didn’t know any better, she would think that he was doing it intentionally. Or maybe he was? Perhaps he had fallen in love at first sight as she had! 

“Can you stand on your own?” the man asked as he steadied her. 

Phoebe nodded, enraptured, the world around her slowing to a stop as she fell into a dreamy daze. His lips were so close, but so far… For a second, she thought he might have leaned in to kiss her, but then he abruptly pulled away and her student began to escort her to the hospital wing. 

Phoebe sighed dreamily, her thoughts filled with images of golden hair and gorgeous blue eyes. She hoped she would be able to see him again someday!

Albus was still recovering from his meeting with Minerva that morning when the sound of clinking metal and glittering glass reached his ears. When he looked up, the various trinkets and instruments sitting along the shelves were twittering lightly, but there was no one else in the room. However, he could feel the presence of someone outside the door. 

Curiously, he heard a few hushed murmurs from the portraits, but when he glanced behind, all the portraits ceased moving. Godric Gryffindor in particular was making a very concerted effort to appear entirely unassuming; twiddling his large thumbs and looking in every direction but at Albus, whistling awkwardly in the silence. 

Salazar Slytherin gave a great sigh and walked out of his portrait, taking refuge in Rowena Ravenclaw’s portrait, which was the furthest from Godric’s. Helga Hufflepuff pointedly plumped some of the pillows in her portrait, even though they certainly did not need to be plumped in the first place, given their eternal cushy state. 

Albus heard some irritated whispering coming from outside the door to his office, and it went something like, “No, I am supposed to announce you!”

“Whatever for? The headmaster is fully aware of who I am, unless he often takes strangers into his office without clearly knowing their intentions. Besides, it’s not like you take your duties very seriously, considering you abandoned me within a few minutes.” the unknown man — Arthur Pendragon, Albus deduced — replied, sounding as if he were trying to argue with a brick wall. 

“How is it my fault that you can’t keep up?” Severus retorted defensively. 

Pendragon did not respond; instead, he knocked. 

“You—! How dare—!” Severus hissed furiously. 

As soon as Albus uttered, “Come in,” several things happened at once. 

First, Severus and a golden-haired man stumbled into the room at the same time, still squabbling with each other. Pendragon was visibly trying to conceal his frustration, but Severus was not; his hair was a mess like he’d been pulling at it, and his face was an angry, mottled red. 

Second, Albus’s phoenix Fawkes gave a great start at the appearance of this new person. Fawkes was in the middle of his current life cycle, shining a luminous, handsome red in the light of the candles and, previously, had been proudly showing off his glossy feathers to Albus before his attention had been stolen by Pendragon. Albus was stuck between surprised and a little disappointed at this; Fawkes had never been so blatantly interested in another human being other than Albus himself, and given Fawkes’s reaction, Pendragon was a far more interesting specimen than him. Why, Fawkes had never trilled so loudly before!

Severus began to clear his throat, trying to regain his composure now that they were inside Albus’s office, however before he could speak—

Squawk!

Fawkes excitedly hopped into the air from his perch and soared at breakneck speed for Pendragon’s shoulder. Severus yelped, stumbling away from Pendragon to avoid a mouth full of feathers. Pendragon made a sound as well, but he was only mildly startled. 

They all stared at one another. Severus was gaping at Pendragon, aghast, his jaw dropped open in incredulity. Pendragon was awkwardly flitting his eyes back and forth between Severus and Albus, leaning on one side to accommodate for the sudden weight of a large phoenix perched happily on his shoulder. Pendragon winced a little when Fawkes dug his talons a little too deeply when gaining a stable holding. The delighted phoenix trilled again, softly, and settled, puffing up his feathers and closing his eyes like he might actually take a nap on Pendragon’s shoulder. 

Albus was the one to break the silence. Logically, he might as well accept that his phoenix had a new favourite human, even though he was a little saddened at the thought. Calmly clasping his hands together, he said, “Thank you, Severus, for showing Mr Pendragon to my office. You may continue with your day as usual.” 

Severus blinked rapidly for a few seconds, bewildered, then nodded slowly and drifted out of the room in a daze, still in shock.

Albus turned to finally observe Pendragon in more depth. He and Emrys were certainly a striking pair, the two of them. Emrys was lean and tall, with curls of dark hair and sharp cheekbones, donning blue and purple robes that flowed around him through the air like water. Pendragon was a tall man like Emrys had been, but he was far broader about the shoulders and chest, and he seemed to glow gold. Red and brown were more his colours, it seemed, and he seemed to prefer clothes that didn’t billow about him, so Albus guessed that he was more practical. Furthermore, the man was so drenched in Emrys’s magical aura that Albus couldn’t really detect one of his own — which was fine, of course, it was always wonderful to have a more diverse staff. (That was what Albus kept telling Minerva every time she brought up the fact that Professor Binns was very much a ghost.)

Overall, Pendragon was a very handsome man, and likely had a heart of gold, given Fawkes’s immediate liking for him. Albus couldn’t help but commend Emrys on his good taste. 

“Hello, Pendragon, is it? Welcome to Hogwarts, how are you this morning?” Albus greeted kindly. He gestured to the cushy chair in front of his desk and bid that he take a seat.

Pendragon cleared his throat in a stilted way as he sat down carefully with the air of a soldier reporting for duty. Fawkes had not moved from his spot on Pendragon’s shoulder and didn’t seem like he would in the foreseeable future. 

“I’m doing… reasonably well, I suppose… Does your bird always do this to people?” Pendragon gestured needlessly at Fawkes, who trilled and nipped at his ear softly. Pendragon jerked his head away, his expression slightly perturbed. 

“Not that I can recall,” Albus said cheerfully. He made no move to help Pendragon whatsoever. “Phoenixes are truly fascinating creatures, aren’t they?”

Pendragon seemed to wait for him to elaborate, but when Albus did not, he said, “Er— right. Of course.”

One of the portraits behind him snorted loudly, then there was a whispered sorry and they went silent again. Pendragon’s eyes narrowed at someone behind Albus for a moment, then turned back to Albus as if nothing had happened. 

“Lemon drop?” Albus asked, opening the lid of a nearby container — one that he kept at hand at all times — to reveal his current favourite sweet. The wrapped candies twinkled in the candlelight enticingly. 

Pendragon shook his head. “Thank you, but no. I don’t really have much of a sweet tooth.” 

“That’s alright,” said Albus, taking one for himself. The sound of the wrapper crinkling was followed by Albus swiftly popping the candy into his mouth. 

Pendragon pretended not to notice Fawkes, even when the phoenix cooed at him and rubbed his feathers on his face. 

Albus opened his mouth to begin the interview—

One of the portraits behind him cleared their throat. 

“If I may interrupt—” Godric began to say.

Albus turned around in his chair, curious.

Salazar sighed loudly, looking up like he was begging the gods for mercy. “For heaven’s sake—”

“Godric, please, restrain yourself for once in your life,” Rowena groaned. 

Helga only smothered a laugh. 

“Well, it’s only—“ Godric coughed awkwardly in his large fist. “I would like to apologise to— er, Mr Pendragon— for making a mess of Emrys’s interview. You see, I’ve been feeling really awful about it, and Rowena insists that I was acting unprofessional—”

Pendragon pursed his lips like he was trying to stop a large, smug grin from spreading across his face. “Ah,” said Pendragon, his voice trembling with concealed laughter. “Are you referring to the… poetry?”

Helga laughed out loud, then quickly apologised (she didn’t sound entirely apologetic, however) and walked out of her frame, her shoulders shaking. 

“I see, Emrys told you about his interview,” Albus observed. 

Pendragon appeared startled like he’d forgotten Albus had been listening. He quickly tried to recover. “Oh, well, yes, we are— uh, close friends.” 

Godric turned red in embarrassment. “Yes, about that, I might’ve also let slip—“

“Gryffindor over here ruined the secret of your marriage because he’s a dunce,” Salazar interjected exasperatedly. 

“Ah,” Pendragon said eloquently. He blinked slowly. “I see…”

Fawkes cooed in his ear again and nipped at his hair again. Pendragon tried to subtly push Fawkes’s beak out of his face. 

“I must assure you that our staff reserve no judgement on such matters,” Albus assured Pendragon. “However, I am curious as to how you four could have known such a thing,” He said lightly to the portraits. 

Godric gaped like a fish, then wisely thought it would be better to let someone else handle the situation, and stayed silent.

Rowena let Godric sweat for a moment, then explained airily, “Salazar has another portrait. It’s been bought and sold so many times within pureblood society that he became somewhat of a collector’s item—”

“Psh,” Salazar grumbled. “I hate auctions.” 

“—until Emrys saw fit to buy it and put an end to his suffering.” Rowena finished. 

Oh. Well, yes, that did make all this make more sense, Albus supposed, but that also raised several other questions. Why hadn’t they told Albus that they were already acquainted? Why hadn’t Salazar mentioned that he had another portrait? This endless mystery was a little frustrating. Albus very much disliked being an outsider, especially when it came to secrets. 

Pendragon quickly changed the subject, taking charge of the conversation. (Albus noted this mentally; clearly, he would have no problem handling a class of rowdy first years.) “Well, as enlightening as this is, I believe you had some questions to ask me, Professor Dumbledore.”

“Yes, thank you,” Albus said, admittedly a little distracted by this new information. What a peculiar puzzle this couple was. “If you don’t mind me asking, I’ve been wondering ever since I saw your application about your magical abilities. Of course, this won’t affect whether or not you’ll get the position you’re applying for, but I’m afraid I’m helpless to my own curiosity.” 

Pendragon twisted a ring on his forefinger thoughtfully. “Well, I hate to say it, but Merlin is far better at spellwork and things like that than I am. Of course, I’ve learnt a couple of spells — self-defence and some basic household spells — but other than that, it really isn’t my area. I have also learnt a little divination for personal reasons, but that is the extent of my magical knowledge.”

“That’s perfectly alright. And can you confirm that you can fly on a broomstick?” Albus asked. 

Pendragon nodded. “Yes, I am quite proficient at it.” 

“Excellent,” Albus clasped his hands together. “Well, I think I’m convinced. Would you be alright with becoming our new flight instructor?” 

Pendragon seemed a little surprised but nodded. “Of course,”

“Wonderful. I shall owl you the details.” Albus stood from his chair, prompting Pendragon to do so as well. “Also, if you would be so kind, I would appreciate it if you told your husband—” Pendragon went a little red around the ears, probably not used to people speaking of their relationship so blatantly— “that I will need to consult with him on his position as well, given that we still have to iron out the details.” 

“I will tell him to contact you as soon as possible.” Pendragon agreed, shaking his hand firmly. “I appreciate you taking the time to interview us. Merlin and I will try our best to help Hogwarts live up to its reputation.”

While Pendragon tried to get Fawkes off his shoulder, who very much did not want to leave his side (given the irritated chirping and squawking), the portraits turned to talk with each other. Albus listened with half an ear as he tried to lure Fawkes back to his perch. 

“That was quick.” Helga chirped. She had finally returned to her portrait after having a good laugh with the Fat Lady, as Albus knew she often did. “That was probably even shorter than Emrys’s interview.” 

“Well, Godric didn’t create too big of a disruption this time, so I’m not surprised,” Rowena added, her voice a little teasing. 

“Hey!” Godric protested indignantly. “You all thought that was funny, too!”

The other three ignored him.  

“They’re practically a package deal anyway, it was pointless to do an interview in the first place…” Salazar muttered, rolling his eyes. 

“True, it’s not like Merlin would have accepted the job if Albus hadn’t also hired Arthur,” Helga chortled. “No matter how many times they say it’s for ‘efficiency’ that they work together, I’m pretty sure they just want to ogle each other at work all the time.”

Godric snorted. “Well, it was never said that they were subtle, that’s for certain!”

Chapter Text

Implementing the wards at Gringotts while Arthur was doing his interview was actually surprisingly simple. So much that it almost seemed… too simple. This made Merlin a little bit suspicious because surely protecting the most famous bank in the magical world should be more complicated? Don’t all those big fancy places have big fancy security measures, with the blaringly loud beeping alarms and such?

So, naturally, Merlin began to create another layer of security… And then another. And another. In fact, the wards ended up being so strong that no one could get through them except Merlin, which was slightly counterproductive. 

This caused quite a commotion, unfortunately, because it was a business day and suddenly the goblins couldn’t get into the vaults, and neither could any magical folk. There was a brief period where a line of people trailed from the head goblin’s desk all the way out of the silver doors because people started panicking, thinking they were going bankrupt.

In the end, it had taken more time to trim the wards down than to actually put them up. Whoops… Merlin admitted that was his own fault this time. But! He managed to get it fixed in record time anyway, much to the bank’s collective relief (as well as his own — having so many irritated people coming for you really wasn’t a great feeling). And somehow, he managed to get back to Hogwarts before Arthur’s interview had even finished? Really, sometimes he was too efficient. What the hell was he supposed to do with all this extra time? Get ahead on his half of the chores? Work on his manuscript? Infiltrate the Ministry to check on that Veil they somehow opened? (Honestly, Merlin would love to know how that happened without some sort of human sacrifice…)

But no, of course not! Why would he be productive like that? He was definitely the type to procrastinate for at least a few decades… or maybe a century. At least this way, he was being consistent. 

However, he was a bit bored. He was back at Hogwarts, wandering around the halls and avoiding the portraits that didn’t like him (which was portrait-Merlin’s fault for being an ass of an old man). Waiting for Arthur was so mind-numbing, mostly because his husband wasn’t around for him to rib constantly… Eventually, he decided he should go down to the kitchens to pass the time. 

Well, at least, he started in that direction, but then he saw a familiar mop of greasy hair and his trickster brain piped up and said, WAIT! We should go bother Snape! That’s a great idea!

They were going to be colleagues soon anyway, Merlin reasoned with himself. It would be good to establish a better relationship. 

Clearly, Merlin only had good intentions. 

He tried to catch his attention by walking straight past him down the hall, attempting to look like he had a purpose in being there. He even made sure to put an extra bit of skip in his step. However, Snape seemed deep in thought, and didn’t even notice Merlin the first time; he just kept walking. 

Merlin tried again from the other direction, making sure his shoes clapped obnoxiously on the stone floors as he passed the bat-like man. (Seriously, sometimes Merlin expected him to unfold some leathery wings and hang upside-down from the ceiling.) This was found to be the correct method because Snape’s head immediately snapped up, his expression painfully twisting into one of disdain.

“You,” he hissed automatically as if it was already habitual. 

“Me?” Merlin replied, pretending he hadn’t been trying to catch his attention. Merlin turned around and gave an exaggerated start upon seeing Snape. “Sev— Snape! I didn’t see you there, you blend right in with the shadows! How are you? How’s Hogwarts treating you?” 

Snape glared at him even more intensely than before. Ah, that was probably not the right opener… Snape looked like a right mess, which was probably Arthur’s fault. Merlin gave a gormless smile in return, just to irritate him further.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Snape scrunched his nose like he was getting a waft of a particularly nasty smell. How rude… 

“I’m— uh,” Merlin hesitated, and then a very shoddy lightbulb went off in his head. “I’m acquainting myself with the scenery! I’ve got to get used to the place before I start teaching, after all. Did you know that there are at least two windows on this floor? And…” he trailed off, tilting his head curiously as Snape continued to glower at him in complete silence. It was almost as if he hadn’t heard a single word Merlin had said. (Not that he’d said much in the first place.)

For a moment, it was quiet as Merlin tried to figure out what had broken Snape. Had he pushed him too far? Was Snape experiencing some sort of awful allergic reaction to Merlin? He wouldn’t be surprised, actually, because that’s happened before. (Something about his magic being too concentrated or something, who knew?) But really, Snape seemed to be trying to look into his soul with his eyes— 

Oh.  

Well, that would explain a few things. Merlin felt around the borders of his mental barriers and found something trying rather incessantly to get in. That was a little invasive, wasn’t it? Snape hadn’t even asked to look through his mind beforehand! What happened to consent? 

Snape grew more frustrated as the seconds ticked by, but became alarmingly aware (with no small amount of annoyance) that he wasn’t getting any unsolicited peeks into Merlin’s memories.

“Wow, would you look at the time,” Merlin said casually, looking down at his bare wrist that was devoid of any watch. “I think I have somewhere to be. Yeah, I have an appointment for… something. Catch you later!” 

“Whatever,” Snape snapped, a bitter resentment darkening his voice, and he swiftly started down the opposite direction with a striking swish of his black cloak. Merlin watched as he stomped his way outside toward the Forbidden Forest. 

How dramatic. Merlin raised an eyebrow at his departing figure. He shrugged to himself and went back to trying to find the kitchens for a quick snack. 

Arthur was attempting to find his way back down to the first floor when he heard a loud squeak of surprise and the sound of clanging armour. Arthur turned sharply to see Sir Cadogan growing frighteningly pale in his portrait, straightening his spine with a snap. 

“Sir! I mean, sire! You’re— You’re here!” the knight exclaimed, eyes wide in shock. 

Arthur straightened a little as well once he was reminded of his position of authority over this young knight. It had been a long time, but he felt himself slipping back into his old role as king. “Sir Cadogan, I trust that you are well?” Arthur asked in a sure tone. 

“Y-Yes! Er, I mean— Yes, sire! And— And I have done my best to protect Hogwarts since I last saw you!” Sir Cadogan stammered, standing straight as a pin and trembling all the while. 

“Good work,” Arthur congratulated. “How is Merlin’s portrait?”

“Ah…” Sir Cadogan hesitated. “Well,” 

Arthur closed his eyes in exasperation for a moment. “What’s he done this time?” 

“I’m pretty sure he’s teamed up with Peeves again, uh, your highness,” Sir Cadogan stuttered out, his expression pinched in humiliation even if he were not the one committing the crime. “Last I heard, they were planning a prank on the first years. They were going to dump glue and feathers on them, then make a sufficient amount of… poultry jokes for the rest of the day.”

They both visibly grimaced. 

Arthur muttered to himself: “Of course. Of course he is. At least he’s not throwing eggs at them, that would be a waste.” Arthur took a deep breath. “Thank you for the report, Sir Cadogan. Continue the good work.” He cleared his throat. “If I might ask a favour?”

“Of course, sire!” Sir Cadogan proclaimed breathlessly, waiting for his every word with anticipation. 

“Could you lead me down to the first floor? I’m afraid I don’t recognize this hallway,” the king said. 

Arthur followed an eager Sir Cadogan as he pranced through the portraits. Unfortunately, Arthur had gone in entirely the wrong direction, so he was partially glad that Merlin wasn’t there because he would’ve certainly laughed at him for getting lost. 

No one noticed a sixth-year student watching this entire exchange with a perturbed expression.

A couple days after Arthur’s interview, Merlin was trying to put together supplies he’d need for his classroom, as well as figure out what other materials he might need before they went to Diagon Alley. (They still didn’t know when they were going to do that either.)

Ah! That reminded him—

Merlin picked up his pen as he listened to Arthur singing awfully to the tunes on the radio, smiling at the familiar sound as he scratched out a letter to Dumbledore. 

To Professor Dumbledore, 

Thank you for telling Arthur that I need to contact you. In regards to your query, I was thinking my class could be something like an advanced spellwork class, with various units focusing on different special interests students might have (like curse breaking, for example, or various forms of ancient magic). However, I am unsure how many people would be interested in such a thing, given that most of the course would be modelled after what the students want to learn. Would it be possible for you to conduct a survey of some sort? 

If you have any questions that I can answer, I would be happy to. 

Regards, 

Emrys

He folded the letter up, sealing it with wax and gave it to the first bird he saw outside (which happened to be a starling).

“MERLIN!” Arthur shouted, interrupting his off-key singing. “DO PEOPLE USE QUILLS STILL?”

“I HAVE NO IDEA!” Merlin yelled back.

“DO WE HAVE ANY PENCILS?” 

“Uh,” Merlin paused. That was a good question. Merlin promptly went to go search for some and forgot about the letter entirely. 

He got a response a day later as he was peeling apples with a knife, long strands of apple peel in a small pile next to him on the counter. A burst of flame erupted in front of him, causing him to yelp and almost cut his finger, and then it vanished, leaving behind a golden feather and a piece of paper. 

“That seems a little flashy,” Merlin muttered to himself, shaking his head. 

He broke the seal of the letter with one hand and read:  

Emrys,

I think that your idea is an excellent one. Admittedly, I believe that Hogwarts could use more self-exploratory classes that students can take before they graduate, especially given that their school years have been disrupted. 

I made an announcement about your impending class, and I have conducted a survey amongst the fifth and sixth years (I assumed you were targeting upperclassmen). There is a significant handful that would be interested in taking your class, and I’m sure more will be interested in the coming years after you establish yourself here at Hogwarts for a while. 

Students are choosing their electives soon, so I think it might be in your best interest to hold an interest meeting for your class to spread the word, given the short notice. Additionally, would you be able to come sometime before the start of the school year to check your new classroom? I’ve had an empty one cleaned out for you, but it is a little feisty at times, so I would understand if you would want to move to a different one.

My best wishes to you and your partner,

Albus P.W.B. Dumbledore

Merlin put an apple slice into his mouth as he snapped his fingers, conjuring a scrap of paper and a— oh, that was a crayon. Merlin shrugged and wrote with it anyway. 

Dumbledore, 

Sorry for the short reply. I’m glad to hear students are interested, even though they have not met me before. Yes, I would love to come meet students and maybe even brainstorm topics they would want to cover. How does tomorrow sound? No time like the present.

P.S. The classroom is fine, just needs a little TLC. 

Emrys

Albus laid down the most recent letter — more like a short message, which had arrived with a snap of magic on his desk — and leaned back in his chair to contemplate for a moment. 

Exams were coming up for students, so the halls were all rather empty and quiet as they crammed in the library to study, noses constantly stuck in books and hands aching from practising wand movements. Albus was also busy preparing for the next year, especially concerning Emrys. 

He had corresponded a few times with Emrys over the last couple of weeks trying to sort out all the little details before the next term started. Every single letter he received was more and more puzzling; perhaps the man was just odd, but he had certain traits that just made him overall peculiar. The first letter had been written in a calligraphic hand with some sort of ink pen, which was uncommon in the magical world, given people’s fondness for quills. The second letter had been on a scrap of paper ripped from a book, written in red wax. How did one write in wax? Albus had never heard of such a thing. Perhaps it was a muggle invention.

Additionally, how had Emrys seen the classroom already? Albus had never told him which classroom it was, nor had he seen Emrys visit Hogwarts to see it. He wasn’t sure if he should be concerned about that or not, but Emrys had a naturally calming aura about him that made Albus inclined to trust him. What was even more strange was that Albus didn’t feel at all alarmed by this; instead, it was as if an instinctual part of him already knew that Emrys could be trusted. Albus couldn’t fathom why he felt like this. 

Minerva had been very curious to meet the two, but he had managed to convince her to wait until the start of term, thankfully. For some reason, he was a little worried that she might manage to drive them away, especially after how reluctantly she had been with letting Severus into Hogwarts so soon after his trial. 

Then there were the nicknacks and odds and ends that (tastefully) cluttered Albus’s office. Why had they gone haywire when Emrys and Pendragon had walked in? A lot of them weren’t even supposed to do anything, they just sat there for decoration, and yet every single object had perked up and danced, trilled, or squeaked. Did Emrys think that Dumbledore enjoyed such cacophony in his office?

Albus suddenly realised that he was the one vying for Emrys’s approval. That was certainly strange! He had not tried to gain anyone’s approval for quite some time. Shouldn’t it be the other way around? After all, Albus was technically going to be Emrys’s superior while he remained employed at Hogwarts, and Albus was (apparently) a lot older than him. Hm…

There was another thing that Albus found interesting about Emrys as well. When he had first walked into his office, Albus had noticed he had a small earring tucked discreetly within his hair, which was shaped into an odd symbol that curled into three swirls. Albus couldn’t quite recall what the symbol meant, but he knew that it was significant in some way. Perhaps the next time he saw him, he would ask Emrys what it meant.

Ever since that fateful day, Phoebe had floated on a cloud filled with airy infatuation and joy. She was practically on the edge of her seat for hours afterwards, even in the hospital wing! All of her thoughts were filled with that man, who was surely her one true love; when she woke up in the morning, she was reminded of him by the sun, and when she went to bed, she saw him in the moon. She just couldn’t get him out of her head! All her life, she had been waiting for someone to sweep her off her feet, and now that the most impeccable specimen had arrived before her, how could she not chase after him?

Oh, stars! How would she find him again? She tried looking into her crystal ball, but destiny was choosing to be particularly vague. All she saw were red capes and blinding light. Dreamily, she thought it certainly meant that he was her knight in shining armour. Alas, all visions of him weren’t as defined as she’d like, and she couldn’t deduce much about him. Still, she tried her best to make her wishes come true by taking peeks into her own future. Once, she even saw the silhouette of three broomsticks waving through the air and couldn’t contain her excitement! Would their first date be at the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade? Oh, she felt like a teenager all over again!

Unfortunately, there was a problem. None of her colleagues seemed to know who she was talking about, and she didn’t have the nerve to ask Professor Dumbledore directly. But, he couldn’t stay lost forever, she assured herself! After all, if their union was meant to be, she would find him again naturally, even if she didn’t know his name. 

So she settled into her days again, confident that fate would bring them together. Really, if she saw him again, it would only confirm that they were meant for each other!

Severus often went to the Forbidden Forest to walk. He didn’t have a destination in mind, he just kept walking until the darkness clouding his mind receded a little. Consequently, it was only a matter of time before he found certain areas no one had ever explored before, and memorised certain paths and landmarks to make it easier to return to the castle. 

The unicorns tended to stay away from him, obviously, but sometimes he saw the thestrals in his peripheral vision, watching him from the edges of the trees like silent shadows or spectres. And at the right time of day, the sun would hit the trees with a golden glow, rays of light shining down from the heavens like gentle spotlights to illuminate the green leaves and the clear waters floating through streams. The forest wasn’t all that dangerous, really. As long as the sun was up, the more lethal creatures tended to stay hidden. The woods were actually… quiet and calming, which was a relief. Everything else in the world was too complicated.

Severus walked until he found a familiar brook. Leaning against a rock, he let his mind go completely silent so he could listen… The birds were chirping and a gentle breeze was rustling the branches of tall, grand trees. Water trickled around stones, splashing against the edges of the bank. Everything seemed so much simpler when he was by himself, so much more peaceful. 

He just didn’t trust people, that was the problem. He didn’t trust his parents, he didn’t trust his mentors, he didn’t trust his friends. It always exploded in his face in the end — people left, people used him, people disappointed him. In some circumstances, it was his own fault, but he was a child. How was he supposed to know? He didn’t have a lot of support back then, or now, and some of the people he tried to find support in just chewed him up and spat him out, burning all the relationships he already had in the process. 

It wasn’t worth it. People weren’t worth the time, or the effort, and they always changed. However, Severus found a safe space here — the trees never changed, the water never changed, and the solace never changed.

Or, so he thought. 

Severus was startled from his disconnected thoughts by the sound of a twig snapping. He jolted up, looking around. 

There was a crunch, leaves and rocks being crushed under a boot. Footsteps, but not hooves like the centaurs (who, usually, pretended he wasn’t there). A muffled curse, something heavy being righted — a large sack, probably, filled with glass? Some sort of merchant? What on earth were they doing in this area of the forest? 

Severus carefully stood, trying his best not to make any sound, and warily moved toward the noise. Whoever it was, they were quickly rushing away from where Severus had been haunting. What was in that direction? Could it be Hogsmeade? Why were they walking through this part of the forest to get to Hogsmeade? There were far easier routes than this. It just made no logical sense. 

They were certainly very fast. By the time Severus made it to the spot he had heard them, they had receded far into the distance. He squinted his eyes at the running figure, but all that could be seen of them was a silhouette and a large traveller’s backpack that was almost as big as them, which jostled with every one of their steps. To make up for the weight, the merchant seemed to be leaning heavily forward.

Severus almost began to pursue them. However, when he took a step forward, his boot collided with a clink against something small and solid on the ground. 

He glanced down and saw some sort of vial tucked within the blades of grass and dirt, a shimmering, pearl-like liquid swirling within. Glancing up again, he saw the merchant had completely disappeared. Bewildered, Severus swung around, but there was no sign of them. All that was left was…

He stared at the vial sitting innocently on the ground. Could it be some sort of illicit substance? Had Severus been unknowingly involved in an illegal scheme? If he was caught with something bad, he would definitely be thrown straight into Azkaban without a thought. Severus winced as a shudder of anxiety crawled through his bones at the thought, but…

He surely couldn’t just leave this vial sitting there. What if someone stupidly decided to take it and drink it? Severus had certainly met the type. (He internally scoffed with distaste when the image of Emrys came to mind.)

His mind made up, Severus snatched the vial from the ground, fully intending to go back to the castle and immediately dispose of it… But what could the potion be? No, he shouldn’t open it, that could be a bad idea… But based on the colouration, there were a few possibilities— he could easily narrow it down, if he wanted— That starry glimmer appeared to be crushed moonstone— But, no, he needed to go back to the castle and report suspicious behaviour in the forest…

Against his better judgement, he unstopped the bottle and cautiously wafted it before his nose, then froze in confusion and dismay as a barrage of bittersweet and tainted memories rose to the surface of his mind. He hastily closed the vial again, but the damage had already been done. His hands were shaking, the pit of his stomach had dropped in utter dread, and he’d been filled with such a deep-seated longing that he was left bereft and cold now that it was so abruptly cut off. 

The smells of comfort, love, and home had been so intense that his eyes were watering and it was burnt into his brain like a horrible repeating song scratching along the insides of his skull. He hated it, he loved it, he couldn’t ever have it—

“For Merlin’s sake,” Severus whispered to himself in frustration, angrily wiping away the tears in his eyes and dropping the vial into the pocket of his cloak so he didn’t tempt himself to open it again. 

Throat hurting from unshed tears, Severus was now left with one question: Who the hell would sell potent vials of Amortentia like this?

Chapter Text

July 1982

Merlin yawned as he walked into their kitchen, dressed in ratty sleepwear that had definitely seen better days. He waved his hand and the stove clicked on, little flames licking the bottom of a water-filled kettle. 

“Ugh,” Merlin said, rubbing his face to try and wake himself up. The clock said that it was ten in the morning, which didn’t really account for his fatigue, but he’d accidentally stayed up really late working on his manuscript… Oops. But technically, that wasn’t his fault. He was free from blame in this situation, obviously. 

At the sound of tapping on glass, Merlin blearily made his way over to the window and unlatched it, letting the Daily Prophet owl glide into the cottage and sit primly on the countertop. 

“You’re just on time,” Merlin told the owl as he opened a random junk drawer and fished out two sickles. “I was just about to start breakfast. Would you like a cricket?” 

The owl hooted at him in agreement and Merlin conjured a fresh green cricket between his fingertips, dropping it into the owl’s awaiting beak. The owl snapped it down with relish and a satisfying crunch while Merlin slipped two sickles into its pouch in exchange for the post. 

The owl hooted again in thanks and flew back out the window. The kettle began to whistle and Merlin grabbed two chipped mugs to make tea. 

The sun was shining a warm yellow glow through the open window, leaving little glazes of light on the wooden countertops and cabinets. It was a small kitchen, just big enough to suit their needs nicely and it housed a few green plants that Merlin liked to take care of. Some of them had lived very long lives in his care, and others had even picked up personalities on the way like the other inanimate objects in their home. Although… 

Merlin paused. That succulent had not been there last night, so it must have wandered in from somewhere. It was on the windowsill, sitting innocently in a little terracotta pot. 

Merlin poked the succulent while waiting for the tea to steep. The leaves shivered happily, the little plant wiggling in greeting. 

“Hello, there. How did you get in?” Merlin asked. 

The succulent swayed and Merlin instinctively looked at one of his other plants, a string of pearls hanging near the window. Well, at least now he knew how it got in. 

“I see,” he said. He stroked the succulent’s leaves again and it twirled a little. “Well, stay as long as you like, I suppose. Are you thirsty?”

The small plant shook in denial, seemingly content to bask in the sunlight. 

“Alright, make yourself at home, then,” Merlin hummed, unbothered. The plant had no malicious aura around it, so he wasn’t too concerned about letting it stay. 

Merlin grabbed the morning paper as he stirred sugar and milk in his tea, unfolding it and looking at the headline. The top stories were still all about Tom Riddle’s followers, pages scattered with screaming pictures of his loyal witches and wizards being shut away into Azkaban, dirt and malice smeared on their faces. Not very attractive, if anyone asked Merlin. Also, there were a few stories about the ones that had managed to remain uncaptured, but there were a lot fewer Death Eaters roaming free now that the whole population was trying to sniff them out. (Death Eaters! What a stupid name! Honestly, it sounded like the name of a metal band rather than a group of terrorists.)

However, Merlin noticed there was a column story about one man that had escaped before his trial, where he was going to be charged with a whole list of misdemeanours. Supposedly, he had disappeared without a trace. Odd…. He didn’t even appear in the Ministry’s records, apparently. That was probably just poor organisational skills on the Ministry’s part, though, considering that Merlin and Arthur weren’t on the record either and no one had noticed.

The picture provided was blurry and out of focus, which didn’t really help their case. They didn’t even have a good description of the man, just ‘tall, dark-haired, pale skin’. That could be anyone! Hell, even Snape could fit that description, and it certainly wasn’t him (this time). 

Merlin’s stomach rumbled, reminding him that he was about to start breakfast. Sighing, he put the paper down to look at later. Really, what a depressing way to start a day. Why was it customary to read the paper in the morning? They talked about murders and sad things all the time! Merlin could understand people wanting to read gossip and Quidditch game results, but this? How depressing!

Merlin shook his head, running a hand through his hair. Breakfast first, that sounded far better. Hm, eggs and toast sounded nice, but they were out of bread… Well, he rolled up his sleeves. That was quickly remedied.

“Arthur?” Merlin poked his head out into the hallway that led to the bathroom and the stairs to the second floor, which was where their bedroom was. There was no answer. “Arthur!”

Still no answer. 

“ARTHUR!” 

“WHAT?” Arthur yelled back. He sounded like he was upstairs somewhere. 

“I’M MAKING BREAD! COME DOWN HERE!” 

There was a second of silence before Arthur made a very intelligent “HUH?” 

“COME HELP ME MAKE BREAD!” Merlin shouted at the top of his lungs, knowing Arthur was probably deaf at this point, like the senior he was. Honestly, if the man hadn’t heard him muttering spells behind his back for a decade, there was no hope for him now. 

“FINE! Hang on!” Arthur shouted back eventually. There was a loud clang from a distant room. He was probably messing with the armour again. (Merlin had literally just cleaned it, like… in the last couple of years! And he had to go and dent it again?? Seriously?)

Merlin rolled his eyes (fondly, admittedly) before turning back into the heart of the kitchen. “I hope we have enough flour…” he said to himself. 

On a bright summer morning, Molly’s world changed. She had known this day was coming, but nothing could have prepared her for it!

“Mum!” Bill shouted, holding the letter in his fingers. “Mum, look!” 

Molly paused where she was frantically trying to feed little Ginny her breakfast and wipe Ron’s chin at the same time. Ronald was really such a messy eater — Molly had no idea where he had gotten it from! 

She glanced back at Bill absentmindedly, then froze. 

“Oh!” she exclaimed, finally realising what her eldest son was holding. She dropped everything; the spoon clacked to the floor, the napkin fell on Ron’s head, and everything descended into chaos. Molly brought her hands to cover the lower half of her face, gasping, “Oh, Bill, it’s your Hogwarts letter!”

Ron, offended by the cloth on his head, wriggled around until it fluttered to the floor in a heap. Ginny looked down at it in confusion.

“It’s finally here!” Bill shouted in excitement. He waved the expensive cardstock in the air like a flag. 

“Oh, cool!” Charlie said breathlessly, his fork so loose in his hand that he almost dropped it on the floor, too. “Bill, you’re so old now!” 

Ginny gurgled happily, her little pigtails — her hair was so short that they were more like little stubs than anything — bouncing as she threw a toy on the ground, the bells attached to the sides jingling brightly.

Percy’s big eyes looked at the fancy letter, stuck on the gleaming ruby wax seal with the Hogwarts crest. His hair was still a little wild from sleep and it somehow fluffed up even more whenever he moved his head. “You mean you get to buy a wand?” he asked in awe.

Bill grinned so wide that his cheeks hurt. “Yeah!! I’m gonna learn magic!”

Molly’s eyes began to fill with tears. “Oh, Bill, I’m so proud of you!” she sobbed, drawing her son into a tight hug. “Arthur! Arthur, come down here, Bill’s just got his Hogwarts letter!” she yelled in the direction of the rickety staircase.

“What’s that?” Arthur called from upstairs.

“BILL HAS HIS HOGWARTS LETTER!”

Fred and George zoomed through the house with their little paper planes before stopping next to Bill, one on either side.

“What does it say?!” Fred squeaked. 

“Come on, open it! Open it!” George added, jumping up and down next to Bill’s seat at the table.

“Fred! George! Come now, sit down and have your breakfast!” Molly ordered, but the effect was ruined somewhat when she sniffled and dabbed at her eyes with her apron. 

“Yes, Mum!” they said in unison, popping their butts into the seats next to Bill so they could stare at him with no obstacles. 

“I’m gonna open it!” Bill announced loudly. 

At that moment, Molly knew she would remember this day for the rest of her life. All her children were around the breakfast table eating their fill, yelling in various tones of excitement for her oldest, and Bill was practically standing on his seat as he showed off his letter, stars in his eyes. Ron giggled and smushed a pea into Ginny’s hand. Ginny shouted in disgust and smacked him away. Molly pushed them away from each other before one of them could start crying, or before she started crying.

Oh! They grew up so fast! Molly wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. She remembered when Bill hadn’t even learnt how to walk and now he was going off to learn magic! She blew her nose loudly and hastily put more sausages on Bill’s plate. 

The picture was almost perfect— There was just one Weasley still missing!

“Arthur!! He’s going to open it without you!” Molly called again, then turned to Percy with a shaking voice. “Have some more eggs, dear,”

“Wait!!” Arthur shouted from upstairs. “I need to make a pot-graph!” 

Molly shook her head in amusement. She had no idea what he was talking about, of course! 

“Mum, could I have another toast?” Charlie piped up, putting his book of dragons on the table next to his plate.

“Yes, love, but you need to spread the jam yourself,” Molly said, trying to wipe the neverending tears from her eyes as she reached for a clean spoon. She was desperately trying to keep her composure, but she had never believed she would make it to this day! Thank Merlin, the war was over!

Arthur stumbled down the stairs half-dressed, holding some sort of muggle contraption in his hands. Oh, that man—! He was still in his pyjamas!

“Arthur, where did you get that from?” Molly asked, putting her hands on her hips. 

“Molly, dear! Look!” he shouted, completely ignoring her question. He held up the device like it was a gift to the world, the shiny surfaces reflecting the light like some sort of treasure. “It makes pot-graphs!”

“What’s a pot-graph?” Percy asked curiously. Molly shook her head, already very used to her husband’s various fixations. 

“Well, it’s like those pictures in the Daily Prophet, but they don’t move! Isn’t that fascinating?” Arthur beamed. “This is one of the newer muggle inventions from a couple of years ago, it’s called a ‘diggy-tall camera’.”

“What a silly name,” Molly remarked. 

Ginny whined and slapped her hand on the table, so Molly turned back to her and spooned more food into her mouth. 

“Hang on, I need to get the angle right,” Arthur said, putting the machine to his eye and looking through it, bending over in a truly bizarre position. “There! Okay, everyone say ‘cheese’!” 

Charlie and Percy looked vaguely confused by this, but Fred and George both shouted ‘cheese’ at the tops of their lungs, Ginny and Ron yelled incoherent noises, and Bill beamed, holding his letter toward the device proudly. 

Arthur clicked a button and said, “Aha! Molly, look, I’ve made a pot-graph!”

Charlie clapped, crunching on a piece of toast. 

“YAY!” 

“Good job, Billy!” 

“What are we talking about?”

“Open it!!”

“I feel kinda bad for ruining it, it looks so pretty,” Bill said, turning the letter over. 

Bill’s name was written in curly letters on the back, as well as their address — right down to the table they were all sitting at! Molly dabbed at her eyes again, filled with nostalgia at the sight. She remembered her own letter when she was just a short eleven-year-old girl! Oh, how time flies! 

“Come onnnn! Open it now!!” George complained. “Just do it! Do it!!”

“Okay, okay!” Bill grinned, buzzing with happiness. He pointed at the red wax seal on the front. “Um, dad, how do I—?”

“Oh!” Arthur went to one of the junk drawers and drew out a letter opener. “Give it here, Bill, don’t want you to nick your hand.”

Arthur neatly broke the seal and handed it back to Bill, who was now vibrant with his excitement. Slowly, he took out his letter and flattened it. 

“Woah,” Fred and George chorused. Fred added, “I have no idea what that says!”

George snickered. 

Brimming with tears and warm, wistful emotions, Molly put a hand over her heart, grateful that she got to live to see her son experience the magic of getting his first letter. 

“Okay, it says—“ Bill bit his lip, slightly nervous as one is before something wonderful and life-changing, then began to read to everyone: “Dear Mr Weasley, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!” 

Molly loudly blew her nose into a hanky, and Arthur put an arm around her shoulders, beaming proudly. Everyone listened with rapt attention, except Ron and Ginny, who were looking down at the napkin again like it was a powerful, vanquished foe. 

Bill cleared his throat and continued: “Please find the enclosed list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1st.” Bill looked at the next page and gasped. “Wow! That’s a lot of books!” 

“You have to read books?!” Fred shouted in dismay. 

Ginny made a ‘bleh!’ noise. 

“Can we go to Diagon Alley tomorrow??” Bill asked his parents, his voice loud. “Oh! I need a cauldron, too! That’s so cool, I get to make potions!!” 

Overwhelmed with emotion, Molly turned her face into Arthur’s shoulder and began to cry. 

“Mum?!” several voices shouted. 

“What’s wrong?” Charlie said, sounding concerned. 

“Don’t worry, boys,” Arthur reassured, his own voice a little wobbly as he wrapped Molly in a tight hug. “Your mother is just very happy! We’re both very happy for you, Bill, and very proud. You’re—” He sniffed wetly— “You’re going to be a great wizard one day—” 

Arthur finally broke, too, and began bawling into Molly’s shoulder. 

“He’s going to Hogwarts!” Molly sobbed, clutching Arthur’s shirt in a death grip.

“I know!” Arthur cried, followed by several variations of “I‘m going to miss him!” and “Oh, he’s going to have such a grand time!”

George piped up, utterly bewildered: “Why are they both crying?”

“They probably found the window we broke two days ago…” Fred said mournfully. 

“WHAT?!”

Fred and George both cringed. 

“Merlin!” Arthur groused, his forearms covered with a light dusting of flour. “Stop! I’m trying to knead the bloody dough—!” He slapped at the figures in the air, to no avail. “Merlin, stop that—!” 

Merlin laughed unhelpfully, slapping his hands on the counter several times as he keeled over in amusement. This, however, did not stop him from animating little cloudy sheeps of flour around Arthur’s head, followed by a big, fat frog and a goat. 

“Stop that!” Arthur yelled fruitlessly, flinging his arms around to wave the creatures off. Whenever he managed to hit one, the flour would poof like a firework in the air, then reform into a fluffy butterfly or a rabbit.

“You look so stupid!” Merlin teased, darting out of the way when Arthur tried to lunge for him. “Hah! You missed me!” he whooped, his face red from laughing so hard. “I thought you said your reflexes were state of the art!”

Before Merlin could act, Arthur was shouting, “Got you!” as he flung a fistful of flour at Merlin’s face. 

There was a pause as they looked at each other. Merlin blew his hair out of his face and a gust of white dust puffed into the air with it. 

Arthur burst out into uncontrollable laughter, the sound echoing through the walls like it was the very pulse of life. Merlin never got tired of hearing it. 

“You’re even paler than before!” Arthur wheezed, doubling over the counter. 

“Hey!” Merlin retorted, but he couldn’t fight the grin that wormed itself onto his face. 

Challenge accepted.

With a look, Merlin’s eyes turned gold and a great clump of flour threw itself into Arthur’s face. It startled Arthur, so much that he almost fell backwards, but he just laughed even harder. 

Merlin reached to grab more flour the same time Arthur did and they began pelting it at each other, running around the kitchen and sliding across the floor, with no clear objective in mind other than to make the other dirtier. Arthur had nearly slid into the wall at one point as he tried to dodge, but Merlin wasn’t much better, especially after he almost slipped and fell on his face. 

Merlin finally gave in when Arthur’s hair was bordering on white and his clothes were splattered with powder all over — Merlin wasn’t much better, of course — and he crashed into Arthur, pulling him snugly against him in a fierce hug. Arthur’s remnant laughter rang into his ear, but Arthur’s arms fell around him and he pulled him into his chest. 

They went silent for a moment, and Merlin nosed his way into Arthur’s hair. He took a deep breath in and gave a violent sneeze when some of the powder went up his nose. Arthur laughed at his expense and Merlin pulled him into a kiss to shut him up.

He tasted overwhelming like dry flour, the remnants of their fight smeared onto their skin but slowly flaking off the more they moved. Arthur sighed and gently gripped the back of his shirt.

“What about the bread?” Arthur muttered against his lips. 

“It needed to rest anyway,” Merlin said, and kissed him soundly. 

Bill had often gone to Diagon Alley when he was a kid, but he’d never seen it quite so busy before. He and his dad had already gone to Gringotts to get some spending money, and Bill hadn’t been allowed in the vault, but the goblins all looked really cool! If not a little bit creepy… Anyway, they were going to go buy him some Hogwarts robes now! 

“Stay close, Bill, I don’t want you to get lost,” Dad said, steering him by the shoulder through the sea of people. 

Bill couldn’t really see what direction they were going because he hadn’t really hit his growth spurt yet, but he could see all the weird hats everyone was wearing! Bill had never seen so many different types of hats — there was even one half the size of him, fluffed up with a bouquet of peacock feathers! Wasn’t that weird, but in a fancy way? 

Before Bill could point out a hat with something smoking and sparking out of the wrinkled tip, like some sort of malfunctioning chimney, his dad was ushering him into a store, the bell of the door clanging to announce their entry.

“Hello!” a squat woman greeted them kindly. Her thin hair was tied up into a neat bun on her head, and she peered down at a nervous Bill from the top of her eyeglasses. “Is that a new set of Hogwarts robes you’ll be needing?” she guessed. 

Dad took off his old hat respectfully. “Yes, madam. This is my son Bill’s first year at Hogwarts.”

The witch — Madam Malkins, Bill guessed — brightened at those words. “Oh, how lovely! Come here, dear, I’ve got the rest of you first years in this corner.”

She guided him towards a section of the shop with a bunch of other eleven-year-olds standing before mirrors in various stages of robe fitting — some had tape measures flying around their forms, and others had ladders of needles pinning fabric to their bodies. Bill pinched his sleeves, shuffling to stand before an empty mirror next to an intimidating young witch. She had a tape measuring her proportions, and her expression was a mixture of blankness and utter boredom. 

Another tape measure from a basket in the corner hopped up and glided toward Bill. He tried his hardest to focus on staying still so that the tape measure could do its work. 

“How much for a full set?” Bill heard his dad ask. 

Madam Malkins, who was sewing an adjustment into someone’s robes, answered in a professional tone: “The full set with three robes, plus a winter cloak, dragon hide gloves, and a hat, would be twenty-three galleons and fifteen sickles.” 

Madam Malkins moved to pin fabric in place on the girl next to Bill. She gave no indication that she’d even noticed this happening, which unnerved Bill a little bit. 

“Twenty-three??” Dad repeated, aghast. “For the full set?”

Madam Malkins hummed in confirmation, her attention set on not poking the girl in the arm. 

“When I was a kid, they only cost about four galleons!” Bill’s dad whispered as if he was worried someone might hear him. His voice was low and breathy with shock. “Are— Are you sure it’s twenty-three?”

“Quite sure, dear,” she responded sympathetically. Dad winced. “I’m afraid that’s the work of inflation. However, I have several packages that will allow you to pay over time, if you want to look over them—?”

Bill looked into the mirror and saw his dad pale behind him. 

“Oh— oh, no, thank you, Madam, but we can afford it,” Dad reassured hurriedly, his voice slightly uneven. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the sweat from his brow. “Ah, excuse me a moment.”

“Take your time, dear,” Madam Malkins replied gently. 

Bill’s eyes trailed his dad back into the corner of the room, where he appeared to bite his cheek in hesitation before pulling out their money pouch and dumping it into his hand. Dad counted the money. Then recounted it. Twice. A pinch creased his brow, deeper the more the seconds went by.

His father’s embarrassment was palpable when he finally approached Madam Malkins again. Face red, he cleared his throat and stammered, “Madam, I’m terribly sorry to ask, but could you do me a small favour and watch my son until I return? I need to… run a quick errand, you see.” 

Madam Malkins gave Bill’s dad a soft, knowing look. “Of course, dear. I’ll have his robes fitted by the time you get back.”

Dad nodded and tilted his hat to her in thanks, then hurried out of the shop before Bill could ask him what was going on.

Sighing morosely, unsure of what had just happened, Bill fiddled with his fingers and turned back to his own reflection in the mirror. His clothes had neat patches sewn by his mum where they had torn, but they were getting a little small. His trousers had risen above his ankles now, and his shoes were starting to crack at the soles. 

He said nothing. Why was he feeling ashamed all of the sudden?

Madam Malkins finished taking his measurements, noting them quickly with a brown quill onto a pad of parchment, and shooed the tape measure back into the basket on her way to the back of the store. She was probably cutting the fabric for the robes, Bill thought. 

He was now left alone with the girl next to him, and the other first years. The girl didn’t make any indication that she’d noticed him at all, but Bill really wanted to make friends before the school year started, so he tried opening a conversation with, “So, are you gonna be a first year, too?”

She glanced at him with dark, blank eyes, her expression still dripping with boredom. She turned back to her mirror silently, giving no response. 

Right. Okay. Undeterred, Bill continued, “I’m really excited! Say, what house do you think you’ll be in?”

“Slytherin,” she drawled with no hesitation. Her mouth settled back into an unaltered line as if she had never spoken in the first place. 

“That’s the one with the snakes, right? That’s cool! I like snakes!” Bill grinned, happy that he’d gotten her to respond. “I’ve always wanted to hold a snake, but my dad said that they’re dangerous. I dunno, I think the smaller ones are pretty harmless. Have you ever held a snake?”

She pursed her lips. “Of course I have, who do you think I am? Everyone important has held a snake before.”

“Oh,” Bill said. There was a beat of silence as he tried to figure out what to say to that. “Weren’t you scared that it would bite you?” 

“No,” she said shortly. Bill waited for her to elaborate, but she didn’t. 

“Was it a small snake?” He asked. 

“It was so big that it could have swallowed you in one bite,” she replied, her tone even and unemotional. “Then again, it would probably just spit you back out. You’re all skin and bones. Snakes require a more substantial meal.” 

Bill laughed awkwardly. She didn’t laugh.

“Well, uh, I guess I don’t have to worry about getting eaten then,” Bill said lightly, trying to shift to a more normal conversation. “So, are—”

“I didn’t say that,” she interrupted. “After all, the runts are naturally removed to make space for the superior species. That’s called natural selection.” Her voice, Bill noticed, was cold, calculated, and unfriendly, and she didn’t even spare him a glance. He was abruptly reminded why she had unnerved him in the first place. “It’s not your fault,” she reassured him in a dead tone. “Some are just born better than others. Take your clothes, for example. In a month, you won’t be able to wear those rags anymore. In the winter, you’ll inevitably freeze to death. As I said, natural selection.”  

Bill bit his cheek and looked down at his broken shoes, his neck burning hot with humiliation and embarrassment. He didn’t know what to say this time. All he knew was that his core was shrinking small, retracting back into himself. There was something about her voice, soaked with inky blackness— something dark and inhumane. Bill had never heard an eleven-year-old talk like that. She sounded more like a robot. 

Her dark gaze cut to him after a moment and Bill froze in place, sweating like an ice lolly in the summer heat. “Don’t worry, though. Just think of it like pruning the dead parts off a plant to ensure the rest thrives. Your sacrifice is necessary for the greater whole. I thank you in advance.” 

She turned back to the mirror. She reminded Bill of a dementor, silent and ice-cold. He’d never felt so alienated and self-conscious before… 

Swallowing, he also turned back to his mirror, wishing that he’d never said anything. 

Maybe snakes weren’t actually that cool, after all.

Chapter Text

The streets of Diagon Alley were bustling and very, very crowded. Witches and wizards and all in between flooded every corner and crevice, pushing and shoving each other to try and get into shops before everything was taken by the mass of new and returning students. 

Amidst the chaos, Merlin scratched his head in confusion, squinting at their shopping list. At least, it was supposed to be a shopping list, but it was mostly a bunch of gibberish. Arthur’s handwriting was truly atrocious sometimes. Merlin could usually decipher it, but Arthur must have been in a rush this time—

His thoughts were interrupted when someone slammed into his side as they rushed for the Quality Quidditch Supplies shop. He nearly went tumbling over, but Arthur’s arm wrapped around him, pulling him into his side to steady him. 

“Merlin, pay attention!” Arthur chastised into his ear. “You know how crowded it gets here! If you’re not careful, the crowd will smother you!” 

“You prat, I was trying to decipher your handwriting!” Merlin retorted. “Aithusa can write neater than you!”

“It’s not my fault! You were distracting me!” 

“That doesn’t even make any sense, I wasn’t—” Merlin cut himself off abruptly when he heard the sound of a child sniffling near the right edge of the crowd. “Hang on, do you hear that?” Merlin asked his husband.

“What?” Arthur said, looking around, his eyes betraying his confusion and his wariness. 

Merlin shook his head, biting back a fond smirk and failing. “Right, forgot you were deaf in that ear this time. This way, dollophead.”

“Hey—!” Arthur began to say, but Merlin quickly grabbed his hand and led him in the right (hah!) direction, not giving him the chance to retort, much to his chagrin.

Soon they came across a short, ginger-haired boy, no more than eleven, standing anxiously outside Madam Malkins’ shop. The boy looked up with tears prickling the corners of his eyes, and Merlin poked Arthur in the ribs to get the intimidating scowl off his face.

His husband gave him an affronted look, likely about to throw an insult back at him, then thought better of it and snapped his jaw shut. (Merlin guessed that meant that whatever he had been about to say wasn’t entirely appropriate language for children.) Instead, Arthur decided to neutralise his expression into something a little more friendly. 

“Hello!” Merlin greeted the boy with a smile, leaning down a little so he was closer to the boy’s level. 

“Hullo,” the boy replied in a small voice. His clothes were a little worn and old, and his hair fell into his eyes a little, messy no matter how much the boy tried to straighten it with his fingers. Merlin did his best to exude a calming, comforting aura, and it seemed to be working because the boy’s shoulders relaxed a little. 

“My name is Emrys,” Merlin said. “What’s yours?”

“Um,” the boy sniffled loudly, wiping the remaining tears from his cheeks with his sleeve. “My name’s Bill.”

“Nice to meet you, Bill,” Merlin said brightly, then gestured to his husband. “This is my friend Arthur. We heard you while we were walking by and were wondering if you were alright.”

“Uh,” Bill gulped nervously. “I’m sorry, I got lost.”

“That’s alright,” Merlin reassured. “There’s a big crowd today.”

Arthur frowned in concern, glancing around the area like the child’s guardian would miraculously pop up. “Who did you come to Diagon Alley with?”

“My dad,” Bill answered, wringing his fingers. “We just finished buying my school robes and we were going to get my wand next, but I lost him.”

“Oh! You mean Ollivanders, right?” Merlin asked. Bill nodded. “Well, what a coincidence! Arthur and I were going there, too. Would it be alright if we took you there? Your dad might be nearby waiting for you.” 

“Yes, thank you so much,” Bill rushed to say, breathing out in relief. 

“It’s no problem, I’m actually getting a new wand myself,” Merlin said. “May I hold your hand until we get there? We don’t want to lose you on the way.”

Bill bit his lip, but hesitantly nodded and took Merlin’s offered hand, and they all began walking to Ollivanders together. Merlin made small talk to make the journey go faster, and Arthur walked next to them, also holding Merlin’s hand so he didn’t get lost. He chose to mostly stay silent, listening with half an ear to Merlin’s prattling.

“What happened to your other wand?” Bill asked curiously. 

“Oh, I just…” Merlin paused, remembering how his wand had suddenly and spontaneously combusted the other day while they were trying to seal a portal. Unsure of how to explain that, he settled for saying, “I lost it, that’s all. Anyway, are you excited to get your first wand?” 

Bill smiled widely, nodding excitedly. His earlier sadness was now completely forgotten.

“Excellent deflection,” Arthur drawled into his mind.

“Shut up, prat.”

“Yeah! I’m going to be a first-year at Hogwarts. I can’t wait to learn how to do magic!” Bill said obliviously, clutching Merlin’s hand tighter. 

“Really? Arthur and I are professors there!” Merlin exclaimed, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb over Arthur’s knuckles. “Arthur will probably be teaching you how to fly if you don’t know already.”

“Oh, I know how to fly!” Bill insisted. “I practised with my dad last summer! I hope that I can get on the Quidditch team next year because flying is really fun.” 

“Well, you’ll be ahead of some of your classmates, then!” Merlin encouraged. 

Bill nodded, his fluffy hair bouncing as his walk slipped into a small skip, and then his expression brightened even further when he spotted a familiar figure up ahead. “Dad!” he shouted, letting go of Merlin’s hand to rush for his father.

In front of the famed wand shop, there was a tall, ginger man ripping his hair out in worry, muttering, “Oh, Merlin, Molly’s going to kill me…” At the sound of Bill’s voice, however, he whipped around in surprise and delight. 

“Bill!” the man cried out, crouching down to draw his son into a hug. “Oh, there you are! Thank Merlin! Don’t run off like that again!"

“You’re welcome,” Merlin said before he could stop himself, and Arthur smacked his shoulder and quietly told him to shut up before he embarrassed himself. 

The man separated from his son and looked to Merlin and Arthur, relieved tears in his eyes. “Oh! Oh, thank you both so much for helping him, I’m truly in your debt,” he said, reaching to shake hands with them both. “I’m Arthur Weasley.” 

Arthur raised his eyebrow at Merlin, who failed to hide a snicker. His husband took the other Arthur’s hand in a firm, confident grip, and shook it once. “My name is also Arthur, actually,” he said, slightly amused if only because of Merlin’s reaction. 

“Oh! Really?” Arthur Weasley exclaimed, surprised but also not. “What a coincidence! I suppose it’s a common enough name. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Arthur!” 

“Likewise,” Arthur agreed easily. 

Weasley turned to Merlin and extended his hand as well. 

“Emrys,” Merlin said with a smile, shaking the man’s hand energetically. 

Honestly, he wasn’t sure why he didn’t just say his first name when introducing himself to both Weasleys, but he had a feeling that they would think he was crazy if he told him that his name was actually ‘Merlin’. He really didn’t have the emotional energy to deal with that at the moment, even though that literally was his name… It wasn’t his fault that people decided to make it weird!

Weasley smiled and breathlessly reiterated his gratitude again. 

“It was no trouble,” Arthur assured, “We were coming here as well. My friend lost his wand the other day and needed a replacement anyway.”

“Oh no!” Weasley said, his eyes widening in horror. He seemed to reach and clutch for his own wand, just to make sure that it was still there. “How terrible! I do hope you find it.”

Merlin waved him off sheepishly. “It’s alright, I wasn’t that attached to it. Anyway, let’s go in, shall we? I’ve heard that Bill here is getting his first wand, and I think it would be terrible of us to make him wait any longer.” He winked at Bill, who turned a little red, but flashed him a cheerful grin. 

“Of course, of course,” Weasley agreed, opening the door with the chime of a bell. “After you?” 

“Thanks!” Merlin said, then dragged Arthur into the cramped wand shop by the hand. 

It was just as cluttered as Merlin remembered. Stacks of dark turquoise, magenta, brown, and black wand boxes were crammed into every available space: the corners of the room, underneath the desk, and, of course, into the many shelves that extended to the back of the shop. Identification papers were messily put into piles, weighed down by books and the occasional carving tool. 

Behind the counter, dimly lit by a magically powered oil lamp, was a familiar greyed man, with laughter lines creasing the corners of his eyes and a peculiar, knowing glint sparking in his eyes. 

“Garrick!” Merlin exclaimed, waving at their old friend. “Long time, no see!”

“Master Emrys,” Ollivander greeted in a creaky voice, his eyes twinkling in amusement. “What a pleasant surprise.” 

Merlin brushed that off with a wave of his hand. “Oh, come on, you probably already knew that we were coming.”

“Indeed,” he hummed cryptically. “So, what is it you’ll be needing on this day, Master Emrys?” the wandmaker asked. 

Really, it was uncanny how similar Kilgharrah and Ollivander were. Merlin might be a little mad, but he could swear that they nearly had the same voice. He had his suspicions that Ollivander might actually be a reincarnation of Kilgharrah somehow, but he didn’t want to ask about that quite yet… 

“I’m not a master of anything, Garrick,” Merlin sighed, but didn’t push any further than that. “I just need the, uh, the usual.” he finished, glancing distractedly at the other two people in the shop. 

“I thought so,” Ollivander replied lightly. “I’ll be just a moment, Master Emrys.” 

With that, the wandmaker disappeared into the back of the shop. Merlin sighed, shaking his head at the unneeded title. 

“Garrick really needs an assistant,” Arthur commented, peering at the messy stacks of wand registrations with trepidation. “I don’t think his method of organisation is very… efficient.” 

“Well, you know him, he’ll probably insist on doing everything himself.” 

Everything fell into an awkward silence for a few moments. Arthur Weasley clasped his hands in front of him, and his son rocked on his heels, his little eyes darting all over the walls. Now that they were separated from the horde of people outside, all that could be heard were the creaking of the floorboards, the water rushing through pipes in the walls, and the muffled voices from the streets. 

“So, do you two know Ollivander personally?” Weasley asked to break the quiet. 

“Oh, yes,” Arthur said. He bumped Merlin’s shoulder with his own. “This idiot has lost countless wands at this point.” 

“Hey! It’s not my fault! Sometimes they just disappear!” Merlin protested indignantly, but they both knew it was useless to try and defend himself. Merlin truly had lost a shameful amount of fake wands over the years, especially when they began to rise in popularity. 

“Well, let’s all pray that you don’t lose this one!” Weasley interjected, his voice light-hearted but polite, as people’s voices usually are when they’re making conversation to pass the time. 

“Honestly, it would take more than divine intervention to get my friend to keep track of his things,” Arthur teased, his blue eyes catching Merlin’s for a moment. 

The sight of his husband alone was usually enough for his heart to swell with affection, but there was something special about the way his hair reflected the light coming through the window in shimmers of gold, almost like a halo was forming around the crown of Arthur’s head… It made Merlin’s breath pause in his chest.

Merlin barely heard the way the conversation was continuing, too busy drinking in the picture Arthur made. His eyes crinkled a little as he spoke with Weasley, his smile brilliant and slightly crooked.

To say the least, Merlin was… distracted in his effort to memorise all of it. Often, he endeavoured to learn the angles of Arthur’s face by heart. If he couldn’t immediately picture every part of Arthur, it wasn’t good enough— He needed to relearn him all over again, so that every moment they were apart, Merlin could picture him in his mind to ease the ache in his chest. 

Once upon a time, Merlin had almost forgotten what his husband looked like, which had been his own personal nightmare. Arthur’s first death had preceded a long period of mourning and grief; decades passed with Merlin begging any higher power that would listen to bring Arthur back to him. A gut-wrenching realisation followed when he noticed that he wasn’t ageing anymore— that when Arthur had died, his life had simply stopped. The leaves would constantly change colours, and the hills would be snowed on countless times, but Merlin would still see his unchanged face reflected back at him in the mirror. 

He’d scoured books upon books, trying to find a way to bring Arthur back. Kilgharrah had kept telling him that Arthur would rise on his own when Albion needed him most, but Merlin was slowly going insane waiting for him, watching all their friends die around him and Camelot gradually fall into ruin. 

Finally, he’d taken their destiny into his own hands. He had no spell for it, no method, but somehow through sheer force of will and blood-curdling agony, he’d bound their souls together, connecting Arthur to his own life so that they would never part again. 

He’d long since healed from those days. Centuries had passed and they’d spoken at length about everything that had happened, and Arthur was still here. However, he still found himself glancing over at Arthur to reassure himself that this was real, that Arthur was real, and that Merlin wasn’t eternally alone. His husband was— Gods, Merlin loved him so much. Arthur was tangible, touchable, and perfect. Merlin had known from the moment he’d seen him all those years ago — that cocky prince full of arrogance and well-hidden insecurities — that he would never love anyone as much as he loved Arthur. 

“Merlin?” Arthur repeated, snapping his fingers in front of his face. His gaze, open and unguarded, was a gorgeous blue as he stared into Merlin’s eyes. What an idiot. Merlin loved him too much.

Merlin blinked slowly, amused and a little sappy. He was very aware that he was staring with blatant heart eyes, but he didn’t care what the Weasleys thought about it. “Hm?” He questioned. He thought he rather wanted to kiss Arthur now.

“Pay attention, Merlin,” Arthur chastised, but his voice held no annoyance. He gestured to Ollivander, who had reentered the room. 

“Oh, sorry,” Merlin apologised sheepishly. Ollivander just shared a knowing look with Arthur. 

“Here you are, Master Emrys,” Ollivander said lowly, carefully presenting a beautiful (but coreless) wand to Merlin. 

“What! No!” Merlin gasped. “You must’ve spent ages carving this, I’d feel bad if I took it just to lose it again!” 

The closer he got to it, the more beautiful it became. The wand was made of polished English oak, as all the wands Ollivander made for him were. (Merlin suspected it was a bit of an ongoing joke for the wandmaker, considering that the legend-version of Merlin was also thought to carry an English oak wand. However, he had never brought it up because of the teasing he knew would follow.) Gorgeously smooth swirls were carved into the handle, with several gold bands looping like rings along the base. The shaft was painstakingly carved with small dragons in mid-flight, curving toward the tip of the wand, and the remaining spaces were filled with tiny whittled flowers. Truly, it had to be one of the most elaborately artistic wands Ollivander had ever made for Merlin. 

“Gods, I don’t think I can accept this,” Merlin said in awe. “You’ve really outdone yourself this time, Garrick.”

Arthur leaned over to him, casually putting his warm hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “All the more incentive for you not to lose it this time,” Arthur muttered into his ear, a smile in his voice. 

Merlin rolled his eyes with a grin, sneakily elbowing Arthur in the gut as he gratefully accepted the wand. The wood seemed to hum under his touch, even without the presence of a core.

Gods, how was he ever going to use it? It was so perfect that Merlin was hesitant to even hold it, lest his hands made it dirty! 

“Thank you, Garrick. I’ll try my best not to lose this one,” he promised, gently placing it into a wand box. 

He dodged Arthur, who had been aiming to playfully ruffle his hair, and couldn’t resist taking his hand and intertwining their fingers. The contact made Arthur smile wide like it always did, turning his playful grin into what Merlin had mentally dubbed his puppyish smile. He felt his heart swell in his chest again and knew that they needed to leave quickly or else he might accidentally kiss his husband in public.

He settled for telepathically telling Arthur that he loved him, which made his husband’s eyes soften as he repeated it back to him. 

“Alright,” Merlin coughed, remembering there was a future student with them. “How much for it? Arthur, you’ve got the money, don’t you?” 

Arthur nodded, pulling out their money pouch from his pocket. He didn’t break contact with Merlin for a second, and he loved how Arthur’s ring (the one from Ygraine, placed on his forefinger) was pressed coolly into his skin. 

“I believe your services to us are payment enough,” Ollivander said vaguely. “I am honoured to aid Emrys in any way I can.”

“No, no, I’m not taking this for free, there’s no way,” Merlin said, taking their money and counting out fifteen galleons. Before Ollivander could protest, he had set them on the counter, making sure to pocket his wand box so he didn’t forget to take it with him. 

“Ah, you’re far too generous, Master Emrys,” Ollivander’s voice was a little teasing this time. 

Merlin huffed in faux-annoyance. “Oh, don’t start that. Thank you again for the wand, Garrick, I’m sure we’ll see each other again at some point. In the meantime, I believe Bill here is practically itching with anticipation for his own wand,” Merlin looked pointedly at the awaiting Weasleys, and Ollivander quickly diverted his attention to them.

“Ah! You’re quite right. Welcome, welcome! A new Hogwarts student, yes? How wonderful,” he said kindly to Bill, who smiled up at him shyly. 

“Good luck, Bill!” Merlin waved as he headed for the door. “Don’t worry if the first couple don’t work, you’ll find a good one eventually!” 

Bill nodded, a faintly nervous expression on his face.

As Merlin dragged him out by the hand, Arthur waved to them both as well. “I’ll see you in class,” he called. 

Then, when they were back on the street, Merlin threw up a disillusionment charm and freely kissed all over Arthur’s face just to hear him laugh.

An empty pot behind Ollivander exploded and Bill yelped, hastily throwing the wand back onto the counter. He flushed darkly in embarrassment, kind of ashamed at how quickly the wand had rejected him, but his dad patted him warmly on the shoulder. He took a deep breath, and it made him feel a little better.

“Ah, not that one, I believe,” Ollivander said graciously, not at all perturbed about the broken pot. In fact, he ignored it altogether like it had never happened, and Bill was kind of relieved that he didn’t mention it. 

Thoughtfully, Ollivander procured another wand, looking from Bill’s face and back to it, as if he were trying to compare them. Humming, he carefully handed him the wand, offering it with pensive eyes.

“Sycamore and unicorn hair. Twelve inches, nice and flexible— give it a wave,” he said lightly as Bill took the wand. 

Hesitating for a moment, but curious to see what would happen next, Bill gave it a firm flick. He jolted in surprise when it made one of the nearby books spit out all the loose papers that had been scattered throughout the pages. 

“Hm, not quite,” Ollivander said as Bill sheepishly put the wand back onto the counter with the rest of the wands they had tried. The wandmaker wandered to the back of the shop again, muttering to himself as he perused the many boxes, “Perhaps a different core… Yes, let’s try this.” 

He deftly plucked a wandbox from the depths of the tall shelves and opened it, delicately presenting it to Bill. “Sycamore and dragon heartstring, eleven inches, very supple.” 

He looked at Bill expectantly, who bit his cheek with nerves. What if he was going to be stuck here forever looking for a wand? What if he simply wasn’t cut out for this kind of stuff? 

No! No, there was definitely a wand out there for him, and he was going to learn all sorts of things with it. Maybe he would learn how to duel with it, or maybe he’d learn how to heal bones, or maybe he’d even learn how to break curses (that had always seemed really cool to him)... 

But what if he wasn’t good at any of those things? Bill shook himself, remembering Emrys’s reassurance from earlier that he would find a wand, which washed away the rest of his anxiety. It didn’t matter if he was any good at those things, but he wanted to learn anyway. 

Nodding to himself with a newfound determination, he reached for the wand. 

Immediately when Bill’s fingers touched the handle, the wood seemed to vibrate — not menacingly like some of the others he had touched, but more akin to the purring of a stretching cat. When he grasped it more firmly, a warm, golden light began to emit from the tip, and an explosion of pretty gold sparkles fluttered out and sprinkled down onto them like fireworks. 

“Well done!” Dad cheered excitedly. “Oh, well done, Bill! That’s brilliant, truly brilliant!” 

“I did it?” Bill asked, lighting up. A delighted grin took over his face and he jumped on the balls of his feet. “I did it!”

“Yes, bravo, indeed!” Ollivander said, clasping his hands together in satisfaction. “Very good, very good… Hm.” He smiled mysteriously. “Yes, I believe you will do great things, Mr Weasley. Your adventure is awaiting.” 

Unsure of what that meant, Bill only nodded, turning his new wand over in his hands with awe. It was a lightly coloured, tan wood, which had a small curve to it, and there were simple carved bands around the handle. Merlin, he really liked the way it felt in his hand. It was new and exciting, and he couldn’t wait to learn how to use it!

Even though he desperately wanted to look at it more, he knew they had to get going soon if they wanted to finish shopping today, so he reverently placed the wand back in its box and tucked it under his arm, a special feeling of pride growing in his chest at the sight. He had his own wand now! Wasn’t that cool?

While his dad was paying, however, he was ripped from his thoughts at the sound of someone screaming outside. A shiver ran through his spine immediately. It wasn’t the fun, screaming laughter that he had heard earlier in the street— no, this was… this was hoarse, and frightened, and terrible.  

Dad looked outside with wide eyes, dread visibly locked in every joint and bone. When Ollivander urgently said, “You must go before it’s too late!”, his dad grabbed Bill by the arm, thanked the wandmaker in a voice strained with fear, and ran him out of the store in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron.

Chapter Text

Entering seventh year was a slightly terrifying concept. After all, when Devon was a sixth year student, he had been drawn into a false sense of security — an illusion of ‘there’s still time’ and ‘don’t worry, you’ll figure out where your passions lie’.  

And he had believed it. God, he’d really believed it. He’d stupidly assumed that in the near future, he would be randomly struck with inspiration to become— to become— hell, an Auror, a journalist, a teacher, a potion maker, whatever. Just… something useful, something he could grasp with both hands and run with because if he didn’t, he’d be stranded and his classmates would leave him behind. 

But this year, Devon was finally becoming a seventh year student… And he still didn’t know what the hell he was going to do. It was a helpless feeling, one of inexperience and unknowing how the future would be. It was so much worse when— when he watched his classmates fly around each other at the end of last year, chirping confidently about their future careers like they had already graduated and achieved their dreams. Meanwhile, an invisible pressure was pushing and pushing him, telling him that he needed to do something, but he didn’t know where to start.

Fuck.  

This was his last year at Hogwarts. Maybe it just hadn’t clicked during the summer? There was no more time to contemplate, no more time to explore— he had to know the answer to a question that he had no idea how to solve. Where would he go? What would he do? Who would he follow, and who would he lead? 

It was impossible.

Devon looked around Flourish and Blotts, stacked high with all manner of textbooks. This would be his last time going shopping for school supplies, and… his last time going for a robe fitting. He’d also never have to hurriedly finish his summer assignments before term started, and he probably wouldn’t even go to Diagon Alley with his sister like this again. 

He trailed his fingers on the spines of books, a forlorn pit growing in his stomach. A History of Magic, he remembered reading that. And there was Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. That had actually been pretty interesting. He would never need any of these books ever again, though. He’d probably never even come in this shop after this last time. 

His mind began to race. Had he made a difference at Hogwarts? Probably not. Had he spent his time wisely? No, definitely not, but how could he? He was a Slytherin in the aftermath of a war; all he got were distrustful glares from his peers, and dismissive glances from his professors in favour of the students that actually deserved their attention. 

You’d think that maybe he could rely on his fellow Slytherins for support, but he couldn’t even trust the rest of his House, honestly. Who knew what the fuck they got up in their spare time? For a good half of them, their parents were Death Eaters or working for You-Know-Who, so after He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was destroyed, it was practically a bloodbath. 

And he, amidst the hostility, had been swept aside. He had been pushed away, placed in the Slytherin box, and promptly forgotten about. So what if he’d lived every day in fear of what would happen next? So what if he’d been frightened to death for his little sister, Olive, who had just barely started her first year at the time? 

None of that had mattered. He was just a half-blood to his House, and a Slytherin to the rest of the school. God, it was like being tossed into a pool of ice water when he’d first realised just— just how little he mattered to the people around him. Everything from his flesh to his heart felt cold and stiff and… inconsequential. No one noticed anything. He often wondered how much it would take until they did notice, but— 

But he would never be anything other than a fucking Slytherin. Well, at least he knew that wouldn’t change. 

He might sound overly bitter, but really, he was just scared as shit about everything that was happening. Hell, first he and his sister had run away from America with their mom, which was a fucking culture shock on its own, but transferring to Hogwarts in the middle of his third year had been a damn nightmare. Too much had changed too quickly, and now that he’d just gotten slightly settled, things were changing again. 

There were so many strange things happening around him, too. Hell, there was still the mystery of that weird man that somehow had authority over Sir Cadogan! Like, what the fuck was up with that? He had never seen the man before (because the blond man was definitely noticeable), but somehow he was getting one of the portraits to do his bidding. That was fishy as hell. Still, when he’d reported it, nothing had been done! No questions, investigations, nothing! God, his word really didn’t count for anything!

“Hey, Devon?” Olive called from within a forest of books, breaking his aggravated train of thought. “Where’s the Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2?”

Devon sighed, brushing his thoughts aside as he trudged over to her, raising a displeased eyebrow at her. Giving a cursory glance at the stacks of books around them, he immediately spotted the textbook at the top of a stack right next to Olive. He taunted, “You really don’t see it, Liv? It’s literally right in front of you.” 

“Shut up,” Olive bit back jokingly, still searching through the endless embossed titles. “Just show me, we still have to go get food for Quinn.”

Devon groaned, grabbing the book from on top of one of the highest stacks. “I hate that stupid bird.”

“Shut up, Quinn is cute!” Olive protested, snatching the textbook from his hands. 

“Yeah, and he fucking hates me,” Devon complained. “I still have scars on my fingers from where he bit me.” 

He made sure to brandish said fingers to emphasise his point.

“Whatever, that was ages ago,” Olive said, dismissing his very real concerns. “D’you need more ink?”

Devon opened his mouth to respond that he needed more parchment, but he was interrupted by a shrill scream from outside. Alarmed, he stopped short, mouth still agape, and looked at his sister, who had whipped around to the window with wide, panicked eyes. She clutched her books and her supplies list tightly to her chest, her breath short. 

People outside were running and shouting in a cacophony of panic and fear. All the hair on Devon’s arms rose as the grating screaming kept going. His head was already starting to hurt, but he couldn’t cover his ears— no, instead, he took hold of Olive’s arm and pulled her deeper into the store, his eyes searching frantically for a place to hide. 

No, no— the stacks of books would be good for distraction if they were attacked, but if they toppled over and crushed them instead, it would be game over— shit, it was a fucking maze in this store— everything was too exposed—

“Fuck, is there anything but dumb books in here?” Devon hissed, his voice tight. 

Outside, he heard someone maliciously shout, “Get back, or I’ll kill her!” 

Olive’s arm trembled in his grasp. 

Kill? Shit, they said kill, they said— Kill who? Fuck, no, there was nothing he could do, he had to protect Olive and— Where could they— Wait— There! 

“Devon—?” his sister whimpered, but he shushed her and quickly dragged her behind the checkout counter where the cashier was also hiding with their wand clenched in a death grip in their quivering, white fist.

“Devon, what’s happening—” Olive whispered, her voice wavering as tears pricked her eyes.

“Quiet, we’ll be fine just— be quiet,” Devon said, but his strained voice was also shaking. All the adrenaline in his body was rushing in terrified jitters through his limbs, and his pulse was beating with rapid anxiety in his ears. 

God, fuck— This was so bad, this was so bad—

“You’re all filth!” the dark voice spat from outside, the word muffled by the walls separating them from impending danger. “When the Dark Lord returns, things will be back to how they should be! HEY! Aren’t you listening to me? I said back up or I’ll gouge her little eyes out!”

Devon shook to the very core of his being, his heart hammering in his ribcage like a heavy fist on a door. Shit! They should’ve picked a different day to go shopping. Fuck, he thought all this was over already! The bad guy was defeated by that kid or whatever, why was this happening?! Why wasn’t it fucking over?!

“It’s going to be okay,” he whispered, trying hard to convince himself the same, even as his mind ran with the terrifying possibilities. “We’re going to be fine.”

Fuck, he hoped he was right.

“Do you hear this drivel?” Arthur muttered in annoyance. “Honestly, the man is completely mad. Does he even hear what he’s saying?”

“He’s brainwashed,” Merlin murmured back, adjusting his grip on his new wand.

Arthur sighed, eyes scanning the area to assess the situation. The leader, a man with wild, matted hair and an uncomfortably deranged glint in his eyes, was standing on the steps in front of Flourish and Blotts with his wand jabbed against a young girl’s throat. The girl, who couldn’t be more than twelve, had bright, watery eyes as big as plates in her terror, and she was crying, loud and unrestrained. 

Spittle flew from the leader’s mouth as he roared for the girl to shut up, his voice explosive and harsh. He turned back to the crowd of people, baring his teeth in an animalistic smile. The maniac in question continued his speech, so obsessed with hearing himself talk that he didn’t even notice Arthur and Merlin creeping toward him.

“Seems like he has three friends on standby,” Arthur observed, picking out the few others with long black cloaks from the crowd. 

They were holding their wands at the ready, and a few were harassing the helpless mob of people for their own entertainment. Everyone was either struggling to shove their way out of the crowd to escape, or anxiously trying to figure out how to fix the situation without making it worse. 

“Four,” Merlin corrected, his eyes flashing gold. “And one of them has blocked apparition in this area.”

“That’s idiotic,” Arthur said incredulously. “Doesn’t that stop them all from escaping, too?”

Merlin shrugged. “Helps us.”

“Right,” Arthur took a deep breath. “Well, I’ll deal with the maniac and the child, you deal with his friends. Got it?”

Merlin hummed in acknowledgement and Arthur felt the telltale crackle of energy in the air as his husband focused his magic. Arthur silently shook his arms in front of him and Merlin hovered his fingers over them, whispering an incantation. There was a glimmer, and then a familiar pair of sparkling arm bracers appeared on his forearms. Nodding in a quiet thanks, Arthur adjusted them a little until they were more comfortable. 

They both paused for a moment, waiting for the right opportunity to present itself. Merlin’s hair was becoming a little static-y, his fingers twitching with a well-concealed eagerness. 

Arthur settled his weight forward and got ready to run. 

“—however, until the Dark Lord returns, I’ve decided to continue his legacy,” the leader continued in a croon, leaning down to whisper loud and hot into the little girl’s ear. “How about we start with you, you little wretch?”

“That’s enough!” Merlin boomed finally, his voice powerful and commanding as he stepped out in plain view. He quickly turned his attention toward the four wizards approaching him with their wands pointed at his chest, however, they didn’t fire just yet. 

The crowd backed away as fast as they could, tripping over and stepping on each other in their haste to not get caught in the crossfire. 

“Who the hell are you?” the leader sneered, stopping his movements for a crucial second.

Merlin smiled ambiguously and didn’t answer. Instead, he held up his wand in the air. The leader’s wand immediately flew out of his white-knuckled grip, dodging his desperate attempts to snatch it back out of the air, and zipped toward Merlin’s outstretched palm as if it were magnetised to him. 

Stunned by how easily their leader had been disarmed, the four wizards faltered and looked unsurely at each other, unknowingly letting their guard down. 

Arthur watched carefully as Merlin inspected the leader’s wand for a moment, then—

Snap! He broke it into two pieces under the fanatics’ shocked gazes, throwing the remains behind him with a careless clatter. Merlin glanced silently up at the leader again, his mischievous smirk a challenge.

The idiot’s face transformed from gobsmacked to an ugly, pinching fury in a matter of moments; his lips twisted into a snarl and his eyes burned red-hot as he painfully tightened his grip on the girl’s hair. She let out a whimper, and tears streamed down her cheeks. 

There was a glint of silver in the leader’s hand, and Arthur knew the man must have procured a knife from somewhere. Alright, fine, he could handle that—

“The hell are you waiting for?” the leader spat at his friends. “Kill him already!” 

A wave of gold signalled that Merlin had put up a protective ward around the crowd just as the four wizards began to shakily descend on him with probably all the dark spells they possibly knew. However, Arthur wasn’t concerned. They were certainly relying on strength in numbers to overpower Merlin, which was a terrible mistake.

Merlin blocked all of their spells with ease, his gaze utterly, unbreakingly focused. All around him, splashes of sinister, electric magical energy fizzled out of existence with just a wave of his hand or a flick of his wrist (which were his attempts to imitate wand movements, but Arthur knew he didn’t need them). 

After a moment, Merlin shouted, “Arthur!” in a signal to him when the four were sufficiently distracted, and Arthur instantly darted out of his hiding place.

The four wizards seemed to think he was there to back up Merlin, so two of them began to shoot spells at him instead. However, Arthur ducked and dodged a few curses, blocking a couple others with his arm bracers, using them as a shield and reflecting them back at the four as he broke through their line of defence. Spells hit the ground with a sharp hiss at his heels, but he ignored it. 

Arthur could hear Merlin increase the intensity of his spells, overwhelming the four enough that they had no opportunity to follow Arthur as they frantically tried to fight back.

It was useless, which they seemed to be rapidly realising. Realistically, Merlin could’ve had them on their knees within seconds, but he was drawing it out for a reason — the fight was a distraction, one that put Arthur in the perfect position. 

Through the shock and confusion and the blinding lights, Arthur emerged from the fight right in front of the unsuspecting leader, who had undoubtedly underestimated Merlin’s abilities. 

Meredith’s lungs were raw from struggling to breathe, her eyes puffy and swollen from crying so much, but she couldn’t stop— her mind was screaming for an escape, but her legs were shaking so violently that she would’ve fallen by now if not for the cruel hand yanking her hair back, forcing her neck into a painful curve. 

“Drink it!” the man hissed, tightening his grip on her hair as he pressed a potion bottle to her mouth insistently. It smelled so awful, rancid and burning and hot, and she knew deep down that it would kill her.

She couldn’t breathe, her lungs were completely stopped and stuck, and her nose was snotty, but she had to keep her lips sealed— Oh, Merlin, why her? Why was it her? She wanted to go home, she wanted to go home and— and she wanted to read the letter Olive had sent her this morning— because she might not be able to anymore. She might die and never see her or her parents ever again—

“Fucking drink it!” the man roared in frustration, his rough, invasive fingers attempting to pry open her mouth. His breath stank, clinging hot to her face, and she shivered in disgust. 

She couldn’t cry out, all she could do was shake her head and cry and try not to let the sick churning and twisting in her stomach win.

She couldn’t die, she couldn’t— the thought of the nothingness that would follow was so dreadful, so lonely and horrifying— the idea that everything she was would stop in an instant— She couldn’t— She wouldn’t be able to exist and breathe the air and wonder about anything, everything would just be cold and dark and—

She didn’t know when she had closed her eyes. The sight of his face, his hateful dark eyes and awful sneer, plus everything else happening had been so overwhelming— she had to make the image disappear. So, the instant that cold metal had pressed to her throat, the moment she thought that everything was over, she didn’t see what happened next.

She heard the hard sound of a fist punching flesh, then the wheeze of air forcefully leaving someone's lungs— shoes scraped the floor in a scuffle, and— There was another ugly hit followed by the thud of someone crumpling to the floor.

She waited for the knife to return, waited for the painful grip of her hair, or the bottle pressed tight to her tense, sealed lips— but it never came. Instead, someone was undoing the ropes restraining her arms, calm and careful…

“Are you alright?” a man asked. There was a warm, comforting touch on her shoulder.

Her heart pattering loudly with adrenaline, she opened her eyes and saw blue.

The man in front of her was nothing like the one from before. He was steady and controlled, and his blue eyes were nothing but concerned and sympathetic. She was beginning to wonder if she really had died because for a moment, in her exhausted, shaken state, she was completely convinced that he was some sort of golden, haloed god, even if she didn’t believe in those. 

However, before she could bring herself to answer him, she saw the dark silhouette of someone rising behind him, framed in bright light like an evil spectre — she could only gasp and point out in warning.

The man, her saviour, spun around so quickly she didn’t even have time to blink. She watched with trembling shoulders as he caught the bad guy’s fist before it made contact, twisting his arm behind his back in a practised move and trapping it painfully between his shoulder blades. The attacker — the villain, the monster, the one who had almost killed her — let out a tortured yelp and strained away from his grip, but the blue-eyed man held firm. 

Then, Meredith heard the snapping of people apparating into Diagon Alley and faintly realised that the nightmare, for all its horrors and panic-filled seconds, was over. 

Arthur sighed, slightly disappointed. Did no one actually know how to fight physically? Did they all just expect that they would always have a wand? That was so impractical! After all, no one could ever be like Merlin, who used magic like it was another limb; a physical part of himself rather than just a tool. 

Arthur had assumed most people would be aware of such a blatant weakness, but apparently not. Really, it was truly pitiful sometimes. The man’s form had been all wrong, and his wrist had been weak. How had he expected to take Arthur out like that? It was a pathetic claw for the upper hand, and it had failed quite miserably. 

“Let me go! You’ll pay for this!” the leader growled through gritted teeth, struggling against him. Arthur glared at him and tightened his hold, forcing the man down as he whimpered with the pain. 

“Shut up, your tongue is bigger than the threat you pose,” Arthur said firmly, leaving no room for argument. The man hissed an infuriated noise and Arthur could feel his anger growing with every second that passed, but they both knew that it was no use to fight back anymore. 

“Meredith!” a woman cried out as she ran over to the girl, whose shoulders were practically up to her ears with how tense she was. The woman snatched the girl into a hug, holding her tight. “You’re okay! Merlin, are you okay?” She pulled back and frantically checked her daughter for injuries, and when she found none, she drew her back in and sobbed into her shoulder. 

Satisfied that the child had been safely returned to her guardian, Arthur turned back to look at his husband, who had presumably lifted the spell preventing apparition because soon Aurors were snapping on the scene like sparks of a firework. 

Merlin had already reduced the maniac’s lackeys to their knees and bound their arms in ropes of golden light, so he was standing there waiting patiently with his arms crossed over his chest as the Aurors ran around and locked magic-dampening cuffs on all of the perpetrators. Arthur's nerves electrified when Merlin idly glanced over at him, and— oh, his eyes turned intense and dark as he surveyed him, flitting over his face and his chest in search of injuries. Or… perhaps he was looking for something else. 

That was— Gods have mercy… 

Arthur never tired of seeing Merlin win fights like this without even breaking a sweat. His face was still calm and composed, eyes sparkling with reminisces of that bright gold, his dark lashes fanning shadows against his cheeks. Gods, Arthur wasn’t really one for poetry, no matter what jokes had come along about it, but… Merlin was an ethereal vision with the wind of his magic brushing through his hair, the very air seeming to bend to his command. 

He was beautiful. 

Without breaking eye contact with Arthur, Merlin wordlessly waved his wand again, ignoring all the people staring at him, and the protective barrier around the crowd melted away. 

The sight of such effortless power did something to Arthur’s heart every time, sending it into a flurry of light, tapping beats. His husband had grown into his confidence over the years, and it suited him… far too well. 

Arthur cleared his throat, looking away and trying to gather his focus. An Auror came over and clamped a set of cuffs on the wrists of the leader, allowing Arthur to release him from his hold and finally inspect the potion bottle he’d confiscated from him a few minutes before. 

It was an unassuming, dusty bottle, the glass dark enough that Arthur couldn’t see the liquid inside. He turned it over in his hands, trying to decide if it was safe to open. 

He’d seen the man attempting to force the girl to drink the potion (fortunately, he was unsuccessful). However, the most curious thing about it was that when the leader had seen Arthur and realised the game was up, he desperately tried to drink the potion himself rather than fight to escape first. Even after Arthur had stolen it from him, his fingers had whispered after his in a last-ditch effort to snatch it back.

If it was potentially harmful, why would he do that? Arthur had a feeling he wouldn’t like the answer. 

“What’s that?” Merlin asked, materialising by his side in an unassuming fashion.

Arthur looked up at his husband and was immediately struck again by Merlin’s messy hair and the glow of his skin — the glow he always got when he got to use a bigger burst of his magic. And then, there were his eyes — blue with flecks of raw gold. Arthur swallowed, watching those eyes flick meaningfully down to his throat, sending a rush of warmth through his cheeks and his heart. 

Merlin tilted his head toward Arthur’s hands and the— Right, the bottle. 

He cleared his throat, flustered, and his husband smiled smugly, knowing full well of his effect on him. Arthur had always been fascinated by his magic. 

“I’m not sure what it is,” Arthur admitted, frowning as he rolled the small bottle between his fingers. “Do you think it’s safe to open? I closed it after I took it from him, but I’m not sure…”

Merlin stilled his fingers, his hands melting the worry away through a simple touch of his skin. “Best not to do that here, even if I am curious as well. It’s dangerous, and we’re in a crowded area.” 

Arthur sighed. “You’re probably right. Excuse me—” He caught the shoulder of a passing Auror— “I took this off the primary instigator of this mess. He was attempting to get the girl to drink it, but he tried to as well when that didn’t work. It might be…” Arthur looked at Merlin with a frown, a thought striking him. “It might be explosive.” 

Recognition flashed in Merlin’s eyes, but he stayed silent. 

The Auror nodded grimly, noting something in his notebook. With a clean and professional movement, he carefully tapped the bottle with the tip of his wand, and a transparent orb encased the bottle, sending it floating in the air and out of Arthur’s grasp. 

“We’ll take care of it from here,” the Auror said curtly, then jogged off with the orb following closely behind him. 

Merlin hummed pensively next to him, watching the bobbing potion disappear into the mass of Aurors and bystanders. He shook his head to himself, but his eyes were hard and shuttered. 

“Well, I believe we haven't finished shopping yet,” he said, deflecting the inevitable conversation until later. Seamlessly, he pulled up the hood of his cloak to better blend in with the crowd, and then conjured a large, pointed hat for Arthur, grinning as he jammed it on his head.

Arthur rolled his eyes, but let him put the weak disguise on anyway. He wanted to avoid questioning just as much as Merlin did, if only because it would get undeniably exhausting when the Ministry found out they weren’t even registered individuals. (Honestly, Arthur could say they had whole-heartedly tried their best in the beginning, but then it got so tedious that it wasn’t worth the effort.)

Merlin tapped his chin, thinking. “I seem to recall we still needed some…” He paused, his face scrunching as he tried to remember. Groaning in frustration, he began to dig through his pockets for their list. 

Arthur laughed. “You’re such an old man, Merlin,” he teased. “It’s a shock that you can remember your shirt in the morning.” 

“Fuck off,” Merlin quipped, pulling out a horribly wrinkled shopping list and attempting to flatten it. “You didn’t even know how to put on a shirt by the time you turned thirty, you big baby.” 

“I didn’t need to, I had you,” Arthur said lightly. “I was simply delegating work.” 

Merlin squawked in outrage. “Delegating? Is that what they’re calling it now? Oh, you’re hopeless!” 

“Come on, I know you enjoyed dressing me, you can’t even deny it,” Arthur said in an overly-pleased tone. 

He heard his husband mutter something insulting under his breath, involving the words ‘stuck-up,’ ‘self-important,’ and — predictably — ‘prat’. 

“I heard that, Merlin,”

“Shh,” Merlin hushed, intently reading through their supplies list like he was trying to solve a complicated puzzle. He suddenly grabbed his arm and began dragging him in a certain direction. “This way, clotpole. Wait, do you think they’re even still open?” he wondered out loud.

“Well,” Arthur bit his cheek to contain his smile, “if they’re closed, maybe they’ll see the powerful warlock who effortlessly disarmed those terrorists and just open the doors again anyway.”

Merlin flashed a roguish grin at him from over his shoulder. “Was that a compliment? From Arthur Pendragon himself? I’m impressed.”

“Don’t get used to it, Merlin,” Arthur responded sardonically, but his answering grin ruined the effect of his words. 

By the time the Aurors came around the shops to see if everyone was alright, Devon had worked himself into such an anxious state that his sister was getting worried. He fiddled with the silver ring on his thumb, but his hands were shaking so badly that he’d almost dropped it on the floor several times. 

It wasn’t his damn fault that his brain had a terrible habit of overthinking things to the point that it was a detriment to him. He wasn’t entirely sure how to deal with it, though, and neither did his family most of the time. Right now, Olive had cautiously tucked herself into his side and clutched his arm. Devon did his best not to snap at her for it because he knew she was trying to help him, but it was hard when it felt like he could hear every little creak, shout, slap, and whispering breath around him. 

It was too fucking much. 

So when the Aurors came around and said that everything was okay again — that the criminal was apprehended and everyone could go about their day after a quick witness statement — Devon had a hard time convincing himself that things were truly fine again. What if the Aurors were wrong? What if those assholes were coming back — coming for Olive, or even him? Who was next? How would they know if they were really safe? 

“For fuck’s sake,” he hissed to himself, scrubbing his hair in frustration as he crawled out of their hiding spot. He shook his head, trying to recentre himself, then took a deep breath and nudged Olive’s shoulder to get her attention as he began to speed walk through the maze of books. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked, holding her new textbooks in tight arms as she attempted to follow his steps. 

“Let’s just finish this quickly so we can go back home, okay?” Devon sighed in irritation, heading for the door. 

He looked up through the window as he walked, then— Wait. He stopped mid-step so fast that Olive ran into his side, but he didn’t even have it in him to respond when she exclaimed in annoyance. 

“What the fuck,” he uttered out loud upon seeing the strange blond man right outside, sharing banter with a hooded, dark-haired guy. He was wearing the most ridiculous hat, Devon noticed, but he was too overwhelmed by everything else to think any more about that. 

They were just… walking away from the scene like nothing had happened. It was so unbelievably out of place that it momentarily shook Devon’s anxiety right out of his body. What the absolute hell was going on—?

“Oh my god, is that Meredith?” Olive said suddenly, her voice rigid with dread. Her eyes expanded with horror when she realised— “Oh god, it is Meredith!” 

“Shit—” Devon cursed, attempting to stop Olive from running out to her friend, worried still that it wasn’t safe, but it was too late. She was already carelessly throwing her (new!) books onto the ground, falling into a dead sprint. 

“Mary!” she screamed, launching herself at her friend with open arms. Instantly, they were sobbing into each other’s hair, clutching tight enough to make their knuckles pale. 

Devon bit his lip and rushed out of the shop after her, glancing in frustration at the two retreating figures. 

Great, another mystery. He was going to go insane before school had even started.

Chapter Text

T H E  D A I L Y   P R O P H E T

DANGER IN DIAGON ALLEY

Unprecedented Attack On Students In Broad Daylight 

July 26, 1982

Hogwarts students who went shopping in Diagon Alley last weekend ended up getting a lot more than school supplies. Death Eater Scott Macnair, who avoided Azkaban by claiming to have been under the Imperius Curse, organised an attack on oblivious students and their families last Saturday afternoon. 

According to several eyewitnesses, Macnair carried out his plan in front of the famed Flourish & Blotts, just a few steps away from where young, twelve-year-old Meredith Witherspoon was getting ready to purchase her school books. 

“It was simply awful,” says Róisín Witherspoon, Meredith’s mother. “One moment she was beside me, chattering away about the books she was going to read this semester, and the next, she was stolen away from me by that horrid man. There was nothing I could do, nothing at all. I’ve never felt so helpless.” 

Distraught when her daughter was captured by the terrorists working under Macnair, Mrs Witherspoon had briefly believed that Meredith would not survive to see her second year at Hogwarts. 

The Auror statement regarding this incident indicates that Macnair and his thugs had cast an Anti-Apparition charm over the entire street, preventing Aurors from stopping this ugly attack. So who would save young Meredith from her premature demise?

The answer to this is unclear. Even over the span of a few days, facts have been so muddled with fast-spread rumours that it is difficult to separate the truth from fantastical stories. However, all stories seem to come to one consensus — or rather, two. 

“There was a bloke with dark hair and wicked golden eyes, fighting off four or five guys at once,” claims Percy Evergreen, a third-year Hogwarts student. Percy had been eating ice cream at famed Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor with his friends at the time of the attack, placing him just across the street from Flourish & Blotts. “He didn’t even look bothered at all. He really looked like he could take on twenty more men and still not break a sweat. Then when those henchmen guys were distracted, this other bloke ran in from nowhere and punched Macnair right in the nose!” 

Percy recalls this story with obvious enthusiasm and admiration, and it is clear that these two figures have made quite a favourable impression on him. Indeed, this admiration is well-earned; every story boils down to two heroic men who bravely stepped up to the challenge in a time of need. 

Even Meredith herself can attest to this as she describes her saviour, “a man of gold with kind blue eyes,” with high esteem.

Unfortunately, not much else is known of these two mysterious liberators due to their hasty disappearance shortly after Aurors arrived on the scene. Despite this, many families will still remember the powerful wizard with magical abilities not seen since Albus Dumbledore in his prime, as well as the well-built man who struck Macnair down in one blow and left completely unscathed. Thanks to their efforts in single-handedly putting an end to this dastardly threat, there were no reported casualties from the incident. 

As a community, it will be tough to move on from such a scare, especially when the Ministry hasn’t given any information about the motivation behind this premeditated attack. Such silence has caused unrest and paranoia among families, who are beginning to regard the Ministry’s lack of response with concern as more facts are unveiled.

“The lunatic that grabbed me— he kept going on about wanting to carry on You-Know-Who’s work,” reveals Meredith Witherspoon. “He kept trying to make me drink this potion, too. It smelt—” She pauses here, shivering at the mere memory. “It smelt like death.” 

Aurors have not disclosed what this supposed potion had contained, leaving this tumultuous mystery unsolved. We can only hope that some answers will be provided soon to put the community back at ease.

Editors of the Daily Prophet would like to once again thank Meredith Witherspoon and her family for their time. We understand this was a difficult story to tell, so we appreciate any insight they have given us and hope that they recover swiftly from this ordeal. 

As for Death Eater Scott Macnair, he will attend his court hearing this Thursday at noon.

Reese Peterson

CONSPIRACY: MACNAIR DEFEATED BY DUMBLEDORE?

By: Rita Skeeter

Last Saturday, disaster struck Diagon Alley with a horrifying assault against young students shopping for supplies!

Scathing criticism has been thrown at the Ministry of Magic for their pitiful response to the situation. Not only did they ignore calls for help from within Diagon Alley during the incident, but they arrived on the scene forty-five minutes too late. As a result of their poor leadership and organisation, three students were devastatingly harmed, with one recovering from extensive injuries in St Mungos! Tragically, it’s still unsure whether they will recover in time for the school year.

Of course, someone had to put a stop to these villains. Rumours of a tall, otherworldly wizard have been circulating the community like wildfire. This hero is said to have magical skills on par with Albus Dumbledore himself! But this mystery man left before Aurors could get a statement from him, vanishing without a trace into the night!

However, suspicions of the hero’s identity may finally be answered. The similarities between the hero and Albus Dumbledore were uncanny when we focused on their combined magical prowess. Speculation has now arisen— was it really Dumbledore himself on the scene? Witnesses say Dumbledore wasn’t to be found at Hogwarts during the time of the attack, which only strengthened this belief.

When asked to comment, Albus Dumbledore simply winked and smiled. The overwhelming evidence is undeniable, and with this obvious confirmation, it is clear that the hero in Diagon Alley and Albus Dumbledore are one and the same. 

However, this brings another question to the forefront of our minds: why was Albus Dumbledore in disguise at Diagon Alley during the time of the attack? According to our sources, Dumbledore might not be as heroic in this story as we first believed. 

Rumour has it that Dumbledore in his disguise was seen working closely with the Death Eaters in question before the time of the attack. When the attack clearly began to fail, Dumbledore must have stepped onto the scene to “save the day”. 

This type of behaviour wouldn’t be outside of Dumbledore’s purview. After all, this wouldn’t be the first time Dumbledore has been in close contact with Death Eaters! Notoriously, Dumbledore stood up for the nefarious Severus Snape in his trial just at the end of last year—

Severus threw the newspaper onto his desk in roiling disgust. Merlin! The audacity of this— this harpy to try to defame Dumbledore like that! In an article that assumed he also single-handedly stopped a Death Eater attack, too! It made no damn sense!

Severus remembered Skeeter at his own trial very well. Merlin, he hated her. She’d been grinning like a sly cat the entire time, chewing on the nib of her quill after unselfconsciously jotting utter rubbish into her stupid notepad, already fabricating a bit to sell to her ignorant readers.

He buried his face in his hands with a frustrated sigh, his hair falling forward in wet strands. He’d just had a bath, so his hair wasn’t quite dry yet. It had been… a while since he’d last taken one (he couldn’t quite remember when), so it was really a relief that his scalp didn’t feel so itchy anymore. 

Truthfully, it had been bothering him for quite a while, but he hadn’t been able to build the courage to actually go do something about it until now. He’d figured out a method to make it not so unbearable this time — if he just covered his left forearm in a thick cloth bandage, he wouldn’t be able to see anything, and if he covered the mirrors with towels, he’d minimise the chances of seeing the rest. The sight of himself — his gaunt face, the snake tainting his skin, the scars on his other arm — all had the unfortunate consequence of making him want to throw up, so he’d been avoiding the experience altogether. 

He felt better now, though. The task of having a bath had been weighing on him for so long, but he’d finally done it. He gave himself a moment to feel proud of himself, but then remembered that other people didn’t have this problem, and felt all the worse. Merlin, everything was a mess…

Severus rubbed at his tired eyes and let out a long, defeated breath before turning back to his desk, pushing The Daily Prophet off to the side. 

The lesson plans for next year were in front of him. He would be teaching two core classes and an elective: Introduction to Potions to the first years, Potions 1 to the second years, and Potions 2 to the third years (who had chosen to take the elective last year). There would be no Advanced Potions because that was just too much for Severus to handle, but maybe he’d take it on next year… that is, if everything went well.

The impending school year was daunting to him, to say the least. He was often nauseous at the thought of standing in front of a class of first years and teaching. He’d never been very good at explaining things to other people. How was he supposed to teach children? And since Slughorn was retiring, he was going to be the Head of Slytherin House, too, apparently. The responsibility felt… wrong and unnatural. How was he going to keep track of everyone? What was he even supposed to do? He couldn’t bring himself to ask anyone. It felt all wrong to ask for anything. 

Severus stared down at his hands. His fingers were fairly long — bony and skeletal and cold. They didn’t feel right. They didn’t feel like they were his hands. They lay on his desk in front of him, but none of it felt real.

He clasped them together and rubbed them, trying to generate some heat. It was like winter in the dungeons already. His hair was like dripping ice. His nose was numb and red. He was here, freezing and alone. 

No one really checked up on him anymore. Not even Albus, who’d promised he would be different. (Severus wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t kept this promise. After all, he definitely had better things to do than talk to him.) 

People were afraid of him after— after his breakdown. So many rumours had spread about him since then. None of them were good. Everyone wanted him gone already, and he hadn’t even started yet. They didn’t want him there. They didn’t want him. 

Why was he doing this? Why was he here? No matter how often he went over these lesson plans, no matter how many times he practised his potions and perfected the instructions, it wasn’t going to work. It wouldn’t magically make him a better teacher, or a better person. 

He’d told himself he wouldn’t read the paper, especially when he caught his own name on the front page, but he’d been unable to stop the curiosity. 

Merlin, nothing was ever right. He couldn’t do anything right. 

Severus found himself shakily opening a drawer of his desk, his fingers fumbling for a small, familiar vial. He’d kept it, rather than throwing it away. Logically, he could probably make an even better amortentia potion, but— he couldn’t throw it away. He didn’t want to throw it away. It reminded him of… something like a home, something like belonging, which he’d never really had. So he clung to it, despite knowing it was bad for him. 

Severus felt hot tears gathering in his eyes as he turned the vial of shimmering liquid over in his hands. This was really so pathetic. He was better than this, wasn’t he? He didn’t need this. He didn’t need this kind of comfort. 

But he did. He did need it. 

Severus unstopped the vial and was immediately consumed by the smell of autumn, the bitter bite of old leather and dark chocolate, and the soft wafts of flowery petals. A shuddery exhale left his lungs, and he let the tears fall onto the rolls of parchment on his desk without a care. 

He really was pathetic. 

It was the final night of July, and a tabby cat with eye markings akin to glasses slunk gracefully along the roads of a certain neighbourhood. There were many perks to Minerva’s animagus form: she could go anywhere she wished, observe anyone she wished, and usually, she wasn’t given a second glance. Of course, she got mixed reactions from other cats — they always seemed to know that she wasn’t exactly one of them — and some people just weren’t particularly feline-friendly, either. Minerva bristled at the thought, her tail fluffing up in indignation. Really, people could be so rude! 

She padded along the sidewalk inconspicuously now, her tail and her head held high. It was beginning to edge into the darker parts of the evening, so there weren’t many people in the streets to see her walk through the moonlight. Most were probably in their little houses, ending the day with a warm meal paired with a late-night film. In fact, she was travelling to one such house because, last she checked, it was a certain child’s second birthday today, and she was curious to see how it was going to be celebrated. 

(Of course, she wasn’t entirely sure if it was going to be celebrated at all. Minerva remembered her observations from nearly a year ago… The Dursleys were, to be quite frank, not very nice people. She didn’t want to believe that they would be heartless enough to forgo Potter’s birthday, but she had a considerable amount of doubt. Still, she hoped that maybe they had accepted Potter into their hearts by now and were raising him as their own.)

Minerva blinked silently as she came upon Number Four, Privet Drive, her large eyes shining in the dark. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary in this house; in fact, it looked much like the houses surrounding it… to an almost painful extent. Like every other house, the lawn and hedges were perfectly trimmed, the car was parked neatly in the driveway, and the window was open, letting the curtains and the sound of the television drift out of the house and into the warm summer air. 

Minerva approached the open window, stepping lightly on the freshly cut grass with a nearly imperceptible rustle. With one perfectly calculated jump, she was on the window sill and peering inside.

There was a large, flushed man, a spindly, giraffe-like woman, and a small yellow-haired toddler at the dining table. Mrs Dursley was lovingly spooning some sort of pureed yams into her son’s mouth, who whined and cried every time the spoon was pulled away.

Something wasn’t right with this picture.

Minerva looked around. There was no second child. Alarm began to raise her fur on end and puff up her tail, her thoughts racing — what happened to the Potter boy? How had Albus not mentioned he was missing? — until she heard a small, breathless sound of wonder from below. Minerva’s slitted eyes glanced down. 

There he was, sitting by himself on the carpet, separated from everyone else. All alone. He had a small, stained blanket underneath him, but otherwise, he had no toys to keep him entertained. The only reason she knew that it was the same boy she’d seen in October at all was because of the painful, jagged pink scar spanning the boy’s forehead like a cruel bolt of lightning blasting from his hairline down to his eyebrow. It hadn’t healed very much since then. 

Harry Potter grabbed his feet and stared at her with wide eyes, but made no more noise. Oh, Merlin… his head was full of familiar, untameable black hair… 

Silently with a lump in her throat, Minerva jumped down from the window, careful not to startle the boy. Even as she approached, Harry was as silent as ever, which worried her. Why was he so quiet? Children at his age were screaming devils as far as she knew. 

(Admittedly, it unnerved her to see such silence in James Potter’s son. He should be laughing. He should be— but there was no trace of that mischievous grin anywhere. Harry was silent.)

She sat in front of him, hoping that their similar size would mean she wasn’t intimidating to him. 

The child blinked at her curiously, tilting his head as he watched her with bright, intent green eyes. She blinked slowly back. 

Minerva nearly hissed when she felt a soft, sticky hand tentatively touch her fur. Normally if someone tried to pet her (namely, Albus), she’d claw them, but she couldn’t do that to a baby. So she let Harry clumsily pat her on the head with a wide, pure smile, and when he let out a quiet giggle of delight, she couldn’t help the warm glow of fondness that spread through her.

There was that laugh she remembered. 

She only had a moment to appreciate the sound before there was a loud shriek from the dining table. 

“Vernon! There’s a beast in our house!” Mrs Dursley screeched fearfully, her voice annoyingly shrill. “Vernon! Vernon! Get it out, get it out!!”  

A low rumble of annoyance was beginning to bubble in Minerva’s throat. Before Mr Dursley had a chance to drag himself out of his chair to bat her away, Minerva laid a gentle paw on Harry’s knee, giving it a small pat of reassurance, then darted up and out of the window. 

If only people could see what was happening inside of that house. If anyone ever found out that the saviour of the wizarding world was living in such conditions, there would be a riot. Thousands of people would be upset. And Minerva knew exactly who would get blamed for it. 

As she silently ran down the streets, hiding in thickets of tall grass, she could only think of Albus. What kind of stupid game was he playing? 

September 1982

Getting ready for school to start was just as chaotic as Merlin remembered it. On every available surface, papers were strewn everywhere, along with probably a million quills and pencils because they weren’t exactly sure whether people still used quills… Look, they didn’t want to look weird, alright? Pencils and pens were a literal gift from the heavens (no more constant dipping in ink wells!), but the magical community had always been very slow on the uptake when it came to muggle inventions…

So now, every single quill they had ever owned (that they could locate) was in a pile on the kitchen counter, the metal nibs glittering obnoxiously in the morning sun. On top of that, Arthur was rummaging through their shelves in search of one specific grading pen that he insisted they needed because he was a prat! Gods, they didn’t need more writing utensils! What would he even need a grading pen for?? He was a flying instructor! 

Meanwhile, amidst the mess, Merlin was yanking his hair out in agony, trying to figure out what to pack. They’d be living at the castle for the entire school year, so would he have to pack summer and winter clothes? Not to mention autumn! And spring! How were they supposed to fit both of their clothes in one case? (This is disregarding the fact that they could just buy two separate bags. They’d only ever had one, for whatever reason.)

Merlin pondered this for a long time, refolding and shoving clothing into a huge case. He could try and keep their clothes half and half, but Arthur had so many clothes that it was ridiculous. (He would probably need three-fourths of the bag just for himself, that clotpole.) Maybe he could just pack the essentials and come back to their cottage if they needed anything? After all, it was only a short trip away if he just apparated to—

Wait. If he just… apparated…

Merlin sat down slowly on their bed, dumbfounded. 

Magic. He had magic. He could just put an extension charm on their luggage, and it would instantly have space for a thousand more socks, and very possibly a few dozen trousers.

Merlin held his head in his hands and laughed pitifully at himself. 

“Merlin, what the hell are you doing? Why are you just sitting there??” Arthur interrogated frantically as he entered the room. His hair was an absolute mess, sticking up like he’d been running his hands through it from stress. “We’ve got to be at the station by ten-thirty if we want to find a compartment, and it’s already nine o’clock—” Arthur paused, noticing that Merlin was crumbling onto the bed with silent laughter— “Merlin? What is it? Why are you laughing?”

“I forgot I had magic!” Merlin wheezed, doubling over, “I forgot— the suitcase—! I could’ve just—! HAH! This whole time, I’ve been repacking to try and make it all fit and—” Merlin fell onto the bed amongst their clothes with a shout, giggling madly at himself. Gods, he’d even done the exact spell on this same bag before! And then he’d removed it, fully confident in himself that he’d remember to put it back.

“Oh, Merlin, you idiot,” his husband sighed, a smile spreading over his face. All the irritation seemed to leak out of him, and he kneeled on the bed to press a kiss to Merlin’s grinning cheek. “Let’s take a break.” 

At platform nine and three-quarters, Bill’s mum wrapped him into a tight, teary-eyed hug and squeezed him to her chest. All of his siblings were there to watch him leave on the Hogwarts Express, and the chaos of everyone talking over each other made Bill feel nostalgic and a little sad. 

Everything was going to be so different. He wasn’t going to see his younger siblings every day, or his parents. He didn’t even know anyone at school yet, so he was going to be completely alone. The thought really scared him. However, he was determined to make friends. 

It was hard, though, knowing that he was going to be in a completely different world for the next seven years. Everything was changing. He wasn’t going to be around to play with Ron and Ginny anymore, or listen to Charlie talk about dragons while Percy talked about everything else. He wasn’t going to be there to save Fred and George from their mum’s wrath when they inevitably broke something or pulled a prank that went too far, either.

He wondered if they would miss him. It seemed like a silly question, really, because he knew that they would, but he still wondered. 

His mum cradled the back of his head and tried not to cry into his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her as tightly as he could, knowing that this would be the last time he’d get to hug her for a while. It was weird to think about.

Mum pulled back and held his face in her hands. “You’ll write every day, won’t you?” she sniffled, caressing his cheek. 

“I can’t write every day, Mum,” Bill protested, but he was pleased on the inside. He was glad that everyone still wanted to hear from him, and that he wasn’t just going to disappear from their lives once he stepped foot onto that train. 

“Every other day,” his dad insisted, dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief. He was carrying Ron on his hip, and holding his brother Percy’s hand. 

Bill smiled, kind of amused. “I prob’ly won’t have so much to talk about after only a day or two. How about every week?” he suggested. 

His mum let out a sob as she nodded vigorously. “That’s just fine, dear, that’s alright—”

She was cut off by the sound of the train giving a warning whistle. It was time to go.

“Do you have all your things?” she asked quickly, looking around to check if they’d forgotten something somehow. Bill nodded his head. “Good, good. Well—” she laughed wetly, tears rolling down her cheeks— “You be a good boy, Bill, alright? Be a good boy, and we’ll see you at Christmas, okay? Make sure you write every week.”

“Okay,” Bill agreed. 

“Yay, Christmas!” George shouted, pumping his fist in the air. 

Fred nudged his twin. “We should start decorating for Christmas now! Then everything will be ready for when Bill gets back!” 

“Christmas isn’t for another four months,” Charlie said with confusion. 

George’s jaw dropped. “What?? But— You mean Bill isn’t coming back for four months?!” 

“Billy, you’re leaving us forever?” Fred cried, tears filling his eyes. 

Bill helplessly tried to assure his brother. “I’m not leaving forever! I’ll just be gone for a little bit for school, but I’ll be back!” 

“Bill’s leaving us forever!” George wailed. 

The twin’s tears prompted Ginny to start crying from her stroller. The commotion was so loud that several people glanced over at them in bewilderment. 

“Boys, shh—” Mum frantically tried to quiet them before they made a scene, but it was probably too late. 

His dad handed Ron over to his mum and she wordlessly took him before he could start crying, too. (This wasn’t likely, though; he just seemed incredibly confused about what was going on.) Afterwards, his dad turned to Bill and brushed his fingers through his hair in a fruitless attempt to straighten it, then placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“Study hard, but remember to have lots of fun, alright, Bill?” Dad said in an attempt at a firm voice, but it was ruined by his own tears. 

“I promise,” Bill said, his eyes growing a little wet, too. 

Dad sniffed loudly. “Oh, come here,” he said as he wrapped Bill into another hug. 

The train gave another warning and his dad quickly pulled away. 

“You’ve got to go now, hurry or you’ll miss it! Be careful with Errol now,” his dad reminded him. 

Bill nodded and ran to the train, afraid that it might leave without him, and hauled his things up the steps and inside. It was a struggle to do all by himself, but he managed it well enough.

He turned back and saw his family. Mum was still trying to calm down three crying children, but she turned to wave goodbye to him alongside his dad. Charlie and Percy were waving sadly, too, but Fred and George were too upset to even see that he was gone already. He wished that he’d given them a hug before he’d gotten on the train, but it was too late now. 

Bill waved goodbye to his family for a long time, so long that he didn’t notice that the train had shuddered and begun to move. The conductor came by and told him to go find a seat. Soon, he couldn’t see his family outside the window anymore as they were replaced with cold, grey skies and vast fields of green grass. 

Bill sighed, wiping his eyes with his sleeve, and turned to the long aisles of compartments. He was on his own now. He was already a little lonely, but not as much as he thought. He wasn’t saying goodbye forever, after all — just temporarily. 

Alright. He needed to go find a compartment to sit in for the long train ride ahead. That was going to be fine, he could do that. Taking a deep breath to steel his nerves, Bill squared his small shoulders and marched down the narrow corridor, hefting his luggage and his owl cage with all the dexterity of a newborn colt. 

He peeked into each compartment as he passed them, trying to find one that had space, but since he’d gotten onto the train rather late, there were very few left open. Bill bit his lip nervously as time went by, feeling strangely embarrassed by this. 

By the time Bill got to the third carriage, he was beginning to despair a little. He really should’ve gotten onto the train sooner. Everyone was probably already settling into friend groups! And he still hadn’t managed to find a place that would fit him. 

That was when he noticed two girls standing at the edge of a compartment door, leaning over each other to peek inside like they were spying on its occupants. One had long, tight black curls falling down her back and over her shoulders and she was already dressed in a Ravenclaw uniform. The other one was shorter and had mousy brown hair tied into a messy ponytail. 

“Are you sure it’s him?” the one with the ponytail whispered loudly in a slight American accent. They were oblivious to Bill standing nearby, listening to their conversation. 

“I’m positive,” her friend responded, her voice much more discreet. 

“Should we go in?”

“I don’t want to be a bother—”

“Shh, it’s fine. They won’t care, Mary.”

“Maybe we should go somewhere else…”

“Come on! What are the chances that we happen to find Mr Blue Eyes on the Hogwarts Express?”

“You just want to talk to the other man because he looks like your favourite actor,” Mary(?) muttered. 

Huh?

Thinking this was a little odd, Bill approached them, his boots thumping heavily on the floor. The sound startled them and they flung themselves away from the compartment door, eyes wide at being caught doing… whatever it was they were doing. Bill still wasn’t sure.

“Hullo!” Bill chirped. “Are you guys looking for a compartment, too?” he asked, noticing their luggage next to their feet. 

The girl with the messy ponytail brightened and said, “Hi! Yeah, we were just— um, checking if this compartment was empty?” the girl ended with a question rather than a statement, looking sheepish. 

The other one with the curly black hair sighed in exasperation at her friend’s antics and gave Bill a smile. He was struck by the bags under her eyes and how tired she looked. Bill could sympathise with that. He hadn’t been able to get a wink of sleep last night either; he had been really nervous about today. 

“Are you a first year student?” she asked him softly. 

Bill grinned. “Yeah! What year are you?” 

“We're in our second year!” The girl with the ponytail beamed. “I’m Olive Bishop, this is my friend Meredith Witherspoon. What’s your name?”

“I’m Bill,” he said, glad that he was finally on the way to making friends. ‘Meredith Witherspoon’... For some reason, that name seemed familiar? He couldn’t remember why, though. 

“Oh my gosh, cool! We’re adopting you now, okay? Me and Meredith are gonna be your Hogwarts parents!” Olive insisted excitedly. 

“Olive!” Meredith exclaimed. “You didn’t even ask him! Or me, for that matter!” 

“What? He’s just a little guy! We’ve gotta show him the ways of the world!”

Meredith raised an eyebrow at her friend. “We’re only, like, one year older than him.” 

“So?” 

Bill giggled as Meredith rolled her eyes. 

“What were you guys staring at?” Bill asked curiously, tilting his head to try and peer into the compartment they were crowding around. 

Meredith opened her mouth to respond, then seemed to think better of it and snapped it shut. Olive laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck. Once it became clear that they weren’t going to answer, Bill took it upon himself to surreptitiously peek into the compartment.

“Oh, hey!” he gasped once he got a good look. “I know them!” 

Inside sitting together were Emrys and Arthur from Ollivanders! They were talking animatedly with each other (quite oblivious to the three students standing outside the door) and they were sitting close enough that their thighs were pressed together. Surely there was room for another three people! If not, then Bill would just sit on the floor, but hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that. 

“What? Really? How?” Olive asked, her eyes wide. 

“At Diagon Alley a few weeks ago. You know, the day that attack happened. I was there trying to buy a wand and I met them. The dark-haired bloke is Emrys, the blond is… er, Arthur? I can’t remember his last name, but they’re both new professors and they’re really nice, I’m sure they’ll let us sit with them,” Bill reassured. 

Meredith’s smile grew wider, but her brow dipped in nerves. “Are you sure?” she asked quietly. 

Olive pushed at Meredith’s shoulder. “C’mon, you wanted to say thank you, didn’t you?” 

Meredith took a deep breath. “You’re right. Okay, let’s go, then.” 

Bill knocked on the door for them and pulled it open, sticking his head inside. 

“Hullo, excuse me, is it alright if we sit here, too?” Bill asked. 

Emrys cut off mid-sentence and his eyes met Bill’s. He seemed to instantly recognise him by the way his smile brightened. “Oh, hi! Arthur, look!” Emrys smacked Arthur’s shoulder. “It’s Bill!” 

Arthur — er, well, Bill wasn’t sure if he was allowed to call him that since he was going to be his professor. Mr Arthur, then. Mr Arthur turned to Bill and waved. 

“Hello there, Bill. Sure, come in. There’s plenty of space. Do any of you need help putting away your bags?” he asked, rising to help Bill and the girls. 

Meredith had a starry look in her eyes as Mr Arthur effortlessly hefted the cases up onto the racks above the seats. Bill wondered what that was about. 

Once the luggage was all taken care of, Mr Arthur plopped down next to Emrys again, practically squishing him against the wall with how close they were. Bill sat next to them, glad that they were making a space for him. 

The girls both sat on the other side of the compartment. Meredith seemed nervous by the way she was fiddling with the edges of her uniform. 

“Hey, wait a minute,” Olive broke the silence, her expression puzzled. “Haven’t I seen you somewhere?” 

She was staring right at Emrys, squinting as she tried to remember where she’d seen him.

Emrys frowned, then just shrugged. “I’ve been around a lot of places,” he said vaguely. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“No, wait!!” Olive exclaimed loudly once she remembered, jumping up in her seat a little. She pointed at Emrys as if to pin him down there, like he was some sort of elusive being or something. “You’re the guy that tripped in the hallway last year and a bunch of stuff fell out of your pockets!” she said excitedly. 

Mr Arthur abruptly wheezed and keeled over slightly, then covered his mouth to stifle his sudden bark of laughter. Emrys coloured a little and smiled sheepishly. 

“Oh, I— er, I forgot about that… Arthur, shut up, it’s not that funny!” Emrys whinged. 

Mr Arthur fell back in his seat, barely avoiding crushing Bill, and wiped a tear from his eyes. “You’re so clumsy!” he gasped out. “Merlin, even after all this time, you still walk like a cross-eyed mule!” 

“Hey!” Emrys cried. “I do not!” 

Meredith snorted, then covered her mouth like she’d shocked herself. Olive dissolved into a peal of giggles. Bill couldn’t help from snickering, too, as he watched the scene unfold. 

“Don’t worry, we all have limitations to overcome — some more so than others, of course,” Mr Arthur taunted, poking Emrys in the forehead. They were so comfortable with each other that Bill just knew it was all in good fun. 

“Oh, sure, and you’re just the epitome of grace and poise yourself, aren’t you?” Emrys snarked back with a teasing grin, his voice drawling and smug. “If only we could do something about your intelligence, but alas… we all have our limitations to overcome, don’t we?”

Mr Arthur gave Emrys a shocked, pleased smile at the parroted words, his jaw dropped a little at the audacity. Bill had to turn away to stop himself from laughing too loudly. 

Before he could respond and defend himself, however, Olive piped up with: “My favourite thing that came out of your pockets were the ancient chocolate frog cards.”

“Ancient!” Emrys exclaimed, ripping his eyes off Mr Arthur’s and turning incredulously towards her. “They’re not ancient, they’re very modern!” 

“Huh? But I thought they stopped printing the Morgan le Fay cards a hundred years ago or something? Before they changed it to just ‘Morgana’.”

“That’s—” Emrys paused, seeming to contemplate this. “Oh, yeah. Er— one hundred years? Yeah, that’s… really ancient,” Emrys concluded lamely. He nodded as if to emphasise this statement, but he seemed confused. 

Bill couldn’t decide if he was being sarcastic or not. Emrys didn’t seem too sure of that either, honestly. Mr Arthur raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him, and Emrys elbowed him in the ribs.

“Anyway,” Emrys laughed out as Mr Arthur pinched him in retaliation. “It is good to see you, Bill. How did your wand selection go, by the way?”

Bill could see Meredith bouncing her leg anxiously like she desperately wanted to say something, but he didn’t want to call her out on it. 

“Oh! It went fine!” Bill said, happy to fill in the conversation as Meredith found her words. He liked remembering the warm, magical feeling he’d had when his wand shot celebratory sparks after a good match. “I was really nervous, but I managed to find it. It’s sycamore wood, I think?”

“That seems fitting,” Emrys said. His approval made Bill feel tall and proud. “Did you manage to get out of Diagon Alley alright?”

Bill’s eyes widened. “Oh, right, the attack—” he frowned, biting his lip— “Me and my dad managed to leave through the Floo Network before it was blocked off. Were you guys okay, too? It was really scary hearing all the screaming and stuff down the street.”

“Oh, don’t worry about us,” Mr Arthur waved his hand as if to push said worry away. “We were fine.”

Then, before Bill could say anything, Meredith made a loud sniffling noise like she was about to cry and hunched over to hide her face in her hands, which immediately caught Emrys’s attention. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, alarmed. “I’m sorry, I should have realised this might be a sensitive subject—”

“No!” Meredith burst out, lifting her head to reveal that her eyes were filled with tears. “No, it’s fine! I just— I don’t know if you remember, but… I wanted to thank you both for saving me that day.” 

Saving her? Emrys and Mr Arthur had saved her? In Diagon Alley? What did she… 

Bill looked at her face with a dawning sympathy when he realised where he’d heard her name before. It was in The Daily Prophet . She was the student they’d threatened to kill that day. 

Oh, Merlin, that was terrible— Bill had no idea what to say. He couldn’t even— he couldn’t even imagine something so terrifying happening to him. What could he say about it now? Surely no words from him would make the pain of it go away. 

Emrys’s eyes softened as he watched Meredith hastily wipe her tears away. “Oh, it was no trouble at all. We’re both glad that you’re doing better now, that’s all that matters,” he assured her. 

“Still— thank you so much. If… If you hadn’t done something, I don’t know what would’ve…” Meredith trailed off, but just the implied thought alone was enough to make Bill shiver. 

“You were very brave,” Mr Arthur said, his voice now calm but firmly confident. He leaned forward and clasped her shoulder. “People in far less stressful situations would have collapsed, but you fought until the end. It was very admirable.”

Meredith trembled with how hard she was trying not to cry. “Oh,” she uttered in a high-pitched, wobbly voice. Olive patted her back in an attempt to comfort her. 

“Here, could I hug you?” Emrys asked gently. When she nodded, he coaxed Meredith into leaning forward so he could wrap her in a snug embrace. The angle was a little awkward, but it seemed to steady Meredith’s nerves either way. 

Bill could understand that, at least. He didn’t know how to explain it, but every time he was near Emrys, he just felt so… so safe. It was as if he had nothing to worry about, that everything would be okay as long as Emrys was near. So when Meredith stopped shaking after only a few moments, Bill understood. It really just made him admire Emrys and Mr Arthur even more now that he knew they were the heroes from The Daily Prophet.

Nothing could touch them here, Bill thought. Nothing bad could happen while Emrys and Mr Arthur were there to protect them, he was sure of it. They would be okay. 

He was never actually alone, after all.

Chapter Text

After arriving at the castle, Merlin and Arthur headed straight to the Great Hall together, where the start of the year feast was taking place. It was nice to see the castle bustling with activity again, with every dark corridor lit with warm, fired torches. The Great Hall itself was bright with floating candles and blinking stars on the enchanted ceiling, and returning students were already trickling into the room in their Hogwarts uniforms, chatting loudly with each other.

As he entered, Arthur briefly observed the students with a casual eye. Those in red, yellow, and blue intermingled a little, but still stuck with their respective groups. As for those in green — well, they strictly stuck with each other. In the end, though, everyone eventually split apart to their respective tables. It was all very… separate. Hm.

It was interesting to see how the school’s dynamics had changed since he’d last been a professor here. Back when Hogwarts had been young, house differences hadn’t mattered very much to everyone; almost all students had been friendly with one another. However, there hadn’t been quite so many children wandering the halls in those days, so it was probably harder to create one big family now…

Merlin nudged Arthur to get his attention as they walked up to the high table, which was elevated on a platform to look over the rest of the room.

“Look at Snape!” his husband snickered. “Gods, his face!”

“He looks like he just sucked on a lemon,” Arthur drawled in amusement.

He briefly caught Merlin’s sly grin before it was stifled. “I may have something to do with that.”

“Gods, what did you do to the man now?” he asked, shaking his head in fond exasperation.

“Nothing, yet,” Merlin hummed. There was a rather suspicious glint in his eyes. “He just despises me. You, too, but mostly me. It’s delightful,” he chirped, a bounce in his step. 

Arthur laughed. 

They climbed the platform and made their way to the left side of the semicircular table where some of the staff were already sitting, waiting for the feast to begin. Arthur was used to meeting new people over the years, so introducing himself as he made his way to his seat was easy. He wasn’t planning on greeting all of them, of course, but it had been ingrained in him to make a good impression. 

He shook hands with the Herbology professor, who seemed particularly friendly, exchanging standard but polite pleasantries for a while before she said she was happy to finally meet him 'in person' and moved on. That was odd, did the staff gossip with one another? Arthur didn’t give it much more thought, though. 

Then he skipped over talking to Snape (because the hatred was mutual), leaving Merlin to harass him to his heart’s content. In the meantime, Arthur went to introduce himself to a stern-looking woman with spectacles, and based on the fact that she was seated next to Dumbledore, he assumed she must be the Deputy Headmistress. 

As he approached, she looked up at him and stood to greet him. 

“Hello, I’m Arthur Pendragon,” he supplied with a well-practised smile, offering his hand to shake. 

The woman froze and blinked, looking him up and down briefly as if she was confused. She took his hand and shook it once. “Minerva McGonagall,” she replied, appearing distracted, then cleared her throat. “You’re— young,” she said rather abruptly.

Arthur paused. Huh?

“Well, er,” he faltered for a moment, unsure of what to do. He looked over at his husband helplessly, but Merlin was too busy bothering Snape to explain to Arthur what in the world that statement was supposed to mean. Well, Merlin probably wouldn’t have any better idea, to be quite honest. 

Surely they looked the appropriate ages to be professors, though? That had been one of the reasons they’d decided it would be a good cover as they kept an eye on Snape. Had they gotten it wrong somehow? No, that would be ridiculous — Snape was certainly younger than the both of them, so they must be in the right age range. But— why, then?

“My apologies, that was rude of me,” McGonagall said quickly, schooling her expression. She still looked suspicious, which made him worry a little. He was confident enough that he hadn’t slipped up already, but this interaction was just strange. “I suppose I’d been expecting someone older when I saw your… application,” she said finally.

Arthur’s mouth formed an ‘oh’ of realisation in silence. 

“Merlin, why did you put everything under the sun on the applications? We look too young for that,” Arthur groaned in his mind. 

“You didn’t want to make them yourself! And how was I supposed to know how many things would sound like too many? An average lifespan is unknown to the both of us,” Merlin sing-songed back without a care in the world. Well, he was in a good mood, wasn’t he? 

Arthur quickly peeked over his shoulder as casually as possible, raising his eyebrow at Merlin’s back. His husband was definitely having the time of his life bothering Snape. He almost pitied the man. 

He sighed and did his best to smile at McGonagall in a charming, unassuming way. “Sorry about that, I’m afraid I’ve been everywhere there is to be, and I wasn’t sure if there were available openings either. I guess I overdid it.”

“I see,” McGonagall said, her eyes seeming to pick him apart piece by piece with their intensity. Arthur silently hoped that this excuse was good enough. It would be terrible if this woman thought he was some sort of criminal trying to infiltrate a school. Damn it all, it hadn’t even been ten minutes! 

She just nodded sharply and told him: “Well, it is good to finally meet you. I admit, I was curious about you. I’m sure you get it all the time, but your name is certainly interesting, Arthur Pendragon.” 

Gods, she was a little too sceptical already, that probably wasn’t a good sign. Arthur scrambled for something to say, keeping his smile stubbornly in place. He hated situations like this, Merlin was far better at coming up with random shit to say. (Disregarding the ‘I love poetry’ incident, of course… But in hindsight, it was certainly hilarious.) 

“Ah, yes…” Arthur cleared his throat awkwardly. “It’s certainly unfortunate, but I’ve grown to live with it. I’ve probably heard every King Arthur joke in the book at this point.” And some more, thanks to Merlin, he thought. “But please— just Arthur is perfectly fine.”

McGonagall’s lips pursed and she only responded with, “Hm. Well, I look forward to working with you, Pendragon.” Then she abruptly turned away to address someone else, putting a quick end to the conversation. “Oh, Rubeus, there you are. Have the first years arrived?” 

Ah. Well, that probably could’ve gone better. Gods, she was intimidating! Hopefully she hadn’t already taken a dislike to him, he’d hate to have bad work relations with anyone other than Snape… It was times like these that he wished he had Merlin’s ability to mind-read people. 

He sighed, but mentally shrugged. There was nothing he could really do. On the bright side, maybe she would be smart enough to put the pieces together. That would be funny. After all, it wasn’t like he and Merlin were trying particularly hard to hide themselves most of the time. 

Before Arthur could do anything else, however, he was being drawn into another conversation by none other than the Headmaster. 

“Pendragon! It is good to see you again,” Dumbledore greeted cheerfully. He had swooped in rather quickly — almost too quickly. 

Arthur reached out and shook his offered hand firmly. “Likewise, how are you?” 

“Ah, just wonderful. I always feel my most springy at the beginning of a school year,” Dumbledore smiled beneath his rather illustrious beard, eyes twinkling in a way that reminded him of Merlin. They’ll probably get on like a house on fire. “But alas, the feast must begin shortly. There’s a seat over there next to Professor Emrys, if you so choose,” he said somewhat mischievously. 

Arthur held back a laugh at the sheer cheekiness of it and nodded, turning to pointedly walk over to the seat on Merlin’s left. 

Phoebe Byrnes had been depressed for months now. It was like time had simply stopped for her — all conversation and interactions held no joy for her, and it felt like everything was terribly frivolous. Seeing him — the man who had changed her life with just a gentle look — had made everything else seem so dull and unimportant. He was golden, and her life was so dreary without him in it. 

She had no family to visit over the summer, so she had stayed in the castle, walking through the walls and the gardens in search of something, but never being able to find it. She craved the giddiness she had felt and the pure hope that had filled her. Just the mental picture of those blue eyes and that golden hair was enough to make her lungs weaken and her body tremble. 

None of the other professors understood her when she would tell them about it. Minerva and Poppy were older than her, so they had already settled with partners of their own, they had moved on from that part of their lives. But they just didn’t understand how life-changing that day was for her! He had been beautiful and wonderful — and Phoebe could still feel his hand on her waist, steadying her through all the loneliness she faced. 

She didn’t often talk to men, so maybe that was why it was sticking so much in her mind. She didn’t really like talking to the male professors — they always seemed to look down on her. After all, she was cheerfully young and taught Divination, a subject that was still criticised for being silly and less important than other subjects, so there wasn’t a lot of common ground to go on. (Especially with Severus… Phoebe thought he was too spooky.)

Anyway, Phoebe didn’t think that her field was silly. Actually, it made her feel powerful and more in control — after all, the future was easily moldable! She felt like she could change the course of history just by herself, and then finally be someone people admired for once! 

But that wasn’t the only reason she liked divination… actually, seeing the future gave her hope for the present, too. In the future, she could be anyone and anything was possible. However, right now, she was agonisingly alone and waiting for the man of her dreams to walk back into her life. But… it could change! It was still possible. That was the important part. So— Yes. Yes, she’d waited this long, and she’d seen him in her future. She could be patient, couldn’t she? She could wait for him. Besides, Phoebe always enjoyed the start of the school year. The air was always so fresh with new chances and opportunities. 

Phoebe looked at herself in the mirror, trying to make sure that her clothes were absolutely perfect. After all, if it was meant to be — and it must be — then she could run into her true love again at any moment. She always needed to look her best, just for the mere possibility! 

She fixed her curly ginger hair for the tenth time, playing around with different jewellery that she’d gotten from her mother. 

“Maybe this one?” she asked out loud to herself with a practised smile, holding up a pair of emerald earrings to her ears. She frowned, now worried. “What if he doesn’t like green—?”

Phoebe jumped in surprise when the clock chimed. She counted the bell and gasped in surprise when it reached seven. 

“Oh, stars! The feast will be starting soon!” she whispered to herself. 

She gathered herself, taking a deep breath and practising another smile in the mirror, then hurried out of her room. 

Phoebe had been so caught up in her thoughts that by the time she made it to the Great Hall, she’d just barely been able to run in before the first years. She’d been so distracted, even, that she had no way of anticipating who exactly she would see sitting at the high table.

Oh, she’d dreamt of this moment, but now that it was happening— Stars! The moment Phoebe saw him, her breath caught in her throat and her eyes grew wide with shock. Was that—? Surely it must be him! Oh! She’d done it, she’d really done it! This was surely a sign! They were meant to fall in love all along!

Heavens, his eyes were the same clear, deep blue, and— oh, how was he somehow broader than she remembered? Was he really real, or was another vision playing with her mind? But no, he had to be real, he was shaking Professor Dumbledore’s hand!

Tears sprung to her eyes in her excitement as she practically ran to introduce herself to him, hopeful that he would remember her. There was even a seat empty next to him! Oh, fate was on her side— They were truly meant to be!

Bill had been forced to say goodbye to his new friends as they unloaded from the train, which made him a little sad. However, Olive and Mary had been very nice to him, so he hoped that the age difference wouldn’t hurt their growing friendship. 

Meanwhile, he was called over along with the other first years by a huge man with a great big beard, who was waving a lantern high up in the air. Everyone crowded around him, and he shouted that his name was Hagrid and that he would be leading them to the boats, which would take them up to the castle. 

As they walked along, he listened to his soon-to-be new classmates chatter amongst themselves, mostly in excitement. Bill felt a little awkward, though, seeing as he didn’t really know anybody yet. Why did it feel like everyone knew each other already?

“Hey, what’s your name?” a boy suddenly asked him. He was a little scruffy and his clothes were a little loose, but he had this calm, nonchalant air about him that made Bill a little less nervous. 

Still, though— Merlin, meeting new people was so awkward. “My name’s Bill Weasley, what’s yours?” he asked, wringing his sleeve slightly. 

“Oh,” the boy said. He didn’t seem to know how to proceed for a moment, but then he laughed a little. “Sorry. I was going to talk to him, but it’s nice to meet you, too! I’m Alexander, but I go by Xander.” 

“Oh— shoot.” Bill flushed in embarrassment, looking at the other boy next to him, who was already talking to someone else. “Sorry. Got overexcited.”

Xander shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets with an easy smile. “Don’t worry about it, Bill. You seem like a cool guy.”

Bill smiled sheepishly.

“Firs’ years, listen up!” Hagrid called to gather their attention. They’d arrived at the shore of the lake surrounding Hogwarts, and there were loads of boats lined up, just waiting to take them to the castle. “Four to a boat! No shovin’! A’ight, get a move on, kiddos.” 

“Oh, wow!” Bill whispered to Xander as he peered into the distance. “It’s huge!” 

“The castle?” Xander asked.

“Yeah! Wow, it’s so pretty!” Bill turned to Xander, nervous. “Er— hey, do you want to share a boat, maybe?”

“Yeah, of course,” Xander said. “Hey, Bill, do you like trains?”

Soon, Bill found himself squished into a little boat with Xander and two other people. He recognised one girl on their boat, actually— however, he didn’t really see this as a good thing, since it just happened to be that girl he ran into at Madam Malkins. She kind of gave him the creeps. 

While he and Xander got to know one another and the other boy on the boat, Felix, the girl kept to herself. She didn’t seem much inclined to do anything other than stare at the water with a blank expression on her face, completely zoned out. 

Bill really didn’t understand how she could be so unenthusiastic about the entire experience. Just look at the castle! It was getting bigger and bigger the closer they got to it, and Bill was in awe at how much it towered over him. All the windows were clean and glittering in the moonlight, just like the dark waters of the lake, which would splash up the edges of the boat sometimes and spray them with cool mist. It was all so breathtaking — how could she just ignore everything like that?

After they’d reached the other side and hopped off the boats, Bill finally got the chance to voice his questions. Luckily, he wasn’t all that queasy from the ride over. 

“Who is she?” he whispered in his lowest voice to Xander. He’d never gotten her name, after all. 

Xander raised an eyebrow at him. “What do you mean? That’s Amira Jadmani.”

“Huh? Is she famous or something?” Bill asked, completely clueless.

Xander chuckled. “Not really, mate, she’s just another hellishly rich pureblood.”

“Is she…” Bill didn’t really know how to phrase it. “Is she okay? I mean, she doesn’t seem all that happy to be here.” 

“Don’t worry about her, Bill, seriously,” Xander insisted. “This is probably just another room to her.” 

“Merlin,” Bill breathed out in shock. “Another room…?” 

He looked up at the vast expanse of Hogwarts’ walls, at the fine sculptures and the stained glass, at the stone that seemed to stretch forever, and couldn’t fathom how Jadmani wouldn’t be impressed by it at all. 

Bill and the rest of the first years were ushered into a hallway lit by huge torches, just outside a huge door. 

“Now, Prof’sser McGonagall will take good care of yeh,” Hagrid said warmly. “I wish the lot of yeh a good sortin’! Alright— jus’ wait here fer a moment.” 

The giant man slipped into the doors and they were left alone for a while. It just made Bill more and more nervous, but talking to Xander calmed him a little. He was good at that, he noticed — Xander always had something to say, but he was patient. It somehow gave Bill a little more confidence, knowing that someone else wasn’t as nervous. 

They talked a little bit more about trains — Xander knew an awful lot about trains — until a tall, strict-looking woman slipped out the doors and approached them.

“First years, gather around and listen to my instructions,” she said as an introduction, clasping her hands together. Bill winced. She seemed kind of scary, to be honest. “I am Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor House. In a few short moments, you will be sorted into your Houses. For those of you who may be unfamiliar, there are four: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. I will call out your names, and you will come forward and sit on the stool to be sorted. 

“Another thing to note: while you are at Hogwarts, your House will be like your family. Each House can gain and lose points based on good and bad behaviour, and the House with the most points at the end of the year will win the House Cup. Your prefects will explain things in better detail to you after the feast is over. Let’s see… Yes, I believe that is all. Students, follow me into the Great Hall, please.” 

“Oh, Merlin…” Bill muttered, feeling a little queasy. He could handle a boat, but not this.

He’d heard about the Sorting Ceremony from his parents before, and he knew that they had both been Gryffindors. He was really hoping that he would also be a Gryffindor. He wanted to be just like his mum and dad, and Gryffindors sounded so cool and brave! 

However, once the doors opened and hundreds of eyes were on him and his classmates, Bill suddenly wasn’t sure if he was actually brave enough to get into Gryffindor. 

The idea that he would have to go in front of everyone as they watched the hat decide where he’d fit… Merlin, it was more than a little intimidating… 

He glanced around at the rest of his classmates as they walked down the centre of the room, wondering if they were also scared. Oh, no… he really wished that his last name wasn’t at the end of the list! He’d have to sit here and wait through the whole thing before getting to his turn! 

It made him so nervous just thinking about it. However, he wasn’t really sure if it would be better to go first; after all, everyone would probably pay the most attention to the people who went first… No, it was probably better that he was one of the last. Everyone would probably be bored by then, anyway! Right? Right…

When they reached the front of the room, they were looking at a table full of whom Bill guessed were the professors, as well as the big stained glass window behind them. It was awfully pretty but— were they going to be sorted right in front of them? In front of everyone?

He took a deep breath and peeked around people’s shoulders to see where all the staff members were sitting, perking up a bit when he saw Emrys and Mr Arthur at the table already. Emrys seemed to be rather enthusiastically chatting with a grumpy man, who was trying his hardest to ignore him, while Mr Arthur just watched in amusement. A pretty lady in emerald green was also hurriedly snatching the seat next to Mr Arthur, looking flushed and out of breath. 

Merlin, all this waiting wasn’t helping… Bill quickly looked at the floor, his expression pinching with anxiety. 

However, then Xander nudged him quietly and jerked his head up pointedly, and when he looked at the ceiling, Bill was treated to a sky full of stars. He gasped, feeling his nerves calm a little in his amazement. 

“How—?” he whispered, but Xander hushed him, now pointing at the front of the room. 

Professor McGonagall was carrying a three-legged stool to the front of the platform. She set it down in front of all of them, and a hush washed over the room as if she had single-handedly blown out all the candles of conversation. Then, she placed an old, weathered hat on the stool, and patiently waited. 

Bill, too, waited for something to happen, since everyone else seemed to do the same, but he was a little confused. 

Seconds later, he nearly jumped out of his skin when a great tear ripped open like a mouth and, to his bewilderment, the hat began to sing a song:

“Weathered and wrinkled, I may not look like much,
But legends of old — I’ve seen a bunch!
Lend your ears for a curious tale,
One where peace and magic prevail. 

Long ago in a land of myth
And a time of magic,
There were four sorcerers renowned
For talents prolific:

Gallant Gryffindor for duels and bravery,
Rational Ravenclaw for brilliant wit,
Honest Hufflepuff for feasts and harmony,
And Sly Slytherin for cunning grit.

Alas, a terror scattered those of magic blood!
So, desiring to build a school, four yearned
To teach youth abroad
All that they had learned!

Soon Hogwarts stood tall, her stone a sanctuary,
Helping Magic weather this adversary.
Thankful, Magic bestowed upon them a gift,
Joined four, and became the secret fifth.

What gift, you might have wondered?
Well, long had the four pondered
How exactly they’d preserve their legacy.
Here Godric had cemented my destiny!

He snatched me off his head
And they let me choose the Houses instead.
One year I had this job,
However, there was something off.

You see, newly enchanted was I,
Seeing life in black and white.
I was too stiff for the job required
And didn’t account for students’ true desires!

Thus he of feathered namesake asked
If he could take charge of such a task.
He scooped me up and blessed me right then
To see all in the hearts of magicians!

So thank the Prince of Enchanters,
A man of years far grander,
For when he breathed into me life
He granted a Hogwarts free of strife.

Now, step forward and let me peek
Into your mind’s precious keep —
And remember this story well,
For I will know all, but never tell.”

The hat’s mouth finally scrunched closed again. A second of silence followed, but before long the whole hall was full of clapping — and arguing. 

“That was different, haven’t heard the Hat talk about a fifth founder before,” an older student said at a table nearby, close enough for Bill to hear them over the noise.

“A fifth founder?” A second person responded. “Don’t be stupid, the Hat didn’t say anything about a fifth founder. Come on, mate, there are only four Houses. Use your measly brain.”

“Don’t be mean!” The first one sputtered. “Besides, it’s not my fault— The Hat was really weird this year, wasn’t it? It was creepy.” 

“Did you say a fifth founder?” Another person exclaimed. “A fifth founder? That has to be a joke. The Hat’s joking. There’s just— no way.” 

“The Hat’s been around for centuries, though,” someone responded hesitantly. 

“There’s not a fifth House, for Merlin’s sake! He was just talking about magic itself! You’re looking way too deep into it! Come on, the Hat’s song is practically the same every year.” 

“I don’t think the Hat would appreciate you saying that. You know, I’ve heard he works on those songs for the entire year in Dumbledore’s office—”

“What’s going on?” Bill whispered to Xander amidst the arguments. 

His new friend was a little wide-eyed like he hadn’t expected this slight turn of events. “Absolutely no clue,” he responded, shaking his head slowly as he clapped along with everyone else. “Seriously, none.” 

Once the applause and conversation had died down — prompted by a polite little cough from Dumbledore — Professor McGonagall cleared her throat and unravelled a scroll. 

“Students, when I call your name, you will come sit on the stool, and I will place the Sorting Hat upon your heads,” she instructed shortly. “Starting from the top, we have first: Anderson, Thaddeus.”

Oh, Merlin… it was starting. Bill gulped. Now it was time to play the waiting game. Hooray. 

Arthur tucked his hand into Merlin’s underneath the tablecloth and tangled their fingers together, which would be entirely unbeknownst to the outside viewer. He smiled when he felt Merlin rub his thumb gently back and forth over the side of his hand, even as he was watching the little first years get sorted. 

“Excuse me— are you new?” a peppy voice whispered on his left. 

“Hm, sorry?” Arthur said, pulling his attention away from his husband momentarily. He turned and saw a young girl with ginger curls and a striking green dress looking at him expectantly. “Oh, hello, I don’t think we’ve had the chance to speak yet. I’m Arthur Pendragon, I’ll be the new flight instructor.” 

He offered her his free hand to shake and she took it reverently between her own hands. Then she just… held it there. 

“Hello! I—” the girl’s voice shook with something like excitement as she leaned closer to him— “I’m Phoebe Byrnes, I teach the Divination elective! It’s absolutely lovely to meet you! Or, well, we’ve actually met before— you might remember?” 

Arthur blinked in confusion for a moment, but— ah, well, when he saw the wide-eyed look on her face and her parted lips, the memory came back to him. 

“Oh, yes, er…” He was a little perturbed by the fact that she still hadn’t let go of his hand. She didn’t seem to have any intent of letting it go; in fact, she only seemed to grip it tighter. Arthur cleared his throat awkwardly. “Yes, I remember. I hope you didn’t sustain any injuries from your fall. Is your ankle alright now?” he asked politely. 

“Yes, of course, thank you! I’m forever in your debt for rescuing me!” she said, her voice light and breathy. 

Her hands moved up slightly to clutch at his wrist. Arthur looked down at their hands in surprise. What in the hell—? Thankfully, that seemed to make her remember what she was doing and she sheepishly released him.

“Sorry,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she flushed a little. 

“It’s fine. So…” Arthur tried to think of an appropriate topic of conversation. “What sort of things do you teach in Divination?”

Byrnes beamed at him. “Oh! Well, the first year we focus on tea leaves, crystal balls, and palmistry.” She laughed a little to herself, keeping it quiet by covering her mouth with her hand. “We go through a lot of tea, to say the least! And then later we talk more about astrology and the movement of the planets, as well as dream interpretation. My favourite is crystal-gazing, though! I’ve found it’s the easiest way to get clear images.”

Arthur nodded in agreement, glad that they were having a comfortable conversation, as opposed to… whatever it was she’d been doing previously. He still didn’t really understand the hand-holding thing. “That’s interesting. I’ve practised with crystal balls myself, but you’re probably more of an expert than I am.”

Byrnes gasped in excitement. “Really? That’s incredible! Oh, that’s just brilliant!” She looked around, worried that she’d been too loud. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice as the ceremony continued steadfastly on. “What type of crystal balls do you typically use? I prefer clear quartz, but I’ve heard people enjoy obsidian, too!” 

“I’ve used both, but I don’t think I have a particular preference.” Arthur thought for another moment. “Although, I think my sister preferred obsidian,” he added. 

Morgana had said it felt like she was seeing a light in the darkness. She’d liked that. 

“Oh, I see. Did you start crystal-gazing because of her?” Byrnes asked curiously. 

Arthur couldn’t help but smile, although it was a little wistful. “Yes. She was probably the greatest Seer I’ve ever known.” He shook his head to dispel the bittersweet memories from his mind. “Well, you certainly seem passionate about your subject. I’m glad we have something in common, and I will look forward to working with you this year.” 

As he turned his attention back to the ceremony, he thought he noticed an eagerness flooding Byrnes’ expression, but he thought nothing of it. 

Bill was the only one left. Oh, Merlin, he was really the only one left. Why did he have to have a last name at the end of the alphabet?! This was terrible! 

He obviously didn’t know a lot of people in his year yet, but Jadmani was one of the first he recognised to get sorted. The Hat had paused for a long moment, its — or his? — expression entirely still and unchanging, as if she’d completely frozen every seam and thread with a single touch. 

It just further cemented his fear of her when the Hat finally declared, ‘Slytherin!’ in a droning voice, which had been so different from its upbeat tone from just a few moments ago. 

Then after that, Xander had gone sometime around the middle with the M’s, and the Hat had hummed and hawed for a moment before shouting ‘Gryffindor!’ with lots of, er, dramatics? Bill was getting the impression that it liked to make each sorting a show of some kind. And he was starting to really dread that attention being turned on him. 

It didn’t help that the Hat’s song was still echoing through his head, too, and that was just making it worse and worse. There was something he remembered at the very end of it, something about being able to see into his heart? Did that mean the Hat could read people's minds? Oh, Merlin, it was going to hear all his thoughts and then tell him he wasn’t even supposed to be in Hogwarts, or that he was going to be put in that nonexistent fifth House because he didn’t fit anywhere else—

“Weasley, William!” Professor McGonagall finally called. 

Bill froze up so fast that his muscles actually ached a little. Oh, oh, Merlin, oh, Merlin—

There was no crowd of other first years to hide behind anymore as he descended his way up the steps of the platform to the stool with shaking legs. He was quite certain that he was about to collapse onto the floor, and then everyone was going to laugh at him, and he’d have to apologise to his siblings and his parents for being a disappointment and getting all of their hopes up—

Something shiny caught his eye and his attention, alert and panicky, was instantly distracted by it. He saw Emrys sitting at the table, whispering something to Mr Arthur, and Bill saw the little earring that was catching the light. Oh, he hadn’t noticed Emrys wore jewellery before. 

Something released itself in his chest when he saw them talking to each other like nothing was wrong whatsoever. They weren’t even really watching — and for some reason, that made Bill feel a little better. They must be so confident that he’d pass this little test that they weren’t even worried about him at all. Unless they just assumed he wouldn’t pass—? 

What? No, they’d never do that! Bill shook his head. No, no, it was going to be okay. He tried to reign in his thoughts as he finally sat himself down on the stool, waiting for the pressure of the Hat on his head. He couldn’t look out into the crowd of other students, but that was alright. He was already here, it was unlikely that they would just kick him out. Actually, that would be really unfair because his family already spent all that money on his uniform and his wand. 

Then, his vision went completely black, like a cloth had been wrapped around his eyes. The Hat was on him, the brim wide enough to droop low and cover down to his nose.

“Why, you’re a little worrywart, aren’t you?” an unfamiliar — or very familiar — voice spoke into his head. 

Bill jolted in alarm. “You can speak into people’s heads?”

“Ha! This never gets old,” the Hat said. “You’re the twenty-ninth student that’s said that to me in this last hour.” 

“Oh,” Bill thought. “That’s alright then. Are you sorting me now?” 

“Hmm, perhaps,” the Hat drawled. Bill got the feeling that it — he? — was teasing him, and got the sudden urge to laugh. 

However, he stopped short, startled when the memory of buying his new wand was forced to the front of his mind. Then, he remembered the time he helped Percy practise his letters. It was like the Hat was combing through his memories. Oh, please, don’t look at the embarrassing stuff… 

“Love for new knowledge, you’d do well in Ravenclaw…”  the Hat said. "Helping others, love of friends, perhaps Hufflepuff… But no, you crave that excitement!”  

Glitters of Hogwarts’ windows flashed before his eyes, and he could feel the mist through his hair. 

“You’re curious, yes, but adventurous! You’re the first of your siblings to come to Hogwarts, you want to set a good example— yes, you want to be their heroic role model. A good quality in a leader…”  

Bill remembered the time he opened his acceptance letter, the joy and responsibility he’d felt.

“Family and friends are your top priority. You’d do anything for them. Hm, hm, yes, it’s clear to me now. Better be— Gryffindor!” 

Bill’s eyes were unveiled and he squinted in the sudden light, and there across from him was the Gryffindor table, cheering for him. 

Oh. It was over. He didn’t even say goodbye, was that rude? Did other people normally say goodbye? Well, it was too late now. He didn’t want to stay on that stool for a second longer!

Bill felt relief and elation skip through his body as he scampered over to the Gryffindor table, where Xander was already scooting over to make room for him. He’d done it! And, Merlin, he was a Gryffindor, just like his mum and dad! Wow! He couldn’t wait to tell them about it!

Chapter Text

Having lived such a long time, Albus often had nights where his thoughts wouldn’t cease nor quiet, his mind spinning with the new memories acquired from the day. Why, he had turned one hundred and one just over a month ago — Merlin, what a number! — so his old brain had many things to store. Sometimes it had a hard time keeping everything together, so this was why he’d obtained a pensieve. 

Albus tapped his wand to his temple and pulled his memory of the feast out, the sensation somewhat like clearing an ear of earwax. The wispy, pale blue threads floated into the liquid of the pensieve, ready for collection, and he caught a brief glimpse of the two new members of staff, chatting away with bright, smiling faces during the feast. 

Ah, yes — he found that a lot of things didn’t surprise him anymore, but that was what made Emrys and Pendragon so fascinating. They surprised him left and right without even trying… They made him think of things he hadn’t thought of in a long time, and the mystery around them was itching something in Albus’s brain more than any one person had done in a long time, let alone two. 

This was the first time he’d seen them together in the same room. There was something… something about the way they interacted with each other, like they’d been in love with each other for a long, long time. It made Albus feel younger, made him remember the love he used to feel once. Love like theirs seemed rare — the kind with no secrets, no walls, no discomfort with each other whatsoever, and it was flourishing right in front of him. Wasn’t it lovely, knowing that it was possible for such a love to exist? At such a young age, too! Even if Albus didn’t have such a treasure for himself, it was wonderful to see in person. 

Maybe that was what put him in such a nostalgic, contemplative mood that night. He’d returned to his office quietly after a fulfilling feast, his mind running with ideas, and he latched onto the freshest mystery of them all… 

The Sorting Hat had always loved his little puzzles. Albus had a delightful time figuring them out over the years, and he couldn’t help but wonder about the song that the Hat had sung tonight. He had no doubt that there was a connection between Emrys, Pendragon, and the Hat, given the timing— but what? Sortie was always on top of the game, so to speak, and usually Albus could figure him out, but this time he felt like he was running after his cryptic riddles in circles. 

He would need to hear the song again. That might solve some of these mysteries.  

“Sortie?” Albus called from behind his desk. 

“Headmaster,” the Hat responded, his tone amused. It was like he already knew what he was going to ask. 

“Could you sing me your song again, my friend? I’d like to appreciate it in its entirety a second time,” he requested. 

“What, you weren’t listening closely enough during the ceremony?” The Hat huffed with some annoyance, but there was an undertone of humour in his voice. He was probably quite tickled that he had managed to befuddle Albus once again. “I was proud of that performance, I’ll have you know.” 

“Oh, yes, it was quite showstopping,” Albus soothed. “And it certainly caused a stir — I only wonder why you decided to sing it this year, hm?” 

“Oh, don’t play coy, Albus. You know why.” Sortie responded in a cryptic way — just to further frustrate Albus, no doubt. 

Perhaps the Hat had thought the irony amusing. After all, they did have someone named ‘Merlin’ on the staff now… 

“I remember you mentioned the Prince of Enchanters — that is another title for Merlin, is it not?” Albus clarified. 

“Yes,” Sortie said, but did not elaborate. 

“But Merlin wasn’t alive when Hogwarts was created. He would’ve been— oh, about five hundred years old. That’s impossible.”

The Sorting Hat didn’t respond. Albus sighed.

Oh, he disliked it when the Hat didn’t tell him things. Of course, he had to respect him, as the sentient hat was far older and likely knew more secrets about Hogwarts than anyone ever had, but— 

Wait.

The continuing silence made Albus pause as a wonderful, outrageous thought reached his mind. “Impossible…” he muttered. “No, I suppose it wouldn’t be impossible…”

Could it be—? No, surely someone would have found out about it… Or perhaps not, Merlin was an incredibly powerful wizard. Perhaps such a feat could be accomplished — after all, it had been done before… 

He supposed he would need to write to an old friend in the next few days. Maybe he would have some answers for him. 

Albus smiled to himself, something like excitement coursing through his body. Oh, if he was the first to find out why Merlin’s body was never found—

Unfortunately, his thoughts were interrupted by a short, hesitant knock on his door. 

“Who on earth is that? At this hour?” Helga whispered behind him in a groggy voice. 

Albus glanced over at her portrait. She was the only one of the founders awake, and she was clearly unhappy about it, given her disgruntled expression.

The knock came again.

“Come in,” Albus called softly so as to not awaken any of the other portraits. Helga was right — it was rather late for a visitor, but he had a suspicion about who it may be.

Slowly, the door opened, and as he suspected, a short man with ashy blond hair walked through. He looked as if he had been caught in a rainstorm, his heavy brown coat soaked through and his wet hair sticking to his forehead. When he lifted his head, Albus could see the bags under his eyes, just barely lifted by the sheepish smile on his face.

“Feingold,” Albus greeted softly. “I’m glad to see you’ve made it.” 

“Dumbledore!” Feingold exclaimed quite loudly. Several of the portraits jolted awake and glared at Feingold in annoyance. “Haha, yes, I was terribly sorry to miss the feast, but you know how life is sometimes!” the man continued, oblivious to the hoard of annoyed stares he was receiving. 

“Well, I’m happy that the storm didn’t blow you away. How’s the family, if I may ask? I hope there’s happier news?” Albus said, keeping his voice calm. 

“Oh—” Feingold’s voice cracked dryly, and he cleared his throat. “Oh, yes, of course! Just— just dandy! Thank you for asking. Ah, anyway, I only wanted to check in with you before I went to bed, to let you know I arrived in one piece.”

Albus hummed in understanding. “Splendid. See that you get some rest, then, we have a busy next few days.”

“Yes, yes,” Feingold said quickly. “Of course. I wish you a good night, Headmaster. I’ll— see you in the morning?” he asked hopefully.

Albus nodded. Feingold perked up and waved his hand goodbye like he was trying to swat a fly out of the air, and then rushed back out of the room like something was chasing him. The door slammed shut behind him, jerking the other half of the portraits awake, who all grumbled loudly before slumping back over in a dead snore.

Helga made an irritated ‘hm!’ sound, and Albus turned back around towards her. 

“I don’t like him,” she announced. She puffed out her cheeks. “He’s irritating.”

“His resume was perfectly acceptable,” Albus reminded. 

“You should’ve asked Emrys to be the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor instead,” she insisted. “Come on, this man? A core class? He’ll be eaten alive. Eleven year olds are not something to be trifled with.” 

“I understand,” said Albus. “But I still believe that Emrys’s class is very beneficial. The older children, after the war, need someone to confide in. Emrys has a good, trusting quality about him. They need that assurance. After all, we all remember being young and afraid for the future, do we not?”

Helga sighed. “I suppose so. But, Albus — this man, Feingold. Keep an eye on him. He gives me the creeps.”

“How so?” he asked curiously. 

He wasn’t worried, really; he thought the man was perfectly acceptable. Anyway, his portraits had the tendency to over-exaggerate things from time to time. (Besides, there had been no other options to choose from, so Feingold was all he had to rely on. The D.A.D.A. positions always changed like rapid fire every year, and it was hard for Albus to keep up with it.) 

“He’s just…” Helga shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t know… Wait for Emrys and Pendragon to meet him. They’ll understand what I mean.” 

Albus’s lip tightened in distaste. Why couldn’t he be the one to understand? All these secrets, while intellectually invigorating, were truly starting to frustrate him. He felt like he was deliberately being kept out of the loop. 

He would make sure to write a note reminding him to send a letter to Nicholas Flamel. Perhaps something would start to unravel there. 

Merlin had slept like a rock. He didn’t know what it was, but sleeping inside Hogwarts’ walls again just felt right — it was like being back in an old, childhood home, and while the furniture was rearranged a little, the bed was just the same. 

He got up at the crack of dawn, though, and got ready for the day in a snap. Then, after kissing his still-sleeping husband’s face, he practically ran himself down to breakfast, eager to see the first years receive their little timetables. They would have the weekend to settle in before classes started, so they would have plenty of time to wander the castle and discover all the little nooks and crannies. Ah, Merlin loved a castle with things to discover, and he hoped the first years would, too. How exciting! He would have to live vicariously through their newfound wonder. 

When he arrived for breakfast, Merlin found that it was still quite early, unfortunately, so only a few people were in the Great Hall. That was alright, though, because Dumbledore was there! He seemed like he would provide a stimulating conversation to start off the morning. However, the headmaster was conversing with some man Merlin hadn’t met yet, who honestly looked like a half-baked version of Arthur, which was a little funny. The man was eagerly trying to keep the headmaster’s attention on himself, too — it was like he was desperate for his approval in some way. Strange.

“Dumbledore! Sorry to interrupt, but it’s good to see you this morning!” Merlin called as he skipped over. 

The man abruptly stopped talking as Dumbledore turned to Merlin. The headmaster’s face brightened with a smile — perhaps with some relief. “Emrys! Yes, indeed, it is a good morning. How have you been settling in? Any last-minute preparations to make?”

“Oh, it’s just like home already!” Merlin said with a wave of his hand, chuckling to himself. “Hm, as for your other question, I still have to decorate my classroom, and I hear there’s a lot of fun activities happening this weekend before classes start, so—”

“Who are you?” the man next to Dumbledore interrupted. Dumbledore looked at the man like he’d entirely forgotten he was there. Merlin just blinked in surprise for a moment, then raised an eyebrow at him. That was kind of rude, in his opinion. 

The man froze and laughed apologetically, his awkward eyes diverting away from Merlin’s expectant gaze. “Sorry, I didn’t mean for that to come out that way! Um, but I believe we haven’t met—?”

“Merlin Emrys, a pleasure to meet you!” Merlin said, sticking out his hand for a shake. “I’m teaching Advanced Spellwork & Magical Exploration this year! Are you new as well? I didn’t see you at the feast!” 

The man’s eyes narrowed in disbelief at Merlin’s name, but he apparently didn’t want to mess up in front of Dumbledore again, so he just shook his hand and said in a neutral tone, “Feingold. I’m the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor — the core class, I mean.” 

It was a little odd that he felt the need to clarify that, Merlin thought, because everyone knew that Defence Against the Dark Arts was a core class, who didn’t? 

Perhaps it was an assertion of dominance or something? Superiority? Merlin didn’t know, but he also didn’t really care, to be honest. Toying with the man would perhaps provide some entertainment, though… 

“Excellent!” he exclaimed finally, clasping his hands together. “You must know your stuff! I look forward to hearing about it!” 

Feingold preened a little at the praise, then looked at Dumbledore as if wondering if he’d heard Merlin’s assessment of him. However, when Dumbledore just took a brief, uninterested sip of his pumpkin juice, he wilted. 

“So, Dumbledore,” Merlin continued mischievously, “What did you think of the Hat’s song last night?” 

“Oh?” Feingold said, clearly trying to be a part of the conversation, too.

“You read my mind, Emrys,” Dumbledore chuckled warmly. Feingold bristled a little, and Merlin’s grin only widened. “I was just thinking about that last night. I did wonder if it was a coincidence that the Hat sang that song after you arrived, hm…” His eyes twinkled a little. “Maybe you could illuminate me.” 

“I thought it was certainly interesting,” Merlin said vaguely, laughter starting to bubble in his chest at the hilarity of the situation. “I mean, what could the Hat mean by — what was it? — ‘Joined the four, became the fifth,’ or whatever it was.” 

“Oh, yes,” Dumbledore said eagerly. “What were your thoughts on that?” 

“Hm, Merlin has many names, does he not?” he responded. How odd to be talking about himself in third person! “I’m sure you figured that part out yourself, headmaster. However, I thought calling him ‘Magic’ as a title was funny.” 

“You think that the Hat was calling Merlin magic itself?” Dumbledore said, leaning toward him with interested eyes. “Fascinating.”

“Just a theory!” Merlin said, stifling a little laugh behind his hand. Wow, this was kind of priceless, actually. Of course, he knew where that reference had come from — the prophesied trifecta: Merlin as Magic, Arthur as Courage, and Gwaine as Strength.

“Sorry to butt in,” Feingold said quickly once he found an opportunity. “But your accent, Emrys — where are you from, if I might ask?” 

“My accent?” Merlin asked blankly, just to see him squirm. 

Feingold turned a little red, stumbling for a minute. “Well— you know, it’s, um, I just thought you might have an accent? At some points, you sounded a little— I’m sorry, I must have assumed—”

“Damn!” Merlin said, sighing in disappointment. “And I was trying to really get this one right. No, you’re alright— funny you noticed, though! Let’s just say English isn’t the only language I’ve adopted.” 

Dumbledore tilted his head, surprised. “Oh? What other languages can you speak, Emrys? Admittedly, I hadn’t noticed any accent of yours, but my ears aren’t quite what they used to be.”

“Ah, what a question…” Merlin hummed in thought. “I’m a bit out of practice with some, admittedly, and some have died out… A lot, I guess! Who knows, at this point? Don’t think I can count them up.” 

“So, English is not your native language, then?” Feingold asked hopefully. It was weird that he was fixating on that, to be honest. “You’re a foreigner?”

Merlin shrugged, a coy smile playing on his lips. He looked down at Feingold, regarding him with an unreadable gaze. “You wouldn’t have heard of my original language. Small town, hardly anyone speaks it anymore. I wouldn’t necessarily call myself a foreigner, though. I was born somewhere around here.” 

Feingold deflated a little. It was so amusing for Merlin, watching him puff up like a balloon and collapse seconds later. Probably a sign of a fragile ego — he’d seen it before. 

“My apologies for my probing curiosity, but I do hope you’ll indulge an old man,” Dumbledore interjected, much to Merlin’s amusement. Feingold huffed derisively through his nose. “Does Pendragon speak this language with you? Did you perhaps meet in this ‘small town’?”

“You could say that,” Merlin responded cryptically. 

“Pendragon?” Feingold prompted helplessly. 

“Ah, our new flying instructor,” Dumbledore said. “I’m sure you’ll meet him sometime. Say, where is he, might I ask?” 

Feingold seemed frustrated every time Dumbledore turned back to Merlin to ask a question, and at this point, he seemed like he was ready to blow his top off. 

Merlin just laughed. “Arthur’s not a morning person, sorry! He’s probably snoring away still. Anyway, it was good talking to you both, but I’m going to grab breakfast now! I’ll see you around, Dumbledore, Feingold!”

He waved nonchalantly at them as he walked away. Feingold was probably glad to have Dumbledore’s attention back on him — or he would, if Dumbledore didn’t also take the opportunity to excuse himself.

5 September 1982

Dear Mum and Dad, 

I finally got a chance to write this. This week has been super fun! Very exhausting. But still fun. 

I guess the most important thing is that I got sorted into Gryffindor! And I met a friend Xander already. He’s pretty cool. We’ve been going to the events around the castle together. 

We were tired after the feast on Wednesday, but there was a social event for first years in the Gryffindor common room that we stayed awake for. I talked to Xander mostly, but we met some other people too. I also met some friends on the train, but they’re in different houses. Also did you know that the Hogwarts Express train is actually called the Hogwarts Castle? Xander told me that the train was built by muggles and then we repurposed it with magic so it could take all of us to school. Also he said some other pureblood families didn’t like this because they thought muggle technology was demeaning to the magical race, but the Ministry made a law that said all the students must get to school by train or they wouldn’t be able to go to school at all… So no wonder the station was so crowded!!

On Thursday I got my schedule for this year at breakfast. I have Potions and Flying Lessons with the Slytherins, Charms and Transfiguration with the Ravenclaws, and Herbology and History of Magic with the Hufflepuffs. We also have Astronomy on Wednesdays at night.

Then after breakfast, me and Xander went to go see some of the club events. First we went to the photography club, and they showed us how to take photos and develop them into moving photographs. Like the ones you see in the paper! I’m going to send the picture of me and Xander that we made with this letter. I think it turned out really good! (Although I accidentally smudged one of the corners, oops.)

Then we went to the charms demonstration nearby. Professor Flitwick made things float, made really cool bubbles float around and also he changed the colour of his own hair! That was funny. He turned it blue.

I think after that we were hungry so we had lunch. You know, they always have so much food on the tables, I keep thinking that it would be impossible to eat it all. But it tastes really good so maybe it isn’t THAT impossible. Still I don’t think their roast is as good as mum’s.

Then me and Xander went up the tower to the astronomy club. I don’t really know anything about astronomy and I guess I’ll learn soon enough. But they had us make our own little telescopes! It was too bright to use them yet but I looked out the window with mine before I went to bed. I don’t know any constellations either, but it was cool! 

We were really really tired after that so we had dinner and then we fell asleep. In the morning on Friday there was a required new student orientation that we had to go to. The Gryffindor prefect explained to us a couple of things, like how detentions work and what happens when you can’t find your classroom, or if you get stuck in one of the stairs. I didn’t know you could get stuck on the stairs, but I’ve been too nervous to try and go to the big moving staircase room. I keep worrying that I’ll fall off or something! They told us that if that happens there are protection spells to keep you from dying, but that is kind of terrifying!

Then after lunch, me and Xander went to find the games club, and we played a couple rounds of gobstones while we ate the snacks. After we got bored of that we went outside to see the magical creatures club because we heard they had a petting zoo or something. We got to pet some puffskeins and also we got to see some nifflers, and one of them tried to take my wand! Thankfully one of the club members shook the niffler upside down and it came out of its little pouch, so don’t worry!

Then on Saturday my friend Xander wanted to go see the potions club, and we got to make these little giggle potions. I didn’t know that making potions was so hard! It was fun but also required a lot of concentration. Thankfully the club members helped us get it right, and they did most of the work. We got to keep little vials of the giggle potion and later we drank it together and we laughed so hard! We couldn’t stop laughing for around five minutes probably. My stomach hurt after that. 

Anyway today (Sunday) we went around the castle to try and find our classrooms and it took ALL day! It was so hard to find anything because Hogwarts is so huge! The map we had didn’t help that much. I also went on the moving staircases once and it was scary. It started moving right in the middle and we got really lost. All of the hallways look the same! I don’t know how I’m going to remember the right way to our classes, but I’ll try my best. 

Anyway I’m really tired now so I’m going to sleep. I’m going to try and find the owlery tomorrow so I can send this. 

I miss everyone and I love you!

Billy

Devon couldn’t sleep. It was the night before classes — and he couldn’t sleep. Typical, wasn’t it? But he wasn’t worried about classes, not really. 

The past few days, he’d been unpacking, the usual thing he would do after arriving back at the castle. The dungeons — they were always cold, he always had to bring extra clothes and blankets to keep warm. It made his luggage heavy. 

Since it was so gloomy, that might be an incentive to leave the dorms more often and engage in some of the activities going on, but Devon was always, always tired. Exhausted, even. He’d wake up tired, go to sleep tired. A constant cycle of just ‘tired,’ all the time. So, he didn’t really participate in the fun events happening around the castle, didn’t really feel the need to go search for his classes because he knew where most of them were already, and he really didn’t have anything else to do besides go to sleep and wait for classes to start in the morning. 

But now, he couldn’t sleep. 

It had been like this for the past few days, actually. Ever since the feast. It was a mixture of feelings, of course — knowing that this would be the last Sorting Ceremony he’d see, the least opening feast, that sort of thing. There was something very final about it. 

But also — fuck, those two new teachers. He remembered them from Diagon Alley, he would be stupid if he didn’t recognise them. They just kept popping up everywhere — was it a coincidence? He supposed that becoming part of the staff could explain a few things about them, maybe, but… not enough. 

Did anyone else know that those two — Emrys and Pendragon, was it? — were the ones from Diagon Alley, or was Devon the only one? Surely he wasn’t? The paper hadn’t ever found them, but surely they hadn’t got away scot-free — not like they’d done something criminal, obviously, but to not take any credit for the lives they’d saved that day? Why? It made no sense. 

Well, shouldn’t Dumbledore know? Maybe he did. Maybe that was why he hired them — like, they could be bodyguards for the school or… something. If something happened, maybe. They seemed like they could handle that sort of thing. 

However, that didn’t really explain why Sir Cadogan had such a… a… respect(?) for Pendragon. Pendragon could practically command his portrait around, it was just— it was driving Devon mad, slowly. 

God, maybe he was just… wary. Still. Too paranoid, or something. After all, the last few professors he’d had— fuck, they’d been awful, really awful. Of course, with the war happening and such, that was probably to be expected, but— 

Yeah. Just… awful. 

Well. He’d get to see what Emrys would be like first hand, at least, because he was in his class. Devon was sort of disappointed by it, which wasn’t really anyone’s fault; he’d wanted to get into the Advanced Potions class, but since Slughorn had retired, it would be another year before Snape would ease into it… And by that time, Devon would obviously have graduated already. So now he was stuck in some weird class taught by the new professor: ‘Advanced Spellwork & Magical Exploration’. Which was fucking excellent. (That was sarcasm.) Devon’s charms were pretty shit honestly, so this was probably going to be difficult.

But, maybe that would put some of this fixation to rest. After all, sometimes Devon truly couldn’t stop thinking about things once he’d started thinking about them — couldn’t stop until it had just… run its course, or whatever. And he’d been thinking about Emrys and Pendragon for days now. There was just something weird about them, he didn’t really know how to explain it all that well. And, yeah, okay, despite their efforts in Diagon Alley, he wasn’t entirely sure he trusted them, either. 

Not to mention the mysterious new D.A.D.A. professor, too, but that was a little more normal. They never lasted more than a year, so he knew it would be best not to get used to this one either. 

Devon rolled over in his bed, looking out the window as he drew the sheets around his shoulders. The windows were always murky, filled with water — sometimes a little damp, too. There was a pale, cold moonlight scattering through the dark waters of the lake outside. The light was too bright, which wasn’t helping him go to sleep anytime soon…

He frowned. 

Actually, maybe Sir Cadogan was just weird. That made a lot more sense. That guy was just a nut case sometimes. Maybe Pendragon, when he’d gone to school here— yeah, Sir Cadogan could’ve heard his last name and reverted back to the Middle Ages or whenever King Arthur was alive, and started taking orders from the guy. And Pendragon had just gone along with it — maybe he’d tried to tell Sir Cadogan that he wasn’t actually King Arthur, but the dumb portrait wouldn’t listen. That sounded like something Sir Cadogan would do, honestly. 

That made more sense.

Devon sighed quietly and smashed his face into his pillow to block out the light. Tomorrow would be better. He just needed to go to sleep. Go to sleep.

(His wish was too optimistic. He finally passed out at three in the morning.) 

Merlin was wandering the castle at night, for lack of better things to do. He’d finished figuring out what he’d do for this introductory lesson in the morning, he’d finished decorating his classroom, and Arthur was off figuring out something in the broom storage room for tomorrow, so Merlin was free to do what he wished. 

He’d thought it would be a good idea to try and refamiliarise himself with the layout of Hogwarts, considering it had changed a little. There was a curfew for students, of course, so the halls were entirely empty and that made it easier. He had the whole castle to walk through — tonight, every corridor and room was his. 

The air was crisp and cold as he breathed it in. He was passing along a corridor that led to a pretty courtyard. It was well kept, the hedges trimmed neatly and the centre tree was still green, even if they would soon turn red and orange with autumn. Everything was dark now, but it was nice that way. 

Merlin brushed his fingers along the wall, then moved on.

Walking through older buildings like Hogwarts was always a treat for him. Places that were loved and lived in were a nice reminder of the good things in life, even if they were little. After living so long, it was easy to fall into believing that the repetitive cycles of humanity made everything pointless — but it wasn’t true. After all, there were so many memories here — good and bad and in between. Wasn’t that incredible? 

And, of course, Hogwarts held a lot of his own memories, too. Hogwarts was the first magical school that Merlin had helped establish, the first castle he’d helped build, and above all… it was where Arthur had first given him the ring now hidden on a string under his shirt. 

He smiled at the thought. It had been so long ago, but it had been somewhere around here… Merlin slipped quietly through the halls in search of that one expanse of wall — the one that housed the Room of his own creation. 

At the time, he had just finished the last tweaks for the ‘Room of Requirement’ — or the ‘Come and Go Room,’ but Arthur had thought that was a terrible name. The idea behind it had been to provide a little surprise for anyone walking by who wanted a place to sit, one that fit their own comforts. Then it had evolved into creating any kind of room to fit the user’s desires and— well, it had grown a little out of control, but he had managed it well enough in the end. He had been quite proud of it. 

Once he’d declared it finished, though, Arthur had pulled him out the door and back into the surrounding hallway to give the Room one final test. 

His king had walked back and forth three times with a look of fierce determination creasing his eyes, his hands behind his back and his boots stomping on the floor like he did when he was gearing himself up for something. Merlin had no idea what had been going through his mind at the time, so when the door had materialised, he hadn’t been sure what to expect on the other side. 

Arthur had refused to tell him what he’d conjured beforehand, continuing to avoid eye contact (rather suspiciously) and remaining silent for once in his life. So, imagine his surprise when he’d finally pulled Merlin into a room with an endless garden full of flowers! He hadn’t expected something so… well, soft and beautiful. He’d figured Arthur would summon up an armoury, his old bedroom, or maybe an imitation of the throne room from Camelot, but not a garden. 

Merlin had teased him for it as they walked through the rows of bright flora, entirely unexpecting of Arthur to stop him in a lovely enclosure, pull out a ring on a leather string from his pocket, and then ask for his hand in marriage. 

“So,” Arthur had cleared his throat, rather awkwardly, amidst the petals. He’d only ever proposed to someone once before, they both knew that — and he was terrible at this sort of thing. “I don’t know what marriage will look like for us, and I know we can’t get married like— like other people do because that requires legal documentation, but— if you’ll have me…” He’d taken a deep, shaky breath, and finally looked straight into Merlin’s eyes with his own, biting the inside of his cheek in a rare show of nervousness. “If… if you’ll have me, that is…”

Merlin had never thought he’d get to have something like that. He’d hoped, he’d dreamt of it, but when it had been finally happening— all he could think was, damn it, Arthur! He’d clutched his partner’s hands in his own with overwhelmed tears starting to flood his eyes, the ring clutched between both of their hands like a promise. 

He had been making Arthur more nervous with his silence as he tried to work up the words, so eventually he had said, “Gods, Arthur, you prat, I can’t believe you just had to beat me to it. Of course you did, you’re such an ass.” His voice had been choked up to match the glistening wetness of his eyes. That had startled a relieved laugh out of Arthur.

“You were being too slow, as usual,” Arthur had said, easily falling back into their banter, but the way he had swallowed heavily betrayed how new this had felt for him — for the both of them, honestly. And that had been quite something, considering they’d been alive maybe half a century at that point — new feelings were very hard to come by. 

Merlin had then shakily brought their hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to Arthur’s fingers, and continued: “Of course, of course, I— I would, in any universe, be yours,” he had whispered into Arthur’s skin. “In any time, any circumstance, I will always be yours, just as you’ll be mine. For gods’ sake— I’m fairly certain that I was literally born to love you, so— yes. Yes, of course.” 

Ha! They’d still been so young then, hadn’t they? Oh, how time had flown since!

Now, Merlin found himself standing in front of the current entrance to the Room of Requirement. Well, it would appear like he was just standing in front of a blank wall to anyone else, but he could tell his Room had decided to make itself at home in this wall for the time being. 

He walked over and leaned his forehead on the wall — gods, he was glad no one was here to see this, they’d think he was completely mad. Oh, well! He breathed in and relaxed as the comforting touch of the Room’s magic melded with his own for a moment. It was refreshing, and—

Something like static grazed his fingertips and Merlin jerked away in surprise.

What the hell was that? That had never happened before. 

Merlin touched the wall that housed the Room again, pressing his palm flat against the stone and searching for that sharp snap of retaliation again. Was there someone inside already? No, that couldn’t be it, Merlin would be able to tell if it wasn’t open or not. 

He hadn’t noticed before, but now that he was looking— There was something off about the Room, like there was a small thorn sticking out of its side… or like it was trying to hide something from him that it wasn’t supposed to. 

It must be holding an object of some sort— something small, something it shouldn’t be holding, something that went against its purpose—

Merlin jerked his hand back again when he felt a surge of angry static on his fingers, his skin tingling like he’d been nearly burnt by scalding metal. There it was again! What was that? Which place was it in? The magic was bitter, sinister, but concealed very well. The sensation dug into his mind and made Merlin struggle against a very familiar feeling of deja vu. Where had he felt that same magic before? It had to have been recently. 

Well, that could have been in any number of places, but he could narrow it down probably by focusing on areas that contained objects of dark magic. Knockturn Alley, maybe? He’d been there for a second, poking around for no substantial reason other than amusement, but— no, other than feeling vaguely icky after leaving, he didn’t remember anything that felt like this.

Ugh, why did this have to happen to one of his favourite places??

The only other place that he could think of that could contain objects like this without fuss was— 

Ah. Gringotts. No, he remembered now. The deal he had made, so he could potentially search for something in the future— he’d noticed a dark object in one of the vaults near the ground level, so it must have been hidden away by an old magical family…

Yes, it was exactly the same kind of magic. Did that mean there was a second object in the Room? Of the same kind? What the hell was it doing in Hogwarts, hidden away in his Room? Honestly, that was kind of offensive. 

He stepped back, incensed, and the Room could probably feel his anger, too. Like an ashamed child, it carved the correct door into the walls— slowly, like the simple action was painful. The dark magic was even closer to Merlin’s reality now, throbbing like a festering, infected wound within the castle.

Cautiously, he creaked open the ornate door, unsure of what he would find on the other side. He was immediately greeted by mountains of cast-aside objects — books, boxes, shelves, plates, and every other possible thing one could conjure to mind. Everything was haphazardly stacked on top of each other, barely leaving any room for a walkway. In some areas, Merlin was even worried that the stacks would vengefully fall on top of him and try to crush him. 

He gaped at the mess. It was one hundred times worse than his room in Camelot! Did no one care to keep things neat for the next user? Honestly!

Shaking his head, Merlin muttered to the Room, “Are you able to show me the way, or am I going to have to find it myself?” 

The Room hesitated for a minute, then without a sound, quietly shut the entrance door, the movement careful as if it didn’t want to alert someone’s attention. A gentle gust of air blew from behind him, blowing through his hair and his clothes in a soft, silent push. 

Merlin let the wind on his back be his guide as he traversed the treacherous landscape. He was trying very hard not to fall over because nothing was stacked securely, and one misstep would send him down a landslide. It annoyed him so much that every so often he would snap his fingers to rearrange a pile into something more orderly, but there was only so much he could do unless he wanted to rearrange the whole area. That could take ages, even for him — the Room expanded for miles. 

He walked for nearly thirty minutes this way, trying to focus on the rotting, sickly magic in the back of his mind. It sort of reminded him of broken glass, stained with grime, covered and buried in mud — broken, unassuming, not necessarily wanting to be found… with no one knowing how it got there, really, but still sharp…

Well, whatever object it was, it didn’t have a say in the matter because Merlin was going to find it, whether it liked it or not. 

Finally, he kicked through a mess of tattered books and papers, anticipation itching in his veins as he grew closer and closer. Just a few more steps— finally, yes! The breeze that was running softly through his hair stopped, the air around him becoming still. 

Merlin looked down in front of him and his gaze was immediately drawn to an expensive, navy blue box. It was closed because of course it was — the object didn’t think this was the right time to be found, after all. 

The hairs on his arms were standing on end a little. The proximity of his own magic to something so twisted and mangled was making his blood rush and his heart pound in his chest. 

Just in case, he conjured some gloves — smiling a little when he realised they were a pair of Arthur’s leather ones — and then took a deep breath before opening it— 

Merlin’s entire body froze. 

Well, that was— unexpected? Wait— No. No, that couldn’t be right. What was this doing here? Gods, what had happened to it? Why would someone turn something beautiful into something so repulsive? This kind of magic went directly against nature. He needed to figure out how to fix this. 

Merlin looked down at the Diadem of Ravenclaw, knowing that he was also staring directly into a fragment of a soul. He sighed, loud and frustrated, rubbing his temples. 

Of course, this also required a conversation with a certain ghost, but he was kind of dreading it. Helena’s relationship with her mother was rocky at best, but he hadn’t thought that she would let something like this happen to her mother’s diadem! 

Ah, what a way to ring in the new school year. And here he was thinking that things had died down for a while! He knew better than that, of course— oh, well, his life was never boring, at least! 

Merlin closed the box and tucked it into one of his many pockets, then muttered a brief spell into his hands, blowing the magic out like dust into the air. Gold specks drifted through the air for a moment before consolidating into a faint beam of light, leading him back the way he came from. 

What a long detour this had become — Arthur was probably going to wonder where he was at. Well… time to go to bed and think about how in the world he was going to handle this, apparently.

Chapter Text

September 6th, 1982

Severus’s very first class of the year was Introduction to Potions with the first year Gryffindors and Slytherins — and he’d been dreading it for ages. 

He’d never wanted to be a professor. He’d never been good at teaching, or at least, that’s what he’d noticed over the years. He didn’t have patience for mistakes, he didn’t like having to repeat himself over and over, and he most certainly didn’t like talking. He was anticipating that his voice would be gone by the end of the week, knowing just how much talking he was going to have to do. 

“Today is about the magical properties of ingredients,” he’d said to himself this morning. He’d fussed endlessly over the edges of his clothes as he got ready. “They’re not even doing any potion-making. They won’t be making actual potions for a couple of months. It’ll be— You just— have to talk, and have them listen.”

Didn’t that sound easy, yet terribly difficult at the same time — having someone listen to you speak? Severus found it hopeless to try these days, but still, here he was. Trying. He’d gotten out of bed this morning and dressed himself in his best robes. He even went down to have breakfast for once in his life, rather than skipping meals until dinner, but he regretted it all the same. There was something humiliating about watching all of the students sit with their friends in the Great Hall, blubbering on with excitement and wretched hope as they stuffed their faces with food. 

They were just at the start of their lives. They still had every step in front of them, and still had so many choices to make. Severus was twenty-two, and yet, he felt like he’d run out of time for choices and change. He’d been sitting in those same spots in the dining hall less than five years ago, and things had grown worse ever since. 

He was never an optimistic person. He didn’t have dreams of things getting better, so he was never surprised when they didn’t.

Of course, that didn’t mean he was any less frustrated by it. 

Severus found himself in his classroom, standing in front of a crowd of first years with his heart thumping with anxiety and bitterness, waiting for the bell to ring. He was equipped with a script for a lecture that he’d memorised, practising it over and over until it was practically written onto the inside of his eyelids. The first years were fresh-faced, happy, and—

The clock chimed nine. Class had started. Severus’s class had started.

He cleared his throat pointedly, adjusting some papers on his desk as he waited for their attention. Getting started was the hardest part, he knew, so he just needed to get past this, and then repeat it again, and again, and again—

The talking didn’t stop. 

“Good morning,” he said, but he was drowned out by voices. 

His heart raced in his chest. 

No one — not a single person — was looking at him. Not a single person was waiting for class to start, or waiting to hear what he had to say. No one was ready to start. What did he do? The clock tower had gone off already. They must have heard it. They must have! Then they were just ignoring him because— what, they didn’t care? Was that it? Severus was here, despite everything, despite how terrible he knew it was going to be, and they didn’t even have the decency to shut their mouths and look at him? He’d put in the effort to be here and be prepared, and no one else had. No one was listening.

His hands were shaking as he clenched them on top of the desk, trying to steel himself against the barrage of emotions welling up in his throat. He wanted to laugh, but he also wanted to cry. He’d never felt so overwhelmed in his entire life. 

That was when he noticed one side of the room growing quiet. For a moment, a wild relief blossomed in his chest, thinking that the students were finally ready and that he could get this over with.

But, no, it wasn’t that. Not exactly. He stared out into the little faces, watching one side of the room tuck themselves into their chairs with attentiveness, while the other half joked and laughed and shouted with their backs turned away. 

The Slytherins were listening. They’d noticed he was waiting for them, so they’d obediently put their hands on their laps and fallen silent. The Gryffindors, on the other hand, could apparently care less. 

To Severus, one thing was now clear: the Gryffindors could copy the Slytherins and be quiet, but they were choosing not to. They didn’t want to. They were choosing to disrespect him instead. 

That made him tremble with a mixture of fury and gratification. Of course, despite the fresh students, the Houses were the same as they always were. Gryffindors were always going to be the same pig-headed idiots as they were ten years ago. Of course, of course! Why had he expected anything to change? Nothing ever changed! Nothing! 

Severus grabbed a thick, hardcover book of potions recipes and threw it back down on his desk. The resounding thump was more like a crash as the weight jostled the whole surface, shaking glass vials and disturbing drawers in their slots. Several Gryffindors yelped in surprise, swinging back around in their seats to stare at him like they hadn’t even noticed he was there.

Severus’s lip curled with disdain as he looked at their red and gold ties, their faces blurring into an unidentifiable mess. “Glad to finally have your precious attention, Gryffindors,” he drawled.

The Slytherins laughed quietly at that. His heart, previously having jumped to his throat, began to calm as he finally, finally gained control. 

“You all must be experts in the art of potion making if you’re willing to pay so little attention in class,” he continued, his eyes running over the group. His gaze caught on a shock of ginger hair in the front row, and his heart skipped a beat. 

He blinked a little in shock, trying to clear his vision. Was that—? But no, it was a small boy. 

Cold disappointment settled in his gut. He didn’t know what he expected. He shook his head, trying to regain his thoughts. 

“You.” He pointed at the ginger. 

The boy jolted in surprise. “Me?” the Gryffindor stammered, caught off guard. 

“What’s your name?” Severus asked, his voice blank. 

“Er—” the student shrunk back a little, eyes wide. His hesitation satisfied something in Severus. “I’m, er—”

Severus’s voice was sharp and impatient as he said, “Spit it out.” 

“Bill— Bill Weasley, sir,” the Gryffindor finally said. 

Weasley, Severus thought. Of course. That explains the red hair, then…

“Well, Weasley, explain to the class: what are the properties of an Ashwinder egg?” he said eventually, a smirk playing at his lips as he watched the student fumble.

Weasley blinked idiotically and glanced around at his stupid friends, but no one could help him. He was completely on his own.

Severus found that watching the ginger struggle for an answer was making some strange emotion twist in his chest. He decided to call it anger. After all, this was a pathetic display. He should know this, but he just didn’t. This was so simple. Lily would— Severus strangled the rest of that thought before it could come to fruition.

The student didn’t even fight Severus back. He didn’t make a fuss like Gryffindors were apt to do. No— instead, he just meekly lowered his head and mumbled something to the floor, eyes shining with tears of humiliation.

The feeling in Severus’s chest twisted harder. 

“What was that? Raise your voice,” he spat out in command.

“I— I’m sorry, I don’t know what that is, I’m sorry, sir,” the Gryffindor repeated in a pleading voice, his words choked up.

Severus clucked his tongue. “Of course you don’t.” At the sight of Weasley’s glistening tears, his eyes hardened. “Perhaps you Gryffindors would benefit from shutting your mouths. I am the only one who should be talking in this class, am I understood?”

The Gryffindors muttered their assent. It was weak. Typical, of course, but lazy. Disrespectful. They were always disrespectful like this, and of course, that wouldn’t change.

He shook his head in displeasure, turning away from the teardrops falling to the table underneath Weasley’s hung head, and instead gave his attention to the Slytherins. 

“Perhaps the Slytherins won’t disappoint me,” he said slowly. “Raise your hand if you can tell me the properties of the Ashwinder egg, Slytherins.” 

Immediately, one hand in the middle row rose to the air. 

Severus bit back a victorious grin and pointed to the girl. “You, introduce yourself to the class.”

“Amira Jadmani,” the girl said monotonously. She stared up at Severus with dark, alert eyes, giving him her complete, full attention.

Good.

“Go on,” he prompted lightly.

“An Ashwinder egg is the egg of a magical serpent born from the embers of a magical fire,” Jadmani reported. “They’re hot, flammable, and can easily set the surrounding areas on fire. If you freeze them, you can swallow them whole to cure illnesses like malaria, characterised by fevers, chills, and sweating. They’re also a common ingredient in love potions.”

Severus could have clapped his hands together at that moment, he was so proud of his House. At least his House wasn’t filled with useless idiots!

“Impressive. It seems like we have an intellectual divide in this class…” he said, prompting some laughter from his House. The Gryffindors seethed in silence, and Severus relished in it. “Excellent, good work, Jadmani. Ten points to Slytherin for that answer.” He glanced around, narrowing his eyes. “What are you all waiting for? Start taking notes, we will be discussing the magical properties of twenty different potion ingredients today, and we don’t have any more time to waste after the Gryffindors’ disruption. My name is Professor Snape, and I will be your potions teacher for the rest of your time at Hogwarts. 

“Now, as Jadmani so eloquently put it, Ashwinder eggs are indeed the eggs of a magical serpent, which are laid in unattended magical fires. They are very valuable when frozen correctly, and are commonly used in love potions as well as luck potions, such as the widely-known Felix Felicis. They generally provide feelings of adrenaline and elation when added to these concoctions—”

Devon pursed his lips, clutching his timetable in hand. He checked the parchment for the fifth time, then looked up at the door in front of him distrustfully. 

He’d had to walk up a billion flights of stairs to get here. Was it even worth it? Like, holy shit, he was probably going to skip this class, honestly. There was no way he was making this trip three times a week. 

On top of that, the classroom itself was hard to find, too! It was sort of tucked away in the corner of a corridor, hidden from view. The only reason he’d been sure this was the right one was because of the big ass sign on the front door with the class’s name in all capitals. 

Devon checked the room number again, just to be sure. 

Right. Okay. Fuck, this was literally the perfect place to get jumped. This was definitely not worth it… He looked around apprehensively, but saw no one. Well, they were in an obscure part of the castle, so unless someone followed him here, there was no reason for some random asshole to stumble upon him.

Or, there should be no reason. Devon wasn’t sure — he could never tell what was going on in other students’ heads sometimes. 

The hall was dead silent. If anyone was watching, then surely they’d slip up by now? No one can hold their breath that long. Devon’s hearing was a little too good sometimes, so he would’ve heard them — right?

He took a deep breath, rubbed a hand over his face, and then cursed when the clock boomed to signal the start of class.

Shit. Okay. He was late. Okay. 

He just— needed to get past this first hard part, then it would be fine. It would be fine. 

He bit the inside of his cheek as he adjusted his green and silver tie to look as straight as possible. This was his armour, after all, on top of his completely blank expression. Finally, he shook himself to psyche himself up, then opened the door as aloofly as he could. There was something to be said about being fashionably late — many pros and cons he could see flitting about his mind, but there was nothing he could do about it now. 

Since he was the last one to arrive, all eight pairs of eyes immediately turned towards him: the professor himself, four Ravenclaws, two Hufflepuffs, and one Gryffindor. Ah, fuck. He’d hoped no Gryffindors would be taking this class, but he was cursed with unluckiness. Said Gryffindor was slouched in a cushioned chair, a leg thrown over the arm carelessly as he picked at his nails. One glance at Devon, and his hair was turning a dark, forest green. 

Huh, a metamorphmagus. Weird. 

He tried to ignore the way the Gryffindor’s eyes glanced him over, up and down, like he was scoping out the competition or— something stupid like that. Devon was sure that his uniform wasn’t out of place, at least. He’d made sure of it. 

Meanwhile, the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs had all been chatting amongst themselves and the professor, so it appeared like the class hadn’t actually started yet, despite the bell. However, they quickly fell quiet when they saw Devon enter the room. 

“Merlin, are you fucking kidding me,” the Gryffindor finally muttered passive aggressively under his breath. His voice was distinctly Scottish, Devon noted, not that he cared so much. The Gryffindor turned back to his nails, his hair melting back to auburn. 

Fine, okay. Fine. Devon clenched his jaw and said nothing, shifting his weight in discomfort. His hand tightened on his book bag. 

The professor shot an unimpressed look at the Gryffindor. “Hey, now, I heard that. Don’t use my name like that if you’re going to be a prat.” The professor turned back to him with a bright smile. “You must be Devon! Come in, take a seat. We’re all just getting to know each other for now. It’s nice to have a small class like this, don’t you think?” 

That was when Devon finally got a good look at him. The professor hadn’t changed at all since Diagon Alley, or the feast. He hadn’t really expected him to, but it was still— odd. It was odd to look into the eyes of a man who seemingly had a secret, one that only he had an inkling about. 

Devon just nodded shortly and picked a large, soft-looking chair that was furthest away from everyone else. He liked the colour, too. Devon’s favourite colour was always dark purple. 

“Anyway,” Emrys said, “do you young people have any favourite songs? Bands? I’m trying to keep up with the current times.” No one seemed inclined to say anything, but Emrys didn’t seem to care because he steamrolled on. “Oh! Here’s a thought, has anyone listened to ABBA? You’re all probably familiar with them, right? They’re fairly recent. Fucking brilliant, too, I love those songs. They’re really good for destressing!” 

Devon blinked a little at the swear word, and his other classmates seemed to be taken aback by it, too.

Emrys looked at their faces, equally incredulously. “What’s that look for? Was it the swearing or the part about ABBA? Is ABBA too old school already? Hopefully not! They’re still in their prime, I think! If it’s the swearing — I guess here’s a rule to think about: I really don’t care what you all say, you’re all upperclassmen and you’ve lived through a war. Just be nice to each other, okay? Enough said there. But come on, somebody tell me they’ve heard of ABBA, at least! Ariella, what about you?”

Ariella — a Ravenclaw girl with black braids — sputtered in surprise. “Oh, um, no, I haven’t heard of that. What is it?”

Emrys looked truly dismayed at this. It was like he’d just been told his pet had died. “Oh my gods, tell me you’re joking. No, no, no, this can’t be right. Nobody?”  

Devon and several others mutely shook their heads. 

“This is terrible. I could’ve sworn ABBA was in all the dance clubs these days. No, I can’t stand by and let this tragedy happen,” Emrys said, his tone a bit dramatic for the situation in Devon’s opinion. He sighed, also very dramatically, but there was a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I guess I will just have to educate you! Just a second… there!” 

Devon wasn’t really sure what he’d expected this class to be like, but it definitely wasn’t this. With a snap of his fingers and a wave of his hand, Emrys made all the lights in the room burst into a kaleidoscope of colours as a song began to resound throughout the room. 

He recognised a piano playing along to the beat of drums, but he wasn't sure if he’d heard this song before. Maybe? If he had, it would have been a long time ago. It definitely seemed out of place in Hogwarts. Actually, how was Emrys playing a song without a radio? 

Then a spotlight began to focus on his professor as he fumbled with his wand, illuminating him in white light. Jesus— he looked like some sort of groovy ghost as he began to mingle to the beat, as much as Devon hated that description. 

Emrys finally got a hold of his wand, and he positioned it in front of his mouth like he was using it as a… microphone? Wait— Wait, no—

Oh god, Devon thought with horror, he’s going to sing, he’s singing—

“Ooh! YOU can dance!” Emrys bellowed into his wand along with the song. “You can ji-IVE! Having the time of your life! Ooh! See that girl—” Emrys jokingly pointed at Ariel, who was a prime target because she was sitting in the front, Devon thought distantly through the shock— “watch that scene, diggin’ the dancing queen!!” 

Ariella let out a shocked laugh, stifling it into her fist in flustered delight at the hilarity of the situation. 

Devon was torn between numb detachment and absolute terror as Emrys began to dance, angular, gangly limbs flailing around like he was on fire. Actually, he was going to settle on ‘absolute terror’. Emrys had no coordination whatsoever. Devon was somewhat grateful that his singing voice wasn’t all that awful because the dancing, holy shit—

“Friday night and the lights are loooow,” Emrys crooned jokingly into his wand. He stole a glance at the door, but Devon (erroneously) didn’t think anything of it. “Looking out for a place to gooooo.”

Several people snickered, and the Gryffindor let out a loud bark of laughter in his chair, throwing back his head full of electric blue hair.

“Oh, god,” Devon muttered, burying his face in his hands to try and bury himself far, far away from the second hand embarrassment he was feeling. “Jesus Christ.” 

“Where they play the right music, getting in the swing — you come to look for a king.” Emrys barely managed to get the last line out before he started laughing hysterically, doubling over. 

Devon thought that might be the end of it, but he was so, so wrong. He practically shrieked in surprise when there was a knock on the classroom door, his mind stuttering through who it could possibly be, and how they would react to seeing Emrys dancing like a gasping fish. What if it was Dumbledore, or McGonagall, or Filch? Every possible person he came up with who could be on the other side of the door was worse and worse. He felt so embarrassed in Emrys’s place, but the man had no sense of self-preservation whatsoever — he was already running towards the door and letting the person in. 

Uh, actually, it was more like Emrys dragged the person in by the collar and slammed the door shut behind them. 

And— It was Pendragon, looking like he’d run all the way here, going off of the wild hair and the way he was out of breath. Of course. Devon didn’t know if he should be relieved or not. Maybe he would make Emrys stop whatever this was—

“Merlin? I thought— you called for—” Pendragon barely managed to get out, utterly bewildered. “What—?”

“You are the dancing queen!” Emrys sang again, twirling Pendragon so fast that the man yelped and stumbled over Emrys’s feet, but he started laughing in surprised delight. They were doomed, Devon decided. “Young and sweet, only seventeen! Arthur, you’re my dance partner for today, okay? Okay.” Then he turned to everyone else in the room. No, please, thought Devon, but it was too late. “Get up, get up, you’re dancing, too!” he ordered. “Everyone is too sad and hormonal, it’s depressing. Let loose a little!” When no one immediately got up, Emrys added as a last second decision: “Er— this will also be part of your grade, so you better get up quickly before the song is over!”

“Fuck me,” Devon groaned pitifully. What did he do to deserve this? 

Ariella finally got up, sheepish and shy, and dragged one of the other girls up with her as her dance partner. They didn’t really seem to know what to do other than shimmy from side to side, but they seemed to have fun taking turns twirling each other. A few others also got up, following the crowd under the threat of being graded. They swayed back and forth on their feet, looking at everyone else to see what they were doing. It likely helped that the lights were dimmed, and all the attention was on Emrys because he was, apparently, absolutely batshit crazy. 

“Feel the beat from the tambourine, oh yeah!” Emrys belted out, falling into some sort of quick foot dance with Pendragon, one that Devon really didn’t think he’d be able to keep up with personally. He noticed that Emrys had tucked his wand away at some point, but his voice was still amplified. How the fuck was he doing all this magic without a wand? It was insane. “Come on, Archie, Devon, get up! You can dance! You can jive!” Emrys encouraged, pointing straight at both him and the Gryffindor to accompany his singing. 

“Oh, no. No, no, I’m good,” Devon insisted, backing up in his chair. He would take the grade deficit over embarrassing himself like that. 

However, Archie — the asshole Gryffindor, Devon had already labelled him as in his mind — hopped up from his chair, leaving Devon the only one left behind. The Gryffindor began to jump to the beat as you’d do at a House party, turning to Devon with a wicked smirk on his face. Well, Devon thought, Gryffindors always seemed to like a challenge, and— 

No. Wait. Oh, fuck no. 

“What? You don’t wannae dance with me, Slytherin?” Archie taunted, dancing his way over to Devon’s space. It was an awful combination of hopping like a rabbit and shimmying his arms. 

“Get— away, what the fuck—” Devon hissed, horrified, and crawled back into his seat to get away from the man, holding his bag in front of him like a shield. Archie descended into his space, wiggling his shoulders, and Devon was tempted to throw something at him to make him stop whatever that was. 

“Seriously? Come on, don’t be so boring! Ach, are you too fucking prim and proper tae be human like the rest of us?” Archie said with some annoyance, pausing his terrible, terrible dance to put his hands on the armrests to lean over him. His hair turned black. Devon crushed himself into the back of the seat to put as much distance between them as possible, but he couldn't get away from Archie’s golden eyes. “All you Slytherins are the same, for Merlin’s sake! Why don’t you break the mould a bit, eh?”

“Fuck yourself,” Devon bit out. 

 Archie laughed. “Yeah? Get off your arse and do summat, then. Prove me wrong. Tell me you’re nae like the rest of them evil fucks— ow!” he yelped, jumping back to clutch his cheek like he’d been flicked in the face.

Emrys just said, “No badmouthing!” as Pendragon dipped him. Devon thought, possibly, that he might be high, even though he’d never done drugs a day in his life. 

Soon, thankfully, he didn’t have to worry about the Gryffindor invading his personal bubble because a few seconds later, the song blissfully ended. Thank god. He was saved. 

Emrys was laughing and out of breath, his hair an absolute mess. Pendragon was no better, and they clung to each other, giggling like a pair of— well, schoolboys, ironically. It was really a sight to behold. 

“That was fun, we’re going to do that everyday!” Emrys announced, then stepped away from Pendragon with a large smile, squeezing his shoulder. “Arthur, I think your next class starts soon, you better—”

“Oh, gods, you’re right,” Pendragon panicked, drawing Emrys into a quick hug, then darted out of the room with a quick wave goodbye. Devon thought they were unusually affectionate with one another, but he figured that they must be close friends. 

Emrys clapped his hands together and the lights turned normal, revealing everyone post-dance in a startling, embarrassing light. “Everyone get back to their seats now. Archie, I’m talking to you specifically, how on earth did you get all the way over there? Anyway, my name is Professor Emrys, for those of you who don’t know, but feel free to call me whatever you want. I’ll be your professor for this class! We’re going to have so much fun!” 

Devon looked around at his classmates to see what they thought of this, but everyone seemed kind of nervously excited rather than intensely mortified. Right, of course, he was just the only sane one in the room, apparently. 

Archie was back in his seat, for now, but Devon wondered if he would pull the same stunt next class. Yeah, no, he was definitely going to have to figure out how to drop this class, but he’d probably have to stick to skipping it first. Ancient Runes would be a better option, at this point.

Unceremoniously, Emrys plopped back down in his chair in front of them. “So, you might be asking: what in the world was that? I will tell you that it was a strategic warm up! Yes, it had a purpose, aren’t you surprised? Magic and casting spells are much like a dance — you can’t be all strung up and stressed if you want the best results. If you’re attempting something complicated, it’s even more important to be relaxed and free-flowing, and we’re going to be doing a lot of complicated things in here, I imagine!” 

One of the Hufflepuffs raised his hand, wide eyed. Emrys motioned for him to go ahead, so he said breathlessly, “Were— were you doing wandless, nonverbal magic the entire time?” 

“Oh!” Emrys visibly panicked and patted his pockets. He found his wand tucked behind his ear, and he let out a sigh of relief. “Sorry, yes! I suppose I was. Whoops!” Everyone looked at each other, absolutely gobsmacked. Emrys didn’t seem to notice. Impossibly — but apparently not so impossibly — he snapped a chalkboard into existence with naught a word or wand. “Anyway, let’s get brainstorming! This class will be very reliant on your ideas, after all. Oh, right, and— Devon, I will draw you out of your shell by the end of the month, that’s my mission,” he added with a wink. “On an unrelated note… I will be sending you all annoying reminders to be at class, so you better not skip!” 

Devon blinked and shrunk back into his seat, tucking his legs underneath him. 

Right. Fuck. Okay. How the hell did Emrys know that that was exactly what he’d been planning? What the fuck did ‘annoying reminders’ mean?! Shit!

Arthur was just wrapping up his last flight class of the day when he saw someone approaching him out of the corner of his eye, treading through the grass with an energetic bounce. 

It was quite hot, so his sleeves were rolled up as he traversed the rows of students to correct them on their form. They were practising summoning brooms and balancing on them today, and many of the kids had fallen into the grass already. Thankfully, since it was a warm day, the ground was relatively soft — he wasn’t looking forward to the snowier days of classes. Hopefully they’d be off the ground by then.

“Alright, class is almost over,” Arthur called to the group, eyeing Phoebe Byrnes as she stood just in his peripheral vision. What was she doing here? “Everyone, step off your brooms. Just leave them on the floor, I’ll put them away. Careful— yeah, just let go, it’ll fall, there you go. Anyway, that’ll be all! You’re free for the rest of the day, so have fun and remember to make it to Astronomy at midnight, alright? Now get out of here,” he concluded, shooing the first year Hufflepuffs away before turning to his unexpected visitor. 

“Hello, Arthur!” Byrnes said, her tone anxious but excited. “So, you’re done? How was your first day?”

“Fine, how was yours?” Arthur asked easily, bending over to pick up the brooms from the ground. He’d have to manually put them out and put them away every day, which was a bit of a pain, but there was nothing he could do about it, really. There weren’t that many, thankfully. 

“Oh, stars, it was wonderful!” Byrnes tittered, following beside him as he worked. “You know, the students I have this semester are so passionate, it’s amazing! I’ve never felt so close to my students before. It’s like we’re a little family!” 

“Hm, on the first day? That’s impressive,” he said noncommittally, slinging a bunch of broomsticks over his shoulder. He began walking toward the castle. 

“I know! Oh, but here I go, chattering on while you’re busy,” she giggled, high and shaky, then ran after him to catch up as he made his way to the shed. “You know, I really have no idea what it is you do, surely you don’t teach first years how to fly all day?”

Arthur opened the shed’s door and grunted as he unloaded the brooms, propping them on the wall. He shook his head. “No, no, I’m also in charge of the Quidditch games now, so I had to meet with the Quidditch captains to discuss training schedules.”

“Oh! I forgot about those!” Byrnes exclaimed, twisting her fingers. “Do you— do you like Quidditch, then?”

“It’s interesting enough,” Arthur admitted, hanging the brooms along the wall hooks with special care, “although I find the rules to be a little too all over the place, in my opinion. I prefer something more cut and dry.”

“So, um, what sports do you play, then?” Byrnes asked tentatively, drawing close to his side. 

“I like jousting, but football’s fun.”  

Byrnes made a confused sound. “What’s a football?” 

Arthur shook his head and laughed. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. He turned around to go back out, intending to grab the rest of the brooms, but jumped when he saw she had been right behind him.

“Oh! Right, haha,” she laughed along, unsure of herself. “Um, so— so, um, Arthur, darling, I was wondering if I might ask you something.” 

Arthur looked at her curiously, watching her fiddle with her hands like she was knitting something with her fingers. “Fire away.”

Byrnes perked up, thrumming with nervous energy, and stepped a bit closer to him, edging him toward the wall of the shed. Arthur frowned a little. Alright, that was a little more odd—

“Right, right, um— so!” She cleared her throat. “There’s, um, haha— actually, I’ll just— Sorry, have you ever been to Hogsmeade before?”

“I believe so, a long time ago,” Arthur said, stepping back to put space between them. That didn’t work because she just followed him, crowding him closer and closer to the wall. Alright, that was— also weird. The girl was very much not aware of personal space, apparently, but she certainly wouldn’t be the first… “Why?” 

“Oh, I was just wondering— if— well,” she looked down with a large flush on her face. Arthur didn’t think it was that hot today, but maybe she was more sensitive to the heat? He hoped that was what it was, at least. If she was getting sick, then he wasn’t sure why she would be getting so close to him. “There’s a trip to Hogsmeade happening in a couple of weeks and I’m helping supervise, so— so I wanted to know if you’d… join me?” Byrnes finally managed to get out, glancing up at him shyly with shining eyes. 

Arthur tilted his head, then shrugged. “Er, sure. Alright.” 

It was a good idea, probably. After all, it would be good to make friends with the staff, that way they could blend in more. As much as Merlin insisted they didn’t stick out like a sore thumb sometimes, Arthur knew the truth. 

“Oh, wonderful! Brilliant!” Byrnes squeaked, clasping her hands together. It was like Arthur had practically given her the stars, based on her awed expression. “Thank you, thank you! I’ll— I’ll see you then, I suppose! Oh, and I’ll get you more of the details later. Until then!”

“I’ll look forward to it,” Arthur said, waving to her as she fled the shed. 

Well, that was a little strange. Arthur rubbed the back of his neck, then mentally brushed the conversation off his mind as he went back outside to gather the rest of the brooms.

Chapter Text

September 9th, 1982

Bill was having an awful start to school, if he was being honest. He was barely finished with his first week, but he was emotionally exhausted. 

His first class — that is, his first class at Hogwarts ever — had been an absolute dumpster fire! He hadn’t been able to stop crying afterwards because he’d been so embarrassed, and now all of the Slytherins wouldn’t stop laughing at him in the halls, calling him all sorts of names when the professors weren’t looking. His friend Xander had done his best to comfort him afterwards, patting him on the shoulder awkwardly and offering him sweets from his private stash, but Bill was so humiliated to be caught in such a state that he hadn’t been able to do anything except stuff chocolates into his mouth and cry more. 

He really hated Professor Snape. Of course Bill wouldn’t know what those ingredients were, he was a first year student! Classes had only started five minutes ago! Why was he so unreasonable?? Xander said that he had ‘a stick up you-know-where,’ which had made him laugh at least, albeit weakly. 

This was just… not the way he thought the school year would start. He shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up so much… He’d been so excited, hadn’t he? And he couldn’t tell his parents, either — he felt so weak for not being able to stand up for himself. What would they say when they heard? It hadn’t even been a week. 

Maybe the Sorting Hat got it wrong. Bill surely wasn’t meant to be in Gryffindor. 

It had been a few days since, and it only seemed to go downhill from there. It was Thursday now and he still had one class, but rather than walking towards the fields for his flying lesson, Bill was hiding in a bathroom stall, hugging his knees on top of a toilet seat. He’d nearly been cornered earlier by this big, tall brute named Phineas Taylor — he was a familiar face nowadays, and he and his friends were always haunting Bill’s steps. He didn’t know what Taylor’s deal was, or why he kept messing with him, but there was something dreadful about his face. It made Bill’s gut churn with anxiety. 

Bill had been walking out of the Great Hall after lunch when he’d caught sight of Taylor’s flat, brown hair rapidly coming to corner him, so he’d turned on his heel and ran into this bathroom as quickly as he could, hoping to escape Taylor’s fists as he slammed the creaky stall shut. The sound of jeering and laughter followed him — “look at the cowardly Gryffindor, running away!” — but he didn’t want to take his chances this time. He still had a bruise on his cheekbone from their last encounter this morning. Luckily, he’d managed to escape before worse could happen… However, it was only a matter of time before he ended up in the hospital wing, he thought. 

It was only a matter of time. 

Something about that thought made it impossible for him to move from his spot on top of the toilet seat, terrified that Taylor would follow him in here and bang the stall door down. He didn’t want today to be the day he went to the hospital wing. So, helpless to do anything but let his lungs freeze and muscles lock in place, he prayed he wouldn’t make a sound, knowing that he would be safest that way. Time ticked on with tense seconds as he clutched the silky black of his robes, pulling the fabric tight across him in an attempt to disappear inside them. He stared at the immobile stall door, waiting for the moment it moved. 

He didn’t even dare breathe until he was absolutely certain that no more faint laughter could be heard. Soon after that, the sound of voices faded away altogether. Classes must be starting soon. 

He was missing his first lesson with Mr Arthur, Bill realised. Maybe that’s why he started crying again. He just couldn’t stop crying these days — his eyes were always so red and swollen that it hurt to blink. But he was terrified to go to class, too, because he shared flying lessons with the Slytherins. He just couldn’t get away from the Slytherins! 

The minutes went by and eventually, he couldn’t muster any more tears, not even if he tried. He was too tired, all of a sudden. Too tired to think, or even feel scared anymore. A dull, resigned dread gripped his heart instead.

He couldn’t skip flying lessons every week, or he’d definitely fail. That was no way to live, hiding away from every obstacle that came for him. Admittedly, this obstacle was a little more… difficult than the others he'd encountered in his life, but— he just… needed to get past this first lesson. Taylor wouldn’t be able to hurt him with Mr Arthur watching, anyway, right? 

Mr Arthur was so brave. Nobody could possibly call him a coward — he wouldn’t let those bullies hurt him. Bill wasn’t anything like Mr Arthur, but maybe he could try to be. 

With that, Bill took a deep breath, untangling his body from the top of the toilet, and carelessly opened the stall door, too confident that the danger had passed. 

His scream was piercing when he saw Amira Jadmani staring straight at him with her pitless eyes, the sound echoing through the otherwise empty bathroom. He stumbled away and held up his hands in an instinct to protect himself. 

“Weasley, this is a girls’ bathroom,” she said simply, completely unamused. 

Bill blinked, his heart beating heavily. He tried to control his breathing. “Is it?” he said faintly. 

Oh. So that was why Taylor hadn’t followed him in here. The thought fled across his mind with a sort of detached realisation. 

Jadmani frowned slightly. She didn’t break eye contact with him for a second, and Bill had to look away to escape her gaze. He knew he looked a mess — whenever he cried, his eyes went all bloodshot and his nose went red like he had allergies. He must look like a big tomato — eyes, hair, tie, nose, cheeks, everything red. 

“Yes. Didn’t you see the sign?” she asked flatly. 

Bill swallowed what felt like a stone in his throat as he tried not to cry again. It felt like his nerves were frayed! He didn’t know what to say. Was it possible to feel terribly ashamed and confused at the same time?

Jadmani seemed to scan him with her eyes for a moment. “Why aren’t you with the others? Class is starting,” she said. 

“I, er…” Bill chewed his lip nervously, his hands shaking as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I lost track of time.” 

Jadmani didn’t miss a beat as she changed her line of questioning. She didn’t even blink. (Had he ever seen her blink before, actually? He must have, at some point.) “What happened to your face?” 

“I fell… into, erm, into a wall.” Bill winced. That sounded really weak. 

Jadmani pursed her lips. “I don’t believe you.” 

“Okay,” he mumbled defeatedly. “I might have been shoved into a wall from getting knocked in the face. There. Gonna laugh now? Say that it’s all my fault because of ‘natural selection’?” 

She rolled her eyes. It was the most he’d ever seen her eyes move. “When you say something funny, I’ll laugh. Come on, you’re late and I have somewhere to be.” She turned around and began to walk away. Bill watched her, utterly confused. 

She paused in front of the bathroom exit, looking like a statue. Everything about her was so still, it was really unnerving. “I’m losing my patience,” she said. 

“What?” 

“Weasley, you have three seconds to get over here.” She pointed at the spot on the ground next to her. 

Bill gaped in confusion. “Oh,” he said, then winced at how stupid he sounded. He scrambled out of his stall and ran to join her. 

Walking through the halls with her was a very strange experience. He was sort of glad that classes had started already, otherwise people would be able to witness him, with red-rimmed eyes and the occasional sniffle, shuffling his feet alongside the even, sharp clicks of Amira Jadmani’s shoes. Her pace was so perfect that it sounded like a metronome. 

Wait a minute, where were they even going? There was no way she was walking to class with him… right? 

This has to be the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me, Bill thought, chancing a glance at her every five seconds. Her gaze was steadily forward like she didn’t even notice Bill was walking next to her. Really, really weird, he decided. 

“How did you know I was there?” Bill asked hesitantly. 

Jadmani answered him immediately, which was also weird. “I heard Taylor joking about a boy running into the girls’ bathroom, and that they must secretly be a girl in disguise. Figured it was you.” 

“Ah…” Bill grimaced. She must’ve been listening to him cry the whole time, too. That was so embarrassing… There were a few seconds where he struggled to figure out what to say. “I’m— erm, I’m not. Secretly a girl, that is. Just so you know.” Jadmani didn’t respond, and he began to sweat a little. “Not that being a girl is bad or anything, I just— personally, I like being a boy, and I really don’t have any desire to be a girl, even though I guess I was in the girls’ bathroom, which— actually, I’m going to shut up now,” he concluded shamefully. 

All his unlikely hallway partner did in response to his blundering was huff softly through her nose. She stopped walking as she reached the entrance to the fields, and Bill could see Mr Arthur walking through the grass, surveying the Gryffindors and Slytherins as they tried to summon their brooms.  

“You go now,” she ordered. “I won’t be seen with you.” 

He wanted to ask why she wasn’t coming with him — they were in the same flying class, after all — but didn’t want to brave such a question. “Why are you talking to me, then?” Bill asked instead, slightly disoriented. He was being thrown in all sorts of directions lately — only a short while ago, he’d never felt so low, but now he was just exhausted and confused. 

Jadmani opened her mouth to respond, but oddly enough, she seemed to backtrack on whatever she was planning to say. She stared at him silently, then glanced away. “I think I contributed to your… circumstances, somewhat,” she admitted. Her voice was a lot quieter than before, like these were words she hadn’t tested out loud before. 

“Oh,” he said dumbly, trying to figure out if this was some sort of indirect apology. “Okay. Well. Thanks, I think? And, er, thanks for walking with me, I s’pose. You really didn’t have to—” 

Jadmani’s expression soured, and she gave him a scary glare. “I don’t do anything I don’t want to do.” 

“Right! Got it, noted— I’m going to go!” he said hurriedly, then ran to go find Xander.

Arthur checked his list of students again. No, he’d read it right the first three times — but, then, where the hell were his last two students? 

He didn’t know why he didn’t expect something to go wrong with this lot. Gryffindors and Slytherins were giving Merlin a heap of trouble in his own class already — something about mean-spirited flirting and harassment? — but, honestly, Arthur didn’t understand why the two Houses were at such odds with each other! Sure, Godric and Salazar had something like a rivalry when they were alive, but that had been mostly academic, outside the other disagreements they’d had on muggleborns. (That had been a headache.) 

Hell, even he and Merlin got along just fine, didn’t they? For quite a long time, too! So, what on earth had happened to inter-House camaraderie since the last time they’d been at Hogwarts? He didn’t know. He suspected it was due to the war, but some of the resentment seemed outside the realm of that. 

That being said, Arthur was currently missing one student from both of those Houses — Bill Weasley and Amira Jadmani. He’d started the lesson without them, but he couldn’t deny that he was a little concerned. He hadn’t met Jadmani before, but he remembered how excited Bill had been to start school, so missing his first flying lesson seemed out of character for him. Perhaps Arthur hadn’t known Bill long enough to discern that, but something felt off, and he had learnt to trust his gut over the years. That was the whole reason they were even at Hogwarts in the first place — something was incredibly fishy about the death of Tom Riddle, and Snape and Dumbledore were up to their eyeballs in secrets. 

Fortunately, Arthur didn’t live in suspense much longer. While he was helping one of his students correct their posture, he saw Bill strolling up to class, anxiously fiddling with the edges of his robes. 

“Bill! There you are, where’ve you been?” a Gryffindor boy exclaimed — Alexander Maguire, Arthur recalled, trying to practise names. 

“A very good question. I expect Mr Weasley has a reasonable explanation?” He crossed his arms, raising his eyebrows expectantly at the boy. 

Now that Bill was closer, Arthur peered at his face for a moment as he noticed some sort of mark on his cheekbone. Was that a bruise? It must have been fresh — it hadn’t turned green or yellow yet, still a bright, throbbing reddish purple and spreading to his eye. Bill seemed to have been crying, too, which made him suspect that the bruise wasn’t an accident. 

“I’m so sorry, Mr Arthur— I mean, Professor Pendragon—” Bill stammered. “I was… in the bathroom.”

Arthur hummed, somewhat disbelievingly. In the bathroom, for nearly twenty minutes? The kid either had serious bowel issues, or he wasn’t telling the truth. “I see. Well, five points from Gryffindor for your tardiness. Try to go to the bathroom during your lunch break in the future, alright? I know you just came from one.” 

“Yes, sir,” Bill said, looking at his feet in shame. He seemed a lot more subdued than the last time he’d seen him, which wasn’t comforting in the slightest. 

“Good.” Arthur nodded sharply, and left it at that for now. “Well, we need to catch you up to the others. Let’s go to this broom over here, and you can show me what you’ve got. I believe you said your dad taught you already?”

Bill perked up a bit at that, seeming to relax a little as he hopped over to the broom. “Yeah! I got a lot of practice this past summer, and I’ve been helping to teach my siblings, too!” 

The lesson, thankfully, went on as normal after that. The class practised summoning and hovering for most of the time, which inevitably involved a lot of wobbling and bruised knees. Bill was actually fairly good at a broom, just like he’d said, so Arthur enlisted him and some of the other students to help their peers. A lot more Gryffindors were struggling than any of the other Houses Arthur had taught — they were probably learning for the first time — so he was glad to have some students willing to help things along. Hopefully, they'd be off the ground before the weather turned. 

“You remember Bill?” Arthur mentally asked Merlin as he surveyed his class. They had only about ten minutes left at that point, and he was trying to figure out how to broach the subject of the bruise with his student. 

“I’m assuming this is important. I was in the middle of demonstrating something,” Merlin retorted. 

“I thought you didn’t have class at this time on Thursdays?” Arthur wondered, then put the thought aside. “Never mind. I think Bill might be getting knocked around by someone. Turned up late with a bruise.” 

“Oh, gods,” his husband sighed. There was a moment of silence, probably because Merlin was talking to someone on his side of things. “He doesn’t deserve any of that…” he continued. “Well, talk to him after class, and let me know how it goes. I hope it’s just a misunderstanding.” 

“Sure. Have fun with your ‘demonstrating’.” 

“Shut up, I was being serious! I had a student here.” 

The glaring sun was beating down on all of them with quite some intensity, and his students looked seriously miserable in their black robes. Even Arthur was beginning to sweat, so he took pity on them and began to wrap things up a little early. As everyone gathered their things and the brooms returned to their places on the ground, he was about to ask Bill to step aside with him when a girl’s voice piped up from his left. 

“Excuse me,” the girl said bluntly. 

He blinked, looking down and noting a young girl with a Slytherin tie, and concluded that it must be the student he was missing. 

“Jadmani?” Arthur asked, just to clarify. She nodded. “You better have a good explanation for where you’ve been. Class is over.” 

She better not say the bathroom, he thought with exasperation. 

She stood just above half of his height, but the steadiness in her eyes made it clear that she wasn’t the least bit intimidated, regardless of his scolding tone. 

Jadmani stared up at him, unblinking. Okay, that was a little creepy. “I have permission from the headmaster to drop this class,” she said. She handed him a slip of parchment paper that she’d been carrying. Sure enough, he unfolded it, and it had Dumbledore’s dramatic signature, as well as Merlin’s, for whatever reason? “My parents made sure I was taught to fly years ago, and they wanted me to use this time to get ahead of my peers instead of wasting it on something I already know.” 

Arthur hummed, mildly surprised. “Well, I’ll have to confirm this. Do you have an alternative class arranged yet? If not, I suspect the headmaster would prefer you spend your class time in the library so you don’t disturb other students.” 

Jadmani paused, then said reluctantly, “I’m having weekly lessons with Professor Emrys now. That’s where I was.” 

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Merlin, you’re stealing my students now?” Arthur grouched. Merlin responded with a laugh, just to irritate him.

Graciously, Arthur did not say anything like that to Jadmani’s face. Instead, he said, “Well, you’ll be in good hands. Good luck with your studies.” 

Jadmani nodded sharply, then strode away. 

Arthur shook his head. “So, you’re saddled with a child whose parents have huge expectations of them. Have fun with that.”

“Hmm, sounds familiar…” Merlin drawled teasingly. “Do you happen to remember someone whose father had huge expectations of him?” 

“Don’t you start.”

“I was going to say that I have experience in soothing prickly edges, but I see that’s not true in your case.” 

Arthur nearly rolled his eyes. “Why did you agree to private lessons, anyway?” he asked. 

“Dumbledore approached me with a salary increase and I thought, ‘Why not?’. Variety is the spice of life, or whatever the saying is. Besides, I can babysit a rich kid for an hour or two,” Merlin said dryly. “Maybe she’ll even learn something.” 

Merlin wished their office had spinny chairs. The chairs without wheels were just so boring and stiff — and he wasn’t either of those things. Of course, Arthur was boring and stiff because he liked the chairs without wheels, but Merlin thought the swivel chair was a fantastic invention! He could rocket to the other side of the room without even having to get up from his seat, which would mean he could bother his husband quicker, since Arthur’s desk also happened to be on the other side of the room. 

Overall, their office was quite cramped, considering he was sharing one with his husband. Something about a lot of the rooms in Hogwarts being ‘haunted’ and ‘uncooperative,’ which was hilarious because Merlin personally knew every single ghost that floated through the castle by now, and they weren’t all that bad. Except maybe Binns — he was dreadfully boring and stiff, just like these chairs. He’d be all over these chairs. 

Merlin suspected that Dumbledore got some sort of kick out of smushing him and Arthur together at every given moment, now that he knew about their relationship. Interesting, indeed. He’d have to delve more into Dumbledore’s lack of love life at this rate! Living vicariously through them, was he? 

Anyway, why didn’t people in the magical world like spinny chairs? He couldn’t find any on sale anywhere! He was honestly starting to believe that modern sorcerers were just allergic to fun and happiness, which was sad and depressing to think about. 

After Jadmani had departed (in a very formal manner, at that, with lots of smoothing out her clothes and hair), Merlin was left to contemplate how to transfigure the legs of his chair into wheels without accidentally creating a wheelchair. He was in the middle of this spontaneous project when someone burst into the office with a lot of noise and fanfare.

Since Merlin was on the floor behind his desk as he adjusted the size of the wheels, he didn’t bother to check who this person was. Unfortunately, due to this, he just assumed that it was his husband because Arthur tended to make a lot of noise as a general rule, so he began babbling as he normally would: 

“Arthur, your footsteps get more thunderous every time you come in here, you should really try to watch your eating habits,” he quipped, holding his hand over the wheel on the back left of the chair and trying to change it back from a bicycle wheel to something more manageable. “I know that the meals at Hogwarts are delicious, but—”

“Who are you?” a young woman said coolly. That was definitely not Arthur — he was neither young nor a woman!

Merlin yelped in surprise at this unexpected voice and banged his head on a drawer, then peeked over the top of the table. The girl had curly red hair and was peering at him with a confused gape in her mouth. 

He blinked. Was she a student or a professor? She had to be around Snape’s age, surely, but that wasn’t much of an indicator. 

“Who are—?” Merlin began to repeat with a tilt of his head, but cut himself off and quickly scrambled off the floor, brushing the dust off his pants. “Right, sorry! I’m Professor Emrys, I’m new!” He held out of his hand for her to shake. “Who might you be?” 

“Um.” She looked around, puzzled, as if hoping that whatever she was looking for would pop out of thin air. “Professor Byrnes, Divination. Sorry, why are you in here, exactly?” 

“Er,” he said, his hand awkwardly hanging in the air. He followed her gaze, trying to figure out what she meant. They both looked around the walls for a moment — he noted his artwork on the wall, the splatter of green from their plants, and Arthur’s black and white photographs in their frames — but he still didn’t understand. “This is my office?” he chanced. 

“No, it’s not,” she said, quite impatient. Oh, alright then, Merlin thought wryly, if she says so, then it must be true. “This is Professor Pendragon’s office,” Byrnes continued emphatically, glaring at him like he’d offended her very being. “I should report you to the headmaster for breaking in and stealing things, you know.” 

“I don’t know what you mean, I have never stolen anything in my life,” Merlin said innocently, putting his hands behind his back as it became clear that she had no intention of reciprocating the handshake. “Besides, this is my office — Arthur and I share it. Were you looking for him, perhaps? He won’t be back for another half hour at best. His class only just ended.” 

Byrnes pouted for a moment, then made a face. “Why doesn’t Arthur have his own office? He surely deserves to have his own space.” 

“I haven’t heard any complaints from him,” he replied delicately. 

“Do you always talk about him like that?” Byrnes countered. “It wasn’t very flattering. I can’t imagine Arthur appreciates being belittled by his coworker. You know, Arthur is very fit, so I don’t know why you were saying any of those things in the first place!” 

Merlin grinned and leaned against his desk, starting to enjoy riling her up. Perhaps he shouldn’t like toying with people so much, but he couldn’t help it when they made it so entertaining. “You think so? You think that if Arthur was actually the one to walk in just now, he would’ve been upset?” 

Byrnes crossed her arms confrontationally. “Of course he would!” 

“If you say so. Anyway, don’t worry, it’s all in good fun,” Merlin dismissed flippantly. “Did you need something? I could pass along a message, if you like.”

Byrnes didn’t seem very confident in this. “I can wait for him,” she said, squinting at him like he was oddly suspicious. 

Merlin raised an eyebrow at her, then shrugged and sat back on the ground to fiddle with his wheels. “Suit yourself.” 

An awkward silence permeated the air for a few moments. Merlin spied on her from the cracks of his desk, watching as she shuffled unsurely from side to side before trotting over to Arthur’s desk, where she began to delicately run her hands over the wooden surface. 

He’s touched this! Merlin mirthfully imagined her thinking. Wow! He sat in this chair! He breathed this air! 

Sure enough, she only took a few more minutes of reverent gazing before she finally sat herself in Arthur’s chair, neatly folding her hands on the table with an excited smile. 

Poor thing, he thought. The chair didn’t even have wheels. 

“What did Pendragon want?” Xander asked his friend as they were exiting the field. He’d decided to wait for Bill this time, a little worried about his sudden disappearance earlier. They had gotten separated on the way to their flying lesson, but Xander had assumed that Bill would show up shortly after him. However, when he didn’t, he was understandably concerned. 

Xander had a lot of friends, but none of them worried him as much as Bill did. Not that it was Bill’s fault — it was all Snape’s for setting the bloodhounds on his friend on the first day of school. Xander usually didn’t dislike people, sticking with just indifference most of the time, but Snape had immediately rubbed him the wrong way when he’d made Bill cry like that in front of everyone. What kind of professor enjoys making their students cry? Not a good one. 

Bill sighed, shaking his head. They walked in silence for a moment, the shuffling of their footsteps joining the sea of other students as they weaved through the loud, crowded hallways. 

“I don’t want to bother you,” his friend said eventually. 

“No, you couldn’t, really,” he assured. “Anyway, I’d rather worry knowing what I’m worrying about, so put me out of my misery.”

“You know that Slytherin, Phineas Taylor?” Bill said defeatedly. 

“Vaguely, yeah. A complete git, isn’t he?” 

“Understatement of the century. He won’t leave me alone! During the flying lesson, I heard him telling everyone that I’m actually a girl and I got the wrong uniform.” 

“Ugh, what a blockhead… And Pendragon didn’t do anything about it?”

“I don’t think he heard,” Bill said sheepishly. “He was kind of busy.” 

Xander shook his head, disappointed but not necessarily surprised. “Where were you earlier, anyway? Taylor was at our flying lesson way before you were— Wait, no,” Xander paused, looking at his friend's face with a sudden understanding. “Does that mean he gave you that thing on your face? You told me you were just clumsy.”

Bill winced. “Sorry. Like I said, I didn’t want to bother you. I don’t want you to worry about me.” 

“Well, now I’m worried!” Xander replied indignantly. “Is Pendragon going to do anything about it? You told him, didn’t you? He pulled you aside to ask you about it, right? Please tell me you told him, or I swear on Merlin’s trousers that I’m marching over there to tell him myself.” 

Bill waved his hands frantically. “Yes! Yes, I did, please don’t do that! He said he’s going to go talk to Snape since he’s the Head of Slytherin.” 

Xander threw his hands up in frustration. “That’s not going to do anything! This is practically Snape’s fault in the first place, isn’t it? He’s the one that set that tosser on your trail!” 

“It’s alright,” Bill sighed. “I trust Pendragon, I’m sure he’ll figure something out. He didn’t seem really happy about it, anyway, so I doubt he will brush it under the rug, right?”

Xander wasn’t entirely satisfied with this. “Yeah, I don’t know. I’m not letting you out of my sight from now on,” he vowed. 

“He also said he was going to teach me how to defend myself, but I’m not really sure what that means,” Bill admitted. “We’re not allowed to use magic on other students. I’ll just get in trouble.”

“Maybe he’ll teach you how to throw a punch,” Xander mused, clenching his fists and poorly mimicking a fighting stance. 

Bill shoved him jokingly. “Yeah, right. There’s no way I can do that. I have noodle arms.”

Severus had woken up with a headache, and by the end of the day, he was fully intending to lock himself inside his office and never come out again. 

Over the course of the week, he learnt that he pretty much hated children. It was terrible that he was being put in charge of so many of them — at this point, he wanted to just let them fend for themselves so he could recuperate for a month. Dealing with them was exhausting! He had no idea why Narcissa wanted him to be Draco’s godfather, if this job was already becoming a nightmare for him. A stupid decision on her part, surely. Her sister Bellatrix was probably a better choice at this rate, even trapped up in Azkaban as she was. 

Flopping himself in front of his desk, he rubbed his temples with clenched eyes, fumbling for a potion that would relieve the pressure in his skull. It was just around here somewhere, surely — his hand knocked something over in his drawer, and he felt liquid splash over his skin as glass shattered and cut his palm. 

“Shit,” he hissed, flicking his hand to try and get the substance off. It didn’t burn, thankfully, but it could have any number of purposes, knowing the things he kept in that drawer. 

He peeled his eyes open and saw a silvery sheen on his skin. “Shit,” he said again, inhaling the love potion sharply by accident and shaking with the barrage of softer emotions that leapt to the forefront of his mind, causing his headache to throb all the more incessantly.  

He jumped out of his seat, clutching his wrist to his chest as he stumbled to grab any sort of cloth to clean the potion off his skin, hoping that it wouldn’t absorb. His palm began to painfully beat with his pulse as blood dripped down his fingers to the floor. 

Everything ached — his skull, his hand, his chest — with an intensity that made him stumble on weakened legs, as if he were drunk. It hurt so much that he didn’t even notice the potion changing colours until he finally got to the sink, intending to wash away the blood and the potion in one fell swoop. 

Severus blinked, struggling to see through blurry vision. The potion was glowing pink. It was glowing. It was fucking pink. It was supposed to be pearlescent. 

What the fuck? Amortentia didn’t do that. Amortentia wasn’t supposed to change colours. What the hell did he spill on himself? 

Severus did a mental check of his body, frightened that his thoughts were going to suddenly cloud over with the potion’s effects, but nothing happened. Nothing changed at all. If the potion wasn’t glowing, he wouldn’t have even noticed that something had happened. 

He couldn’t help but turn his hand over, scrutinising the change even as his blood dripped and mixed with the potion further. Could it have been his blood that had this effect on the potion? He was reluctantly fascinated. Was this some sort of modified version of Amortentia, then? The smell hadn’t changed — he was intensely reminded of it with every second that passed — but perhaps the consistency had changed as well. Before, it had been thick and sap-like, perhaps almost like a unicorn's blood, but now it was thin as oil, clinging to his skin like dew drops. 

There was still some unmixed potion on the back of his hand, which he swiped up with a finger and pressed to a droplet of his blood sliding down the white porcelain sink. The change was instantaneous, a dull light beginning to glow from the droplet as it slid as quickly as tears down to the drain. 

What could the blood possibly do to the potion? What effect did it have? 

Severus flinched at the sound of someone knocking on his office door. He quickly rinsed his hand, removing any evidence of the new concoction as quickly as it had been made. 

“Snape? Are you in there? I need to discuss something with you,” came Pendragon’s voice. Severus’s lip curled with annoyance. He was on the verge of discovering something, and of course, Pendragon had to come and interrupt it! 

The knock came again. 

“Have some patience, for Merlin’s sake!” Severus spat loudly, his headache beginning to return with full force. Damn it all!

He quickly wrapped his hand with a towel to stem the bleeding, then stalked over to open the door. 

Pendragon looked him up and down, clearly unimpressed. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to his hand. 

“That’s none of your business,” Severus said defensively. “Now, what the hell do you want? I’m busy.” 

Pendragon clenched his jaw. “We need to talk about one of your Slytherins, Phineas Taylor.”

“Yes, yes, what about him?” Severus asked impatiently. He had no idea who Taylor was, honestly, and he didn't really care, either. 

“I understand that you’re in charge of dealing out punishments for your House, and I figured I should do my duty as a fellow professor and inform you that Taylor has been bullying another student, physically and verbally.” Pendragon crossed his arms, speaking firmly. “I have taken points off already, but I need to know that you’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again. I will also inform Professor McGonagall, since the victim is one of her students.” 

“Fine, I’ll deal with it. Now leave me alone,” Severus replied, already in the process of closing the door. Pendragon stuck his foot in the doorway before Severus could be free of him, much to his frustration. The door protested the intrusion with a sharp creak. 

“I don’t think you’re taking this as seriously as you should be,” Pendragon said through the crack. Severus hated those blue eyes, always judging him. What did he know? What right did he have to stick his nose into Severus’s business?! “Students deserve a safe environment,” Pendragon continued angrily. “At the very least, you could act like you care about the situation.”

“I told you already, I’ll handle it!” Severus yelled, the pain of his palm forcefully reminding him of the more pressing issues at hand. “Now get the hell out of my office!” 

Pendragon gritted his teeth, then receded, finally allowing Severus his peace, who slammed the door shut triumphantly. Good riddance, Severus thought. 

He went back to his drawer and began to try to salvage the last remains of the potion he had left, already drawing up multiple experiments in his head. A potion that required blood was powerful — and dangerous. He needed to get to the bottom of this as swiftly as possible.

Chapter Text

A steady simmer of rage was bubbling underneath Arthur’s skin as he stalked through the hallways, fists clenched by his sides. 

He’d gone straight to Snape’s office after classes with the hope of catching him before dinner, so luckily, most students were off in their common rooms or settling into the library by now. This was a good thing because, despite his best efforts at keeping the frustration at bay, he was receiving some disturbed expressions from the few people he passed, no matter how much he tried smiling and waving. He was just too angry. Really, now people were going to think he was like this all of the time! If only Snape had more sense— agh! Just the thought of that man was enough to reignite his frustration all over again! 

“Merlin, you won’t believe this!” he complained as he entered their office in a rush, throwing his hands in the air as he geared up for a rant. “The talk with Snape went just as we expected! I didn’t have high hopes, obviously, but I mean, seriously, of all people, why did Dumbledore make him a Head of House? That man doesn’t give a rat’s arse about his students! I can’t think of anyone less qualified to—” 

Arthur’s boots squeaked on the stone floor as he came to an abrupt stop, mouth open mid-sentence as he paused in confusion. He’d been blindly walking towards his desk as he aired out his frustrations and, well, he hadn’t noticed that someone was already sitting there. 

“Hello!” Byrnes said brightly, a huge smile on her face. She remained seated in his chair like she’d sat there a million times before, and she didn’t even seem bothered by what Arthur had just said. It was like it had all gone over her head the moment he’d walked into the room.

Huh?

“Hello,” Arthur replied helplessly, then frowned a little. He really had no idea how to proceed. Why was she here? And why did she have to sit at his desk and not Merlin’s, which was just as empty? 

Speaking of that, Merlin was nowhere to be found. 

To be sure of this, Arthur subtly glanced around. He’d been sure that his husband would be here… Maybe this was a prank? Merlin was known to transform into different people and commit identity fraud for the sake of a bit, but Arthur wasn’t even sure his husband had met Professor Byrnes yet and this imitation of her was quite realistic. 

“Merlin?” he asked tentatively. Byrnes blinked at him in confusion, but didn’t shapeshift back into the sorcerer he knew. He glanced suspiciously around the room, trying to appear like he hadn’t just asked Byrnes if she was a fifteen hundred year old man and was instead looking for him in the walls. 

The girl stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate, but remained clueless when he didn’t. “Merlin what?” she asked. 

“No, I mean Merlin, he’s my hu—” He coughed and cleared his throat, punching his fist to his sternum to pretend like he’d choked. He was starting to realise that this might not be a prank, after all. “My coworker. Friend. Who I share this office with… unfortunately.”

“Oh,” she said dubiously, likely because of his husband’s first name. “I see.” 

She tapped one of Arthur’s pens on the desk for a moment, and the tense stretch of silence caused his anger to cool into something bordering annoyance. 

“Well, do you happen to know where he’s gone, by chance?” Arthur asked Byrnes, his words a little clipped. 

The girl’s brows furrowed at his tone and she opened her mouth to respond with bubbling apologies, but to Arthur’s relief, a hand shot up into the air from behind Merlin’s desk, waving emphatically. 

“Down here!” his husband called. Arthur leaned down to see Merlin on the floor, fiddling with his office chair, which was sideways and attached to a car tire, for some reason.

Arthur exhaled, the tension in his chest easing a little bit. “Why on earth are you down there?” he asked, glad that he wasn’t alone with Byrnes and her strange behaviour. 

“I’m studying to be an engineer,” Merlin bullshitted, scooting out from under his desk. He gave a vague wave of his hand, gesturing in Byrnes’s direction half-heartedly. “When were you going to tell me that you had a girlfriend? You know, I really thought we had something.” 

Arthur was caught off-guard by his own quick burst of laughter. “Oh, shut up,” he retorted. Even after all of these years, he still managed to be surprised by Merlin’s sharp tongue. A fond smile found its way to his lips, his earlier tension now completely forgotten. 

Byrnes flushed red at this comment and gave Merlin an odd look. “Are you still free to go to Hogsmeade with me, Arthur?” she interrupted, resting her head on her hands. She kicked her feet idly under the desk. 

Arthur straightened, looking at her in confusion. He’d honestly forgotten that she was still there. Hogsmeade? What was she talking about?

Merlin choked on a laugh and— Oh. Right, the weird cornering in the broom shed.

“Er, yes? I suppose so,” he said hesitantly. 

His husband apparently couldn’t stop himself from letting out an unattractive snort, which garnered another annoyed look from the divination professor. Arthur was starting to believe that Merlin had said something off-colour to her before he’d arrived, mostly because she seemed very visibly disturbed by him. 

“Wonderful!” Byrnes clapped her hands together. “It’s two weekends from now — I mean, not this weekend or next weekend, but the one after,” she stammered sheepishly. “It’s on a Saturday. We’re supposed to leave at eleven o’clock, so maybe you could meet me then, down in the Clocktower Courtyard?” 

“Alright,” he said. He would need to write this down, otherwise he would forget. Merlin could take care of that. 

“Wonderful!” She beamed, eyes glittering. She glanced at Merlin again, that light seeming to dim for a moment, before she turned back to him. “We’ll have so much fun! I’ve heard that there’s a new snack shop, we should go check it out!” 

“Okay,” he said. He’d honestly thought they would just sit in The Three Broomsticks the whole time, but clearly she had other plans. 

“Oh, and Madam Puddifoot’s has reopened, and I’ve heard that they have an entirely new sweets menu!” Byrnes gushed excitedly, clapping her hands again. She did that a lot.

Arthur made a face, which she didn’t notice, luckily. He didn’t really have much of a sweet tooth. Merlin started coughing into his fist, his shoulders shaking with the force of it, and Arthur stared at him for a moment in suspicion, trying to figure out if he was laughing and just trying to hide it. What kind of a name was 'Madam Puddifoot's,' anyway?

As Byrnes continued to babble about whatever shops she wanted to go to, she also remained utterly oblivious to the fact that she was still taking up his seat. Arthur began to contemplate whether he would have to join Merlin on the floor for the duration of her visit, but he really didn’t want to get involved in whatever it was that Merlin was doing down there. It seemed like a modern brand of torture for inanimate objects. 

Then, fortunately or unfortunately, Byrnes seemed to run out of things to say and they stared at each other in awkward silence. She glanced around, tapping her fingers on the desk, then said, “Um! Anyway, I’ll— see you around, Arthur!”

With that, she hopped out of his seat and scampered out the door, escaping into the halls. 

Arthur squinted, wondering if his mind was playing tricks on him. He could’ve sworn that she was holding one of his pens in her fingers when she left. 

“Did she just…” he trailed off, wondering if he was seeing things. 

“Steal your pen?” Merlin clarified. “Yes. She thinks she got away with it very smoothly, too.”

Arthur shook his head, rubbing his temples. “Why…?” Deciding not to dwell on it lest it give him a migraine, he reunited himself with his desk and his beloved chair, which was not currently enduring the attachment of a unicycle. 

“She’s definitely in love with you,” Merlin said, clearly finding the idea utterly hilarious. 

“What? No,” Arthur protested as he sat back at his desk, slightly miffed. “I’m not that stupid, Merlin. I can tell when someone’s in love with me.” 

“Sure.”

“I can! She may act a little strangely, but I think that’s just her personality.”

“Sure,” his husband repeated, slightly more disbelieving this time. Tauntingly, he sang, “She’s got hearts in her eyes! Like a kid in a toy shop, she can’t stop,” and cheered in triumph when the unicycle on his chair transformed into normal sized wheels. (Merlin had been singing a lot lately as a result of his class doing ‘dancing warmups’. He must have been researching songs to present to his students, Arthur figured, as he hadn’t heard of this one before.)

Arthur sighed, shaking his head in a mixture of endearment and bafflement. “You’re mistaken,” he said as slowly and as condescendingly as possible, trying to get it through Merlin’s thick skull. 

“Say what you like,” his husband said incessantly, “but I reserve the right to gloat when you realise that she’s drooling over you. Beats me as to why, though, I mean, look at yourself?” He sat himself on his new swivel chair, rolling back and forth proudly, then shook his head in disbelief and added, “Gods, who knew a chair could be so stubborn?”

Arthur scoffed. “Shut up. Anyway, it’s not like it’s a date. It’s going to be an entirely innocent, platonic, unromantic outing.”

“That’s exactly the opposite of what it is, Arthur.” 

But there was nothing that indicated that it was a date, right? 

Arthur frowned for a minute. What differentiated a date from a friendly outing? Usually when he and Merlin went on a ‘proper date,’ it was a picnic or dinner or some other activity that just involved the two of them, but— friends could still do those sorts of things without it being a date. There was hand-holding, too, he supposed, but not all of the time… They kissed other times, but that wasn’t all of the time, either. What else did they do?

“There are no flowers!” Arthur exclaimed victoriously with a snap of his fingers, back straightening in his excitement. “Dates aren’t dates without flowers, Merlin!” 

“Maybe she’ll hop up with a bouquet, you never know,” Merlin shot back. He rolled in several misshapen circles, his hair flinging at all angles with the speed he was going at. One of the wheels was still too big.

Arthur shook his head. “It’s not a date and there won’t be any flowers,” he argued, then balled up a piece of parchment and threw it, watching as it bounced off the back of Merlin’s chair. His husband catapulted it right back at him with a flash of gold, and he sputtered, flapping his hands to prevent it from going into his mouth.

“Anyway,” Merlin continued as he spun, ignoring Arthur’s complaints, “pretty girls and assholes aside — sorry about Snape, by the way — I was thinking that someone should head down to the cottage and check on the chickens. I know Aithusa usually takes care of them, but I’ve been getting the sense that we’ve become distant, neglectful parents with all this teaching business. Care to mysteriously disappear with me this weekend?” 

At this, Arthur perked up considerably. Merlin had always known him too well, it seemed; he really enjoyed tending to their little farm. Going back for a bit would be exactly the fresh air he needed, especially if he was going to figure out how to circumvent Snape. There needed to be some consequences for Taylor, after all. He was sure McGonagall would do her best when he told her, but she could probably only do so much, since Taylor wasn’t in her House. Of course, he would also have to send a message to Bill about everything tomorrow, but that was easily arranged. 

“I could be convinced,” he said mildly, but Merlin saw straight through him and his act, of course. 

“Perfect!” his husband cheered. “We’ll be able to ask Aithusa what she thinks about your date!” 

Arthur groaned. “Would you stop that already??” 

Merlin huffed melodramatically. “At least let me have this, since you’re going to be having an affair. Some husband you are.”

“I am not having a— Oh, would you stop laughing?!”

September 10th, 1982

Mr Bill Weasley,

I hope this owl finds you in good spirits on your first Friday of term. I’m messaging you to inform you of the process I’ve put into motion regarding your situation, since I won’t see you in class until next Thursday. 

I’ve spoken to Professor Snape and I’ve sent an owl to your Head of House as well. I’m afraid I don’t have much power in terms of discipline in this area, so the fate of Mr Taylor will be left in their hands. McGonagall will likely want to talk to you this weekend to hear your side of the story, but just tell her what you told me. 

Unfortunately, as of now, we don’t have proof that Taylor was the one that’s bullying you other than your word against his, which won’t be good enough for Snape. It would help aid the process if you knew of a witness that saw Taylor harassing you and was willing to give credit to your story, so try to think about any possible candidates. Don’t worry yourself if you can’t find anyone, though. There are other ways. 

Additionally, I’ve given it some thought, and I’ve decided that I would like to extend an offer to you: I’d be willing to give you some lessons on self-defence, if that is something you’d be interested in. There are many benefits to learning how to protect yourself, should you ever find yourself in a situation without access to your wand. It’s good to remember that you shouldn’t rely on such tools all the time. Let me know your thoughts about this — I have a mailbox on the third floor outside my office if you can’t find me in person. (I won’t be at the castle this weekend, so this will be the best way to reach me in the meantime. On that note, I’d like to advise you to be careful while I’m gone and to always stick with your friends if you can.)

Feel free to discuss this offer with your friends to see if they’d be interested as well. I suppose if we get enough people, we can make it into a club. Let me know when would be a good time to schedule it. Of course, I want to stress that you aren’t required to partake in these extra lessons, but I think it would be good to help you gain confidence when dealing with some of your more difficult classmates. 

I’m sorry that I can’t be of more help at the moment, but I’ll do my best to make this as painless of a process as possible. You have my word. 

Best, 

Professor Pendragon

September 11th, 1982

The first thing that Amira did that weekend was (metaphorically) lock herself in the library. 

Her first lesson with Professor Emrys that week had been… intriguing, to say the least. After her new mentor had insisted she situate herself in any number of squashy, misshapen loveseats scattered around the classroom, Amira had immediately demanded that he prove himself to her. 

“Prove myself?” Emrys had said, smiling a little. It was as if her demands only amused him. “Can I ask why?”

“I need to see if you’re really as skilled as Dumbledore has made you sound,” Amira had said tonelessly. “I want only the best that Hogwarts has to offer.” 

Emrys had hummed. “I suppose that’s sensible.” 

Amira would readily admit that what Emrys had done next hadn’t disappointed her in the slightest. He’d hummed and hawed for a moment, and at the time, she had been beginning to suspect that he was stalling, but in hindsight, he seemed to be deciding what he would do — as if the options had been countless, limitless, infinite. 

“How’s this?” he’d said, then pulled light out of thin air without any wand or spell to speak of. His eyes had flashed a molten gold, which she’d never seen before — or had it just been a reflection of the sun?

Amira wasn’t that impressed by this. After all, surely a small bit of light was simple to conjure if you knew wandless magic? She had instead prodded further — “What else?” 

Emrys had huffed a laugh, then twirled his fingers and the light transformed into wisps of fire, licking the air and slowly forming into shapes of horses and flowers. With another flick of his fingers, the flames dissolved into a cool mist that blew past her cheeks like an early morning breeze, swirling up into the air above her to make a cloud. 

Emrys had then dispersed the magic into a shower of golden sparks and tilted his head at her. “Anything else?”

That was… a little more interesting, she had to admit. 

“Is that it?” she’d said, not wanting to appear like she was the slightest bit intrigued. However, the words had escaped her with a daring kind of disbelief that had immediately given her away. What a foolish mistake.

She’d thought he might refuse her, but he’d simply rubbed his chin in thought at this. “Interesting,” he’d said. “You’re not fooled by the flashy stuff. Alright, let’s see…”

What? No. No, there couldn’t be anything else, could there? The magic he’d just shown her was incredibly intricate already. He should’ve just fessed up, said that was the extent of his abilities and let it go. 

But he was still thinking about it. 

She’d nearly suffocated herself from how long she’d been holding her breath in anticipation. Amira hadn’t wanted to believe that Emrys could accomplish anything more than this, otherwise he could actually surpass Dumbledore himself in magical skill. No, that couldn’t be true. Surely this was the extent of his tricks and he was just playing with her, surely he couldn’t do anything more delicate than that—

But then he’d obligingly pressed his fingers to his lips, and blew out a slew of fluttering, blue butterflies into the air. 

What?, a voice in Amira’s head had whispered. You can’t do that. But that couldn’t be right, she’d just seen him do it — in fact, one had settled onto Amira’s robes, waving its wings at her, before Emrys had wordlessly opened the window with a sway of his fingers and let the creatures fly out into the air. 

Amira wasn’t fazed by many things, but she might as well have sat there with her jaw dropped from how utterly silent she was. 

“Well? Did I pass your test?” Emrys had asked, almost teasingly. 

Were those real?, she’d wanted to ask. Were they actually alive?

“... You’ll do,” Amira had responded, for lack of better words. 

Since then, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about those spells he’d performed. Were they really spells? He hadn’t even used a wand… Not even Dumbledore’s reassurances could have prepared her for that. To create things from nothing had to be the hardest form of transfiguration — especially living things! She hadn’t read of this magic before, so it must have been incredibly advanced. 

For Merlin’s sake, it was ridiculous to think that butterflies were the thing that impressed her, of all things… 

So, she found herself in the library that Saturday, searching for answers. There had to be a book explaining the magic he’d used — one that would tell her how to recreate it because, yes, it was undeniable that she wanted that knowledge for herself.

How could he have learnt this? Emrys seemed incredibly young, despite the power of his magic; his skin was smooth and he barely had crow’s feet wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Unless he was using a heavy charm to hide his age, he must be gifted… Like her, perhaps. Maybe they were cut from the same cloth, so to speak —  ambitious, talented, prodigious. He must have been, if he mastered such abilities at his age, and rest assured, she’d asked him point blank.

“Oh, didn’t your mother tell you that asking for a lady’s age is rude?” Emrys had gasped, clutching his chest. 

Amira had rolled her eyes. “You’re not a lady.”

“Maybe you’re right.” He’d winked at her. “But, anyway, I’m supposed to be about thirty-ish, my young grasshopper!”

“That is a vague approximation,” Amira had said impatiently, wondering why he was skirting around giving her a clear answer. 

“Right again!”

He was certainly strange, Amira thought as she shelved another unhelpful book. But then again, Dumbledore was also strange, so perhaps powerful magic-users shared a common thread of mild insanity. 

(Faced with these abilities, a dread was growing more and more in her heart. Emrys made it all look so easy. Could she achieve something like that? Amira was used to thinking of herself as gifted, but when faced with someone like Emrys, the gap between them stretched on like an abyss…

(But that was dramatic. Emrys had given her a diagnostic test to see how advanced she really was, and she couldn’t help the small bit of pride that bloomed in her when his eyes had widened in unconcealed surprise with every spell she’d casted. She knew all of the spells in the first year curriculum; so well, in fact, that they might as well have been written into her flesh — this was good, this meant that all of her time practising under the cover of darkness had paid off.)

Amira shook her head, reminding herself that it was useless to feel things like accomplishment when she was still so early in her journey, and went to reshelve another book, Souls & Shifts: A Guide to Animate Transifiguration Theory . It wouldn’t go in, for some reason. 

She sighed in frustration, giving up momentarily. There was hardly anyone in the library at this hour, as Saturday afternoons weren’t very popular study times. The windows were beginning to darken, and the library was mostly lit with yellow-gold lanterns. She much preferred the isolation that this gave — more privacy, for one, and more silence as well. It was perfect for her research. She wasn’t getting very far, though, which was undoubtedly irritating. There was nothing on the creation of living creatures, just transfiguration from inanimate to animate, which was hardly advanced as it was part of the second year curriculum. 

Amira tried to reshelve the book again. It just didn’t seem to want to go back into its place — something had to be blocking it. She frowned, finally removing it to see the obstruction.

Curiously, there appeared to be an envelope leaning in the previously empty space. She would’ve noticed that earlier, surely? But it must have been stuffed in between the books and had fallen over when she’d removed one, as it was now slightly crumpled from her shoving. 

In her single-minded pursuit through the shelves of the library, she nearly pushed the book back into place with brute force and ignored the envelope entirely, but…

A letter in the library? How long had it been there? The paper appeared mostly smooth and unstained, and it wasn’t yet yellow with age. It must have been left there at least within the last few years, right? 

Amira pursed her lips, annoyed at her own distraction, and carelessly put down her book with a heavy thump and reached for the letter instead. It was probably just an unsent love letter. She shouldn’t afford this diversion any more time. 

Relatively crisp edges. No name written on the outside. She ripped it open, unfolded the paper, and read: 

LETHIFOLD–

It is done. Continue as you are.

Sent, ETA Monday. Watch her close. 

Interfectus.

Remember.

CHIMAERA.

… Oh. 

That wasn’t a love letter. 

What did that mean, ‘watch her close’? Who is ‘her’?

Amira turned the paper over, finding no other writing, then reread the words. They didn’t make sense, but that must be because it was clearly a response to another letter. 

Lethifold and chimaera… both were familiar to her, but why—?

“Hello?” a voice interjected, disrupting her thoughts. “Is that you, Miss Jadmani?” 

Amira made a fatal mistake: she flinched. Gathering herself together, she calmly refolded the letter as she turned to see who addressed her. 

Ah. Professor Feingold, her Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. She didn’t quite agree with his methods of teaching — far too much time spent talking about history and ‘making connections with each other,’ rather than actual defensive spells. If she wanted to know the origins of a spell as trivial as Lumos, she’d ask Professor Flitwick, and obviously she had no interest in conversing with that man. 

Feingold was staring at her curiously now, eyeing the letter in her hands. Amira didn’t like the look on his face. He was usually smiling in a weak, eager sort of way, but now he was far too attentive. 

“It is getting late, Amira,” he continued, stepping closer. She didn’t move. She didn’t like the way he was saying her name — it was too gentle. “Far too late to be in the library on a Saturday. Why don’t you start heading down for dinner? They should be serving soon.” 

“I’m researching,” she said. Perhaps time had gotten away from her, if it was time for dinner already. She hadn’t eaten anything all day, she realised with a detached sort of apathy. 

Feingold smiled sheepishly. Amira was sort of relieved to see a familiar expression on him. “Of course, yes. You are quite dedicated to your studies. What are you researching?”

“Butterflies,” she responded dryly. She picked up her book and reshelved it, discreetly tucking the letter away into her pocket. This didn’t go unnoticed by her professor. 

He stepped closer. “What’s that parchment you have?” 

Amira stared at him impassively. “My notes.”

“Notes on…?” 

She huffed through her nose, annoyed. “The butterflies.” 

“What butterflies?” he insisted. He was too curious. Amira wondered if he had any idea what the word subtlety meant. If the letter was for him, he should just say so. However, since he didn’t, she kept the letter out of spite, since he was wasting so much of her time with stupid questions. 

Amira’s following words were clipped and to the point: “Ask Professor Emrys. He made them.” Feingold was about to ask another question, but she interrupted him with a short “You’re right. I’m hungry now.” 

She didn’t turn her back on him — no, she was smarter than that. Instead, she backed away down the aisle, then walked out of the library with her wand held tightly in her hand within the pocket of her robes.

Feingold followed her all the way to the Great Hall, just a few metres behind.

Minerva stepped into the Great Hall, her eyes searching through the sea of ruffled heads. She’d received a brief letter from Pendragon yesterday about one of her students having troubles, and she had been hoping to catch him at dinner to discuss it further, but neither he nor Emrys seemed to have arrived. 

She sighed, shaking her head at the inconvenience of having to hunt him down instead.

Maybe Albus knows where he is, she thought, noting that the headmaster was sitting down for his evening meal already. Their Defence Against the Dark Arts professor was chatting his ear off about something, having taken her seat next to him. 

Her lip curled in distaste. They didn't necessarily have seat assignments, but it was rather rude that he’d taken her place. It was alright, though — the seat on the other side of her friend was still free. 

Honestly, though, the man was irritating. He was always following Albus around whenever he could, and the headmaster had expressed to her just how tired he was getting of it — Minerva couldn’t blame him! Her old friend might be somewhat famous, but it wouldn’t hurt for Feingold to have some tact, would it? 

“Albus,” she greeted as she sat down next to him. She curtly folded her napkin across her lap. Feingold went silent, observing her with unblinking eyes. 

Albus turned to her gratefully. “Minerva! How are you this evening?” The headmaster daintily cut a nibble of roast beef from his plate and forked it through his frizzy beard. 

Minerva huffed sharply, still miffed about her territory being taken over. “Decent. Have you seen Pendragon yet?” 

“Oh, I don’t believe so,” Albus said lightly. He seemed relieved at the change in conversation. “I came to dinner early, and he and Emrys haven’t shown up as of yet. Perhaps they will soon.” 

“Headmaster, forgive my curiosity, but you always speak of those two as a pair. Why is that?” Feingold asked suddenly. 

Minerva glanced at him and was startled by the blank, unreadable look in his eyes. It was almost as if he was calculating something. However, the expression broke quickly as Feingold accidentally dripped gravy into his lap. He muttered a curse and attempted to rub it out of his trousers with his napkin.

She didn’t like that look. Whatever it had been, it disturbed her. 

Albus took his time formulating his answer as he cut his beef, his fork and knife swiftly sawing it into smaller chunks. “Ah, well, they arrived together, and they’re the best of friends. One rarely finds one without the other outside of the classes,” he said, his voice delicate. 

“Oh, I see. That does make sense, thank you.” Feingold hummed thoughtfully. “Professor McGonagall, why did you say you were looking for them?” 

Minerva raised her eyebrow at the question. “I didn’t,” she replied sharply. She spooned more baked fish onto her plate. She loved the cream sauce. 

Feingold didn’t ask again and their meal continued in silence. More students filtered in, then out as the night waned on. By that time, Minerva had long since finished her meal and she itched to return to her grading, but she waited to see if she could catch either Emrys or Pendragon, if only to schedule a meeting for the next day. Neither professor showed. 

Severus, however, appeared for fifteen minutes of ravenous consumption, appearing like a shell of himself as he’d practically crawled to the staff table. His hair had been a damn mess, and his eyes had been fogged over, unfocused and lost in thought. 

She asked him about Pendragon, but he just hissed something caustic under his breath before saying, “I don’t care. He should disappear more often, in my opinion.” Such hatred had made her frown in disapproval, but it wasn’t out of the ordinary for him. Really, Minerva thought that having Severus so isolated down there was dangerous, but Albus seemed to think it was good for Severus to have privacy. 

He soon returned to dig himself deep into the dungeons for the night, and at eight, the plates and cutlery disappeared.

Albus stood with the energy of a much younger man. “Ah, it seems Emrys and Pendragon have found dinner elsewhere tonight, Minerva,” he said brightly. He seemed to like the idea that they had gone on a romantic outing together, she noted wryly. Silly man. 

“Odd. I can’t imagine what could beat a meal made by the Hogwarts elves!” Feingold said, trying to match Albus’s cheer. She’d wondered for a moment why he’d waited with them, then remembered that he was still shadowing Albus and rolled her eyes. 

“Hm.” Minerva stood as well, a little peeved. She’d waited so long, after all, and it was all for nothing. “Another time.” 

She would have to talk to Weasley first instead, then.

After dinner, Feingold made his way to his room and closed the door, resting his forehead on the cold wood with a sigh. 

Damn it. 

So much for that. 

It had been hard sitting through a whole two hours, listening to McGonagall and Dumbledore witter on about unimportant things. Merlin’s beard, they’d hardly talked about anything other than Emrys and Pendragon for the majority of the time! It was all, ‘Emrys apparently helped Peeves glue knuts onto the fifth floor,’ and ‘Did you notice how taken Byrnes is with Pendragon? Poor girl!’ Feingold nearly wanted to rip his ears out.

Who cared about those two? For Merlin’s sake, why was Dumbledore so fascinated by them, so much that he barely spared Feingold himself a glance?

He had thought that maybe he could get Dumbledore to trust him, but it wasn’t really working. That man had far too many barriers around himself to let them down so easily. Shit! If Emrys and Pendragon hadn’t been hired, though, he might actually have gotten somewhere with Dumbledore, at least. As it stood, the headmaster was far too occupied with gossiping about the two of them that he hardly paid attention to a ‘lowly’ D.A.D.A. professor like him. 

That was fine. As long as the rest of their plans went well, there would be enough power behind it to get Dumbledore to give up the information they needed, surely? Only, there was now that problem with that girl… the Jadmani girl. It was lucky that she was a Slytherin, but still, if she told anyone, a single soul, about that note, everything could be ruined and they would have to start all over again. He knew there was no time for that. He would just need to retrieve the letter somehow, then tell Taylor to change the drop off spot… 

Feingold pushed himself away from the door, kicking off his boots and throwing his robe haphazardly onto the floor as he made his way to his writing desk. Collapsing on his chair, he pulled out his quill and scratched out a quick message. 

Folding it up, he hauled himself toward the window and whistled for his owl. They would have to forgive him for his lack of discretion, but they surely would deem this urgent enough to ignore that.

Chapter Text

September 12th, 1982

Arthur wiped the sweat from his forehead as he straightened, putting his hands on his hips as he surveyed his work. The weeds were taken care of, so now he just needed to collect the eggs. Nearby, Merlin was sprawled over the grass unhelpfully as the chickens clucked around him, pecking at the ground for their morning meal. 

Before this, Arthur hadn’t realized how hard it had been for him to fall asleep at Hogwarts. He wasn’t sure what exactly it was, but there was something that made him restless and ill at ease… luckily, he was now feeling refreshed and well-rested after a few nights in the cottage. Although, he’d had to endure Merlin’s taunting all of yesterday when his husband had spent a good half an hour regaling the tale of Byrnes in the office to Aithusa. He’d been laughing himself stupid over it and insisting that Arthur was still just as oblivious as he’d been in Camelot — which, well, Arthur had taken offence to that! He wasn’t that bad, surely?

Aithusa had given them her version of a ‘long-suffering stare,’ then turned away to return to their new dragon Remus, muttering to herself about being surrounded by idiots. 

Speaking of their new dragon, Merlin had clearly been ecstatic to see how much healthier Remus looked since they’d rescued him from Gringotts. Arthur hadn’t seen the state of the dragon when they were there with how nauseous the cart had made him, but he’d seen Remus afterwards. Needless to say… it hadn’t been good.

Fortunately, Remus’s new scales were flushing back to a beautiful metallic silver that glittered in the sunlight — although, the sensation of growing scales was quite itchy and he often used the surrounding bark as a back scratcher. Obviously, this resulted in a few bent trees. 

“I don’t know if his eyesight will heal,” Merlin had admitted to him as they watched Aithusa coach Remus into a few more wing exercises in the wide field nearby. He still had some patches of bare skin, but he looked strong and confident, standing tall over the trees that surrounded their cottage. “I’m not sure if I should mess with it, either. Eyes are very delicate.” 

“He seems happy this way,” Arthur had reassured him, touching his shoulder. “Some things don’t need to be fixed.” 

It was now their last day before returning to the school and Arthur was tending to the farm, enjoying the sun beating down on his back. Merlin had forced him to wear a ridiculous sunhat, insisting that he’d burn his face and neck otherwise, and he had to admit that it did a good job of giving him some shade, even though it was a horrific size and quite floppy. 

His husband had given up on work for a few minutes now, choosing instead to flop on the floor with an arm over his eyes, his knee bent comfortably as he soaked in the glow of the sun. Ophelia, their youngest hen, was peering down at him judgmentally with her head cocked to the side. 

Arthur had to admit that his husband looked remarkably tempting like that. 

“Are you going for a tan?” he teased, tugging off his gardening gloves and crouching down to lay next to him. Their chickens clucked at him scoldingly as he forced them to make space. 

Merlin peeked under his arm to look at him, a grin toying at his lips. “You know I’d just burn, you jerk.” 

Arthur leaned on his side so that he could cup his husband’s jaw, caressing his fingers along the skin and catching slightly on Merlin’s growing stubble. “Really?” he asked playfully. “Here I thought I was the one that we were worried about burning.” 

“You’re unattractive as a lobster,” Merlin explained in a haughty tone. He placed his hand on top of his. 

“And you’re not?” Arthur raised an eyebrow at him. “I seem to recall a time back in ‘53 when you—” 

“Oh, shut up,” his husband ordered, then proceeded to do it for him, wrapping an arm around Arthur’s shoulders and pulling him down for a languid kiss. In the commotion, his sunhat was dislodged from its place on his head and it tumbled to the floor beside them. 

“Your skin… it was peeling for weeks—” Arthur smothered his laughter into his lips— “we could've probably… made a replica of your face with it…” he managed between kisses, then grunted when Merlin tugged at his hair to pull him back a little.

His husband gave him a look. "We either argue or you kiss me, pick one," he said. 

Well. If you put it that way…

“Fine, I’ll let you off easy,” he relented and leaned in again. 

It felt like it’d been ages since they’d last done this, although it probably hadn’t been all that long. Arthur would never tire of it — they’d probably shared millions of kisses by now, but it was a way of saying, I’m here, without words, a reassurance and a comfort all wrapped in a simple touch. He couldn’t get enough of that. 

He knew exactly how to tell what mood his husband was in just by tasting him, and he was quite proud of that — the knowledge came with ample experience and practice, after all. Right now, Merlin was insistent and demanding like he usually was, which he could tell by the feeling of his husband’s short nails scratching at the back of his neck as he maneuvered him the way he wanted. Arthur let him, like he always did, his mind melting as he lost himself to the heat of the sun behind him and the hot, panting breaths that escaped Merlin’s lips whenever they parted for a moment, just to press even closer amongst the grass. 

Merlin was also remarkably relaxed. Usually he carried a bit of tension about him, but being in their home had loosened his muscles and his spine, leaving him slack on the ground beneath him, his lips lazy as they slid along his own. Arthur always wanted this, strived to make it happen as much as possible — for Merlin to feel safe and not like the world was out to get him, to let him rest and not worry too much about anything, if just for a moment. He took on so much these days, and now it was Arthur’s job to take the weight off his shoulders. 

As if he could hear him, Merlin hummed in approval and attempted to tug him closer, wanting to eliminate the space between them and mesh the lines of their bodies together. Just as eager, Arthur was just about to oblige and roll fully on top of him when he felt a beak peck sharply at his head. 

“Ow!” he yelped, rolling away from the pecking as his hand came to clutch his hair.  

He was faced by a disapproving Martha, their older hen. She squawked something in his face and flapped her wings, then waddled over to comfort Ophelia, who was hiding her beak in her plumage like she was embarrassed. 

“Sorry, forgot we had company,” Merlin said breathlessly, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to catch his breath. His smile was wide and unapologetic, a dimple forming in his cheek that Arthur wanted to kiss. 

Martha made a warbling noise of displeasure and trotted off with the younger hen.

Arthur grumbled unhappily at being interrupted. “They should be more grateful. We’re feeding them, aren’t we?” 

“Mm, and punishing them with scandalous sights,” Merlin teased. 

Arthur muttered, “I’ll show you ‘scandalous’,” and gave him another peck on the lips. 

It wasn’t the same, though. Something was off — his husband was distracted, a little more tense. Arthur pulled away and gave him a questioning look, brows furrowed. Merlin, knowing he was caught, sighed reluctantly and let his smile weaken as he looked off into the distance, his eyes lost in thought. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked. 

Merlin shook his head. “Just had a thought. This weekend is supposed to be relaxing. What I’m thinking about doesn’t fit into that. It’s fine, we should go eat now.” 

Ah. The worry had crept back in already. To be fair, he’d known it would happen soon; Merlin was a worrier at heart. 

Arthur took his hand, squeezing slightly. “I don’t care about that. What is it?” 

“Arthur—” Merlin protested. 

“I’m serious.” 

Merlin huffed, reluctantly defeated. “Fine, alright.” His eyes were a deep blue as he looked to the sky. “You remember the attack? In Diagon Alley?” 

“Yes,” Arthur replied slowly, his face growing serious. “What about it?”

“I’ve been thinking. What if it happens again and we’re not there to stop it this time?” Merlin pursed his lips in distress. Not knowing what else to do, Arthur simply tangled their fingers together. “The fact that we were there was a minor miracle, really. And… that potion…”

He didn’t seem to want to finish that thought. Arthur didn’t want to speak of it, either — it was an awful thought, the mere possibility that a little girl could have been harmed in such a cruel, gruesome way. 

“Are you sure that it was explosive?” Merlin asked, but it was a half-hearted attempt. “It could’ve been something else.”

“Macnair clearly wanted to take down the entire street. They prevented anyone from leaving, so they wanted as many casualties as possible. He was even willing to take the potion himself, so he knew that he was probably going to die if that girl drank it,” Arthur said reluctantly. “Merlin, you know I wouldn’t suggest the idea if I wasn’t sure.” 

“I know. Something just feels so off, but I don’t know what it is,” his husband whispered. There was a pain in his expression, and Arthur ached, knowing that Merlin could sense a pattern recurring somewhere, but unable to correctly identify it. “What possible strategy is it, blowing up a school shopping centre?” 

Arthur hummed in thought. “They probably just wanted to unsettle people, show that the Ministry isn’t all that in control even after the fall of Riddle. What better way than to prove that they can’t even keep people’s children safe?” One of their other hens, Georgina, came over to nip at Merlin’s hair. “Or it could be personal. Riddle was very focused on Hogwarts as well, wasn’t he? Maybe they wanted people to distrust Dumbledore himself, too.” 

Merlin suddenly sat up, running a hand through his hair to smooth it out again. Georgina hobbled away indignantly. “You think so?” he said, his voice shaking. “Oh, gods. You really think they might be coming for Hogwarts next?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Arthur replied firmly. 

“What are we going to do?” Merlin muttered. He covered his mouth like he might be sick, slightly muffling his voice. “How do we find these people, when we don’t even know if they exist? What if the attack was just a distraction?” 

“Distraction from what?” 

“I don’t know!” Merlin looked at him, his eyes a little wild. “Fuck, I don’t know, Arthur. I feel like I’m going crazy. Am I being paranoid again? Seeing things that aren’t there?” 

Arthur placed his hands on either side of Merlin’s head, applying a gentle pressure. “You’re still here. I’m still here," he said, rubbing his thumb along his cheek. "It’s going to be fine. We’ll figure this out, I promise.” 

Merlin took a deep breath and nodded, closing his eyes and leaning into his touch. He could see his husband trying to focus on the sounds of the earth, rather than the sounds of his mind, and after a few minutes, his shoulders slumped, the crease between his brows smoothing out. When he opened his eyes, they were dimming from a bright gold.

He turned to kiss his palm. “You’re right, I’m sorry.” Arthur caressed his face one more time, then moved back. Merlin leaned on his hand perched behind him in the grass, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Arthur, did the potion look the same as the other ones we’ve seen?” 

“Fairly similar,” Arthur admitted. “Of course, without testing it, it’s hard to say with complete certainty. It could be a new and improved variety.” 

“Shit,” his husband muttered. “I thought we destroyed the rest of the last ones…”

“It’s not exactly the hardest potion to make. Someone could’ve memorized it, recreated it.”

“Yes, but forty years later?” Merlin huffed. “Isn’t that a long time for humans? This is ridiculous.” 

Arthur had nothing to say to that. Forty years was definitely a stretch, he knew that. 

“Maybe we can break into the Ministry,” Merlin suggested after a moment, as if that was a completely normal thing to say. It was an insane thing to even think of — Arthur wondered if his husband heard what came out of his mouth sometimes. “If we find the potion, I can test it, maybe we can figure out an antidote if they’ve altered it. Besides, if this whole thing is as organized as I think it is, they’ve probably got other ideas in mind for it besides Diagon Alley.”

“Merlin,” Arthur groaned, looking to the sky. It was a school night, how did Merlin expect them to pull this off before tomorrow’s classes? “Are you seriously suggesting we break into the British magical government, which, I’ll remind you, is newly stabilized and likely on high alert for another attack? You’re going to put us on the headlines again.” 

Merlin grinned and shrugged. “It’ll be fun. Besides, it can’t be that hard." He leaned over and kissed him again, like that was supposed to convince him. "Come on, Arthur, where’s your sense of adventure?” he murmured.

Arthur tried not to get distracted, but Merlin kissing him wasn't helping. “But you can’t mean now, surely?” he said skeptically as Merlin toyed with his shirt.

"No, of course not," he said. "I mean tonight. I'm busy right now. Ow!” Merlin backed off and waved his pecked hand in the air, pouting at Martha for the attack. “Really??” 

Martha squawked angrily. 

“How did the meeting with McGonagall go?” Xander asked as Bill exited McGonagall’s office, straightening from where he’d been sitting on the floor outside to wait for him. He had scrolls of parchment around him and books propped open as he finished off some of their first homework assignments of the semester, but he began to pack his things away when Bill emerged.

His friend had refused to leave him alone for a second this weekend, knowing that Pendragon was gone. Every meal, every walk through the hallways — Xander had assigned himself to be his personal bodyguard, basically. While Bill really did appreciate it, honestly it did make him feel a bit weak. 

He shrugged sadly. “Was okay, but she said basically what Pendragon said. Can’t do anything until they have proof. Apparently Taylor’s family will kick up a fuss if they make a big deal of this without anything but my word, and the school can’t afford that at the moment. At the very least, they might be able to give Taylor detention.”

Xander sputtered for a moment, gesturing to Bill’s face, where his black eye was still an ugly mix of yellow and purple. “Wh- That’s- Their proof is right there! What the hell?! What more do they want?! Does your word just count for nothing??” 

Bill shrugged again, offering a hand to his friend to haul him off the ground. He didn’t really want to talk about this anymore. It was just exhausting to think about. Honestly, he wondered if this was worth all the effort… 

As they walked back to the common room, he repeated what McGonagall had said to him. “I need a witness,” he sighed, “but I can’t remember anybody. I was just so focused on getting away that I didn’t pay attention to who was watching. Of course, there’s Taylor’s friends, but they won’t turn on him.” 

They passed a few people in the halls, but thankfully, it wasn’t anyone Bill recognised. Most people were probably doing homework by now, or running around outside. He was so tired that he kind of just wanted to fall back asleep. 

“There’s got to be someone,” Xander insisted. As they arrived at the Fat Lady, he gave the password (‘hippogriff’), then continued their conversation as they walked up to the boys’ dorms. “Taylor isn’t that smart, is he?” he grumbled. 

“Sorry, Xander. There’s no one,” Bill muttered, feeling utterly defeated. 

Maybe he would just have to hide in girls’ bathrooms forever. It was hopeless, wasn’t it? At least no one would follow him there. 

He frowned. Wait. Was that true? 

Bill stopped in the middle of the stairs. “Huh,” he said. “Maybe… no, that’s actually the daftest idea I think I’ve ever had.” 

“What is it?” Xander asked patiently from the step above him, tilting his head. “Did you think of something?”

“I think Jadmani heard the whole thing,” Bill admitted. “Did I tell you that? She was the one that found me in the girls’ bathroom right before flying class. She walked me to class that day.” 

“Bollocks,” his friend cursed, rubbing his eyes. Bill blinked in surprise at him. Xander gave him an apologetic look. “Sorry, mate, but you can’t ask her. Merlin’s pants, of all the people to witness Taylor being an arse, it had to be Jadmani? I can’t even believe she walked you to class actually. You sure you didn’t hallucinate that?” 

Bill sulked. “I know, it’s weird. I don’t know why I even brought it up.” He tapped his finger on the banister, thinking. “I think she felt bad, though? In a weird way. So maybe I should ask anyway. No harm in it, is there?”

“She’s going to say no,” Xander said gently. “Slytherins stick together. She can’t turn on someone from her House, she’d get exiled.” 

Bill winced. “Ah. Right…”

It was his only option, though. Crap… What was he going to do?

He shook his head and followed his friend back up to the dorms. 

Xander changed the subject. “Hey, who else do you think we should invite to Pendragon’s super secret club?” he asked with excitement, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

“Oh, right. I wanted to invite Olive and Meredith,” Bill said hesitantly. “I don’t know if they’d say yes, though. 

Xander’s face scrunched in confusion. “Huh? Who?”

“I met them on the train,” he explained as Xander opened the door to the first year dorms. “They’re from other Houses, so I haven’t seen them much since the Sorting Ceremony. Maybe this way, I can see them more often.” 

Once inside, his friend immediately started kicking off his shoes.

“Xander, seriously?” their other friend, Felix, complained from his bed. Several of the other boys groaned at them to be quiet so that they could sleep. Mid-day naps were quite popular in their room, it seemed. Bill couldn’t wait to get in on that. “Where were you guys?” 

Xander ignored him. “You have two girlfriends, Bill?” he whispered, bewildered.

Felix’s jaw dropped. “Bill has girlfriends?! Plural??” 

Shocked, Bill hissed, “What?! No! They’re just friends!”

"Friends who happen to be girls!" Xander said.

“Seriously? Why does Bill get the girls?” Felix complained, flopping back onto his pillow dramatically. 

Bill stuck his tongue out at him, crossing his arms in offence.

“What year are they?” Xander asked eagerly as he shed his robes and tie. He threw his socks onto the ground with little care.

“Second,” he admitted reluctantly, avoiding his friends’ eyes and instead looking at his shoes. 

Felix’s voice went shrill. “Second?!” 

They were shushed again. Loudly. None of them listened, though. 

Xander reached out and ruffled his hair playfully. “Mate, say no more, you’re inviting them. Felix, want to come?”

Felix was already nodding emphatically. “I have no idea what you guys are talking about, but yes.” 

“You both suck,” Bill grumbled, trying to smooth out his hair. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” Xander said cheekily. “You loooove us.” 

Bill bent down and picked up one of the socks his friend had taken off — ew, it was damp! — and threw it at him. 

Bertie Blankley was a guard in the Ministry just trying to climb the ranks to be a proper Auror. It had always been his dream to fight crime, to protect their streets from any evil and lock up those who deserved it. After He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, he’d gotten a glimpse of that — the Ministry had needed all hands on deck to fight the Death Eaters, so Bertie had been ordered to help and it had felt fantastic to finally be getting his hands dirty. 

But now he was demoted back down to just a guard. It was a little frustrating, but he knew what he was doing was still important. Despite trying to keep it all ‘hush hush,’ there had been numerous attacks throughout the wizarding community — he wasn’t even supposed to know this, technically, but he’d heard plenty of whispers from his superiors about it. 

He had to ensure that the Ministry wouldn’t fall and if guarding a door helped with that, then so be it…

Bertie sighed and checked the time to see how close it was to the end of his shift, looking up at the clock on the wall made of swirling golden metals and black marble. He’d been standing in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for ages now, guarding one of the main offices that was typically used for major investigations. His superior officer had expressed to him just how important it was that this particular investigation was kept secret and secure, so he hadn’t moved from this spot for nearly eight hours. He was starving… just a sandwich sounded like heaven. 

He wondered what could possibly be so important that he couldn’t even have a five minute break. Did they find the whereabouts of more Death Eaters? He really wanted to know! It was unnaturally quiet in there, but he figured that the Aurors had put silencing charms on the door to prevent any eavesdropping. Seriously, what could be so sensitive that they’d go to such lengths to protect it from their own employees?

With fifteen minutes left to his shift, a paper plane flew above his head, gliding through a small entrance just above the door meant for the messages that were frequently sent back and forth through the building. A few seconds later, Bertie was nearly run over when the door burst open and a team of Aurors came flooding out, dashing in the direction of the fireplaces in a chaotic mass. 

“Hey! What’s happened?” Bertie tried to ask as he stumbled out of the way, rubbing his shoulder. He was merely ignored, which he was a little miffed about. 

“Blankley!” Bertie’s boss, Auror Atkinson, barked as he exited the room behind everyone, his expression fierce. Merlin, those eyebrows snuck their way into his nightmares sometimes! 

Bertie immediately straightened, his arms snapping to his sides. “Sir?” 

His boss was holding a letter of some sort, and he figured it must have been the message that had floated in just now. What in Merlin’s name had been so important?? Come on, he just wanted a clue!!

“Guard the room until we return. Do not let anyone in or I swear to Merlin—” Atkinson hissed, his eyes frantic, and he didn’t wait for Bertie to confirm before he left in pursuit of his team. 

Kind of terrified now that his job was on the line, Bertie quickly spelled the doors shut again and put his back to it, listening to the roars of the green flames from the other room as the team flooed themselves away. 

This could be his chance. No one would know if he just took a peek… and it would only be a second— oh, for Merlin’s sake! No, no, he couldn’t, he’d lose his job. It was best to just stay curious in this case, wasn’t it? Right…

Even if it would be really easy, and he would finally know what he was guarding… Still, best not to. Right? 

Reese Peterson arrived back to his home, weary from the day. He shucked his outer robes off, throwing them on the sofa and telling himself that he’d clean it up later. Based on the pile of clothes already underneath, though, it was… statistically unlikely. 

His stomach growled. He was rather faint, having not eaten in several long hours. He made his way to the kitchen, opening the cabinets to find them empty. 

“Damn,” he muttered. It wasn’t any use to try cooking in this state, as mentally exhausted as he was. 

Feeling sorry for himself, he settled for grabbing a dirty mug from the sink, one with dried coffee rings around the inside, and filled it with water. He gulped it down. 

Reese figured that he should probably be working on his next story, but he didn’t have any motivation. Everything was closing in around him, lately, so how could he possibly write? And he hadn’t been able to see his lover in weeks, either. She was just too busy with her new… friend group. 

He didn’t like those people. After what happened in Diagon Alley… it was just too far. There was nothing he could do that would convince her to leave it, though, even as the organization grew more and more out of control. 

As a result of all of this, his writing was becoming steadily worse recently and his boss was starting to notice, which wasn’t good. Reese was The Daily Prophet’s best reporter by all standards — better than that woman Skeeter, at least — so he usually made it to the front page with his stories. However, for the past few weeks, he’d been stuck with small columns. 

He’d loved being a reporter when he first started. He wasn’t sure he felt that way anymore. He wished he could just run away with his girlfriend, start a new life somewhere. Maybe to America, they probably had all sorts of journalism positions over there. 

Would she even want to go with him anymore?

Reese rubbed his eyes, frustrated with himself, and startled at the sound of the front door opening. He peeked out of the kitchen and a spark of excitement ran through his tired muscles. 

“Lorelei!” he whispered. He didn’t know why he was whispering, but it was too quiet and he didn’t want to disturb the peace. 

“Hello, Reese,” she whispered back, a tentative smile on her face. Merlin, she looked just as tired as he felt. 

He ran over to her, drinking in the sight of her pretty chocolate hair and the swirling silver jewellery adorning her fingers and collarbones. Gathering her in his arms, just a waif of a thing, he breathed in the soft, floral scent of her perfume, letting it travel through his lungs and meld into his bloodstream. 

“I missed you, too,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around him. “I’m sorry it’s been so long.” She pulled back, cradling his face in her cold, delicate fingers. Reese melted into her hands, relishing the caress of her thumb on his cheek. “You look awful,” she said sadly. 

“It’s been…” Reese shut his eyes. “A rough week.” 

Lorelei hummed in concern. “When was the last time you ate something?” she asked.

“This morning, I think,” he admitted, abashed.

“Reese,” she scolded softly. “Sit down. I’ll bring you some tea, alright? You need to rest.” 

He leaned in to kiss her, savoring the taste of her. “Thank you, darling,” he breathed across her lips. “What would I do without you?” 

Lorelei smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. There was something sad about her, like an aura of defeat, but he didn’t know how to help, or even what the problem was. He hoped that spending some time together would resolve her worries, at least.

Reese sat down on his sofa, self-consciously shoving his dirty clothes away as Lorelei made her way to the kitchen. Merlin, he really needed to straighten up the place… He hadn’t even realised how bad it had gotten until now. His used dishes were all over the place, clothes and papers thrown onto every available surface. Knowing that Lorelei had seen it all made him burn with shame.

She was an angel, though. Lorelei returned swiftly and made no comment about the mess at all, holding two mugs of steaming hot tea and handing him one. Gracefully, she sat next to him, drawing her legs up next to her. 

“Drink that,” she said gently. “Then we’ll think about dinner, okay?” 

He nodded obediently and blew the steam away, then brought the mug to his lips. Lorelei sipped at hers as well, watching him as he drank. 

He licked his lips, pulling the mug away to inspect it. “What kind of tea is this?” he asked. “It has a strange aftertaste.” 

“It’s one of those funny herbal kinds that I like,” Lorelei said. “Come on, drink the rest. You’ll feel better.” 

Reese nodded and gulped it down, ignoring his burnt tongue. The sting was a little comforting, anyway. “Ugh, that’s awful,” he said. “I don’t know how you drink these. It’s so bitter.”

Lorelei didn’t respond. Reese looked over to her and saw her pretty eyes filling with tears, shining dimly in the light emanating from the kitchen and the light of the moon filtering through the window. 

“Darling?” Reese said, alarmed. He grabbed both of their mugs and set them on the table, then grabbed her hands. His stomach was starting to cramp up, but he ignored it for her sake. Dinner could come later — right now, he needed to comfort his lover. “Darling, what’s wrong? What is it?” 

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, tears falling down her cheeks as she pressed her forehead to his. “Oh, Reese. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Why did you talk to the Aurors?” 

“What?” Reese asked. He winced a little, his hand pressing to his stomach as the cramps got worse. This wasn’t hunger, surely? This— Reese froze. “Lorelei, what did you do?” 

Lorelei sobbed, clutching his hands. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she pleaded, pressing her lips to his knuckles. “Please forgive me.” 

“What’s happening?” Reese panted, curling in on himself as the pain in his abdomen spread like a burning fire consuming all of his organs. “What did you give me?” he wheezed out, beginning to cough. 

“I love you,” she said. The sound of her voice came to him like he was underwater. “I have to go now, Reese.” 

“Don’t go,” he pleaded, tears squeezing past his eyes against his will, splashing uselessly to the floor in a red stain. “Please. Lorelei, please. I won’t tell anyone anything, I swear!” 

“It’s too late.” His lover faded into wisps of black as she apparated away, and that was the last thing he saw before everything went loud and bright.