Interviewing Emrys
Merlin was delighted when he received the headmaster’s reply only an hour or so after he’d sent the letter. He had been with Sygni at the time, curled up in her cave playing a game of fetch and trying not to laugh at how much the young dragon resembled an eager puppy.
She had snapped playfully at the falcon as it had swooped past, but Fiacre only gave her a cool look and darted well out of reach. He’d only come so close in the first place to taunt her, displaying the same contrary, irritating personality that even inanimate objects developed whenever they’d spent too much time around Merlin. His magic liked to be used, and if he didn’t leash it then it seeped into everything around him.
Not that he really minded. His magic was the one true constant in his life and if nothing else it ensured that he would never get bored.
Fiacre took his normal perch on Merlin’s shoulder and the warlock petted him gently to soothe his ego, marvelling for the thousandth time that his feathers felt so smooth and almost real. The falcon was unafraid of Sygni because he knew that she would not actually eat him; even as a baby she’d known better than that. He might look and feel and act real, but he wasn’t made of anything that she could digest.
Technically, Fiacre wasn’t really a bird. Merlin’s magic had breathed life and personality into him, something no other sorcerer could do, but underneath it all he was made of wood and it certainly wouldn’t do a dragon any good to eat him.
It had taken Merlin some time to come to terms with the fact that he would almost certainly outlive everyone and everything he ever met, and often it had only been sheer willpower that had kept him from going insane. It had been during one of his dark periods that he’d remembered one of the first spells he had ever mastered in Camelot: bebiede þe arisan cwicum, the animation spell.
The dog he had animated had not been a true dog, but it had definitely acted like one. It had barked and growled at strangers and devolved into puppy-like bliss at a tender hand, had been so alive that he felt guilty at turning it back into stone. He had struggled to perform the counterspell not because it was very difficult (it was far less taxing than animating it in the first place; stone should be stone, not fur, after all) but because he had not really wanted to.
The animals produced from the spell were not real animals, needing neither food nor sleep, but Merlin’s peculiar magic still imbued them with a semblance of life. They were as immortal as he, at least as long as he kept them safe, and they were a form of companionship that remained stable over the long years. They were no substitute for humans, of course, but sometimes he preferred the company of animals anyway.
Fiacre was more special than most. After finally losing Aithusa some centuries ago, he had taken up woodcarving as a way to feel closer to the father who had given his life for him. When he had tried the animation spell on one of his own sculptures even he had been surprised by the result; apparently, spending so much time handling and carving them had imbued them with more of his magic than usual and as a result they had far more of a personality than the dog statue.
When it had first become clear that magical folk were going to keep using messenger birds, Merlin had spent a few decades raising them from chicks to get them used to his own particular brand of magic. It was an endless cycle of getting attached, falling in love, and having to watch their short lives come to an end.
He had hated it. Messenger birds always worked best if you had a bond with them, but it hurt to feel his magic caress something that would leave him far too soon.
He was horribly used to losing people, but bonded animals were different. They were linked through his magic, and the double pain of magical backlash and grief tore wounds in his very soul that only grew deeper and deeper as the century wore on.
After the death of a particular gorgeous yet haughty owl he had named Gana in a fit of nostalgia, Merlin had had enough. Fiacre had taken an entire month to carve, letting magic guide his hands as he freed the avian form from a piece of wood taken from the Isle of the Blessed. Etched down to the detailed feathering, the falcon looked almost alive even in his wooden form, and it barely took a whisper of extra magic to awaken him.
Fiacre had become his messenger whenever he needed to send a letter in the Wizarding World, not needing sleep or rest and imbued with protective spells that meant he’d never lost a message or failed a delivery. Additionally, the more often Merlin animated him the more of a personality he gained. He had a lot of Arthur’s traits, including an over-inflated ego and a deep pride in his own work, but he also had Merlin’s gift of being increasingly annoying when the mood took him.
Watching him play with Sygni was always hilarious, as the dragon and falcon took it in turns to chase each other through the skies and perform ever-more-improbably acrobatics. It had only taken one incident for Sygni to learn to be careful with her fire around him, but no harm had been done. In fact, the slight singing had actually deepened the rich darkness of his feathers and Merlin had the distinct feeling that Fiacre had been pleased with it.
Especially when he realised what the near-miss had gifted him.
The innate magic of dragonfire had somehow given his falcon the ability to defend himself with flame, as he’d discovered the last time he’d sent the bird through hazardous territory. Merlin had scolded him for drawing attention, but by Fiacre’s smug expression the falcon probably knew how amusing he had found the whole thing.
As if the bloody bird had needed to be any more cocky.
Humming quietly and ignoring the antics of both bird and dragon, he read through the letter and smiled widely. The fact that he had secured an interview so quickly told him that he’d caught the headmaster’s interest and that all was going well on the ‘getting-into-Hogwarts’ plan.
He penned a quick reply agreeing to the meeting on Monday before setting it aside. He’d wait a few hours before sending it; no need to let the headmaster know that he lived no more than a dozen miles from the castle.
Until then… a mischievous smile on his face, Merlin’s eyes went gold and a gust of wind blew Fiacre straight into a startled Sygni. The two of them blinked at each other for a second before two sets of narrowed eyes fell on their warlock, who gleefully joined in on the game.
Maturity was so vastly overrated.
***
Five days later, Merlin Apparated himself to Hogwarts, careful to land just in front of the gates. This particular mode of transport never ceased being uncomfortable, but unfortunately he had no idea who would be waiting to ‘guide’ him inside and he needed to keep up appearances. There was no need to broadcast that he had magic that could bypass the wards, nor that he was powerful enough that even his apparition could quite possibly tear straight through them.
Wincing at the thought of the mess that would create, Merlin barely managed to smooth his expression out in time to nod politely at the dark-haired man waiting impatiently at the gate.
He was tall and gaunt and greasy haired, spawning unpleasant comparisons to Agravaine, but Merlin had had a long time to get over his prejudices and ignored the startling resemblance. From the amount of scrying he had done on Dumbledore he knew exactly who this man was – Severus Snape, unappreciated spy, reviled teacher, and core member of Dumbledore’s resistance group.
He raised a single eyebrow at the thunderous scowl adorning the man’s face. It was not as if he was late; in fact, he was nearly fifteen minutes early.
Nonetheless, it would take more than a glare to curb him. He was over fifteen hundred years old, and quite frankly the glare had nothing on Gaius’s anyway. “Good morning,” he greeted, a small smile on his face.
“You’re Aquila Emrys?” Snape’s voice was studiously blank, but there had been a brief splash of surprise in his eyes. Merlin had not seen fit to use an aging spell and so he looked the same way he had when Arthur had died, mid-twenties or so.
The more powerful a wizard was, the less effect time had on them. Long experience had taught Merlin that he could not hide the fact that he had powerful magic – he was still a terrible liar, although he had always been better at misdirection – and attempting to do so would be fruitless and counterproductive. He wanted to work with Dumbledore, not hide from him.
Sometimes it was lonely, always walking a little apart, but some things never changed. Just like back in Camelot, his appearance meant that most people constantly underestimated him.
He barely hid his grin at the thought. Being underestimated was always fun. Messing with people was some of the greatest amusements still left to him. Maybe it was unfair, but hey, he was a very old man. He was allowed his eccentricities.
“That’s me,” he said cheerfully. He had chosen the name carefully – Aquila because it meant falcon and it appealed to his sense of humour, and Emrys because if he was going to come into contact with any kind of magical creature then it was almost inevitable that the title was going to slip out sooner or later. Better for everyone to think it was just a name, especially after what had happened with Winky last year. Besides, it was always nice to have a glimmer of truth to his alias.
The Potions Master and spy sniffed disdainfully, all but dismissing the young man in Muggle clothes. He hadn’t bothered dressing up as anything but what he was – sooner or later his personality would come out, especially if any of the portraits stuck their noses in.
“I’m Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master here at Hogwarts. If you’ll come with me.”
He turned, robes billowing artfully, and Merlin idly wondered how long it had taken him to perfect that. The mental image of him stood in front of a mirror practicing until he could twirl just so made Merlin’s eyes gleam with mirth, but he didn’t tease the man. Not yet. There would be plenty of time for good natured tormenting if and when Dumbledore hired him.
“I apologise for any inconvenience I may have caused you, professor,” Merlin said quietly, examining Snape’s reaction out of the corner of his eye. The man only nodded curtly, but it felt like a little of the tension dissipated.
Then they reached the castle, and there was no need for talking. Instinct born of centuries of hiding had him closing his eyes seconds before he felt the inherent magic in the building embracing him.
The Founders had poured their souls into the realisation of their dream, and their enduring legacy had only been reinforced by the thousands of children who had continued to walk these halls. There were few places left that could compare to the feeling of pure magic suffusing this place (the Crystal Cave excepted) and Merlin felt a familiar ecstasy flood him as a tension that he never realised was there melting away again. Like called to like, magic called to magic, and the castle welcomed him.
Emrys.
He had to resist the strong urge to put his forehead to the stones and just breath it in, silently promising that he would do so later. The magic was thick and heady, not unlike an influx of alcohol, and he reluctantly yanked on his own inner leash. He did not need to be magic-drunk during a meeting with the wily headmaster.
Mind finally back under control, Merlin opened his eyes to find the world frozen around him. He shook his head wryly. Even after so many centuries, he still hadn’t managed to curb all of his accidental magic; it really was more luck than skill that concealed him.
Breathing deeply, he centred himself and brushed a hand down the still wall. Even stopped in time he could see the magic rippling off it, curling gently around him, a silent reassurance. As one that had been there at her creation she knew him, and as Emrys recognised her she recognised him. There was not a door here that would be barred to him, not a room that dared conceal itself. All of her secrets were at his fingertips.
Such power was frightening, and not only to others. Just because Merlin had managed to come to terms with his destiny and his existence as an immortal creature of magic, sentenced to walk the world whilst a breath of life remained in it, that did not mean that he had forgotten the weight of what he carried.
Closing his eyes again, he finally let the gold fade. Tiny sounds faded back into his awareness as time began to turn again, and he fell into step behind Snape as if he had never stopped.
If the perceptive Potions Master noticed anything out of the ordinary, he did not comment. They walked the halls in silence, though Merlin kept an eye on the portraits, sharing tiny, secret smiles with them. All were sworn to keep his secrets; Rowena herself had charmed them so.
They were good at it, too. If he hadn’t been expecting it then Merlin would not have seen the mounted figure of a knight galloping through the portraits ahead of them, warning them that he had returned so that their reactions did not give him away. Again, if Snape noticed, he did not comment, but Merlin doubted it. The knight was named Sir Cadogan, and he was usually chosen for this task because such antics were not particularly out of character for him.
The route Snape took him on was the quickest that did not account for the secret passageways, and it was only two minutes before they were stood in front of a familiar gargoyle.
Once Godric’s private quarters, the chambers above had become the Headmaster’s office some two hundred years after his death and had remained that way ever since. Merlin had not approved – upon opening the school they had all concurred that headmasters should be accessible to the students – but he had not been in the country at the time to protest.
Lip curled in distaste, Snape drawled, “Lemon drop,” as if the candy-related password was a personal affront to him. He gestured wordlessly to the revolving staircase, not one word more than necessary.
Stepping past without a hint of hesitation, Merlin’s smile didn’t dim even a little. “Thank you,” he acknowledged, and the man nodded before turning (robes billowing again in a way that tilted Merlin’s lips upwards even further) and stalking away.
“Great person for a meet-and-greet,” Merlin mused to himself, mulling over Dumbledore’s actions. Did the man want to hire him or scare him away?
Or perhaps he was overthinking it. It was summer; Snape might be the only professor still in the castle.
At the top, Merlin resisted his normal urge to barge straight in and made himself knock politely.
You are trying to make a good impression, he reminded himself. These haven’t been Ric’s rooms for a long time.
“Come in,” someone beckoned, and Merlin strode straight into the room. He allowed himself a single cursory glance around the room before he fixed his attention on Dumbledore.
Every time he saw this office it changed, but although he was used to the constant reincarnations by now some part of him always expected it to remain the red-and-gold nightmare it had been when it had been Godric’s place of residence. His overgrown child had been almost as messy as Merlin himself.
The office betrayed a lot about Dumbledore’s character, the constant whirring implements from different ages that all aimed to distract and bedazzle visitors mirrored the kindly visage Albus favoured to mask his shrewd mind. Merlin was a little old to fall for such things and so he only gifted the headmaster a smile and a nod.
“Aquila Emrys,” the man greeted.
“Headmaster Dumbledore. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Not at all, not at all,” the man demurred. “And Albus, please.” Not very professional, but again calculated to catch him off guard. Merlin did not let it faze him as he took the seat the headmaster offered him. “I’m far too old to stand on ceremony.”
Inwardly, Merlin laughed. Albus thought he was old? He wondered what the wizard would have said if he knew the centuries that lurked between the younger-looking man’s eyes. “Emrys, then.”
“Oh?” Albus said nothing further, seemingly content to wait for Merlin to fill in the blanks on his own. A little blatant – he was no Slytherin, as the wizards of this age would say, no matter how sharp his mind was – but Merlin had no intention of hiding more than he absolutely had to.
Merlin could assume dozens of aliases within a single century, but he always preferred being referred to by one of his actual names. ‘Merlin’ was practically out of the question these days, but Emrys… he had taken great care to ensure that there were few records left connecting it to Camelot, let alone Merlin himself. Besides, he was going to be in contact with a lot of sharp people and he had not used ‘Aquila’ before – considering his students would all be addressing him as Emrys, he was worried he would not be able to react naturally to his supposed first name.
That was all assuming he was actually going to get the job, of course, but somehow Merlin didn’t think that was going to be a problem. He knew that Albus still needed a temporary Care professor, after all, and a little spying in the Ministry told him that having someone as a backup for Defence would be useful too.
Fortunately, he had become better at cover stories over the centuries. Necessity bred competence. And the best lies were always half true.
Scrunching his nose up, Merlin explained, “Even when I was young, I always thought that ‘Aquila’ sounds like a pretentious prat. Turns out so did the other kids, and I got teased for it a lot. Considering I wasn’t fond of it, I tried going by my surname and got used to it. I moved around a lot after my family died and always introduced myself as Emrys; it’s been years since I’ve gone by my first name.”
Albus have him a grandfatherly look. “Ah, the foibles of youth. Aquila is an usual name, certainly, but an intriguing one. It means eagle, does it not? Which reminds me… I was most surprised to receive a letter via falcon.”
Merlin smiled. “My apologies for Fiacre’s unusual personality. Unfortunately, he gets jealous when I use owls.”
“Not at all, nothing to apologise for. Though Fawkes was most put out; I’m afraid he’s rather vain.”
“Fawkes?” Merlin asked politely. He felt a surge of magic seconds before a column of fire appeared behind the headmaster’s desk and did not flinch as a bird swooped out of it. He had not seen a phoenix in decades, and he smiled a little giddily as their magic brushed together.
This one let out a few chiming notes, and Merlin completely ignored Albus’s piercing interest as the smile spread across his face. This was a test he could definitely pass; like him, phoenixes could sense twisted magic and their song was painful to such wizards. Merlin had never had a problem with them – quite the opposite, actually.
As he watched, the bird’s eyes actually widened as it felt his aura. All creatures of magic could sense Magic Incarnate, and it quickly descended to its perch before it fell out of the sky in shock. The second Albus took his eyes off it, the creature bowed its head. “Emrys,” it – he – projected.
Pheonixes could not speak normally, but they were just as intelligent as the new breed of dragons. They could usually convey a few words in mind-speech just as modern dragons sometimes spoke a few words of dragon-tongue.
“Fawkes,” he mentally acknowledged, dipping his head in return. “I suppose he has reason to be vain,” Merlin said aloud, remembering their conversation. “Phoenixes are beautiful creatures, and very proud.”
“You’ve seen one before?”
“Mm, I travel a lot. There are a few wild flocks in the Amazon rainforest.” And they were mother hens, not that he would ever mention that.
He had never quite grown out of his notorious clumsiness, and when he had tripped and fallen into a particularly nasty section of poisonous plants… it was not as if he could die, but there had practically been a flurry as they had all fought over who would cry on him. In the end he had healed himself, and then spent the next week soothing their ruffled feathers instead of allowing them to squabble over which of them had driven him away.
“Really?” Albus asked, looking intrigued. “I’ve heard rumours, of course, but you’ve actually been?”
“It was a fascinating trip,” Merlin remembered, eyes sparkling brightly. The Amazon was one of the few places left mostly untouched by modern times, and communing with the magic of the world had been wonderful. “So many beautiful animals, and the magic there was truly something to behold.”
Whatever the headmaster had been expecting him to let slip, it was not that. A startled blink slipped past his composure as he said, “You can sense magic? That is… a rare gift.” And usually came along with a matching power reservoir.
Always the anomaly, Merlin fought his grimace. Honestly, as Magic Incarnate it would have been strange if he couldn’t sense it around him. He hummed in absent agreement, acting like he didn’t see it as any big deal.
“Do you have a particular affinity for magical creatures?” the headmaster asked mildly.
Mischief dancing in his heart, Merlin agreed, “You could say that, yes. For dragons in particular.”
“Your letter said that you spent some time at a dragon sanctuary,” Albus mused, gesturing to a familiar piece of parchment on the desk in front of him.
“That’s right. They like me. It’s a family talent.”
The headmaster gave him a peculiar look, probably at how agreeable he was being without actually saying much of consequence. He had probably never come across someone like Merlin before, but hey, if he had not developed a bit of a quirky personality over the centuries then he’d never have stayed as (relatively) sane as he had.
Albus cleared his throat, as if reminding them both that this was still a job interview, and said, “Well, it’s clear that you have ample experience to draw from in Care of Magical Creatures at the very least. Moving away from that now, however, I would like to discern whether or not you might fit in well with the rest of the staff. I am sure that you have heard the rumours in the Daily Prophet and so I must ask you, why apply for a position now?”
At last, Merlin’s smile faded as he rearranged his expression into something more serious. “As I said in my letter, I’ve only just returned to the British Isles, or I’d likely have applied before. But I don’t put much stock in what the Daily Prophet says; the Wizarding World could learn a lot from the non-magicals about accurate reporting and libel laws.”
“You believe that Voldemort has returned?”
Merlin did not flinch. In all honesty, the name ‘Arthur’ would have had more impact on him than whoever happened to currently be claiming the title of Dark Lord. Though he did think that the name thing was ridiculous – what kind of person went to great pains to come up with an overly fancy nickname (honestly, Flight From Death? Merlin was claiming Aquila was pretentious!) only to make a point of terrifying people into never using it? It made no sense.
Maybe that was a dark wizard thing? Morgana had never made much sense either, considering her claims that she was the rightful ruler despite being illegitimate, female, and younger than Arthur. She had done the snake thing too. And the not-dying-when-she-really-should thing.
Wow. Did Voldemort have a role model?
Ahem. Back to the conversation. “I have no proof, but yes. I believe so.”
“And Harry Potter?” Albus enquired, his voice perhaps even more intent than when discussing Voldemort.
“I met him once,” Merlin mused, then made an abrupt decision. “I attended the Quidditch World Cup last year, and we ran into each other in the woods. The Dark Mark was cast not twenty feet from me. I knew then that the war was not over, and began to make my plans to return. I am not a coward, and this is my country.
“Harry Potter struck me as a good kid. Not someone who would lie about Voldemort’s resurrection. His friends too, which is often more of a measure. But I do not claim to know him well – it takes more than a first impression to truly know a person.”
“You are wise beyond your years,” Albus murmured, and Merlin grimaced. Even back in Camelot he had had a penchant for spouting occasional pieces of wisdom (otherwise known as knocking a semblance of sense into Arthur’s head), but he did not know about ‘beyond his years’ anymore. He was not really in his twenties, after all. “How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”
It was always difficult to tell with wizards. But there were too many ways for him to slip up if he gave an exact age, so this was one question he had no intention of answering. “How old do I look?” he asked, mildly curious.
He still did not know when he had stopped aging, whether it had been at Arthur’s death or before it, although he did suspect that it might have been when he had finally accepted all that he was – Emrys, Magic Incarnate, Immortal – in the Crystal Cave. It was difficult to mark the passing of years when you saw a face every day, especially when the face was your own. But that had been a different era, and the hardships he had gone through tended to make others see his features as somewhat older than the twenty-something he was physically.
Frowning slightly at the sidestep, Albus tilted his head to the side. “Late twenties, perhaps, though it is somewhat difficult to tell. You talk more maturely than you appear, and there is something in your eyes… with that and your resume in mind, I would have to guess at thirties. I would be most curious to know if I was correct.”
Allowing mischief to spread across his face, Merlin winked at him. “A magician never reveals his secrets. But something like that, yes.” If we are talking lifetimes rather than years, of course.
Unexpectedly Albus smiled, as if pleased that someone was not treating him like either a pariah or a paragon but like the human he was. “Not going to take pity on an old man?” Ha.
“Where would the fun be in that? But if you have dropped politics in favour of personal questions, I would like to request that you put me out of my misery and let me know if there are actually any positions available at Hogwarts or whether we’re instead just going to have a delightful chat. Because if this is a chat, then I feel honour-bound to let you know that I am trying very hard to hold back on the sarcasm here.”
“Yes, there is quite definitely something different about you, Emrys,” Albus murmured, quietly enough that he could have been talking to himself. Then he cleared his throat again, looking vaguely embarrassed, and returned to a more conversational volume.
“Whilst I am glad that you are feeling more comfortable with me, I suppose even an old man like me must get to the point eventually.” Merlin grinned sheepishly, though he was not really embarrassed. Blatantly asking an elderly wizard to get to the point wasn’t so out-of-character for him. “As it happens, there is a position available, though it is unfortunately a temporary one.”
He examined Merlin’s reaction to that and seemed surprised when the younger-looking man only nodded for him to go on. Looking pleased, he continued, “Our Care of Magical Creatures professor is currently taking some time away. He is not due to return until a month, perhaps two, into term. From what you have told me, magical creatures seem to be your area of expertise.”
Merlin smiled wryly. Magic was his area of expertise, but it was true that he had played the creatures side of it up. He had been scrying Albus when he had sent Hagrid off to the giants (and had checked again before sending the letter; Hagrid’s mission was not going well but the man was too stubborn and loved dangerous creatures too much to admit defeat just yet).
“Truth be told, my travels have made me pretty fluent in most fields of magic. But yes, I’ve always loved magical creatures, so that sounds about right.”
“So you’d be interested in taking up the post? Even if it’s only temporary?”
Merlin shrugged. “It beats sitting around the house annoying Sygni and Fiacre. And it would be nice to be around students again. I asked you for a job, remember? I can hardly complain if you have competent professors already.”
If he had not already known about the Ministry-mandated defence appointment, Merlin probably would not have understood Albus’s slight wince. “Yes, well.” Scratching his beard, he changed the subject. “Who might Sygni be?”
Somehow, he did not think that the truth – the dragon I stole from the Romanian sanctuary – would be appreciated here. “Another familiar of a kind.” He gestured to Fawkes. “She’s a little difficult to describe. But she should be fine at home so long as I can check on her every few days.”
It would be more often than that, but it wasn’t as if anyone would be able to tell that he could Transport through the wards. “Is she dangerous?” Albus asked, his own eyes twinkling with mischief that reminded Merlin of himself after using an aging spell. In fact, now that he was looking for it Albus looked remarkably similar to his elderly form. He and ‘Dragoon’ could have been twins.
“Is Fawkes?” Merlin countered. “She can defend herself, but she listens to me. Most of the time. And she would never attack anyone unless provoked.”
“In that case, I don’t see any reason why you can’t bring her with you,” Albus suggested, and Merlin raised an eyebrow the way he had learned from Gaius. The headmaster did not even know what Signe was. “Call it an old man’s curiosity. Besides, it’s not so unusual for a Care of Magical Creatures professor to have exotic pets.”
Sensing a story, Merlin’s own eyes gleamed. “Do tell.”
Smiling benevolently, Albus revealed, “Hagrid, our ordinary professor, has a tendency to see anything large and dangerous like a misunderstood puppy. His pets ranged from a Cerberus to several hypogriffs, and he was the one to tame our thestral herd. There are even rumours that he hatched a dragon egg.”
Whilst he was telling the story, Albus had to remind himself that he did not know the young man before him even if his presence was strangely relaxing. He had always prided himself on being a good judge of character and nothing about Aquila Emrys had come across as hostile or particularly suspicious. It was just a little odd that he was treating him like he would Minerva, a trusted friend who had seen as much of the world as he had, when he was usually so much more cautious.
On Merlin’s part, he saw the twinkle in deep blue eyes and knew that the headmaster knew for certain that there had been a dragon egg but was denying it to keep Hagrid out of trouble. That only made him smile – for one because Albus clearly cared for his friend and by proxy the dragon as well, but also because it made him wonder what his face was going to be like when Merlin introduced Sygni.
And there was no doubt that he was going to bring the young dragon, because if she found out that she had been allowed and he had chosen not to tell her then he would never hear the end of it. She might not speak human words the way Kilgharrah had, but she still had very clear ways of getting her point across.
“In which case I’ll be sure to introduce you,” Merlin announced. “And I think I’d like to meet Hagrid. He sounds like an extraordinary man.”
“Excellent,” Albus beamed. “I’m sure he’d be interested in meeting you too. Term starts on September the first, and I’ll send you the details a little closer to the time, so you can arrive before the students. Do you have any preferences for living quarters?”
“No, thank you, I’m not picky.” He had lived practically everywhere over his time, and considering he had started out sharing a one-room hut with his mother… it might not have been glamourous, but that hut remained one of his favourite homes. His mother had made it a place of warmth and light, a place where he could be himself – be Magic – in a way that he could not in the rest of Ealdor (or anywhere else in the Five Kingdoms at the time).
Albus nodded. “Depending on how the first few months go, I might be able to keep you on once Hagrid returns as a kind of teaching assistant, if you would be interested in that. I have a near perpetual problem with the Defence position, as it’s widely considered to be cursed, and it’s always awkward whenever a teacher falls ill. Judging by your NEWT scores, you could be a great aid to the school, and I’m sure Hagrid could use a spare wand in his more, ah, interesting classes.”
Just hearing about the creatures that Hagrid gravitated towards as pets, Merlin could imagine that having another person keeping an eye on that class might be a very good idea.
It was not enough to love magical creatures – you had to respect them. Not even Emrys had the love of all creatures. He still remembered those that had loved to terrorise Camelot (the griffin in particular came to mind) and winced as he imagined someone trying to tame those.
Not that it was possible anymore. Like a lot of the more hostile creatures, it had been a case of adapt or die out for griffins. Sadly, they had mostly done the latter, only distant cousins (the hippogriffs Albus had mentioned) surviving to the modern day.
Hearing everything the headmaster wasn’t saying, Merlin dipped his head. “It would be my honour, professor. The castle… it feels… well, I suppose you can feel magic too. There are very few places that feel like Hogwarts.” And if there was going to be a fight against Voldemort, the school would be in the thick of it.
Merlin did not approve of roping children into the fighting, and hated that he knew that it was inevitable. But if he was here, he could do his part in keeping it away from the majority of the students – the ones who still had a choice.
As a Child of Prophecy, Harry was not one of them. But Merlin would do his best anyway.
“Yes, it’s a very unique place,” Albus said, a fond smile nearly concealed under his beard. “And we’ll be glad to have you.”
That was his cue to leave. “I suppose I’ll get out of your hair. It was a pleasure to meet you, Albus, and I’ll see you in September.”