Not Quite September
I’ll see you in September. Merlin almost snorted. Yeah, like his life was ever that simple.
Back in Camelot he had always thought that it was Arthur who was the bad luck charm, who couldn’t leave his nice warm bedchamber without attracting assassins or bandits or vengeful sorcerers. After his death, though, Merlin had been forced to acknowledge that at least a part of it had to have been him, too.
Not all of it! Definitely not. The prat was definitely to blame for a lot of it, especially when he insisted on going to stupid place like the Valley of the Fallen Kings even when Merlin warned him that it was a bad idea.
Ahem. Not that he’d ever been frustrated about that at all. Merlin? Frustrated at His Majesty? Of course not. That was utterly ludicrous.
Anyway, since said prat was taking his sweet time, Merlin had to acknowledge that he was also something of a trouble magnet. Despite the occasional tree dropping on Old Man Simmons’ hut and the ever-present background fear of execution, his pre-Camelot life had been pretty simple. After it, however... it was like actively using his magic had prompted it to guide him into danger.
It was only a few weeks after his ‘interview’ (such a polite word for interrogation; wasn’t New English a fascinating language?) that Merlin ventured to Diagon Alley, mostly out of boredom. Although Syg and Fi did their best, there was only so much time he could spend in one place before he started getting twitchy.
No one had ever told him immortality could be so boring. Still, he had a feeling that, whatever else happened, Hogwarts would be a great cure for boredom. He just had to keep his sanity alive until he got there. What remained of it, anyway, because no one could live over a thousand years without picking up a couple of unhealthy habits.
The dragon and the hawk were very entertaining, but they were also beginning to drive him up the wall. That was why he had come out today, figuring that he needed some actual human company, and considering that he was about to take on being a teacher he had ventured into Diagon Alley to do some acclimatising.
The first thing he had done had been to sit outside the ice cream parlour for over an hour in order to accustom himself to hearing English rather than Romanian, dragon-tongue or Old Brythonic (his first language, and the one that he still tended to use when he was alone. It came in handy whenever someone tried to snoop through his brain because practically no one understood it anymore.)
He had also needed to get used to hearing his birth name used as an exclamation again. If Arthur ever did come back, Merlin already knew that he was going to be given hell for that one.
Then again, had the prat still been around then he would probably have started the trend, considering the amount of times ‘Merlin’ had echoed around Camelot in that particularly annoyed tone of voice Arthur reserved just for him.
The memories brought a fond smile to his face. He didn’t really begrudge the Wizarding World their use of the name – once he had gotten used to it, he could see the funny side, especially as it practically gave him his own private joke. Besides, it was far better than the bowing and scraping his other true name had always caused amongst the druids.
Once he figured that he had acclimatised enough that he wasn’t going to jump and give out hints every time someone gave an idle exclamation (and had indulged in muttering a few himself, grinning gleefully like a naughty child at the utter absurdity), he took to wandering around the alley.
He avoided Gringotts, considering he didn’t want to make a scene so soon – goblins never respected wizards but they revered Emrys, who had fought for their rights against wand-wielders and ensured that the banks would be their sovereign territory. It was practically a joke that the wizards ‘entrusted’ their gold to them, since technically speaking the goblins could seize it at any time. They had all delighted in that little loophole once Merlin had revealed he was leaving it in, and sworn that the warlock would always have a place among them.
They were so much more agreeable than the goblin-sprite he’d dealt with in Camelot. They were fierce warriors and he respected them for it. He would have compared them very much to Knights of ages past if they had not been so gleefully ruthless. They had their own code of honour, of course, but it was certainly not a human one.
Making plans to sneak back in and talk to them later (he was going to get paid for being a professor, after all, and he wasn’t sure if he was going to keep it, dump it in his normal vault (which the goblins had sworn was his in perpetuity no matter how much of a mess the wizarding world became) or create a new one for ‘Aquila Emrys’), he’d done a little window-shopping, spending an especially long time in the apothecary whilst avoiding Magical Menagerie entirely, and then rapidly run out of things to do.
Compared to the non-magical side of London, Diagon Alley was tiny. You could walk every inch within half an hour, including Knockturn.
Not ready to return to the manor in Scotland and deal with the two overgrown babies who’d probably wrecked the place by now, Merlin instead exited (by the Knockturn entrance, considering that the Leaky Cauldron was monitored by both the bartender and the Ministry and old habits died hard) and took a stroll through London.
Compared to the wizarding world, so small and secular now, there were so many people on the streets of non-magical London that Merlin actually found himself relaxing, just another face in the crowd. Anonymity had, after all, long been one of his greatest allies. He roamed up and down, ever-young feet practically tireless, occasionally pausing to examine a strange shopfront or chat with a friendly stranger.
The hours passed quickly, for Merlin would never fail to be fascinated by how far the world had come. It was only a shame that they had forgotten so much – the truth of Camelot, the existence of sorcery, the mistakes of the past. How beautiful the world had been before so much of it had been shut away behind concrete and stone.
He loved to see cities, but he could never live in one. He was Magic Incarnate, and though there was magic in everything it was almost always stronger in nature, and hence Merlin found himself more comfortable there. Magic had been woven into every stone in Camelot, despite Uther’s blood-splattered Purge, but then Camelot had been special.
Then he wandered into a street that was strangely deserted, and the back of his neck – where the scar from the Formorah still rested – tingled.
Wary blue eyes darted around, taking in the way the street was utterly clear of witnesses. He’d felt a slight coolness on his skin, but what he had mistaken for a breeze must have been Muggle-Repelling Wards, perhaps even Wizard-Repelling ones too. Mentally grumbling at his old luck rearing his head again, he reminded himself that he was a ‘wizard’ today and reached for the stick he’d stuck in a back pocket.
It leaped helpfully into his hand, and he had to resist the urge to glare at it. Not another inanimate object his magic had decided to play with. Honestly, animate a statue one time and suddenly his magic was all about giving mundane things personalities.
Wands were no exception. He had to replace them every other month, as that was about the amount of time it took before they started to act up as his magic tampered with theirs, and so he had become something of a wandmaker out of necessity. There was also the fact that he almost exclusively used his own hair for a core, as that prevented the unfortunate side effect that he had on magical creature cores which tended to explode at inconvenient times.
Not to mention that it had taken him ages to get the hang of using a wand. It had been an embarrassing three months before he had finally realised that they took the magic of the caster and magnified it, since sorcerers had become weaker with the assault on the natural world. When they tried that with Merlin... well, the effects tended to be overpowered. Enough so that no spell had been recognisable.
Bloody sticks. Vastly overrated things. Anyway, he had sorted it out, holding back his power until it felt like he was barely doing anything and at last the spells came out semi-properly.
He had had centuries to adjust to this new way of doing magic, but it was not the same. Not that that was necessarily bad, the two were just different. Like two ways of using the same energy – heat instead of light.
Unfortunately, he would admit that he was a teeny little bit prejudiced. He was made of Old magic, after all, and he had had centuries to get into the practice when he was actually young and malleable rather than just looking it. So his natural reaction was not to reach for the wand, and before he had the stick in hand his magic had already reacted, sending a pulse through the natural energy of the world around him and reporting back that there were seven wizards in the vicinity, one just leaving his house and the other six with auras snarled and twisted by a perverted version of a loyalty bond. Death Eaters, then. It told him exactly where they were, as well.
He sighed in exasperation. Apparently even his magic was against him having some fun. And yes, this might have qualified as fun, because it had been forever since he had had been challenged even a tiny bit. Figuring out a way to infiltrate Hogwarts might have been diverting, but to someone who had taught there on several occasions and even been a student thrice it wasn’t exactly a challenge.
He was so caught up in being annoyed that he now knew exactly where they were and thus was denied the adrenaline rush of an ambush that he almost missed the start. But he had his glorified twig in his hand now, so at least that was something.
The one wizard who wasn’t a death eater seemed to be none the wiser to the choking tension in the street. He left Number 2 almost casually, and Merlin gave him an idle glance, trying to see what made him a target. By almost all senses he was entirely unremarkable; a plain face underneath a thatch of yellow hair, the thin layer of soft fat that accompanied practically everyone in the modern day (especially wizards, considering their general aversion to exercise – Arthur had thought he was lazy. Ha!), and ordinary muggle clothing.
Merlin blinked and then re-evaluated. Actually, that wasn’t quite normal for most of the sadly-out-of-touch British magicals these days, but it wasn’t precisely unusual either.
In fact, the blonde could have passed for a muggle easily (though then he’d really question the competence of the half-dozen death eaters sent on whatever this was) had it not been for the fact that Merlin had felt his magic through his almost unconscious identity-pulse. On the strong side, as far as modern wizards went, but not so much so to be out of the ordinary.
That was when he recognised the face at last, from his spy-scrying on Dumbledore. This was one of his vigilantes – a member of what they called the Order of the Phoenix. Probably from the last war, if he’d read the furious glares right.
The man (Sturgis, he thought he’d been addressed as in the meeting he’d totally not eavesdropped on) locked his door the non-magical way, then, glancing up the street, gave it a tap with his wand for good measure.
The tension thickened. The death eaters would almost certainly want to wait until their chosen victim put his wand away so that he’d have no chance to defend himself, but this was the first time he’d actually looked around him. There weren’t any people, and there should have been. If he noticed, his attackers would lose the element of surprise anyway.
Unfortunately, not everyone ran around with a bunch of oblivious knights who attracted bandits like bees to particularly irritating honey, and so not everyone was as highly tuned to ambush as Merlin was. Sturgis made it almost halfway down the street and was almost level with the death eaters before he realised that the street being absolutely deserted at five o’clock on a weekday was not normal.
The lone wizard tensed, reaching for his wand, and all hell broke loose.
The death eaters were clearly infuriated that Sturgis had not stayed oblivious for five more seconds so that they could take advantage of it (never mind that they should probably have been closer to Number 2 in the first place) and hit him with a barrage of curses. Thankfully, he had managed to reach his wand in time and got a shield up, considering Merlin was still daydreaming, but the protection was flimsy at best. Six-on-one were not good odds for anyone but Merlin.
Sturgis was flicking his wand frantically, but he could do no more than desperately reinforce his shield because the death eaters didn’t give him a spare moment to counter attack. Their victim was good, though a bit out of practice, but they were starting to surround him and he couldn’t watch in every direction at once.
Merlin noticed the major flaw in his defence – he was only shielding for magic – only a second before the attackers did, and despite the pureblood superiority they claimed to support it appeared that one of them had no qualms about taking advantage of that. He practically pounced on the man, face lit with savage glee. The sun hit silvery scars on the side of his face and Merlin re-evaluated the twisting of that one’s magic. Werewolf. Huh.
That meant that Merlin didn’t have to be too careful about not injuring him – wolves were hardy creatures. Just as Sturgis’s eyes widened in sudden terror as he caught the movement, his unexpected ally stepped in.
Flipendo, Merlin thought, scrabbling for the clumsy Latin spells. Magic answered. A jet of white light hissed out of the end of his wand and blasted the attacking death eater back so violently that he slammed into a building clear across the street and slumped to the ground in a grim parody of Morgana’s long-ago favourite spell. Simultaneously, the wand grew hot in his hand and he winced. Too much magic.
The Prophesised Emrys, greatest sorcerer ever to live, well over a thousand years old, and I still can’t get that right first time.
He shrugged philosophically. Sturgis didn’t look like he was complaining, the werewolf was in no position to and the rest of his comrades were otherwise occupied gaping at Merlin.
Happily, Sturgis recovered first, sending him a grateful nod before taking full advantage of said gaping by sending a flare of red at one of the distracted death eaters.
It connected, though unfortunately it also snapped the other death eaters back to the fight, and Merlin rolled his eyes as one of them immediately headed for their fallen comrade. Even a student could have recognised the spell as a basic Stunner which could be reversed by a single renervate. Considering it was six (five, now) against one, he would have thought Sturgis might use something a little stronger. Something without a widely-known counter curse, at least. There were any number of prank spells that were actually spectacularly suited to combat, and the uninventive could always go for Merlin’s old staple of dropping something on their heads.
Which reminds me… with another deliberate thought (and a tight grip on his own power this time), he conjured an oversized tree branch over the would-be-reviver’s head. For old time’s sake.
The wizard never knew what hit him as he joined his comrade in blissful unconsciousness, and just to be sure Merlin sent two of his own Stunners in their direction, this time not as careful about his power.
Thankfully his wand didn’t decide to blow up, barely even changing temperature, and he grinned triumphantly. Overpowered spells were fun. He’d like to see the death eaters try to revive them now.
There were only three of them left, and panic was beginning to leak through their eagerness for battle. They’d expected an easy raid and instead they were faced with Merlin himself, not that they knew it.
He almost felt sorry for them.
One of the remaining trio was stuck engaging Sturgis in a one-on-one duel. Their once-upon-a-time victim had recovered well and was at least holding his own, managing to fire a few of his own spells back as well as keeping up an impressive shield. Defence was obviously his forte, considering his attacking spells had the kind of washed-out look that he recognised as under-powering but his shield never once wavered.
Having seen him deal with two of their number already – nonverbally, no less – the other two death eaters had clearly decided that he was the bigger threat and were firing at him. Merlin swatted their spells almost casually out of the air, eyes gleaming even as panic grew on their faces.
He wasn’t going to kill them – even after all this time, he still hated killing – but he had not been in a magical firefight in a very long time and he had forgotten how good it felt, to stretch and test his magic. It had not been until he had started duelling properly, long after Camelot, that he had understood Arthur’s fascination with sword practice and tourneys; there was nothing quite like doing something that came so naturally to you, nothing that made you feel quite so alive as dancing with death and knowing you were a master.
Unfortunately, the would-be raiders’ spellcasting was sloppy at best and their teamwork nearly non-existent, and so it was difficult to even pretend that they were a challenge. Merlin had never particularly enjoyed playing with people. That was something else the prat had passed on, the warlock reckoned; Arthur had always had more of a sense of fair play than was good for him. And that was irritating, because practically no one was a match for Merlin at magic.
At the first opportunity (which came along about half a second later; they had a good variety of curses but apparently neither of them could manage a shield charm) he returned his own spell. “Stupefy duo,” he cast almost lazily. It was a variation of the Stunning spell that had fallen out of use two or three centuries ago because it was too unpredictable for most people.
Neither of his opponents were expecting him to so suddenly switch to offence, and neither were they expecting a single spell to split abruptly into two beams of light (modern magic was irritatingly flashy). The spell did not specify control of their path, but Emrys was Magic Incarnate and with a slight nudge of will both halves of the spell unerringly sought out their targets.
The one on the left managed to yelp, “Protego!” but his shield was like cracked glass and the red light sheared straight through it. His expression froze into startled incredulity as he slumped to the ground, whilst the other hadn’t managed to shield at all and also collapsed.
Distracted by the panic in their voices and the twin thumps behind him, Sturgis’s opponent flinched and gave Merlin’s ally the chance to send a stream of red light directly at his head.
Eyes wide, the death eater dived to the ground rather than try and shield, and as the beam passed just over his head squeaked out, “Retreat!”
Raising an incredulous eyebrow at what that was supposed to do (the others were all unconscious), Merlin was about to say something incredibly sarcastic when all six of the death eaters vanished in a swirl of multicoloured lights.
Right, portkeys. Oops. Merlin cursed in his head. He knew he had forgotten something. Oh well, there would always be next time.
Shaking his head at his own carelessness, he turned around to find Sturgis sat on the ground, his legs having either collapsed from the strain of using so much magic or having been cursed somehow. His breath was coming in heaving pants, but his wand remained steady, knuckles white on the handle. He stared as Merlin slowly advanced towards him, his own wand lowered in a distinctly unthreatening position. “Are you alright?”
“Who are you?” Sturgis demanded, though his voice was not quite as hostile as he might have intended. Merlin had just saved him, after all.
Quickly reminding himself that the two of them had never technically met and using his name would be highly suspicious, Merlin answered, “My name’s Emrys.” One of them, anyway. “Did they manage to hit you with anything?”
The blonde shook his head. “No… no, I’m alright. I’m Sturgis, by the way, Sturgis Podmore.”
“Nice to meet you, though I’d rather it be in different circumstances.”
“Yes, about that… thank you for the help. Really, I’m grateful, but… why?”
Shrugging, Merlin said, “I was wandering around and realised that it was extremely suspicious that there was a random street that absolutely everyone was avoiding. It’s rush hour in London; there should be people everywhere. I’ve always been more curious than cautious, so I investigated. Six against one didn’t seem like very fair odds; I thought I would give you a hand.”
He did not mention that his opponents were death eaters – there was no way he should have been able to identify them as such, after all.
Sturgis frowned a little; it seemed far too convenient for someone just to be strolling by at the same time as a death eater attack, but for once in his life Merlin was actually telling the truth. Unless destiny was nudging events again (which was, unfortunately, always a possibility), his intervention had been a complete coincidence.
After a few seconds, even the Order member accepted that. “In which case, thank you again.”
“Do you know why they were attacking you?” Merlin asked, reaching out a hand to help the man to his feet. Sturgis took it almost without hesitating, his grip on his wand finally relaxing a little.
“I – ah.” He looked very uncomfortable. “Do you believe… I mean…”
Realising what he was trying to imply (that the wizarding world were all ostriches – perfectly happy to bury their heads in the sand), Merlin gave him a tired smile. “I believe that a six-on-one attack by five dark wizards and a werewolf might imply that they were death eaters. Unfortunately, I didn’t see any dark marks, but I would hope that this is certainly not a normal occurrence in England.” He let just a tiny hint of accent into his words to back them up.
Sturgis let out a breath of what sounded like relief. “You’re not from here?”
“I was born here, but I’ve spent a lot of time travelling the world and only recently returned and got a regular job. Truth be told, I heard the whispers and decided that one more wand might be of use.”
Being decidedly less suspicious than Albus Dumbledore, the blonde-haired wizard accepted that at face value. “I fought in the last war,” he confided. “Did quite a bit of damage. Like last time, people are starting to disappear, but…”
“You never imagined you’d be one of them,” Merlin completed for him, quiet understanding in his voice. He had fought in dozens of wars over the years and was well equated with such experiences.
“Exactly,” Sturgis confessed, shoulders sagging a little in exhaustion.
Merlin only nodded. “Do you have somewhere to go? You shouldn’t be alone right now.”
“I-I’m supposed to be on my way to work. I have a night shift at the Ministry.”
Firmly, Merlin shook his head. “No. Definitely not. You’ve just been attacked, that’s the last thing you need right now. Call in sick, then let your people know what happened – don’t look at me like that, I’m not an idiot – and spend some time calming down. You’ll be alright.”
The man was nearly shaking as the adrenaline finally wore off; he was in no state to work right now. “R-right.” Sturgis swallowed. “Yeah. You’re right. I guess… it hasn’t really sunk in before. But Albus was right. He’s back; I think they just proved it.”
There was silence for a few moments as Merlin waited for Sturgis to compose himself. He couldn’t blame the man – it was horrible to have a threat you thought was taken care of come back to haunt you.
Then the blonde finally seemed to shake it off. He looked between Merlin and his door and asked awkwardly, “What about you? You got somewhere to be?”
Giving Sturgis a friendly smile, Merlin shook his head. “Nah. I’m basically just wandering around for a couple of months before term starts.”
“Term?” he asked, surprised.
“Mm. I contacted Hogwarts about possibly working as a teacher and it turns out they need someone to cover the Care of Magical Creatures position for a few months. I had an interview a few weeks ago and I’m all set to go on the first of September.”
“Oh! Sounds nice. Though I would have thought you were a bit…”
“Young?” Merlin suggested with an amused twinkle in his eyes. The comment was quite a bit more absurd than the man had probably intended, but even without knowing how truly ancient Merlin was Sturgis still had the grace to blush.
Being underestimated was nothing new to the warlock, however, so he just gave a self-deprecating chuckle, “I have quite a lot of world experience, considering I spent most of the past few decades hopping all over the place. And magical creatures seemed to like me. I spent a few years on a dragon reserve without getting burned to a crisp, so I must have done something right.”
“Sounds interesting.” The tension finally bleeding out of Sturgis’s shoulders. He gestured to his house, a relatively quaint three-story building considering they were still in London. “Do you want to come in? Get a cup of tea or something?”
“Sure.” The man should not be alone right now, and Merlin in no hurry to see what chaos Sygni and Fiacre had managed to wreak in his absence. Then again, some might say that he deserved it for being too lazy to turn the falcon back into a wooden statue.
They headed inside in companiable silence. Despite not knowing each other very well, there was nothing quite like a battle to draw people together, especially one against overwhelming odds. It was difficult not to trust someone who had fought at your back, after all; they had already been given the perfect opportunity to betray you.
True to his offer, Sturgis led him into a surprisingly modern kitchen, though magic had clearly replaced many of the muggle appliances, and bustled around brewing tea by hand. The ritual clearly calmed him down, and as he relaxed he enquired, “You seem quite calm about what just happened.”
“Like I said, I worked on a dragon reserve for a few years,” Merlin offered. He couldn’t exactly say that that was just what his life was like. “After that, people really aren’t that scary.”
“You seemed good at duelling, though. What was that spell you used at the end?”
“Variation of the Stunning spell. Stupefy duo. And I travelled the world before ending up at the sanctuary – the Amazon, the Himalayas, France. Not everyone’s friendly to a foreign wizard, so duelling’s part and parcel of travelling – and in the real world it’s not always one on one, either. Plus I, ah, might have a bit of a habit of poking my nose where I probably shouldn’t.” Old habits died hard, after all, and it made his immortal life interesting.
Sturgis looked a little fascinated, but there was a cunningness behind his eyes that would have made Merlin wary had he not known exactly where his mind was going. He was calculating the advantages to adding Merlin to Albus’s Order of the Phoenix. It would certainly make Merlin’s job a lot easier.
“Would you excuse me for just a second? I need to send a quick message.”
Merlin waved a hand. “I’m just the guest. But don’t be too surprised if you come back to find your biscuits missing.” He had glimpsed them in the top cupboard and become acutely aware that he had not eaten since the ice cream in Diagon Alley.
“Help yourself,” Sturgis offered, gesturing to the cupboard and closing the door behind him.
But Merlin did not go after the biscuits, no matter how much he loved the chocolate of modern times. As he had said, he was far too nosy for his own good and so Merlin let his eyes flare golden. “Cræftgian mîn hlêoðor.”
Instantly, his hearing began to sharpen as he drew on his magic until he could hear every one of Sturgis’s steps as he entered a room on the other side of the corridor. By the time the wizard called out “Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster’s Office, Hogwarts!”, it was as if Merlin was in the same room.
For a moment confusion creased the ancient warlock’s forehead before he abruptly remembered the strange way wizards liked to travel. He detested the floo. Walking into flames was still so wrong to him, seemed far too much like dismissing the past, and he sometimes forgot that modern wizards were incapable of the transportation method he had learned from Anhora. It was more comfortable than apparition and more convenient than any fireplace, but it did require an obscene amount of Old Magic.
Absent-mindedly fetching and munching on a biscuit (ooh, chocolate, had he said how much he adored that discovery already?), Merlin listened as Sturgis reported the attack, describing how the street had been deserted; six men had waited in ambush and ‘Emrys’ had saved his life.
Listening to Sturgis describing events, Merlin was still confused at just how badly Voldemort’s minions had screwed up a simple kidnap. Had they not put up the wards and simply blended in with the muggles, they could have had a wand (or a knife, even) at Sturgis’s back before he could ever react, concealed in a sleeve or loose fold of clothing. After that it would be a simple matter to knock him out, pretend to be a friend, and carry him back ‘home.’ A little magic and the door would open. Really, it would be so easy.
And no, Merlin had never done anything like that before. Not him. Nope.
But there had been six of them. And none of them had come up with anything better than ‘jump him in a deserted street?’ Just… why?
Oh yeah. Wizards had no common sense.
Then again, as a sorcerer in Camelot under Uther Pendragon, Merlin had had precious little sense himself, he mused. Back when he was young, and naïve, and… yeah, who was he kidding? He would do the exact same thing again in a heartbeat just to hear Arthur call him the idiot he was one more time.
Smiling wistfully, Merlin broke off that train of thought. Getting maudlin never helped anyone.
It turned out that he had concentrated back on his eavesdropping just in time.
“Do you think,” asked the face in the flames, “That it was all a bit too convenient?”
Embers popped and crackled as Sturgis hesitated. “No,” he said eventually. “I mean, yes, it was convenient, but I don’t think he had anything to do with it. The death eaters looked far too surprised for him to be working with them, and it’s true that the street was deserted which is unusual enough to catch someone’s interest. Emrys said he’d been working at a dragon reserve… I’d imagine fast reflexes and an awareness of danger are practically drilled into someone like that.”
A noncommittal hum.
“His story’s perfectly plausible, and I don’t think he was lying. I think he really was just at the right place at the right time. And I owe him my life, Albus. If he hadn’t been there, I’d be just another disappearance, you know it as well as I do. The Order can’t afford any more losses.” Another silence filled with crackling wood. “What did you think of him? He said he’d had an interview at Hogwarts – you must have met.”
“A most intriguing young man,” Albus prevaricated, and in the other room Merlin let out a low chuckle. Young man… it never failed to be amusing. “But yes, I confess that I have a similar opinion. He seemed genuine enough, and he stated his belief that Voldemort had returned and that he wanted to fight. But he didn’t seem to be looking for anything – didn’t ask about the Order. And he’s dangerous as a rogue card.”
“He’s powerful, then?”
“Sturgis, my dear boy, I think you already know that.”
Sturgis grunted. “Would be nice if you kept the rest of us in the loop occasionally. But yes, I think he’s powerful – and he can fight, which is more than I can say for a lot of people his age.”
Well, that was sort of true, Merlin thought wryly. Most people his age were nothing but dust in the ground by now.
“Do you want me to bring him in?” Sturgis asked, and Albus made another of those humming noises that meant that he was considering it. This time, however, the blonde waited him out.
Merlin fidgeted a little as he too waited. Just because he had had to learn patience at some point over the years did not mean that he liked it. He had always had problems with people controlling his life – Uther through fear, Kilgharrah through prophecy, bloody destiny always sticking its nose in with a burden he had never wanted.
Eventually, however, Albus broke the silence again. “Yes, I think we should. There is a meeting tonight. Sound him out, and if he still looks promising then by all means extend an invitation.”
“Headquarters, Albus? Are you sure?”
“He cannot betray the secret,” the vigilante leader assured him. “And I truly do not believe him to be one of Tom’s. He could be a staunch ally, but I got the feeling that he does not respond well to distrust. He was surprisingly open with me – I think it is time we displayed some openness back, don’t you?”
“You’ll get no argument from me,” Sturgis assured him. “He saved my life, and I have no qualms about admitting that. But you’d better be ready to justify this to the rest of them.”
Albus let out a heavy sigh. “Ah, the perils of being in charge. Not to worry, I will handle dear Alastor.”
And wasn’t that a name that pricked Merlin’s ears up. The first time he had heard it he had been intrigued, so similar to an old ally of his that he had looked the man up purely out of curiosity. The parallels had been startling enough to make him laugh – another powerful magic-user, another leader, another time. Alastor ‘Mad-Eye’ Moody was paranoid, but Merlin came from an era where paranoia was very much the norm.
Sturgis snorted and muttered, “Good luck with that.” Merlin got the impression that, though the retired auror was a damn good fighter and a brilliant resource for Albus’s Order, he wasn’t very well-liked by his fellow vigilantes. Respected, yes – because a man like Alastor Moody demanded respect – but not liked. Probably had no use for it, either.
“Until tonight, then, Albus.”
“I am glad that you are safe, Sturgis,” the leader of the Order of the Phoenix stated quietly. “Please take care.”
Merlin almost felt the presence in the fire leave. Not wanting to be deafened whenever Sturgis returned, he released his hold on his own magic and let the spell fade away before absently picking up another biscuit. Munching on it, he amused by himself spinning his wand through his fingers, the whirling movements oddly graceful.
It was the kind of thing he had seen Gwaine do a thousand times with a dagger, and it was oddly mesmerising. So much so that he was actually genuinely startled to look up and find Sturgis watching him, also seemingly entranced by the idle pattern.
That, of course, made Merlin lose all concentration and the stick fumbled out of his grip and onto the floor. Merlin rolled his eyes at it, firmly yanking at his own inner magic to make sure he wasn’t giving inanimate pieces of wood attitudes again.
He bent down and scooped it up, sending a small smile at Sturgis as if he hadn’t been listening to his conversation. “Everything alright?”
“Yeah,” the man nodded, looking a little nervous. “Emrys... did you mean what you said earlier? That... that one more wand might be of use?”
“Of course.” Merlin’s back straightened. “I have no interest in sitting back and watching fear crawl its way back into this country. I don’t like bullies and I’ve never been able to sit back and let atrocities be committed, no matter how much sense it might have made to stay out of it. But, most of all, I cannot allow monsters who go after children to roam unchecked, nor abandon those same children to do all the fighting.”
He wasn’t an idiot; he could read between the lines and the whispers in the press. The way all of Britain were going to rely on Harry Potter to solve their Dark Lord problem when he was barely even grown. The way it had been up to him already, if what he’d guessed so far was accurate.
Sturgis let out a breath of what sounded like relief. “You have no stake in this war, though. You weren’t even in the country until recently.”
Merlin shrugged. “If everyone had that attitude, then no one would ever fight until everything they loved crumbled around them. It is everybody’s responsibility to stand up against tyrants if they wish to live in peace.” Arthur had taught him that, all the way back to simpler times in Ealdor when ordinary village folk had stood up to armed, trained bandits because someone had been willing to say no.
“It’s dangerous,” Sturgis hedged, and Merlin laughed lightly.
"With what I just did, I have very little doubt that I’ve already painted a target on my back. I doubt I can make it much worse.” Though that’s a challenge if I ever heard one, his subconscious chirped in a voice that was unnervingly similar to Gwaine’s. Had his self-preservation instincts really fallen so far? Avalon, immortality was making him reckless.
“You could leave again.”
“I am not a coward. Even if I have to fight alone, I could not live with myself if I did not do something.”
He could see the exact moment Sturgis made the decision, and fought the urge to smile. Every word he had spoken had been the truth... but he couldn’t deny that he had been so open only because he had heard what Albus had said about recruitment. Secrets had saved his life several times over, and despite himself Merlin had learned a thing or two since he had stood up to the Prince of Camelot. Sometimes it was better to keep your mouth shut and your head down, and Merlin had become good at recognising those moments.
Of course, half the time he ignored them and spoke up anyway, but it was the thought that counted. Or something like that.
“You don’t. Have to fight alone.” Although Sturgis looked at least a decade his senior, there was an undeniable nervousness as he interlaced his fingers, squeezing hard enough that the blood fled and he almost heard bone crack. “Have you heard of an organisation called the Order of the Phoenix?”
It was supposed to be a secret organisation, but it had been something of an open secret during the last war. It had ceased to have any semblance of secrecy at all with the amount of spying Merlin had done over the last few months, but they didn’t need to know that.
“Once or twice,” he decided. “Whispers, word of mouth.”
Unsurprised, Sturgis nodded. “It’s an organisation formed during the last war in order to coordinate the fight against You-Know-Who.” Wary eyes examined Merlin’s reaction, but the immortal youth just gestured for him to continue. “I was a member, during the first war.”
“And it’s started back up again, which is why you were attacked.” Merlin finished, finally deciding to put him out of his misery.
“Yes.” Sturgis cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. “It was created by Albus Dumbledore, and he’s convinced that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned. After what’s just happened, well, I’m inclined to agree with him.”
Merlin repressed a sigh. He thought that they’d already been over this. “I’ve already told you I believe him,” he chided gently. “There’s no need to look at me as if I’m going to snap and start cursing you for it.”
“Sorry,” Sturgis muttered. “It’s just... well, I work at the Ministry, and their pretty adamant in saying the exact opposite. Anything that smells of Albus or the Potter kid is dangerous to anyone who wants to keep their job.”
“I understand,” Merlin said, and he did. “But they’re not here now. Did you need to tell me something about the Order?”
“I told them about you,” he muttered, looking a bit ashamed, then relieved when Merlin didn’t seem offended. “I’m sorry.”
“I assumed that that was where you had gone,” he said simply, and Sturgis blushed.
“Right, well. I was just talking to Albus, and, well... we were wondering if you would like to join.”
Finally. Merlin did not leap at the chance, however – if he was going to work with them, it was going to have to be a compromise; he would not dance to their every whim, because there were some things they did not need to know. He had absolutely no interest in being outed to the wizarding world as the real Merlin.
If he managed to scrounge up enough trust, he might eventually confide in those he managed to befriend, but he had his reasons for staying under the radar. He had no desire for the spotlight. He never had.
“I think,” he said slowly, “That I would like to meet them first. I am more than prepared to stand up against Voldemort,” and oh, that habit of flinching at the name was going to be irritating, even as he scrunched his own nose up at the ridiculousness of the moniker, “But I can’t work with people I don’t trust.”
“That’s fair enough,” Sturgis acknowledged. And it was – more than fair. He knew nothing about them, had nothing but a stranger he had stepped into save and the mention of the name of his new employer. And whilst Albus Dumbledore’s name alone had once been a currency all of its own, the Ministry had done all they could to make sure that it was the exact opposite lately. “There’s a meeting tonight. If you want to come.”
“Sounds like fun.”
No, no it did not. A bunch of suspicious fighters fighting a secret war suddenly flung together with a powerful warlock that none of them had ever heard of. Not most people’s idea of fun.
Then again, Merlin wasn’t most people. If he could handle a Camelot where his every breath was illegal and managed to befriend the Prince who was supposed to despise his existence and the knights sworn to kill him on sight... well, a meeting with other magic-users really wasn’t that intimidating.
Besides, it was always fun when he got to meet new people and introduce them to his own particular brand of insanity, then sit back and watch their minds explode. Because there was no hiding that he was different, even if he could keep his identities as history’s Merlin and the druids’ Emrys under wraps. His magic coiled around him at the thought, but he would not hide it. That way always ended in disaster.
Sturgis gave him a weak smile and a look like he was re-evaluating his assessment of Merlin as potential-ally material. “...Yeah, fun,” he muttered in a tone that implied that even without dropping a new person on them the meetings were no picnic. “It starts at seven, so can you meet me here at, say, half six? It might be better if we get there early so we aren’t greeted at wandpoint.”
Merlin raised an amused eyebrow. “You know, if you’re trying to get me to join up, you’re doing a pretty lousy job at selling it right now.”
Sturgis flushed. “You saved my life,” he pointed out. “Least I can do is warn you that you’re probably going to be walking into another ambush.”
Supremely unconcerned, Merlin waved his hand. “What time is it now, five? Do you want me to stick around, or come back in an hour?”
“Maybe come back in an hour,” the blonde muttered. “I don’t... I think I want to be alone for a little bit.”
“Sure. I need to check Syg hasn’t burned the house down anyway.”
“…Do I want to know?”
“Probably not,” Merlin grinned. “I did say I was taking the magical creature job, right? I think unusual companions are probably a requirement. And did I mention that I get bored? But Syg and Fiacre keep me entertained... when they’re not plotting my ultimate downfall and occasionally world domination, anyway.”
“...Right,” Sturgis said, blinking in a way that meant I’m just going to ignore everything you just said. Probably for the best. But then he turned suddenly serious. “Emrys. Thank you. For your help.”
Snapping into serious mode himself, Merlin gave a brief half-bow. “It was my pleasure,” he said, sincere for once in his life. “I’ll see you in an hour.”
“Don’t be late.”
“Where would the fun be in that?” He winked, and before Sturgis could think up a retort he’d ducked out the door. An absent flick of his hand, the glimmer of gold eyes concealed by facing down the still-empty street, and the wards the death eaters had set and he had all but forgotten about were reduced to gossamer shreds with no more effort than idly swatting a spider’s web.
Then, before Sturgis could register that he had done anything at all, he was gone with the irritating crack of apparation.