A Time of Prophecy

Clearly, more people had arrived at some point whilst they were busy arguing because the kitchen looked more crowded than it had when he’d gone upstairs. He didn’t have much of a chance to scan the new faces, however, because Albus had arrived as well and immediately waved him down.

“Ah, Emrys, so good to see you,” he smiled. “And I think thanks are in order for standing up for Sturgis, too.”

Merlin shrugged. “Right place, right time. What kind of person would I be if I’d just stood there and let it happen?” Which he knew had become a problem in the wizarding world – far too few of them would actually put their magic to use even if someone was attacked right in front of them.

Albus’s eyes twinkled at the statement. “Nonetheless, it was very brave of you.”

“Or stupid,” Merlin pointed out, and the headmaster let out a small chuckle.

“Perhaps.” He turned to the severe-looking witch beside him, her face set in stern lines. She might have been called intimidating, but Merlin could feel her magic and, whilst fierce, it was protective rather than harsh. He was not surprised when he revealed that she was a teacher. “Minerva, this is Emrys, the one I was telling you about. He’ll be standing in for Hagrid this September. Emrys, this is Minerva McGonagall, transfiguration professor and Deputy Headmistress at Hogwarts.”

Merlin bowed his head in a polite greeting, and she scrutinised him carefully, eventually nodding her tacit approval. “It’s nice to meet you.”

He returned the greeting, and Albus finally called for quiet as the clock struck seven. Just as the Order turned expectant eyes to him, there was a muffled thumping sound as someone made their way through the door and headed towards the gathering. The footsteps sounded off, uneven, one normal and one curiously wooden.

The odd noise was resolved as Alastor Moody entered the kitchen. “Sorry I’m late, Albus,” he grunted, blue eyes – both real and fake – scanning the room with practiced wariness.

“Welcome, Alastor,” the older wizard greeted as Merlin swept his own gaze over the grizzled Auror. He didn’t flinch at the scars. As Gaius’s apprentice he had seen worse, had learned to read their map on a man’s skin and the small tells that betrayed a person’s intent. There was a keen alertness to the Auror’s stare, a coiled tension in his body that spoke of a constant readiness for action. Merlin had plenty of scars of his own, most mercifully hidden under his clothing (they would be a nightmare to explain), and he recognised a fellow warrior when he saw one.

Had this been Arthur’s time, Alastor Moody would have been a knight. Or, Merlin thought with a flash of amusement, a Catha. In this age, he was an Auror; had been one of the best, before Fudge had been hired and Moody’s own paranoia had driven him from the corrupt institution.

Blue met blue, and Alastor’s flesh eye narrowed. His magical one didn’t have that capacity, but it ceased its whirring circuit and stared fixedly at the young-but-ancient warlock.

Feeling the sudden tension but not understanding it, the Order stayed quiet, watching as Alastor approached the newcomer with a fierce expression and his wand drawn. Most of them eyed Merlin with sympathy; they would have run rather than face Mad-Eye Moody with that look on his face.

Merlin, who had faced down dragons and sidhe and Uther Pendragon himself, barely blinked. His own magic coiled inside of him but didn’t rise, because a single man with a stick – even a veteran like Moody – was no real threat to him.

The Auror seemed to realise that, warned by Merlin’s utter calm and the way he didn’t reach for a weapon, and turned an incredulous gaze on Albus. His magical eye remained fixed on Merlin.

Mentally shrugging, the warlock winked at him. He wondered what Moody’s eye saw, what it revealed about him. It was unlikely that it would see him for what he was – magic given form – but there must have been something off nevertheless.

The leader of the Order of the Phoenix gave his old friend a calm if slightly perplexed look as Moody’s normal eye flickered between him and Merlin, asking a silent question. “This is Emrys,” he introduced. “He’s covering for Hagrid this September and he stepped in earlier today when Sturgis was attacked by Death Eaters. He has agreed to join the Order.”

Moody’s gaze returned to Merlin, both eyes raking up and down his body. Merlin wondered what he was searching for.

Clearly he wasn’t the only one, because Albus raised a mild eyebrow and enquired, “Is there something that we should know?”

A few Order members had tentatively reached for their own wands but most of them seemed to be treating this as a relatively normal event. Just Mad-Eye Moody’s paranoia acting up again. The Auror completely ignored the question, though, eyes still narrowed and wand still at the ready. “What are you?” he asked, and Merlin raised his own eyebrow.

I don’t see how that’s any of your business, he thought about saying. It really wasn’t, after all (it might have been a millennium but he was still a bit touchy about the not-exactly-human thing). Unfortunately, that would mean admitting that he knew exactly what the man was implying and that wasn’t a road he was willing to go down just yet. “What do you see?” he asked instead.

“There’s something wrong with your eyes. I want to know what it is,” the man demanded.

Huh. That was interesting. He knew that his eyes went golden whenever he wielded his natural magic (though thankfully not when he was channelling it through a wand), but he hadn’t thought that it would be detectable when he wasn’t doing so, even to a magical eye like Moody’s. Idly he wondered what the man might see if he donned his older form, or if he shifted into an animal shape.

“How should I know?” he asked evenly, not looking away. “It’s your eye.”

He was still an awful liar, but that only meant that he’d become very skilful at twisting the truth and implying one thing whilst meaning another. Unfortunately, the Auror was very perceptive. “You know something,” he refuted. “You weren’t surprised.”

“You were glaring at me,” he shot back. “Of course I knew that something was up.”

Moody didn’t respond for almost a minute, examining him closely. Merlin fought the urge to shift on the spot, still not having managed to shed the small part of him that screamed that having attention on him never ended well. Instead he stood tall, reminding himself that, Auror or no Auror, Merlin was Magic Incarnate and he had done nothing wrong.

“I’ve got my eye on you,” Moody warned eventually, then stumped off to take a seat.

“Are you like this with everyone, or am I just special?” Merlin asked, as calmly as if he hadn’t just been stared down and then essentially threatened. Moody might think he was intimidating, but honestly he had nothing on Gaius. Avalon, even Morgana had had nothing on Gaius… though that might have been the craziness talking.

Several of the Order members still looked wary, but the ones he’d spoken to earlier had all relaxed again. “He’s like this with everyone,” Sturgis muttered, then winced as Moody turned his glare on him.

“Hey, Moody,” Merlin intervened, because he was an idiot who didn’t know when to shut up. Also, he kind of liked Sturgis. The man had put up with Merlin’s sense of humour all day; he deserved quite a lot of credit for that. “Knock it off. You’re supposed to be watching me, remember?”

He could feel the incredulous stares of the rest of the Order on the back of his neck but he steadfastly refused to acknowledge them.

“I like you,” Sirius decided, and from the way Remus groaned Merlin got the impression that he somehow thought that that was a bad thing.

Kingsley Shacklebolt coughed from the back of the room, looking vaguely bemused. “Perhaps we could get onto the meeting now?”

But apparently Moody wasn’t content to let it be. “Is he going to be a part of it?” The retired auror asked, jerking his head towards Merlin. “Because I don’t trust him.”

“You don’t trust anybody,” Emmeline Vance muttered, although Merlin got the distinct impression that he hadn’t been supposed to hear that (his ears were occasionally good for something other than looking ridiculous).

Pouting slightly, Merlin groaned. He really did not want to deal with this right now, but he had a feeling that the Auror was going to continue to be a pain in the ass until Merlin demonstrated that he wasn’t going to go away.

Kind of like Arthur, really, and wasn’t that comparison going to give Merlin nightmares?

“What do you want me to do?” he asked, and if he sounded a bit like a child… well. He was the one that had been invited here and yet basically all they had done so far was insult him. He missed Sygni. He missed Romania, lovely uncomplicated country without a homicidal dark lord problem that it was (really, two dark lords in one century was ridiculous.)

Unfortunately, Albion was his home and it needed him. And it was going to be easier to help if the Order were on his side, or at least weren’t going to interfere, so Merlin was just going to have to deal with it.

Even if he really didn’t like the gleam in Moody’s eyes right now. Sure enough, “I want him to take Veritaserum,” Moody growled eventually, eyes still fixed on Merlin.

Perfectly at ease, the warlock just arched an eyebrow. “Yeah, I’m not doing that.”

“Got something to hide?”

He snorted a laugh. “Doesn’t everybody? I don’t actually know any of you, I did not ask to be inducted into your secret club, and I’ve done nothing to warrant an interrogation. Would you let a bunch of complete strangers drug you and ask you who-knows-what?””

Moody began to retort, but Remus smoothly inserted himself into the conversation in a clear attempt at keeping whatever peace remained. “What about a pre-approved list of questions?”

It was actually a sensible suggestion, and looking around the room it was clear that quite a few people liked the idea. Merlin sighed. If it was that simple then he would have agreed, but… “Unfortunately, I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” Sirius was the one to demand it this time.

“Because I am violently allergic to it,” Merlin admitted, wincing a little at some of his memories. Being poisoned once too many times had made his body oddly sensitive to a lot of magical potions, Veritaserum included. In fact, practically anything that wasn’t clearly a healing potion, generally those based on Gaius’s, would be rejected by his system.

He didn’t particularly fancy having a magical fit whilst his eyes had a war of their own between gold and blue as his own magic fought off whatever was in the potion. It would only take around a minute, considering how scarily strong his magic was, but it wasn’t a pleasant experience and it wouldn’t give them what they wanted anyway.

“Oh,” Remus said. “That… sounds reasonable.” Why did the werewolf sound so surprised? Merlin wasn’t difficult on purpose. Really.

Severus Snape, however, had drifted closer. Huh, Merlin hadn’t even realised that he was here, considering the man had been lurking in the shadows on the other side of the room. “What, exactly, are you allergic to?”

As a Potions Master, he would know all of the ingredients in veritaserum. Merlin, on the other hand, couldn’t remember between all the other remedies he had crammed into his brain, because it wasn’t any particular ingredient that he was allergic to but rather the magic of the truth potion. He’d always seen it as another kind of mind control, and he’d become a little paranoid about guarding himself against those back in the seventh century.

“I don’t even know,” he sighed, deciding to be truthful for once in his life. “I have weird reactions to a lot of potions – it’s even in my medical notes.” Or it would be, if he had any. “But I don’t particularly fancy proving it, thank you very much. Being poisoned is not fun.”

“And you’ve had experience with that?” Severus asked, his tone sceptical.

 Unfortunately, he did. There had been the Morteus flower, all the way back at the start of everything, and the time Daegal had lured him away and Morgana had given him something he didn’t want to think about, and he was pretty sure the Serket could count even if that had technically been a sting and not an ingested poison. There had been some half a dozen other examples over his long life, before he had finally wised up in the twelfth century and just asked his magic to check his food for poison as well as love potions and other nonsense.

He had also had experience with veritaserum, if that was what the man was really asking. Merlin had a knack for inserting himself into the most complicated of situations (like the royal court of Camelot) and he also had a knack for knowing the things he shouldn’t (again, habit from Camelot; when he’d pretty much had his own information network because it had been necessary for stopping the bloody weekly assassination attempts), so it was pretty much inevitable that someone was going to try and pry them out of him at one point.

So, to be prepared, Merlin had tried out veritaserum on his own to see if he could fight it. And he could, kind of, if you counted the violent reaction and the complete refusal to speak at all as fighting it.

Stupid potion should have known that he was far more stubborn than it. But he was getting distracted.

Well, Moody had already sort of let the eye thing out of the bag, so maybe he could just take it and prove it to them. But no, that was a horrible solution; his magic got so out of hand when it thought he was dying that he might actually hurt someone. Even if he didn’t, that particular symptom was not something he wanted to explain either. Instead he sighed heavily.

“Yes, I do have experience with that. It was not fun. At all.” Although… teasing Arthur about the lengths he’d gone to in order to pick a pretty flower for Merlin had been fun. Very fun. Even when the prat got the mace out, because he had been able to smugly point out that Gaius had only cleared him for light duty because he had nearly died.

Once he had finally understood the nature of being Emrys, he had occasionally pondered if he might actually have died that day. He knew that his heart had stopped, and he sometimes wondered that if it hadn’t been for his being immortal then it might not have started again. When he thought back on his time in Camelot, there were a lot of things he shouldn’t have survived, after all, not least the literal death spell that Tauren had shot at him.

“A convenient excuse,” Severus said, eyes narrowed slightly. He was almost as suspicious as Moody, but then he supposed that the life of a double-agent was hardly conducive to trust.

“It would make things a lot simpler for me if I wasn’t,” Merlin grumbled, and that was actually true. Just because some healing potions worked for him didn’t mean they all did, after all, which was truly a nightmare to explain if he ever ended up in a hospital. “But I don’t particularly fancy getting poisoned today, so if proving myself is truly necessary does anyone have any better ideas?”

Carefully, Merlin counted the number of people that looked like they were thinking about it. It was actually less than he’d imagined, only a couple of people on top of Severus and Moody, whilst Albus was just watching the proceedings with an inscrutable expression.

Eventually, Severus spoke up again. “I am a legilimens of some skill…”

Merlin groaned, cutting him off before anyone got any bright ideas. “That’s an even worse idea. Any suggestions that don’t involve a gross breach of privacy and someone’s brain getting scrambled?”

He didn’t care how good a legilimens Severus thought that he was; Merlin could barely cope with all the memories crammed inside his head and he was used to it. Human bodies were simply not built to last centuries. Not to mention that legilimancy was only supposed to be used on human minds and he was technically a creature of magic (which explained the ‘centuries’ thing), and that Severus probably wouldn’t understand anything he saw anyway. Merlin didn’t even think in English most of the time, considering it was more like his tenth language than his native one.

Luckily, no one pushed him on that – it was one thing to take a truth serum with an approved list of questions and quite another to lower all your defences and let someone rifle through your mind.

Additionally, he got the feeling that not everyone here really trusted Severus; that was the lot of a spy, Merlin supposed, though the man didn’t exactly help by being sullen and scowling and just generally suspicious. Then again, maybe that helped him fit in with the death eaters.

Molly Weasley, however, had apparently reached her limit. She stood up and surveyed the room with her hands on her hips, a formidable look in her eyes. “That’s enough, all of you! The poor boy’s been through enough of an interrogation already. He’s told us his reasons for being here and he’s quite right, he’s here because he saved Sturgis and we invited him in return. He’s put up with a lot since arriving here, and frankly all this talk of drugging and mind-reading is getting out of hand! We’re supposed to be the light side, for Merlin’s sake.”

For Merlin’s sake indeed, the warlock thought with an inner smile. He was a little surprised that she’d been the one to speak up; he hadn’t thought that he’d given her the best of impressions earlier, but he did know that he tended to come across as thin and helpless and unable to defend himself (at least until his magic came out). Molly Weasley was the motherly type and he’d told her that his parents were dead; he really should have expected her to adopt him, even if he did look like a twenty-something adult.

As he looked across the room again, he realised with some bemusement that it was working. Many of the Order members seemed unable to meet her eyes, glancing down at their feet with somewhat abashed looks on their faces, whilst some of the others were nodding along with her.

Unfortunately, Moody was not one of them. He was still glaring fiercely at Merlin, grip on his wand never faltering for an instant.

Taking offence to that, Molly added, “Really, Alastor, be reasonable. None of us had to go through a truth-serum test when we joined the Order!”

“But we all knew each other,” Kingsley pointed out in a calm voice. Molly turned as if to rain her ire upon him next, but he raised a hand and gave her a stern look. Let me speak. And, begrudgingly, she did. “I’m not condoning either of those methods,” he elaborated, which took some of the wind out of her sails. “I am just saying that there are reasons that Alastor suggested it, and that perhaps there might be another way.”

Molly huffed, but something in what he’d said appeared to have gotten through to her. She sent him an almost apologetic look, but Merlin only gave her a gentle smile and a small nod. He appreciated her speaking up for him, but he didn’t need it; he could fight his own battles, and in fact he was grateful to Kingsley for holding it there.

At the small confirmation that he understood and didn’t particularly care – he wouldn’t be here if he didn’t want to be, after all – she reluctantly took her seat again and crossed her arms.

“Thank you, Molly. Now, Albus, is there anything you want to say?”

The flat gaze that Kingsley levelled at their so-called leader was tinged with mild disappointment. Albus was supposed to be in charge of the group, yet he’d done nothing but sit back and let them squabble like children.

The old man only gave him an enigmatic smile. “I cannot make you trust Mr Emrys,” he said at last. “And I have no right to, since I know him only barely better than all of you. But I see no reason for us to turn upon a young man who only wants to help simply because he did not grow up alongside you. Everyone here has been given a chance, have we not? And Mr Emrys has done nothing but be calm and accommodating, and even saved Sturgis’s life. Some credit must be given for that at least.”

Though his words might have been gentle and accommodating, his tone and the way he looked at the room was reminiscent of an old man scolding unruly grandchildren.

Unfortunately, Alastor Moody broke the moment. “None of the rest of us look like he does,” he muttered darkly. “I won’t trust someone who won’t admit what they are.”

“Is he dangerous, Alastor?” Albus pressed, and the auror was forced to shake his head in reluctant denial. “Then a man has every right to keep his secrets.”

That might have been what he said, but his tone had never varied from the ‘disappointed grandfather’ kind, as if as far as Albus was concerned the only person who had a right to keep secrets was he himself. It might have worked better had Merlin not been far older than the man, and had Albus come anywhere near Gaius as a scolding father-figure.

Instead, Merlin only nodded at him. “Thank you.”

“Of course, my boy.” The disappointed tone remained. It wasn’t going to work; in fact, it was borderline amusing when Merlin considered whether or not the wizard would still act this way if he had any idea of Merlin’s true age. The Order’s attempts at manipulation had nothing on Morgana’s.

Moody was still glaring, but by now Merlin was willing to accept that as his natural state. It didn’t really bother him; he’d probably have little contact with the veteran auror anyway, at least until they realised that his magical strength and duelling skills weren’t a fluke.

Then Emmeline Vance stood up, clearing her throat. “Perhaps a compromise?” she suggested. “In the last war, we all swore in upon joining the Order, and at important events afterwards. It was a way of affirming our loyalty and keeping spies and impersonators out, because you could not swear on something you had no faith in. We didn’t do that this time.”

There was a low rumble of agreement, as it appeared that almost everyone who had fought in the first war were in favour of reviving the tradition. The only ones who appeared to disagree were, perhaps predictably, Severus Snape and Alastor Moody.

“It made us complacent,” Moody growled. Severus kept his own council, though his face looked as if someone had forced him to swallow one of Gaius’s nastier potions.

“It reminded us of what we fought for,” Emmeline corrected quietly, and again there was a rumble of agreement.

For the first time, Albus leant his voice to the argument. “I think it’s a wonderful idea, Emmeline. It is indeed a reminder of what we fight for.” He drew his wand and solemnly placed it over his heart, clearing his throat. “I swear by the rising phoenix.”

It wasn’t just the words, though. Merlin could feel intent being poured into the wand, almost like a spell, a smaller and more informal version of magically-binding contracts like Unbreakable Vows. He sensed that Emmeline was right – no lies could be spoken, and the more the speaker believed their own words, the more the thing they swore on mattered to them, the more magic they would channel.

At the end of Albus’s wand, a light began to glow, muted at first but steadily growing as he spoke his vow. At the end, the light flashed once, a white so bright a few people shaded their eyes, and then disappeared.

There were be no more arguments after that. When it became clear that no one else was going to object, Kingsley cleared his throat and explained the process.

“For those of you who joined us more recently, the vow is simple. You choose something that matters to you and swear upon it, for that is what you betray should you break it. The more personal, the more important, the subject is to you, the brighter the light. Whilst you speak, allow magic to seep into your wand, and it will show us that you commit to the Order and the fight against You-Know-Who, for peace and for freedom.” His voice was deep and solemn, and he was the next to draw his wand and place it over his heart. “I swear by the freedom taken from us.” His light was a deep, solemn blue, the shade of twilight and his auror robes.

Emmeline was next, her glow a subtle yellow, like warm candlelight, and her face lined by grief. “I swear by my Tony.” It was a muggle name, and Merlin bowed his head in brief acknowledgement of her loss.

One by one, those who had been present during the first war rose to their feet and vowed on one thing or another. Some of them were vague, some explicit; some swore on loved ones, some on dreams, some on concepts. A few of them stood out to Merlin.

“I swear by the wolf and the dawn,” was Remus’s, his light a deep amber.

Sirius was next, eyes dark, head down, but his vow was a brilliant sky blue that tasted almost playful to Merlin’s senses. “I swear by Moony and Padfoot and Prongs.”

Molly Weasley swore by her children, Minerva McGonagall her husband, Sturgis his mother. Severus’s face was tight with hidden emotion as he said, “I swear by the rose of the valley,” and the glow at his heart was a bright emerald green that was awash with emotion.

Moody, never one to give anything away, created a dull light of the same colour as the eye he swore by. Following what was clearly her mentor, Tonks looked a little embarrassed as she swore by her hair, which flickered between red and white with her emotions, but her light was a pink far brighter and more vibrant than Moody’s and no one mocked her for it. Some of them even understood what it meant – she was swearing on her metamorphmagus abilities, literally a part of herself that no one else could cut away.

Then it was Merlin’s turn, and he saw every eye turn to him. He was the new one, the one none of them knew, and Merlin felt strangely uncomfortable.

He knew what he should swear on, of course. The one thing that meant more to him than everything else. But it seemed wrong to put Arthur’s name into it, into a gathering of sorcerers, almost like blasphemy. He had ever been protective of his king’s memory. Besides, he hadn’t spoken the name aloud in… far too long. He didn’t want to break down in front of such an audience, even if he had been waiting such a long time, even if he missed his best friend with an ache in his very soul.

It wasn’t only Albus that could be cryptic and unhelpful, however. Kilgharrah had been a true master of such things. With a rough, slightly unsteady voice, Merlin drew the wand he had used to help Sturgis and vowed quietly, “I swear by the other half of my coin.”

He had to devote half of his mind to reigning in the magic that leaped at the words, and even when he held most of it back his light was the brightest of them all, a brilliant golden glow that chased every shadow from the room. Even Moody’s natural eye widened a little, the glow reflecting in every person’s eyes until they all looked like the sorcerers of old.

Merlin smiled at them, a weary, sad smile that spoke of all the things that he had lost. The more time passed, the fewer people who practiced the Old Religion. Those who did not would never be able to understand him. The magic of the modern era was different; you felt it less. It was all incantations and wand movements, with little to nothing left of intent and meaning and sacrifice.

Then the moment passed, and he hid the sadness away as he always hid part of himself away. His magic faded from view, but he could still feel it, pulsing above his heart, flowing like molten gold through his veins.

Tonks broke the silence with a long, low whistle. “Wow. You’ve got some serious power, yeah?”

Merlin shrugged uncomfortably. “It is what it is. Magic’s not about power.” It wasn’t for him, anyway. Once it had been a bit like that – his magic had been a way to protect his friends, his king, from every other sorcerer who would use it as a means to an end. But it was so much more than that to him – life and warmth and light. A steadfast companion through the lonely years.

“Well said, indeed,” Albus said, but Merlin had seen his face. He’d been quick to hide it, but whilst everyone had been staring at the gold of his magic there had been alarm on the headmaster’s face. The unintentional display of magical power had rattled him. It made Merlin want to wince, but there was very little he could do to alleviate his doubt.

The warlock could never risk taking Veritaserum, even if he could figure out a way to stop his magic from burning it out of his system. Not when some of his secrets were so huge, so vital, power that no one in the world should have. And even if someone could look into his mind without going insane they could never trust what they found there, because Merlin had invented Occlumency (during one of his panic-about-mind-control stages, this one in the late tenth century when wand magic started to become more prominent and offered more avenues for people to control other people).

 Sighing to himself, he again resolved that he’d just have to do this the hard way and prove himself to everyone else. He’d done it before and he could do it again; he was certainly stubborn enough.

When Arthur had told him to never change, the king probably hadn’t had any idea just what he was inflicting on the future citizens of Albion.

“Can we finally get onto the meeting?” Minerva McGonagall spoke up, her voice acidic. “I think we’ve wasted quite enough time!”

“Indeed,” Albus agreed.

“I’ll get the door,” Molly muttered, which confused Merlin right up until the point where she flicked her wand at it and he felt the ward go up. He nearly asked why she felt the need – being under Fidelius, he was relatively sure that the house was secure – but then remembered that Ron and Hermione, and presumably more of the Weasley family, were upstairs and desperate to know what was going on.

The Order gathered around the kitchen table, Merlin keeping to the outskirts as he had no information to contribute. Instead he listened, collating what he was hearing now with what he’d previously discovered through scrying.

The wards around the house, though not built to resist Old Magic, had warped both sound and picture. Over time, Merlin had been able to put together some of the Order’s plans (sending Hagrid to the giants, ambassadors to other magical creatures, keeping an eye on Fudge, something about a hunt that he now realised was to do with Sirius, watching over Harry, guarding something else, watching for whispers and rumours of Voldemort’s actions), but hearing everything in person was so much easier.

He had not known that whatever they were guarding lay in the Department of Mysteries, although Albus still refused to tell them exactly what. Merlin dreaded to think what could be found down there – the number of times he had been drawn there to fix it whenever some idiot managed to tamper with the Balance was ridiculous considering that each occurrence risked the stability of the world, and the rest of the time he avoided it on principal.

Fourteen hundred years, and still they’d not realised that there were some forces that shouldn’t be tampered with. Just because Merlin had been playing with time since he was five did not mean that it should be done on a whim with a pretty locket, and he wasn’t even going to start on the Veil…

There wasn’t much information in the meeting that he couldn’t have worked out himself, but he couldn’t deny that it was nice to have the company. To be a part of something again, even if they didn’t quite trust him yet. It wasn’t the Round Table, but it was something at least.

Unfortunately, trouble’s knack for finding Merlin decided not to wait until the end of the meeting to stick its nose in again. Just as they were beginning to discuss whatever the hell they were guarding in the Department of Mysteries, the front door slammed open with a crash, setting a portrait shrieking, and a few seconds later a man staggered into the meeting room.

He was short and balding, with a squinty look in his eyes and an overall air of unkemptness. It was never wise to make snap judgements about people, but nonetheless it was something that Merlin had become good at and his analysis of this one was that he looked distinctly shifty.

He was also quite frantic, shoulders hunched up defensively as his eyes fell on Albus. “Dumbledore!” he yelped, and immediately the elderly wizard was on his feet.

“Mundungus, whatever is the matter?”

“It’s the Potter kid, innit?” The newcomer mumbled, eyes on the floor instead of on the Order. “’e’s gotten himself into trouble again. Figgy said there was dementors up in Little Whingin’. The kid drove ‘em off, but I reckoned there’s probably more where that came from, an’ the Ministry migh’ be getting involved an’ all.”

There were various aghast reactions at the news, especially amongst the people who appeared to know Harry best – Molly Weasley, Sirius, Remus. Albus remained perfectly calm, though his eyes had gone hard, and Minerva was looking at Mundungus as if he were a slimy cockroach, lips so tightly pursed that they were little more than a thin line.

Merlin, too, was horrified that something like that had been allowed to happen – he’d heard earlier in the meeting that a Mundungus Fletcher, presumably this man, was supposed to be watching Harry so that nothing like this was allowed to happen. And where were you? He wanted to shout, because he never would have abandoned Arthur like that no matter how insufferable the man had occasionally been, but there was enough chaos already.

Mundungus’s report had the room in uproar. Everyone seemed to be talking at once, yelling at Mundungus or taking orders from Albus or just trying to make themselves heard over the din.

It was clear that the meeting, such as it had been, was over. Not wanting to get in the way, Merlin remained in his seat and watched as Albus instructed those who had some influence in the Ministry to get there and attempt damage control (of course – dementors meant the patronus charm, and that meant that the Ministry had the chance they’d been salivating for, the chance to back what they’d written in the prophet up with evidence of ‘underage magic’), whilst most of the others seemed to take their own initiative and bustle off to do what they could to help or simply took themselves out of the way.

Sirius was pacing agitatedly, and Merlin belatedly remembered that he was Harry’s godfather. As a wanted criminal, however, he couldn’t leave the house, let alone be of any use, and he spared a moment to appreciate just how awful that must be. Remus was beside Sirius again, trying to do his best to calm him, and Emmeline Vance had taken a few of the others out into the main hall to quiet the still-screaming portrait.

As the room gradually emptied, people rushing to and fro to make plans or get out of the way, Merlin edged his way closer to Severus, one of the few who seemed barely perturbed by the Boy-Who-Lived’s brush with death. The potion’s master glanced at him once but didn’t otherwise acknowledge his presence.

“Should I be insulted?” he asked the man quietly, a smile in his voice if not on his face as he gestured towards Mundungus. “I had to go through the whole interrogation but you let people like him in without a single doubt?”

Merlin could have sworn that Severus’s face twitched slightly. Good. The man seemed isolated, alone, and no matter how abrasive his personality that wasn’t a healthy outlook on life. There was no point in being part of something like the Order of the Phoenix if no one else could trust you, and Merlin knew something of what it was like to be the outsider, the secret-keeper, amongst such a close circle. There was no need for Severus to go through this alone, and Merlin was quite happy to try and break him out of his shell.

When the reply finally came, it was delightfully acerbic. “You should be very offended indeed,” the man offered, and through the heavy sarcasm Merlin thought that he detected a tone of uncertainty.

He knew that the man was a spy and a death eater – even with all the dark magic warping the house it was easy for him to sense the taint twisted around his left forearm like a brand. But at the same time he could feel how the man’s own magic was fighting against it, trying to recover a sense of self, and it made him respect the man even if he disliked his overly black demeanour.

He suspected that the man didn’t have many friends, didn’t have much of a life at all if the glares shot his way were any measure, and he couldn’t help the part of him that always wanted to fix such things. So he drew himself up, put on his best Arthur tone and said snottily, “Well, at least they’ve raised their standards now.”

Severus shot him a look, and Merlin couldn’t hold it any longer. He let out a huff of laughter, relaxing again, and offered him a hand. “You probably know who I am after all that, but in case you somehow missed it through all the faff, I’m Emrys.”

“Severus Snape.” The handshake was firm and to the point, and told a surprising amount about the man’s upbringing – there weren’t that many wizards that respected muggle customs.

“You work at Hogwarts, right?”

When Severus finally seemed to realise that Merlin wasn’t going to hold their earlier debate about mind-reading and truth-drugs against him, he nodded. A man of few words, then. That was alright, Merlin had often been told that he could talk enough for two. He did have a bad habit of rambling. But Severus was starting to look a little uncomfortable, and the last thing Merlin wanted was to back him into a corner, so he simply nodded back.

“I suppose I’ll see you there in September, then. Or at the meetings beforehand. Do you know when the next one is?”

“We meet every two days,” Severus informed him. “Seven’s the normal time.”

“Thanks.”

After saying his farewells to Sturgis, Merlin ducked back upstairs. He had a promise to a hippogriff to keep. It was easy enough to retrace his steps, but he didn’t even manage to reach Buckbeak’s floor before he was accosted on the first floor landing by Ron, Hermione, and three more kids that he’d never met. Their flaming red hair and near-identical eager expressions told him that they were probably the rest of Molly’s family, though she’d also mentioned a couple of older sons and he even vaguely remembered a Charlie Weasley from Romania.

“Hi,” he greeted them.

“...Hello,” returned Hermione, though not before staring at him for a good ten seconds. He really hoped that she wasn’t still fixated on the World Cup; he did not want to lie to them but he also had not thought that he would have to deal with this today.

The only other girl upstairs took over from her there. “I’m Ginny, Ginny Weasley,” she introduced. “This is Fred and George-”

“George and Fred,” one of them interrupted, and their sister glared at them.

Before she could go on a rant to rival her mothers, Ron intervened, looking hopeful, “What’s going on? There’s all this noise downstairs?”

Normally, Merlin would agree with Molly Weasley that they were too young to be involved in something like this. He had always hated it when children were made to fight, to kill, even when they thought that it was their choice. But this case, he knew, was an exception; they were already involved.

He had dug up something like the truth from the past years at Hogwarts from extrapolating what people had told him and quizzing a couple of house elves, who saw more than most people realised. From what he could gather, Ron and Hermione at the very least probably had more experience than most of the Order with this ‘second’ war.

Harry was their friend and he was inexplicably tangled up in all this. He and his friends had displayed an uncanny knack for finding their way into the thick of things, and here they were trying to do it again. Merlin knew from long experience that by far the best way to deal with that was to bring them in, not keep them in the dark. They’d only end up running off somewhere with half of the information, as Arthur always used to when Merlin had had to hide magical threats, and that was dangerous for everyone involved.

This time, however, there was no death sentence or ingrained hatred getting in the way, only a mother’s desire to protect her children. It was an admirable quality, but with all that Merlin had done and seen it was also one that he knew would not end well.

But what Molly Weasley did not know wouldn’t hurt her. “Okay,” he said. “They’re mainly talking about trying to stop Voldemort-” There was a sharp intake of breath, which he promptly ignored, “-from recruiting and how to do it themselves, but there was also a little bit of talk about guarding things, both Harry and something else.”

Their expressions turned a little irritated at what they probably thought was him withholding information, but he raised a hand to forestall any protests.

“I’m new, remember? They didn’t tell me what it was; we were interrupted when it got to that part.”

“Interrupted?” Hermione asked eagerly, whilst the rest of them swapped grins at actually getting some information.

Merlin nodded grimly. “Yes. I’m afraid it’s Harry. He’s alright,” he added hurriedly when their faces all fell into something between nervousness and fear, “But Mundungus was apparently supposed to be watching him and, well, I don’t know if you’ve met Mundungus...”

They obviously had, judging by the expressions on their faces. Hermione, however, looked more exasperated than anything else. “What did Harry do now?” she groaned, and Merlin poked her. She startled, her eyes wide with surprise, but that had been uncalled for.

From what he’d heard, Harry had been basically locked up in a single house all summer, with no contact from anyone. And it wasn’t like he’d stirred up trouble either; there was no way he could have predicted a dementor ending up in Little Whinging (and wasn’t that an awful place name?). It was far more likely that someone had sent it after him, either Voldemort or the Ministry themselves in order for precisely this to happen, so that they could blame him for underage magic.

“Oi, it wasn’t his fault. Dementors ended up on his street,” Merlin confessed. “Mundungus wasn’t there, and so he drove them off on his own. With no witnesses.” He’d gathered as much, through the general panic. “Considering the way that the Ministry have been treating him lately, he’s liable to get accused of breaking the age restriction and they’ll milk it for all that they’ve got.”

“But that’s illegal!” Hermione argued. “You’re allowed to do underage magic to save your own life. It’s completely unfair!”

Her voice kept rising and Merlin winced. They could probably gather this much from eavesdropping on the kerfuffle downstairs, and he couldn’t imagine that the Order could keep it from them anyway considering Harry would write to his friends, but all the same he didn’t want it advertised that he was telling fifteen-year-olds everything he’d just heard in their super-secret meeting.

“Mundungus wasn’t there,” he repeated. “Muggles can’t see dementors, so his word is all that they’ve got.” And you’ve already seen what Harry’s word counts for in the papers, he didn’t add.

“But... but...”

“It’ll be alright, Hermione. Albus is already there getting Harry a hearing, and one way or another he’ll get through to them. He might have to go to the Ministry to tell his story in person, but they’ll see sense eventually. Even if they don’t want to, I’m sure Albus will think of something. He's good at that.”

Shakily, Hermione nodded. “Yes, of course. Professor Dumbledore will sort it out.”

“Harry’ll be fine,” Ron chimed in.

Merlin smiled gently at them. “Right now, though, your friend has just been attacked. I’m sure that the Order is probably planning to bring him here soon, but he’s been through a traumatic experience and I’m sure he’d like to hear from his friends.”

Surprisingly, Hermione hesitated. “Dumbledore told us not to tell him anything,” she muttered, though she sounded a little ashamed. “He said that there was too much of a risk that it might be intercepted, that it wasn’t safe to say much about anything and we should keep our letters short and vague.”

“I’d say that being attacked by a dementor wasn’t exactly safe either,” he told her gently. “He’s your friend; Albus shouldn’t be dictating what you can say to him. You don’t have to give him explicit details, but I’m sure he’d like to know that you’re there for him and that there’s a plan to see him soon. You can tell him that you haven’t got a lot of information yourself but that you’ll tell him as soon as you’re face to face. You can tell him that owl post might not be safe and that’s why you’ve been keeping him in the dark.” Sadness touched his eyes as his voice quieted to a murmur, “People don’t respond very well to things being kept from them, but knowing why helps.”

By the time he’d finished the improptu lecture, Hermione’s gaze had completely slid from his own to rest on the grimy carpet. The others didn’t look that much better. “Okay,” she said, voice wobbling a little. “Yes, you’re right. I- I'm going to go and do that right now.”

“Hermione!” he called after her. “It’s not your fault. Albus should never have said that in the first place. I’m sure that Harry will understand after you explain it; it’s not an easy situation for you either.”

“Thanks,” she said quietly. He hoped that it had helped.

The Weasleys all followed her lead, retreating into the bedrooms on this floor either to write their own letters or to discuss what he’d just told them. Either way Merlin was grateful, because now that they were gone he could hear footsteps on the stairs and he was done with people right now.  He wasn’t used to actually interacting with people anymore and it had been a long day; it didn’t feel like death eaters had attacked Sturgis only a few short hours ago.

Before whoever was coming up the stairs could see him, he darted up the next flight and into Buckbeak’s room. “Hello, beautiful,” he whispered.

The hippogriff visibly perked up at the sight of him, neck arching proudly and wings half-unfurled.  Deep orange eyes brightened at the sight of him and the hippogriff let out a quiet shriek, half greeting and half excitement, before dipping into a bow.

Merlin returned the gesture, not wanting to be rude, and Buckbeak surged closer, practically shoving his head under Merlin’s hands. Laughing quietly, he obliged and gave him a good scratch, orange eyes going half-lidded with pleasure. “Ready to get out of here?”

“Are you stealing my hippogriff?”

Merlin whirled around, not having heard Sirius follow him up here. The half-smile on the convict’s face indicated that the accusation wasn’t serious, but there was a longing underneath it all that Merlin knew all too well; Sirius wanted to be free too.

Offering his own half-smile in response, Merlin replied, “Me? Never. I’m just going to conveniently leave all the doors open. I take absolutely no responsibility for what happens next.”

Sirius tensed a little, but then Merlin felt a soft huff on the back of his neck before a beak ran through his hair. “That’s really fascinating, you know,” the other man said with a weary smile. “I thought Buckbeak liked me, but I’ve never seen a hippogriff act like that before.”

Yeah, Merlin probably should have thought it through before offering to take up the Care of Magical Creatures position. Most creatures of magic reacted strangely around him, and he was going to have to teach the kids to do everything differently to him, which never worked out well.

“My magic is a bit weird,” he confessed, unsure exactly why he was confiding in Sirius. Maybe it was because the man seemed a bit adrift, more than a little lonely, or maybe it was because he had seemed so utterly hopeless when he had been told that his godson had been attacked by dementors and there was nothing that he could do about it. “It’s more elemental than most, and occasionally it reacts to the world before I do.”

“Like accidental magic?” Sirius asked, his head tilted to the side. “Is it dangerous?”

“No, it’s not dangerous. It’s more like wandless magic, really. But magical creatures can sense it, and they’ve always reacted differently around me. It’s why I’m so good with them.” In truth, they sensed that he was one of them – he was Emrys; if magic was a part of them then so was he.

“I’m a little jealous,” Sirius murmured, reaching out a hand to stroke Buckbeak as well. The hippogriff allowed the touch, but he didn’t melt into it the same way that he had with Merlin.

“Well, it works both ways. Just as they trust me, I’m bound to them. I am sorry, but I cannot leave Buckbeak here. He is meant to fly free.”

Sirius bowed his head. “I know.” But I’ll miss him.

Looking between Sirius’s pinched expression and the dark, grimy house he and Buckbeak had both been confined too, Merlin offered, “You could come too, you know. If you want to get out of here for a bit.”

The offer startled him, and for a second terrible hope flashed across his face. Then it fell again and Sirius shook his head. “Thank you, but I... you do know that I’m a wanted criminal, right?”

Merlin shrugged. “My house is warded to the nines, up to and including a modified version of the Fidelius, and they can’t track a hippogriff’s flight like they can the floo network or apparation. You’d be safe enough. Maybe safer than here, considering the number of dark artefacts that seem to be lying around. It’s not good for humans to be shut up inside either, you know.”

Sirius swallowed, temptation a silent war behind dark eyes. But after a long minute, he shook his head. “They’re bringing Harry here as soon as it’s safe. I have to be here for him.”

Merlin could accept that answer, even smiled at it, because hadn’t he done much the same thing all those centuries ago? Stayed in a place he wasn’t really welcome, a place that slowly killed a vital, magical part of him, because he wanted to protect another.

With a quiet smile, he said, “You’re a good man, Sirius. The offer’s there, though, if you ever need to get away for a bit. Even whilst I’m at Hogwarts, if you wish. My place is in Scotland and there aren’t many people around, so you could probably even go out.”

“Thank you, Emrys,” Sirius choked out, and if his voice was a little strained Merlin didn’t mention it.

“Do you want to come see him off?” At Sirius’s nod, Merlin grinned. “Great! You can show me the way to the roof.”

With a bark of laughter, Sirius gestured towards a rope hanging on the wall. “I usually use that.”

Buckbeak probably did not mind, considering he had not snapped the rope in all the time he had been left alone with it, but Merlin did not want to tie him up regardless. “It’s alright, he’ll follow me,” he asserted, extending a tiny tendril of his magic to make sure that the hippogriff understood. He did, butting his head against Merlin’s back as if to say let’s go already!

Sirius just shrugged and accepted that; Buckbeak did act unusually docile in Emrys’s company. It was a short trip up to the roof and Merlin probably could have found it himself (the route showed clear signs of Buckbeak’s previous passage, from claw-marks on the floor to splintering doorframes and the occasional shed feather), but it was worth staying sociable for a little longer to see the way that years seemed to ease from Sirius’s gaunt frame as he stepped outside and the wind ruffled his hair.

A lot of time had trickled away since he had tumbled through the fire into Grimmauld Place; the sunset was lighting up the sky in a blaze of pink and red. It would probably take most of the night to get home even at a magically-sustained speed, considering they were travelling the length of the country, but Merlin did not mind. It was a nice night for it, and he loved to watch over Albion from above, the united kingdom that had its roots all the way back in Arthur Pendragon.

He turned away, watching it, to give Sirius a moment with Buckbeak. It was never easy to say goodbye, even if a hippogriff was not really a pet, and he pretended not to notice as Sirius pressed his forehead to Buckbeak’s and whispered, “Fly free, my friend.”

Then he was approaching Merlin. “Take care of him?”

“Of course.” It was his responsibility. “And like I said, you can always come and visit, though I reckon that I'll probably let him roam the forest come September. Stay safe, Sirius, and I’ll see you in a few days.”

With an ease that came from centuries of horse-riding (wings or not, it was not so different), Merlin swung himself onto Buckbeaks back. Up here, he could feel the hippogriff’s tense muscles, every part of him quivering in anticipation of the flight.

Giving Sirius one last wave, he gave Buckbeak a gentle nudge with his knees. It was all the prompting he needed; he practically flung himself into motion, galloping the length of the roof, wings beating hard until taloned feet left the ground behind. The hippogriff made a single loop within the wards, and Merlin hastily drew his wand (Old invisibility spells were far trickier than the Disillusionment Charm) and camouflaged them both so that they would not reveal Headquarters’ general location through a flagrant break of the Statute of Secrecy.

As if Buckbeak understood that they could leave now, his wings beat harder and they shot away from Grimmauld place like an arrow from a crossbow, wind fast and hard in their faces. Merlin watched Sirius until he was a tiny speck both below and behind, and then he leaned forwards and guided Buckbeak north.

Instantly the hippogriff responded, accelerating until London was nothing but a blur as Merlin extended another tendril of magic, feeding strength into his muscles to enable him to maintain top speed even with his extra weight. As they shot into the darkening sky, he let out a whoop, finally relaxing for the first time since leaving Sygni hours before.

For the first half-hour, he was content to relax upon Buckbeak’s back, watching the sun sink and the land turn, feeling the wind against his face and listening to the steady thump of strong wings. The disillusionment slowly faded, but they were flying high and fast enough that he felt no need to renew it. His magic was a shield against cold and fatigue and lack of oxygen, and he and the magical creature moved almost as one.

Once the sun had fully gone down and sunset turned to twilight, however, he sat up straighter, urging Buckbeak to a greater height. Once the air began to thin, they levelled off again and he placed a warning hand upon storm-silver feathers. Reaching inside him, he spoke words of the Old Tongue. “Peace, Buckbeak. I will not harm you. Do not be afraid.”

The hippogriff tossed his head, eyes narrowing slightly. Merlin grinned. Why were proud creatures always so stubborn? Oh well, he had been warned.

Eyes gleaming golden as he used magic to compensate for his usual lack of balance, Merlin gently manoeuvred his body until he had both legs on the same side of Buckbeak’s torso. Then, with a last soft stroke down the hippogriff’s side, he shifted his weight forwards and slid into thin air.

Despite the forewarning the hippogriff let out an alarmed shriek, but they were still connected together by a thin tendril of Merlin’s magic and Buckbeak dutifully did not try and catch him.

Laughing, the warlock spread his arms out, gold shining all around as the sky played with its child. Wind curled around him, more singing then screaming, and Merlin felt himself cradled in Albion’s embrace. He was the son of the earth, the sea and the sky, and they would never let him come to harm. Free-falling thousands of feet up, he had never felt safer.

This was his. This was life. He was a part of everything, the great dance, the song of the world, and it was beautiful and glorious.

It was not for humans, but he was Emrys and he was Magic and this... this was everything.

Time slowed and stretched as he revelled in it, for a few seconds shedding mortal cares. And then he had fallen far enough, Buckbeak safely out of reach, and his human body began to ripple and grow.

A deep, jet black began to darken his skin, nails lengthening, hair receding, magic solidifying into extra bulk. Between one heartbeat and the next, Merlin changed, practically bursting out of his own skin as he grew scales and talons and wings and tail, as his father’s heritage rushed to the surface and a dragon uncurled.

Large flaps of leathery skin snapped out, dark against the dark sky, and Merlin wasn’t falling anymore. He soared instead, a roar of triumph bursting out of him alongside a jet of ebony flames, the wind bearing him easily into the heavens.

Buckbeak was so tiny now, barely the size of a single foot, and he shrieked again in surprise. Two instincts warred against each other – the animal part of him was screaming that it was a dragon, to get away, but even in this form the magical creature also recognised him as Emrys, leader and protector and kin.

Not wishing to terrify him, Merlin drew in a deep breath that reached into the heart of him, where the eternal flame of a dragon dwelled, then breathed out. A shimmering golden mist settled over Buckbeak’s silver feathers and immediately he calmed, calling out a greeting rather than a warning.

Grinning savagely, Merlin beat his wings harder and shot ahead of Buckbeak, the smaller creature no match for him. He gained altitude with effortless grace before contorting his body into a series of increasingly complicated acrobatics, barrel rolls and cartwheels and dives, weaving his long, thin body into elegant patterns as if he were dancing with the stars.

Oh, he had missed this. He had to be careful about who saw this form, considering he did not want to cause mass hysteria about unregistered dragons of unknown species, but he did love this form, this last gift from his dragonlord heritage. He was slender as Aithusa had been and older than Kilgharrah, with the his one-time mentor’s golden eyes and flight as elegant as the white female he had hatched. It was strange, really, that he could be so clumsy on the ground but could rule the skies so effortlessly.

He was hopeless on a broom, but as a dragon? Dragons were built for the sky.

In this form, he could feel the magic humming, feel the currents of the world. It would be easy to lose himself, but after all these centuries Merlin knew who he was and where his place was. But it was pleasant, to shed all responsibilities for hours or days or weeks, with no cares but for a warm place to sleep and a challenging meal.

Once he had finished showing off and settling back into such a large body, he spread his wings into a gentle glide and re-joined Buckbeak. The hippogriff had kept a steady pace going whilst the dragon been having fun, but even with the magic Merlin had gifted him his strength was beginning to flag, his wingbeats growing ragged as sweat speckled his feathers.

Gentle as a mother’s kiss, Merlin reached a massive paw towards Buckbeak, careful to keep his claws out of the way. Orange eyes watched him warily, but as they locked eyes the hippogriff did not resist. With painstaking tenderness, Merlin picked him up, the weight barely fazing a body so much stronger than ordinary humans could comprehend.

Buckbeak secured, the dragon narrowed his eyes against the wind and tucked his legs underneath his body to streamline himself. Albion itself aided him with a tailwind and his wings picked up the pace until everything blurred around him, so much faster than any hippogriff or broom, and Merlin flew.

County after county passed by, dragon eyes picking out every detail, until at last mountains loomed and he passed over a majestic castle. Hogwarts’ wards were no barrier to him – the Founders had never wanted or tried to shut him out – and her magic welcomed him as he passed overhead, slowing to a steady glide. At the limits of her defences, his own manor rose to greet him.

His wings ached, but it was a good ache and no less than he deserved for flying from London to Scotland in a matter of hours. And he quickly forgot all about that as his golden eyes caught a flash of movement.

Shimmering blue scales shining almost silver in the moonlight, another dragon was rising to meet him. She looked even smaller when he was in this form, dwarfed by a single paw, and yet that did not stop her from breathing out a long tongue of flame in welcome.

Releasing Buckbeak so that he could fly on his own (the hippogriff was more than a little frantic at the sight of a dragon who was not also Emrys), Merlin landed heavily in the clearing set aside just for this purpose, the one near the cave he had set up for Sygni. The tiny hatchling accompanied him like an honour guard, though she remained fluttering around his head until he huffed a warm breath over her.

Tiring quickly now that he no longer had flying to concentrate on, Merlin released his grip on his animagus form. He shrank just as rapidly as he had grown, thankfully towards the ground rather than in place, and where a dragon had once filled the clearing there was now only a warlock sat cross-legged on the flattened grass.

Letting out a disappointed-sounding chuff, Sygni came in for her own landing. She loved it when he transformed. In Romania there had not been enough private space for him to be comfortable doing so, but since they had come to England playing with Merlin’s dragon-form had become one of Sygni’s favourite activities. He was more her father than her lord, after all, and she loved it when his outer body reflected that.

Her love of it might also have something to do with the fact that Fiacre tended to stay away from his animagus form. Merlin’s flame was far older and hotter than Sygni’s; if he caught the hawk even by accident then there would be practically nothing left of him. The fireproofing runes he had woven in whilst he was carving it would not hold up to Old-magic dragon-fire, something Fiacre knew very well and so kept his distance, to Sygni’s glee.

Jealous little thing.

“Hello, draka,” he rumbled, his voice one of the last things to adjust back to a more human scale. “Have you been good?” The house had looked almost peaceful from the air, and a part of him was impressed... but he had not seen the inside yet.

She huffed out a plume of smoke, straight into his face. Such faith in me.

“You have spent far too much time with me,” he informed her. Even though she did not speak as such, she somehow managed to convey sarcasm anyway. It was probably a bad thing, even if he did feel something very much like pride when he looked at her.

Letting out a slight, negative whine, she nuzzled her way closer to him, missing the hippogriff who had tentatively trotted his way to join them. Buckbeak lingered slightly on the outskirts of the clearing, as if uncertain of his welcome and definitely uncertain of the dragon, even if she was a third of his size.

They were going to be seeing a lot of each other, though, so it appeared up to Merlin to make the introductions. Hoping that he wasn’t going to regret this, he stood up, brushing himself off, and (feeling more than a little silly), cleared his throat. “Buckbeak, this is Sygni. She is my hatchling; please ignore her pouting fits, the drama queen. I promise she will not eat you.”

He turned to her next, leveling her with a stern glare that held a hint of his authority as her dragonlord. “Sygni, this is Buckbeak, a companion I rescued from a London townhouse. I’d appreciate it if you could get on, but either way you are not to eat or harass him. He’s a guest.” Don’t make me Command you, he added through their mental bond. I know you understand.

Sygni huffed again, sparks gathering in the back of her throat. He gave her the look that had always worked for Gaius back in Camelot, and eventually she caved, letting out a quiet warble and turning her back. Fine.

Buckbeak didn’t look all that convinced, and now Sygni was sulking. Merlin sighed. This was going to be a long night.