Now, Merlin had been kidnapped a few times before (most of which were with Arthur), but, he had to admit that, in all 1,500 years of his life, he had never quite been kidnapped like this.

It had been decades since he'd last Apparated. His style of teleportation was much older (and in his opinion better) than any means of transportation these modern wizards used. That awful feeling of being dragged through a tube while invisible forces compressed his body, his soul, it just—! He shivered. He felt violated. (Even more so since he'd been bloody kidnapped!)

Though it was rather shameful that a seventeen-year-old kid had managed to get the drop on a 1,500-year-old all-powerful warlock. Groaning, he pushed himself off the ground, muttering centuries-old curses (and promising to turn the Boy-Who-Kidnapped into an artichoke).

If he'd disguised himself as an old man, he probably could have whacked the boy with his cane but, alas, he preferred his youthful body this year.

. . . Maybe he'd do it anyway. He discreetly summoned his cane, hand embracing its polished wood like a long-lost friend.

(Of course he'd get kidnapped on a Monday.)

Now, just where was he . . .?

Looking around, he found himself in a forest. The trees formed a blanket of leaves fifty feet off the ground, shielding him from blinding sunlight. Dark green spotted his vision everywhere he looked—in bushes, in shrubs, and even in the little bird tweeting on a tree branch. The forest appeared as dreary as he felt, as if it too had been overshadowed by war (or being kidnapped). It was so quiet.

Too quiet.

Merlin supposed that even the animals knew something Evil was coming.

The wind picked up around him, bringing echoes of groans and frantic whispers. Merlin glared in that direction. He saw the three wizards climbing to their feet, though they appeared as shadows through the foggy underbrush.

"Where—where are we? Hermione? Why aren't we at Grimmauld Place?" Merlin heard another masculine groan. It was probably Ginger. What was his name again? Donald?

(The boy nearly Splinched on the way here, but he prevented that. Kidnappers or not, a Splinched arm was a nasty piece of work.)

But since they hadn't seen him yet . . . Merlin envisioned his home, preparing to teleport, but—he stopped.

He heaved a sigh. No. It was too late. He was involved whether he liked it or not. The Old Religion trembled every moment that red-eyed, snake-faced monster breathed. He could feel it in his bones, in his soul, that it was time.

And, undoubtedly, the Ministry had begun calling him Undesirable No. 4. The spell on his records only worked if the viewer had a passing interest in his name.

(That was perhaps an oversight on his part, but he hadn't expected to be embroiled in the conflict this early.)

. . . Bollocks.

He couldn't stay out of this war any longer.

. . . But—he didn't want to fight in another war. He was tired. Done! He'd seen tens upon hundreds of wars and they all got progressively worse.

(Swords clashing—screaming—men drawing their last breaths—Stop!)

Wars and more wars—the fighting never ends! He didn't want to see or participatein them anymore. There was only so much death and destruction a man could take.

(From swords to guns and guns to bombs. Why couldn't humans channel their rage into something less bloody, like hopscotch?)

He just wanted Arthur to come back. Hadn't he waited enough—been punished enough for his failure?

No, no, no—stop! he told himself. Don't think of that.

Happy—

("None of us can choose our destiny, Merlin. And none of us can escape it.")

—thoughts!

He closed his eyes and searched for that calm, empty part of his mind, the one focused on mundane, whimsical things, like how Mondays were Bad Things or how the new Minister looked like a duck with Arthur's head up his arse.

He forced a smile onto his face.

Then he dismissed the war, dismissed the Old Religion's rumblings, and groused at his kidnappers.

Cane in hand, Merlin followed the teenagers' voices.

Harry woke up in some kind of forest, memories hazy and vision blurry. He fumbled around in his pockets for his glasses, praying that he hadn't broken them in the fall. Grasping them, he breathed a sigh of relief and jammed his glasses onto his face.

Ron was face-down on the dirt. Cattermole's clothes were now several sizes too small and breaking at the seams. Harry's own stolen robes fell over him like a curtain and Hermione still had Mafalda's purse, which toppled to the ground as Hermione wobbled to her feet. The mission had been chaotic, but worth it. He felt the locket's weight in his robe pocket.

He looked around, staring at the mass of green, trying to remember—

Harry's eyes widened as the haze cleared and revealed the forest was one person short. He whipped around, looking for telltale orange robes. But the man was nowhere to be found. Harry cursed under his breath. How did he get away in the middle of Apparition? It wasn't supposed to be possible! Harry hadn't let the man go! His fist was still curled, as if clutching some imaginary wrist. He clenched his teeth. All his plans always went wrong.

Hang on . . . Why are we here?

Dread churned in his stomach. They were in Mother Nature's stronghold rather than in his godfather's rickety old apartment. Heart beating and mouth dry, Harry turned towards Hermione, "Where—where are we? Hermione? Why aren't we at Grimmauld Place?"

Harry's heart sank when Hermione shook her head. "I'm so sorry, Harry . . . Yaxley grabbed onto me as soon as we Apparated away and," unshed tears glittered in her eyes, "and I Apparated him through the wards. If—if I showed him in, then I've shown him the secret and—" She stopped. A cold wind sunk into his skin. "This forest was the first place I thought to go," Hermione admitted, eyes glazed as she looked around at the tall trees and shadowy canopy. "My parents and I came here on a camping trip a few years ago." She began trembling at the thought of her parents—a mother and father who could no longer, and might never, remember their daughter.

No . . . Harry couldn't fathom it. Twelve Grimmauld Place compromised. The one safe haven they'd had in this war and now, just like Hogwarts, it was gone.

Harry felt naked. Sick.

He imagined with a sense of dawning horror that Kreacher was still there, making a dinner they would never consume. Sirius' possessions were still there, photos and letters and mementos of his godfather that he might never see again. It was a Death Eater stronghold now. Harry's chest constricted.

"Are you—are you sure we can't go back?"

Hermione looked stricken. "I don't think so. We're the Secret Keepers now that Dumbledore d-died and I brought him past the Fidelius Charm protection—"

Harry's eyes widened—

What if . . .?

"Hermione!" he interjected. "Did you leave the man in orange robes at Grimmauld Place, too?"

Hermione furrowed her brows, thinking. "The man in orange—?" Her eyes widened and she gaped at him. "Harry!" she hissed. "Tell me you didn't!"

When he didn't answer right away, she let out a frustrated moan. "I can't believeyou! Harry—"

Fire ignited in the pit of Harry's stomach, consuming his memories of the past day like fuel. "Oh for the love of Merlin, Hermione!" he snarled. "We've run into this bloke at every twist and turn! Do you expect me to just watch and do nothing as he keeps following us?"

"He wasn't following us!" she returned, indignant. "He works at the ministry!"

"What about that night in the cafe? Don't tell me that was just a coincidence. No one goes to a bloody coffee shop at night!"

Hermione took a deep, shuddering breath. "Did you even think about what we were going to do with him before you—you kidnapped him? If Yaxley hadn't grabbed onto me, we would have Apparated him through the wards, too! If he was an enemy like you seem to think, then we would have had to leave anyway."

Harry gaped. He hadn't thought about that.

Furious, Hermione continued, "What were you thinking, Harry? You—"

"What was I thinking?" Harry hissed. "I was thinking that I wanted answers, Hermione—"

"Answers to what? He hasn't done anything suspicious! He helped us escape, Harry!" She paled. "He helped us escape and we showed him our gratitude by kidnapping him and making him a fugitive!" she moaned. "This is a disaster!"

Harry clenched his teeth, "A little late to cry over spilt milk, isn't it?" He knew he'd made a mistake, but she didn't have to rub it in his face!

She glared at him. "Harry James Potter—"

Her breath caught as she came to a shaky realization.

"I-I only shook Yaxley off . . . He—he must be here, too." Without a thought, Harry whipped out his hand. "He's not an enemy, Harry," Hermione whispered frantically, but pulled out her wand anyway. "We should apologize—"

"That's why you have your wand out," Harry muttered under his breath. She was wary, too—probably wondering whether he'd just made yet another enemy.

Leaves shuffled behind them as Ron stumbled to his feet, rubbing his right arm. "Bloody hell, what—!"

"Ron!" Hermione hissed, throwing him a warning look. "Quiet!"

Brows scrunching together, Ron closed his mouth, throwing a confused look at Harry. But he didn't dare speak. He felt the tension in the air.

Unsettling quiet filled the forest. It felt too quiet. He didn't hear any birds chirping or leaves rustling. It was like Mother Nature was holding her breath, too.

"Homenum Revelio," Hermione whispered, waving her wand at the surrounding forest. Nothing happened as far as Harry could see, but Hermione gasped, panicked brown eyes staring at a space directly behind him.

"Harry, watch out—!" she shrieked just as a blunt, stick-like object rapped him on the back of the head.

He toppled over in surprise, head pulsing with dulled pain—

"Stupefy!" Hermione yelled.

—but he wasted no time in rolling around and pointing his wand at his assailant.

The air shimmered in front of him as Hermione's red spell jetted past, slamming into a tree and fizzling out. Suddenly, a lanky, dark-haired man with ancient, blue eyes and a goofy smile materialized. His neon orange robes blinded Harry for a second, but his aim never faltered. And . . . Was that a cane in his hands?

"Hasn't anyone ever told you that kidnapping isn't nice?" the man huffed at him, but Harry wasn't listening. He jumped to his feet.

"Incarcerous!"

Faster than Harry could follow, ropes flew from the tip of his wand, intent on trapping the man.

But the man simply grinned and threw his cane at the incoming ropes. As soon as they collided, both cane and ropes disappeared in a flash of golden light. Hermione gasped. Harry's eyes nearly burst from their sockets. No spell, no wand—! He merely threw a bloody cane into his spell and stopped it.

"Expelliarmus!" Ron shouted behind him, but the man just ducked.

Where is his wand? Harry wondered. Did he lose it?

A rainbow of spells shot from every corner of the clearing, but the man dodged, ducked, and blocked them all. All with no wand . . . Harry's heart leapt into his throat as the man blocked yet another spell just by holding up his hand and grasping Hermione's spell like a struggling worm. Harry began to wonder whether he should have kidnapped this man after all . . . Maybe Hermione was right . . . Bloody hell, what was he saying? Hermione was always right!

Silence. Ron and Hermione maneuvered around him until they had the man surrounded. But Harry had a sinking feeling that nothing they could do would be enough to contain this wizard.

(And he'd seen the humongous dragonthe man created at the Ministry. Even a bloody dung beetle knew that took powerful magic.)

Harry aimed his wand at the grumbling wizard, prepared to shoot off another round of spells when—

"Harry, wait!" Hermione cried. "He's not attacking us back!" Harry paused. The man wasn't. Even now, the man just stood stock-still, calmly observing them. Still, Harry didn't lower his wand.

"Well," the man quipped, "if this is how you treat your rescuers, then I'd hate to see how you treat your enemies." His cheer was unsettling. He didn't seem the least bit ruffled by the pseudo-battle or by the fact that he was surrounded.

"Y—You attacked Harry with a bloody cane!" Ron blustered. "How do you expect us to treat you, you nutter?"

The man blinked. "Oh that? My cane doesn't like it when I'm kidnapped. I'm afraid it has a terrible temper about it, too." He didn't look at all remorseful.

"What wizard under ninety even has a cane!" Ron spluttered.

Hermione stared at the man, alarmed. "I'm so sorry, sir, this is a terrible misunderstanding! We didn't mean to—"

But Harry had had just about enough. Before Hermione could finish, Harry stepped forward and fired, "Who are you? How did you know it was me in the lift at the Ministry?"

"Harry!"

Harry had so many more questions. What were you doing in the café that night? Why did you help us escape? How did you stop those ropes and spells?

The man blinked, mouth forming a circular 'O,' before responding, "Well, let's see—on Mondays through Fridays, I'm Martin Jones. I would say it's nice to see you again, but it's most certainly not. I don't appreciate being kidnapped. The apology is start, though." He beamed at Hermione.

". . . You said your name was Marvin Emrys last time," Hermione spoke quietly, a tinge of caution coloring her voice. Harry's grip tightened around his wand.

The man looked surprised. "Was it on a Saturday?" Hermione's brow furrowed in confusion. "I think so . . ."

The man smiled, "That solves it! On Saturdays and Sundays, I'm Marvin Emrys. But today—you can call me Merlin."

The three wizards just stared at him. Ron looked flabbergasted.

"Which one is it?" Ron asked dubiously, "Martin, Marvin, or Merlin?"

"Exactly!" the man beamed at him.

Ron just stared at him, mouth agape. "Blimey, he's mad!" he whispered to Hermione, who, at this point, appeared rather uncomfortable.

"How did you know it was me on the lift in the Ministry?" Harry pressed, taking another step forward. Hermione furrowed her brows.

"But he was under Polyjuice Potion," she murmured to herself.

"Yeah," Ron whispered to her, "and the bloke still knew." 'Merlin' looked . . . embarrassed.

"Oh—well," he laughed, "I'm not very good with names so I just make them up when I can't remember them. Harry's a really common name, you know." He harrumphed. "It was between 'Harry' and 'John' and between you and me, I wished I'd gone with John since going with 'Harry' got me bloody kidnapped."

Harry just stared at him, skeptical. "Are you mental?" Ron sputtered.

"No, I'm Merlin," the man told him. Ron just shook his head in amazement. Harry shared a skeptical look with Hermione.

"Why should we believe that?" Harry asked him.

The man blinked. "Well—if you don't believe my name's Merlin, I suppose you can call me Marvin."

"No, not that," Harry said, annoyed. No one was this bloody clueless. He must be doing it on purpose! "Your name—er—mix-up."

"Oh. What else would you believe, then?" 'Merlin' shot back, cocking his head. Ron groaned.

Harry glared at 'Merlin.' "That you've been following us, that you're a Death Eater, that—"

"Harry!" Hermione hissed. "A Death Eater wouldn't help us escape! Neither would one let you know he knows you're under disguise!"

"How would you know?" Ron grumbled. "It could all be a part of their evil plan to capture Harry!"

"Ron! That's illogical!"

"Not as illogical as him!" Ron pointed to Merlin. "I understand Luna better than him and I don't understand her at all!"

Hermione merely sighed.

Merlin looked thoughtful. "I haven't been following you. If anything, you three have been following me!"

"What—?" Harry started, but Merlin continued.

"—You followed me to that coffee dumpster and then to the Ministry. I'm flattered, but don't you have anything better to do than stalk me?"

Hermione sent him a wild stare. "Sir, we most certainly have not been following you—"

"Oh! And I'm not a Death Eater either." He raised his arm—Harry tensed—and pulled his sleeve back. His arm was bare. Harry relaxed somewhat. "That would be awfully boring," he explained, cringing. "If you listen in on their gatherings, you'll find yourself falling asleep in no time! All they do is glorify purebloods and that barmy, inhuman toe-rag."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione gaped at him. "How do you know?" Ron squeaked, eyes like saucers.

(Barmy, inhuman toe-rag . . .? Harry wasn't sure whether he should be mortified or amused.)

Merlin furrowed his brows at them. "How else would I know? I listened in on one."

"Y—You were there?"

Merlin gave Hermione a funny look. "No, of course not. I taped it and listened to the tape." He started digging around in his pockets. Finally, Merlin pulled out a big cassette. Muttering to himself, he placed it flat on his palm and snapped his fingers.

Harry gaped. How is he doing that? Was this man so skilled that he needed no wand or incantation to do magic? How had no one ever heard of him? Hermione and Ron seemed to share similar thoughts as voices emerged from the cassette.

"Nagini, come my ssssssweet. Let'sssss begin our morning sssstretchessss," hissed a familiar high-pitched voice.

Harry froze.

Morning stretches? Does he mean—murder?

His blood ran cold, trying to figure out who Voldemort had captured this time, praying it wasn't a Weasley or a Hogwarts student.

But in the next second, very . . . characteristic moans broke the tense silence. For a second, the four occupants of the forest just stared at the tape, the sexual revelation hanging in the air like a death sentence.

But then 'Merlin' sprang into action. Fumbling with the tape, he turned it off and shoved it back into his pockets, ears turning pink.

"Uh . . . oops?" he stuttered.

Hermione looked scandalized.

That . . . was not something I ever needed to know. Harry felt like retching.

"What kind of surveillance is that?" Ron squeaked. His face was as red as his hair.

Merlin coughed. "Too much." An awkward silence fell over the clearing.

Gathering her wits (and having half a mind to Obliviate herself), Hermione broke the silence, "Well . . . No Death Eater would use Muggle technology." She looked pointedly at Harry. "And there's no Mark on his wrist."

Harry frowned. "How did you get that—tape?" Harry flushed as the—the hissing filled his mind. No—stop thinking about it! He viciously shoved the thought out of his mind and forced himself to focus on the present. He took a deep breath.

Harry couldn't quite wrap his head around this man, this wizard. How would you even get close enough to tape his meetings? How did you not get caught? Wouldn't Voldemort have protections against this sort of spying? He thought that was why the Order had to install a spy. And that worked out well, didn't it?

Merlin's blue eyes twinkled. It was so much like Dumbledore's that Harry felt a pang in his chest.

"Magic," Merlin replied, grinning. Red-hot frustration began to bubble in Harry's stomach. This man had told them hardly anything! Just like Dumbledore, he thought ruefully.

Harry desperately wanted to have a moment alone to talk with Ron and Hermione and figure out what they were going to do with the man. But, as they had just witnessed, they couldn't land a spell on the man, much less a stunner. Indecision gripped him. What were they going to do? Harry cursed himself for not thinking this through. He should've just left without the man, burning questions or not. Because now they had an infuriating, mysterious nutcase with them who may or may not be on their side.

(Though . . . Harry supposed that it was rather unlikely that the man supported Voldemort.)

Merlin seemed to know exactly what he was thinking, too, because his eyes, his ancient, blue eyes, shone with amusement.

"Now that I'm a fugitive—"

Hermione flinched.

"—I suppose I'll just have to join your merry band of phoenixes."

"Phoenixes"? Does he know . . .? That's too much of a coincidence, Harry decided. Hermione thought so, too. She blinked, startled, and asked, "You know of the . . . Order?"

Merlin gave her a sideways glance, "Even if I didn't, I certainly do now." Hermione looked abashed. Still, she plowed on, "Are you a member?"

"In spirit," the man quipped. Hermione sighed. Just as well, Harry decided, because they probably would have seen him by now if he were a member.

Ron just shook his head in amazement.

Though nothing Hermione said gave anything away. She never said what exactly the Order was, which meant Merlin already knew . . .? Still, Harry wasn't satisfied. There was too much to lose if he—they—were wrong. "Prove it," he ordered, steel coating his voice.

"Harry . . ." Hermione trailed off. "He helped us at the Ministry—and the coffee shop. He doesn't have a Mark either." Ron grunted, eyes wavering uncertainly between Harry and Merlin.

"How do I prove my spiritual membership?" Merlin asked, confused. "Do you need a show of faith? I'm afraid I don't know the proper way to pray to a phoenix . . ."

"Swear it," Harry growled, wand raising slightly. "There's some way he can magically swear his allegiance, right, Hermione?" He looked over at her, but didn't find any reassurance. "Um . . . Well . . ." She looked uncertain. "There's the Unbreakable Vow," she replied quietly.

Harry and Ron stared at her, stunned.

"Blimey, Hermione." Ron shivered. "That Vow turns people into—into slaves."

Hermione frowned. "No, it doesn't quite do that, Ron. Wizards and witches just don't use it lightly because any sudden misstep or wrongly worded vow can result in someone's death." She frowned. "But it's the only magical 'swear' I know. I've never heard of magical swears, just magical contracts."

Harry frowned. "Then—"

A quiet chuckle interrupted him. Harry glared at the grinning perpetrator. "What's so funny?" he growled.

"You young whippersnappers," Merlin laughed, blue eyes twinkling. (Here was his chance!)

Ron bristled. "'What are you talking about? You can't be much older than us, you tosspot!"

Merlin merely smiled. "There is one magical swear. It's older than I am—"

("Like that's a big achievement," Ron snorted.)

"—and all it requires is an oath on the swearer's magic."

(Well there really wasn't, but they didn't need to know that.)

The trio blinked.

"How do we know that you're not lying?" Harry asked cautiously.

"Because you'll feel it."

Harry glanced uncertainly at his friends.

"I dunno, mate," Ron told him. "If Hermione doesn't know it . . ." He trailed off, shrugging.

"Even I don't know everything about magic, Ron," Hermione admitted. She didn't look particularly happy at the admission. Harry hesitated, about to say something when Merlin clapped his hands together and quipped, "Marvelous! Let's start!"

Merlin hoped that the three were not familiar with American patriotism.

Merlin put his hand over his heart and said, "I pledge allegiance to the Order of the Phoenix and the Wizarding world for which it stands. I swear upon my magic that I will do them or any affiliated with them no harm." And, just for the hell of it, Merlin added, "So mote it be."

(He'd read that line in a lot of fantasy novels. It always made him giggle.)

As soon as Merlin finished speaking, golden sparks erupted from his right hand and the very air seemed to tremble with the weight of his oath.

(Really, though, Merlin was just blowing hot air with his Magic. Though there may have been a compulsion spell mixed in.)

Rather unexpectedly, Merlin's hair shot straight up, as if a hair magnet rested above it. The trio just stared at the new development, aghast.

"Is that elec—" But before Hermione could finish, Merlin's hair dropped limply to his skull.

On instinct, Harry raised his wand.

His grip loosened, however, as an electric current rushed up the sides of his body. It was warm, like a stream of hot water, but also in a volatile sense, like an engine about to overheat. He stood absolutely still as it sailed through him, holding in his breath and even stomach. What's happening? Did he do this?

He nearly jumped as the warm, electric-like current reached his hair, shocking his unruly, black locks into tall, stiff spikes. They looked like mini-trees—just without branches and leaves.

"Blimey, Harry!" Ron pointed to the top of his head, snorting. "Your hair looks like it got shocked by your scar!" After a minute or so, his hair returned to its normal unruly mess.

Ron wasn't nearly as pleased when the electric-like current slammed through him, however.

"What was that?" he gasped, prodding his own set of redwoods once and then twice, as if he couldn't believe it existed. "I don't even have enough hair for this!" As the last golden sparks winked out of existence, though, his hair also reverted to its previous state.

Hermione frowned and clawed at her head, brown locks standing taller than Ron's and Harry's combined. A few seconds later, her spiky 'do disappeared as well. "Was that supposed to happen?" she directed at Merlin, skeptical. "I've never heard of an oath or contract that produces this kind of result."

Harry tensed, taking a step back. Ron's wand hand twitched.

Merlin laughed, blue eyes shining. "You felt it, though, didn't you?"

"Felt what?" Harry pressed, eyes narrowing.

"Magic!"

(To make sure the three didn't recognize his inspiration for the swear, Merlin had to instigate a distraction, which he probably should have made a bit more believable . . .)

"That's what magic feels like?" Hermione gasped. "I never thought you could do that!"

"What are you talking about, 'Mione?" Ron interjected. "Of course you can!"

Hermione glared at him. "Name one instance where you've felt magic, Ronald."

Ron hesitated. "Uh, well, there was . . . that time that . . ." He trailed off, disgruntled.

"I thought so," Hermione replied, eyebrow raised. "Magic comes from the soul and you can't feel your soul, you just know it's there. It's the same principle with magic. We just experienced the impossible," she finished, throwing a confused glance as Merlin.

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Does that mean the oath was fake, then?"

Hermione fidgeted. "I . . ."

Merlin shook his head. "Of course not! Your friend here is talking about modern magic. In Ye Olden Days, wizards didn't use wands, merely incantations, because they opened themselves to the Old Religion—that's the source of all magic. Since modern wizards no longer embrace the Old Religion, they no longer have access to their fullest magical capabilities." He sounded rather sad as he said it. It struck Harry that he sounded oddly serious and, well, lucid.

Hermione's brows furrowed in deep thought. "I've read that term somewhere. I know it! But Professor Bins never mentioned it in History of Magic."

"He didn't mention much of anything," Harry muttered under his breath. He felt more relaxed after the oath for some reason. Did that mean the oath worked? And Hermione was somewhat familiar with Merlin's explanation . . .

Ron shrugged. "Well if it's familiar to 'Mione, then it must be real." He turned to Hermione. "It is real, right?" Though a little hesitant, Hermione nodded to him. She'd felt and seen the tremors and hair-raising effects the oath produced.

"Wait." Hermione frowned, looking at Merlin. "How do you know this? It must be really obscure information! There are no books on the Old Religion in the Hogwarts library."

Merlin sent her a knowing grin. "I was homeschooled."

Hermione pursed her lips. "Who taught you?"

Merlin cocked his head, "A wise, old, sadistic dragon." Hermione huffed at the cryptic message.

Before she could press further, Merlin asked, "Do I need to pray to a phoenix now or is my Pledge of Allegiance enough?"

(He found it hilarious how he, the kidnapped, had to prove his good intentions to his kidnappers. Wasn't it usually the other way around?)

"Er—right." Harry stuffed his wand into his pocket. Ron and Hermione followed suit. At Hermione's glare, Harry continued, "And sorry for kidnapping you."

Merlin brightened up considerably and waved off his apology. "It's been far too long since I've had hordes of evil s—wizards after me."

(Oops. He nearly said "sorcerers.")

Ron and Harry shared a look. Ron shrugged. Harry couldn't tell whether or not the man was being sarcastic, so he simply repeated, "Right."

A surge of fatigue suddenly hit him and he felt the urge to sit down. He could even feel the phantom throbbing in the back of his head where Merlin's cane hit him.

His stomach rumbled, too, and he nearly called to Kreacher to whip up lunch when he remembered—they were not and were never going back to Twelve Grimmauld Place.

Harry swallowed painfully. "Hermione, do we have anything to eat?" Ron sent her an eager glance as his stomach grumbled. That brought him to another thought—"We left everything at Grimmauld Place, didn't we." It wasn't a question, but a statement, one that twisted his innards.

As Hermione shook her head, however, the feeling vanished. "I packed all the essentials in this," she held up a small, brown bag by its chain. Harry furrowed his brows, "But—"

"Extension charm," she supplied. Harry blinked. "Oh. Good thinking." Ron nodded, shifting uneasily. Harry could tell he wanted to ask about the Horcrux, but . . . He threw a glance at Merlin, who was just watching them with a small smile on his face. He may be no Death Eater and he might even be an ally, but Harry wasn't prepared to trust him yet. And neither, it seemed, were Ron and Hermione. Hell, it took him a long time just to tell his best friends in the entire world about his mission. Harry wasn't entirely sure he wanted the man to accompany them. This was a secret mission. They couldn't be picking up every stray they came across . . . even if they were responsible for making the man a "stray." On the other hand, . . . he was desperately curious about the man who needed no wand nor incantation to perform magic.

Crunch!

Leaves and sticks cried out as Hermione walked to the edge of the clearing, muttering protection spells and waving her wand.

"Salvio Hexia . . . Protego Totalum . . ." And so it went. "The tent's in my bag, Harry," she directed.

Harry nodded absently and walked over to her bag, reaching downward for the tent—

And that was when his scar exploded.