A/N: That last chapter was so short, and kind of depressing (damn Nimueh and her secret agenda), so I wanted to give you the next one early. Enjoy!

It was the first week of October when the Gryffindor first-years finally had their first flying lesson.

When they first received their timetables on the first day of term, flying lessons had been struck from the schedule, and a harried-looking Professor McGonagall told them that the instructor Madam Hooch had been called away to referee a Quidditch tournament in Yugoslavia.

Now, Madam Hooch was back, and so on Tuesday morning, the Gryffindor and Slytherin first-years headed outside into the castle grounds together, pulling their cloaks tighter around them to ward off the brisk autumn wind.

Merlin could hardly contain his excitement. Of everything he had learned so far at Hogwarts, nothing could compete with the elation he felt at the idea that he would actually be learning how to fly.

For as long as he could remember, Merlin had dreamed of flying. Never on brooms, mind, but he wasn't going to complain.

Gwen and Lance did not share his enthusiasm. 'I like my feet firmly planted on the ground!' Gwen told him, shuddering, while Lance merely made a face when Merlin asked them about it at breakfast.

Merlin had been spending a lot of time with Gwen and Lancelot over the past month. Ever since Arthur had become friendly with Gwaine and Percy, it was like the two groups had drifted apart, much to Merlin's chagrin. He really liked the other boys, and it wasn't that they were no longer friends – but it seemed like the other first-year Gryffindor boys had come to an understanding about Merlin and Arthur: to keep them separate as much as possible.

And while Merlin still thought it was all awfully unfair, he supposed he understood. Most of the time when he and Arthur were forced into close proximity – including all of their Potions lessons – they would end up arguing, usually about the smallest of things, and before they knew it their sniping had developed into shouting matches, which in retrospect Merlin always felt really embarrassed about. But something about Arthur just brought out such anger in him as he'd never felt before, and Merlin wasn't going to just lie down and take the other boy's abuse.

Professor Slughorn despaired at their behaviour at first, but like the rest of the class he soon came to expect it, sighing mournfully and letting them squabble in their corner of the room until they became a disturbance for the rest of the class. And while the old Professor would then be forced to interfere, to Merlin's surprise, Slughorn had never once put them in detention for their behaviour. Nor had he suggested to split them up and pair them with someone different, despite the fact that Merlin recalled at least one pale yellow potion brewed during that first class. Surely that could be a passing match for one of them?

Merlin suspected that maybe Slughorn was simply trying to get into Arthur's good graces; the teacher seemed to find something to compliment about Arthur's late mother in almost every class, and had started hinting that Arthur join him in this thing he called the 'Slug Club,' whatever that was. Or maybe he simply had such faith in his Animus Compativera potion, he was determined that Arthur and Merlin stick it out until they became friends. Well, fat luck there, Merlin thought bitterly.

But now, Merlin was going to learn how to fly, and there was no way Arthur could ruin that for him. At least, that's what he thought.

When they arrived at the Quidditch pitch, Madam Hooch was already waiting there with a collection of old, tattered-looking broomsticks.

Madam Hooch was a formidable-looking witch, much younger than Merlin would have imagined. She had long, silver hair and eyes as thin and slitted as a cat's.

'They say she takes a dip every morning in the lake, swimming with the giant squid. Naked,' a voice said in his ear, low and seductive; Merlin snorted.

'Right, Gwaine, I'll believe that one after you prove your theory about McGonagall and Slughorn's illicit affair,' Merlin whispered back, and heard Gwaine chuckle behind him.

'Would you really want proof of that, Emrys? Think about it,' Gwaine called back to him, waggling his eyebrows as he moved back towards Percy. Arthur was standing a few feet away with Morgana and Morgause, saying something to Morgana which had her in a fit of silent giggles.

Merlin turned his head just in time to see Gwen rolling her eyes. She didn't care much for Gwaine, Merlin knew, which was a shame. His fast friendship with Gwen had been invaluable to him, and Lance was the kindest and most loyal person he knew, but sometimes he wondered just what it was that always had Gwaine, Arthur, Percy and sometimes Leon laughing so uproariously at mealtimes, or coming back to the common room just at the brink of curfew, sniggering about something or other. Not for the first time, he really wished that there didn't have to be this divide between them.

Madam Hooch clapped her hands together, and the students all gathered around her. Merlin noticed a mix of apprehension and excitement on almost everyone's faces, except for a few who just looked downright terrified.

'Welcome to your first flying lesson,' Madam Hooch called out. 'I trust by now you are all well settled in at Hogwarts, and have at least mastered a few spells.'

Merlin glanced at Gwen, who bit her lip – she was one of the few students who still had not managed to make her quill float off the table in Charms, or turn her piece of yarn into leather in Transfiguration. But in their most recent Potions lesson, Slughorn had commended her on her remarkable forgetfulness potion.

Madam Hooch continued, 'Now, it is time to turn your attention to another important part of your wizarding education: flying. As you all know, flying lessons are compulsory for all first-year students at Hogwarts, to ensure that every wizard has at least a passing grasp of the concept. After first year, should you be so inclined, you can try out for your House Quidditch team, or alternatively borrow one of the school broomsticks to advance your skills further. But today, a lot of you will merely try sitting on a broom for the first time, so do not burden your minds with thoughts of the future!'

The assembled students nodded, some looking a bit less worried than before.

'Each of you, grab a broom and set it on the ground, in two lines… go on now, hurry up,' Madam Hooch commanded. Soon all the students were standing next to a broom, and Madam Hooch gave each of them in turn a very stern look. 'This next part is very important,' she told them. 'Hold out your hand, and command the broom to rise. Go on, do it.'

'Rise,' Merlin told his broom, feeling it shake under his hand. 'Rise!' he tried again, and it flopped on the ground. 'Rise,' he repeated, and to his surprise, the broom actually rose from the ground and soared up into his outstretched hand.

Around him, the other students were having mixed luck trying to command their broomsticks. Arthur, Morgana, Gwaine and Lancelot (seemingly much to his own surprise; he was staring down at the broom in his hand in confusion) all had their brooms in hand, and soon Elena, Morgause and Percy's rose from the ground too. Gwen, Lucius Malfoy, Sophia Tirmore and the other Slytherins' broomsticks followed suit, until only one remained firmly on the ground.

In the end, Madam Hooch told Vivian Olsson to simply pick up her unmoving broomstick, and the small blonde girl did so, looking close to tears. But when they all held out their brooms, and Madam Hooch declared them ready to move on, Merlin felt a thrill shoot through him, forgetting all about Vivian Olsson.

'Mount your broomsticks,' Hooch called out, 'and raise yourself a few feet – no more, mind you – off the ground.'

Merlin mounted his broomstick, grasping the hilt of it, and glanced around to make sure that everyone else was doing the same. Arthur, Morgana and Gwaine were the first to push off from the ground, and Merlin found himself watching Arthur's easy movements as he began gliding slowly through the air. Complete control, he had, which was no more than Merlin had expected – he'd heard Arthur and Gwaine at supper, talking about flying about the fields around their houses, even spotting each other from a distance a few times.

'Emrys! What are you waiting for?' Hooch called, and Merlin started, realising that while he'd been watching Arthur, everyone else had begun raising their own broomsticks off the ground. What am I doing? he wondered, shaking his head to clear it.

Merlin grabbed a firmer hold of his broomstick and looked up. He pushed off – and then he flew.

A thousand old dreams seemed to pass before his eyes in flashes as he rose up, up; he felt like he'd done this a thousand times before, a hundred different ways; his body was on fire, exploding with that same energy he'd only felt a jolt of when he'd made that feather rise off the desk in his first Charms class.

'Look, look up there!' he heard someone shout from down below, their voice sounding very far away.

'What's he doing?'

'Is he glowing?'

'Merlin's beard!'

'Shut up, Gwaine, that's not funny!'

'What in the – Mr Emrys, get down from there!'

Merlin looked down – and there, far below him, he saw Madam Hooch and his fellow first-years, looking like tiny little dolls he could pick up by the fingertips and shake. He saw Arthur's shock of blonde hair reflecting the autumn sun and imagined doing just that, picking Arthur up and shaking him. The thought made him laugh.

'Mr Emrys, this is—oh for Merlin's sake, Sonorus. MR EMRYS,' Madam Hooch's voice suddenly boomed, 'COME DOWN THIS INSTANT OR YOU'LL HAVE DETENTION FOR A MONTH!'

But I don't want to. Merlin bit his lip to keep from shouting the words aloud, grabbing a firmer hold of the broom as he looked out across the landscape. From up here, he could see everything – out across the shimmering lake there were mountains, their peaks coated with snow. And there was the Forbidden Forest, vast and dark and imposing, and far beyond it, rivers and valleys and even more mountains, cutting through the horizon.

Merlin had never flown in an aeroplane before; he and his mum had never gone anywhere further away than the Isle of Wright, and certainly could not afford such an expensive journey. He always imagined that flying would be amazing... but nothing could have prepared him for this.

There was nothing but him and the broom, nothing but space and air and freedom. All of his worries were down below where they couldn't reach him, and above him there was only the sun and a clear, bright blue sky; the wind was stronger up here, ruffling his hair lovingly and bringing fresh and exciting smells to his nostrils.

And there, he saw as he turned slowly, was all of Hogwarts laid out before him, with its turrets and spikes, towers and bridges. He recognised Gryffindor Tower, the windows of the Great Hall, the owlery, and the Astronomy Tower where they went every Wednesday night to observe the stars.

But where are the battlements? he suddenly found himself wondering, the thought popping into his head unbidden. Where are the flags? And the colour is all wrong.

'MR EMRYS, I MEAN IT, GET DOWN FROM THERE!' Madam Hooch's voice was more shrill now, sounding almost panicked.

For the first time, Merlin seriously considered ignoring a teacher's command. For a brief moment he imagined himself just taking flight, him and the broomstick, leaving all of this behind and disappearing, out beyond the valleys and mountains, looking for something he suddenly felt like he'd lost.

But it's right here, he thought. Isn't it?

His eyes swept down over the castle and its grounds, until they settled on the group of students gathered below him; he was so high up, it was hard to make out who was who. He was looking for someone, he realised, but he'd forgotten who it was. A flash of gold caught his eye; reflected sunlight shimmering like a beacon in a storm.

MERLIN, a deep, booming voice suddenly sounded inside his head, and Merlin was so shocked, he started and almost fell sideways off the broom. MERLIN? IS THAT YOU?

I'm going mad, Merlin thought wildly, heart pounding as he gripped the broomstick harder than before, his knuckles turning white. Maybe it was the high altitude.

Suddenly, after his close brush with gravity, he was eager to have his feet on the ground. I can't really fly, he reminded himself.

He tipped forwards, feeling the broom give in easily to his silent command, and circled downwards slowly, wondering fleetingly why anyone could ever think that flying was difficult.

When he landed, it was to find himself practically nose to nose with Madam Hooch, whose face was ashen, her lips pursed so tightly it looked like she had no lips at all.

'I have never seen – ever – I can't believe – detention, Emrys, for a week!' she managed to splutter in her fury.

'That's not fair, Professor, you only said he'd get detention if he didn't come down,' Gwaine interjected (bravely, in Merlin's opinion).

'One more word out of you, Green, and you can join him!' Hooch called out, eyes flashing, and Gwaine clamped his mouth shut. 'That'll be quite enough flying for today, Emrys. One more trick like that, and I'll make sure you never sit on a broom again!' She snatched the broomstick from Merlin's slack hands and marched off towards the broom cupboard at the edge of the field, leaving Merlin frozen in shock behind her.

Could she really make sure I never fly again? he wondered fearfully. Of everything that had just happened, this was by far what worried him the most.

'Merlin, are you—' Gwen began, but she was interrupted by Arthur Pendragon, who strode towards Merlin looking almost as white-faced and furious as Madam Hooch.

'Damn you Emrys, why do you always have to show off?!' Arthur demanded, pushing himself right up against Merlin, who was still too shaken to even move backwards. 'Did you really think it was worth risking your life just to prove that you're better than everyone else?'

Merlin's jaw dropped at Arthur's words, the unfairness them shaking him out of his shocked state. 'As if you care about my life!' he said scornfully, forcing out a laugh; an odd, strangled sound to his own ears. 'Ever since we got here, you've done nothing but insult me, put me down, and why? Because I'm a Gryffindor? No, that can't be right, because you've gone and befriended every other Gryffindor but me!' Merlin swept out his hands, indicating their classmates, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Gwaine scratch the back of his neck, looking peevish. 'But not me, no, I'm not good enough for the likes of Arthur Pendragon!' Merlin was picking up steam now, the elation from his flying experience rushing back to him and filling him up like a drug. 'Is it because I'm a half-blood? Surely not, seeing as you count a Muggle-born amongst your friends!' This time it was little Percy who averted his eyes. 'So what is it about me that makes me so repulsive to you? Tell me that, and then you can start pretending you care about me falling off my broom.'

When Merlin finally stopped for breath he felt as if he'd run a mile. During his little speech he'd watched with satisfaction as Arthur's eyes had widened and the anger had slowly melted from his face; now, for the first time, it was not disgust that the other boy was looking at him with.

'I don't—' Arthur began, uncharacteristically lost for words, 'my father—I—'

'And there we go again, my father,' Merlin mocked, feeling like he was rolling downhill and only picking up speed as he went, 'that's always your excuse. Well, fine, let's play it that way. Your father is why we're not friends. Your father is why you're such a rude, arrogant, stuck up-'

'YES!' Arthur screamed out, so loudly that Merlin wondered for a brief moment if he'd covertly cast a Sonorus charm on himself. Arthur's eyes widened and he immediately shook his head. 'I mean, no. Don't flatter yourself, Emrys,' he said, trying to inject some of the familiar hardness into his words. 'Have you never considered that maybe I don't want to be your friend because I just don't like you?' he spat, and it almost sounded genuine. Almost. Merlin frowned.

'Arthur.' Morgana's voice was stern and hard, as she came to stand right behind her brother; Arthur's face was so close to Merlin's, Merlin saw the other boy's almost imperceptive wince before he turned his head to face her.

'What, Morgana?' he demanded through clenched teeth.

'It's time to go,' she said. She spoke quietly, but her words were iron, and Arthur obeyed without question – throwing one final look in Merlin's direction, which he couldn't decipher. This had just been one more of their by now infamous rows, sure, but… somehow, it had been very different.

Merlin watched as Morgana led Arthur towards the castle; she never touched him, but he followed her none the less. Morgause fell into pace with them, lagging a few steps behind.

Soon, more of the students began to retreat to the castle, realising that the show was over. In the end only Gwen, Lance, Gwaine and Percy remained with Merlin, the small group seeming even smaller in the centre of the vast Quidditch pitch.

'We have to do something about the pair of you,' Lance said, shaking his head as he came to stand next to Merlin. 'You'll end up tearing each other apart before the year is out.'

'Lock 'em in a small room, I say, let 'em fight it out,' Gwaine suggested.

Lance snorted. 'Sure. Why not throw a mountain troll in there too, maybe a few goblins while we're at it?'

'Now you're learnin',' Gwaine laughed, grabbing Lance's head and rubbing his hair, making Lance cry with a mixture of laughter and derision as he tried to fight him off.

'Merlin,' Gwen said quietly, appearing at his other elbow, 'are you alright?'

Merlin looked down at her; sweet, innocent Gwen looked on the verge of tears, and he couldn't blame her after everything that had just happened. But Merlin himself just felt oddly numb, like he'd hit an emotional wall and couldn't let anything else in, even if he wanted to.

He smiled at her, hoping she didn't see through its emptiness. 'Yeah,' he said. 'I'm fine. I think I just want to walk back by myself, if that's alright?'

Gwen looked anxious. 'Are you sure you don't want me to—'

'You worry too much for your own good, you know,' Merlin smiled, and this time it felt more genuine. 'Just walk back with Lance and the boys, I'll be fine.'

Gwen hesitated for another moment, then returned his smile with a small one of her own. 'Alright, then, go brood it off. I'll see you at dinner.'

Merlin left the others behind, walking all the way out of the Quidditch pitch in the direction of the castle, until he reached the tall towers that marked the end of the pitch, where the audience seats had been erected. It wasn't until he reached beyond the towers, where he was sure no one could see him, that he turned and bolted in the other direction, running as fast as he could, blind to where he was going.

He ran as fast as he could, faster than he'd run in months, pouring all of his anger and frustration – at Arthur, at his stupid father, at Madam Hooch, at himself for almost falling off the broom, at own father for daring to be dead – into his arms and legs, letting his limbs propel him forwards at breakneck speed. It'll never be like flying, he told himself, but still he ran, away from Hogwarts and everything within it, away from the voice in his head which had scared him more than he dared say; angry tears blurred his vision but the wind wiped them away, like a slap or a caress he could not say but it didn't matter, nothing mattered. Everything is wrong.

Merlin did not stop until he'd reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest. And when he did stop, it was only because his lungs were screaming; he fell forwards and steadied himself on his bent knees as he wheezed for breath, his throat ablaze as though he was going to sprout fire.

His heart was in his throat and his legs felt like jelly beneath him when he finally steadied himself. He looked up – and frowned at what he saw.

He'd completely failed to notice that right in front of where he'd stopped lay a large, old brick hut, half overgrown with weeds and ivy. Its circular roof was straw and full of holes, and the windows – what little Merlin could see of them – were darkened by soot and dirt.

Merlin approached the hut wearily. It looked deserted, and yet… were those footsteps, on the ground? They looked too large to be footsteps, but what else could tread down the grass that way, all around the hut? Maybe an animal. He was on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, after all.

Shuddering, Merlin drew his cloak more tightly around him, suddenly a little cold. Well, he thought, it's bound to be safer in there than out here. And I'm a Gryffindor, I'm not supposed to be afraid.

Even so, he still felt a little afraid as he walked up the wooden steps to the door of the hut, but no one needed to know that.

Grabbing the handle, Merlin pushed in on the door, and was surprised when it opened without a creak. Inside there was only dust and darkness where the sunlight didn't reach, until Merlin's eyes began to adjust to the gloom. He walked a few steps into the hut, seeing what looked like remnants of what had once been a home – a large wooden table with a broken leg, a few chairs thrown in a corner, a gigantic bed with covers that looked half-devoured by moths, a black fireplace full of old coals… and a lump, lying motionless in one dark corner. At first Merlin thought it was a pile of old clothes or bedding, but then, before his eyes, the lump shifted and let out a grunt, and Merlin gasped as he backed up against the wall behind him.

It was an animal! Some kind of gigantic creature with brown, leathery skin and a thick black mane – a horse? Some kind of bear? It grunted again, and Merlin clamped a hand over his mouth to prevent the animal hearing his loud, panicked breathing. He needed to get out of here before it woke up properly; luckily it seemed the sunlight and his footsteps had only made it stir.

Merlin crept slowly back towards the door along the wall, praying he would make it without making some kind of loud—

CLANK!

Merlin had found the pots and pans.

He closed his eyes, holding his breath, and for a moment, nothing happened. Had the creature really not heard him? But then, just when he was beginning to think himself safe—

'Who's there? Professor, is tha' you?'

Merlin opened his eyes in surprise, and watched in astonishment as the gigantic creature rose to its feet – two of them – and the brown leathery hide fell away, crumpling on the floor like the jacket it was.

The creature's black mane was not a mane at all, but hair and beard, and the creature itself…

'Hagrid?' Merlin gasped, eyes widening.

The giant man looked around in confusion before noticing Merlin, who would be a tiny thing to his eyes, hovering uncertainly in the doorway.

'Er,' Hagrid said uncertainly, scratching at his hair, 'do I know yeh?'

'No, I, um, I'm sorry,' Merlin said quickly, 'I didn't realise anyone lived—I mean, was in here. I'm really sorry, I'll… just go.'

He began to back out of the hut, but Hagrid held out a hand.

'No, wait,' the giant said quickly, 'yeh don't have ter go, or anythin'. Don't yeh want some, er, tea or summat?'

And he sounded so desperate in that moment, Merlin felt his heart clench. 'You live here?' he asked, fearing he already knew the answer.

Hagrid shrugged, looking sheepish under his massive beard.

That settled it, then. 'I'd love some tea,' Merlin smiled, and Hagrid's face lit up in delight.

Hagrid set about at once, bustling around the derelict hut. He lit a few lanterns, which, while offering them some light, was hardly an improvement; Merlin could see even more clearly how dusty and unkempt the inside of the hut was, and wondered how it was possible for anyone to call this place their home.

'Can't you stay up at the castle?' Merlin found himself asking, wincing at the rude words. But Hagrid did not appear to take offence.

'Dumbledore offered, o'course,' he said, back to Merlin as he fiddled with the fireplace; a moment later, the flames were roaring happily, and Hagrid began digging through the pile of pots and pans for a kettle. 'But I like it 'ere, away from the bustle of students and everythin'.'

There was something sad in Hagrid's tone, but Merlin didn't want to pry. He hadn't seen the man once since he'd taken the first-year students from the train to the castle, and now he knew why.

'So what do you do, here at Hogwarts I mean?' Merlin asked him. Hagrid was now prying open a rusty jar, and Merlin really hoped the giant wasn't going to make him eat whatever was inside. He can't be dangerous, Merlin reminded himself. Professor Dumbledore trusted him to bring us across the lake.

'Mos'ly I help Ogg with keepin' the grounds,' Hagrid said, throwing a proud look over his shoulder, abandoning (thankfully) the jar and reaching for a couple of chipped mugs instead. 'There's plenty ter do, mind. It's how I earn meh keep.'

But what keep? Merlin wanted to ask. Professor Dumbledore had struck him as such a kind old man at the welcoming feast, but how could he allow any of his employees to live in such squalor as this?

Hagrid sat down heavily on one of the empty chairs. It looked tiny under his considerable girth and creaked under his weight, but to Merlin's astonishment, it held up.

'So what brings an ickle firs'-year to the edge o' the forest, then?' Hagrid asked him, raising a bushy eyebrow. 'Yeh're a Gryffindor, I see. Not tryin' to prove yer worth by goin' in there, I hope?'

'No, no,' Merlin said quickly, 'nothing like that. I just… needed to get away.' He knew his voice was sullen but he couldn't help it; now that his initial rush of adrenaline had faded, all of his anger and frustration was rushing back.

'Aye, yeh sure look like yeh need it,' Hagrid chuckled. 'If yeh weren't so young, I'd say it were girl trouble.'

For some inexplicable reason, Hagrid's words made Merlin's cheeks flush. 'It's not a girl,' he assured Hagrid. 'It's…' Arthur. Flying. Everything, he wanted to say, but thought that might be a little too maudlin, especially to a giant who lived in a tip. 'It's just... a lot, sometimes.'

Hagrid nodded sagely. 'I remember my firs' year, yeh know,' he said, in a faraway voice.

'You went to Hogwarts?' Merlin asked, before he could stop himself.

The giant man smiled wryly. 'Tha' so hard ter believe? Yes, I went ter Hogwarts. Was expelled in my second year, but that's another story. No, my firs' year, tha' was the best year o' my life. My da saw me off ter school, he was so happy, tiny little man.' Hagrid laughed softly, lost in memory for a moment. 'An' then I came here, an' I realised something important.' He looked at Merlin intently, small black eyes glittering in the light of the lanterns.

'What was that?' Merlin asked.

'That eleven-year-olds are mean little buggers,' Hagrid said grimly. 'I came ter school, not much smaller than I am now, and yeh can imagine the looks I got. The laughter, and not kind laughter, either. The Slytherins were the worst, they're a nasty sort, but my own House wasn't much better. And I was in Gryffindor, like yerself.'

Merlin shivered. He could see it now, much too vividly, how groups of children his age all trying to make sure they didn't end up at the bottom of the food chain might treat someone like Hagrid. 'So what did you do?'

Hagrid shrugged. 'I went ter my lessons. I minded my studies. I made a few enemies, aye, but in the end I made a few friends, too. Even after I was expelled, some o' them still came ter see me, here in this hut. No one's been back for years now, though, not since…' he trailed off, shaking his head sadly. Then he suddenly exclaimed, 'tea's gotta be just about ready!' and sprang to his feet.

'Thanks,' Merlin smiled gratefully as he was handed a gigantic, steaming mug a moment later.

Hagrid turned back to rummage in his pile again. 'So,' he called after a moment, 'wha' did yeh say yer name was?'

'Merlin,' Merlin said, sipping his tea. It tasted surprisingly good, and warmed his sore throat. 'Merlin Emrys.'

Hagrid came back to the table holding a bowl of sugar in one hand and a jug of milk in another. He looked at Merlin for a long moment, an indecipherable expression on his face, before sitting himself down, and proceeding to pour half the contents of the sugar bowl into his own mug.

'Milk?' Hagrid asked him, holding out the jug.

'Please,' Merlin smiled.

Merlin ended up having a great time with Hagrid in his run-down hut. Hagrid had a passion for magical animals, and told Merlin all about the ones Professor Kettleburn, the Care of Magical Creatures teacher, was letting him look after. Merlin told him about his classes, and the teachers that had joined the staff after Hagrid had been expelled. Hagrid did not bring up his expulsion again, and Merlin didn't ask.

By the time he left, it was just on the edge of dusk, and Merlin's stomach told him that it must be about dinnertime.

Hagrid made him promise to come back and visit soon, and Merlin walked back to the castle in a much better mood than he had been an hour ago, the unexpected distraction just what he needed.

Walking into the entrance hall, Merlin did not see Morgana Pendragon until she was standing right in front on him, hands on her hips, a stormy expression on her pretty face.