Only A Boy

Checkmate

"You say he fell down two flights of stairs, professor?"

"I-I-indeed, M-madam P-P-Pomfrey."

"It looks like his magic protected him from the worst of the damage, but even so if you hadn't found him—"

For a few moments, Merlin couldn't understand the conversation. The only thing he could focus on was the awful thudding in his head, the throbbing of his right foot, and the general soreness that wracked his entire body. He felt as though he had managed to hit every single step on his way down—his way down—

"Quirrell!" He shouted, ignoring the pain and sitting bolt upright in bed. The two adults beside him started, and Merlin saw to his horror that the person he had just named was one of them. His eyes widened, confusion and panic fighting for dominance.

What was he doing here?

"Lay back down!" Madam Pomfrey barked, putting her hand on Merlin's shoulder and forcing him back in the bed.

"But—he—" Merlin tried to say but she forced a vial of potion into his mouth and he spluttered, coughing as only half of it made it down the right pipe. He hit his chest, trying to regain his breath. Quirrell was still standing there, looking far too calm.

"Really Evans, I would have thought you'd be more careful. Slipping at the head of the stairs?" Pomfrey was saying as she bustled around him, waving her wand over his elbow, which he saw was deep purple and scratched.

"I didn't slip," Merlin immediately said, his voice starting to shake with anger. "He pushed me," he continued, pointing toward Quirrell.

"Now, really," Pomfrey admonished, raising her eyebrows. "Professor Quirrell found you. And lucky thing too—"

"No! It's a trick." Merlin interrupted, his voice growing louder. "He's just pretending. He's going too—" and he tried to get back up but Pomfrey wouldn't have it.

"Calm down, Mr Evans!"

Quirrell donned a hurt expression when Merlin accused him and looked at the nurse. "P-Pomfrey he's o-obviously d-d-distressed. P-perhaps a sleepless p-potion?" he suggested lightly and Merlin saw the smallest smile tugging on the corner of his mouth

"No. I'm fine. Really," Merlin said quickly but Madam Pomfrey forced the potion down his throat with a flick of her wand anyway. All Merlin wanted to do was find Snape, and he was willing to bet that Quirrell had told Pomfrey that they shouldn't worry him until, well, until Merlin was unable to tell him anything.

Before, Merlin had wondered why Quirrell hadn't just killed him. Silence him before he could tell Snape or anyone else what he had seen. But now he knew. If he had died he would never make it near the stone, especially when an investigation revealed that Merlin hadn't just slipped. No, this way Quirrell looked like a hero and he could discredit Merlin's words as the rambling of a child who hit his head too hard.

And his injuries would make it easy for him to influence madam Pomfrey to knock him out until the deed was done.

Merlin coughed and tried to spit it out, but he'd choked and most of it made it through. As the hospital wing started to grow hazy, Merlin mustered his remaining strength to glare at Quirrell and whisper, "I'll stop you," before his eyelids dropped.