The Legacy of Salazar

Sleepwalking

Draco couldn't sleep.

He frowned and rolled over, squeezing his eyes shut. It hadn't taken long for the entire school to hear of the double attack on Justin Finch-Fletchley and Nearly Headless Nick, accompanied of course by a swath of rumours. Some even claimed that Merlin had been seen petrifying the pair himself—caught red-handed by Hagrid—while some more ridiculous rumours gave the impression Merlin had duelled Professor McGonagall in the corridor. Whatever the story, they all ended with Merlin in the Headmaster's office.

Draco opened his eyes and stared at Merlin's four-poster some feet away, the curtains drawn tightly around his bed. Merlin hadn't said much about his trip to the Headmaster's office, other than he definitely wasn't expelled and that Dumbledore had only wanted to know, verbatim, what the snake had said. Even so, Draco could tell that something else weighed on Merlin's mind.

His friend hadn't looked good these past few weeks. Everyone had noticed. Most had chalked it up to stress from being labelled the Heir of Slytherin, and at first, Draco had agreed, until he remembered that Merlin had looked off-colour long before everyone discovered he was a Parselmouth. Now, he looked worn, perpetually exhausted, withered even. He might not complain of headaches anymore but Draco wasn't a fool—he'd seen Merlin knocking back those pain reliever potions nearly every morning. And last night—

He flipped onto his back, staring up at the dark wood of his four-poster. He had hoped Merlin would come to senses and go to Snape or Madam Pomfrey himself. He'd considered dragging him there several times, but he'd figured that with the Christmas Holidays approaching, Florean Fortescue would do the job for him when Merlin came back looking like a strong gust of wind might knock him over. But—Draco turned to look at Merlin's bed again and started.

Merlin stood, swaying slightly, in front of his bed. His dark hair was plastered across his forehead, which glistened with sweat in the dim light. Draco could hear his uneven breathing, a wet, rattling sound that permeated the darkness.

"Merlin?" Draco whispered, sitting up in bed.

Merlin didn't answer. He just stood there, unsteady on his feet. Draco squinted in the dark and realized with a jolt that Merlin's eyes were closed.

He was still asleep.

"Hey, Merlin," he said a little louder. Merlin didn't respond. Then, after several long minutes during which Draco fretted about what to do, Merlin began to move. He was walking toward the door, and Draco bolted out of bed.

"Merlin!" he half-shouted. He was tempted to grab the boy's shoulders and shake him but decided against it. He still remembered what'd happened when Blaise had snuck up on him last year, and he didn't fancy getting thrown across the room.

And speak of the devil— "What's going on?" asked Blaise, sitting up and yawning. Draco could hear the other boys beginning to stir.

"Merlin's sleepwalking."

"Don't touch him!" Theodore piped up at once, jumping out of bed.

"I wasn't going to!"

But this complicated things, since Merlin intended to leave the room. He, Blaise, and Theodore danced around Merlin, shouting his name to no avail. Blaise almost tripped in his haste to move out of Merlin's path as he opened the door and strode through it. Draco grimaced, grabbed his cloak, and followed Merlin down the stairs. He'd come to a pause in front of the fireplace.

"Keep an eye on him," Draco muttered to Blaise and Theodore, who had followed him down. "I'm going to grab Snape," and he dashed out of the common room. Draco tried to contain his panic. He was sure Merlin had never sleepwalked before and now two days in a row? Draco was sure it meant nothing good and he was tired of waiting for Merlin to sort it out himself.