Merlin kept his gaze sharp, absorbing every detail of the place as if his life depended on it. The windows, the beds, the shelves, the shadows cast by the daylight, everything was carefully stored away in his mind. He tried to move.
First his fingers. Nothing. Then his legs. Nothing. He tried to lift his torso, even if only a few centimeters… his body simply refused to respond.
It was as if he were trapped inside himself.
Beside the bed, a small, plain wooden table caught his attention. On it sat a clear glass pitcher, nearly full of water, and a cup filled halfway. Only then did Merlin realize how dry his throat was, it burned, begging for a single sip.
Water…
Gathering every last shred of strength he had left, he began to lift his right arm. The movement was slow, unsteady, as though the limb no longer belonged to him. His muscles protested, the arm felt heavy as lead, but he pushed on. His fingers stretched toward the cup…
And missed.
Instead of grasping it, Merlin struck it with the back of his hand. The cup toppled from the table, hit the floor, and shattered into several pieces with a loud, sharp crack that echoed through the empty infirmary.
The sound felt deafening.
For a moment, there was silence.
Then the large wooden door of the infirmary opened with a firm creak.
A woman entered.
She had light blond hair, tied back in a simple yet elegant style, with a few wavy strands escaping to frame her face. Her features were soft and welcoming: clear, attentive eyes that conveyed calm and intelligence, a delicate nose, and naturally rosy lips that always seemed on the verge of a gentle smile.
There were subtle lines of maturity on her face, the kind that did not diminish her beauty, but instead made it more serene, more real.
She appeared to be somewhere between her early thirties and early forties, yet there was something timeless about her, as though her presence was older than her appearance suggested.
She wore simple but well-kept clothing in warm, earthy tones, matching the sense of comfort she carried with her.
The moment her eyes landed on Merlin and she realized he was awake, her expression changed instantly. She hurried toward the bed, her steps steady but light.
"Oh…you're awake," she said with a warm smile. "How are you feeling ? Any pain ? Dizziness ? Discomfort ?"
As she spoke, she drew a wand with practiced ease. Murmuring words in a low, fluid tone, she began casting a series of diagnostic spells.
Each one washed over Merlin with a strange, cold sensation, a shiver that ran across his skin and seemed to pass straight through him, as if something invisible were examining him completely.
Merlin swallowed hard before answering.
"I…I'm fine," he said, even though he knew it wasn't entirely true. "It's just…my body isn't responding properly."
He hesitated for a moment, then gathered his courage.
"Where am I?" he asked. "And… who are you ?"
The woman stopped casting and lowered her wand. Her eyes softened even more, and she tilted her head slightly, looking at him with something very close to affection.
"You don't need to worry," she said calmly. "You're safe here."
She raised the wand again, making a small gesture with it.
"I'm like you," she continued. "Just like you…I'm a witch."
Merlin's eyes widened for a fraction of a second. It was something he already knew, something he had felt his entire life, but hearing it spoken aloud made his heart race. Still, he managed to hide his reaction quickly enough that she didn't notice.
The woman smiled.
"My name is Helga Hufflepuff," she said casually.
Inside, Merlin's mind froze.
The name echoed like a silent thunderclap, bringing his thoughts to a complete standstill for a brief, absolute moment.
Helga went on, unaware of the storm raging inside the boy.
"You're at Hogwarts."
—
A few minutes later, the four Founders were standing at the foot of Merlin's bed.
Godric Gryffindor stood tall and broad-shouldered, his presence commanding without effort. His red hair and full beard were neatly kept, though streaked with age, and a golden hoop earring caught the light at his ear. His sharp eyes carried both the weight of countless battles and a restrained kindness, like a warrior who knew when to lower his sword.
Beside him was Helga Hufflepuff, her golden hair softly styled and pulled back with practical elegance. Her face was warm and maternal, yet firm, with eyes that radiated compassion and quiet strength. She carried herself like someone who healed as naturally as she breathed.
Rowena Ravenclaw stood composed and dignified, dark hair gathered neatly, her pale features calm and analytical. Her eyes missed nothing, observing Merlin with thoughtful intensity, as if she were already unraveling the patterns of his magic and mind. There was an air of sharp intelligence about her, tempered by subtle curiosity.
Salazar Slytherin, however, was the most unsettling presence. Tall and imposing, with long dark hair framing his stern face, his gaze fixed on Merlin as though it could pierce straight through flesh and bone. His expression was severe, unreadable, and when his eyes met Merlin's, it felt as if he were staring directly into the boy's soul.
Merlin lay there, forcing himself to remain calm, doing everything he could to keep the adrenaline rushing through his veins from betraying his excitement. These were legends, figures he had only ever heard of in stories, and now they stood before him in the flesh.
All four wore serious expressions. Salazar was the first to speak.
"Tell us" he said, his voice low and cold "Who were the men pursuing you ? Do you know anything about them ?"
Merlin swallowed before answering.
"I…I don't know who they were," he said. "They broke into my house. They attacked me and my mother…"
His breath hitched. His mother.
The realization struck him like a blow.
"We need to go back to my village" Merlin said suddenly, panic rising in his voice. "My mother is hurt. I need to see her !"
As he spoke, he tried clumsily to sit up, muscles trembling as he forced his body to obey.
Before he could get far, Godric stepped forward, his voice firm but not unkind.
"You must lie back down, boy. You need rest if you're going to recover. We will search for your mother ourselves."
Merlin hesitated, then slowly relaxed, forcing himself to breathe. Trying to steady his thoughts, he began to recount what had happened after his capture: the strange silver device the men used to track him, the chase through the forest, his desperate attempt to escape.
Then, more hesitantly, he spoke of how he had killed them, as a last resort.
When he finished, the room fell silent.
The four Founders exchanged thoughtful looks, each lost in their own conclusions.
After a few moments, Rowena spoke gently.
"Thank you for answering our questions, Merlin. For now, you need to rest. We will look for your mother, and you will be informed the moment we have news."
Realizing that he truly could do nothing more in his current state, Merlin lay back down, exhaustion weighing heavily on him.
His gaze drifted once more to the glass beside his bed, now repaired by one of Helga's spells and filled with fresh water. Drawing on the small amount of mana he had managed to recover, he extended his hand.
The glass wobbled in the air, floating awkwardly toward him before settling into his grasp. He brought it to his lips and drank deeply, finally easing the burning thirst in his throat.
The four Founders paused, watching the display of magic in silence.
Rowena's lips curved into a faint, intrigued smile.
"That…" she said softly "...is something quite interesting to see."