Merlin decided to take advantage of the chance he had been given and began to frequent the school library regularly.
There were many books lining its tall shelves, but there were still noticeable gaps in certain subjects, either missing information or a complete lack of it. The collection was impressive, but it was far from the vast archive it would one day be known for.
Thanks to Helga, Merlin was reassigned to a Hufflepuff dormitory, sharing a room with three other students. Although they knew Merlin wasn't exactly a student, they didn't make much of a point of questioning him and spent most of their time either sleeping or talking in the common room.
Merlin found the Hufflepuff common room spectacularly cozy. Vines descended from the ceiling, and the windows allowed warm, natural light to fill the room. Among the many scents of biscuits and bread, Merlin could swear he smelled the soup his mother used to make, though he couldn't quite identify it well enough to be sure.
The school's students watched him with a mix of curiosity and caution. Many came from families that had been persecuted by Muggles, especially the Slytherin students, who openly regarded him with disdain. The Gryffindor and Ravenclaw students observed him with curiosity, but the Hufflepuffs paid him little mind, as many of them were Muggle-born themselves and had escaped persecution.
Merlin chose to focus his studies on healing potions and restorative spells. He did not have access to a cauldron, something the Founders had denied him, and without a wand, even the simplest spells were difficult to perform. Still, he refused to give up.
He spent most afternoons seated beside his mother's bed in the infirmary, reading stories to her and delving deeper into his studies. Every afternoon, Helga came to check on his mother's condition, which improved gradually. She never failed to ask about Merlin's well-being as well, to which he always replied that he was fine, despite still trying to process his current situation.
The castle was enormous and majestic, more than Merlin could have imagined in either of his two lives. By day it was beautiful, but at night it became a true spectacle.
Merlin also liked to sit beneath a tree near the Black Lake. Though the water was beginning to freeze, the view was still beautiful, and thanks to the coats Helga had provided, he didn't feel very cold.
Resting in his lap was a book on healing spells, more specifically "The Cures and Spells of a Modern Wizard." Merlin found the title somewhat ironic, but it was the book that actually contained the most useful information among those he had found on the subject.
He flipped through its pages, searching for something that might be useful, but there was nothing about mental or spiritual healing, which frustrated him. Still, amid the pages, he found a spell that caught his attention.
[ Sutura Vitae ]
"Stitch of life." Pulls flesh together unnaturally to close wounds.
This one was interesting. Among those he had found, it seemed the simplest to attempt without a wand.
Looking at the ground around him, he searched until he found a thorn that had fallen from the tree. Taking a deep breath, he used it to prick the tip of his finger like a needle.
A sharp pain shot through his finger as a drop of blood formed and fell onto the open pages of the book in his lap, leaving a stain.
He inhaled deeply and, watching his finger drip, whispered with his other hand raised toward the injured finger:
[ Sutura Vitae ]
Nothing…
Merlin felt frustration beginning to build as he stared at the bleeding finger. He took another deep breath, focused, and tried again.
[ Sutura Vitae ]
This time, he felt a warm sensation as his mana traveled up his right arm toward his outstretched hand. Painfully, he felt the skin at the tip of his finger knit itself back together, stopping the flow of blood.
Wiping the dirty finger on his robes, he saw it intact, healed.
Merlin smiled with happiness. He was making progress.
Unfortunately, his thoughts were interrupted.
"You know, we normally use that spell on unconscious patients."
He heard a flat, calm voice speak behind him.
"Argh ! When did you arrive ?!" Merlin exclaimed, startled as he jumped to his feet and turned to face whoever had interrupted him.
Salazar Slytherin watched him with an analytical gaze. Clad in green and black robes, he radiated an aura of mystery and power.
"The spell," Salazar continued, "is used on unconscious patients. It does heal, that is true. But the larger the wound, the greater the pain the patient feels when their flesh is forced back together."
"You must have felt that when you healed your finger," he added, pointing to Merlin's hand.
Merlin looked down again at his now-healed finger.
"How long were you watching me ?" Merlin asked suspiciously.
"Long enough to realize you have more than talent," Salazar said as he stepped closer, the half-frozen grass crunching beneath his boots. "You have the will."
"It's already rare for a child to use magic intentionally without a wand," he went on. "But you can overcome that, can't you ?"
Merlin swallowed hard. This man was powerful, his magic told him so. Something inside him screamed to run and never look back.
"I do what I need to survive," Merlin said, forcing himself to meet the wizard's eyes. "And so far, it's worked."
"I know," Salazar replied. "But you also have other things, curiosity, will, ambition, and a desire for power."
He looked Merlin up and down, sending a shiver through the boy.
"What do you want ?" Salazar asked seriously.
Merlin was confused. The question seemed to come out of nowhere.
"What do you mean ?" he asked.
"Many want gold, castles, kingdoms that worship them like gods," Salazar said. "But you seem different. So I'll ask again. What do you want ?"
Merlin fell silent. He had never really thought about it. He usually focused on surviving and improving his magic. But after that ? When his mother recovered, when everything returned to "normal"…what did he want ?
The question echoed through his mind, circling again and again, until an answer rose from deep within him.
"Strength" Merlin said firmly, locking eyes with the green-eyed wizard.
"I want strength, strength and power to protect those I care about, and power to destroy those who threaten me."
His body warmed as he spoke the words.
Salazar studied the boy's answer, and a small, cold smile appeared on his face.
"You're interesting, for the son of a Muggle," he said, irritating Merlin slightly with the remark. "And I'm not the only one who's noticed. When the time comes, I hope you make the right choice."
With that, he turned his back on the boy and began walking toward the castle.
Leaving Merlin behind, confused, yet at the same time, strangely resolved.
Time passed quietly, marked by subtle changes that slowly reshaped the castle and everyone within it.
Autumn faded, the air growing sharper with each passing day, until winter finally claimed the land. Snow began to fall over Hogwarts, at first lightly, hesitant flakes drifting from a pale gray sky, then steadily, blanketing the towers, courtyards, and the frozen edges of the Black Lake in white. The castle seemed different in winter, quieter, heavier, as if holding its breath beneath the cold.
Merlin's mother healed. Physically, at least.
Her wounds closed completely, her color returned, and her breathing became steady and strong. Helga confirmed it herself: no internal injuries remained, no lingering infections, no damage left untreated. And yet, Freya did not wake. She remained still and silent, lost somewhere Merlin could not reach.
Still, he did not give up.
If anything, his determination only hardened.
Merlin threw himself into knowledge with renewed intensity. When he wasn't at his mother's bedside, he was learning directly from the Founders themselves.
Helga taught him about magical healing herbs, their properties, their dangers, and their limits. She showed him how dittany behaved differently when brewed under moonlight, how powdered moonstone could stabilize potions meant to reinforce weakened organs, and how certain plants responded not to heat, but to intent.
With Rowena, Merlin sought something else entirely.
Books on the mind.
At first, she refused him.
The first time he asked, she dismissed the request gently but firmly, assuming him to be a confused child grasping at answers he could not yet understand.
Mental healing, she explained, was a field riddled with speculation, superstition, and half-proven theories. Not something to place in the hands of a boy barely ten years old.
Merlin accepted the refusal.
Then he returned. Again, and again.
Each time with sharper questions, clearer reasoning, and an understanding that went far beyond what Rowena expected. He spoke of the separation between body and mind, of magical exhaustion, of trauma imprinting itself not on flesh but on the flow of magic itself. He referenced passages from books she hadn't expected him to find, drew connections she hadn't pointed out.
Eventually, Rowena stopped dismissing him.
One evening, she handed him a book, older than most in the library, its cover worn smooth by time and careful hands.
"On the Fractures of Mind and Magic: A Treatise on Restoration Beyond the Flesh."
"This," she told him, "is not a guide. It has no easy answers. But it contains real research, failed attempts, partial successes, and theories that may one day become truths. Read it carefully."
Merlin treated the book as if it were fragile glass.
He read it in the infirmary, seated beside his mother's bed. Around him, several students lay resting in other beds, injuries mending, potions working their quiet magic. By now, most of them were used to seeing Merlin there, always at the same place, always by his mother's side. He was no longer a curiosity. Just part of the infirmary itself.
At one point, Merlin paused his reading.
He looked up and turned his gaze toward the window.
Outside, snowflakes drifted slowly from the sky, soft and silent, falling beneath the endless gray clouds. The world looked cold, but peaceful. Clean, in a way. As if winter was trying to erase old scars, even if only on the surface.
Merlin rested a hand over his mother's, warm and steady beneath his fingers.
For the first time in a long while, he allowed himself a small hope.
Maybe, just maybe, things could still get better.
~~~~
Hi everyone, I was thinking again about possible designs for Merlin's wand. I have my favorites, but I'd like to leave that decision up to you.
Choose wisely ;)
Option 1
Option 2
Option 3
Option 4
Option 5
Option 6