Harry Potter and the Return of Merlin: Chapter 9 (10/?)
Title: Harry Potter and the Return of Merlin
Fandom: Merlin/Harry Potter Crossover
Rating: T for slight violence and language
Pairings: Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione...or at least the precursors to the relationships
Spoilers: HP - definitely through the end of OotP, since Merlin is supposed to know more than most, there may be other spoilers as well. Merlin - through the end of season 3 because I haven’t had a chance to watch season 4, so I can’t spoil it, lol.
Warnings: AU. Slight Violence and language.
Beta: the wonderful animeloveramy. I don’t know what I’d do without her.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Merlin. They belong to J.K. Rowling and BBC respectively. They have simply been kind enough to allow dreamers like me to indulge in fantasies involving their characters. Some of the text is directly from, very close to, or inspired by what J.K. Rowling originally wrote. This is simply because this fic closely follows OotP and I see no reason to pretend that I’m better than J.K. Rowling and try to rewrite it. I will try to leave an AN at the bottom when I use large amounts of the text.
Summary: When Voldemort used a spell of the old religion to regain his body, he gives Merlin the reason he needed to step out of the shadows. Disguised as a fifth year student, he goes to Hogwarts to watch over Harry and do what he can in the war to come.
Previous: Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8
Author’s Note: OH MY GOD! Not only has this story passed the two hundred review mark with flying colors, but the last chapter got Fifty reviews! (Well forty-nine as of this AN, but you get the point.) I cannot thank you enough for your support in this. It really means so much that this fic has been so well received.
In one of the reviews, someone pointed out that a couple of chapters ago, when Merlin confronts Sirius in chapter 7, Sirius says “Oh, Merlin.” Just to make it clear, he’s saying that the same way we muggles would say “Oh, damn,” or “Oh, crap.” It’s just a saying. He has no idea that Merlin is standing in front of him. At this point, Dumbledore and Snape are the only HP characters who know who Myrddin is. Sorry for the confusion.
Also, in answer to everyone who pointed this out, yes I had Merlin slip on his age on purpose as you will see in this chapter. The way I see it, he’s never been the best at lying and he’s out of practice as it is. Besides, I have to keep the trio curious, don’t I?
Sorry for the massive AN. One to the fic!
Chapter 9
That evening, after his detention, Harry sat in the common room, staring at the fire. Umbridge had kept him obscenely late again and he was the only one still awake. He fiddled with the leather band around his wrist. To anyone who didn’t know better, it looked as though his hand was red and raw. Glancing around to be sure that he really was alone, Harry slipped the band off his wrist. The irritation faded. He had to look closely to see the redness that still lingered. The scars, however, were clear to see.
He slipped the band back onto his wrist thinking that he never had thanked Myrddin for it. Harry didn’t even want to think about what condition his hand would be in without the bracelet to help heal the wounds.
Though their discussion earlier that day had helped allay some of his suspicions, Harry was still a bit wary about Myrddin. He still got the feeling that there was something Myrddin was hiding.
Suddenly feeling far more awake than he had just moments before, Harry rummaged in his bag for his History of Magic book. He flipped through the pages until he came to a section on druids.
Ardent worshippers of nature, the Druids were a peaceful people amongst the first to practice magic. They were known for their dedication to the healing arts and their unwillingness to enter into violence, even when their own lives were at stake. The Druids pioneered many of the magical advances that would eventually lead to modern spellwork.
Very little is known about the Druids. During the reign of Uther Pendragon, father to the legendary King Arthur, they were all but wiped out. Those that survived Uther’s Purge faded into the forests. Only one Druid would step forth to make a name for himself: Mordred. Twisted by hate for the king that took so much from him, he is hardly an example of what the Druidic beliefs truly were. However, some tenants of the Druid magic lived on through Merlin, who, though not a Druid himself, studied under them. Soon after the battle of Camlann and the fall of King Arthur, the Druids would disappear completely.
The Druids practiced the Old Religion, which focuses on the balance between opposite forces, primarily that of life and death. They were experts in the healing arts and could harness the magical properties of most plants. They kept themselves apart from other practitioners of the Old Religion, preferring to live in harmony with nature, which they saw as the source of their power. Little is known of the means by which they cast their magic. Their incantations were in an ancient dialect of Old English which, being antiquated even in the days of Camelot, died out soon after Merlin’s disappearance after the death of Queen Guinevere. One source, an ancient text which has been attributed to Merlin, states that only the most powerful of the Druids could harness magic for complex spells without incantations, but all Druids could perform limited magic without incantations. It has been postulated by some that this means they employed wordless magic while others believe that the spells were instinctual and did not require an incantation of any kind.
Sighing, Harry closed the book and set it aside. That really hadn’t told him anything. There was a slight possibility that Myrddin was more powerful than he was letting on, but it was equally possible that it had just been instinctual magic that had healed his hand. That was what Myrddin had implied.
And then there was that slip Myrddin had made when he was talking about his past. At least, Harry thought it was a slip. He’d said that he’d lived in a place where magic was banned for two and a half decades and that that had been a long time ago. Myddin didn’t look any older than nineteen or twenty, maybe twenty-one or twenty-two. Harry knew that wizards lived longer than muggles. That had cropped up at some point while Hermione was rattling on about something. He supposed it was possible that Myrddin was older than he looked. It was something Harry really wanted to discuss with Ron and Hermione, he just hadn’t been able to find time to talk to them privately.
It was just all so confusing. Myrddin hadn’t done anything to give Harry reason not to trust him. He’d been nothing if not helpful and friendly, but Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to him than he was letting on. After dealing with the likes of Quirrell and Barty Crouch Jr., that was something that bothered Harry.
He tossed his History of Magic book back into his bag and went upstairs to his dorm, his feet dragging on the stairs. It didn’t escape his notice, asleep on his feet though he was, that Myrddin’s bed was empty.
***
Sighing tiredly, Remus apparated onto the front porch of Grimmuald Place. He was exhausted. Every moment he was amongst other werewolves who were quite possibly working for Voldemort or at the very least anti-ministry-and-anyone-else-who-might-support-them he had to be alert and completely in control of his actions or it could cost him his life. Few of the other werewolves were as civilized, for lack of a better word, as he was and fights often broke out as well. Despite his best efforts, he’d gotten caught in a couple of them. As a result, he was not only mentally exhausted from having to remain completely on his guard but physically exhausted and rather sore from being forced to defend himself.
He fumbled in his pocket for the key Sirius had given him. With the summer over, Grimmuald Place had been rather empty. The kids were off at school as were the teachers who were members of the Order. The Weasleys had taken to spending several days at home every week so that their absence wouldn’t be as noticeable. Arthur had been getting some awkward questions at work. With Fudge becoming more and more suspicious of Dumbledore any Member of the Order working in the Ministry was having to tread more carefully than ever. The result was a very empty headquarters and a very lonely Sirius.
As Sirius tended to spend hours holed up in his mother’s room with Buckbeak, he had given Remus a key so that the werewolf wouldn’t have to ring the bell and wake Mrs. Black’s portrait. Remus was trying to spend as much time at Grimmuald as he could. He knew that being in that place wasn’t good for his friend, especially without someone to distract him. The last thing Remus wanted was to lose Sirius after finally getting him back.
Finally finding the key buried in the corner of his pocket, Remus pulled it out and let himself into the house. He closed the door behind him and locked it once more. Stuffing the key back into his pocket, Remus looked up for the first time. His mouth fell open in surprise.
The first thing he noticed was that everything was clean. The layer of grime and dust that had stubbornly remained clinging to every surface despite Molly Weasley’s best efforts was gone. The shabby wall paper had either been replaced or magically restored and transformed as it was no longer pealing off the walls or green. It was now a dark, rich blue. The black wood floor was now a warm mahogany. The most noticeable difference was the absence of the moldy curtains that had hidden Mrs. Black’s portrait and the portrait itself, which had been replaced with a painting of a phoenix surrounded in flames.
Mouth still hanging open slightly, Remus gazed down the hall. The severed elf heads were gone as were all the other portraits. The cobwebs that had clung to the corners of the ceiling were gone. The silver chandelier that hung from the ceiling was now bronze and instead of serpents curling their tails around the candles, they were vines. All of the silver in the hall had been turned to bronze. The handle on the kitchen door, which had once been a coiled snake, was now just a simple door knob.
“Either I’ve somehow managed to enter a parallel reality where the Blacks weren’t evil gits, or something happened that I’ve yet to be informed of,” he muttered to himself.
Remus was still staring around the hall, having not mustered the courage to explore further, when Sirius tramped down the stairs. It seemed the one time prisoner had undergone as much of a transformation over the house.
It had been little over two weeks since Remus had last seen Sirius. His old friend had been unshaven, surly, and hungover. No matter what he was doing, Sirius had always been a bit curled into himself, as though he was perpetually cold. He’d been reticent as well, really only speaking up without direct provocation when he was in an Order meeting.
Now, he looked about ten years younger. He was holding himself straight, his shoulders back rather than hunched forward. His hair was combed and looked like it had been freshly cut. The robes Sirius was wearing were clean and even seemed to have been pressed. He was clean shaven and Remus could tell just by looking at him that he wasn’t hungover. The deadened look was gone from his eyes and a spark of mischief and good humor had returned. A wide, genuine smile spread across Sirius’ face when he saw Remus standing just inside the door.
“Moony! What are you doing here?” he asked, hurrying down the stairs. “I didn’t think you’d be back for a couple more days.”
Remus eyed his old friend as though wondering whether he was actually a polyjuiced impersonator. “I wasn’t supposed to be, but Greyback came to the pack I was with. He knows what I’ve been doing for Dumbledore and he warned the others. They were getting suspicious.”
“How suspicious?” Sirius was looking Remus up and down carefully, taking note of the many cuts and bruises he was sporting.
“Very,” he replied dryly. “Hence why I left. What exactly happened here? If I hadn’t used my key, I might’ve thought I apparated to the wrong house.”
A wry grin tugged Sirius’ lips even though the worry for his friend didn’t leave his eyes. “Ironically enough, this is all Kreacher’s doing. He and I managed to reach a bit of an understanding and this is the result.”
Once more, Remus found himself gaping. “Could you repeat that, I seem to have misheard you.”
“You didn’t,” Sirius assured him. “It’s a bit of a long story. Let’s get you patched up and I’ll tell you all about it.”
Careful of any hidden injuries, Sirius laid a hand on Remus’ shoulder and led the other man into the now gleaming kitchen. If Molly could see it now, she’d probably have a fit. She’d spent countless hours making absolutely no progress in getting it truly clean.
“I didn’t think it was possible for this place to be so bright,” Remus comment dryly as Sirius directed him into a seat.
The animagus chuckled. “You weren’t the only one. It’s like a completely different house.” He rummaged through the cupboards for the first aid supplies they kept there. “It’s not so bad staying here now.”
“Really?” Remus asked in surprise.
Sirius nodded. “Yeah. I’m not bombarded with painful memories every time I enter a room because all the reminders are gone. Even being around Kreacher isn’t all that bad any more. Turns out, we have more in common than I thought.”
“Who are you and what in Merlin’s name have you done to Sirius Black?”
Sirius didn’t answer immediately. He’d found the cupboard with the medical potions in it and was busy sorting through them, looking for a bruise salve and a disinfectant he could use on Remus’ cuts before one of them used a healing spell. He gathered the necessary jars into his arms and carried them to the table.
“I got a visitor a week ago,” he said. “This man I’d never seen before just appeared in this very room in a gust of wind.”
Remus leapt out of his chair. “What! Why is this the first I’m hearing about this?”
“Would you sit down before you hurt yourself?” Sirius said, glaring at Remus.
The werewolf narrowed his eyes at Sirius. “You didn’t tell anyone did you?” Sirius’ silence was enough of answer. “What were you thinking? You weren’t, were you? Did it never cross your mind that we might need to know if Order headquarters had been compromised?” Remus suddenly stiffened and drew his wand, pointing it at Sirius. “Transform,” he ordered.
Sirius rolled his eyes, looking distinctly annoyed. “Is this really necessary?”
“Considering you just told me that Headquarters had been compromised and you didn’t say anything to Dumbledore, yes I think it’s necessary.”
“If I was a Death Eater using polyjuice, do you really think I’d tell you that someone managed to break into this place? Really, Moony, I thought you were supposed to be the smart one?”
“Just transform into Padfoot.”
Glaring at his friend, Sirius rose from his chair and transformed. Remus barely had time to feel relieved when he found himself shoved unceremoniously into his chair by an enormous shaggy black dog.
“Was that really necessary?” he demanded, massaging his ribs where the impact from the dog’s paws had jared a particularly sore bruise.
Padfoot shifted back into Sirius, who was still glaring. “Was it really necessary for you to think I’d followed in the footsteps of my psychotic cousin? I thought you knew me better than that, Remus.”
“What exactly were you expecting? I come back here after two weeks with a pack of werewolves to discover that Grimmuald Place has miraculously gotten the face lift we’ve been attempting to force on it all summer, you look like someone’s cast an immensely powerful cheering charm on you, your even saying nice things about Kreacher! Then you tell me that someone who isn’t a member of the Order found a way into headquarters and you expect me not to jump to some kind of conclusion? I want answers, Padfoot!”
“I was trying to give them to you before your bloody panic attack,” Sirius grumbled. He grabbed the jar of bruise salve off the table. “Take your shirt off,” he instructed, unscrewing the cap and scooping a generous portion of the purplish-gel onto his fingers. “I’ll explain as I work.”
Remus obliged. He hissed slightly when raising his arms over his head pulled at his bruises. Upon seeing just how badly beaten up Remus was, Sirius swore slightly under his breath and rose to retrieve another jar of bruise salve from the cupboard. Returning to the table, he gently prodded Remus until he was sitting facing the table, his arms resting on the wooden surface, his back displayed. As he gently massaged the purple gel into the many bruises that littered Remus’ back, he recounted the details of the event that had taken place a week ago.
He’d finished applying the salve to Remus’ back and moved on to his ribs by the time he’d finished.
“Let me get this straight,” Remus said slowly. “A stranger appears in your kitchen, after passing through some of the strongest magical protections possible, claiming to be a Druid and you just believed everything he told you? Did Azkaban actually turn you mad? OUCH!”
Sirius had applied the salve with a bit more force than necessary after the question about his sanity. “Sorry,” he said unapologetically. “You know what my parents were like. I was forced to study wizarding genealogy as a child before starting Hogwarts. They both took pride in the fact that the Black family could be traced back to the Druids. We have my many-times-great-grandfather’s staff in the vault somewhere. As part of my studies, I had to learn about how the staffs were made and how they were eventually replaced by wands. I could tell that the staff this person had was genuine. Druidic magic is different from what we use. Once I realized that he really was a Druid, I realized that it wouldn’t have been difficult for him to get through the wards. Turn around so I can do your chest.”
Obliging, Remus ran a hand over his face. “It’s all a bit far fetched, Pads, but I believe you.”
“I was there and I hardly believe it,” Sirius admitted. “If it wasn’t for the fact that Kreacher and I have managed to come to some sort of an understanding, I probably wouldn’t have thought I’d had too much firewhisky.”
“Do you have any idea how strange it is to hear you mention Kreacher without some kind of threat or insult involved?” asked Remus mildly.
“Exactly as weird as it is to realize that I don’t consider killing him every time I see him,” suggested Sirius. “I still can’t believe that my brother defied Voldemort. Kreacher won’t tell me. Apparently that Druid asked him not too and that outweighs a master’s order.”
“Well, at least the house is finally clean. I can’t believe that all it took for Kreacher to start working was for you to admit that you didn’t hate Regulus.”
Sirius frowned slightly. “A clean house isn’t the only good thing that came out of this. Apparently, if I hadn’t done something about my relationship with Kreacher, he was going to betray us to Narcissa.”
“But he shouldn’t be able to do that.”
“She’s still a Black. I did a bit of research after the Druid left--”
“You mean you actually entered the library?” Remus asked in mock astonishment.
“Amazing, I know. I found something pretty interesting. A house elf is bound to serve a particular family until death or dismissal, but what I never realized is that they’re not specifically bonded to the head of the family, which is what most people think. They’re bonded to the bloodline. That leaves them open to forming a particular bond with a particular member of the family. Kreacher did that with Regulus. If he thought that I was dishonoring Regulus, he would have been perfectly capable of going to Narcissa to do something about it.”
Remus leaned back gingerly. “Wizards do tend to underestimate those we consider to be below us. It’s a good things this Druid warned us. That could have been disastrous.”
“The Druid said I ended up dead because of it.”
If Remus hadn’t known Sirius so well, he wouldn’t have noticed the pain and fear in his old friend’s voice when he said that. He knew that Sirius didn’t fear death so much as he feared letting everyone down again, especially Harry.
“You dodged a bullet, as the muggles would say, Padfoot,” Remus sighed. “Just promise me you’ll be careful in the future.”
“I will be,” Sirius promised. “I think that’s the last of the bruises. Just how many fights did you get into? I think you had more bruises than skin. A couple of the bruises were bruised.”
“Very witty, Pads. I told you, Greyback’s been warning them about me. Most werewolves are incredibly paranoid by nature. They put Mad-eye to shame, and for good reason. I’ve been lucky. Finding out that there is a spy amongst them, no matter what my intentions are, puts them on edge to say the least.”
“Dumbledore shouldn’t be sending you on these missions, then.”
Remus sighed and rolled his eyes. This was an old argument. “We don’t want Voldemort gaining their support. It’s bad enough he as Greyback on his side. Who else is going to even stand a chance of getting close to the werewolves other than a werewolf?”
“Everyone knows that you follow Dumbledore,” Sirius said exasperatedly. He wet a rag he’d conjured with the disinfectant and gently began dabbing at the edges of the cuts that littered Remus’ arms. He winced as the potion stung. Too busy still rambling, Sirius didn’t notice. “We can’t promise them anything because of the bloody ministry, so you’re not exactly making progress, are you?”
He didn’t want to admit it, but Remus knew Sirius was right. He actually agreed that it would probably better if he stopped attempting to convince the others not to join Voldemort when he couldn’t give them any reason not to, but Dumbledore was insistent. He chose not to mention that, however, as Sirius’ opinion of the headmaster was at an all time low.
“Did this Druid mention anything else?” he asked.
For a long moment Sirius didn’t answer. He banished the rag he’d been using and carefully recapped the bottle of potion before sending it back to the cupboard with a wave of his wand. Remus pulled his shirt back on while he waited for Sirius to answer.
“I did something stupid, Moony, and I probably wouldn’t have realized it if the Druid hadn’t mentioned it. I have no excuse except that this house, before Kreacher redecorated, really messed with my head.”
Remus looked at him in concern. “What happened?”
“I firecalled Harry. He sent me a letter and I wanted to talk to him because he sounded worried. I suggested that I meet him in Hogsmeade as Padfoot, but he said no--”
“And a good thing he did. You really are mad if you think that’s a good idea. The Death Eaters are bound to know about your form by now.”
“I know!” Sirius snapped. “But I was desperate! This house was driving me mad. I didn’t realize just how much effect it was having until the past few days. I was frustrated with myself for even suggesting it and for putting Harry in the position of having to be the responsible one and I said something really stupid. It’ll be a bloody miracle if Harry forgives me.”
Halfway through his monologue, Sirius had risen and strode across the room to the counter. He’d planted his hands on the sparkling surface, refusing to look at Remus as his voice become more bitter and miserable. Remus walked over to him and laid a hand on his shoulder.
“Tell me, Padfoot.”
Sirius bowed his head and shuddered slightly. “I told him that he was less like James than I thought. I didn’t even realize that I said it until the Druid pointed it out. I don’t know what the bloody hell I was thinking.”
“You probably weren’t, Sirius,” Remus sighed. “And I’d like to berate you for it, but I don’t think I can blame you, not when I know what this house used to do to you.”
“Don’t worry. I think I’m blaming myself enough for both of us,” Sirius muttered bitterly.
“What are you going to do?”
He shrugged. “I’m not sure. I’ve been thinking about it all week. I suppose I’ve been waiting to get my head on straight again. I can’t let myself say something like that again.”
“Tell that to Harry.”
Finally, Sirius twisted around to face Remus. “What?”
“Tell that to Harry,” Remus restated. “He cares about you, Pads. I daresay he looks to you as I kind of parent. He’s also an exceptionally mature young man, something you’ve yourself pointed out quite vocally in every meeting we’ve had since June. Do you know what he hears when the dementors get close?”
Sirius arched an eyebrow slightly at the seemingly random tangent. “I would assume the events in the graveyard.”
“Yes, but before that he heard Lily and James’ final moments.” What little color Sirius’ skin held drained away, but Remus continued on. “It made him pass out his third year. That was how we officially met for the first time. If anyone can understand what Azkaban did to you and what this house was doing to you, it’s Harry. He has his own Grimmuald Place at Privet Drive. If you talk to him, I think he’ll understand and he’ll forgive you.”
“What if he doesn’t?” Sirius whispered brokenly.
“Do you really think he won’t?” asked Remus with a chuckle. “That boy is far too much like Lily to actually hold a grudge unless it’s warranted. Explain your side of the story. The most that’ll happen is he’ll be irritated that you didn’t tell him sooner.”
Sirius let out a weak chuckle and leaned back against the counter. “You’re right. I just can’t help but worry. Knowing that Harry was out there was somewhere was one of the few things that kept me sane all those years. I can’t lose him.”
“I know. It was the same for me, if for different reasons. Moony would have torn me apart if it hadn’t been for the pack’s cub.”
A fond, reminiscing smile cross the animagus’ face. “I forgot that you used to call him that.”
Remus looked surprised. “Really?”
Eyes darkening slightly, Sirius nodded. “I remember almost everything, but a lot of the details are missing. They’re coming back slowly now that I’m out, but a lot of it is still hazy.”
“Why didn’t you say something?” demanded Remus, a bit stricken now that realized just how oblivious he’d been to his friend’s distress.
“I didn’t want to be a bother,” Sirius admitted sheepishly. “And before you say it, I’m well aware that was a stupid thing to think and that I should have told you. I was wallowing in self pity and not at my most sane.”
“That’s not an excuse. You’ve always been insane, Padfoot.”
Sirius glowered at him. “How am I supposed to get in touch with Harry? I’m a bit worried that Umbridge will be watching his owl and the fires. I don’t want to get Harry in trouble with that bint.”
Knowing exactly how vindictive Umbridge could be having born the brunt of the effect of many of her anti-werewolf laws, Remus nodded, frowning in thought. “I’ll go talk to Dumbledore tomorrow. I might be able to convince him to let you use Fawkes to get into the school so that you can talk to Harry.”
Sirius grinned and clapped Remus on the shoulder. “Thanks, mate.”
“Anytime,” Remus said, retuning the gesture and stifling a yawn. Sirius immediately became apologetic.
“Sorry, mate, I didn’t mean to keep you up after all that. You can use the same room as before. The whole place has been cleaned up so it’s not nearly as disturbing as before, which isn’t saying much considering it couldn’t get any creepier.”
Remus shook his head. It certainly was nice to see Sirius acting more like himself again. He’d been beginning to think that he was never going to come out of that depression. Barely able to keep his eyes open anymore, Remus allowed himself to be steered upstairs to the room he’d been using since the beginning of summer. It was indeed far brighter and cleaner than it had been before, but Remus hardly noticed. He bade Sirius good night and fell into bed fully clothed. He was asleep within minutes.
***
Merlin pulled the hood of his cloak down further over his face as he crept through the halls of Hogwarts. After sitting through Umbridge’s lectures and her mistreatment of Harry, he’d decided to risk taking a more active roll. Now that the trio knew he was a Druid he had a bit more leeway.
Darting from shadow to shadow, he made his was to Umbridge’s classroom. He’d thought about leaving it in her office, but this was a message he wanted everyone to know. A flick of his fingers unlocked the door. He was pleasantly surprised to find that she hadn’t bothered to ward it, even after his prank. Perhaps it was time he and the Weasley twins put their heads together to come up with something.
He tried not to smirk and forced himself to focus on the task at hand. Standing in the middle of the classroom, he raised his hand and began to chant under his breath.
“Ic ágræfe onuppan muras, mynegung, wiðer biter áglæcwif.”
Glowing words etched themselves onto the wall. Merlin smirked in grim satisfaction and slipped out of the room.
It was nearly one o’clock by the time he was back in the dorm. He’d had to wait rather late before his little excursion to be sure that no teachers would be in that area of the castle while he cast his spell. He was almost dead on his feet. Before he went to sleep, however, he pulled a small picture frame out of his bedside table. It currently showed only a blank section of grass. It was the twin to the painting that Sir Cadogan currently occupied. Now that he was paying attention, Merlin could sense the spells that had been cast on the painting across the castle.
He waved a hand over the painting. The edges glowed.
Shoving the painting back into the drawer, he lay down tiredly. Tomorrow was going to be interesting.
Next: Chapter 10