It took one more full day before Merlin recovered enough strength to properly sit up, then stand again without his legs trembling beneath him. Until then, he spent most of his time lying quietly, watching, listening, and slowly getting used to the strangely familiar world around him.
The first thing he truly understood was his bed.
It wasn't just like hay. It was hay.
Dry bundles of straw formed the base, mixed with soft goose feathers and feathers from other birds to make it more comfortable. It scratched a little if he moved too much, but it was warm, and it smelled faintly of grass and sunlight. Crude, yes—but not unkind.
The house itself was small.
Very small.
There were only two beds inside: one for him, and one for his mother. A modest hearth sat against one wall, its stones darkened by years of use. The fire crackled gently most nights, filling the room with warmth and the scent of burning wood.
As for the bathroom…
That was outside.
A small wooden shack stood a short distance from the house, simple and exposed to the cold, wind, and embarrassment. And when Merlin finally had to use it on his own, it quickly became a nightmare.
Especially the cleaning part.
If they were lucky, or had enough money, they used sheep's wool.
If not…
Corn cobs or whatever else could be found.
Merlin stared at the options once, frozen in horror.
'I miss toilet paper,' he cried silently inside.
Nothing about this compared to the comfort of his past life, and remembering that detail alone made him want to mourn all over again.
He was nine years old.
And once he could move enough to take care of himself, he finally saw his reflection.
It wasn't in a mirror. It was in a bucket of water.
He leaned over it, staring down as the surface rippled. A small face looked back at him, his face.
His skin was pale, almost as light as his mother's, smooth and unmarked. His hair was light brown, but when the sunlight hit it just right, it almost looked blond, glowing softly like wheat. It fell a bit messily over his forehead, refusing to stay neat no matter how much his mother tried.
But his eyes…
That's what caught his attention.
They were a deep amber, rich and bright, almost golden. They reminded him of a bird of prey, sharp, clear, alive.
"…That's cool," he whispered to himself.
They were nothing like the plain black eyes from his old life.
And strangely, that made him happy.
But more than anything else, more than the world, the house, or even his new body, what truly made him happy was his mother.
In his past life, his parents had always been distant. Cold. More like figures than people. He had never really built a true relationship with them. When his father died, he had gone to the funeral out of obligation, not love, not grief.
And now…
Now he had a real mother.
Someone who worried. Who cried. Who fed him, cared for him, touched his cheek gently when she thought he was asleep. Someone whose love didn't feel forced or expected—it was simply there.
Even with memories of another life, the affection, warmth, and care she gave him were a welcome surprise.
And Merlin loved her.
As a son should love his mother.
—-
Merlin's first walk through the village happened a few days later.
They lived at the top of a gentle hill, where the wind was stronger and the air smelled cleaner. Wearing simple clothes, rough fabric, loose and a little worn, Merlin walked beside his mother as they made their way downhill toward the heart of the village.
The path was made of packed dirt and small stones, uneven beneath his feet. As they descended, people passed them going about their daily lives. Many of them smiled when they saw Merlin. Some waved. Others stopped entirely.
"Good to see you standing again, lad," a man said, tipping his head.
A few women approached them soon after, clearly relieved.
"Freya Ermys," one of them said warmly to Merlin's mother, placing a hand over her chest. "We were so worried. Seeing him up again is a blessing."
Freya smiled politely, her posture calm but protective, one hand resting lightly on Merlin's shoulder.
Merlin recognized only one of the three women.
Dorothy.
She was between thirty and forty years old, but the harshness of life, sun, cold, hunger, and years of labor, had carved deep lines into her face. She looked closer to sixty. The other two women were much the same, tired eyes and worn hands, all carrying the same quiet resilience.
Dorothy leaned down slightly and smiled at Merlin.
"You gave us quite a scare," she said. "Don't be doing that again."
Merlin nodded shyly.
"I'll try," he replied.
After a few more words between the women, they continued on.
The center of the village was small but busy. Stalls made of wood and cloth lined the open area. Freya carefully counted a few copper coins in her palm, then added several small bundles of dried herbs she had prepared herself. She moved from stall to stall, negotiating gently, trading remedies for vegetables, grain, and a bit of dried meat.
Merlin stood beside her at first.
Then boredom set in.
"Mom," he asked after a while, tugging lightly at her sleeve, "can I go look around a bit?"
Freya paused.
She looked at him carefully, worry immediately visible on her face. She wanted him close, where she could see him, protect him. But Merlin's eyes were bright, curious, full of energy again.
She hesitated…then sighed.
"…Alright," she said. "But don't go far. Stay where I can find you."
Merlin's face lit up.
"I promise !"
He hugged her tightly, quickly, then pulled away before she could change her mind.
Walking through the village on his own, Merlin took everything in.
There was a small bakery, warm air and the smell of fresh bread spilling out through its open door. A stable stood nearby, horses shifting and snorting softly inside.
Farther down, a blacksmith worked at his forge, the heat radiating outward so strongly Merlin could feel it on his skin even from outside, the ringing of metal echoing through the air.
And beyond the village…Just a little under twenty meters away
There was a lake. Large. Beautiful.
Its surface reflected the sunlight so brightly it made Merlin squint. Green pastures surrounded it, stretching toward distant mountains that rose proudly against the sky. The water shimmered, breaking gently against the rocks along its edge.
It was breathtaking.
Near those rocks, where the water met stone, two boys were crouched close together, poking something with a long stick.
Curious, and having nothing better to do, Merlin walked closer.
As he approached, recognition stirred in his mind.
He knew them.
The taller one was Callum, the son of one of the village guards. The other was Ewan, always close behind him, always agreeing, always following.
Callum acted like the village belonged to him. He intimidated other children, took their things, and enjoyed it. And Ewan—his loyal little shadow—helped however he could.
Merlin remembered clearly.
He used to be one of the kids who got pushed around.
Standing behind them now, Merlin finally saw what they were poking.
At first, it looked like a pile of tangled algae.
Then it moved.
It was shaped like a young foal, but wrong. It had no hooves, its body slick and strange, its back half trapped tightly between the rocks where the waves crashed. It struggled weakly, unable to free itself.
Callum jabbed it with the stick.
The creature let out a pained, high-pitched whinny.
Ewan laughed and hit it again.
Merlin felt something snap inside his chest.
"Hey !" he shouted. "Stop that !"
The boys froze.
Callum slowly turned around.
When he saw Merlin, a cruel grin spread across his face as he stood up, straightening to his full height. Ewan followed suit, stepping beside him.
"Well, look who it is," Callum sneered. "Chicken-eyes."
His tone was mocking, heavy with contempt.
The lake breeze carried the sound of the creature's pained whimpers behind them as the two boys faced Merlin, smiling like they'd just found new entertainment.
Merlin clenched his fists.
"Stop it," he said again, his voice louder now, shaking with anger. "Leave it alone."
Callum scoffed.
"We can do whatever we want," he replied lazily, twirling the branch in his hand. "And you don't get to tell us what to do."
"The animal didn't do anything," Merlin shot back. "It doesn't deserve this."
Callum looked over his shoulder at the trapped creature, then laughed.
"It's ugly," he said cruelly. "So ugly nobody would care if a thing like that died."
Ewan snorted beside him, nodding eagerly.
"Yeah. Ugly thing."
They both turned back to Merlin and started walking toward him, branches raised.
"What ?" Callum taunted. "You wanna get beaten again, like a few days ago ?"
Ewan grinned. "We heard you were stuck in bed. Should've just died for real."
Callum's smile twisted even further.
"At least then someone might wanna marry your weird mother."
Something inside Merlin snapped.
Talking about him was one thing.
Talking about his mother, who gave everything for him, who stayed awake for days at his bedside, who loved him without question, was unforgivable.
"Shut up," Merlin growled. "Shut your mouths before I knock your teeth out."
Callum burst out laughing.
"Try it."
And then they rushed him.
Merlin barely had time to react. He swung his arms wildly, adrenaline burning through his veins. He managed to land a solid hit on Ewan's stomach, knocking the air out of him. The boy collapsed to the ground, clutching his belly and wheezing.
"Ugh !"
Callum roared in anger.
He came down hard, swinging his branch again and again. Merlin blocked some, dodged others, but then, in a brief moment of distraction, the branch struck his face.
Pain exploded.
Merlin fell backward onto the dirt.
Callum didn't hesitate.
He jumped on him, striking, kicking, stomping. Merlin curled up, arms raised, breath knocked out of him again and again. Callum was older. Stronger.
'I'm losing,' Merlin realized.
His chest burned. His vision blurred.
'Think. Do something…'
And then
Something shifted.
Deep inside his stomach, it felt like a knot unraveling. A sudden warmth spread through his body, rushing through his veins, down his arms, into his hands.
Instinctively, Merlin raised his left hand.
The next strike never landed.
Callum's branch stopped mid-air. Completely frozen.
Callum stared at it, confused.
"What ?"
Merlin stared too.
'I stopped it.'
Before either of them could fully understand what had happened, Merlin moved.
He punched Callum square in the face.
The boy yelped in shock and fell backward, hitting the ground hard. Merlin didn't stop. He climbed on top of him and started hitting, once, twice, again and again. His fists hurt, his knuckles burned, but he kept going.
Blood spilled from Callum's nose.
"Stop !" Callum cried, sobbing now. "Stop !"
Merlin finally did.
Breathing heavily, hands aching, he pushed himself up and stepped back. Callum lay on the ground, crying in pain and fear, face smeared with blood and dirt.
Merlin looked down at him, chest rising and falling.
"Go," he said tiredly. "Both of you. And don't bother me again."
Callum scrambled up, grabbing Ewan by the arm. They ran, sobbing and stumbling away, Callum shouting over his shoulder:
"I-I'll tell my dad ! You're dead !"
Their footsteps faded. Merlin stood there for a moment, shaking.
He wiped dirt and sweat from his face and stared at his palm.
He had stopped that branch.
'How ?'
A sharp whinny sounded behind him.
Merlin turned.
"Oh right…"
The creature.
He walked back toward the rocks. As he approached, the small animal hissed, or snarled,at him, baring tiny, sharp teeth. Its body shifted weakly, water dripping from it.
"It's okay," Merlin said softly, crouching down. "I'm not going to hurt you. No one's going to hurt you anymore."
The creature didn't relax completely, but it stopped growling.
Now that he was closer, Merlin could see it properly.
Its body was long and sleek, shaped like a young horse, but entirely aquatic. Dark green and black scales covered its form, slick like wet stone. Long strands of kelp-like mane flowed from its head and neck, drifting gently with every movement. Its eyes were dark and intelligent, reflecting light like polished glass. Water clung to its skin, as if it belonged more to the lake than the land.
Merlin stared, fascinated.
"…Wow."
It was beautiful.
And then realization hit him.
"…A kelpie ?" he whispered.
Just like the one from Fantastic Beasts. Just like Newt Scamander's.
His heart skipped.
'Wait. Does that mean…Am I in the Harry Potter universe ?'
A sharp cry of pain snapped him back to reality.
"Right, sorry !"
The kelpie was still trapped, wedged tightly between two large rocks.
Merlin climbed up between them, bracing his back against one stone and planting his feet against the other. His muscles screamed as he pushed with everything he had left.
"Come on…come on…!"
The rock shifted, just a little.
The kelpie felt the pressure ease and began to struggle harder. With one final push, Merlin forced the stone far enough aside.
The creature slipped free.
With a splash, it dove back into the icy water of the lake.
Merlin let go.
The rock slammed back into place with a loud crash.
Breathing heavily, Merlin stumbled away from the rocks and looked out over the water.
The kelpie resurfaced, its head breaking through the surface. It watched him for a moment, curious and alert.
Merlin smiled and gave a small wave.
The kelpie let out a happy whinny, leaped into the air, and splashed back down, sending water droplets everywhere. For a brief second, sunlight caught the spray, forming a small rainbow before it vanished.
Then the kelpie disappeared beneath the lake.
Merlin stood there, smiling softly.
He was glad he had helped. But now…
He had far more questions than answers.
And absolutely no idea how he was going to explain any of this to his mother.