"I don't s'pose yeh might want to come back later for it, would yeh?" Hagrid asked earnestly. "Only I've got my orders, here. Nobody in nor out. The Headmistress thinks that whoever attacked Jackson might come looking for him. Can't rule out it was that crazy nutter pretending to be Merlin."

        "It was Delacroix, Hagrid. But yeah. I can come back later. Good work."

        Hagrid nodded, and then flopped his magazine open onto his lap again. James turned and headed back the way he'd come.

        The Gryffindor common room was empty. The fire in the grate had burned down to red embers, but it had warmed up enough outside that it wasn't necessary anyway. In fact, as James headed up the stairs to the sleeping quarters, he felt a gust of cool, fresh air push past him. Someone had apparently left a window open upstairs. He was just wondering if he should shut it or not when he topped the landing and saw Merlin reclined comfortably on his bed.

        "Here is my little counselor, after all," Merlin said, looking up and lowering James' Technomancy textbook.

        James glanced at the open window next to his bed, then back to Merlin. "You," he said, his mind boggling slightly. "Did you…" He pointed uncertainly at the window.

        "Did I fly in through it?" Merlin said, laying the book aside almost reverently. "Lofted upon the wings of my skyborne brethren? What do you think, James Potter?"

        James closed his mouth, realizing that this was a kind of test. He pushed his first thoughts aside and looked around.

        "No," he answered. "No, actually, I think you just opened the window because you like the air."

        "I like the scents of the air, especially this time of year," the great wizard replied, looking toward the open window. "The essence of growth and life comes from the earth now, filling the sky. Even the nonmagicked feel it. They say that 'love' is in the air in springtime. It's close enough to the truth not to matter, but it isn't love of a man and a woman. It is the love of dirt for root, and leaf for sunlight, and yes, wing for air."

        "But you wanted me to believe that you came in through the window, didn't you?" James said, feeling carefully emboldened.

        Merlin smiled slightly and studied James. "Nine-tenths of magic happens in the mind, James Potter. The greatest trick of all is to know what your audience expects to see, and making sure they do."

        James approached another bed and sat on it. "Is this what you came to talk about? Or are you here because you got my message?"

"I have been privy to many things since you last saw me," the wizard answered. "I have moved in and out, to and fro. I have conversed with many old friends, reacquainted myself with the earth and the beasts and the air. I have met very strange things in the forest, articles of this age, and learned much of the way the world is in this time. I have studied you yourself and your people."

        James smiled slowly, realizing something. "You never left us! You vanished from the top of the tower, let us think you flew off with the birds, but you didn't go anywhere, did you? You just turned invisible!"

        "You have rather a talent for looking beyond the flat of the mirror, James Potter," Merlin said, his voice low and his face impassive. "But I will admit that I did hear everything your Professors Franklyn and Longbottom, and the Pendragon, and yes, your father, said about me. I was amused and angered that they presumed to know me so. And yet I am no slave to arrogance. I asked myself if what they supposed was true. I left then, and I visited my old lands. I went in and out, to and fro. I studied my own deep soul as Franklyn supposed I should. And I found there was a shadow of truth in their words. A shadow…"

        Merlin paused for a long moment. James decided not to say anything, but simply watched the wizard. His face remained utterly immobile, but his eyes were distant. After no less than two minutes, Merlin spoke again.

        "But a shadow was not enough to bring me back to the mire of double-speak and confused loyalties that pass for battle-lines in this benighted age. I was far-off, exploring, seeking space and land and uninterrupted earth, already sinking into the deep language of the wind and the rain, when there was a new note in the song of the trees. Your message, James Potter."

        James was amazed to see that there was finally emotion on the enormous man's face. He looked at James nakedly, his eyes suddenly wet. James felt shame for the man's raw expression of anguish. He even felt a little guilty for his own words, words that had apparently, shockingly, pierced this enormous man's hidden heart. Then, as if the anguish had never been there, the massive, stony face composed itself. It was not a matter of masking the emotion, James realized. He was simply witnessing the workings of emotion in a man whose culture was utterly alien to him, where the heart was so close to the surface that deep emotion could pass over the face shamelessly and completely, like a cloud obscuring the sun but for a moment.

        "Thus, James Potter," the wizard said, standing slowly, so that he seemed to fill the room. "I return. I am at your service. My soul does indeed require this. I have learned much of this world during my travels this day, and I love little of it, but there is a present evil, even though it is masked with duplicity and etiquette. Perhaps defeating that evil is secondary even to stripping that evil of its façade of respectability."

        James grinned and jumped up as well, not sure whether to shake Merlin's hand, hug him, or bow. He settled for pumping his fist once in the air and proclaiming, "Yes! Er, thank you, Merlin. Er, Merlinus. Mr. Ambrosius?"

The wizard simply smiled, his ice-blue eyes twinkling.

"So," James said, "what do we do? I mean, we only have a few hours before Prescott and his crew gather to film the school and everything. I guess I have to explain all that to you. Sheesh, this is going to take a while."

        "I am Merlin, James Potter," the wizard said, sighing. "I have already learned as much as I need to know about this world and how it works. You'd be quite surprised, methinks, to learn how much the trees know of your culture. Mr. Prescott is not your problem. We simply need a council of allies to aid us."

        "All right," James said, plopping back onto the bed. "What sort of allies do we need?"

        Merlin's eyes narrowed. "We require heroes of wit and cleverness, unafraid to foil convention in order to defend a higher allegiance. Battle skills matter not. What we need at this moment, James Potter, are scoundrels with honor."

        James nodded succinctly. "I know just the group. Scoundrels with honor. Got it."