Chapter 1: Beans on Toast

June 25, 2002

A small village about 40 minutes drive outside of Northampton, UK.

About half past nine in the morning.

Merlin finished pulling on the shirt that mother had bought for him yesterday and pulled such a face at himself in the mirror that he ended up smiling anyway. Didn't matter much though. He was going to get it dirty anyway. So he gave his reflection a quick nod and grabbed his favorite kerchief from the plastic hook on his wall. Today was a 'favorite kerchief' kind of day.

It was also Tuesday. Tuesday meant beans on toast. And beans on toast had to be avoided at all costs.

Merlin slipped on his shoes and slid out of his room, tying the kerchief around his neck. He could hear his mother stirring in the kitchen, clinks of cooking and the murmur of the radio, which was more static than music at this point. He stalked down the hall. He heard another voice, someone talking about the weather or something. Boring stuff. An old lady's voice. Must be one of his mother's friends. Ugh. Like he needed that. On today of all days.

Now all he had to do was steal past the kitchen doorway without anyone spotting him and he was free to escape out the front door.

He hesitated at the edge of the doorframe then made a break for it.

Safe!

He reached for the handle on the front door.

"Merlin! Breakfast's ready, come downstairs!" His mother's voice rang out from the kitchen behind him.

Merlin winced. He could almost see her, hands on her hips, apron fluttering as she padded over the kitchen linoleum on bare feet. He went ahead and grasped the door handle, being careful to turn it ever so slowly. The latch withdrew. And he pulled it open. It made not a sound. Merlin grinned and drew in a deep breath.

"Mum-I'll-check-the-mail-and-be-back-for-lunch-don't-save-any-beans-for-me-bye!"

And before she could raise any objections, he was gone; down the weedy, overgrown front path and beside the mailbox in an instant.

"Merlin!" He heard his mother's voice from inside the house.

He wrenched open the little door and checked inside. A few letters, and few other things. Merlin looked through them. Bill. Bill. Newsletter. Catalog. Bill. Ah! Something with his name on it! Mr. Merlin Gwilt, in neat letters. A birthday card, perhaps?

"Merlin!" Merlin saw his mother stick her head out of the front kitchen window. "Come inside! I need to talk to you!"

"Can't" Merlin stuffed the thick envelope in his trouser pocket and threw the rest of the mail back in the mailbox. "I'll be back by lunch."

"Back by eleven, please!"

He sighed. Only so many good things could happen today. "Alright!"

"Close the front door!"

He didn't have time for this.

Merlin stared at the front door. And it closed, just like that. All by itself. Perfect.

"Wind got it. Bye, mum!"

And Merlin took off down a worn footpath into the trees. Finally, freedom! The forest enveloped him and the birdsong and splashes of sunlight through the treetops above painted the prettiest picture he had ever seen. It was like the forest knew it was his birthday and had dressed up in its summer finery. He dove deeper in and hoped he could have at least one adventure before eleven o'clock.

Hunith Gwilt pulled her head from out of the window, sighing, and trying to pull all her flyaway hairs out of her eyes. She turned her attention back to the beans simmering on the stove and stirred them before they burned. Satisfied breakfast was well on its way to being done, Hunith turned around to her guest.

"I'm sorry." The tea was ready by now and she took out the teabags. Handing one mug to the severe-looking lady sitting in her kitchen. "He's an energetic boy, just has to get it out of his system, you know. Boys."

"Oh, I do." The lady's voice had a slight lilt to it. Scottish, maybe. "I certainly do."

"And it's his birthday. But he'll be back by eleven. He's always on time. Will you be fine with waiting for a bit?" Hunith gulped a little of her scalding tea then realized she needed some milk in it. She opened the fridge. "Milk?"

"I have enough patience. And no, thank you, dear." The lady put up a hand.

Hunith poured a dash of milk in her tea and tried it again. Much better. "So, it's a school for boys like him. Gifted, I mean?" She leaned back on the kitchen counter.

The lady nodded. "Boys and girls. But yes, gifted may be the right word for it."

The guest was dressed in green robes, very formal-looking. Must be part of the uniform at the school. Hunith kept touching her own hair, noticing more and more the stained apron she wore and her bare feet, dirty with her gardening at sun-up. Not much to be done now to save the first impression. Hopefully the school didn't take her appearance or manners into account when considering Merlin's acceptance.

"Well, Miss…Headmas- Headmistress-"

"Please." The lady interrupted. "Minerva, is satisfactory for now." There was a hint of a smile.

"Ah, yes." Hunith took another gulp of her tea. "Miss Minerva… I know Merlin will be grateful for the opportunity. He's a keen learner."

Miss Minerva's eyes darted in the direction of the front door. "I noticed. He seems advanced for his age." Her mouth was a thin line.

"Yes." Hunith recalled how well Merlin had finished up this past school year. All his exams were 'top-notch', as his instructor had said. "They've offered to advance him an extra year, at his school. Of course I said no, a boy needs to be with others of his own age. But they still offered." Hunith suddenly remembered the beans and gave them another stir before turning back to her guest.

"I'm sure, I'm sure." Miss Minerva waved her hand and set her mug down on the kitchen table. "The front door closing, was that him, from all the way by the mailbox?"

The bottom dropped out of Hunith's stomach.

She had told Merlin, again and again.

She had thought that Miss Minerva hadn't noticed.

"What?" Hunith attempted what she hoped looked like a smile. "How could he? That was the wind. Timing was perfect, wasn't it?"

No one was allowed to see his little tricks, save her. No one.

That boy was going to be the death of her.

"Mrs. Gwilt- "

"Ms." Hunith heard herself correct Miss Minerva, out of habit, she supposed.

"Yes, of course, Ms. Gwilt, let's not beat about the bush. Merlin closed the door while he was standing out by the mailbox." The lady was no longer asking, she was telling. "He used magic and you know it." She promptly picked up her tea and took a sip, watching Hunith closely.

Hunith opened her mouth. Then closed it.

Miss Minerva continued, setting the large mug down on the table was a slight thud. "At Hogwarts such feats are not only accepted and encouraged, they are taught. But all this is beside the point. How long has Merlin been able to do that? Move things whenever he wished it?"

Hunith opened her mouth again, hesitated a moment, then turned off the beans. "Since he was born. Since forever."

Miss Minerva nodded.

Hunith looked back at the stove then to her guest. "Beans on toast?"

"Mr. Merlin Gwilt, the Little White Cottage on Tweed Lane, in the village of _, Northamptonshire, East Midlands, United Kingdom." Merlin read aloud. He frowned and turned the envelope over, picking at the red sealing wax that held it all together. "Bit accurate, aren't they?"

The squirrel just chittered at him.

Merlin looked over. He was probably too close to its nest. "Alright, alright." He tucked the envelope inside his pocket again and grabbed a branch above him. Slowly and carefully, he slithered out of the large tree. It was one he climbed a lot before, so he mulled over the letter as he climbed. He had originally climbed into the massive oak tree in order to catch his breath. He had run to the village and back two times and had already climbed a few trees before he settled on this one for his perch. He had been chased by a pack of hungry wolves, red tongues lolling about (neighbor's terriers), he had scaled a mountain (biggest hill he could find), forded a massive river (small creek), and still had time to read his letter before he headed back to the house for lunch.

Merlin settled on a slightly lower branch than the one that obviously belonged to a very territorial squirrel. He got comfortable, swinging his legs back and forth and resting his back against the trunk, and pulled out his letter again.

No return address. Hmm.

He slipped a few fingers under the thick paper and pried open the red wax seal. The letter inside was made of thick, heavy paper too. Parchment, he guessed. Merlin began to read:

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Headmistress: Minerva McGonagall (Order of Merlin, First Class)

What kind of joke was this?

Dear Mr. Gwilt,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Headmistress

Merlin knew that he sat and stared at the letter for a long time, but exactly how long, he wasn't sure. Someone must had sent this as some sort of a prank or a bit of fun. Oh, funny Merlin, he belongs in a school with other wizards and witches like him! Oh, creepo Merlin, let's send him off to a fake school for other weirdos like him! List of necessary books and equipment, his arse!

Merlin tore open the second sheet of paper, fingers crumpling the edges. Robes?! He felt a heat behind his eyes. A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration?! There was a rushing in his ears but he wasn't sure why. And he wasn't sure why someone would do this. Or who. Like anyone at school cared enough about his existence to send him anything, much less something this detailed and weird. Oh look, a magic wand is required! The edges of the letter began to smoke and become charred and he pretended not to notice. But it was difficult not to.

Head pounding like it always did when he got angry, Merlin stuffed the papers together, creased them mercilessly, and shoved them into his pocket again. Not so much as a "Happy Birthday, Merlin". Wasn't worth even thinking about who he hoped it had been from. Someone he had hoped to meet for years. Wasn't worth it. It felt like there was a fire on his brow, just hovering there, flickering, burning.

Merlin climbed down from the tree but on the last branch his foot slipped. He fell the rest of the way.

It wasn't far. No, it wasn't far to the mud puddle he landed in at the base of the tree.

Merlin picked himself up and began making his way home. Was probably about eleven now. His new shirt was spotted with mud now. Some birthday this turned out to be: beans on toast, a joke letter, and mud. Bloody brilliant!

The front door opened and slammed closed. The sound of shoes being kicked off and hitting the floor. "Mum, I'm home!" A young voice rang out from the hall.

Ha! As if that wasn't evident!

Minerva took a sip of her second mug of weak tea and watched as a young boy entered the kitchen. Upon seeing her, he looked a touch more cautious, standing just inside the doorway, eyes flickering from his mother to Minerva herself.

Hunith wiped her hands on her apron. "Merlin, this is Headmistress Min- uh McGonagall, was it?"

Minerva stood slowly. "Yes, that's right."

"She runs a lovely boarding school for gifted kiddies, like you."

Minerva felt some small satisfaction as the unruly boy's face became pale and his already large eyes went from narrow to plate-sized. Minerva took this brief interlude of silence to examine the child. He was scrawny, extremely so. His nest of unkempt black hair sat above fair skin and blue eyes, eyes that were set inside a long face with cheekbones that would doubtless become more prominent with age. He wore a button-up shirt, new, since she could see a paper tag still clinging to it. But it was spattered with mud. And crumpled, sticking out of his jeans pocket, was the thick yellow parchment of a Hogwarts acceptance letter. Ah, so he had already read it. But how much did he understand? Strange, how the letter looked partially burned-

"Mum, what's going on?" There was a slight note of panic in Merlin's voice.

"Nothing, but- " Merlin's mother stopped. "Is that mud on your new shirt? Merlin?" She took a few steps closer to the boy.

"I fell." And Merlin stepped back. "I'm sorry. It'll wash out. Mum, I don't-"

Hunith sighed. "You fell? Are you hurt anywhere?"

"No, but-"

"Alright then. I was just making some sandwiches, would you like one?" Hunith took a sandwich from the counter, put it on a plate, and handed it to the child.

Merlin took the sandwich, knuckles white as he gripped the plate. "Mum, I don't want to go to boarding school!" The boy blurted this out in a hurry then looked immediately down to the kitchen floor.

Minerva sat back down. She wondered if Hunith had noticed that her son was on the brink of crying, lower lip trembling and eyes full of tears.

Hunith smiled and set another sandwich on a plate. "No one will force you, Merlin, calm yourself. Here," She pulled out a chair for the boy. Sit yourself down and say hello to Miss Minerva."

Merlin complied, sitting down with his plate. "Hello, Miss Minerva." He recited dully, eyes on the table.

"There, that's better." Hunith reached over and used the red kerchief tied around her son's neck to dab at his tears before returning to the kitchen counter and the sandwiches.

Minerva cleared her throat. "Merlin," She spoke. "Hogwarts is not simply a boarding school."

Merlin's eyes tore from the table and met McGonagall's own gaze. She watched him bite his lip and reach down to dig the letter from his pocket.

"Miss Minerva, would you like a sandwich?" Hunith was tidying up her spreads and crumbs, since the sandwiches were ready.

Merlin set the crumpled letter on the table. "What kind of school is it?"

Minerva set her jaw and answered both questions by deftly flicking the wand she had been grasping for the past half hour in her sleeve and levitating the plates with the remaining sandwiches and depositing them on the kitchen table. Both mother and son stared without another word, watching the progress of the floating plates with obviously some fascination. Minerva allowed herself a small smirk, internal of course, due to the fact that she had shut both of them up. Hopefully, now they would allow her to fully explain the situation without further interruption.

"There now. Ms. Gwilt, if you will have a seat. We will all have lunch and I will explain everything." McGonagall spoke as briskly as she dared to, she needed to retain control of the conversation but not appear too intimidating, something of which she had been reminded, time and time again.

Hunith obediently sat at the table with Merlin and Minerva, folded her hands, and remained silent.

Minerva looked to Merlin, who nodded without a word as well.

Minerva took this to be her cue and began."Merlin, your name is quite accurate, you are a wizard." The boy opened his mouth and Minerva suddenly felt very tired of it all, but she paused and allowed him to speak. "Yes?"

He spoke quickly, all in a rush. "I didn't know there was a name for it. I just thought I was…" He trailed off.

"What, boy?" Minerva sighed. "If you're going to speak, finish your thoughts, please."

"Just thought I was… funny, or odd." He mumbled.

"Well, you are not." McGonagall sniffed. "You are a perfectly normal wizard boy, in fact, a little advanced for your age. I saw you close that door, young man."

Merlin at least had the decency to lower his eyes to his sandwich.

"From so far away and without a word or a wand, no less." She continued. "Do you do things like that often, Merlin?" She had to know. How could he have been doing magic his whole life, and yet remained here, unheard of and oblivious to the Wizarding World?

"No, not really." There was that mumbling again.

"Tell the truth."

"It's ok, Merlin." Hunith reached out and rubbed her son's shoulder. "You can trust, Miss Minerva, like you trust me."

"How often do strange things happen around you? Doors closing, for instance, all by themselves? Or the colors of objects changing without explanation?" Minerva reiterated.

"It happens whenever I want it to." The boy spoke softly and met McGonagall's firm gaze. "I know I shouldn't, but it feels…normal, I dunno, to me." His fingers were playing with the edges of the crumpled letter on the table, touching the charred ends.

"It is normal for you, dear boy, have no fear." Minerva sighed. "However, there are laws that we witches and wizards must follow with regard to magic, specifically to keep non-magical folk from seeing our magic. It's a secret." She reached over and took the ruined acceptance letter from his hand. "So we'll have no more of that for the time being. You must restrain yourself until you can be taught to control it."

"What's that?" Hunith watched Minerva smooth out the letter on the table.

"His acceptance letter from Hogwarts." Minerva shot a side glance at Merlin. "I take it that you read it."

"I thought it was a joke." Merlin took a small bite from his sandwich. "Wait, does that mean it's illegal for mum to see my…me doing stuff like that?"

"Magic." Minerva corrected the boy. "You do magic, Merlin. And no, it's not necessarily illegal for your mother to see you do magic, she's your guardian and has to know about your talents. However, you can't show it to just any person on the street. Now, as you read in your letter-"

Merlin had eaten some more of his cheese and pickle sandwich and spoke around it when he interrupted McGonagall again. "What if I want to save someone's life and me doing-…me doing magic is like the only way I can…" Merlin swallowed his bite of sandwich. "Save their life, I mean. Like push them out of the way of a car, really fast. Something like that. What then? Is that illegal too?"

"Mr. Gwilt, you can certainly learn more about magical law at Hogwarts if you so wish, but I cannot lecture you on it here and now. We must proceed, if you please!" Minerva shook the letter at Merlin. He had set down his sandwich and appeared to be wilting under her words.

"You have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry because you are a wizard and by turning eleven years old today you have come of age to attend classes there. I strongly recommend you decide to enroll, Mr. Gwilt. You are quite gifted and I feel you will be doing yourself and your mother a disservice by ignoring your gifts. Term starts the first of September and ends the third week of June." McGonagall stood up, refolding the acceptance letter so that it could fit neatly back into the envelope in which it came. All the while, she kept speaking as firm and as fast as she dared, trying to ensure no more interruptions or sidetracks.

"You will undergo seven years of training and guidance then you will graduate as a fully functional wizard, able to pursue whatever career you feel suits you best, whether it be one associated with magic or one that exists in the non-magical world. I hope this is clear, now, what is your answer? Will you enroll, Mr. Gwilt?" She took a deep breath once she finished her speech, staring down at the young boy.

There was a brief pause between Minerva's words and Hunith's, who broke the silence.

"Miss. Minerva?" The adult woman sounded rather like a schoolgirl at this moment and Minerva almost regretted her harsh delivery.

"Ms. Gwilt?"

"Merlin has just turned twelve today, not eleven. Will being a year late be a bother?" Hunith spoke slowly.

There must be some sort of mistake. Minerva's mind raced. Twelve?

"I want to do it." Merlin stood up too. "I want to go."

"Twelve years?" Minerva wondered what she had done wrong. The Quill had written him down, clear as day: 'Merlin Gwilt, 25 of June, 1991'. But the Quill and Book had never been wrong before. Not in centuries of use, not once-

"Can he still go?" Hunith asked again. "Is he too old?"

"No, no." Minerva fought to bring her mind back to the present. "No, of course not. Of course he can go, Ms. Gwilt. I apologize." How could this have happened? "I must have made a mistake myself when sending out letters last year. But we can easily rectify this." Yes, tend to the situation at hand. The boy was staring up at her, his mother holding his hand while they waited on her words.

Minerva addressed the young wizard. "Merlin, most students start when they are eleven years old. I feel at this point you have two choices. You may either go to Hogwarts and start your first year as a twelve year old, which is nothing to be ashamed of, or the professors of Hogwarts and I can take the next two months to bring you up to speed, tutor you, so to speak, so that you may start your second year in September. You will be a little behind and will need to work hard. "

"Mum?" Merlin looked back at his mother.

"This is your choice." Hunith smiled up at her son.

"I know." The boy replied. "But what you think?"

Hunith's answer was expected. "I think you'll make a good choice, no matter what." Clear words of a mother, Minerva observed silently in some corner of her mind.

Merlin looked back and forth from his mother to McGonagall a few times. Bit his lip. "I want-…" He faltered a little. "I want to learn, more than anything. Can I have the tutoring, please….uh, Headmistress." He finally remembered her title, for once. But Minerva hadn't really paid it any mind.

"Absolutely." Minerva nodded and held out her hand to the young boy. He took it and shook it. "Merlin Gwilt, welcome to Hogwarts." And Minerva felt a little flutter in her chest when she saw Merlin's first real smile. "I will contact you by post on what additional materials you may need, most are in your letter, and then I will draw up a schedule of tutoring dates for you to approve. It will be hard work, but none of my colleagues will rest until they feel you have ample experience to start your second year this coming September." Minerva released the boy's hand and straightened her robes. "Thank you very much, Ms. Gwilt for the tea and the sandwiches. I must be going for today but you and Merlin shall hear from me soon." And she started making her way to the front door.

Merlin and Hunith followed her. She opened the door to the outside and turned around before exiting. "Have you any more brief questions, Mr. Gwilt?" She followed up her query with a small smile, watching the boy ponder a moment.

"I dunno, I always wondered…" Merlin Gwilt spoke slowly, blue eyes watching McGonagall, and his mother's hand came down on his small, thin shoulder and squeezed. "Was there ever a Merlin, you know, way back then? Was he a real guy?"

The boy certainly had a name to live up to. Minerva inclined her head. "Yes, Merlin is known as one of the greatest wizards of all time. He exists not just in our legends but in our history books as well. He was real guy."

"Wow." And Merlin the boy gave one of the biggest ear-to-ear grins that Minerva had ever seen.