Gifts and Deals

MEMORY EVIDENCE OF HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED
Written by Rita Skeeter

If you thought the Dark Lord's reign of terror had passed you may be wrong, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. Quirinus Quirrell, on trial for attempting to murder a Hogwarts Student and steal the most coveted stone in existence was not working alone, claimed witnesses at his evidence hearing. Headmaster Albus Dumbledore of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy led the evidence hearing on June 27th against the ex-professor. But it was the voice of Merlin Evans who was the deciding factor of the case.

"Just who is this kid?" asked one Wizengamot member. "And how did he do that?"

Merlin Evans, age eleven, took the initiative when he discovered what the ex-professor was going to do. But is the boy to be congratulated on his heroism or feared for his sheer power? During his testimony, Merlin explained how he dragged himself out of the Hogwarts Hospital Wing and dueled Quirinus Quirrell on the Third Floor Corridor. The prophet can exclusively reveal that the confrontation ended in the collapse of several floors of solid stone as a result of Merlin's accidental magic.

"Anyone with that much power is dangerous," said Lucius Malfoy, the Chairman of Hogwarts Board of Governors.

But that's not all! During his witness testimony, Merlin accused the ex-professor of actually sharing his body with none other than He-Who-Must-Be-Named. He then submitted memory evidence to support his claim—but were these images nothing more than the imaginings of a scared eleven-year-old boy?

Memory Evidence has a history of unreliability, and it's a shock that Madam Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement even allowed such evidence to be submitted. During the First Wizard War, several Death Eaters were able to escape justice by tampering the memories of their victims as well as their own, and were only caught after vicious muggle-killing sprees.

Was the memory manipulated, implanted, or scariest of all true? The Daily Prophet contacted the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, for more word on the subject.

"It's preposterous!" said Fudge "The boy must have imagined it! He is not back, I tell you!" and he promptly stormed from his office.

Merlin Evans also boasted during the evidence hearing that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named invited him to join his ranks. "Of course, I refused," Merlin said with a laugh. "And then I brought the roof down."

Is Merlin Evans just a confused child who accidentally collapsed a ceiling on his professor, or a powerful sorcerer who managed to defeat the Dark Lord at age eleven?

"I guess there is power in a name," said Lucius Malfoy, outside the Evidence Hearing. "And it looks like The Prince of Enchanters has returned."

Only A Boy

The fireplace roared with brilliant green flames, and a short portly man wearing a bowler green hat emerged. Albus Dumbledore had known this moment would come, but the sight of the Minister of Magic, blustering, purple, and brandishing a copy of the Daily Prophet as if it were a rapier still made him sigh.

Cornelius Fudge marched up to his desk, huffing and wheezing. His brown eyes were popping, but the headmaster saw that beneath all the anger and disbelief was blinding fear. The man had never been very good with confronting his fears.

"Memory evidence of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named return? What is this nonsense?" Fudge threw the newspaper onto Dumbledore's desk and took a deep breath, as though the action had left him winded. Dumbledore glanced down at the Daily and inwardly sighed again. Rita Skeeter had never been good at handling delicate matters. She was more likely to shatter them with biased words and inappropriate facts—although surprisingly this particular article was more accurate than her usual stories. In front of him, Fudge was shouting again.

"I want to scrutinize the memory personally. It has to have been tampered with, or just some nightmare the boy had," Fudge shook his head, turned away for a moment and started to pace. "That Skeeter woman is right. What were you thinking? Children aren't supposed to submit memories. Warped details, I tell you. They don't see things the same way, are more susceptible to suggestion. That Quirrell fellow—he planted the idea in his mind. Scared him silly just so that he could have a big laugh while the rest of us run around in panic!"

"Cornelius," Dumbledore said calmly, "you are welcome to peruse a copy of the memory, but to suggest that the memory I personally took from the boy in front of the Wizengamot is not authentic borders more on just ignorance." His tone had taken on an icy quality, and Fudge actually took a step back when Dumbledore had finished.

"I'm not blaming you Dumbledore," he said in an offhand way. "If the boy believed it then the memory—" he shook his head. "It's just not possible."

"I'm afraid you are the only wizard who believes that."

Fudge took another step back, his face purpling again. "You—you're going to cause a panic Dumbledore. Scare the general population for no reason! One child's memory isn't proof; there are a number of reasons for what he saw. You would throw us back into the chaos we had before?" he roared.

Dumbledore got to his feet and Fudge flinched when he spoke, despite the fact that the headmaster's voice never rose. "It will only turn to chaos, Cornelius, if we ignore it and do nothing to prepare for the possibility that he will come back."

The minister of magic opened and closed his mouth wordlessly for a moment, his bottom lip trembling like a scolded toddler. "He's not coming back," he whispered before shaking his head again and retreating to the fireplace. "You're mad, Dumbledore. You'll ruin everything."

And he vanished in another blaze of green flame, leaving behind air rancid with fear.

Only A Boy

"I still can't believe that your dad let you come. Isn't he supposed to hate me?"

Draco didn't speak for a moment, his hand hesitating over his sundae of green tea ice cream. It'd been three days since the evidence hearing, and Merlin had expected Lucius Malfoy to bar his son from ever spending time with him again. So the fact that Narcissa had kept her word about Draco joining Merlin for ice cream that week had surprised him.

"I think my mom talked to him," Draco replied at last. He watched as Merlin took another bite of ice cream—chocolate with pecans. "Watching the hearing probably helped." He went back to eating normally.

"I thought that would have made it worse. I admitted to standing in Voldemort's—" Draco coughed, "—way."

"Well," Draco glanced around and lowered his voice; "they have a habit of allying themselves with the strongest player. The instant He disappeared they cozied right up to the ministry, and since, well…" he trailed off pointedly.

Merlin stared at him. "Are you telling me that I may have won your father's allegiance?" he asked, feeling smug.

Draco snorted. "C'mon, you didn't think it'd be that easy?" He shook his head. "No, but I think he's realized it might be safer not to get on your bad side—just in case." He smirked and ate another spoon of ice cream.

"I'll take what I can get." Merlin didn't say anything more for the moment, scooping out the last few melting chunks from his bowl. From across the room he could see more than one person brandishing a copy of The Daily Prophet, his name plastered across the front page.

Merlin wasn't sure what kind of media response he'd been expecting. He had read Rita Skeeter's articles before, known that she would detail the evidence hearing and put some sort of spin on it. But when a squat man ambushed him the first time he left the parlor the day after the hearing, holding a camera and snapping three photos before Merlin could even open his mouth, he'd actually blushed. Of course, the media had loved that. The photo ran the next day, under the headline, "Boy Who Defeated Quirrell Shy of Attention," with Merlin's photographic image staring blankly at the camera before his cheeks unmistakably darkened and he disappeared back into the parlour.

"They haven't approached you for an interview yet?" Draco asked, noticing where he was looking.

"I think I have Dumbledore to thank for that." Merlin could remember how the headmaster had tried to keep Merlin's privacy before.

Draco snorted. "That won't last long. I'd be surprised if this Skeeter woman doesn't make an appearance while you're walking around Diagon Alley."

Merlin grimaced. "Sort of like that photographer."

"Yeah!" Draco had finished his ice cream too. "The hell was that Merlin? Blushing? You're making it too easy for them."

"Ugh, I know," he ran his fingers through his hair. "I don't even know what happened. I just got embarrassed—"

"Embarrassed?" Draco repeated indignantly. "You're kidding me."

"How was the ice cream, kiddos?"

Florean Fortescue had walked over, smiling at the pair of them. His eyes flickered to the empty ice cream bowls and his grin broadened. "Want a refill?"

"Oh no, Mr. Fortescue," Draco said quickly. "Mother will probably have a fit if I eat too much." He shot a look at Merlin that dared him to ask for more. Merlin wanted to laugh, the two of them could probably eat third helpings but he too didn't want to antagonize Narcissa Malfoy. Not now that she'd actually allowed the two of them to hang out.

"I'm fine with just this," Merlin said looking up at Florean.

Florean laughed, and took the two empty glasses off the table. "Give a holler if you change your mind. We want young Mr. Malfoy to come back, after all. Wouldn't want to be inadequate hosts," and he left their table.

"Okay, I'm officially jealous. How do you not end up eating ice cream for breakfast, lunch, and dinner?"

"Who says I don't?"

It took a moment for Draco to realize that he was joking. While Merlin dodged an attempted kick, the bell of the shop door clanged. Narcissa Malfoy wore cyan blue robes, the heat of the summer day having made thick black cloaks impractical. Her blonde hair was pulled back in an elegant bun, and she systematically scanned the shop once before seeing the pair of them in the corner. She did not approach, or speak a word. All she gave was a small nod, and she walked back out with another soft bell.

Draco got to his feet at once. "Time to go," he said heaving a loud sigh. "We'll do this again soon, right?"

"Course." Merlin stood up as well. "Maybe you'll invite me over for tea and biscuits or something," he added, donning the queen's British accent.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Right, and maybe my father will adopt a muggle." He shook his head. "Well, at least I'll see you when I get my school supplies."

Merlin walked with him to the front door, and waved as Draco joined his mother. Narcissa nodded to Merlin as well, before leading the way back up the street. Perhaps where he stood with Lucius would remain ambiguous forever, but at least Narcissa seemed to tolerate his friendship with Draco. He go so far as to say that she even liked it—the way that he was a good influence on her son. He wished he could say with confidence that Draco was safer but—well, he was planning to stand directly in front of Lord Voldemort's path.

So how much safer would Draco be really?

"That was a short visit."

Florean had joined him beside the door, and Merlin shrugged in reply. "Didn't expect a visit at all, to be honest."

"You know about his family, then." It wasn't a question.

Merlin glanced at him, hesitating. Should he admit that he knew that Lucius Malfoy was still loyal to Lord Voldemort? Somehow it didn't feel right to voice it. Florean seemed to realize this because he continued without a response.

"I'll invite him to your birthday anyway. Maybe you'll get lucky again." He stroked his short goatee, and smiled. "Along with, oh—the bushy haired girl from the station. Hermes?"

"Hermione?" Merlin supplied, now staring at him. "But my birthday isn't until the end of July." They were still several weeks out.

"I think the Malfoy's would appreciate some notice." He ruffled Merlin's hair. Someone rang the bell of the counter and he turned around. "Duty calls."

Merlin watched him for a moment before heading up to the flat above the shop. In the living room, Silas was reading one of his schoolbooks and he looked up as Merlin entered. He frowned. "You done already?" he asked, shutting his copy of, Language and Form: A collection of Short Stories and Essays.

"Had just enough time to finish our ice cream," Merlin said snapping his fingers. He shook his head. "You were welcome to join us, you know."

"Nah, you needed to catch up."

Merlin laughed. "Yeah, but I know you're dying to talk to him about Quidditch."

His foster brother grinned in reply. "Right, so next time be prepared for me to steal him away from you completely."

"Consider me prepared, what're you reading?"

Only A Boy

As it turned out, Dumbledore couldn't hold back the press forever. Merlin had already decided with Silas not to talk to them due to the sheer number of things Merlin didn't want the magical community to know. Like the dragons, or how someone might figure out that Whomping Willow couldn't actually be used as wand wood. And anyway, the press had a reputation for skewing the facts.

Rita Skeeter being the chief culprit.

She turned up at the ice cream shop a few days later, a hungry glint in her eyes. Merlin had been sitting in one of the side booths, doing his history of magic homework when she walked inside. Somehow it was easier for him to concentrate when he had a wash of noise around him. Silas on the other hand focused better in quiet, and had stayed up in the flat.

"Ah, and you must be Merlin."

Rita Skeeter didn't even bother waiting for him to respond. The blonde woman took a seat across from him, an acid green quill and notepad flying out of her crocodile skin handbag. She smiled widely, bright cherry colored lipstick throwing her teeth into sharp contrast, and it somehow came off as feral rather than pleasant. Even though he hadn't yet replied, the quill was already scribbling away.

He raised his eyebrow. "And you are—?" he asked, even though he knew perfectly well who she was.

Her smile bordered on the too wide. "I'm Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent for the Daily Prophet." Her eyes darted to the scroll of parchment in front of him. "And you're already doing your homework; my, you are fastidious."

Merlin snorted. The quill danced across the notepad.

"Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?" she asked when the silence started to drag.

He knew he would mind when her article came out. "I can't discuss the case until it's over."

Skeeter waved her hand. Several gold rings with assorted gems glinted in the afternoon light. "Oh, the readers already know all about the case. They want to know about you."

"Yeah, I don't—"

"Is everything all right, here?" Florean had spotted the pair of them, and Merlin had to say that the man had impeccable timing. He stood opposite Skeeter, regarding her with curt politeness. "Can I help you, Mrs. Skeeter?"

Her attention snapped to him and her quill jotted something else down. "Just having a friendly word with young Merlin here. You are his guardian, are you not?"

Florean nodded. Skeeter returned her gaze to Merlin. "Where did you stay before you came into this lovely gentleman's care?"

Maybe a few answers would satisfy her for now. Vague answers.

"Muggle London."

"Do you like living with Mr. Fortescue?"

"Yes."

"What happened to your parents?"

Merlin frowned. "Take a wild guess," he shot, though as soon as he'd said it he had a feeling he might regret that one. He shook his head. Time to stop this before he did some real damage. "I don't really want to answer any more questions, Mrs. Skeeter."

She looked surprised. "Everyone's just curious about who you are, Merlin. The boy who stood up to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and all that."

"Great for them." He smirked. "But I like my privacy."

"But—"

Florean cleared his throat. "I'm afraid I must ask you to leave, Mrs. Skeeter." His tone left no room for argument. "If Merlin changes him his mind, he will send you an owl."

She didn't speak a moment, the scratching of the quill loud in the silence. Merlin glared at it until it finally lifted off the parchment and fluttered back into her bag. Skeeter closed the clasp with a snap. "Of course," she said, flashing another fake smile before getting to her feet.

"My apologizes Merlin, perhaps some other time?" and she left the shop. Merlin had a feeling his name would be all over tomorrow's paper—and sure enough—

JUST WHO IS MERLIN EVANS? EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW!
By Rita Skeeter

It turns out that Merlin Evans has more up his sleeve than powerful magic, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. He revealed in an exclusive interview that he originally grew up in muggle London.

"It was difficult," Merlin Evans said. "My parents died when I was very young, and I had nowhere to go." His eyes glistened with tears as he spoke, and he took a moment to recover himself.

When our correspondent first approached him, Merlin was immersed in his schoolwork. "I take my studies very seriously. Need to keep on top of it in case I need to defeat another professor!" he laughed.

Of course, the boy was very shy. As mentioned in our previous article, Merlin blushed when photographed by the Daily Prophet the first time. And again, Merlin quickly grew uncomfortable by questions. Is this the remnants of a tragic past, still plaguing this young man? What exactly happened to his parents? Investigation has revealed little.

"It's like he doesn't even exist!" one ministry official said. Merlin's records are certainly lacking and his parents don't even have records. Of course this may simply be due to the poor filing during the Great Wizard War but could this point Merlin's parentage in the other direction?

Or not. Apparently the young Slytherin is good friends with Mr. Draco Malfoy.

The Malfoy family has long spoken against muggleborns, and placing emphasis in the old magic families. However the prophet can exclusively reveal that Merlin's other best friend is none other than muggleborn Hermione Granger.

Hermione Granger received the highest score of all Hogwarts first years in her exams, much to the pleasure of muggleborn sympathizers. And Merlin is one of them.

"Merlin sticks up for everyone," said fellow classmate of Merlin's, Zabini Blaise. "He really alienated the house with his muggle loving ideas at first, but we grew to like him anyway."

Mr. Malfoy may want to be more careful about who his son spends his time with—but as Merlin has already demonstrated truly staggering magical prowess, perhaps the Malfoy's can forgive his new ideas.

"I'm hoping that by befriending my son, Merlin gains a better respect for magical culture," said Lucius Malfoy. "And rest assured, no one that powerful could possibly be muggleborn. And he's a Slytherin!"

Although Merlin grew up in muggle London, he now lives with the owner of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, by the same name. "It's a great place, but I do miss my parents," said Merlin giving another sad smile.

Merlin had crumpled up the copy of The Daily Prophet, earning concerned looks from both Florean and Silas. He'd slowly straightened the paper, handed it to Florean, and disappeared into his room. Merlin had told himself he wouldn't say anything to the press, hadn't he? But none of those had been actual quotes. He'd seriously considered calling her out for libel before deciding Skeeter would just use the excuse to write another ridiculous article about him.

And a few days later, Skeeter was back for more. She'd timed it this time so that Florean was busy with the lunch rush—obviously hoping to really talk to him this time. He'd just come down to grab dessert for him and Silas, when she ambushed him by the flat door.

"Just a short interview? We just want to get to know you a little better."

Merlin frowned. "You seem perfectly capable of that without me," he said coolly. He tightened his grip on the two ice cream sundaes in his hands.

"Oh, come now Merlin—" she started to say, but he shook his head.

"Sorry, I'm simply too shy to talk to the Daily Prophet. And with so much embellishment from my first article, I guess I just feel betrayed." He donned the best hurt expression that he could and even threw in a lip bite. Then he turned on his heel and ran up the stairs to the flat, leaving Rita Skeeter staring after him.

He wasn't sure whether or not she believed him, but to his relief there wasn't a follow-up article. In fact, except for a few updates on the state of the case, an opinion piece about memory submissions which miraculously only mentioned his name in passing, and several comments about the current status of the philosophers stone—Nicholas Flamel had destroyed it—Merlin had stayed out of the paper.

"Maybe you should answer a few questions," Silas suggested after a few weeks. "Reward for good behavior and all that."

Merlin laughed and shook his head. "I still don't want to talk about my parents though."

Silas shrugged, "But you could say why you don't want to. Or you know, just talk about your favorite colour, which classes you like the most." He got off the couch and stretched, glancing at the clock on the opposite wall. "Let's go wander Diagon Alley, I'm getting bored and I'm not doing anymore homework."

"Yeah, okay."

They waved goodbye to Florean, mentioning that they'd be back in a few hours, and took off. Merlin had avoided going out in public since the last article about him—more because he had worried that the photographer would ambush him again, then anything else. But Silas was right, other than homework there wasn't much to do at Florean's flat. And as the man worked all day, most days of the week he and Silas needed to entertain themselves.

They passed by the Magical Menagerie, looking at a kitten with dappled black fur and a long fluffed tail in the window display. It looked up as they passed and yawned, revealing a deep purple mouth.

"Think if I asked Florean, he'd let me get a pet?" Silas asked Merlin, gazing at the catlike creature. It blinked and fixed its silver eyes on him, cocking its head curiously.

"Maybe, but I don't think that's actually a cat."

"I think it's a kneazle."

"Bless you."

Silas rolled his eyes and pushed open the door to the shop. "Come on." The cat, or kneazle, turned to watch them as they entered. It was cool and dark inside. Aquariums and cages lined the walls, full of exotic and familiar looking creatures. Vibrantly colored toads chirped, while low hissing came from a cage in the far back corner.

"Hello dearies, I'm Sally," said a woman from behind the counter. She was thin, with extremely curly black hair and a dark completion. She smiled brightly at the pair of them. Next to her on the desk was a basket of funny custard-colored fur balls that were humming loudly. "What can I do for you today?" she asked.

Silas glanced back at the window. "Is that a kneazle?"

"Ooh yes!" Sally left the counter and walked over to the display case. "She's a breed of kneazle from Eastern Europe, the purple maw. Don't get many of them here." She opened the cage and gestured for Silas to approach.

"They're very intelligent, and good judges of character. They can be a little aggressive though, so be careful."

Silas nodded and came to stand next to the cage, holding out his hand. "Hello," he said. The kneazle watched him for a moment before mewing softly and brushing her head against his fingers. Silas laughed when she arched her back, and he scratched her ears. "She's so soft!"

"She'll grow a pretty thick mane, too I expect. I thought she would sell quickly but you're the first person she hasn't bitten." Sally looked thoughtful. "You can hold her, if you like."

Silas nodded and gently took the kitten into his hands, pressing her against his chest. The kneazle mewed again, and rubbed her face against his chin, making Silas laugh. "Merlin," he whined behind him. "Buy her for me."

"I don't have any money."

"Summon some."

Merlin sighed, and looked at Sally. "How much is she?"

"She's fifteen galleons, as you also need a license for her, although—" she paused a moment, "Tell you what. If you buy her by the end of today, I'll be willing to take eleven galleons instead, okay?"

"Deal." Silas gave the kitten one last hug before slipping her back into the display case and Sally quickly locked it again. "Merlin, let's go ask Florean!"

"Okay, okay." He laughed, shaking his head. "We'll be back—hopefully!" he said as Silas all but dragged him out of the shop. The kneazle put her paws on the window, meowing loudly as they left.

"Come on, Merlin!" Silas said. "What if someone else buys her before we get back?"

"So, you really want her, huh?"

"Yes!"

"More than a broom?"

Silas paused, and Merlin saw him bite his lip. "Yes," he answered finally. "I mean, I can't really fly in Diagon Alley, and with you going back to school I'm going to be really bored so—"

"Why, Merlin! How are you?"

They both jumped. Merlin turned around to see Rita Skeeter emerging from Scribbulus Writing Instruments, holding a parcel in her hands. He had to remind himself that she had managed to restrain herself since their last meeting. Merlin swallowed, glanced nervously at Silas—they hadn't yet met—and gave a bashful smile.

"Oh, hello Mrs. Skeeter. Silas, this is Rita Skeeter."

"I'm a writer for the Daily Prophet," and she smiled. Merlin thought her smile looked a little softer—not quite the leer it had been last time. "And you must be Merlin's foster brother. Lovely to meet you."

Silas' eyes widened. "Uh," he said when Skeeter shook his hand. "Hello." He glanced at Merlin, shuffling his feet. "We need to go," he ground out.

"Is something wrong?" Skeeter's smile had faltered.

"Oh, Silas just wants to buy a knealy," Merlin said. He didn't want to be rude, not when she could really make things worse for them. "And he's worried that someone else will get her first."

"Kneazle," Silas corrected, sighing loudly.

"I assume Florean is busy minding the shop?" she asked.

"Well, yeah." Merlin raised his eyebrow, wondering where she was going with this. Rita Skeeter nodded, falling silent for a moment. Then, she smirked and bent to their level.

"How about I make you a deal, then? I'll buy the kneazle, and Merlin will sit down for an interview with me. I'd also love a quote or two from Silas. You don't have to answer anything you don't feel comfortable about—" she added when Merlin opened his mouth. "And I won't, ah, embellish too much." She winked.

Merlin raised his eyebrow. "Really?" he asked, hoping he didn't sound too disbelieving.

Skeeter's smile widened. "Of course. Anyway, the readers seem to really love this whole shy boy act. Powerful budding wizard is an actual sweetheart—that sort of thing. But you and I both know that you're not shy at all."

Merlin stiffened a moment before asking, "What gave it away?"

She smirked again. "Watching the evidence hearing helped." Skeeter paused, and straightened up. "Normally I wouldn't even bother. Kid stories are usually one-offs, and nobody cares what some snot-nosed first Hogwarts Student did in their spare time. But—He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? That makes news. Everyone cares. And you've claimed that you fought him and won. So the way I see it, you need someone to keep your public image good and I need to please my avid readers."

Merlin exchanged looks with Silas. She had a point but— "What happens when your readers get bored of the powerful shy boy persona?"

She only smiled. "So, what do you say about getting that kneazle?"

He hesitated only a moment longer. "Let's do it."

Rita Skeeter grinned, that glint returning to her eyes. She turned on her heel and led the way back to the Magical Menagerie at a brisk walk. Silas tugged on Merlin's shirt, biting his lip.

"Merlin!" Silas whispered. "Are you sure? What if—?"

"I'm not. But I think if she wanted she could turn everyone completely against me, and I'd rather that didn't happen."

"She could do it anyway, though," Silas said as Skeeter pushed open the door to the shop and started talking with Sally.

"Yeah, well, this way you get a kneazle out of it." Merlin said as Sally looked over at the pair of them, surprised but happy. She put the gold into a drawer and walked around the corner to unlock the cage. The kneazle was mewing, paws up against the glass again, silver eyes on Silas. "I just hope that Florean doesn't mind."

As soon as Sally opened the cage, the kneazle jumped out and ran over to Silas who picked it up laughing. "Told you I'd be back!"

"Here is your license. What will you name her?" Sally said, and Merlin took the scroll of paper as Silas' hands were occupied.

"Hm… what do you think, Merlin?"

"Anything but blackie."

Silas laughed and shook his head. The kneazle had started purring. "I'm going to name you… Khoshekh."

"Actually, blackie is fine."

"Nope. Merlin, meet Khoshekh!" Silas held the kneazle out to Merlin, which was still purring. Merlin hesitated a moment before petting it. He thought it smiled.

"Uh… nice to meet you."

"Khoshekh."

"Khoshekh," Merlin repeated, sighing. Silas beamed at him and snuggled the cat again. Merlin turned to Rita Skeeter and inclined his head politely. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. Now it's your turn."

Only A Boy

Hermione Granger had gotten used to wizarding life. Nine months at Hogwarts would do that to you. But her parents, her perfectly normal dentist parents, had yet to catch up. Which meant her father knocked over the pitcher of orange juice when an owl flew through the open kitchen window during breakfast.

"Oh dear, Hermione hand me those napkins please," said her mother, gesturing to the stack in the holder near the end of the table. Jean and her husband Thomas worked a dentistry business together called, Granger Pearly Whites. It meant that Hermione had straight clean teeth, but that she was also constantly thinking about her enamel and how much sugar she ate.

"Can't they wait until after breakfast?" Thomas grumbled, mopping up the spill. His waffle looked soggy.

"I'll get you a new one," Jean laughed. She turned to Hermione. "It's a letter, right?"

The owl had dropped the letter next to the salt and peppershakers before perching on the edge of Hermione's chair. She had been busy running her fingers down the barn owl's speckled belly fur. "Oh, right!" she said looking up. She saw Merlin's handwriting across the parchment.

He had gorgeous penmanship, which had surprised her immensely. It looked like he'd been writing with a quill for years. She hadn't known until she'd forced him to write some notes last term during one of their study groups.

"It's from Merlin," she said reaching for it.

"Please, Hermione—eat your breakfast first." Her father gave her that pleading look and she sighed. She often had a habit of reading books during meals, and her father felt that meals should be family times. No books. No parchment. No reading for just fifteen minutes…

But what did Merlin say? Hermione started shoveling her food into her mouth as fast as possible. After about a minute her dad groaned loudly and her mother started to laugh.

"Stop—stop, just read the letter."

Hermione grinned and snatched the envelope, tearing it open.

Hermione,

I don't know if you know, but my birthday is coming up. Florean's going to throw an ice cream party, and it'd be awesome if you could attend. Hopefully Draco will be coming as well. Let me know whether or not you can come. It'd be at the Ice Cream Parlour on the 31st of July at eleven o'clock.

Merlin.

P.S. Silas got a kneazle. You have to see it.

Hermione laughed and quickly re-read the letter aloud for her parents. "I can go, right?" she asked. They had to. She'd been begging them to take her to Diagon Alley for weeks now. Their discomfort about becoming part of the wizarding world had led them to avoiding it, much to her disappointment and annoyance. She'd need to get him a present too—a card and a book? That sounded too much like her. Maybe she should surprise him, get some pranking supplies.

"That's next week, isn't it?" her father said scratching his chin. He took another bite of his waffle, glancing at his wife.

"Oh, why not?" her mother beamed. "I can take the morning off and drive her to Diagon Alley. Do you know how long the party will last?"

"Um, maybe a few hours? But—I'm sure we can entertain ourselves longer," she added quickly. Her parents usually worked until four or five and probably wouldn't be able to pick her up until then.

"I can pick her up about five," said Thomas.

"Write back and ask if that's fine, but otherwise you can go."

Hermione scribbled a hasty reply on the back of the letter and gave it to the owl—which had been patiently waiting for them to finish. Hermione suspected that Merlin had told it to wait, as she didn't have an owl herself. She tied the message to the bird's leg and it took off at once through the still open kitchen window.

"This is Silas' brother, right?" Thomas asked. Silas had briefly stayed with them while Merlin attended a Christmas Party at the Malfoy's. He'd been polite, adorable, and willing to listen to anything Hermione had wanted to talk about. He also played a good hand of Uno.

"Yeah, he'll be there too."

Her father nodded.

"Well," Jean clapped her hands together. "What are you planning on getting him?

Only A Boy

Merlin woke up to find an ice cream sundae on his bedside table, Silas already down from his bunk and waiting for him to wake up. Khoshekh was still on Silas' bed, sleeping in the morning light. Florean had let them keep the kneazle, but he'd been a little exasperated that they hadn't asked him first. Not to mention when he found out how they'd paid for it. They'd actually received a scolding for that one.

But Rita Skeeter hadn't published the interview yet. Merlin had a feeling she was holding it until the final trial in a few days.

"Happy Birthday!" Silas said, and he promptly handed Merlin a spoon. "Here's your breakfast."

Merlin laughed. "Sounds good to me." While they were eating, the door opened and Florean entered, grinning at the pair of them.

"I still expect you to eat breakfast, by the way," he said as they finished. "Your Hogwarts letter arrived too, Merlin, but we'll deal with that later. Your friends all said they'd be here by eleven, right?"

"Yeah, though Draco said he might be late." He put the spoon back in the empty dish and stretched.

"All right. It might be a good idea for you to take a shower and get ready now; it's already half-past nine."

"Yeah!" Silas added, grinning. "And take as much hot water as you want!"

Merlin had a feeling they wanted to decorate the room while he was gone. He mocked a look of suspicion and went to the bathroom. He thought about taking an obscenely short shower and catching them in the act, but decided he wanted to see the finished product. He took his time, washing his hair with more care than he normally did. He dried, dressed, and brushed his teeth before coming back into the bedroom—which had been completely changed.

The beds had vanished, replaced instead by several beanbags, a coffee table and some simple green and gold streamers. Silas was teasing Khoshekh with a balloon, laughing when the kneazle batted it with her paw. He looked up. "Do you like it?" he asked getting to his feet.

"It's perfect."

Hermione arrived several minutes early, her face flushed. "I forgot my watch! I'm not late, am I? I stopped on the way to get your present and—"

"Hermione relax!" Merlin said as he let her inside the flat. "You're the first one here."

"Oh. Good!"

"I can take that, kiddo," said Florean, nodding toward the parcel in Hermione's hand. "We'll open them all together." Hermione smiled and handed over the package and card, then followed Merlin back to the room where Silas was entertaining Khoshekh again.

Hermione crooned softly when she saw the baby kneazle. "She's gorgeous!" she said, bending down. The cat glanced at her, tail flicking before letting Hermione pet her. "What did you name her?"

"Khoshekh!" Silas said proudly.

Hermione snorted, but said that it was a very fine name indeed.

Draco arrived right on the dot, and Florean led him back to the room after taking a professionally wrapped present from him. He was excited about the kneazle too, but didn't attempt to pet it. "They don't tend to like my family much," he admitted. Merlin looked around, thinking that as everyone was here they should probably start playing some games.

"Hold on Merlin," said Florean coming back to the room. "There's someone else coming."

Merlin stared at him. "Who?" he asked blankly, looking from Draco to Hermione.

"What do you mean who?" said a voice behind Florean.

"You honestly think we'd miss your birthday?" came a second.

Two identical boys with flaming red hair entered the room, beaming at the lot of them. Fred and George Weasley had grown a few inches in the month and a half, and each supported a much darker array of freckles.

"How did you know?" Merlin asked, laughing. George flopped down into one of the beanbag chairs and looked at the kneazle with interest, while Fred took a seat on the floor, leaning back against Merlin's seat.

"I suggested them to Florean," said Draco, smirking now. "Thought they might liven up the party a bit."

"Recommended—"

"—By a Malfoy?"

Fred snorted and appraised the Slytherin for a long moment. "Not bad, not bad. You might just redeem yourself yet."

"Anyway, who's up for exploding snap?"

Merlin had worried that the kneazle might attack one of them, but the feline didn't even mind it when Draco accidentally nudged her with his elbow. After a few rounds of exploding snap and swapping Hogwarts stories, Florean came back with a round of pizza and an enormous ice cream tower—which they attacked ravenously.

Khoshekh included.

The twins lead a song of Happy Birthday, floundering their arms as though they were opera singers. The act nearly brought Hermione to tears from laughing so hard.

"Okay, presents!" Silas announced. Khoshekh was slung around his shoulders; muzzle and whiskers dirty with chocolate ice cream. Florean—who had joined for the birthday song—snapped his fingers.

"Yes, I'll be right back." And he dashed from the room, to return a minute later trailing several floating presents behind him. He banished the empty dishes to the kitchen and laid the presents in front of Merlin.

"Right. Which one should I open first?" Merlin asked looking up at them.

"Mine!" Silas said at once. Ignoring Draco's sniggering, he reached into the pile and withdrew a small present wrapped in bright blue paper.

"Is it wrapped a million times?" Merlin asked taking it, remembering the previous gifts from his foster brother.

"I wish. They wrapped it at the store for me."

It was a stripped green and silver winter hat with silver stitching. There was a tuft at the top and two strings attached to flaps designed to cover his ears.

"You know," Silas said fidgeting slightly. "To match your scarf."

Merlin grinned at him. "It's perfect." And he rammed it on his head, earning a roar of laughter from everyone. Fred coughed, trying to compose himself enough to say, "It suits you wonderfully."

From Draco he received an eagle feather quill set, with a maintaining kit and a self-refilling spell. He thought Hermione had given him a book on effective studying tips—"Very funny, Hermione," until she'd told him to open it, revealing a secret compartment full of chocolate and filibuster fireworks. Even Draco had been impressed. The twins had given him an assorted bag of wizard candy as well as several dung bombs, a bottle of invisible ink, and a pair of socks enchanted with a warming spell and Merlin written in large golden letters.

"Who's this from?" asked Fred, picking up one of the presents left. He stared at the name on the card. "Snape?"

"Really?" Merlin snatched it from him and ripped open the card first.

See you back at term.

"He gave you the new potions book, huh?"

"Yup." Merlin had finished taking off the wrapping. "Still, least I'll use it."

Florean had given Merlin his very own brand of ice cream. He brought it out later, after they'd started a match of gobbstones. It had a sweet refreshing taste, like icilces dusted in mint and sugar, and had a cool blue color. He'd then topped it with thick chocolate surryp and roasted almonds.

"Breakfast, lunch, and dinner," he said, flashing Draco a smirk.

"Yeah, next birthday I'm coming here. Just saying."

As far as birthdays went, Merlin thought that this one might be the best he'd ever had.

Only A Boy

"You two still awake?"

Florean had returned the bedroom back to normal after Hermione finally left. Draco had left much earlier, but the twins had gladly stayed longer and George had actually volunteered to walk Hermione to the muggle side of The Leaky Cauldron when five o'clock came.

The sugar still hadn't left Merlin's system. He and Silas had started a pillow fight after Florean had sent them to bed, and Khoshekh was darting about their heels, chasing the feathers that fell to the ground. Silas took advantage of Florean's entry to smack Merlin full in the face.

"Come on, it's almost midnight. Get into bed."

"Okay…" Silas groaned, and he crawled into the top bunk. "I won, by the way," he shot at Merlin grining.

"You cheated."

"Kids, come on." Florean raised his eyebrow, and Merlin got into his bed as well. Once they were both under the covers, Florean drew up a chair and sat down, stroking his goatee. "Maybe a bedtime story will help calm you down."

"You're going to read us a story?" Silas asked, and he sat quicky up.

"I'm going to tell you one, but you have to lie down." Florean smiled, and didn't speak again until Silas had rested his head back on his pillow. Merlin hid his smile. It'd been a long time since he'd been told a story. It made him feel like he was back at home, in Ealdor and his mother was settling him down for the night.

"Now, let's see…" Something in Florean's eyes twinkled. "A long time ago, in a time of knights and ladies, and queens and kings, a wizard befriended a prince."

Merlin's eyes widened.

"Together they would change the world forever, ushering in Albion and helping a magical community finally find it's footing. But before all of that, before the Battle of Camlan, before Hogwarts was even an idea, there was just a prince and his manservant."

Merlin felt his eyes droop as Florean talked, memories playing before his eyes. He saw himself walking through the marketplace. He'd been running errands for Gaius, the court physician. Arthur was there, but he wasn't the king everyone knew him as. He was young, arrogant, with a band of laughing knights.

"Oh, don't run away!"

"From you?"

"Oh good, thought you were deaf as well as dumb."

He smiled into his pillow, no longer hearing Florean's story. Or were they the one and the same?

"And how long have you been a prat?"

"Ha—You can't address me like that."

"I'm sorry, how long have you been a prat, my lord?"

Merlin drifted off to sleep, his mind full of jousting tournaments, sword fights, cups being thrown at his head, and loud robust laughter. His heart felt both heavy and light, a bubble of nostalgia in his chest as he remembered King Arthurs court, his home. And he dimly thought as Florean got to his feet and turned off the light, that had been one of the most accurate re-tellings that he'd ever heard.