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Be gone, O' Memory Devourer

Black hair tangled, splayed across twisted sheets, a sheen of sweat across trembling lips—the sight of Merlin Evans sleeping was not one of peace. The cool blue light that emanated from the intricate rune on the boy's pillow threw his strained features into sharp relief, stressing the sickly pale hue of his skin.

Severus Snape rubbed sleep from his eyes, and leaned back in his armchair. He hadn't slept all night. As much as he hated to admit it, he was worried. Far more worried than he'd ever been about a student. Finding the boy wandering about the Great Hall, delirious and in pain—well, it'd been a long time since he'd acknowledged the word panic. Not that the feeling had been entirely alleviated…

No time to set up a portkey, they had taken Merlin by floo powder to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. It would have been amusing, the way Dumbledore swept up to the front desk and half a dozen Healers came running without his saying a single word, were it not for the situation. They took Merlin to the fourth floor, to a tiny little ward called Grecian Herpo: Dark Curses. The only other occupant remained sheltered by their privacy curtains—something about a facial disfigurement charm. But though Healer Alan Chilton and his trainee Healer Freesia Bloom had managed to put the breaks on the curse, they were no closer to removing the thing than when they'd arrived.

Nothing like this curse had ever been seen before.

Diagnostics had revealed it had the capability to devour memories, but then it should have just kept eating them away until there was nothing left. Residual evidence implied that some of Merlin's memories had indeed been devoured—impossible to say how much without talking to the boy. But, the curse had moved on from eating memories to causing brain inflammation. Perplexing, was the word Healer Chilton had used.

"Still asleep, then?"

Dumbledore had returned, holding two steaming purple mugs with golden crescent moons. He strode into the room and handed one to Snape, who took the tea gratefully, before taking a seat in the chair on the other side of Merlin's bed. Snape didn't reply, the answer was clear to see, and instead inhaled the steam rising from his mug. No sugar. No cream.

"You can't be blamed for this," Dumbledore went on, and Snape found he suddenly couldn't look at Merlin's sickly figure.

"I should've seen it," Snape said. "He came to me twice for a headache draft. I was going to take him to the infirmary if he came for a third—" he trailed off.

"We had no reason to suspect it was anything more than a common illness," Dumbledore said gently.

Snape watched Merlin's chest rise and fall, the sweat on his brow. It was more than that. They had all noticed that Merlin looked off-color, it had been so obvious to the staff that the boy had been struggling with some illness. Someone should have realized there was something more to it. Now, Merlin's life was in danger. The rune drawn into the boy's pillow and sheets was only a temporary fix, not to mention the damage—

Merlin's eyelids fluttered.

Snape rose from his chair, setting the mug of tea on the windowsill. "Merlin?" he said, softly. Across him, Dumbledore had straightened in his chair. Then, just when Snape thought he'd been mistaken, Merlin's eyes snapped open.

"Why—" he started, his voice weak and rough. He blinked, his light blue eyes darting around until they settled on Snape. "Why can't I move my head?"

"That would be the work of your healers," Dumbledore said as Snape waved his wand and Merlin's bed shifted upwards, until he was at a soft recline and could see them more easily. "There is a rune on your pillow and it is very important that you do not move your head from it at the present time, so it seemed prudent to limit your mobility."

Merlin's eyes went wide. "What happened—this—this isn't Hogwarts?"

Snape couldn't sit back down. Instead, he crossed until he was standing at the foot of Merlin's bed, holding onto the frame. "You are in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. What's the last thing you remember?" he asked.

"I—" Merlin frowned, looking from Dumbledore to Snape. "I remember going to bed." He trailed off, confusion coloring his face.

"Professor Snape found you wandering the corridors in the middle of the night. You don't remember him finding you?" Dumbledore asked, after a moment.

Merlin paled. "No—no I don't. But," and Snape thought he almost looked scared. "Why did you take me here?"

There was something about the tone of his voice— "Did you know?" Snape shot, and Merlin glanced at him.

"Know what?" He seemed to be trying to hide behind that mask of his, but couldn't maintain it.

"You are under the effects of some type of curse," Dumbledore said, with a surveying look in Snape's direction. "Apparently, it is the cause of your headaches, your fever, and even your midnight wandering."

"Did you know?" Snape repeated, gripping the bedframe so hard now that his knuckles had turned white.

Merlin hesitated. "I—I could tell something was wrong," he finally admitted in a small voice.

"If you knew why didn't you go to the hospital wing?" Snape said, his voice steadily rising. "Do you not realize how utterly imbecilic you've been? You could have died!"

Merlin flinched and Snape took a deep breath. Yelling at him wouldn't change anything now. "Why didn't you come to me?" he asked, in a much softer tone.

"I don't know," Merlin whispered. "I just—I didn't think it was a big deal. I thought it would go away on it's own."

"Well," and Dumbledore gave Merlin a kind smile; "you are not wholly to blame for your actions. Healer Chilton tells me that the way the curse affected your brain may have caused a lapse in judgment."

If anything, that seemed to distress Merlin even more. "It changed the way I thought?" he said, aghast.

"Well, that explains your dismal work these past few weeks," Snape said, recalling one of the few papers Merlin had managed to turn in. Not only that, but the handwriting had been sloppy, almost illegible, which compared to the neat cursive script the boy usually had, had made Snape suspect that either Crabbe or Goyle had written it for him.

"So—so this curse," Merlin prompted. "Is it gone?"

"Not yet," Dumbledore said with a sigh. "It's causing a bit of a stir, actually. St. Mungo's has sent for some more experienced curse-breakers to help. Although," and here he gave Merlin a searching glance, "it would help if we knew more about it."

Merlin frowned. "I don't know anything."

"Are you certain?"

Merlin didn't answer for a moment, and then said, "Oh," and Snape suspected the boy had just tired to shake his head. "No," Merlin added. "No idea."

"I see." Dumbledore paused. "Well, let us know if anything comes to mind. For now, there appears to be someone who would like to see you," and he nodded in the direction of the door.

Snape turned, and saw Silas enter the room with a sheepish smile. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop," he said in a rush. "Just, Florean and I came soon as we heard, and that happened to be now, so—"

"It's quite all right," Dumbledore said, getting to his fight. "In fact, I'd like a quick word with Mr. Fortescue."

"He's talking to one of the healers now."

"Well then, I think, we'll leave you two to it," Dumbledore said with a glance at Snape. Snape nodded and got to his feet. No doubt Dumbledore wanted to question Florean about this curse. Perhaps he had noticed some change in Merlin's behavior over the summer or—and his expression darkened—perhaps they needed to have a very different kind of conversation with the ice cream connoisseur.

They found him in the hallway, wearing a deep purple waistcoat with a light grey shirt, and holding two pairs of thick black winter cloaks in his arms. He was talking to Healer Chilton, a stern, flat-footed man, with a neatly trimmed beard and carefully combed hair, wearing the deep red cloak of a St. Mungo's healer. They could hear Florean Fortescue's raised voice drifting down the hall.

"What do you mean, you don't know what kind of curse it is?"

"Mr. Fortescue," Dumbledore said as they approached, and Florean turned. Relief broke across his face.

"Headmaster, Professor, what is going on? This man here says there's some sort of unknown curse on Merlin?"

"Yes. That's actually what we'd like to talk to you about," Snape said through thin lips. He shot a look at Healer Chilton, who nodded and turned on his heel.

Florean took a step back. "Me? But I'm—" he gave a nervous laugh. "I don't know anything about it."

"It is likely," Snape went on, lowering his voice, "that he was cursed during the summer holidays."

Florean stared at him. "That's—that's not possible."

"One symptom of this curse appears to be a persistent headache," Dumbledore said smoothly. "Do you recall Merlin complaining of any?"

Florean uttered a soft ah, under his breath. Snape and Dumbledore exchanged looks. "He did begin to complain of some headaches after the trial," Florean said. "I thought it was a simple summer bug. He was supposed to go to either you or the infirmary if they didn't improve."

Snape's lip curled. "Clearly, Merlin is incapable of admitting he needs help from others even if his life is at stake."

Florean shook his head, "Stubborn kid," he muttered. He took a deep breath. "That's all I know though. Aside from the court case nothing out of the ordinary happened. Or at least, he didn't let on that anything did. And," he added with a self-depreciating laugh, "I don't have the skill to pull something like this off. Headmaster, you know I'm not responsible."

Dumbledore didn't reply immediately, and Florean gave an audible swallow. Then, his blue eyes crinkled and he said, "No, I don't believe you are."

Florean released a breath of relief. "Thank you."

"Of course," Dumbledore went on, and he glanced back toward the room they had just left. "We need to ask ourselves, who is?"

Only A Boy

Merlin watched Snape and Dumbledore leave with a sense of foreboding curling in his stomach. The fact that they were aware of the curse—which logic told him had needed to happen eventually—filled him with irrational anxiety. That's the curse still talking, his rational side pointed out. He ought to tell them everything he knew, but how could he tell them that it was likely he'd gotten cursed back in Camelot and that it had eaten away a huge chunk of his memories before falling into a dormant state only to reactivate upon encountering the dementors.

No, he didn't think that'd go over too well.

He took a breath; somewhat perturbed by the fact he couldn't move his head. He wanted to shake the growing fog from behind his eyes. They had stopped it, but the curse was still there, restless and coiled, leeching pain into his temples.

"You look pretty bad." Silas plopped down on the edge of Merlin's bed, his hazel eyes wide and worried. "Why didn't you say anything in your letters?"

"I thought I'd get better."

"Well, that was stupid of you."

Merlin managed a smile. "Yeah," he said. He'd been incredibly stupid. It was only now that he saw that. Why hadn't he gone to someone? He had known something was wrong. Had it been the curse itself that'd prevented him? He wanted to believe that, that he wasn't responsible for his actions but he knew—he'd known for a long time something had been wrong and he'd done nothing about it.

"What's that blue light around your head?" Silas asked after a moment, cocking his head to the side.

"Uh," Merlin paused. Blue light? Oh— "There's a rune drawn on my pillow and apparently it's keeping the curse at bay."

"Cool!" Silas said, but the excitement didn't last. He dropped his eyes, fidgeting with a fold in Merlin's blankets. "I'm worried they won't find out what's wrong," he admitted in a small voice.

"Well, I mean, they already know what's wrong with me."

"That they won't break the curse," Silas said, giving him a look. "You really don't know who put it on you?"

"No," Merlin said, meeting his eyes. "I really don't. I was telling the truth."

Silas raised his eyebrow. "But?" he prompted and Merlin sighed. He really was more observant than he let on.

"But," he agreed, dropping his voice to a whisper. "I do have noticeable memory blanks."

"Why didn't you tell them that?"

Merlin sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. "It's complicated," he said. "And it wouldn't help them." Or so I think. But he really didn't know for certain when the curse had been placed on him, and if he said he'd lost all his memories from, well, his mid-twenties on that'd be confusing for everybody. And if he said, I don't remember my childhood—which was a stone-faced lie—it still wouldn't help because that's not when he was cursed anyway.

"If you say so," Silas said, giving him a searching glance. "They seemed really confused."

"So am I," Merlin said at once. "I didn't even know I had it until—"

"Until when precisely?" came a cold voice from just outside the door and Merlin blanched. Severus Snape strode back inside the room, and his expression of icy calm made Merlin feel very small indeed. Why had he said anything? Silas looked from him to Snape, before getting slowly to his feet, as though worried one of them might attack.

"I'm going to—step outside for a bit," he said to neither of them in particular before darting from the room and closing the door behind him.

Snape looked tired. He had dark lines beneath his eyes and his hair glistened with a heavy amount of grease, more so than usual, but his cold black eyes had burst back into life and they were drilling holes into Merlin's face. He took a single, smooth step toward him along the side of his bed. No bedframe barrier this time.

"I'd rather not have to invade your privacy," the Potions Master said, each word perfectly enunciated in clear clipped tones. "But I will if you do not tell me the truth."

"What, you'll read my mind?"

"Yes," Snape hissed and Merlin swallowed. He wasn't kidding.

"Now," Snape went on, his hand clenching and unclenching as though it missed the support of the bedframe. "Do tell me when you knew you had a curse on you. And if you say ten minutes ago, I will force-feed you a bottle of Veritaserum."

"First telepathy and now potions? Do make up your mind," Merlin said with a nervous smile that vanished under the furious glare the Professor shot him.

"Do not test me, Merlin. When did you know?"

He tried to think. How could he tell the truth and not the whole truth? If Snape knew he'd known about the curse ever since he'd tried on the sorting hat and didn't tell anyone—which was probably the stupidest thing he'd done about the whole curse thing, considering it hadn't been active back then and he couldn't blame that lapse in judgment on it but hey there was a reason he wasn't in Ravenclaw—when it hit him.

"In Dumbledore's office, after I put on the Sorting Hat," Merlin said. "After the attack on Justin and Nearly Headless Nick, Professor McGonagall took me to Dumbledore's office and well, he wasn't there at first and I saw the hat and decided to see if it knew anything about the attacks, and it told me."

It was as close to the whole truth as he could get. He waited as Snape stared at him, silent, imposing, until finally, "And you did not think to mention it to the Headmaster when he arrived?" Snape asked, managing to sound as if he couldn't believe Merlin could get any stupider.

He might have been offended if he didn't secretly agree.

"I—I don't know why I didn't tell him," he said instead, shocked at his own honesty. Merlin tried to remember that moment, standing in the Headmaster's office. It came to him as if through a thick layer of mist, missing defined lines. "I suppose," he began again when Snape continued watch him, "I was scared."

"Scared, Merlin? Of the Headmaster?" Snape said, and he took a seat on the edge of Merlin's bed.

"No—not really, more like, scared of what it might mean," Merlin said slowly. And then, he was talking. Talking more than he'd had in a long time. It felt good to articulate the feelings he'd had these past few months, back when all he had were feelings with no words to describe them. Even now, he wasn't sure Snape would understand him, he hardly did himself, but he let it stream from his mouth regardless.

"Even when I knew it was a curse affecting me, I just kept thinking I could handle it. It wasn't bad enough. I didn't need help, but I also didn't want to concern anyone. I didn't want anyone else to know what was wrong because I didn't know myself. What if it was something that would make me look guilty or give the school a real reason to crucify me? Not to mention that it seemed like such an insignificant problem compared to a monster roaming the school and attacking muggleborns. And then, little by little, I just ignored it.

"I don't know why. It's hard to explain. But after telling myself over and over that it'd be fine and not to worry about it—because I had so many other things to worry about—it sort of became true. And then I lost the ability to recognize in myself that something was wrong. I mean, this was back before I even put the Sorting Hat on and I thought it was just an illness that would go away on it's own, or that it was a physical symptom of the stress I'd been feeling—so I couldn't change it anyway unless I got rid of the stressor, and so by the time I found out it was curse, it was too late.

"I'd lost myself, piece by piece, until I was no longer seeing what was wrong and I was just left with an inkling that was easy to ignore. All I thought when I knew it was a curse and not some physical illness was that I can take care of it later. I could last a bit longer. And then I thought that the Sorting Hat wasn't reflecting the truth but perhaps some strange twisted mirror image of my paranoia—an explanation of what I was felling and at the same time ignoring. And my thoughts just continued in that loop until I dismissed the matter entirely. Then I forgot why I'd been so bothered about it in the first place."

Merlin felt a bead of sweat building between his eyes, his breathing harsh and ragged. He raised his hand to wipe it away, an unnatural movement without the ability to move his head. But the action gave him the ability to hide his face for a moment, to calm his nerves as he tried to catch a glimpse of Snape's face without notice.

The professor looked—well, he'd always been hard to read. He sat, resolute, near Merlin's feet, his lips drawn into a thin line. But he didn't look angry; the cold fury in his eyes had vanished. He looked pensive, a tension in his posture that bespoke a certain anxiety and discomfort.

Merlin didn't know what else to say. He wished he could move his head so that he could look at something else, rather than be trapped in this staring contest. Then, finally, Snape broke eye contact and his shoulders sagged.

"I see," he said, and the anger was definitely absent from his voice now. "It sounds to me," he continued, "as if Dumbledore's assumption that this curse addled your ability to think rationally was correct. You are not wholly to blame for your refusal to tell us what was wrong, however—"

Merlin felt a surge of guilt because, well, he was far more responsible than the Professor knew.

"—However, I must impress upon you the absolute arrogance and sheer negligence of your actions," the Professor was recovering his usual manner, as if he'd caught Merlin mouthing off in class. "You should have come to me the moment you felt the headaches beginning to worsen and you should not have kept it from me. Yes, I found the potion you've been hiding under your bed. I'm rather surprised you were in a state of mind to brew it properly," and Merlin cringed because he'd never even considered that aspect, "And it all comes down to your inability to trust anyone. Not to mention this odd misconception that no one cares about you."

"What?" Merlin said in a choked voice. "I know people care."

Snape raised his eyebrow. "Not wanting to bother someone with what you perceive to be a trivial matter means that you do not wish to be a burden. You don't seem to realize there are people, like Madam Pomfrey, and myself who care greatly about your well-being, including the trivialities. In fact, Madam Pomfrey would fuss over a minor headache as much as she would a broken bone or a major illness."

Merlin gaped at him.

"And as such," Snape went on, "If you were less concerned about being a bother, you would have gone to any one of us. Your friend Draco Malfoy comes to me the instant he feels the least bit poorly for two reasons, Merlin. First, he knows I will listen to whatever it is unconditionally, and second, because he doesn't want to risk any member of the school finding out he might not be in peak condition. You see, he cares about not just his health, but also how others perceive his health. You, Merlin, who couldn't care less about how the world notices trivialities like this, are willing to suffer through it. You focus on the big picture. Which," and Snape paused, "is… admirable in some cases, but not where it concerns your health. Have I made myself clear?"

Merlin had never thought of it that way. But Snape was right. He didn't think about his image. It was why he'd fought against the blood ideals of his house during first year. If he had been more concerned, he would have tried to sort out this mess sooner. Or not, said a grudging voice, after all he was so tight-lipped about anything even remotely connected to Camelot that he probably would have kept quiet anyway.

But Snape didn't need to know that.

"I will try not to let something like this happen again," Merlin said, taking a deep breath.

"See that you don't," Snape sneered. "I don't have time to hold the hand of an insolent whelp who's too arrogant to ask for help, even when he clearly needs it."

Merlin wished he could cock his head. "Yeah right," he said with a laugh. "You'd hold my hand anytime, if I asked you to."

Snape stared at him. Then stood up and abruptly left the room, Merlin smirking after him. For all his distancing language, he knew Snape cared. More than Snape probably wanted to, but it was clear to see. Merlin relaxed back into bed, smiling softly to himself as Silas re-entered and flopped back onto the bed, excitedly asking him to reiterate everything that had just happened.

Merlin had to admit that this would've been a hell of a lot simpler if he'd just gone to Snape the second week of term about his headache, instead of brewing potions beneath his bed like a maniac.

Only A Boy

Healer Bloom was a short, heavy-set woman with long curly dark hair and a big heart, who fussed almost as much as Madam Pomfrey. Three times a day, right after urging Merlin to eat a little more food— a struggle with his nonexistent appetite—she would help him knock back a handful of potions. Fever reducers, pain relievers, and a triad she called The Brain Team, which were supposed to treat inflammation, promote brain tissue regeneration, and the recovery of memories. At first, Merlin had been concerned—where the dosages correct?—until Healer Bloom had explained.

"We cast a spell on you the moment you arrived in order to figure out your exact dosage for potions. It's standard for all patients." She gave him a warm smile and went on, correctly reading the look on Merlin's face, "Professor Snape had mentioned you may be nervous regarding the subject, but it's confidential information known only to I and Healer Chilton. You know, it's probably lucky you have such a strong magical core. As advanced as this curse appears to be, I think it would have already overtaken a weaker person."

Healer Bloom preferred to use euphemisms regarding death.

Silas liked her. Unlike Madam Pomfrey, she didn't mandate that Merlin be left alone to rest. "Company and laughter can be just as healing," she told Silas with a smile.

Merlin finished drinking the last of his potions—the last of which had a lingering aftertaste of copper and something woody—and Silas handed him a glass of water.

"Thanks."

"Shouldn't be too long now," Healer Bloom said. "We have another curse breaker coming in to take a look today. Apparently, he's very good. Flying in all the way from Egypt."

"Right," Merlin said as he handed Silas back the empty glass. He hoped she was right. His neck was starting to hurt him, even with the extra pain relieving potions.

"And uh, you have another visitor."

"Who?" Merlin started to say until he saw a familiar face peak through the door, brown bushy hair pulled back in a haphazard bun. "Hermione!" he exclaimed at the same time as Silas. "What are you doing here? What about school?"

Healer Bloom excused herself silently and Hermione entered. She was wearing a dark red sweater with a snowman across the front. She stepped forward to stand next to Silas.

"Hello, Silas," she said with a grin. "Winter break started yesterday, Merlin."

"Oh."

"Nice sweater," Silas said with a grin and Hermione looked down at it for a moment and laughed.

"My mom says it's not Christmas until you wear a cheesy sweater." Merlin watched the smile fade as her eyes traveled along the glowing rune circle just visible behind his head. "They still don't know?" she asked.

"They know it's a curse."

"Yes, I read the sign before I entered the ward," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "I mean, how to get it off you."

Merlin had gotten very good at shifting his shoulders without moving his head. "Not yet."

"Hopefully soon though," Silas offered.

Hermione nodded, then she said in a rush, "If you told me everything you knew about the curse, I could look in my books, or buy some extra ones. I'm sure there's something about—"

"Whoa, Hermione," Merlin said, starting to laugh. "They've got a curse breaker coming later today. I think they've got it covered."

"If they did they would know what to do about it," Hermione snapped.

"Well, give me a chance at least," Came an amused voice in the doorway and the three of them turned around. A young man stood in the doorway, a fang earing dangling from his left ear. His clothing looked out of place in this place, black and leather, with boots of dragon hide. But his long ginger hair, pulled back into a low ponytail, looked oddly familiar.

"I'm the curse breaker," he went on, striding into the room. "Bill Weasley. Sorry, I'm a bit early."

"Weasley?" Hermione said, raising her eyebrows.

"Fred and George's brothers?" Silas said, his hazel eyes going wide. He was staring at Bill's earing.

Bill laughed, a soft dry sound. Pleasant. "Oh yeah, I'd forgot you guys were friends. Yeah, they're thrilled. Got flown in from Egypt for free—mum might even get you a thank you gift, Merlin."

Bill's good humor was infectious and Merlin smiled back. "It's the least I could do."

"What were you doing in Egypt?" Silas asked, as Bill laughed again.

"I work for Gringotts. They're interested in, shall we say, protecting ancient Wiz-Egyptian artifacts from falling into muggle hands."

"The bank?" Hermione said with a frown. "No offence, but how's that supposed to help Merlin?"

But Merlin had felt a flicker of true hope at his words. While his curse wasn't Egyptian, it was similarly ancient.

"Fair enough, but Healer Chilton was able to figure out that whatever the curse on Merlin, the type mimics ancient practices. There's a certain black magic energy it gives off that's only found in curses older than a thousand years. And, well, my supervisor's busy with a new tomb we unearthed last week," and he gave a smile, somewhat-self depreciating, "so you get me."

"Mr. Weasley is very good." Healer Bloom had returned. "A prodigy in the subject I daresay. We've asked him several times to join the official staff here."

"I like what I do," Bill said but he held his head higher. "Besides, most of the time you've got it covered."

"Yes, but, I'm sorry to say I'm going to need to ask Miss Granger and Mr. Meadowes to exit the room while Mr. Weasley conducts his examination," Healer Bloom said.

"My parents are waiting for me outside, anyway," Hermione said and she turned back to Merlin. "Get better soon, you hear?"

"I'll try," Merlin said, and she beamed at him.

"I'll be in the lobby," Silas said with a wave.

After they left, Bill closed the door. "Okay. So I'm not actually going to take the curse off yet. Just going to get a feel for the old girl, all right?"

"Do your worst," Merlin said with a clumsy shrug and Bill took out his wand.

Soft whispers, wand strokes, Bill would wave his wand over Merlin and recite a long stream of unfamiliar words. At the end, his wand would glow different hues. Light blue, vibrant green, crimson, and white. Then he'd do it again. After nearly ten minutes, he walked around Merlin's bed to inspect the rune on his pillow.

"Now, I'm going to cast some spells that are a little more mind specific," he said. "You might feel some pressure, or something akin to a presence—but I am not in your mind," he added, firmly. "I'm not accessing any memories. I am only assessing the physical condition and physical effects of the curse. Do I have your permission?"

"Er, yes," he said.

"All right," and Bill took a deep breath. "Just relax. Sometimes it helps to close your eyes."

Merlin swallowed and let his eyes fall shut. He felt nervous. But he knew there wasn't another way if he wanted to break this curse. Next to him, Bill whispered another stream of foreign words and a light pressure washed over his forehead, before shifting down to his temples. It hovered there, neither pleasant nor painful, before moving around the back of his head. After a few moments, the sensation faded away and Merlin opened his eyes.

Bill had put away his wand, stroking the bottom of his chin with his thumb and forefinger. When the silence began to drag, Merlin cleared his throat. "So?"

Bill seemed to consider something before speaking. "I need to do a little research, but—when would you say the symptoms began? Say, the first headache?"

"Uh, probably after I met the Dementors at Quirrell's trial, why?"

But Bill didn't answer him. Instead he asked, "Tell me about it. Was there a sharp pain, a build up?"

Merlin paused, racking his brain. What had it felt like? "I think—there was a build up, yeah. It started like, well, a trickle of ice going though my ears until it was in my mind where it turned into this sharp intense pressure."

Bill nodded. "Okay, I think I can work with that," he said, "I need to have a clear plan of attack before we even attempt to take this thing off of you. Don't want it to rebound in a failed removal."

"Yeah, that doesn't sound so good."

Only A Boy

With long hours with nothing to do but stare at the walls, Merlin began to seriously consider his own curse.

It was clear to him that he'd received it back in Camelot. It explained why he had scattered memories of the Hogwarts Founders. It might also explain why it had fallen dormant during his transportation to the future. Someone had wanted to wipe out anything to do with Hogwarts from his memory or his goal in coming here.

Why?

Bill Weasley was hard at work, doing research. He had to hand it to the guy; he didn't give up easily. After the examination, he came back several times to cast more spells and ask Merlin increasingly random questions, like—when you eat red meat did your headache get noticeably worse and what color do you see first when you press your palms against your eyes? Merlin humored him, being as honest as he could. He even told Bill he had some memory gaps, though he refused to elaborate.

Silas had wanted to stay glued to his side, but Florean had drawn a line at letting Silas sleep in the armchairs provided—and secretly Merlin was glad of it. If he so much as winced, Silas would be on his feet looking for a healer, and the constant conversation had turned exhausting with the inability to move his head.

He was so lost in thought that he didn't notice it when the door to his wing opened and he was joined by three people—two of which he never expected to visit him when he was bedridden.

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy stood just behind Draco Malfoy, taking in the room with something remarkably like distain while Draco stepped forward, stiff and grim. All their winter cloaks were trimmed in sleek black fur and intricate silver stitching. The kind of cloaks that had your name engraved with magic and specially charmed for comfort.

"Merlin," Draco said inclining his head. "How are you? You remember my father and mother?" and he half-turned toward his parents.

"How could I forget," Merlin said, wishing for the millionth time that he could move his head. "I apologize I'm not in better condition," he said, thinking of his unwashed hair. But really, the apology was a social cue. It meant nothing. They both new he couldn't possibly be in better condition. No the statement implied, I'm not really in a condition to entertain politics right now, so this better be important.

"Not to worry," Lucius said smoothly, taking a step into what Merlin had come to label the conversation space. "I've heard they have yet to identify, let alone break this curse you have."

Merlin wondered who'd told him. Draco seemed to know what he was thinking because he said, "There was another article by that woman, Rita Skeeter. I have no idea how she found out."

Merlin narrowed his eyes. "What did she say?" he asked, keeping his voice as neutral as possible. Still, Lucius smiled at his words—he knew all the tricks of making polite conversation.

"Nothing, uh, slanderous, shall we say?" Lucius said with a soft chuckle. "In fact, it came across as a cry of outrage, wouldn't you say, dear?"

Narcissa hummed an affirmative behind him. She didn't appear keen to join the conversation. Lucius didn't pursue the subject and instead said, "The department of magical law enforcement has made finding whoever curse you a priority of theirs," and Merlin wondered how much Lucius had been involved. "I've heard a skilled curse breaker is working on it?"

"Yes." He wasn't about to tell him it was Bill Weasley though.

"Well then," and here Lucius glanced at Draco before continuing, "I am sure you are eager for a conversation with Draco. I wish you speedy recovery, Mr. Evans." He gave a slight inclination of his head, and then gestured for Narcissa to take the lead. He did not look back as they exited the room, but Merlin could just see the slight twitch of a smile.

The minute he left, Draco crossed to the door and shut it.

"Think he's ready to swear fealty?" Merlin asked with a smirk.

"This isn't a game, Merlin."

"You're right. It's too soon. He needs to do a few quests for me first."

"Merlin," Draco said, shaking his head. "You do realize he's going to be trying to get you to swear fealty to him."

"I fully expect him to tell me all the wonders of the dark side in his next letter." At Draco's annoyed expression he added, "I'm perfectly serious. I even expect the promise of cookies."

Draco threw his hands in the air. "Fine. But him and all the other Death Eaters are going to keep a close eye on you. They might even suspect you're a distant relation of the Dark Lord himself—I'm sure father's told them all about your Parseltongue by now."

Merlin sighed. "Or a replacement if he never regains power."

Draco nodded. "Or that," he paused. "You're going to be okay." It wasn't a question. Draco crossed to take a seat in one of the chairs near Merlin's bed.

"Well, I sure hope so," and Merlin gave a cheeky smile.

"Even my father offered to provide curse breakers—my father!" Draco repeated, shaking his head. "And they all operate outside the ministry!"

Merlin felt oddly touched. "Say what you want about evil, but at least they look after you if they like you."

Draco gave him a look.

"Okay, if they want your power, but it's the same thing really."

"I swear," Draco said, sounding exasperated, "sometimes I think you really will become the next Dark Lord."

Merlin did his best shrug. "I'm keeping my options open."

"Right, well, keep me in the loop. I need to know who to sever ties with," Draco said in the same candid tone, with touch of sarcasm. "By the way, swear fealty? What age are you living in?"

Only A Boy

"Meerrrlin!" came a thrilled, half-sung voice followed by a heavy thwump on the side of his bed.

His neck always hurt the most in the morning. He groaned, opening his bleary eyes to see Silas bouncing and holding an armful of brightly wrapped presents. Oh yeah—Christmas. He reached for the dial on the side of his bed and it moved him into a soft recline.

"What time is it?" he asked, yawning.

"Present time," Silas said, handing him one wrapped in glittering purple paper. Merlin took it with one hand, his other going to rub his eyes. He looked up to see Florean Fortescue, wearing a red and silver pinstripe cloak today, enter the room with a few more gifts in his arms.

Merlin suddenly felt terrible. "I—I didn't remember to get you anything," he said, his eyes going to the gift in his hands. He'd been so out of it, Christmas had slipped his mind. He still wasn't used to the holiday. They hadn't celebrated it back in Camelot. Today would be a party around a bonfire, loud with lots alcohol. Winter Solstice or Yuletide. Gift giving hadn't really been a part of it—

Silas however didn't seem bothered. He smiled and shook his head. "You getting better will be a present," and then he touched his chin thoughtfully, "though I suppose you could always just make up for it later with a really special present."

Merlin laughed. "Of course," he said and he tore off the wrapping paper. Like before, Silas had wrapped whatever it was in layers and layer of packaging. He had to wrestle with it for nearly a minute before he finally revealed a book entitled, "You and your dragon, how to connect magically."

"He said it was an inside joke between the two of you," Florean said coming to sit in one of the armchairs.

Merlin and Silas exchanged looks. "I told him it'd be awesome to have a dragon as a familiar," Merlin said after a moment, smiling. It wasn't even a lie.

"I'm just preparing him for that eventuality," Silas added. "Now, here's the next one," and he handed Merlin another present.

They'd brought all of his gifts. Florean had explained they'd arrived at the house—since no one had expected him to be in the hospital. Hermione had given him a book as well, "Tricks to recover lost memories," and Draco had given him an ink bottle of password protected ink and a note:

Just tap it with your wand with a word-password of your choice and the ink will be unreadable to anyone without that password. Wish you could've come to the Christmas Party, suppose I'll have to entertain myself this year. Best wishes and Happy Holidays!

Snape had given him a package of ingredients with a stern note that he'd better not be caught making any nefarious potions for rule breaking or otherwise. He'd gotten an assortment of chocolate frogs and pumpkin pasties from the twins, and an additional basket of sweets and a meat pie along with a simple best wishes note from Mrs. Weasley. But Florean had given him an odd little contraption he couldn't figure out.

"What's this?" he asked. It was a small box, the walls an assortment of mirrors, all different sizes, reflecting the room in broken miss-matched pieces.

"It's called a mirror cube," Florean explained, taking it gently from Merlin and holding it out on his hand. He pulled on one of the mirror square and it shifted forward, creating a three-dimensional reflected surface—a metallic box atop the larger whole. "By moving each piece the right way, the box will expand three times it's normal size and open. You can then put whatever you want inside it before closing it again."

"It's a puzzle box!" Silas said, taking it from Florean and fiddling with it. "Did you put something in it?"

At this Florean gave a sly smile. "I guess Merlin will have to solve it in order to find out."

Merlin grinned. "I accept your challenge. Come on Silas, this can't be that hard."

Only A Boy

But it turned out that the puzzle was much more difficult than Merlin had thought. He played with it long after Silas and Florean had left, right up until Healer Chilton came to check on him at quarter to midnight and told him he needed to his rest. Still, at least it was something that kept him occupied while he waited for them to figure out this curse.

Two days after Christmas, Bill strode into his hospital room with a triumphant grin. "I've got it!" he declared.

"Seriously?" Merlin said, setting his cube down on his bedside counter.

Bill beamed at him. "Oh yes," he said, and he smacked his hands together. Behind him came Healer Chilton and Healer Bloom, both looking similarly excited.

"Mr. Weasley—sorry, Bill—has just shown my all his research," Healer Chilton said. "It looks like it should work!"

"Should?" Merlin repeated. He wasn't sure he liked the sound of that. "Just, hypothetically, let's say it doesn't work. What happens?"

"Usually nothing," but at Merlin's pointed look Healer Chilton went on, with a grimace, "Or we might lose the ability to hold it back altogether."

"Great…" Merlin took a deep breath. Did he have another option? "Well, I can't leave my head on this rune pillow forever," he said, biting his lip.

Bill smiled. "Well, unlike my colleagues, I'm a hundred percent confident. You'll be out of here by this time tomorrow," and he rolled sleeves.

Merlin found himself smiling back. It was hard to be dour with Bill. The Weasley nodded to the other two healers, and they flanked Merlin's bed. "For support," he said, at Merlin's raised eyebrows. Bill took a deep breath and waved his wand over Merlin. An odd tickling sensation seized him, and the wand tip glowed white.

"Yes!"

The sensation lifted. Merlin stared at him. "Was that it?" He didn't feel any different.

"Hm? Oh no, I was just confirming my findings. Don't want to be too careless," and he laughed at the look of shock on Merlin's face. "Now, we begin."

And without waiting for Merlin to say anything else, began to draw a symbol just above his bed with his wand. A circle followed by a triangle in glowing white, intersected with intricate lines and curved, Celtic designs—and scribbles of words Merlin recognized.

O' gemyndig etere – O Memory Devourer

Was that—the name of the curse? Merlin didn't get a chance to ask before Bill flicked his wand and the design dove around Merlin's head, and his vision went white.

He couldn't move. He couldn't see. He wasn't sure he even wanted too—scared he might ruin the ritual. For, that's what it looked like to him. He hadn't seen any modern magic that used runes like that. He strained his ears, hoping to catch some of what Bill was muttering but he couldn't hear a thing. It was as if he'd been plunged into a blank space, where nothing existed except his thoughts.

He didn't know how long he stayed like that, in that white expanse, frozen, hyper-aware. Time did not move correctly here. At any moment it felt as if he'd just arrived, and the next like he'd been here an eternity. Then—a flash a blue cracked across the white like a bolt of lightening and he was seized by a terrible headache. It cut lines of pulsing wounds, cracking behind his eyes and thudding in his ears, until settling like a snake coiled around his mind. It shifted, sharp scales grating against soft flesh and he cried out—or he wanted to. It was hard to know in this place. And then, he felt someone working to pry the snake away. The white light slipped, feather light hands, around the body of the snake, but it writhed and tried to tighten it's grip.

Let go! Merlin pleaded. Just let go, already! And, without really meaning to, his own magic shot forward to help—crackling like electricity. Maybe together, the white light and blue lightning, maybe they could burn the creature fastened to him. The snake spit and hissed, furious, but it was flailing, shrinking back against the light. Merlin bushed harder, his heartbeat reverberating in his ears. He could taste the sweetness of the snake's absence, just visible beneath its loosing grip.

The serpent gave one last spitting hiss and let go, dissolving into black ash. The magic rushed out of him in a violent tidal wave and then he was back in St. Mungos, back in his bed.

Merlin opened his eyes. His room looked like a tornado had blown through it. The window to his side was cracked; the mirror cube had fallen to the floor along with the shattered remains of his water glass. Healer Chilton looked like he'd been knocked to the floor, dusting off his medical robes while Healer Blooms hair was a windswept tangle. Bill looked relatively unchanged, but there was surprise in the lines of his face.

"Well, it's never done that before," he said, blinking. Then, he cocked his head to the side. "Did you use your magic too?"

Merlin stared at him. That seemed to answer enough for Bill.

"Whatever it was, it worked. I was starting to struggle there and then I felt a surge of power." He looked impressed. "You're something."

"How do you feel?" Healer Bloom asked, waving her wand over Merlin, concern knitting her brows.

Merlin took a moment. How did he feel? His neck still felt stiff and pained, but he could move his head again. And, for the first time, his early memories of Hogwarts were no longer painful to consider. He still had a massive black hole and he couldn't remember who'd done this to him. But, attempting to poke at that void didn't hurt. Everything was—clear.

"I still have some blank spots in my memory," he said, slowly. "But the pain is gone!" He broke into a broad smile. "It's gone!"

He was going to have to add Bill Weasley to the list of people he sent a Christmas Present.

Only A Boy

For the first time, in a long time, Merlin felt well. The thick pervasive fog that had numbed his mind had lifted, and he felt a renewed clarity wash over the thoughts that used to chase themselves about his head. He didn't think he'd ever felt this way. Not even while the curse had been dormant—which might have impacted his day-to-day life without his ever knowing it. He couldn't be certain, of course, and there was a chance he was attributing too much to it.

But, the stark difference between the before and after stayed with him like renewed sight to a blind man.

Healer Chilton and Healer Bloom kept him on the regime of healing potions for another day. Now that the curse was gone, they would actually be able to do their job and not just ward off continued damage. They were optimistic, but realistic about a full recovery.

"It all depends on the type of damage and how severe it is," Healer Chilton had said when Merlin asked whether he'd regain all his memories. "There is a chance, of course, and it has been known for portions return spontaneously, months even years after treatment. But memory is a fickle thing and this was a very powerful curse."

That was bittersweet. Still, Merlin was relieved when they told him he could go home for the remainder of the holidays—a whole two days—as long as he continued to take the potions they sent with him. He was so anxious to get back that he didn't even protest when Florean summoned the Knight Bus.

"Sorry, they said no to Apparation," Florean had explained. "Said it'd interfere with your healing."

When he stepped through the door of Florean's Ice Cream Emporium, he hadn't been expecting anything—how could Florean and Silas through a surprise party if they were with him?—but he was met by a shower of balloons and streamers with several cheers of congratulations.

Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger were standing next to a heavily laden table covered in chocolate, pastries, chees, ham, pies, and a number of other things Merlin didn't have time to examine.

"Knew it was only a matter of time," Draco drawled, taking a slice of cheese and eating it carefully.

"It was a long time," Hermione countered, but she was beaming at him. "I'm so glad they were able to break it!"

"Same here," Merlin laughed. He heard a mewling and looked down to see Khoshekh darting about his legs, batting his knee with her head. She'd doubled in size since last he'd seen her. "Look at you!" he said, bending down and picking her up. She purred and nuzzled his neck, making him laugh.

"Yeah, she's started catching pigeons!" Silas said, looking delighted. Merlin noticed that Florean didn't seem to thrilled by this, he'd heaved a huge sigh and shook his head.

"I keep finding feathers everywhere," he muttered and Merlin snorted. He gave the black kneazle a squeeze and put her back on the ground.

"Let's eat!"

Only A Boy

The night before Merlin had to return to Hogwarts, he and Silas stayed up late into the night. Silas had joined him on the lower bunk, Khoshekh nestled in the crook of his knee, and in the dim yellow glow of the streetlamps of Diagon Alley they discussed the Chamber of Secrets.

Merlin had told Silas everything he hadn't felt comfortable writing in a letter. By the time he'd finished, Silas was wide eyed and absently petting Khoshekh, who purred. There was a moment's silence, during which Khoshekh flipped onto her back and went on purring.

"You keep just barely missing the person," Silas said after a moment. "I mean they can't be far away when they set the snake on a person. Is there anyone who's been present at every crime scene?"

"Crime scene?"

"You know what I mean, the petrified kids."

Merlin frowned. "No—I mean, unless they're hiding in the crowd that forms afterward. But I can't think of anyone I remember seeing every time. Other than myself," he added with a grimace.

"Except that one Gryffindor," Silas reminded him. "The kid you said was taking photos of you?"

"Oh yeah." He hadn't even thought about him since it happened. "I'd never even had a conversation with him."

Silas hummed, leaning back against the wall. "How would the heir have found out he was muggleborn? Cause they only go after muggleborns, right?"

Merlin paused. "Probably heard him mention it in class, or overheard him in the corridor."

"But is it that easy?"

Merlin shrugged. "It's a pretty small school Silas. I don't think it'd be that hard to find out."

"I'm just thinking out loud here." Silas sighed. "Okay, what about the snake? Any idea where it's hiding yet?"

Merlin scratched the underside of Khoshekh's chin. "Not yet. It travels all over the castle and vanishes seconds later." Merlin pinched the bridge of his nose. "At this rate I'll need to set a trap somehow."

Silas frowned. "You'd need bait."

Merlin hesitated. He was sure Hermione would be willing to do it if-no. He didn't want to risk it. "It's too dangerous," he said. "The snake keeps threatening to kill someone."

Yeah," Silas yawned. "I don't know. Are you sure only a Slytherin can speak Parseltongue?"

"No. I don't think this was a Slytherin at all."

"Then they're probably hiding in another house." He paused. "Could the snake be hiding in the lake?"

Merlin hadn't considered that. "Maybe. I'll look into it," though he had no idea how he was supposed to search a lake of indeterminable depth. He yawned too. "Anyway, let's go to bed. I have to get up early tomorrow."