The Legacy of Salazar

The Summons

Something in the way Florean Fortescue's lip quirked made Merlin sure he knew the subject matter of the Daily Prophet's headline article. The ice cream man looked almost amused, and yet there was that slight curve of his eyebrows that revealed a bewildered state of mind. As if he sensed Merlin's eyes, Florean glanced toward him and Merlin quickly busied himself with the marmalade.

He wasn't quite sure what to make of the man yet.

It was obvious that Silas liked him. His foster brother had done little else this past week except talk about life with their new foster parent. Florean had even fixed Silas' chipped tooth and enrolled him in a magical primary school – which didn't actually teach magic, but rather the basics of wizarding culture and the necessary skills he would have learned at a muggle school. Florean had explained to Merlin that most wizarding parents homeschooled their children, while muggleborns attended normal school until they got their letter. But for those unable to homeschool their children a simple pre-Hogwarts primary school had been established.

Florean had finished reading the article. He sighed loudly and folded the paper with such refined skill that Merlin actually stared for a moment. Beside him, Silas looked up, his breakfast smeared about his lips and dribbling onto the tablecloth. His chestnut coloured hair stuck up all directions, looking somewhat like he had lost a fight with his pillow.

"Something wrong?" he asked, his fork hesitating above his kippers and eggs.

"Not that I can tell," Florean said with a smile and he took a swig of orange juice.

"Merlin's in the paper again, isn't he?"

Merlin bent his head awkwardly over his breakfast, cheeks burning. Anybody would be happy to be in the Daily Prophet. But he wasn't one to take credit, and now that he was—he was just embarrassed. It had been so much easier to let Arthur bask in the spotlight; at least the prince had known how to take it.

His heart twinged painfully and he forced the memory away.

"Just an update, kiddo." Florean winked. Merlin forced himself to look up, though he still felt uncomfortable when Florean glanced at him. "I suspect you'll be called in to testify soon."

"I 'spect so."

Like he always did, Silas was first to pick up on his reluctance. "It's a good thing isn't it?" he questioned looking from Florean to Merlin. "Quirrell will go to Azkaban, and—you were in the paper!" Although he sounded excited by that prospect, Silas looked uncomfortable.

"Course it is," Florean said at once. "Merlin's too modest to admit that he did an amazing thing," and he nodded in Merlin's direction. "He's just not used to the publicity."

"Yeah, well," Merlin said frowning. "I am eleven." Though, he had a feeling that would be part of the problem.

"At the rate, you're going, you might want to get used to it." Florean surveyed him for a moment, as though waiting for Merlin to contradict him. He said nothing. A sinking feeling in his gut told Merlin that this definitely wouldn't be the last time his name appeared in the paper. What would it be next time? He could see the headline now: Hogwarts Student Attempting to Raise Pod of Dragons in Nearby Forbidden Forest.

Merlin met his new foster parent's gaze for a moment. "I'm going to start cleaning up," and he took his empty plate to the kitchen in the next room. Behind him, he heard a muffled, "let him go," and supposed that Silas had wanted to follow him.

Good. He needed a moment to think.

The kitchen was in a state of organized chaos. The drawer handles were made of intricately designed spoons and coloured like candy wrappers. There was a stack of perilously stacked jars on one counter, each containing a different spice and no doubt held up by magic. The pots and pans hung from a metal grate on the ceiling, and a portrait of a plump man in a pinstripe cloak hung on the wall opposite the fridge, though at the moment he was snoring peacefully in his frame. When awake he would suggest things to eat and recommend recipes for whatever ingredients they were holding at the time. Boris was his name, and apparently, he was a jolly uncle who had passed away a decade or so ago.