The Legacy of Salazar

The Quirinus Case

"Merlin, eat something!"

They'd overslept.

The excitement surrounding Silas hadn't died down until long past midnight, and even Florean had slept in. He hadn't been surprised that Silas had magic. Apparently, the teachers at the magical primary school had also noticed and even Snape had mentioned the likelihood while asking him to foster the boys. But while Merlin had loved the sheer joy that spread over Silas's face when he'd realized that he'd be joining Merlin at Hogwarts in a year, he was also worried.

Part of him had hoped Silas wouldn't have magic.

Maybe that was cruel—he knew better than anyone how beautiful and amazing magic was. But last year he'd come face to face with none other than Lord Voldemort. At Hogwarts! The idea that Silas might get hurt—maybe he'd ask Florean to consider sending Silas to a different magical school. There was more than one, right? But then, there was nothing to stop trouble from happening at those schools either. Chaos followed magic around like an indentured servant.

He would know.

"Merlin."

He glanced up. He had been pacing in front of the kitchen table, too agitated to sit. He and Florean would be leaving to Quirrel's evidence hearing in a few minutes, as soon as Florean made sure everything was fine in the shop downstairs. Silas was watching him, holding out a piece of toast.

"You really should eat something." Now he'd made Silas worried.

"I'm not hungry," Merlin managed, resuming his trek around the table. How could he eat? He would have to submit memory evidence, talk about what had happened, how he had defeated Quirrell. The comfort that he got to choose which memories he wished to give was minimal. Just like Snape, they would wonder why he didn't give them the memory. The fight. And while he knew no one would suspect his identity at first, awkward questions would arise if they saw him use ancient druidic spells.

"You'll do fine," Silas said and he gave a reassuring smile. "Just tell them what happened, and it'll be over before you know it."

Not until Voldemort himself is defeated.

The sound of rushed footsteps scaling the stairs saved Merlin from answering. Florean entered, wearing a waistcoat of royal purple with silver stitching—the only one that had managed to avoid ice cream stains. The star-shaped buttons twinkled brightly in the morning light, and Florean checked to make sure they were all closed as he caught his breath.

"Right, kiddo," he said crossing the room and grabbing a piece of toast. "We need to leave." He held the toast in his mouth while he consulted a bronze pocket-watch. His eyebrows rose. "Immediately."

"Okay." Merlin took a deep breath. He could do this. What was he even worried about?

"Wish I could come," Silas muttered, giving Florean a look.

"No, we've already had this conversation," Florean said shaking his head. "This is by invitation only. Do some homework while we're gone."

"What—"

"Merlin, let's go." Florean led the way back to the door.

"Wait!"

Merlin turned as Silas ran up to him and stuffed a few pieces of toast into his hands. "Just in case you get hungry," he said. Although he was grinning Merlin could see the earnest look in his eyes, his assurance that Merlin would do great, that there was nothing to worry about—good luck hanging unsaid in the air.

Merlin managed a smile. "Thanks," and he ran out the door. At the bottom of the stairs, Florean was consulting his pocket-watch again. He looked up as Merlin approached.