Meet the Order
Good news: the house hadn’t burned down in his absence.
Bad news: Sygni was sulking. He had spoiled her during these past few months, with barely a day passing that he didn’t take the time to indulge her and, like the spoiled princess she was, she didn’t want to admit that that time was coming to an end.
She still wasn’t much bigger than one of Arthur’s hunting dogs, but she wasn’t the baby she looked like either. Dragons normally grew so rapidly that it became far too demanding on their mothers to feed them after their first six months and so hatchlings quickly leaned to fend for themselves. Although the mothers normally stuck close until the babies were actually fully grown and had learned the skills they needed, that generally happened after the first year and certainly before the end of the second.
Sygni was well past that point, and Merlin would freely admit that he had spoiled her rotten. She was his to care for, and that would never change. Unfortunately, that did not mean that she could monopolise his time for the next who-knew how many decades or even centuries she would live.
He knew what it was like to have his life revolve purely around a single thing and it was awful.
Not that he regretted it. Arthur had been his world, and he’d been more than happy, more than content just to be by his side. Had loved him, truly and deeply, brothers in soul if not in blood. But Arthur’s death had broken something in him, and it had taken him a very long time to even begin to heal.
Even now, he could feel his king’s absence like a hollow in his chest. And that was right, because Arthur was the other side of his coin, the other side of his soul, and Merlin was allowed to grieve, to have Arthur be part of him. But he could not let it happen again – because he would have wrecked the world for Arthur, and when he had died... it had destroyed him, thoroughly and deeply.
Never again would he let any one thing be his sole reason to live. Never again could he live through grief like that. It had hurt worse than anything – and over his long life, Merlin had experienced enough that he had become something of an expert on pain.
So no matter how much he loved Sygni, he had always made sure that she knew that yes, he loved her and yes, he would always be there for her – but there were other things in his life too, human responsibilities, and she had to accept that.
And she had. Even as a baby, she’d been so good about him being gone every day, working at the sanctuary as he always had in order for them not to be suspicious that the hatchling had gone missing at the same time as Merlin took a leave of absence. She’d always understood, and had loved him anyway. So he knew she’d be fine, especially now she was older and stronger, and she knew it too.
She was just being difficult. And perhaps it was why he loved her so much, how her soul was alight with dragon fire and twin to his own, her heart pulsing in his chest. It was what it meant to be a Dragonlord, to love so fiercely and so wildly, to be a part of something so ancient and monumental, to care for it and Command it.
So Sygni would be fine, but right now she was being a drama queen. He’d been gone most of the day, and she fully expected his attention. Now that he had to go again, she was distinctly unimpressed.
As was evidenced by the fact that she and Fiacre had seemingly teamed up in order to pounce on him whenever he even got near the door. The bloody bird (why’d he ever thought animating him was a good idea...) screeched whenever he saw Merlin approaching, and the overgrown baby came running.
Which had led to him where he was now – sprawled out on the floor less than a metre from the door and trying not to let on how hard it was not to coo at her.
Winded, with an armful of petulant blue dragon, Merlin propped his head up on his arm and gave her his best stern look. It was somewhat ruined by the humour in his voice, because he could never stay mad at her and she was adorable when she was pouting, but even so he tapped her on the nose once, lightly. “Sygni,” he said, laughter dancing in his eyes. “You know I have to go.”
She gave several fluting trills that almost sounded like dragon-tongue but were definitely whining. He rolled his eyes. “Honestly, you’d think you hadn’t seen me in weeks.”
She made an odd sound he could only describe as a purr and crept up his body to nuzzle his cheek. “Yes, I know you’re adorable, but seriously. I’m going to be late.”
Settling herself more firmly onto his chest, she gave another chirp and a sly look. That’s never stopped you before, came the sensation he got down the bond between him and her; the dragonlord one that had formed when she’d hatched and that had been reinforced every day that he cared for her until it was nearly as strong as the ties that had bound him to the dragons of old, to Kilgharrah and Aithusa. She wasn’t quite that intelligent, but thanks to her personal rearing under the hands of a dragonlord she was leaps and bounds ahead of her brethren.
And damnit, she had a point. He’d lost count of the number of times he had been late for work in Romania, but dragon-wranglers had flexible schedules and they’d been used to it. Besides, she’d been a proper baby then and he’d worried over her like a mother hen, because she’d been small and vulnerable and had pierced straight through all the defences around his heart.
But this was different. This was his first meeting with the Order of the Phoenix, and... well, Merlin had never been great at first impressions, but being late wouldn’t really help, would it?
Then again... bad first impressions hadn’t led him so far astray. Arthur – that's enough, my friend. Lancelot – Run! He’d met Gwaine in a tavern brawl, Elyan at a kidnapping, Percival when Morgana had overtaken the castle, Gwen whilst in the stocks... unorthodox entries were practically his calling card when it came to his friends.
That did not mean, however, that he was going to let Sturgis (oh look, he fit the pattern too) think that he wasn’t coming, so he sighed and gave Sygni a look. “C’mon, Syg. Let me up, now. If you want to come to Hogwarts with me, you’re going to have to get better at this.”
Immediately, the dragon curled in on herself and gave him her best wide-eyed look, innocent as could be. Sorry, was the impression he got down the bond. As always, his expression softened, because he was a total pushover when it came to the few companions who snuck into his heart.
“It’s okay, drakling. I understand.” And he did. He did not hide things from her – Sygni knew that she was his to raise because she would not survive otherwise. A part of her had always known that she was different, and perhaps that was also why they had the bond they did. She was as different from other dragons as he was from other magic-users – had been even in his own time, let alone now – and they were both kin, and that was enough. “And I wouldn’t really leave you behind.”
She let out a soft exhale, smoke trailing from her nostrils as she blew warm breath over his face. Slowly, she climbed off him, nudging her face into his palm. Love you. Sorry.
“Good girl, Sygni.” Merlin obliged her as he stood, running his warm hands over smooth hide before he reached down to scratch the underside of her chin. Immediately, she melted into a little puddle of blue-and-silver scales. “Call me if you need me.”
She couldn’t ‘call’ him as such, not in the way Merlin could call her, which involved dragon-tongue and roaring at the skies, but their bond was deep and close enough that she could yank on the tether that bound their souls as Lord and Hatchling to let him know if something was wrong.
If he’d known about that back when Aithusa was first born, he’d never have failed her as badly as he had. But, like so many other things in his early life, no one had ever taught him what it meant to be a Dragonlord, his responsibilities and powers. He’d eventually made peace with it, as had the white dragon, but all the same he could never think too long on it without tasting regret at the back of his throat.
Chuffing with amusement, Sygni climbed back to her feet and nudged him. You’re stalling.
He mock-growled at her. “Stay, go… you really are demanding, aren’t you?” Fiacre screeched from above the door, and Merlin turned a baleful stare on him. “Why I bother with you two, I swear…”
The dragon was right, though (although he had been trying to go for over half an hour, so it wasn’t really his fault) and he gave her a last reluctant scratch before asking, semi-seriously, “Please don’t cause any major catastrophe’s whilst I’m gone.”
With an amused chirp, Sygni blew a last puff of smoke into his face, tail lashing playfully. That was easy to translate. No promises.
Just to top it off, Fiacre flew down to perch on her shoulder and she didn’t shake him off for once. Both of them blinked up at him with innocent eyes, and he groaned. “You know what, I don’t want to know.”
More than half convinced that there wouldn’t be a house for him to come back to, Merlin glanced over it, as if to memorise the layout so that if all else failed his magic would be able to restore it. Then, resigning himself to actually going out and meeting people, he folded himself into the gaps between space and time the way Anhora once had and faded away as if he’d never been there at all.
It was an odd feeling, passing through all the not-spaces in the world. Everything went grey and hazy, and a single thought could bring him out anywhere on the globe. It was dangerous to take others with you, but it remained Merlin’s favourite mode of transport despite the impossibility of ever explaining it should someone see him do it. It looked nothing like apparation, the only modern equivalent, but his inability to explain it did not prevent him from using it because it was so bloody convenient.
Screw it, he was old and apparition was uncomfortable as all hell. If someone saw him then he would deal with it then.
This time he got lucky, finding his target alleyway completely deserted. It had all the markers of a common apparation point, with semi-permanent wards that encouraged people to think of it as insignificant and avoid going near or even so much as looking at it.
Such wards were convenient, but Merlin still did not like them. He had loathed mind control ever since Morgana put a snake in his neck, and the basic wards wizards took for granted came very close to crossing too many lines. Still, this wasn’t the time or place for an in-depth debate about morality and so he strolled down the street, as casual as if he belonged here.
No one paid him any notice, and this time there were no death eaters lying in wait as he climbed the stairs to Sturgis’s door and reminded himself to knock.
The blonde opened the door almost immediately. Seeing the relief on his face, Merlin offered him a sheepish smile and an apology. “Sorry, I got held up. Turns out that Sygni wanted a reward for not burning down the house and didn’t want to let me leave again.”
Sturgis blinked, as if the hour and a half he’d been gone had been enough for him to forget what Merlin was like. “Do I want to know?” he asked again, half-exasperated and half-resigned.
Merlin grinned. “Probably not, no.”
“Come on in, then.”
Yep, they were going to get along just fine. Brushing awkwardly past Sturgis, Merlin headed for the kitchen he’d been in earlier only for the wizard to lead him to another room – the one he had presumably used to contact Albus earlier.
Originally it had probably been intended to be a living room, with plenty of space for couches and a TV, but with a wizard in residence it was instead devoid of all furniture except for a few pegs for hanging coats and a small table with a pot of powder on it. The main feature was, of course, the fireplace, with a thick rug spread out in front of it that was perfect for kneeling on (or for people to fall onto when they entered through the grate).
Merlin held in his groan as he realised that they were going to take the Floo. It had been decades since he had last done so – he could almost always avoid it using apparation or a portkey in a pinch. Sadly, he didn’t think that was going to be an option today.
Catching the grimace on his face, Sturgis gave him a sympathetic look. “Not a fan of the floo?”
There was no harm in admitting it, so Merlin shook his head. “Probably my least favourite way to travel. Can’t we apparate?”
Sturgis grimaced. “You’ve never been there and I’m not the best at Side-Along. Sorry.”
Resigned, Merlin sighed. “Fine, fine. But if I end up in in some random Muggle’s sitting room, I’m going to blame you.”
“Are you speaking from experience?” Sturgis joked, and was brought up short when Merlin flushed. It had been his first time using the floo, and his magic had seen the flames around him as a threat and lashed out, hurling himself out prematurely at a spot that wasn’t even supposed to be connected to the network.
“Let’s just get this over with,” Merlin said, trying to forget that experience. He did not like being reminded that he was one of the reasons that the Ministry had widened the remit of Obliviation squads to events other than accidental magic.
Giving him a look that promised that Sturgis would be asking for that story sooner or later, the Order member held out a piece of parchment. He took it without commenting and found a familiar loopy script – Albus.
The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is located at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, London.
Immediately, he felt magic tingling through the parchment and trying to enter him. He had to consciously relax his own natural shields in order to let it, but fortunately he recognised the general feel of a Fidelius Secret.
There was something familiar about the address, actually – Merlin pretended to be memorising it as he thought back to his previous dealings with Wizarding Britain, and then it hit him. Huh. He wondered how an organisation like Albus’s Order of the Phoenix had got hold of the traditional Black House.
From his research, he knew that the last male to bear the Black name was Sirius Black, apparent mass-murderer, but there had been something that had nagged him about all those newspaper articles. Considering that he knew that the Daily Prophet was a rag barely worth the parchment it was written on, and with the added knowledge that the Order had somehow gotten hold of his inheritance, perhaps his instincts had been right and there was something fishy with the Sirius situation. The modern magical justice system was about as fair as it had been under Uther, so it would not overly surprise him if the man was innocent.
Judging that enough time had passed, he gave the parchment back to Sturgis who promptly set it alight with a tap of his wand and a murmured, “Incendio.”
“You should probably go first,” Merlin suggested. “I already hate flooing, I don’t want to be cursed on arrival as well.”
Wincing at the reminder of his earlier comments, Sturgis nodded. “Good idea. Don’t be too long.”
With a final look over his shoulder, Sturgis took a pinch of Floo powder from the urn on the table and threw it into the flames. When they turned green, he walked into them with no hesitation and called out, “Number twelve, Grimmauld Place!”
With a flash of green flames and a whirl of motion, he was gone, the fire dying down into a more normal shade of yellow and orange. With him gone, Merlin relaxed slightly as he wrapped his own magic tightly around him, letting its familiar warmth ground and centre him.
Although he knew from experience that the green flames were harmless, he had spent his first twenty years with all-too-plausible nightmares about the pyre. He would never be able to walk into flames without at least a tingle of apprehension.
Still, there was nothing to be gained from staring at the fire and Sturgis was waiting for him. Merlin had meant what he had said about being cursed on arrival – even with as much control as his many centuries had afforded him, his magic still tended towards the instinctual and occasionally responded quicker than he did to an unexpected attack. Just because he had a knack for making unusual first impressions work did not mean that he wanted to start his collaboration with the Order by attacking them.
Taking a pinch of floo powder, he forced his own magic back under his skin so that it wouldn’t interfere with the process. He knew that it was irrational, this fear, but he still held his breath as the fire turned green and he set foot into it.
Nothing but a slight tickling sensation. He scowled at himself. It really was time he got over this... but now was not the time. “Number twelve, Grimmauld Place,” he murmured, feeling the magic flare around him.
It sucked him into the darkness of the network, world spinning around him as grate after grate flashed by. This was the other reason he hated floo travel – it reminded him distinctly of the times he had been poisoned and delirious, not good memories to have whilst also focusing on a destination.
Catching a flash of blonde hair, he latched onto his destination and magic spat him out, tumbling out of the fire to just barely land on his feet. Sturgis looked to be fighting his amusement, and Merlin pouted. “I told you that I hate Floo travel.”
The blonde did smile then, but mercifully said nothing about his uncoordinated exit. Merlin took the opportunity to take a look around – it was another mostly empty room apart from the fireplace, clearly meant to be used solely as an entrance.
In contrast to Sturgis’s airy muggle-based townhouse, however, the place was dark and gloomy, much more so than he had expected even for the notoriously-dark Black family, and practically soaked in magic. Which would have been pleasant if not for the fact that the magic had the same twisted aura as the death eaters had earlier.
Merlin grimaced, knowing gold specks had appeared in his eyes as his own magic twined around his body, repelling the dark essence of the house. It was a depressing place, and he truly hoped that they only used it for meetings and that no one actually lived here.
Catching the expression, Sturgis gave him a similar frown. “Yeah, it’s not the nicest of places, but it’s secure. Come on, we usually meet in the kitchen, which is a lot better.”
Well, it could hardly be much worse. They exited the floo room into a narrow corridor, just as dark and warped as the room had been, and Sturgis placed a finger to his lips. Merlin obeyed, even his feet silent on the dirty carpet as he followed the blonde past a steep flight of stairs and through what seemed to be the only clean door in the house.
It led to a spacious kitchen that, as Sturgis had said, was a surprising contrast to what he had seen so far. There was still a faint tang of black magic that prickled along the back of his neck, but the room was clean and tidy and had a homely air that had so far been missing. It was well-lit, revealing a long, gleaming table and a typical wizarding kitchen at one end, and it was half-full of people all murmuring quietly to each other.
Their entrance halted the chatter as they all stared at the newcomer. Merlin fought the urge to hide behind Sturgis – though he had been stared at many times over the course of his life, he was far more accustomed to staying in the shadows and the spotlight had always made him uncomfortable. He could still hear his mother’s voice whispering to stay hidden, stay secret, stay safe.
He was not a child anymore, though, so he simply treated them like a fresh batch of knights and gave them a small smile. “Hi.”
He could almost feel Sturgis rolling his eyes from beside him. Clearing his throat, the blonde drew their attention and went, “This is Emrys. Albus invited him to join the Order.”
“Albus didn’t tell us this,” one of them frowned. He was tall and dark-skinned, and he moved with a kind of tense grace that made Merlin’s comparison of him to a knight all the more fitting. Judging by his robes he was an auror, and probably used to being intimidating as he directed a level stare in Merlin’s direction.
Unperturbed (he had nothing on Gaius), Merlin only shrugged. “It was a relatively recent development.”
“He saved my life earlier,” Sturgis admitted, sounding uncomfortable. “I was attacked, and he stepped in to give me a hand. Albus apparently knew about him, and suggested that he be invited to meet all of us.”
A red-haired woman stepped forwards at that, evaluating Merlin carefully. Then she smiled at him. “I’m sure Dumbledore knows what he’s doing,” she announced. “Welcome, Emrys. Is that your first or second name?”
“It’s the one I go by,” Merlin shrugged. “My first name’s a bit...” Well-known. Panic-inducing.
“Ooh!” cried another of the Order members, practically bouncing to the front of the crowd. Her hair flickered between pink and purple and she gave him a wild grin. “That’s me, too. I’m Tonks. Always nice to meet a fellow rebel.” She winked. “Don’t mind Kingsley, he had a rough day at the office.”
"Nymphadora,” the auror groaned, and immediately her hair turned a fiery red and stood on end.
“Don’t call me that!” she snapped, and the woman who’d spoken up earlier rolled her eyes.
“Oh, shush, Tonks. You know he only does it to get a rise out of you. I’m Emmeline Vance,” she introduced, turning to Merlin. “Sorry, we’re all a little on edge at the moment, especially with what happened to Sturgis earlier. He said you were there?”
“I have a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time,” he confessed, and she gave him a small smile.
“Or the right place,” she countered. “Anyway, you’ve met Kingsley, Tonks and Sturgis. The man in the corner is Dedalus Diggle -” the man in question, small and dumpy and rather unremarkable, gave a cheery wave, “That’s Elphias Doge, and Sirius and Remus are upstairs seeing to Buckbeak. The Weasleys are around a lot of the time, so they might be here as well.”
Well, that confirmed that. He could feel wary eyes on him at the mention of Sirius, but he didn’t bat an eyelid; if they were comfortable mentioning the last Black then he was almost certainly innocent. “Buckbeak?” he asked instead.
“A hippogriff. He was condemned by the Ministry and he saved Sirius’s life, so we’re keeping him up there until we can find a way to let him loose without him being in danger.”
Again he felt more than saw them watching him closely for his reaction to the overt allusions to something illegal, but they were not going to get a reaction out of him. He had been breaking laws since far before any of them were born. Instead, his eyes lit up at the mention of a relatively rare magical creature. Though they were cousins of the griffins that had caused so much trouble in Camelot, hippogriffs were much nicer creatures. “There’s a hippogriff here? Can I go say hello?”
Unlike the others, Sturgis knew what position he had been hired for and was unsurprised by his reaction. “I don’t see why not. We’re waiting on a couple of others, aren’t we?”
Kingsley nodded. “Alastor should be on his way, and Minerva said she’d try to make it as well. I think Molly’s upstairs somewhere too.”
Sturgis led the way out of the kitchen and back into the general gloom of the house. Again he gestured for silence as they passed through what must be the main entrance to the house, and Merlin made a mental note to exit that way so that he could “apparate” here in future. No need to give them heart attacks by transporting himself directly inside.
The stairs creaked underfoot as they ascended the narrow steps, flanked by a twisted banister of some kind of dark wood that looked a breath away from splintering. Merlin didn’t touch it, but he was curious at the utter state of the house – surely someone here knew cleaning charms?
They ascended two flights, following a track worn into the dust – clearly only a few of the rooms were in use. Occasionally they passed an open door that gave glimpses into similarly depressing spaces.
If he was to judge by the number of cleaning products scattered around then someone had made a token effort at improving the place, but they had not made a lot of headway. Was there a reason they were not using their wands to clean?
He almost cringed at the platter of elf-heads lining the stairs; another of those wizarding traditions he really hated. He suspected it, like floo travel, had roots in defying the fears brought about by numerous Purges, but as someone who’d lived through those eras it was more depressing than progressive.
On the second floor, they ran into two men who both looked like they had seen better days. The first was a face he recognised from the newspapers – Sirius Black, still gaunt and skeletal from his prolonged stay in Azkaban but with a spark of intelligence in his eyes that defied his rumoured madness. Beside him was a man who appeared almost as haggard, face worn and weary and eyes far older than his physical appearance. The silvery scars peeking out of his clothes would have been enough to confirm it if his distinctly wild magical aura hadn’t – he was a werewolf.
Both of them looked more than a little startled to come across a stranger, but when Merlin only smiled at them they relaxed a little, more so when Sturgis stepped up beside him. The blonde gave him a curious glance at his non-reaction to the two new wizards, but commenced introductions none the less. “Hello, Remus. Sirius.”
It was the werewolf – Remus – who replied, whilst his friend was watching Merlin carefully. “Evening, Sturgis. What brings you up here?”
“Emrys wanted to say hello to Buckbeak,” Sturgis explained. “He’s new to the Order.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Merlin offered, and Remus offered a weary smile back. Sirius, however, had a hand on the wand at his side, and Merlin held his clearly empty hands up in the normal signal of surrender. “There won’t be any need for that, Mr Black. Since you’re here, I’d assume that you’re innocent. I’m not likely to turn you in, nor could I lead anyone here even if I were so inclined.”
When the Azkaban escapee still hesitated, Remus nudged his arm with an elbow. “Sirius,” he murmured, and at last the man released his grip on his wand.
“Sorry,” he rasped. “Can’t be too careful, though, right? And it’s just Sirius, none of that Mr Black nonsense.” Seeming to remember what had started this conversation, he asked, “You wanted to meet Buckbeak?”
“Emrys is going to fill in for Hagrid when term starts,” Sturgis explained somewhat nervously. He didn’t seem entirely comfortable with the other two, but whether it was the convict or the werewolf that was putting him on edge Merlin didn’t know.
“You’re going to teach at Hogwarts?” Remus asked, a genuine smile lighting amber eyes. Merlin nodded.
“I was mostly home-schooled, so it’ll be nice to finally explore the castle I’ve heard so much about.”
Remus seemed curious – home-schooling was uncommon in the wizarding world – but he didn’t pry. “It’s an amazing place. I was the Defence teacher a few years ago, but...”
“Beaky’s through here,” Sirius interrupted, and his friend gave him a small smile. Merlin’s eyes narrowed, guessing what had happened – he knew very well how prejudiced the wizarding world could be – but he kept quiet, not wanting to embarrass Remus. The quiet man had a nice feel to him, and this was only their first meeting.
He went straight to the door Sirius had indicated and frowned at what he found inside. Buckbeak was a beautiful creature – tall and majestic, all sleek muscle and silvery feathers, like a storm given flesh – but the room was far too small for him. He had half-torn apart the bed and was reclining awkwardly on what remained, with barely enough room to stretch out his wings.
Such creatures were meant to roam the earth, free, not be cooped up inside a house. He understood that Buckbeak had been condemned by the Ministry, but he doubted that they were very diligent in the hunt for one rogue creature. His plight pulled at Merlin’s heart.
As soon as the warlock entered the room, fierce orange eyes met his own. The proud creature rose to his feet, head tilted slightly as he evaluated Merlin’s presence, and then he dipped his knees and lowered his head in an unmistakeable bow.
Behind him, Merlin heard a sharp intake of breath – oops. He’d been too caught up in Buckbeak to remember that wizards normally bowed first.
Oh well. It was too late now, so he simply bowed back, the movement as elegant and graceful as any courtier, and then he and the hippogriff straightened as one. Reverently, he approached the creature and ran his hands over silky feathers, feeling the way they had wilted ever-so-slightly from their usual gleam.
With his back to the wizards, Merlin let a little gold into his eyes as magic sprung to his fingertips, softly stroking along the hippogriffs neck and back. “Hello, you,” he breathed.
Everywhere he touched, the feathers straightened again, the grey brightening, until his coat was the silver of the lake under the moon. “There we go.” Buckbeak nudged affectionately against his shoulder in silent thanks.
“You’re a beauty, aren’t you,” he continued, gently stroking along first his flank and then his wings. The hippogriff nudged him gently, then began to preen his hair with his beak.
Smiling softly, Merlin gave him one last pat before reluctantly stepping away from him. He turned his back with no fear, sighing inwardly at the incredulous questions written all over the faces of his fellow magic-wielders. “He’s magnificent.”
Making little noises of contentment, the hippogriff lowered his head until it was resting on Merlin’s shoulder. He almost collapsed at the unexpected weight, sending an exasperated look back over his shoulder. “Get off me, you great lump.”
Alarm spread across Remus’s face, but the insult had been layered with fondness and the hippogriff only settled his head down more firmly, undeniable mischief in his orange eyes. Merlin folded his eyes. “Remind me to never introduce you to Sygni. You’re worse than Fi, I swear.”
“Um, Emrys?” Remus asked. “What are you doing?”
Merlin huffed. “Is it my fault your hippogriff decided to act like a dopey puppy?” Buckbeak cracked his beak as if he understood every word, but Merlin was totally unintimidated. “You know it’s true,” he chided him, ignoring the way the three wizards stared in growing disbelief.
“Have you ever seen a hippogriff act like that?” Sirius whispered.
Shaking his head, Remus asked, “Who’s Sygni?”
“Merlin only knows,” Sturgis muttered, and Merlin had to turn to face Buckbeak in order to stifle his laugh, because yes, he did know. “He mentioned her before. Some kind of creature, I think.”
“Despite how fun it is to listen to you talking like I’m not right here,” Merlin interjected, “You do know that Buckbeak can’t stay here, right? He can barely move five steps.”
“I take him out on the roof for exercise sometimes,” Sirius protested. “And there’s nowhere else we can send him without him being in danger.”
And he’s company, Merlin thought, because he’d already figured that Sirius was staying here. Where else would be safer than somewhere under a Fidelius kept by Albus Dumbledore, after all?
No matter how lonely the man was, however, it was no excuse for trapping a creature right alongside him. “I doubt that anyone’s going to notice one particular hippogriff,” Merlin argued. “They’re wild creatures; it’s cruel to keep him here. Why not send him to the Forbidden Forest? It’s certainly big enough that no one would notice an extra creature in the woods.”
“I thought you hadn’t been to Hogwarts?” Remus asked, and Merlin shrugged – a difficult endeavour considering the lazy hippogriff still using his shoulder as a pillow.
“Doesn’t mean I haven’t heard about it. Besides, I never said that – I didn’t study there, but Albus interviewed me at the castle. Sturgis did tell you I’m taking over Care of Magical Creatures at the start of the year – that includes knowing about the forest and all the creatures in it.”
None of them could dispute that, and for a few minutes the quiet was only broken by feathers rustling as Merlin calmly petted the creature in question. “You’re probably right,” Sirius admitted eventually. “But I’ve got used to having him here.”
“You’re living here?” Merlin asked the token question, though he’d already worked that much out. “Just you?”
“No, the Weasleys are here as well. Have you met them yet?” Merlin shook his head, and Sirius gave him a hollow smile. “Well, someone’s usually in headquarters in case something comes up, and the Weasley’s have practically moved in. Hermione’s here, too.”
“Hermione Granger?” Merlin queried, and at Sirius’s half-interested and half-suspicious look explained, “We ran into each other in the woods last year when Death Eaters interrupted the Quidditch World Cup. Her and two others. They seemed like good kids. But why’s she here?”
“She’s Harry’s friend,” Sirius explained a little guiltily. “Poor kiddo’s always had a target on his back, and now You-Know-Who's reared his ugly head again we reckon his friends have too – her and Ron, that is. So they’re staying with me for now.”
“Is Harry here too?” he asked, and felt a little guilty when pain and guilt flashed across Sirius’s face at the question.
“Still at his relatives. Dumbledore insists that he’s safer there.”
Merlin shared his scepticism. “Safer than under a Fidelius?”
“Apparently.” The word was practically dripping with sarcasm, though Sirius did give him a small smile at the apparent common ground.
Remus took his friend's elbow, seemingly well-used to dealing with the escapee’s mood swings. “The meeting’s probably going to start soon. We should head down.”
Sturgis nodded immediately, and Sirius offered no complaint. Only Buckbeak made a small whining noise that Merlin had never associated with the proud creatures before.
Gently, he pressed a hand to Buckbeak’s neck. “I won’t leave you here,” he promised, and reluctantly the hippogriff allowed the warlock to pry himself away from his side. Eventually Buckbeak resigned himself to the separation and gave him a gently shove towards the door.
Again, the parallels between him and Sygni were striking and Merlin decided that introducing them was either the best or worst idea he had had in a decade. Maybe he would distract her from Merlin needing to leave and teach classes... or maybe they would conspire to tear the house down together. Honestly, it could go either way.
Grinning wryly at the thought that this was practically normal for his life, Merlin followed the three others down the stairs. Halfway down they met a plump redheaded woman, another of the Order members Merlin had yet to meet.
“Molly,” Sirius greeted her, seemingly trying his best to dredge up a smile but not doing a very good job at it.
“Sirius,” she replied in a frosty tone. The others exchanged looks before Remus stepped forwards as a mediator.
“Are you attending the meeting tonight?”
Her smile warmed slightly as soon as she looked away from Sirius. The motherly expression looked far more comfortable on her face, and Merlin wondered what subtext he was missing. “I didn’t know you were back, Remus. Did you have any luck with the werewolves?”
Nervous amber eyes darted towards Merlin, who only gave him a reassuring look and a tiny, dismissive shrug. Since he was technically a magical creature himself, it would be highly hypocritical of him to judge. It seemed to relax Remus, in any case, because he gave Molly a weary smile. “Unfortunately not. There isn’t much we can offer them, after all. But I’m heading out again in a few days, and maybe I’ll have more luck then.”
She made a tsking sound with her teeth. “You’re running yourself ragged. At least promise me you’ll stay for dinner – you look far too peaky.”
“That would be lovely.” The werewolf accepted her mothering gracefully. Apparently appeased, the women he suspected was Molly Weasley turned her gaze on Merlin next, having caught the glance Remus had sent him.
“Oh! I don’t think I’ve seen you before, dear.”
Maybe he should have stayed downstairs and waited to be introduced all at once; going through the same conversation several times was starting to get tedious. “Nope, I’m new. Apparently being stupid enough to pick a fight with death eaters meets the criteria means getting inducted into a secret organisation and going through several rounds of friendly interrogations. I’ll remember that next time.”
The redheaded woman looked utterly baffled and mildly horrified as to what had just come out of his mouth. It wasn’t an unusual reaction for people meeting him for the first time. Sturgis, who was slowly growing used to Merlin’s antics, groaned. “Don’t listen to him. I was attacked and he stepped in to help. He believes You-Know-Who is back, and, well, the more wands the better. Albus approved him,” he added when she looked like she was about to yell.
She tutted instead. “I don’t know where Dumbledore finds them, I really don’t. Look at you, skinny as a rake, and far too young for these things. How old are you, dear? Where are your parents?”
Just because he had stopped aging whilst in his twenties... Merlin withheld a sigh. There was some merit to using aging spells, even when they were an annoyingly constant drain on his magic. Being underestimated was useful, but that didn’t make it pleasant to forever look like he had barely graduated Hogwarts. Bitter experience had taught him that protesting that he was ‘old enough’ would only make him sound like a petulant child, so instead he gave her a pleasant smile and utterly ignored all her thinly-veiled implications.
“I’m Emrys. It’s a pleasure to meet you…”
She frowned slightly, embarrassment tinging her cheeks pink at the blatant reminder that he had no idea who she was. “Molly, dear. Molly Weasley.”
“Nice to meet you, Molly. But shouldn’t we head downstairs? I wouldn’t want to be late for my first meeting,” Merlin said, giving her a guileless grin that had let him get away with so much back in Camelot.
An extra hole in Arthur’s belt? I don’t know what you mean.
Sorcerer? Me? Never.
Apparently it still worked, because the smile was back. “Oh, yes, of course.”
That was when two heads popped out of one of the many bedrooms lining the halls. Both of them were young, a redheaded boy with a distinct resemblance to Molly and a girl of the same age with wild brown hair. “Please, Mum, we want to know what’s happening!” the boy said.
It had the feel of an old argument as Molly scowled at him. “Ronald Weasley! If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, the meetings are none of your business. The Order is for wizards who are of age, and you are certainly not.”
“Please, Mrs Weasley, at least tell us if there’s been any word from Harry,” the girl pleaded, and Molly’s expression softened just a little.
“No, there’s been no word, but his last letter was only yesterday. And Dumbledore says that he’ll be here soon; I’m sure you can wait a few more days.”
“But we want to know what’s going on!” Ron whined, and his mother put her hands on her hips.
“And I said no, Ron! You are children, you should not be involved in this kind of thing! Now get back inside, the both of you, and stay quiet until dinner. I know that you still have homework to do.”
At the mulish expression on the young boy’s face, Merlin intervened without thinking it through. A part of him agreed with Molly – children should never be involved in war – but at the same time he hadn’t been much older when he’d gone to Camelot the first time and learned his own destiny. Whether they liked it or not, the kids were already part of this war – might as well give them a fighting chance.
As a newcomer, however, he doubted his opinions would be appreciated. Instead, he sent a sympathetic look Ron’s way and said, “Hi, Ron, Hermione. It’s nice to see you again.”
Immediately, their attention snapped to him, and he gave them a tiny wave. Ron looked clueless, but Hermione’s eyes narrowed until a spark of recognition flashed across her face. “Oh! You were at the Quidditch World Cup!”
“Guilty as charged,” he agreed. “You still causing trouble?”
“It was not our fault that death eaters decided to crash the World Cup!” Ron protested, and then it finally seemed to click in his mind. “Wait, that was you?”
Feeling curious gazes from the adults as well as the children, Merlin offered a brief explanation. “I was there at the Quidditch World Cup and ran into them in the forest. Since Harry lost his wand, I stayed with them until someone turned up. Nearly got my heads taken off by overly trigger-happy Aurors, too.” Ah, good times.
Molly’s brow creased in deep thought. “I remember that now. Arthur-” he tried his best to hide his flinch at that name “-told me about you. He’s my husband. He said that you were a stranger with a really strong shield charm – repelled twenty stunners at once. But that you seemed like a good sort.”
“Is that some kind of a habit with you?” Sturgis asked incredulously. “Stepping into other people’s fights?” Merlin might have laughed had it not been sort of true – of all the relationships in his life it seemed like almost all of them involved conflict of some kind.
“I think I have a problem,” Merlin mock-whispered back, and the blonde-haired traitor laughed.
“Lucky for me, though.”
Merlin narrowed his eyes. “We’ll see about that.”
Sturgis at least had the grace to gulp, eying him somewhat warily. Fortunately for all of them (except Merlin), Remus had latched onto Molly’s comment. “You repelled twenty stunners at once?” His tone was bordering on disbelief, and Merlin shrugged uncomfortably. He knew his magic was ridiculously strong, but that didn’t mean that he liked attention being drawn to it.
“Some of them might have missed. And they weren’t all that strong anyway,” he offered, despite knowing that his shields could repel far more than twenty stunners.
“You’re scary,” Sturgis informed him, casually poking him in the side. Of course, the man had seen him sort-of duel. Not that the death eaters had been difficult to defeat, but perhaps that was his point. “I’m glad you’re on our side.”
“We’re not going to question that at all?” Sirius asked, looking between them all as if they had been the ones to go partially insane. Which might be the case for Merlin, but the other Order members seemed like nice, normal people. Well, as normal as you got for a secret society anyway.
In the sudden lull in conversation, Hermione’s eyes lit up. “That reminds me, I’ve wanted to ask you for ages. What was that, back at the World Cup? With Winky? The way she addressed you? I’ve never seen house elves act like that. And she called you something. Some kind of title. I couldn’t find anything about it in the library, and I’ve been ever so curious. Oh, if only I could remember. It was something about…”
Merlin coughed uncomfortably, cutting her off as he cupped his hand behind his ear. “Do you hear that? I think the meeting might be starting.”
“I didn’t hear…” Sturgis began, before Merlin did the tactical thing and stood on his foot.
“Definitely starting,” Merlin repeated pointedly. “Let’s go see, shall we?” And he practically dragged the auror down the stairs, leaving the other three adults to stare after him.
“He’s a bit odd, isn’t he?” Remus offered, trying his best to be tactful.
Sirius snorted. “He’s odd like I’m sane.”
“We’re doomed,” Ron muttered. Not one of the adults disagreed.