TLC
Merlin and Kreacher make great progress on the house through the night. The state of a carseld will always at least partially reflect the state of its ielf, so with Kreacher on board, cleaning the place up is quite doable with a bit of elbow grease. Obviously, it’s not a one-night job, and they have to steer clear of the parts of the house being used for sleeping in until the order members wake up, but still, it’s a start.
When dawn breaks, Merlin starts on breakfast. He hopes he’s allowed to use what’s in the fridge. He reminds himself to replace it all. It shouldn’t be too much of an imposition for him to make pastries, though. He has them sitting out to cool by the time the light streams in through the newly shined windows. The place is much better with a bit of light!
The first to come downstairs is Sirius. He moves down the stairs in a daze, staring around at the house in disbelief. One tattooed hand runs reverently over the new relief Merlin spelled in to replace the rotten old wallpaper. He wasn’t sure what Sirius would want, so he took a guess based on what Harry told him. In the main stairwell where they tend to congregate, a proudly carved dog, stag, and wolf overlook the hall, their surfaces raised. They’re painted into a sprawling landscape of trees and hills through which one can see the distant figure of a majestic Hogwarts, painted in the old french style. Merlin was just feeling French when he made it. It’s only a placeholder until Sirius decides what he actually wants there, anyway. He changed it a dozen times before he settled on it, and then he really had to get onto the chandeliers, and he hasn’t looked at it since. It’s so easy to get distracted in such a large and interesting house.
‘Hope you don’t mind,’ Merlin says around his cup of coffee. ‘I wasn’t sure what kind of decor you’d prefer, so I just winged it. If you prefer the dark thing you had going on before, we can change it all back. I just thought, while we were there, y’know? Anyway, do you prefer blueberry or lemon? I have both. Or are you more of a savoury guy? Some people can’t have sweets in the morning. Or at all. Can you imagine? I might throw in the towel, myself. I love a good sweet.’
Sirius rests his eyes from the house somehow to stare openly at Merlin. His lips are parted, and if Merlin’s not mistaken, those are tears in his broken eyes.
‘You did this,’ he breathes, voice breaking. His mouth moves around something he can’t seem to say. His hands hover in the air uncertainly. His lashes flutter, and the first tear falls. ‘All of this?’
‘It was Kreacher, mostly, whatever he tells you. Did I overstep?’
Sirius rounds the table listlessly, his feet carrying him forward seemingly of their own accord. Merlin watches in bemusement and slight concern. Finally, Sirius makes it to him. His arms come up around Merlin and he sort of falls into an astonished hug that Merlin happily returns.
‘Thank you,’ Sirius sobs into Merlin’s scarf. ‘Tha-thank you…’
‘Of course, my friend. A change of scenery can make a world of difference. Just need a little tender love and care, and we can see so much clearer.’
Sirius sniffles loudly and pulls back, enough to put his hands on Merlin’s cheeks, then squeeze his shoulders. His eyes sparkle with real life, and he looks so different for it. His gaze is so chock full of unabashed appreciation that it makes Merlin beam. He watches Sirius’ expression turn into one of determination, watches his engines rev up like a thing brought back to life.
‘You’re right,’ he croaks. ‘That’s exactly right.’ He taps Merlin in the chest once, twice, full of vigor, jumping a little on the spot. Then he’s racing off upstairs again.
‘It really was all Kreacher,’ Merlin calls up after him. ‘Once I had him on side, it was easy, you know? A bit of polish and it was good as new.’
Sirius pauses on the stairwell. ‘Kreacher… really?’
Merlin nods. ‘I think you guys have misunderstood each other somewhere along the track.’
Sirius looks about to argue on principle, but he wavers, frowning. In the end he doesn’t respond, resuming his flight up the stairs.
Molly is the next to come down. She shrieks at the top of the stairs, which might wake a few people, and flies down the rest of the way. When she gets to the kitchen she stops dead in place, hand to her chest, eyes wide.
‘Hello!’ Merlin greets. ‘Blueberry or lemon?’
‘The house,’ she heaves. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Erm… what don’t you understand, exactly?’
‘It’s different!’
‘Certainly. That was intentional, promise.’
‘You… you, you de-bugged it? Cleaned it? Did you bring other house-elves in, use some spell?’
‘No. I just asked Kreacher to help me clean it up a bit.’
She goggles at him in her fluffy dressing gown. With her poof of lion’s mane hair, she really looks quite cosy. ‘You can’t have.’
‘Why not?’
‘You can’t have done this all in one night! You just– you can’t have!’
‘Blimey mate,’ one of her twin sons breathes as he stumbles in behind her. ‘You do all this yourself?’
‘Did you sleep at all?’ the second twin gawks.
‘No need, I slept plenty the yesterday night!’
‘You flew over with Harry yesterday night,’ Molly corrects.
‘Oh. Must’ve been the night before that, then.’
‘Unreal,’ say both twins at once.
Everyone is quite happy with the changes he and Kreacher have made, to Merlin’s relief. Particularly when Sirius slides down the bannister to interrupt breakfast, looking like a new man. His hair is free of a layer of grease that plagued it before, falling fluffy and free to his shoulder where before it had hung limply around his elbows. He’s shaved off the stubble that made him look dirtier than he was. His chin is raised, his eyes sparkling. He is glowing. The big smile makes all the difference.
Tonks wolf whistles heartily at his appearance. Remus appears to be momentarily possessed by an infatuated goldfish, mouth opening and closing soundlessly as he stares. Sirius winks, and an absolutely smitten scoff escapes the werewolf as he turns a soft pink.
‘Sirius?’ Harry gasps, rising in place. ‘You look…’
‘Handsome? Divine? A thing of myth and beauty?’
‘Yes,’ Harry laughs, folding him into a delighted hug. Sirius folds around him like an envelope, kissing the top of his head through the ungodly mass of hair.
There’s still much cleaning to do, but everyone’s in so much brighter a mood that it’s hardly strenuous. Which is good, because Merlin does have things to do, and he doesn’t want to leave all the heavy work to everyone else. He has lessons to plan, a soul-piece to exorcise, and a ministry to circumvent. Apparently, they want to put Harry on trial. Absurd! He was perfectly within his rights in Little Whinging, and Merlin is frankly appalled at how many letters he has to write to prove it. It’s their own bloody law! And the amount of times they try to give him the runaround, the strings and ranks he has to pull– it’s appalling. It’s that awful Fudge, and some terrible character by the name of Dolores Umbridge. They seem to be under the impression that they can intimidate him with legal quotations and thinly veiled threats, as if that will exempt them from following their own laws! Honestly, what does democracy count for, these days?
It takes him so long to wade through the political quagmire that by the time it’s all sorted out, Harry’s already left for his supposed trial. He comes back looking might bemused and explains to an anticipatory crowd that the trial’s off, he’s been cleared of all charges. No, he doesn’t know why.
The holidays pass quickly after that, with more cleaning and more soup. Merlin thoroughly enjoys his time with the Order. They’re all such strange and wondrous people– and all so different! It’s marvellous getting to live with them. And during a time of such great change, too– Sirius’ transformation, the tentative truce between him and Kreacher, and let's not forget the near tangible fog of teenage hormones cloying the air. There's only so much one house can contain.
The only dark spot at all is Albus. It’s not that he dislikes Merlin, exactly, and it’s not fear– it’s resentment. Merlin is not something Albus accounted for, and he is clearly not a man accustomed to being blindsided. Well, he’d better get over it. They have work to do.
Merlin has been extending his Occlumency to Harry, which has kept the dark lord from the door in the meantime. While Harry’s still not in on order meetings, Merlin relays everything to him after each meeting. It’s obviously much more boring than Harry and his friends expected, but that’s war. It could all be useful information, or none of it could. Merlin’s satisfied that Harry knows what he needs to. There’s nothing stopping Merlin now from making the change permanent; expelling the Riddle boy from Harry’s soul once and for all. Still, Albus resists. Why is he so against telling the poor boy anything?
‘You don’t understand,’ the man gripes. ‘There is a prophecy.’
‘I know of prophecy,’ Merlin assures him. ‘If my attempts succeed, then they are within the parameters of destiny. I will save the boy’s soul, Albus. Get on board, or get out of the way.’
So it is decided that Harry will be exorcised. Merlin means to talk to him about it after dinner. In fact, he’s on his way to do just that when he stumbles upon a rather tragic scene.
Molly, the dear, is on her knees, sobbing uncontrollably over the body of her dead child. It doesn’t feel dead to Merlin, though. It’s very clearly not Ron, but seeing it would still be quite the shock for a woman like Molly, who loves her kids so. Unfortunately, the whole affair is garnering an audience, people trailing in at the disturbance to have a look. None of it’s ideal. Merlin had better take care of it before it escalates.
‘Right, hello, that’s enough,’ he calls, striding into the room to place himself between Molly and the boggart. He feels the thing recoil from him as if burned, the spike of fear in the air as it shoots back into the cupboard it probably came from. Merlin can’t help but feel a little offended.
‘Excuse me, I was talking to you!’ He just remembers to whip his wand as he calls the creature back out. It shrieks in protest, digging all of itself into the grooves of the wood, but Merlin is adamant, and it is forced to face him. It flies through forms at a breakneck pace, howling as it goes. Merlin gives it a stern look.
‘You’ve scared Molly. I understand that this is your home, but you should be more understanding. Apologise.’
More howling.
‘What are you doing, mate, just spell it!’
But Merlin holds fast, and eventually, the whirlwind coalesces into a very much alive, rather sheepish Ron. It scratches the back of its head, ears pink.
‘Sorry,’ it mumbles. Merlin nods, satisfied, and flicks his wand again. Hopefully it will appreciate the nice hollow Merlin sent it to– somewhere in Scotland, he thinks. Merlin turns his attention on the poor dear on a heap on the ground, blinking in astonishment through her tears.
‘There there, Molly, just a boggart. Every one of your kids is just downstairs, I believe, you can go right down and give them a hug if you’d like.’ He helps her up onto her feet.
‘What the hell was that?’ Sirius asks in some form of shock. Remus shakes his head, mystified. They all stare at Merlin for answers.
‘Just a boggart,’ he repeats.
‘We could see that, mate,’ Sirius snorts.
‘What’d you do to it?’ Moody grouses. ‘I’ve never seen one act that way before, and I know boggarts, boy.’
‘Well, clearly you don’t know mine, then. Come on now, Molly, that’s the spirit.’ He pats her one more time on the shoulder and is prepared to let her go, but she turns into his shoulder and abruptly starts bawling.
‘Can that be learnt?’ Remus asks, voice hushed, keenly aware of Molly sobbing her eyes out. ‘I mean, how does… Moody’s right, I’ve never even heard of a boggart reacting like that. Is it… you’re not afraid of anything? Truly? How is that possible?’
‘I don’t think that’s it,’ Merlin hums thoughtfully. ‘But there’s really nothing I can do to prevent or avoid the things that I fear from occurring except my best. If they occur anyway, there was nothing I could have done to prevent them. They were always going to happen. I have learned not to fear that. I’m not afraid to be afraid.’
‘I am,’ Molly whimpers. ‘I’m s-so af-fraid. I see them all the time. I c-can’t lose a-any of them, but what are the ch-chances we all make it out of this? I c-can’t– can’t–’
Merlin folds her more tightly into his arms, tucking her head under his chin and rubbing her back. He shushes her without disagreeing. ‘I know. I know. But you still have them today. They’re not going anywhere yet. They’re all safe here. Last I checked, Harry and Ron were playing cards, and the twins were helping Harry cheat. Ar- your husband will be back any minute now.’
Molly sobs a manic giggle into his chest.
‘I know. I know that… don’t tell him. Don’t t-tell Arthur… I don't want him to know… being silly…’
‘Don’t be stupid,’ Sirius says as softly as someone with a voice as rough as his can.
‘But it’s true… Half the f-f-family’s in the Order, it’ll b-b-be a miracle if we all come through this. . . . and P-P-Percy’s not talking to us. . . . What if something d-d-dreadful happens and we nev-never m-m-made up? And what’s going to happen i-if Arthur and I get killed, who’s g-g-going to look after Ron and Ginny?’
“Molly, that’s enough,” Remus says firmly, brushing past Sirius to step forward. “This isn’t like last time. The Order is better prepared, we’ve got a head start, we know what Voldemort’s up to —’ Molly gives a little squeak of fright at the sound of the name. ‘Oh, Molly, come on, it’s about time you got used to hearing it — look, I can’t promise no one’s going to get hurt, nobody can promise that, but we’re much better off than we were last time, you weren’t in the Order then, you don’t understand, last time we were outnumbered twenty to one by the Death Eaters and they were picking us off one by one. . . .”
‘Don’t worry about Percy,’ Sirius adds. ‘He’ll come round. It’s a matter of time before Voldemort moves into the open; once he does, the whole Ministry’s going to be begging us to forgive them. And I’m not sure I’ll be accepting their apology…’
‘And as for who’s going to look after Ron and Ginny if you and Arthur died,’ Lupin huffs, smiling slightly, ‘what do you think we’d do, let them starve?’
Mrs. Weasley gives a shaky attempt at a smile, stepping back from Merlin and wiping her face on her hand. “Being silly,” she mutters again. ‘Oh, I’ve ruined your shirt, Myron, I’ve made such a pathetic s-scene, what you must th-think of me…’
‘I think you’re a marvellous mother,’ Merlin tells her with a sure smile of his own.
‘And I think,’ Sirius says to Merlin, ‘the next time I meet a boggart, I’m calling you.’
Moody’s Merlin eye follows him all the way back down the stairs, and the man doesn’t speak to him again after that.