The Burrow II
That first night, after losing yet another fight to Mrs. Weasley over dishes, Fred and George more or less commandeer Merlin. He’s happy to let them drag him up to their room, though- apparently it’s quite the honour, they don’t let just anyone in there. Given, that may be on account of the security risks, but Merlin’s not complaining.
“We used to have the room in the basement,” Fred says as they climb the stairs with suspiciously quiet steps. When the twins aren’t making a show of themselves, they really are very good at slipping everyone’s attention.
“We like this one much better,” George continues. “Less room, but everyone used to bother us down there-”
“-Always coming in, yelling about the tremors– “
“And there was no quick out if something we didn’t mean to blow up, blew up.”
“Terrible fire hazard. No fresh air,” Fred agrees.
“Definitely didn’t play it like that to get Percy’s balcony,” George winks. Merlin chuckles.
“Did you ever consider joining me in Slytherin?” he asks.
Fred and George both start talking over each other somewhat lamely, but then they exchange a glance and Fred sheepishly explains.
“We did, actually. Don’t tell anyone, but we didn’t want to leave Ron on his own when he came.”
Merlin nods, knowing they wouldn’t appreciate him making a big deal of their decency. He expects no less of them, but they don’t seem accustomed to being recognized for all that they are. Instead he follows them into their little corner of the Burrow.
It’s an entirely different explosion of colour to Ron’s room. Organized chaos reigns. It’s a complete mess, but the kind of mess that you can learn the language of and know just where everything is. Sunshine pours in in a near perfect square from the open balcony, a colourful rug pulled back to keep it that way. The walls are jaggedly placed, making the room into a sort of untraditional zig-zag shape. An old gryffindor banner hangs valiantly onto its place on the ceiling. It looks like something’s taken a few bites out of it. Standing sentinel by the balcony is a little armour set that only comes up to Merlin’s chest because he’s currently pretending to be eleven years old. It’s half buried in the Gryffindor scarf it wears. It salutes at him sharply, falling sideways a little, and gives Merlin a grateful nod when he straightens it back up.
A surprising amount of books clutter the area, about a third of them being journals. Polearms- actual spears- lean against the back of the door. Jars and vats and cauldrons of all descriptions litter the space as well, mismatched and at hand. Hand-painted playing cards fly around the room like bumble-bees.
The most unamused Leucrotta head Merlin has ever seen snorts down at them from above the doorframe, eyeing Merlin doubtfully.
“That’s Snugshanks,” Fred says. “He makes sure that anyone who isn’t explicitly allowed in doesn’t get very far.”
Merlin’s eyebrows go up, knowing exactly how capable Leucrottas are at defending their territory. And if his tone comes out more impressed than anything, well, he’s not too bothered. “I’ll bet he does.”
The two of them are obviously trying not to look like they’re waiting for him to react.
“This place is marvelous,” Merlin breathes, turning in place. And it is.
“Right,” George snaps the door shut with a devious look like he’s sprung his trap and there’s no way Merlin’s getting out now.
“Sorry for the theatrics, friend,” Fred says, sounding a mix between facetious and genuine. “Nothing sinister, we promise. We just wanna know who you are.”
“It’s a little off-putting, being chummy with someone whose name you don’t know,” George explains, advancing slowly.
“We’re curious cats by nature- too curious for our own good, some have said–”
“-Tossers, mostly–”
“-you can imagine it’s been hard for us, wondering all year.”
“And then we hear Harry’s successfully stopped the Dark Lord from rising and wouldn’t you know it- we can’t find you anywhere,” George finishes, looking a little manic. They are both very close now, but Merlin’s not about to back down. “It’s enough to drive anyone round the twist.”
“So, out with it,” Fred says, and George joins in-
“What happened?”
Merlin looks between them and hums seriously, but he can’t help but push one more button before he gives in.
“So, do you want to know who I am or what happened?”
Snugshanks snorts sharply and Merlin throws his thin little hands up.
“Kidding! Can’t blame me for that, can you? I’ll give, of course. Um, the first question is a little- you’ll want to sit down for that one. Let’s start with the second.”
Merlin clasps his hands together as they all sit down on the floor. This seems to be the default place to sit, there are literally marks of wear in the shape of butts in the rug (along with several burn marks).
“Are you familiar with the Philosopher’s Stone?”
They both nod, eyebrows creasing in surprise.
“That’s what Riddle was after. Harry and Albus both being in the school was a bonus. Everything he needed was in one place: The boy who lived, the man to watch, the Stone, and a lifeforce to feed off of.”
“The Stone was in Hogwarts?” George repeats incredulously, leaning forward, eyebrows flying into his hairline.
“The Philosopher’s Stone?” Fred echoes, eyes wide.
Merlin nods. “Nick knew I was going to be at Hogwarts, so he asked Albus to look after it. He put it into Gringotts first, though, that was nearly a disaster. I told him to move it but we just made it. Anyway, once it was in the school Arthur and I could keep an eye on it as well as Harry.”
“Hold on, Dumbledore knows you? Nicolas Flamel knows you?!” Fred demands.
“Eh, I’ve been sending Albus advice anonymously for his entire career. I only actually introduced myself properly after that little hiccup at the end of the year. Which I’m getting to, so-”
“What about Flamel?!” George interrupts.
“Nick and I are old friends,” Merlin says dismissively. “Anyway– “
“-Don’t think we’re not getting back to that, but you said something about a lifeforce.”
Merlin snaps his finger at Fred in agreement. “Right. Riddle’s a fractional being at best, these days, so he needed strength to pull something like hitching a ride on a human host. Strength like that’s not easy to come by, particularly not in a consumable form.”
“So where’d he get it?” George asks.
Merlin sighs heavily. He feels his body fall into something a little older, a little tireder, and this time he lets it. These guys know he’s not what he appears. “Apparently, unicorns. The forbidden forest is full of them… or it used to be.”
George blinks, maybe having trouble with the way Merlin’s eyes are creasing on his little kid’s face. But Fred’s stuck on Merlin’s words, looking horrified.
“Don’t tell me he killed them all.”
“Even if he didn’t, the rest would’ve run, right?” George guesses.
“I don’t think so. Unicorns aren’t just rare, they… it takes such a great amalgamation of things to bring and keep a unicorn in the world. They’re miracles. Every creature knows that. Unicorns have no natural predators, but that’s not the only reason they wouldn’t run. They believe in the best of everything and everyone, and they innately give everything and everyone the chance to prove them right. Running or fighting back doesn’t occur to them. It’s part of the reason that to harm or kill a unicorn is such a deeply monstrous act.” Merlin shakes his head regretfully. “And he was doing it all year. Living off their blood. While I was right there…”
The sun doesn’t falter, but the room temperature dips slightly as Merlin looks a million miles away. The twins’ faces fall, even as George peers closely at Merlin, wondering.
“Sorry, mate,” Fred offers quietly. Merlin blinks back to himself and seems to realise the effect he’s having on the air, splashing a smile back on his face.
“Ahh, that’s not your problem. Nevermind. All this to say, Hogwarts was the place to be for Riddle this year. This is where it gets a little fuzzy for us, too. Since Gringotts didn’t do it, Albus, in his infinite mortal wisdom, stuck the Stone behind a riddle, a big dog, some house plants, and a door. Can either of you tell me how that makes even a lick of sense?”
“Say what?” George blinks.
“Yeah, didn’t think so. So Riddle and Quirrel–”
“Can we call them Qriddle?” Fred interrupts.
“Yes we can. Qriddle could get to the Stone no problem, so Albus had Nick redesign it a little so that someone who wanted the Stone, but not to use it, could get it. Otherwise you’re out of luck. Qriddle needed someone who knew about the Stone and wanted to have it, but not to use it, to give it to him.”
“Good luck finding someone who doesn’t want endless riches and immortality,” George snorts.
“Honestly, if you find someone smart enough, it’s not hard. Maybe wise would be the right word. Whatever. Point is, Qriddle still hadn’t cracked that one by the time the answer presented itself on a silver platter in the form of one Harry Potter.”
“Harry? How could Harry help?”
“Harry, Ron, and Hermione went after the Stone in order to get to it before Riddle. They didn’t know about the indemnity clause, so they figured they just had to snatch it before Qriddle did. Hermione and Ron were stuck dealing with the various riddles and chessets and whatever other nonsense while Harry went ahead only to find Qriddle pacing around with empty hands. Which is when the Stone came to Harry, since he fit the qualifications. So now Qriddle had the boy who banished him and the Stone in one place, and Harry was of no use to him anymore.”
“Oh damn,” Fred breathes.
“Not good,” Merlin agrees.
“Wait, Harry fit the qualifications? I know he’s loaded, but who doesn’t want to live forever?” George argues, tucking his feet under him.
“The perks of immortality are greatly exaggerated,” Merlin chuckles wearily. “Harry’s a brilliant kid, and he’s been through enough to know that there are much more important things. Things you’re giving him right now, actually. Spending the summer here… it means a lot to him.”
George looks down thoughtfully. Fred’s cheeks pink a little as he looks at his brother.
“Arthur and I had realized where they’d gone by that point and went after them, so we got there just in time for me to deal with Riddle before he got the Stone. We knocked the kids out so they didn’t see and Albus told Harry he did it with the power of love or something. He probably made it sound really good, I don’t know, but it was funny hearing Harry try to make it sound believable.”
Both of them whip their heads his way. Merlin waits for them to say something, but they both just gape with twin expressions of dumb-struck.
“S- ah, sorry,” George annunciates carefully, digging a finger into his ear with a nervous chuckle. “It sounded like you said–”
“-almost sounded like–”
“-You said you killed the Dark Lord.”
Merlin scoffs. “The Dark Lord. Stupidest name I’ve ever heard, and I lived through the teutonic ages. Nicknames don’t count if you give them to yourself, and they double don’t count if they’re that dumb.”
“He’s right, you know,” Fred realises aloud. George shakes his head to dispel his wandering thoughts.
“You KILLED VOLDEMORT?!”
“SHHH, shut- shut it!” Merlin flaps his hands at him in a panic. “Thin walls!”
“Answer the ruddy question!”
“Yes! No! Sort of! Not permanently! He hasn’t crossed over, alright?”
“Did you say you lived through the Teutonic ages?” Fred asks belatedly.
“Who are you?” They ask together, turning their wide eyes on him.
“Merlin’s beard, would you lot keep it down in there?” comes Percy’s muffled screech from outside the door. No one even bothers to answer him, too caught up in the fact that Merlin just flinched at his name and the twins both caught it.
“MERLIN?!”
“I SAID KEEP IT DOWN!”
There's an incredulous stretch of silence. Then-
"But you don't have a beard."
🧔🏻♂️
Both Merlin and Arthur become more and more enamoured with life at the burrow with every passing day. Letting Merlin share a room with Fred and George is a fantastic mistake, but Mrs. Weasley believes Merlin to be incapable of wrongdoing, so it’s a mistake that goes uncorrected. Everyone suffers for it. The small explosions that are apparently normal coming from Fred and George’s room double. Things like windows and rugs have taken on lives (and attitudes) of their own. Ron’s frogspawn turns pink overnight. Ginny’s nice purple nightgown, the one Merlin really likes, has taken to teaching her to dance. But none of that could be little Em’s fault, of course, he’s just a boy. And no one can figure out how the twins are doing it, so they can’t stop them. Arthur (the smaller one) even wakes up once making elephant noises that don’t stop until lunchtime, when Em starts mysteriously chittering like a gopher.
Mrs. Weasley gets a fright one morning when she encounters Goldie, who’s snuck out of their trunk in Ron’s room. Em just manages to scoop her up before Molly makes her into a pancake, muttering sheepish apologies.
Mr. Weasley is more than happy to help shoulder some of Arthur’s piggyback obligations, and while Arthur doesn’t need the help, it’s nice to have it. On one particularly bold sunny afternoon when the stars align and give the girl enough courage, Ginny even proves herself to Arthur the exact right size for piggybacking.
Fred and George, who Merlin have let in on their little secret, have taken to abusing the knowledge in the worst way possible- torture. It’s gotten to the point where every member of the household, at some point or another, has asked them to find some other swear. The first breakfast after they found out was horrible.
“Merlin’s left testicle!” Fred had burst out at the minor inconvenience of dropping his spoon in his soup. Molly had hit him. Arthur had spit his breakfast everywhere. Merlin had sunk so low into his seat that he had disappeared under the table and become one with the floorboards (partially out of mortification, partially so no one could catch him setting Fred's hair on fire).
It turns out Percy is seeing a girl.
Merlin and Mrs. Weasley discuss gardening.
Mr. Weasley and Harry discuss muggles.
The mornings are sunny and bustling, the afternoons lazy and warm.
All is well with the world.
Merlin finds himself pulling Arthur outside one lovely dawn, too enraptured by the dusty purple sky to not be a part of it anymore. Merlin always wakes with the sun, but Arthur’s had a bad night- a nightmare or a memory around midnight that’s kept him up since. Merlin woke to Arthur’s fingers stroking his hair, sleepy and happy, seeping into the waking world like light seeping into the sky.
They don’t say anything. They’re well past ‘good morning’s. There’s no need for sound here and now. Merlin just takes his hand, feeling the smooth skin that’s only just developing calluses at this age, and they step outside in their bare feet and sleep clothes.
Arthur stands behind Merlin, wrapping his arms around his thin waist, watching the sky over his shoulder. When they’re taller, Merlin leans back against his chest, and he fits there like it was made for him.
Merlin twists out of his hold, though, and slips through Arthur’s gentle, willing arms to turn and face him playfully. Arthur turns his attention from one sunrise to another, preferring this one anyway. Merlin makes the world far brighter than the lousy sun ever did.
Arthur’s eyes track his husband as he moves, one foot in front of the other, in a slow, wordless circle around him. It’s his movements that give him away, after all. He hasn’t even started yet, but the way he moves his shoulders, the angle of his hips- he’s dancing.
Merlin finishes his circle and Arthur takes his turn, right on the beat that isn’t playing. A slow circle around Merlin, keeping their eyes locked. A little bow. They step right, parallel to each other, then left. Back. Forward. A dip, and then a little spin.
This dance has been dead for almost as long as Camelot has, but they remember every step. Arthur feels the dewey grass under his feet and revels in it. The breeze kisses across their skin, batting a curl out of Merlin’s face, opening him up to his partner. They step together, closer, then apart, never taking their eyes off each other. Arthur feels himself laughing. Merlin’s eyes echo it.
Then Merlin changes it up. He never could just do it the way it was supposed to be done. He starts in the middle of an Austrian waltz- doing another circle around Arthur, skipping a little where he should be swishing the gown he’s not wearing. It’s a challenge, betting Arthur he can’t remember this one part of this one dance of the thousands they’ve danced from all over the world in all their hundreds of years.
Joke’s on him. Arthur remembers them all.
Round he goes, clapping softly, delighting in Merlin’s happy twinkle. He ends up in front of Merlin, and he steps forward once, twice, holding his hand up behind his opposite shoulder for Merlin’s where he knows he’s right behind him, pulling him forward in a spin, face to face again.
Arthur beats Merlin to changing it this time, offering his own challenge in the form of a french number that never made it out of the underground jazz clubs. Merlin tolerates it for a while and then trips him up in a Fijian tribal step, and before Arthur can think up another one to throw at him he’s changing it again to something from the roaring 20s, then Russia, then Africa, and Arthur can’t keep up, it’s too early and Merlin’s too fast.
The next turn Merlin goes into Arthur scoops him up with little to no grace and just spins him around against his chest, holding him up so he has to tilt his face to meet his surprised gaze.
“What are you doing!”
“I don’t know, you’re too fast,” Arthur laughs over the top of him still saying something, “I don’t know!”
Merlin laughs along and Arthur gently lets him touch down, his arms loosening and running down his arms to hold his hands.
“Good morning,” Merlin hums quietly into the minimal space between them, sharing breath, and that’s when the sun kisses the sky.
Merlin falls into his side and they each wrap an arm around each other, watching the sky split into strokes of soft orange, melting the mist over the fields pink, curling into unknowable purple around the edges.
“Good morning,” Arthur murmurs into his husband’s hair.
“I don’t know, Arthur. They’re rather young,” Molly Weasley comments. It’s the last line of her crumbling defense as she looks on over the two boys in her yard from the window with misty eyes, but someone’s got to be the voice of reason, and her husband certainly isn’t going to be.
“Molly, can’t you see they’re made for each other?” Arthur Weasley sobs. He blows his nose into his handkerchief, giving Molly deja-vu to the elephant noise incident. “That was so beautiful.”
“Ohhh, alright,” Molly sniffles.
Arthur leaves Merlin to start the chores outside and heads in alone only to find the Weasley parents trying to cover up their sniffles and pretending to be busy. He didn’t mean to interrupt a serious conversation. Were they having a moment or something? They’re probably not used to kids being up this early, this would be the time to do it.
“Sorry,” he says lamely, which makes Mr. Weasley sob harder and Mrs. Weasley shake her head with a stifled little whimper and pull him into a hug. She is very good at hugs.
Mr. Weasley stumbles outside with a wet mumbling of helping Em with the chickens or something. Arthur realises this might be perfect, actually, he’s been meaning to talk to Mrs. Weasley, but he could never get her alone.
“Um, Mrs. Weasley-?”, he starts, voice muffled by her apron.
“Oh, Molly, dear, don’t be silly.”
“Alright, Molly. Could I talk to you before the others get up?”
“Of course! Of course, love,” she fusses, straightening his hair and wiping her eyes none-too-discreetly. Maybe this isn’t the best time for this. Well, he’s stepped in it now.
“Is this a bad time?”
“No, not at all, in fact I was just going to put the jug on, would you like some tea?”
“No thank you, but Em will by the time he gets in.”
“Ohhh,” Molly simpers, and Arthur just decides to ignore whatever’s going on with her today. She moves around the kitchen to boil the water and gets to work.
“We received our Hogwarts letters yesterday. I expect you’ll get yours soon, too, I think our Pandora’s just a bit faster than Errol. Anyway, the list of books was quite ridiculously long and expensive, especially for a second year class. We ordered the sets for ourselves, but we also had a look, and it turns out we had a couple of extra copies banging around our place looking useless anyway. All this to say, Mrs– Molly… All this to say that we can’t possibly repay you for this summer, but we went ahead and tried anyway.”
Molly whips around to stare at him, face open and mouth in a little ‘o’. With her hair so frizzy, she honestly looks like she’s been struck by lightning.
“You don’t– you mean-?”
“Please don’t take it as charity, Molly, because that’s not what it is. You’ve been so, so generous with us- incredibly so. Harry too- if he’d had to spend the summer with his remaining family he’d have been absolutely miserable, and probably a lot skinnier. And while we’re happy to have him with us, he’d probably have gotten bored in a bit. You have such a marvellous, open home, and being here is wonderful. It’s been healing for all of us. Em nearly cried, I think, when you said we could stay. You’ve provided us with something irreplaceable that we couldn’t find anywhere else. It’s a bit sad, really, that all we can do in return is provide some lousy schoolbooks, but we didn’t want to impose. If you ever need anything else though, anything at all that we could provide- it’s yours, Molly. Just say the word.”
Molly straightens, her hand coming up to cover her mouth as new tears spring to her eyes. She just stares at him for a bit and then suddenly strikes forward to pull him into yet another hug.
“Oh, listen to you. It was our pleasure, honey. Our true pleasure. You don’t have to give us anything, we just love to have you. And- ohh, sod it- thank you. Thank you, baby. Thank you.”
Arthur grips her back, all of a sudden finding himself a little emotional. She truly is the sweetest woman.
“You’ve been so good to us, you know. Ron was so happy to have friends, we were so happy to hear, we were worried- and Fred, and- and George, they love your Em, they adore him. You are just the sweetest boys. You’re welcome here anytime, do you understand? Anytime. And don’t you go thinking you’re a trouble, because we love you, alright? All three of you. And Hermione too.”
Arthur looks back at Molly’s damp eyes and beaming face opposite him as she holds his own in her hands. He thinks, for the first time in many, many years, about Ygraine.
Arthur blinks away the mist in his own stupid, traitorous eyes, and nods, smiling back.
🎶👣
By the time Harry’s coming downstairs, Ginny’s doing Merlin’s hair into some twisty braid. Merlin always finds a way to be handy so she can hide behind him whenever Harry comes down. It minimizes the number of broken plates, as she’s prone to dropping whatever she’s holding when he walks in.
“You were right, Artie, those Hogwarts letters came this morning- here you are Harry, Ron, yours is over by your seat,” Molly warbles, handing Harry his letter along with a plate of buttered toast. “Dumbledore already knows you’re here, Harry — doesn’t miss a trick, that man. You two’ve got them, too,” she adds as Fred and George amble in cracking yawns.
“Oh, I’d say he misses a couple,” Fred mutters under his breath. Merlin hisses subtly at him to shut up.
George, who’s meantime finished reading his own book list, peers over at Harry’s.
“You’ve been told to get all Lockhart’s books, too!” he sniffs. “The new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher must be a fan — bet it’s a witch.”
At this point, George catches his mother’s eye and quickly busies himself with the marmalade.
“That lot won’t come cheap,” Fred sighs with a quick look at his parents. “Lockhart’s books are really expensive...”
“Don’t worry about that, we’ve got it handled,” Molly chuffs proudly, shooting a look at Arthur and Em. “You can thank these two for that.”
“Aaaallriiiight,” Fred and George cheer appreciatively, clapping each of them on the shoulders.
“What?” Ron asks, bacon dangling out of his mouth, looking mortified. “That’s not- we can’t…”
“You finish what you’re eating, mister,” Molly chides.
“Don’t worry, Ron, it’s not charity. We’d already bought them,” Arthur assures him.
“And we wouldn’t take no for an answer,” Em adds comfortingly.
Ron blushes to his ears, but he nods into his plate. If it were anyone else, maybe he’d fight some more, but it’s not.
Errol returns in a pitiful heap over breakfast with Hermione’s answer, which Ron reads aloud while Em tends to the poor owl’s wounds. Really, he’s a bit of a drama queen, but he still probably shouldn’t be flying so far and so long at his age.
“Marilyn, could you pass the salt?” Arthur asks absently. Merlin doesn’t really hear him, but the salt starts making its way merrily over the table to him anyway.
“Wicked,” Fred and George say together.
Mr. Weasley, who hasn’t noticed, frowns. “Who?”
“`Dear Ron, and Harry if you’re there,’” Ron interrupts in his best Hermione impression. It’s bang on. Em almost dislodges the braid Ginny’s been working so hard on laughing. “`I hope everything went alright and that Harry, Em, and Arthur are okay and that you didn’t do anything unwise without me, Ron, because that would get them into trouble, too. Em seems much too smart to get caught, but then he seems too smart to get in trouble in the first place, and here we are. I’ve been really worried about what you lot have come up with without proper supervision-’ Merlin, who does she think she is? ‘-so please write me back as soon as possible, but maybe with a different owl, because I think one more trip might finish yours off.
“I’m very busy with schoolwork, of course’— How can she be?” gasps Ron in horror. “We’re on vacation! —‘and we’re going to London next Wednesday to buy my new books. Why don’t we meet in Diagon Alley? Let me know what’s happening as soon as you can. Love from Hermione.’”
“Well, that fits in nicely, we can go and get all your things then, too,” chirps Mrs. Weasley, starting to clear the table. “What’re you all up to today?”
Harry, Ron, Arthur, Fred, and George were planning to go up the hill to a small paddock the Weasleys own. It’s surrounded by trees that block it from view of the village below, meaning that they can practice Quidditch there, as long as they don’t fly too high. Merlin was hoping to convince Ginny to come and watch with him. While everyone explains this to Molly, Merlin turns to Ginny with a little eyebrow raise. She gives him a hesitant nod. Brilliant.
So that’s just what they do. Molly and Em pack a picnic. The ones who are flying use apples instead of Quidditch balls, taking turns on Harry and Arthur’s brooms, which are by far the best. Em surrenders his too, since he’s not using it right now. Ron’s old Shooting Star is often outstripped by passing butterflies.
“What are you most looking forward to at Hogwarts?” Merlin asks the little girl beside him, biting into a treacle tart. “Anything?”
She shakes her head. “Only the stuff I can’t afford,” she mumbles into her knees.
“Come on, tell me. Please?”
She cards her hands through her bright red hair self-consciously. “I, um… I always wanted to fly. Dad let me once, when mum wasn’t looking. It was amazing,” she breathes reverently, eyes tracking the boys across the sky.
“Well why didn’t you say so? You can borrow my broom,” Merlin exclaims.
“Mum wouldn’t like it.”
“Well… she doesn’t have to know,” he offers quietly. Ginny leaps up, hands curled into excited fists, almost bouncing in place.
“REALLY?! For serious?!”
“Yeah! One of us could teach you.”
“You could teach me!”
“Uh, aha… let me tell you a secret,” Merlin chuckles nervously, beckoning her closer. “I’m sort of scared of heights.”
“What! Why!”
“I fell down once from really high and got hurt. And if I played Quidditch, they wouldn’t let me keep my scarf- it’s just easier to stay down here. I was never much one for sports, anyway. I like cheering.”
Ginny frowns, plopping down with a serious face across from him with her legs tucked under her. “Why do you have a broom, then?”
“Well, I wasn’t always scared. And sometimes it’s good to have one, just in case. Anyway, I probably wouldn’t be the best to teach you, but I know someone who would,” Merlin says, craning his neck and shading his eyes to seek Arthur out. He’s currently taking his turn on Ron’s Shooting Star, leaned back with his hands behind his head, looking about two minutes away from falling asleep. Merlin picks up a grape from their picnic, juggles it a couple of times, takes aim, and sharp-shoots it right at Arthur’s face. Arthur flails and snorts unattractively and almost falls off, catching himself with one hand and sending a disgruntled glare at Merlin as he dangles huffily about ten feet off the ground.
“See? He’s not scared of falling, and he’s good. He’s nice too, I promise.”
“Woooow,” Ginny breathes with stars in her eyes. Merlin smirks. He sees a lot of late night practices in Arthur’s future.