Back to School Whopping
The Emrys ‘family line’ isn’t something Merlin tailored any particular way on purpose. He just did what he felt like. By happy circumstance, though, somewhere along the line it’s become a sort of choose-your-own-adventure. If you’re in the business of knowing about notable names from military history, you might say that’s what the Emrys clan is known for. If you’re more of an academic with a focus on advancements in the medical field, you might disagree. If you are, as Lucius Malfoy is, particularly prideful on your extensive knowledge of ancient pureblood lineages and their politics, well. You might recognize the name Emrys from your studies- not as one that cropped up very often, but rather one that’s so ingrained into the foundation of things that it’s more of a far off historical fact than a terribly relevant one. There’s a word for such things that applies pretty much no matter what your expertise is. To most anyone who bothers to know, and certainly to Lucius Malfoy, the most accurate word for the name Emrys would be legend.
This boy suddenly makes a lot more sense. His posture is impeccable, befitting a diplomat of the highest order, his blue eyes twinkling with intelligence. He is the picture of neutrality, expertly radiating benign politeness even as he steps between what Lucius now recognizes as an appalling display of unseemly lowness on his behalf. He never dreamed he’d ever encounter anyone of his standards within five miles of the Weasleys, and now he’s paying for it. In his carelessness he forgot himself, forgot what he represented, and that it does not become the Malfoy name to sink to such levels no matter who he’s addressing.
Here he is, staring down a legend, standing for the entire clan and history of Malfoy, and all he has to build an impression off of is the fact that he was just about fifteen seconds from goading Arthur Weasley into a brawl. Lucius looks into those sharp blue eyes and knows that Emrys knows it, too.
For the first time in a long time, Lucius feels like a failure.
An Emrys. An Emrys at Hogwarts. How did Draco miss this? How did he miss this? Luicus was brought up by his father and he’s brought up his own son to never find themselves in this situation, caught out gaping like a fish with the rug swept out from under them, looking stupid. It’s a disgrace. Lucius wouldn’t have thought there was anything on earth that could bring them this low- not if the Queen of England swept into Flourish and Blotts. He is meant to be distinguished, regal, worthy of being counted among the greats. But he finds himself beside his disappointment of a son, staring down at one of the greats, more than he’ll ever be by eleven years old. His voice hasn’t even dropped and he’s proven Lucius Malfoy a fraud.
Hehas to salvagethis.
“It’s a true pleasure,” he finally lands on, gliding forward and extending his hand, heavy with silver, “and a rare treat indeed to meet an Emrys in the flesh. Do forgive the… unpleasantness. We are very proud, and Draco knows that he is expected to far outstrip allof his peers.”
Emrys regards him consideringly, and thank Merlin, accepts his handshake after a moment’s pause. Lucius was afraid he’d squandered that opportunity when he overlooked the boy’s outstretched hand before he knew who he was.
“I think where it counts, Draco already has,” Myrridian Emrys responds smoothly. “Although, permit me to say that I believe he’d benefit from a touch more familiarity with independence. While the Weasleys are, naturally, a very different family to yours with very different values, the methods applied in their children’s upbringing is something quite a few families would do well to implement. Different you may be, Mr. Malfoy, but you are still a family. We would all do well to remember that,” the little boy declares easily, soaking such courtly words in a casual flippancy, as though encouraging everyone to not take him so seriously, as if anyone could make that mistake. He flicks them out of the air with a dismissive wave of the hand like they’re of no consequence. Like he puts no stock in his own capable grace, having an unfailingly sustainable supply of it. It’s the kind of implicit power Lucius Malfoy has spent his whole life trying to manufacture. It oozes out of this… boy, like a natural thing.
Myrridian Emrys turns to the Weasley girl and lightly replaces her books into the battered old cauldron she’s struggling to hold up with a smile. Lucius doesn’t even remember handing her textbook back to him, but he no longer has it in his hand. And the diary…
Emrys has placed it into the girl’s cauldron along with the textbook. Right… right. Good.
Lucius gathers himself as Emrys smiles back at him brightly, sparing Draco a grin and a nod too. As tradition dictates, it’s cordial to acknowledge the head of the family before anyone else, but Lucius is glad to note that Emrys’ gaze is warm on his son. Maybe, somehow, Draco really did impress him. It could just be possible that where Lucius has failed, all he’s done to prepare Draco for excellence has finally paid off and his son has come through at precisely the right moment, proving himself worth all the headaches and disappointment he’s been thus far. Lucius prays it is so. He knew, he knew Draco would make them proud someday.
He watches the Weasleys file out, all too dumbstruck to even send their signature nasty glares Lucius’ way, Potter and Emrys behind them. The muggles have disappeared too. Lucius quietly tucks his son into his side and grips his cane, and he feels Draco’s wide eyed gaze on him and offers the slightest nod. They will be having a serious talk later. But for now, they’ll take shelter in here until they’re unlikely to bump into anyone of interest on their way out.
Things have just changed drastically.
📚
Merlin’s reluctant to slip out of his metaphorical court regalia until he’s out of the public eye, but he’s only a man. He forgives himself for giving in and returning the Weasley twins’ offered high-fives. They refrain from cheering, and that’s all he can ask of them.
Arthur feels the change in the air as soon as they catch up with him outside, looking to Merlin inquisitively.
“That was rather fun,” Merlin confides in him under his breath. “I’ll explain in a bit.”
“Fun like an inside joke, fun, or fun like Bolivia?”
“Oh would you get over that–”
“Em–”
Molly cuts between them with the floo powder and Arthur’s left at the mercy of his imagination, fuelled by 1300 years’ experience with Merlin’s bullshit.
He starts mentally constructing their forcible departure from England in the name of evading arrest.
Arthur comes out of the fireplace and into a living room filled with Weasleys that don’t look unlike meerkats at the moment, their heads all pointed at the fireplace even while Arthur climbs out of it. He searches their faces for clues. Even the twins look like they’ve been slapped upside the head, although chuffed about it. Harry’s gaping like he’s never seen him before in his life. What the hell did Merlin do?
They wait for a while in uncharacteristic silence and stillness for Merlin to come out, and then they’re all in one place and staring at him.
“Did you know?” Ron blurts in Arthur’s direction. Arthur thinks it’s meant to be more accusing than it comes out sounding.
“Know? What?”
“That Em was…”
“Your boy had a little chat with the Malfoys,” Fred crows victoriously.
George leans into Arthur’s other side to sing-song along. “Gave ‘em the most polite talking-to England’s ever seen.”
“Topped himself, did he?” Arthur mutters dryly as they snicker on either side of him.
“Is that what he did?” Bigger Arthur asks faintly.
“I think so,” Molly replies just as faintly.
“I don’t know, but it sounded good,” Harry offers his friend.
“Thanks, Harry.”
“But you…” Big Arthur shakes his head a little, taking a little step forward. “You’re from one of those families that… I had no idea, but you must be, mustn’t you?”
“Arthur!” Molly snaps, hitting him on the arm at his tactlessness.
“I do come from a very… interesting, family,” Merlin allows carefully. “We don’t have much to do with each other, but it comes up sometimes. I didn’t mean to make a scene. Unfortunately I’m not allowed to tell people like Lucius Malfoy what I really think of them. I do give it my best, though.”
“Yeaaah!” the twins cheer, elbowing Em like he’s just shouted them butterbeers or something. It does wonders to break everyone out of their trance.
“Right,” Molly says. “Right.”
“I thought it was brilliant, Em,” Harry says encouragingly. Merlin smiles at him.
Little Arthur rolls his eyes and ruffles his husband’s hair. “This one and his bloody speeches, can’t take ‘im anywhere.”
Bigger Arthur- there has got to be a better way to refer to him- takes Merlin aside just as lunch is being served.
“Alright there, Em? Right, good. Well… I, um… I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable, before. With the Malfoys… I was just so surprised. I never imagined- I mean, I don’t even know what you said, and I work for the government! But I’m fairly certain you stopped me just in time from doing something Molly wouldn’t have liked, and I wouldn’t have been too proud of. And I just want you to know, son, no matter what your family’s like, we know you’re not like the Malfoys. You’re right decent, you are, and a sight smarter than me, and don’t forget it. Alright?”
Molly pulls him aside before he even makes it to the table and says something much the same, and Merlin tries in equal measure not to coo and laugh.
Percy’s been looking at him thoughtfully through narrowed eyes since his little stunt. Ron keeps sending him furtive glances when he thinks he’s not looking. Reading the room, Arthur leaves Em to deal with the fallout at bedtime, taking his shift bunking with the twins. They’ve gotten along even better with him since they found out war strategy can be applied to prank wars as well.
It's thick in the air as they get ready for bed, but Ron isn’t quite brave enough to go first, so Harry does.
“Why did you say all that about Malfoy to his father?”
Merlin looks up from under his unruly bangs. He should probably either cut them or grow them out properly soon. The first time he was this age his hair went past his shoulders, but it might be easier to just chop it this time. What do kids do with their hair these days?
“Draco’s dad… he’s a whole different creature to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. What we said about him in front of his dad, particularly you and I, would have massive effects on his home life. Whatever disagreements you have with him, Harry, family’s off limits.”
Harry nods thoughtfully.
Merlin shrugs, deciding to push his luck a little further. “We do right by him, I truly think he might be salvageable.”
“Malfoy?” Ron gapes disgustedly.
“The little one,” Merlin confirms.
“He’s a– !”
“If your father was Lucius Malfoy, you would be too,” Em responds before he finishes. Ron’s mouth clicks shut.
“You’re not,” he challenges bravely. Harry’s gaze snaps between them, worried about Merlin’s reaction.
“I am rather, if you know how to look for it,” Merlin chuckles. “But I was lucky to have my mother. No, Ron, Draco Malfoy needs all the help he can get.”
They all take a while to consider that. Merlin hopes that’s the end of it, but it seems Ron’s curious enough to ask for details, so Merlin cuts him off as soon as he opens his mouth.
“Arthur was a lot like Draco when I met him,” he blurts just in time. The other two’s heads whip around in amazement.
“Like Malfoy?!”
“No, like the Queen. Yes, like Malfoy. Complete and utter prat. I caught him bullying one of the low-borns, and he was all, ‘do you know who my father is’ and ‘I could crush you with my little finger’. It’s almost uncanny.”
“Arthur…?” Ron repeats incredulously, flopping back, all the air whoofing out of him. Harry looks like he’s gone into shock. Merlin nods.
“He was the sum of his father. Honestly, Lucius Malfoy reminds me of him. Arthur would’ve turned out horrible if I hadn’t come along and tried to punch him. A bit like Harry and Draco,” he says innocently.
Harry stares. And stares. And stares. Ron makes enough noise to make up for Harry’s stock still silence, but none of it’s coherent. Merlin settles for laughing at them until they give up.
💬
The only real thing of note that happens after that all summer is Harry and Ron finding out why Arthur never plays cards with them. He walks in on them playing Em, looking mighty frustrated, and raises his eyebrows.
“Why’re you still playing Em? He cheats.”
Harry swings his head around to gape at Arthur, rocked by this news. Ron isn’t convinced, though.
“You can’t cheat at Snap,” he argues.
“Has he lost yet?” Arthur retorts. Ron clicks his mouth shut and frowns down at the cards.
No, the next big hiccup comes on the day of arrival at Hogwarts. The night before they have a marvellous feast topped off with Filibuster's fireworks (courtesy of Fred and George), and the next morning is a scramble worthy of Thermopylae, but they make it just in time. Well… most of them do.
The train’s leaving by the time they’re forced to give up on Harry and Ron ever getting through to the platform.
“I don’t know why I bother,” Merlin declares huffily for the sixth time in thirty minutes on the Hogwarts Express. “It’s always something!”
“I know, dear,” Arthur grits. “You’re a wonder, and I’m chopped liver.”
“I am!” Merlin agrees, employing his prolific selective hearing abilities.
Hagrid sweeps Merlin clear off the ground when he sees him, as if they didn't just see each other in Diagon Alley.
Hermione hugs them all over again and, when informed of the absence of the other two, quickly goes from worried to pissed and back again.
Festus sings his song with Arthur beatboxing under his breath from the Gryffindor table and Merlin providing occasional helpful record scratches or ‘wiki-what’s.
Ginny gets sorted into Gryffindor and they cheer loudly enough to actually scare the rest of the table quiet.
This is about when Helena floats on over from Ravenclaw to whisper to Merlin that a couple of second years he might know have been caught for flying a turquoise car into the Whomping Willow. Because that was always gonna go well.
“WHAT!” he screams at her, making everyone in a ten metre radius jump.
“What’s wrong?!” Hermione hisses. Merlin makes a lost sound in the back of his throat.
Half an hour later they're hot on her irate heels headed for Elizabeth’s portrait. They round the corner right on time to catch the late couple unawares. Liz is looking mighty unimpressed with them as Harry stammers, having not been told the password.
“Is it true?” Hermione snaps before any of them can stop her, if anyone would’ve anyway. “I wouldn’t believe it for a second if it weren’t coming from Em, but he says you’ve crashed– what, a flying car?”
“How the hell did you know that?” Ron asks. He turns on Harry, as he does sometimes. “How the hell did he know that?”
“We haven’t been expelled,” Harry assures them.
“That’s not the point– “
“Wattlebird,” Arthur nods to Liz. She gasps delightedly to see him, but he gives her a furtive assurance that they’ll come and see her soon, so just go with it. She gives him a would-be subtle wink that it’s a miracle no one notices.
No one can say anything after that because there’s a sudden storm of clapping from the common room. Just about the whole of Gryffindor House is still awake, packed into the circular common room, standing on the lopsided tables and squashy armchairs, waiting for them to arrive. Arms reach through the portrait hole to pull Harry and Ron enthusiastically inside, leaving the final three to scramble in after them, each less impressed than the last- but Arthur’s smiling.
So they lose their troublemakers to the crowd. Merlin stammers incredulously and Arthur gives him a look like ‘let’s just let ‘em have this’. Merlin does a double take at his husband, but his frown is already softening.
“Come on, you’re acting your age,” Arthur jests. Merlin chuckles.
“...It was pretty funny,” he allows after a minute. Hermione looks at him in utter betrayal. "I thought you'd be sad mad about the car. I thought you liked that car. I thought you'd be smad."
"...I'm trying not to think about it," Arthur admits.
The next morning they’re all over it. With some help from Merlin, even Hermione settles a bit. She’s in a tizzy over something else entirely by the time Ron and Harry come down to the common room.
“Don’t bother,” Ron says knowingly in the direction of the cards set between her and Merlin. “He cheats.”
“She knows that,” Arthur says. “She’s trying to figure out how. And good luck to her- but now it’s breakfast time.”
“Can you think with anything but your stomach– “ Merlin mutters a moment before Arthur scoops him up like a sack of potatoes.
“You know I can, but not before breakfast, and certainly not when I’m underage” he adds under his breath.
What business the mail has coming on the day after arrival, Arthur didn’t know until now. But he knows Molly Weasley, and he would not put it past the woman to move heaven, earth and mail days to send her son the Howler he has clutched in his shaking hands right now.
“You’d better open it, Ron,” Neville says in a timid whisper. “It’ll be worse if you don’t. My gran sent me one once, and I ignored it and” — he gulped —“it was horrible.”
“What’s a Howler?” Harry asks. Merlin covers his mouth to hide his grin. Arthur, ever the politician of the two of them, keeps his face carefully blank.
“Ah,” he says neutrally.
Neville finally coaxes Ron into opening it before it really goes up, and Merlin stuffs his fingers in his ears as Arthur waves away the smoke that’s begun to curl off the edges of the paper.
And then it screams as though to bring the castle down.
“—STEALING THE CAR, I WOULDN’T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY’D EXPELLED YOU, YOU WAIT TILL I GET HOLD OF YOU, I DON’T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED TO THINK WHAT YOUR FATHER AND I WENT THROUGH WHEN WE SAW IT WAS GONE —”
The cutlery rattles on the tables. Dust rains from the ceiling of the two thousand year old castle. The stone walls echo with Molly’s rage and Merlin’s snickers. People around the hall are swiveling around to see who received the Howler, and Ron sinks so low in his chair that only his crimson forehead can be seen.
“—LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT, I THOUGHT YOUR FATHER WOULD DIE OF SHAME, WE DIDN’T BRING YOU UP TO BEHAVE LIKE THIS, YOU AND HARRY COULD BOTH HAVE DIED —”
Harry pretends, terribly, not to hear the deafening shrieks threatening to make everyone’s ears bleed.
“—ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED — YOUR FATHER’S FACING AN INQUIRY AT WORK, IT’S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT AND IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE WE’LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT. BACK. HOME.”
The silence that follows the letter’s self destruction is astounding. A few people laugh into the painful quiet and, all too slowly, talk begins to bloom back again.
Hermione closes Voyages with Vampires and looks superiorly down at the top of Ron’s head, eyebrows raised. “Well, I don’t know what you expected, Ron, but you —”
“Don’t tell me I deserved it,” snaps Ron.
“They’ve suffered retribution, ‘Mione,” Merlin soothes, wiping his eyes. "Hell truly hath no fury."
“Shut up,” Ron mumbles dejectedly. Harry pushes his porridge away, looking sick to his stomach with guilt. Merlin makes an internal note to make sure he eats today.
✉️
That horrible Lockhart rears his pretentiously beautiful head before any of them except for Hermione would’ve liked him to, harassing a disgruntled Professor Sprout through Herbology and pulling Harry aside for some delusional reason that leaves the poor kid looking even sicker.
“It’s good to see you,” their cheery teacher chuffs, leaning in beside Merlin with a twinkle in her eye. She loves Merlin.
“I’ve missed you too, Professor. And the plants. How are the bursnips?”
“Oh, just wonderful, dear, wonderful. Maple syrup, just like you said, worked a treat, you’ll have to come see. Ah,” she says, straightening her back so she’s only most of a head shorter than her favourite student, following his glare to Lockhart’s flowing-caped back. “You don’t care for him either, huh?”
“Professor, I don’t think you’ll make a greater understatement all year.”
Sprout chuckles encouragingly. “Good. I was worried he’d get you, he’s got all those silly witches fawning over him, I thought maybe you’d be taken in too. I knew you were smarter than that, but you never know, that Finch-Fletchley’s supposed to be bright and he’s completely besotted. Your Arthur’s not– ?”
“Oh no, no, we both hate him.”
“Good. You keep him that smart, Em. Now how’s your mandrake, giving you trouble?”
Professor McGonagall’s class brings more of the unexpected. Merlin and Arthur really should’ve expected that, given that the last time they saw her they sort of sent her running after the fallout of something they definitely should not have survived with the ease of those very used to such disproportionate displays of capability. It’s only when she gives them an intense look and pulls them out of the classroom to speak to them in private that it occurs to them that Dumbledore never actually told them what she knew.
McGonagall leads them briskly into her office and waves her wand. Merlin feels the magic that comes through- sound-proofing charms. Merlin can’t decide if her magic feels more green or red, but it’s as sharp and strong as she is. It suits her. He feels doubly stupid for forgetting about her with the reminder- Minerva McGonagall is not a woman to discount.
Once they’re well and truly insured, she turns to them. Neither of them sit, and she doesn’t ask them to. She looks over at them carefully from over her steel glasses.
“I have been informed,” she begins, her voice ringing in the smaller space, “that you two are here to ensure the safety of Harry Potter.”
Arthur gives Merlin a ‘you first’ gesture, because he is a terrible husband. Prat.
Merlin takes a deep breath and starts talking.