Hp:Merlin From Azkaban

Although his Golden Finger had only awakened after he was thrown into Azkaban, it was still better than nothing.

But Dana had no idea what Merlin's Beard was actually for.

Eat it? That sounded disgusting.

Attach it to his own chin and wear it as his own beard? Pfft! What was wrong with him? He had just discovered his cheat ability and was already thinking like a lunatic.

As he mulled over these absurd thoughts, the magic within the beard seeped into his palm and coursed through his body.

In an instant, Dana could feel his magic at least double in strength.

This was good.

Very good.

So… could he pluck Merlin's beard to keep strengthening his magic?

Not bad. Not bad at all.

Munching on the hard, moldy bread that barely qualified as food, Dana huddled in the corner and began whispering to himself:

"Merlin's beard!"

Silence.

"Merlin's beard?"

No response.

Maybe he needed to try something else.

"Merlin's spellbook?"

Nothing.

"Merlin's wand?"

Still nothing.

"Merlin's dentures?"

"…Merlin's hair?"

"…Merlin's stockings?"

"…Merlin's—"

Nothing.

No reaction whatsoever.

It seemed his Golden Finger was just a one-time thing.

Across from him, Sirius Black shook his head, watching the young boy muttering in the corner.

This poor child had gone mad after only half a day.

Dana, however, wasn't one to give up easily. He kept guessing Merlin's whatever, simply because he had nothing better to do.

That was until sleep crept up on him. As he drifted in and out of consciousness, he mumbled,

"Merlin's shower cap…"

"Merlin's… mouse…"

"…Mer…lin's… triangle… under… pants…"

Just as his eyes were about to shut completely, an odd sensation sparked in his palm.

Dana's eyes snapped open.

A piece of parchment had appeared in his hand.

It was old, aged like an ancient relic, but freshly written words danced across the surface in neat script.

By the dim moonlight streaming in through the tiny, barred window of his cell, Dana squinted to read:

"Merlin doesn't have briefs."

Dana: …

After reading so many fanfics, he had assumed Merlin's wardrobe had everything.

He sighed.

But he had learned something valuable—his Golden Finger wasn't a one-time deal. He could summon something once per day, but it had to be something Merlin actually owned.

Which meant if he wasted a guess, he wasted an entire day's opportunity.

Stuffing the parchment aside, Dana suppressed any trace of excitement. He had to keep himself from feeling happy—the Dementors would sense it immediately.

And so, with a strange mix of exhaustion and forced sorrow, he finally drifted into sleep.

It was a restless night. Even in his dreams, he struggled to keep his emotions in check.

Despair was safer than hope.

The next morning.

Dana's body felt stiff all over. Even with a Golden Finger, the cold floor of Azkaban was merciless.

"Caliens corporis!"

He tried casting the warming charm again.

Still nothing.

"Child, are you okay?"

Sirius Black's voice carried a rare note of concern, warming Dana's heart slightly.

"I'm fine. I didn't freeze to death," Dana replied.

Sirius didn't respond.

He had seen too many prisoners break. Too many grown men and women—fully trained witches and wizards—lose their sanity or simply wither away.

There was no way a seven-year-old could last long here.

Dana, however, wasn't like the others.

He spent the entire day practicing the warming charm, muttering the incantation over and over again. He had to master this spell as soon as possible. If he caught a cold in this place, it wouldn't take long for him to die.

By midnight, he sat in the darkness, waiting.

He estimated the time carefully. It was nearly twelve o'clock—time for another summon.

Dana clenched his fists.

He was a practical person.

Summoning Merlin's Beard had already proven to increase his magic power. Other objects had not. Experimenting was too risky—if he wasted a chance, it would slow down his progress.

And in this frozen hell, every second counted.

He recited:

"Merlin's Beard."

Once.

Twice.

Over and over again, whispering tirelessly into the silence.

The one hundred and seventy-eighth time, a long, silvery-white strand appeared in his hand.

His magic surged again.

Five days passed.

The cold was relentless.

Each day, Dana felt his body grow stiffer, his hands and feet growing numb. His stored body fat had long been depleted.

But he kept going.

"Caliens corporis!"

Sirius Black quietly watched as Dana attempted the warming charm again, his fingers trembling violently from the cold.

It was… impressive.

Despite the agony, despite the despair, the child refused to give up.

Even Sirius, once a proud Marauder, had to admit—this kid had an iron will.

If he ever got the chance to attend Hogwarts, his talent would surely surpass many.

However, the other prisoners had run out of patience.

"Oi! Stupid brat, you're so bloody loud!"

"You're never going to learn it, just give up already!"

"Use your energy wisely, kid! Sleep during the day, stay warm, or you'll freeze to death like the rest!"

That was how many prisoners survived—by sleeping during the warmer daytime hours and bracing for the cold at night.

But Dana ignored them.

He repeated the spell over and over again.

He had to learn it.

He refused to be a transmigrator who froze to death in Azkaban.

"Caliens corporis!"

A faint red glow shimmered at his fingertips.

A thin layer of warmth enveloped his body, spreading from his feet upward.

He did it.

He had learned it.

Sirius Black stood up in shock.

Was he dreaming?

Did this child just master wandless magic in only a few days?!

A magical genius?

Dana flexed his fingers.

His previously stiff muscles felt alive again.

He forced himself to suppress any joy. He couldn't afford to feel happy—not here.

Instead, he turned to Sirius and calmly asked,

"Mr. Black, can you teach me more spells?"

Sirius stared at him for a long moment.

Then, for the first time in years, he grinned.

This kid was something else.

And frankly?

Teaching him would at least make Azkaban slightly less boring.

Day by day, Dana learned spell after spell from Sirius.

And every midnight, he plucked another strand of Merlin's Beard.

Strengthening his magic, growing stronger in secret.

Until four years later, on his eleventh birthday—

Dana once again whispered the words:

"Merlin's Beard."

But this time…

No beard appeared.

Instead, a parchment materialized in his hand.

Shaking slightly, Dana unrolled it.

The words were simple, clear, and final:

"Merlin doesn't have a beard."

Dana froze.

His gaze flickered to the pile of shimmering silver strands stacked neatly in the corner of his cell.

Four years.

After four years, he had done the impossible.

He had completely plucked all of Merlin's Beard.

End of the Chapter.