"Harry, mate, I don't think I can go on for much longer at this point," Ron told Harry, trying to balance himself on the handle of the staircase carefully. Harry stopped himself from going any further to wait for his dramatic friend, sighing and rolling his eyes with the faint outline of a smile edging across his lips. "Come on! How are you not as shocked as I am? That Evans guy is wicked awesome — seriously!"
"It's still only day one, Ron," Harry reminded him with a nudge of the shoulder playfully. "We're not even over with the day yet."
"Exactly!" He exclaimed impatiently. "Not only is the guy impossibly talented, but he's so nice. And he's supposed to be a Slytherin. A bloody Slytherin! I think that old hat's finally gone mental; sorting him into that snake den. I might as well be in Ravenclaw then!"
Harry only shrugged with a feeble smile, motioning for his friend to follow him up the rest of the staircase. "Maybe not all Slytherins are as mean as you think they might be," he suggested, earning himself a grimace from the red-haired boy. "Oh, but Snape is definitely mean, no doubt about that."
A grin found itself wriggling across Ron's freckled face as he patted a hand against Harry's back in a friendly manner, draping a hand over his shoulder. "Yeah, that greasy git is the full embodiment of a Slytherin, absolutely full of it like Malfoy." He noted snidely, disregarding the exasperated sigh from Harry.
Honestly, Ron could be so insensitive to the point of where he has the emotional range of a teaspoon.
—
Charms class was all together, similar to that of Transfiguration; only somewhat easier. While Transfiguration was more focused around the correct amount of concentration that one had to conjure in order to properly — and without making anything somehow explode into smithereens like a certain Gryffindor in class managed to achieve — transform a single object into something else, Charms left more room for the abundance of one's own creativity and imagination. It was a much more… lighter, if not subtler subject. Of course, that didn't mean that the students could afford to just go swinging their wands as if they were waving at a friend across from them. Like in all of their classes — yes, even History classes — they had to put at least some sort of effort into their work.
Harry sighed quietly to himself at hearing the half-goblin professor squeak when pronouncing his name out, quickly claiming his presence in the class before chewing on the inside of his cheek to soothe his nerves. He still didn't understand why people found him so fascinating at all, he was just Harry. Just Harry. He wasn't some mighty wizard like Dumbledore was, he was just some ordinary kid that suddenly discovered he was a wizard on his eleventh birthday, nothing more, nothing less.
Sweeping his gaze across the classroom, he found himself staring eagerly at Professor Evans, who was leisurely relaxing on a stool he had summoned for himself without a wand. The gesture of the display seemed to have a rather eccentric effect on their charms professor who merely gawked at the laid-back assistant, utterly bewildered and taken aback before continuing on with the roll.
Harry soon found himself already struggling with the accurate wand movements as well as the pronunciation, flicking his attention from his white feather to his red-haired friend that sat on the opposite side of himself. Apparently, he was being berated for his foolishness by the bushy-haired girl named Hermoine Granger, he could recall first meeting her on the Hogwarts Express Train on their way there. She was too smart for her age, really. Sure, she was terrifyingly clever and was always the first to put her hand in the air to answer a question, but she was a really irritating know-it-all sometimes.
Moving his gaze back to the front of the class, he discovered the two professors conversing with one another animatedly, Professor Evans waving his arms around before returning his wild gestures into more subtle movements once he realised he was getting a little carried away with himself. Leaning against the edge of the table, he tried to block out all of the other meaningless conversations occurring around him and instead fixed his attention on his mentor's discussion.
"The Old Religion, you say?" he could hear Professor Flitwick inquire in a squeaky voice, his entire body turning around to face the leaned back warlock before brandishing his wand back into his robes. "My, I haven't heard about that topic for years! Mind you, I was quite fascinated by the subject — although the books have proven rather difficult to retrieve sadly. I believe that most texts have been destroyed or stolen over the years, unfortunately."
Evans gave a strange, yet calculating look before his eyes practically bulged out from his sockets. "D-Destroyed? What about those residing within Hogwarts? Surely there must be at least a few," now he was perching on the edge of his stool, pensively attentive with his ears looking to perk up eagerly for an answer.
Professor Flitwick slumped his shoulders dejectedly, shaking his head without saying a word. Harry watched with a questioning brow raised as Professor Evans slowly sunk back into his hunched position on the stool before running a hand over his face, biting on the corner of his lips.
The warlock looked up once more, "Are you sure?"
"Well…" The hesitation was made clear upon the Charms Professor face as he lowered his stare to the ground before facing the assistant reluctantly. "I suppose there may be a few texts lingering in the library," at the small smile that began to spread across Merlin's face, he quickly added; "However, they lay prostrate in the restricted section there. Even though you're indeed a professor and part of the staff here, you are still only an assistant. You will require a pass." His smile dropped for a couple of moments before reappearing in renewed hopefulness.
"Is it possible for me to get one from you?" God, he was feeling like a student more than ever now.
"W-Well, yes, but—"
Merlin raised his hand to stop him from talking any further, darting his eyes around the room for something to prove his worth. He understood the lack of trust in someone like himself, after all, it was still only his first day of teaching — well, technically it was actually just assisting instead of doing all the teaching — and the staff members didn't know him all that well (except McGonagall now of course, under special circumstances). He figured that showing a small demonstration of what he could perform would suffice enough for the Charms Professor. Just something simple. Not that he actually knew what counted as simple at this time.
Whirling his head around to the unused desk, he raised an arm up in front of himself, automatically gaining the full attention of those that were within the room. By this time around, the Gryffindors were on high alert whenever Merlin acted strangely, if only for their own curiosity and anticipation for what the idiosyncratic man might do next. What they saw unravel in their Transfiguration class was more than enough to pique their interests, not to mention the odd relationship he had with Professor McGonagall who was their Head of House.
With a quiet whisper of incomprehensible words that were muttered under his breath in an undertone, Flitwick angled himself to follow the gaze of the assistant, fixated on the additional feathers that were left out on the table and scattered about in a small mess across the desk.
Steadily, all of the huddled bundle of feathers that were gathered together on the desk shot up into the air as if being blown away by an explosion before deviating from one place to the other across the ceiling in graceful movements. Students gaped as they craned their necks around the classroom, Flitwick being one of the same expressions among them.
"W-Wandless magic!" The short Professor exclaimed excitedly, "Mag-Magnificent! Just… absolutely beautiful!" He turned back to look at the grinning warlock.
"The pass?" Merlin asked triumphantly, crossing his arms over his chest in waiting.
"Will you enlighten me on your talents afterwards?"
"Of course, I don't see why not."
"It's a deal."
—
"So," Minerva started, a trifle sternly as she motioned towards the chair that rested beside her vacantly. "Would you care to explain what, and more importantly, how you've miraculously appeared out of nowhere after over fifty years? Moreover, why did you decide to come back as a teacher now?"
Merlin took his seat gratefully, leaning back into the material in a slouch before releasing a comforted sigh. He looked up to meet her gaze, eyes sparkling with their usual look of mischief before grinning widely. It didn't matter how closely he inspected her appearance, she still looked the same to him, just excluding the abundance of her wrinkles and there we go. Not that he would actually mention that to her (for he too feared for his wellbeing).
"Many reasons, Minnie," he chuckled to himself at the use of her little pet name, straightening his back a little so he wouldn't be slouching. It was evident that he would most likely get a sore back if he continued on in such a position continuously. "Well, not really actually. Probably just three or four reasons, but whatever," he shrugged with a small grin. "I don't need a reason to come back here, just missed it I suppose—"
Minerva intervened abruptly, "Oh please," she batted a hand in the air with a scoff, surprising the warlock in such an unladylike manner. "Spare me your foolish nonsense and get to the point already, Merlin." The said warlock snorted at the way she pronounced it, prompting a small memory of Arthur speaking his name in his head that overlapped her words. "I rather liked your blatant side better than your others, believe it or not."
She flicked her wand out in a graceful motion, a plate of freshly baked shortbread cookies popping out of nowhere on the coffee table in front of them both. A simple pearly white tea set was conjured along with it, two teacups already filled to the brim with what Merlin conjectured was, well, tea obviously.
"I don't know whether I should feel flattered or insulted," he remarked, bending down towards the coffee table and curling his index finger into the opening of the handle with a pinky poking out before raising it to the bottom of his chin and tilting it down to Minerva mockingly. "I'm guessing both."
McGonagall stifled a light chuckle before parroting his actions and taking an elegant sip from her own, side-glancing at the warlock with a growing curiosity that reflected the abundant amount of questions swelling up in her mind. There were many that she wanted to be answered, most concerning the man's wellbeing and his abrupt disappearance from before. However, she knew that she would only be given a limited amount of answers as Merlin was a very secretive person. And so, promptly organising the most important questions that were eating away at her brain in the tiny amount of time she had presently — she actually took to sipping on the edge of her tea longer to give herself more time to do so — she settled her hands into her lap with a soft, but stern smile.
Once Merlin noticed her waiting for him expectantly, he sighed before placing his now empty cup on the coffee table and crossing his arms wearily. He never really was a fan of an intense session of questioning, nor did he favour the idea of gaining a headache after the whole examination. "I take it that the interrogation is officially in session?" He gave a weak grin at her spirited scoff, crossing a leg over the other and sinking into the chair.
"I can only imagine how many times you've been through such an experience like this to know when one begins," she said apologetically, shifting her eyes to the floating teapot eagerly refilling the empty cup before looking back at the warlock with sad eyes. Merlin, still wearing the soft and meaningful smile along his lips, nodded in understanding, motioning with a hand for her to continue. "Thank you."
"So, to start off with; where did you go all those years ago?" If it wasn't already obvious of how conflicted and pained she was by the frown she donned, the faintly watery screen of her eyes expressed the most of it to great lengths. "And don't you even dare try to shake it off as something insignificant. You disappeared out of nowhere- nowhere!" Merlin winced at the sight of her tears, guilt overcoming his person as he reached out to grab her by the hand gently. She allowed the contact willingly, desiring more of a hand than that of a meagre touch of the hand.
"I know, Minerva. I know." He whispered tenderly, rubbing a thumb over her curled hands carefully, his cerulean eyes completely fixated on her withered hands. It was only then that he actually apprehended exactly why he had told himself innumerable times to not make any friends, to not get too close to someone. Magic or not. Because there was no one else like him, no one else who was immortal like he was, no one who could possibly comprehend the amount of pain and suffering he had gone through. To grow close to someone and form a relationship with them is to simply enjoy the time you have with them before… before their last breath is drawn from their lungs and their last beat of their heart comes.
As Minerva watched through bleary eyes, she looked up to meet his own, her mood dampening even more. To stare back into those desolate, nearly lifeless blue eyes of his, eyes that withheld too much grief that any normal human being should have to endure with a weight that overloaded their shoulders, was terrifying. It would almost seem that she was crying his tears for him, only, she knew fully well that hers weren't even nearly enough to suffice.
"What grief do you carry?" She blurted out absent-mindedly, lifting her other hand before resting it on top of his, clenching tightly onto the warlock's smoothed but whitened knuckles. "To have such barren eyes, one would think you've walked through the midst of countless battles and wars. But, I digress, for that assumption may actually be true, does it not?"
Merlin nodded slowly, glumly loosening his grasp as his lips fell, a grin or smile — even if it were to be forced — just not being possible. There was no appropriate way to joke or even try to be humorous about the subject, there just wasn't. Because they both knew what the truth was, the conflicts of war and the endless battles of guilt he had with himself was nothing to quip or jest about. He was but a mere spectator in such drastic and devastating moments, an incapable person that could do nothing but watch from the sidelines as others would scream and wail for desperate help. Assistance, aid, or even in some cases; a sweet release of pain with the fate of death.
The warlock remained oblivious to the streaming of escaping tears that ran down the side of his cheeks, too caught up in his own painful ruminations to care if he was taking on the appearance of an emotional teenager having a breakdown. Because whether he liked it or not, that was exactly what he was having. Only, he had a more firm grip around his emotions which prevented him from outright sobbing and curling in on himself in his chair. But Minerva, always as sharp-eyed and attentive as ever, noticed the signs earlier than he himself did. And for that, she elevated herself from her chair before moving over in front of the crying wizard.
Her movement snapped him out of his daze, craning his head up to look at her, eyes glistening dangerously as he felt his nose flare harshly at its tip. And before his mind could actually process the newly discovered water that was pouring down his face, he was enveloped into a tightly squeezed hug with the delicate fragrance of caramel-scented perfume that coated her robes. His nose burned harder, enticing him brutally to spill out, to let everything loose, to uncork his bottle of carefully controlled emotions inside him.
And he did, he accepted the desire and sank into it. Willingly, oh so willingly.
Ever so slowly, he could feel his muscles stepping down to the tension and trepidation and uncurling itself. Reluctant as he always was when allowing his emotions to be visible, he wrapped his arms around the sobbing professor as she pushed him into her shoulder.
"It's alright, let it out," she whispered with shallow gasps, capturing the back of his head with her other hand. "I'm here, you're not alone. You're not alone."
Merlin broke down at that, heart-wrenching whimpers escaping his throat as his tears doubled rapidly on overtime. He admired the softness of her silky robes, clenching them in his hands like a weeping child clinging to their parent, muttering apologizes under his breath all the while as he continued crying his heart out. The feeling was so familiar to him, the swirl of emotions, the comfort he yearned. There was really only one person that was at all willing to console him in moments like these — but he was gone. Dead. Dead just like the rest of them.
Each gasp for air grew louder as his thoughts connected coherently, his mind just coming to the realisation of just how far he's suffered over the last hundreds of years. Oh god. The true extent of it was far beyond comprehension, too far to where he could only come up with small words that truly dictated just how scarring his memories were.
War. Death. Torment.
He forcefully pushed those memories all the way into the back of his head as quickly as he could, resistant to reliving or even briefly remembering them for even a second. Those scenes of the battlefield; of fleeing, watching people die, the bombs, the violence. He hated it all, he despised it with every fibre of his body. The torture of hearing the screams of the innocents call and shriek for help, the grief and heavy guilt it brought upon him to simply watch helplessly as children, adults and the elderly alike fight for their lives. The Old Religion reigning him back like a horse, stopping him from saving, rescuing those of the wounded.
Oh, how he hated that.
Grotesque scenes flashed across his vision, causing him to dig deeper into the professor's shoulder more. Suddenly, he felt a slight twinge of hilarity poking him.
This is going to be a long while. And embarrassing.
—
A/N: Little bit rushed, I know, I just can't stomach writing about the suffering Merlin had gone through when the wars occurred. As always, please Review!