The Great Hall was deluged with loud chatters with different conversations varying from their newest professor; Mr Evans, along with the mocking remarks about the said man ending up in Slytherin, to the Head of Slytherin glaring hexes at him. The Sorting Hat was saddled on the warlock's head, even after the sorting of which house he was to be in was done. There was a loud gasp and even a few cries that were coming from the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor tables when the hat bellowed the snake house.

McGonagall was returning to take the hat but was ultimately rejected by the unyielding antiquated relic. "Retract those hands of yours, Minerva." He advised earnestly, adding just the right amount of irritation to his tone to make the Head of House pause mid-way. "My business with this young man is yet to be completed."

"Are you contemplating whether he should be re-sorted?" Severus snapped his head around, deviating from the stuttering poor excuse for a professor that sat beside him. He'd do practically anything for Merlin to be removed from his house.

"As tempting as that may be," the Hat paused for a brief moment, physically feeling the sour look that was smeared across his wearer's face. It was starting to beguile him greatly when he realized that it was beginning to acerbate him. "But no, I'm afraid I'm not. I'm simply hoping to… speak to him. Privately." He sent the Transfiguration teacher a furtive grin, resolute in his words. With a quick but hesitant nod, she returned to her spot behind the staff table and sighed. She knew that she was once a 'hatstall' when she was first being sorted into her house when she was attending Hogwarts, but this new professor had taken over ten minutes just to be sorted. Just how difficult could he have been? Not to mention that they were still talking to each other to this very second! The Sorting Hat never conversed with anyone for any longer than he had to, for the exception of the Headmaster. So why was this new recruit so prominent to him?

So, care to explain what the most powerful warlock of all time is doing here? The Sorting Hat decided to start first, his mouth not moving, but his 'mind' the most at work. Merlin, before you answer that, know that this is a serious matter and I will not take this lightly. You being here is chaotic enough.

Merlin ran his thumb across the sleek surface of his chin, internally gratified for the charms he had placed himself under to keep himself young. Well, not young, per se, but in his own terms; not hairy, for a summary of it. He had started doing it a couple of centuries ago once he started to grow irritated by the bristles of hair that had begun to grow from his jaws to the end of his pointed chin. Thankfully, it hadn't gotten any longer due to his age currently being in stasis.

Things are changing. I presume Godric informed you of the prophecy after my departure? Raising his arm from under the table, he propped his chin in the palm of his hand, mindlessly ignoring the methodical speech and announcements being made by Dumbledore in the background. The Hat didn't respond, giving Merlin the chance to point out, The Crystal of Neahtid. Did he tell you?

No, he brooded, I'm afraid he didn't. To my knowledge, none of the other founders were informed either. He sagged noticeably with the pointed tip of the hat sinking forward. Truth be told, he was feeling a little bashful for his lack of comprehension of what the warlock was trying to explain to him — it made him feel even more ineffective when he realized that his former owner, Godric, didn't think to apprise him of such valuable information. It certainly didn't mean that it was his fault for not understanding, but it still didn't mean that he could properly assist the wise warlock.

Merlin perked up from resting on his chin abruptly, a prosperous, golden plate materializing out of seemingly nowhere with a gleaming molten silver goblet occupied with what he could only guess to be water. It didn't stop the words that managed to slip off from the tip of his tongue though. "That stubborn brute." He muttered vehemently to no one in particular. The sharp stare from Snape was disregarded as he instinctively reached out to the side and curled his fingers around the handle of a spoon. Eyes still glued to the doors of the Great Hall, he unwittingly tried to pierce it through a thick chunk of meat that was laid out in the middle of his plate.

"That is a spoon, Mr Evans." Snape pointed out, shaking his head briefly before returning to his own plate.

Returning back from his short-lived trance, he murmurs, "Oh," before switching utensils quickly. "Thanks." Snape, a little taken aback from his words, solidifies his hardened face and resumes his eating. Odd, he thought.

Merlin was one of the first to finish off the grand feast that laid dormant on his plate, a curious Severus Snape staring dumbfounded by his surprisingly neat manners. There wasn't a speck of a crumb, not even a stain of anything - it almost seemed as if he had grabbed a newly cleaned plate out of thin air. Considerably, it appeared as though the young wizard was just downing the contents down his throat without even stopping to admire its taste or flavour. What caught him the most off-guard, was the way he was peering across the room and gawking at the students as though he was reminiscing about a time he didn't know about. Perhaps he was a teacher once before? He didn't know, not for certain at least.

"What are you thinking of, Mr Evans?" The Sorting Hat queried gingerly, a sudden tingle of vibration shaking him faintly. "I'd much rather be somewhere else if you're thinking of doing something unexpected."

Paying no such attention to the wary hat accessory that squirmed a little on his head, his eyes narrowing down briefly into a focused squint on the bushy-haired girl he had taken notice of while the sorting ceremony was progressing — Hermoine Granger was her name, he recalled. He found himself rather surprised that she had ended up in the Gryffindor house and not Ravenclaw, but the coloured robes of scarlet suited her almost too perfectly. Meanwhile, Draco Malfoy, the slim structured boy with sleek white-blonde hair, was sorted into the infamous house of Slytherin the moment the hat grazed against him, to which he was instantly amused and grateful for. As for Harry, he was obviously placed into Gryffindor just like his father and mother was, which was to be expected. Although, with a past like that of Harry's, it made Merlin question how he hadn't ended up in Slytherin.

"Nothing," he grinned, pursing his lips into a thin line as he observed a supposed trio of particular first years on the Gryffindor table. It would seem that bushy-haired girl and thunderstruck boy have formed a rather strong relationship with the Weasley family members. Pulling the hat off from his head, he planted it down where his plate had once been. "Just thinking."

"Oh, heavens save us all from your destructive mind." If he could, Merlin was pretty sure the hat would've rolled his eyes if he had them and not just empty sockets. "The day you begin thinking is the day You-Know-Who returns. I would call you an imbecile, but that'd be cruel as you wouldn't be able to spell it." He teased.

Merlin batted a hand his way with a playful grin, disregarding the visible flinches from those that heard them bantering, soon finding himself intrigued by the trio of new friends. The Weasley twins were quick to tease their brother in front of Harry and Hermoine, earning themselves a swat at the head by their younger brother. He made a mental note to try and associate with them whenever he found himself free — a close relationship with those two would hopefully save him from being targeted for their countless pranks in the future. Perhaps he could even involve himself in a few of their deeds if he ever found himself severely bored.

"Potter's boy," Merlin started, hoisting his hands up onto the table and intertwining them together firmly. "Never thought I'd see the day — metaphorically, that is. He's come a far way from those wretched 'muggles', good riddance, too." He sighed in a frazzled tone, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. "He'll be safer here than there."

Severus, who was listening in on their conversation - to which he had no choice but to overhear seeing as he was sitting just next to them - frowned sternly, clearly disagreeing with the warlock's statement. If anything, he'd say that he was simply exaggerating it a little too much. At this point in time, he was betting that the child had grown up rotten spoilt by his Aunt and Uncle. However, the way that the wizard beside him described them to be made him think over it again with more consideration.

"Merlin!" The Sorting Hat chided the half-witted warlock in front of him, noticing the way a thick blanket of gold flitted over his eyes brightly. Severus managed to catch his rushed whisper and furrowed his brows deeply at his exclamation. "What are you doing? You're going to get caught!" It was more of a whisper-yell than anything.

The said warlock had his eyes ardently fixated on one of the various delicacies that were distributed about on the Gryffindor's table. Like the other three tables, they were pretty much indistinguishable if it weren't for the grubby hands that snatched away at the plates laid out in front of them. One of the glass jug pitchers caught his attention, one that was the closest towards the trio of new-established friends, dangerously if not overly filled to the very top with what Merlin estimated was orange juice. It wouldn't have come to a surprise that he had learnt a few handy — maybe a little cheeky and mischief — tricks over the last millennia. Some of which included spells that were most useful for carrying out 'harmless' pranks. Sometimes at least.

With a faint flush of gold blooming from the core of his obsidian pupil, the glass pitcher that he was all-so-focused on was thrown up into the air, a few droplets of the liquid that settled within it soaring through the air and planting themselves among the students nearby. There was a loud gasp coming from the Gryffindor table by now, all eyes prompting towards them curiously. Some of the Slytherins were already snickering at their rival's misfortunes. After all, who wouldn't?

"Headmaster?" Minerva questioned absent-mindedly in a whisper-like tone, drawing a rather amused chuckle from the bearded man himself. He simply raises his calloused hand from where it was planted across the table before glimpsing expectantly at the new side-assistant professor. And sure enough, his hypotheses were authenticated. What startled him though, was the way his eyes had abruptly taken on a distinct shade of colour, no longer being the twinkling light of cerulean, but alternatively being that of rich, scintillating gold. Wandless, non-verbal magic.

"Let it be," he beamed dreamily, "It may bring along some much-needed entertainment."

Minerva, though very disturbed by his words, nodded at once, gazing with a puzzled expression at the glass pitcher that proceeded to hover above the students, sailing off from the Gryffindor's table and towards the Slytherins. Both Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students had to shield themselves from the incoming droplets of liquid that occasionally showered down on them, receiving a modest apologetic smile from Merlin. Once it was hanging directly above its selected victim — which just so happened to be Draco Malfoy along with his goons — steadily, but surely, it began to tip to the side.

This coincidental — but most likely planned — incident caught the Gryffindors like wildfire, their loud bellows of cheers and jeering attitudes lighting up across the hall as they watched the panicking Malfoy draw himself up from the tables before tripping over the table ledge, causing him to slam back down into a sitting position while everyone else encompassing him had already moved away. Even his 'bodyguards', so much for them. With his hands thrown up in the air in a defensive stance, he braced himself for the incoming fluid that was evident from high above.

Just as the cheering that exploded from the Gryffindor's table grew more boisterous, everything was hushed in a mere second, maybe less. The overflowing liquid that had tipped out from the glass pitched that still loomed high beyond their heads abruptly paused in mid-air, the substance merely shifting in its place aimlessly. The small Malfoy gingerly lowered his hands back to his sides, craning his head to look above him, perplexed but inquisitive in why he wasn't yet coated with sticky juice over his robes. With wide, shocked eyes, his jaw unclasps and his hands find the edge of the table as incomprehensive words sputter out from his mouth.

In less than a few speechless seconds of anticipation, the levitating juice cleaves into three equal parts. Two of them hurl themselves into the two double-chinned boys that were supposed to at least defend the small Malfoy from harm before jetting off to join the other part and conjoining again collectively. Leaving the two so-called 'bodyguards' soaking in the adhesive lingering vestiges of the juice. Malfoy didn't even try to suppress the amused snigger that left his mouth, lips now curled into a well-turned smirk. Good riddance.

No one spoke a word, at least, not out loud. Whispers conversed within the houses tables, uneasy looks from the teachers being exchanged with their associates. On the other hand, Quirrell was visibly trembling in his seat, much to the Potions Master's distress from beside him. Several mountains of eyes were each glued to the levitating liquid, most students covering their head for protection. In the near distance, Harry was quite simply put, dumbfounded but just as equally as enthusiastic for what was to happen. Malfoy's staggered appearance was going to be a happy memory in his head, that was for sure.

Breaking off from each other again, the juice was sundered into five individual pieces of the equivalent, each of them racing speedily into several directions that opposed each other. The students gawked expectantly in anticipation at the blobs that were closest to them before turning and staring at the others around the room. Dumbledore breathed a low chuckle at the staff table, enclosing his fingers around the stem of his golden goblet and cocking the rim down. "A rather peculiar way to start the year, wouldn't you say, Minerva?"

"It would appear so," the Transfiguration professor murmured unreliably, orbs pasted to the blobs of juice hovering in the air on different sides. "A rather… unusual, but, unique experience." She added quietly, the headmaster humming in approval in the background.

Unwaveringly, the five severed proportions of juice began to shake and vibrate violently, even more so than the Defense teacher who was now quivering overwhelmingly in his chair. The man no longer has the appetite or audacity to even look at the food that laid dormant on his silver plater. Snape would have booted the man from under the table again if it wasn't for the subtle concern of what was being displayed near the ceiling.

There was another sparkle of tawny gold that resonated inside the warlock's eyes, almost seeming to blast from his pupils as the colour blighted the cerulean colour they once appeared as. It was more of a small, miniature firework than anything, for only a few seconds later did they revert to their primary hue of blue with a tinge of mischief in them. At that precise second, the five beads of juice pelted towards each other at the same time, converging with their separate selves into a loud explosion that impersonated a real-life-sized pop of a firework. Streams of juice in various sizes zipped across the room as their droplets hurled towards the floor, abruptly halting just over the student's heads. There were a few lingering gasps of surprise and squeals that mostly came from the female students, all to Merlin's silent amusement.

Each speck of the fluid was soon mustered up into small round spheres that sizzled as if they were being exposed to an invisible source of fire beneath them, bubbling fiercely as a few of them shot up into the sky with a clamorous explosion of fireworks. The students gave out roaring applauses of excitement from across the hall, some of them stretching their arms out to no longer shield themselves, but to rather try and grasp the descending droplets. With each one that was touched, they stirred and developed into larger proportions, big enough to shape one out of a horse.

Some spheres were simply loitering about near the tables, submissively anticipating for someone to reach out and poke them. One of them just so happened to amble up to Harry, the almost gooey-like matter, shifting about in front of him like an enthused puppy. Eagerly, he pulled his hand out from under the table and prudently pushed his index finger into it, gaining a few ongoing glances from Hermoine and the Weasley twins. At first, nothing happened, the chilly feeling of the juice engulfing his finger making him quiver awkwardly.

And before he knew it, the peculiar bubble exploded against his face as he reflexively slams his eyes sealed to evade any of the juice invading his eyes. Everyone at the table jumped at the sudden explosion with gasps of excitement, shielding themselves as well. Instead of a wet substance staining their face, they were alternatively met with a cold, exhilarating breeze that swept by their faces. Harry was the first to reopen his rich emerald eyes, taking in the breath-taking scene that was unwinding in front of his very own eyes. Something that he could only imagine happening in a child's dream.

A miniature display of two peculiar animals coated in nothing but pure gold as small specks of what he could perceive as glitter trailed down their forms and dissolved below them. A tall, proud standing stag and an attentive deer stood together, side by side, almost complementing each other. Both of them had their ears perked up once they took notice of the green-eyed boy they were being presented to, tilting their heads to the side questioningly before looking back up. Harry, who was rather dumbfounded by the turn of events, lifted a hand up and sought to touch them without thinking. Regrettably, he got his hopes up as they simply filtered through his fingers like ghosts. It didn't take long for a narrowed frown to overhaul his brilliant smile.

Merlin sighed deeply, a trace of regret and pity dwelling up inside him. He knew of Harry's parents; the Potters. Deemed to have been wonderful parents if it weren't for a certain screw-up that tossed their lives into the bin. He may have been the strongest and smartest — if not witty and occasionally naive — wizard of all time, but even his powers had their limits.

After all, you can't bring back the dead without having to suffer severe consequences.

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