Severus had found himself a new habit of shooting scowls at his brand-new assistant that would be working in his classes tomorrow, giving him the occasional — if not frequent — glares of dislike his way. It greatly irritated him to acknowledge the insolent fool as a fellow Slytherin, especially when there was absolutely nothing that stood out as Slytherin-ish about him. He seemed more of an arrogant Gryffindor in his own personal opinion. Tactless, incompetent, unusual, he had all the characteristics for the house. On the other hand, the warlock paid the Potions Master no mind to his private thoughts, it was pointless.

With the grand feast and mild entertainment having been over for the night, the first years were appropriately escorted out by their peers and seniors, each house leaving at their own accord. There was boisterous chatter of the events that had transpired within the great hall, some ranging from theories of who could have performed such spectacular magic, to ongoing whispers of their new professor — or, side-professor. There were a handful of Slytherin and Gryffindor students that sent curious looks towards the dazed warlock, eyes filled with caution, but interest. Most of the female students switched their fixated gazes from Merlin to Professor Snape, speculating with furrowed brows.

"I can hear the rumours already," Merlin blurted out absent-mindedly, rolling a hand down his face. Upon noticing the odd look he was receiving from the Sorting Hat, he elaborated with him, "Snape and I, well, uh." He motioned a hand between himself and the glowering professor who eyed him intently, "We kind of look alike. Only, I don't have a crooked nose."

Merlin knew of the harmful consequences that would happen to him if he were to speak badly about the Potion Master's cherished nose, but he wanted to confront them head on — a good challenge every now and then was appealing to him. But of course, as far as the warlocks ignorance goes, it shows no bounds or limitations. Thus, giving the Potions Professor — who was expertly familiar in the ways of torturing his students with detentions and the most unfathomable of tasks to carry out — the upper hand when being underestimated by someone so foolish.

"Mr Evans," Snape drawled agitatedly, drawing out the sound of his name longer than what was considered normal. "If you wish to survive in my classes, then I humbly advise you to keep your impertinent thoughts and repugnant opinions to yourself. So, if for some reason that I fear to comprehend, you behave in such a childish manner, I will be forced to treat you like I do with the rest of my... incompetent students."

The Sorting Hat stifled a strained chuckle that was begging to be released, grinding the flaps of what represented his mouth together harshly to prevent him from doing so. The dumbfounded look that was painted across the warlock's face was quite a rare, but a hilarious sight to see. A mumbled "Understood" was all that could be heard at the flustered assistant as he distractedly adjusted the sways of his black bangs over his forehead. It took everything he had to bite back his retort, as tempting as it may have been to bark it out at the vile professor. He couldn't shake the feeling off that he'd be writing his own death wish if he was to take that course of action though.

"That concludes the feast, gentlemen," Dumbledore leaned into Merlin's side vaguely, a prominent smile stretched across his lips that almost laid hidden due to his beard. "I take it that you know your way around, Mr Evans? If not... well, I'm sure your now official colleague, Severus Snape, will be more than happy to guide you through the catacombs of the halls. It does get quite difficult to navigate through them on the first day after all."

Merlin automatically clicks first, "No, I'm sure I'll manage." He replied in a clipped tone, attempting to reassure the headmaster, only to make it sound as if he was up to something suspicious. "Although," The warlock continued mockingly, a sly grin tugging at the corners of his lips as he swerved around to look at Snape, who only scowled in response to his expression. "The offer would be appreciated."

A heavy silence settled over the two, the way their eyes had locked onto each other seeming to only thicken the jittery tension that was fermenting in the atmosphere. Obsidian met black, while gazes of the few passing students that hid behind the great doors observed from a distance, being witness to the intense staredown that was sure to be rumoured across in the common rooms of the houses. "Don't they look similar?" One whispered gingerly, the other replying in the same manner noiselessly, "Sort of. Snape looks older though, not to mention the nose."

At that moment, the staring contest was finally put to rest as the Potions Professor swept his gaze from the warlock to the great doors, his eyes seeming to penetrate even through the thickness of the wood where their little onlookers were lurking. Merlin let out a snort before grabbing the Sorting Hat by its tip around his palm, raising it into the air as all eyes focused on him. "I guess we should call it a night," he turned to look at Dumbledore with a pleading smile. "Do you mind if I keep this with me for a little while?"

"Not at all," he batted his hand in the air cheerfully. "Just be sure to hand it back when the year starts over."

Weary, drained, depleted. All distinct concepts to express just how frazzled Merlin had become after the feast was over. He had only just gotten into his chambers with the pointed hat adjusted on his head tightly, and yet his mind was already prepared to launch the hat out the window and crumple onto his bed without a second thought. Thankfully for both him and the Sorting Hat, Merlin had what little remainder was left of being reasonable and merciful.

Not only was he being lectured but also criticised as a good for nothing wizard that didn't return to his own school that he had built — with the help of the founders of course — but also the fact that trouble was stirring in the midst made everything all the more irritating. Swiftly removing the archaic hat from his mat of raven hair, he slammed the artifact onto his bedside table.

"That's enough chastising me for one day!" He hissed vehemently, running his hands through his hair in an endeavour to smoothen the surface out. "Dear Albion, what were you doing to my hair?! It isn't exactly going to pamper itself up and look brand new with time, you know."

Suppressing a deep chuckle at the flailing warlock in front of him, the Sorting Hat grunted, trying to show just how disappointed he was in the man. "Let us continue this prominent conversation tomorrow then, maybe during class lessons?" If anyone had any idea how to rile the wizard in the room up more than Arthur, it was that bloody annoying crumpled up hat and that silver tongue of his.

"Ah, yes. I'll be sure to find the most fitting demonstration that I can use you in." He spat sarcastically, each word dripping with dark humour. "Let's see," he pondered vaguely to himself, tapping the tip of his chiselled chin in an act of entertaining himself. "How about throwing you out the window as an example of the consequences to come for disrespecting the teacher? That seems fair, doesn't it?"

In a way that reminded him strongly of his former King, Arthur, the hat gave a displeasing hardened yell that prompted the tone of a scolding. "Merlin!" Right then and there, Merlin stifled a scoff to avoid irritating both himself and the hat that glared up at him with empty, hollow eyes that were void of any pupils.

"Then it's settled." He smirked darkly, deviating from the small table and towards the wardrobe that didn't sit too far away from him.

God forbid the choice of keeping that blasted hat right next to his ear, damn it to oblivion. The literal object snored worse than what he had heard from Gauis during his times back in Camelot — when it wasn't in ruins, that is. Eventually, in the middle of the night, Merlin was forced to draw up a silencing charm so he'd be able to continue sleeping. Once the smallest sign of the sun rising over the horizon was visible through his windows, he drew himself up from bed, the silencing charm that shielded him from the irritable snores that came from the hat still working its magic.

Even though Merlin hadn't particularly had what others would call 'a good night's rest', he was relatively adapted to it. From waking up early in the morning to taking little hours of sleep that he could muster up for the night. He didn't have any problems with his body — not that he knew of at least — so he got used to the messy routine fairly quickly.

Having been dressed in the snap of his fingers and newly groomed with a fresh mop of hair, he wedged a finger through one of the gaps in the shelves and pulled out a book. Examining the cover, a vague grin painted across his mouth delicately, a single, lone finger tracing against the golden engravings of the title before trailing down the spine of the book.

'A Collection Of Arthurian Tales' Was the title of the book, with no author or name at the bottom or anywhere else for that matter to be seen. Only the title and that was it, of course, along with the embellished features of decorations that swirled around as an outline. He managed to snatch it away from the library, no doubt trouble pursuing him for practically stealing it from the shelves. He couldn't help it though — after all, these so-called tales were so inaccurately put that Merlin found them as a good source of entertainment, where he could read to his heart's content and laugh at the most obvious of mistakes inside the books.

Having been deeply immersed within the stories that the book withheld in its various pages, Merlin found himself completely distracted and engrossed in the book that he didn't even detect the rather intense rapping against the door. It wasn't until he heard a sharp, loud call of his name erupting from the other side of his chambers. "Mr Evans!" Conventionally, one of his hands left the side of his book as he flicked his wrist towards the door, the said object opening gracefully. A look of pride shot across his face — he had mastered that little trick once magic was deemed approved in Camelot.

In strode in a familiar-looking black-robed bat with greasy hair. "Ah, Professor Snape," Merlin felt like he was a student, having to address the strict man in that way. "Have you come for some shampoo? I've taken quite the notice of how unusually oily your hair is, as have many others, I'm sure." he snarkily remarks, knowing that he was soon going to regret it later in the day.

To his utmost surprise, the Potion Master was more lenient than what he was expecting. He only grunted in response, resisting — and failing miserably — to suppress the urge to roll his eyes with a scowl. "I'm flattered, surely. However, I find it deeply concerning for your talent to find the importance in redundant matters that certainly don't require your involvement." And here, Merlin raised an eyebrow questionably, feeling as though he were being pushed into a corner against his will. "Onto other, more convenient matters, your position as an assistant is compulsory in the dungeons for the reassortment of potion ingredients. Now." It wasn't a request, for the faint trace of animosity was distinguished in his tone.

Sighing in defeat, the warlock closed the book he was holding. Snape was able to catch a small glimpse of the title, narrowing his eyes as his newly recruited assistant reached out for his wand before tucking it in his sleeves. "So," Merlin started, returning the book from where he had gotten it from, shifting uncomfortably with his fake wand now shoved up his sleeve. "What did you think of the show last night? The students looked overly pleased, even the Slytherins."

At the emphasis on his House name, the Professor gave an unrelenting glare towards the wizard opposing him. "It was certainly different from how a majority of the years start off, I suppose. Though, no one knows who the culprit—" Here, he purposely stretched the word out, "—actually was. You wouldn't happen to be part of this, would you?"

Merlin gave an undignified snort, a loud chuckle of laughter following in pursuit. "Culprit? You say it like you're identifying them as a criminal." You are. Snape thought vaguely to himself with a smirk slowly accumulating across his lips. "Besides, even if I was part of it - which, mind you, I'm definitely not saying that I am - it was completely harmless in the end."

"Perhaps," the word rolled across his tongue as if he was feeling refreshed after taking a sip of water to cool off. "However," and here, he purposely paused, letting the word hang in the air, "that doesn't mean that it wasn't all together distracting from the meal. I'm certain that you'll be getting a few admirers while teaching classes today as well."

Merlin didn't know how to reply to that, part of him was questioning whether or not Snape was actually giving him a compliment, stating a fact, or simply trying to be formally conversational. Whatever it was, he was just glad that the professor didn't look all too chafed, but rather a little amused and deep in his own thoughts.

"Well," said Merlin, swiftly bending down at his bedside table and cancelling the charm that was cast on the Sorting Hat before lifting it up in his hand. Snape shot a raised brow with a little puzzlement for why he was still in possession of the antique, but prominent artifact in his chambers. "I sincerely apologise for ruining your meal last night." The warlock grinned, tersely planting the hat on his head.

Snape grunted as his answer before holding his hands together in a curt manner. "Why, pray, are you still wearing that mangily, old hat? Were you not to return that archaic monument to its rightful owner before calling it a day?" He inquired, eyeing the now sheepish wizard in front of him up and down, unable to hold back a menacing sneer that crawling along his lips.

Merlin snorted, hearing the Sorting Hat do the same in unison from above. The Potions Master narrowed his eyes with a frown, somewhat bemused by their abrupt reactions. "My, Professor Snape," The Hat started, the flaps of what indicated to be his mouth turning upwards in a mocking grin, "As inquisitive as ever, aren't you? Quite the curious one." Snape scowled at his comment, not at all amused in any way. "I'm afraid you'll have to restrain yourself from prying any further into our new professor's affairs, for you may not correctly be able to comprehend the details of such things."

Giving the Sorting Hat one last penetrating intense stare, he glanced down at Merlin, who was barely keeping himself from laughing with his shoulders vibrating in strain with hilarity. To both of their surprises, the professor seemed to be a little more lenient to their behaviour and allowed it to slide. There was just something about this man that made Severus deflate almost immediately in defeat, the animosity leaving his system simultaneously. His change in demeanour was most likely going to raise some ongoing questions from both the staff and students alike — which wasn't exactly something that he was going to be looking forward to anytime soon.

"There's just something about you, Mr Evans," he mumbled gruffly, "Something that I just can't put my finger on." Merlin gave an odd look his way before straightening up and opening the first drawer of his small bedside table where he had retrieved the hat from. "Are you not finished organising yourself yet?" Snape queried a trifle testily, his patience growing thinner than a sheet of parchment.

"Hey, it's not like I was prepared for your sudden visit or anything." He shot back defiantly, "I was planning on heading down by myself. Or did you miss me that much that you wanted to go down hand in hand?" A grin found its way across his mouth, not even regretting his choice of words. "Mind you, I wouldn't totally despise the idea of it. Sounds quite nice actually—" Evidentally, he was instantly cut off by a loud, booming voice that was almost deafening to his assaulted ears.

"Mr Evans!" Severus snapped, his voice grinding out every ounce of bitterness and sour feelings into his words without any hesitation. Merlin chuckled to himself quietly, eagerly hiding the fact that riling up his colleague was going to be a habit that was going to occur more and more consistently. At this point, Merlin wouldn't be surprised if the Potions Master forbade him from entering his classroom at all.

Conclusively, Merlin was able to snatch the ring that was hidden away in his bedside table before slipping it on over his ring finger on his right hand. Having found that he was getting quite tedious for the sole purpose of trying to irritate Snape, he decided to quicken his pace around his room, narrowly avoiding the piercing glare from the infuriated Potions Master as he swept about. "Alright, that's all I need," he started, hands firmly tightened against his hips with a proud grin stretched across his face that almost reached each of his ears. Snape, on the other hand, allowed his anger to subdue at the sight before pinching his nose and sighing. Classes haven't even begun and he was already feeling the need to down a headache potion down. Brilliant.

Abruptly, Merlin extended out a hand (the one with his ring on), politely offering it with a broad, humorous smile. Disconcerted with the odd gesture, Severus eyed down the intricated ring before swiftly returning his gaze back to the warlock. "What is it?" He narrowed his eyes, holding the urge to take a step back. There was some sort of certain mischief in the perky man's eyes, something that reminded him both of the Headmaster and also the adversary that he might bring.

Merlin stifled a laugh, "Didn't you want to hold my hand on the way down, Professor?" His mouth was trembling in his attempts to cover his laughter but he managed to remain adamant, resolute in keeping a straight face. He knew fully well that he was going to be paying for his wittiness in more ways than one, most of them likely leading him to regret his actions. The look he was given next was everything he had expected. "Are you alright? You don't look too good."

Snape clenched his jaw tightly, baring his teeth as he readied to speak, only to have Merlin voice him over in a sardonic modulation. "Well, you're the Potions Master, right? I'm sure you'll have something in the classroom that can fix you up with no problems." He blabbered, seeming to only be speaking to himself now. With a shrug, he beckons the seething professor out the door with a broad smile etching across his face. "Come on! You can hold my hand next time!"

As soon as he made it out of his chambers, he made a straight bolt down the staircase and practically slid down, his feet stomping against the steps rapidly in his desperate struggle to avoid his situation. "EVANS!" He could still hear the raging professor's exploding bellows from upstairs as he continued down, taking note of the Potions Master now following him in hot pursuit just a few feet behind him as he made a sharp turn around the corner.

Every just so briefly, he could feel the familiar sense of adrenaline coursing through his veins that interlinked with his magic, a spark of familiarity shooting back at him as his grin widened eagerly. Running away from the Potions Master felt as terrifying as running away from the castle guards that would execute him on sight with the knowledge that he could use magic — however, there was one difference that separated the consequences from the present and from his era. He didn't have to die, to put it simply. Besides, he knew the professor well enough to know that he wouldn't actually try to kill him.

Merlin could probably get away with cleaning the floors and washing the cauldrons for a month with the way he acted. Nothing too big, especially with the task being handed to Merlin. He used to work for a King, a prat at that, a dollophead. For more basic words of an offensive insult, an idiot. Though he liked the term; prat better. Suited the arrogant little brat better in his own opinion, he often used it as a nickname at times.

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