[14]

Collapsing Bookcases

Severus Snape had not asked Evans what rumors would be circulating. He had expected some trivial mutterings about favoritism or perhaps – and in his mind even worse – something about how he was going soft. He had never bantered with a student before, not like he had done with Evans. Snape had walked into class with the determination to treat the boy with the same cordiality he regarded all his Slytherins.

He had heard the other professors complain about Evan's less than satisfactory behavior. He was supposed to mess around, neglect his work, and perform poorly. The whispers had only reinforced Snape's resolve. He would not give Evans any special treatment. As a Slytherin he was exempt from quite a bit already, but he had been ready to berate the boy if he gave him lip.

And then the boy displayed an aptitude for potions.

Snape had almost forgotten the charm that Evans embodied. He had almost forgotten the way his every word could drip with sarcasm and wit, and how it was somehow both irritating and endearing. The boy had gotten away with more than any student, Slytherin or not. And with that in mind, it was hardly surprising that some rumors would form.

But he had never expected this.

Snape entered the Great Hall for breakfast early on Saturday morning. He slept very little, a trait he had acquired during his years as a double agent. And so, he often stayed up late into the night and woke early in the morning, regardless of the amount of work he needed to do. There were only a handful of students present, as most were taking advantage of the opportunity to sleep in.

"Ah, Severus." Professor Dumbledore waved him over. Other than Professor Sprout, he was the only one present. "How was the first week of classes?"

Snape took McGonagall's usual seat beside him and starting pouring himself a glass of pumpkin juice. "The same as they always are," he replied curtly.

"Oh?" There was that damned twinkle in the old man's gaze. "That's not what I hear."

Snape glared at him and started dishing some sausages onto his plate. "Then you've heard wrong."

Dumbledore smiled and glanced down at the house tables. "Ah, young Mr. Evans is up early," he said nodding toward the Slytherin table. Too quickly, Snape glanced down. He was sitting near the end, separate from the other Slytherins – three fifth years – and eating a bowl of porridge. He hadn't expected the boy to be an early bird. Dumbledore was looking at him again, but he didn't seem to expect a response because he said, "You know, I've heard the most interesting thing about Mr. Evans."

Snape raised an eyebrow and reached for his goblet again.

"Apparently, he is your son—" Snape spat pumpkin juice everywhere, now staring at the headmaster who only smiled and continued, "—have you been holding out on me, Severus?"

"I—" Snape was too angry to speak. This was the rumor?!

"And you aren't to like them at all."

That was putting it mildly. He jerked his head to glare down at the boy, to give him his look of utter loathing but the expression softened when he actually looked at him. Evans was alone. He had come to eat breakfast at an ungodly hour. And now that he actually looked, he was hunching his shoulders, deliberately trying not to look in his direction. Even as he watched, the boy scarfed down his last bite of porridge and darted out of the hall.

"That allegation is utterly ridiculous," Snape said icily, turning back to Dumbledore. "I do not have any children."

Dumbledore blinked, the small pause the only indication that he was taken aback. "Why Severus, if I didn't know that for a fact I might be inclined to believe it." He stroked his beard, staring at the Potions Master. "Might I request a paternity potion?"

Snape set his fork onto the table a little harder than necessary. "You know very well it's impossible that he's mine." Inside he was cringing, he could only imagine what the other professors were going to say about this matter – and even worse, the students. "Yes, we both have black hair but that concludes the extent of our similarities," he snapped, his lip curling.

"Oh, your similarities do not stop there, Severus," Dumbledore said softly.

"Even so," Snape ground out, keeping his gaze fixed on his food. "Such a superfluous rumor should not be taken seriously. Or shall I remind you of the one detailing your rather explosive affair with the previous deputy headmaster?" Snape glanced toward him, a sneer on his mouth. "As such, I do hope you put a stop to such ridiculous rumors once they reached you."

"I'm afraid that isn't possible with this particular rumor," Dumbledore said with a sigh.

Snape's heart sank.

"Do you mean to tell me that the entire school is under the delusion that I am a father?!" Snape hadn't even realized he was on his feet until he was slamming his hands down onto the table. It was really quite lucky that the great hall was nearly deserted. "The insolent whelp doesn't bare the slightest relation to me. I demand that you silence these mutterings before they spread any further!"

Dumbledore pushed his empty plate into the middle of the table where it disappeared into the kitchens and dabbed his mouth clean with a napkin. "Are you fond of the boy?" he asked, as though he had not heard any of the words Snape had just shouted at him.

"I—" Snape clenched his fists. "He's one of my snakes, of course I—"

"And yet you would never let even one of your snakes talk back to you during class," Dumbledore interrupted smoothly. "Perhaps he isn't your son but you treat him like he is, so though you wish the for the rumor to disappear you will undoubtedly just bring it back."

Snape stared at the headmaster for several moments. He wanted to explain just how very wrong he was, how being the center of a rumor infuriated him, and how it would be so simple to put an end to said rumor but he couldn't. Because a part of him knew that Dumbledore had given this a great deal of thought, and a part of him knew that the old man was right.

And because he had grown rather fond of Merlin Evans.

Snape slowly sat back down into his chair. For a moment, he did nothing but eat his breakfast. But as Dumbledore got to his feet he looked up. "There's," he said in an undertone, "just something about him."

Dumbledore paused, his smile only serving to make the twinkle in his eye brighter. "So it would seem."

Only A Boy

The instant Merlin had emerged from the potions room, detention free, he knew that he would never be able to convince the other Slytherins – or anyone for that matter – that he was not in any way related to the Head of Slytherin House. It didn't stop him from trying, of course. But when he let slip that the professor had taken him to Diagon Alley to purchase his school supplies, all possibility to persuading them otherwise went right out the window.

He knew that by morning, the word would have spread. He knew how rumors worked. And even if he didn't automatically wake up at the crack of dawn on Saturday morning, he still would have done his best to avoid his housemates. He could only imagine how much worse the rumor would get if they knew he was planning on going to Snape's office after lunch.

No, it was better to get some alone time and he had things to do in any case.

Merlin was just dishing himself out some porridge – it felt like the thing to eat today – when Professor Snape entered the Great Hall. Before Merlin had even realized it, he was sinking in his seat and scarfing down his food as quickly as possible. Snape had to have heard of the rumor by now. They had been practically shouting it in the common room last night, and he'd heard that a second year had sent a letter to their sibling in another house.

He knew that a talk was going to occur soon but he would prefer to enjoy his morning before that happened. He kept his head down and when he'd finished eating, he made a dash for the door. He could feel the professor's gaze on his back and had a pretty good feeling that the man was not happy.

Merlin shook himself, pausing in the empty entrance hall. He didn't want to go back to the common room. He had no desire to be ridiculed today. He set off at a brisk walk before he'd consciously decided. And when it finally came to him, he was nearly running.

He was going to go to the library and look up Voldemort.

Of course, there was no guarantee that he'd find anything useful but he felt like it was a good place to start. He slowed his pace when the library came into sight, catching his breath before walking inside. The copious amount of aged leather-bound volumes warmed his heart. This was how a library was supposed to look like. The one that used to be at Wool's just hadn't been the same. It hadn't commanded the same respect; it didn't give off the same scent of decay and knowledge.

He had no idea where to look.

Merlin walked around the bookcases, reading labels. After ten minutes, he finally found what seemed to be the historical section. There were books on Shamans, the witches of the Mayans, how witchcraft influenced the priests of Egypt. Merlin was so tempted to pull down a book entitled, The Creation and Destruction of Albion, but he stopped himself. He didn't want to open that can of worms just yet. One thing at a time.

"If you're looking for books about your namesake, you're in the wrong section. He's under Great Warlocks of the Past."

Merlin jumped and turned around. Hermione Granger stood alone, holding seven or eight thick volumes in her arms. For a moment he stared at her, and then he frowned.

"I'm not looking for books about him."

She raised her eyebrow and tried to get a better grip on the books she was holding. "I would, if was me I mean. He was a really fascinating wizard, the greatest one who ever lived."

"So I keep hearing," Merlin deadpanned. He turned around, staring at the book titles again. And then he sighed and turned back to Hermione. "Let me help you with those."

"Oh no, I've got—"

Merlin ignored her. He grabbed four books off the top of her stack and started walking toward the nearest table, the bushy haired girl following him. He set them down gently and glanced at her. "What exactly are you studying?" He saw Through The Eyes of the Goblins and When Saying Incantations Isn't Enough and Defending Against the Undead and several other equally random volumes.

"I'm trying to gain a bit of background for the topics we are currently studying in class," Hermione replied, setting the rest of the books down and taking a seat. She regarded him for a moment, her hands gripping Send Objects Soaring: A Beginners guide to Levitation Charms tightly. "What are you looking for?"

Merlin paused a moment and then took the spot opposite her. "I'm trying to find something about a dark wizard that was around a decade or so back? Lord V—"

"Shh!" Hermione interrupted, glancing around them with a panicked look on her face. "It's He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," she said in an undertone. "You're not supposed to say his name!"

Merlin blinked. "Why not?"

She was silent for a moment. "Because," she said slowly, "names have power and his was of the darkest sort."

"I see. So, you know about him then?"

"Oh yes! He's in the Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, and The Great Wizard War." She stacked all the textbooks she'd found beside her. "He wanted to enslave muggles and exterminate all muggleborns." Her face darkened. "The terror lasted over twenty years."

"How did it end?" Merlin asked, putting his elbows on the table and leaning in to hear the story. "Who stopped him?"

"A couple of Auror's—"

"What's an Auror?" Merlin interrupted.

Hermione gave him a very strange look. "Didn't you grow up in the magical world?"

"No."

Her eyes widened. "But, aren't you in Slytherin?"

Merlin folded his arms. "We aren't all purebloods, you know," he said with a frown. "The Weasley's are purebloods but they aren't in Slytherin."

"Oh. Well, of course I knew that but—" she hesitated. "So are you—I mean—" she trailed off awkwardly. "You don't have to tell me. I'm a—I'm a muggleborn." She watched him for a response, wringing her hands together.

"I'm…" Merlin paused for a long moment. "I'm a half-blood," he finally said in an undertone. He wasn't exactly sure why he told her. Maybe it was because she had told him what she was, even though she knew that he was in Slytherin. But, he'd never tell her that she was the only one who knew. "But I'm an orphan. Grew up with muggles."

"You—" she stopped and shook her head.

"What?"

"An Auror is a dark wizard catcher," she began to explain, and Merlin had a feeling that he was never going to find out what she'd been about to say. "James and Lily Potter lead a mission to take out He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. They were betrayed by Peter Pettigrew, and died in the attempt but they managed to take their target with them. I think there's a statue honoring them outside the Auror office at the Ministry of Magic."

"But he's not really gone, is he?" Merlin said slowly, recalling the words of the Bloody Baron and Helena. Hermione bit her lip and shook her head.

"Well, at least according to some sources, he had performed some ancient magic rituals and had extended his life somehow. They never really explained how, so I'm not sure how much credence that theory possesses." She shrugged. "The Ministry considers such rumors of his continued existence as impossible. Though, that's not stopping some from claiming that he's trapped in the Forest of Albania."

Merlin stared. "Why would he be trapped there?"

"It's rumored to be the darkest forest in the world," she shrugged again. "That particular report came from the Quibbler, which has about the same reputation as the Weekly World News."

Merlin had no idea what that was but he didn't want her to know that, so he smirked. "That bad huh?" he said, hoping that he was right in thinking that she was being skeptical.

"Worse." She smiled back.

"So, what happened to that Peter guy? Did he get arrested?"

Hermione shook her head. "He disappeared before they could apprehend him. He's still on the run but as he hasn't been seen since that night it's widely believed that he was killed by the other Death Eaters for failing to protect their leader." She leaned back in her chair and opened one of her books.

For a moment, Merlin thought that was her way of ending the conversation. She had already told him so much more than he would of learned on his own. But before he could get to his feet, she glanced up at him. "How come you didn't ask your Slytherin friends to tell you all of this?"

Merlin shrugged. "I wasn't going to ask anyone. If you recall, I was looking for a book."

"It would have been easier to just ask them."

"And that would matter if I hadn't already asked you."

Her warm brown eyes narrowed. "You know, you're a very peculiar Slytherin."

"And you ought to be a Ravenclaw, but here we are." He smiled cheekily at her. He pushed his chair back and got to his feet. "Thanks for the help, I'll let you study."

He hadn't even had time to turn around before, "Wait!" He glanced at her. Hermione bit her lip again, her eyes flickering to her books for a moment before returning to him. "Would—would you like to join me?"

"What?" He stared at her. "Why?"

Her cheeks twinged with pink. "I just find that learning with someone else makes things a bit easier."

"What about your Gryffindor friends?" Merlin asked blankly. The instant he said it, he knew why she'd asked him. He was willing to bet that her intelligence and eagerness to learn made her an outcast in Gryffindor. Just like how his muggle friendly ideas made him a target in Slytherin.

"Forget I said anything. You don't have to stay if you don't want to. Might be better, in fact, just in case anyone sees you talking to me." She buried her face in her book.

Merlin watched her for a moment before disappearing into the bookshelves. Within five minutes though, he'd returned with several history and defense books, slamming them onto the table.

"What are you—?" Hermione shouted, jumping at the loud sound.

"You know, I totally don't remember a word of what Binns said during class, or Quirrell for that matter. Think that might be a problem next week?"

Merlin didn't miss the small look of relief that flashed across Hermione's face when he sat back down. And within seconds, she was rehashing entire lessons – which were somehow a great deal more interesting than how Merlin remembered them. They talked about the goblin rebellions for nearly a half hour. Merlin was very pleased by the fact that Hermione seemed so upset by the unfair treatment the goblins had suffered in their history and the way she almost seemed to root for them.

As they started diving into Defense Against the Dark Arts Merlin asked, "So, what do you think of Professor Quirrell?"

"Well," she deliberated for a moment, "I don't know—he seems a bit…"

"Off?" Merlin supplied.

"Not really. He just seems a tad bit too anxious. He's not a bad teacher, not really. I heard from older students that he used to teach muggle studies and that he was really fun and good at it. But he took a year off and came back… well…"

"Off…" Merlin repeated with a grin. Hermione smiled back. "Maybe even bonkers," Merlin added, mocking a thoughtful expression.

"Merlin!" Hermione reached over to nudge his shoulder but the act was playful, her grin wide. "You can't say that about your professors!"

"Why not? He's a right old loon."

"He's not a loon!"

"My mistake, you're right. He's an imbecilic fool."

She covered her mouth to try and mute her giggles. She glanced up behind him and her smile slid off her face so fast that, for a moment, Merlin didn't notice. And then someone grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and yanked him to his feet, a "Get away from her!" shouted into his ear.

Merlin managed not to blast the boy back like he had with Zabini but it been a very near thing. Instead he twisted and managed to break the hold on his collar, turning to look at the boy. Sorry, three boys.

Ron Weasley had been the one to grab him. Beside him were Dean and Seamus, both of which were sharing dirty but nervous expressions but they didn't compare to the utter rage exhibited by the red-haired boy.

"Ron!" Hermione hissed, getting to her feet. "Stop it! What are you doing?"

"Me? What're you doing? He's a SLYTHERIN!"

Merlin pretended to look shocked. "My God, did you hear that Hermione? Well, that explains the green tie."

Ron darted forward and grabbed Merlin's tie, ignoring Hermione's indignant cry. "I don't know what kind of game you and your slimy friends are playing but I won't let you get away with it. You leave her alone."

"You do know that snakes aren't slimy, right?"

"Hey, Ron, maybe you should let him go," Dean offered but Ron ignored him. Instead he shoved Merlin back, where he stumbled into a chair went sprawling to the floor.

"Merlin!" Hermione said taking an automatic step toward him, her face painted with worry. "Ron, you are being completely unreasonable!"

"Hermione, you don't know what they're like! Slytherins are all the same. They all hate Gryffindors and they hate muggleborns. Can't you see that he's just manipulating you?" Ron said, turning to her. Merlin got slowly to his feet, watching the redhead. Ron believed he was doing Hermione a favor. He really thought that Merlin would hurt her, or humiliate her, or something.

And Merlin was insulted that he thought so.

He opened his mouth to defend himself but Hermione beat him to it. "Merlin isn't like that!" she ground out, her own fists clenching. Merlin felt a rush of gratitude toward her.

"Oh really? Did you know he's Snape's son?"

"He's—what?" Hermione said, so startled that she actually took a step back.

"Yeah! He is. Apparently that's why Snape didn't punish him for talking back."

"I'm right here," Merlin finally said. "And he most definitely is not my father."

Ron sneered at him. "Yeah okay, and that's why he didn't give you detention for cursing Neville."

"I didn't curse him!" Merlin protested. "He melted his cauldron, you prat. If I hadn't pushed him back it would of hurt him!"

"He still should have ripped you a new one!" Ron spat. "Just admit it. All your Slytherin friends have already spilled your little secret. I bet the whole school knows by now."

"Merlin, is that true?" Hermione asked, glancing at him.

He rolled his eyes. "No! What is it with everyone thinking I'm related to that bat? My parent's are dead." He ground out the last word, his heart giving a painful twinge. His real father had died in his arms, died to save his life. And no one could ever replace him. The only person that had ever come close was Gaius and now he was dead too.

"You sure about that?" Ron said smirking. "Maybe daddy abandoned you because you were such a disappointment—"

Merlin punched Ron right across the face, sending him stumbling back. He had never punched anyone seriously before. He was also sure he'd done it wrong, as pain shot through his hand, but he didn't care. Ron had touched a subject so sensitive to him that it had wiped away all of his control. Anger and pain exploded in his head, because in a way, his father had abandoned him. And for so long he had thought that he had been a disappointment. And when he'd died… Merlin had never even gotten to properly grieve. He couldn't hold back now, and he didn't particularly want to.

"Don't you ever talk about my father when you know nothing," Merlin whispered, shaking. It was taking every once of control not to send out a magical wave powerful enough, not just to blast them all back, but kill them. He turned jerkily around and started walking away. He needed to get out and calm down and if Ron was smart he'd let him go.

But he wasn't.

Ron tackled him into the bookcase, shouting something about payback, and how all Slytherins were the same. Merlin didn't really listen. Because he knew that his magic had reached a crescendo. He couldn't contain it any longer. And because he didn't want to kill Ron – even though the kid gave him a blood lip and knocked all the wind out of lungs – he did the only thing he could do. As he collided with the wooden shelves, he channeled his magic toward it. There was a loud crash, several screams, and the bookcase toppled, knocking over the adjacent shelf in the process.

"What have you done!" came the screech of Madam Pince as the stern librarian swooped down on them.

And all Merlin could think to say as he wrenched himself away from the wreckage, wiping his bloody lip as he did so was, "What the bloody hell took you so long? Are you so deaf that you didn't hear the commotion before now?"

And, from the look the elderly woman gave him, he had a feeling he was in a whole new world of trouble.

Only A Boy

Merlin waited in Snape's office while the librarian informed his Head of House of the incident that had occurred not ten minutes prior. He would not be surprised if she also mentioned his less than polite words – not that he thought an apology was in order. How had she not heard them, anyway? Or maybe he was just grasping at straws, trying to blame someone else for the way he'd allowed the situation to blow out of control.

He hoped Ron wouldn't be too mean to Hermione, or that Hermione wouldn't buy into his crap about all Slytherins being the same. He didn't think that Gryffindors were all the same. They all had their faults and their redeeming qualities; some just drew more attention than others. Merlin shook his head, dropping his face in his hands.

This was not how he had pictured starting his meeting with Snape. He wasn't even sure the professor would teach him the vanishing spell he'd mentioned yesterday after class. They had so much else clogging the air now, the rumors and now this little escapade. He had a feeling that he would be lucky to just receive detention – for a month.

The door opened and Snape swept inside, closing it behind him.

"Of all the Slytherins I expected to fight with the Gryffindors, you were not even on the list. Just what were you thinking, Evans? And Madam Pince tells me you knocked over two bookcases in the process?"

Merlin's shoulders sagged. "It wasn't entirely my fault," he muttered.

"Oh yes, the old, But they started it, professor excuse. I'm sorry, I didn't realize that you were incapable of ignoring the petty insults of children." Snape took a deep breath and sat back in his chair, a hand rising to pinch the bridge of his nose. He was silent for a few moments then, "Explain what happened, Evans. From the top."

So Merlin told him. He told him about meeting Hermione in the library and how they were having fun studying together. He explained how Ron seemed to think that he was going to hurt her and pushed him around. But when he got to the part about Ron claiming that he was Snape's son and then his jab at being abandoned, Merlin went silent.

"Sir," he asked after a moment. "Have you heard about—about—" Merlin swallowed, glancing up at him before fixing his gaze on his hands.

"Yes, Evans." There was a heavy sigh. "Shall I assume that came into play?"

Merlin fidgeted. "Sort of. He mentioned it… and then—" Just the memory of it inspired a wave of magic to rise in his chest. He closed his eyes. Balinor did not abandon me. I did not disappoint him, he chanted in his head.

"And then?" Snape prompted, the curiosity in his tone causing Merlin to open his eyes and look at him. The unfathomable expression on the professor's face reminded him Gaius. It calmed the magic within him and gave him the peace of mind to continue.

"He said something about my father. That—that he'd abandoned me," Merlin's voice got very small. He shook his head. "I didn't mean to hit him, I swear. I just reacted, and then he was tackling me into the bookcase."

"He tackled you into the bookcase," Snape repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Evans, I have yet to meet anyone with the necessary bulk to simply push one of the library's bookcases over – and as Madam Pince knows, many have tried." He shook his head. "I know what a blasting charm looks like, and you definitely demonstrated your proficiency with it yesterday—"

"I didn't cast a blasting charm!" Merlin interrupted.

Snape's lip curled and barked, "Do not interrupt me when I am speaking." Merlin clamped his lips together. He did not want to infuriate the professor any more than he already was. He wrung his hands together, trying to sooth his knuckles, which still hurt after punching Ron.

"Now, would you care to explain what really happened?" Snape ground out, his eyes narrowing.

"That is what really happened," Merlin protested. But at Snape's glare he dropped his head. "I—I just had an accidental magic incident, that's all."

"An accidental magic incident?"

"Don't say it like I'm mad, it's the truth," Merlin replied with a surly look. For a moment he thought Snape was going to start shouting at him again, but then he got to his feet and crossed toward a bookshelf on the other side of the office.

"As this appears to be a reoccurring problem with you, I will have to give you lessons in magic control." He pulled down a book and walked back to his desk. "I'll not have you destroying school property every time your adrenaline kicks into gear."

"But sir—" he tried to protest. He did not need lessons, and he doubted they would make any sort of a difference. He had more important things to worry about!

"Until you can control your emotions and magic, you will come here every Friday night to study. If anyone asks, you are serving detention for your disregard for school property and insolence toward the librarian." Snape looked tired as he handed Merlin the book – Understanding Magic, the Fundamentals of Control. When Merlin took it, he sat back down in his chair. "Am I understood?"

"Uh, yes sir," Merlin said. He sat in silence for a moment, his fingers trailing the spine of the book.

"As for the rumors," Snape said and Merlin stiffened in his seat. He cringed, waiting for the hammer to fall. He gave Merlin a very hard look. "If I find you perpetrated them yourself—"

"I had a father," Merlin spat jumping to his feet. The magic rose in his chest again, a bubbling froth of power. "And no one can replace him. Ever," his cold tone rang in the air.

"I seem to recall you had no memory of your parents," Snape said very quietly.

Oops.

The swell within him died almost at once, replaced instead with the horror that he'd said too much. "I said I remembered very little," Merlin backpedaled. "Not nothing." He held his breath while he waited for Snape to ask him something else about his parents – something he knew he couldn't answer – but the professor decided not to push it.

Instead he snapped, "Sit back down, I haven't dismissed you yet." Merlin quickly sat down, trying not to look as surprised as he felt. "Now it has been established that neither of us particularly enjoy the idea of being related to one another; however, it seems that we are stuck with them."

Merlin stared at him. "What? You mean the entire school is going to think you're my father whether or not I tell them otherwise? Why can't you stop them?"

Snape gave a very sour grimace. "Apparently, I inspired them in the first place."

"You—what?" Merlin frowned. "And how exactly did you do that? What, was it the trip to Diagon Alley?" He didn't understand at all. How on earth had Snape caused the rumors to form? Hadn't it been him who'd let them jump to the conclusion without meaning to?

"Of course not, such rumors would have occurred earlier than now."

"Oh, so it must be my charm then, right?" Merlin sneered getting back to his feet. "I must embody the Snape wit, is that it?"

Snape got his feet as well, his voice rising to match Merlin's. "The last time I checked we were the insolent brat who considers himself above homework! Or do you think you were gifted with the ability to not pay attention in class?"

"I prefer to think of it as an artfully honed talent."

Snape didn't reply for a moment, merely glaring at Merlin as though he blamed him for everything. And then his shoulders sagged.

"Because of this."

Merlin blinked. "Because of what?" he asked slowly. And then realization dawned on him. Their banter. Even his Slytherin friends had remarked how Snape would never have let a student talk back to him, even a Slytherin one. "Sir?" Merlin asked, "How come you don't give me detention for talking back?"

"Well, that is the great mystery, now isn't it?" Snape grumbled. He looked genuinely frustrated by that fact too. Merlin raised an eyebrow.

"It really is my charm, isn't it?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "Yes, because you don't give me a headache at all." He pinched the bridge of his nose again. "Now go up to lunch before it closes. I need to get some actual work done before I can teach you the banishing spell."

"You're still going to teach me it?" Merlin said, unable to hide the glee in his voice.

"Merlin knows why."

"Um… I really don't."

"Get out! Before I really give you detention."