The Legacy of Salazar

Visit from the Potions Master

In all honesty,  Severus Snape wanted to see Merlin.

He argued it was perfectly normal to have the boy on his mind. The events of the previous school year stared at him from every copy of the Daily Prophet. The imprisoned ex-Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor glared at him from behind bars, wearing a hungry, frustrated expression that twisted his bandaged face. Snape was almost disappointed Quirrell had managed to pull through—for a brief moment the healers at St. Mungo's weren't sure he would. But he didn't think Merlin would've taken it well if he discovered he'd accidentally killed someone—accidental magic, or not.

And then there was the prophecy.

He hated seers. By predicting the future, he often felt they were forcing that future to happen. If no one paid attention to a half mumbled prophecy, would it still come to pass? And this one—sure it foretold the downfall of the Dark Lord but now he was taking protective measures. There went any chance of a surprise attack. And Merlin—

Dumbledore thought he was the boy spoken of in the prophecy. Though Snape hated it, he nevertheless found himself agreeing. He might not understand all the vague language but Merlin had defeated him once, and he'd put himself on the Dark Lord's radar. Even if he weren't the boy of the prophecy, he would be now. Plus the notes about blue eyes and the late July Birthday were oddly coincidental.

Snape sighed, tapping the brick to allow him entry to Diagon Alley. The trial would begin tomorrow. He almost wished he could attend, but his role as a double agent demanded that he keep a low profile. He would ask Merlin to mention his involvement as little as possible. It wouldn't bode well for him if the Dark Lord thought he might have truly switched sides—especially now that it was clear he wasn't gone.

He reached the ice cream parlour quickly and was pleased to see that he'd arrived before the lunch rush. Snape gritted his teeth—Merlin was clever. He didn't want the boy realizing something was wrong, and although he and Dumbledore had their differences they agreed on this matter: Merlin was too young to know about the prophecy. He didn't need that ominous shadow following him around. Snape shook his head and pushed open the door.

A bell clanged.

"Ah, Professor. Merlin said you would be dropping by." Florean Fortescue was standing behind the register, wearing a white stained apron over what looked like a bright orange pinstripe waistcoat.

"Mr Fortescue." Snape politely inclined his head.

"Florean, please. You make me feel like I'm still in school." Florean gave a hearty laugh and walked out from behind the counter, still smiling. "Should I grab Merlin?"

"If you wouldn't mind."

"I have a private room in the back," Florean said, pointing to a door on the far side of the shop. "Usually reserved for birthdays and the like. I trust you don't want to be overheard?"

Snape nodded and without another word, strode across the room. The thought that a student might spot him inside the ice cream parlour did not appeal to him. He swept into the private room and almost winced at the array of brightly coloured streamers hanging from the ceiling. Empty and unused, the chairs rested upside down on the large centre table. He flicked his wand and two chairs righted themselves. Snape had just taken a seat when the door opened again.

"Congratulations, you managed to last nearly two weeks without seeing me." Merlin gave a broad cheeky smile and flung himself into the chair opposite him. "That's got to be a new record, isn't it?"

Snape's lip curled. "I see your new foster hasn't addressed your insolent behaviour."

Merlin scoffed. "Oh, I don't think there's anyone that can fix that."