Merlina Magpie

Merlina Magpie did not sleep.

This was not, in itself, unusual.

Astronomy professors were not known for maintaining sensible hours, and Merlina had long ago abandoned any attempt at pretending otherwise. Still, there was a distinct difference between choosing not to sleep and finding that sleep would not come at all.

That night, it refused her entirely.

She remained in the Astronomy Tower long after the lantern had burned low.

Severus Snape had not vanished.

That, more than anything else, unsettled her.

Every account she had ever read about the Resurrection Stone insisted upon one detail above all others: those summoned did not stay. They lingered only briefly, fading as quickly as they appeared, as though death itself would not tolerate interruption for long.

Snape, however, stood precisely where he had first appeared.

Unmoving.

Watching.

“This is highly irregular,” Merlina said at last.

Snape’s expression did not change.

“I am relieved to hear you acknowledge it,” he replied. “It would be inconvenient to discover that you routinely disturb the natural order.”

Merlina folded her arms.

“I don’t routinely do anything of the sort.”

“No,” said Snape coolly. “Only on special occasions.”

A faint, unwilling smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

It vanished quickly.

“You should have faded by now,” she said.

“I am aware.”

“Then why haven’t you?”

Snape regarded her for a long moment, his dark eyes narrowing slightly.

“That,” he said, “is a question I might equally direct at you.”

Merlina blinked.

“I’m not the one who’s supposed to be dead.”

“No,” Snape said. “You are the one interfering with death. It seems reasonable to assume you are also responsible for the consequences.”

She hesitated.

There was a logic to that she didn’t particularly like.

“I followed the instructions,” she said defensively. “Turn the stone three times—”

“And you believe,” Snape interrupted, “that ancient magical artifacts are in the habit of obeying instructions?”

Merlina opened her mouth to argue.

Then stopped.

“…No,” she admitted.

Snape inclined his head slightly, as though this confirmed something he had already suspected.

“Then we are left,” he said, “with the more troubling possibility.”

Merlina felt a flicker of unease.

“And that is?”

“That this is not an error.”

Silence settled over the tower.

Merlina glanced down at the ring still on her finger.

It had grown warmer.

Not uncomfortably so.

But noticeably.

“You think it’s intentional?” she said.

“I think,” Snape replied, “that magic of this kind rarely acts without purpose.”

Merlina’s gaze lifted to his.

“And what purpose would that be?”

Snape did not answer immediately.

Instead, he took a step closer.

This time, there was no mistaking it—he moved with intention, even if his form remained slightly insubstantial, edges blurring faintly in the lantern’s glow.

He stopped a few feet away from her.

Close enough that she could see the faint lines of exhaustion etched into his face.

Close enough that she could remember, quite vividly, that he had once been a man who breathed.

“Tell me,” he said quietly, “what you felt when you used the stone.”

Merlina frowned slightly.

“What do you mean?”

“Do not simplify it,” Snape said sharply. “Do not give me a convenient answer. Tell me exactly what you experienced.”

She hesitated.

Then, slowly:

“The air changed,” she said. “It felt… heavier. Like something was listening.”

Snape nodded once.

“Go on.”

“The silence,” she continued. “It wasn’t empty. It felt—full.”

She paused.

Searching for the right word.

“Crowded,” she said finally.

Something flickered in Snape’s expression.

Recognition.

“And when I appeared?” he asked.

Merlina met his gaze.

“It didn’t feel like you arrived,” she said.

“It felt like you were… remembered.”

Another pause.

Snape exhaled slowly.

Not a breath, exactly.

But something like it.

“That,” he said, “is consistent with the nature of the Stone.”

Merlina frowned.

“Then why are you still here?”

Snape’s eyes dropped briefly to her hand.

To the ring.

“Because,” he said,

“you have not let go.”

Merlina blinked.

“I’m not—”

She stopped.

Looked down.

Her fingers were clenched.

Tightly.

Around the ring.

She loosened her grip slightly.

Nothing happened.

Snape did not fade.

“I let go,” she said.

“You relaxed your hand,” Snape corrected. “That is not the same thing.”

Merlina felt irritation rise.

“What exactly are you suggesting?”

Snape’s gaze lifted to hers again.

Steady.

Unyielding.

“I am suggesting,” he said, “that you are sustaining this.”

The words struck harder than she expected.

“That’s not possible,” she said at once.

“You are a witch,” Snape replied. “It is entirely possible.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Snape raised an eyebrow.

“Then clarify.”

Merlina hesitated.

Then said, more quietly:

“I didn’t mean to keep you here.”

Snape studied her.

For a long moment, he said nothing.

“…No,” he said at last.

“I do not believe you did.”

Something in his tone had changed.

Slightly.

“And yet,” he continued, “here I remain.”

Merlina’s heartbeat quickened.

“You think I’m… what? Anchoring you?”

Snape’s gaze flicked once more to the ring.

“I think,” he said carefully,

“that you have created a tether.”

The word seemed to echo.

“A tether,” Merlina repeated.

Snape inclined his head.

“Yes.”

Merlina swallowed.

“And what does that mean?”

Snape’s expression darkened slightly.

“It means,” he said,

“that I am no longer entirely bound to death.”

The wind stirred again.

Cold.

Restless.

“And you,” he added quietly,

“are no longer entirely free of it.”

Merlina felt something shift in her chest.

Not fear.

Not quite.

Something sharper.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” she said.

Snape’s lips thinned.

“Magic rarely does,” he replied.

Silence fell again.

But this time, it was different.

Not tense.

Not uncertain.

Charged.

Merlina looked at him.

Really looked.

“You’re not… like the stories,” she said.

Snape’s gaze flicked to hers.

“No?”

“They said you’d be… distant,” she said. “Faded. Not fully here.”

A pause.

“And what,” Snape asked,

“do you find instead?”

Merlina hesitated.

Then, quietly:

“You.”

The word hung between them.

For a moment—

just a moment—

Snape’s composure slipped.

Not much.

Just enough.

“…That,” he said slowly,

“may prove to be a mistake.”

Merlina’s lips curved faintly.

“I’m beginning to think that’s my specialty.”

And somewhere deep within Hogwarts—

far below the tower—

something old awakened fully.

Because the bond between life and death—

once tied—

does not easily break.