---

---

Title: Alio Modo
Author: Jilly James
Fandom: Harry Potter
Genre: Drama, Fix It, Pre-Relationship, Time Travel
Relationship: Severus/OMC, Other background pairings
Rating: R
Warnings: Death-Major Character, Death-Minor Character, Discussion-Child Abuse, Discussion-Suicide, Murder, Violence-Canon-Level
Author Note: See Notes Tab on Main Page
Challenge: Originally created for Rough Trade / NaNoWriMo April 2018, and finished for WIP Big Bang 2021.
Beta: Much negotiating with Grammarly
Artist: Twigen
Word Count: ~65,500
Summary: To prevent the loss of magic on Earth, Lady Magic has repeatedly erased the timeline back to 1926. Despite vastly different outcomes, the loss of magic has never been averted. Soul weary from repeated lives where he is a servant of Voldemort, Severus proposes a new approach to the problem.

---

Prologue

2 May 1998

His mind being his own again was the first thing Severus had to adjust to after his death. The sudden breaking of harmful magics, compulsions, and potions always made death more disorienting than it should be. The memories of the past attempts at this life rushing in also took a moment to absorb.

He rubbed his throat, imagining he could still feel Nagini’s fangs. “Least favorite death,” he muttered. He’d been tortured to death in more than one life but, for some reason, this death felt uglier.

“Being killed by his familiar when his darkness is so entrenched in your magic is a punishment on your magic itself,” King Nuada remarked from where he leaned against a pillar. Severus hated that the transition point in this limbo looked like the damn train platform. Magical people were promised an afterlife in Avalon if they did not choose to be reincarnated, but every soul who’d died after 1926 was stuck in this limbo of a space on what felt like an endless cycle of repeats.

Not even acknowledging the king, Severus got to his feet and willed himself away from this place. Space and time were different but, after so many journeys here, Severus was able to easily move to the dimensional space where he created the illusions of a home and a potions lab. He needed to ground himself in something familiar. Something mundane.

The illusion was barely set when he felt the king’s presence again.

“You need not hover, Your Majesty.” Nuada was no king of Severus’, but the fae would be as affected by the death of Magic as any wizard. Since the first failure of Tom Riddle’s life, the legendary King Lludd Llaw Eraint, also known as Nuada Silverhand, had left his court in the hands of others while he aided Magic in her quest to keep herself and the Earth from dying.

“Tis not hovering, Master Snape. This attempt will soon be over.”

Severus’ clenched his hand into a fist. “And we failed again.” Voldemort wasn’t dead yet, but he was mad as a hatter. Again.

“Not your failure,” Nuada said shortly.

“It’s all of our failure,” Severus murmured. “We are all petty and hateful in life—so bloody cavalier about the consequences of our actions. We’re so certain of our superiority, flinging compulsions and potions around, creating dangerous magics without thought. My lady deserves to be saved, but I’m not sure about the rest of us.”

“You’re becoming bitter.”

Severus spun around and glared. “Would you not be? Life after life the same. The method of my death and minor events change, but I’m always robbed of my own free will from childhood. Always a slave to a lunatic.” He hesitated. “Always irrelevant.”

The king cocked his head to the side. “Why does no one meet you upon your death? This burden is easier to bear with those we love.”

“I asked that they not,” he said shortly. His mother had tried several times, but Severus had finally persuaded her to stop. Lily had tried twice, but her he could not bear. Everything about their friendship was perverse. And the truth of it was that he felt humiliated by the life he’d led played out over and over for Lily to see.

She’d been his first real friend, his touchstone. That was all he’d ever wanted from her because Severus was irrevocably homosexual. Then Dumbledore got it into his manipulative old head that Severus was an obstacle to James and Lily marrying. James and Lily who had a prophecy attached to them about becoming parents to a savior. And Merlin forbid that Dumbledore ever leave fate in the hands of fate. He seemed to think it his damn duty to ensure fate came to pass.

One dose of amortenia later, and Severus had thought himself in love with his childhood friend. He had been obsessed. An obsessed wizard is a dangerous and foolish wizard. His love for Lily had become unnatural and perverse.

From that first potion, it became easy for Dumbledore to see Severus as nothing but a tool for him to use. To heap compulsions and curses on him, to use Severus to meet some end known only in the mind of Dumbledore.

“We cannot give up hope,” Nuada pressed.

“My soul is tired. Today, I have no hope.”

“Tomorrow, then.” With a flash, the king vanished.

He blew out a breath and tried to steady himself. Being in this place enabled him to hold all the memories that a living mind could not bear, and the recollection of more than a dozen failures weighed heavily on him. This life had been one of the most difficult. They seemed to be getting worse for everyone. Less rational for Riddle. Even for Severus, really. He winced thinking of how he’d treated Harry in this life.

In these moments, it didn’t matter that Severus’ love for Lily had been unnatural, it only mattered that he felt a deep shame for how he became less worthy life over life.

He set to brewing. A pointless task because no matter how distracted he was, everything turned out perfect. Because nothing was real. Besides, the dead needed no potions.

– – – –

“Severus.”

With a thought, the book he’d summoned vanished. Severus closed his eyes. “Black,” he acknowledged reluctantly. “What brings you to my door?”

Sirius Black wandered around Severus’ conjured home, picking up random items, inspecting them, then setting them down again. His appearance was somewhat different than when he’d died. He looked younger, healthier. How you perceived yourself was how you appeared in this place. Severus always looked older than his years.

“What is this place?” Black asked, poking at an odd transition on the wall from stone to wood.

He was easily able to interpret the vague question, which was really more why and less what. “It’s an amalgamation of the best of the places I’ve lived. A bit of Prince Manor, some of Lily’s home, some Hogwarts, and even a bit of Spinner’s End. It’s familiar in an idealized sort of way even if it doesn’t always make sense in the construction.” He glanced around, adjusting something that reminded him too much of his father. He thought it fortunate that, as a muggle, his father was not allowed in this magical limbo. At least Severus didn’t have to deal with that torment in the afterlife.

“It’s not going well,” Black remarked.

“It never goes well,” Snape said dryly.

Black sighed and flopped into a chair he conjured himself. Gryffindor red. Of course. “You’re less angry here.”

“Aren’t we all? No dementors, no potions, no compulsions—nothing to influence us but our own painfully repetitive memories.”

“Except that thing…” he trailed off and made a vague gesture.

“Yes, the pull of the dark mark on my magic as long as Riddle lives. Even in death, I’m his slave. Thank you, Black, I hadn’t thought of that in at least an hour. I gather I was due.” He gave Black a pointed look. “Why are you here?”

“We can’t keep on like this.”

“And what choice have we?” Severus snapped. “Magic cannot die.”

“But why him? Why does it all pivot on Thomas bloody Riddle? Why won’t she explain that? Lily and James plot endlessly—after Lils gets tired of kicking Dumbledore’s arse, of course—but she can’t figure out why it has to be him.”

Severus couldn’t deny that he wanted to know the answer to that question too, but there was nothing he could do about it. “It is not our place to demand answers, Black.”

“Isn’t it?” he asked, tone laced with anger. “I’m tired of prison and dementors and the damn veil.” While Black’s life usually played out the same—and it was undoubtedly an unfortunate series of events—some people’s lives did tend to vary more. But Severus wasn’t sure if Black was bored or just whining.

“What is your point? We are all tired of whatever it is we endure in life.”

“My point is that you’re one of the smartest people any of us knew in life, and yet you won’t work with Lily. The smartest person any of us know.”

“Work with her on what? Do you mean to say that any of us can do a better job of fixing the world that the Great Lady herself?”

“I’m saying that we should try something different!” Sirius barked. “Anything!”

Severus was tired. “What do you think I can do?”

“I don’t know, Severus, but isn’t it worth trying? Isn’t it worth working with us instead of isolating yourself after every life and wallowing in your shame?” When Severus just glared, Black added, “Do you think you’re the only one of us with regrets? Do you think I’m not horrified by some of the choices I made? That we all don’t cringe when we arrive here and realize we trusted Dumbledore. Again?! You are not any different than anyone else.” He winced. “Well, except for that one life when Riddle called on that demon and used you as—”

“And thank you for the reminder!” Severus bit out. “And now that we’re done with today’s unfortunate wandering through my memories… I’ll be reminiscing about my death via cruciatus curse tomorrow, do stop by and join me for the horror. I won’t be ready to think fondly of my most recent death by Nagini for a few years at the least.”

Black actually looked contrite. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up. It’s a terrible distinction that you’re one of the few who dies differently almost every time and it’s always—”

“Black!”

“Right.” He huffed and rubbed his hand over his face. “Just think about talking to Lily again, yeah? We can’t keep going on like this just because Tom Riddle wasn’t hugged enough as a child.”

Severus sighed. “That’s incredibly simplistic.”

Black got to his feet and made a dismissive gesture. “Can’t feel love, wasn’t hugged enough…whichever.”

“I’ll consider your request.” When Black just stared at him. “That was your cue to leave.”

Black rolled his eyes.

– – – –

With a nearly audible snap, Severus’ magic was finally free.

He staggered away from the potions’ table and dropped to his knees. He stopped his mental command of the illusion and the potions lab vanished back into the ether. When he’d taken the dark mark as a teenager, he’d had no idea that the mark’s connection to his magic would last until Voldemort’s final death. Of course, Severus had been laboring under heavy compulsion magic and an obsessional love for Lily at the time. He’d been so deluded, he’d thought getting the dark mark would help him bind her to his side. When it came to emotions and motivations, it had all seemed so clear at the time but, in retrospect, he’d been insane.

Since Severus always died before Voldemort, he had to deal with the black pull against his soul until Voldemort finally was defeated and returned to limbo. That the death came so quickly after Severus’ own was both a worry and a relief. Now he wondered how long they’d have before Magic reset the timeline. Sometimes she let events play out longer, but why she did that was never clear.

He got his wits about him and shifted to a shadowy corner of the platform.

He wasn’t sure why he always tried to watch Tom Riddle’s breakdown as his memories returned to him. Maybe it was because he’d been so tormented by the man in life that he wanted to see him in pain. Or perhaps it was because seeing the genuine grief and torment allowed Severus to let go of his anger enough to ready himself for another life to live and probably another failure.

Riddle was on his knees, weeping openly. He didn’t look like the monster who’d sent Severus off to the afterlife time and time again. He looked like a man. A man no longer struggling under the burden of what amounted to a magical curse. The effects of being conceived under a love potion had affected Tom Riddle more than anyone could have known. The inability to feel love was an organic curse that nestled deep into his magic in the first year of his life. The harshness of his life, the cruelty of children—wizard and muggle alike—had guaranteed a sociopath.

But in this place, except for a magical tether to the living such as the dark mark, the effect of the curse vanished, and Tom Riddle was left with an empty, aching soul, with nothing to fuel it but regret.

He watched stoically as Lady Magic finally moved close and knelt in front of the grieving man. It was always thus. She’d give him time to vent his pain and then they’d whisper to one another in low tones. Eventually, she’d rest a hand on his head and they’d vanish.

Not needing to see it all play out again, Severus returned home. Still thinking on what Sirius Black had said.

– – – –

“You wished to see me?” Nuada’s voice intruded on Severus’ ruminations, and the king sprawled on Severus’ chair.

Severus contemplated the other man. He was slightly taller than Severus but was more heavily muscled. He had dark hair and very changeable eyes—shifting in color from gray, green, or blue. Of course, there was the iconic silver arm, which was shaped, moved, and functioned as if it were real.

Today, Nuada looked tired and harried.

“You’re preparing for another reset,” Severus guessed.

“Yes, and there’s much to do, so if you could ask your question…?”

Severus decided to jump into it. “How can you expect a different result when you don’t change the critical element.”

Nuada crossed his leg at the knee and gave Severus an inscrutable look. “You think we haven’t tried addressing the taint on his magic?”

“Have you? Because it’s not something I remember.”

“Not every life is remembered. Some are best not.”

That was a data point he wasn’t sure how to incorporate yet. “We’ve done this more times than we remember…?”

Nuada looked tired. “What is it you wish to know, Master Snape?”

“I’d like to know what happened when he lived without the burden of being unable to feel love.”

Head cocked to the side, Nuada looked like he was considering Severus’ request. Finally, he gave a short nod. “The first time, my Lady intervened directly and purged Thomas’ core of the effect of the love potion shortly after his birth. Love and compassion were no longer denied him, and he killed himself when he was thirteen.”

Severus was stunned. “After he’d attended Hogwarts?”

“His life was not easy, Snape. He came to Hogwarts a depressed half-blood sorted into a cruel house. In the lives that he was unable to feel love or compassion, he’d made the house of Slytherin fear him. But without that, he’d been terrorized by his house. He dreaded school, he dreaded the orphanage. He felt like nothing, had no hope, and eventually killed himself.”

Nuada held up a hand. “And before you ask, yes, we’ve tried other things including sending Thomas back with some of his memories intact. That went very poorly. There are things that must happen in the timeline that we must leave alone, but those that can be changed…” he trailed off and shook his head.

“Has he been given a good home? A loving family?”

“That usually doesn’t work well. The only way we were able to ensure he wasn’t returned to the orphanage was to give someone the memories of the future we were trying to avert and have them raise Thomas.”

Severus couldn’t stop himself from asking more questions. “And what happened?”

Nuada glanced away briefly, looking uncomfortable. “We were persuaded that this person, if given their memories of the future, would be able to ensure Thomas grew up in a loving home. That they’d seen the error of their ways and would not try to control the future…”

Severus had an awful, sick feeling. “Tell me you’re not talking about Dumbledore?”

Nuada winced.

“You believed Dumbledore?! Let him raise Tom Riddle?” he yelled, completely aghast.

“He…he tried to raise a beacon of light instead of raise a child. Light was never in Thomas’ nature. It’s not why he exists.” Nuada gave Severus a pointed look. “Perhaps you’ll take consolation in knowing that it’s the only life where Thomas killed Dumbledore directly.”

It shouldn’t make him feel better, but it did. “If Riddle is so important, for what reason no mortal knows, why can’t you just put loving parents in his path?”

“Let’s just say that Thomas growing up in the muggle world is doomed to failure, and getting magical parents for him has proved…challenging.”

“Can his mother raise him? Can she be saved?”

“You think we didn’t try that? We even let Merope have knowledge of the future, but the burdens of time weighs less heavily on those who haven’t lived under the threat of Voldemort. Trust me when I say that intervening so that Merope would live to raise her own son was disastrous.” Nuada got to his feet. “I understand your frustration—perhaps better than you think since I remember every attempt to correct the course of this ship—but there are preparations that must be made, and I have little time.”

“What is it that Riddle needs in order to become the person that you believe will fix all this?” Severus demanded.

“Love!” Nuada snapped. “To love and be loved. He needs to grow up without a stain on his magic. He needs a childhood without fear and violence. To have the opportunity to be who he was meant to be. Trained to be a leader, yes, but also a good man. Grey but not dark. To value duty and honor. To put Magic first.”

“And you think some ideal childhood will make him into this beacon?”

“Don’t confuse ‘loving’ with ‘ideal.’ It need not be perfect, but he needs the foundation of a loving childhood.”

“Don’t all children need that?”

“Somewhat beside the point,” Nuada said impatiently. “For reasons I can’t explain, he needs it more than most to overcome more than the obstacles of his birth.”

“And why is it, that in all the times Magic has erased and reset time, a loving, magical family can’t be found for him?”

“You can’t order people to love, Severus. You can’t make them be good hearted or charitable or even decent. Will and choice are factors we cannot control.” Nuada turned to go.

“Do something different!”

The king’s expression became like stone, his bearing less friendly. “Are you volunteering, Master Snape? Would you take him into your heart and call him son? Would you sacrifice for him? Would you be a father?”

“I wasn’t even alive,” Severus snapped. “But, yes. If I were alive in that time and you gave me the opportunity to help end this, I would do anything.”

Nuada took a couple steps toward Severus, eyes narrowed. “You would be father to a man who has killed you time and again?”

“I would at least try. And I’d think any number of people who lived then, if given the knowledge and opportunity you were willing to give Dumbledore, of all bloody people, would see him raised well.”

Nuada vanished without replying.

Severus destroyed his home in a fit of pique and then had to recreate it.

– – – –

“Would you truly raise him as your own?”

Severus froze, the night blooming cereus he’d been picking in his illusory garden fell from nerveless fingers. In all his many lifetimes, Lady Magic had never spoken to him personally.

Getting to his feet, he turned and found her standing at the entrance to the garden, fire dahlia’s sprouted and bloomed next to her as he looked on. Her long black hair blew in a non-existent breeze. He gave a short bow. “My lady.”

“Would you?” she prodded.

“I would, but I don’t understand the purpose of academic questions.”

“Do you understand that the you that exists now would never be?”

Severus blinked. “I’m…perplexed.” He prided himself on his intellect, but none of the conclusions he could draw made sense. Time travel of seventy years wasn’t possible but, even if it were, that didn’t make sense in light of her comment about him never existing.

“What do you know of the ancestor you were named for?”

It took him a moment to gain his bearings. “Severus Alexander Prince. An unfortunate initial set, I must say.” He took a steadying breath and sifted through his memories. “Named after the last Roman emperor of the Severan dynasty, he was born on the 8th of August in 1888, purportedly one of the best potions masters of his time, also a spell crafter and master herbologist. His father died while he was still attending Hogwarts, and Severus claimed his title at sixteen. It’s thought that he was last Earl of Kielder to be able to claim the family magic. He was found dead in his greenhouse in the spring of 1922 at the age of thirty-three, a victim of one of his venomous plants. He had never wed and died without issue.

“His younger brother, Gordian, became the new Lord Prince and began to rapidly squander the family fortune. Hypatia Prince, Gordian and Severus’ mother, died shortly after Severus’ death. Gordian Prince had one son who had one daughter. That daughter was my mother, Eileen. Gordian’s son was not able to claim the title and, of course, my own mother was ineligible.”

“And you never tried.” It was not a question.

“I had taken the dark mark by the time it even occurred to me. And if my grandfather could not claim the title, I had no reason to suppose I could.”

The Lady picked one of the fire dahlias and held it in her palm. Normally, the sap of a fire dahlia picked without care and proper tools would burn off a limb, but she held the molten blossom in her hand, seemingly completely enthralled with it. “Even for me, it is not possible to move a body so far through time. But a mind and a soul can be moved.” Black eyes met his, and her gaze seemed as fathomless as the universe. “But only along a familial magical line.”

Severus stared. “You wish to put my mind in another body?”

“That is not a wish I can make, Severus. It must be a wish that you make.”

He took a couple breaths, imagining that he could feel his heart racing. “And what about the person who is using that body?” He fought threads of panic at the idea.

“He would be dead and no longer using it.” Her tone was dry. “I would send you to the moment your ancestor died and have Nuada meet you with a curative for the poison Gordian left for his brother.”

Severus sighed. He and his mother had once speculated that Gordian had murdered his own brother, which was why the family magic rejected him. But that was a minor issue considering that his flippant comment about raising Tom Riddle had gotten him into a situation he wasn’t sure what to do with. “And would I have my memories?”

“Of one life—the last you lived. A living, mortal mind can tolerate the memories of three lives. You’ll have the memories of the new life yet to be lived, the memories of your most recent life, and the life of Severus Alexander Prince. More than that would cripple you with headaches, and possibly seizures, hindering your ability to fulfill your mission.”

“You call him a mission?”

Her gaze was hard. “What I call him is no concern of yours.”

“I think it rather is if I’m to go back in time and then never exist as who I was.”

She glanced away then waved her hand. A table, two chairs, and a tea service appeared. “Sit.”

Severus did as ordered, not quite able to wrap his mind around the Great Lady serving him tea.

After several minutes of silence broken only by the clink of china cups, she said, “Every soul has a purpose, Severus. Some souls serve their purpose and move on to Avalon. Others need to learn and must live their lives again. While yet others are needed for more than one life. They could move on but they choose to exist in my service for however long I have need of them. Thomas is one such soul. His choices for reincarnation were limited since there has to be a degree of compatibility, and he arrogantly thought he could overcome the taint of the love potions his mother forced on his father. I am as much to blame as he for allowing it.”

“Who was he?”

“I will not tell you that. If you are successful in mending his broken soul, broken not from his rituals—that I can repair—but broken from the grief of failing, broken from regret and shame and heartbreak. If you succeed in that, then you will know.”

“If you can erase the timeline, why not erase to before he was born and let him choose another way to reincarnate?”

“There are some things even I cannot change,” she said sadly.

“Lady, I know we’re trying to prevent the death of magic, but what is it that happens? The times that play out further into the future show war, but not how that leads to the loss of everything.”

Magic stared into her tea and softly replied, “Non-magicals and magicals go to war. The magical beings all die, which wasn’t what led to the death of everything. Non-magicals had disagreed, violently, over the approach to dealing with magic. The death of the magical races fueled their anger with one another. The Earth was scorched by their world war with one another. The damage to the planet and the overwhelming loss of life poisoned the ley wells from which all life springs. The dimensions attached to the magic of the Earth—Avalon, Annwn, Valinor, Tír na nÓg, and so many others—would all die as well.”

She met his gaze again, eyes brimming with grief. “The first time we saw the death of everything as inevitable, we unwound time. Nuada led war on the non-magical peoples. They killed billions. But stopping them was not the remedy we’d hoped for. The overwhelming loss of life did the same thing, only much sooner.”

Severus was horrified. “How is Tom Riddle a solution to any of that?”

“He has the magical power to make a difference. Whether that’s complete separation from the non-magicals or more co-mingling, I do not know. We never are able to see. But his potential…” she trailed off and shook her head.

“How much potential? Because he was powerful, but enough to avert that?”

“I’d say the magical world understood little about what it truly meant to be conceived under a love potion. If his magic is not purged within a month of his birth, he’ll never reach his full potential magically. And if he ever reached his full potential, he’d be the most powerful magical to ever live. But it was never just his magic. It was his mind. The biological wonder that was Thomas Riddle and Merope Gaunt’s combined genetics produced a brilliant strategic thinker. I believe, fate tells me, that he’s vital to the survival of everything. But I have not been able to see him realize his potential.”

“Why not raise him elsewhere? Send him to one of the other dimensions to be raised?”

She shook her head. “He needs to be of that time and place. Of those people. He needs to understand the world he has to save. Understand the best of it because he’s only ever understood the worst. And if he were raised in another dimension…I might as well send one of the fae kings.” She shot him a questioning look. “Are you withdrawing your offer?”

“I’m just trying to understand why he’s so important and what the consequences are.” He drew in a slow breath. “What would my limitations be?”

“Do you mean in terms of changing things?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not trying to preserve any particular future. The survival and life of Severus Prince would already change things. But I’ll be watching, and if your actions risk something important, you’ll be informed.”

“I’d be arriving in the spring of ’22 and he won’t be born until the very end of ’26. That’s a lot of time…” he trailed off, not even sure what he was asking.

“You’ll have family issues to deal with, but use the time as you will. Prepare, research, but also enjoy your life, Severus. Just do not interfere with Merope’s choices or get involved in the affairs of the Gaunts. At least, not until after she’s well into her pregnancy. You’ll have Prince’s memories as well as your own. As a kindness, I’ll blunt the emotions associated with those memories so that you are not overwhelmed.”

He had no concept of how that would play out in practice. “And what about the life I’m taking over? Who will I be when that life ends?”

“Severus Prince moved on. When your life comes to an end, should it be the last time we have to repeat this, you will be Severus Prince. Severus Snape will never be born. Eileen Prince will likely never be born, and her soul will move on to Avalon if she chooses not to be reborn as someone new.”

“Will that happen to many?”

“Even I cannot see the ramifications of Severus Prince living and adopting the son of Thomas Riddle and Merope Gaunt. Some will never be born, but those souls might be a new person in their family line.”

“Potter?” he couldn’t help asking.

“Hadrian or James?”

“Harry.” Who Severus had wronged grievously.

“Hadrian James Potter has a destiny to fulfill. In some way, he will exist.” She cocked her head. The gesture was so human that it threw him a bit. “Have you made your choice?”

“I’ll do it.”

“You’ll love him?”

“How does one promise love? But I do promise to try. To at least raise him with affection, to teach him to be a better man than I was and to value magic and his duty to you.”

“Is there anyone you wish to say goodbye to?”

He considered talking to Lily one last time but dismissed the idea immediately. “No.”

“Then I grant you this new path, Severus Tobias Snape. Your other way, our other way, will lead you to be Severus Alexander Prince.”

Everything around them vanished and he found himself in inky blackness with only Magic standing in front of him. Her black hair was unbound and moving wildly, light seeming to come from within.

She stepped close and leaned in. “Alio Modo,” was whispered so softly that he barely heard it, yet the spell began to echo in the unending darkness until the word had a physical presence that vibrated in his being.

Alio Modo reverberated through time and space, gaining strength and presence until it felt like he was suffocating under the weight of it. The physical manifestation of words consumed every sense. They were all he could see, hear, or feel. They smelled of air and fire and tasted like ash.

Every fiber of his being was overtaken and consumed.

Chapter One

9 May 1922

Severus’ body felt like it was being burned from the inside out, but his throat was locked, making it impossible to scream.

He felt hands on him and a weight forcing his body to stop thrashing. His jaws were pried apart and something arcticly cold was poured into his mouth. A flush of magic forced him to swallow.

The burning stopped.

The suddenness of it left him still wanting to scream. He managed to lie there and pant as he tried to regain his equilibrium.

“Just keep breathing,” a familiar, deep voice said. It took him a moment or two to place the voice as King Nuada’s. “We had to wait for Prince to die before your soul could be merged into the vessel. The pain you felt was both the poison and the feeling of existing in dead cells.”

Severus took several shuddery breaths. “You couldn’t have healed me before waking me up?” He was distracted from his own grousing by the sound of his voice. It wasn’t as deep as he was used to. There was also more raspiness, but his throat felt raw so he wasn’t sure it would last.

“Couldn’t heal you until you were living again. Meant your first few seconds were going to be miserable no matter what.”

He finally pried his eyes open and realized he was in a greenhouse sometime in the late afternoon. Nuada was kneeling next to him, and Severus gave a start of surprise when he saw the Taipan Rose under a containment spell right next to where he’d been lying.

Pushing himself to a seated position, he asked incredulously, “My ancestor had a Taipan Rose?” The memories of Prince’s life rattled around in his head and he frowned. “No, he didn’t. I didn’t. I don’t.” He shook his head, trying to get the memories and timeline sorted in his mind. The memories that weren’t his felt like they were for all that they seemed distant.

“It’s how your brother killed you. And it is you. You are now Severus Prince, Earl of Kielder.” Nuada jerked his chin toward the rose. “But you wizards are fucking idiots. Why would of you lot sort out how to cross the most venomous magical viper with an aggressive species of magical rose bush?”

“I’d certainly never bother to do something so foolish.” Severus edged away. A Taipan Rose was unpredictable and prone to shaking off containment charms. They could only be handled by the most skilled herbologists and they were always kept in careful isolation. They were also highly illegal without a ministry writ.

“Shall I leave it with you or take it off your hands?”

“I don’t want it, but I think I’ll need proof to have my loving brother thrown in prison.”

“If you can’t dispose of it, I’ll take it off your hands. One of my children might find it interesting.” Nuada hesitated then said, “Thank you, Severus, for doing this.”

“Is this truly the first time this method of solving things has been attempted?”

“Yes. It had been discussed as a possibility, but there were very few who could have filled the role, and it’s not the sort of thing that can be compelled.”

Severus wondered if he’d been masterfully manipulated into this. “And what is the criteria for filling the role?”

“Of a disposition to offer the love he needs, have a magical ancestor who had died young and before Thomas’s birth. At least young enough to handle the care of a child and see him into his adult years. This ancestor needed to have material means sufficient for protection and stability, though we could have easily provided those means if all other criteria were met. There were several other minor things.”

“Were you monitoring those who fit this criteria?” He now wondered at Nuada meeting him so often on the platform.

The king cocked a brow in a way that seemed both amused and regal. “We made contact with them, but there were few, and we were not optimistic. If you’re wondering if you were one we monitored for this purpose, the answer is no.”

That surprised him. “No?”

“You met much of the criteria—else we wouldn’t be here, now would we?—but the most important factor was ability to teach him to love. And that was something we’d never ask of you. Particularly you.” He shot Severus a speaking look.

Severus didn’t need the reminder about why he might have a particularly hard time with this mission. He found himself grateful that the emotions surrounding the events of his last life were blunted. He was aware of all his knowledge about the circumstances they were in, but the only life he could remember was the last one. It was odd knowing he’d had many other lives but could only remember the one.

“How many times has he killed me?” he asked even though he didn’t really want to  know.

“Too many. And best to not dwell on that. What matters is you were the only one to offer, Severus. Again, we thank you,” Nuada replied.

“I’m not sure ‘offer’ is the word I’d choose,” he grumbled.

Nuada shook his head. “This particular magic doesn’t work if you are compelled. Perhaps there was some manipulation but, if it did exist, your desire to end these revolutions outweighed being manipulated.”

Severus could concede that point. “I just realized I have my memories of my afterlives even though I only remember the last physical life.”

“That was important for memory continuity so you could contextualize your task. Voldemort almost always died within a year of you, so the number of years spent in limbo is minor compared to the years of life you’ve lived. The memories won’t affect you negatively.”

Feeling like the healing draught had completely done its work, Severus got to his feet. “I imagine I’m on my own now, so I thank you for the quick healing. And I would greatly appreciate it if you’d ensure the protections around the Taipan Rose are sound until I can figure out where my wand is and if it even works for me.”

Nuada just stared at him. “I know you often had to work without aid, Severus, but that is the case no longer. I cannot fully walk this journey with you because my place is not in this realm, but if you ever have need of me, I will answer.”

– – – –

“Do you have any idea who might want to kill you, Lord Prince,” the senior auror asked. It was a rephrasing of a question that had already been asked.

“None. I’m sure we all gather enemies in the course of our lives. Although… Is it wrong to wish that whatever enemies I’d made would have a modicum of intelligence?”

The senior auror huffed a laugh, but the two junior aurors, who were keeping their eyes on the Taipan in case it shook off its containment charms, both looked puzzled. “How is this not clever? You’re known to be a master herbologist, and this is a dangerous plant.”

Severus shot the senior auror a look, asking if he could school the children. The older man just nodded. “Well, Auror Jacobs, there are several things flawed with this plan. First is that only a fool keeps a plant this dangerous in a greenhouse at all. Taipans should be kept in small containment boxes under tight wards. I hope no one thinks I’m a fool. Second, no master herbologist keeps dangerous plants in a greenhouse under nothing but family wards. I don’t even keep mandrakes in here, for Merlin’s sake. This greenhouse is decorative and for my mother’s use. Anyone close to me knows that, so to think I’d put a Taipan Rose in my mother’s sanctuary would be akin to accusing me of wishing my mother dead.

“Next, it must be considered by anyone who knows me well that the greenhouse where I keep the dangerous plants, those level-3 and above—duly registered with the ministry, of course—is only accessible by me and my apprentice. And, most importantly, I have a well-earned reputation for being law abiding. I’d hope someone would look closely at me being killed by an illegal plant,” he gestured vaguely at the abomination of plant/animal, “thing.”

“Thank you for that example of deductive reasoning, Lord Prince.” The senior auror shot his subordinates a look. “I’ll need a list of everyone who has access to the greenhouse.”

“Yes, of course.” He glanced at the two junior aurors. “If we’re going into the house, I must advise that they’re standing entirely too close to it. Those blooms may only look a few inches high, but the reach of a Taipan is up to two feet. But don’t worry, if the ward breaks, they only move a few inches a minute.” The aurors took hasty steps back to about ten feet away. Severus sighed. “When will the ministry herbologist arrive?”

– – – –

Severus splashed some water on his face, took a careful breath, and then looked at himself in the mirror. The face looking back at him was foreign but not so foreign that he thought he wouldn’t be able to adapt. The Prince family resemblance carried through in the black eyes, cheekbones, forehead, and hair color. Prince’s nose was smaller. His hair was short, but the texture was coarser than what Snape had dealt with in life. They were of a similar height, though Prince was broader in the shoulders.

However, he hated the facial hair. He thought about using a shaving charm immediately, but thought drastic changes too quickly might be ill considered.

He allowed himself a moment to assess his magic. It felt good in a way he hadn’t experienced in a long time. This body, this magic, had never been tethered to the black magic of Voldemort. It felt fresh and clean. It also felt like his, which he hadn’t expected. He hadn’t considered that Lady Magic could account for so much or make the integration so seamless. He wasn’t sure what to make of the tether he felt to family magic.

Despite being a Prince by blood, he’d never felt the Prince family magic. When he was young, his mother would tell him stories of his Great Granduncle Severus and how he was the last known Prince to touch the family magic. She’d tell him all about the potions his uncle had invented and the spells he’d crafted. As a child, Severus Snape had thought of Severus Prince as a hero. Privately, his mother would whisper to him that the family magic’s desertion of their line had been the reason she’d thought her grandfather involved in her granduncle’s death.

Whatever Prince’s connection to family magic had been, however, it was something he was used to ignoring. The last memory he’d had before the Taipan had lashed out was of a twinge of warning from the magic that Prince had ignored with what seemed like long practice. Or perhaps he’d been so used to ignoring the family magic that he hadn’t even noticed the tingles.

No matter the cause, Severus had never personally dealt with family magic, so his first order of business after tending to Gordian was to do research and figure out what he needed to do to ensure the family magic was healthy and stable. He planned to adopt Merope’s child into the family line, and so he needed to be sure the magic was clean and sound.

He rejoined the aurors to find that his family had all been gathered. The reality of family took him aback for a moment or two but, with long practice, he schooled his expression and listened carefully to what was being said.

“Merlin’s pants, Gordian,” he interjected impatiently after a moment of listening. “No one has accused you of trying to kill me! No one even thinks that. But being hostile with the aurors, who are trying to do their duty, is not productive.”

Gordian straightened his robe and gave a firm nod. “Thank you, Severus. It comforts me that at least my only brother has faith in me.”

“Of course. So, let’s be done with this bit so they can move on to finding the culprit. If everyone would kindly swear a magical oath that they were in no way involved in the attempt on my life or in placing the Taipan Rose in the greenhouse, we can get on with our day.”

Marcilla, his sister-in-law, immediately said, “That’s a fine idea, Severus. I swear on my magic that I was not involved in the attempt on Severus’ life. So mote it be.” She pulled her wand and cast a quick lumos. She was so free of guile and quick to give a fairly broad oath that he did not suspect her. He also remembered her as being fairly simple. She shot him a nervous look. “Do we need an oath from Ciprian?”

Severus glanced at his five-year-old nephew who was playing with a set of animated toy unicorns on the floor. “Of course not, Marcilla.”

She smiled and turned to her husband. “Gordy?”

He puffed out his chest. “I’ll not be having any of this oath nonsense! How dare any of you accuse me!”

Marcilla frowned. “It’s a simple vow, Gordy. Just say you didn’t try to hurt Severus so these men can stop wasting their time questioning the family.” He blustered some more and Marcilla’s expression fell. “I don’t understand… Why won’t you take the vow?”

“Gordian,” Hypatia Prince, their mother, said sternly “what have you done?”

– – – –

14 August 1922

Severus stepped into the Wizengamot’s private chambers. It was one reserved for sitting lords, proxies, or regents from one of the thirty six houses that comprised the hereditary seats—the twenty-eight original families plus eight additional “most revered” seats that all presently sat vacant.

As Snape, he’d never had reason to enter these chambers, and as Lord Prince, there’d never been an occasion for the Ancient and Noble Assembly to meet separately from the rest of the Wizengamot since he’d claimed the title at sixteen. There had been one Noble Assembly called in these rooms when Severus had been twenty-one, but he’d been out of country working on his second mastery and hadn’t been able to attend.

“Severus,” a low, smooth voice said from his left, “it’s been an age. It feels as if you’ve been avoiding me.”

He turned to face Septimus Malfoy, one of Severus’ rare close fiends. “Avoiding everyone, Septimus. Much has occurred since last we spoke.” He’d spent the three months since waking up in that greenhouse deep in study and preparation. If his mother hadn’t made a point of it, Severus wouldn’t even have noticed that Prince turned thirty-four the week prior.

“Yes.” Septimus stepped a bit closer. “I’d heard Gordian was in ministry custody, but even the rumor mill has been rather quiet on the matter.”

Severus nodded, not rising to the bait. “I’ll explain shortly.”

Septimus’ eyebrows shot up. “You called for the assembly?” At Severus’ nod, Septimus whispered, “Great Merlin, man, if the assembly votes that there was insufficient cause to enact the protocol, you could be sanctioned.”

“I’m aware, but I feel this is the right course of action.” He was certain this was the best way. “I’ll bear whatever consequences may come.”

The pale silver eyes, unique to the Malfoys, seemed to peer through him. His friend finally nodded. “Shall we take our seats?” The Kielder seat was far from the Campion seat, so they went in opposite directions. Severus ignored any looks sent his way. Unlike the various courtrooms, the noble side of the Wizengamot met at a round table. How very apt. During the session it would shift to be a large arc so whoever was speaking would be able to see everyone.

The noble protocols were both more and less formal than those of the full Wizengamot. There was no head or leader. Rather, for each session, a leader was selected by random draw when the meeting was requested. The draw for his session had been the Earl of Thetford, Marcellus Parkinson.

Parkinson called the session to order. “This session was requested by the Earl of Kielder, Severus Prince.” Parkinson looked as old as the foundations of the building and shot Severus a look over his glasses, which were likely not an affection since not even magic could keep the body whole indefinitely. “In addition to summoning us, Lord Prince has requested operior auris, which means that all questions or remarks must be held. Many of you have never been to a session of the nobles, so I’ll remind you of the protocol. If you feel your comment is urgent, you may press your seal, which is a request to be heard. If Lord Prince does not acknowledge you, you will sit silently.

“Additionally, it has been requested that the period for rejoinder be delayed. At the end of whatever Lord Prince has to impart to us, we will first determine if this meeting had merit. If it did, we will then vote on whether there will be open comment now or at some point in the future. This is not negotiable, these protocols are fixed.

“Lord Prince, you have the floor.”

It had been a long time since Severus had felt nerves like this, but it was in his training to push down any sort of distraction. He got to his feet and his section of the table faded away so he could move to the center of the room in the middle of the circular table. The table shifted so it was a wide sweeping arc. He’d still have to turn his head, but he could see all the seats. The magic of the room was such that when standing on the small dais in the middle, he would appear as if he were directly facing whoever was looking at him.

“A session of this nature has only been called once since I claimed my title, and I was sitting for a mastery that week and unable to attend, so I beg this august body’s patience should I falter.”

His carefully rehearsed speech flew out of his head like a feather on the breeze and he said the first thing that came to mind. “I have quite a bit of information to impart to my fellow lords, and I’m keenly aware that many will wish to comment, will feel their need urgent, but I ask that you try to hold your remarks. The array of meetings one can use the noble protocols for helped me greatly but, in doing my research, I wondered if any of us knew why the rules of this chamber are so rigid? If we remember the history of when blood was shed in these rooms over differences of opinion. When debates could last days because arguments would break out over minor issues before the full breadth of the problem was even known.”

Parkinson’s seal lit up, and Severus tipped his head in acknowledgment. “I know, laddie, though I doubt many do. What makes me curious, and might be useful information for all here, is why you know. You’ve never been overly invested in the duty of your rank.”

There were a few of Severus’ contemporaries who had indignant expressions. He made a placating gesture. “I can only agree with Lord Parkinson. I have always been more interested in intellectual pursuits—spellcraft, experimental herbology, potion experimentation—than in the matters of my house and station. But I’ve had reason to spend the last three months in my library. And there’s quite a bit more to my library than I could have ever expected.”

Severus met Septimus’ curious gaze. “Some of you may have heard that my younger brother, Gordian, is in the custody of the ministry. The matter has been kept quiet for now, though it won’t be for long. The head of the DMLE was schoolmates with my mother and agreed to help keep the investigation quiet until it was ready for trial.

“One Tuesday this past May, I walked into the family greenhouse at three in the afternoon, as I always do. Tuesday afternoon and Friday mornings, I make a thorough inspection and leave instructions for the elves who tend the greenhouse. My mother is rather fond of fresh flowers for her table, but also finds the greenhouse to be soothing. I emphasize this point because I’d never leave dangerous plants without proper wards anywhere my mother or nephew might frequent. I’ll admit our cutting of tickle vine rooted well and became rather alarmingly amorous, as poor Lord Malfoy can attest, but it’s certainly not dangerous.”

Septimus shot him an exasperated look, and silent laughter was seen on many faces.

“Shortly after entering the greenhouse, the Kielder family magic gave me a warning. I shamefully admit that I am rather too adept at ignoring the prompting of my family magic, such that I barely noticed it.” He had to be careful how he phrased things because you could not lie once the noble protocols were enacted. “Had I ignored the warning from the family magic, I would be dead from no doubt multiple bites from a Taipan Rose.”

There was astonishment and horror on several faces, Severus cataloged reactions as he slowly shifted his gaze to take in all the expressions. “My own brother was very quickly implicated in the attempt on my life. Any of you who know me by reputation would no doubt question me dying by anything in a greenhouse, especially the one my own mother uses, but Gordian had a co-conspirator in the aurors’ office who would ensure that the investigation seemed legitimate. My death would allow Gordian would pay off his gambling debts with the dverger.

“Though alarming, these matters of the Prince family are certainly not why I called you here today. In the days following, I took a hard look at myself, and I meditated on the magic of my ancestors. I wondered, when did we stop trusting the will of Magic?

“From many of your expressions, I can see that you probably resent the implication, and I’m going to ignore all the seals that just lit up. I’m not making an accusation, I’m simply asking a question based on a rather lot of evidence.”

Severus flicked his hand and a coat of arms appeared over his right shoulder. “Many of you are wondering at that display of wandless magic; I’ll get to that in a second. This is the Prince family coat of arms. Two swords, a rose, some sort of shrubbery, and a motto in Latin about duty. The Prince family have long been perceived as fairly benignly grey. We don’t do horrible things like murder or follow dark lords, but our preoccupation with experimental magic, of any leaning, keeps us out of the light.”

He scoffed at the idea. “Light, dark, grey… All meaningless. The ICW has rammed the proof of that down our throats and yet we cling to it so diligently. There’s magic and black magic, and they can never be confused with one another. And yet we persist in labeling things light, dark, grey. The Princes are grey…” he trailed off and shook his head. “What the Princes are is so preoccupied by what we can do that we don’t stop to ask what we should do.

“I’d never used the ritual space in our ancestral seat until a month after I came face to face with a Taipan trying to bite me. But I went into that space and ritually submitted my family to the Kielder magic. I asked that my family be guided to walk on the path that Magic intends, that those who are unworthy be cut from the family gifts and blessings. And for the first time in my life, the Kielder magic made itself truly known to me.”

He glanced around at a lot of stoic expressions, though some were curious and others alarmed. “Princes are grey, leaning toward dark, and yet this,” he flicked his hand, and the Kielder coat of arms appeared over his left shoulder, “is the Kielder crest. Two unicorns sejant regardant. Unicorns. The Kielder family magic takes the form of unicorns.

“And I do mean form quite literally.” He let the magic holding the crests fade away and asked his family’s guardians to join him. The unicorns were enormous—Severus’ head barely came to their withers. They reflected more light than even existed in the chamber, making them bright and stunning. He noticed that too many of the Lords looked astonished and a few were even scared.

Severus mentally thanked his family guardians and allowed them to go. “Merlin himself assigned a guardian, a protector, to each of the original twenty-eight families. Powerful magic that could take the form of the most magical of creatures. And yet most of our crests don’t feature a magical creature at all. And of those that do, many of them feature the wrong animal.” Several lights went on.

“I realize that there is some indignation or possibly confirmation on that subject, but I ask that you wait because there’s more to the tale.” He shot a look at Septimus and got a brisk nod. “Lord Malfoy is a notable exception in that the family has always had the Campion dragons on their shield. Dragons. I ask that you consider that the Malfoys have two dragons on their coat of arms. What mighty guides they must be.” He didn’t point out that the Selwyns having a unicorn on their coat of arms was not authentic, it was affected to make them seem light.

He shook off the rumination. “I made the point of the Prince’s being perceived as grey because there is no lighter animal, based on our unneeded classifications, than the unicorn. Whereas one of the lightest families sitting at this table has a Nundu on their family crest. And many of you are wondering how I could know that. To be truthful with you, I know the true crest of every seat at this table, including the eight seats that have been empty for longer than anyone can remember.” Peverell, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Slytherin, Ambrosius, le Fay, and Pendragon.

Severus waved off the additional lights that had gone up. “I did not come here today to reveal information any of you would wish to be held private. I came to ask you to think about what I will say here today, what your relationship with your family magic is and what you’d like it to be, and what we should change in light of these revelations.” The profound connection Severus felt to his family magic was the most precious thing he’d encountered in his life. It felt so new and sacred that he couldn’t imagine any of his prior lives having had something so special.

“After the Kielder unicorns made themselves known to me, my magic prodded me to the bank. I had barely entered the environs of Gringotts when a loud, inhuman cry was heard that shook every stone. That day, I learned how little we know about our magic.”

He let the Hogwarts house crests float in a row. “Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. We tell the world that their crests are the badger, the lion, the eagle, and the snake. But no magical line has ever been led by a non-magical animal. For their contribution to the wizarding world and their dedication to Magic herself, the Great Lady granted separate familial magic to the four founders before they ever built a school. Each given a magical protector to guide them. Lady Hufflepuff was gifted with the giant ichneumon—it may have looked like a badger but it could slay a dragon. Lord Gryffindor was oft seen with the mighty Griffin—Slytherin wrote that when it was indignant it could puff up to larger than a house. But Lord Slytherin had no business speaking of size when it came to a magical guardian because the house of Slytherin was protected by a Basilisk.

“Over time, each of them were portrayed as less than they were. Less magical. Less untouchable. A dragon slayer became a badger, the fierce fighter of the air became a lion, and the king of all snakes became a common asp.

“It is our duty to look at why things have changed. Why do we value secrets and conformity over Magic herself? Why do we seek to cover what we truly are? Why would we judge a nundu harshly as a protector? How safe would that family be. Or frown upon a hydra, a chimera, a cockatrice, or a manticore? Why would a pegasus, a unicorn, or a phoenix be better? Why would we abandon what magic had gifted us? I ask you, why do you hide what you are?”

He looked around at stunned faces. “Many of you would ask how I know this. The day I walked into the bank, I was met by the roc of the house of Ravenclaw. The Ravenclaw family magic had blocked any ascension protocol by those who were not surrendered to the will of Magic. Unbeknownst to me, the house of Prince is the last of her great line.

“With access to the Ravenclaw vaults, I have learned the things I have told you today, and so much more. Information I will gladly share with those who choose to take their duty to Magic as sacred. There will be those who would seek to snuff out what I know, to prevent these questions being asked. I hope they are not among those in this room. I hold out hope that this body can use its power to do more than vote on petty regulations and reforms. I extend faith to my fellow nobles, hoping that sense will prevail over panic.”

He carefully met the gaze of each person in the room. “But should my faith be misplaced, I have asked that my magical guardians protect my line so that we can see our magical purpose fulfilled.”

Severus closed his eyes and whispered, “My lady, I am in your hands.”

There was a loud cry as the entire chamber was filled with the cry of the roc. She’d made herself small today, she only went from wall-to-wall and floor-to-ceiling.

Chapter Two

12 September 1922

“Why must we walk this way?” Septimus groused as he looked around again as if afraid a muggle might jump out and try to touch him.

“I find it comforting.” There was more to it than that, of course. Severus needed to establish a pattern of walking in the muggle world years before Merope would be desperately seeking a place to have her baby. Severus thought it likely that Thomas would inherit the Slytherin title, and that would raise eyebrows and speculation about Severus’ guardianship. Between the pull of family magics and the habit of walking in this part of the muggle world, he should be able to credibly show either happenstance or the will of Magic at work in Thomas becoming a Prince.

“How can you find this comforting?”

Severus looked around, taking in the signs of disrepair and even more recent attempts to mend and paint. “The country isn’t yet four years out of a world war that nearly financially destroyed Britain, followed by a disastrous economic recession. We put our heads in the sand and tried to retreat as much as possible from what was happening in the muggle world, but there are things we needed to see, Septimus. The dverger know how to insulate the magical world from muggle events, but even magicals saw a depression in our financial markets during the war. The poorest of wizarding families, those who live on the knife’s edge, couldn’t weather even the short economic depression we suffered.”

Septimus made a vague noise, and Severus left him to his thoughts for a moment. “I remember the economic relief package a few years ago,” he eventually said.

“Two years ago,” Severus remarked. “Most voted against it. Myself included. To my regret, I might add.”

“And why would you regret a sensible financial act?”

“At the worst, wizarding families were driven to the muggle world. That should never be necessary. We should not drive our future to live amongst muggles.” Severus shook his head. “I’ve had my account manager at Gringotts look into retrofitting one of my estates into temporary housing should the need arise again. And I think it will.” He felt an odd prod from his magic. “Or possibly an orphanage.” He nearly made a face. His nephew was one thing, but children in general were not something he was interested in. Yes, he planned to adopt Thomas when the time came, but that was the end of it.

Septimus halted in his tracks and turned to stare at Severus. “An orphanage?”

“Do you think our orphaned children should be raised by muggles?”

“Of course not,” Septimus snapped then frowned. “We’ve always had different stances on muggleborns, Severus…”

“Perhaps.” Severus began walking again. “I don’t disdain muggles in exactly the way you do, Septimus, you know this, but you’re not entirely wrong either. I’m not sure that it’s possible for muggles and wizards to coexist peacefully. But that is a problem for the future. What is our concern is magicals living in the muggle world.”

“Muggleborns,” Septimus sneered.

“They’re not exactly muggleborn, now are they?”

Septimus took hold of Severus’ arm, stopping him from proceeding. “Explain.”

“Through the latter part of her life, Ravenclaw and Slytherin researched the issue of muggleborns. She paints a different picture of Slytherin’s objections. He wanted muggleborns brought completely into the magical world from a very early age. Godric strongly objected to the idea of removing magical children from their biological families.”

Septimus stared for long moments. “Slytherin didn’t object to the muggleborns themselves?”

“No, but even if he had, Septimus, why would you allow a wizard long dead to inform your opinions?” He kept his tone mild and free from judgment. “Rowena’s even later writings indicate that they’d determined the source of muggleborns, but the world was so inflamed by muggle/wizard tensions that no one would hear. Even though it would have solved the apparent difference of opinion between Gryffindor and Slytherin.”

“And?” Septimus asked urgently. “How do we stop it?”

“We can’t. We threw our squibs and our poor into the muggle world, alienated the half bloods, and supposed muggleborns are our reward.” Severus stepped closer and dropped the bombshell he knew would hurt. “There is no such thing as a muggleborn, Septimus. A child of a magical and a non-magical will have no magical channels, but they will have a small magical core. True breeding between a magical and muggle is rare because magicals are drawn to other magicals. We failed to follow the will of Magic and bred too closely to our biological lines and produced children without magical channels. But they still had a core, Septimus. They were still magical.

“Yet we threw them out into the muggle world and even though magic is drawn to magic, they had nothing but muggles to choose from. And so the squib population began to grow, but if you follow the basic rule that magic is drawn to magic, squibs very quickly were drawn back to other squibs. And thus the apparent muggleborn. Two squib lines coming together can create a child with their magical channels intact.”

Septimus looked gutted. “Squibs are magical? You’re sure.” His beloved little sister had been sent to a muggle orphanage when she was proved a squib at age eleven. Septimus had been fourteen.

“Yes. We consider squibs to be shameful for their lack of magic, but the shame was in their parents ignoring Magic. Once that mistake had been made, we compounded our mistake by throwing our children away and then railing about muggleborns. Muggleborns are the evidence of our magic recovering, yet we try to drive it out of our schools.”

“Severus…” Septimus swallowed heavily. “Can you be sure?”

“I’d happily hand the research into the matter over to you, my friend, it’s not like I have the time for it. However, there is…” The Malfoys still carried the Campion crest with its dragons, but they did not submit to their family magic. Severus was not turning any aspect of Rowena’s library or research over to Septimus until his friend could come to him with dragons in tow.

Septimus sighed and turned his face away. “I fear what the ramifications would be.”

“What is the worst that could happen, Septimus?”

In the month since Severus dropped his bombshell on the noble houses, nine lords had reached out to him with news that they’d performed the rituals and vows needed to awaken their family magic. The Noble Assembly had voted to postpone discussion for one month to give each lord time to digest the ramifications of what all Severus had revealed. To give them time to research their own lineage. The nobles were bound to a secrecy oath as they had all agreed that they needed to come to a consensus on the issues before information was given to the Ministry or the Elected Assembly

Many had tried to meet with Severus privately but, unless their case was compelling, he’d refused. He had met with all nine who had taken the step to embrace their family magic, and he’d seen Septimus several times. He felt strongly that the influence of the Malfoy family would sway many, but Septimus was hesitant.

“What if I am no longer lord of my family?”

“Is that what’s held you back? Great Merlin, Septimus! Unless you betray your family magic while under oath to it, you are in no danger of being supplanted as lord. What most rightly fear is that their choice of heir may be affected, and it could be. But you have no children yet. Make your oath to Magic and raise your child, or children, with the proper traditions and regard for Magic, and then accept Magic’s judgment about who should be the next lord.”

Septimus’ expression told the tale of how he felt about letting Magic choose the heir.

“Our need to control who inherited our title is how we got in this mire in the first place! I believe it started in the Ravenclaw line, though it could have happened in several lines at once. The Earl of Ravenclaw, several generations removed from Rowena, did not want his daughter to inherit the title even though family magic judged that it should be so. He began a systematic campaign to separate the matters of succession, from a legal perspective, from our family magic, despite the fact that our titles even existed because of said family magic.

“He made it such that a daughter cannot legally inherit. He found a loophole that magic will not compel you to do that which will cause you harm. So a father who is bound by law not to name his daughter heir cannot be punished by the family magic. He personally paid because it broke the family magic of the line of Ravenclaw. It waited for someone of the biological line to be willing to swear to not be so foolish before it would reveal itself again. So, in order to avoid the rule of magic, we wizards tried to turn ourselves into muggles.”

Septimus sputtered indignantly.

“Does it offend your delicate sensibilities, Septimus, that I would compare us to muggles? But consider how you think! Magic granted us familial magic. Our titles were granted to us because of the familial magic. Yet the minute someone didn’t like the choice of heir, we treated our titles like they were inherited in the muggle fashion.

“You became the head of your family to serve Magic, to serve your family’s magic. You are supposed to see it grow, find those worthy of your line and adopt them into your magical clan so their gifts can grow and in turn make the family stronger. The Campions should be hundreds instead of a mere handful. Hundreds bolstering the family magics.”

“For Merlin’s sake, Severus! You act as if I should be grateful that magic may choose another to lead my family. That it might choose one other than my son as the future lord.”

“Or your daughter! Because that’s the point! Your magic should be allowed to choose a daughter as the future head. The Wizengamot has done its best to make inheritance a matter of only blood, but we are magical. When I look at the lineage charts from Ravenclaw and Kielder from the days when the magic was strong, the magic rarely strayed from the main line for succession. You fear your child might not be chosen as the future heir, but if you raise your child to serve your family line and not try to rule it then why should your magic need to seek another?”

Septimus glanced away, expression conflicted.

“It pains me to think that Gordian might have been successful in claiming the title. That our tether to our magic is so weak that he could inherit like a muggle when he’d arranged the murder of his lord.”

“That…” Septimus stared at him intently, as if seeking something. “That’s unacceptable.”

“After le Fay, Ambrosius, and Pendragon, twenty-eight were granted the magical guardians. Guides to help us grow our magical clans. For a while we succeeded. Five new magical lines sprang forth from our success. Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Peverell. We should have had more success. The thirty-six lines of magic should have grown until new magical lines came into being. And yet we hoarded what we had and so it diminished until we cling to what’s left and pretend to be muggles as we pass our titles from father to son.”

– – – –

14 September 1922

Marcellus Parkinson would remain the head of the Assembly until the issue Severus had opened was closed. As such, he called the session to order.

“Before we begin the discussion, I feel strongly that honesty is vital. None may lie while we are in session, but not lying is a far cry from honesty. In that vein, though we were in a period of contemplation, those who chose to take up the oath to their family magics should declare themselves. In this way, there can be no artifice in our discussion.” He waved his hand and six enormous re’em appeared, taking up all the space in the center of the round table. “The Parkinson family renews its vow to be led by the re’em of the Thetford magics so that we may be strong always.” The six re’em vanished then reappeared in form barely larger than a mouse on the table in front of Lord Parkinson.

Lord Prewett was the first to ask to be recognized. He got to his feet. “The Prewett family has taken up the service of the Stratham family magic. We are guided by two winged aethonan.” The aethonan had such a huge wingspan, and were so tall, they barely fit in the room. “Strong in the defense of Lady Magic and gifted with the element of earth.” The aethonan again became small and appeared on the table.

Lord Ogden got to his feet without being recognized. “The House of Ogden submits itself to the Glenmorgan arions, gifted with the element of air.”

“That’s very well, Lord Ogden, but we ask all members to wait to be recognized.”

Severus lit up his seal. As the petitioner, he had precedence at this point in the proceedings. When Parkinson acknowledged him, he offered, “As I understand it, the six houses sporting winged equines used to have close magical ties. There may be a magical pull that goes beyond protocol.”

“Very well. Would the granian, the abraxan, the pegasus, or the thestral care to declare themselves?”

To Severus’ surprise, they all did. He hadn’t even know three of them had taken this step. Lord Greengrass was the two granians, gifted with the element water. Lord Macmillan had the two abraxans with the affinity for fire. Lord Travers boldly claimed the thestrals, known for necromantic magic. He vowed to see the necromantic gifts employed in the manner Magic had intended. Of course, that meant making any sort of necromantic magic legal, which was part of why this path was so important.

That left the pegasus. Lord Longbottom got to his feet. “House Longbottom submits itself to the magic of Windermere. The pegasii were created to channel the elemental magic of their elemental brethren in battle. Long may we serve Lady Magic.”

Other than the thestral, claiming a winged horse as your magical guide was no risky proposition. What would matter is how the Assembly reacted to the more dangerous guides.

Severus hadn’t seen Septimus since their walk in a muggle neighborhood two days prior, so he was somewhat surprised when the Malfoy lord got to his feet. “The House of Malfoy gladly serves Lady Magic and the magic of the line of Campion. May the triad of dragons Magic has gifted us with guide us well in her service.” The dragons didn’t even bother appearing in their large form, they appeared small and even managed to look haughty as they lounged on Septimus’ table, the size of small kneazles.

Severus suddenly realized that there were different issues at play. The families with the most anti-muggle sentiment would be more reluctant to risk submitting to magic. While lighter families would be reluctant only if the animal were perceived as very dark.

Family Belamy readily claimed the Arrington phoenix, and Lord Yaxley seemed rather pleased with the runespoor guiding Argyll family magics. Nott was the sphinx, and Severus could only hope guidance would prevent that family’s mental capacity from dwindling so drastically. Lord Burke regally claimed the hippocampus.

But things got very interesting when Henry Potter was acknowledged. Severus had to fight back a grin. “House Potter welcomes the guides of the magic of Lockehaven and Gryffindor.” Henry had been busy indeed. “The leviathan and the griffin are our avatars. Long may we stand ready to battle for Lady Magic.”

– – – –

“You’re certainly kicking up a doxy’s nest.”

The voice coming from beside his bed nearly shocked Severus into heart palpitations. He’d dropped his wand out of the dimensional bracelet automatically, but paused to take a steadying breath before putting it away. He’d been pleasantly surprised when Prince’s wand had suited him so well.

He shot a half-hearted glare at the intruder. “Your Majesty.”

Nuada waved negligently and propped his feet on Severus’ bed. “Nuada is fine, Severus. Those of us caught in this web have no need to stand on ceremony.”

“I always stand on ceremony with those uninvited to my bedchamber.” Severus got up and pulled on his dressing gown.

Nuada snorted in amusement. “Not shy, are you?”

“If you didn’t wish to see my bits, you shouldn’t be in my room. I’ve learned rather late in life that sleeping naked can be liberating.” He was still annoyed with the facial hair, however, and he wasn’t committed to keeping it.

“I’ve always thought so.”

Severus huffed. Of course the king would have long experience with sleeping naked. Refusing to rise to the bait, he poured two drinks and passed one off to the king. “Have I made a grievous error in my handling of things?”

“Nay, lad, you’re fine. I can’t say I expected you to just throw yourself headlong into magical reform, but there’s nothing wrong with it.” He took a healthy swallow of the firewhiskey. “Well, now. That’s not too bad then.” He shot Severus a look. “Tell me why?”

“I don’t see how I can teach him what he needs to know, teach him to fight for Magic, when we’ve become so backward about the whole thing. And…” Severus glanced away. “To my recollection, I’ve never felt an intimate connection with family magic. I can’t help but think that it could only benefit him to have such a link.”

“You’re right. It was a good strategy. Not one she’d have asked of you, but she’s pleased nonetheless. But you need to be mindful that the changes from this won’t be subtle. Your greatest asset was being able to predict what would happen to a reasonable degree of certainty. That’s gone now, lad.”

“I imagine some things will stay the same, but I take your warning to heart and won’t depend upon it. However, I do think having the family magic to keep me on the right path more than makes up for the fallout.”

“A profound connection to magic is a beautiful thing.”

“I can’t imagine anything more precious.”

Nuada’s smile was knowing and secretive. “Well, you seem to be settling into this life well.”

“Really? Is that the way it seems? I’m not sure that’s my assessment. The family magic makes it easier, and certainly having a purpose helps, but for as long as I can remember, I’ve gotten up every morning and taken the next step. Whether I’ve felt prepared for it or not. This life feels alien. There are memories of my mother that tell me I should feel fond, but I don’t. My sister-in-law is not the sharpest quill in the store, and while I feel obligation toward her, I can’t say I feel affection.”

“And your nephew?”

“He’s…easier. Amazing that Gordian and Marcilla could create a bright child. I brought Ciprian and Marcilla back into the family magic, but beyond the inklings of mentorship, I feel nothing.”

“You had to get your intelligence from somewhere, Severus.”

He gave a start, having managed to block out that Ciprian was Snape’s grandfather.

“Perhaps you do not want to feel anything because the Ciprian you knew was angry and bitter. He used his intelligence to hurt. He became hard and cruel, prejudiced against muggles. He took his anger out on your mother. But consider that what you do for Thomas, you also do for Ciprian. Instead of cutting he and his mother off from the Prince magic, you adopted him back into the family. In the life you knew, Ciprian was a brilliant spellcrafter, but his focus was on dark curses. What might a Ciprian who is happy and loved do for the world. For Magic.”

“I can’t force myself to love.”

“No, but you can stop living Snape’s life. Stop getting up every day and continuing on with the mission. You have four years to prepare for Thomas. Granted, you’re going to be busier than I expected with the shitestorm you stirred up, but you’ll be in no fit state to be a parent if you’re still on a mission. Figure out how to live your life. Learn how to parent by helping with your nephew. Take a holiday if you need to. Stop strategizing and be Severus Prince. Let this life wash away what remains of the life of Severus Snape.”

– – – –

21 October 1922

“You strictly forbade me from arranging our constitutionals in the muggle world, Septimus, and yet you had me meet you here?”

Septimus sighed. “My magic prodded me here.”

Severus’ lips twitched. His friend seemed lighter for having surrendered to Magic, but he could get rather grouchy about it. “Well, lead on.”

It had been another month since the last meeting of the Noble Assembly, and fall had fully settled on London. Eight more lords had since joined the ranks of those renewing their oath to magic. Bulstrode, Avery, Abbott, Ollivander, Rosier, Selwyn, Carrow, and Lestrange had joined the ranks of those who were able to reveal their magical avatars. Bringing two hippogriffs, two kelpies, one hydra—because who needed more than one hydra—four coatls, two ashwinders, a cockatrice, a cerberus, and eight acromantulas—because of course there were eight—to the spiritual menagerie.

That left only six houses outstanding where there were known lords. Black, Shacklebolt, Rowle, Weasley, Crouch, and Dagworth-Granger. He had a suspicion he knew why Weasley and Black hadn’t taken the step. The more who took the risk of submitting to magic, the more pressure there was on the rest. Thus far, he hadn’t seen any indication that any of them regretted their choices.

He and Septimus talked about commonplace things. The walks with Septimus were something that felt like they were of this life. These were moments when he felt fully immersed in this timeline, fully Severus Prince. He’d tried to take Nuada’s advice and focus on living the life of Severus Prince rather than continuing the mission of Severus Snaps, but it was often difficult.

Progress with Ciprian was easy due to the boy’s delight in Severus’ attention. He didn’t seem to mind that Severus was awkward and uncertain how to act. To Severus’ surprise, fondness was growing. He wasn’t having such good fortune with his mother. Hypatia Prince was a typical pureblood. Her marriage had been arranged and her husband died young. His memories said that she’d loved her sons, but she’d been focused on other things more often than not. There was little common interest for her and Severus to build a rapport around. Marcilla just wanted Ciprian to be happy and, since she couldn’t nourish her son’s intelligence, she was relieved to have Severus taking an active role with the boy.

Severus came out of his ruminations when Septimus came to a stop. He blinked at the name plaque declaring the building an orphanage. “Septimus?”

“I don’t know…” He swallowed thickly. “I feel like I’m supposed to be here.”

“Perhaps we should go in, then?”

Septimus pulled back, looking horrified at the prospect of entering a muggle establishment.

“Or we could walk around a bit. I hear the children out playing.”

“Yes. That…that’s fine.”

Severus led Septimus around the side of the building to the area where children were laughing and running. For his friend’s sake, he hoped he wasn’t being sent here to adopt a muggleborn. He had confidence that Septimus would get there, but it was too soon.

Septimus edged away from Severus until he was standing by the fence. A small boy in clothes that were somewhat too large but well-mended sat by himself on a stone bench.

The boy looked up, craning his head back, when their shadows cast his book into shade. “Hullo.” The hair was light brown, or perhaps dark blond, but the eyes were distinctly Malfoy silver.

Septimus’ breath stuttered.

“Hello,” Severus said in response when Septimus seemed struck dumb. “My name is Severus and this is my friend Septimus.”

The boy blinked a few times. “I have an uncle named Septimus.”

“Do you?” Septimus’ voice was hoarse.

Sadness crossed the boy’s face. “Before she died, my mum told me that she had one brother and his name was Septimus. Seemed like a strange name, but it’s your name too.”

Septimus went down on one knee so the boy didn’t have to crane his neck. “And what was your mum’s name?”

“Priscilla, and my da’s name was William.”

“Those are very nice names.” Septimus cleared his throat. “I had a sister named Priscilla. Tell me, how did your mum die?”

“She got sick. The measles hit her hard. Took her and my da.”

“I think you must be a very strong boy.”

The kid smiled. “Are you my uncle?”

“I think I am.”

“Where have you been?”

“I didn’t know about you. About your mum dying. I’ve been looking for her for a long time.”

The kid stared at his lap. “Do I get to go home with you?”

“I…I think that I should speak to someone about that.”

The kid was up like a magic bean, dropping his book on the bench. “Wait here! I’ll get Mr. Carruthers!”

When they were alone, Septimus turned a tormented gaze on Severus. “He’s a squib.”

“Probably.”

“How can he live in our world?”

“How can he not? He has magic, he just can’t use a wand.”

“Is it fair to bring him into a world he can never truly be part of?” Septimus asked, sounding pained.

“We have to start somewhere. If squibs are going to be part of our world, truly part of it, it has to begin with one. Why would magic bring you here if not to show that this is the path your family should take? That this is the cause you should champion?”

“I feel the truth of it, but I’m so uncertain.”

“He’s Priscilla’s child, Septimus. What more do you need to know? He can’t be more than six and he’s in an orphanage. Is this what you would have for him?”

“Do I raise him myself? Find a squib family in our world to bring him up?”

“I’d say you need to consult your lady wife for the answers to those questions. Let Genevieve and your magic guide you. If it’s to raise him as yours, so be it. If it’s to create a boarding school in the magical word for squib children, then do that. Right now, get to know your nephew.”

“Nephew,” he repeated. “We both have nephews of a similar age.”

“Don’t even think that you’re sending yours to Marcilla.”

Septimus shot him a weak glare. “That didn’t cross my mind. Just that when I’m out of my depth, I can consult an expert on what young boys like.”

“I don’t have any idea what young boys like,” Severus protested.

“I meant Ciprian!” Septimus laughed. He sobered abruptly and grabbed Severus’ arms. “I’m not sure I’m ready for this. I need time to research, to read Rowena’s studies…to conduct my own—”

“I’m not sure you have a choice,” Severus interjected. “Maybe this is your test, Septimus. Rise to the challenge.”

Before Septimus could reply, the little boy came back, dragging a portly man along by the hand. “Mr. Carruthers, this is my Uncle Septimus! He’s come to take me home with him!”

Carruthers shot them suspicious looks. “Is that so?”

Septimus seemed to be floundering, so Severus stepped in. “Actually, we were just walking past and Septimus noticed that this young man bore a striking resemblance to his sister, who he has been searching for these many years. They got to speaking and Septimus’ sister’s name is Priscilla, and this lad’s mother’s name is Priscilla. Considering that she had a brother named Septimus—hardly a common name—it does seem like they’re related.”

“Well, I never heard such a thing.” Carruthers stroked his mustache and looked thoughtful. “What a fine bit of luck you’ve had, young Marcus. I do need to speak to these gentleman in private though, so give us a minute, my lad.”

The little boy seemed reluctant to leave, but walked backward a few steps.

“That’s your name?” Septimus asked. “Marcus?”

“Marcus Lucas Granger, that’s me!”

Severus froze.

A squib boy in London named Granger. It had to be a coincidence.

Oh, Lady, Severus prayed, let it not be her. Tell me we haven’t wiped her from existence.

The feather-touch of familiar magic brushed over his skin, and then a voice whispered, “Hermione still has a role to play, Severus. She was always a Malfoy, but she’ll now bear the name. Fate has turned. She may one day be their Lady.”

---

Return to Main Page | Chapters 3-4

---