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Magic.
Many used it, very little were able to dominate it, but all of them had it.
It was in their blood, it was in their bones, in their souls.
It was a wild creature; it was the forestall fire that could consume you whole or the light that save you from the darkness.
It couldn’t be stop or deceived.
Magic didn’t obey the rules of men. Always knew who was worthy of its power.
Severus had thought several times about his roots, about the family that had mangled his connection to what ought to be his, to a part of him he had never use but he missed, the phantom of a limb that was severed before he could ever feel its warmth.
It angered him, it sadden, it made him feel like a disgrace. A nobody.
Such useless thoughts, nothing could be done. He had to continue, raise his head and show the world he didn’t need it to shine, he didn’t need a surname, ancient magic, he needed nothing, he made his own way.
But recently it wasn’t as easy.
He had been careful and exhaustive in his investigation when he had decided to get pregnant. He had taken in consideration the side effects, the hormone change, how it could affect the depression he had tried to fight off since his childhood. He knew he could lose a few teeth, about the chances of miscarriage and other wonderful horrors of pregnancy. What he had not expected was to think about the family that had abandoned him before his birth.
It had started one afternoon when he was visiting his beloved godson.
Both Lucius and Narcissa had been equally happy and concerned about his new state, the wizard had even offered to have a little chat with dear Monty to make sure he treated him properly. An amusing thought.
He had been holding him while Narcissa rested a bit and Lucius complained about some new rich wizards who knew shite about good manners.
“And can you believe the audacity?” he sneered “having a vault full of gold doesn’t make you less of a dirty arriviste”
“How dare them” said Severus not really paying attention. How could he with Draco soft warm between his arms?
A flash of disgust and something close to worry crossed Lucius fine features.
“Sev” he said softly.
And then Severus knew something was really wrong.
“One of this… disgusting creatures wanted to buy an ancient property of a magical family, one that has no current heir”
That was no strange occurrence, sometimes when the family was long dead and the magic weak or vanished, another wizard could acquire one of their properties. With the adequate permissions of course.
“It was one of the Prince properties”
He didn’t change his expression, he didn’t move a muscle, he kept his head high, his dignity. He refused to cry, to tremble, to express anything at the name.
“Is that so?”
The blond gaze was serene, he knew his friend didn’t need pity or compassion. He needed clear facts.
“It was futile, the Prince’s family magic seems still strong, even without an heir” he continued with aplomb “From my contacts in the ministry it seems… wild”
“Wild?”
“It’s not diluting or withering, it’s as strong as ours or even Greengrass”
That could mean many things, things that didn’t have anything to do with him.
“That could become a nuisance in the future” he said simply
And like that, the conversation ended.
Severus looked at his godson sleeping against his chest, perfect, round, with pink cheeks and strong little hands. He nuzzled his little head and let the scent of the new born calm him down.
It was fine. He was fine.
He tried to push away the thought, concentrating on the select orders he was still working on. He had considered to work normally during part of his pregnancy but ended up discarding the idea. Some elements could be toxic for the baby, not counting the stress and the physical strain. So, he had reduced the number of orders, he had the privilege to be exclusive.
But the thought never went away, it sticked like bitter honey, drowning him.
He sat down on his chair, hands caressing his belly. It was still too flat, just a small curve revealed the existence of life.
Prince.
If he held the title, his child would be more protected.
A bastard didn’t hold the same rights as a noble one. It didn’t matter they were now in the twentieth century, the rules of the wizarding world, the prejudices, never changed.
If he held the title, his child would be recognized as the next in line, as more than the Potter’s bastard. They would have money, properties, magic.
A wave of sadness washed over him.
He felt so tired.
“What bitters your scent my dear crow?”
Monty set the steamy mugs on the small table between their chairs. He caressed his cheek sweetly, his scent of cardamom, sandalwood and orange was a warm blanket wrapping around him.
He let out a sigh, nuzzling against his hand.
“Nothing” he answered “wondering about paths that were never for me to take”
“My dear”
Dear. He was his dear crow.
Boiling tears stung his eyes. Why he was so emotional? Why his care, his love, ripped him from the inside out? A whimper escaped from his mouth, a pathetic sound that angered him. Why was he so weak? Why was he so desperate for a soft touch, a sugary word?
Fleamont didn’t mind, he never did. He kissed his face and wrapped him with his arms.
“Is alright my love” he said softly “everything would be alright”
He sank into his arms, the little bastard boy, gestating another bastard.
Lord Orion Arcturus Black was a man of order, of resolutions. If a problem arose, he would not tremble, he would not yield, he would find a solution. Not only that, he would reach for the root and rip it out of the ground, he would burn the ships, he would make sure the power remained in his hands.
The fireplace of the office lightened up with the green flame of the flu powders, the figure of Fleamont emerging with grace.
He looked around, arching an eyebrow.
“Are all Black properties so dramatic?”
“It’s not my fault you don’t have class”
This “little” house was one of his favourites, an unknown, private location that couldn’t be accessed unless the owner allowed it.
He had found about it in his youth while he revised endless amounts of paperwork his father had left incomplete.
It was just another house, not glorious or refined, something to be bought ant then forgot.
He had decided then and there it was perfect.
It was a Wealden Hall style house, built around the fifteenth century, with a timber frame and a central open hall flanked by bays of two storeys, roofed in line. It still conserved the original stained glass with the coat of arms of the original owner, a disgraced wizard who had lost almost every knut on his name.
It was quiet and always clean, the perfect place for him to do his work or simply escape from his wife.
“How is Severus?”
“Sad and hurt” said his beloved lion “I… I think, in part he is afraid for our pup, it won’t be easy for them to grow as…”
“As a bastard, the son of a kept omega” he said dryly
Fleamont looked at him with surprise before letting out a tired chuckle.
“You are terrible” he said raking a hand through his greying hair “How do you know it would be a boy?”
“It simply will” the lord said waving a hand dismissively “And on the other hand? You implied more than one reason”
The lion sighed and leaned against the desk.
“He didn’t say it out loud but I believed he was talking about his mother’s family”
“The Princes”
The fallen family. For years the Prince family had rivalled with many of the most powerful families in Britain. But slowly, like many other families, between the inbreeding and the political intrigues, it had shrivelled until the last heir died. No one knew what happened to lord Prince and his children, there were rumours of a betrayal to the magic and a child that should have never be born.
They had discovered Severus connexion after an exhaustive investigation.
Monty didn’t care for his lover’s family or past but Orion was a bit more pragmatic.
“I need to show you something” said the Lord.
With a wave of his wand, he made the papers on his desk fly, settling like a strange puzzle.
The lion adjusted his glasses and leaned to take a good look.
“This is…”
“A permission to acquire one of the prince family properties in London” he answered simply “denied by the department of bloodlines and family magic”
“This department doesn’t have power over real state or housing in general” He looked at him in the eye “That means…”
“Prince magic is very well alive”
Fleamont looked over the other papers, some journalistic articles about the debacle of the family, the mysterious death of the heir of Lord Prince and the disappearance of his daughter. He traced the words of the wedding announcement of Severus’ mother, barely a few lines, hidden away like a shameful stain.
“Have you never wondered what happened to Ixion? Why a well-bred and submissive woman as Eileen Prince decided to run away and entangle herself with a man such a Tobias Snape” He spit the name like it was venom on his tongue “Why, after he was the last one standing in the succession line, he dropped dead with no clear answer?”
“I always thought that finally the poison he dripped on everybody’s ears had eventually killed him”
Monty had never liked Ixion. The way he spoke, the way he moved, how he looked at everyone with such contempt, as if they were under him. He remembered his smirk as he gave him his condolences for his “uncomfortable situation”. If it wasn’t for Septimius intervention he would have beaten the shite out of him when he implied, he should fine someone more fertile.
“If I understand what you are trying to tell me right now dear friend” said the wizard putting down a paper “You believe his death was related to the family magic loyalty”
“Not only loyalty, but it’s core integrity”
With a flick of his wrist a heavy tome from the library flew towards the desk, its pages passing quickly before stopping.
“In some instances, magic can understand who is not worthy of wielding it, who has claimed it by false precepts, who would eventually destroy the bloodline” He signalled one of the passages “If he had done something to get the other heirs out of the way to claim the title of lord, the magic could have… taken things into its hands, figuratively speaking”
An unfit heir, an unlawful one. This meant the whole succession could be call in question.
Severus could…
“There is a flaw in your plan, a fatal one I might say” said the lion “Eileen was magically disowned, even if Ixion was full of shite, Severus wouldn’t be able to claim his inheritance. Magic would simply skip him and find someone else who shares his blood. A distant cousin or something like that”
And then Orion smiled, the sharp smile of a viper, of someone who hold all the cards in his hand.
“Not necessarily”
He opened one of his desk drawers and extracted a sleek black book. It looked old, older than any of them.
“If magic is wild enough, if the bloodline had been betrayed and there was someone who could channel it but was cut from it, if another ancient blood recognized them…”
“You are talking about ancient magic”
He was talking about a claim, about something more dangerous but incredible delectable.
If this was true, if this worked, no one would be able to touch Severus again, not even their firstborns.
“We would need someone who could gave us access to the Prince vault, someone who knows about blood magic and curse breaking. Someone who could keep their mouths shut”
“You have someone in mind”
It was not a question but an affirmation. In the end, they were the two sides of the same coin.
“We have to be careful” said the lion, his finger slipped down the pages of the book “The baby…”
“Blood would recognize blood” said the viper “the magic would seek the new heir, protect the line”
And with that, the plan was set.
In the end, he was right. Blood seeks blood.
Severus adjusted his cape and put on his gloves, traying to control the trembling in his hands.
“My love”
He turned to see his dear Fleamont.
“Are you ready?”
Are you ready? Do you want to continue? Do you want to test the wild beast bigger than you can fathom?
He nodded; he wouldn’t back down now.
He took the arm of the alpha, exiting the house.
They went down the small path, through the garden gate, feeling the wards vibrate behind them, and once on the road they disappeared.
Diagon Alley was vibrating with excitement. People of all ages walked around shopping and mingling, unaware of the ritual that was about to take place.
Gringotts opened its doors for them, glimmering under the amber light.
They reached the main desk under the insightful gaze of the goblins.
“Good morning, Lord Potter” said the head goblin “How may I help you today?”
“Good morning, Delon, I hope your family is in good health” He said warmly and extended his wand to him “I would like to talk with Noctblod, I have a consultation with him”
The goblin narrowed his eyes before giving them a sharp fanged smile.
“Of course, sir” he said returning his wand “He is waiting for you in the privet room number five”
“Thank you, Delon. You are a charm”
Some would confuse his kindness with stupidity, a wizard of his status treating such creature like an equal? Disgraceful!
What they didn’t understand was the fine play they were interpreting. It created a bond, a promise. Mutual help, mutual respect, a consolidation of quiet power that could destroy kings.
They entered the fifth privet room where a goblin and Orion waited for them.
Noctblod was very similar to many of his kind but there was a faint exhaustion that creeped on the edges of his soul. He looked like a man that had seen what no other should see, not darkness, not evil, something far more impressive and ancient. He wore a worn dark coat and a silver chain with a medallion that glimmered under the light.
“Good morning, I hope we haven’t made you wait for too long”
“Not at all, Lord Potter” said the gabling with a raspy voice “And even if you did, I confess I would have waited considering the type of… consultation”
His haunted eyes set over Severus with interest.
“Mister Snape, I suppose”
“You suppose well”
He took his coat and gloves slowly, gracefully.
“You look like Lord Ciaran”
Severus halted his movements.
“He asked for my services a few months before his demise” he continued, touching his medallion absentmindedly “protection he said, for his vault, for his legacy. No one had been able to open his vault since”
The potioneer stood still, feeling his heart beating violently against his ribs.
“Even your blood smell similar”
“My blood you say?” asked him nonchalantly
The goblin nodded.
“When you have done what I have, you can feel it” his voice sounded far away as if came from a memory or a nightmare “How the blood sings and the magic cuts”
Orion moved, reaching his side. He set a hand on his lower back and guided him to one of the chairs.
He sat down, folding his hands on his lap.
“If what you say is true” he said slowly, holding on the las vestiges of his tranquillity “Would it means this… ritual will work?”
The goblin took one moment to weight his words before answering.
“Blood doesn’t lie, if the scent brings memories, then there are roots, truths” said Noctblod “I cannot give you, sir, the confirmation you desire, but I can say that I haven’t been wrong in a long, long time”
The potioneer touched his stomach.
“Would it hurt my child?”
“Magic won’t harm magic. It will flow through you and try to find the melody of the blood, it will cradle the child, not harm him”
Severus nodded as relief filled his chest.
“I have to get some materials. I will be back in a moment”
With that, the goblin turned on his heels and abandoned the room.
Orion caressed softly his beloved’s cheek.
“Do not be afraid my swan” he said with a softness he only possessed for him and their lion “We will protect you; our magic will protect you”
He leaned against his touch and kissed his fingers.
He felt so weak, so raw, as if those men had cracked his chest open and grabbed his poor heart and soul.
They had presented the plan with the confidence only men that had dwelled on the dark arts could do.
He had looked at Fleamont with uncontained surprise but he had just smiled.
“My dear crow, you shouldn’t judge a jewel for its shine”
Now here he was, about to sink into the deep see of the occult. How many times had he read about the call of the magic? How many books had he nicked from the restricted section and his classmates’ trunks? How many times he had seen his own blood and thought what if?
The itch of knowledge of experiencing the true magic, the oldest of its kind, burned through his mind. Now he had not only the opportunity to recover what should be his, his birthright but to finally be part of a real ritual, to practice what he had studied for so long.
“I’m alright” He looked at his alphas “I want to proceed”
Noctblod returned with a satchel that left over the table. He extracted a book, a dagger and chalk, leaving them over the table. He walked up to Severus and looked at him with his intense dark eyes.
“May I?” he asked, gesturing to his stomach
He nodded, removing his hands.
The goblin set a clawed hand over his stomach, it was warm and strangely comforting, especially for someone as prickly as him. It felt… uncanny.
Magic beat, seeping through clothe and flesh.
Noctblod smiled.
“Stubborn little thing” he looked at the wizard with breath-taking warmth “You are a lucky man, mister Snape. You will have a wilful child, what a bless”
How right he was.
He returned to the table and grabbed the chalk. He traced circles and lines on the stone floor, symbols that the potioneer barely remember and the Lords faintly understood. He created a pattern only rivalled by the most prolific spiders.
It was mesmerizing.
When he finished, the chalk that has been as long as a finger and wide as a coin was barely a stub.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he panted
He raised form his chair and walked up the border of the spell circle.
“Beautiful, indeed” Powerful he wished to say.
Both alphas got closer, standing at his side.
“Once we start this, we must finish it” said Noctblod “We must let the magic do its work. It will seep into your pores and taste your blood. It will burn but not destroy. It will decide if you and your child are worthy of all its gifts”
He made a gesture for them to get in and arranged them inside. He took the blade from the table, offering it to the wizards.
One by one they sliced their palms, letting the crimson liquid slip. They held hands and a thrum went through their bodies.
There it was.
Noctblod voice filled the room, his cadence slow and deep, his words indecipherable. They twisted and melt into each other, forming a dark melody so delightful and terrible that made their bones shake.
Severus felt it in his soul, felt it in his spine, in every muscle, in his intestines. It started like the caress of the wind, almost faint, growing and growing until it became thunder, until the electricity ran through his nerves.
It was glorious; it was suffocating.
He had always imagined his magic as a blade, as a weapon he ought to master, but strangely it felt like a dark river or maybe even a swamp. It was nature, it was alive, it held life inside of it. Such a wonderful thing, how sad that the world demonized it, would consider it ugly. He had never been more thankful of it, prouder.
But, being sincere, it couldn’t be compared to the force of his alphas’. Ancient like a cathedral, looming over his little form.
Stars, snakes and elder tree. Stones, moss and embers. The dark of night and the light of dawn. Two beasts that had claimed him as theirs.
Then there was the little fawn.
It was small, so small, and frail. Its warmth bloomed in his belly and spread through his chest. It was a hug, it was a promise, it was a silver laughter.
He already loved them. He loved this little lion cub he had chosen to bring into this world.
They were so different to him, a playful fae, a field of flowers. They rested on the shore of his magic, observing the deep waters and extended their hand to it.
Something else reached out.
He had never believed in God, at least not in the way the priest in his church spoke about him. How could an all loving, all powerful being let his father beat his mother and him? How he could let them starve? He had prayed, he had begged, and no one had answer.
Now he realized he had been foolish.
It was big, bigger than the lakes and mountains, bigger than the rivers and the oceans, bigger than the sun and moon, bigger than the world. It was like the hand of a colossal mother, cradling him, touching him with the kindness and the power only a superior being could have. It seeped into him, sinking into his swamp, or maybe, it was pulling it apart, like theatre scenery, reaching into the fibres of his heart, his soul, until it touched his core, the centre of his magic.
For the first time in his whole life, Severus Snape felt complete. He felt alive.
The touch was just an instant, but, like a well-placed stab, it pierced him.
Then, everything turned black.
He was laying on the floor when the darkness dispelled.
Orion cradle his head between his arms, while Fleamont checked his vitals.
He took a gasping breath, his body arching. His senses had changed, his body had changed. He felt as he had been walking through life with a gauze over his eyes, now he could see, now the world was sharper, clearer. The scent of his alphas filled him until he became dizzy and his clothes rubbed against his skin driving him into madness. He could hear his heart; he could taste the blood.
He sat up and looked at his bloodied hands and then at Noctblod.
He was smiling.
The magic had accepted him. He was a Prince.
The ancient home of the Prince family was located on Norfolk near the limits of Suffolk, on the outskirts of a little sleepy town called Brackenmoore. Its dark form was surrounded by a thick fog that blurred the edges of its grey stone. Its towers pierced the skies, standing proud after centuries, like sentinels. Its hundreds of eyes observed them as they made their way up the iron gates.
Severus extended his hand, a question.
It answered.
The gates opened with the groans of a giant waking up, and maybe it was true. Maybe the state was finally waking up after a long slumber.
The fog whisper around him, curling like ghostly hands that craved to claw his clothes and skin.
The path that crossed the moat seemed eternal, the house, the manor, too far away. It was narrow, slitting the water in two.
The moat had been reclaimed by nature, turning into a marsh. The waters before clear had stagnated, thickening and letting the shadows swim under its surface. Junks and sedges breached them, extending their long fingers toward the sun while Willows twisted over themselves, like they had been forced into that shape by a cruel hand. Small islands were covered by ferns and bushes, the perfect shelter for the wild life.
He could hear its song.
The croaking of the frogs mixed with the gurgle of the water and the call of the herons. Somewhere, a fox screamed.
It felt like coming home.
The hundred eyes of the manor judged him as he approached, his robes flying behind him. It recognized him, Its master had arrived.
The heavy wooden doors opened to him, the house whispering, still a corpse, not fully alive yet.
His steps resonated over the cold stone floors, the sound reaching the impossibly high ceiling beams.
The light was a whisper, timidly slipping through the narrow windows.
It felt foreign, it felt unknow but familiar at the same time. This was his house; this was his kingdom.
He reached the main hall, so different to the hellish place that was Hogwarts, far more grandiose.
The fire place laid asleep, its enormous mouth open in an eternal scream.
He knelt in front of it, his hand pressing against the stone floor.
It had to be so thirsty after so many years without the wine of the gods.
And the red tears slipped from the wound.
And then it was alive.
The fireplace roared alive, purple fire raising from the depths of hell.
The demons howled and the walls trembled.
The candles lighten up and illuminated the halls and stairs, the rooms and dungeons, every single forgotten corner.
Severus felt it, as if the manor was him, and maybe it was. They were one now, he was the king of the marshes, he was the prince of the swamps. The prodigal son, the rejected half-blood that came to claim what was his.
This would be his children legacy and no one would be able to take it from them.
His alphas knelt next to him, one on each side. They petted his hair and kissed his face, they held him in front of the heart as the wild magic of the lands recognized him, as it purred, glad that its master had retuned, glad the little fawn would be born between the willows and the ferns.
A shuddering breath escaped his mouth.
They were finally home.