Heiress of Prince

Author’s note:
Dear Readers,
As a fan, I’m typically a fairly militant supporter of all things canon and Rowling, however, Snape’s death was just not something I could accept. Literally. For months after reading Deathly Hallows (even rereading it) I consistently forgot that Snape actually died at the end of the book, I completely put it out of my head! Every time I discuss the books with others, my heart breaks over and over again as I have to relive our reluctant hero’s tragic fall and go through all five stages of grief all over again. I’ve moved past the time of “What?! No he didn’t! Snape did NOT die…oh…wait…**cries**” and accepted canon as Rowling’s divine Word. Now I’m just rewriting Snape’s future as I truly wish it could have been, with a real woman who can appreciate him and be with him and love him as he never had in his “real” life. This is how I sleep at night. Thanks for reading.


Love and snuggles,
Ellie.




* * * *



Severus’s eyes blinked open slowly. His eyes had difficulty adjusting—he was far more accustomed to waking up in a dungeon. His senses began to awaken. Gone was the hardness of his typical bunk, the dank scents of subterranean living, the permeating odor of damp books. He sat up slowly, stubbornly ignoring the protests of his abused body. Once again he absorbed his new environment; he lay in a sumptuous bed of truly unnecessary proportions, beneath bedclothes whose cost was surely sinful. The room was comfortably dim, charcoal draperies blocked out most of the sunlight streaming through the room’s several massive windows. Bookcases lined the longest wall—bursting at the seams with the salvageable remains of Snape’s library. A heavy carved desk, a fireplace, a pair of overstuffed reading chairs, and a significant armoire also occupied the room, leaving much space to spare. Every furnishing was quality, well cared for and tastefully selected; the colors were all pleasing, the room done in dark woods accented with shades of gray and black. It petrified him. Every morning he woke up dreading another day in this strange place; the house so foreign to him, the very proportions of the room overwhelming to him. The luxurious home, the comforts so readily available, the understated wealth which permeated the place—in every way unlike anything Snape had ever known. But the fear of the excellent accommodations was nothing compared to his terror of who waited below.



* * * *



After Nagini’s attack, Severus had given himself up for dead. With the agonizing toxins running through his veins, Snape gave up his most sacred memories to the son of the woman he’d loved and lost, and given himself over to unconsciousness, expecting never to wake up. But wake he did, three days later in the Hogwarts infirmary with Poppy Pomfrey bustling over him like a mother hen. When he rasped out her name the silly woman burst into tears and threw herself prostrate over his chest. Eventually, she was able to compose herself and summon McGonagal, and together they described how the war had ended and Voldemort had been defeated. McGonagal calmly relayed the damage the castle had suffered and how they were going about restoring it, before they set about explaining that they too were mystified that he had managed to survive Nagini’s bites. They could assume that her venom was slower-acting than they’d previously believed, or that Snape’s old habit of ingesting daily anti-toxins to prevent mishaps in the lab had offered him an advantage—probably some combination of the two. Further, they’d come to believe that since Nagini’s lifeforce was so thoroughly imbued with Voldemort’s magic, the moment of his death rendered much of his influence void. They could only guess that the shattering of Voldemort’s magical force nullified the insidious effects of the poison, leaving Snape in an unbreakable stasis.



“Unbreakable stasis from which I awoke miraculously?” Even with his damaged throat, Snape managed to sound imperious.
Minerva and Poppy exchanged a brief glance. Poppy began to straighten the bedclothes, “Better not try to talk now, Severus, get some rest and let’s see about healing those bites, shall we? What matters is that you’re alive and well, now please just swallow this tonic. It’s been difficult, healing bites like these but this new potion seems to be doing just the thing! There’s a lad…”



Snape stared McGonagal down. He was not in the habit of taking potions he had not prepared himself—particularly not unfamiliar ones, and he wanted to know what they were keeping from him. They knew more about his marvelous recovery than they were letting on. He wanted to get out of this hospital bed and back to his own house and try very hard to forget that he’d ever passed on his memories to Potter, when he’d hoped very much to be dead rather than have to face him now that the knowledge had been shared. He was grumpy and hurting and very tired and that potion wasn’t so bad and maybe everything could just be dealt with later…



* * * *



When Snape awoke again, the infirmary was blessedly quiet. No middle aged women were weeping over his hospital gowned body, or exchanging significant glances as if he couldn’t see them. His head hurt like hell and nothing made sense. He’d studied the effects of Nagini’s bites on Arthur Weasley, had spent weeks trying to find a way to heal the wounds to no avail, but Madame Pomfrey just happened to have a potion to administer to him which was doing just that; slowly but surely closing the tears in his neck? One way or another, Snape resolved, he would have his answers today, no matter what blessedly soothing tonics they forced down his throat.



With a tremendous mental effort, he steeled himself against the pain and attempted to sit up in bed. After all, if he was going to get answers, it looked like he was going to have to go seek them out himself. For a few moments, Snape thought he might actually succeed in righting himself, managing to slide a few inches off the bed before an excruciating burning sensation stopped him utterly. He growled in frustration and prepared to do it again when he was interrupted.


“I can understand stubbornness, but let’s not be stupid, Severus Snape,” his attention was drawn for the first time to a young woman sitting a few feet from the head of his bed, watching him with calm interest. Snape cringed inwardly as his mental Moody admonished him, “Constant Vigilance,” The woman was a stranger to him, pale with rich black hair drawn back from her face. Her eyes were particularly striking, cold gray struck with blue, green, and gold. Her features were too sharp to be considered beautiful but she possessed an air that made her hauntingly lovely. He’d never seen her before in his life, but something about her was suspiciously familiar.



They observed each other in silence. Snape waited for her to speak. The woman knew damn well he had no idea who she was; she should really do the courtesy of introducing herself. He was not going to be the one to cave first. No way was he going to give in. In a battle of wills, Severus Snape always triumphs! He’d stared down the Dark Lord enough times without giving anything away, he wasn’t going to let one woman break him.

Really.

He wouldn’t.

He could wait her out.

As long as it took.

This is ridiculous, “Who are you?” he growled.



A hint of smile touched her lips, “I’m Julianna Prince. I’m your cousin. I’ve come to take you home.”



Thunderstruck, Snape searched her face. She was certainly not lying. He could find traces of his mother in her—the arching cheekbones, so graceful on her, were a mockery in his mother’s hollow, sunken face. Where his mother’s mouth had been permanently pursed, Julianna’s lips were wide in a bemused smile, but their sculpting bore a strong resemblance. How odd that such similar features could be worn so differently on another’s face. He had a cousin. Never in his life had Snape dreamed of meeting his extended family. He’d barely allowed himself to consider that there were more relations out there who would loathe him, ignore him, and begrudge his existence. His mother’s family had never done a thing for him, had certainly never sought him out. He’d allowed them the same courtesy.



“And why, exactly, would I need you to take me home?” he forced out. His larynx objected strongly to more vocalization, but he ignored the pain.



A single perfectly manicured eyebrow soared upward, “Because you’ve never been to Harrowthwaite before and because you are still very unwell,” she explained slowly.



“What is Harrowthwaite and why should I go there when I have my own home to return to?” Snape felt apprehension creeping up his spine. Something was wrong.



Julianna’s eyes darkened, “They didn’t tell you yet? Spectacular,” she paused to summon the words, “shortly after The Battle, someone set fire to your house. Your protection charms were impressive, but this was some sort of fiendfyre or house elf magic, something out of the norm. One of your portraits was able to notify Madame McGonagal, but the damage was extensive. They couldn’t stop the blaze until most of the house was destroyed. I saw it myself, it was…ghastly. Most of the books in the cellar were salvageable, thankfully, they appear to be the most precious of your collection, but everything else is gone. I’m so sorry to be the one to tell you. You don’t know me at all, but you are my family, and I’d like to take you home with me. Harrowthwaite is our ancestral home, and we’re really all that’s left of the family…”



The shock of losing his home hit Snape like a freight train. Spinner’s End had always been an unhappy place, but it was the only home he’d ever known. He couldn’t imagine never going back; couldn’t imagine losing…everything, all those books, all of his research ledgers, his life’s work…of course the most important materials and the rarest books had been kept in the underground laboratory but…everything else. And now this woman, his cousin, showing up out of the blue to whisk him away to an ancient family estate belonging to a family he’d never known, never cared to know, who had shunned his mother and turned their backs on him, it was simply too much to conceive! Torn between outrage and devastation, Snape chose the more familiar emotion and clung to his anger, “Why are you here, madame? A representative of my long lost family,” he spat the word, “comes to gloat at my most unfortunate hour, and offer me charity? When none of you have ever done a thing for me before? Having turned my mother out and abandoning us, now you choose to be my family? What do you really want from me? What makes this hour most convenient for you?” where once the monologue would have emerged icy and haughty, his voice was now hoarsened monstrously by the damage to his neck. He found he liked the effect, but the speech drained him, and Snape knew he could not afford many more words. He awaited her reply.



Julianna met his furious gaze with unruffled composure, “I never knew about you,” she stated simply, honestly, “Your grandmother Eugenia only just passed away recently, leaving me alone to sort through her history. I discovered a store of correspondence she kept with various family members from almost forty years ago, concerning her daughter, the dodgy Muggle she’d run away with, the efforts she made to convince Eileen to come back home, how this Snape man had poisoned her unhappy daughter against her, the child Eileen bore, and Eugenia’s final attempts to make peace with her troubled girl. Eugenia regretted her early denouncement of Tobias Snape’s Muggle heritage, recanted her words, desperate to reconcile with your mother and help both of you, but to no avail. Eileen was so stubborn, and so sick…she rejected every overture made by the family and made sure no one could get near you. She wanted to do things her own way, no matter how many mistakes she made. She could never admit that Tobias Snape was a broken man, regardless of his Muggle heritage. It broke your grandmother’s heart. No one talked about Eileen, or you, ever again. I’d never even heard your name, in all my life. I can only imagine what your mother told you about us but the truth was that your grandmother tried to love you, tried to save you, but you were lost to us. I would like to offer you the place at Harrowthwaite that should always have been yours. You are a Prince, as evidenced by your quick temper, and you belong there. You deserve the chance to know where you really come from, and even if you choose not to return with me, Harrowthwaite’s doors will always be open to you. It is your home as much as mine. Absorb what I’ve said, I’ll be back tomorrow,” Julianna rose, laid a cool hand to Snape’s forehead, and left him.




* * * *




Uncomfortable thoughts had been Snape’s constant companion through the hours since Julianna Prince’s departure. His lifelong conceptions of himself and his family were irrevocably shaken by her revelations, could his mother have been the one to create the schism between themselves and her family? Did the Princes really try to rescue him from his childhood home, while his mother kept him prisoner? Could he really go to Harrowthwaite with this woman? Where else could he go? Surely he could secure new lodgings for himself, or stay at Hogwarts, but how could he remain at Hogwarts after all that he had done? He had no reason to. He didn’t like teaching, and his mission no longer bound him to this place, and with Dumbledore gone…how Snape hated himself every moment as headmaster, sitting in Dumbledore’s office at Dumbledore’s desk, pacing the tower where he’d cursed the only person who’d ever believed in him. He’d never forgive himself, no matter the circumstances or Dumbledore’s wishes. No, he could not keep on at Hogwarts any longer. Pride and thoroughly ingrained stubbornness made him balk at the idea of going anywhere with that woman, but rationally, he knew there was no reason to think of her as "that woman". He knew that the principles his old objections had been founded on were now invalidated, and rejecting Julianna’s attempts at kindness would make him no different than his mother.



Madame Pomfrey inadvertently helped him make up his mind when she came to administer his medicine before turning in for the night. She chatted genially as she checked him over, marveling at his progress as she redressed the bandages on his neck, “So different from when Arthur Weasley was attacked, these are healing so well! Not as quickly as I’d like, to be sure, but we’ll take what we can get! You’re lucky that Ms. Prince was able to produce this potion so soon after seeing you. Like as not, you’d never have woken up without it—“



“Julianna Prince made this elixir?” Snape interrupted, perplexed.



“Of course! Didn’t she tell you? She’s quite the concocteur, give you a run for your money, I’d bet. Most of the Princes were deft brewers, if I recall. Enough talking, Professor, don’t agitate your throat, now open up and let me take a look…”
Intrigued, Snape fell into cooperative silence, and by the time Julianna arrived that afternoon, he was resolved. She entered the room so quietly he almost missed it, absorbed as he was in the text he’d requested Pomfrey obtain for him. She moved to sit in the same chair she’d occupied yesterday, but he gestured for her to stand, delivering his practiced speech brusquely, “I’m not very good with pleasantries, you’ll have to forgive me. I apologize for my ungraciousness yesterday, and would like to accept your invitation if the offer still stands.”



“That pleases me very much,” she offered him a half smile, taking the book from his hands, eyeing its cover curiously, “we can leave in the morning, if you feel up to it, I’ll have your belongings sent immediately.”



“I would appreciate that,” Snape conceded. Silence descended over them, neither sure what to say next. Awkwardness set in, “well, I find myself very tired, if you don’t mind—“ he grasped for something to say.



“Of course! Not at all, I’ll be along in the morning,” she seemed as eager to escape as he. Once again he watched her walk away, this time with the strangest feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was only after the door closed behind her that he realized she was still holding his book.



* * * *



Harrowthwaite was framed on either side by large expanses of verdant forest and overlooked a gleaming lake. The dark gray stones constructed an enormous hall, the iconic English manor. Snape had seen its kind dozens of times, but never imagined himself occupying one. The house was surely as large as Malfoy manor, but without the aura of darkness permeating it. He could see an observatory peeking over the rear crest of the roof, and a great glass atrium hugged the far end of the East wing. Julianna had decided that they would floo into the gatekeeper’s house and take the carriage to the hall so that he could see Harrowthwaite properly for the first time. He was fast regaining his strength, much of the poison had worked its way through his system and the worst of the burning sensations had passed, so he could appreciate the lushness of his ancestral land and the privacy that its remoteness allowed. In some ways, the forest and lake reminded him of Hogwarts, though the forest was far less forbidding and the lake seemed less fathomless.



Severus and Julianna spoke very little on the first day, exchanging perfunctory information, and she explained that the Princes jealously guarded their privacy, “We’re not the darkest of wizarding families, but we’re no Weasleys either, a great Slytherin line and all that. We don’t encourage neighbors to come knocking on our door, so for the most part, we don’t keep neighbors,” she helped him cross the front hall to the enchanted lift.



The mention of Weasleys and Slytherin triggered a thought, “Why didn’t you attend Hogwarts? I would have noted a Prince and you must have gone through school while I was teaching, what are you, 25, 26 years old?”



“Tactful, Snape,” Julianna chuckled, “I’m only 24!” For some reason completely foreign to him, Snape felt foolish, “I attended Vaclav Academy outside of Prague. My mother was Czech and she went there, I always assumed that’s why I did too. Now I believe the decision had more to do with you, but it doesn’t matter. You’re here now, and here’s your room. Let’s get you settled in and I’ll leave you alone,” Julianna ushered him into his room, helped him into bed, showed him how all of his belongings had been organized, introduced him to the house elf, Vimic. When she ran out of points to cover, she handed him a few vials of his medicine, “take some time to process everything, and let your body heal. If you need anything, call me or Vimic, whenever you’re ready, come find me and I’ll give you the tour. We’ll have you back in the laboratory in no time.”



That was two days ago. Snape hadn’t seen her since. He’d taken meals alone, provided by Vimic, and practiced walking around on his own. He’d taken inventory of the books he had left, and much to his relief, the rarest books had all been protected, and the majority of his research ledgers were also intact. His body still protested great exertion, but he was running out of excuses to stay in his room. Who could believe that Severus Snape, traitor to Lord Voldemort, slayer of Albus Dumbledore, terror of first-year students, could be intimidated by one woman and the life that she represented? No more, Snape decided, as he buttoned up his familiar black robes, straightened the high collar, and headed for the door.




* * * *



Author’s Note:
Sorry about the massive exposition! Things are moving forward now, but I felt like I really had to explain my deviation from canon. Onward and upward from here on out! I promise!
Love and snuggles,
Ellie