Chapter Two

Disclaimer: It all belongs to JKR. She graciously lets us play with her toys, and I promise to put them back when I'm finished.

Author's Note: There is a gracious, generous team behind this chapter: Subversa, cheerleader and alpha reader; tonksinger, the resident equine expert who horse-picked the chapter; Septentrion, who took the time to brainstorm breed names with me; Shug (sshg316), beta reader and all-around encourager; Machshefa, psych!beta extraordinaire; and richardgloucester, whose critical eye strengthened this chapter in more ways than I can count.

He hadn't meant to be seen.

He'd been far enough away that there was a glimmer of hope she hadn't seen him, but her posture...standing there frozen, coffee cup slack against her thigh with no mind for the liquid spilling down her front...told him all he needed to know.

It had started out a perfectly normal morning. He had risen before dawn and subjected his body to the usual exercises: fifty push-ups, fifty pull-ups, and a forearm plank for as long as he could stand it. He had attended to hygiene with spare ablutions; short hair was easy to maintain. It was Saturday, so there was no need to check in on the shop this early.

He'd been out for his customary morning ride on Perdita, one in which he was sure to pass by the gates of Lyonesse, when he'd seen her. Hermione Granger...that hair could belong to no one else...standing in the middle of the lawn in an indecent white robe, staring at him as if she'd seen a ghost. He'd pressed his heels to Perdita, signaling an urge to gallop that he hadn't felt in years. A need to escape.

There had been no scream, no name, not even a whisper...just shock...but one thing was certain: she'd recognized him.

Shit.

**

Perdita slowed to a walk as they followed the path that wound around the crags just outside Land's End. He looked down at his hands, holding the reins, letting his breathing slow. He struggled to regain his composure while berating himself that he was so out of practice; his heart was racing. Perdita turned her head, looking at him, and he bent forward to rest against her neck, stroking her. "Perdy, what am I going to do?" he murmured. She nickered and he laughed. "You wish. It'd mean more visitors, wouldn't it?" Her ears pricked forward, and he sat back up, lazily running his fingers through her silver-white mane. "I know," he said quietly, not knowing quite what it was he knew.

**

He walked by Perdita's side as they reached the edge of the woods and her pasture came into view. He took off her saddle and bridle, opened the gate, and walked in, refreshing her water as she trotted off to graze. That was the trick of keeping up appearances in the village; it wouldn't do to have a magical self-caring barn in plain sight. Besides, he preferred to care for her himself.

"I'll be back later," he said, closing the gate as Perdita nickered at him. Taking a deep breath, he realized how tired he was. He tore his shirt off as he walked up to the house; he'd exercised her more vigorously than he had in years, and in so doing had exhausted himself.

He strode through the front door, sprinting up the stairs to his bedroom, where he chucked the shirt into a hamper and tore off his jeans. He walked into the master bathroom...his one extravagance...and stepped into the stone and glass shower, turning on all showerheads with one flick of his hand.

He'd been so careful, he thought, as the water sluiced down his body. He'd known the Ministry would come sniffing around, and they had, but he hadn't counted on their finding a tenant so soon.

She was only letting the property; that, he could tell from his inspection of the wards, which were devoid of her magical signature, thus suggesting that the Ministry had shut her out of the property's security. Stupid, stupid girl.

He'd no idea why she was only letting the property when the Ministry intended to sell it. Lyonesse required repair, and no mere tenant was about to take on restoration of that kind. Then again, it would be like the Ministry to take advantage of the girl's work ethic and let her restore the property whilst remaining a tenant, thus having no legal ownership over her work and no ability to reap the rewards that would be sure to come after her lease expired.

He shook his head. The terms of Granger's lease mattered little to him. All that mattered was that she'd seen him, and Merlin only knew how much time he had before she went spouting off to Potter or Weasley.

Not that they'd ever be able to find the Dower House, but ...

But.

He took some shampoo in his hand and massaged his scalp slowly, the weight of what he had to do settling over him like a lead weight.

He'd have to Obliviate her.

**

An hour later, he stood in front of the fireplace in the sitting room, arms folded across his chest, eyes closed, almost in meditation. He had closed all portals and connections between his home and Lyonesse years ago. The day after Dumbledore returned him to Voldemort, in fact. The day after Cedric Diggory died.

It had seemed so easy then. Close the portals. Sever the magical link between Lyonesse and its Dower House. Sell the Dower House to himself under an assumed name, all through Muggle authorities, thus bypassing the Ministry altogether. That was part of the beauty: in spite of his family's beliefs, their proximity to Muggle villages and seclusion from other wizarding families meant that Lyonesse had dual paperwork. All he'd had to do was file a report with the Ministry saying that the Dower House and the land around it had been sold to a Muggle, that it had passed inspection and was thus ready for the magic-to-Muggle transition, and the paperwork had been buried. Thank you, Dumbledore.

Severus had no fear of the Ministry discovering the Dower House. It had gone under a unique variant of the Fidelius Charm; he was certain that no Ministry wizards would be showing up on his doorstep.

He sighed. Lyonesse Hall held no value for him, sentimental or otherwise. His mother had hated the place, and he knew the only reason his grandfather had welcomed him was because, half-blood or no, he was the last of the line, and blood was blood.

But. He hadn't been completely honest with Dumbledore when he had gone through the house on the Ministry's behalf, inspecting the fireplaces and ensuring that no connections between Lyonesse and the Dower House remained. The thing was, the houses were still linked...would always be linked...through blood. His blood. Somehow, and Severus didn't know how, Prince masters of old had bound their blood to the house so that it would always recognize members of the Prince family. A precaution against Polyjuice and disguise, it was something only the oldest and most paranoid families had done. Malfoy Manor was the only other manor Severus knew of that also carried such protections.

It was why, even though Severus had severed connections with Lyonesse, the manor would still bloody well know him. Although he had no idea what sort of signals the manor would offer; each house was unique, and he'd spent scarcely any time in it as Master. He wasn't worried about the Ministry noticing them, but Granger ...

Well, she was a Muggle-born whose only previous experience in a wizarding manor consisted of torture and, oh yes, torture. He doubted that she'd noticed how the fires crackled when Lucius or Draco walked into a room.

He rubbed his fingers almost reflexively against the smooth vial in his hand. He'd brewed this particular draught long ago, hoping he'd never need it. The draught would temporarily mask recognition of his blood and hopefully prevent the manor from recognizing his presence, and in so doing, also prevent Pip from realizing that the house had recognized a master. Pip was not going to be happy if he realized Severus was in the house.

The grandfather clock in the hall began to chime, and Severus berated himself for having waited so long.

His wand arced in the air, carefully tracing a pattern, and he murmured an incantation that didn't sound entirely human, and the stones of the fireplace before him moved, molding themselves into a doorway.

He Disillusioned himself, downed the draught, and opened the door.

**

On the other side of the door was the library of Lyonesse. He looked about the room and, satisfied that it was empty, turned his thoughts to the situation at hand. Granger was a smart witch, and he supposed he should be grateful for how she had contributed to his defense, but she was intrusive, coming into too many areas of his life...and his death, for that matter. At the moment, she threatened the life he had so carefully cultivated, and that would not do.

He cast a myriad of charms before leaving the library to slowly walk down the hall. He heard chatter and stopped, closing his eyes to listen more carefully. The kitchen. Hermione and Pip were in the kitchen. Wondering how long the potion would hold before he was noticed, he crept down the hall and cast an amplification charm so he could hear what they were saying.

"I is telling Miss Hermione, there is not being a ghost at Lyonesse Hall."

"I know what I saw, Pip. A ghost on a ghost horse."

"Pip is not being sure, Miss Hermione."

"It was a ghost, Pip, and it looked like Snape," Hermione continued, but her tone lacked conviction.

Interesting.

He thought for a moment, considering the brief exchange he'd heard before they turned their conversation to how Pip shouldn't prepare coffee for Granger in the morning.

A ghost. She said she'd seen a ghost on a ghost horse. Bloody hell, hadn't the girl learned anything at Hogwarts? She knew what a ghost looked like! What was she playing at?

But. He paused, vaguely listening to the mundane talk now coming from the kitchen and considered the circumstances. Fact: she had seen him at a distance. Fact: it had been years since she had seen ghosts with any regularity, and her experience was entirely limited to those at Hogwarts, who were not exactly a representative group. Fact: she had just woken up and obviously possessed at least a glimmer of doubt about what she'd seen. The mist had been heavy, and he had been riding Perdita, which was perhaps the most pertinent fact of all. Depending on the light, Perdita did indeed look like a ghost. That was the nature of her breed...she was of le fantôme d'Arabie, after all...and she inevitably lent some of her nature to her rider.

Now his thoughts coalesced quickly as he weighed the pros and cons. Granger thought she'd seen a ghost, and a ghost that only looked like him. She hadn't asserted that it was him.

It would be so easy. Severus smirked, and listening to be sure that Pip and Hermione hadn't returned to their discussion, he turned on his heel and walked back down the hall.

It was an idea.

**

He stroked the leather strap that bound the book as he sat down in his armchair by the fire, a glass of whisky within reach, questioning the value of the idea for what seemed like the thousandth time.

He had debated with himself all day whether or not this was a good idea, and he was slowly coming to the point where it mattered not one whit whether it was a good idea or a bad idea or even an unwise, reckless idea...at the end of the day, this was a pursuit that would give him pleasure and do her no harm, and that was that. He'd thought, what did it mean if something like this would give him pleasure? He had the shop, and he had Perdita.

And he was lonely.

He took a swig of whisky, but that did nothing to dispel the thought. Relishing the warmth that seeped through him, he closed his eyes, letting the thought that work and books were not enough to sustain him slip away. He'd thought they would be. But.

But. This idea, it ... excited him. There was simply no other word for it. It would provide a welcome bit of occupation, an excuse to check up on her and see what she chose to do with the manor. And surely his proximity would be a benefit, as he'd be able to sense any alterations in the wards. Not that there was trouble looming, but it discomforted him greatly to know that she had been shut out of the manor's security. It had been part of what shocked him about seeing her there: he'd sensed the Ministry's wards and had assumed the manor remained empty. Seeing her there alone and so blatantly unprotected had roused something in him that would not rest.

He'd spent seven years looking after her and old habits were hard to break. Besides, looking after her gave a nice gravity to this otherwise frivolous pursuit.

Satisfied that he had settled the matter, he reached for the book that he had set aside. The good news was that he was intimately familiar with his source material. He'd found the book during one of his last visits to his grandfather, the summer after Potter's first year when he and Dumbledore had realized that plans must be put into action. It had soothed him during that time, this book, this reminder that perhaps he was not alone in his experience, that there were those who understood.

He turned to the first page, settled into the chair, and opened his mind, ready to absorb the story all over again.

**

Around one in the morning, satisfied in his review of the source material and relatively certain that Granger would be asleep, he stepped through the passage into the Lyonesse library. This time, he hadn't bothered with the draught.

In a moment, Pip was standing in front of him, nearly shaking with fury.

"What is you doing here?" Pip asked, his fists balled at his sides.

"Hello, Pip," Severus said, endeavoring to maintain a cordial tone. "I've come to request your assistance."

Pip folded his arms across his chest. "You is not being my master!"

"The manor seems to think so," Severus said, noting how the other fireplaces in the library were practically leaping out of their encasements.

"You is giving us up! And I is knowing you is still being alive and you is not being here and..."

He held up a hand. "You are bound to the house, and the house is bound to me."

Pip was enraged. "You is being a BAD master! And do not think the house is not knowing it!"

"Pip," Severus said, looking the house-elf square in the eye. "Do not raise your voice to me."

Pip glared back at him.

"As I said, I require your assistance. Do I have your word that you will help me?" Severus asked. "You have been loyal to this family and you served me well all these years, just as I asked," he continued, his voice low. "I would be indebted to you if you would assist me in this new venture."

Pip grimaced. "How is Pip being needed?"

**

He cast a number of charms to silence the Portrait Hall before rousing them from their slumber to explain his plan. While most of them merely nodded, he was met with particularly vitriolic resistance from his great-great-something Aunt Charlotte, which, in hindsight, should not have surprised him.

"You are not him," she hissed, flinging her blonde curls over her shoulder and turning so that her back was to Severus.

"I am the last living Prince," Severus said, and Charlotte ran and crouched in another portrait. He strode across the hall to the landscape in which she was hiding. "You will not say a word to Miss Granger about my identity," he said.

Charlotte nodded but looked doubtful, and Severus touched the landscape, uttering several unintelligible syllables. When he didn't perceive a difference, he drew a pocketknife from his pocket, nicked himself on his thumb, and pressed his blood to the portrait.

When he turned, satisfied that he had achieved the result he sought, he found Pip staring at him, his hands on his bony hips.

"Mister Severus is not supposed to be silencing portraits," Pip said.

"We can't let Miss Granger know our secret, can we, Pip?" Severus asked, silently healing his thumb.

Pip sputtered. "But the portraits..."

"Will respond to my blood if not my mastery of the home and will still be able to talk with you and Miss Granger...just not about me." He tilted his head. "I believe you were looking for something."

Throwing a hurt look over his shoulder, Pip scampered up the stairs.

Severus returned his attention to the portrait only to find her feigning sleep. He chuckled. "Sleep well, Auntie Charlotte," he said, enjoying how the form of address made her bristle. He cast a glance to the staircase. The portraits had been silenced, and he had no reason to believe that there were any other portraits in the house that would compromise him. Pip was busy using his special ways of Summoning to seek out all papers that would assist Severus in this endeavor. He looked up at the door near the top of the staircase. It wouldn't hurt to check on her. Just to see.

He climbed the stairs to the second floor, arriving at the master bedroom in a moment. He stood in the doorway, not daring to go any closer, and he watched as she turned from front to side, and the covers slipped. He had only intended to check in on her, but seeing her sprawled out half-naked on his grandfather's bed had halted any thoughts of protection.

In spite of the fact that the manor was drafty, she wore nothing but knickers and an oversized t-shirt. The t-shirt was rucked up to just below her breasts, revealing her soft belly, and her tiny black briefs rode up her cheeks, so that his gaze went undisturbed from foot all the way up her curvy legs and round arse.

He swallowed and ignored the heat rising in him. She looked lovely. And entirely too unprotected. Goddamn the Ministry for failing to properly ward the house and for forbidding her from doing so.

He shook his head. Reckless, he was being reckless. What if she were to awaken while he was standing in the doorway, staring at her like some lecherous pervert?

He fled the doorway and walked down the stairs as quickly as possible, finding Pip in the kitchen. "Pip," he said sharply. The house-elf jumped and turned with a grimace. "Yes, Mister Severus," Pip said, glaring at Severus.

"Watch over Granger," Severus said, the words coming out of his mouth before he even thought. "She is a woman alone."

But Pip was nodding, clearly already of the same mind.

"Very well," Severus said. "You found the second volume?"

Pip handed him the leather-bound book. Severus ran a reverent finger across the cover.

"And there are no portraits or physical likenesses of him anywhere in the house?"

"No," Pip said. "Pip is not finding any pictures or portraits of him."

"And this is the only other book? He left behind no personal writings?"

"Oh, he left many letters," Pip said. "But they is being held in the box that has no key."

"And where is this box?" Severus asked.

"It is being buried on the northern border of the estate. There is many boxes like that, many Prince masters who buried letters in the ground and cast enchantments to prevent their ever being read but by the person the letter is being for," Pip said, as if he had heard that phrase a thousand times.

Severus paused. "That would be an intoxicating challenge for the lady currently residing in this house," he said. "Can you cloak the letters?"

"The letters is already being cloaked, but Pip can cloak them again, if Mister Severus lets Pip use his own magic."

"Of course you may, Pip. The privacy of former masters is paramount, is it not?" Severus asked, casually glancing around the room.

Pip gulped. "Pip is understanding you perfectly, Master Severus."

A smile quirked at the edge of his lips. "Good. The next time we see each other, be sure to address me in the manner we discussed," Severus instructed, ignoring Pip's accusing look. "Good night, Pip." And he slipped through the fireplace.

**

Severus tried to avoid visiting Land's End in the summer, but in this case, it couldn't be helped. Though the town was a bloody tourist trap, there was a shop that had precisely what he needed, and its proprietor was one of his few acquaintances. He shielded his eyes from the morning sun as he ducked into the shop, thankful that the streets were still relatively empty.

The bell on the door rang as he walked in, and the brunette behind the counter looked up from her paperwork, her eyes brightening immediately. "Lionel! It's a bit early for Halloween, isn't it?" She grinned, and he forced a smirk onto his face, ignoring the punch in his gut that word inevitably inspired.

"Halloween has come early this year, Clara."

She flashed him a smile so warm it could melt sugar. "Well, what are you looking for? Don't make me drag it out of you."

"Something from the early 1790s. French Revolution. As authentic as you can make it; nothing frivolous," he said.

She arched an eyebrow that said well, obviously, and grabbed a stack of papers, flipping through them, obviously seeking out where items for that period would be located.

"Looks like the few items I have are in the back. Come on," she said, gesturing at the door that led to the storage room in back.

He couldn't resist. "Inviting me to the back room already?"

She flushed. "Lionel Smith, you would do well to remember that I'm a married woman, and that my husband is your competition."

Ignoring the fact that it was hardly a competition if he outstripped her husband every quarter, he merely said, "It's my duty as an old bachelor to keep the married women on their toes."

She snorted and practically shoved him through the door to the storage room, where he was delighted to find precisely what he was looking for.

**

As he buttoned up his shirt, his fingers grazed the scars, small and faded but still definitely present. He'd have to remember to keep those covered.

His rescue had been a curious thing. One moment he had been bleeding out on the floor of the Shrieking Shack, letting go of memories he had once held dear, and the next he had been lying in his bed at the Dower House, Fawkes weeping into his neck and Perdita standing by his bedside, looking rather like a mother hen fretting after her chick.

He had reached a hand out and stroked her muzzle and scolded her for being in the house, and she had whinnied and nuzzled him gleefully.

Really, she was too smart for her own good.

Given that the two animals next to him possessed magical powers of transportation, and that both species were notorious for their loyalty to their masters, he had not questioned the method of rescue, even though he had spent several days wallowing in the misery of being alive before Perdita literally dragged him out of bed by his trouser leg. Fawkes obtained copies of the Prophet for him, and given the persistent outcry to find his body and interviews with various Order members proclaiming him a hero...bollocks...he came to be of the opinion that Fawkes and Perdita had exercised perfect discretion in the rescue. They had saved his life, for some reason, but they had at least recognized his desire for solitude.

Solitude that was, it appeared, swiftly coming to an end, he thought, ignoring the small fact that this situation was born of his own loneliness and, truth be told, his own desire.

**

As he strode into the library, he couldn't help but notice how the fireplaces crackled high to greet him. He looked down at his clothing and at his hands to make sure the effects were still in place. He'd have to keep improving the potion so that the illusion would hold for a longer period of time, but an hour was more than enough for this first meeting. He was especially pleased that his minor tweak had allowed the potion to incorporate his clothing in the illusion. After all, it wouldn't do to have a ghost walking around with corporeal clothing.

A ragged sound came from a corner of the library, and his heart started a bit.

It sounded like a woman crying.

Walking softly, he wove through the aisles until he could see her through one of the shelves. Granger was huddled up in a chair, crying, head in her hands, and though she was speaking, he could barely make out the words.

Bloody hell. She wasn't supposed to be crying.

He straightened his posture and turned around the corner, coming into full view of the chair.

"I don't believe we've been properly introduced," he said.

She screamed and practically fell out of her chair, before her eyes widened in recognition. "Who...who are you?"

He smirked. "Edmund Prince. At your service."

Author's Note: The former Dower House of Lyonesse is in fact Upton House, a holiday cottage in Bude (which is also in Cornwall). Again, I will be taking liberties with the interior, but should you desire to see what the cottage "really" looks like, visit http://www.tripadvisor.com/VacationRentalReview-g190804-d1650313-Upton_House-Bude_Cornwall_England.html. Many thanks to Shug for finding the house for me!

Speaking of which, Shug is the first beta to have a cameo. Can you guess which character she is?

Perdita's breed, le fantôme d'Arabie, translates as "The Ghost Arabian." I'm envisioning her as part of a magical, phantom-esque sub-breed of Arabian horses. And just to prove that I am endeavoring to keep some things true to life, Arabians are one of only two breeds that can be white. See? I'm sticking to fact!

So far, we have seen a wistful Hermione, a manor near a coastal village, an orphan, and a horse, thus having introduced most of the terms of Ari's prompt. Up next: rakish Snape. ~grin~

And now, a bit of a game: ten points to the reviewer who guesses the work from which two of the new names in this chapter are drawn and why the names may have been chosen (hint: consider the literary period that inspired this story). Even if you don't play the (rather difficult) game, I'd love to hear your thoughts on the story thus far.