The Prince Family Tree

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~o 36 o~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Prince Family Tree

~H~

Saturday Hermione sat at a table in the Revision Hall on the fourth floor with her Arithmancy equations spread out in front of her. She not only had essays in every subject, she had a Potions assignment that had required her to run to the dungeons first thing before breakfast, two times in the last week, and again immediately after lunch on Monday, Wednesday, Thursday and four times today. Plus she had nineteen pages of Arithmancy equations and a very difficult Ancient Runes translation that required her to work with another classmate to complete – and Professor Botcher had matched her up with Blake Blume. The problem was it was difficult finding time in their schedules to meet up.

She checked her watch and sighed, tapping her quill on her Arithmancy assignment. She had only three hours until she had to run down to the Advanced Potions lab to work on her potion, and Blake had yet to show up. She stared at the page of equations, but was finding it hard to concentrate on it, instead letting her mind wander on Severus’ mystery.

As an avid reader, Hermione loved mysteries and detective stories as much as, or even more than, romances, and from what she’d pieced together about Francis Griswold, John Prince, and Thomas Osgood, her theory made perfect sense. Severus had even called himself the Half-Blood Prince while in school, preferring to be recognized for the connection to his pure-blood ancestry. So, it followed reason that Charles Osgood, upon finding out he was John Prince’s son—not Osgood’s—might have wanted to be recognized as a Prince or at the very least acknowledged by the old pure-blood family. But this part of her theory depended on whether Thomas Osgood was a pure-blood or not, and Hermione didn’t know anything about Thomas Osgood’s lineage. Severus was certain that Miss Priswell was somehow intimately connected with either Charles Osgood or the wizard Severus called Clemet, but which wizard and by what means she was related to them was a mystery, too.

Hermione had discreetly asked Ginny and Wendlynne if they knew any Osgoods. Wendlynne had shaken her head, but Ginny had mentioned a friend of her parents, Eugene Osgood and his daughter Jocelyn. Eugene’s wife, Mrs. Osgood, and Jocelyn apparently had been sent to Azkaban during the war. However, Mrs. Osgood had unfortunately lost her mind and suffered ill health during her internment and had never fully recovered. So, Mr. Osgood had taken a leave of absence from the Invisibility Task Force to care for her. Jocelyn Osgood, who was Bill’s age, worked in the Magical Contracts and Agreements Office. They lived in Whitby, which was north of York, not Dorset, however.

“Sorry I’m late, but Wayne kept us on account of Byron being in hospital,” Blake said in a rush, still breathing hard as he sat down next to her and drew out his wand. “I have an hour – you?” He had the look of someone who’d run all the way to the castle from Quidditch practice.

“An hour’s good,” she replied, pulling the sheets they were supposed to work on out of her bag. “I tried translating these without the charm last night.”

“Me too,” he replied, taking out his own, his breathing slowing to normal. “I got nothing but gibberish.”

“I’ve tried it in Elder Futhark, Anglo-Saxon Futhorc, and in Younger Futhark and came up with…”

“How? It’s in the Danish Rök runes,” he said, picking up one of her translations and staring at in shock.

“Professor Botcher warned us that the Bedydrian Curse, which conceals the real text, would deceive the translator and that, without the charm, the translations will vary to the reader,” Hermione said as she dug in her bag for a fresh sheet of parchment. “This also has the Aleógan Hex that shows false, deceptive runes to the translator. Combined they create confusion and a blindness, which is why the memory is affected. And that’s why we have to work together, because the one performing the charm can get a backlash from the curse if there isn’t someone to shield them when they release it. Also the one performing the shield will remember more of what’s revealed then the one casting the charm.”

“Sooo, who goes first, me or you?” he asked, drawing out his wand.

“If you want, I’ll shield you. If that’s all right,” she suggested, drawing out her own wand.

“Okay,” he replied, performing the revealing-countercurse charm they’d been taught.

~S~

Severus looked up when the small bell on his desk indicated that he had a visitor. “Allow,” he barked, wondering who it might be. The grinding of the stone behind the door stopped abruptly just before the timid knock on the door. “Enter,” he barked.

Hermione peered around the door at him. “Am I disturbing you?”

“No, not really,” he replied, sitting back in his chair as she pushed the door wider. “I had hoped you’d have come earlier.” It had almost been a week since her last visit. He’d seen her out on the pitch from his window the previous Saturday, reading while her friends practiced, but she’d avoided him all weekend. Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate; she was busy and he knew it. She’d smiled at him in passing between lessons and waved at him discreetly at meals, but that didn’t count in his book.

All the professors were pushing the O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. level students, cramming as much information into their fifth- and seventh-year curriculum as possible and trying to challenge the students academically in order for them to achieve their highest possible scores on their exams in all subjects. He’d done the same as a professor. He’d loved the academic challenge during this time as a youth and had hated it as a professor. Too many opportunities for errors, and the stress level made some students crack. Cracking during a Potions lesson could not only be disastrous, but fatal. But that didn’t mean Hermione couldn’t have revised in his quarters with him instead of burying herself in the library under piles of books and scrolls.

She pulled a scroll from her bag and then dropped her bag on the floor as she plopped into the chair facing him. “I’ve just been busy. I finished my paper on my spell. I’ve already given a copy to Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Brandstone today in class, and I know you wanted one, too, so this one is for you.” She handed him the scroll. “I have one for Professor Avoian, but I’ll give it to him in class tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” he said, taking the scroll “How is your revision going?” he asked, hoping she’d say she had caught up and could spend the evening with him tonight.

“Fine, behind, but not too bad.” Her gaze traveled up to the portraits above him. “Professor Reynolds has us doing potions that take days to finish, and I’ve been reading up on Animagi transformations so I’m prepared for my private lessons with Professor McGonagall. I, of course, have essays in every subject – but you know, it’s my final N.E.W.T. year.”

Severus nodded in understanding. At least she didn’t appear stressed. He knew that she’d been eating properly, but she looked tired. “You are staying up too late at night,” he stated, smirking at her immediate response of, “Am not.”

“Hermione, it’s natural, and you’re an overachiever. Knowing you, you’re up until midnight, revising by candlelight.”

Her face flushed slightly and her eyes flickered away and back – proof that his guess was correct. “Eleven usually.”

“And you’re up at six and in the library as soon as the doors open. You tend to read during meals,” he stated, leaning forward with his forearms on his desk and his fingers laced together. “I also wondered why you haven’t joined any of the clubs.”

She sat up straighter. “I hadn’t thought about joining them.”

That statement caught him off guard, not that he showed it. “Don’t you want to try any of the academic competitions?” He couldn’t believe that she didn’t desire recognition for her achievements. She thrived on approval and praise.

“I was thinking about…” she started to say, then inhaled sharply and exhaled with a nod of her head. “They will be hosted through the individual clubs.”

He nodded and smirked. “Precisely. Which means you’ll have to join them and have your individual projects approved. It also ensures that these projects are supervised either by the professors themselves or by their apprentices.” He sat back and dropped his hands to his lap. “Have you also given up on helping me search through the newspapers?” he carefully controlled his annoyance with her from showing in his voice.

She hung her head for a second and then looked up at him. “I have been meaning to, but mostly I’ve been busy.”

He turned his head in disappointment and leaned back, his jaws clenched. Severus knew Hermione’s schedule by heart, knew which route she preferred to take between classes and which table she liked to sit at in the library. Since the seventh-year N.E.W.T. students were permitted in the Restricted Section, he even knew which of the four tables in there she preferred to use to do her research in the tomes that were not permitted outside the barrier.

“I’m sorry, I know I promised, and I want to help, really. I’ve been so distracted as of late,” she stammered, and he looked back at her. She squirmed. “I…”

“I can’t expect you to set aside your studies for my personal project, but I’d appreciate it if you’d consider revising here, in my sitting room, in the evenings.”

She opened her mouth to reply, and he held up his hand. “I know that several of your subjects require the books from the Restricted Section.” He leaned forward, his elbows on the desk and his fingers laced under his chin. “Did you not think that I could provide you books on the subjects you are working on – even tomes that are not provided in the school library. And consider this, Lucius Malfoy is a good friend, and I have use of his library at any time I desire it.”

Predictably, her eyes widened at his suggestion. “And he’d lend them to you? For me?”

Severus smiled. “Hasn’t he once already? If you’ll tell me what you’re working on, I will borrow what he has on the subjects for you.”

Hermione smiled and began telling him about her lessons and the subject of her essays. Her eyes sparkled, and she became animated as they discussed her potion, her ability with complex charms, and the cursed Runes she’d been assigned.

“There are other spells that are more effective when dealing with misleading curses and jinxes,” he stated suggestively.

She smiled and shook her head. “I want to know them, and I’ve looked them up; but many of them are dangerous, and Professor Botcher wants us to use the revealing charm he specified and a shield charm.”

The grandfather clock began to toll. “I have to go, I have History of Magic,” she stated, reaching for her bag.

“I’ll pick up some books on Brendwert’s theory of animate shape transfigurations and the Quadrennial-sagacity Potion,” he offered, rising to walk her out.

“I’d like that,” she replied and pulled out a revision guide. “I have time on… Thursday, and I can come up Sunday?”

He brushed her hair from her face as he forced himself to hide his disappointment. “Then I’ll expect you on Thursday.” He leaned forward and kissed her briefly, well aware that she did have to leave.

She kissed him back then moved away. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

He nodded, hardly considering that as ‘seeing’ her since he’d be at the staff table and she’d be with her friends. “All right.” When the door closed behind her, he returned to his desk. Since she’d not be by tonight to see him, he had plenty of time to visit Lucius in the evening. At least he’d get a good drink while perusing his library.

*

Lucius looked up from his book as Severus exited the Floo. “I expected you hours ago.”

“Messrs Kolosson, Bronston, Mulheim, and Foster decided to replicate one of Potter’s infamous adventures and blew up a girls’ toilet,” he said with a deep scowl.

“Apparently that’s where the entrance to Slytherin’s Chamber of Secrets lies, down the plumbing,” Lucius stated, setting his book aside. “It looks like you could use a drink. Ogden’s or Black’s?”

“Black’s Renegade. Thank you. It is – was, in a roundabout way. The entrance to the chamber was sealed off when plumbing was installed in the beginning of the twelfth century and the castle adjusted,” Severus explained, sitting in the chair facing his friend. “Now it falls on the Headmaster to keep children from trying to break into it.”

“And how many times have you gone in?” Lucius asked before taking a sip from his own glass.

A house-elf appeared, carrying Severus’ drink on a silver tray. “Never. I don’t speak Parsetongue – a requirement that the books failed to mention. The repairs to the foundations when the castle was renovated repaired the cave-in Lockhart caused, and the access to the chamber from the second floor girls’ loo is now closed off since the plumbing had been repaired as well, so the only way in is through the original entrance.” He sipped on the four hundred year old scotch, enjoying the smooth, rich taste.

“So how does one gain access?” Lucius asked nonchalantly as if inquiring where the Quidditch Pitch was, “if they were proficient in Parseltongue?”

“Apparently at the end of a tunnel that originates at the base of what had once been Salazar Slytherin’s Tower – the original entrance,” Severus stated just as casually, but with a hint of warning in his voice.

“Every Slytherin knows that the tower was remodeled after Salazar Slytherin left the school, and is now the grand staircase,” Lucius said, disappointment evident in his expression.

Severus smirked at him. The faucet with the snake was still in the girls’ loo, but in the dungeons a pewter snake had appeared embedded in a stone as well. “Not that knowing this does anyone any good, since one must speak Parseltongue to open the entrance to the tunnel as well.”

“I see. Too bad. I, for one, would’ve loved to see it,” Lucius stated, looking into his glass but keenly watching Severus from his peripheral vision. “So, how do things go with your Bonded mate?”

Severus rested his forearms on the armrest of his chair, holding his glass casually. At least he dropped the subject, although the new one wasn’t one he wanted to talk about either. “I see her when I can between her lessons and assignment workload.”

“Ah,” Lucius exhaled. “So, infrequently.”

“Yes, infrequently,” he admitted, hoping to end this topic of conversation. There was no point in denying it; Lucius knew full well what the seventh-year N.E.W.T. level schedule was like for someone intent on carrying eleven courses.

“So that’s why you’ve come to borrow my books?” Lucius asked with a slight smirk. “Too woo the witch with knowledge.”

“I’ve decided to do some research on my own regarding a particular potion disguised by a unique version of the Bedydrian Curse,” he said smoothly. But that was only one reason for his visit.

“I’ve read about Hermione’s account on the reversal of the Inferius Curse. Quite a remarkable feat,” Lucius stated. “It was in all the publications: the Daily Prophet, Sorcerer’s Sun and Witch Weekly.

“Not to mention The Quibbler,” Severus added, smirking at Lucius’ raised eyebrow. “Luna Longbottom is the editor’s daughter. Hermione has already written her formal article, and The Healer’s Current Academia and The Charms Chronicle will both publish it,” Severus stated, not bothering to mask his pride in Hermione’s accomplishment.

~*~

Hermione showed up an hour after dinner on Thursday with her bag bulging with books. “Sorry I’m late; I needed to check on my potion.”

“Not a problem,” he said smoothly, indicating she proceed to his sitting room. Although he did appreciate the explanation, she didn’t have to give him an excuse.

He’d enlarged the coffee table into a desk and had the house-elves bring tea. She sorted out her papers on the table, opened a large book, and immediately began working on her essay. Severus watched her, leaning over his own book with one forearm on the edge of the table and his other hand near the corner of his book. He made mental note of the rare ingredients, and mentally checked off the ones he had in his own supplies and those he didn’t. After a while, he rose, walking to the bookshelves, wanting to check a reference in one of his journals.

“What are you reading?” she asked innocently.

“My own research: a potion that is known to only a few Potion masters,” he said, checking through his journals for the one by the Byzantine wizards of the ancient city of Constantinople.

“Is this it, the one with the picture of the medulla cortex of the brain?” she asked.

He turned around, shouting, “Hermione, don’t touch that book!” as he moved quickly to intercept her, but she had already turned the book to face her. The book was from his own shelves and was extremely temperamental; it would curse anyone except its chosen owner should they try to handle it. Severus’ gaze flicked from where he’d been staring at the book, wand at the ready to respond if the book tried to curse her, and back to her face as she read through the old English script.

The old book lay calmly on the table, the corners twitching as her finger trailed down the page as she read as if she was tickling it.

“I remember Professor Reynolds mentioning this potion, but it’s not on our list… Wait. It’s not the Medullaoblongata Potion, is it?” she asked, looking up.

“What do you know of the Medullaoblongata Potion?” he asked, surprised that she’d been taught that one.

She stood, her eyes downcast for a moment, staring, and then she looked up at him. “The Medullaoblongata Potion is known to cure medulloblastomas that develope in the glial cells and the early developing nerve cells of the brain that normally do not remain in the body after birth, but, for some reason, occasionally remain in half-blood children of Muggle-born witches. These tumors occur more often in boys than in girls. The Medullaoblongata Potion only has a sixty to seventy percent success rate in males, but less than sixty percent in females. It also limits magical growth of the victim to that of the age when the potion is taken. Most don’t reach magical maturity since the tumors are usually discovered anywhere from age three or four, during the first onset of magical manifestation, to those of the age of twenty at best, but the majority are between the ages of five to nine.”

“Very good, a text book answer,” he said, then pointed to the book. “This one, however, is the Médousa Potion, a little known deviation of the Medullaoblongata Potion, and one that supposedly restores nerofunction without binding the patient’s magical growth.”

Her eyes darted as she read the potion’s ingredients. “It’s a very complicated potion.”

“It is,” he admitted, still amazed at the books compliance. He turned the book around and sat down, opening his journal.

“Are you going to try and brew the Médousa Potion?” she asked, watching him instead of resuming her own work.

“Yes,” he replied while scanning his journal. “The potion takes two brewers working in sync. I thought about asking Professor Reynolds to assist me.”

“Oh,” she sighed, picking up her quill and resuming her writing to cover her look of disappointment.

An hour later, Severus had finished reading the journal.

“I’d like to help you with the potion,” she stated, folding up her parchment and putting it away.

“We’ll see,” he replied noncommittally, not at all sure if her potions skills had improved enough. Intellectually she was brilliant, but he knew she lacked the instinctual affinity for potion brewing.

She huffed and started another essay. He repressed the urge to smirk as she rested her head in her fingertips as she wrote.

When the lower-years bell tolled curfew, she hurriedly packed up her things. “You’re leaving?” he asked, annoyed.

“Yes, I have to meet with Ginny and go over our assignment for Transfiguration,” she replied.

He reluctantly escorted her to the door.

~H~

Hermione sat at a small cubical in the periodicals section, making notes in one of her journals she’d designated for Severus’ mystery. The sandy-blond wizard didn’t look too much older than Severus… Wizards seemed to age slower than Muggles once they reach their twenties – well, based on what I’ve seen at any rate. Professors Sinistra and Vector hadn’t appeared to age a day from the picture she remembered seeing of them in the old Daily Prophets that had announced their employment at the school. And that was over thirty-five years ago for Professor Vector and twenty-seven for Professor Sinistra. She picked up the crude Prince family tree she’d made up the night before. What she knew for certain was that Talfryn Prince had two sons: Edgar Albert and John Howard Prince. Under Edgar, she’d written the names Clemet with a question mark and Eileen Snape. Directly under her, was Severus’s name. On the right side of the paper, Hermione indicated that John Prince had been married to Frances Maria Griswold and had a son, Charles Osgood. This meant that Clemet and Charles were cousins.

She picked up her quill and dabbed the tip in her inkwell. She’d read the archive articles about Severus’ Death Eater trial in 1981 and knew that he was twenty years older than she was. So that’s thirty-eight… she thought as she jotted down Severus’ name and age, and then mentally calculated when he’d have been born. That would mean he was born in 1960. Severus did indicate that his mum was in her late twenties when she married his dad… Eileen Prince would’ve been born in the early 1930’s, so if she had an older brother who was a toddler when she’d been born… She wrote 1930 down under Clemets’ name with another question mark.

Charles Osgood was born in 1921 according to Anthelia Wellbegott’s article. She made a quick calculation. So he’d have graduated Hogwarts either 1938 or 1939. That would be a safe bet to start looking for marriage announcements for Osgood. Some wizarding couples do get married right out of school – especially pure-bloods.

She walked over to where the old newspapers were kept for the students use and pulled out the thick binder of Daily Prophets from 1930. Since her search only included marriage announcements, she used the Word-Search Charm for any variation of the word Priswell and Osgood to quicken her task. Finding nothing, she exchanged it for the binder that held the papers from 1946.

~S~

A week had gone by since their last evening together, and he wished that he could insist that Hermione revise in his quarters with him, but the bylaws stated that he couldn’t. He was seriously tempted to grab her between classes and haul her into an alcove just so he could kiss her.

Friday after breakfast, Severus left the school for a formal meeting with the school governors. Afterwards, and since he was in London and not far from the Ministry, Severus decided to inform Kingsley about the approval of the dates for the Hogsmeade weekends, and to also check into the death of his great uncle in the Ministry archives.

After presenting his wand for registration with the watchwizard and inquiring which level the office was located, he strode to the lifts. When the lift doors opened, he walked down the corridor, looking for the Magical Marriage and Birth Registration Office. He stood before the door a passing clerk had pointed out to him. The two plaques on it read:

Magical Marriage and Birth Registration Office of the Magical Licenses and Certificates Department

Magical Licenses and Certificates Department

Muggle Marriage Assistance Program

He took a deep breath, drawing himself up to his full height and carefully putting his most stringent professor demeanor in place before he opened the door and walked in. He fully expected to be confronted by Mrs. Whitmier about his impending Bonding forms before she’d acquiesce to his request. To his surprise, the chair behind her desk was empty. He glanced at the table where the three magical ledgers sat with the magical quills poised at the ready, wondering if he’d been declared dead when Hermione reversed the Inferius on him.

“I’m Roberta Shelton; may I help you, sir?” a kindly woman asked, walking out from behind a patrician.

“Possibly,” Severus replied, relieved to see the elderly lady. “I am Professor Severus Snape. I would like to inquire about the cause of death of a relative.”

To his relief, Mrs. Shelton smiled. “Mrs. Whitmire is not here at the moment, but I should be able to assist you. Who is the person in question, and do you know the date of his or her death?”

He handed her the copy of the Daily Prophet with John Prince’s obituary. “His name is John Howard Prince. His brother, Edgar Albert Prince, was my grandfather.”

“Oh, this makes things so much easier,” she exclaimed, after looking at the front cover of the paper. “If you’ll have a seat,” she said, indicating the chairs behind the patrician, “I’ll be right back with the ledger for that decade.”

Severus smiled and nodded, watching the woman disappear through a door. The plaque on her desk matched the second one on the door:

Mrs. Roberta Shelton

Magical Licenses and Certificates Department

Muggle Marriage Assistance Program

Several framed pictures on the two bookshelves, one beside him and the one behind the desk, showed Mrs. Shelton posing with various members of wizard society, including the last four Ministers, the last two Heads of the MLE, and with the various members of the Obliviators office, one apparently from a farewell party. Robbie, you will be greatly missed,” was written on the frame by Mr. Aguilar. So she’d worked for the Head of the Oblivators office… In another picture, she was with four ladies, all of them wearing ridiculous hats, one lady he recognized as Maybelline Quirk, Kingsley’s secretary.

“Here we are, Professor Snape,” Mrs. Shelton said as she entered the office space and took her seat, completely nonplused to see Severus looking at her photographs. Severus sat across from her and waited. “You wanted to know his cause of death, am I correct?”

“Yes, please,” Severus said with a slow nod that went unnoticed as Mrs. Shelton scanned through the ledger.

“Yes, here it is: John Howard Price.” She looked up, her smile now replaced with a look of sympathy. “According to the ledger, he died of heart failure. There was no apparent investigation; the ledger says he died of ‘natural causes.’ I hope that brings you some comfort.”

Severus nodded. “It does, thank you.” He considered inquiring after Miss Priswell or Charles Osgood, but since he didn’t know Miss Priswell’s full name, or if it was her real name, and he knew nothing yet about Mr. Osgood, he changed his mind and rose to leave. “I appreciate your assistance.”

Mrs. Shelton rose to see him out properly. “It was my pleasure.”

Out in the corridor, Severus checked his watch. Lunch would be over at the school, and Hermione would be attending her lessons by now. Deciding he wanted answers, but not ready to involve the Aurors yet, lest they arrest Miss Priswell, he decided to visit Talfryn after a brief visit to Kingsley.

~H~

Hermione sighed in relief as she finished the last line of her essay for Transfiguration. She read it over one last time, catching a few errant commas and correcting a comma into a semicolon and then placed it in her folder on top of her completed History of Magic essay. She glanced at her watch and smiled. She still had over an hour left of her revision time before dinner. After putting her books on the trolley, she went to retrieve one of the binders of old Prophets. So far she’d already exhausted the ones from the 1930’s and 1940’s, had read through the ones from 1950 to 1953, and was a quarter of the way through the 1954 issues. She pulled the binder for 1954 off the shelf with both hands and returned to her table.

Finally, in a June 1954 issue, Hermione found a marriage announcement squeezed between the article introducing Tilden Toots new radio program, Toots, Shoots 'n' Roots, on the Wizarding Wireless Network and the Aethonan race results.

Charles John Osgood married Aledora Wrentall this last Saturday, the thirteenth of April, in Devonshire.

She used the Replication Charm to copy the announcement on a piece of parchment, writing down the date and the issue number, as if using it for a reference for an essay, and continued her search.

As the bell tolled for the end of the last lesson, Hermione’s Word-Search Charm highlighted the name Osgood in bright yellow. The tiny announcement squeezed between two articles read:

John Talfryn Osgood was born to the proud parents Charles and Aledora Osgood this last Monday morning at three-thirty, the seventh of May in Sturminster Newton, Dorset.

She turned to the front page and smiled. It was a Thursday issue from November 1954. That was fast… Only five months! She copied down the announcement and the reference information and then packed her things to go get ready for dinner.

~S~

Miss Priswell scowled at Severus when she opened the door. “What are you doing here?”

“I was nowhere in the neighborhood and decided to drop in on my great-grandfather. Now move aside, please, and let me enter,” he said, walking past her into the house. “Has he had his lunch?”

She closed the door and followed him to the stairs. “It’s not a good time for him to receive visitors,” she stated with hesitation in her voice.

“I’m not a visitor, Madam, I’m a relative. That’s the inconvenience of having relatives – they stop by on occasion unannounced,” he said with a smirk. He noticed Miss Priswell make a quick worried glance to the left, down the main hall.

Severus paused, watching her, then turned and walked purposefully down the corridor to the kitchens. He stopped to glance quickly into the first room. His great-grandmother’s parlor with its large windows and gauzy curtains under the fringed, cinnamon velveteen drapes was exactly as he’d remembered it: the hand-carved chairs with the light peach diamond-tacked velvet cushions with the intricate hand-embroidered throw pillows, the matching lounge by the window, the pianoforte and the harp both protected under a drape. The silver candelabras still had their crystal Bobeches on each tapered candle. It was apparent that the room was still in use, most likely by Miss Priswell, although it looked like it hadn’t been dusted for a while.

“Mr. Snape, really I must insist…” Miss Priswell said.

Severus walked away, stopping to look in the dining room. The green taffeta drapes were drawn, making the room dark, and the Hepplewhite furniture on the green Persian rug was shrouded with sheets. The room was obviously unused and had been for some time, judging by the layer of dust.

“What is it you need?” the irritating woman asked, trailing after him as he walked into the kitchens.

Unlike the other two rooms, the kitchen was bright, warm, and spotless. “A glass of water,” Severus stated, rounding on the woman who recoiled at the coolness of his tone.

A very old house-elf walked around the scrubbed wood cooking island, using a well-worn stick for a cane and holding a glass of water in his shaking hand. “Your water, sir,” the old elf croaked as if straining to speak at all.

“Thank you,” Severus said and quickly accepted the glass from the unsteady elf.

When the old elf bowed, the cane slipped, and Severus reached down his hand to steady the creature lest he fall. “Dustin is good, sir. Dustin will wipes up the water, sir,” he grumbled as he slowly ambled back behind the counter.

“That one is completely useless,” Miss Priswell stated with a snort.

Severus glared at her. “If you think so,” he said sharply and turned to go back to the stairs. When Miss Priswell made to follow him, he added, “I have no need of your assistance,” curtly.

She huffed in indignation, and he left, moving slowly so as to double check the rooms he passed. Nothing seemed out of place, but he couldn’t be certain. When Severus entered Talfryn’s bedroom, Pepper was shaving the old man. “You’re back,” Talfryn stated.

“Yes,” Severus replied, sitting in the chair by the bed. He smirked when he noticed that Pepper was using a butter knife instead of a razor. She laughed nervously and wiped the rest of the magical depilatory shaving foam off the old man’s jaw. “You’re looking better,” he said when Pepper scrambled off the bed.

“I have good days and bad days. This is a good day,” Talfryn said and folded his hands. “So, what brings you by?”

“Concern.” Severus turned his head to the side and back when the old wizard snorted. “Maybe I just wanted to see you.”

“I’m not changing my will,” the old man grumbled.

Severus laughed. “I’m not expecting you to.” Talfryn’s gaze snapped to meet Severus’. “Hermione found an article in an old Daily Prophet that made me curious. I hope you don’t think me impertinent, but it concerned my grandfather’s brother, John Howard Prince.” When Talfryn didn’t answer, he continued. “According to what Hermione found, apparently he’d married a young witch and then he’d died of natural causes, but there may have been a question regarding his widow’s son.”

The old man’s eyes narrowed and his frown lines deepened. “Oh, that old nonsense,” he said dismissively with a wave of his hand. “Why ask me?”

Severus shrugged. “Curiosity about my mother’s family. Mum rarely spoke about you and never mentioned she had a brother. I now find out she may have had a cousin as well. Certainly you can understand my curiosity about him.”

“How did your wife ever find that old… What was she doing digging through old papers?” Talfryn asked, trying to avoid answering.

Severus smirked slightly before replying, “She is very thorough with her studies and likes doing research. But I admit the article was quite intriguing. It strongly suggested that the boy was John Prince’s – not Thomas Osgood’s, the woman’s second husband.”

Talfryn glowered at him and then relaxed. “Might as well tell you. My son John married Francis Griswold on one of the coldest Decembers ever, but he became ill and died before the Ides of March. The girl remarried not even a month later, which should tell you what sort she was. Her son was born late November sometime, if I recall correctly. She came by here once, showing me his birth announcement and claimed it was John’s. Hogswallop if you ask me, the boy was registered as Osgood in the Birth Registration ledger in the Magical Marriage and Birth Registration Office, Charles John Osgood. But that insolent boy started calling himself Prince, if you can believe that. Even tried to register at Hogwarts as Prince, but I put a stop to it. Not that Thomas Osgood amounted to much. Joined up with that Dark Lord – same one you bowed to until you came to your senses. Think he was killed by him, too.”

“What is Charles Osgood doing now?” Severus asked, effectively concealing his surprise that Hermione was right. At least about the boy.

Talfryn was quiet for several seconds. “I don’t know… Why?”

He thought about it for a minute. “What about my mother’s brother? I saw a picture of my Grandmother holding an infant with a toddler at her side.”

“Charles? He’s a ne’er-do-well – gambles at the races. I tossed him out soon after Delphinine died. She doted on the boy,” Talfryn said with a frown. “Edgar tried to keep a tight hand on him, but it didn’t do any good.”

“Where is he now?” Severus asked, surprised both at the name and that his great-grandmother had favored her grandson so.

“Last I knew he was living somewhere in Devon,” Talfryn stated and started to cough. Pepper appeared and handed him a small cup, smiling at Severus when Talfryn drank the potion. “So when will I meet this witch of yours?” he asked, handing the elf back the cup.

“Whenever you feel up to it,” Severus said softly as he thought about the information Talfryn had given him. He hadn’t expected to learn that his uncle was named Charles, not Clemet. But it was a bit of a coincidence that Charles possibly lived in the same area as the Osgoods.

“What?”

Severus turned his head in the old man’s direction and spoke a bit louder, “Whenever you like. But it will have to be a weekend. She’s in school.”

“Well, bring her soon. I’m dying and want to meet her before I go,” Talfryn stated, settling back against his pillows and gripping his bed covers over his chest.

Severus smirked slightly. Even he could see the old man was doing better. “I’ll bring her tomorrow if you like.”

“That will be fine,” Talfryn stated and laced his fingers together. “So, tell what you’ve been doing with yourself when you’re not punishing children.”

Severus refrained from rolling his eyes, but didn’t stop the quirk of his lip. Of course the old man knows of my reputation. He told him about his latest potions experiments.

~H~

“Where are we going?” she asked for the fourth time. He was being extremely tightlipped, saying only that they had an appointment. His note that morning with her present had been just as cryptic:

Meet me at the Entrance hall at one.

Wear the enclosed.

SS

“You will see shortly,” he replied this time, opening the school gate for her.

Her present was the robes she had on under her black cloak, beautiful robes in a rich, creamy topaz edged with intricate dark topaz stitching that nearly took her breath away. Even Ginny had been impressed when Hermione had opened the box after breakfast. The robes were a tad loose, but it was cut on the bias, which made it hug her body regardless, and the scooped neckline was modest.

Taking her arm, Severus Apparated with her, arriving on the overgrown lawn amidst a tangle of various magical plants, flowers and herbs. Hermione grasped Severus’ arm tightly to steady herself for a moment and take in her surroundings. Large, bushy hedges, straggly trees and a low rock wall surrounded what may have been a rather nice garden once. There was even a pond and a water fountain. She turned around and gazed at the large, three-storied, grey stone, Queen Anne house and then looked up at Severus. “Where are we?”

“Yorkshire,” he stated and guided her to the door.

She wished he’d tell her what this was all about, but he refused to answer any questions, remaining tightlipped and distant. However, Hermione was completely taken aback when the witch from the memories in the Pensieve opened the door.

“You’re back again so soon?” she asked, clearly annoyed to see Severus. “And who is this? He’s not—”

“This is my wife. We are expected,” Severus said, pushing the door open and ushering Hermione to enter.

Hermione was struck by his statement. Prince – his great grandfather!? Of course, this is his house! He stood behind her as she looked around the main foyer. A grand staircase faced her. To the left down the main hall, she could see a parlor or drawing room and beyond that what could be a dining room, and the entry to what looked like a kitchen. To the right, the hall passed through what looked like a formal lounge and ended at double doors.

“Your cloak,” Severus said, placing his hands on Hermione’s shoulders.

She let him help her with her cloak, and smiled slightly at the look on Miss Priswell’s face as he handed her their cloaks. The witch was quite unassuming in person, very thin, almost bony, but it was her eyes that unnerved Hermione; there wasn’t any of the warmth or kindness one would expect to see in a Healer in Miss Priswell’s cool, blue eyes.

“This way, Hermione,” Severus said, indicating the stairs.

“He’s not fit to receive visitors,” the witch stated, tossing their cloaks on a chair instead of hanging them up properly in the coat closet.

“I’m not a visitor, Miss Priswell, I’m family,” Severus said in a low, smooth tone that made Miss Priswell purse her lips in annoyance. “We are here at Mr. Prince’s request.”

Hermione smirked at his statement. Request? So this is at Mr. Prince’s request – not because Severus wanted to introduce me?

He made a slight shove with the hand resting on her lower back. “Hermione, after you. Straight up and to the right.”

Hermione nodded and proceeded up to the master suite, several questions quickly passing through her mind. The door opened, and Pepper bowed deeply before moving aside. “Master is waiting on you for his tea, Sir, Miss.”

The room was huge, dominated by a large bed with amber and topaz drapes. A soft amber damask lined the walls with white painted wainscoting, wood moldings and corbels, and Victorian wall decorations. The furniture and marble mantle were all white with touches of gold, and the tables had marble tops. A large mirror in a gilded frame with large candle sconces on either side hung over the mantel, and another gilded mirror hung over a vanity table between twin candelabras. Even the ceiling was decorated with a mural with a crystal chandelier in the center.

“Well I haven’t all day for you to gawk at my bedroom,” a gruff voice said, drawing Hermione’s attention to the three chairs by the fireplace. A hand on a thin arm stuck out from the chair facing away from her and waved impatiently for her to approach. “Come here. I want to see you.”

She walked over to the chairs and peered at the old man sitting comfortably with a throw blanket tucked around him for warmth. He resembled Severus: a long face, large nose, and intense, dark brown eyes. He had large ears and fuller lips though.

He was sizing her up as well, his gaze sweeping over her slowly. “I see you’re wearing my favorite color. It looks good on you.”

“Thank you, sir,” she replied, sitting in the seat across from him. The moment Severus sat in the seat to her right, Pepper arrived with a tea tray, loaded with all types of delicate foods and sliced fruits.

“So, are you that Hermione Granger I read about?” Mr. Prince asked, accepting a cup from the elf without taking his eyes off Hermione.

“Er, possibly, I’m not sure what you mean by ‘read about.’ But I am – was Hermione Granger,” she replied.

“Harry Potter’s friend. The one that broke into the Ministry and fought that Voldemort wizard, then broke into Gringotts and rode a dragon out, fought in the war, and all the other stuff.”

“Yes,” she said, lowering her cup to her saucer and glancing quickly at Severus. “That would be me. Although the Daily Prophet has on occasion li – exaggerated the truth a bit. However, The Quibbler’s accounts of Harry and my activities are generally accurate.” Severus only smirked as he sipped his tea.

“The Daily Prophet lies, has for years,” Mr. Prince stated with a scowl. “So you tell me how it was different. Did you or did you not ride a dragon?” Pepper placed a small sandwich on the old wizard’s saucer, and Talfryn shoved it in his mouth as he watched her expectantly.

Hermione told him a brief account of what actually happened in Gringotts. Mr. Prince then wanted to hear about the incident in the Ministry her fifth year and the counter spell she’d discovered to reverse the Inferius curse. He asked her about her classes and her friendship with Harry and Ron. Apparently he’d read quite a lot about her, and she was amazed at how sharp his memory was. Hermione began to relax as she answered his questions, finding his interest in her to be honest curiosity and his gruff nature somewhat charming.

Miss Priswell entered the room to give him his afternoon potions only to be summarily dismissed by the old man. “I’ve got company. My grandson knows potions; he can give them to me,” he snapped, which irritated the witch.

Pepper smiled apolitically to Severus and ran to retrieve the bottles from the bedside table.

“So, are you and my great-grandson going to have children?” he asked when Severus measured out a dose of a potion into his cup.

Hermione had nearly choked on her tea at the blunt question. “Not right now – I’m in school. Severus and I have only discussed this once.” She glanced at him hoping he’d agree.

“Should we decide to have children, it will be a few years,” Severus said, handing Mr. Prince his cup with his next dose as Pepper handed Severus the next bottle.

Mr. Prince swallowed the potion, scowling at him. “Don’t wait too long or I won’t be around to see them.” His gaze snapped to Hermione’s. “You going to marry him or just remain Bonded?”

She covered her mouth as she swallowed the bite of sandwich she’d just taken. “We’re undecided.”

“Well, if you do before I die, you can have it here,” he stated. He looked up at Severus as he handed the old man his next potion. “You couldn’t do better. She’s too young, but smart, and I like her spunk.”

“Thank you,” Severus replied, sitting down. “I agree with you, but the Moon-song Spell matched us so she’s stuck with me.”

The old man laughed, which ended up in a hacking cough. “Read about that, too.”

“Mr. Prince, if I may, I’d really like to know a bit about you,” Hermione said, hoping to learn more about the wizard.

“What do you want to know?” he asked, eating a piece of fruit Pepper had speared on a toothpick and placed on his saucer.

Hermione smiled at the man. “Did you attend Hogwarts, and what did you do, I mean, did you work?”

Mr. Prince smiled at her and sighed. “Yeah, I worked. I was the owner and chief executive wizard of the Tweedales and Pepperell Mill for producing magical fabrics. I married Delphininea Pepperell right out of school and went to work for her father. When John Pepperell, of Howard & Pepperell died, Jonathan Tweedle and I went into business together, but he didn’t have the head for it like I did. Drank too much. Muggle-borns don’t have the resilience to it like us pure-bloods. We were dorm mates, John and I. When he died in 1907, I had three mills producing yarns and textiles for magical clothiers.”

Hermione sipped her tea and listened to Mr. Prince tell her about the magical textile industry and why Muggle fabrics didn’t do well with Charmed clothing.

~ T B C ~>

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~o0o~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author’s notes:

I want to thank, Arabellabloodgood, my alpha-reader, and my betas, EverMystique and DuchessOfArcadia, for giving this a read and helping me clean up all my mistakes. I really appreciate it very much.

TPP: Thank you also to Jay for my beautiful banner. I really love it!

In regards to my calculations in this chapter, I did my best, but I admit, maths isn’t my strong suit. So if there are errors, forgive me. They are just general ballparks anyway and not really all that substantial to the plot except to show a general age for the Osgoods.