Chapter Text
"Wha- me?"
"Absolutely not!" Mrs Weasley shrieks, "I will not allow you to harm him!"
"Molly, sit down." Dumbledore says in a deep, firm tone," Harry here is an important friend and essential to our continuous efforts, do treat him kindly." He gives the boy a grandfatherly smile with a nod of encouragement."
Lord Prince hums, then turn to the surprised boy, "I shall make it quick. If it's not too uncomfortable for you, Mr Potter, may I inspect the scar on your forehead?"
"I- uh, sure." Harry lifts his curly fringes, the lightning bolt scar on display, whereas the man does not leave his seat, opting to keep a comfortable distance. Harry is inwardly disappointed that even Lord Prince would be like most people, only interested in that "fabled" lightning bolt scar.
"As I have guessed, it is a curse scar." The man cocks his head to the side, glancing at it assessingly, "Does it cause headaches often?"
"Sometimes." he ruffles his hair to cover his scar, "usually when I get-"
Hearing a light cough ring out behind him at the other end of the table, the boy smiles apologetically at the Prince, who simply leans back and shakes his head in acceptance.
"Well, your is acting mildly compared to other curse wounds of similar properties. While your core is undoubtedly powerful enough to suppress its most harmful attributes, leaving it untreated can be detrimental to your health and core. You survived the killing curse, correct?"
"Yes, sir." Harry is now getting worried; the scar has been on him since he was a baby. If it is more than those dreadful headaches, does that mean it has been destroying his magic? Will he become magicless? Will he be stuck with the Dursleys forever?
Noting the visible distress of the boy, Lord Princes raises a hand, "I understand what you may be fearing, but worry not, there is treatment for this type of curse wound. While it can not be eliminated, it will become a passive part of your body over time."
"Treatment for a scar from the killing curse!" Ron's eyes widen comically, "But- I thought-" The rest of the people in the room dissolve into a ripple of astonishment.
"Mr Potter is certainly not the only person who survived the "unforgivable" as they refer it here." Prince smiles, "The times I have witnessed or encountered these cases can be counted on one hand, but your friend is an exception among the survivors, with his body still fully functioning and mind coherent."
"But it's the killing curse!" Lucius Malfoy splutters out, knowing that the dark Lord was the one who shot the curse at the infant then, yet how the boy survived was a topic hardly touched upon, only the fact he did.
"Magic works in ways we do not comprehend, despite how everyone wielding it thinks they have complete control over the power, Lord Malfoy. Survival of the Killing curse could only be for a few reasons: a powerful sacrifice is made, the near unattainable wish magic, the soullessness of the victim, and one theory which I have yet to fully assimilate-"
"So, if a person got kissed by a dementor..." Hermione suggests, mouthing a "sorry" at Snuffles' cowering form under the table.
"You are correct young miss," Prince nods solemnly, "As the soul devoured by the creature now lives in it instead of the original body, the killing curse will have no effect, having to exist, yet also not at the same time." He looks at the shaking ball of fur under the table and sighs, "While I do not know you or your actions, Mr Black, I am glad you made your way out; no one deserves a cruel fate as such."
Snape does not react to that, his face turned to the side towards the bright rose window, bleached out by the radiance.
Harry can see the black eyes glistening with a hint of hope. Remus, kneeling on the floor to comfort his godfather, keeps stealing glances at the Prince and Dumbledore, hiding his gaze under the greying fringes. "So..." He swallows thickly, "Harry's scar...".
"Well, Mr Potter, have you been plagued by headaches lately?" Lord Prince's eyes glide back to meet the boy's.
"Uh, other than the time after... you know. Not really, maybe just a tingle once in a while." He peeks at the potions professor, who he half-expected to say, "Eloquent as ever, Potter." he remains silent.
"Mr Potter-"Madame Pomfrey frowns, displeased that the boy didn't come to her for his discomforts.
"It's barely anything! And it doesn't even hurt."
"While it may not be of concern now, Mr Potter, but I must repeat the importance of getting it dealt with. Disregarding minor discomforts is usually how patients with chronic diseases end up with worsened conditions." Lord Prince chuckles knowingly as he slides the gloves off his hands, pale white fingers stretching like butterfly wings fresh out of their cacoon. "May I?"
"Mr Prince-"
"Please do, " Remus interjects, his eyes flashing amber "Don't give me that look, Albus. Does Harry's health mean nothing to you?"
"It's not what I mean, dear boy. I only wish that Harry don't expose to any more unnecessary stress after all the revelations." Blue eyes direct their twinkling at the boy, a benign smile on his face.
A sensation, almost like a needle poking at his head as blurry images surface in his mind, Again!? Harry almost slaps his hand against the scar but lightly scratches it to not freak the school nurse out.
Darker spots within those clouded eyes landed on Harry's hand before adverting back to the cerulean ones. "Well, I must admit that it will sting a little, and with curse scars like these, it has to be done maybe once a month. Will it be better if I teach Mr Potter's Magical guardian so they may proceed in the future after this first demonstration?"
"Ah." The headmaster rose from his chair, "then perhaps I can be of-"
"What magical guardian?" At Harry's question, everyone turns their heads towards the boy; startled by their reactions, he shrinks into himself, “Wh- I mean, my relatives are muggles?"
Snapping out of his stupor, Malfoy senior turns to him, "Mr Potter." he says his name in an unusually diplomatic way that Harry might just break into a fit of laughter were it not for everyone in the room staring at him, "Since you are an orphan of two magical parents, as well as the sole heir of a Noble house, you are either staying with any remaining magical relatives, or a Ministry approved Magical Family due to your... unique status."
Lady Malfoy and the younger blonde look confounded by Harry's shock; the same goes for Professor Sprout, Flitwick, his friends and the rest of the Weasley children, but didn't they already know he has been staying with the Dursleys?
"There's a law for that?" Ron gasps, to which Draco Malfoy scoffs and raises an eyebrow familiarly. Mrs Weasley pinches his son's arm as a warning, her face now a deep shade of red.
"But I thought... everyone knew I was staying with my relatives?" He looks questioningly at Dumbledore, whose eyes shoot daggers at the Malfoy patriarch.
"I would like to know as well, Headmaster." Auror Shacklebolt turns to Dumbledore calmly, "While you did explain to me he was under heavy protection wards, I wasn't aware it was held up by muggles."
Mad-eye grunts loudly next to him as Harry spots his wooden peg leg nudging the young Auror, who does not react.
He looks to Snape, whose frown warps the impassive mask, the dark depths staring, assessing, yet does not comment. If Harry has to describe the professor's face, it would be like a man whose face has been paralysed and is now re-learning how to move the muscles.
Though the boy very much shared the sentiment, he didn't expect Snape to not want Petunia to torture him even more during summer, "beat the inflated ego out of Potter", probably. Or since Snape knew Mum before school, he'd probably known his aunt too, and she was just as bad, or worse back then.
Dumbledore shakes his head at Snape's questioning glare, whose brows knit together even tighter at the response, his expression a mix of annoyance and frustration at being dismissed so lightly.
"I'm sure Albus did it to ensure Harry dear safe." says Mrs Weasley. Not that Harry doesn't trust her, especially when the woman has been treating him like family, but her insistence on "keep him out of harm's way", alongside the unsavoury looks each time Lord Prince talks or breathes in Harry's general direction is starting to creep him out.
"I doubt anyone can call that house safe." Harry mutters under his breath, Hermione squeezes his hand in comfort. Snape, with his spy senses and all catches his words but doesn't comment and merely lands void-like eyes on him again before turning them back at Dumbledore with suspicion.
"Enough!" Dumbledore raises his voice, then forces his blue eyes to meet the Prince's, a constricted smile on display, "I apologise for the commotion, Mr Prince. Perhaps it's better to demonstrate first and relay the steps to..." The twinkling restarts as he scans across the crowd, finally landing on the shadow next to him, "Severus, perhaps?"
Most in the Order immediately make their objections known, including the Ex-Spy himself. Still, Dumbledore raises a hand, "My friends, after the events of pasts weeks, I'm sure Severus' loyalty to our side has been established through and through, don't you think? Lord Prince, if you'd please proceed." he says and smiles assuringly at the Malfoys.
Yes, Harry will never doubt Snape's loyalty ever again, but he does not want to come across the absolutely peeved Potions master like he is now every month when his face is enough to tick the man off.
Heck, he'd rather have headaches till he dies, as extreme as it sounds.
The colours in Prince's eyes swirl, like droplets of ink diffusing and twisting into the water, "If he does not mind?" he asks gently but carefully as if he's trying to ensure a young child is sure with their decision.
The room becomes silent, looking as Snape closes his eyes and reopens them. The anger within drops back into the abyss instantaneously, leaving a horribly vacant expression, and nods once, like a hand pushing his head down from behind.
Malfoy Junior sitting opposite him, looks like he's about to have a panic attack.
The clouded eyes become still again, "Well then, Mr Potter, if you will excuse me, I have to touch your scar, focus on my eyes and relax."
"It won't hurt, right?" the boy recalls the sharp nails at the graveyard.
[ Just a sting. ]
One moment he is still in his wooden chair in Dumbledore's office, and now he's somehow in...
[ Well, I did see this wonderful field of flowers when you gave me the focus stone. Keeping patients comfortable is a priority when trying to treat curse wounds. ]
Harry looks around the endless field of violets and the pale grey clouds hanging low in the sky, all slowly flowing towards a point in the vast space, accompanied by the soft aroma of the pine varnish he uses for the Firebolt drifting in the air Lord prince sitting beside him on the grass cross-legged. Harry can't hold back a snort upon seeing the casualness of the nobleman, who smiles at the boy's mumbled apology.
[ You have no need to speak here. Simply think of it if you have any queries, it is easier to keep thoughts in our heads than to have them known out loud. ] Lord Prince says or thinks as his voice reverberates across the miraculous space.
[ But I thought this only works with the stone on me? ] Harry asks mentally, [ Can the others see this? ]
[ Well, it's only happening in your mind, and perhaps a little deeper. ] The older man slowly stands up from the ground, Harry rushes to do the same. [ It's addolimency, if you remember what that might be, the difference here is the illusion is based on what is in your head. ]
Harry drags a hand across his hair, feeling more confused than listening to the headmaster's riddles and profound words, [ But what does that have to do with my scar? ]
[ Our core links inextricably to ourselves, the body, the mind and the soul,] He starts walking towards a tree that Harry knows for sure didn't exist just now and gestures the boy to follow. [ In a sense, the core is not only an interception point of the three, but a mixture of them as well, that tree is just a visualisation of course. And lingering curses tend to be around it. ]
They both stop a couple feet in front of the tree, and an oppressive air surrounds them, seemingly radiating from the poison ivy around it.
[ This tree... I...]
How can Harry forget? Whenever he has to climb up this tree just to escape from Dudley and his gang, or Vernon when he's got a bad day at work, or Marge and his awful dog. An overwhelming fear washes over him, as the vines beckon him to touch it. He stumbles forward to the temptation dominating his senses, heat fills his brain making him unable to think but to reach the green ivy.
A hand clamps onto his shoulder, like a bucket of cold water that wakes him up, and the presence retracts from his body.
[ Hold my hand. ] Lord Prince holds up a hand, and Harry takes it hesitantly as they walk closer, though whatever was bothering him is no longer there. Upon a closer look, the boy notices that the vines only surround the bottom half of the tree trunk, like the upper part was forcefully torn off by something, revealing a small tree hole in the middle.
A familiar melody, but in a childish voice, humming and taking deep breaths between phrases.
[ Did someone sing to you? ] Lord Prince continues to observe the tree, the mystical smile never leaving his lips.
[ Uh, yes. ] the boy replies awkwardly, [ It was Snape -- Professor Snape. ]
[ Ah. ]
Before he can ask anything further, Prince holds onto his hand while lifting his left to touch the poisonous vines, humming alongside the lingering song.
The three-leafed plant doesn't retract as Harry assumed it would; however, the vines slowly turn into that of an ashen white, almost submerging into pale glow surrounding them.
[ Ergo imperio meo... ]
The radiating tendrils stills, and the tree froze in place.
The humming fades into the background, but Harry instinctively knows it is still there, just that he can't hear it. But what were those vines, and why was there humming in that child's voice too?
[That should do it for now. ]
Breaking out of his stupor at the Prince's voice, he looks toward the man, who is looking at his left hand in amusement.
A fleshless hand with charred bones.
[ Your hand! ]
The Prince waves it off with a chuckle, [ Worry not, it happens all the time. ]
The man's casual tone only feeds Harry's guilt, reminding him of the day he saw the professor's blackened arm lying lifelessly on the infirmary bed. Finding it difficult to keep his gaze on the man, he turns to look at the violet field. Only to come to face with...
[ Holy Merlin. ]
[ Oh, I did not expect my little tree to appear here. ]
[ But why is it--]
[ Nothing ever lasts when you become the eternity, υιός. ]
Harry whips his head back to the Prince.
The smiling void firmly plastered onto the older man's face, clouded eyes reflect flecks of embers floating around them under the light breeze.
The boy jolts in by the sudden needle-like sensation on his scar, finding them back in the office with the Order members' eyes on him; the lingering scenes of fields and trees feel no more like a daydream.
"There we go, Mr Potter." a murky dark green matter is held between Lord Prince's fingers, shaped like a long pin, it slowly flows down to his palm to a small droplet of ink, then reforms itself again into a small egg, sitting snuggly in his hand.
'That is..."
"A condensation of curse magic with form, Lord Malfoy."
"Wicked." the trio whispers in awe, even Draco Malfoy looks intrigued.
"Harry dear, how are you feeling?"
The Prince gently wraps his gloves around the egg and gives it to the man behind him with an amused grin. Rimsha lightly cackles at her colleague's groan.
"Ugh, perché sono sempre il portatore di uccelli. " Amadeo puts the egg into an enlarged pouch, then hands over another moving ball wrapped in a small blanket back to the Prince. With a final bow towards the people in the office, his figure warps and apparates out of the office without a sound.
"Fascinating." Dumbledore's grandfatherly voice brings Harry back to his surroundings, "Might I enquire what was that about?"
"Ah, part of the Assembliago's research focuses on magical conversion and recreation, all under legal means and the Italian Ministry of Magic's approval, of course. The organisation has been ameliorating and recreating curse residuals into our messenger birds, courtesy of Madame Uzume's proficiency in transfiguration and purification. " Prince says lightly and does not elaborate.
Dumbledore tightens his jaw at the disarming smile, "I see," he nudges the half-moon glasses upwards, "I thought the Princes merely focused on warding services. This may come out rather rude, but I don't see the point in recreation, it all seems... a bit impractical, why not just discard them when they could not be of use?."
The scholarly man blinks and lets out a throaty chuckle. Pale grey gleams behind the smiling eyes, "Well, in your logic, Severus should now be elsewhere as you and the Minister suggested?"
"You are putting words to my mouth, Prince. I'd never--" Before the old headmaster could finish, the voice Harry has been anticipating beat him to it.
"That man you are referring to is standing in this room." Snape's voice is dangerously low; any first years in the that hears that would probably have soiled their pants, "If there is nothing else, I shall return to my quarters than waste time in this godforsaken meeting."
However schooled the Potions Master is outwardly, the fire in the depthless eyes betrayed the facade. Harry sees Malfoy's Adam's apple bob heavily at the professor's words at the corner of his eye.
"My apologies, Professor." Prince dips his head, "Perhaps we can rearrange a meeting in private to avoid unwanted conflict between your employer and me, do allow me to return your owl first."
"That would be unnecessary, Mr Prince. Apologies, my boy, for causing you discomfort; please proceed with what you have planned." Harry notes the apprehension in Dumbledore's tone. The tension in the room and the old man's shifting behaviour make the boy yearn for the safety of his room, and now he can't even use headaches as an excuse.
A chair conjured out of thin air next to the Prince, "Do what you need to do, my boy." Dumbledore smiles jovially at Snape like a parent cajoling their child to play with other kids at the playground. Snape stalked towards his seat, pointedly ignoring Malfoy Junior's gaze. Despite not wearing his bat-like cloak today, the Potions master is no less intimidating, even when the dramatic billowing is absent.
Facing the Prince, Snape's face blanks out even more, his body visibly rigid. Just as the ex-spy undoes the buttons of his left sleeve, a trembling house elf pops into the office, cups of tea and small plates of biscuits pop in front of everyone before anyone can react to the intrusion.
"Ah, splendid!" Dumbledore says with a clap, back to his cheerful self again, "I must thank you, Molly, for sharing the baked goods with us as always, and you Karol for the tea." The headmaster elegantly lifts the cup and takes a sip as the elf wrings her skeletal hands while marble-like eyes darts between the two men at opposites sides of the table.
The members of the Order slowly follow the lead of the headmaster, while the Malfoys merely peer at the refreshments with disgust, as well as the shivering house elf.
Prince takes one look at the harmless amber liquid and smiles at the woman behind him. Despite layers of cloth covering her face, the boy can still hear the exasperated sigh. With a shrug, she too, vanishes from the office.
Harry can see the corner of Dumbledore's eyes crinkle, his thumb gliding back and forth the china's brim. As the Prince continues to drink his tea, the other members hide their gazes behind cups; the twins turn to each other, having a silent conversation in the guise of eating, whereas Ron munches on the biscuits under Hermione's criticising glare.
Harry is quite positive there is something else going on between the adults, yet it's not like Dumbledore would poison Prince, or anyone in the Order.
"Very refreshing." The half-finished cup is set on the saucer with a clink, "With a clean taste but sweet fragrance, must be a special blend of black tea, with the platinum rose brand perhaps?"
Nobody choking or foaming from their mouths, so Harry carefully picks a jam pastry from the plate at the centre, putting it at the edge of the saucer. When he is about to give the tea a taste, however, a heel presses to the side of his left shoe. Harry fights the instinct to look at the Potions master as he sees the tea draining itself in the cup. Putting down his "finished" tea, Dumbledore smiles genially in approval, the boy's unease is amplified by the older man's wand-waving under the table. Peeking to his left, the amber rises near the brim of Snape's cup, threatening to flow over, yet his professor makes no move to drink it.
"I see you are a tea enthusiast as well, Mr Prince." The headmaster turns to Lord Prince, "Cornelius, if you remember, recommended it to me. As I recall, you used to drink them in the Ministry all those years ago..." He dabs the tea-stained beard with a silk handkerchief, "Oh, forgive an old man's poor memory. I was referring to Decimus Prince. You were in Italy, I presume."
Lord Prince chuckles, it rings deep and resonates like an old church bell, "It is of no issue. Confusion is much to be expected when I appear as a dead man, especially to those who know him."
Dumbledore lets his eyes linger on the Prince, then moves away, seeing the man is not elaborate.
"Severus."
As if a petrifying spell has been cast, everyone pauses to see what is about to transpire.
Snape slowly tilts his head towards Dumbledore, in which the headmaster looks between him and his continuously overfilling cup, the smile above the long grey beard widens, like a line that splits his face in half.
The amber liquid that is flooding the saucer now flows to the pristine varnished conference table in droplets, slowly accumulating at the tip of the left Pheonix wing that was intricately carved onto the table.
"Your tea is getting cold. Severus."
The light radiating down from the window is brighter than ever, and Dumbledore's face darkens by his own shadow, as an unlit shape stretches itself, reaching each end of the long table.
The dark professor lifts the cup, spidery fingers curling around the handle. Faint brown trickles down to his wrist, staining the peak of his white sleeve beneath the black.
"Drink your tea. Severus."
Harry stares at his hands clutching his baggy trousers intently. Chills run up and down his back like someone put ice into his spine. From the corner of his eye, a flicker of horror washes through the Malfoys' eyes, where the three other professors, plus Auror Shacklebolt stare at the still-smiling headmaster.
No matter how long it seems to Harry, Snape's hand is still lifted away from his line of sight, yet he can hear droplets landing on the table in a steady rhythm. He stares at his own emptied cup in trepidation.
When the boy finally hears a "clink" next to him, he lets out an unknowingly held breath.
"Albus that's-"
Dumbledore holds up a hand, silencing the herbology professor.
"Ah, remind me Severus, what is it you told me about the Lady that came by?" he asked casually over the tea.
"There is a taboo on her name."
"And her name is?"
"Eileen." The potions master stares straight ahead, his voice bleak.
As if he isn't getting the expected answer, Dumbledore leans back to his chair, and everyone looks at their leader with bated breath.
"Thank you, my boy," Dumbledore nods, "Mr Prince, you may have him."
"My thanks." The glass teapot in the middle slides towards Prince's gloved hand, and more tea is poured into his cup, which is drained completely a moment later.
Dumbledore narrows his eyes at that, but remains silent.
"Well then Professor Snape, if you will look me in the eye..."
There they stand, under the burning branches, surrounded by vein-like roots that grow from the trunk down to the ground, all across the small island. Glowing embers float in the air without wind, and most branches of the tree are charred but suspended in everlasting fire.
"One mistake, and my children paid the price for my own idiocy, and for me, it will be an eternity." The Prince walks close to the tree, the younger man follows behind.
There is no crown, no glorious spectacles.
"Cathalius, Decimus, Inessa, Eileen, those that were yet to be named, my first family who I can no longer their faces, many, many more."
The Prince turns around, in the decaying half-burnt corpse of Decimus Prince, the black lines of poisoning still apparent across his face, the destroyed clothing hanging on like a mocking mantle. There is nothing but pale bones left on its left arm.
Just a ghost defiling its children's cadaver.
"And you, Severus." the Prince moves the mouth stuck on the melting face.
Above, Severus stares at the flaming tree, disgust, frustration and despair burning within.
Below, John stands up from the shallow pool. Hugging close to his chest is Miss Kitty, who he has yet to think of a better name to give.
On the small hilltop, at Spinner's end, the dead ancient oak tree stands.
