Chapter Three of 'Kairos Amid the Ruins'- The Prince Prodigy
Chapter Two.
Chapter One.
Title: Kairos Amid the Ruins (3/?)
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Harry Potter/Orion Black, Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald, mentions of various canon pairings
Content Notes: Time travel, heavy angst, Harry mentoring Severus, violence, gore, minor character deaths, AU
Rating: R
Summary: Harry’s attempt to time travel and fix the past went badly awry. Time shattered, and the various pieces of the universe clung to each other as best they could. Harry finds himself in 1961, with Albus Dumbledore the Minister for Magic, Gellert Grindelwald his loving husband, Voldemort newly defeated…and Severus Snape being proclaimed the Boy-Who-Lived.
Author’s Note: This is going to be a long story, focusing on Harry mentoring Severus as the Boy-Who-Lived, with flashbacks to an alternate World War II. The Harry-Severus mentorship will remain gen. However, the romantic pairings are a prominent part of the story. The word “Kairos” comes from the Greek, meaning a lucky moment, or the right moment, to act.
Thank you again for all the reviews!
Chapter Three-The Prince Prodigy
Seneca Prince studied his grandson closely. Meanwhile, Mariana sat on the other side of the room with her hands folded in her lap.
“You cannot learn much from a child’s face,” was something Seneca’s father had said often. But Seneca considered that you could learn much if you only tried to read it. His father had never tried, and had perished in a duel with a rival that his eldest son could have told him he would not survive.
Severus was black-haired and black-eyed, like Eileen. He had nothing of the Muggle in his features, from what Seneca could tell, though admittedly he had only seen the man dead on the floor. His stillness was impeccable, something Eileen must have been training into the boy. Seneca had seen children who were squirmy at the age of fifteen months and whined and complained if the adults around them did anything but slave for their entertainment. Severus was not like that.
Seneca drew his wand. Severus focused on it, but still didn’t move. A small shiver had run over him, though. Seneca wondered idly if the boy was remembering half-images of the Dark Lord’s wand, or if Eileen had perhaps used hers to clean and discipline the child.
Seneca cast a nonverbal spell with a quiet flick. Officially, there was no way to determine if a child had magic or not until their eleventh birthday arrived with or without the Hogwarts Eater. Officially, pure-blood families clung to hope that their children might not be Squibs until that final, damning day.
There were many things about the Prince family that were unofficial.
The room filled with pulsing purple darkness, and Seneca’s awareness moved outside his body. He focused his attention on Severus. If the boy did have magic, he would see light inside his body. It would look like an empty silhouette if he did not. And although Seneca was almost certain his daughter’s strength would have prevailed over common Muggle mud, still, he was not arrogant enough to assume he simply knew that and commit the Prince family’s resources to raising someone dead inside.
The blaze that reached out to him made Seneca smile, as much as he could in a mostly bodiless state. Golden and white light eddied and flowed back and forth in Severus’s chest, along his limbs, up to his head. That it wasn’t gathered in one place and staying there was another excellent sign. It meant Severus would command more of his power and would probably start showing accidental magic younger than most children.
Not that Seneca intended the “accidental magic” to be accidental for long. Such happenstance did not befall a member of the Prince line.
He canceled the spell and returned to his body. “He has magic,” he announced to his wife, picking up their grandson and subjecting him to a gentler hold this time. “We can raise him.”
*
Mariana Prince shut her eyes for a long moment.
She felt things in layers, and always had since she had married Seneca. There was the relief that their grandson had magic, that a daughter who had failed them in other ways hadn’t failed them in this. There was a distant sadness that the boy was a half-blood and would receive teasing from other children whose obsession with purity would make them see nothing but his heritage.
But underneath that-the emotions that Seneca would find if he examined her thoughts with Legilimency-there was silent rage. It had brooded ever since Seneca had exiled Eileen for marrying a Muggle, never seeing that in his daughter’s face was the reverse side of his own stubbornness.
She stood now and reached out her arms. “Do you want me to take him to the nursery? I don’t think we should allow the elves to handle him.”
“Really? Why not, my dear?”
The dark eyes that turned to her were the eyes of a hunting predator. Mariana gazed steadily back and said with the cool flippancy she had learned as a child, “We let the elves raise Eileen, and look how that turned out.”
Seneca hesitated only once before he held Severus out. “Very true, my dear. Take him, then.”
Mariana nodded and gathered Severus close. Severus gazed up at her, eyes narrow and a faint line down his forehead as if he was working up the nerve to scowl at her. Well, truly, it was hard to separate that line from the lightning bolt scar that he bore.
Mariana carried Severus in silence to the nursery, untouched and laid under Preservation Charms since the day that Eileen went to Hogwarts. Then, she and Seneca had not discounted the thought of more children, or of Eileen moving back in with them to raise her own young ones (since of course anyone she married would understand the honor in taking the Prince name and living in such a large manor). Mariana used her hawthorn wand to clear away the Preservation Charms and placed Severus in the large cot that Eileen had used until she was two. From the way Severus dragged himself upright with his hands on the bars, he might need a bigger bed than this soon. He was a sturdier child than Eileen had been.
“Thank Merlin you are,” Mariana breathed, “or you would have died when the Dark Lord invaded.”
She spent some time clearing away the still air, arranging the toys in new piles, and summoning an elf with orders to bring a breakfast of cut-up fruit and small pieces of meat fit for a child. She turned back to find Severus watching her. So far, he hadn’t said a word. Even Seneca had attributed that to the child’s shock after watching his mother die in front of him, but Mariana thought it just as likely that he was deliberately holding his silence.
“Would you like to come here?” Mariana asked, but she wasn’t surprised when Severus shook his head. “All right.” She sat down on the chair where she had rocked Eileen as a baby and took a deep breath, folding her hands in her lap.
Then, never touching her face or concealing herself in a way that might look suspicious if Seneca were suddenly to come into the room, she finally allowed herself to weep for her daughter, who was gone.
*
“Albus Dumbledore. How good to see you.”
Seneca kept his voice utterly flat and devoid of emotion as he let the Minister into his house. Albus never indicated that he noticed the coldness. He only nodded to Seneca and then looked around as if admiring the beams of the roof and the paintings on the walls.
The paintings included portraits of the Prince ancestors, of course, but only the ones who did what Seneca told them. He had ways of dealing with the ones who did not.
“What are you doing here, sir?”
Dumbledore turned back to Seneca. Seneca had to stifle his own annoyance as he felt cold magic arch above him like a waterfall made of snowflakes, ready to come down. Dumbledore ruled partially because he was the most powerful wizard in the world. He had once acted cheerful and twinkly-eyed, but that persona had been destroyed by the rigors of war.
“I came to see young Severus and how well he’s adapting to life here, of course.”
“I fail to see why you should have any more interest in him than any other boy his age.”
“You are smarter than that, Seneca. You know what some members of the Wizengamot think about him, and what they wanted to do to him, rather than leaving him to your guardianship.”
Seneca inclined his head as he led Dumbledore into the drawing room meant for unwelcome guests and flicked his fingers, summoning a house-elf. “Tea for two,” he said, and then turned back to Dumbledore. “I also know that I have you to thank for my ability to keep my grandson with me.” The words curdled on his tongue, but they were true, and a Prince always paid his debts.
“Yes.” Dumbledore didn’t dwell on those debts, which might be the only thing Seneca liked about the man. He sat down with his hands folded in his lap and gave a single polite sip to the tea that the house-elf brought, then put it down again and said, “I wanted to see how strong your defenses were.”
Seneca narrowed his eyes, but tried not to hear a threat in the words. Not even Dumbledore would fight so hard to see his grandson given to him only to immediately take him away. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t trust some of those in the Wizengamot at all. They might attack you for the boy.”
“We have strong defenses,” Seneca said, and hated the way he wanted to cringe when Dumbledore drew his wand. The damned Elder Wand, the infamous Deathstick, which had been utterly tamed by Dumbledore’s will.
“You will forgive me if I test them?”
I will not. But Seneca bit back the words, and nodded curtly. Dumbledore waved his wand, and the magic raced around the room, invisible but tangible to someone who commanded the Prince wards the way Seneca did, touching and sampling.
It was uncomfortable, like having a hand on his naked chest, and Seneca was more than relieved when Dumbledore put the wand away. “I’m impressed, Mr. Prince. Severus should be safe here. Good.” And then he frowned into his teacup in a way that made it clear this was about more than such a simple visit.
“What is it, Minister?”
“Three nights ago,” Dumbledore said quietly, “both Gellert and I felt time ripple as someone came through. I was afraid that it might be part of an attack on your grandson, that either Voldemort’s followers had discovered some sort of time magic or someone was using it against your wards. Did you feel anything?”
Seneca tried not to feel flattered that he was being considered equal to such powerful wizards in their ability to feel magic, and instead only shook his head, concentrating on the actual question Dumbledore had asked him. “No. I know that time magic is forbidden…”
“Which hardly stops most people.” Dumbledore finished his tea and stood with a frown. “Very well, Mr. Prince. Then it is possible that time traveler, whoever he was, had nothing to do with your grandson. I hope that’s the case.” He paused. “May I see Severus before I leave?”
Seneca didn’t want to agree, but once again, there were certain things that one did when confronted with Albus Dumbledore and certain things one did not do, and this was one of the latter. He smiled and nodded. “Of course. Tipsy!”
One of the elves, who had been waiting with the boy in her arms since Seneca had known Dumbledore was coming up with the path, Apparated into the room. The Minister leaned in and stared at the boy. Seneca found himself holding his breath. He exhaled in annoyance. There was no way that Dumbledore could bestow a blessing like the mages of old. Just because he was powerful, Seneca had to stop revering him, especially if he intended to instill a proper sense of pride in his grandson. A Prince bowed to no one.
“Such dark eyes,” Dumbledore whispered, in a doting tone that made Seneca abruptly wonder how much he missed being Headmaster of Hogwarts. He turned and nodded to Seneca. “Very well. Thank you. I will look for our time traveler elsewhere.”
Seneca saw Dumbledore to the door himself, as he had let him in. “Thank you for stopping by, Minister.”
“Thank you for admitting me, Mr. Prince.” Dumbledore paused with a hand on the banister of the steps that led down from the door. “A word of advice. Children do better when raised with love instead of sternness.”
“I hardly think so,” Seneca said, startled into replying when he had meant to let the man go in dignified silence. “We raised Eileen with love, and we indulged her so much that she indulged herself by running away to marry a Muggle.”
“I wonder,” Dumbledore said, looking over his shoulder. Sunlight coming through the front door lit up his silver hair. “Was she indulging herself, or was she escaping?”
Seneca narrowed his eyes as Dumbledore let himself out. Only the Minister for Magic was powerful enough to get away with implying that anyone would ever need to escape from the luxurious lifestyle the Prince family could offer its descendants.
No one will ever let Severus escape, and he will never need to, Seneca vowed to himself as he turned back towards his grandson’s rooms.
*
Mariana hesitated for a long time before she finally stepped into Diagon Alley and wrapped her cloak more firmly around her face. There was an illusion on her face beneath that and a subtle charm that would nudge people not to remember her without being an outright Obliviate, but she still trembled.
It was worse that Seneca should find out the purpose of her visit here than that he should find out she had come. She had never revealed her family’s talent to anyone. The knowledge slumbered in the back of her mind behind impenetrable shields that only owed as much to Occlumency as a snowflake owed to a blizzard.
Seneca would want to use her for the gift. Other people would want to kill her. And they might want to kill her grandson, too, although as far as Mariana knew, no one not actually born with the last name of Peverell had ever inherited the talent to tell when someone had traveled through time and track time travelers.
Now, she opened the shields that she had kept closed since the death of her father five years ago and sent a single pulse of seeking down the alley.
For a moment, the buildings around her rustled and blurred, and it looked as if she was walking through a silvery-pale fog that had leaked from their walls. In that fog, Mariana lifted her magic and looked around. Ordinary people, those born in this time, would look like shadows moving through it. There would be a clear circle around the time traveler.
And there he was, although to all appearances, he was one of the most ordinary of the ordinary, a dark-haired man who looked unfavorably tousled, coming out of a shop that was so new it still had no name and shutters over the windows.
Mariana drew back into the shadowy corner opposite the shop and watched. The silver fog faded as she locked away her magic again. She studied the man, and saw only a flowing cloak, black hair that looked as if he had run a comb through it but backwards, and tatty glasses that he pushed up with one finger.
“You might as well come out, you know. Those spells don’t work on me.”
Mariana sucked in a frightened breath. The man had spoken without looking at her, still wandering down the middle of the alley and looking at a scroll in his hands that resembled a map. But he had spoken. He had known she was there.
No one should have, except family. But Mariana had it on excellent authority that she was the last direct-line descendant of the Peverells.
She hesitantly matched steps with the man, who didn’t look around until they were in an alley off the man one. Then he leaned an elbow on the wall and considered her frankly. His eyes behind the glasses were an astonishing shade of green.
“Who are you?”
“I should be asking you that question,” Mariana murmured. The man didn’t look like someone who had studied esoteric magic for a long time to break the barriers of time and space. “Time traveler.”
The man tensed at once, and stopped seeming ordinary. Mariana gasped as his hand whirled to his wand, and the air around him gleamed with a magic that was like the glint off a blade. Then the man seemed to gain back control of himself, and shook his head in irritation as he dropped his hand from his wand.
“I promised myself I wouldn’t do that,” he muttered. “But how did you know?”
“Ancestral magic of my own,” Mariana said, which was far as she was prepared to discuss it. “You must not fear that anyone has tracked you in the same way. But you are in danger if found.”
The man nodded. “I’ve done some research since I’ve been here. I know that they’ll probably put anyone they think deliberately traveled in time to death.”
“Time travel was not forbidden where you came from?” Mariana asked, since she had always wondered. She had met a time traveler only once before, and only briefly.
“You could say that. More that we didn’t know enough about the consequences.” The man looked at her, and there was something dangerous about him that continued to glint, despite the mildness of his eyes. “Now, I do have to know who you are.”
“Mariana Prince.”
The man froze for a second. “You mean the grandmother-you must be his grandmother-of Sna-the Boy-Who-Lived?”
Mariana nodded and took a deep breath. “And I fear what my husband will try to do to my grandson. I want you to promise that you’ll protect him.”
“Of all the people in this world you could ask that of, you come to me, someone who would be the most hunted fugitive in your society if people only knew?”
“I know that you must be powerful, to have survived a journey back in time. And sensible, not to have announced yourself and immediately tried to change things, the way most people who historically have traveled in time try to do.” Mariana shifted her shoulders, disliking the way the man stared at her. “Do I have your promise?”
The man closed his eyes and seemed to commune with himself in silence for so many moments that Mariana feared what his answer would be. But then his lips shaped words she could read.
Why not? Maybe I came back for this.
Wariness rose up in Mariana’s heart. The man didn’t even know why he was here? Someone that uncertain would not be a good protector for Severus after all.
But then he looked at Mariana, and nodded. “I vow it.”
The world around them rang as if they were all inside a crystal globe and someone had nearly knocked it off a table. Mariana found herself falling to her knees. The man came over and grasped her hands to help her up. Mariana shuddered a little, fighting back the temptation to cower away, and stared at the man. “Who are you?”
“You might as well call me Harry Evanson. Most people will.”
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