Chapter 6: Prince

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Though his throat was constricted, making it hard to breathe, a distorted laugh erupted uncontrollably from Severus Snape's throat.

He flung his wand aside, jerked his head back, and smashed it into the man's nose.

A sickening crunch echoed.

"Ah…!"

The man let out a pained scream as blood gushed instantly, staining his cheeks and shirtfront.

"You—you're dead!"

A flicker of incredulous fear flashed in the man's eyes, but it was quickly drowned by a surge of fury.

Fists rained down on Snape like a storm.

Yet Snape, sobbing with a wild intensity, clung to the man's shoulders with both hands, grappling and tumbling to the floor with him.

Their bodies rolled across the ground, thudding heavily.

In the struggle, Snape sank his teeth into the man's neck, biting down hard, his teeth sinking deep into flesh.

"Ah… hiss…"

The man roared in agony, grabbing Snape's hair with both hands, trying to yank him away.

But Snape was like a predatory beast, refusing to let go.

A thick, hot, metallic liquid flooded Snape's mouth and nose, carrying the raw tang of blood.

The taste spread through his mouth, searing every nerve, as if igniting an unquenchable fire.

"Ugh… ugh…"

The man's movements grew weaker, the color draining from his face.

Snape released his bite.

The man desperately pressed a hand to the wound on his neck, his legs twitching helplessly on the floor. His throat emitted a terrifying wheezing sound, and his dark eyes brimmed with pleading.

The fire was about to go out.

A woman huddled in the corner, watching the two on the floor with horror, her hands clamped over her mouth, tears streaming down her face.

Suddenly, as if struck by a realization, she scrambled upstairs in a panic.

When she reappeared in the living room, she held a stick in her hand.

She had found her wand, rough and dry from disuse.

"Huff… huff…"

Snape knelt to the side, his chest heaving violently, blood dripping from his chin onto the floor.

The woman's face was ashen, paper-white. Trembling, she raised her wand, pointing it at the two figures on the ground, a mix of resolve and fear flashing in her eyes.

The dim yellow lamplight flickered.

A blinding green light flashed.

Tobias Snape went still.

…

Eileen's face grew even paler.

She slumped to the floor, motionless for a long time, her eyes staring blankly at the scene.

It wasn't until the warmth had nearly faded from the room that she spoke, her voice hoarse: "Go back to your bedroom."

Snape dragged his heavy body up, his numb hands gripping the stair railing. Each step was a laborious climb.

As dusk bled into darkness, he sat alone in his pitch-black bedroom.

Before returning, he had only wanted to find a reason never to come back. After opening the door, he had thought about teaching Tobias a lesson. During their fight, he had wanted nothing more than to hurt him.

But in that fleeting moment, he had thought Eileen's wand was aimed at him.

His mind was a chaotic mess—one moment filled with the lively crackle of New Year's firecrackers, the next with snow-dusted statues in Godric's Hollow at Christmas.

He thought of a figure falling backward from the Astronomy Tower at Hogwarts, then of the Malfoy family, huddled together in the ruins of the final battle.

He even thought of Merope Riddle, staggering toward the orphanage on New Year's Eve…

Snape didn't know how he fell asleep, or if he even had.

The next morning, when he opened his eyes, his mind felt strangely clear, as if a thin mist had lifted. He was, it seemed, just himself again.

On the bedside table, he saw his wand.

After cleaning up, he hesitated before heading downstairs.

The living room was strikingly tidy.

The stains on the floor and walls were gone, leaving it cleaner than he remembered, as if last night had never happened.

Eileen sat on a wooden chair, sewing clothes in the soft morning light, as she always did.

Her wand rested nearby.

Hearing the creak of footsteps, Eileen looked up. Her hair seemed freshly combed.

"I'll make you something to eat."

"No need. I'll manage."

Seeing her start to rise, Snape quickly strode to the kitchen.

"I mean it. I'll do it."

He toasted a few slices of bread in a skillet, cut some hard cheese, and arranged it all on a tray before bringing it out.

"Um… Mum, have some."

Eileen took a piece of toast, nibbling at it slowly.

"You've put on weight," she said, studying him closely for a moment.

Snape noticed her fingers—rough and calloused, as if worn from years of hard labor.

"I had an uncle," Eileen said suddenly. "Your great-uncle."

When he didn't respond, she continued, "Sharan Prince. You never met him…"

"No need. You don't have to find him," Snape interrupted. "After term starts, I'll talk to the headmaster—Dumbledore—about arranging a job for you at Hogwarts."

"But—"

"He'll agree. I'll speak with him."

"Sharan… he passed away when you were five."

"He… what?"

In the morning light, a faint flush seemed to return to Eileen's pale face.

She went on in a rush: "After I ran away from home—with a sack of Galleons—and married him, I lost all contact with Sharan.

"Then, when you were five, a Ministry official came and told me he had died.

"Sharan donated his magical instruments, his house, and some personal belongings to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

"But in his will, he wrote, 'Even if you won't admit it, you're the last Prince.' He chose to leave the Prince family vault at Gringotts to me…"

Snape frowned, puzzled. "All these years, have you ever gone to see it?"

"No," Eileen said calmly.

"Why not?" Snape asked, bewildered. He had never known his family had a vault at Gringotts.

"He didn't like magic," she said, her voice steady now.

"Did he know?" Snape asked, suddenly curious.

Eileen shook her head slightly. "The Ministry official came when he wasn't home."

Snape didn't dwell on it. He knew the Weasley vault was so empty the goblins could hold a ball in it.

As for the Prince family—not one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, nor any notable lineage—what could there be to expect?

Eileen seemed to sense his thoughts. Softly, she said, "I think there might be some gold in there. Let's go see tomorrow."

"Sure," Snape replied absently, picking up the empty tray with one hand and reaching for the sewing supplies with the other. "Stop fussing with that. Rest."

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