An heir is always hated by their predecessor. Wasn't that a Slytherin mantra, long since drilled into his head since he was old enough to listen to his Mother and understand the words? And certainly the words rang true, the proof being in the mutual disdain his mother and father shared toward him. And the resentment toward him did not stop there, it spread further back and further back all the way to the grandparents; for if he had not been born Eileen could have returned from her fall from grace and Tobias would have never disgraced himself by marrying a woman who was so 'off.' It had been mutually decided by both sides that it was his fault that his mother and father had had to suffer in such abject poverty all whilst ignoring the fact that nothing had been stopping the families of either side from giving the support that they were both more than able to make. Nothing but pride- the devil's favorite sin. Far be it from either side to condone such a scandalous thing as a half-breed, for that was what he was regarded as by both sides. His mothers side for his obviously tainted blood, and his father's side because his mother had a hint of German blood. Adding to their mutual disdain for him was the shared judgement that he was the reason that his parents had had no choice but to marry. Of course they ignored the fact that it wasn't his fault they hadn't kept chaste, but such was the custom of rich families to pass on blame and sweep their secrets beneath rugs.
Had circumstances been different, he'd have been a wealthy man. The only
obstacle having prevented such being the joining together of two people that had no business being anywhere near each other, much less creating a child. Had his father married a proper Polish woman, he's still have been raised in riches- the major price to pay being that would have made him a muggle, plain and ordinary and without the one thing that had made him special. No, the best scenario for him would have been if his mother married the man she had been betrothed too, for surely she was betrothed to a man of great wealth with her bloodline being so pure. He'd have been as spoiled and care-free as Potter Sr. had been, and as popular as him to boot for money surely did lend itself into making it's owners more attractive. And without the awful genes from his father, mainly the large nose, he'd have had a fair shot at the ladies as his voice alone was known to send quite a few girl's knees quaking. But fortune had literally never been kind to him and had, in fact, been quite the opposite. Life had always hated Severus and in turn, Severus had hated life with a burning ferocity that had made him as hard and asocial as he was.
And even today, when fortune finally seemed to be brushing him with a kind kiss, he was on edge and refused to be so foolish as to get his hopes up. For he learned long ago, at a tender age, that every ray of sun that aimed itself it his direction would soon be blocked by the thickest and stormiest of clouds. And it was not just his naturally inborn pessimism that made him believe such, it was experience- the best teacher of all. He had learned not to trust, not to hope, not to dream, and he had learned quickly. While he had yet to see the negatives in having just been willed an entire estate, he was sure the cons would crop up rather rapidly.
But why should he put off the inevitable longer than was strictly necessary? If his day was to be ruined, why not simply be done with the occurrence that would make it so? Time waited for no man, and Severus did not wait for time. Sucking in a breath, a nasty habit he had gotten into when appirating, he concentrated very carefully on his destination- his new estate in a village called Salford that was actually not very far from Cokesworth to begin with, an hour away at most if his calculations proved as true as they usually did.
With two large cardboard boxes in either hand, stuffed to the brim with all his shrunken down possessions, he felt the familiar lurch as the apparition took effect as soon as he willed himself at his desired location. Destination, Determination, and Deliberation. Oh yes, Severus had an excess of the later two. He was very much in control at all times, even during the rather chaotic form of transportation that was known as apparition.
He landed in a rather cat-like fashion, graceful and lithe despite the semi-trauma he had just forced his prematurely-aged body to endure. Blinking the blaring sun out of his still-adjusting eyes, he took in his new surroundings. He was in a rather large yard, the majority of which was fenced in saved for one side that opened out into a dense thicket of trees. He had known better than to be so bold as to apparite directly inside the house, aware of all manners of counter-courses and wards that purebloods were so very fond of using in their paranoia that someone unworthy might be so foolish as to invade their homes.
How thankful he was for that ancient fence, for it saved him from having to obliviate the minds of any muggle that might have seen his arrival had it not been there to shield him from any prying eyes that any village was sure to have plenty of. He didn't much feel the desire to explain to the Ministry why he'd have been forced to use the Obliviate charm, either. Even if it would have been for a good reason, they'd surely have grilled him over and over again for long hours simply because he was Slytherin and deemed incapable of repentance. And Severus would have not found such an interrogation a favorable way to spend the better part of his day.
The remainder of the yard was filled with strewn with fat, yellow, dandelions so inviting they were as little golden suns perched atop the thin, green stems that supported them. A rather expansive garden took up a generous portion of the yard, one side of the garden devoted to plants of the muggle variety and the other housing those of the magical persuasion. Off to the side of the yard stood an enormous black poplar, topped off with a very old treehouse that gave gave off an air of safety despite its dilapidated state prompting Severus to believe there was a charm or two in place. A withered, age-stained rope was tied firmly to one of the many overhanging branches and tethered a tread-less tire to its end, creating a rudimentary swing that moved ever-so-slightly in the gentle breeze. Lastly, a greatly aged shed was nestled very near to the small wood and Severus easily concluded that it was once functioned as woodshed as a tree stump stood near its narrow door, a rusty axe sticking out of the dead wood next to a wood splitter.
The house itself was detached, thankfully, and very blatantly displayed its age and Victorian-era characteristics. The white walls, along with the gray trim, gave off the illusion of having freshly been painted and Severus suspected yet another charm was in play. The imposing house was asymmetrical and the roof pointed, making Severus briefly think of Hogwarts until he noticed the expansive porch that wrapped around its entirety. It may not have been a manor, but it was much more grand than his shack back at Spinner's End. It all honesty, it was quite impressive for Severus to own anything of this sort with his blood-status what it was. He might have been a true Slytherin, yes, but that title did little to offer him a living save for enabling him to snag the job of Head of House. A responsibility that unfortunately did not increase his horridly meager salary.
Carefully balancing the boxes under his arms, as they contained his vials, he made his way to the backdoor and maneuvered his body until he was able to pull the wooden key free from his trouser pocket. Twisting the slightly-cracking key in the lock he was relieved to hear it turn over, having worried slightly that some sort of ward would have kept him gaining entrance. Using a bony hip he shoved the heavy door open and pushed inside, his shoulder briefly brushing against the black-metal of the door-knocker.
He found himself in a traditionally-styled kitchen, the counters and island all pristine and radiating with cleanliness that was almost unnatural. A sole window, a rather large one at that, looked out into the backyard he had just vacated and he found his eyes being drawn to the garden once more. Had he not had exemplary control of his emotions, he'd dare say he was antsy to poke about in the plants and herbs. Tearing his gaze away from the scene that tempted him so, he carefully lowered the boxes under his arms unto the island's spotless counter. He'd unpack later, after he had a chance to properly explore his newly acquisitioned asset.
He came into an obnoxiously oversized living room, the main focal point being that of the large fireplace that nearly took up an entire wall. Lining its mantel were dozens of pictures in antique frames. Walking closer Severus soon discovered the pictures were of his ancestors, curiously still and not the moving wizarding photography he had expected. In the midst of the all the photographed black-haired, sallow-skinned Prince's sat a fat urn. An urn that was filled with floo powder, he was pleased to find upon investigation, and not the remains of some relative or relatives as the urn really was quite large.
Turning from the fireplace he eyed the rest of the room, an antique piano quickly catching his eye. His arms tingled madly as he ran his long fingers over the slightly dusty keys, and he couldn't keep from letting an excited shiver course through the length of his body. He pressed a key, giving a small smile when the sound was perfectly in tune and clear. He had been turning away when he noticed the scratches on the side. His temper had quickly flared, what half-wit desecrated a Sauter piano? He was readying himself to see if he could spell the marks away when he realized that what he had thought was scratches was actually lines and lines and lines of carved names and dates. He was awed when he read dates that stretched back centuries, the dating confirming his belief that this was indeed an original.
The furniture within the room was as victorian and aged as Severus had expected. A large black sofa spanned out in front of the fireplace, a black loveseat to one of its sides and a black leather recliner to the other- the later being the only piece of furniture that looked anywhere remotely new despite the reality that the chair still had to be more than fifty years old at the least. In all, the room held a great feeling of fragility, as if one strong breeze might be enough to send all its furnishings and structure tumbling into an unseemly heap that would disgrace the orderly room.
Severus soon found himself in the expansive ballroom, the ceiling ridiculously high and the floor to ceiling walls draped with expensive, luxurious fabric. The stone floor was clean and polished into a smooth perfection as as the slightly-raised musicians' gallery and Severus easily calculated the intricately-decorated room could comfortably accommodate up to a few hundred guests. A social butterfly as Narcissa would adore such a space, but Severus only found it to be an unnecessary waste of space.
He found himself in the dining room after leaving the ballroom and squinted as a barrage of natural light flooded within from the window-filled walls despite them all being concealed with blinds and the thickest of curtains. In the middle of the bright room an overly large table was placed surrounded by ten delicate chairs that looked far more beautiful than comfortable. Placed off and pressed against a space of wall that wasn't occupied by a window stood a hutch, laden with china and glassware so flimsy-looking he didn't dare to so much as look at it for more than a few seconds for fear the intense look he always carried would turn it all to a fine powder he'd be forced into cleaning up.
Afterwards Severus found himself in front of a door that radiated off thick waves of magic. Exercising great caution, as he didn't want to be harmed or maimed by any of the curses that were clearly protecting the room behind the black door, he cast several detection charms and only stopped once he was completely sure of his assumption that the curses would only be activated if someone outside the Prince bloodline tried to force entry. Having suitably assured himself that he would not be bringing on his own death by doing so, he snaked out a hand dared to press his palm against the door that lacked a handle or knob.
He grunted loudly in surprise and pain when a surge of hot electricity shot it's way through his entirety. He desperately attempted to withdraw the hand that was serving as a conduit for the surge but found it helplessly stuck against the darkly-colored wood as faint baby-blue light began to materialize about his frozen body. Gritting his teeth he waited in extreme discomfort for the Verification Ward to finish certifying that he was indeed a Prince. He heaved a great sigh of relief when after ten frustrating minutes he was finally able to yank his tingling body away from the door that had opened inward as soon as the blue light hovering around him had vanished. Cursing the invasiveness of the spell, yet grateful that it would only be a one-time ordeal, he stepped inside.
A large library graced his sight, and he fumbled about in the darkness of the room as it devoid of any windows whatsoever. "Lumos Maxima." He muttered, savoring the wondrous tastes and smells only a library could offer. Large wall-length bookshelves were placed against the lengthy walls, filled with a great number of books that were clearly well-cared for despite the majority of them being so old that the leather covers were faded and the pages yellowed and torn. The middle of the lightless room had been utilized as a seating area; a large desk was planted in the front of very padded chair and beside it all stood a large rubbish bin that was still littered with crumpled up bits of candy-wrappings.
It almost pained him to leave the library but he still had much of the house to explore and he needed to unpack his things and place them accordingly. So with reluctant feet he removed himself from the enticing literature and walked himself past a spacious bathroom and into a grand entrance hall that sported an impressive stairwell with an ornately carved handrail. Large stained-glass windows were placed on either side of the impressive front double-doors, each window littered with dark blues and purples and grays that formed no real design yet still looked beautiful. An antiquated bench nestled against one of the walls, providing a spot for visitors to remove muddy shoes and boots and a closet stood on the other side to allow said visitors to hang their cloaks and coats within.
Making his way up the staircase he eyed the life-sized paintings hung with careful precision along the wall. While most would find the gothic-styled art morbid, Severus simply found it to be more realistic and thus more captivating. They weren't created by any well-known artist which came as a shock, as Severus had assumed nothing but originals would have been allowed to adorn the walls. The only hint he had to the identity of the creator was the spidery-like scrawl printed in each of their corners that read Todd the II.
The first of the paintings was a black-and-white scene depicted an old and crumbling graveyard that was covered in snow and littered with broken headstones and scrawny crows. The second was a portrait that admittedly disturbed him greatly. It portrayed the face of an awfully young woman with an emaciated face and dark eyes that seemed to grow large the more he stared into them. He had quickly yanked his eyes away from that one, irrationally thinking that he'd end up trapped within those soul-less, haunting eyes. The third presented his eyes with the image of of another gaunt and pallid woman, completely naked yet folded over herself so that the worst of the nudity was concealed. The woman rested her head atop her knees, staring out of the painting and into the viewers soul with a look so melancholic and devoid of hope Severus could easily relate to her. The fourth and final piece of artwork revealed a young boy who leaned up against a wall with his knees drawn up to his chest. He too stared out of the bounds of his painting; his eyes empty and dead.
Leaving the morbid depictions behind he found himself on the second floor, surrounded by ten doors. He started with the door that clearly lead to the master suite as it stood alone on the shorter wall. Appreciative that he didn't have to undergo the Verification Wards once more, he stepped into a room that was furnished with the same aged furniture as the rest of the house. The color scheme in sported was simply black and white, and not some overly feminine color he had feared it would be given his grandmother was the previous owner. In all honesty the king-sized, four-poster bed looked a hundred time more comfortable than either his bed at Hogwarts of the one back at Spinner's End. With this one he could even draw the thick curtains around himself if he so desired. Which he very likely would chose to do as the large overly-creepy painting of a naked woman grotesquely contorted while her face was hidden by her long hair, didn't seem conducive to a good night's sleep.
The master bathroom was no less grand and greatly resembled the prefects bathroom back at Hogwarts. Opposite of the toilet was a large, swimming pool-like tub sunken into the ground. Dozens of bath taps ran across its length, each likely running a variety of different-colored bath water, soap bubbles, foams, oils, and perfumes. The shelving behind it was stocked with towels, bath salts, robes, soaps, bathing powder, shampoos, and conditioners. Had Severus been a woman, or as effeminate as Lockhart he would have found himself giddy about the bathroom. As he was neither he found the master bath nothing more than functional and needlessly extravagant.
The rest of the four bedrooms were done up a neutral matter, painted and furnished in a unisex manner that would be able to accommodate any overnight guests without making them uncomfortable. The four other doors housed bathrooms that were almost as needlessly overdone as his master bath- the only difference being that while these ones did have massive tubs with many taps, they were nowhere near the size of the walk in tub in his private rooms.
The last door sat alone on the wall opposite to the master suite and upon opening the door Severus discovered a very dangerous and steep set of stairs that lead upward. Carefully he ascended, using the walls for support as there was no handrail in sight. Eventually his dangerous trek lead him up into the very dusty attic of the home.
Obviously the low-ceilinged and cramped room had served as primitive living quarters for maids and house elves at one point in the houses history. The confined area was partially partitioned down the middle by a very sheer length of cloth that fell down the ceiling. On one side of the makeshift partition sat three large queen beds and on the other side three large and lumpy mattresses were laid out on the floor making it obvious which side had belonged to the house elves. Each side had their own rudimentary bathrooms, with only the maid's possessing a primitive shower. Each side also possessed its own crude armoire, the one on the house elf's side slightly open and revealing ragged and holey elf-sized 'clothes.'
He couldn't really stay long in the attic, not that had any desire too, because the dust was getting to him as was the heat which seemed much stronger with how high he was up in the house. Coughing all the way back down the entry hall he soon found himself opening a door that revealed yet another set of rickety steps that lead down into the basement.
He allowed himself a brief smile upon the discovery that the basement served as a potions lab. Very large tables were set up at intervals making it easy to brew multiple potions in unison, and a large hutch housed hundreds of ingredients- some that he'd never have a chance at owning given their rarity and the price that came along with it. In yet another hutch completed potions were stored, and Severus resolved to test their quality after had finished his exploration. Opening one of the two doors within the room he found a bathroom, the tub stained, no-doubt, from decades of potioneers washing potent and discoloring potions from their skin.
The second door lead down into a cellar by way of yet another bloody set of steps that were nothing but death-traps. Thankfully it was a much shorter set, but steep nonetheless and devoid of handrails. The trek downward wasn't even worth his time, he soon discovered, as all the sub-basement housed was rows and rows of alcohol, most of which was wine. Given his predisposition and the years he allowed alcohol to overtake him, he steadfastly refused to so much as sip at half a glass of wine.