Sorry that this has taken me so long! I have written and rewritten this numerous times, and I remain unsatisfied still. However, I hope you enjoy it!!

A Mother's Love

By Koinaka

"Doubt thou the stars are fire;
Doubt that the sun doth move;
Doubt truth to be a liar;
But never doubt I love."

Hamlet. ACT II Sc. 2.

Chapter Three
In which peace is shattered in a not-so-unexpected manner and a boy grows up.

Weeks, months, and then years passed by with nary another word about Severus assuming guardianship of his younger cousin. Severus thought about the boy often, especially as time drew near for to him to begin his magic schooling. He continued to exchange letters with his uncle, and even, when prompted, exchanged a letter or two with the boy himself. Dumbledore had also become keenly interested in the existence of the Prince heir. More so when the boy chose not to attend Hogwarts. This surprised Severus as well as his uncle was correct in saying that Kallias seemed more than minimally interested in the school if his vociferousness in regards to the throughout the few letters he and Severus exchanged was any indication.

However, soon there was no time for such thoughts, by either Severus or Dumbledore. After what Severus would begin to call an extreme lack of forethought, Dumbledore brought the Sorcerer's Stone to Hogwarts for safekeeping. It was not as safe as he would have liked, but luckily Dumbledore was able to destroy it before the Dark Lord had obtained it. Of course, Dumbledore did not believe Professor Quirrell was working with him so sure was he that the Dark Lord was defeated. As much as Severus wished to believe that, he could not. His Dark Mark twinged painfully whenever he was near the bumbling professor. Something that, if Dumbledore were to be believed, should not have been possible.

The next year was worse than the previous - if that could be believed. More so, in fact, as the legendary Chamber of Secrets was opened, and a series of children were petrified, culminating in the death of the youngest Weasley child - a girl by the name of Ginerva - and the return of the Dark Lord.

That was when Severus discovered that a youthful Dark Lord untainted by madness was just as terrifying as the previous incarnation of the man. More so, in fact, because there was a method to his madness now. Instead of reveling in his newfound return to power, the Dark Lord was quiet. Very quiet. Too quiet, in fact, spending all of his time in search of something. What he searched for, Severus knew not, because this newer, younger Dark Lord trusted no one. Not even Lucius retained his position of power in the light of the Dark Lord's return.

Dumbledore had lived in denial for as long as he could, until Severus had been summoned, after which he could no longer deny it was true. The wizarding world, however, could not be swayed. There was no evidence that the Dark Lord had returned, and they preferred ignorance to truth - at least when that truth brought an end to the peace that had been enjoyed for the previous decade.

There was one person, however, who seemed to believe whole heartedly in the return of the Dark Lord. Severus' uncle had seemed quite unhinged about the entire situation. He'd written Severus asking him to visit. Severus would have made his excuses to delay the visit if he could have, but there was an urgency in the letter that prompted Severus to hold his tongue and visit despite his wishes. He had been sure that his uncle's passing was now upon them.

However, while his uncle certainly looked worse for the wear - it was obvious he was rather ill - he was in no danger of passing before his very eyes, but needless to say the reception this time was decidedly more unfriendly. Severus Prince had barely shown him inside when he found himself once more estranged from the last of his family. His uncle wanted nothing to do with the Dark Lord or, indeed, anything to do with anyone who was connected to the Dark Lord nor did he want his son exposed to the dark wizard. Severus didn't blame him, but he was surprised to discover the loneliness he felt after leaving the manor. No more letters were exchanged between the two men.

Meanwhile, Kallias Prince was able to grow up without the shadow of war on him. His father was careful to ensure that he had a very normal, very happy, childhood. He, in turn, was a curious, inquisitive, bright child who wanted for nothing. He had the best tutors, the best of everything, really. The only fault he could find with his life was that his father had a tendency to be overprotective and more than a bit overbearing. That was until Kallias went abroad for school.

With Kallias safely away from Britain and the brewing war, it was very easy for him to forget it was even happening. He had only been an infant during the first war, after all, and people on the continent cared nothing for the affairs of the British. In fact, it was only too easy for Kallias to adopt the same attitude as his fellows. Especially as he opted, after his first year, to not return to Britain during the summers. His father bought a villa near his school, Il Conservatorio di Magia, in Rome, and they would spend their summers there. Except for the last two summers Kallias had had to stay at the school because his father had been too ill to travel. In retrospect, perhaps he should have realized the significance of this and spent more than only the minimum time required - there was a period of two weeks in which the school had to be empty so the staff could do any needed repairs - at home with his father, but Kallias was a teenager, and they were known for being selfish creatures. Kallias was no exception to this. That is not to say he did not love his father, as he did, but the mortality of fathers are often forgotten. He just always assumed there would be more time later. This turned out to be a gross untruth.

It was a Saturday morning in December when Kallias received word that his father had finally passed on. The owl had bypassed the more widely known and accepted method of delivering post during the morning meal and come directly to Kallias' window. That was just as well as Kallias was not in the habit of attending breakfast on Saturday mornings. In fact, Kallias was not in the habit of attending lunch on Saturdays, either. No, more often than not, the only thing Kallias was in the habit of consuming prior to nightfall on the weekends was copious amounts of muggle coffee and half a pack or so of muggle fags at the little cafe near his school. That was when he could be roused from whatever - or rather whoever's - bed he happened to be frequenting, of course. And never, ever, no matter what circumstances might befall him, could be dragged from his bed at such an obscene hour as seven in the morning. It was unimaginable, unthinkable, yet...

It was exactly what happened on that Saturday.

Kallias wasn't certain if it was the incessant tap-tap-taping of the owl at his window that woke him up, the stream of Italian cursing, or the object hitting him firmly in his arse. A combination of the three was the most likely scenario, he thought. But he was certain what got him out of the bed and opening the window to allow the bird entry - a well placed stinging hex from his room-mate.

Stretching and yawning rather loudly, he took the letter off of the proffered leg. He was about to crawl right back into his bed, letter unread, when the owl nipped him hard enough to draw blood causing him to let out his own stream of Italian cursing.

"Alright, alright," he muttered, grabbing the letter off of his nightstand where he had dropped it. He turned it over to open it, noticing for the first time the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry seal on it. There was only one reason that someone from Hogwarts would contact him. He hadn't heard from his cousin in years, after all.

"Well, fuck," he breathed as he sank back down onto his bed.

He spent the rest of the day in a haze. The letter had been terse, but he expected nothing more from Severus Snape. His father had died, and Kallias was to return to Britain for the duration - however long that was. There was also a letter for his Headmaster if he required any special accommodations for any school work he may miss. He didn't as they were about to begin their winter holidays. Hogwarts still had another two weeks before their holidays begun so that is why Kallias was being forced to travel by port-key to Britain and then by train to Scotland. It wasn't as if this was a big shock for Kallias. Despite the fact that he thought his father had more time, he had been ill for a rather long time, and if truth were told, he would not have lasted half as long had he been a muggle. There weren't magical methods of curing cancer yet, but the potions available were infinitely better than any muggle medicine.

Sunday morning found Kallias sitting on the muggle side of Kings Cross Station, his newly purchased cashmere scarf wrapped tightly around his neck, his finely tailored coat carelessly unbuttoned, relishing what would probably be the last fag he had for the foreseeable future. He shivered nearly violently despite the warming charm he'd cast before he'd been port-keyed away. He had forgotten the frigid weather of the British Isles. At five till eleven, Kallias crossed through the barrier and onto Platform 9 3/4's to board the train. He readied himself for a boring trip, and found that he was not disappointed. The hours spent on the train - a red, gaudy train so cleverly called The Hogwarts Express - were spent staring out the windows and replaying the last conversation he would ever have with his father.

It was the previous summer, the summer before his seventh year. He was required to return home for the required two weeks the school would be inhabitable. However, he had not returned to Britain to hear his father berate his... choices. Far from it, in fact. Had he wanted a lecture on the... obligations of being the heir to one of the last Noble and Ancient Houses left in Britain, he would have remained in Rome and read his father's letters, of which there were many. He especially did not come to hear his father tell him that he was to marry a pureblooded witch and bloody well lay back and think of England if thats what it took to do his duty and produce the required heir.

He didn't think he'd ever seen his father so upset before. He'd scarcely walked through the door to his father's office before a newspaper had been thrust onto the desk. He could see himself on the front cover, and he was not alone. Indeed, he was being pressed against the wall and throughly ravished by a certain Lord Raphael de Benifici, a rather prominent political figure in the Roman wizarding world.

"What is the meaning of this, Kallias?" he had demanded, coldly.

"It is exactly what it looks like, Father." There was no sense in denials when it was plastered across the front page of every wizarding paper in Italy and throughout the continent probably. It was a well-known fact that the Prince heir was a playboy. His father didn't pay attention to the society pages during his summers in Italy, so he had remained ignorant to his son's antics. Kallias had never considered the possibility that the news would spread as far as Britain however.

"You are only seventeen years old, Kallias! Regardless of whether or not you choose to behave as such, the fact remains that you are the Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Prince."

Kallias sneered, and he thought, he thought, his father almost looked taken aback. "How could I ever forget, Father? You remind me of it at every turn."

"And yet you still choose to make a fool of me!" snarled the man. "Acting the whore for all the world to see!" He shook the paper viciously at Kallias.

He could continue with his... dalliances, if he insisted, but he must be discreet, certainly more discreet that than he had been.

On and on the lecture went, but Kallias had ignored him for the most part, leaving the manor house as soon as humanly possible in search of some nightlife.

Only to be poorly disappointed. There was very little nightlife to be had in Britain, and what there was was very lacking. Rome... well, it need not be said that Romans enjoyed their hedonism, and as such were rather decadent and wanton in their pursuit of pleasure. Britain, on the other hand... well, he shouldn't have been surprised after his father's lecture, really, but still... he had not expected the attitudes he'd encountered. The entire population of the wizarding population here seemed to hold family in the utmost. The clubs, if they could be called that were most assuredly not the sort of places Kallias was accustomed to going to. Oh, Kallias didn't need the label that was so often required in the muggle clubs he frequented. No, Kallias was in it for the pleasure he received, and if that more often than not occurred with members of his own gender, he wasn't much bothered.

The rest of the visit had been appropriately tense, and upon returning to Rome, Kallias had ignored all correspondence with his father.

He had never regretted any of the many and varied wrong things he had done as much as he regretted that. A sigh escaped his lips, followed closely by another, as he watched the Scottish countryside pass by. Every moment spent aboard was another mile that now separated him from any semblance of a city. Hogwarts, he knew, was miles from any major muggle city. In fact, the closest he would get to civilization was a small wizarding village nearby. But he doubted, with all sincerity, it would be the sort of wizarding village he was used too.

All roads lead to Rome, after all, and it lived up to its reputation in every possible way. It was a mecca for wizards, witches, and muggles alike. A place where the lines separating the muggle world from the magical world was blurred at best and nonexistent at worst. Kallias thrived on the frenzy of the city and had immersed himself seamlessly within Roman society as surely as if he had been born and bred there. Still, he was often teased on his "stuffy British roots". It was no secret that the British were a laughing stock in the wizarding world largely due to their preoccupation with blood and the ranking therein. Blood mattered very little to Romans. Of course, as the majority of the prominent families within Roman society could trace their magical lineage back to the times of the Etruscans, it was a moot point on all accounts.

Kallias had only just dozed off when he felt the train come to a jarring stop. Well, he supposed it was time to face the music, as the saying goes, he thought as he exited the train, coming into contact with what very well could have been a mirror for all the similarities found there.

The ebony-haired, obsidian-eyed man could be no one but his cousin, Severus. They had met once, briefly, when Kallias was a child, but he remembered nothing about the man's appearance. Severus stared at him for a very long moment, an odd look flitting across his face, before letting out a strangled breath and uttering one nonsensical word that left Kallias throughly perplexed.

"Lily..."