Chapter Sixteen

" this house shall become a desolation." Jeremiah 22:5

Hermione didn't want to leave. She wanted to stay and take a good, long look at Snape's home and heritage. So she did. Leaving the cloak on in case there were any lurking Death Eaters, she wondered down long and dark corridors barely lit by dim, magical torches along the walls.

She looked into the countless rooms. There was an entire wing of elaborate but old-fashioned guest bedrooms - all immense with heavy furniture, and rich drapes and tapestries. Another wing was obviously the servants' quarters. The vast middle section had several ballrooms, a colossal entry foyer with grand stair cases, several dining rooms of differing sizes, sitting rooms, drawing rooms, cards and games rooms, a conservatory, a music room, an art gallery, the library, a private theatre, and a private museum. In the final wing were the family's private rooms. Each member had their own suite of rooms including an immense bedroom, a bathroom, a study, a dressing room and a sitting room.

You'd get tired just walking from your bed in the morning to the bathroom to the dressing room to the sitting room, Hermione thought feeling exhausted at the mere idea. No wonder Snape had turned up his nose at her parents' house. It looked less than their servants' quarters here, for all its modern trendiness.

Under the light of a full moon she could see the grounds. There was a large lake glittering under the moon, stables, walled gardens, a maze, open formal gardens with dried up fountains, manicured lawns (who kept them manicured, she wondered?) and woodlands full of ancient trees. It was fairy tale place gone to ruin, she decided. For all its grandeur, it was austere and forbidding. It was a house whose day had come and gone - a place forgotten and uncared for. A place of shadows and long held secrets that no-one cared to know anymore.

Finally, she headed back to the art gallery. Again, it was as big as a ballroom; its walls lined with family portraits as well as priceless, original wizarding art.

She took the cloak off as it was obvious there was no-one there but her. She kept it folded over one arm just in case, however. The minute she took off the cloak, she heard an exclamation. She froze.

"Hermatica?" A deep, vaguely familiar voice said. Hermione anxiously scanned the room. "Over here," the voice said again, more softly. With relief, Hermione realised it was one of the portraits. She made her way over to it. It was one of the larger ones, in an ornate gilt frame. She stared. If it weren't for the rich and elaborate Arabian robes, she would think it was Snape himself. The man in the frame stared frankly back, his face frozen in shock. "What are you doing here, Hermatica?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"My name isn't Hermatica, it's Hermione." She corrected emphatically. She felt strange. His deep-set, dark eyes were looking at her with an odd mixture of regret, longing and another emotion she couldn't quite put her finger on. It made her feel strange and suddenly her heart lurched inside her as she realised with a flash of panic that what she wanted more than anything else was for Snape to look at her in just this way. It was eerie because it was almost as if Snape was - the man in the portrait looked so similar to him. Hermione felt a bit shocked and dislocated from the unexpectedness of this personal revelation.

The man in the portrait frowned at her words. "But you look just like her apart from those dreadful clothes," he said.

Hermione suddenly felt miffed. It may be a track suit she was wearing but it was a very trendy, sporty tracksuit. She thought she looked good. "Who is Hermatica?" She asked, annoyed.

The man just looked at her sadly, almost looking through her. "Someone I knew a long time ago." He said finally.

"Well, I'm not her okay? Who are you? An ancestor of Severus Snape, I presume?" She asked, trying to ignore the craving in the shadowed eyes of Snape's look-a-like as they rested on her.

The man frowned more deeply. "I AM Severus Snape," he said, abruptly arrogant.

"Okay, so Snape was named after you." Hermione stated.

"Are you talking about that cheerless, taciturn young man who used to live here?" The portrait asked out of the blue.

"I don't know. How long ago was that?" She asked. It certainly sounded like her Snape.

"Not long. Maybe 10 or 15 years ago?" He replied.

"It must have been him," Hermione said with a shrug. "Why was he so gloomy?" She asked curiously.

It was the man's turn to shrug. "Only child perhaps? His parents were rather cold and distant; wrapped up in their own affairs and their ambitions for the boy. He was probably lonely, there were few people his parents considered good enough for their son to mix with."

"He comes from an overly proud family," Hermione said pointedly.

The man in the portrait bristled. "Why shouldn't we be proud? We are an ancient dynasty," he said haughtily.

"So I keep being told," Hermione said wryly, tempted to roll her eyes.

* "Young woman, this family is descended from the Moors in Africa whose descendants can be traced back to before recorded history. Even then, we were Princes of our race and our advanced culture brought civilization to Europe. Few throughout history have dared to oppose us. On the other side of the family, we can trace our bloodline back to the Scythians, Sarmatians and Amazons; all ancient inhabitants of Russia's southern steppes. These Mesopotamic, nomadic tribes were feared warriors and accomplished horsemen who warded off the mightiest rulers including Darius and Alexander. Our magical bloodline can be traced back to the royal family of Cordova and to the prince Colaxais, the son of Targitaus - a great supernatural being who founded the Scythian race," he said coldly, pride in every line of his posture. Well, that explains his dark colouring and hawkish features, Hermione thought with interest. Also, the family's potent magical legacy. "And what is your heritage?" He sneered.

Honestly, Hermione thought. It's just like having a conversation with Snape. "I'm a witch with two Muggle parents," she said bluntly and without apology.

The man's face went white. "Just like Hermatica," he whispered.

Hermione sighed impatiently. "Who is Hermatica?" She snapped.

He looked away, as though looking at her was suddenly painful. "I would have married her but her bloodline was completely contaminated by Muggle blood," he murmured, almost to himself. "My family would not allow it. We were ruling Princes, we had to marry within our class," he said almost pleading for understanding.

"Dolt," was all Hermione had to say.

He frowned at her. "She was a great deal more polite than you," he said sternly. Hermione felt like telling him to tell someone who cared. Really, this ancestor of Snape's had exactly the same effect on her that Snape himself did, she thought. "I want to see her again," he said, staring into space once more and ignoring Hermione rolling her eyes. "There was a portrait done but I haven't seen it," he mused. "It's not here."

"I remember seeing some in the drawing rooms but I didn't look at any of them closely. Shall I have a look for you?" She asked, feeling generous. The look of sudden, desperate hope that glowed in his dark, shadowed eyes frightened her with its intensity.

"Would you?" He said, staring down at her compellingly just like her own Snape did on occasion.

She nodded and backed away. It freaked her, seeing this play of emotions over a face identical to Snape's. It made her heart ache strangely and she didn't like it.

She re-traced her steps back to the main drawing room. She hunted on each wall, looking at each portrait of a woman carefully. Finally, she found a full-length portrait in one corner. Her eyes widened. Now she understood why he had called her by this woman's name. They were not identical but the similarity was a bit uncanny. "Are you Hermatica?" She asked. The woman in the portrait looked down at her and drew in her breath sharply.

"Yes. Who are you? You look. you look."

"Yes, we look alike, don't we?" Hermione said impatiently. "Hold on, I'm going to levitate you back to the main gallery. There's someone who wants to see you."

"Alright but who are you?" She insisted, as Hermione floated her off the wall and down the hall.

"Snape's ward," Hermione said shortly, concentrating on not dropping the priceless object.

"The new master Snape?" She said thoughtfully, catching on instantly. "Poor man," she murmured. Hermione nearly dropped the painting.

"Why poor?" She demanded irritably.

Hermatica sighed. "Poor lonely, neglected boy." She sighed.

"Yeah, poor little rich boy," Hermione said sarcastically.

"He had no-one. He used to spend his days in the library reading on his own," she sighed again and looked wistful.

Hermione suddenly had tears in her eyes and was very grateful for her friends who at least pulled her out of the library occasionally for some fun. As she came back into the drawing room, the man in the portrait watched anxiously as Hermione levitated the portrait over to him. "I found her," she announced. The way the two stared at each other transfixed Hermione. It gave her goosebumps. The similarities were too close. It was like watching Snape and herself in some other life. She cleared her throat slightly. "Do you want to be next to each other or opposite each other," she asked finally.

"Next to each other. Then we can visit," the man demanded imperiously not taking his eyes off Hermatica.

Hermione moved a picture of a grey haired man with Snape's hawkish nose further down the wall to make room for Hermatica's portrait and put her next to him on the wall. Immediately, he got up and moved into her frame. He was every bit as tall and slender as her own Snape, Hermione observed.

They didn't say anything for a long time, merely looked at each other. Hermione began to feel a bit out of place and turned to go, and walked straight into Snape's chest. "Geez, do you always have to sneak around like a bloody cat?" Hermione complained, taking one step back and glaring up at him in the shadowy half light.

He glanced over her head and frowned at the two portraits there. "You're a romantic, Hermione. His family killed her when they knew he loved her." He said harshly.

"You mean, your family killed her." Hermione corrected. "Besides, it doesn't mean they didn't really love each other," she added. "Keeping up the family tradition, Professor?" She said pointedly, indicating his Death Eater robes.

He ignored her dig at him. "It would have been a disaster if he'd married her," he rasped. "It couldn't be allowed."

"Well, you've been well brain-washed," she snapped.

By now the first Severus Snape and Hermatica were staring at them. "So you're the heir," the man said flatly. "I haven't seen you around here for years. The family home is going to ruin. No wonder the line has come to an end," he sneered, looking Snape up and down dismissively.

Snape glared at him. It was peculiar to see the two identical men glowering at each other. "The only reason you could have founded the dynasty was because Hermatica was murdered," Snape argued, his black eyes narrowed.

"It's sad to see how much intelligence has been lost to the bloodline," the man said contemptuously. "I conquered the land in Africa that would become our heritage and that gave us our wealth, and ruled it too but you and the entire Snape clan are descended from my murderous younger brother. His blood still tells, I see." His ancestor spat at him. "How dare you bring that filthy lot of Death Eaters to the family home? Not even your parents allowed it!"

Snape stared at him incredulously. "But the family history. I was told that we were your descendents and that your brother was disowned."

"He was disowned but his children were the only heirs." His ancestor said unequivocally. "I married but it was a marriage of alliance that produced no children."

Snape's face was bloodless. "My whole family history is a lie? We're descended from a murderer?" He repeated, dazedly.

"Yes, Death Eater." He said meaningfully, pulling Hermatica against him with one arm.

Snape looked ill; very, very ill.

"You need some sleep, Professor." Hermione said quietly. "Let's go back to my house. It's nearly morning." She took his arm firmly and led him to the fireplace at the other end of the room. Snape's ancestor had already turned back to Hermatica when she stepped into the fireplace.

"Do you think they'll make it Severus?" Hermatica asked softly, at the other end of the room.

"If one or the other doesn't get murdered, they just might." He replied, glancing down the room at the figures by the fireplace.

"I hope so," Hermatica breathed.

"Me too," he agreed.

Once back at Hermione's house, Snape immediately went downstairs to his rooms without a word still looking sick. Hermione went to her rooms and after lying awake for awhile, finally slept.

(*Information sourced from history sites on the internet - www.rispubs.com and www.ibiblio.org)