Disclaimer: Alana, Sardelle, and Sardelle's children are of my creation. "The Prince," and all concepts having to do with it, belong to the brilliant Nicclo Machiavelli. All of the rest belongs solely to J.K. Rowling.

Author's Note: I wrote this over a number of days, but once Harry enters the library, the TV was going in the background and I couldn't concentrate so I put on a set of headphones and had Renaissance Songs and Dances in my ears for the rest of the story. I think it's pretty noticeable in the story, so I thought I'd let ya know that that's what accounts for the sudden change in mood…

All of the historical information is accurate, right down to Lorenzo di Medici. Much of the history isactually taken from an essay I did awhile ago for a class on the history of the European Renaissance...

Oh, and btw, in my history of the Harry Potter world, Snape was in on the whole Voldemort killing the Potters plot… that's just a TAD important to understanding the ending I think ;)

Harry walked through one of the slightly darkened halls of Number 12 Grimmauld Place towards the house's "modest" library. In actuality, the room was filled with more books than Harry had ever seen in one room – aside from the library at Hogwarts of course - but Sirius had used the word saying that many of the more wealthy families competed with each other over the size of their libraries, and the Black family happened to only fill a "modest" room in comparison. He could only imagine the size of the Malfoy library; he laughed at the thought. It would be the only aspect of that family that he was sure Hermione would ever be jealous of.

The sudden thought and reminder of Sirius pained Harry. The memory was still deep and very real, but at least it wasn't as sharp as it had been in the weeks following that horrible night in the Department of Mysteries. Remus, Alana and Tonks had all come especially close together with Harry to help each other through the pain, and it had helped a little. Tonks – the last unmarried Black – inherited the house and all of the rest of the Black family assets, while Remus and Alana had informally taken Harry under their wings, acting almost as godparents in Sirius' stead. One was, after all, Sirius' best friend and the other, his fiancé of fourteen years.

Harry gave a slight smile at that thought; he honestly doubted that Sirius and Alana would ever have married, but an arrangement was an arrangement, even if it was made while the two involved were unknowing teenagers at school. This arrangement had, however, provided another set of guardians for Harry in case such a thing was needed. Dumbledore himself confirmed that Lily and James had named both Alana and Remus "emergency" guardians for Harry; and Harry could certainly see where they're hesitation came from. Remus Lupin was a werewolf – not exactly someone fit to care for a small child (if it had ever come to that earlier on) and Alana Snape was an auror in a family of Death Eaters, certainly someone with her hands full in both family affairs and the Ministry.

But when the time came for them to be there for Harry, neither of them faltered an inch. In fact, Alana had extended Sirius' offer of a new home away from the Dursley's to Harry not long after the night in the Ministry. She owned a home across the Atlantic, in the American State of Maine – far enough from harm, but a flu trip to safety if ever needed. Dumbledore of course didn't allow this as he would not have allowed Harry to live with Sirius, but Harry had seen it as a wonderful gesture from the new godmother.

Her reason for living so far away: well, it was actually a combined mess of numbers that forced her away years ago, and she now preferred the distance during her summers. There was the escape from the violence and memories of the war that plagued her, the ever present tension and fear that surrounded her wherever she went – many people would stand and stare at the famous auror with a mixture of both awe and unsettled fear of the times that she represented – but it was also a large part family problems. As a young girl, her family saw that she was not going to serve the Dark Lord, whether she was able to or not. Just before she announced that she was going to be an auror, her grandfather caused the entire family to disown her – this was only just weeks after her cousin, Severus, was branded. Only his sister, her other cousin, Sardelle had remained in touch with her, and relations between Alana and the rest of her family fell away into darkness and loathing. Only recently was the rift between her and Severus healing – and this, many years after he had betrayed the Dark Lord and started to serve under Dumbledore.

So it was a relative mystery to Harry why he was walking towards the library this night, having been asked to by the Professor himself, indirectly at least, for a talk in private. His first thought had been that it was Sardelle's idea. He had only met the woman once before, and that only very briefly, but he had liked her from there. She had the sense of a mediator and peacekeeper all about her, in every step and every word.

Then again, it could genuinely be the idea of one of the other two – Harry honestly had no idea. One thing was for certain – this was not going to be an everyday meeting with the Potions Master.

Harry approached the tall oak doors. They were cracked slightly – just enough to allow a thin strand of light to pour into the hallway. Pushing them open enough to allow himself through, Harry entered the library and was met with a very beautiful sight. The main chandelier that hung in the middle of the room was brilliantly alight with well over a hundred candles. A fireplace on the opposite wall was ablaze and the unsteady light danced upon thousands of books lining every wall from ground to the ceiling three stories up. A stairway extended up the walls on both sides of the door, each ascending to different heights and wrapping around the room in a balcony at the level of the top stair. Great windows were set into the wall above the fireplace and extended upwards through all of the levels of books, but now large velvet drapes hung over them, blocking out the night.

Professor Snape was standing on the ground floor, facing the wall of books with a worn and relatively thin volume open in his hands. At Harry's entrance, the man looked up slowly from his book, taking in the newcomer.

"In the fifteenth century, what we now know as Italy was only a collection of hundreds of states – each ruled by its own leader or family." His voice held no animosity, or at least it was very well hidden. It was the quiet, calm voice of a tired scholar – something that Harry had never pictured Snape as being, and yet, for some reason, it fit him well at this moment.

"The Italian Renaissance started a movement in these states to unify the cities; many people joined it, and many died for its cause." He paused here for a moment as he started moving towards one of the two armchairs by the fireplace and motioned for Harry to join him. "Nicclo Machiavelli" he said while motioning to the book in his hands "was a part of this movement; and while he was not killed, he did choose exile from his own city after pushing his cause in a way that many viewed as too hard and too adamant."

Harry only nodded. He wasn't entirely sure yet of what to make of his Professor's speech. Thus far, Harry had known only that the man knew everything there was to know about potionry and the dark arts. History, on the other hand, seemed to be something praised more by his cousin, Alana – and something that the Potions Master had seemed to have no care for whatsoever, but Snape continued.

"His action taken for his cause was to write this for the Prince of his native city of Florence:" he said as he patted the book again. "Lorenzo di Medici. Machiavelli believed that Lorenzo was the right ruler at the right time in their history to conquer or else contract with every city and state so as to become the ruler of all of Italy – fulfilling the dreams and wishes of his movement." Snape's cold, black eyes bored into Harry, trying to convey some meaning in this history lesson, but Harry didn't understand exactly why he was telling him all of this. What did muggle history over five hundred years old have to do with anything now? Of course, he dared not ask this of the Potions Master, Harry's curiosity was getting the better of him.

Snape sighed and shook his head "I am willing to venture a guess and say that you have never heard of this book, or any of these names, before."

"No sir, never." Harry answered wondering why he would have. They did not teach muggle history at Hogwarts to anyone except those taking muggle studies – and that only briefly.

"Then I shudder to think of what your mother's sister did with her collection of books." Snape tried to continue but Harry burst out at this comment. Snape knew his Aunt? He had even known his mother enough to know what books she had at home? How? He thought his mother had hated Snape… His mind flashed briefly to that scene in Snape's pensive when his mother had tried to stand up for him, but anger welled at remembering how that had turned out.

"How do you? … Why? …" He couldn't even finish his thoughts.

His Professor held up an ivory hand and spoke in the same quiet voice "Your mother and Alana were good friends, you know this, and Alana and I were also on good terms our first few years at school. Yes, I knew your mother as a friend, at least for our first years. We lost touch after that, but it is unimportant to my point at this moment."

"No, I want to know th - " Harry started, but Snape cut him off.

"Not now. Now, I would like to continue, without interruption." A glimmer of what Harry truly knew Snape as shown through in his eyes here and Harry sunk back into his chair, his mind now cluttered with thoughts and wondering if he could truly pay attention to this man now. Maybe he would go ask Alana about this after he was done here. Yes, that was the best idea; suddenly Harry couldn't wait to leave the library.

"Alana is out at the moment, she and Sardelle left for the night to do Merlin knows what for Albus." Snape said, sensing Harry's intentions. "So there is no good to be done by cutting this shorter than necessary." Harry nodded and sunk back into his armchair.

"Now, Machiavelli espoused in this book what is thought to be one of the most comprehensive, complete guides to any ruler of a monarchial or dictatorial state ever written. How educated do you think one has to be to be a successful ruler?" he asked Harry. "Successful in the sense that you succeed in ruling everyone under you effectively, not necessarily in a positive or negative manner."

"Well informed, probably, but as a ruler, wouldn't you have advisors to help you with anything you'd want?" asked Harry.

"Yes, which is why you surround yourself with other educated advisors; trustworthy advisors, however, can be hard to come by." He said that last part with a hint of…something…in his voice. Harry wasn't sure what it was, but it seemed to be almost either sorrow or melancholy. "To truly rule well, you must be extremely well educated, well read, and well informed. Trust me though, these are not the only characteristics of a decent leader, only some of the more important." He leaned foreword slightly "How well educated do you believe the Dark Lord to be?"

"Probably pretty well so." Harry answered. He had no doubt now that the 'Dark Lord' was where Snape had gotten this philosophy. "And his advisors?"

"If those the leader surrounds himself with are untrustworthy, then the leader will not want them educated, at least, not more so than him or herself." There was a slight twinkle in his eyes, "Those few that he does trust – to a certain degree at least – could probably out think most of the instructors at Hogwarts."

Harry squirmed a bit in his chair, but only for a moment. "It doesn't matter though, Professor Dumbledore can reason anything, he can make up for all of them."

"Perhaps." Severus said quietly. "But he cannot be everywhere at once. Machiavelli teaches that to defeat an enemy, you must overwhelm and overpower them. You must strike at them from many levels, on many fields at once. David might fell Goliath on one field, but the rest of the army is marching in through the unguarded door."

"Which is where you come in, right?" Harry asked tentatively. "To learn of these plans of attack an help us prepare?"

Snape took a little time before he responded. "Yes, that is my part. Do you understand now?"

"Maybe." In reality, there were many questions whirling around in Harry's mind. "Sir, why are you telling me this? I'm not even allowed in the Order."

Snape considered his words for a moment. "Then you do not understand my entire meaning. There are very few people that I have ever felt I owed an explanation to, it is never really needed. You are an exception, however, for reasons that you have obviously yet to learn. No matter now, I have done my part and you have your answer. When you find the question, it will make sense." Snape rose from his chair in one graceful movement, leaving the book on Harry's lap. He took a step away towards the door, but stopped and nearly whispered to Harry with his back still turned. "There are even fewer people in this world that I have ever owed an apology to; again, you are an exception. I offer it now, knowing that it may never be accepted."

He stared off again for the library door, leaving Harry as confused as he could probably be. He wanted to ask him so much, but didn't know how to yet. Maybe it would be easier talking to Alana later…

"Professor" he called out. Snape stopped again and this time turned around again to look at him. He looked so different than Harry knew him. His face was lined in sorrow and grief somehow, like he was reliving something that he wished only to forget forever. He didn't answer the call, but just waited for Harry to speak.

"Professor, what do you, personally, think of Machiavelli's teachings?"

Snape's eyes regained a touch of levity. "Rule through fear, he taught. Make those under you listen to your every word and command, but do not exercise any need to raise your voice: they should listen to the leader's every word as servant to master. Make them fear the consequences of disobeying rather than the rewards of loyalty, for the reward for loyalty is the lack of punishment and protection from those that do disobey."

Snape turned back around and walked gracefully out of the room, black robes billowing behind him.

Harry's eyes widened slightly, then almost laughed. That part was at least simple; maybe if he read this he would at least gain a bit of insight as to how the Potions Master conducted class, maybe even start saving his house a few points here and there.

Then the thought hit him. To know how your enemy operates is to know how to defeat them. This was so obvious, yet he hadn't thought of it before. He had always worried obscurely about Voldemort, but never considered studying him that closely. This was part of Snape's message here, and more answers would surely be found in this book; but what about the rest? About his mother? And that apology, had Snape ever apologized to anyone before? It certainly seemed rather unheard of.

Harry shook his head trying to clear it. He would have to speak to Alana when she got back, but that probably would not be for a while now, it would have to wait. In the mean time…

He opened the book and started to read, sinking further into the armchair and letting the bright fire dance upon the pages.