Chapter 4 High Lord Peverell
After Gareth the goblin left, Severus found himself able to leave the confines of the four-poster bed. He pocketed his wand and decided to take a look around what the goblin called the Lair. The room was about a hundred square meters, with the walls done in off-white. The bed he was in was done in a similar shade with silk sheets. In fact, even the carpeting was a similar color, giving the area an almost ethereal effect –as if one was floating amongst the clouds. The only other hue present was mahogany –found in a pair of winged back armchairs and a low coffee table that stood in one corner of the room. It also matched the wood of the bed frame, as it did the side table Severus was now inspecting.
The bottle of scotch –a handsome crystal decanter –came in a silver tray, together with a wide, elegant shot glass –and a note. The Potions Master carefully picked up the parchment. It contained the same doe, elder tree and olive branch crest he recognized from the seal on the envelopes he had received from the High Lord. The note was short:
Greetings, Professor Snape, or shall I call you Lord Prince?
Please enjoy this fine bottle as part of my apologies.
Fear not, for I mean you no harm. The liquor is not poisoned. But then again, what Potions Master does not carry a bezoar on his person at all times?
-HLP
'There is that address again,' Severus thought. 'Why are they calling him 'Lord Prince'?' He just decided to ask whoever later. Right now, he needed a break. He poured a good two fingers of the scotch into the glass and downed it in one go. The amber liquid burned pleasantly against his throat, giving off a warm, familiar sensation. For some reason, he trusted this High Lord not to poison him. But then again, he could not care any less. His mind was going around in circles –he needed the tonic. He poured another glass.
He was nursing his third shot when the door opened once more.
"I trust it is to your liking?" a pleasantly amused voice asked him. The Potions Master gently set his glass down and turned to face the voice.
His jaw almost dropped at what he saw.
There was no other way to put it.
Beautiful. The man was beautiful. Severus swung both ways, so to speak, so he could appreciate both feminine and masculine beauty. And this man was a fine specimen if he ever saw one.
'No one should be this good-looking,' Severus told himself.
The man had long burgundy hair that reached his shoulders in loose waves, he had bright blue-green eyes that twinkled in the light, a delicate nose and full red lips. He was healthily tanned, a little shy of six feet and lithe. He was dressed in smart royal blue robes that were open from the waist down, revealing tight leather pants and dragon hide boots. The now-familiar crest was displayed on the buckle of his belt as well as the left breast pocket of his robes. On his left hand sat a gold ring adorned with sapphires and emeralds. There was no doubt as to who this man was.
"Lord Peverell," Severus intoned, politely bowing. Lord Peverell smiled at him and nodded.
"How do you do, Lord Prince?" Severus frowned.
"You must be mistaken, my Lord. I am a Potions Master Severus Snape –"
"Yes, yes, I'm quite young to be senile, don't you think?" Lord Peverell closed the door behind him and took a seat in one of the armchairs. He gave the Potions Master a pointed look.
"Well, take a seat, I don't bite, Professor. And nor should you worry. Between us two, you can best me in any given duel –magical or muggle." He winked. Severus felt a blush creeping up his cheeks. He took a deep breath before settling on the chair situated right across the enigmatic nobleman.
"You seem to know a lot about me –where were you all this time? How old are you again?" Severus found himself blurting out in rapid succession. Lord Peverell smiled.
"You would ask that, of course." When the Potions Master began to look uncomfortable, the young lord waved him off. "It is quite alright, Professor. "A curious mind must be satisfied at all times. Research, to answer your first question. Hiding in plain sight, for the second and third, technically, I am almost eighteen –"
"Technically?"
Lord Peverell nodded.
"Gareth might have already mentioned to you, but this place where we are at is called The Lair. It is a special time displacement room, activated by this –" he motioned to a golden amulet around his neck. "-One day outside is equivalent to one month in this room. I have spent seven regular weeks inside these chambers, 49 regular days – 49 months -a little over four years. Physically, I should be over twenty-two years old." The young lord let the information sink in with the Potions Master before proceeding.
"But why do we –"
"You asked for my help, Prof –"
"Severus, please,"
"Severus," Lord Peverell amended. "Call me Tristan."
"Tristan? Tristan Peverell?"
"Yes."
Severus raised one perfectly arched eyebrow.
"How fitting," he murmured. Tristan looked bemused.
"How so?"
The Potions Master grinned.
"Tristan… and… and your falcon is named Isolde."
Tristan's eyes brightened.
"I keep forgetting you are quite familiar with muggle literature, Severus." The young lord sighed. "yes, I was named to match my falcon."
Severus looked curious.
"Do you not mean she was named to match yours?"
Tristan shook his head.
"No, I was named as such because of her." He said cryptically. "But enough about that. We are here in the Lair because you have asked for my help, Severus. But aside from that, there are other things we need to discuss that would take time."
"Would that include explaining to me why you –and that goblin –address me as 'Lord Prince'?"
Tristan stared at him. Severus felt like he was being Legilimized, but the young man's gaze wasn't so much of a mental assault, but rather a physiological one. He held the young lord's gaze. After what felt like forever, Tristan relented. He then reached into his robes and pulled out a rolled up piece of parchment. He turned to Severus.
"What do you know of your mother's family?"
Severus seemed taken aback by the question, but he answered anyway.
"Not much. My grandfather Menaleus Prince was the last Lord Prince. He died without a direct heir. My mother was disowned for marrying a muggle before his death and was an only child. But surely, he had nephews or nieces –"
"No." Tristan shook his head. He then gave the rolled up parchment to Severus. The man stared at the parchment. It had a seal; this time though, it was the crest containing a falcon, a sword and a winter rose. He looked at Tristan.
"I –I don't understand. This –this is –"
"The Family Crest, of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Prince."
"But –"
"Read it."
With a sigh, Severus unfurled the scroll and began to read:
THE LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF LORD MENALEUS PRINCE, HED OF THE MOST ANCIENT AND NOBLE HOUSE OF PRINCE
Severus raised a skeptical eyebrow at Tristan. The young lord merely nodded. Severus trained his eyes back to the parchment.
I, Menaleus Severin Prince, of sound mind and body, hereby attest to the following:
That, should I have been preceded by my wife or any legitimate heir, the monies and titles attached to this House shall revert to the Court of Wizengamot –
Severus turned to Tristan once more.
"I don't see why this concerns me."
Tristan rubbed a spot on his forehead absent-mindedly.
"No? Well, read on then."
Severus shrugged and turned his attention back to his late grandfather's will.
-To be decided upon by the High Lord or his equivalent. This also applies to any pact or contract entered into by our ancestors on their own free will…
Severus sighed before discarding the parchment.
"You are giving me the Lordship." He stated matter-of-factly. Tristan leaned back in his seat.
"Yes."
Severus's frown deepened.
"Why?"
"You want a way out of Umbridge's and Fudge's manipulations, right? I'm giving you one. A head of an Ancient and Noble House is immune to criminal trial –and most especially, unjust coercion by Ministry bigots."
"But that's not all of it, am I right?" Severus asked/ "You're the High Lord. You can just order them to free me or something. Why reinstate the House of Prince and give me the seat?"
Tristan closed his eyes briefly. He then took a deep breath before opening his eyes once more.
"I'm planning a take-over. And I prefer to have all of my court present and able. There is much to be done after the demise of Voldemort –"
"You say his name?" Severus asked, astonished. Tristan grinned at him.
"I can say Tom Riddle, if you prefer that. But I refuse to call a dead man You-Know-Who or Dark Lord." He glanced at the ex-Death Eater's unblemished left arm, exposed by his partially rolled-up sleeves. "And so should you."
Severus actually smiled a little after that.
"I actually prefer Moldyshorts."
Tristan looked amused.
"Pray tell, who was responsible for coming up with that silly moniker," Severus snorted.
"Harry Bloody Potter."
Tristan's lips curled into a small smile.
"Ah, but of course, Harry Potter… the bane of your existence, if I were to believe the papers?"
"He and I –I would like to think that we have reached a common ground so to speak. After all, I have spent years training the brat."
"When did you stop hating him?" Tristan asked, looking quite curious. Severus thought that the question was personal and he had wanted to tell Tristan that; but for some reason, he found himself staring into that pair of blue-green eyes and answering.
"In his fifth year. I realized that he was more like me than he was his father or godfather."
"I see," the young lord nodded but pushed for no further explanation. "I heard he is missing. Does anyone have any idea where he is? His friends?"
"NO. If there is one thing I could give Potter credit for, it is ability to fade into the shadows. His friends and admirers worry for him, but that's all they do."
Tristan bit his lip lightly.
"How about you Severus, do you worry for him? After all, he was once your charge,"
Severus knew the answer to the question in his mind. But there was no way he would be admitting it. Not even in front of the High Lord of Wizengamot. He opened his mouth to say 'no' but what came out was something else.
"He is a foolhardy Gryffindor. He does not think before he acts. For all I know, he is right now in the middle of another hare-brained idea that will endanger him. I wish he weren't so reckless." Severus bit his lips. 'What the heck? Why did I just say that?' He looked at his host. Tristan's face was calm and passive, but he had a strange glint in his eyes. Severus frowned.
"There was something in the scotch, wasn't there?"
Tristan smiled.
"I tell you no lie that there was nothing harmful in the liquor."
"You said there was no poison! But you did not say it was not laced with anything." Severus mused out loud. "But it wasn't Veritaserum, I would have noticed it – what did you put in the scotch?"
Tristan sighed. He stood up to grab the bottle and took a swig of the liquor. He turned to the skeptical Potions Master.
"Nothing, see?"
"I don't believe you," Severus huffed. "What is your full name?"
Tristan looked uncomfortable for a moment.
"Harry James Potter."
Severus raised an eyebrow before sighing.
"Fine, I believe you. There is no truth serum in the scotch?"
"No." Tristan answered truthfully. It wasn't a truth serum, but an obscure goblin made mixture of a calming and a coercion draught6, perfectly masked in the scotch. But Severus need not know that. He also need not know that the potion afforded the drinker to be in a comfortable state of mind, relaxed enough to feel at ease in speaking about his or her innermost thoughts and feelings. He turned to Severus once more.
"So, will you accept the Lordship?"
Severus let out a deep breath.
"There is something you are keeping from me. I would prefer to know what it is, but, you seem to be in a better bargaining position than I –and if you refuse to tell me now, there is nothing I can do about it. So, I might as well, accept your help, cross my fingers and hope for the best. Did I get it right, Lord Peverell?"
Tristan smirked.
"Perfectly, Professor." Severus smirked back.
"A devious notion, if I weren't on the receiving end, I'd commend you."
Tristan's grin widened.
"I have been told I'd make a good Slytherin, sir."