Bittersweet.

by *the-watched-pot

The parchment was pale, very fine, and supple; Severus closed his eyes and ran his fingers over its surface for the third time since he'd opened the letter, marvelling at the texture. It was like heavy silk, with just enough roughness to catch the ink without snagging the tip of the quill, and he wondered, with a guilty twist of curiosity, how much it had cost. The Ministry didn't use parchment like this – he'd dealt with enough correspondence from that worthy body to know quite well the stiff, watermarked stationery that seemed to appear on his desk every time he turned away for five minutes. Becoming Headmaster of Hogwarts, for the most part, had turned out to be surprisingly enjoyable, but if he never received another missive with the tell-tale double-M seal, countersigned in Lucius' somehow smug, looping handwriting, it would still be one letter too many. He sat back, resting the parchment on his knees, and looked up as Minerva returned, a tea tray hovering obediently behind her.

"I was going to make coffee, given the state of you, but sweet tea's better for shock. And don't you make that face, laddie – a bit of sugar never harmed anyone." Severus looked as if he was about to protest, but he suspected that Minerva was as infuriatingly right as ever, and the musical clink of china as the tray settled on the table between them seemed like a satisfied little nod, saying and don't you forget it.

He thought, with a twinge of guilt, of the several empty wine bottles littering his private study, some of them in pieces. Bellatrix had colluded enthusiastically in his inebriated outburst, reducing one of the thrown bottles to glittering dust, then transferring her attention to another that had been a gift from the parents of Verity Glozier, recent acquisition of Slytherin House and transparent social climbers. He hadn't been all that sorry to see it go – from the smell that arose from the ruined bottle, it was more suited to splashing over a plate of chips than inhabiting a wine glass.

"Four sugars, and a spoonful of honey, then," he instructed, just to see the expression on Minerva's face; he was rewarded with a textbook Look, and then they both gave up and laughed, and Severus felt a little of the tension slip from his shoulders.

"Let me take a look, then, while you drink your tea." Severus looked blank for a second. "The letter, Severus. Stop cuddling it and pass it here." He glanced down at the parchment, which he'd been caressing absently, and sheepishly exchanged it for a cup of tea. Minerva repositioned her glasses firmly on her nose and began to read, and Severus occupied himself with taking a Ginger Knut from the open packet on the tray, breaking it into fragments and arranging it round his saucer, trying not to watch. Minerva read the letter twice, her lips moving soundlessly as she reviewed the words a second time, as if shaping them would somehow make them seem more comprehensible. Finally, she looked up, folding the letter along well-established creases, and handed it back to him, lips pursed.

"What are you going to do?" she asked, carefully. Severus suspected that she had her own very definite opinion but was trying hard not to influence him one way or the other.

"I don't know," he admitted eventually. Unexpectedly, this also left him feeling a little better. "I suppose I should reply. And.. there are these…" He reached inside his robe and pulled a small packet from his waistcoat, offering it to Minerva. She tipped out several dog-eared photographs and studied them, biting her lip. Occasionally, she glanced up furtively; Severus pretended not to notice, keeping his eyes on the folded letter. It didn't matter whether or not Minerva had any advice, he realised suddenly. He was glad he'd come – there was something welcoming about the cottage in Ballachulish that was quietly taking the edge from his nerves.

"You know, I can see the r…" Severus held up a hand, cutting her off.

"Don't say it." There was a note of entreaty in the admonition. "There's a distant likeness, at best, and that's hard enough." But still, he looked at the photographs in Minerva's hands with a barely disguised longing, and the witch regarded him, unsmiling, for several quiet minutes.

"You're really torn, aren't you? Talk to me, Severus. And…" She frowned, faintly concerned. "Severus? Put the letter down. It's distracting you." He had been toying with the smooth paper again, he realised, running his fingertips over the fine grain, and he scowled and tucked the letter back in his robes. Minerva drank her tea, saying nothing.

For a while, there was no sound but the cheerful crackle of the fire and, outside, the liquid piping of a blackbird that hadn't yet learned about the cat. It was Severus who broke the silence, finally.

"I always wondered, you know," he said quietly. "My mother never talked about them, but I knew our name was 'Prince' and the library had books with some of the family trees. I must have spent weeks at a time searching for anything that mentioned them." His hands, searching for something to do now that the letter was out of sight, found a piece of biscuit and crumbled it fretfully. That accomplished, he dug in a robe pocket and withdrew a small, plain notebook held closed with a distinctly Muggle rubber band.

Minerva leaned closer, to get a better view. The pages were mostly crammed with tiny, careful writing, odd little diagrams and drawings of leaves and flowers fitted in between the text. She'd seen enough of Severus' homework to recognise the writing as his, before time and temperament had added spikes and scrawls to his style. As he flipped through the pages, she could almost see him bending over the book, wand stuck behind his ear, writing carefully by Lumos-light.

At the very back of the book, he had drawn, or tried to draw, a family tree for himself. He hadn't bothered to mention the Snapes, beyond setting down his father's name beside his mother, the ink escaping across the notebook in a fine spray where he'd pressed too hard with the quill. But here was Ignatius Prince, his grandfather, and the brothers Dionysius and Octavius before him, and Ferox before them. The names had been pencilled in at first, she could see, then written over in ink as Severus' research went on. Two pages of names, written with infinite care and linked with ruler-straight lines. Liandra Wildsmith, his grandmother, and her siblings, Roanna and Solomon. Viridus Wildsmith, and even a Severinus, before him. And here and there, other familiar names, tied in by little double lines to signify marriage. Even, she was surprised to see, a Black, Phineas (husband of Dulcia Lightwood and father of Isabella, who had wedded Solomon).

"And you never contacted them?" She traced her finger down the tortuously-drawn tree. Here, right at the base, he'd accidentally drawn a second line splitting off from his parents names beside his own, then scribbled it out. Severus must have learned the notations as he'd gone along, she hazarded, then paused. He'd been so careful, elsewhere.

"I... never got round to it," he said, with careful dignity, and Minerva knew that he was lying. "But now, as you see, they've saved me the trouble. Antoninus Prince," he used the name carefully, as if it might explode, "who is apparently my third cousin, has written to me."

And what offers he was making, Minerva thought disapprovingly. The past would be dismissed as if it had never been, and Severus would find himself welcomed into the Prince family with open arms. The letter had skimmed delicately over Tobias and the sordid Death Eater business wasn't even mentioned. How magnanimus. The photographs were evidently there to sweeten the offer still further - one showed some sort of family get-together, finely balanced between an polite social affair and a melee, in the best traditions of family occasions everywhere, with young children darting in and out between their elders, mugging at the camera, then vanishing out of the photo again. Another, this one speckled with age, depicted a regal group of wizards, one of them holding an infant with that proud, slightly bemused expression that fathers often wore, in this instance partly masked by a clipped black beard.

A ready-made family, almost wholly Pureblood, if the family tree had been accurate, eager to embrace their prodigal son.

And all that Severus had to do was change his name.

Minerva's tea had gone cold, but she drank it anyway, watching her visitor over the rim of her cup. He gathered up the photographs, looking at them one last time, then put them inside the notebook and closed it.

"No-one would blame you," she said, suddenly. "I can see they have a lot to offer - and this... Antoninus sounds very keen..." And I'm sure that he's not thought of how it would look to have a Hogwarts Headmaster in the family. Someone with the ear of the Minister, if he's taking the Prophet's word for it...

Severus gave her a grateful look. "Thank you."

"What have I done?" Minerva blinked, bemused.

He slid the elastic band back around the notebook and returned it to his pocket. "You didn't add 'it's a shame it took them so long', or wonder where they were when it was just me and my mother. It's all right," he assured her, quickly, "I did, for a while. But you let me decide for myself and I appreciate it."

She set her cup down on the tray and clasped her hands together, hoping she didn't look as anxious as she felt. Severus, I don't trust them. "You've made a choice, then?" He nodded.

"Last Christmas, Albus sent me a book - he said I'd probably find it useful when I was dealing with the Ministry. It's full of interesting aphorisms and strange sayings. I think he's hoping I'll quote them at Lucius until his brain implodes. I've got a few marked. One of them is 'The most terrifying thing is to accept oneself completely'."

He looked down at his hands, quiet for a moment. "Tobias. My father... was a bastard. There wasn't a day when I didn't wish he'd just vanish and not come back. But one of the few things he gave me was my name. It's not a wizarding name, or an illustrious name... but it's mine. I'm not going to change who I am, or try to pretend the past didn't happen, just so that I can be a Prince. Besides..." he looked up, smiling slightly. "I already have a family."