The moment Severus stepped into Brew & Bloom Apothecary that morning, an uneasy feeling twisted in his gut.
The usual rhythmic bubbling of cauldrons and the low hum of conversation were absent, replaced by a charged silence that made his skin prickle.
The whispers started.
"That's him—Lord Shafiq—""Who would've thought a Hogwarts half-blood would turn out to be a noble?"
"I heard he's rich now! Do you think he'll quit working here?"
"Maybe he bribed his way into that title—"
Severus' jaw clenched. His grip tightened around his bag strap, nails digging into the worn leather. He forced himself to move forward, even as every step felt like walking across a stage with the entire shop as his unwanted audience.
Their eyes burned into him, some filled with curiosity, others with thinly veiled suspicion.
Dorea Langston, his mentor, stood behind the counter, arms crossed, a single brow arched in silent question.
He had worked here for over a month. And now, just because of a title, they looked at him as if he were someone else—someone unfamiliar.
The final straw came when a customer boldly stepped forward, voice sickly sweet with faux politeness.
"So, my lord, will you still be gracing us common folk with your presence?"
A sharp, icy anger flared in his chest.
He turned on his heel, gaze as cold as steel.
"I am here to work, not to entertain gossip."
The words cut through the air like a blade.
Silence followed. A heavy, weighted silence.
Without another word, he strode to the back, already feeling the telltale pressure of a headache forming between his temples.
Why was it always ? Why did the world insist on picking him apart, shoving him into labels that never fit?
A Summons from the Prince Family
That evening, as Severus was locking up the shop, the flutter of wings broke through the quiet.
Its presence alone sent a sense of foreboding down his spine.
The Prince family seal confirmed his suspicion before he even unrolled the parchment.
His uncle's neat, sharp handwriting filled the page:
I have seen today's headlines, and I am concerned.
Your identity should have remained private for a while longer. This attention makes you a target, and I will not allow a member of this family to wander around unprotected.
Your mother and I both insist that you come to stay at Prince Manor until you leave for America.
We will expect you tomorrow.
Severus exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple.
The tension from the day threatened to morph into frustration, but he couldn't deny the logic behind the demand.
The attention was suffocating. Staying alone in Diagon Alley left him vulnerable—too vulnerable.
And, truthfully, a part of him… was tired.
Tired of fighting against forces he couldn't control. Tired of feeling like he had to defend his existence at every turn.
So, for once, he didn't argue.
The next morning, he packed his things and left.
Prince Manor was nothing like Spinner's End.
Where his childhood home had been cramped, suffocating, filled with the ever-present scent of stale air and desperation, Prince Manor was expansive.
Sprawling gardens, silent corridors lined with ancient tomes, the soft glow of candlelight flickering against polished wood.
It wasn't just the grandeur that unsettled him—it was the peace.
And then there was Arcturus Prince.
His uncle was an enigma.
He valued hard work and intellect, not just blood status.
He was uncompromising, but never cruel.
He was not warm, but he was present—something Severus had never experienced from a father figure before.
"You are a Prince now, whether you carry the name or not," Arcturus had told him on the first night. "That means you will act like one."
Severus had expected to feel trapped by those words.
He found that he didn't mind.
Severus had assumed that his cousin—the current Prince heir—would be an insufferable, spoiled brat.
The ten-year-old barreled toward him the moment he entered the drawing room, wild black curls bouncing, green eyes bright with excitement.
"Are you my cousin?!"
Before Severus could react, the child latched onto him, arms wrapping around his waist in a tight hug.
His arms remained awkwardly at his sides for a moment before he hesitantly patted the boy's shoulder.
Julius beamed. "I'm Julius! I thought I was the only young Prince left! Now I have an older cousin!"
This boy was nothing like what he had imagined.
He was loud. Friendly. Persistent.
And he never stopped talking.
"Can you teach me potions?"
"Are you really going to America?"
"Do you have a girlfriend?"
Severus choked on his tea.
Julius smirked. "I knew it!"
Living here was going to be… interesting.
For the first time in years, Severus felt the warmth of a family. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs, ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ᴠɪsɪᴛ n͟o͟v͟e͟l͟f͟i͟r͟e͟.net
Not just one built on duty and legacy, but something… softer.
It made him think of the Evans family.
The dinners. The fireplace. Mrs. Evans' quiet kindness, the way she always made sure he had eaten, always treated him as her own.
And now, he was leaving.
His fingers tightened around his quill as a dull ache formed in his chest.
This was something he had to fix—before it was too late.
I hope this letter finds you well.
I know this may be unexpected, but I am writing to you because there are things I would like to say before I leave for America.
I will be studying abroad at Ilvermorny for a year, and before I go, I would like to meet you.
There are things I want to tell you—things that I believe should be said before I leave Britain.
I understand if you do not wish to meet me, but if you do, I will be in Prince Manor until I depart.
If you agree, please send a response through the elf delivering this letter.
This meeting will remain private between us. I ask that Lily not be informed for the time being.
He sealed the letter, running his fingers over the wax insignia before handing it to the Prince family elf.
"Make sure Mrs. Evans receives this directly. No one else."
The elf bowed and vanished.
Severus leaned back, staring at the flickering candlelight.
This was something he had to do.
And he could only hope she would understand why.
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