"He who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man." -Samuel Johnson

"Severus?"

"Yes?"

"What does it feel like...to kill?"

I inhaled deeply, thinking back to the thunderous BANG, the smell of sulfur, the forming scream that was blasted out of his throat before it had a chance to escape his lips, and the blood...oh the blood that painted the walls. I turned toward the window, absently gazing over the waves of the Pacific Ocean, and found the words to answer.

"Mandarys, what controls the waves of the ocean?"

"The moon.", she flatly replies.

"And what controls the moon?"

Her brows furrow in bemusement at the question.

"The Earth's orbit?"

"Yes, and what controls the Earth's orbit?"

"The sun."

"Very good. Now, what controls the universe?"

She goes silent, I can feel her jaw dropping against my chest, looking for words."

"I don't know."

"I don't either. Nobody does, really. Some may call it God, some may call it Fate, or perhaps it's nothing at all, and we're all just riding on a chaotic tide of rock and flame to nowhere. I can tell you this, though; when you take the life of another human being, it's like for a single moment...you hold all that power, all that control, in your hands. For a moment, it doesn't matter how small you are, how insignificant you feel, what your shortcomings are, how many times you've been beaten, how many games you've lost, how many things you've failed at, how many of your dreams have been broken...because in that moment...you are a God."

"You're funny, Sev."

I feel her mouth curl into a smile against me as she nuzzles my chest. I tighten my arms around her small frame, bringing her head under my chin. I gently plant a kiss on the top of her head.

"Goodnight, Baby Sis. I love you."

"I love you too, Sev."

I feel her breathing become more rhythmic as the sound of the sea makes me do the same.

-Dusseldorf, Germany 1953-

"Vorsätzliche Hure! Are you aware at all of the gravity of the situation!? Do you have any respect, regard, or even THOUGHT for this family?"

Eileen Prince ignored the insult and kept her eyes transfixed on the snow slowly building up on the window. "I always have, father. Even considering the course your...career took." She ran her fingers through her waist-length, midnight black hair. "Father, he's my first cousin -

"And the last of our line! The last Prince of marrying age! Severus LXVIII is a fine, wealthy, Pure-Blood wizard who will care for your every need until the end of your days. Where is the problem here? What more could you want?"

"Happiness, Independence, the freedom to marry a man of my own choosing, preferably one who is not related to me."

"You know our history, Eileen. You know the way we marry. We have been marrying cousin to cousin, uncle to niece, and brother to sister since the days of Severus The Conqueror. We are, and will remain, the Purest-Blooded and most powerful family in the wizarding world."

"Your mind is lost in the ages past, father.", she sighed. "You are delusional. The most powerful family in the wizarding world? Who? All three or four of us? And what power? You lost your last ally in 1945."

Her father's voice took on a deep, smooth, malicious tone, like silk soaked in acid, as it always did when he was on the edge of rage.

"WE lost our last ally, Eileen. WE did.", He began to stroke his golden-blonde beard and contemplate silently for a moment. "Do you remember what the mystic said?"

"You mean the tea leaf reading quack who will get your dead grandmother on the horn for only 150 galleons?", Eileen had little and less respect for the art of divination.

"Für die Liebe von Merlin! ENOUGH of your goddamned quips, child! You remember what she said. You remember her words. "Your Prince shall be THE prince. Your offspring will be the force that restores our bloodline back to glory. The son you bear will be Severus The Conqueror reborn. He will wield a wand made of steel and our family will be delivered back to our position of highest power."

"There has never been a wand crafted from steel, I've researched it. Steel has no magical properties, it wouldn't make an iota of sense to craft a wand from steel. Severus The Conqueror is certainly going to look the fool on this go-around, toting around a wand that's utterly use-AUUGH!"

For a scrawny, middle-aged doctor, he hit with the force of a man twice his size. Eileen was knocked to the floor, a trickle of blood escaping the corner of her mouth. He loomed over her, his face twisted in rage.

"Do NOT mock me, child. This is not a negotiation. Three weeks from today you will be wedded to Severus LXVIII. You will be graceful, courteous, and you will perform your duties as a bride come the wedding night. This conversation is over."

"It is NOT!" His eyes widened in shock, as it was remarkably rare for his daughter to talk back after a good thrashing.

"Do you not realize that this is BARBARIC! It is the year 1953, not 1453! There are no more conquerors or kings in the wizarding world! There are no more knights to gallivant around and win the hearts of fair princesses, and now there will be no more Princes either. And what does it matter!? That age has passed! That chapter of history has long since closed. There is neither glamor nor honor in the thrice-be-damned forced coupling of two blood relatives anymore, just the potential for more children to die or come into this world misshapen because we're so FUCKING inbred! How, father? How can you be so content to sell the soul of your only daughter for this Merlin forsaken pipe dream? How can you stand there and be proud of the fact that in three weeks, your child will be a BREEDING-SOW!?", She screamed as her voice cracked and the tears streamed down her cheeks, trembling half with rage and half with hysteria.

"It seems we will not see eye-to-eye on this.", he spoke with lazy resignation. "Nonetheless, these are the events that shall come to pass. The hand of fate holds us all in its icy grasp. You cannot change what is written in the stars."

"Bullshit. WE are that hand, father. You have been shown time and time again that it is not the heavens that weave a man's destiny, it is the man himself. The war has been the latest illustration of that fact." His eyes immediately dropped to the ground, as if by reflex, at the mention of the war.

"How do you propose to change you fate, child?"

"I'm leaving."

"Where will you go?"

"England, where I can freely show my face and not worry about someone recognizing me as Dr. Prince's daughter." She squeezed all the disdain she could muster into the mention of his name. "I'm still remembered at Hogwarts, Professor Slughorn could find me work, I was his best potion brewer."

A sinister grin spread across his face, so wide it looked as if his face might split in two. "I don't suppose you're as good a brewer as I am.", He chuckled.

A look of horror crossed with disgust twisted Eileen's features. "How the fuck can you laugh at that, you sadistic pig? I wouldn't want to be as good as you, if it meant doing the things you've done."

"Oh Eileen, one day you will learn that nothing great was ever attained without sacrifice. Perhaps the lesson will sink in when you're bearing your son."

"Did you not hear me, father? I'm leaving. I'm done. I want no part in this family and I will not be used as a pawn in a game that was lost centuries ago."

His face took on a look of icy calm that sent a pang of fear to pierce her heart, and his hand delved into his pocket. Eileen rose to her feet and smoothed her skirts.

"I'm-I'm going upstairs now, to gather my things."

He was on her before her foot hit the ground, and a scream would have escaped her lips, had his cold, slender hand not clamped around her nose and mouth. With his other hand he found the vein, and drove the needle inside. It took not half a second before her limbs failed her, and she crumpled to the ground like a twisted, grotesque rag doll. You're right, father, you always were the better brewer.

He loomed over her once more. "We can do this two ways, child. You can be a good girl, walk down the aisle and end your days as a maiden in 3 weeks, or, you can enjoy the feeling of being drugged and chained to your bed while you get to know my taser until you change your mind. You haven't a dime to your name, girl, nor as many friends as you think you have. And if in the throws of lunacy you decide to run away, I will find you." With a sinister grin he added, "You know that no one under my...care slips through my fingers."

Eileen attempted to prop herself up on her arms, but they slipped out from underneath her, as useless as wet parchment. With a painful jolt to her neck, she felt her father seize her by her long, dark hair. She clenched her teeth to the point of near shattering as she heard the screeeeeeee sound that her body being dragged along the glossy, wood floor made.

With a harsh tug, he dragged his daughter up the stairway leading to her room. Eileen mused as each step dealt her a rough knock on the head, 13 steps...same number as the gallows. She could almost laugh, had she not so badly wanted to scream. When they reached the second floor of the estate, her father had the decency to slide his arms underneath her and lift her from the ground. He pushed the door of her room open with his foot and unceremoniously tossed her onto the bed.

"Your room will be charmed shut and locked until morning. If you try anything foolish, I will know. Sleep well, princess."

With a light slam, the door was shut and Eileen was left to process thought after unpleasant thought that raced through her pounding head. It wasn't until about an hour later that movement returned to her limbs. Stacking some pillows against the headboard of her bed, she propped herself up and absently surveyed her bedroom.

The décor of her room was a motley of childhood memories frozen in time, framed by pale pink wallpaper. On the closet door to her left hung moth-eaten Hogwarts robes, a dark green tie with thin, silver stripes draped over the shoulders. Next to the closet was a small display table on which several Gobstone tournament trophies stood. Against the far wall stood a radio and a tall dresser whose surface was home to five porcelain figurines.

Looking at the figurines never failed to evoke a pang of nostalgia within her. They were a Prince family heirloom that had been passed down to her on her 7th birthday, back when life was brighter, and all it took was a simple gift to bring her joy. She observed each of the figures from left to right: A tall, dark-haired prince dressed entirely in black, a chestnut haired princess who held a crystal ball in her cupped hands, a magnificent unicorn with a flowing main of every color that existed in the rainbow, a gallant knight whose armor was made entirely of glittering, solid gold, and lastly, a fair-haired blacksmith, who was hammering away at a sword on a tiny little porcelain anvil.

Her mother used to tell her that the figures would come to life when she was sleeping; that they would throw little parties and gallivant around the room whilst she was tucked warm in her bed, and should she awake, they would run right back into their original positions, quick as lightning, that she may never notice. It was for this reason that Eileen had dubbed the painted porcelain troupe the "night crew." She recalled the hours and hours she staved off sleep, fighting a losing battle against heavy eyelids, just for a chance to catch a glimpse of their after-dark affairs. Of course, the night crew remained stationary, but they were her most precious possessions nonetheless.

Turning over in her bed, she faced a mahogany nightstand where an ornate, jade and ivory music box stood. She reached over and wound it up several times. A little door opened at the top, and two little dancers, an elegantly dressed man and woman, ascended and began to twirl around to a simplified, high pitched version of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's Symphony No. 36.

Resting her head and relaxing her body, she observed the tiny waltz. Maybe it won't be so bad...maybe he's gentle and kind. Perhaps, against all odds, I'll even come to love him. As optimistic as the thought was however, the gnawing sense of doubt in the pit of her stomach refused to let her believe it.

