To Every Length

Title: To Every Length
Genre: AU, Gen, Adoption
Notes: Canon AU set in the ‘marauder’ era, This is a spitefic about Minerva McGonnagal letting Dumbledore tell her what orphaned boys she can and cannot adopt in canon, which I think is just horseshit. The magical worldbuilding, rituals, and Zirnatra the god of sorcery are all from Keira Marcos, who I think handled every bit of that better than JKR. This is fanfic of both.
Warnings: I’ve invented some horrific history for the Snape family, mentions of off-screen mind-control, rape, and incest that happened decades in the past. None of the above actively happens to any character in the fic.
Words: 6,700ish
Summary: On the worst day of his life, Severus Snape has someone in his corner.

There are times in a woman’s life when she is pushed beyond all limits. Minerva McGonagall has nearly forty years’ worth of experience in swallowing her anger so it doesn’t explode out of her, and she still almost throws it all away beating the shite out of Albus Dumbledore.

Minerva’s nostrils flare. Her hand is shaking around her wand, chest tight, a fury like she’s never known burning behind her lungs. Her lips are pressed into a thin white line because if she speaks she’ll scream and not stop screaming until the castle shakes apart at its foundations.

Instead, she turns sharply around, almost dizzy with how clenched her jaw and how red her vision, and focuses on breathing as her feet take her down the familiar path through the castle and out the front doors.

The fresh Scotland air is usually a balm to the dragonshite in her life, a welcome break or at least a temporary distraction, but today she hardly notices. The moment she crosses the ward boundary she snaps on her heel and spacetime rents almost before she begins the turn.

Minerva apparates into Cokeworth with a small, terrifying sound heralding her arrival. It is not the boom of too much magic, too fierce; it is the first crack underfoot in a frozen lake, a whisper that foretells calamity.

She stalks to the door and finds it already opening, but the man greeting her does not have the chance to speak. Her steps do not falter; her wand finds its way beneath his chin, and he stumbles back in her wake.

Once fully inside, the door slams shut behind them, and Tobias Snape’s back hits the far wall of the foyer. His eyes widen with fear, even as he sneers.

She flicks a spell at him and doesn’t give him a second look as he slumps, unconscious, to the ground.

Severus stands in the middle of the living room, several yards away, clearly in the process of packing up his mother’s things. Everything in the dour home is covered in dust and soot, including the robes in his arms. The most infuriating part of the whole situation is the steadily purpling bruise adorning the Slytherin’s cheek– though it might be more accurate to say the entire left half of his face.

His mouth is pressed thin, his frame so tense it’s almost vibrating, and every piece of glass around the room is in pieces.

“Twenty points to Slytherin for not bringing this whole house down around you.” She says crisply.

Severus drops his mother’s clothing and jerks forward just as she opens her arms to receive him. It’s hesitant for mere seconds before he clutches onto her–desperate and unashamed.

She hugs him just as hard, one hand coming up to crush his head to her chest as his whole frame shakes, fingers fisted in her robes with complete disregard for formality.

“Oh, God.” He said, voice thick with emotion that didn’t reach his eyes. “I thought…”

“I know what you thought.” She inhaled roughly, voice thick and snappish with emotion. “You’re not alone, though. You’ve got me. Do you hear me, Severus? I would never leave you to go through this alone.”

He laughed incredulously, a touch of hysteria in the tone. Watching the fifteen-year-old prepared to be a grown man about his life falling to pieces around him was too much, and Minerva had already been pushed beyond her limits.

He took a deep breath and pulled back to look at her, eyes wet.

“When the Headmaster said I couldn’t stay at the castle, I thought…”

She held tighter to his shoulders.

“I don’t give a rat’s arse what Dumbledore wants.” She said, to his obvious shock. “You’re my son.”

Severus’ mouth dropped open.

“If you want it.” She added as an afterthought. She wasn’t going to force him, for Morgana’s sake.

“I do.” Severus said, shaking his head immediately at the olive branch. “I just… in my wildest dreams you’d let me stay with you until I turned seventeen.”

“Child.” Minerva reached up to cup his cheek firmly, the uninjured one. He didn’t flinch away, just looked up at her with gray eyes so dark they were almost black. “At the very least I hope you’ll let me foster you officially so you have that security.”

She took a steadying breath for herself.

“But it is my greatest wish that you allow me to adopt you in blood and magic.” 

Severus’ eyes widened and then overflowed with tears. He tried to jerk away to wipe at them but she summoned a handkerchief and did it for him, keeping him close.

“Yes.” He said hoarsely, when she knew he would have it in him on any other day to fight about it– about worthiness, about propriety, about everything else.

Today, however, he’s a young man whose mother just died, and all pretense has been carved out of him. She has never known Severus to easily accept anything, but he accepts her hand now, and she is so grateful for it.

–

They go straight to the Ross circle. Minerva had no need to live in the drafty old castle and she’s the last of her line, so it had lain empty except for the house elves for decades now.

“It looks like Stonehenge.” Severus said, surprised.

“This structure has been with our kind for thousands of years.” Minerva allowed, smiling at his never-quenched eagerness to learn. “It makes up the inner circle of the Ross ritual space. Come.”

She held his hand still from allowing him into the wards. They were, as ever, unhappy with her default control of them. Well, they’d finally get what they wanted today.

“Minx.” Minerva called. A house-elf arrived immediately, offering a small wooden box. Minerva took off the Ross heir ring for the first time since she was five years old.

She put the familiar, comforting metal back into the box. Steeling herself, she drew up the ring her mother had once worn and slid it onto her finger.

If she’d been expecting something grand and staggering, she was disappointed. The wealth of her legacy opened right up and Minerva realized the family magic had been slowly placing more and more of itself into her hands over the years out of desperation.

Her acceptance rippled through the wards of the property, ceding to her without an ounce of resistance.

“What did you just do?” Severus asked hesitantly. Even after five years of knowing each other he was still leary of making demands of her, even when he badly wanted to know.

She counted it a win every time he was bratty or indignant.

“I became the Earl of Laomainn.” Minerva said shortly. “I’ve been the heir of the House of Ross for far too long. It’s your turn, now.”

Severus eyed the box Minx was holding with alarm. Minerva cleared her throat.

“Ideally, we’d do this in a coven, but I haven’t practiced ritual magic in a group for… longer than I care to admit.”

She held out her hand. “So it’ll be just us two, for now. Are you ready?”

–

Severus was not prepared for the weight of the Ross legacy to settle over him– hungry and warm.

He was even less prepared for something in him to rise up snarling.

“Minerva– my magic–!” His voice warbled in alarm. She looked up from her casting immediately, but it was too late.

Color spilled through the circle, a riot of gold against the previously purple magic laying claim to him. He squeezed his eyes shut against the onslaught of wind and power, pressing so tight he couldn’t breathe.

Then, suddenly, everything stopped. Severus felt a hand on his nape and sucked in air. He opened his eyes to see a figure before them, standing in the middle of the circle– and therefore, right in front of Severus.

Long, dark hair was pulled back from an aristocratic face, from what appeared to be a wizard in only dragonhide trousers. He released Severus and drew his hand through the air with a brief look of concentration, and from Severus came a stream of purple and then gold magic, each of which coalesced into a seperate orb above his palm.

“Minerva Iolanthe of the House of Ross.” The man spoke, his voice a deep and lovely velvet which rung through the heart of Severus, somehow.

It had been a day of shocking realizations, but nothing could prepare Severus for the sight of Minerva dropping to her knees.

He snarled, ready to fight, heart about beating out of his chest with fear.

“Peace, child.” The wizard used his free hand to press two fingers against Severus’ brow.

“My Lord.” Minerva said, voice strong. “May I present my son, Severus Prince of the House of Ross.”

An expression Severus couldn’t name appeared just briefly on his face before vanishing, and the wizard smiled softly.

He turned and his fingers slipped from Severus’ forehead to cup his cheek fully as Minerva had earlier. He pressed a gentle kiss to Severus’ brow.

“Severus Prince of the House of Ross, you are named. I will hold your Name as sacred as my own.”

With a jolt, Severus realized what was going on. Icy panic began to claw its way up his spine and he throttled it as best he could, speaking calmly.

“My Lord.” He addressed the Lord of Magic, Zirnatra, the Black Dragon of Sorcery. He tried to gracefully bend his knees under him but the god of their kind did allow him to move, his grip as iron on Severus’ face.

“You used the old rite, Minerva Iolanthe. For all the children presented to me over the years, it has been some time since I was personally invited into a circle for the ceremony.”

“It’s the way I was taught.” Minerva said, unwavering. “Were we not pressed for time, I would have spent several more days on the rune sequence.”

Zir waved her concern away.

“You were protecting your child in the best way you knew how.” He hummed at Severus. “Now, let’s see. Here’s what went wrong.”

He let go of Severus’ face and drew the golden orb before them. He made eye contact with Severus over the glow.

“Would you like to know why Deianira Prince can hardly stand to look at you?” He asked gently. “Why Edward Prince killed himself shortly after meeting you when you were small?”

Severus swallowed hard.

“My grandparents have hated me for as long as I can remember.” He whispered.

Zir inclined his head.

“True.” He paused, jaw working. “Edward and Deianira had one daughter, Irena Amielle.”

“My aunt.” Severus acknowledged.

Zirnatra sighed.

“The Princes and the Macnaires were involved in a blood feud. The patriarch, Conrad Macnaire, avenged himself on Edward Prince viciously. He used the black curse Lunacium.”

Minerva gasped.

“It’s a temporary curse, but an ugly one. For the three days of the full moon, the victim is out of his mind in a very literal sense– every horror story of Lycanthropes magnified by a thousand. For the duration of the curse the victim retains all of the evil of humanity, and none of the reason; they want to rape, eat and kill– in that order.”

“Edward Prince nearly killed his wife. She managed to escape into the cellar and apparate to another property, but slipped unconscious from the blood loss trying to call for help. When she awoke, she was in St Mungo’s and the curse was over.”

“Edward had spent the entire three days raping his daughter Irena, left behind in the house. She fell pregnant.”

“No.” Severus croaked, unsure of where this was going but horrified already.

“The day before, Conrad Macnaire had potioned the entire family with Ilithyian Elixir.”

Minerva gasped. Severus, with all his knowledge of potions, was not familiar with that one.

“It’s an old, rare potion.” She explained. “It’s normally used… as a last resort. Taking it guarantees the next attempt at conception will be successful… at the cost of all further attempts.”

“It renders the drinker permanently sterile after the child is conceived, but the fetus is magically protected until birth.” Zir said bluntly. “It’s a choice some are willing to make if they’re desperate enough for a child.”

“The entire family?” Minerva asked sharply.

“Yes, including Irena. Macnair intended to end the whole line that night in the most abhorrent way possible.”

“They couldn’t terminate the pregnancy because it was magically protected, and– oh, because it would end the Prince line if they somehow could.” Minerva’s voice trembled. 

“Ritual adoption is only possible with ancient magic, which they didn’t yet have. So they hid the pregnancy and when Eileen was born, raised her as a daughter instead of a grandchild.” Zirnatra explained grimly.

Horror roiled over him so hard Severus retched, gasping.

“Aunt Irena was my grandmother.” He said. “I don’t– oh, god.”

His mother was the product of a father-daughter coupling, however unwilling.

“So, the Prince line continued. What generation are you, Severus?”

“Ninth.” He said, by habit. “If I choose to have children, they’ll be the tenth generation and the Prince family magic will be considered Ancient...” He paled.

Zirnatra held up the golden orb of magic.

“Irena and Eileen are sisters, but Eileen is also her daughter, howevermuch they want to forget, and she represented the ninth generation. When you were born, Edward could feel the family magic changing. Upon your majority, House Elves will start being drawn to your family.”

“He killed himself.” Severus said. “He couldn’t even look at me.”

“Minerva, you understand why the ritual struggled.”

“Edward would have been the Patriarch until Severus came of age, since he’s the oldest Prince by blood. Irena Prince died some years back. With Eileen now gone… Severus is the last Scion of the house of Prince.” Minerva realized. “Oh, damn it–I didn’t account for any kind of ancestral magic during the ritual.”

Zirnatra nodded.

“I’ve allowed the Prince family magic to merge under yours.” He switched focus to Severus. “It’s now a secondary title under the Ross legacy, yours now but inheritable by any children you may sire.”

“Not likely.” Severus hissed.

“Or adopt.” The god of magic shrugged. “Regardless, it’s your right as the heir of the house of Ross and the lord of the house of Prince.”

“I can’t be lord of a house, I’m not of age.” Severus said instantly.

“As the title is merged into the Ross legacy, you’d have it as a courtesy title.” Minerva explained. “Much like how James Potter is the Baron of Ravenclaw– his father’s secondary title.”

Severus scowled at the mention of his arch nemesis.

“Speaking of James Charlus Potter– you tell him to invite me down for a talk.” Zir frowned, which immediately took ten years off Severus’ life. He was agreeing without even thinking– the god of sorcery need not ever scowl like he was about to destroy worlds.

Zir held out a hand and the two globes floated over to him and disappeared into his chest. They settled without struggle within Severus’ core. Severus sighed, eyes fluttering closed as the magic rushed through him, and when he opened them again the circle was empty except for he and Minerva.

He flushed hard.

She eventually rose to her feet and ended the ritual, only to sway. Severus ran over.

“Minerva!” He caught her and propped her up by his shoulder.

“It’s nothing I didn’t expect. He is our lord after all. The ritual was taxing to hold him here, especially with minimal runework.”

“I–”

Severus had no idea how to start. Shame curled in him, familiar from his entire childhood, and he finally had the reason why.

“You picked the wrong person.” He said. “I’m sorry.”

Humiliation burned in his throat.

“I did no such thing.” Minerva pulled him down until they were both sitting and she could rest, then pulled him over to lean against her chest.

“I did exactly as I meant to do, and with the blessing of Zirnatra on top of that!” 

“You heard what he said about me… about my family.” He scowled and tried to pull away, only to be hugged mercilessly. Severus huffed. “I’m a product of incest.”

“So are most purebloods.” Minerva said shamelessly.

“Not parent-child.” Severus hissed, red-faced and mullish. “It explains so much about me.”

“It does not.” Minerva reprimanded sharply. Severus was quite tired of people touching his face today so he dodged when she tried; the woman instead sighed and began petting his hair.

“Besides, you’re my son. My genes override all of that– it’s possible to tailor the ritual to include the adopter as a third parent, but we didn’t use that one, remember? I’m now your only parent. Magic now regards Eileen Prince as a distant relative at best, to keep your connection to the family magic you were born with.”

Severus perked up.

“Do I look different? I didn’t get a chance to…” He broke off with a yawn.

Minerva snickered. Severus was so shocked by the sound he almost fell over.

“I may have held our lord on this plane, child, but you just had your genetics re-written. Blood adoption makes you sleep for several days. Better get started.”

She shoulder checked him and Severus scowled by reflex, though secretly he enjoyed the casual closeness. He couldn’t show it, though, or his new mother might do something horrific like tuck him into bed. Severus had never been tucked in in his life, thank you very much, and was by now much too old for that.

If asked, he would swear that Minerva didn’t carry him to bed, either, when he tried to formulate a response and failed to keep his eyes open. Alarm barely had time to turn into panic before a comforting, safe touch steadied him.

Clearly she was a grown witch who could use the locomotor charm. Not even adopting him was good enough reason to charm him featherlight and carry him like a child, humming all the while.

He must have imagined it.

–

For all that they had been distant all his life, preferring not to see or hear from him, the Prince family had at least paid for his schooling and bare minimum Hogwarts’ supplies, if not robes or clothing.

Everything he owned was secondhand, though, and he was startled when Minerva informed him they’d be buying him new things. He had, as predicted, spent the better part of three days sleeping, waking up occasionally to Minerva’s voice singing in lilting lullabies and Elf-made meals waiting for him.

“Am I still asleep?” He asked, stupidly, and frowned. He hated being stupid. Anything could be tolerated except willful ignorance.

“Child.” Minerva rebuked, unable or unwilling to suppress the fondness underneath. Severus flushed a little.

“What all will I need, then?”

“We’ll start at the robes shop, as those take the longest. I avoid the Alley if at all possible so you’ll get your first introduction to the magical community of Elmwood Cladach.” She looked at Severus over her glass at the breakfast table.

“I’ve never heard of it.” He admitted, because Minerva had always preferred truthful ignorance over bluff and bluster. She nodded, pleased.

“It’s not surprising. Tell me, what does it mean for a magical to hold a noble title?” She posed, in what was clearly not a test but an invitation for discussion and correction.

Severus bit back an instinctual scathing retort but couldn’t stop the souring of his expression. Minerva sighed.

“Child, James Potter has a lot of growing up to do, but he’s not actually evil. If immaturity was a capital offence, we’d have naught but two or three students at Hogwarts.”

“Nobility, in my experience, is an excuse for so-called Lords and Ladies to lord their wealth and social power over the rest of us peons.” He said petulantly.

“Bold words from the Lord Prince.” Minerva pursed her lips, eyes laughing. Severus’ jaw dropped open, then clenched tight.

“Have more bacon, Severus, you’ve hardly eaten enough to make up for your rapid change in magical circumstances.” She waved her hand and more food began to pile on his plate.

It was true that he’d barely woken over the last three days, and when he did it was to ravenous hunger– but hardly enough energy to eat before he was nodding off again.

He began eating again at a steady clip.

“Your lordship is an ancient one and not a noble title. Every family attains ancient status at the tenth uninterrupted generation of magic and cultivation of a family line. You have to try to make a new family and regardless of the circumstances, your grandfather–”

“My great-grandfather.” Severus bit out.

“Your grandfather,” Minerva continued, “had already continued the steps to building that legacy that his father had started, and so on. By the time Irene was born, it couldn’t be stopped. There’s ritual involved in creating a new line, built upon with each new generation.”

“What’s different about royal lords?” Severus inquired, hunger for knowledge almost distracting him from how distasteful he found the subject. They’d hardly had classes about Ingrained and Secret Noble Politics for Mudbloods and Muggle-raised Bastards.

“Nobility was established by the king.” Minerva said simply.

“But… the current monarch is a woman. The Queen of England.”

Minerva scoffed loudly. 

“England. Ha. Tell me, do you know why the Ministry for Magic is a Ministry instead of a kingdom or a separate government?”

“Clearly not.” Severus scowled. He ate more bacon to avoid looking at her.

“We don’t like to talk about it but the Statute of Secrecy and, in fact, the International Confederation of Wizards has its creation tied in with the death of the last magical King-Emperor– Arthur Pendragon.”

“A King-Emperor?” Severus blinked. “Really?”

He did not sound impressed.

“The King-Emperor of Avalon.” Minerva explained tiredly. “When our sphere split from the Elves and other high magical races, we were greatly diminished. Magic had been waning for centuries as part of what we now believe is a greater cycle, or perhaps some cosmic effect on Her connection to certain spheres. Regardless, those who could not survive in a low-magic environment devined the coming change and fled gracefully to adjacent spheres.”

“You’re speaking about other planets.” Severus said in disbelief.

“No, not truly– other spheres are other dimensions still connected to this planet. They are ‘higher’ or ‘lower’ in relation to this planet, which is one chosen by magic some time ago. We can no longer work the once ‘Great magics’ of those times, but ancient scholars discovered that the separate realms had different concentrations of magical atmospheres and veins of magic to draw on, in lesser or greater amounts. The elder races came together and chose amongst themselves who would take which world as their own.”

“They left us.” Severus said at once. “We could have gone with them instead of hiding from the Muggles.”

“No.” Minerva corrected sharply. “We chose. We chose to stay. And I would think someone who calls himself Lily Evans’ best friend would realise exactly why we couldn’t just up and leave.”

Severus sank back into his chair, abruptly ashamed, and Minerva looked away with a little sigh.

“Ah, lad, you’re not in trouble. Not with me.”

“The muggleborns.” Severus said quietly. “They’d keep being born?”

“Yes, and with no one to teach or guide them. That’s not the whole of the reason, we know, but the exact details of our agreement with the elder races has been lost to time.”

Severus nodded. Minerva called for dessert and before Severus could protest– dessert at breakfast, truly?– his favourite biscuits appeared. The tables of Hogwarts mostly had horrifically unhealthy sweets that he turned his nose up, and rarely the subtly flavoured treats he preferred. 

He blinked owlishly at Minerva and her eyes glittered.

“I do try to pay attention, you know.” She admonished gently. Severus couldn’t contain a smile as he reached for one.

“There was great worry of our diminishing power. Any amount of civil unrest could involve the mundane rising against us– cast out with no way to defend ourselves, but different enough from the rest of the population that seers saw it as inevitable. To make a long story quite short, before the great exodus, the first King– a half-elf named Emrys– and all the great mages of the time came together to form the realm of Avalon, where we could be safe.”

“But the muggleborns.” Severus said immediately, seeing the hole in this logic.

“It wasn’t quite that simple.” Minerva explained, continuing. “At the time almost all humans were magical. It was when the magic began waning that we saw the writing on the wall– I spoke of fear of being cast out of the population, but this was very much at a time when perhaps nine out of ten humans were highly magical.”

“And they knew magic was leaving them?” Severus’ jaw dropped. “The fearmongering that would come, the panic…”

“Quite.” Minerva nodded. “When I say the realm of Avalon was created, I mean the endeavour took much planning. Avalon was tied to the ley lines, drawing up the vast majority of magic. It was essentially a copy of the world we know, a smaller remaking of the land and waters.”

“How did they decide who stayed here, and who went to Avalon?” Severus asked.

“What you’ve got to understand is without the creation of this realm, the flow of magic would be spread out over the entire planet, growing too weak to sustain magicals and even magical creatures. We couldn’t join the elves in their exodus because a minority of our population was not magical enough to survive in a high-magic environment, and because some were entirely mundane; but neither could we stay without making vast changes.”

“A smaller land taking all the magic.” Severus said, following. “Like a syphon, or a faucet.”

“Exactly.” Minerva nodded.

“But– we’re not on Avalon now.” Severus said, shaking himself out of it like a grand but fictional story. “It doesn’t make sense; how then are we alive, if magic was too…thin… to sustain us on earth?”

“Patience.” Minerva said. “Your first question– how did we decide who stayed on earth versus who lived in Avalon?”

“I don’t know.”

“Avalon was created and, at first, populated by the greatest of mages. It took many years– over a century– to stabilise the land and the magic there, to coax it into growing things, to let nature flourish and support life. At the time, magic had not yet waned noticeably enough to affect our lives. Perhaps less powerful mages were born, but it was such a decline as to be ignored for the most part.”

“What changed?”

“The magic did, of course. At the time, all our cities were made by magic and powered by it. Magic quite literally held together our society. Over time, the cities crumbled. Great works were not enough to hold the wards and framework together when ambient magic grew too low to sustain them. Permanent conjurations were no longer sustainable. Could you wandlessly conjure a castle and have it stand for years?”

“Of course not.” Severus said. “What a ridiculous notion.”

“Mages at the time could.” Minerva said quietly. “We did not have wands or foci, yet. We did not need them. Imagine such conjurations and then consider– hundreds or thousands of years of layering to develop a society built on such workings.”

“By the time individual wix had to resort to building their own homes and sustaining them with personal power alone, entire families and then villages were springing up entirely mundane.” She continued. “Some people continued to try, valiantly, to preserve their way of life. It was in vain. The mortality rate veered up sharply and those who would have been born powerful could not shoulder the burden of such a core without ambient magic to fuel it, and died in the womb or the first years of life.”

“How horrifying.” Severus said.

“Yes. Soon, it was more than clear who could continue living outside of Avalon, and who could not. Emrys opened the door to Avalon and even as the remaining cities fell, our people survived. They developed new methods to survive. Foci, potions, wardstones and the tools you and I are familiar with developed.”

“I thought Avalon had more magic?”

“It did.” Minerva said. “It had more magic. Just enough, in fact, that when magic on earth dropped to nearly nothing, they survived.”

“Magic waned to that extent?” Severus demanded.

“Yes– the lead up was quite clear, and then over ten or fifteen years the amounts fell beyond what could possibly sustain us. Those who chose to remain behind despite the begging of their families– died.”

“Did it stay that way?” He asked. “I mean– we have magic now, right? And how much of a difference could it make, stealing the ley lines away to Avalon?”

“Remember your conjecture from earlier.” Minerva said. “Tying the lines to Avalon was the only thing that saved us.”

She conjured a ball of water, eerily similar to Zirnatra’s display of pure magic.

With a gesture, the table cleared itself until only the bare wood was left. It was a circular table sat for two in a small room off the family kitchen, one Severus had been surprised to see in such a grand estate. The entire left wall of the room was floor-length windows to let the sunlight in, and the water Minerva held aloft glittered golden with it.

“Here is the magic that flowed to our sphere, at the lowest point of magic.” Minerva said quietly. She moved her hand until the water spread out over the entire table, coming to a bare centimetre deep.

“Even at this time, Magic was still there, for Magic’s connection to earth can never be severed completely on any sphere.”

She reached for her wand at last and conjured a golden plate, which hovered above the table. With a wave of her wand, the water rose up in glittering streams to settle atop the plate, swirling in currents until it settled outwards in an even layer.

The water, on the smallest surface, was six or seven inches high.

“The concentration of the magic in such a smaller plane saved us.” Minerva said smartly. “But we had by that point became greatly reduced from what we once were.”

“How long did it stay that way?” Severus asked again. “Surely, I mean– we have magic on earth now, and we’re not in Avalon.”

Minerva continued to look at him.

Then, she vanished the water.

The golden plate became an irregular flat shape under her spellwork, some of it rising and falling until Severus realised he was seeing mountains and rivers form. 

Below, the table mimicked the topography, forming a much more familiar shape– a map of the world he knew.

“Most of Avalon was copied directly from what we now recognize as Europe.” Minerva said. “What I’ve neglected to mention is that this tying of the lines to the realm relied on the bloodline of the one who established it– the King of Avalon.”

“It relied on his line?”

“Yes, though it may be more accurate to say– Emrys took on a great burden we he led the magics to create our sanctuary. He held the magic in place with his blood and his magic, and so he could never leave.”

“Not much of a sacrifice if someone that powerful would die on earth anyway– at the time.”

“Perhaps. But the sacrifice was not his alone. The realm recognized him as sovereign in every respect. For others to live in his kingdom, they had to swear true fealty, or the land would not welcome them, nor nourish them.”

“Arrogant.” Severus judged. “Holier-than-thou, despicable–”

A sharp pain shot through his chest, like a warning. Severus gasped, clutching it. It felt like his magic wrenched in his chest.

“You can hate it all you like.” Minerva said evenly. “But the magic of Avalon is tied to the magic of its sovereign, and it is that magic that sustains us all.”

“We don’t live in Avalon!” Severus bit out, offended. “I’ve never sworn myself to any king.”

Minerva drew her wand tip over areas of the golden land hovering before them and began reciting names. Some of them were familiar. Some of them were ancient versions of names Severus knew very well.

“What does that mean?” He croaked weakly. His mind was spinning.

“This castle here on the headland of Laomainn is named Dùn Ross. We began this lesson with a question. Do you remember what I asked you?”

“You’ve asked me many things and told me a great many more, none of which make any sense.” Severus said, but at her raised brow swallowed heavily.

“What separates an ancient lord and a noble one?” He whispered, almost afraid now of the answer, of the warning pang of magic he’d felt as he spoke ill of a king long dead.

Minerva tapped each section of Avalon and below, on the transformed wood of the map Severus knew, a corresponding area began to glow– each in different colours until a rainbow spread out before him.

“King Arthur Pendragon did not yet have an heir. His nephew, Mordred, thought that by killing the king he would inherit the throne.” Even hearing the name made Severus hiss, a sense of pure rage rising in him. 

Minerva continued, solemn: “He was wrong.”

“There was no king.” Severus realised, rubbing his aching breastbone. “Why does my magic hurt like this?”

“You’ve not had your magical maturation. In some ways, you were sheltered– as most children are– from the hole that adult magicals feel in our cores, because the dragon throne remains empty, and we are cut off from our home and the source of our magic.”

“So Avalon is gone?” It hurt to even say it. In his mind he could see it so clearly– a land as magical as Hogwarts ever was, a hundred times more vibrant than the Dark Forest.

“No, child.” Minerva said gently. “Avalon is not gone– just lost to us.”

“What does that mean?” Severus begged.

“Well, firstly it means that Arthur did have issue. Perhaps a squib hidden away, or a lost child from higher up the family tree– a child from his father, grandfather, or further.”

“Eventually, hopefully, someone with a strong enough blood tie will be able to claim the throne, and open the doors for us to return.”

“We were cast out?” Severus thought of leaving that golden land of plenty.

“In simple terms, yes. There was more to it than that, but suffice to say that without a king, Avalon was not a welcome haven to anyone.”

“How do we still have magic?” Severus knew there was something there– a tie between the literal nobility of the line of kings and the noble titles worn by some lords; a tie glowing in every colour from the lands of avalon and the lands he knew.

“We don’t know how the first of us gained noble titles.” Minerva said. “Some speculate that those who helped Emrys create Avalon were recognized by him; some speculate that only elves helped create it, and the nobles were the founders of the great cities once we fled there en masse.”

“What do we know for sure?” Severus asked, a tad impatient.

“We know the King of Avalon took aside wizards or witches from ancient lines and titled them, tying them to the magic of the land. A duke for each region, and the land further divided up under each lord, and so on, the nobles serving as local governance for matters because a king can’t personally handle everything.”

“Was it the same system of peerage used today?” Severus asked, already feeling foolish to ask.

“No, of course not– though every system is based on ours. We came first, after all. The language has changed over time, but the ranks remain the same.” Minerva said. “Duke, Earl, Baron, Viscount, in common tongue.”

“You’re an Earl.” Severus pointed out. “Our family was titled by the King of Avalon?”

Minerva smiled at the use of the possessive pronoun.

“Yes.” She said, then turned serious. “The reason we have magic, despite not being in Avalon, is because every titled noble descended to earth, and tied a piece of land here to our ancestral land in Avalon. It can only be done in one area, and that area must be maintained by the lord. It can be bolstered by lesser lords. For example– the Baron of Char, Isaac Parkin, lives within our land and is secondarily responsible for part of the domain.”

“Wait, what about the parts of the world that don’t have a titled lord?”

“Look.” Minerva said. She returned the table to normal and vanished the golden plate– Severus almost reached out for it, a cry on his own lips barely stifled in time.

She summoned a legitimate map and unfolded it on the table. Then, she painted areas with her wand’s tip.

“These are the current nobles of the area and their land. I’ve included only Earls or higher– beneath our homes lie a small ley line, a river of magic tying back to Avalon.”

Severus leaned over, eyes following the connections.

“There aren’t enough of us to cover everywhere.” Minerva said. “The further you go away from one of these ley lines, the weaker magic gets. It saturates into the ground near, providing magical plants and trees. Magical creatures can live on the land close enough to us.”

“That’s why magical people stick to certain areas.” Severus sat back, stunned. “Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade– magical enclaves. It’s not just about the Statute. Magic isn’t equal across the globe.” 

Minerva folded up the map. She spoke quietly.

“It is an immense magical burden to sustain a ley line. The bigger the family, the more contribution there is that can be used to shore up the personal drain the lord faces.” She flicked the map back to where it came from.

“We have an immense duty to our society, you and I. For a long time I let personal grief and social politics stop me from claiming my title. I can feel the ramifications of that neglect on the land, especially as my family had dwindled down to me alone– and now you.”

Abruptly, Minerva stood.

“There’s more to tell you than even I can accomplish in one day. Let that be enough for now, and we can get your things.” She summoned her coat. “What we don’t pick up today, you can have your choice for out of the family vault– furniture and perhaps a trunk. One of my great-uncles was a talented brewer; we’ll see what you’ve inherited on that score.”

Severus retreated to his room to change into some of the clothes an elf had provided; simple things, unpersonalized, but of good quality. They were likely some childhood clothes of Minerva’s male relatives, but they were better than anything he’d ever worn despite being quite outdated.

Minerva smiled when she saw him. Severus could not get used to that, though it wasn’t anything new for her. She always enjoyed seeing him. It was different, being adopted; it was strange to have anyone he lived with smile when he walked into a room.

Stranger still to see the shape of her nose and chin when he looked into the mirror, and a host of other small changes that he recognized in the portraits lining the entryway of the castle– all of whom greeted him cheerfully.

He felt wanted, which was completely unfamiliar and foreign.

Minerva briefly transfigured the cut of his clothes, raising an eyebrow when he did.

“A bit more of a modern touch. It’ll wear off by the time we’re home, but by then you’ll have a few pieces to tide you over until your complete wardrobe is delivered.”

“A whole wardrobe?” Severus asked. “Surely not.”

“No son of mine will lack for anything, least of all clothes.” Minerva said huffily. “Do remember that we have to look the part.”

The words son of mine warmed him like a cheering charm.

“Do you have to sit on the Wizengamot now?” He asked, half innocent and half curious.

Minerva blinked at him, then cursed like a sailor.

“I cannae believe–!” She stomped out of the room and came out with a coat, huffing.

“Let’s get ye to the fireplace, then. We’ve less time than I thought.”

“What? Why?” Severus gamely picked up a handful of floo powder.

“Because now I’ll need a blasted new wardrobe too!”

–