THE LAST PRINCE (T; MYSTERY/ ROMANCE; SS/ HP)

*PART ONE: THE ROAD TO NOBILITY (Prologue –Chapter 19)

*Summary: Post War, Severus Snape escapes the clutches of Death, only to be pulled into the most horrendous faith of being bound to an unjust and corrupt Ministry of Magic. With Dumbledore dead by his hands and Harry Potter gone missing in action, who is to prove his innocence and true allegiance? Meanwhile, a revolution is cooking up from within the bonds of the past as the legendary High Lord of Wizengamot emerges from awnings long-forgotten. What is his involvement in our favorite Potions Master's current plight? Will he be able to stop this in time? And where in the world is Harry Potter? Will he come back to save the fate of a man who despised him so?

PART TWO: THE PACT AND A PROPHECY (Chapter 20-50)

Summary:Now that Lord Tristan Peverell had successfully rescued Severus Snape from the clutches of an unjust Ministry and has rightfully restored power to where it truly belongs, their lives will suddenly take an unexpected turn as they continue to rule Wizarding Britain. Part Two of this trilogy will see our dynamic duo back at Hogwarts. A new prophecy comes to light and the pact between the Houses of Peverell and Prince will be put to the ultimate test. Allegiances are revealed and tested and new enemies will arise. What shall become of our Last Prince and his beloved Chosen One? Find out.

PART THREE: THE FINAL ACT (Chapter 51- Epilogue)

Summary: (to be released)

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Disclaimer: See Part I: Prologue

Warnings: See Part I: Prologue

Legend: "dialogue" 'thoughts' flashback/notes

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A/N: It's baaaaaaaaaack! Feel free to re-read before proceeding to Part 2.

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The Last Prince I

The Road to Nobility

By: C.M. Oliver

© 2013

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For the countless stories that were banished from this site (FFNet) –C.

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Prologue: The Pact

(Scotland, 1800's)

Silver droplets of rain pounded heavily against the stone paved ground, thundering like a proverbial herd of rampaging hippogriffs on adrenalin –simply put, the sky was waging a ruthless war against the earth, as if trying to erode its share of imperfection, which was a lot to say the least.

The pounding went on relentlessly for what seemed like eons –not one moment holding back, not one instance yielding to the silent pleas of the grounds. For days, the vales knew no sun, the plains knew no warmth, the mountains knew no reprieve from nature's lambasting. It was to be no different anytime soon.

It was one of these gray, wet, and overcast days in September that a sudden unmitigated disturbance occurred, disrupting the already syncopated pitter-patter that normally dominated the consciousness of the beings residing in the large manor atop Carlisle Hill.

A large, char coal-gray falcon flapped its wings fervently against the howling wind and the unforgiving rain –never mind that for every inch he made forward, he was thrown back by about a foot. As a bird, his instinct was to hide and wait out until the storm reined itself. As a devoted familiar, he was to obey his master's command; and that command was to deliver the missive tied to his leg, by hook or by crook. The falcon's huge amber eyes understood the urgency of the matter: it was a matter of life and death.

Soon enough, the bird reached the castle-like abode that was his destination, and right away, he searched for a sentient being to deliver his letter to. The falcon flew and made his way towards the nearest window. With his beak, he tapped against the rain-fogged glass.

'Plink, plink, plink,'

A man dressed handsomely in a plain, white long-sleeved shirt, black loose trousers and dragon hide boots looked up from his seat by the fireplace. A momentary frown crossed his delicate features as he searched for the origination of the disturbance. His emerald eyes roamed until his gaze fell on the window to his left.

'Plink, plink, plink,'

The man sighed as he stood up from his upholstered seat and made his way towards the black blob that was outside his window.

"You poor creature," he intoned in a soft voice as he undid the latch and opened the window. The falcon glided in and settled itself by the mantel piece –wet, ruffled but dignified. He stuck out the leg that bore his burden.

The soft-spoken man raised an eyebrow before drawing closer. He stopped about a foot away from the bird and reached into his boots for a long thin stick made out of almond –his wand.

"Let us dry you out first, shall we?"

He then cast a quick drying charm on his feathery guest. The falcon crowed appreciatively. The man smiled. He then pocketed his wand and proceeded to relieve the bird of its burden.

The scroll was soggy, but the emerald-eyed man patiently unraveled it. The message was short and terse:

To whom it may concern:

I am a travelling Potions apprentice, attacked by a cursed boar in the Forest of Glen and in need of help.

Please tap the parchment twice with your wand and say 'monkshood' to activate the portkey.

E.P.

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A man with long, inky black hair lay in a rocky clearing nestled within the Forest of Glen. Broken, useless potions vials were scattered around him. His alder wand, he held in a death grip –but it was to be of no use to him at the present. A cursed boar's bite and poison were impervious to regular healing spells. He needed a specific potion to counter it, a potion he certainly did not have with him at the moment. He needed to get out of the grove.

The rain continued to pour; the wounded man was soaked to the bone. He had already used the last of his able magic to create the letter portkey and send it with his beloved familiar, Tigris. He only hoped that whoever encountered his loyal falcon would be willing to help a stranger.

Lightning struck and thunder roared –and the wounded man's obsidian eyes began to flutter as he awaited help –or his untimely death, whichever came first. The next time light drew an angry pattern on the sky though, his eyes were completely closed.

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When the obsidian eyes opened once more, he was no longer in the clearing.

"Thank Merlin, you are awake," a soft male voice welcomed his consciousness. The wounded man blinked as he let his hazy vision adjust.

"Do you still feel pain on your left shoulder?" that voice asked again. The wounded man shook his head and rubbed his eyes. When he opened them fully, he was staring into the most brilliant pair of viridian eyes he had ever seen.

"Wh-where am I?"

The emerald eyes brightened even more.

"Carlisle Hill, Nile Peverell, Lord of the Manor."

The wounded man tensed and focused his vision. The man in front of him wore an easy smile on his handsome features. Lord Nile Peverell was young –and disarming to say the least. The wounded man found it hard to speak after that. Lord Peverell had sensed it though.

"You have been unconscious for a fortnight, sir. Your magical core had been severely depleted. I must say, you have a very devoted familiar –he managed to reach me through that horrendous thunderstorm. If he were a minute late –I may have lost you.

"Th-thank you, my Lord."

"Please, call me Nile," The young lord said, waving his hand. "My father will always be the Lord Peverell. Bless his soul. He left this world far too soon." He then sighed and turned to the wounded man.

"What shall I call you then?" he asked genially. The wounded man flushed and made a move to sit, but pain immediately assaulted his senses. Nile pushed him down on the bed, gently.

"Keep still now. The potion I gave you managed to clear the poison on your first night here, but the wound is still open. I am still waiting for another potion to finish brewing to close it up completely. Right at this moment, only a mild numbing potion is in effect –I cannot give you anything stronger for it may affect your regenerating core." He explained. The wounded man nodded.

"Euphrates. Euphrates Prince." He croaked, his onyx eyes fixed on his gracious host and savior. "I owe my life to you, Lord Peverell –"

"Nile, please –"

"Nile, then. I thank you. Please let me know what I can do to repay your kindness."

Nile smiled and shook his head.

"No need for that, my dear Euphrates. Like my late mother, I am a healer by profession. My vow is to save lives –I did what I could."

Euphrates sighed.

"I am of the House of Prince. We value a life debt greatly, my Lord –without exceptions. And as the Lord-Apparent – Please let me know what favor I can fulfill for you in return."

Nile chuckled lightly.

"I see," The emerald-eyed man then ran his fingers through his long, tousled, jet black hair. "Well, Euphrates, I have nothing to ask of you at the top of my head at this very instance –I will make you a deal however."

The young Prince raised one perfectly arched eyebrow.

"And that is?"

Nile smiled.

"I shall give you my condition, for you to fulfill, once the wound on your shoulder fully closes."

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It had been a week since Euphrates had awakened in the guest chambers of Peverell Manor. In those seven days, he had developed a comfortable rapport with his host, Nile Peverell. The young lord was charming, enigmatic and gracious. Euphrates learned that the man was only about his age and was a practicing healer. His father, the late Ignotus Peverell, succumbed to a long-standing after-effect of a curse casted by a warlock. Nile had to step up at a tender age of five as Lord of the Manor with his mother's help until the woman died when he was 17. Nile subsequently took the mantle of the High Lord of Wizengamot as soon as he hit the age of majority. Euphrates knew enough of the politics of his day, hid own father, Potions Master Morpheus Prince, being a member of the House of Lords himself –the High Lordship was almost equivalent to royalty in WIzarding Britain.

But Nile was anything but superficial as were the rulers of that day. He was not the stiff, jaded politician that characterized the Lords of Wizengamot. No, Euphrates observed. If anything, the young lord was the exact opposite; he was humble and simple –and he seemed to detest the spotlight.

On the night marking the first week of Euphrates' consciousness, he was already able to move about. He planned on leaving the next morning to continue his journey searching for rare potions ingredients. He carefully packed his trunk that lay open by the foot of his bed, inside the guest chambers Nile had prepared for him during his stay. He was securing his crystal phials when a knock was heard.

"You are aware that you need not announce your presence in your own house, Nile."

The young lord in question ushered himself in with that charming smile on his face that made Euphrates' heart skip a beat every time.

"It is only polite, Euphrates," Nile said softly. Then, upon seeing the trunk, "Leaving so soon?"

Euphrates nodded.

"I have no wish to further exploit your courtesy Nile. You have done more than enough for me." The potions apprentice gestured towards his healed shoulder.

Nile sighed.

"Completely closed then?"

Euphrates nodded again. Nile moved closer and touched Euphrates' shoulder gently. When the onyx-eyed man did not flinch, Nile released the breath he was holding. He let go of the younger man.

"Very well, I shall let you finish your task of packing then," The emerald-eyed lord said with a hint of disappointment in his voice. Euphrates frowned as he watched his host leave the room.

"Nile, a moment please."

Lord Peverell stopped in his tracks. But when he did not turn around, Euphrates crossed the room to bridge their gap. He touched his savior's shoulder lightly.

"Nile, the condition. Remember the deal you made with me? Tell me what I can do to repay you."

Euphrates heard the young lord sigh deeply before turning to face him. The potions apprentice once again found himself captured by those mesmerizing eyes. He found it incredibly hard to breathe as Nile drew closer.

"Nile –"

The rest of his words were snatched as he found himself being kissed by the young lord. Yes, there was no mistaking it –as Nile Peverell's lips connected with his –Euphrates felt his heart cease beating completely. The kiss was but a couple of seconds, soft and chaste, but for Euphrates, it felt like a lifetime –one that he had no second thoughts of reliving. His onyx eyes were still wide in surprise when Nile moved away, breaking the kiss.

"Euphrates, I –"

"Nile –"

Nile seemed to hesitate, but after a beat, he placed a gentle finger against his guest's soft, pale lips.

"Your debt has been repaid. You may leave in the morning.

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The morning was still cold and damp, that day in December, when a familiar rapping was heard in Peverell Manor. Lord Nile Peverell looked up from his customary seat by the fire. He let a small smile grace his full lips as he waved his wand to open the fogged up window to his left.

"You are a persistent as your owner, Tigris."

The large charcoal-gray falcon crowed in agreement as he landed on the emerald-eyes man's shoulder, sticking his left leg out.

"He is only making it difficult for himself,"

Tigris merely glared at him and continued to hold his leg that contained his burden up. Nile shrugged as he untied the rolled-up parchment that bore a familiar seal.

"One day, Tigris, your owner's descendants will curse the day he made this pact with me. Euphrates and his honoring of life debts –bah!"

The falcon's amber eyes blinked. Nile sighed once more.

"Fine, I will honor the bloody parchment. It is not that I do not wish to see you no longer, my dear –quite the contrary –but I am worried that you will already tire of me. What, with three months of going back and forth between Carlisle Hill and Peverell Manor? I am quite surprised that you have not yet declared a mutiny against your bullheaded master."

Tigris crowed. Nile smiled at the bird.

"I envy you my friend. If only I were a bird –" his voice drifted.

The falcon cocked his head to one side, as if ruminating on what this human friend of his master had been trying to say. Nile reached out a finger to stroke the bird's magnificent head.

"If only thing were simple. Tigris… then your master and I –" he sighed resignedly. "But I am not giving up. Quite the contrary." He then returned the scroll to the bird's leg and guided it towards the window. Nile watched Tigris take off with a fond smile on his face.

"I am not giving up. The House of Peverell shall wait until the time comes –to claim the Last Prince."

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End A/N: And this is the part where I grovel at your feet in supplication. Yeah, yeah, I know it's been a while since I actually posted anything at all. But that doesn't mean that I was lazing around doing nothing. I have tons of stuff written down. I just couldn't find time to actually finalize anything and upload them here on FFN or in my Tumblr Account. Reason #1: CTS. Reason#2: My hard drive was sympathetic to the government shut down and abandoned me as well. Reason#3: I fell in love. Got broken. Wallowed in misery for a while. Recovered. By the way, you can also check me and my stuff out at:

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