Again the HP universe and characters belong to JKR. I own none of it and make no profit from these efforts.
Damn plot bunny. I had intended on writing another chapter for Purgatorio, but this story wouldn't get out of my darn head. I blame my daughter's curly, golden hair, which fascinates me. I've been thinking about the other side of this war and the innocent victims. That led me to Emma. So, this is obviously very A/U and explores what might have been.
Also inspired by Rooks a poem by Scottish poet Charles Hamilton Sorely.
Dark Soul Flies
Emma woke with a start. She patted the bed next to her frantically, but Poppet wasn't there. She had warned her little sister to stay abed. The house was filled with them, her brothers . . . friends, and to walk around at this time of night was to court danger. But Poppet was barely five years old. She was such a tiny, curious little thing, with her large dark eyes and lovely, inky hair.
Since she had returned from school at Beauxbatons three years ago, it had been her duty to take care of Poppet. Her father, who doted on them both, had lost his second wife recently. The woman had been sickly to begin with, but she had wanted, craved a child. Father had indulged her and had spared no expense on her health. Eleanor had died a year after Emma returned. It had been sad, but Emma had sat by the young woman's bed and taken care of both her and the babe. They had been such good friends, she and her step-mother, who was only a handful of years older than herself.
Upon his new marriage, which had taken Emma out of school for a week, her father had remarked on what a lovely picture they made, his daughter and his new bride. He had a portrait commissioned. The two plump rosy cheeked women had sat close in complementary jewel tones, Emma in magenta and Eleanor in a deep blue, Emma's curly, golden locks had shined, and Eleanor's raven ringlets had gleamed with deep blue highlights.
Poppet favored her mother greatly, and so both Emma and her father indulged the child far more than they should. Emma tied her voluminous, white robe around her waist and opened her bedroom door gingerly. She bit down nervously on her full lower lip and gazed down the corridor. Father had warded their doors so that no one could enter, but why hadn't he thought about preventing them from leaving?
The men were supposed to keep out of the family wing, and they typically did. But this was different from the usual meetings. Algernon had warned them all. The west wing was warded for noise and stocked with all of the food and drink they might need. Her father was loath to let them hold such an event at his home, but her brother had urged him to open their home to the Dark Lord. It was a show of support for the cause, and . . . it would keep them safe, he said.
Since Augustus had been imprisoned in the first war, their status had been tenuous. Algernon was a lower ranked Death Eater, and he was attempting to protect the family. Her father had never taken the mark, and was terrified, given his position at the Ministry as an Unspeakable. It was likely that they would begin putting pressure on him, the Death Eaters, to spy as Augustus had. But he was being watched by the Ministry as well. They were suspicious, and given the recent validity of the Dark Lord's return, many eyes had turned to him curiously. He had remarked more than once that certain files were now restricted to him.
Emma padded down the thickly carpeted hallway, checking for Poppet's signature, but the little girl was clearly not in the family wing. Emma's hand went to her lips to stifle her gasp at the raucous laughter she heard. Peeking over the balcony, she observed several men as they cornered a girl, who looked to be younger than herself. They cast a silencing charm on her, and one man held the girl down on the settee while another began touching her. Emma drew back and fought the urge to scream. Father had allowed this to be brought into their home. A sick feeling of disgust and betrayal rose up in her throat. She choked down the rising gorge and knew that she must find Poppet at once.
She cast a disillusionment charm on herself and headed down a secret stairway, which was really not so secret. But, she knew Poppet often used it to spy on her brother when he was home. She adored the boy who was growing in to a very troubled young man.
The stairs creaked under her weight as she swiftly traversed the passage. The door was open. She could see the golden swath of light gleaming at the mouth of the entrance. And there, lying on the floor was Poppet's teddy bear. Emma couldn't stop the sorrowful sound that escaped her mouth. She shoved both of her hands over her lips, but it was too late. Someone had heard her. She saw a shadow appear in the doorway, and a hand reached out and pulled her down before she could scurry away.
"Well, look what we have here," Shouted Anton Dolohov. "Looks like I finally got my hands on you." He crowed.
Emma's hands were jerked away from her mouth as Dolohov gripped her wrists and swiftly divested her of her wand. She looked up at him with her large blue eyes pleadingly. "Don't hurt me Mr. Dolohov. I'm looking for Poppet; please help me find her." She begged.
Dolohov blinked blearily at her and grinned rakishly. "Give us a kiss, and I'll think about it." He leaned down and she smelled the stench of liquor on his breath.
He pressed against her and his hands roamed up to her ample bosom and squeezed.
Emma screamed loudly, and Dolohov drew back and struck her swiftly across the face. Emma was thrown to the floor by the force of the blow, and she began crying as she held her hand over her face.
"STOP IT!" Emma heard her brother yell.
"Fuck off, Rookwood," Dolohov muttered and began to reach for Emma.
A dark imposing shadow fell between them, and Emma heard a deep, threatening voice hiss, "You have got plenty of . . . appropriate playthings." She looked up to see the dark robed man point with his pale finger at the room behind them.
"If you lay another hand on this young woman, I will flay you alive myself. Do you have any idea what the Dark Lord will do when he finds out, Dolohov?" The tall man leaned forward and shoved Dolohov roughly. The drunken man stumbled back and Mcnair caught him swiftly.
"Fuck you, Snape." Dolohov spat.
Rookwood the younger looked at him worriedly. He knew better than to gainsay Snape. The man was as good as the Dark Lords lieutenant. He had killed Dumbledore and he would be Headmaster next term. To speak out against him would likely cost him his head, but he could not let anything happen to Emmy. He looked at Snape imploringly.
"She'll be safer with me than with you fool. Go." He hissed at the young man, who, like so man, was stuck in an unwinnable situation.
Severus waited until they had left before turning around to help the young woman up. He had seen her before at various functions he had been required to attend. This was Rookwood's eldest daughter. She had once been pledged to Draco Malfoy, though she was a little older than Lucius' heir. However, when she had reached her majority, Narcissa had asked to see the girl in order to determine her suitability.
She had found the girl lacking. According to Lucius, Narcissa was being catty. The girl was perfectly lovely, intelligent, and quite meek. Lucius assumed that his wife did not want the pretty blond traipsing around under his nose. The aristocratic blond had scoffed, as if he would taint his son's future bride. Severus had remained silent as this information was divulged. He would not put it past Lucius to dip into this sweet honey pot. The girl was quite appealing. Though, Narcissa claimed that she was far too plump to be fashionably pretty. The girls' mother had been related to the Parkinson's, and that was evident when one looked at her nose. But, rather than looking like a woeful pug, as Pansy did, this girl's button nose and wide blue eyes made her look like a doll, a plump little china doll.
She did not draw back from him as he had expected. He had only spoken to her once at a Christmas party, exchanging random pleasantries. She had been about 15, and her face had been broken out in spots. Narcissa had made him dance with her, and he had made sure to send the girl a potion for her acne once she returned to Beauxbatons.
Emma stood and touched her cheek gingerly and looked up at Snape hopefully.
"Why in Merlin's name are you down here girl?" He hissed as he drew close and latched his hand around her forearm firmly.
He began to drag her towards the staircase and back to the family wing.
"WAIT!" Emma gasped. She dug her bare heels into the carpet and pulled against him.
Severus sighed, turned towards her and rolled his eyes, "I am not going to take your damn virtue girl. I am trying to see you back to your room safely. Now, let's go before I have to kill the next dunderhead that lays a hand on you." He groused.
Emma shook her head, and her golden curls bounced playfully. Severus was mesmerized by the sinuous spirals for a moment before his brow furrowed and he met her frightened gaze.
"Poppet," She whispered and her bottom lip trembled, "I need to find Popped she said imploringly as she grabbed onto his forearm and tugged.
Severus' face clearly showed his confusion, "Poppet?"
Emma nodded, sending those curls into a tumult again, "My little sister. She's five. She must have gotten curious. I found her teddy," she turned to point to the door and let go of him and pulled her arm free of his grasp. She scurried over to the door, which was nearly obscured by the surrounding paneling, and pulled a small, furry bear from around the corner. Her robe had pooled around her, and she looked for all the world like some half cherubic creature that had fallen from heaven, the way the light dallied on her curls. Severus shook his head and frowned. Where had that come from?
Emma looked up at him and held out the bear, "Please Mr. Snape. Please help me find her before someone else does." She begged as the tears pooled in her eyes.
It was like a scene from some maudlin picture show. Her rosebud lips trembled and she blinked her eyes causing crystalline tears to fall down her rosy cheeks. The only thing missing was her creamy, heaving bosom. Though she had it in spades, thankfully they were appropriately covered, as he would expect of a pureblood witch.
"Fucking hell," He muttered. "Yaxley," He spat. His lips curled in a distasteful sneer showing his crooked teeth.
Emma's eyes grew large as she looked up at the clearly furious man.
"Come!" He stalked forward and grabbed her arm again, pulling her after him. He flicked his wand and cast a wordless tracking spell. "Fuck," He hissed and ran down a nearby hallway, pulling Emma after him. There were numerous rooms, and they passed through the darkness quickly, quietly.
Emma followed without a sound and struggled to keep up with his long strides. She knew that Poppet's life depended on it. They heard the gut wrenching screams before they got to the room. It was a small space, once used for servant's quarters when they had employed humans on occasion. Far from the other rooms, it was unlikely that anyone would have come upon it, and she was sure that they would have found Poppet dead or nearly so the next morning.
She stood in awe as the dark wizard before her ripped the door from its hinges with a magical blast and swiftly sent a near naked Yaxley flying across the room. The older man hit the wall with a grunt, and was knocked unconscious when his head flew back and hit the wall.
Emma drew forward, but Severus held her back. "Wait," he warned her and cast several diagnostic charms on the little girl.
"She had not been violated," He said softly, but they could both see the red welts crossed the little girl's body. She was naked and shivering on the bed. Still screaming, she had begun to kick out her feet in an effort to move towards the top of the bed. Yaxley still held the belt he had used to beat her.
Emma approached her sister carefully and drew off her robe, gently covering the girl with it. Severus watched as the young woman gathered the screaming child in her arms and rocked her gently. She was crying again, but she began to sing a simple little round as she swayed, "I love you Poppet." She repeated the phrase endlessly in a sweet, singsong tone until the child hushed.
Though the moment was spoiled, the picture they presented was lovely and touching. He had never been held or loved in such a fashion by sibling or parent. It also ripped the mask from the faceless and nameless that the Order tended to discount. These were the people he thought of when Dumbledore so carelessly shrugged away the negligible losses of winning this war. They were sparing no expense to guard Granger and the Weasleys, but what about young women like Emma, and what about the helpless children like the babe she held? They had made no decision to follow the monster.
Severus eyed Yaxley and cast a petrificus for good measure. The man's body stiffened but he seemed to remain unconscious.
"Come," He said softly and held out his hand to the young woman.
She looked up at him with red, swollen eyes. Her nose was pinked and running. He pulled out his handkerchief and handed it to her, turning away as she blew her nose. The child was heavy in her arms, and he took her burden gently. The dark haired little girl was asleep by the time they had returned to the room. He laid her gently in Emma's bed and turned to meet the young woman's sad gaze.
There are a few potions that she will need." He said simply. "I'll return with them shortly." He shuffled awkwardly on his feet as he looked down at her. She seemed so small and forlorn, and even her riotous curls seemed to droop in despair. He reached out, peaked by curiosity, and pulled at one of the ringlets that had gone askew. Frowning at his own audacity, he drew back swiftly and walked backwards out of the room.
"I'm warding you in. Don't try to leave." He ordered and turned with a flurry of black robes. The door slammed shut behind him.
All of the air had left her lungs when his long, deft fingers had tugged at her hair. Emma did not know what to think. So many emotions swirled through her, sadness at Poppet's condition, relief that she was untouched, gratitude that Mr. Snape had been there to save them, and . . . something else entirely bloomed within her. Her eyes had followed his tall, graceful movements from the room. The dim light had formed a stark contrast and his sharp features had been enhanced. He had never been a particularly handsome man, but she had always thought him quite striking.
She turned to observe her sister and patted her sleeve and groaned when she realized that her wand was gone, lost. She sighed and knelt by the bed as she stroked Poppet's curls and reflected on Mr. Snape.
In her experience, he had always been cordial and almost gallant, and while her brother's other associates had always been polite, there had always been an element of distaste brought about by their gaze. They seemed to believe that they were owed something because of their status as Death Eater. She had no real understanding as to why there was a war. In her own experience, Muggles seemed a world apart, and all of the muggle borns at Beauxbatons had been cultured and well behaved. If breeding was a problem, then outlaw marriages between muggle borns and pure bloods. Though, that seemed rather silly to her. Blood did not seem to denote character. She had never been accosted by supposedly uncouth muggle born in her life; yet, she had been repeatedly propositioned by Mr. Dolohov. Her father had finally told the man that his suit was unwelcome. The crude wizard had not taken the rejection well, but it was not something he would take to the Dark Lord, who believed such matters below his notice.
'He is not, after all, a matchmaker. He's the bloody Dark Lord,' her brother had once remarked.
A knock on her door drew her from her reverie. She stood up when Mr. Snape strode back into the room. He seemed like some great shadow; only, his pale face shined like a beacon amidst the flurry of his dark hair. He knelt beside Poppet and looked up at Emma.
"Go and fetch a cloth and a basin of warm soapy water," His voice was deep and his words crisply enunciated.
Emma brought the items back quickly and helped him to unwrap her sleeping sister. He cast a cleansing charm on the girl but bid her wash the child as he ran another diagnostic charm. Emma worked quickly washing Poppet's exposed front carefully as Mr. Snape began murmuring healing spells. She recognized all of the spells and blushed at her own ineptness. She should have been the one doing this, but she had foolishly lost her wand.
"Thank you," She whispered.
Severus nodded and focused on the babe before him, trying to ignore the young woman, who stood so near. He didn't want to think of her or why he had returned instead of merely alerting her family of the girls' distress.
When he had healed the child's fractured bones. He rolled her over carefully to inspect her back. Emma washed the rest of Poppet's bruised skin.
Severus sighed and pulled out a jar of unguent. "You may want to remove your robe, it's going to seep into the fabric and ruin it." He said emotionlessly.
Emma did not really care, but she pulled the fabric from underneath Poppet merely because he had suggested she do so. He handed the small pot of greasy cream to her and allowed her to apply it gently. He flicked his wand and turned the child over. He watched her delicate fingers spread the medicine over the child's body carefully yet efficiently. He used a cleansing charm to rid her fingers of the residue.
"Help me give her this," He pulled out a potion.
"May I?" She asked.
Severus handed her the vial and watched her sniff it carefully. She nodded and handed it back to him. The dark wizard quirked a curious brow and turned to the child. Emma had crawled on the bed beside her sister and threaded her arm beneath the child's head to lift her up while Severus began pouring the potion in her mouth. Emma rubbed Poppet's throat to encourage swallowing. They gave her several options for healing.
He sat on his haunches watching the fair young woman looked down at her sister worriedly "I hope she doesn't remember any of it." She said worriedly.
"You would be better to hope that she does and to hope that it has taught her a very important lesson," He said sharply. Her wounded eyes met his sadly.
Severus frowned at her and narrowed his gaze. Was it so bad that she was such an innocent? He sighed, "This will not be the last of such gatherings. You will both need to be careful, and I would encourage you to stay elsewhere the next time. . ." His voice trailed off.
He stood abruptly, and he was more than a little disconcerted when she drew away from her sister and stood to see him off. She had pulled out his handkerchief and was worrying it in her pale, slim fingers.
"Thank you for your help tonight." She said softly as he rounded the bed. She stepped forward to block his exit, and Severus looked down at her from his imposing height.
He drew in a breath when she stepped close, rose up on her toes, and kissed . . . his chin. He nearly chuckled. He was not about to bend over and allow her to kiss him, regardless of how innocent the intention. And, her diminutive height prevented her from reaching anything other than the bony, jutting protrusion.
"Good night, Miss. Rookwood." He said in his most intriguing voice. His lack of physical beauty had taught him to use everything else at his disposal to make an impression. Reaching forward tentatively, he took her small hand in his, and meeting her eyes intently, he placed a kiss on the back of her hand.
In her modest, frilly, nightgown, and bare feet she curtsied, bending low in a graceful almost balletic move, but there was nothing comical about this gesture. For a man born in squalor, who was told that he was unwanted, unloved, and worthless, a man who had been used by others, his friendship tossed aside as if insignificant, a man whose colleagues readily believed him to be a murdered, whose comrades thought him a traitor, her deep curtsy was something that a man like him should never have received. It was a gift. This was the sort of gesture that a pureblood woman gave to a man she trusted, perhaps one she was engaged to, or a close family member. It was loaded with meaning.
It was something he had only seen once, a gesture of obeisance on the part of Narcissa Malfoy. It had been an accident that he had seen it, but he remembered Lucius' response well. The man had stood proudly and looked down on his humbled wife. He had paused long enough to savor the moment and then drew his hand up gently, signaling to her that he accepted her deference. He had brought her hand up and cradled it in both of his, as if she were something precious, and despite all of Lucius faults, his wife was dear to him.
Severus mimicked the gesture and took Emma's hand in both of his. She rose but kept her head bowed until he lifted her chin with his finger.
Someone cleared their throat. Severus looked up to see a rather tall, narrow faced wizard with long flowing silver hair, a beard to equal that of Albus Dumbledore, and a nose to rival his own. It was Rookwood Senior.
Severus inclined his head to the man.
"Snape," The older man tilted his head.
"Rookwood," Severus shifted uncomfortably, aware that he was in this man's daughter's room and it was early morning.
"Would you care to tell me what you are doing?" The hoary haired man asked.
"A fair question," Severus replied, "But I am afraid now is not the time for an inquisition. I have class to teach in a few hours." He replied sharply, giving the man a deadly glare.
"He, he saved Poppet, Daddy, and he saved me." Emma said earnestly. She felt the tension growing between the two men, and she sought to dispel it as quickly as possible.
Severus sighed. This was exactly what he had hoped to avoid. He did not want this man's gratitude or forced loyalty. He did not want to be beholden or seen as some sort of savior.
"Is this true, Snape?" The elderly man glared at his daughter and rolled his wand in his hand and took stock of the powerful wizard before him.
Severus sighed, "Is it true that your daughters were out of bed and roaming the manor when they should have been abed? That you failed to ward them into their rooms or safely ward the family quarters? Is it true that Yaxley beat and nearly violated your youngest? That, had I arrived later, Dolohov may have taken your precious Emma, too? Yes." He hissed and glared at the careless wizard.
Rookwood had grace enough to blush and step back from the doorway to allow him to pass. With a quick nod to the wide eyed Emma, Severus left swiftly and was never so relieved as he was when he lay down his head in his own bed and closed his eyes. But sleep evaded him, and his mind was filled with the image of those rollicking golden curls and worshipful blue eyes.