Again the HP universe and characters belong to JKR. I own none of it and make no profit from these efforts.

I have taken liberty with the Rookwoods, as I'm sure some of you realize. This is obviously AU. Augustus is the only one I could find information on. There is no mention of his family, so this as have the "traditions and manners" has all been made up in my head. I hope you don't find it off-putting. Again this mad plot bunny won't let me work on my other story, so I decided to just let it out to play. I hope you like it. Please leave your feedback – it's more precious than gold to ME! Take care and happy reading!

Dark Soul Flies

Chapter 2

Severus sat gingerly in his wingback chair in Spinner's End. The attack had gone awry. Most of the Order members had escaped, and they had failed to capture the Trio, thankfully. However, his master had been most upset. They had been tortured, Lucius especially, and only he had avoided his master's wrath because his presence had been required elsewhere. If it wasn't one potion it was another. The creature was consumed with preserving his life and maintaining his farce of a body. He had been livid when he discovered that he was infertile, but what could he expect? He was not even human anymore, and it was a miracle that his genitalia functioned at all.

Severus sneered at the repugnant thought of what the once handsome and powerful wizard, Tom Riddle had become. Well, Bellatrix had not yet lost interest, he snorted with derision.

A tap on the window set him on edge, and he turned to open it carefully to allow the majestic animal in. It was an eagle owl, and it bore the crest of the Rookwood family on the cuff along its leg. Though fierce looking, the pied faced owl looked at him with its large, intelligent eyes. Its feathers were streaked and spotted in shades of tawny, brown and black. Once it noticed him examining its feathers, it hooted and stretched its wings, preening.

Such beasts were costly. Lucius had bought one from a breeder, and the bird had cost more than a year's salary at Hogwarts. Conspicuous consumption, Severus had called it, but Lucius had just chuckled and patted him on the back gamely.

The owl held out its claw gingerly to allow him to take the missive. This creature was unlike the crass, flighty birds that delivered the Prophet; this bird would be ashamed to act in such an uncouth manner. It lowered its head gently as he stretched his hand forward, and shuttered its eyes in ecstasy as he began rubbing its neck and petting it gently. In no hurry, the animal closed its eyes and clacked its beak sleepily, waiting for him to read the missive and craft a reply.

He slipped on his reading glasses and opened the letter carefully. The scent that hit his nose was heavenly. His sense of smell was acute, fortuitous for a man who chose a career in potion making and a man who worked as a double agent. He had been almost poisoned too many times to count.

This fragrance held a decidedly warm, feminine note, ambergris, more costly than gold per ounce. It was warm and erotic with notes of comfort and . . . it was addictive. He held the envelope slightly open under his nose and inhaled again. It was like inhaling that place on a woman's neck behind her ear, beneath her hair, and above her collarbone. It was slightly sweet, a little musky, and with soft hints of soap, vanilla, and amber. He sat there for an indeterminate amount of time just enjoying the fragrance before pulling the thick, heavy parchment from the envelope carefully.

It was similar to the quality that Narcissa used, and the ink, he smirked, was of a deep purple likely harvested from purpurea, a shellfish, also very costly. Though part of him identified the sheer frivolousness of such expenditures, the epicurean in him delighted in the beauty of the piece of art before him. It was lovely, and he could see her in his mind, sitting at her bureau plat on an ornately covered chair in some pastel velvet. He smirked. She had her hair pulled up, no doubt, but some of those wanton curls had likely escaped. Her posture would be perfect, and she would use a spare piece of parchment for blotting. Her script was lovely, flawless and delicate.

How many times had she begun? How many wrinkled, balled up sheets has she tossed to the floor before getting it just so? He wondered.

Dear Mr. Snape,

Father told me not to bother you, but I wanted to thank you for saving us. Without your intervention, I shudder to think what might have happened to Poppet and I. I am forever in your debt.

Severus drew back, shocked, and reread the lines. His cheeks had heated as he read the address, dear. Her father would be unhappy with such familiarity. She knew him to be a professor, and it would have been more appropriate for her to use such a title sans address. That she had written inspite of her father's insistence against it was titillating. If he were to follow convention, as he surely would and she no doubt expected, he must notify her father that she had. He would not, however, divulge the contents of the letter nor return it, which would send a very pointed statement to the wizard. He smirked. It was an act of defiance and . . . power. She would be there when he refused to hand it over. He sighed and continued to read.

Poppet is fully healed, thanks to your potions and salve, but she has the most terrible nightmares. I have to go to her every night to calm her down and get her back to sleep. I have taken to allowing her to sleep with me. I wonder if I might impose upon you as to what we should do? Father refuses to listen to me, despite my training, and instead, he follows the suggestion of his old healer, who says we should let her adjust on her own.

I told him that, in moderation, Dreamless Sleep would help in the short term. Perhaps you could speak with him? I know that you are busy, but any help you could provide would be greatly appreciated.

She was asking him to intervene on a personal, family matter, which indicated trust and a desire to become more familiar with him. Here there was a firm indentation on the page. She had clearly paused and thought carefully before writing the next line.

I have thought of nothing save the touch of your hands on mine since we last met. They have burnt a memory on my fingers, my palm. I hope you will accept the enclosed gift as a token of my regard. If I have overstepped myself, please feel free to return it, and I will trouble you no more.

Kindest Regards,

Miss. Emma Rookwood

It was a blend of formality and familiarity, and he had never received a letter of its ilk before. What surprised him was his lack of guilt. His throat constricted and his chest tightened with . . . excitement, titillation that such a young, pretty girl was sending him this secretive confessional. If her father knew, he would thrash her and lock her in her room. Belatedly, he thought of Lily, but it was with disdain and not longing. She would never have written him to ask for help, nor had she ever viewed his touch as anything other than troublesome or distasteful.

Yet, this pure blood young woman, good enough for the likes of Lucius himself, was daydreaming about him. Though he had been scorned and taunted as a child, Severus Snape had always been a proud young man, and he had grown into a confident, self possessed wizard. He conquered everything he set about to do. He was powerful, the most talented legilimens and occlumens this century save for the late Albus Dumbledore. He was a highly skilled potions master with a wealth of published research and the title to hundreds of patents. It suited him to hide his net worth, but when this war was over, he would not.

He had never anticipated that he would survive, and he knew that Albus had not either. This stuck in his craw more than anything else had. To them, he was expendable. He clenched his free hand and looked down at her letter with fire in his eyes.

Curiosity overcame his anger, and he peeked into the envelope and spied something shiny that seemed to catch the light. He dipped his long, pale fingers into the smooth parchment and pulled out a golden, springy curl held together with a pretty, satin ribbon. He played with the lovely, long spiral, twirling it round his finger thoughtfully and remembering the young woman who had so rashly kissed his chin only a few nights ago.

"Foolish girl," He smirked. It was unlikely to lead anywhere, but the diversion would be much needed. To know that there was a tender heart out there thinking of him while he suffered this coming hell would do more to see him through than all of the empty hopes he had placed on Lily. Oh, he would always love the wretched girl, but Emma was real, vibrant and lovely. She was a tangible element of what he was fighting to protect. Young women like her were just as much victims of this war as were those like Miss. Granger. Though strikingly dissimilar, the two were opposite ends of the same coin.

He reached down beside him and brought up a thick piece of wood that he had fashioned so that he could write letters from the comfort of his chair. Pulling out a piece of fine parchment, he began crafting his response. When he had encountered her, he had thought the whole ordeal a hassle. He had not desired the look of adoration she had given him or her indebtedness. However, he had dreamt of nothing but her, felt the weight of her small hand and the brush of her soft lips on his skin and replayed her curtsy in his mind repeatedly.

My Dear Miss. Rookwood,

I am glad that you feel that you can trust me, and I hope that you will continue to do so. I am only thankful that I could be there to be of assistance to both you and your sister. You may trust that I will see the appropriate parties punished for their atrocious behavior.

Severus smirked, he had indeed seen to both Dolohov and Yaxley. They had been severely reprimanded for trespassing against such an esteemed pure blood family. What rankled was the Dark Lord's insistence that they had plenty of muggle animals on which to slake their lust. It infuriated him the way they so casually disregarded the lives of others. He took a deep breath before continuing.

I will, of course, speak with your father. I would also be interested in hearing more about your training. You are correct; it will not harm the child to take Dreamless Sleep in small amounts. It precipitates a deeper sleep and will prevent her from dreaming. Children have a great capacity to recuperate; however, the event is so recent that it will take some time for her to put it behind her. Please do not allow the healer to administer any potions. I will provide you with what is needed, and in a higher quality than you will find in any mere apothecary.

Severus sneered. He knew what they attempted to pass off at apothecaries, and most healers were too dense to realize that they were being had.

Charming girl, you capture me with your words. But I wonder, do you know to whom you speak? I am no callow youth for you to trifle with, my dear. Thank you for the lovely gift. You may be assured of my own regard. I would be pleased to accept any further letters you should choose to send, sweet Emma

He paused wondering how to end it, and because he could think of nothing clever and did not want to pour any more sentiment into the missive, he left it without a closing and merely signed his name:

Mr. Severus Snape

They both knew that he was more than Mr. Severus Snape, but somehow it looked charming. He sneered at his own soppy behavior. However, he could not help but hear those syllables in her soft voice. Her father would read it and know to whom his daughter had written. He was considered by his fellow Death Eaters to be a powerful man, not someone to taunt or tease.

He would send the letter back by this owl, and her father would likely intercept it. He spelled it to open to no other but her hand. He placed a safeguard that would let him know when her father read it. He had no doubt the man would, and subsequently, he would know that Severus knew he had read the private correspondence.

He smirked and added a postscript to the letter:

Please give your father my regards.

He folded up the missive and licked the envelope. It was something he never did, but there was something intimate in the act. It was the sort of thing he had watched Lucius do, lick the envelopes before using wax to seal them. He only did it when sending Narcissa messages, usually when she went away to France. Though he dallied with other women, which Severus found repugnant, it was clear that his wife was never far from his thoughts. There was something interesting about mimicking this behavior, Severus mused to himself as he melted the dark green wax he used. Long ago he had recovered the Prince signet ring, and he had used it for some time when sending important correspondences.

He woke the owl with a gentle pet and fed it some roast beef, which it ate delicately before thrusting out his leg for him to attach his reply.

He promptly went upstairs to shower; he had a feeling that he would be receiving a dinner invitation within the hour. He had charmed the window to open for the owl, and he smirked when he entered the den in his formal robes and spotted the animal preening its feathers while perched on the back of his chair.

The parchment was quality, but it was clear that the script on the envelope was not her hand, nor was the smell as he opened the letter with a snick of his letter opener. Her father's crest had been emblazoned on the wax.

Unsurprisingly, the missive was short and contained an invitation to dine with the family this evening. There was no need to reply; a place would be set for him, which meant he was expected to attend. If he did not, word would travel that he had exchanged private letters with an unattached young woman without speaking to her father. It would not reflect well on him. Though none of them could touch him, he did not want to stoke the ire of any pure blood families. The Dark Lord may look away now, but what would happen should he disappoint his notoriously fickle master? Not to mention, he would never hear the end of it from Lucius or Narcissa. The woman may not want the girl in her home, but she thought well of her nonetheless.

Severus looked straightened his cravat and it occurred to him to ask just what he thought he was doing? Was this merely a diversion? Was he toying with the girl's affections? What could he offer her? He had only brought those around him misery. He sighed and his hands trembled on his silken cravat. He didn't deserve her. He was a murderer. No matter how you looked at it, he was tainted. It would be better for her to turn her attentions elsewhere, but the image of her sweet, round face popped into his mind, and he couldn't turn from his course, no matter where it led. He cursed himself not for the first time for being a fool.

Steeling himself, he apparated to Rookwood manor and waited for the house elf to escort him inside.

"I'se is Webby," The little elf bobbed as she led him along the path. He was brought into the the family drawing room, a clear statement of his welcome. He inclined his head to Rookwood Senior, who stood and extended his hand. They shook firmly before Rookwood the younger stepped forward to take his hand as well. Severus looked at the young man's hand skeptically before taking it hesitantly and releasing it quickly. Emma was conspicuously absent.

"Please have a seat," The elder wizards gestured to the leather chair across from his, "Might I offer you a drink?"

Severus nodded his assent, and Webby brought him a glass of the find brandy not unlike the one held by the man seated across from him. He sniffed the liquid and detected nothing but the smell of a very expensive liquor. The elderly man awaited him, politely.

"I must confess, Rookwood," He began.

"Please, call me Alexander," The man bid him in a calm, deep voice.

Severus shifted, "Alexander, it would please me if you were to return the favor and call me Severus," The dark haired wizard replied speculatively. "I am glad that you have so graciously invited me into your home. You see, your daughter has recently sent me a note of thanks. I thought it appropriate to seek an audience." He said with a raise of his brow.

It was clear that the man had not been caught off guard and was well aware of his daughter's disobedience. His words were soft but slightly chiding, "That displeases me greatly. Would you mind if I asked her to join us, Severus?" He asked.

"Of course not, but I do hope it is not me to which you object," He replied sharply.

"Oh, never, Severus, but I did tell the girl that it would be most inappropriate for her to send such a letter when we had not yet spoken of the matter." The older wizard attempted to sooth him. "Please fetch her, Webby." He bid the little elf.

They waited momentarily, and Severus heard the rustle of her skirts as she approached. Webby opened the door, and she thanked the elf sweetly before entering the room. Her dinner costume was typical in taste. It was modest, but fitted. She looked surprised to see him; her eyes grew large and her cheeks pinked. No doubt her father had warned her that they would have a guest and she was to appear at her best, but she had been taken aback by his presence.

"Come, child," Her father bid her. They had all risen as she entered, and she was quite dwarfed by the tall men in the room. She approached her father, and the deep gold of her gown seemed incandescent as the light hit it just so. She was prettier than he remembered, but then, he could see her figure, which had been hidden by her shapeless nightgown. She was curvy and soft and quite petite. Her round, childlike face still bore a faint mark where Dolohove had struck her, a reminder of her foolishness and his good deed. Her hair was pulled up and the ringlets pinned neatly on top of her head.

Alexander took his daughter's hand and turned the girl to face Severus. The men sat while she stood, and it was clear to her that she was being held accountable. She bowed her head and Severus noted that her cheeks had pinked.

It was clear that it pained the man do chide his daughter, but the tall man withdrew his thin hand from his daughter and spoke sternly to her, "Is it true that you corresponded with Severus without my knowing after I specifically forbid you from doing so?" His voice seemed to sting her as she blinked rapidly.

"Yes father," She said softly.

"Are you such a girl as to disobey her father and behave inappropriately with men? You lack discretion, and have shamed yourself and this family through your actions. Severus so gallantly saved you, and you show your thanks by behaving wantonly rather than allowing me to invite him into our home and allow him to become familiar with your father before speaking to you. It is disgraceful. What man would want a woman such as this, whose own father does not trust her?" His eyes were turned toward Severus, and the dark haired wizard could tell that it hurt the man deeply to speak to her in this manner. But this was the formula and had been for too many years to count.

Emma broke into tears. She knelt gracefully at her father's feet and took his hand in hers. Severus was fascinated by the display, lovely in its authenticity. He had borne witness to the exchanges between Draco and his father, but these had been quite different. Daughters were coddled while sons were forced roughly into a mold.

The stern wizard waited, allowing Severus to intercede as was expected.

"Please, Alexander, the girl meant no harm." His deep voice filled the still room, punctuated by the crack of the wood on the fire. "She merely wished to express her gratitude and was a little overzealous in her desire to thank me despite your counsel. I believe it more the product of naivety than willful disobedience." He looked toward the young woman, who had turned toward him as he spoke.

Her face was streaked with tears. He pulled out his handkerchief, stood and stepped toward her. Kneeling, he wiped the tears from her face.

Alexander looked to his daughter, "Emma?" He asked.

The girl nodded, "I'm sorry, Father. I'm sorry Mr. Snape." Her lower lip trembled as her glassy blue eyes met his.

"Severus," He rumbled, "Please, call me Severus." He took her hand and ushered her to the settee where he joined her.