E Pluribus Unum

A/N - Now once more into the angst, dear friends, oncre. re. Thanks Kate for everything, you big beautiful beta you!

Deblovesdragon - You are welcome. I too was thinking a respite might be nice, but now back into it.

Ghaeth - He meant smell in the metaphorical sense. :) Aww, thak you for the lovely compliment.


Chapter 23 – Miss Mangle’s Tale

Severus stood quietly beside Shiv in the darkening night. The winds were going chill as December began to creep onwards. Snow blanketed the ground and the stars were crystal clear pinpoints above them. The smell of wood smoke and pine filled his nostrils, with the tang of his metal mask overlaying it. The heavy Death Eater robes were welcome tonight; the cold was biting and even warming charms were not wholly effective against it.

The small cottage in the woods that they had come to destroy sat in a clearing, surrounded by a garden of surpassing loveliness. Severus concentrated on identifying the plants and flowers that grew around his booted feet rather than thinking about the elderly couple that had planted them. The scholar who lived in that house had made the error of coming across a text that Voldemort required. Her published work referencing the text had drawn his attention to her and now Death Eaters had come to claim that which Voldemort desired.

She might not resist. Severus prayed she didn’t; if she gave it up easily, Bella wouldn’t hurt her, it was part of their orders after all. Her husband, Rodolphus, recently returned to her from Azkaban, also had the power to restrain her when she went blood-crazed, so if the elderly woman didn’t resist, she and her husband could live out their lives in peace, unharmed. Severus begged the gods for mercy.

“Good evening, Severus, Shiv.” The sweet trilling voice that set his teeth on edge came out of the darkness and Severus turned slowly and bowed to Miss Mangle. Shiv cocked his head and his eyes behind the mask crinkled into a smile.

Tonight she was costumed in a red velvet dress with scarlet ribbons criss-crossing the front of it. She wore a red hooded cloak with white fur trim and red leather boots. Little Red Riding Hood, he thought; how…ironic. Are we supposed to be the wolves, Severus wondered; funny since she is more a predator than any of us.

“Miss Mangle.” He was unfailingly polite to her at all times; the last thing he wanted was to offend the creature. Shiv was eyeing her as if she was a sweet he wanted to pop into his mouth, but Severus felt colder when she was near.

“Bella gets to have all the fun.” Miss Mangle pouted prettily at Shiv. Shiv glanced hungrily at the cottage. “I am sure that you two would do a much better job of getting that book than Bella.”

“The Dark Lord commands and we obey.” Severus commented, bringing Shiv’s mind back to his job. Miss Mangle obviously was trying to sow dissent amongst them, though why he didn’t know. Perhaps like the scorpion in the story, it was simply in her nature.

“You are so obedient Severus.” She made it sound like an insult, the way that she swirled the word about in her mouth.

“As you say, Lady.” He responded. A scream startled them, drawing their attention back to the cottage; a man’s voice agonized and terrified.

“They have decided to resist, how delicious.” Miss Mangle leaned forward with an anticipatory air. More screams rent the night, desperate pleas in a feminine voice and the man’s anguished sounds.

“Bella won’t leave anything for us, Severus, come on let’s go play.” Shiv was moving forwards, as if he was being drawn by the scent of terror.

“We were ordered to remain on guard, Shiv.” Severus reminded him, but it was too late, he was off and running to the cottage. As soon as he was inside, Miss Mangle giggled.

“He is so easy, isn’t he Severus? Not like you, you are like iron and he is like clay.” She circled him, her boots crunching the snow around him, her cornflower blue eyes watching him.

“Why did you do that? You are supposed to be the Dark Lord’s ally.” He was impatient with her games.

“I am no one’s ally, Severus Snape.” She stamped her little foot and tossed her golden ringlets; had there not been the underlying sick and twisted feeling in his gut, it would almost have been amusing. As it was, her fury frightened him. “I am a free being and no one tells me what I can and cannot have.”

“I was merely asking why you created a situation where you will inevitably be chastised. Mr. Fenchurch…” He didn’t know why he was having this discussion with her. She was a dark evil, ancient and terrible, but there was something about the little girl she seemed to be that made him wonder about her. If she could appear as anything, why take on the seeming of a child?

“Fenchurch can say whatever he likes, he didn’t make me and I will do as I wish.” Her venomous tone spoke to the fact that all was not well between the three of them.

“You all did make an arrangement with the Dark Lord.” He reminded her, but there was gentleness in his tone and she looked up at him sharply.

“Why do you care? You don’t want to play with me, so it shouldn’t matter to you what I do.” She asked him the question he was asking himself and he had no answers for either of them.

“I don’t know.” He decided to be honest. “Maybe it’s because you look like a little girl, the paternal instinct is roused.” He shrugged. “Perhaps it’s just curiosity; I have never known anyone like you before.” She was watching him closely as he spoke, looking no doubt, for the lie or deception in his words.

“You are always polite and honest with me. Don’t you hate me?” Her voice was suddenly confused, the voice of a child in truth.

“No, I don’t hate you.” The truth of this surprised him. “You scare me sometimes, I don’t understand you, but I don’t hate you.” Miss Mangle slipped a mittened hand into his and stood beside him, leaning her head against his side. It was a pose he could see his future daughters taking. It was innocent and vulnerable and completely out of character for the demon-child he knew that she was.

“My father hated me and so I killed him, Fenchurch came to me then and promised me things, terrible things, wonderful things.\" She paused and looked up at him from under pale lashes. \"I wasn’t always the creature that I am now. I have forgotten a lot, but I was a person once, a long time ago.” Her voice had lost the adult quality that made him shiver in fear. She sounded like the child she seemed.

“I had dreams once -- I remember that.” She looked out at the snowy landscape, there was a deep sorrow in her eyes, and her face seemed so terribly young and vulnerable. “Fenchurch tries to make us forget, Gideon has forgotten all but her anger and grief, but Fenchurch has never known anything but the hunger; there was nothing for him to forget. He tries to be my father, but he was never any good at it.” Her voice had taken on a derisive quality at that last. She looked up at him then and there was something in her eyes, a hunger that had nothing to do with pain and sex. “I wish you had been my father. You would have been good at it.”

His heart twisted in his chest seeing the need in her face. The same need in saw in Draco and Harry, the yearning for family and home, a dream of a place where they were welcome and loved a place where they belonged. And so, for that one moment in time, he allowed her to pretend that she was a human child out in the snow-covered forest with her father. He stood with her, his hand in hers and let a demon dream.