Brewing

She was eight years old when it happened. Eight years old, not yet physically aged enough to cope with the level of pain she experienced and nowhere near mentally developed enough to understand the emotions that coursed through her small being.

She knew that she was scared. Very, very scared. And she was angry. Her small hands had balled into fists, and she hit his back with all of her strength, kicking her legs-- the legs that he was in between. She screamed, and she cried, and she bled. From the scratches, from the bites, from the intrusion. She bled.

"Elly, it's okay. You can trust me," he had told her, but it came out in a growl and only served to frighten the child more. She didn't like this. Not any of it. Not the feeling of being completely covered, inside and out by this man. Not the feeling of complete betrayal she was feeling. Not the sound of her nickname rolling off of his twisted tongue. She didn't like it.

Leaning over her, the man breathed deeply, taking in her scent and grinning at the absolute terror that he could distinguish with ease. Large tears fell from her wide, light eyes, and she could hear a distant, shrill cry, blood- curdling screams of, "Daddy! Daddy, help me! Daddy, please!" It was only when the man above her brought his palm across her face in a dizzying slap, scratching her face with long, dirty nails as he went, that she realized the scream had been her own.

The small girl stopped yelling after that, letting out hiccupping sobs instead as she felt her body being torn apart from the inside.

As her hope began to dissipate and she started to accept the fact that her father was not going to rescue her from this monster any time soon, the door to her bedroom swung open, and a loud hiss of, "Stupefy!" met her ears.

The large male body was thrown from her, hitting the wall opposite the bed with a loud thud and a sickening crack from where a skull hit concrete.

Still whimpering on the bed, the young girl looked up through bleary eyes to see a familiar black- clad figure pacing toward her. She sniffed and shied away from his outstretched hands, scrambling into the corner of the bed and digging her teeth into her bottom lip when pain shot through her body from the effort. The new arrival sighed, flipping long hair out of his dark eyes but continued to move forward slowly.

She was still scared, though. Even if he had gotten the other man away, how could she trust him? The monster had been one of her father's friends, and so was this younger male. He could easily have the same intentions. He might want to hurt her, too.

"Elya," he spoke lowly, stopping at the edge of the bed. "Elya, I am not going to hurt you."

His face, though it should have showed concern, remained impassive, no emotion whatsoever, as per usual.

She eyed him, her frame still shaking, and swallowed hard before managing a hoarse, "Promise?"

The man's proud stance deflated just a bit as he exhaled heavily. "Yes, I promise," he assured her, holding his arms out and bending forward just a tad to scoop the girl up.

She was light in his arms, trembling as if cold, and he walked to the door in long strides, trying to quell his mounting anger.

There was no one along the walk to the bathroom, no one in that wing of the house entirely. The raven- haired man knew for a fact that everybody at the meeting were all in one of the many sitting rooms of the manor, downstairs and on the other side of the property. It was where he was supposed to be, but once Greyback left, claiming he needed a drink, and didn't return for ten minutes, he decided to investigate, having never trusted the half- breed, and obviously with good reason.

In the washroom, the young man set little Elya on the counter and turned a knob by the sink to run the warm water. He shoved his dark sleeves up to his elbows, revealing the marking on his left forearm so that Elya's eyes focused on it.

After summoning a washcloth, he soaked it in the water and gently dabbed at the scratches and bite marks that now marred the girl's body. All were healed perfectly save for one particularly nasty gash on her inner thigh. The man couldn't tell whether it had been the product of Greyback's fangs or his nasty razor- sharp nails. What he did know was that it would scar.

That was when his facial expression changed for the first time that night, realization striking him. He looked worriedly at the young girl in front of him then asked as calmly as he could, "Did he bite you, Elya? Did he bite you on your leg?"

She sniffed, beginning to shake violently again. "I- I don't know. He bit me a- a lot." She hiccupped then began crying outwardly, shoulders slumping as the pain in her body seemed to overwhelm her.

Growling low in his throat, the man hauled her off of the counter and held her at his hip, one arm around her back as he strode from the bathroom and down the stairs quickly. He had to alert Nicolai of the situation.

The walk was uncomfortably long for him to be carrying a weeping eight- year- old, and the man had to wonder why the men he associated himself with insisted on buying these large houses. Through hallways and various rooms, he walked at a brisk pace and flexed his free hand. He had always known that some of these people were sick, but this... He had never fully expected this. Murder was one thing. The rape of a helpless child was another.

Upon entering the sitting room, twelve heads turned to him, all of their faces displaying looks of confusion.

"Severus, bloody hell, what are you doing with Elya?" Nicolai was the first to speak, standing up and basically running to snatch his daughter from the younger male.

"May we speak in private?" The black- eyed man requested, hinting at nothing as he stared at the master of the house.

"I- What? Yes, of course," he stuttered, losing the calm, arrogant demeanor that he always carried around for once and murmuring something to his daughter before passing her to a sneering Lucius Malfoy.

The two exited the room, standing just outside the door so that Severus cast a wandless Muffliato then began to speak. "Mister Vavilov, I regret to inform you that I've just discovered your daughter trapped underneath our dearest Fenrir." He watched the light leave his elder's eyes, Nicolai's lips pressing into a thin line as he clenched his fists.

"Underneath?"

The younger man simply nodding, knowing that his expression told the father all he needed to know. "She has been scratched and bitten, though I don't know to what extent."

A deep breath was expelled, and Vavilov raised both hands to pull at his own hair, the color draining from his face as he thought of his youngest being desecrated in such a way. He could feel bile rising in his throat and turned away just in time to vomit next to a fake plant.

Severus said nothing and cast a simple cleaning charm, then continued. "If I may suggest St. Mungo's-- I have cleaned and healed all of her wounds save for one on her thigh that I believe needs extra attention."

Nicolai was overwhelmed, his eyes unfocused as he nodded, absent of any real thought.

"Wh- where is Greyback?" He finally asked, and the younger of the two could see the veins in his arms and neck pulsing against his skin.

"Still unconscious in her room, I imagine," he answered monotonously. He could see the fury building in the other man and was quick to remind him, "Sir, we have plenty of time to punish the mutt. Elya should be your first priority."

"Don't talk to me like you know what I'm thinking, Snape!" He snapped.

Severus felt his eyes narrow, lip curling upward, but he forced out a believable, "Forgive me."

Breathing deeply, Nicolai commanded, "You take Elya, apparate to Mungo's, and take Narcissa. She's good at calming her. I will meet all of you there shortly."

He left no room for discussion, quickly turning and walking in the direction of the wing Severus had previously come from.

Sighing, he did away with the Muffliato charm and stepped back into the sitting room, looking to Narcissa Malfoy and saying, "Nicolai has requested you accompany young Elya and myself to St. Mungo's."

The blonde was bewildered but didn't dare question him, simply taking the girl from her husband and walking toward the raven-haired man.

Severus, looking at each and every person in the room, cleared his throat, then announced, "I believe this meeting has come to a close," before grasping Narcissa's arm and leaving the property with a resounding crack.

Hours later found the black- eyed man sitting casually at the side of Elya's hospital bed, the young girl exhausted from being poked so many times and forced to retell the story of her destruction. It would take days before she could start showing signs of Lycanthropy, but the medi-witches had already forced several potions down her throat in hopes of it fighting off any of the poison Greyback may have infected her with. The wound on her thigh had been healed entirely, but it would scar, red and slightly raised from the rest of her skin.

Snape said nothing. He did nothing, just sat and stared at the wall in front of him with a blank look on his face. Nicolai still hadn't arrived, and it bothered the young man. It was his daughter, after all.

A soft voice roused him from his brooding, and he turned slightly to see Elya shifting under a mess of her own thick, dark hair. "'Sev," she mumbled, reaching toward him with a pale hand. When she had shortened his name like this on other occasions, he corrected her sternly, but he couldn't bring himself to this time, not after the ordeal she had just gone through. "Sev, are you still here?"

She was barely awake and sighed beneath the white sheets. Narcissa had left for food a few minutes ago, after soothing the child into what both she and Severus had thought was a light sleep.

Fighting not to roll his eyes at the girl's need for physical comfort, Severus placed a large hand over hers and assured her, "I am."

She hummed quietly, pressing her head further into her pillow. "Stay with me."

He answered a little absent- mindedly, "I will," trying to ignore the slight ache in his chest.

"Promise, Sev?"

He turned toward her, now, grimacing as he tried to imagine what she had to have been feeling, what she would continue feeling. The girl was tainted, now, old enough to know that what had happened wasn't right but too young to realize how wrong it truly was. Her life, as dark as it was already mapped out to be due to her father's role as a Death Eater, had taken another sick turn, and for the first time in years, Severus Snape felt something akin to sympathy.

"I promise I'll stay."