Fides in Culpa

Chapter Eight: A Fondness for Dark Creatures

Returning to Spinner's End, Rita didn't feel any conscience abandoning her post with Greyback. His recklessness, lack of impulse control, and his blood lust for the last 14 days had been irreparable to the two towns that they had stumbled upon in their hunt for some fresh blood for the Dark Lord's army; and for all good that it had done, Rita and Greyback's Pack of werewolf cubs had either come out injured like the last raid, or their noises had roused the entire villages. Rita's conscience was clear; she had done what the Dark Lord asked. And whether or not he approved of what she had to report to Him, another while longer in Greyback's company and she knew she'd rather curse the beast rather than work with him. Though, as Rita stepped up to the front door of her home, she had an inkling of how she might have been the brunt of Snape's anger and irritation, along with several others due to her tactlessness and her own lack of restraint.

When the Dark Lord called for her next, it would be a Darker creature to mitigate—probably not Dementors, Rita thought with a shudder, probably something like vampires next. Hags. Acromantulas. All the nasty ones. She wasn't in a rush to recruit the former, nor the rest that followed. Vampires were particularly nasty, owing to the fact that speaking to them face-to-face proved difficult due to the glaring fact that Rita would appear as a juicy piece of meat rather than a Dark Witch. Hags would be easier, only to entice one would mean to feed the ugly witches a small child.

And after dealing with a predator like Greyback, Rita wasn't in any mood to hand over children; working with the five werewolf cubs—Muggle or Wizard—hadn't improved Rita's opinion about him. All they knew was carnage: not love, not friendship, no education, not anything that a child should know before being turned into a beast.

Rita closed the door behind her. She wasn't surprised to see Snape sitting in his armchair, reading the Daily Prophet in his lap. His initial expression was a pleasant smile that reached his eyes; however, it disappeared when Rita felt his eyes fall to her injuries. He frowned, slowly moving the Daily Prophet onto the end table. Rita crossed the room and set a hand on his shoulder to stop him from getting to his feet.

"I'm fine, Darling," she said softly. "This wasn't Greyback."

That must have been his first judgement, for he somewhat relaxed, leaning back into his armchair. From the same hand that kept him in his chair, Snape stopped her from removing it and quickly surmised the healing gash on her left arm. Though he had a gentle touch, Rita winced during his observation. He would be naturally more protective; incidentally, it wouldn't be the first time that Rita had put herself right in the middle of a werewolf's maul. Only two years ago did Rita involve herself between a vicious fight between Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, though they had been in their alter selves—respectively, and she had received deep lacerations from Lupin.

He rose to his feet, and Rita anticipated a lecture about being careful or perhaps being impulsive herself; however she was genuinely relieved when he wrapped her in a sweet embrace, saying nothing. She didn't have to hear him say it; she missed him too. Especially after seeing the Murtlap, and speaking about her husband to people who didn't know him. She had felt incredibly homesick, and it was pleasant that he seemed to have missed her company. Rita returned the hug, her arms around his waist.

She inhaled his scent, a brief hint of something leather—like the leather-bound books on his shelves—a whisper of fine gin—and something that hinted the use of an open flame—Brewing potions again. She wondered if he had made a secret Wolfsbane Potion in the case that Greyback had decided to go against the Dark Lord's orders; though it wouldn't seem like something her husband would do. Although he detested the beast, Snape knew that Greyback would have to pay a hefty price for turning a Death Eater into a werewolf. Tainting the blood, the Dark Lord had called it before. As dangerous and disgusting as Wizards mating with Muggles, He had said.

"You'd be pleased with me," said Rita coyly.

"Because…?" said Snape.

"I saw a Murtlap recently," said Rita.

She felt his chin move on the top of her head, as if to look at her. Rita made a small chuckle, answering his silent question, "You know, I did listen to you as well when you were preoccupied in the Potions Classroom. Not just the ramblings of a professor."

"If only some of the students paid as much attention," said Snape dryly, though she heard the smile despite his tone. "What else did you learn in your outing?"

"Muggles are shooting silver bullets," volunteered Rita.

To this, Snape held her at arm's length, staring as if to determine if she were jesting. However, Rita nodded and indicated her ripped pant leg, where she had performed the healing spell; a faded red line where it had been administered brutishly was shining, but it was healing regardless. He gave a small impatient sigh, and he headed for the kitchen where he opened the freezer and withdrew a vial. Rita sat down on the couch as she heard his quiet movements behind her.

When Snape returned to the living room, he handed it to her.

"You'd have been better off using the Murtlap on both your arm and that," he said. "Episkey is for small injuries."

"It was small." Rita said.

"By the size, not so much," said Snape. As Rita administered the Murtlap Essence over the wound on her arm and calf muscle, Snape continued to speak, "Silver bullets don't harm werewolves. It's an urban legend."

"Forgive the Muggles, Severus," said Rita jokingly, "They know not what they do. If you want to help them, I'm not sure that coming up to their door and explaining how you know this will help matters. I expect they will keep their doors locked. Do you know that Muggles in rural towns keep them unlocked all night? It's quite unusual and unsafe."

"It's not uncommon," said Snape.

Rita sometimes forgot that he, Severus Snape, was a half-blood. His mother had been a witch, and for all intents and purposes, his father had been a Muggle. She pondered his statement curiously, but shrugged at nothing to be done about the urban legend.

"Greyback turned three Muggles into werewolves," said Rita. "Two of the cubs he had, they were Magical; not the other three, though."

"That's reckless." Snape said.

"It's useless," said Rita. "I understand that we're searching for quantity, but perhaps quality should be considered as well. We barely tolerate Greyback because he's a werewolf; but the beast is a Wizard by blood purity standards. Could you imagine storming into a war with werewolves whom, in their human form, could only throw a rock in their defense. Though," she added, remembering the Muggle that Greyback had lost family to, "some of them are spectacularly armed."

"The Dark Lord won't stop at werewolves," said Snape. "He wants every Dark Creature that will respond to his call."

"Right," said Rita. "Vampires and the rest of them. Hard to convince werewolves and vampires to work together."

"It can be done if the Dark Lord wills it."

"He can will it all He wants to," said Rita. "That doesn't mean it will happen cordially. They'll fight the moment He turns his back. We'll lose numbers that way."

Snape scoffed.

Rita objected, "What?"

He took the empty vial out of her outstretched hand and placed it on the table.

"Listen to you, discussing matters as if you were one of His generals," Snape said, a note of amusement and something dark in his voice.

Well, wasn't she? Rita gave a half-shrug in response to his statement, though she'd like to think that in the Dark Lord's ranking of officers, she was higher on the totem pole than Greyback and his foot soldiers. No doubt, Bella and Severus were in the top three of the Dark Lord's reliable servants; and she hoped she toted higher than Lucius Malfoy, whose own contribution to the Dark Lord's climb to power thus far was that he was there in the graveyard. She wondered what usefulness he had proved.

Snape's comment, however noted with pleasantries and a general whisper of a compliment, irked the corners of Rita's mind. She uttered a delayed, dry laugh, and bit the inside of her cheek to dispel any abhorrent temper that would creep up. She had just come home, and she didn't want to start an argument.

"I like to think," said Rita slowly, "that the Dark Lord could see me as something other than a recruiting officer. I'm much more qualified than that."

"Considering that you think so highly of yourself," and Rita caught the cynical note in his low, calculating voice, "that is probably why the Dark Lord sent you after him."

"Why, again?" Rita said bitterly.

"To put you in your place." Snape said flatly. "To remind you that you are still a student—a servant—not His sitting council."

Another empty laugh, harder to convince him that she wasn't at all annoyed, escaped her; though, her husband had made a point that she didn't like but had to agree. She pursed her lips grimly and dropped her gaze, her eyes finding her hands with considerate thought.

Bellatrix had described her role in the Dark Lord's army as one of his top three generals, that returning to his side immediately would have given her such a position that Rita could feel confident that the Dark Lord could reign her at His side. Yet, the Dark Lord had shown his disapproval not once but perhaps thrice—the first, when he had strangled her to damn near unconsciousness; the second, when Rita had been suspended against the fireplace; and the third, to prowl with werewolves in order to recruit foot soldiers. All for sleeping with a werewolf? For teaching Mudbloods? For never searching for Him? Because she advised the Dark Lord to send out his acolytes to kill Harry Potter than He do it Himself? No, Rita decided, for my hubris.

Severus must have picked up on his wife's sudden change of deposition, for he took one of her hands in his to pull away her dissociative leer and said calmly, "If it isn't to put you in your place, it is because you have a rapport with Dark creatures; and He knows it."

"Such as?" Rita asked, deflated.

"Not anyone can spend that much time with a person like Greyback and not come so close to cursing him within a few hours. Your choice in Animagus, knowledge and amicable interest in Dark Creatures perhaps, in the Dark Lord's mind, makes you the right Death Eater to recruit them. Had you not been so high-strung to hang onto the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, I'd have wondered if you wouldn't have fared well in Care of Magical Creatures."

"I've got no interest in caring for Blast-ended Skrewts," said Rita with a small smile.

"But you did have an interest in owning a Chupacabra—"

"They make loyal pets," Rita said loudly.

"They consume blood—"

"Not mine," Rita remarked.

Snape patted her hand patronizingly, "Well, I assure you that the next time I see a many-eyed, spiked lizard with five legs and one very needle-like tongue, I'll make sure to capture it so you can keep it as a pet. Though, if you wanted a loyal pet, a cat would suffice."

"Why, I have you," said Rita coquettishly, and she raised a finger to stroke his jaw; however, Snape caught her by the wrist. She was surprised by his sudden movement, not afraid. He lowered her hand, shaking his head,

"I am not your loyal pet," Snape said in a low voice. "I am your husband."

There was a certain defiance in his voice that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She had wondered when he would assert where he stood in the chaotic triangle Rita had weaved, especially when the very strong possibility of Rita heading to Azkaban to not only recruit the Dementors but to break out their comrades whom had spent the last fourteen years languishing in the Wizard prison was coming about. With the only thing in her heart being consistent was the inconsistent bouncing back between Bella and Severus throughout the years, she had wondered if a part of him had become territorial: Had he outgrown his passive acceptance that Rita was not entirely his, just like Lily Potter would always fester in her mind that his heart still belonged to another?

Rita had a fondness for Dark Creatures, that much was true—despite being afraid of them—and perhaps it didn't just extend to Chupacabras or werewolves, but people as well. Bella had always made sure to remind Rita exactly how dangerous and powerful that she was when Rita failed to remember; and it seemed that Severus, in all his years as a teacher and being at Dumbledore's side, might needed to remind Rita that he was the Dark Lord's right hand—just as dangerous.

It was when he had spoken those words that she felt the familiar strain of goosebumps stipple the flesh of her arms, the danger in his voice that she only ever heard him use toward others.

"Is it your turn to 'put me in my place'?" Rita asked with a smirk tugging the corner of her lips.