Fides in Culpa
Chapter Ten: Rita's Flight
Her finger made idle, small circles along his bare chest; Rita's head, planted with what seemed to be a permanent smile on her face, rested on her husband's shoulder as he held her in warm embrace. His slow breathing gave her signal that he was drifting off to sleep on the couch; but she'd wake him with periodic feathery kisses along the side of his neck: her quiet appraisal for his performance a couple of hours ago. She had slipped on her bathrobe since, still nude underneath the soft fabric; and Severus had pulled his trousers on, abandoning any attempt to finish the dressing as they had laid back on the couch in afterglow.
His hand wrapped around her stomach, subconsciously tracing the pink scars along her belly with a gentle finger until he stopped, drifting off to sleep. Rita waited for a few minutes, watched the harsh marks of his habitual scowl ebb away into a rather peaceful expression, and she felt the heavy lift of his chest. My faithful husband, she smiled sleepily at him.
In the small moments of the night, she chastised herself for the times that she had snapped at him, lashed out while feeling misunderstood by him; and even when she agonized openly about how she felt that Bellatrix and she could live a happy life together, it hadn't dawned on her until this moment that perhaps her words might have hurt him. In a solemn glance, Rita looked at him through drowsy eyes, a sadness slanting her brows. One would say that we are perfect for each other,Rita thought, gazing at him. Both whom found a love—one more complicated than the next—only to have it torn away, though neither one of them would divulge too much information about why it cut them so deep; a kinship to the Dark Arts that made it so difficult to teeter-totter good and evil, with just barely surviving the first war in order to emerge into the second…
Her eyelids felt heavy, and she was ready to drift into a slumber as warm as slipping into a hot bath, and—
Knock, knock.
Whatever drowsiness that Rita had felt suddenly was suspended by the air of paranoia; Rita's eyes widened in alarm, and she heard her husband's words from a few months back before the Triwizard Tournament had even started— If the Ministry of Magic catches wind that you're out looking for Him so he can teach you the ways of a Sorcerer Supreme, that is tantamount to an uprising! You will be hunted—her stomach flipped hard, and she sat up suddenly, pulling the sash of her robe tightly, flopping off the couch with a quiet thud.
Knock, knock.
"Severus," Rita breathed, a note of panic in her voice as she reached with her injured arm to shake him with excessively unnecessary force— "Severus, honey, wake up!"
He opened his eyes, noticed she was on the floor, and then—
Knock, knock, knock. Louder this time. More urgent.
The sound did the exact same thing to him as it had to Rita, except he rose to his feet—Old habits die hard—grabbed a house robe, and wrapped it around his middle. Severus grabbed Rita pulled her to her feet; and to her surprise, he spoke with impenetrable calm: "Hide in the house, stay hidden.
From outside the house, a voice—stern and stiff— "Professor Snape. Severus," the male's voice addressed him more patiently. Rita didn't outright recognize the speaker, and she glanced at her husband to see if he did. His expression soured, and he mouthed, "Dawlish."
An Auror. Rita grabbed her wand from the end table and turned; however, Severus grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her close to him and hissed at her: "Don't do anything irrational."
She gave the door a hard look and whispered, "I won't if he doesn't."
She placed the tip of her wand and cast a Disillusionment Charm: a sensation as if an egg had cracked open on her head trickled down her face, and a chill covered her arms and legs. Severus stood still in the living room as he watched the translucently-disguised Rita scurry into the kitchen quietly and she clung to the cabinet drawers, able to listen but not to be seen: the charm was strong enough to make her look nearly invisible, though she had never mastered it to the stature of Albus Dumbledore, whom could make himself completely invisible. The charm would hold for a long while, but the effects wouldn't last forever—It would have been nice to have an Invisibility Cloak, Rita thought cynically.
She heard the door handle turn, and then a conversation take place:
"Dawlish," greeted Severus coldly. Who wouldn't be irritated to have a visitor at near 1:00 in the morning?
"Severus," said John Dawlish.
Rita couldn't see him, and she wouldn't risk rising to her feet to get a good look at him: but what she knew of him, she didn't have to see. Dawlish was a very capable Auror whom followed the orders of whomever was in charge. He was not a loyal patron of Dumbledore's, though he was quite skilled in his profession. The man was brisk, tough-looking, and he had short, wiry grey hair.
At the sound of an Auror inside her home, Rita's lips turned into a very thin line, construed by a spur of misplaced anger. It had been a long time since she had been caught in a compromising position—Once more in hiding from Aurors as her husband dealt with the flash fire of being related to her. Her stomach turned, remembering Frank Longbottom's incidental firing on her family before Severus; and her fingers clenched tightly around the handle of her wand. If Dawlish tried to hurt Severus…
"The Ministry of Magic is aware of your wife's Dark reputation, and her, uh, tendencies." said Dawlish. Humph, straight to point. "The Minister of Magic has tasked me with capturing Rita Dolohov—"
"She hasn't been Rita Dolohov in fourteen years," said Snape; and although his voice was monotonous, his words held a certain bite that made Rita smile to herself as she listened to them speak. "Capturing Rita refers to the assumption that she is an active service as a Death Eater. Does this mean that Cornelius Fudge believes the so-called lies and fibs of Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter? I was under the impression, this entire time, that my wife was a missing person. We seem to be having a lot those recently, isn't that right, Dawlish?"
The silence that followed—Well done, Severus—gave Rita an image of John Dawlish standing there, considering his response.
"As her husband, I will take your inquisition as a way of communicating concern, Severus." Dawlish replied.
"It makes sense to think that Rita—if she were in trouble—would retreat to a place that she felt most safe. It would be my home, wouldn't it?"
"Yes," said Dawlish. "That is why I am here."
"She's a very clever witch, Dawlish; you know better than that. Any common law enforcer would know that a criminal would retreat to a place where they are most comfortable. So do the criminals."
"The average married woman would look to her husband for help at the first sign of trouble," Dawlish answered confidently.
"She isn't an average Dark Witch, is she, Dawlish?" Snape returned.
Rita smirked to herself, hearing his sardonic notch in his tone. Though, Dawlish did have a point.
"The Ministry of Magic offers their apologies, but it is prudent that I must search your home for her. We know that she's quite capable of masking herself with Dark Magic. Unless you know where she would be at this late hour, if she isn't home." Rita heard Dawlish's voice as if he were looking about the living room, accusatory even.
"I'm concerned for her safety and curious as to her whereabouts as the Ministry could be," said Severus, and Rita couldn't deny that she was surprised how convincing he sounded. The very most important rule about being a criminal is admitting what you can't deny and deny what you can't admit. There was truth to his words. She felt touched. "But I haven't seen her since the last of October."
"Really." Dawlish said skeptically. "She hasn't tried to contact you for the last eight months? Even during all the, uh, rumors roaming around about the possibility of Lord Voldemort's return—" Rita flinched at the sound of the name, and she wondered if Severus did as well.
"In our line of work," Severus answered him flatly, "Rumors run rampant. But if you must invade my privacy on Fudge's orders, by all means"—he practically spat the phrase— "Have a look around."
Rita kept her wand close to her, gripping the handle tightly as she cowered against the cabinet doors. She heard Dawlish's footsteps, knowing them because her husband's footsteps were cat-like, soft; Dawlish was heavy-footed. He wore boots. Rita saw Dawlish stride into the kitchen, a few feet away from her. Dawlish, the same appearance as she remembered him before, withdrew his wand from his robes. Does he know?
Under the cloak of the chameleon-like charm, Rita knew that if she moved an inch, he'd be able to see her. Aurors and their extensive training; not unlike Mad-Eye Moody's suspicious and alert quirks (Barty Crouch Jr. had mimicked that so well). She raised her wand, steadying her breathing. Dawlish looked down, straight through her.
"She was employed at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," said Dawlish. "Then, out of nowhere, she abandoned her post. Do you know why?"
"At the time, my wife was working under whom she believed to be a renown Auror, Alastor Moody," said Snape seriously. "Barty Crouch Jr. imitated him very well, down to his suspicious personality; you could understand why she might have felt threatened or unwanted as his assistant in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. He didn't exactly hide it."
"She fled, then." Dawlish said.
"Wouldn't you if you had to look over your shoulder in fear that your boss would try to implicate you in every single unfortunate situation that happened in your line of work?" Snape said sarcastically.
Rita suppressed a small laugh.
Dawlish didn't answer him, though with the incline of his head, Rita imagined that he had given Severus an expression which translated to agreement. Rita could understand that in Snape's position. It was a common thing to happen in Hogwarts—How quick the students were to believe the Draco Malfoy had been the heir of Slytherin when the Chamber was opened.
"We've been thorough," Dawlish said, as it to placate Snape's cynical mood. "Earlier tonight, I and several Aurors took a visit to Azkaban, inspected the cells of the inmates there, just in case Rita decided to take a page out of Barty Crouch's book."
Dawlish continued, and it no longer sounded like a house call. He was interrogating Severus. "The Dementors noted to Fudge that Rita has visited Bellatrix Lestrange annually, sometimes more than once within a year. It isn't uncommon knowledge that she and Lestrange ran around together back in the dark days. Do you know, if any, information about what Rita might have been telling her? That mad woman refused to say anything—"
Rita felt a swell of pride and loyalty, a triumphant smirk etching deeply into her face. Bella had refused to admit that Rita had said anything about the Dark Mark, about trying to find the Dark Lord, about anything that they might have discussed in the last fourteen years.
"Her brother," continued Dawlish, "You know Antonin Dolohov, he refused to answer. Even when it was offered to lessen their sentences. And we were under the impression that their relationship—Dolohov and Rita—was strained. Which is why I've come to you."
"If her brother and Bellatrix Lestrange aren't aware of her extracurricular activities, how would I know?" said Snape.
"They very well might be aware," said Dawlish impishly. "They just won't say."
"Then you've wasted your time and mine," said Snape, "because I am not aware."
Dawlish cleared his throat, "I won't expect to hear from you, if she does happen to call on you; marriage is a sacred thing. However, I will inform you that if you harbor a fugitive—"
Rita raised an eyebrow. It sank in. So, the Ministry of Magic didn't consider her as a missing person anymore. The Ministry—whether or not they believed He was back—had deemed her as a co-conspirator, or an active member of the Dark Lord's regime. The Daily Prophet wrote article after article about how they dismissed any claims whatsoever that the Dark Lord had returned; but Dawlish, the dog, must have given it some thought. She was a fugitive of the law, an active Death Eater working against the Ministry, working against Dumbledore. Severus could get into deep trouble for harboring her.
"I am well aware of the Wizarding by-laws," said Severus.
Dawlish made to speak, but—to Rita's horror—she felt the familiar effect of a warm cloak pulling over her head, and realized that Dawlish was staring straight at her, draped in her robe, crouched by the cabinet doors, wand pointed directly at him. The Disillusionment Charm had worn off:
"You—!" Dawlish raised his wand at her—
Rita sputtered, "C-Confundus…"
Dawlish stood there, as if the lights had gone out in his brain, looking as if he were pleasantly daydreaming. Rita struggled to her feet, confused. The Confundus Charm confuses people…It doesn't make them look as if they were under the… She furrowed her brow, placed her hand underneath Dawlish's chin, and lowered his head to see his eyes. Then she gave an amused, breathless laugh, understanding what happened.
Turning, Rita saw that Snape had drawn his wand in their direction. Severus had used the Imperius Curse on an Auror…
"Severus…" Rita said quietly, though her voice wouldn't disrupt the spell, staring impressively in her husband's direction.
"It's dangerous for you to stay here," Snape said, oddly formal. "You must go…"
Rita side-stepped Dawlish, who dazedly gazed out the kitchen window and approached Severus. Had they not enjoyed a rousing night of passion already and if their lives weren't at stake between the Dark Lord and the Ministry of Magic, Rita would have easily inclined to sleep with him (again), for his wand pointed at the Auror combined with the serious expression on his face made her feel...
"Safe." Rita said.
"Whether you feel safe here or not," said Snape, "I can't protect you here."
"You don't have to," said Rita sweetly, "But you are right. I don't want them to suspect you—"
"They won't."
"What makes you so certain?"
"Trust me." Snape said.
He didn't give her any reason why she couldn't, so Rita dressed as quickly as possible, abandoning her bloody clothes—Dawlish didn't look too hard, considering her bloody shirt and torn robe had been discarded on the coat rack and the floor—and grabbed something out of the bedroom. When she came back downstairs, Dawlish was staring at his hands. Snape must have lifted the Imperius Curse, but Rita's Confundus Charm had been more severe than what she had intended. He was talking to himself now.
"How long do you think it'll take to wear off?" Rita asked.
"I'll send him on his way when you clear an adequate radius; he can figure out why he's roaming around Cokeworth when he comes to. I frankly don't give a damn," said Snape. "Never liked him," he added to Rita's inquisitive glance.
Rita nodded. She leaned in and kissed her husband on the lips—the sweetest of inhales between the both of him, quickly passed as the kiss itself.
"Stay hidden," Severus told her. He's worried.
"I will," Rita said softly.
Then she stepped out the door and Disapparated.