Suspected

Chapter Five: The Morning News

It had not escaped Snape's notice when his wife had returned to their humble home late in the hours of the night; and he didn't bother turning over in their bed to acknowledge that he felt the mattress shift in weight as she crawled into bed beside him. Since it was close to the first of the semester, he knew that she had made her annual visit to Bellatrix. Last year, she had come home distraught; however, this return had a touch of poison in the air. While he was mildly curious as to why her visit had not ended with her having to be consoled in his arms with conjured roses to comfort her, Snape didn't have the energy to combat with the fact that her visits to Azkaban to abolish her conflicted feelings toward her cold mistress was a seriously bad idea—a proposal he had been making for years. Though, considering the fact that they had learned that her attachment to Madame Lestrange wasn't entirely her own dilemma, Snape had held his tongue for the better part of the summer—He couldn't really have a leg to stand on in the argument: Lily Potter occupied his mind often, and moreso when it was time to return to the school to look Harry Potter in the eyes.

When morning came, Snape found Rita in the kitchen, looking sour: her lips were pursed tightly, which only gave him an inclination that she "wanted" to say something, but she was forcing herself to say nothing. It would usually follow a hot outburst of self-righteousness, combined with her own mixed feelings of the proverbial conflict that roared inside her since both Snape and Rita had tried to turn over a new leaf since the day that the Dark Lord fell.

"Well, aren't we looking pleasant," said Snape, stepping into the living room to announce his presence.

Rita glanced up at him. The sound of a page turning over gave Snape the assumption that his wife had decided to review The Daily Prophet: never a good idea for someone who reviled politics and those who participated in the controversial occupations that came with it.

"Do you know a woman named Bertha Jorkins?" she asked curiously, her tone unaligned with the harsh expression that seemed to distort the beauty in her face.

Snape didn't reply immediately. He racked his brain for the name to match with the face. Bertha Jorkins…

Rita propped herself up on her elbows, leaning on the kitchen countertop expectantly. If she gave him enough time, he'd be able to match the name to the face. It was one of the things that Rita could rely on Snape: a very good memory.

"She went to school with us," said Snape. "A gossip."

"I don't recall who she is," Rita said, almost to herself, glancing down at something that attracted her attention.

"She was in the crowd with Potter and Black," Snape added venomously. When Rita didn't respond, Snape continued, "Blonde, obnoxious. Stuck her nose in other people's business, works at the Ministry of Magic in the Department of Magical Games and Sports—"

Rita made a small grunt—It clicked.

"The gossip," Rita said. "Gryffindor, right?"

"Mm-hm," Snape confirmed her suspicion.

"Ah, well, apparently," said Rita, holding up a copy of the Daily Prophet, "She's gone missing."

"She's on vacation in Albania," said Snape nonchalantly.

"Don't suppose the Ministry's heard from her," said Rita, slightly shaking the Missing Person's article.

"Most people don't contact their workplace when they are on vacation," said Snape.

"Well, the woman's gone missing, according to the paper." Rita said irritably.

"And of course, we believe everything that we read in the paper, don't we?" Snape remarked sarcastically.

Rita frowned, "Well, surely we have to believe some things that are in the paper." She grabbed the newspaper roughly, crunching the edges between her crimson-painted fingernails in a salty grip—Snape stared at her as she rounded the kitchen countertop, turned the page and threw it down onto the coffee table beside his armchair aggressively.

Snape knew why she was growing red in the face. He gazed down at The Daily Prophet to see that the Quidditch World Cup had gone off without a hitch—but it had ended with a macabre, black and white, ominous impression in the sky of the Dark Mark. The snake slithered in and out of the skull's eyes, perched in the night sky. Snape's face paled slightly: Someone had conjured the Dark Mark. Rita nodded,

"A Death Eater did that," she said, pointing at the newspaper. "As you know, only those who follow in the Dark Lord's Circle have the ability to perform Morsmorde. We're trying to stay under the radar—those who haven't been to Azkaban or otherwise have fled without the Ministry's knowing. And somebody went to the Quidditch World Cup and put the Dark Mark in the sky. And that's not the worst part," Rita turned the page to reveal the aftermath of what looked like a party gone wrong. "Muggles were tortured. Luckily none of them were killed; but there were Wizards and Witches there. Draco was there; and he could have been hurt; God knows if any of the students were at the World Cup. And do you know who else was there, Severus?"

Snape realized where her outrage was headed; he held a hand up to her to stop her.

"Lucius Malfoy would not have conjured the Dark Mark; he, as much as anyone else, wants to stay under the radar—"

"As much as he clouts about pure blood," Rita cut him off, "You don't think that he would have tried to frighten Muggleborns into coming back to Hogwarts, to put the Dark Lord's symbol out in the open like that—?"

"No." Snape remarked seriously, staring at her. "I really don't."

"Only a real Death Eater could have conjured it!" Rita said hotly, jabbing at the article with a finger.

"The Dark Lord has followers everywhere in the Wizarding World, not just in Britain. There were Wizards at the internationally acclaimed Quidditch World Cup," returned Snape. "The Ministry of Magic will find them, whomever they are, and hold them responsible." Snape glanced at the article, gave it a quick skimming. "It doesn't seem as if Death Eaters were responsible for the riot at the World Cup, Rita. It could have been reckless teenagers trying to showboat."

"They were masked," said Rita. "Like we used to be."

"It wouldn't be reasonable to walk around, cursing Muggles with their faces exposed, would it?" Snape said.

"Bertha Jorkins, a Ministry f in charge of the Triwizard Tournament, has gone missing; the Dark Mark in the sky—The Triwizard Tournament approaching and one of our students will be chosen as a champion—All these things all at once—"

Snape rose to his feet, "If you are not careful, you are going to start sounding just like Mad-Eye Moody: paranoid, everything is a conspiracy."

"Which doesn't really stop the paranoia, does it?" Rita said. "Of all the people that Dumbledore could have appointed as the Defense Against the Dark Arts, he chooses an Ex-Auror—Someone who has had experience putting people like us away." She paused for a moment, and a thought crossed her mind that made her brow furrow. "Severus…You don't think the Dark Lord would try to attack the school, do you?"

Snape considered her question quietly.

"The Dark Mark is burning; but not as it should if He were trying to summon us," said Snape. "He's still weak, trying to regain His health. It wouldn't be His greatest decision to try to take on the entire Staff at Hogwarts; especially not while Dumbledore is sitting at the Headmaster's seat. The safest place to be for the Muggleborns and alike is Hogwarts." He gave a sigh, patted Rita's shoulder consolingly, "Darling, I know that you are under duress; but it would be wise to keep a level head when we go back to the school."

"Something terrible is going to happen this year, Severus," said Rita lightly. "I can feel it…"