Suspected
Chapter Seven: Under Her Skin
Rita didn't tell Snape about her "incidental" run-in with Mad-Eye Moody. It wasn't out of the interest of keeping her husband in the dark, but the fact that she didn't want to elaborate much further about the anxiety that the ex-Auror installed inside the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher's aide. Rita had faced off with many a strong personality such as Moody's, but not all strong personalities were 'jinx-happy'. Moody posed a particular threat at Hogwarts, not to the students per se—but he was especially paranoid about those whom would try to obscure an innocent gift into a booby trap or lace his hip flask with a dash of aconite. She wondered which one he'd feel satisfied about cursing: Rita or Severus Snape?
It was, after all, Moody's job once upon a time to think as Dark Wizards do. Canonically, he'd be trying to predict Rita's every move. He suspected her of much worse than trying to recruit Death Eaters at Hogwarts—No doubt, he had heard whispers in the wind about her little Dueling Club. It had been suspended last year due to the presence of the Dementors; and no doubt, it would probably be postponed again: Would the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher authorize his assistant with a penchant for the Dark Arts to tutor the students most inclined toward the sport for offensive and defensive magic—No.
The trip to Hogwarts went smoothly as possible with Rita's shoulders stiff and tense as she approached the Black Lake. The Giant Squid and the inhabitants of the Forbidden Forest would have made excellent witnesses for the prosecution if ever Moody wanted to put Rita on trial for practicing the Dark Arts. She had performed some of her greatest feats on the Hogwarts Grounds in the dead of night. She wondered if Dumbledore had an inkling by now of her temptations—Surely, someone would have noticed her grey fingers…
Rita cleared her throat—a shiver traveled up her spine. With her fingers clutched tightly around the handle of her wand in the bed of the pocket of her robes, she glanced over her shoulder…
No one there.
Rita frowned, uttered a mirthless chuckle—All right, Mad-Eye, fine. You're under my skin.
He was. He had put the better part of her friends in Azkaban; both her brother and Bellatrix were in that god forsaken prison because they had been caught—If that had simply vanished, they'd be free. But if Bellatrix Lestrange, a powerful Dark Witch, was warning Rita to watch herself around Moody then perhaps that man was a real threat.
The Evening Feast was a delightful welcome back as the teachers and students took their seats—The Sorting Hat rattled off the names of the new acquires of the Hogwarts Houses. Snape was seated right next to Rita as was the original seating arrangement at the Staff Table; and Rita had greeted the teachers in anxious respect, wary of whom would be seated beside her. However, she was mildly shocked to find that the seat of the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was empty. Rita gave Snape a pointed look, directing his aloof attention to the vacancy on her left. Snape shrugged his shoulders silently. Carelessly, even.
"Don't think something happened to him, do you?" Rita asked, vaguely aware that there was a faint pitch of hope in her voice as she raised her goblet to her thin lips.
"You know better," said Snape. "If anything, he's happened to somebody else."
Rita raised an eyebrow in agreement. She glanced up at the enchanted ceiling to gaze up at the night sky—ordinarily, it would have reflected a line of moon and stars, shining brilliantly against somber clouds. However, the storms had begun to roll in, a rolling thunder penetrating the ambience of excited talk amongst the four student tables. Rita cleared her throat.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a man not normally sitting at the Staff Table. Barty Crouch Sr.
Hmm. Rita frowned at him.
As good of a man that he could claim to be, Barty Crouch Sr. was a man made out of sawdust, steel, and mud: the man barely cracked a smile any time that Rita peered at him; he had a vague sense of humor, always business.
He sent his own son away to Azkaban, Barty Crouch Jr., whom had personally delivered valued information in and out of the Ministry of Magic, one of the Dark Lord's favorite servants. Rumor has it that Crouch's wife had nearly fallen to pieces over the whole ordeal during Igor Karkaroff's wizarding trial; but Rita couldn't know for sure. By that time, Bellatrix had faced her own sentencing hearing, and Rita had joined Severus at Hogwarts to teach.
"Oh, lookie…" Rita growled.
"You've really got to let some of the past go," said Snape, following her gaze. "Not everyone in the Circle was a dear friend of ours."
"Not a dear friend of yours," Rita corrected him, suddenly callous. "I was actually quite fond of most of them. Especially Barty."
"No reason to take it out on his father," said Snape.
"No reason to take it on his son, either," Rita reminded Snape, her eyes falling toward the Gryffindor Table where she spotted Harry Potter and his friends.
Snape gave her a single look that made Rita's face flush. Touchy subject. Rita raised her palm in surrender, silently offering a truce.
When their bellies were filled and their thirst were quenched by the refillable plates and goblets, the feast vanished from the Staff table and the four other tables. Rita hadn't been the only one to realize that there had been more seats at the Staff Table than the previous year; while Dumbledore said nothing, the chit-chatter in the Great Hall escalated as Rita noticed the eyes were pointed at Barty Crouch Sr. and Ludo Bagman.
When Dumbledore got to his feet, as the years before, the Great Hall fell silent.
Only a few professors could silence a room just by presence alone: Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, and (Rita glanced at her husband with a small smirk) Severus Snape. Rita admired Dumbledore, despite her own loyalty to the Dark Lord: for it was known knowledge that Dumbledore was the only wizard that the Dark Lord ever feared.
When Dumbledore spoke, it was always with a calm and gentle manner with an air of diplomacy, even when he was under fire. Rita hoped that one day she could maintain such patience and collection when the time came that Rita would be placed under the microscope…which, considering the current state of her new Professor's mentality, it was this year.
Rita made a mental note that, considering the headlines of The Daily Prophet, some of the shifting eyes at the student table were glancing at her too.
"So!" Dumbledore greeted the room with a friendly smile, "Now that we are all fed and watered, I must ask once more for your attention while I give out a few notices."
He gave the usual discretions: Mr. Filch, the Squib with a sadistic streak in wanting to punish any student who so much as walked the corridors at night, had banned about four-hundred 'prohibited' items; Rita glanced toward the Gryffindor table searching for the Weasley twins. He also gave out the reminder that the Forbidden Forest was out-of-bounds for the students—she felt Snape's hand on hers, tightening his grasp around her fingers almost pointedly.
The Great Hall had remained calm until Dumbledore announced that—"The Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."
Predictably, the students stared up at the Staff table, clearly disappointed and appalled given that the rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor wouldn't be quashed on the Quidditch pitch.
"This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers' time and energy—but I am sure that you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts—"
A rumble interrupted him, and the Great Hall double doors opened wide and Rita's stomach tightened. Standing in the doorway was Mad-Eye Moody, shrouded in a black traveling cloak, looking particularly shifty. While Rita had been accommodated to the man's disfigurement, it took the students by storm, gasping and staring at him, talking in a low voice as Mad-Eye made his way to the Staff Table, approaching Dumbledore first.
It was Rita's turn to squeeze Snape's hand.
Mad-Eye shook Dumbledore's hand, and Rita heard him say, "Nasty business at my home. Arthur Weasley helped sort out all the funny business. Jinxed a few of the garbage bins outside of my home, but honestly, Albus, I could have sworn they were—"
"Doesn't hurt to be a bit cautious, especially nowadays, Alastor," said Dumbledore in return with a small smile.
"Good man," Moody growled unsmilingly, and then he hobbled against the support of his cane around the Staff Table.
He gave Rita and Snape one look without a word. Snape stared straight ahead, wearing the usual scowl on his face whenever the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher entered the Wizarding school; however, Rita met Moody's gaze with veiled contempt. Moody leaned forward, whispered with a disdainful smile, "Oh, is this seat taken?"
"It's yours," Rita remarked, her upper lip curling in disgust.
"That's right," said Mad-Eye Moody, taking his seat beside her. "Don't you be forgetting that now."
Dumbledore interrupted their waspish exchange by announcing to the student body, "May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher? Professor Moody."
Nobody clapped, except Dumbledore and Hagrid. It was unusual for the staff and body not to applaud new teachers. The whispers came forth in hurried voices: while Rita's reputation was wildly known, it was the same for Moody as well. Rita's face burned at the thought of what the students were saying about the cohesion of a respected Auror having a "defected" Death Eater working under him.
Moody didn't acknowledge the indifference, rather he revealed a hip flask from within his robes, observed the pumpkin juice in his goblet very carefully, and Rita couldn't resist muttering within earshot, "Professor, the House Elves wouldn't spike your pumpkin juice…"
"House Elves are loyal to their masters, past or present," said Moody, glancing at her. "I know a particular House Elf who was defected—"
"You think Dobby would spike your juice out of fierce loyalty from the Malfoys—?" Rita said incredulously, however Moody silenced her with a hand and pointed to Dumbledore, for he was about to speak again.
"As I was saying," said Dumbledore, "We are here to honor a hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."
"YOU'RE JOKING!" one of the Weasley twins roared in excitement, included in the sudden uproar of the student body.
Dumbledore chuckled, "I am not joking, Mr. Weasley, though now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a bar…"
McGonagall cleared her throat very loudly.
"But," Dumbledore said with an appreciative smile, "maybe this is not the time. Yes, the Triwizard Tournament. Some of you may not know what the involves, so I hope those who do know will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely…"
Rita glanced at Moody uncomfortably, and she squeezed Snape's hand even harder. There was tension in her stomach, as if she couldn't stop the sucking-gut anxiety that clenched so tightly; it worsened when Rita felt the Dark Mark twinge on her left arm, very aware of the ever-growing power of the Dark Lord. She had half a thought that perhaps Moody had a sixth sense for that sort of thing, and it didn't help to dissuade her when he looked at her suspiciously at the restless movement out of the corner of his swiveling eye.
Dumbledore said, "The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October and remaining with us for the greater part of the year. I know that you will all extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us—"
"Definitely pay a visit to Igor, for certain," Rita heard Mad-Eye mutter under his breath.
Rita frowned, "Karkaroff served his sentence…"
"No," Moody said, unscrewing the cap to his hip-flask, "Karkaroff got off by listing off names of Death Eaters."
Snape, for the first time, turned to Moody pointedly. It was his name after all that Karkaroff had tattled off to earn his reduced sentence.
Dumbledore wrapped up the information dump, "Now it is late, and I know how important it is to you all to be alert—"
"—No doubt," Rita said quietly, glaring at Moody—
"—And rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning. Bedtime! Chop, chop!"
While the students filed out of the Great Hall toward their respective House common rooms, Snape rose to his feet and turned to his wife with an apathetic expression on his face.
"Coming to bed?" he asked, knowing the answer but asking regardless.
"Later," answered Rita gently.
He thumbed the pointed dip of her chin in a subtle public display of affection, owing the many eyes still present within the Great Hall, gave her a knowing smirk (Oh, he'd probably hear something by the end of the night; Rita could be a real shit-starter with her meddling), and he stalked toward the dungeons.
Dumbledore held a hand out to stop Moody and Rita from leaving their seats; and when the Great Hall emptied, he sat back down in his throne-like chair and turned to them seriously.
"I understand the predicament that has been placed on both of you," said Dumbledore. "And Alastor, as much as you distrust anyone, I ask you out of the courtesy of being my employee this year that you'd give a bit of extra trust toward Rita."
"We actually had our little sit down before the start of term," Rita said, surprising herself by the courtesy in her tone. She pushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
"Oh, did you now?" Dumbledore returned slyly. "I know your style, Rita, there is no way that you would have snuck up on Alastor."
"No, he snuck up on me," Rita said, glancing at Moody. "Wanted to clear the air, have a little bit of an understanding before lessons started."
"Alastor?" Dumbledore asked for confirmation.
"It's true," said Moody, uncharacteristically relaxed.
"Another thing to take off the table," said Dumbledore, "is what happened at the Quidditch World Cup. The Dark Mark—"
"Voldemort wouldn't try to attack anyone here at Hogwarts this year," said Moody, "He's too weak."
Rita frowned, as always, at the flappable use of the Dark Lord's name. She tugged at the hem of her left sleeve uneasily, as she felt the Dark Mark singe.
"The students will inquire about Voldemort's possible return—"
"Quit saying His name," Rita breathed irritably, staring at the two wizards in front of her. "Headmaster, if it would ease your burden, perhaps certain measurements should be taken—Professor Lupin used practical lessons to teach the students last year, and they learned more that year than they ever did the previous two years before him with simple textbooks."
"What are you proposing?" asked Dumbledore curiously.
Rita glanced at Moody surreptitiously, but answered him anyway, "Perhaps the Unforgiveable Curses should be taught earlier than their seventh year, Headmaster. With the Dark Lord's possible return, it would simply be negligent not to tell them what they could be facing…in the near future."
"Why, Rita?" asked Moody casually, unscrewing the top of the hip flask, "Are you going to be demonstrating it on them in class or when you're ordered to hunt down Muggleborns?"
"Alastor." Dumbledore chastised.
Moody held up his hands in reconciliation: Yes, he knew that he took it too far, especially in front of the headmaster. Rita's expression on her face was clearly hurt: She was used to receiving the sort of disparaging comments from her students, however it hit differently coming from a colleague. But it didn't hurt because it came from Mad-Eye Moody, ex-Auror renown—It was because Moody's off-the-fly statement actually could be true.
But if it came down to it, Rita would rather have the students introduced to the Curses now knowing what to expect and what it looks like rather than on the battlefield under the knife of an army of Death Eaters.
Moody poured whatever he had in his flask and handed to Rita as a gesture of a temporary truce, and replied, "Rita has a fair point, Albus. I wouldn't have an issue teaching fourth years about the Unforgiveable Curses."
"With one condition…" Dumbledore advised.
The silence that followed was an understanding. Rita nodded, "As long as I'm not the one performing the Curses…I know." Rita took the proffered goblet from Moody and drank from it without considering whatever he had given her; she made a sour look and stared at Moody incredulously. "Professor Moody, you've been drinking whiskey this whole time?"
"Long day," said Moody.
Rita receded, rose to her feet, "Well, if there's nothing left to discuss, I could see myself out."