Suspected
Chapter Eleven: A Lesson in War
While his flanking cronies had spent the better part of the evening in the Slytherin Common Room with what Rita could only assume had been food and drink snuck into their dormitories from the Evening Feast (and probably meddling with stolen mementos from the First-Year students), Rita closed the door to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and turned on her heel to see a very grumpy Draco Malfoy staring back at her. It was best for him to serve his detention as soon as possible, if not to suffer the glowing wrath of one very self-righteous Narcissa Malfoy and her equivalently biased husband; they'd sooner or later would hear about how their son had been injured a second time at the hands of a new Professor in two years, whether or not he deserved it.
Rita didn't think he deserved it this time—though she still did disapprove of Malfoy throwing spells around as if there were no real consequences at Hogwarts, gloating about the dark deeds his father had done as leverage.
"Draco," began Rita calmly, "I know that you don't want to be here, but this is where we are. Do you think you can't be touched?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Talking about your own entitlement," said Rita, stepping toward him. "During the Quidditch World Cup, what happened that day, I imagine there wasn't a single part of you that was afraid of getting hurt, hm?"
"I'm not a Mudblood," said Malfoy casually, as if that settled it.
"But you are the son of a very famous Death Eater and those who came before him, aren't you?" said Rita. Then quietly, she added, "You think that because you and I are fighting on the Dark side of the war that there is no possible danger for us, hm?"
Malfoy didn't say anything.
Rita clicked her tongue pensively. "The survivors get to tell their stories, Draco, and we survive by knowing both offense and defense. Now if your parents wanted you to simply learn the Dark Arts, they'd have put you in Durmstrang to learn under Headmaster Karkaroff instead of Dumbledore—"
"They would have if Mother hadn't—"
"I'm sorry that your mother wanted you to stay close to home," said Rita sarcastically. "And I know how much you resent Dumbledore, though I'm sure it's because, like your father, it's because the headmaster admits Muggleborns as part of the student body. Though, I should note that Hermione Granger, a Mudblood, has scored higher marks in her classes than you; and that should tell you something about blood purity."
"You're adept in Potions and a fair flyer in Quidditch," said Rita, "and these are decent skills as a Wizard but they won't help you in the middle of a duel unless someone gives you a friendly time-out—"
"Ms. Rita, you don't have to lecture me," said Malfoy. "Father was right, I would have served well at Durmstrang."
"You must understand something about that school that you might not understand here: They teach the Unforgiveable Curses, not just in theory. Rumor has it that they practice on each other"—she shrugged curiously— "but I imagine that the teachers just take turns using it on the students—"
"Oh, please," Malfoy dismissed her. "That's a lie; the Ministry of Magic wouldn't allow—"
"The Ministry of Magic has no jurisdiction in Bulgaria," said Rita seriously. "They run their country as they see prudent, as Cornelius Fudge runs ours. But there's no real way of knowing how they teach at Durmstrang, you're right about that. But here's what I do know, Draco. Should the Dark Lord ever find someone lacking, you can bet your entire family inheritance that He wouldn't have someone come off the street to teach you His lesson, do you hear me? And He wouldn't do it himself; He'd consider that beneath him, unless it was someone in His Inner Circle. He'd have one of us do it. I have seen it," said Rita gravely, leaning into Malfoy warningly.
For the first time, Malfoy's flickered in fear.
"Yes," Rita nodded. "He's one of the greatest sorcerers in the world; incredibly powerful with a brilliant mind. If you go to Him with an agenda, he'll know. You have intentions of serving Him when He comes to power, and I more than understand the lull of the Dark Arts, but you must understand certain requirements that Dark Lord demands—"
"You're trying to scare me." Malfoy said.
"Is it working?" Rita said firmly, but there was a trace of fearful concern on her face. "Because I want you to know exactly what you're bragging about when you're spewing your idealistic family ideology at first year Mudbloods—Muggleborns—in the middle of the corridors, wearing a smug look on your face like—"
"I didn't do anything wrong," Malfoy said irritably.
Rita said, "Honey, I know that; but you really can't explain yourself in the middle of a duel, and considering both our backgrounds, no person working in the Order or the Ministry would want to hear it. There is a reason I'm paranoid, Draco; because people know who trained me—your aunt. They know whom I serve—her master as is my own. They'd want to sneak up on me to take me out instead of dueling me, so Defense Against the Dark Arts is one of the best survival tools that I have in my arsenal."
Malfoy stared at her, "This is part of a lesson?"
"Draco…" Rita gave a small sigh out of impatience and stepped away from him. "We might have some disdain for each other—whether it's because I think you are an arrogant little brat and you think I'm some kind of turncoat hiding behind a self-righteous shield—That won't matter in the end. Not really. When the Dark Lord comes, it will be a reckoning; and you and I will be fighting the very same people that we see at school every day."
Rita sat down at the teacher's desk, mildly satisfied that she had sound-proofed the classroom, lest Mad-Eye Moody or anyone would eavesdrop anything that they had to say. She gestured for Malfoy to come sit in front of the desk; but he didn't move.
"Fine, stand if you want. I'm having a drink. You're welcome to have one too, if you'd like," said Rita, placing a bottle on wine on the desk and conjuring a glass in her hand.
Malfoy remained rooted until he saw that Rita was simply pouring wine into a glass. He was hesitant, slightly distrusting the apathetic lure of the teacher's aide having a glass of wine in the middle of the classroom; but she glanced at him expectantly, hovering the throat of the bottle above a second empty glass, waiting for an answer.
Malfoy strode over to her and sat down in a chair parked in front of the teacher's desk. Silence filled the air except for the sound of a light pour.
"Does your father allow you to drink at home like this?" asked Rita as Malfoy raised the glass to his lips.
"Sometimes," said Malfoy.
Rita entertained her glass with generous sips. Malfoy watched her carefully.
"Draco, honey," she said lightly, "We aren't going to do anything tonight. No homework, no spells, no labor, nothing. If all you want to do for an hour is to sit there and stare at me, then so be it. However," she hesitated. "If you are intent on joining the Dark Lord, as I'm certain you are, it might do you well to learn how to resist one of the Unforgiveable Curses…"
Malfoy's jaw dropped slightly.
"You want to perform one on me?"
Rita cleared her throat, "From what I understand, Professor Moody will be so willing to perform two of them on you, but I imagine—as…thorough as he is in teaching, he'll be so inclined to perform the Imperius Curse on the students this Thursday. For real life experience," she added when Malfoy's face darkened. "If I don't teach you, someone else will."
"You want to teach me how to resist it…" Malfoy said quietly.
"At the very least." Rita replied, drinking from her wine glass.
He gave it some thought.
"Okay." Malfoy consented. "I'll do it."
Rita and Malfoy rose to their feet. She made a small, shaking breath and stood within an inch of him.
"Draco, there is something about the Unforgiveable Curses that you must understand. In order to deliver them successfully, you have to mean it within every bone in your body that you want to perform this sort of Dark Magic on a person. If you, yourself, tried to perform the Imperius Curse on me, it would probably make me lose my train of thought and that would be it. If you tried to use the Cruciatus Curse, you'd probably give me a glimpse of pain and then it'd be gone. Avada Kedavra, one of the deadliest ones—you could raise your wand at me, and I'd be no worse for wear than a nosebleed." Rita's words were a mere whisper, combined with a breathless tone in her voice that had Malfoy's gaze at attention.
It might have been one of the few times where he saw her speak of the Dark Arts in a loving caress rather than something that she abhorred. She admired the power and lethality behind it.
"To use any of these on a human being is enough to earn a life sentence in Azkaban," said Rita. "Unless of course…." She shrugged one shoulder, "One could weasel their way out of it."
"Ms. Rita," said Malfoy quietly, and his whisper caught Rita off guard. "Is it true?"
"Is what true?"
"Is He really coming back?"
Rita answered him by rolling up her left sleeve. The Dark Mark had blackened a darker shade than the beginning of the year, and the snake was trying to slither through the empty sockets of the skull, but it couldn't muster enough strength to do so.
"Will you be there when Professor Moody teaches the fourth years?" asked Malfoy, his voice still quiet.
Rita thought of Neville Longbottom, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger—She winced.
"No." Rita answered him. "It seems I have trouble focusing while Professor Moody is teaching the Curses, Draco. But…" she added on a caring note, "If Professor Moody should step out of line, you let Professor Snape know, and he'll tell me. Understood?"
Malfoy nodded.
"Right, then let's get on with it," said Rita, and she withdrew her wand.