Suspected

Chapter Thirteen: A Drink for Thought

The Defense Against the Dark Arts class—Rita's beloved fourth year students—filed out of the classroom as Rita crossed the corridor to the entrance; she noted the ecstatic discussion and the excited chit-chatter amongst Gryffindors and Slytherins alike as they exited, and some of them gave her a quick greeting or a slanted glance as they passed her. There was an uncomfortable leap in her stomach when she saw Neville leave the classroom, looking particularly catatonic and looking like he had seen a ghost—Knowing what he might have watched, Rita thought gravely, he might as well have. She gave him a forlorn look, albeit grateful that he didn't meet her gaze. She didn't know if she could maintain her composure if he asked her about the Cruciatus Curse: "Oh, yes, Neville, I know that one quite well," Rita played out the scenario in her head. "Yes, I actually joined in on using that clever spell on your parents because your dad killed my family; though he didn't do it on purpose. It was actually an accident; let me tell you about it sometime—"

Rita then saw Harry Potter exit the classroom. While the students had filed out as if they had experienced one of the most invigorating lessons that they have had since Professor Lupin had introduced the Boggart, Rita gathered that Harry didn't find the demonstration of the Killing Curse amusing or exciting at all. Considering his living arrangement with his Muggle aunt and uncle, it was highly unlikely that he had actually known, truly, how the Dark Lord had killed his parents. Hardly the way to figure it all out in a classroom while his mates were expressing their interest: "Did you see it twitch?" "And he killed it—just like that—!"

So, Professor Moody actually demonstrated them, then.

Rita realized she had pursed her lips as she watched the students leave, as if she were silencing herself from asking any of them: "Did you enjoy your first lesson?"She had only realized it when Draco Malfoy exited the room, standing in front of her. He had clearly seen the effects of the Unforgiveable Curses; although he didn't look traumatized or had lost any color in his face like Neville or Harry, there seemed to be something like…clarification…on his face.

"Are you all right?" asked Rita quietly.

"Dumbledore's got a winning streak, you know that?" said Malfoy tonelessly.

Rita looked at him confusion, for Malfoy never had given Dumbledore anything as much as a compliment.

"This'll be the fourth year in a row where he's hired a crackpot for the job," he said.

"Excuse me?"

"Auntie Bellatrix is right, you know," said Malfoy in a lower voice where he was out of earshot from his cronies, whom were waiting for him a couple feet away. "You ought to be teaching it." And then louder, "If not you, then Professor Snape should."

Rita didn't know what to say that, rather she remained silent.

"If you're going to be hosting the Dueling Club again," said Malfoy, stepping away and joining his friends, "I'd like to sign up for private lessons; I might actually learn something, then."

Rita watched after him, wearing an incredulous look. Private lessons, really? Don't tell me he actually enjoyed detention more than a demonstration of all three—? Rita shook her head, and she entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. She was met with Mad-Eye Moody with his wand out, and he was allocating three large spiders back into jar, one dead. Rita gave him a look.

"What, Ms. Rita? What, now?" Moody growled from his desk.

"What do you mean, what?" Rita remarked. "Did you hear some of your students, talking in awe about what you've done?"

"It's all right to respect the power of the Dark Arts, Rita, as you very well know," he said, throwing a gnarled smirk in her direction. "It is another thing to practice them. Just like fire…" He continued as Rita closed the door behind her and he hobbled around the desk to sit in his chair, "We can respect the power of fire, but we don't stick our hands in it…" Another smirk in her direction. "And play with it."

Rita frowned at him.

"So, you demonstrated them."

"As you so generously recommended to our headmaster."

"I was being sarcastic."

"Were you, lass?" Moody returned just as she finished her sentence. "I don't think so. It's imperative for all of them to know exactly what they're up against. Constant vigilance. Very important. Books can tell you a lot, but that's it. Just books. I believe in a practical approach—"

"As do I, but it's a bit of a sensitive subject—Don't you think—considering that two of your students have suffered directly from two of those Curses."

"Actually, if you believe the words of that codger, Lucius Malfoy, actually three of them have." Moody returned.

Rita's lip curled in disgust. "Even so, Professor Moody, it's insensitive to show Longbottom—"

"Does he know?" asked Moody curiously, indicating a hand toward the door. "Longbottom. Does he know that you joined in?"

"I don't think so," said Rita, as she strode toward his desk. "If he doesn't, I'd like to keep it that way."

"He's a scared boy, that Longbottom; but there definitely is greatness in him. He might not be able to get to Lestrange where she's at; but I'm really curious what he would do if someone slipped that piece of information to him, if he found out that one of the persons responsible for his parents' catatonic state is in the castle…" Moody flicked his tongue along his bottom lip, but whatever he was thinking of doing, he recanted. "You're right, Rita. It might be best for his education that he not know what you did."

"I've been avoiding you." Rita said, and it sounded more like a confession than it was a comeback.

"Yes, I know." Moody answered. "They've been asking about you."

"Who?"

"Granger." Moody said. "She's a smart girl. A Muggleborn as well. Look at you, got them wrapped around your finger—"

"I'm not manipulating any of them," said Rita, suddenly hot.

Moody dismissed her. "We've argued over this before. A mutual distrust."

He reached under the desk—Rita had half a mind to pull out her wand, an instinct that she managed to resist (and was glad that she did), for he only pulled out a brand of wine in a bottle. Rita gave a breathless chuckle, as he slid it toward the edge of the desk.

"I was told that this is your favorite," Moody said in a low grumble, as Rita picked up the bottle of Elf-red wine.

"Not Severus," said Rita doubtfully.

"Of course, he didn't tell me," Moody said.

"Then who did?"

Moody didn't answer.

Rita continued to hold the bottle in her hand, but she was reasonably suspicious. It was only interesting that Moody would give her anything at all. But although it was common knowledge that Rita was a wino, it was peculiar that anybody except the people that she had made her company would know it was a favorite. A small detail about her that only her Slytherin gang would know: Severus, Bellatrix, Rabastan, Dolohov, Barty Crouch Jr.

You're paranoid, a thought crossed her mind.

"Just take the gift, Rita, and don't think too hard about it." Moody growled.

"Wouldn't you, Alastor?" said Rita with a small smile.

"Of course, I would." Moody remarked.

Rita sat down in front of him. Of all the times she had tried to force open a bottle of wine out of fury only to melt the fucking thing, Rita hovered her hand over the opening—the cork popped itself off and shot toward the opposite side of the classroom.

"Want any?" Rita pointed the neck toward him. "Obviously not poisoned."

"If it were, I'd have you drink out of it first," said Moody.

"I'm touched," she returned.

"But no, I've got this." He removed his flask from his robes and screwed off the top.

"Whiskey today?"

"No," and he took a long drink before his face screwed up as if he drank curdled milk.

Rita shrugged, "Bottoms up, then."

She turned the bottle upside down over her mouth and gave a long drink.

And that's what Mad-Eye Moody, ex-Auror, and Rita Snape, "ex"-Death Eater did for the remainder of the class, sat in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom; they returned back-and-forth passive aggression as if they were two enemies making a bargain on the battlefield. Each gave their own version of a twisted smirk. They meant no harm, but neither trusting the other fully.

The Triwizard Tournament would begin in a month. October. Soon Karkaroff would be close by; and that, no doubt, would open another door. No doubt he'd have questions for Severus and she, for all Death Eaters on an international scale would be able to feel the Dark Mark's sting. And that man had a lot to lose if the Dark Lord returned: Igor Karkaroff personally ratted out several of his comrades to get out of Azkaban.

At least Rita had kept quiet about her comrades, and Snape would stick to his story. But Karkaroff…

He was a coward.