Fides in Culpa
Chapter Twelve: Fickle Fidelity
The Dark Lord circled Miss Calbot's body, evidently satisfied with the extensive results Rita had provided, though she personally felt as if she had extracted nothing useful that could possibly give him that much satisfaction on His face. While he ruminated on the little information about the Department of Mysteries, she turned her own gaze to her hands. The Dark Lord had shown her the way through her use of the Transmogrifian Curse; though, it had been a lot bloodier than she had anticipated it would be—but Rita made a small smile as she watched the charred effect weaken from her knuckles. So this was the way to control it? Not to think of the moral high ground, not think so hard about why and who…
It had a Darker meaning, and she'd hate to say it out loud; and even to think it made her heart ache. If she could control it completely, would something as heartfelt as love be the antithesis of the Dark Arts? She wondered if at all the Dark Lord knew what that meant, to love; but given his nature, given his appearance, and his sole goal of immortality, Rita wouldn't have been surprised if He had ever loved.
Wouldn't that mean she'd have to let go of more than just her fondness for Hogwarts and its student body? Wouldn't it ask her to abandon those closest she held dear?
Severus? What would he say to her, what would he think, once he discovered that she had performed some of the Darkest magic she had ever conjured? Would he revoke her, for her bloodlust had carried on more than just blood? Would he embrace her, as if he always had, because he understood the lure of the Dark Arts? But does he understand something much deeper than a fondness for Dark potions, Dark Creatures, Dark Artefacts…
But the return of white flesh instead of necrotic rot gave Rita hope that perhaps, perhaps, she could still have power and love, truth and happiness. She could find a way to have both. Would Severus find happiness at Rita's side when the Dark Lord reigned? Wouldn't he?
If he could just abandon his love for Lily—Rita frowned suddenly. She'd ask that of him, but she wouldn't do the same?
"Rita." The Dark Lord invaded her mind, not through thought but his words were like a knife cutting through tension. She glanced up at him. He had paced five times around Miss Calbot; perhaps He had finally come to His own conclusion. Would they resume her educational learning? Would He ask more of her within the same night?
"Yes, My Lord?" Rita said hoarsely. If He wanted more proof of her magical prowess, she'd hope she'd be able to deliver. A certain weakness came over her at the thought of throwing herself into another performance: her eyelids were heavy, her body drained, and she felt the onset of one very irritable headache setting in at the front of her brain.
"You've done well," He said. "A small criticism, however…"
Criticism or punishment? She wondered vaguely.
"Although wandless magic is an impressive feat, it does wear down the caster after an extended period of time," said the Dark Lord. "Were you in battle, I'd have easily been able to overrun you in your vulnerable state."
"Oh," Rita replied weakly, "Perhaps I shall take this as a learning experience, no?"
"Your wand is not the extent of your abilities, as mine is not the limitation of my power," said the Dark Lord calmly. "Should you be so inclined to try your hand at necromancy"—he shoved one his bare feet against Miss Calbot's face— "I suggest using your wand as a tool. It will stop this"—He loosely gestured to her fragile, swaying body before Him.
"Duly noted."
"Duly noted, indeed." The Dark Lord continued, and she hung her head by her neck as he approached her. "I noticed that during your, heh, interrogation, of Miss Calbot that you were not inherently focused; perhaps you are still struggling with the idea that your fidelity is no longer to the school, not to Dumbledore. But to me."
"There is no misunderstanding," Rita objected.
"If the Wizarding World believes you have never defected, Rita," said the Dark Lord and his tone was amicably prophetical as before, "then it is best to accept and never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Run along, pet."
Pet. Rita didn't bother try to dissect whatever meaning that could have, for she had only ever usually received that name from Bella—(Well, Severus, but that was different)—Rita attempted to shake off that feeling of a forbidden closeness, smiled and offered a courteous bow.
"Oh, one more thing," The Dark Lord said as Rita turned.
She glanced over her shoulder, not looking at him, but awaiting to hear him.
"How was your prowl with your Pack?" asked the Dark Lord crudely.
"Enlightening," Rita answered. And she wasn't lying about that.
"Good. When you arrive at Malfoy Manor," he said and Rita glanced at him with mild surprise, "Of course, Rita, I know where you would escape if your husband's home was compromised. Regardless, when you arrive there, inform Lucius that he has a very important meeting at the Ministry of Magic; I would like him to further investigate the other officials whom work in the Department of Mysteries."
She considered the Department of Mysteries and Miss Calbot's unfortunate demise. Rita gave the woman one last look, deflated from the experience altogether and refused to overthink about what Melanie would think the moment she was informed about her mother's untimely death; and she pushed forward toward the door, holding her wand in her hand. This must have been how Bertha Jorkins had passed away…
Rita vanished with a poof of smoke, heading straight for Malfoy Manor as was the original plan.