FIRE & ICE

Chapter VIII

Courage is fire and bullying is smoke
Benjamin Disraeli

I'm a trouble-starter
Punking instigator
I
'm the fear addicted
And danger illustrated
Prodigy: Firestarter

(Ginny)

Time froze around us, slowing until Tom and I were the only two people left in the whole world, and there was nowhere to look but his eyes. Once again, I was drowning in that infinite blue. I was so cold, I forgot to breathe.

"Ginevra! You forgot your bag— Oh."

I heard hurried footsteps and Abraxas Malfoy's voice, muffled and echoing, as if from very far away. He had dutifully followed me out of Great Hall. I could imagine his handsome face, eyes ricocheting between myself and Riddle, stricken at what he might have walked in on — my wand raised and his hand smoking ominously … but I could not tear myself away to look at him.

"Oh gosh," came a second voice. "Have we interrupted something? I'm so terribly sorry." Alphard sounded anything but apologetic.

Riddle threw him a cool, appraising look, and shattered the connection between us. I felt its loss as acutely as a icy blade being ripped free from my chest.

He shrugged carelessly at Malfoy. "Not at all. If you will excuse me, I shall see you in class."

Abraxas nodded curtly, obviously relieved.

"Don't remind me!" Alphard heaved dramatic sigh. "Double Potions. Cruel and unusual punishment, if you ask me. I rather want a word with those responsible for the monstrosity of a timetable we've been taxed with. It's simply barbaric. There's got to be some international proclamation barring the scheduling Potions and Transfiguration on the same day."

"No doubt you'll rise to the challenge," Riddle said. He wasn't talking to Alphard.

Then he left, like nothing had happened, off up the marble staircase and out of sight.

A vacuum opened in my chest, and the oxygen came flooding in so fast I felt dizzy. I sprinted for the double doors, tumbling forward downs the steps and hitting the grass with a thud. I vomited again and again, my stomach heaving long after there was nothing left, desperately attempting to expel the awful feeling. My mouth burned with acid, making my eyes water. I was hollow, yet I still felt tainted.

"Miss de Valera?" came a new voice. I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder.

I gripped tight to the dewy grass, wishing I could feel as solid as the hard earth. I raised my head infinitesimally. Someone had vanished my vomit.

"Take it slowly now," said the same, calm voice. "You've had a bit of a turn. Not to worry, it happens to us all. Do you feel the Hospital Wing is necessary, or would you rather a quiet minute here?

I was shaking so hard my teeth chattered. Tremulously, I sank backwards onto my ankles, still bracing myself upright with my arms. Something warm and woolly was laid across my back. I saw red tartan flash before my eyes.

"Get on to class, you lot! There's nothing to see here. Miss de Valera will be fine. She does not need an audience — That means you too, Black! Move along, now." A stern-looking, bespectacled girl sat down beside me. "Chocolate Frog?" she said, producing a familiar blue box from the pocket of her robes. "I find there's little in this life that chocolate can't fix."

I smiled weakly. Despite the fifty years, Professor McGonagall was unmistakeable, right down to the black hair pulled back in a tight bun. She wore her Head Girl's badge proudly above the Gryffindor crest on her school robes.

"Go on, take it," she pressed, forcing the chocolate into my sweaty hand. "At the very least, it will wash that awful taste from your mouth."

I thanked her, but insisted I was fine. "I'm alright, really. I'm just nervous — first day, and all. I don't want to make you late for class."

"Nonsense. I'm Head Girl. The welfare of my fellow students takes priority. And besides," she added, an almost cheeky grin on her impossibly young face, "it's History of Magic. One could say it's you who's doing me the favour."

"Don't mention it," I mumbled.

McGonagall fished a second Chocolate Frog from her schoolbag and unwrapped it. She decapitated her frog with a decisive bite. "Now," she said, as business-like as ever, "Are you going to tell me what happened?"

"Double Potions," I lied. "First thing."

She laughed. "Good grief. That's enough to make anyone sick. But I was talking about that unfortunate incident in the Great Hall." McGonagall fixed me with searching look, her expression severe but reasonable.

I bit my lip. "He said something really rude about me … and I retaliated. I was angry. I didn't think. Sorry." I felt a sudden hot flush of shame, like I had been caught talking in Transfiguration class.

"No need to apologise to me," she said brusquely. "On a personal note, I feel you displayed both estimable wandwork and a judicious appraisal of character. However, as Head Girl, I must insist you refrain from hexing people at breakfast. Or any meal, for that matter. Even if they wholly deserve it. It doesn't exactly set a good example for the First Years. As you are a new student, you can consider this your final warning. Next time, I'm afraid I will have to discipline you for using magic out of turn — should I happen to catch you at it," she added in an undertone, sending me a sideways wink from under her dark eyebrows.

I couldn't help smiling. I fumbled with the chocolate's wrapping and took a bite. The effect was instantaneous. McGonagall made short work of her own Frog and waited patiently for me to do the same. She got nimbly to her feet and then helped me up. Together, we walked back into the mercifully empty Entrance Hall. She offered to escort me to class, to lend weight to my excuse for tardiness.

"Normally," she remarked crisply, "I don't have much to do with Slytherins — but anyone who puts Aidan Rosier in his place is a friend of mine." She shook her head hopelessly, rolling her eyes, "I don't think a bigger prat has ever graced these halls … That said, he has a lot of friends, who are equally as brutish and mean as he is." Her tone had taken a turn for the serious, and she surveyed me gravely. "I don't mean to scare you, especially on your first day, but I would advise caution."

"You don't need to tell me that," I muttered darkly. "I'm pretty handy with a Shield Charm, though."

McGonagall raised an politely incredulous eyebrow. "That's all very well — when you're looking your opponent head-on. These boys are of the loathsome, cowardly ilk who jinx you when your back is turned. And the girls aren't much better, either. Trust me, I speak from firsthand experience."

"They got you?" I asked, surprised.

McGonagall smiled grimly. "Oh, they tried."

Pride for my old Professor surged in my chest, making the prospect of Double Potions, where I would be forced to spend two hours underground in close proximity to Tom Riddle, more bearable. Merely venturing down the dark steps to Snape's class had been a constant struggle for me, in the aftermath of the Chamber. I used to hang in Entrance Hall by the dungeon door until the last possible moment, and then sprint the short distance, my wand lit up like a beacon. I knew it made me look odd, that my classmate whispered about it, but the dark was more terrifying than any gossip. I often arrived a little late, and always panting, yet Snape never complained.

"I'll keep an eye out for you, when I can," McGonagall promised, as we neared the Potions classroom. "And I'll talk to Tom Riddle, he's the only one who can control those goons. He's your Sixth Year Prefect, if you didn't know already. Have you met him yet?"

I just nodded.

McGonagall made a face. "Yes, well. Be careful. Contrary to popular opinion, I can't help feeling there's something not quite right about him … I mean," she seemed a little exasperated, at a loss for the right words. "Well — just — no one is that perfect."

She knocked smartly on the classroom door and fed Slughorn a passable story about 'first day nerves'. He dismissed McGonagall and regarded me with a kindly expression over his walrus moustache. "Perfectly understandable, Miss de Valera. Come on in, m'dear, and let us see that we can't change your mind. As fate would have it, we're brewing a Calming Draught today." He beckoned me into the familiar classroom, set out in its usual work stations. The air was already full of the smells and sounds of a class at work. Slughorn was telling me something about lesson, but I wasn't listening.

Riddle wasn't there.

"As it's your first lesson, I rather thought a partner might help you ease into the swing of things. Unfortunately Mr Riddle can't be with us today — but not to worry! Mr. Malfoy has requested specially that you might work with him," Slughorn said, directing me towards the back of the room. I wasn't sure if this was good news, or very bad. "See that you don't distract him too much. Our Abraxas has a penchant for omitting the odd ingredient or two."

Tentatively, I slid into the empty seat at Abraxas' bench. Opposite us, Alphard sat in strained silence with Diomedes Zabini. Alphard sent me an encouraging smile and Zabini winked brazenly. I took a shaky breath, and felt a little better. Despite its lack of immediate activity, I had always liked Potions. It was a class that demanded complete focus on the task at hand, leaving little time for stray thoughts. In the aftermath of my 'ordeal', the hours of quiet concentration spent in the dim dungeons had been a welcome reprieve from my whirling mind.

I cracked open the battered copy of Advanced Potion Making Dumbledore had given me; like most of my equipment, it came from an odd jumble of supplies abandoned by former students. Thankfully, it was not too stained or graffitied, and I quickly scanned the instructions for a Calming Draught. Though I had never before made it, I had benefited from its effects. Like it was yesterday, I remembered Madame Pomfrey measuring out the blue potion, as tranquil as a summer sky. She had recapped the bottle, then decided to add a further generous spoonful to my dose. I was wrapped so tightly in blankets that I couldn't hold the cup myself, and the matron gently helped me drink it down. It tasted like sweet and creamy, like hot condensed milk. The acute distress that had gripped me since waking up on the Chamber floor dissipated, but I could not stop crying. I was eleven years old and hadn't sat on my mother's lap in years, but that night I crawled into her arms, and she never let me go.

"What have you done so far?" I asked Abraxas, surveying the ingredients littering the table and the steaming cauldron. I peered into the cauldron. "This is just water … Have you done anything?"

Malfoy's smile was a little too bright. "I was waiting for you, I thought you might disapprove of 'male intervention'," he said unconvincingly. I folded my arms, stony-faced, and Malfoy glanced about for Slughorn. The Professor was preoccupied across the dungeon with an ominously rattling cauldron. Satisfied that he wouldn't be overheard, Abraxas whispered hurriedly, "Truth be told, I haven't the foggiest idea of what I'm supposed to do. I'm hopeless at Potions. It's Tom who usually does everything, while I observe from a considerable distance. It's safest for all involved."

I was a little alarmed. "How did you pass your OWL?"

"Sheer dumb luck," Abraxas said cheerfully. "Or so I like to think, though that's probably optimistic to a fault. I suspect gold was involved."

"Has Slughorn— ?"

"Noticed? Please," Abraxas snorted. "This one time, he was so busy fawning over Tom to he didn't notice Sommerby was on fire. He probably just thinks I'm lazy. Do be a sport and play along, or else Old Sluggie will have me rumbled," he added imploringly. "He would banish me in disgrace and Father would skin me alive. Or write a strongly-worded letter."

I bit my lip, thinking — it wouldn't be so bad if Abraxas Malfoy actually owed me a favour. "All right," I said bracingly. "You can grate the Valerian root. Try avoid your fingers. We don't want any Extract of Malfoy contaminating things."

We worked in a comfortable silence, Abraxas diligently preparing ingredients while I manned the cauldron. I had expected a full interrogation about the altercation with Riddle and was relieved he did not press the matter. Our potion was not yet the light blue I knew the finished product to be, but it was thickening nicely. As Slughorn passed by our station, he gave an impressed nod to our progressing effort.

"This why you asked to work with me," I said shrewdly, as Slughorn moved out of earshot. "You thought I wouldn't tell Slughorn you're—"

"Spectacularly incompetent?" Abraxas offered, unconcerned. He looked up from weighing the desiccated leaves of St John's Wort. "Yes. I suspected you, of all people, would be charitable in the face of a fellow Slytherin's shortcomings. You don't seem the vindictive type."

"What if I was pathetic too?"

"I would have blamed you."

"What if I were proud and arrogant, and refused to take the blame?"

"I would have bribed you," he said, without skipping a beat. Abraxas grinned wickedly. "I'm rather rich, you know."

I raised an eyebrow. "And what if I were honest and just, and refused to take your bribe?"

Abraxas rolled his eyes. "Oh, spare us the Gryffindor prattle. It's much too early in the morning for principles."

I threw him a withering look. "Shut up and hand me those leaves already." Abraxas watched closely as I ground the dried leaves to powder. The technique wasn't outlined in the book, but I had always found it to yield superior results. "Crushing the leaves means you can mix them more evenly through the potion," I explained, stirring in a figure-of-eight motion. "Just a little tip I picked up."

My entire school career was peppered with 'little tips' … The Diary had taught me as much as my teachers that year. It had been so easy to ask the advice of a smart, sympathetic older student; it was always on hand to help when I was floundering and first to congratulate my successes, no matter how menial they seemed. I thirsted for his praise, and pushed myself to excel. I adjusted the heat under the cauldron so the potion and left it to simmer as we tidied. Other people continued stirring, and Abraxas made to copy them, but I told him to let it be. Some potions need to be agitated, or boiled, but this one needed to be sweated slowly.

At the front of the class, Slughorn had just said the same thing. Abraxas nudged me, congratulatory.

"This particular potion is easy enough to mix," Slughorn continued, "but much more difficult to perfect. If brewed correctly, your potion ought to induce an immediate sense of serenity and restfulness. If not, the unfortunate drinker will suffer unpleasant inertia or even stupor, depending on how heavy-handedly you fermented the Skullcap. It's commonly used by Healers to soothe the anxious and subdue the violent. As such, all batches intended for Healing purposes are subjected to stringent testing."

Our homework was ten inches of parchment on the uses of Valerian Root in Potion Making. "With particular reference to potions affecting the drinker's level of consciousness," Slughorn called out of clatter of students tidying their stations. "And you would all do well to read up on the Draught of Living Peace before next Monday."

I filled a flask with a sample of our potion for grading and Abraxas vanished the remainder. Slughorn was pleasantly surprised when I handed over our bottle. "Not perfect, but a worthy effort," he remarked, assessing it with a critical eye. "It will be a pleasure to have you in my class, Miss de Valera. You have proved yourself most capable. With Potions, like all things, I find a lady's touch can work wonders." He had a knowing expression on his fat face that gave me shivers.

some say the world will end in fire
some say in ice

Riddle wasn't in History of Magic either.

Binns called his name off the register and Abraxas called 'present' in a passable impression of his clipped tone. He tapped his nose and winked in response to my questioning face.

Riddle's absence had me feeling unsettled and paranoid. I would have preferred to have him sitting right next me, where I could at least see what he was doing, than somewhere unknown. I held my wand tightly under the desk and kept my eyes trained on the door, just in case.

The bell rang for lunch and the castle rumbled as a hundred students surged towards the Great Hall. I felt eyes and whispers chase me down the corridors. My outburst at breakfast had certainly left an impression. People went out of their way to avoid me, while others waved and smiled in greeting. A bunch of Gryffindors congregated by the Charms classroom burst into applause. I stuck my tongue out cheekily as we passed.

"I wouldn't bother about them," Abraxas said airily. He had insisted on walking me from class to class — as your White Knight, it is my honour and duty to protect you from the evils of trick staircases and wayward hexes. I suspected it was more to do with Rosier and his precious Quidditch team. "Probably jealous you had the guts to hex Aidan before they did. He has quite the fearsome reputation, and well deserved."

"Not anymore," I said with brazen satisfaction.

The Great Hall was already buzzing when we arrived and I received my fair share of curious stares. The Slytherin table was crowded. The prospect of enduring a meal between Vivian Rosier and Persephone Parkinson did little for my appetite, but they were hardly my main concern. I stood on tiptoe, craning my neck to get a better view of those sitting down.

My stomach knotted.

"He's not there," I muttered aloud, without thinking.

"Who?" Abraxas asked, following my gaze. "Rosier? I shouldn't be surprised — He's probably off licking his wounds somewhere. Speaking of which, try not to injure anyone this time. I truly believe dinner is a sacrosanct time for any man, and should be afforded the strictest respect."

I didn't dissuade him of his mistake.

Surely Madame MacGreggor had healed his hand by now — I hadn't used any Dark Magic. My mind raced, tripping over all the possibilities, each worse than the previous. I spun around, half-expecting to see Riddle bearing down on me, a triumphant smirk on his face and the Headmaster at his shoulder … but there was no one. Abraxas frowned at me and then shook his head, bemused.

Conservations died and heads turned as we walked along the table to our seats. The Slytherins had closed ranks. The Hierarchy stared at me, stony-faced, and I could feel their hostility, beating on my brow hot as a midsummer sun. Flint and some of the other bulky Quidditch players crackled their knuckles threateningly. Regan Trevelyan and Slevin Lestrange had yet to arrive; in their absence, the Blacks had taken up the centre seats.

Unperturbed, Abraxas said, "Budge up there, Orion, there's a good chap."

Fixing me with an thoroughly disapproving glare, Orion Black scooted along the bench, deliberately making just enough room for one person.

"A little more. That would be quite the squeeze for the two of us," Abraxas laughed, but there was no humour in his tone. When Orion stayed pointedly still, his expression mulish, Abraxas pushed me forward. "Oh well. Mother always said, ladies first. I suppose I shall have to eat standing up."

I rolled my eyes at his cavalier dramatics and made to sit down — but Walburga Black tipped over a pot of steaming soup, and it spilt, blisteringly hot, over my intended seat. "This table is for Slytherins only," she said with relish. "We don't eat with dirty traitors."

"I think that's a little uncalled for, Walburga," said Abraxas evenly. He spoke clearly with well-measured reason that invited agreement, like a seasoned politician. "Ginevra is a Slytherin, and a Pureblood, just like the rest of us. Why don't we all stop with the dramatics and have lunch? I just sat through History of Magic, I'll be damned if anyone denies me sustenance."

"She cursed a higher rank!" Walburga argued fiercely, stabbing at accusing figure at me. I glared back, feeling my temper surge. "Unprovoked and in public. That is intolerable. I refused to have her at our table. Will someone please think of the First Years?"

"It wasn't unprovoked," I retorted heatedly. "But you're right — this is intolerable. Forgot the Hufflepuffs, I would rather eat with the Giant Squid than you. Who knows, we might even have a sensible conversation!"

For good measure, I shoved over a jug of pumpkin juice and flounced away with a great sweep of red hair. The ensuing shrieks and stamps had me grinning broadly as I went. I heard Persephone's shrill voice ordering Abraxas not to follow me, and I found myself thanking her.

I wondered vaguely if I'd actually make it through a meal at their stupid table, and sent a longing look towards the Gryffindors, where life had been so much simpler. Never, in five years at school, had I worried about where I might sit … unless you counted the shocking mortification I felt as a First Year any time Harry was near.

I was halfway up the marble staircase before I realised I had no idea where I was going. I had an hour before double Transfiguration. My mind wandered, thinking of the places I used to frequent … the library, the lake, the Quidditch pitch and the Room of Requirement. I decided to head for the library and make a start on Slughorn's essay.

"Red!"

Alphard was charging up the stairs, with Juliet following a more ladylike pace. "Red," he called out. "Wait!"

"Don't shout, Alphard," Juliet admonished stiffly. "It's unbecoming."

"Where are you going?"

I shrugged. "Library."

Alphard blanched. "That's tragic. And also highly impractical, we couldn't possibly talk there — and we have much to discuss."

"Talk?" I echoed wearily.

He fixed me with an appraisingly look. "Did you really think you could attempt to drown my dear cousin in pumpkin juice and not a receive an emphatic congratulations? A truly stellar show — Even Juliet couldn't find fault with your actions." He winked and beckoned me back down the stairs, as Juliet scowled. "I say, let's go outside. The sun is shining and the prospect of Red attacking someone are significantly reduced. However, should we chance upon a marauding Venomous Tentacula or the Giant Squid, feel free to step up and save us all," Alphard added, laughing heartily.

I grinned. "You'd think I go around indiscriminately hexing people — people are already running out of my way in the corridors. I've only been here six hours."

"Plenty of time to get the rest of them," Alphard said gravely, but his eyes twinkled.

And Juliet said, equally gravely, "There may be time to salvage your reputation yet."

"You, my dear, are ever the optimist," Alphard told her, beaming. He linked her arm and mine, so we formed a threesome, all walking in step. "And our Red here is notorious — though one could hardly expect otherwise with hair like that. Applause is in order here, I rather think you set a record. You may have even topped Regan in the gossip stakes for a first day. With your mysterious origins, last night's fabled escapades — everyone knows, by the way — and Rosier's rude awakening at breakfast, people are saying … Well, we'll get to that later. I always feel bad news is best on a full stomach … Is anyone else famished?" To prove its point, his stomach grumbled loudly.

"The kitchens are that way," I said helpfully. "The House Elves are always really generous, I'd bet they'd give us a picnic."

The minute I'd said it, I knew it was a mistake. Both Alphard and Juliet looked totally surprised and my heart sunk. The castle was so familiar, like a second home, I kept forgetting I was supposed to be new to its secrets.

Alphard clapped his hands gleefully. "Oh my, what fun! An excursion to the kitchens. I've never even been before. Have you, Juliet?"

Juliet shook her head. She was scrutinising me, head cocked to one side, her expression torn between curiosity and distrust. "No, I haven't. I don't know the way. How did you find out, Ginevra?" Her casual tone fooled nobody.

"Yes," Alphard pressed. "This is intriguing. I am surprised … but I feel I shouldn't be? You are proving quite the riddle, Red."

I squirmed at his choice of words.

I told them I had lots of time to explore while I stayed in the Hospital Wing before term started. It was a plausible lie, with a convincing delivery, but they were both too clever to take it at face value. Luckily, Alphard was too overwhelmed by the reception he received from the House Elves to ask much more. Juliet was suspicious silent. We left laden with a heavy wicker basket covered with a silver and green checkered cloth. If I wasn't much mistaken, I saw a bottle of champagne and three crystal flutes poking out from under the blanket.

After we settled by the lake, Alphard dived for the champagne bottle. He cracked it open before Juliet could protest and shouted at me to get the glasses. I held them under the spouting bottle and the pale gold liquid fizzed up and over, slopping on my fingers.

"Sweet Circe, woman, tilt the glass!" Alphard exclaimed. "One would think you'd never poured champagne before!"

I said nothing, but did as I was told. When all three were filled, I passed them around. Juliet folded her arms, declaring it inappropriate. "It's one o'clock," she said in a very percy-ish voice. "I am a Prefect."

Alphard was scandalised. "You can't waste good champagne!"

"It would be bad manners," I said teasingly. "After the House Elves were so generous. You wouldn't want to seem disrespectful now, would you?"

Juliet caved. "Oh for goodness sake, give me one! Well then, what are we toasting? Another year of disgrace and degradation? Oh yes … and death. How could I possibly have forgotten?" Her pretty face was drawn into such a bitter scowl I felt the sting of lemons in my own mouth.

"How about respectful First Years, tight Quidditch trousers and no murder," Alphard said brightly. "Speaking of which, what, in Merlin's name, happened this morning?" His prying eyes peered over the rim of his glass.

"Which bit?" I asked dully. "It's been uniformly ghastly."

"So far, I've heard fourteen different garbled versions of last night, all of which are highly complimentary. You had Rosier unceremoniously evicted from the party, viciously assaulted Orion, danced with Zabini, threw a glass at Lestrange's head and then attacked him, broke a chandelier and fell into a pool? And Riddle took your wand because he was worried you might embark on a murderous rampage against all the men who refused to dance with you? … Does that sound about right?"

I ground my teeth. "That's certainly one interpretation of events."

"How diplomatic." Alphard snorted into his champagne. "Did you hear that, Juliet, are you proud? I certainly am. Then, this morning, Rosier no doubt said something hideous and was repaid in kind. You storm out, all dramatic like, and run into Riddle, and …" he trailed off expectantly, nodding at me to continue.

I took a fortifying sip of champagne and retold the morning's events. "He told Rosier … told him a lie about me," I said hotly, unable to bring myself to repeat his exact words. "And I confronted him about it, and he was so smug and condescending. I think he was trying to rile me up. Anyway, I lost my temper a bit— "

"Gosh, what a surprise," Juliet muttered sarcastically.

I glared at her. "I lost my temper and there was an … altercation. He grabbed my wrist. I swear, I thought the bones were going to break it was so tight." Absently, I rubbed the spot where his hand had seared, like frostbite, against my skin. Unlike Riddle, I bore no marks of our confrontation. "I told him to let go. I was scared, really scared. And then his hand burned, where it was touching me. He let go," I finished simply. "And that's when you came. I haven't seen him since."

"Riddle hurt his hand?" Juliet said sharply. "Is that why he wasn't in History of Magic? Does anyone know you burnt him?" she demanded. She sounded alarmed and I felt my heart thump a little faster. "Or, more importantly, does anyone think you hurt him? Are people saying you did?"

Alphard bit his lip. "I haven't heard anything yet, but I'll keep my ear to the ground. So far as I know, no one saw you two together, except myself and Malfoy. Obviously, you and I won't tell a soul, and Malfoy has already committed to an alternate version of events— "

"What?" I interjected. "What has Abraxas said?"

"I heard him tell Slughorn this morning that he accidentally split boiling water on Riddle's hand at breakfast, and that's why he wouldn't be at Potions." Alphard looked amazed that I didn't know. "He does seem rather taken with you, one has to admit."

This surprised even me. Why would Abraxas cover for me like that? And what did he expect in return?

"Do you think he'll tell Dippet?" Juliet wondered aloud. "Riddle, I mean."

"No," I said, with a certainty that surprised even myself. "I mean … How would telling Dippet help him? He would have to explain how it happened, and why, neither of which makes him look good. He wouldn't want to ruin his sparkly reputation."

"He could just lie," Juliet said baldly.

Alphard quickly sloshed some more champagne into her glass. "Don't look so glum. With any luck, people may soon hate Red even more than you!" He sounded like this was the highest honour anyone could aspire too.

"Cheers, Alphard."

Juliet did not seem comforted. "She did hex one of our own, without a formal challenge," she reasoned, as sour as ever. "She embarrassed a higher ranking member in front of the entire school. She can hardly complain about a frosty reception. She is lucky to not be facing immediate excommunication."

"Excuse me," I spluttered, indignant. "But Rosier is not one of my own. He is a pig and I'll hex him when and where I damn well please. I'll hex him in front of the Wizengamot, if he deserves it."

"Here here!" Alphard cheered.

Juliet said tartly, "It's exactly the attitude that has gotten you into this mess. The whole House hates you on principle because you violated the Hierarchy, and the rest of the school may follow suit, should they find out that you hurt their precious hero Riddle."

"Are you going to tell?" I asked quietly.

I looked Juliet hard in the eye. She stared levelly back, her butterscotch eyes still soft under her perpetually lined forehead, and then her downturned mouth curled into a smirk. Her face lit up with a conniving grin.

"Of course I won't tell! How should I expect to get revenge without an inside man?" She raised her glass and thunked it against mine. "To revenge."

"To revenge," I echoed, matching her with a grim smile.

"Inside woman," Alphard corrected in an undertone. "But, yes. Revenge! Tally ho!"

Some say the world will end in fire
Some say in ice

Lunch ended all too quickly and I set off for Transfiguration feeling a little light-headed. Reluctant to push through the throngs of staring people all streaming back towards the upper floors, I veered off down a side passage. Alphard asked, with great sensitivity, was I lost.

"No. There's a shortcut down here to the Transfiguration department." I counted the suits of armour and stopped by the eighth plinth, pulling down hard on the solider's gauntlet.

"I wouldn't do that!" Juliet warned, reaching for my hand, "They're deceptively delicate— "

Alphard whistled. "Well now. This is exciting."

Like a lever, the arm swung down and wall behind opened up to reveal a tightly spiralled staircase.

"Well. You're a very good explorer," he said, as we bundled inside. "I've been at it for years and never found so much as secret passage."

"Oh, I had help," I said mysteriously. I could hardly say my older brothers were two of Hogwarts most prolific tricksters and had discovered just about everything she had to offer. "When you're here all alone, people take pity on you."

"Like who? The teachers?"

"And the portraits," I said. "The ghosts. You know — People."

"And did you discover anything else? While you were, ah, exploring?" I couldn't see Juliet's face as we climbed the narrow staircase, but I could easily imagine her pursed lips and disapproving frown.

I reeled off some of the old shortcuts I knew like the back of my hand. "There's a hidden staircase between the fourth and third floors behind a tapestry, but watch for the trick step near the bottom. The store cupboard beside the Charms corridor actually leads out to fifth floor. Don't bother with the stairs by that Ophiotaurus skeleton near the Trophy Room, it's a actually dead end. The fastest way from the Owlery to back Gryffindor Tower is past the statue of Lachlan the Lanky and then take a right. Oh, and the left-hand tap in the second floor girls' bathroom doesn't work," I added, inspired.

We emerged out onto the Third Floor just as Abraxas and Diomedes Zabini turned onto the corridor. Deep in conversation, they hadn't seen us.

"Don't go in there," Alphard said, suddenly somber. "Stay away from that bathroom."

"Why?" I asked with feigned innocence.

Juliet shot Alphard a significant look. She lowered her voice, "How much do you know about what happened last year?"

I shook my head. "Very little, actually. People seem reluctant to discuss it."

"Au contraire?" Alphard was incredulous. "I thought people reluctant to discuss anything else. There's nothing quite like a man-eating monster let loose in the castle to add perspective to one's daily conflabs."

"Don't be so sensational, Alphard," Juliet scolded. "No one was eaten."

"We can live in hope," he muttered darkly.

Juliet's reply was drowned out by Abraxas Malfoy's cry of surprise. "Great Scott! Where did you three come from?"

"I would have seen you on the stairs," said Diomedes Zabini with a predatory smile. "Hair like that is hard to miss."

Alphard folded his arms and adopted an mystical tone. "The castle has many secrets, gentlemen. One need only keep a open mind and a keen sense of adventure, and she will deliver."

"Not all of us are as adventurous as you, Black," Abraxas said pointedly. "But I thank you for bringing Ginevra to class on time. Shall we head in?" He offered me his arm. I wasn't going to take it, but something sharp stabbed into my back and I stumbled forward. Abraxas steadied me and slipped his arm around my waist. Over his shoulder, Alphard flashed me an enthusiastic thumbs-up, which I returned with a rude hand gesture.

The classroom was already peppered with people and everyone stared as I walked in. I recognised one of the Gryffindor boys as someone who had applauded earlier; he was a kind-looking boy with dark hair and a friendly smile. Abraxas deposited me in one of four seats surrounding two desks, with Zabini across from us. Juliet and Alphard settled themselves at a different table. I dug in my bag from the relevant textbook and made a big show of flicking through it the pages. Unfortunately, it did not stop people whispering.

A boy who introduced himself as Algie McMillan actually strode over and wrung my hand like a bell. "On behalf of the entire Hufflepuff House," he proclaimed loudly and pompously, "I must insist on shaking your hand. Though I am loathe to speak ill of my peers, that Rosier is a bully and a bigot, and he got what he deserved. Three cheers for you!"

Zabini sniggered.

"Thanks?" I said, unsure.

"You'll forgive me if I don't shake your hand, darling." Vivian Rosier smiled down at me, hands on her hips. Her glaringly red lips were stretched in a candied smile but her eyes flashed malevolently. "Only I'm allergic to dogs."

I raised a cool eyebrow, unimpressed and unflustered. Whatever Vivian had to say meant nothing to me.

Algie, however, was shocked. "I say, that's rather rude. I would have expected better from you, Vivian. I'm in half a mind to dock Slytherin some points to teach you a lesson."

"Funny that you should mention education. My brother and I were just discussing yours, Ginevra," Vivian said with unconcealed delight. "It's twice you've disrespected Aidan now, and that simply won't do. Don't you agree, Brax, that it's improper?"

Abraxas respond with stony silence. Vivian smiled all the more viciously.

"At first, we were angry, but now we understand it's not your fault that your poor, peasant family never taught you any better. Out of the goodness of our hearts, we've decided to forgive your trespasses. We're going to help you, Ginevra, so this unpleasantness need never happen again. I do want us to be good friends."

"I have no intention of being your friend," I said bluntly. "You're a horrendous person. Please go away."

Vivian's eyes narrowed. She reached towards me, and I recoiled, wary. Her nails were painted the same glossy, dangerous red as her lips. Vivian caught the end of Regan's silk scarf, still tied around my hair.

"What a darling scarf," she cried. Obviously, she knew from where, and whom, it came. On the pretext of examining in, she leant in. Her breath came hot against my ear and syrup dripped from her every word, sweet and sticky. "You may think you're safe. You may think you have 'friends'. But you are nothing. You have no one. You are all alone. I will destroy you."

I swatted her hand away. "Well, now I'm terrified. Happy?"

"I like that you're confident." In a move reminiscent of Regan, Vivian straightened the scarf. Her nails dug sharply into my scalp. "It will make breaking you even more satisfying."

"Vivian," Abraxas said warningly.

Vivian pouted a little. She sat down in the empty seat and squeezed Abarxas' hand, all concern and empathy. "Frankly, I'm worried about you, Brax. And I think you father would be too. Imagine his concern, if he heard you were consorting with blood traitors and dangerous lunatics and plebeians. Or worse Halfbloods."

"Imagine. How indecent."

My heart skipped a beat. I whipped my head around so fast my neck cricked. Vivian's face split into its widest smile yet, and she leapt to her feet.

"Tom!" she said his name like it was a sacred prayer. "How are you? It's such a relief to have you back. I missed you terribly at lunch. We were all so worried … And you still have your hand!"

Riddle's face was the perfect mask, detached yet receptive to Vivian's outpourings, but his eyes were completely blank. They gleamed like frozen mirrors, revealing nothing. He smiled politely and held up the offending limb. It was intact but a white bandage was wrapped tightly around his palm.

I frowned. Did that mean Madame MacGreggor had not be able to cure him completely?

"Was there ever a question to the contrary?" he asked, seemingly amused.

Vivian's eyes widened. "But of course," she breathed. "I heard you been set upon by the halfbreed Hagrid! Olive Hornby swore she saw you stop him entering the castle and he swung at you with a great axe. Obviously, that great, violent brute wanted revenge after you brought him to justice last year."

There was an incredulous pause, and then Abraxas and Zabini roared with laughter. They knew the true identity of the Heir of Slytherin.

I alone was outraged that Hagrid had been dragged into the mess. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," I tore at her derisively. "Hagrid is a gentle, decent person and he would never attack anyone like — even if they deserved it! … He doesn't even have an axe!"

"Rather less glamorous than a legendary monster, wouldn't you say?" muttered Zabini dryly.

Vivian's smiled triumphantly. "That just goes to show you and I have very different interpretations of 'decent', Ginevra. Yours is applicable to murderers."

"You wouldn't know a murderer if they stared you in the face," I said coldly.

Slowly, deliberately, I looked from Vivian to Riddle . He stared back and raised sardonic eyebrow. His eyes, cold and piercing blue, were magnetic.

The classroom door banged open and Dumbledore came striding through. The class jogged themselves into action, rummaging for books and parchment, and Riddle sat down beside me in Vivian's vacated seat.

Dumbledore looked questioningly at Vivian, stranded in the middle of the classroom. The only available seats were with the Hufflepuffs or at Alphard and Juliet's table. Vivian looked expectantly at me, as if I might offer up my seat, and then imploringly at Riddle. If she was hoping for an intervention, she was sadly disappointed.

"Class is starting, Vivian," Riddle said quietly. "I suggest you take your seat."

Vivian Rosier's smiled slipped comically. As she found a chair, I moved mine as far away from Riddle's as possible. He noticed.

"I don't bite," he said.

"I might," I threatened.

I threw him the filthiest look I could muster.

His lips curled into a suggestive smirk. "Do you promise?"

I blinked stupidly and blushed a flaming crimson. Riddle's eyes danced with laughter.

"Are you quite alright?" he asked with mock concern. "Your face is very red."

My cheeks were scorching. "Touch me again and I'll burn your face off," I hissed furiously. "We'll see who's laughing then."

He shook his head, still smirking infuriatingly. "I don't think so. This morning was an accident. You can't control your magic … Does that happen all the time, or do I make you particularly nervous?"