Author's note:
I'm aware that my characters often don't sound like they're from the '40's. The reason for this is that I can't be bothered writing as if it's a time period I didn't live through... And also it's funnier to write using modern swearwords etc. So just suspend your disbelief and enjoy the story for what it is... 'Kay?
Chapter 10: There Will Be Blood
"Give it back." her tone brooked no nonsense.
Riddle looked up slowly from the book he was reading and glanced around in an exaggerated fashion, enjoying the frustration on her face. It'd been getting harder to elicit a reaction out of her recently... though not through lack of trying. This time, he'd really hit the jackpot. "Keep it down, Ms Gray," he smirked, "This is a library, you know."
"I know you have it."
"Have what?" He feigned innocence.
"The locket."
"I honestly have no idea what you-"
She reached over and slammed the book he'd been reading shut violently, causing the librarian hovering nearby to tut disapprovingly. Her face mere inches from his, eyes bright with ire, she hissed in a low, dangerous voice. "You and I. Right now. Seventh floor."
A delicious shiver of anticipation ran up his spine, and for just a moment his face split in a smile as terrifying as it was handsome. But Amalia didn't even flinch. After just a moment, the eagerness that showed in a brief flash in his eyes disappeared, as he adopted his blank mask and said aloofly, "Well, if you insist."
She waited with a stormy expression while he packed up his books and slung his bag over his shoulder.
Neither of them said anything as they walked out of the library together, though their departure raised a few eyebrows among the students they passed. It was shortly after supper on a Saturday, and the other students didn't have much to do besides gossip.
Amalia scowled as she noted the scrawny first year, Myrtle, gabbling away to a bunch of other scrawny first-years with bulging eyes as they passed. Judging from their scandalized expressions, the subject matter was juicy news.
"I think people are getting the wrong idea about us," Riddle remarked, eyes tracking the same knot of gossipers. "Does it bother you?"
Amalia casually slid her arm through his, noting with wicked glee the way he instantly tensed. She also kept a wary eye on the Slytherin fourth-year girls they'd just passed, who suddenly looked like they were strongly considering jinxing her.
She leant up to murmur in his ear, "Nope," she mocked, "Does it bother you?"
He bore with it until they were out of sight of the crowds, though she could almost hear his teeth grind, and then shook her off irately. "Don't touch me." he said coldly.
"Give my locket back and I'll consider it."
"You can take it back yourself... If you can."
"You sound confident," she said through gritted teeth, "Did you forget what happened last time?"
"A fluke." he scoffed.
"You know better than that." They waited at the top of a flight of stairs for the next section to move into place. The Moving Staircase seemed extra slow tonight.
"The locket has your family's crest on it... But you received it in the mail."
Amalia rolled her eyes at his change of subject. "No shit, Sherlock."
"So," he pressed on, "Does that mean your family's still out there?"
She gave him an unimpressed, blank stare. "Nope. Also, none of your business."
"What was in the letter?"
"A Merry Christmas greeting." she wasn't exactly lying.
"Why did you burn it?"
"I'm a pyromaniac. I like burning things... Or people." she gave him a pointed look.
The staircase crunched into position and they stepped onto it, unconsciously synchronized.
"It was unusual to see you so distressed. Shocked."
Amalia snorted. Anyone else would have been convinced he was actually concerned, from that smooth tone. But she knew better. She saw the malicious glee in his obsidian eyes.
"I had my reasons." she muttered darkly.
"I'd like to see you make that expression again." Riddle admitted, eyeing her like she was his next meal.
Amalia's left eyebrow rose incredulously (her favourite expression emerging again) "Oh, you would?" she sneered, "Nothing you do can shock me, Riddle."
"Is that so?" he seemed to take offense at that.
She smirked confidently. "You're a lot easier to read than you think. Your pranks haven't been working recently, have they?" She'd successfully fended off all his attempts to mess with her stationery the past three days. Not one pencil broken, not one ink pot spilled. She was unashamedly proud of that accomplishment.
Riddle was silent for a beat. Then he said, his voice deadpan, "Perhaps I should just write you an inflammatory letter."
She froze.
He walked two steps before he realized he'd left her behind, and turned back.
"What?"
"Did. You. Just. Make a joke."
"Shocked?" he leant casually on the banister and smirked.
Amalia stared at him, eyes wide, for a long moment, and then suddenly burst into laughter, doubling over and shaking with mirth.
Riddle's eyebrows rose as he took in the sight. He'd never seen her lose control quite like this, either.
"Bwahahaha!" she slapped her thighs as she laughed helplessly, "You - You made a pun...! In-inflammatory-!"
He suddenly realised that while she was in this state, it would be too easy... Her hands were scrubbing at her eyes, nowhere near her wand.
"Ah! I'm c-crying! It's too much...!"
But for some reason he made no move to attack. He merely acknowledged that he could... If he wanted to. A smile curled the sides of his mouth at the thought. "You're quite ridiculous, do you know that?" he remarked, as she finally seemed to calm down.
"Wow, Riddle, I really didn't see that one coming..." she chuckled, and fell into step with him again.
"I have my moments." he said dryly.
"I don't think I've laughed like that since-" she stopped. "I've... never laughed like that." she corrected, a little quieter.
They walked in silence for a short while.
"Has that got something to do with the locket? Your family?"
The mirth faded from her eyes. "And we're back to this again." she said dully.
"Do you think the Grays-"
"What is it with you and my ancestry?" she interrupted, scowling.
"Are you really a Pureblood?" this question came out with a strange intensity, like he'd been dying to ask for ages.
"What difference does that make?"
"I will find out." he warned.
"Don't bother. It's unimportant. I am Pureblood," she confirmed bitterly, "Unfortunately. The family vault in Gringotts only opens to those of the purest blood..."
"Unfortunately?" he questioned in disbelief, anger tightening his voice. Didn't she know how fortunate she was to have been born as one of the elite in their society?
She sighed. "I think Purebloods are inbred, fascist narcissists with too much money and self-importance." She said matter-of-factly.
He stared at her, "I bet Avery and the others would be most interested in that opinion."
She looked at him coolly. "They don't know I think that way. The whole of Slytherin would start a riot if they heard my true opinion... despite a good number of them being half-blood or muggleborn themselves. And anyway," continued Amalia, waving a dismissive hand, "I am including myself. It's a stated fact that my family is inbred. It's why they died out - too obsessed with blood status."
"You don't seriously consider muggles as equals."
"It's not that simple." she shrugged. "We have power, they do not. Perhaps we'll never be equals. But... take away a wand and there's not much difference between us, is there?"
He looked frankly disgusted, and somewhat... disappointed by her opinion. Like he'd expected more from her. "They're animals." he snarled.
She frowned. "Aren't you half-blood?" she asked, ignoring the way he twitched in anger. "Was it your mother or father who-"
"Shut up." his voice was deadly.
She rose a hand in surrender. "A touchy subject, I see."
"We're on the Seventh Floor." he gritted, stalking ahead into the corridor. He'd already drawn his wand.
"I see." she sighed and followed, glancing down the Moving Staircase one last time. But it was deserted. With only an hour until curfew, no one would bother them. And she'd picked this particular corridor because it was most likely to remain empty.
They turned a corner and then squared off, facing each other in silence.
Amalia drew her wand and rolled her shoulders. "Usually, I'd recommend we set some rules of engagement, but..."
"You don't like holding back." Riddle mocked, finishing her sentence.
Amalia nodded. "Exactly. So... this is your last chance. Give the locket back, or wake up in the Infirmary."
"This is happening, Gray," he said savagely, "Don't forget that you asked for it, this time."
"Then, on the count of three?"
They opened their mouths and counted in unison. "One... Two... Three!"
This was taking ages...
"Illucescente!"
"Intercepio!" Amalia wearily blocked the curse that would have snapped her legs with a flash of blue fire.
They paused for a moment, both out of breath and glaring. It had been fifteen minutes already - incredibly long for duelling standards. Most duels were over in seconds, or at most a few minutes. But fifteen!? They'd traded curses, jinxes, hexes, summoned smoke, fire, water, lightning, shaped air and stone, and gone through so many shielding spells and counter-curses their heads were spinning. The corridor, strangely, looked mostly uneffected, but Amalia supposed the Castle was enchanted to endure.
She was very nearly out of ideas, and Riddle seemed frustrated as she fended off another of his attacks. They were extremely well matched. Amalia had more experience, but Riddle's natural talent and reflexes ensured that neither could edge out the other. And it seemed he'd been practicing since their last duel. He'd improved... it was scary how talented he was.
Stumped, she decided to fall back on the same spell that had worked the last time... although the incantation was long, he looked as tired as she did.
"Omnia resistendium," she muttered, a glassy shield springing up around her. It wasn't the strongest shield, but it would at least slow down anything he could throw at her. She watched his expression blur as the shield took effect. With the temporary reprieve, she just had enough time... "Indu laqueum chysius obruo... Indu laqueum-" on the second time, the golden substance flowed, viscous and sinister, from her wand, bursting her barrier like a soap bubble before gathering speed to surround Riddle.
She felt a brief glow of triumph... which was snuffed out like the golden spell, as he waved his wand almost lazily and it dispersed.
He found the counter-curse...?!
And she caught sight of his vicious grin. She'd fallen right into his trap.
A sixth sense made her look behind just in time to see a silver spear fly towards her, it's razor-sharp point aimed directly for the center of her back-
"D-displodo!" she gasped, slashing her wand over her shoulder. Just in time, the spell caused the spear to fly apart into a hundred shining pieces, like floating drops of mercury.
But Riddle had exactly what he needed - an opening. As her attention was behind, he had ample time to make his move.
"Obretio."
A sticky, tar-like substance called out of thin air lashed around her legs, keeping her stuck in place.
She couldn't help a pained cry - it felt like hundreds of tiny hooks were dragging her down to her knees.
With no energy to fight it (and no clue about what the counter-curse was), she did the only thing she could think of before her arms were immobilized - attack.
The theory was simple. To maintain a spell that binds, one needs full concentration. So, if he had to defend himself, he'd have to release her.
"Diffindo!" she gasped the simple Severing Charm through gritted teeth, slashing her wand in his vague direction. He was so close, there was no way she could miss.
But he was unwilling to give up his advantage, and merely tried to dodge it.
With a flick of his wand, she was blasted backwards, her breath exploding from her lungs as she was pinned against the wall.
"Expelliarmus!" he said triumphantly, the spell that pinned her ending. She dropped to the ground and took in a few deep breaths, wincing as she rubbed the back of her head. That was going to bruise.
She was helpless to stop her wand from soared out of her hand. He caught it and grinned wolfishly, pointing both of their wands at her.
Then she just stared at him. "Uh... Riddle..."
"So what do you think about this, Gray?" he baited, "Now, at last I'll... be able to..." he broke off suddenly and blinked in surprise. Why was he suddenly on his knees...?
Amalia's face drained of colour. "Oh, shit..."
His pulse seemed deafening, and he felt strangely weak. Looking down, he saw in disbelief a pool of red, expanding rapidly, running along the cracks in the flagstone floor.
"Shit, shit, shit..." Amalia dashed forward and was suddenly supporting his upper body, looking anxious. "I must have hit an artery-"
"I won, Gray," he said groggily, "This time I won."
"Yes, yes, congratulations," she said impatiently, patting his head distractedly. "Just, try to stay awake-"
"Why am I bleeding?" he suddenly demanded, in a tone that was almost petulant.
"Because when someone attacks you with a Severing Charm, Riddle," she cried, exasperated, "You're supposed to block it! What's the point of winning if you bleed out seconds later?"
"I won, though..." he mumbled, eyes fluttering shut.
"Oh no you don't," Amalia vowed, "You're not dying on me... Shit-" she plucked her wand out of his loose fingers and swiftly chanted a complex spell. She had to try three times before it worked. As if frozen in ice, Riddle went stiff, unmoving. His eyes, half-open, were glassy, his chest no longer rising or falling. But the bleeding had also stopped... for now.
She jumped to her feet. Assuming she'd done it right, the spell should keep him in a state of suspended animation for a short while. Giving her time to figure her way out of this mess.
I am not getting expelled because of you! She thought, and, quieter... Please don't die...! She was surprised by the amount the thought scared her.
Not wasting any time, she hastily conjured up a shield to blanket the entire stretch of corridor. His frozen, horribly dead-looking body was concealed - as long as no one stepped on him.
Then, she raced down seven floors, panting hard... back to the dungeons and the Slytherin Common Room.
She burst in and strode quickly towards the girl's dormitory, trying to look normal and failing miserably. Her usual calmness eluded her in the face of the seriousness of the situation.
"Hey, Amalia," called Rosier from the couch. "Have you seen Riddle? You left the library with him..." Avery and Dolohov were also there, and looked up at her expectantly.
She felt a pang of guilt, but forced a relaxed expression. "Oh... uh... Are you... waiting for him?"
Rosier started looking suspicious, "Do you know where-"
"Consider your little gathering cancelled for today," she said bluntly. "He's not going to make it." she flinched, instantly regretting the ironic choice of words. "I d-don't mean he's not going to make it like he's dying, of course... ahaha... That would be..." she clarified with a shaky laugh, more for her own benefit than theirs, "I just... He's just going to be late. Really late. But he's fine. So, uhh... Don't wait up." she ducked into the dormitories, escaping before she could blurt out anything else.
She ignored their confused speculation as she raced by in the opposite direction seconds later, carry a bulging leather satchel and a heavy book.
Please, don't let me be too late...
Author's note:
Really action-packed chapter, don't you think? Deserves reviews, doesn't it? Eh?