Chapter 2: Friends and Enemies

Tom watched Amalia carefully as they approached Platform nine and three-quarters, but she showed no sign of nerves. Her face was composed, her movements sure, and as they got closer she didn't seem as suspicious as usual of the muggles that thronged the busy train station.

Dumbledore explained how the entrance to the platform worked, and Amalia showed immediate interest. She even abandoned her trolley loaded with her newly acquired school supplies, complete with a rather aristocratic-looking barn owl, and stepped next to the brick wall, tapping it gently with her wand and whispering a short spell. She leaned in close as if to listen to the reverberation in the bricks. Tom thought he saw the bricks shiver, as if they were a reflection in a pool that had been disturbed, but it stopped when he blinked.

Looking like her curiosity had been satisfied, she drew back and then pushed her trolley through the barrier without hesitation or a backward glance and disappeared.

Dumbledore chuckled at her behaviour - his eyes sparkled with admiration for whatever she had done. Tom felt a stirring of anger, and quickly pushed through the barrier after her. Just wait until you get to the castle, he sneered to himself, We'll see who's impressive there.

The platform was heaving with students and their parents, and he swiftly lost sight of both Amalia and Dumbledore, who went their separate ways. The train whistled loudly, adding to the cheerful cacophony of noise that irritated Tom even further, though he strode through the rabble purposefully. He hated crowds.

"Riddle!"

He recognised the voice and turned his head slightly, acknowledging the speaker. "Rosier."

"D-did you have a good summer?" asked the smaller fair-haired boy in a slightly breathless voice.

Tom felt a warm glow of satisfaction at the glassy submissiveness in his classmate's eyes. This was how he should be treated. He ignored the question coldly and said, "Tell the others to wait in the usual compartment. I've been made Prefect, so I will be joining you all later."

"Of course." Agreed the boy immediately, with an eager dipping of his head.

Riddle gestured and Rosier hurried to take his trolley to the baggage car for him. As Riddle stalked off towards the nearest entrance to the train he heard Rosier's voice carrying over the crowd.

"Mulciber! Get over here and help me. Riddle's just arrived - he's going to meet us inside…"

"Excuse me, ladies…" Tom murmured to a bunch of third-year girls blocking the doorway. With high-pitched giggles and instant blushing, they pulled each other away from his path, staring with wide eyes hungrily at his handsome features, but too frightened to say a word.

He smirked at them as he passed and they almost fell over.

"That's a useful trick." Said a chuckling voice from right behind him, and he turned to see Amalia following him through the gap he'd created. She'd gotten her luggage onto the train already, and was looking around with interest at all the people around them. She was tall enough to tower over the third-year girls who immediately stopped their giggling, looking shocked.

He scowled at her. "Are you following me, Gray?" he demanded coldly. The third years followed them onto the train and gasped and whispered to each other, watching the exchange with wide eyes. Who on was this person who spoke so informally with Tom Riddle? Why did she wear Hogwarts robes undecorated by any house colours?

"You're the only person I know, remember?" she reminded him, one eyebrow raised as if she didn't think much of his tone.

"So what?" he snapped, regretting it as he noticed they were starting to draw attention. Riddle, the perfect gentleman, arguing with a new student…? His reputation was on thin ice here.

She scowled at him. "I wanted to share a compartment with you." She stated, as if it was obvious.

He felt his lip starting to curl at the thought of it, but he held back the venomous rejection teetering on the tip of his tongue and instead gave a stiff, apologetic smile, glancing from their onlookers back to her. "Unfortunately," he said, false sincerity dripping from his words, "I have Prefect duties to attend to. You will have to find a compartment on your own."

She didn't seem dismayed at all, but merely nodded and looked past him, as if disinterested. "Alright then, see you later." She said dismissively, and, "Scuse me…" she pushed past him, heading further into the train.

He grimaced at her rudeness - she'd actually dared to touch him as she passed - and stalked off in the other direction, grateful to leave her far behind.

Amalia walked down the train passage purposefully, peering into each compartment briefly before moving on. They were mostly full, and the few ones that were reasonably empty invariably seemed to contain pale-faced first years. While she knew she had the most in common with them, she was seeking more than just someone to sympathise with. She needed information on the school. The more she knew before she arrived, the better equipped she would be to deal with whatever this new chapter of her life would throw at her.

She noticed an empty compartment and hesitated. She wondered if anyone would join her if she entered alone… but it wasn't ideal. She glanced back where she'd come from and noticed the giggling third-years from earlier. They seemed to be following her, judging by the badly concealed glances and nudges they were giving each other when they looked at her. She remembered how they'd acted around Riddle and barely avoided rolling her eyes.

She tensed in annoyance - she hated girls like these - but fixed a friendly smile on her face anyway. Just because she disliked them didn't mean they couldn't be useful, after all.

"Hello." She said warmly, "This compartment is empty. Would you mind sharing it with me? I'm a new student this year."

A girl with heavy-lidded eyes and a pretentious smile stepped up, eyeing her somewhat rudely. "You're a little old for a first-year, aren't you?" she sneered.

The girls behind her collapsed into titters at her words.

Amalia forced her smile to remain fixed on her face, but felt a muscle in her eye twitch. "It's a good thing I'm going to be in fifth year, then," she said, with a trace of sharpness, and inclined her head at the compartment. "Shall we?"

Something in her challenging gaze must have intimidated the girl, because her smile slipped off her face, and she hesitated, unsure how to respond. She glanced uncertainly at her friends, then shrugged with false bravado. "Sure." She said, and her and her two friends followed Amalia in.

"I'm Amalia Gray." She said genially, seating herself by the window. She crossed her legs elegantly and watched as the other three sat down awkwardly across from her, as if called into a meeting with the principal. Her calm eyes measured each of them carefully until they shifted uncomfortably, and then she casually pulled out her wand and flicked it - the door slid shut with a gentle click.

The heavy-lidded girl found her voice again with an effort. "Olive Hornby," she said bravely, "And this is Becca Harrows and Marcy Edwards."

"It's nice to meet you." Amalia said politely.

"How do you know Tom Riddle?" blurted out the blonde girl seated next to Hornby.

Hornby smirked. "Marcy here's got a crush on him." She told Amalia, causing the other girl to blush furiously.

"Yes, he's very attractive, isn't he?" Amalia agreed, and gave a very un-Amalia-like giggle. "Clever, too." She smiled bashfully, "We talked for ages about the classes we're going to have together, and he even agreed to help me with Potions."

"No way! Really?" squealed Marcy, and the slightly overweight girl, Becca Harrows, gasped enviously and almost fell off her seat.

What fools, sneered Amalia to herself, I almost feel sorry for them. "So what's he like in school?" Amalia asked curiously, "I only spent some time with him in the holidays." She exaggerated easily, seeing the admiration in their vapid expressions. She listened attentively as they gushed on what was clearly a favourite subject for the next half-hour. By that time, the train had departed the station and was taking them further and further into the countryside.

Amalia felt her heart lightening as she left the dreariness and danger of London far behind. Her research had told her that Hogwarts was one of the safest places in Europe, impregnated with so many protective wards and enchantments that it was considered nigh impossible to infiltrate. If she wasn't safe there, she wouldn't be safe anywhere. That safety was worth even the tedium of letting some bird-brained girls chatter on about Riddle if they wanted to.

Gradually they exhausted the topic of extolling his many virtues (which Amalia was highly doubtful of), and she managed to slip in questions about more important matters. She learnt about the Sorting hat, the different houses, the teachers, ghosts, classes and the library.

She also picked up more information than she wanted about who to make friends with. The three imbecilic girls were in the academically brilliant Ravenclaw, which she found ironic since they seemed so silly. Gryffindors were loud and annoying, she learnt, while Hufflepuffs were alright, if a little dim.

Slytherins were generally an unpleasant bunch - with a few exceptions, like Riddle - but she also gathered from their tone that they were quite elitist. After all, some of the most powerful magical families called Slytherin home. She had no idea which house she wanted to be sorted into - they all seemed rather restrictive.

As the food trolley came around, she surprised her companions by buying a massive amount of food, and eating it with enthusiasm, too.

"Aren't you afraid of putting on weight?" asked Hornby in a somewhat scandalised tone.

"Yes, you should be more careful," agreed Marcy, her blonde ponytail bouncing with earnestness, "You're so pretty and thin already!"

Amalia glanced at the overweight Becca Harrows, who flushed and tried to hide the chocolate frog she'd been about to eat from her friends. "I don't care much about my weight," Amalia said with a careless shrug, and took an enormous bite of a pumpkin pasty, "Life's too short to worry about that kind of thing… Don't you think?"

Olive Hornby still looked scandalised, and shook her head disapprovingly, but somehow she felt like she'd been gently chastised. This Amalia Gray seemed so self-assured - she looked graceful reclining against the window seat with her long legs stretched out on the seat beside her, and there was something refined about her even as she stuffed her face. How was that even possible?!

Marcy Edwards gave a shrill squeak as she caught sight of a certain dark-haired Prefect passing their compartment, and they all looked around.

Amalia, still pretending that she was on good terms with him, waved cheerfully, and was rewarded by a curt nod before he moved on.

As Tom walked past he heard her laugh merrily as the girls started pestering her with questions about their "relationship". He fumed silently and felt his fingers twitch as they itched to close around her slender neck at the thought of her telling those idiot girls Merlin-knew-what about him…

"Who's that?" asked the sallow-faced boy following close behind him. A Prefect badge also glinted on his chest. He seemed curious about this girl who seemed to be friendly with Riddle.

"No one important, Dolohov," snapped Tom, an ugly look entering his eyes. "Some new fifth year."

"If you say so," acquiesced the other boy quickly, but looked back somewhat wistfully. "It's just… she's kind of attractive, don't you think?"

"I don't agree." Said Tom coldly, as they arrived at the compartment where the rest of his little group was assembled and waiting for him. "As I already said, she isn't important."

"Who isn't important?" asked Leonard Avery, the lanky youth seated closest to the door as they walked in. "It's good to see you, Riddle."

Tom merely nodded as he pushed through the group to the window seat that had been left open for him.

"There's a new student coming into fifth year," explained Antonin Dolohov eagerly, missing Tom's irritable expression, "She looks… interesting. Riddle knows her."

At his words the other boys stirred, grinning. Avery, the loud-mouth of the group, instantly demanded a description, and Dolohov enthusiastically obliged.

Tom felt like hitting his own head against the window beside him at their stupidity. When had these fools become hormone-crazed imbeciles?! Amalia was half-decent looking, he had to admit, but they didn't know she was paranoid lunatic with a hoarding problem.

"Don't get too excited," drawled a broad-chested boy with shoulder-length black hair. His voice was deep and somewhat harsh. "What's her blood status? Do you know, Riddle?"

Tom felt annoyed that they were still talking about her, but Silas Lestrange, the one who'd asked, was looking expectantly at him. He shouldn't start ordering them around as soon as he walked in… He might as well indulge their curiosity for now. "Pureblood." He answered curtly, and raised an eyebrow at Avery, who actually punched the air and said, "Yes!"

"Calm down," chided Theodore Rosier, who sat closest to Riddle and seemed to sense his mood, "Riddle already said she isn't important."

"At least tell us her name," begged Avery, with his usual flair for the dramatic. "You can't blame us for being excited, Riddle, the girls in our year are all trolls."

Tom smirked as they all looked at him expectantly, and paused, dragging out the silence. "Fine." He said with an indulgent sigh, "Her name is Amalia Gray."

"Gray?"

"But that's-"

"Nott, didn't you have an aunt that was related to a Gray-?"

"I thought the Grays were extinct." As usual, Lestrange's harsh words cut through the other's chatter.

"I thought so, as well." Said Tom quietly. He looked around the group. "I tire of discussing this. My last word on the subject of Amalia Gray is that I think she's hiding something." The other boys exchanged glances at this interesting news. Tom met each of their eyes, the cold expression in his gaze reminding them just who was in charge. "If any of you find out anything of note about her, I want to be informed. That is all."

"But-"

"This subject is now closed, Avery." Warned Tom in a softly dangerous voice, and the other boy swallowed nervously, nodding.

"Now, to other matters." Announced Tom coldly. "Now that I am Prefect, it's going to be much easier to get around the castle. I think we can move our meetings to a better location…

Definitely not a Hufflepuff, chuckled a sly voice in her ear, as she waited for the Sorting Hat to make a decision, At least we can eliminate that possibility…

She blinked and looked out at the Great Hall, where a sea of faces stared at her. All the first-years had been sorted, and with the eyes of everyone fixed on her, she felt the first flutterings of nerves since she woke up that morning. She didn't mind being in a crowd, where she could blend in and observe, or talking to people one-on-one, where she could control the conversation… But she didn't like being the centre of attention. Here, sitting on a stool in the middle of the open space in front of the teacher's table, anyone could attack her and she'd be helpless to react in time.

I'm not in Knockturn anymore, she reminded herself, quelling the jittery feelings with sheer willpower, I'm safe here. Hogwarts is safe. I'm not afraid.

Bravery in the face of overwhelming odds… But also a dislike of dependence, noted the hat as it listened to her thoughts, A preference for your own company over that of others.

"I can't argue with that," she said ruefully in her mind.

So not a Gryffindor, then, surmised the hat. What about Ravenclaw? You prize learning and enjoy the challenge of discovery-

"Ugh." Her nose wrinkled as she thought of Olive Hornby and her silly little friends.

Alright, then, said the hat, it'll have to be…

"SLYTHERIN!" The hat shouted, making her jump slightly even though she'd been expecting it.

She gratefully took off the hat, thankful that the ordeal was over, and stood, as the green and silver house on her far right clapped and cheered. Her eyes searched until she found Riddle, who was sitting near the end of the closest table, and looked like he was sucking on a lemon.

She gave him a brilliant smile and strode purposefully towards him. See, she thought smugly, I did make it into Slytherin, despite what you think of me! He had a dark expression on his face, but Amalia doubted anyone else noticed, because they were still busy staring at her.

Her eyes flicked past him to the ones sitting around him - a group of boys, clearly a posse. She felt surprised - he didn't seem the type to have friends. Although he'd seemed perfectly polite most of the time she'd been around him in the past two days, she had immediately noticed that his smiles never reached his eyes. She was good at spotting danger, and something about the way he looked at the people around him gave her chills. She'd noticed it in The Leaky Cauldron, and at the train station. He was not what he seemed.

But his 'friends' seemed normal enough, at first glance. At the last minute, she swerved away from Riddle and stopped instead at the bench directly opposite him, where two large boys were staring at her in delight.

"Would you mind making some room for me…?" she started asking shyly, brushing her hair behind her ear. She needn't have opened her mouth. Even as she said it they were standing up.

"Of course!" one babbled with a grin, while the other shoved the boy next to him - "Move over, Nott!"

They didn't leave a space for her at the end of the bench, as she assumed, but instead gestured at the gap they had created between themselves.

She nodded and accepted the seat without complaint, looking slightly embarrassed as the loud-mouthed boy on her right insisted on holding her hand as she stepped over the bench and sat down gracefully.

She looked up just in time to see Riddle rolling his eyes, and shot him a lazy grin before turning to her new benchmates.

Tom stiffened in disbelief. Had she just tipped him a lightning-fast wink?! Surreptitious glances at everyone else told him they hadn't noticed. His eyes narrowed at her. Was it his imagination, or was there something challenging in the way she'd grinned at him…?

"Amalia Gray, as you heard," she introduced herself warmly to the two lovestruck Slytherins, while all the other boys except Tom listened in enviously.

"I'm Leonard Avery," the loud-mouthed boy replied eagerly.

"Antonin Dolohov." The other gushed.

"It's nice to meet you." She said politely, and was spared further conversation by Headmaster Dippet, who had shuffled up to the podium and was waving his arms for silence.

"Now that we have greeted all our new students," he said somewhat pompously, "I trust that we have a fulfilling and enlightening year ahead of us all." The stiff smile on his face vanished, and he scowled sternly, raising a finger into the air as if he was about to start conducting an orchestra. "Misdemeanours," he barked, "Will not be tolerated! As always, the Forbidden Forest remains forbidden, the corridors are off-limits after hours, and break-ins at the Restricted Section of the library shall be dealt with most severely." He glowered at them for extra emphasis.

Amalia let a grin steal across her face and looked around at Tom's group. "Well," she whispered theatrically, "I feel right at home already. Is he always so cheerful?"

The boys that had caught her words broke into sniggers, and Tom restrained himself from kicking them in the shins as Headmaster Dippet's heavy gaze fell on them.

"Ahem," coughed the man, clearly put off his speech by their antics, "Yes. Well… Study hard, respect your teachers, respect the name of your school." He clapped his hands. "Let the feast begin." He seemed relieved to be able to leave the podium.

Amalia gasped in genuine shock as the feast magically appeared on the table. Avery and Dolohov laughed at her expression.

"This is amazing." She muttered in awe, and immediately started piling her plate high with a bit of everything. The food she'd eaten on the train seemed like a distant memory.

There was a brief silence as everyone fell on the food. Amalia glanced up from her plate and caught Riddle staring at her with a flat gaze. He gave a razor-thin smile at her that didn't reach his eyes.

Holding his gaze, she raised her goblet and drank from it, giving him a tiny, mocking toast. She watched his eyes widen at her gesture, and then narrow. He had very dark eyes, she mused, and when he glared they seemed even darker, obsidian, almost reptilic.

Her eyes flicked away from him at last, and she turned to Dolohov, seated on her left. "So, could you introduce me to everyone else? I'll try my best to remember your names. Though I've already met Riddle, of course." She shot him a friendly smile, which he didn't return.

"Sure," said Dolohov easily, "This is Nott, Mulciber, Lestrange-"

"My pleasure," said the dark-haired boy on Riddle's right-hand side. He had a rather pronounced brow, and large nose and strong jawline, and yet, the heavy features suited him. His voice had a queer, almost guttural quality to it. His smile was more of a leer as his eyes travelled slowly up and down the parts of her that were visible above the edge of the table.

"-And Rosier." Finished Dolohov, nodding to the slight, fair-haired boy which sat on Riddle's left at the end of the bench.

Amalia was getting tired of smiling so much. She wished she didn't have to be around these boys - they stared too much and she'd rather eat the delicious food in peace and quiet. But she knew how important first impressions were, and she was resolved to fit in… at least until she found her feet.

So she kept smiling politely as she devoured a steak and succulent roast pork, with a side of healthy vegetables too.

"So, Amalia - May I call you Amalia? - What's your story?"

She noticed Tom look over sharply at this, and chewed her steak slowly, as if pondering her answer. But she'd already rehearsed what she was going to say.

"You'll have to excuse Avery," Dolohov interrupted with sneer from her other side, "He has the manners of a Blast-Ended Skrewt."

Amalia swallowed her piece of steak and chuckled at his words, but turned to Avery and shrugged. "Sure, I don't mind." She picked up her goblet, but noticed she'd finished her pumpkin juice. The jug stood further along the table.

"Hmm, my story," she mused, as she slipped her wand out of her robe, "Where to begin…" she flicked her wand at the jug, which rose and floated easily down the table towards her, prompting some startled looks. In mid-air the jug tipped and filled up her goblet, without spilling a drop. "Does anyone want a refill?" she asked politely, while the jug hovered. "Avery? Riddle? No?" at Avery's mute shaking head and Riddle's icy stare, she sent the jug back down the table, setting it down gently. Then she took a dainty sip, seemingly oblivious to the way she'd just gotten everyone's attention.

"My story is quite simple." She said, putting her goblet down. "I've never been to magical school, though I know a fair bit. I suppose you could say I was… home-schooled, after a fashion," she shrugged. "As for my family, I have none." Now a sad expression came over her face, and she looked down as if she couldn't bear to meet their eyes. "I… I don't like talking about it." She looked up, and now she seemed ashamed. "Neither do I have many friends…" her eyes flickered around the table, "But that unhappy situation will not last long, I'm sure." She smiled sweetly, and Avery and Dolohov hastened to assure her that she was very welcome indeed, and if she was uncomfortable discussing her family they'd of course refrain from being nosy... They seemed to have forgotten Tom's orders rather conveniently. Tom narrowed his eyes at her. Where had the suspicious and secretive Amalia gone? Who was this… this… social butterfly, who deflected questions about her past so easily? She had a very expressive face, and she certainly wasn't stupid. Unlike his classmates…

He surveyed her carefully. He suddenly noticed that her wand was still out, on the table next to her hand. He noticed her knuckles go white around her fork as some Gryffindors at the table behind her abruptly roared with laughter. He saw her eyes glance twice, three times over the hall, to where the great double doors stood, as if she was wishing she could leave. No, for all her calm exterior… underneath she was still a neurotic mess.

He smirked. "So, Gray," he said abruptly, "Why did you decide to come to Hogwarts?"

She looked at him in surprise, and then hesitated. He knew why…

"There must be some important reason," he goaded her, Go on… start raving about the ministry men coming to kill you, go on… we'll see how fast Avery and Dolohov run away after hearing that… "For you to decide to just move here after so long by yours-"

"It was because of you, Riddle." She suddenly interrupted, with a bright smile. There was definitely a challenge in her eyes now.

He froze in shock, and then scowled when she continued sweetly, "Don't you remember? You were telling me about how big the library is… and how Slytherin was the best house…" a muscle twitched in Riddle's jaw as she fluttered her fake doe-eyes at him. He could tell she was laughing at him inside. "… So I just decided. I had to see it for myself!"

Now he was even getting curious looks from his followers-! Did they think that he liked her? Now his previous refusal to talk about her seemed like jealousy…

"You're going to love Hogwarts," assured Avery eagerly, from her right-hand side, drawing her attention back to him. "And you're in the only house worth being in, too."

"Is that so?" she said, with false interest. "What makes Slytherin the best?"

She listened attentively as Avery chattered on, filling the air with words, allowing her the chance to eat the last few pieces of her food in peace.

After a while it became apparent that he didn't require much from her by way of a response beyond the occasional nod, and she let her eyes drift around the table, assessing each of the Slytherins she'd met according to their level of threat.

Her eyes accidentally met the dark gaze of Lestrange, who was busy devouring what looked like the leg of a large turkey by hand. His direct stare pinned her with amused malice as his teeth ripped a strip of flesh from the bone, and she looked away quickly, hiding how disconcerted she felt at the sight.

Next to him, Riddle was also staring at her during Avery's monologue, but he was being much more discreet about it, more calculated than creepy. Even so, Amalia realised as she glanced between the swarthy, almost-feral Lestrange and the coolly handsome Riddle, with the correct posture and impeccable manners… they were both wolves among lapdogs. Which was more dangerous? She needed to be on her guard.

Dessert passed without much drama, and Amalia found she was able to get by without saying much. Avery and Dolohov competed for her attention, which she quickly found tedious, but they seemed satisfied with an occasional monosyllabic response and a half-hearted smile.

Tom watched her carefully throughout the meal, but his efforts at uncovering her secrets seemed to have hit a brick wall. She was surprisingly charming - that was something new - and if she kept it up he might have a hard time reining in his own followers. This would need some careful thought…

Once the feast was over, he had to lead the first years to the Common Room, and it was with some disquiet that he watched her get escorted out of the Great Hall surrounded by his cronies. Dolohov, also a Prefect, remained behind.

"Gather round, you little shits," Dolohov called cheerfully, waving the first-years into a small group. They numbered only eleven, all puny white-faced little things that made Tom's lip curl. He didn't remember ever being that small.

As they herded their charges out of the Hall, Dolohov turned to Tom. "I see now what you meant," he said in a low tone.

Tom raised one eyebrow, but didn't deign to respond.

"You know, when you said she was hiding something. She doesn't want to talk about herself… very suspicious." He didn't sound suspicious at all, just like he was saying this to earn some points with Tom.

"Indeed." He replied dryly.

"You know…" Dolohov said cautiously, "If you want to… uncover her secrets," he coughed meaningfully, "The old-fashioned way, you only have to say so." He seemed to perk up when Tom made no reply except a withering glare. "Otherwise, you can just leave it to me." He sniggered.

Tom looked at him up and down, and then smirked. "Sure, go ahead." He said generously, "I don't mind."

"Really?" Dolohov seemed surprised.

"I told you all on the train I didn't find her interesting. I'm only interested in whatever she's hiding."

"Oh. Alright, then."

They arrived at the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room and ushered the first years inside. "Oh, Dolohov," Riddle said smoothly, as the lanky boy made to enter.

"Yes, Riddle?"

"Good luck." Something about the falsely sympathetic way Riddle said it made Dolohov's cheerful smile falter.

Riddle grinned wolfishly as he walked away from the Common Room. Somehow, he knew Amalia was far too smart to fall for the likes of Dolohov… or even worse, that idiot Avery. She didn't take any of them seriously. But him… the way she'd looked at Tom was different. She wasn't fooled by his mask any more than he was by hers.

He'd lied. He found her immensely interesting... on that basis alone.

"It's so great to have another girl around!" enthused a bright-eyed girl with long, curly black hair.

Amalia followed her and two other girls down the winding stone staircase into the girls' dormitories. The third door down was for fifth years. She was quite surprised to see the spacious room, outfitted with four enormous four-poster beds complete with green silver-edged canopies and drapes. Her trunk and other belongings were neatly stacked at the foot of one of the beds.

"Wow, this is mine?" she sat down on the bed and gave an experimental bounce - the mattress was soft and the cover thick with expensive silk-lined quilting.

"Most of the girls' dorms have between five and eight beds per room, one for each year, but we were only three!" Explained the curly-haired girl eagerly, jumping onto her own bed on Amalia's right.

"That's why you were so popular with Riddle's lot at the feast." Explained a long-haired girl with a serious face. "They don't get to speak with girls much. I'm Anne Flint, by the way. It's nice to meet you."

"Merlin's pants, where are my manners? Sorry! I'm Callidora Black." The curly-haired girl bounced off her bed and insisted on grabbing Amalia's hand in a firm handshake.

Amalia returned her friendly smile, and felt a knot of tension loosening inside her. She liked this overly-demonstrative girl, somehow. She seemed… fun, without putting on airs.

"But we just call her Dora, unless she's being particularly annoying." Contributed Anne in her sombre way.

"I'll keep that in mind."

"And this wilting wallflower is Charlotte Yaxley," introduced Callidora officiously, giving a dramatic flourish to the fourth girl in the room.

Charlotte, a small-boned girl with a pixie-like face, went pink when Amalia looked at her and mumbled shyly in a voice that was barely a squeak, "Hi."

"It's great to meet you," Amalia said with a rueful smile, "I was beginning to think I'd signed up for an all-boys school."

Callidora guffawed loudly. "Ah, they're not too bad, I guess, for cretinous leeches!"

"Where did you go to school before?" Anne asked, and Amalia was forced to launch into her rehearsed story again. Homeschooled her whole life - no family left - please don't bring it up.

The girls seemed to take her mysterious background in their stride, and treated Amalia to a short breakdown of their own histories.

Callidora Black was one of many Blacks currently at the school - all in Slytherin, and all related in some way.

"That must be nice?" Mused Amalia somewhat wistfully.

"It most certainly is not!" exclaimed Callidora dramatically, "Most people come to school to escape their family, and everywhere I turn I'm faced with a bloody dreaded cousin…"

"They're not all bad." Interrupted Anne, in her role as seemingly a counterweight to Callidora's constant exaggerations, "Alphard - he's in fourth year - is a decent sort."

"The one you have to steer clear of is Walburga Black." Said Callidora with an affected shudder. "If I wasn't related to her I would say she's definitely part troll."

"And hag." Added Anne.

Callidora nodded. "And hag."

Amalia laughed. "She's really that bad?"

"Oh yes. And she's sixth year- and a Prefect. So try not to get on her bad side. Not that she has a good side, come to think of it."

After that, Amalia learnt that out of the bunch, Anne was the studious one, Charlotte the "girly" girl of the group… and Callidora quite predictably was the trouble-maker. This was affirmed when, about an hour after they'd started talking, she pulled out a dusty bottle of firewhisky from her trunk.

The evening quite quickly degenerated after that. At first Amalia had been wary of the other girls, cautious of some ulterior motive, but soon she found herself laughing and joking along with them as though they'd been friends for years. The alcohol certainly helped.

It was just before midnight when Amalia accepted the last inch of firewhiskey in a small tumbler, feeling pleasantly dizzy.

"Damn. Sh'all gone." Slurred Callidora, and chucked the empty bottle back into her open trunk, where it hit something delicate with a crunch that made them all wince.

"Uh… I can't believe we have classes tomorrow…" Anne said mournfully, shaking her head.

"I can't wait." Said Amalia truthfully, her eyes lighting up. Dumbledore had signed her up for all the classes that could possibly fit on her timetable - and she couldn't wait for all of them.

"Me, too." Said Charlotte quietly, and hiccupped, blinking into her own empty cup in seeming surprise.

"Tha's because you can't wait to see… Lestrange," slurred Callidora with a wicked grin. Anne laughed and Charlotte blushed red like the setting sun.

Amalia turned to stare at the tiny, delicate girl in shock. She could not imagine her with the hulking, predatory Lestrange.

Callidora correctly interpreted her surprised expression and snorted. "It's unrequited, don't worry," she said with a chuckle. "Yaxley just has a thing for bad boys, I think."

"And you two?" Amalia asked, "Any of the boys interest you?"

Anne and Callidora shook their heads violently. "Definitely not!" shouted Callidora.

"Shush!" hissed Anne, and then fell about laughing as Callidora clapped a hand over her mouth in belated shock.

Charlotte was the first to announce the end of the festivities, by falling back on her bed and emitting a soft snore.

Anne went over to her trunk and began laying out her clothes neatly for the next day - hampered by the fact that she could barely stand straight.

Callidora found a pen from somewhere and proceeded to approach Charlotte slowly…with the stealth of a three-legged centaur, with the clear intent of drawing on her sleeping face.

As much as Amalia wanted to see this risky venture to its conclusion, she suddenly felt a pang of loneliness and regret.

"I'm - bathroom." She mumbled, and walked unsteadily to the door.

Somehow she found her way to the girl's lavatory just down the hall. It was deserted this time of night, and she splashed her face with water unhurriedly, her mind clearing slowly. Her dorm-mates were everything she could have hoped for. Warm, friendly… normal.

She didn't belong with them.

This bright and pleasant world, filled with friends and family and safety… it was alien to her. She mustn't forget who she was, what she'd been through. She mustn't forget that this was a temporary safe haven - outside the walls of Hogwarts, her demons were waiting. She mustn't forget…

Tom walked down the dungeon passages to the entrance of the Common Room, whistling a cheerful tune. He spoke the password and entered, feeling pleasantly tired from his long-overdue patrol of the halls of Hogwarts. He was home again.

Suddenly he froze, his good mood evaporating.

The girl was lying on one of the couches, one arm thrown carelessly over her eyes. He thought at first she was sleeping, but then at the sound of the entrance closing behind him she raised her arm and tensed, looking up.

She stopped when she saw who it was.

"Oh, it's just you," she said dismissively, and slumped back down again, looking sleepily at the warm fireplace. It reminded her a little of her room in Knockturn.

Tom felt a now-familiar stab of annoyance as she ignored him on sight.

"Why aren't you sleeping?" he hissed, annoyed that she'd caught him sneaking out. He was a Prefect, but he still wasn't allowed to go wandering the corridors so late.

Her jaw cracked with a massive yawn. "Mmm… I just… needed some air." She glanced at him. "What about you?"

He bristled. "None of your business!" he snarled.

She raised her eyebrows at his tone. "Fine. Not like I care."

He huffed and glared at her, his good mood now completely ruined.

"Riddle, why do you hate me?" she suddenly asked.

"I don't." he lied quickly, startled.

"Yes, you do." She corrected him, and sighed. "Well, whatever…"

She stood up and walked away slowly from him. At the stairs to the dormitory she turned her head and looked back at him. "We don't have to be enemies, you know." She said suddenly, serious.

He just glared at her.

"I have too many enemies already."

He laughed at that, a mocking laugh.

Her gaze hardened. "I know you don't believe me, Riddle," she said tartly.

"You're delusional." He said scornfully, shedding his polite mask entirely. It felt so… freeing.

She appraised him for a moment with an approving look, acknowledging that he had finally decided to drop the act. "I'm not afraid of you." She said matter-of-factly.

"You don't know anything about me."

"That won't be the case for very long. And you don't know me, either."

"For now." He echoed her words with a mocking smile.

She laughed softly. "If that's how you want to play it, very well. Good luck."

He blinked as she inadvertently used the same words he had with Dolohov, in precisely the same tone.

"But imagine, for a moment, that I am telling the truth." Now there was definitely a challenge in her stare, and Tom's smile melted off his face as he met her gaze. Tension like electricity crackled between them, and Tom tried to resist the urge to plunge his hand into his robes and pull out his wand. "If I'm telling the truth," she continued, her tone serious, "Then scores of wizards older and more powerful than you have tried to kill me. None have succeeded."

A thrill of excitement ran through him.

"Just bear that in mind before you decide to become my enemy." She finished quietly, and then turned on her heel and disappeared into the stairwell.

Tom remained where he was for a short while, pondering her words. He ran his fingers over his long, pale wand. He wasn't used to being threatened. A bloodthirsty grin broke out over his face, and he found himself hoping she had the skill to back up her words. He did relish a challenge…