Chapter 4: A Mystery

Amalia was feeling mischievous.

It had taken her longer than expected to find her way to the Great Hall after her talk with Dumbledore, and during the journey, she'd thought a lot – about Tom, mostly. So much about him was a mystery – what was his true face? What were his motives? Why did Dumbledore warn her away from him, while many others thought the sun shone out of his every orifice?

In the Great Hall, she decided to keep up their charade of being friends and sat next to him without a word. Although this time Tom hadn't initiated it, he greeted her with an impeccable smile nevertheless.

Inside, Tom felt a spike of annoyance. Amalia had just plonked herself down next to him (much to Callidora, Anne and Charlotte's incredulity – they were sitting among the other Slytherin girls) even going so far as to get Rosier to move up to make space. Though Rosier was hardly pleased at having his place taken, he acquiesced once he saw Riddle's terse nod, hidden beneath a pleasant smile as she sat down gracefully.

Her arrival also didn't go unnoticed by the other boys.

"Where were you, Amalia?" asked Avery in his usual obnoxious way.

Not to be left out, Dolohov also leaned forward, his brown hair falling in his eyes, "Yeah, you missed the start of the feast." He flicked his hair out of his face in what he hoped was a cool and alluring manner. He glanced at Tom, who was looking away with a bored expression and breathed an internal sigh of relief. After their antics in class, he'd been half-convinced that Tom had lied the previous night when he'd said he wasn't interested in Amalia in that way… but it seemed he really didn't care after all. It was obvious that he had some kind of agenda, though, and for that Dolohov felt sorry for her. She seemed nice.

Amalia was already digging into a loaded plate. In between enormous bites, she shrugged and said, "Got lost on my way back from Transfiguration." She poured herself some pumpkin juice and chugged it down, and then sighed in satisfaction. "My internal compass is very unreliable," she explained, pulling a face.

At her words, she saw Tom turn to gaze at her in his quietly intense way, though she initially ignored him. What was he thinking? That it was a weakness he could exploit? She smirked slightly as she tucked into her roast potatoes – he must be desperate. But he still said nothing, even though he was clearly burning with curiosity about something. She could tell by the way his body language had gone all stiff. Or was it because she was sitting too close? She reached for a bowl of greens and shifted infinitesimally closer so that their legs just brushed.

She saw his fork pause on its way to his mouth, and the smallest of micro-expressions contracted his brow as she glanced at him. He doesn't like being touched. She realised with wicked delight. Well, well, Tom Riddle. Now that's a weakness that can be used.

Filing that away for future use, she put down her knife and fork and sat back, looking openly at him. He returned her gaze coolly. She idly wondered what kind of expression he'd make if she messed up his perfectly groomed jet black hair. But she wasn't quite brave enough for that… yet.

"If you want to ask me something, just go ahead." She told him in a normal tone. In the loud hall, no one heard them except Rosier, quietly eating on her other side.

"I don't have anything to ask." He said smoothly back, and looked resolutely back to his plate, slicing his steak with unhurried precision.

Amalia stifled a chuckle. He's childish, she realised. She noticed his eyes flick out over the hall, and linger on Dumbledore, who was seated at the teacher's table next to Dippet, and then when Riddle looked back at his plate, he stabbed a potato with a little more force than was actually necessary.

"You really hate him, don't you?" Amalia commented. "Dumbledore?"

Riddle kept his face blank. She was far too observant for her own good! Although to be fair it was hardly a secret…

"What do you think about him?" broke in Rosier, interrupting Amalia's scrutiny of Tom's expression. She turned away and Tom felt annoyed that he hadn't answered immediately with some kind of denial or off-hand confirmation.

"Me?" Amalia seemed to take the question seriously and thought carefully about her answer. "I think he's a good person. A great wizard. But…" for some reason her eyes flickered back to Riddle as she paused, "He has flaws just like anyone else."

Rosier felt annoyed. Why couldn't she ever give a normal answer? He saw Tom's eyes afire with questions, and Amalia turned back to him as if she felt the curiosity burning off of him like heat.

She rolled her eyes at him. "Riddle," she said with an amused chuckle, "If you have a question, just spit it out."

Riddle felt like cursing her on the spot for her impudence – she'd actually laughed at him – but curiosity won out in the end, and he just settled for an icy stare to show his displeasure. "What did you talk to him about, after class?" he asked at last, stiffly.

Amalia grinned like a Cheshire cat. "You."

What. Riddle fought to keep his face from showing his emotions, but it was difficult, and by her widening smile he could tell it didn't fool her.

"What do you mean?" Once again, it was Rosier who saved him from replying, though suddenly Tom wished he wasn't in the conversation. Dumbledore had mentioned him? Why? What did he say? Was Amalia lying? Why would-

"Well, we didn't just talk about Riddle, of course," Amalia amended, keeping her tone light and casual, "He wanted to know how I was doing and so on, too."

Tom found his voice again. "So," he drawled, as if the subject bored him, "How was my name brought up?" his finger idly traced the rim of his goblet.

Amalia paused. Then, she winked at Rosier, and leaned very slowly and deliberately onto Riddle's shoulder, bringing her lips right to his ear. Predictably, he froze, uncomfortable with the proximity, and the rest of the group suddenly went quiet, dumbstruck at the sight of their seeming intimacy. But though they stared, Amalia whispered quietly enough so that only Tom could hear.

"He wanted me to stay away from you." She breathed.

A thousand thoughts raced through his mind, and Tom's eyes suddenly went black. For a moment his hand tightened on his fork and knife, his already pale, long fingers turning white. He was angry… but at her or Dumbledore, or possibly both, Amalia couldn't tell. He turned his dark gaze on her, and the sheer weight of the malice in his eyes sent a shiver up her spine. Their faces were so close, and her heart sped up, but whether it was from adrenaline or something else she couldn't be sure. His magic was so oppressive it seemed harder to breathe. It was like being eye-to-eye with a venomous snake. His obsidian eyes didn't blink. "And what was your reply? Tell me." he said, and though he kept his words deadly quiet, the authority in his voice was unmistakable. It was a command, not a question.

She forced herself to grin, even though she started to break out in a cold sweat, and leaned in even closer, drawing it out while her warm breath lightly tickled his ear, "…I refused."

Of all the things he'd expected her to say, that was the least expected, and the surprise stripped away his anger at Dumbledore and even erased the discomfort he felt at her hand resting on his shoulder. His oppressive magic lifted, replaced by suspicion. Had she really said that? Did she mean it? ... Why?

He opened his mouth to question her further, but her attention was suddenly elsewhere - dessert had arrived. At the arrival of food, the mission "torment Tom Riddle" seemed to be postponed in favour of apple pie and whipped cream, and for that Tom was secretly quite glad. He had plenty of questions for her, but this behaviour was infuriating. He would have to move his plans along faster than he'd anticipated…

"What was that about?" Avery suddenly blurted out, frowning, actually frowning, at Tom! He felt his fingers twitch with the intent to curse the stupid boy into oblivion. It had been obvious that Amalia was trying to make them jealous, and it angered him that it seemed to have succeeded so easily. Only Rosier seemed to have caught on since he was looking irritated at Amalia, and Lestrange seemed oblivious to everything, mostly because he was preoccupied with singlehandedly devouring a trifle.

Amalia winked at Tom as if they shared a private joke. "Oh," she said with a bashful smile, "You'd have to ask Riddle."

Dolohov, Avery, Mulciber and Nott looked at the coldly glowering Riddle and traded dismayed glances. There was no way they'd ever find out.

She got up and waved a cheerful goodbye, trotting off to meet her friends who had just finished and were waiting for her at the entrance to the Great Hall.

She was aware of Tom's eyes following her, frustrated, but didn't notice another – a pair of blue eyes behind half-moon glasses which had thoughtfully watched the entire drama at the Slytherin table unfold.

Outside the Great Hall…

"You have to spill, now!" Callidora's voice brooked no argument.

Amalia raised her hands in a gesture of peace. "Okay, okay. But let's not talk here." Students were coming out of the Hall in droves already.

"Common Room?" chipped in Charlotte hopefully. She looked tired, and her pixie-like face split into a child-like yawn.

Amalia looked apologetic. "I'd love to see the library."

"Good idea," Anne said enthusiastically. "We can start our essays."

Charlotte yawned again and shrugged. "I'll see you guys later, then." She headed off in the direction of the Common Room.

"Ugh, the library," Callidora groaned, but grabbed Amalia and started marching her there anyway. She was keen to gossip. "Try and remember this route, Amalia." She said bossily. "So you don't get lost again."

Amalia nodded, her wide eyes drinking in the moving portraits and staircases. It would take a long time to get used to the castle, she could tell. Perhaps she should draw a map…?

The library was amazing. It was the most amazing room in the castle, in her opinion. The sheer volume of books, the endless possibilities hinted at by their intriguing shapes and sizes… she knew at last beyond a doubt that she'd made the right decision in coming to Hogwarts.

But her amazement was briefly put on hold when Callidora dragged her over to a wide table next to a large bay window. The heavy fabric of dark satin curtains that hung on either side made the corner seem more private, and Amalia was under the impression this was their regular library haunt. This suspicion was confirmed when she saw an ornate "C.B." scratched into the leg of the table – casual vandalism of school property was seemed to fit Callidora's character.

As Anne started packing out her homework and essay-writing materials, Callidora commenced the interrogation.

"Let's start at the beginning. Charms – what the heck was that? Where did you learn such awesome magic?"

Amalia shrugged, "Books, mainly." She tried to sound nonchalant, not evasive, but she could tell Callidora was not completely convinced.

"Uh huh. Sure. Why a cat?"

Amalia grinned as she remembered, and reached into her bag, pulling out the black, blown-glass figure. "I'm a cat person." The remnants of the movement charm she'd cast on it hadn't worn off yet, and the figurine preened itself daintily on the tabletop. She wondered if the spell Tom had cast to create the glass hadn't somehow charged the molten sand, changing the spell and strengthening it. Perhaps there was a book somewhere that she could-

"Earth to Amalia!" Callidora snapped her fingers bossily in her face, jolting her out of her reverie. Her gaze, which had been drifting towards the bookshelves, reluctantly returned to Callidora's stubborn face. "I'm not finished yet. How come you and Riddle ended up putting on the bloody Charms Olympics in front of everyone, anyway?"

"I wanted to see what he'd do."

"So, you are trying to get his attention, then?" surmised Callidora, waggling her eyebrows somewhat suggestively.

Amalia snorted and shook her head. "No, nothing like that, of course." She sounded exasperated by the insinuation. "I just wanted to see whether he could keep up with me."

"You got it wrong, there," Anne said in her quiet way, without looking up from her essay, "Riddle's the most gifted student at this school. He was holding back."

Amalia nodded. "I thought as much." But she hadn't exactly gone all out, either…

Though it had been a close thing, and she doubted most students noticed, Riddle had just slightly edged her out at the end. If Anne was right, that meant he was powerful indeed.

"Anyway," continued Callidora, interrupting her thoughts, "Why did you sit next to him at dinner? I saw you talking."

Amalia sighed and folded her arms. "If you must know," she said somewhat irritably, "I was drawing battle lines."

"… Battle lines?"

"Yes, Dora. I think he's an arrogant git who needs to be taken down a peg."

Dora blinked. "Oh. But it certainly seems like you like him-"

"Well, I don't." Amalia snapped.

Callidora was deflated for only a second before rallying again. "Love is only one step away from hate, you know-"

Amalia stood up. "A good thing I don't hate him, then." She paused, "Yet. Now, if you'll excuse me… I have some reading to do." And she marched off.

"Just leave her be, Dora," said Anne, idly flipping a page of a book. "She said she doesn't like him."

Callidora scowled at Amalia's back before it disappeared around a corner. "That's what they all say…" she muttered.

Amalia browsed the shelves in a slight trance, brushing her fingertips lightly across the ribbed spines almost reverently. At times she thought she heard faint voices whispering as if the very books themselves were entreating her to open them and delve into the secrets held inside.

Very soon, Amalia was levitating a large pile of books to float behind her as she wandered deeper into the library. After about twenty minutes, she remembered Professor Binns' recommendation and took out the small scrap of paper she'd written it on.

Maudlin's Mysteries of Magicke it was called, by Maximus Maudlin. She had no clue how the sorting system in the library worked, so she approached a rather pudgy-looking woman behind the large librarian's desk.

"Good evening," she greeted politely, "I'm looking for this book…?"

The woman stifled a yawn and tapped a cabinet behind her with her wand.

A card shot out of it and landed in her hand, and she squinted at it with a bored expression. "Oh, it's on special reserve." She informed Amalia and yawned again. "Arghh- 'scuse me- that just means you can't take it out of the library." She indicated the shelves nearest the librarian's desk. "Third row, top shelf. Return it to me when you're done."

"Thanks."

Amalia hurried off, wondering why a book like that would be put on reserve. The only reason she could think of was that it was valuable in some way, or perhaps simply fragile.

Despite having directions, it took her a good ten minutes to locate the peeling spine of the volume. She made a triumphant noise and waved her wand, causing the book to leap out of the shelf and soar towards her hand. However, it was intercepted by another before she could catch it.

Amalia whipped around, half expecting it to be Riddle, but then blinked.

"Oh, it's only you."

Rosier seemed annoyed at her slightly disappointed tone.

"This seems like an odd book to choose on your first day in the library." He eyed the peeling gold title on the black leather cover with fake interest.

Amalia tugged it out of his hands. "Spying for Riddle again, are you?"

He scowled. "No, actually, I wanted to speak to you myself."

"Oh." She looked at him with more interest. "What's up?"

Rosier folded his arms and looked down his nose at her. This was an impressive feat since they were roughly the same height. "I'm only going to say this once." He said haughtily. "Stay away from Riddle."

Amalia raised an incredulous eyebrow and then snorted with laughter.

Rosier flushed and scowled. "What's so funny?" he snapped.

She smiled. "It's just… you're not the first one to say that today."

Rosier narrowed his eyes at her. "I mean it. You won't talk to him, you won't put on another display like in the Great Hall earlier-" his lip curled at the thought.

Amalia's eyebrow rose even higher. "… I won't?" her eyes seemed suddenly brighter.

Rosier held his ground. "You won't… if you know what's good for you."

"Are you… threatening me?" she said in a disbelieving tone.

The air between them for a moment seemed heavy and thick, while the temperature had dropped a couple of degrees. "Well… no…" he stuttered hastily, his bravery evaporating. He glared at her and tried to ignore the sudden urge he had to back away. "You don't know him, you don't know what he's capable of-"

"Oh, and what is he capable of?" she asked immediately, looking interested.

He shut his mouth instantly, but the sudden nervous glance he threw over his shoulder told her volumes.

Amalia sighed. "I know he's a dangerous cretin, Rosier, and I appreciate the warning. But I'm not about to-"

She broke off as a frustrated expression crossed his face.

"Oh, I see." She said with a knowing grin. "You're not concerned about the poor new girl after all. No, your motives are quite… selfish, aren't they?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." He said mechanically, not liking the smirk on her face one bit.

Her grin widened maliciously, and she took a step forward. "I've seen the way you look at him, Rosier," she taunted, and he took an involuntary step back. "I've seen the way you hang on his every word."

His mouth was suddenly dry, and he regretted confronting her. Oh, he regretted it so much…

"Tell me, Rosier," she said, her brown eyes laughing, "Does your heart beat faster when he touches you…?" she reached out and brushed his cheek almost tenderly with her thumb.

He thrust her hand away from his face and stumbled back, his eyes wide and shocked. Any trace of guilt she may have felt at taunting him about his secret was overshadowed by her annoyance at being threatened. She enjoyed his discomfort and chuckled quietly to herself as she watched him beat a hasty retreat, almost running in his eagerness to get away.

Callidora looked up as Amalia emerged from the shelves with a floating pile of books, and a large black one clutched to her chest.

"Why are you humming?" Callidora asked suspiciously.

"Am I?" said Amalia airily, and did a small pirouette before sitting down. She was curiously… cheerful.

"What's that?" asked Anne, indicating the black book as she looked up from her essay.

"A mystery." Amalia replied cryptically, opening the book to the yellowed first pages. "Or several."

"You're weird." Remarked Callidora matter-of-factly, and Anne laughed.