Chapter 6: Friday

By the time Friday came around, Amalia was pretty sure Riddle was up to something. At first she blamed it on her paranoia – she didn't mind acknowledging that she had a bit of a problem there – but as the week went on and the signs increased, she became convinced that something was going to happen.

Throughout the week she noticed Riddle's posse having whispered conversations that stopped the minute she walked by, and Dolohov and Avery were walking around with expressions like they were at a funeral. They were reluctant to meet her eyes.

Riddle, on the other hand, became positively stand-offish in class, neither making things harder or easier for her. When she happened to glance his way, he'd get this little faraway smile, as if he was looking forward to something, and it downright creeped her out.

Of all of them, Rosier was the twitchiest, and Amalia could just see the internal conflict in his eyes every time he looked at her. Fear of Riddle, or fear of her exposing his secret… to Riddle. She actually felt sorry for the guy, since she'd put him in a damned-if-you-do, damned-if-you-don't situation.

Even so, she decided to give him a chance to make his own decision, and see how things turned out.

Her patience was rewarded when she woke up on Friday morning to a tawny owl perching on her side table.

"Who's that from?" Anne was the only one awake, already dressed as she neatly combed her hair into a long pony-tail. Callidora and Charlotte were still snoring softly in the dim early morning light.

"I have my suspicions." Amalia yawned, and sat up, holding out her arm. The owl hopped forward and waited patiently while she untied the note on its leg.

There was only one word neatly inscribed on it.

Today.

Amalia pulled a face and crumpled up the note.

"What is it?" Anne asked curiously, as the owl flew out of the dormitory. Amalia hoped it had the sense to return to the Owlery, not the boy's dorm.

"Nothing to be worried about." Amalia said with a smile. "Just Riddle being an evil git."

Anne raised her eyebrows and stopped combing briefly. "Riddle again? What is it with you two…?"

Amalia thrust back her covers and got up, stretching briskly. Today looked like it was going to be interesting… "Never you mind." She strode over to her neighbour's bed and shook her shoulder. "Dora! Up and at 'em! Rise and shine!"

She was rewarded by bad-tempered swearing and a violently launched pillow, which she cheerfully ducked.

Later…

Amalia was getting a little creeped out by Riddle's friends again.

The class was gathering outside the Herbology greenhouses, having just completed another class Amalia considered utterly useless.

The Hufflepuffs were leaning against the greenhouse glass wall, enjoying the sunshine and chatting quietly. The Ravenclaws had already departed early for their next class. The Gryffindors were laughing loudly as the ever-gregarious Longbottom levitated a Putrefied Tuber and made it fly around his friends' heads. It was a relatively harmless magical vegetable, but it did burst if handled roughly, and the smell produced by its innards was particularly horrible. The Slytherin boys looked on contemptuously… all except one. This time, it was Lestrange staring at her. Well, leering was probably the best word for it.

She decided to ignore him and turned her attention back to Callidora, who was, as usual, getting wildly enthusiastic about something.

"… And that's why Fridays are my favourite day out of the whole week!"

"Sorry, I completely zoned out… What?" Amalia deadpanned, making Charlotte burst into a fit of giggles.

Callidora gulped air for a moment. "A-Amalia! Seriously, you weren't listening to a thing I just said?!"

Amalia pursed her lips with exaggerated thoughtfulness. "Mm… something about a cake they only serve on Fridays?"

"It's not just any cake! It's Black Forrest Gateau, with real berries and cream made with-"

Longbottom was so busy dodging the flying Putrefied Tuber, that he backed right into Charlotte, his broad frame sending her sprawling onto the ground with a surprised cry.

"S-sorry!" stammered Charlotte, blushing furiously as she righted herself.

"Oi, Longbottom! Watch it, you great oaf!" exclaimed Callidora, hoisting her up while glaring at the lanky Gryffindor. "Charlotte, you're not the one who needs to apologise!"

He flinched at Callidora's fierce tone and coloured. "Geez - sorry, Yaxley." He glanced back at his friends, who were laughing, and then back to Callidora's fierce expression. He stepped up quickly and stooped to help pick up her fallen bag. "Uh, are you okay?"

She went mute and nodded, avoiding his eyes. It was not a common occurrence for Slytherins to speak with Gryffindors. He gave her bag back to her with another mumbled apology and beat a hasty retreat.

"Honestly, Charl," Callidora said sternly, "You should stick up for yourself more!"

Charlotte, redfaced, mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like another apology.

Amalia chuckled, and dusted Charlotte's arm off kindly. "I don't think you're helping." She told Callidora.

"C'mon," ordered Callidora, appraising her with a critical look, "You're full of mud. I'll go with you to the dorms before our next class."

Amalia and Anne watched them head up to the castle and set off at a slower pace, heading to Transfiguration. Anne shook her head. "It's hard to believe she's a Slytherin, isn't it?"

"Charlotte? Why do you say that?"

"Nothing," Anne shrugged, "It's just… Most Slytherins are independent, ambitious… Sometimes I wonder if she wouldn't be happier in a different house."

Amalia smiled. "Without you two to take care of her?" she teased, "She'd be miserable!"

Anne returned her smile and chuckled. "You're probably right. Although it's mainly Dora's hobby, I think."

Anne linked her arm through Amalia's, and she felt a warm glow of joy spreading through her at the casual gesture. So this was what it was like to have friends? At first she'd only been interested in Hogwarts for the promise of safety, but now…

Perhaps she'd finally be able to build a normal life here with Anne, Callidora and Charlotte.

Dinner in the Great Hall…

Amalia was starting to relax. She'd been very careful the whole day, and she thought for sure she'd foiled Riddle's efforts. After all, he could hardly ambush her in front of all of their classmates. All in all, she was feeling quietly triumphant as she sat next to Callidora as they waited for the feast to begin.

Charlotte, on the other hand, was on the verge of tears.

"What's wrong?" Anne asked, frowning at her.

"I just realised that I forgot to hand in that essay for Binns!" Charlotte wailed.

Callidora threw her hands up in exasperation. "Charlotte, we were just in class half an hour ago! You really forgot?"

She nodded miserably.

"It's the first essay of the year." Anne pointed out, "It's kind of a big deal. Well, I'm sure Binns won't be too harsh if you hand it in on Monday. Half the class are usually late with theirs, anyway."

"But last year I almost failed History!" Charlotte whined, pouting. "I really want to hand it in." she glanced towards the teacher's table and leaned in closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially, "Binns just arrived. If I sneak out now, I could just go and get the essay from the Common Room, and put it on his desk…?"

"It's just an essay," Amalia said absently, preoccupied with scanning the Slytherin table again. "Like Anne says, hand it in on Monday." Dolohov was still avoiding her eyes. Rosier looked miserable… Lestrange was missing. Hmm…

"No, I want to hand it in tonight."

Callidora shrugged. "It's up to you. We'll make up an excuse if anyone asks."

"I- do one of you mind coming with me?" Charlotte bit her lip. "The dungeons are haunted, you know."

"Grow a backbone," snapped Callidora, folding her arms. Amalia turned to look at her with raised eyebrows, then remembered – Friday was Black Forest Gateau night. There was no way Callidora would pass up the opportunity to eat her favourite dessert, even for Charlotte. She'd waited the whole summer holiday to taste it again.

Anne also looked annoyed at the smaller girl. "Wait for Monday," she advised, "If you're caught you could really get into trouble." Oddly for a Slytherin, Anne was quite vehemently against rule-breaking.

"But I can't afford to fail this essay!" Charlotte exclaimed, and turned her eyes beseechingly to Amalia.

Amalia hesitated. She really didn't want to be roaming the halls, not when she was getting such weird vibes from Riddle… her eyes suddenly caught the doors of the Great Hall, which opened a small crack. It was none other than Lestrange, making his way with his usual casual swagger back up the table to sit near Riddle without comment. She shook her head as if to clear it. She was just being paranoid. Every one of Riddle's little group was now accounted for.

"Alright." She said, turning back to Charlotte, "I'll go with you."

Callidora stood, looking guilty. She was used to taking care of Charlotte. "Well, I guess I could-"

"There's no reason for all of us to go." Amalia said logically. Callidora tried not to look too relieved, and sat back down slowly. Her mouth was already watering at the thought of the first slice of her favourite cake.

Anne scowled. "You two had better not get caught."

Charlotte nodded eagerly, and Amalia gave a reassuring smile. "We'll be back before the end of the feast," she promised, and then let herself be towed out of the hall. It wasn't an odd sight, as students were allowed to go to the bathrooms and walk about during dinner. Afterwards, however, Prefects would do a headcount and make sure everyone was accounted for. They needed to be back by then.

Charlotte was quiet as they walked quickly through the darkened halls, the flames of the torches casting eerie shadows on the stone. But it wasn't unlike her to be that quiet. Amalia rather enjoyed it, actually, relishing the chance to do something against the rules. Even if it was something as basic as skipping supper and dropping off an essay on a teacher's desk.

"Do you remember where you left it?" Amalia asked, as they descended the last flight of steps into the lowest floor of the castle. As always, the air was colder the further in they walked.

"Mm." said Charlotte absently. "The table by the fireplace… I think."

Amalia spoke the password to the entrance of the Common Room and entered first.

She walked over to the fireplace and looked around.

"Charlotte, it's not here. Are you sure you-"

"Sorry, Amalia." Charlotte's soft voice was devoid of emotion. "Petrificus totalus."

"Enervate."

Amalia opened her eyes gingerly, blinking herself back to full consciousness. For a moment she was disorientated, unable to grasp what had happened, but then everything flooded back to her and she felt a bizarre laugh trying to bubble up.

Her eyes slowly adjusted to the near-total darkness, and she could see the castle, its cheerful light casting a halo of safety onto the grounds. Unfortunately, she was no longer in that halo of safety. Oh no, she was kneeling on the damp grass near the edge of the Forbidden Forest, it seemed, while three tall, dark figures stood before her, casting shadows like bars across the lawn. Their hoods were up and she couldn't see their faces, as the light was behind them.

As someone who had been kidnapped before, however, the effect wasn't quite as terrifying as it was meant to be.

She remembered Charlotte casting the body-bind curse (she didn't feel too angry, but rather impressed; the sneaky little brat had actually managed to curse her).

Then, she remembered lying on the floor, smelling the carpet of the Slytherin Common Room for several long minutes, rueing her uncharacteristic lapse of judgement, while Charlotte hummed a song cheerfully from the couch nearby.

A short while later, someone else entered through the Slytherin entrance, and she strained her ears trying to hear the short, low conversation the person had with her traitorous friend. Then the person said in a deep, male voice, "Stupefy", and she knew nothing more until she'd woken up kneeling on the lawns.

She suspected Lestrange, which would also explain the Charlotte connection. Her obsession with him was apparent, and she wasn't smart enough to think up a plan like this by herself, anyway.

In which case, the shadowy person who stood relaxed and smug in front of her was-

"Riddle." She greeted politely, as if they'd just met for tea. Shifting slightly, she noticed her hands were bound behind her back.

He gave a high, cold laugh that sent shivers down her spine. But it wasn't really fear… she was pretty sure he wouldn't kill her, and that meant she'd have ample opportunity to mess up his plans, whatever they were. Rather, she felt a rush of… excitement. She hadn't been attacked in months. He was going to regret this.

"You don't lose your composure, even in this situation? How brave of you… or stupid." His voice was mocking, and she could just feel his smirk from where she was kneeling. It really pissed her off.

Her eyes flashed, and her smile was wolfish, more like a snarl. "Would you prefer me to beg?" she spat. She affected a childish whine, basing it on Charlotte's usual whimper, "Oh, please, don't hurt me! Why are you doing this?" the shadowy figures shifted, seeming surprised by her sarcastic tone. Her next words cracked like a whip, harsh and contemptuous, her face hard, "Stop messing around. You have questions? Ask them and then let's duel. You want to find out who's stronger, don't you? I'd love the chance to send you back in a matchbox." She snarled. The figure on Riddle's left shifted uncomfortably as Amalia's magic oppressed them, like a tangible weight on the air. She wondered which of his cronies it was. He was too tall to be Rosier, unfortunately. The hulking figure on his right was clearly Lestrange, from his broad shoulders.

But Riddle merely gave a short laugh again, and she saw him shake his head. "Brave words, Gray. And you're right, I do want to duel you. But first…" he drew his long, pale wand out of his robes and couched down onto her level. Now she could make out the details of his face, could read the cruelty and malice there. "I don't need to ask questions to get answers."

"What-" she began, eyes wide, caught by his dark gaze.

He placed the tip of his wand on her temple.

"Legilimens!"

His black eyes were dark pools, dragging her inexorably into their inky depths…

What are you hiding, Gray? Just what are you?

"…You're a witch, Ms Gray, and you belong at a school like Hogwarts." Dumbledore's face, earnest and perhaps a little exasperated, swam up to the front of her mind.

She folded her arms. "I know exactly what I am. And I'm perfectly happy where I am, thanks all the same," she replied stubbornly, indicating the door with a jerk of her head.

He stepped reluctantly out into the alley in Knockturn. "I'll be back in a week, Ms Gray, and I hope you will have reconsidered…"

She slammed the door in his face, making sure all the locks slid back into their correct positions…

She felt him sorting through her memories like a player shuffled cards, and gritted her teeth, her head swimming.

Further back…

A dusty shop filled with strange artefacts. She stiffened behind the moth-eaten bust of a woman, overhearing an interesting conversation.

"What is it?"

"Nothin' short of miraculous, I promise, guv'nor." The grimy man withdrew a small object from the depths of his coat and showed it to the shopkeeper, whose eyes widened.

"Fool!" he hissed, "How could you bring somethin' like that down here? The Ministry will have us in Azkaban for goin' near a Time-Turner-"

Time-Turner? She thought, excited. That was just what she needed. Finally, some good fortune. She'd have more than enough time to prepare for the next time They came-

He was irritated now. Further back – further – Who are "they"?

She felt a sickening swoop of nausea as images flashed across her eyes, speeding up faster and faster until…

Riddle frowned, feeling a massive blank in her memories, a slippery grey field of fog through which vague shapes could barely be discerned. Frustrated with his efforts to see through it, he pushed further back into her past, to one of her earliest memories. Perhaps it would work to go chronologically, from the beginning. As he did, he felt a sudden spike in Amalia's emotions, red-hot anger like jagged glass snagging at his temples. He ignored it and concentrated.

A wide room brightly lit with fluorescent lights swam into focus, along with the harsh smell of cleaning chemicals.

"634, exemplary, as usual." The man in the white coat's voice was blank, but she felt a warm glow of pride nevertheless as she concentrated, the wooden alphabet blocks floating several inches off the ground under her shaking, five-year-old hands. Her fingernails were bitten down to the quick.

Around her, the other dull-eyed kids watched enviously, sitting in an unnaturally silent circle in their blue hospital-gowns. The man ticked something off on his clipboard, one eyebrow raised.

The room faded, only to be instantly replaced…

Their footsteps echoed on the linoleum, hers pattering as she trotted to keep up with the tall man, who held her hand in a vice-like grip, almost towing her down the passage.

She wasn't afraid. The fear would come later. For now, she was just pleased with being singled out from the group. Was he taking her somewhere new? Would it be fun? Was she finally going to see what it was like Outside? Her little heart was almost bursting with anticipation…

"You're different from the others." His abrupt statement drew her wide eyes to his impassive face. His words were clipped, precise, educated. "Did you know that, Amalia?"

She blinked up at him and then giggled nervously. "Who's Amalia? I'm 634." She informed him, pointing at the number embroidered on the front of her blue gown.

Get out of my head.

He shook his head slowly. "No, my dear. When you were born, your name was Amalia Gray. We put you with the others and gave you that number, but that's not who you are. You're very special, indeed."

"I am?"

This is private…

"You're very strong, my dear. I knew you would be. We're stopping right here…" he paused at broad double-doors, and pushed them open. Beyond she was disappointed to see yet another clinical-looking white room, and a few nurses standing about.

He lifted her effortlessly, roughly, onto the metal table. She tried not to yelp at the rough handling, tried to be strong, like he said she was.

It's private, you bastard…!

A nurse approached with a metal syringe, and she couldn't help it, she blanched, and instinctively clutched at the man's arm. He shrugged her off, face blank.

"Don't worry." He told her dispassionately, nodding at the nurse to continue. "You won't remember anything."

The nurse approached, the light catching the cruel syringe, and she began to scr-

Get OUT!

The memories disappeared in a flash of colour and light, and Amalia gasped as pain flooded her senses, her wrists hurting something awful. But at least she'd broken free. The ropes fell to the ground behind her, blackened and burnt through by the fire she'd managed to conjure without her wand.

She'd always had an affinity with fire.

She lurched to her feet, rapidly regaining her faculties. He hadn't discovered much. Nothing that could be used against her, anyway. But having Legilimency performed on her wasn't pleasant, and she felt a wave of rage sweep over her. This bastard was going down.

She sensed rather than saw the two figures on either side of Riddle drawing their wands, surprised at her sudden movement, and knew she only had seconds to act. Riddle was still crouched in front of her, his eyes unfocussed, trying to sort through the memories he'd just fished out of her brain. Legilimency, it seemed, didn't come easily to him yet.

She used this window of opportunity, and did the only thing she could – she snapped her leg out in a vicious kick, sending him sprawling, and then threw herself down next to him, dodging the jet of red light that had come from Lestrange. The other figure she could now see was Dolohov, and he seemed reluctant to curse her. Fool. Riddle would no doubt have something horrible planned for him later, for this hesitation. But it was to her advantage. She reached into the inner pocket of his robe as Riddle shook himself out of his daze.

With a triumphant grin, her hand closed on the familiar wood of her wand, just as Lestrange's yanked on the back of her robes. Her eyes glinted.

"Regero hostibulus!" she commanded, and Dolohov and Lestrange were blasted backwards several metres, where they lay unmoving, stunned by the force of the spell. She was on her feet a moment later, panting slightly.

"You're going to pay for that, Riddle," she spat. "Raise your wand."

She stepped back a few paces, waiting while Riddle rose to his feet, nursing a bleeding lip from her kick. To his credit, he kept his composure remarkably well, though the air virtually shivered with his killing intent.

"That was rude." He said, cold rage evident in every syllable, "I wasn't finished yet."

"Legilimency. Hardly a skill they teach at Hogwarts…" she gave him her best sneer, "I'm impressed. It's a neat trick...But you don't seem very good at it yet."

He returned her sneer with an utterly confident smirk. "I only started learning this year. I'll just have to practise, then."

"You won't get a second opportunity." She vowed.

He was unimpressed. "We'll see."

"Why are you so interested in me?"

His smile was chilling. "Boredom… I suppose."

She shifted into a duelling stance, her right foot edging forward and her left shoulder angling back, reducing the target area. "I'll have to do something about that."

He tensed and raised his wand.

For a moment they stared at each other, both intent on the imminent fight, as the world around them shrunk into insignificance.

Riddle had a wave of de ja vu from his dream and was suddenly breathless. Amalia stood before him, her hair messy and her face flushed in anger, her fearless eyes reflecting the lights from the castle like stars. Quite simply, she was… Beautiful.

Then-

"Ustulo inimicio!" she shouted, and a ribbon of fire burst forth out of her wand, flying at him at breakneck speed.

He broke out of his paralysis and reacted immediately, conjuring a shimmering blue shield with a quick flick of his wrist that absorbed the attack, sparks flying and scorching the grass, before responding with "Debilito!", a concussive shockwave that would have slammed her into the ground, had she not instantly negated the spell with its counter-curse, lips moving in a blur.

For a moment they paused, as the grass smouldered, and the thunder from his spell faded like a distant storm.

"Not bad." He complimented her, shocked to find he actually meant it.

She stared at him for a moment. "… You, too." She finally replied.

Next, he sent a jet of purple light towards her, moving with quick steps to his right. She dodged it expertly and slashed her wand, making the ground quake as a black cloud coalesced in mid-air and flew towards him. He watched it warily, conjuring three types of shields, as he didn't recognise the spell. It was a good precaution, as the cloud ate holes through the first two shields like acid, draining his energy as it did, before meeting the third shield and dispersing. He narrowed his eyes at her. That was almost certainly a Dark curse.

She inclined her head at him as if to say, So what?

With a muttered incantation, spikes of ice rained down on her from the night sky, but she merely smirked and conjured a greenish shield that turned the spikes to gentle snowflakes that floated down and settled lightly on her head and shoulders, before harmlessly melting away.

Next, they dispersed with such showy magic in favour of speed and power, trading a multi-coloured flurry of spells, dodging some while others rebounded off magical shields. Neither could gain the upper hand, and neither could afford to relax. Both of them used fast, easily pronounced curses and spells, though Tom noticed she occasionally used Dark magic as well as the usual duelling spells. He did the same, of course. For the moment, neither of them were aiming to kill, although each spell was incredibly dangerous. The first to fall would no doubt have some pretty horrific injuries.

As Tom was hastily fending off a hail of flaming arrows, he heard a curious sound over the reverberations on his shield.

His mouth opened slightly.

Amalia was laughing. A reckless, wild laugh of pure exhilaration, as she sent brutal curse after curse at him. And it wasn't as if she was besting him- he could even spot a rip in the material of her shoulder where one of his hasty Cutting Hexes had caught her. The hem of his own robe was smouldering, and his arms already ached with the speed at which they traded spells. Though the night air wasn't very warm, both were sweating from exertion.

Even so… the same savage excitement was kindling in the pit of his stomach, too, and though he didn't laugh like her, he could understand the impulse.

Amalia dodged a particularly impressive Dark Curse, seeing the spot she'd just occupied get vaporized into a small crater, with a reckless grin. Usually, she was a pacifist by nature and preferred to end conflicts with words, not actions. However, when her life was endangered, she found that something inside her seemed to snap, and all fear would leave her. Perhaps she went temporarily insane. She felt like a red haze had descended, like the bloodlust of Vikings in a bygone age. But it didn't come from anger – even the annoyance at Riddle's invasion of her mind had faded. She was having way too much fun.

She felt herself settling into the rhythm of the duel, relishing the give and take of it, the split-second decisions which could change, or drastically shorten your life, all happening in a matter of moments. It was as if they were engaged in a deadly dance… and Riddle was an excellent partner.

She watched his movements closely, looking for an opening. He was fast and surprisingly agile at dodging and attacking, closing or retreating whenever he needed to. He'd stopped smirking, which she took as a good sign. Instead, his expression was focussed, but slightly abstracted, as he attacked and reacted to her attacks with predatory grace. She had to respect his skill. However…

He might have an instinctive knack for duelling, but she had experience on her side.

She launched a barrage of simple attacks, aimed at keeping him on the defensive, as she stepped forward. As expected, he was unable to attack for a brief moment, stumbling backwards, concentrating on a hastily-constructed defence, and she used this brief respite to cant a longer, double-layered spell. It had come from an old, yellowed tome that some years ago had been issued with a Level 6 Dark Arts "Burn-Upon-Sight" warning. Living in Knockturn had some perks, and access to rare, forbidden magic was one of them.

Perhaps such a powerful spell was cheating… a bit, but as fun as it was, all duels had to come to an end sometime.

She let the spell fly from the tip of her wand, feeling the powerful curse bursting free as if it had a tangible weight. "Block that, you bastard," she smirked, seeing his eyes widen as he saw the spell, a shapeless blob emitting a sickly-looking golden glow as it swooped towards him.

He just had time to conjure a blue sphere around him before it landed, wrapping itself around his circle of protection. He watched in shock as cracks formed on the shell – incidentally, his strongest barrier - and then the sphere shattered like glass.

He exhaled sharply as the golden spell slid like oil over his skin, paralysing him like an insect trapped in amber, and he felt an unpleasant pressure not unlike a grasping hand slithering up his throat, cutting off his air supply… what it would do when it got to his mouth and nose, he did not want to find out.

"Expelliarmus."

The golden spell suddenly melted away into thin air, releasing him. He gave a choked gasp and fell to his knees on suddenly weak legs. Amalia caught his wand with one hand, examining it with detached interest. It was a little longer than she was used to, but all in all, it didn't feel too bad in her hand.

"I win." She said mildly and pointed her wand at Dolohov, then Lestrange. With muffled groans, they started moving again. Unfortunately for them, they'd missed the whole fight.

He struggled to his feet, feeling a blistering wave of white-hot rage at her… and himself. He had… lost. He never lost. "Why did you stop?" he demanded, as she walked towards him. His wand and hers were held loosely at her side. His hands itched to close on her slender throat.

She met his murderous gaze with an amused look. "That spell would have ripped you apart, Riddle. How would I explain the body to Dumbledore?"

He was unsure how seriously to take that, and was still glaring at her when she stuck out her hand towards him. He instinctively reached out and took the wand she'd just offered him back, dumbfounded. Instantly he tensed, wanting to curse her into oblivion for daring to be so impudent, but… he hesitated.

She caught his hesitation and rolled her eyes. "It's over, Riddle. If you want, we can duel again some time - if I feel particularly pissed off at you - but I suggest we make it some other night." She nodded up at the castle, and he followed her gaze. "Our antics seem to have already attracted attention."

"Shit." There were figures moving at the entrance. They'd obviously observed their duel, which must have looked like fireworks in the dark.

"I assume you had a plan to cover your kidnapping of the damsel in distress?" her voice was achingly dry.

"Of course," said Riddle promptly. He put his annoyance at losing to her on the back-burner for now, satisfied with her promise to duel him again. Next time, things would be different. For now, all they had to do was not get expelled. "We can enter through a maintenance door, near the greenhouses."

Dolohov and Lestrange approached uncertainly, looking dazed and confused. Their leader and their kidnap victim were standing side-by-side looking at the castle, their wands loosely clasped at their sides, and they seemed to be having a cordial conversation. How on earth did that happen? Meanwhile, the ground for about fifty metres on each side resembled a war-zone. Amalia's shoulder was bleeding from a shallow gash, and the hem of Riddle's robe was smouldering. He also had a shadow forming in the shape of a hand at the base of his throat, a purpling bruise that didn't look natural.

But from their expressions, it would seem as though they'd been taking a stroll.

Amalia glanced at them. "Let's not delay. Dolohov, you go first."

"Uh…sure." He stammered, and they set off at a fast walk, making a wide arc and keeping to the shadows as the approached the castle from the side.

"Incidently," Amalia remarked into the awkward silence as they walked. "How were you planning to keep me quiet about this when you were done with me?"

Riddle glanced at her. "Memory Charm." He said dismissively.

She stopped walking.

Lestrange just stopped in time to prevent himself from walking into her back.

Riddle turned, one eyebrow raised.

Her expression was cold, and more serious than he'd ever seen it. "Riddle." She said quietly. "I'll only say this once, so listen carefully. If I ever catch you trying to put a Memory Charm on me, I will kill you. It's not a warning, it's just a fact."

Lestrange gave a snort behind her, but she ignored him.

Previously, Riddle might have sneered at her for a comment like that, but now… as much as he hated it, he had to admit she was capable. If she'd wanted him dead tonight… he would have been.

He thought back to the grey, blank space he'd seen in her memories - a gap spanning several years…

"Alright." He said smoothly, "Rules of engagement." If I do cast a Memory Charm on you, I'd just better be damn sure you don't find out, he added privately.

They continued walking.

The greenhouse entrance was quiet and deserted.

"After you." Riddle murmured, holding the door open for Amalia.

"Thank you." She said politely and stepped through.

"Lestrange, Dolohov," Riddle said coldly. "I want a word before we continue."

"Then, I'll see you later in the Common Room," Amalia said, and Riddle nodded, his eyes already fixed on Dolohov, whose hands started shaking, and Lestrange, who seemed suddenly a little paler than usual.

She tried to feel sorry for them, but couldn't quite manage it, so she just left. The kidnapping was too fresh in her mind.

Amalia cleaned off the sleeve of her robe as she walked away into the dark castle – she would take care of the cut herself with her Healer's Compendium. And perhaps some Murtlap Essence.

But mostly her thoughts started turning to how she was going to deal with a certain little brat's brazen betrayal…

Author's note:

So, a couple of people have commented that Amalia should be as evil as Tom. That's pretty evil, y'know! She is not going to be that evil, I'm sorry to say. BUT I will say this: she definitely has a darker side to her - how dark, you'll have to wait and see. And if they have an effect on each other's characters, it won't be deliberate, more like a bleeding effect.

Either way, things are going to be interesting, so stick around. It's not one of "those" fanfics, when Tom undergoes a miraculous transformation. You can't separate Tom and his evilness, it's kinda the whole point of his character.