Chapter 7: Revenge

"Where were you?" demanded Callidora instantly, as Amalia entered the girl's dormitory. She stopped her pacing and stared, taking in Amalia's windswept hair, sweaty face and the gash on her shoulder, just visible through the bloody rip in her robes. Also, it was past midnight.

Anne frowned, hesitantly stepping forward with a concerned, "Are you alright?"

Amalia didn't answer immediately, but looked carefully between them. She felt a wave of relief. She'd been uncertain whether they'd been involved, but one look at their concerned expressions and she knew her fears were unfounded. She grinned. "I'm absolutely fine," she assured them. With the knowledge that they, at least, hadn't betrayed her, she felt positively cheerful, still high after the buzz of beating Riddle. Seeing his disbelieving, outraged face as she disarmed him had been worth all the shit he'd put her through...

Her gaze came to rest on Charlotte, who was perched nervously on the edge of her bed, pale as a ghost.

"I've just had a rather... memorable... evening." Amalia drawled. I still remember everything, you little-

The petite brunette cringed, her gaze darting to the door as if she was considering making a run for it.

Anne and Callidora were too preoccupied with staring at her to notice Charlotte's odd behaviour, so Amalia merely sauntered past her to sit on her own bed, pondering how best to take her revenge. Charlotte clearly didn't want Anne and Callidora to find out about her little betrayal - she wondered if this was something that might actually cost her five years' worth of friendship. But that was a little too direct for Amalia's taste. She wanted to see the little snake squirm, first.

"Charlotte, did you tell them where I went?" she asked lazily, shrugging out of her robe and laying it on the bed.

Anne hissed at the sight of the long, yet shallow bloody gash across her upper arm, and the minor burns on her wrists from where the ropes had spontaneously ignited.

Charlotte didn't seem capable of speech, so, as usual, Callidora came to her rescue. "She said you went to the library?"

Amalia nodded, "Ah, yes, so I did." You couldn't come up with anything better, you idiot? she sneered internally. "I went to the library." she waved her wand and a heavy, worn-looking book soared out of her trunk, as well as a small vial of yellowish-looking potion and a ream of white bandages.

Anne sat down next to her on her bed and picked up the book curiously, tracing the words "Healer's Compendium" on the front. "Who attacked you?" she asked, opening the book.

Callidora bent closer to get a look at her wound as Amalia dabbed at it with murtlap essence on the end of a bandage. "Who do you think?" she threw back.

Callidora frowned. "The only one who could beat you in magic is- But... I thought he liked you?"

"It was Riddle," confirmed Amalia, wincing as the essence stung her wound, "Doesn't this just prove what I've been saying since the beginning? We're enemies, Dora."

Callidora sighed. "I believe you now." For some reason she looked disappointed.

Anne found the page dealing with minor cuts and burns and held up the book as Amalia recited the spells to speed healing. The burns on her wrists instantly turned a healthy pink, though it still felt sensitive, while the cut on her arm itched and closed slowly.

"Are you going to tell Dippet?" asked Anne seriously. "Or at least Slughorn?"

Amalia snorted with laughter. "Why would I do that? No one needs to find out." she tipped a leer and a wink at Charlotte just to let her know that it was far from over... the smaller girl's throat bobbed nervously as she swallowed.

"But he hurt you!" argued Anne, sounding offended on her behalf. "He attacked a girl-"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Callidora interrupted loudly, scowling. Amalia hid a smile - Callidora was quite a feminist.

"She's bleeding, Dora!" hissed Anne, indicating the wound.

Amalia shrugged. "Actually, the bleeding's stopped now. And anyway," she gave a satisfied chuckle, "You should see him."

All three of them turned in unison to stare at her. "Why... What does-? Did you-!" Dora sounded way too eager to hear the details.

Amalia thought pleasantly about how Riddle must be dealing with his own wounds at that very moment. "Well," she started with relish, "First, I kicked him in the face-" Callidora bounced on the bed and whooped, cackling, while Anne tried to look disapproving, but couldn't help raising her eyebrows, impressed. "Then," Amalia ticked it off on her hand, "I think I managed to give him a nasty burn on one leg... And he'll have some serious bruising here," she indicated the area around her neck.

"Duelling is against the rules," chided Anne half-heartedly, as Callidora snorted with laughter.

"I thought your dream was for Riddle and I to sail off into the sunset together or something," Amalia said mildly.

Callidora wiped a tear away from her eye with a dramatic flourish. "Nah, this is better. He's had it coming for a long time."

"Why would you say that?" Amalia was honestly surprised. Since she'd arrived, she'd heard nothing but praise for Riddle, albeit with a couple of cautionary words. People seemed to sense there was something dangerous about him... but he kept his true face carefully concealed from everyone. She hadn't met anyone who actually wished him ill, yet.

Callidora and Anne traded looks. "We've known Riddle since first year... he was... different then." Anne started slowly.

Callidora nodded. "Scarier."

"The first few months," Anne explained, "He ignored everyone. If you tried to speak to him, he'd look at you like you were some kind of bug."

"So what changed?" Amalia asked, curious.

"Well," said Callidora in a hushed voice, leaning closer, "Some of the older students started, you know, picking on him. It was obvious he was different - and he wasn't really respectful to anyone except the professors."

"He was bullied?"

Callidora snorted. "Not exactly. No one knows what he did to them, but all of a sudden it was clear that they were petrified of him."

"I see."

"That's not the end of it," Anne added seriously, "Eleven-year-olds don't go around scaring sixth years-" Amalia raised her eyebrows at that, "Without people noticing."

"He got in trouble?"

"Someone must have talked to the professors, because there was an enquiry and everything." Anne continued, "But nothing came of it - suddenly, all the boys - Dolohov, Rosier, and the rest-"

"-Who previously didn't want anything to do with him," added Callidora.

"-They all testified that he was the true victim, had only acted in self-defence, and so on..."

"And that worked?"

Anne nodded. "He didn't get punished, for whatever he did. And ever since that scandal, his record's been spotless. It's like he's a different person."

"Or not so different, after all." Amalia hummed thoughtfully. So it had taken Riddle some time to cultivate that friendly mask of his? Beneath his handsome face, however, was someone much uglier. She felt a thrill of pleasure at the thought that she, alone, had broken through that facade... and then immediately a wave of confusion. Why was she happy about that? She'd spent the last three years trying to stay out of danger. She wasn't a masochist - so why did she care if he treated her differently...?

She shook herself out of her inconvenient thoughts. "Anyway," she said decisively to her two friends and the traitor, "I want you to keep on acting like nothing happened."

"But-" Anne started.

"Do you have a plan?" Callidora asked shrewdly, eyes bright. She seemed to thrive on the intrigue.

Amalia waved her wand and a nonverbal spell made the book, potion and extra bandages fly back into her trunk, which closed with a thunk. "Of course." she said calmly. She reclined against the headboard, sighing in contentment as her tired muscles relaxed. She closed her eyes. "This means war."

Callidora enthusiastically snapped a theatrical salute, while Anne just shook her head, trying to hide a smile.

"You won't win." Charlotte's voice was so quiet it was almost a whisper, but Amalia thought she detected a tiny note of resentment. It seemed there was yet another person in Slytherin who was hiding an uglier side under an angelic exterior.

Amalia cracked one eye open, but Charlotte avoided her cold gaze, studying the pattern on the carpet instead.

A traitor and a liar... but mostly a coward, Amalia mused.

"Why would you say that?" she asked quietly. Anne and Callidora looked between the two girls in bewilderment, bemused by the sudden change in the atmosphere.

Charlotte just shook her head, watching the green-patterned sock on her right foot rub her left ankle in a nervous tic. She regretted speaking at all.

There was a moment of tense silence... Then Amalia gave a light laugh. "Don't worry so much, Charl'. It takes more than a little ambush to put me down." she swung her legs of the bed and sauntered over to Charlotte, looming over her. She flinched as Amalia rested a heavy hand on her shoulder. To Anne and Callidora, it must have looked like a comforting gesture - but there was nothing comforting about Amalia's vice-like grip, her nails biting into her narrow shoulders. "I don't forgive easily," Amalia explained with an edge to her voice that made Charlotte look up with wide eyes, "So it's not like I can just let this go. You understand that, right?"

"Y-yes..." she squeaked, frozen in place.

Charlotte felt her heart-rate speed up as a strange pressure constricted her breathing. Was this... magic? Only the strongest witches and wizards could make their power felt without a conduit like a wand - besides from the unpredictable bursts that everyone experienced in childhood, of course. Amalia was... really scary when she was angry.

"Don't be scared," Amalia urged with a scary smile, as if she'd heard her thoughts, and released her shoulder at last, patting it gently instead. "I protect my friends." there was a not-so-subtle threat in her honey-sweet tone.

Charlotte regretted getting involved at all. She sniffed. "I'm sorr-"

"Shh," interrupted Amalia, before the idiotic girl spoilt everything and blurted out a confession. She was conscious of Anne and Callidora's ignorant, bemused gazes on her back, "There's no need for that." She reined in the urge to strangle the girl with an effort. Honestly, how could she take pleasure in revenge if she didn't even fight back? It was pathetically easy to scare her into submission. It wasn't even satisfying.

A kernel of an idea started forming in her mind. She turned away from Charlotte and smiled at the other two. "Let's all get some sleep, shall we? It's late."

Callidora blinked as the tension which had inexplicably filled the air just moments before seemed to suddenly disappear. Had she just imagined it...?

Anne shrugged and crossed the room to her own bed. She sighed. "You've only been here a week," she told Amalia as she started laying out her clothes for the next day. Amalia noticed they were casual robes and suddenly remembered it was the weekend. "Skipping roll call, duelling, making enemies... Declaring war? Don't you think you should slow down?"

"I think it's awesome." announced Callidora. "Things haven't been this interesting since you tried to perm your hair."

"What?" laughed Amalia, as Anne turned beet red and chucked a pillow at Callidora.

In a cheerful mood, three of the four girls fell asleep soon after that. But Charlotte stayed awake longer into the night, dreading whatever revenge Amalia had in store for her...

The next day dawned bright and early, and Amalia rose with the sun as usual. Overnight, her wounds had healed well; there was barely a trace of the burns on her wrists, and the cut on her shoulder had already faded to just a red line, easily hidden by her clothes.

It was just dawn - the others would sleep for a long time yet since it was the weekend. She felt tired after the events of the previous day, but there was so much to do, and she was looking forward to it. She rolled out of bed stealthily, and drew her wand. First, she cast a useful little spell that would muffle sound, and then stalked over to Charlotte's bed. The little traitor was snoring peacefully.

"Silencio." Amalia muttered, and then cheerfully shook her awake.

Predictably, she yelped as she became aware of Amalia looming over her with a scary smile, and then grew confused when she realised her yelp was completely silent. She pawed at her throat in panic as she realised she couldn't make a sound.

Amalia rolled her eyes at her thrashing. "Relax." She glanced at the clock on her bedside table. "I estimate we have about two hours before the others wake up - get dressed."

Looking like she was on the way to the gallows, Charlotte complied, her mouth downturned and her eyes shifty.

As soon as they were both presentable, Amalia led her out of the dormitory, through the Common Room and into the dungeons, where she soon found an empty room. It may have been used as a classroom at some stage, but for now it was only full of dusty broken desks and other debris. She waved her wand and cleared a space, sweeping all the junk up against a wall. Then, she motioned Charlotte to come into the room, and stood opposite her with a relaxed posture that contrasted sharply with the other girl's tenseness.

"Finito," Amalia said, ending the Silencing Charm.

"What are you going to do to me?" squeaked Charlotte immediately, hugging her sides as if she wanted to disappear completely.

Amalia gave a wicked grin. "I just have some questions before we begin."

Charlotte sniffed, "B-begin?"

Amalia ignored her. She was ninety-five percent sure most of her 'scared-girl' act was just that - an act. "First," she started cheerfully, "Let's start with an easy one. Was it Riddle who put you up to it?"

Charlotte shuffled in place.

"Lestrange, then? He asked you to do it?"

Charlotte seemed even more reluctant to speak, telling Amalia she was on the right track.

"Who taught you the Body-Bind Curse?"

"I already knew it." Charlotte said resentfully.

Amalia raised her eyebrow. "I see. Was it your first time using it?"

She nodded miserably.

"One last question - and this one is the most important. Were you promised anything in exchange for helping them?"

"... No."

"Then, did they threaten you?" Charlotte seemed to hesitate. "Did Lestrange or Riddle threaten you?" Amalia asked again, impatient.

"... No." Charlotte was looking less and less scared, and more annoyed by the minute.

Amalia smirked. "So then... Did you simply do it because you wanted to?"

A baleful glare was her only reply.

Amalia laughed. "You must really hate me, huh?" she folded her arms and tapped her chin ruminatively with her wand. It wasn't really a surprise that Charlotte hated her - Amalia was an outsider, who had just arrived at Hogwarts, yet she was already fast friends with Anne and Callidora. It was immature jealousy, that was all.

"Clearly, you have some issues with me you should sort out." she stated calmly. "Raise your wand."

"What?"

"You heard me."

Slowly, Charlotte took her wand out of her pocket, staring at Amalia the whole time. "Why?"

"There's something you should know about me," she started coolly, "I don't enjoy getting cursed in the back. If you wanted to curse me, you should have done it to my face, and you should have made sure I stayed down. So... why don't you try again?" she stretched her arms almost as wide as her wicked smile. "Take your best shot - if you can."

An almost invisible bead of sweat formed on Charlotte's temple, and she licked her lips nervously. "I don't want-"

"Here, I'll demonstrate," Amalia offered generously, before slashing her wand with lazy confidence, "Petrificus totalus."

Charlotte didn't even have time to twitch before the spell hit her, instantly making her muscles seize in paralysis. She teetered for a moment, eyes wide and shocked, before falling forward and feeling a lurch of panic as the hard stone floor rushed towards her very fragile and frozen nose-

"Immobulus," sighed Amalia, and Charlotte paused, her face ten centimeters from smashing into the unforgiving ground. "Really, you just suck the fun out of everything," the other girl muttered, releasing Charlotte from both spells non-verbally, "At least make it a challenge..."

Charlotte gasped, her knees hitting the dusty ground as she tried to process what had happened. She'd been entirely unable to react... at all-

"Unpleasant, isn't it?" Amalia said cheerfully, "At least now you know. Honestly, this is precisely why it's important to teach students how to duel."

Charlotte found a shred of pride from somewhere and glared balefully from her position on the floor, "You couldn't do anything when I hexed you," she spat.

Amalia laughed at her defiance, and shrugged, "That's true, that's true. It was my fault for turning my back on you in the first place. Rest assured, I won't make the same mistake again. That's not why I'm annoyed, though."

"It's not?"

Amalia flapped a hand at her, "Charl', you're speaking to a witch who lived in Knockturn for three years. I'm more annoyed that I actually got cursed by you - with something as boring as petrificus totalus, no less - within a week of being at school. I must be going soft."

Charlotte's face was the picture of bewilderment as she tried to process this. "Wait, so... you're not actually annoyed at me-?"

Amalia shrugged. "Okay, a bit. You're a traitorous bitch who doesn't deserve to stand in Dora and Anne's shadow-"

Charlotte winced.

"- But mostly I'm just annoyed with myself."

"I... see..." Charlotte decided to ignore the part about being a bitch for now. All things considered, perhaps she deserved it... "Wait." a thought suddenly caught up with her, "You lived in Knockturn- Knockturn Alley - for three years?!" her voice rose to almost a squeak at the end of her sentence.

"Mm. You ever been?"

Charlotte shook her head rapidly. Her parents had told her dreadful tales about Diagon Alley's most unsavoury offshoot. It was apparently full of Dark Wizards, creatures, beggars, halfbreeds... and even Squibs. She shuddered delicately.

"It was educational." nodded Amalia. "Which brings us to the real reason why you're here." she glanced at her watch. "We have about an hour left."

"For what?" asked Charlotte suspiciously, clambering slowly to her feet again.

Amalia looked businesslike as she rolled up her sleeves, tossing her hair back with a determined gleam in her eyes. "The next time you try to curse me it will be with a much less boring spell. That's why we're here."

Charlotte blinked, nonplussed.

"I'm going to teach you a couple of useful jinxes," Amalia explained impatiently, rolling her eyes at Charlotte's blank expression. "But first, you need to also learn some basic blocks, or you won't last three seconds against me. I assume you can cast protego, at least? It's horribly ordinary," she said that as if it actually offended her, "But it'll have to suffice for now. Cast it and let's see how strong your barrier is."

"What?"

"Cast. It. Just do it."

"I... - P-protego?" a wavering blue-tinted barrier shimmered into existence, barely covering her upper body.

Amalia snorted. "Mordeo," she said in a bored tone, the Stinging Hex breaking through the barrier instantly.

She was rewarded with Charlotte leaping about a foot into the air and squeaking, clutching her arm.

"Oh, stop it with the dramatics," Amalia said breezily. "It won't even leave a mark." It was pleasant to get revenge in this small way. Even though she wasn't using even half of the power she would usually have. It wasn't enough to leave a mark, but the pain was real enough, about the same as a sting of a flicked dishcloth. It would last less than three seconds. She wasn't a sadist, after all.

Clearly, Charlotte didn't agree, her eyes watering as she whimpered pitifully.

"Again." ordered Amalia sternly.

To her surprise, Charlotte obeyed without comment, and this time, her barrier was slightly stronger.

One hour later found them both back in the dormitories, just in time to see Callidora and Anne waking up.

When asked where they'd been, Amalia shrugged and simply said, "Library," but couldn't help whistling cheerfully as she waited for the other two girls to get dressed.

The impromptu lesson hadn't exactly been pleasant - Charlotte was resentful and pathetic in equal measure - but she had shown marked improvement even over the short time they'd practiced, and Amalia knew she would be grateful on the day she ever had to defend herself. They hadn't had time to get to offensive spells, but Amalia wasn't too worried. They had time for that - and she wanted Anne and Callidora to join in. It seemed prudent, especially since their opponent was Riddle and his cronies. He had proven that he wasn't above trying to get to her through her friends.

Then again, she also wasn't above using others in their little war. Rosier was only the beginning...

Charlotte had stopped flinching every time Amalia looked at her about half way through their training, and now she seemed to be quite willing to ignore her existence. She gave only monosyllabic answers to Anne and Callidora's morning greetings, and quickly crawled back into bed, facing the wall with the covers drawn up to her chin.

"Don't you want breakfast?" Anne asked, puzzled by this behaviour.

Charlotte mumbled something about feeling tired, and then ignored all of them.

Amalia was trying to think up an excuse before Anne and Callidora suspected her of ill-treating their friend (... pet... she sneered internally), when Callidora caught Anne's eye and shrugged, jerking a head at the door. Amalia followed them out curiously.

"I wonder if she's feeling sick," Anne wondered, once they were on their way through the quiet castle halls.

Callidora rolled her eyes. "You know how she is," she said sourly (Callidora was never in a good mood in the morning), "She's probably sulking about something again. It's just a cry for attention."

Anne sighed, seemingly accepting the explanation.

Amalia suppressed a smile. Really, it's just too easy.

With Charlotte taken care of, she only had to deal with Lestrange and Dolohov. She was determined that everyone involved would learn immediately that there were consequences to targeting her...

"By the way," Callidora said as they ascended a staircase, leaving the chilly dungeons in favour of the warmly-lit entrance hall, "Isn't it going to be awkward when you, you know, see him this morning?"

"Why?" Amalia hadn't really thought about it - she'd been too busy scheming.

"Are you still going to act like you're being friendly?" Callidora seemed to still be having trouble believing she and Riddle were really enemies.

Amalia considered. "I'll follow his lead, I guess," she said at last, as they walked into the Hall. Her eyes swept the table, but they were some of the first students there, and so it wasn't strange that he hadn't arrived yet.

Something she'd also noticed during the past week was that Riddle usually arrived as late as possible to breakfast, and his mood was even worse than Dora's. She inferred that he was just not a morning person.

Though she tried not to show it, she couldn't help looking up every time a new knot of students entered the hall. When Riddle did finally arrive, flanked as usual by his posse of "friends", he even later than usual. Amalia noticed with a smug glow of satisfaction that he seemed to be walking rather stiffly - no doubt compensating for his injured leg. Perhaps his magical skills didn't extend to healing - a childish oversight for someone who clearly had a lot of interest in duelling. She ignored him as he limped past, buttering her toast. He seemed determined to ignore her too, not even glancing her way as he passed to sit further down the table, in his usual spot. She almost felt disappointed.

After breakfast Callidora insisted they take a walk down to the Lake, seeing as Amalia hadn't yet had a chance to tour the grounds. She was keen to start on the book Binns had recommended, but the weather was warm and everyone seemed keen to enjoy the outdoors. They took a slow stroll to the Owlery, and then continued on to the Quidditch pitch, where students from Gryffindor were getting in their first practice of the first season.

According to Anne, who'd been giving Amalia a running commentary of each new place they visited, the Gryffindors were historically the most zealous at sports, though not necessarily the most successful. Slytherins didn't practice as hard, but their ambition and ruthlessness ensured that they won about half the time anyway. Ravenclaws occasionally put together a good team, but were more interested in academics, particularly around exam times. Hufflepuffs seemed to lack a competitive streak entirely, and so were usually bottom of the rankings. They didn't lack skill, but rather the motivation. Their supporters often pre-empted the inevitable and threw their support behind one of the other houses, cheering them on good-naturedly.

Anne yawned, leaning against the stands as they watched the players fooling around with the quaffle far above. "I can't tell - are they any good this year?"

Callidora seemed rather keen as she watched the players zipping about far above, an excited gleam in her eye. "Mm. We might have some trouble. Longbottom even made the team..."

Amalia chuckled. "He's the last one I would have let anywhere near a bludger - look, he's wearing a Beater's kit."

"...suits him..."

"I didn't quite catch that?" Amalia asked blithely.

Callidora went a little pink. "Nothing." she said hastily.

"...I see."

Anne yawned again, tearing her eyes from the Gryffindors to turn back expectantly to Callidora. "Can we head back now?"

Callidora sighed, casting an envious look at the line of spare brooms left on the side of the pitch. "I guess so."

Apparently, she'd tried out the previous year to be a Chaser for the Slytherin team, but Walburga Black had bullied the team captain into refusing her a place out of spite. Amalia really couldn't see the attraction of flying around on a flimsy-looking stick used for household cleaning, but she tried to be sympathetic. "Will you try again this year?" she asked.

Callidora pulled a face. "This year it's even less likely; Walburga herself is the new captain. Ah - it's so unfair!" she scowled and led the way back towards the castle.

On the way, Amalia saw her chance to confront Dolohov - he was walking with Avery and Nott across the clock tower courtyard.

"I'll see you later," she hurriedly told Callidora and Anne, and rushed to intercept him even as she got a startled "Er... Okay...?" from Anne.

He froze when she stopped in front of him, and looked down guiltily.

"Hey, Amalia," greeted Avery with about half of his usual bravado. The falseness in his voice told her the rest of the boys in Riddle's group must have heard some version of the events of the previous night already. At least they felt bad about it.

She ignored him. "Dolohov," she said instead, sweetly, "Could I have a word?"

"Sure," he mumbled, and followed her miserably around the corner, to a deserted stretch of corridor just out of sight of the other students that were milling about.

She folded her arms and raised an eyebrow expectantly.

"I - are you okay?" he asked awkwardly into the silence. "After last night - I mean, I didn't see-"

She suddenly realised that he wasn't aware of the outcome of the duel. He hadn't seen her win. He'd only seen the before and after, making it seem as though they'd both stopped - like Riddle had stopped before he hurt her seriously. Of course, Riddle wasn't about to admit to the truth of the matter.

"I thought we were friends." she sighed, crafting a hurt expression, "And yet, you actually helped Riddle attack me..." She rubbed her arm as if the healed wound still pained her.

"I - I didn't want to!" he assured her hurriedly. "He... made me-"

"He did?" polite disbelief coloured her voice, and she turned her full attention on him, eyes wide and innocent. "How?"

Dolohov abruptly closed his mouth, wincing before he said something he wasn't supposed to. "I'm sorry." he said instead, sounding sincerely miserable.

Amalia surveyed him for a few moments - Damn, he's got these boys well trained, she sneered to herself, before nodding and favouring him with a small smile. "I believe you." she told him solemnly, and was rewarded by his relieved look. "And furthermore... I forgive you. Riddle really is despicable, the way he treats people," she sniffed as if holding back tears, "He's so manipulative..."

Dolohov looked torn, hesitating between his fear-induced loyalty to Riddle and Amalia's puppy-dog eyes. "Amalia, I-" he breathed dramatically, "Don't worry, I'll - it won't happen again..."

She blinked innocently at him. "Really?"

He nodded eagerly, missing the hint of smugness in Amalia's gaze. He even had the audacity to step closer and tentatively take her hand. She let him, raising her eyebrow at his forwardness. "Is there anything I can do, to make up for it?" Unbelievable, she thought dryly, He's using this as an opportunity to flirt.

Nevertheless, it gave her an idea.

"Perhaps you can help me..." she said, cocking her head at him and placing a hand over his.

"Anything," he said eagerly.

She smirked. With that promise, the charade could finally be dropped. About time too, because a muscle above her eye was beginning to twitch. "Very well." She pulled her hand from his grasp and folded her arms instead, fixing him with a steady gaze. "I want you to fetch Lestrange." She said abruptly, "And have him meet me at the greenhouses in one hour." At this time of day, that part of the grounds would be deserted.

His eager smile dropped off his face instantly. "What? ... Why?"

Her gaze narrowed, and he almost took an instinctive step backwards.

"You said 'anything', didn't you?" she snapped.

"Yes, but-"

"Well, this is what I want." she interrupted him. "I just want to have a chat with him, that's all. Consider your debt... forty percent absolved, for this." She thought that was pretty generous.

Dolohov looked uncertain. "He won't come."

"Make him."

"How? Wh-what should I say?"

She rolled her eyes, irritated now. "Why don't you tell him Riddle's waiting, and losing what little patience he has. That should get him moving."

"I -" Dolohov blinked helplessly a couple of times before admitting defeat. "... Okay."

"Good." she flashed him an dismissive smile and turned to go. "And don't keep me waiting," she warned over her shoulder, "I don't have much patience, either."

Watching her stalk off with a jaunty sway of her hips, Dolohov shivered as if feeling a sudden chill.

True to his word, Dolohov saw to it that Lestrange sloped out of the castle barely an hour later, looking annoyed but entirely unaware of the ambush that awaited him next to the greenhouses.

Since she wasn't a fan of attacking while someone's back was turned, she stepped into the open in front of him once she was certain he'd come alone.

He stopped abruptly, tensing as he saw her wand held loosely in one hand, a subtle threat.

"Hello there, Lestrange-" she started in a friendly tone, before he interrupted her.

"The fuck do you want?" he snarled, drawing his wand in a fluid movement.

Her gaze sharpened. "We need to talk." she said simply, dropping the smile. Charm was clearly not the way to go with this one.

"I have nothing to say to you," he spat, and turned on his heel, making for the door he'd just come through. She noticed he kept one eye on her over his shoulder as he walked, and hid a smile. It was nice to finally not be underestimated. Perhaps he was smarter than she'd originally thought.

"Colloportus," she cast quickly, rewarded by the door slamming shut and a heavy bolt being pulled into place with a heavy thud.

At her word, Lestrange had spun about, raising his wand in case he needed to block a spell. His reflexes were good. As soon as he noticed the target wasn't him, he switched from defense to offence in an instant, snarling, "Everte statum!", a spell which would have blasted Amalia off her feet if she hadn't blocked it instinctively with her favourite barrier ("Circumcingo!"), which had the benefit of protecting her from all sides, whilst being stronger than a simple Protego.

Not flinching, Lestrange narrowed his eyes and slashed his wand, sending a Dark curse her way with crude force. She identified the incantation as one of the few that might breach her barrier, and said calmly, "Deflecto," instead, changing the trajectory of the spell instead of nullifying it. A pane in the greenhouse next to her shattered in an explosion of glass as it was hit by the curse.

Lestrange paused, clearly frustrated at her unchanged, serene expression.

"Well, you're certainly putting up more of a fight than Charlotte did," Amalia remarked, more to herself than to him.

But for the first time, his sneer seemed to falter. "What?" He said sharply.

Amalia watched him carefully. "Charlotte," she repeated slowly, "She didn't put up as much of a fight earlier."

He swore furiously. "What did- You didn't- You bitch-!"

Amalia hid her surprise - so it wasn't as one-sided as she'd been led to believe?

She stalled, drawing out the silence lazily before remarking casually, "That's right... She wasn't at breakfast, was she?" She shrugged with exaggerated confusion. "I wonder what happened..."

Her implied meaning was not lost on him. His eyes widened, and for the first time she read fear in them. It would have been sweet in other circumstances. "Leave her out of this!" he snarled, furious.

"I wasn't the one who involved her, in the first place." she reminded him, and was rewarded by a fleeting look of guilt in his dark eyes.

"If you hurt her-" he started threateningly, but his words were hollow and he knew it.

She shook her head, interrupting him. "I'm not interested in bullying Charlotte of all people," she said whitheringly, "Really, that girl's just not worth it..."

His throat worked at her disparaging tone, but he said nothing, obviously relieved at her professed disinterest.

"Even so," Amalia continued seriously, "I share a room with her. If you let her become a tool in this fight again," she warned, "I won't hold back."

She met his dark gaze and waited for him to give a stiff nod.

"I'm glad we understand each other," Amalia said, satisfied. "The... animosity between us is because of Riddle, but it doesn't have to be that way... We don't have to be enemies."

One look at his glare told her that this was one battle she wouldn't win. Lestrange would not be charmed to her side, nor did he seem to take kindly to intimidation. He had picked Riddle because he was a malicious git, and nothing Amalia offered would change that. But, perhaps he would think twice before getting involved again, at least for Charlotte's sake, and that was good enough for now.

She shot him a grin and inclined her head. "I guess that's all that needs to be said." she waved her wand and the door behind him sprang open.

He sent her one last hateful glare, and then disappeared into the castle without another word, anger etched in the tenseness of his shoulders. She wondered if he was going to storm right off to check on Charlotte. Or perhaps the idiotic girl didn't know of his feelings - he treated her like an annoying bug in public, usually, and ignored her the rest of the time. She'd never even seen them speak to each other in class.

Amalia remained behind for a short while to repair the damaged window, mulling over her progress. All in all, she thought she'd done well with her scheming, so far. Who knew school drama would be this fun?

Just after lunch, Amalia finally got her wish and escaped to the library, finally cracking open the book Binns had recommended, Maudlin's Mysteries of Magicke. Since it was on reserve, she couldn't remove it from the library, but she found she didn't mind.

Once she'd retrieved it from the bored-looking librarian, she ensconced herself in a corner of the library, using the same table Anne and Callidora usually sat at. It was quiet and blissfully devoid of other people; most students didn't have a reason to go to the library on the first weekend back at school.

Starting at the prologue, she propped her chin up on her steepled fingers and began reading by the bright sunlight filtering through the velvet drapes of the window. The book was heavy, the yellowed pages well-thumbed and occasionally spotted with unidentifiable stains. A musty smell rose from the binding, and she wondered how old it really was.

The only sounds was the distant ambient noise of the castle and a dry rustle as she turned a page, soon getting absorbed. The old language and unfamiliar, flowery style of writing was at first a challenge - she had to reread every few sentences to puzzle out the meanings. Whoever "Maximus Maudlin" was, he certainly had a flair for the dramatic - the first three pages alone were spent warning the reader that they would die in horrible ways if they pursued his collection of unsolved mysteries. The next few pages then exhorted the reader to "abandon thy plebeian whims of apathie and worriment; steele thy heart and harden thou thy wandering eye; thou mightest yet find thyself number'd among the great hoste of lusty pioneers, such as I." She didn't think she was the "lusty pioneer-ing" type, but eagerly turned to the contents page. It was decorated with fantastical moving illustrations of strange beasts and glittering hoards of treasure in the margins.

The book seemed to be a vast and unfiltered list of myths, legends and rumours all pertaining to Great Britain, from unconfirmed sightings of ghosts to an immortal dragon apparently living in the Thames. To her delight and surprise, about a third of the book was dedicated to just Hogwarts and its surrounds. It seemed that as a famous place of magical learning, it had become a serious attraction for amateur adventure-seekers. There were myths and rumours of hidden rooms, strange creatures, wonderful treasures and otherworldly knowledge, all apparently hidden in Hogwart's labyrinthine corridors. The Forbidden Forest also contained an entire chapter on ancient moving stones, a magical orchid that could grant you a glimpse into the future, and an ancient civilisation of cannibalistic imps that lived in crystal tunnels. Even the Great Lake was purported to host the animagus of none other than Godric Gryffindor himself.

After a while, she got up to retrieve one of the library's many copies of "Hogwarts: A History", thinking it was a good way of filtering through Maudlin's crazy ramblings. She thought she understood Binns' purpose in recommending the book; it was filled with so many impossible and ludicrous tales, that to find the kernel of "truth" - the origin of the rumours - much more research was needed. Basically, the book was a useful starting-point; a springboard to other texts in a search for fact. It would be an exercise in discerning truth from lies. For various reasons, so much about her own past was a mystery to her. She'd reached a dead-end in figuring out her own history, and it depressed her. This would be a useful - a necessary - distraction.

Whenever she found a correlation or mention of something in both books, she would note it down for further investigation. As the hours ticked by, she found she had several promising leads already.

She was eagerly noting down the location of a tapestry on the fifth floor that purported to point the way towards "a treasure propitious in extremitie", (which could only mean something awesome) when a calm, male voice interrupted her.

"That looks like an interesting read."

She couldn't help her startled jump, looking around with wide eyes.

Riddle was leaning nonchalantly against a bookshelf, watching her.

She tried to calm her racing heart with a few deep breaths. How long had he been standing there?

"I hope you're not planning to ambush me again so soon," she said lightly, trying to hide her surprise.

She could tell by his smirk that it hadn't worked. "Not today," he replied smoothly. "And trust me, next time will end differently."

She glanced at her watch and closed the book. It was almost time for dinner. "Well, it'll certainly start differently," she said drily.

"What do you mean?"

She pulled the chair out slightly so that she was facing him more directly, but remained seated. She refused to be cowed by his sudden appearance. "I've already taken steps to ensure you can't repeat the same tactics," she informed him. "If you're planning another ambush, you'd better do it yourself."

He snorted, his mouth curved in an arrogant, crooked smile. " 'Taken steps'?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes. It was laughably easy. You've known these people for five years, but they really don't feel any loyalty, do they?" her voice dripped with fake sympathy. "I was done before lunch."

His smile slipped off his face and was momentarily replaced with something uglier. She could see him trying to figure out if she was telling the truth, and if so, what she'd done. Then his face was carefully blank again. "Sounds like a waste of time."

She hid a smile. "We'll see."

He pushed himself away from the shelves gracefully and approached her slowly, looking down at her with unreadable, dark eyes.

Under the table, her hand drifted close to her wand.

Then he smiled.

His face softened into an expression of such friendliness, such warmth, that she was momentarily taken aback. The transformation of his face was uncanny. He looked... angelic. If she didn't know him she might have been taken in by it. But then, after a moment, she finally saw what had been there all along; those dark eyes, long lashes framing a blackness which gleamed with bottomless malice. And yet...

She had to admit - there was something about him that drew her in. That fascinated her.

It wasn't just his perfectly sculpted ivory skin, that narrow slash of a mouth that curved upward in one hell of a smirk... There was something in the way he was watching her - like nothing else existed - like she held some kind of answer to something he'd been searching for. The sheer intensity of having his focus narrowed on her...

It made her heart unsteady, her breath catching in her throat. Perhaps it was because he usually looked so aloof and cold, indifferent... bored and apathetic. But when he was looking at her, he seemed to come alive.

The pure intensity of his smile and his stare rendered her momentarily mute, and that surprised her. She always had something to say.

Damn, she thought numbly, as she gazed into his pitiless eyes.

He leaned over her, still smiling, one hand braced on the arm-rest of her chair as he brought his face close to hers until she could make out the individual, long eyelashes half hiding his pupils in a sultry expression.

She swallowed hard and shifted back instinctively. Get a grip, Amalia! she told herself in dismay.

"Don't get too confident, Gray," he warned her in a low, melodic voice, still smiling that predatory smile without any idea what it was doing to her. Or maybe he did. He probably did.

A shiver crept up her spine as his obsidian eyes trailed oh-so-slowly over her face, lingering on her slightly-open mouth before flicking back up to her startled gaze.

"This is only the beginning."

She only remembered to breathe again once the sound of his fading footsteps had completely disappeared, and he was long out of sight.