Chapter 8: Lies and Innuendo
Sunday passed with comparatively little drama, all things considered.
Riddle had gone back to treating her politely in public, Charlotte had stopped sulking, and Amalia got quite a lot of research done between lunch and dinner in the library. She had just started on her punishment essay for Professor Fairchilde when the back on her neck prickled with the sense she was being watched.
Suspicious, she whipped her head around instantly, wary of an ambush after Riddle had so successfully snuck up on her the previous day. But this time it was only Rosier, hesitating nearby.
She exhaled in relief and hitched a smile on her face, hoping it didn't look too forced. She couldn't help it if her nerves were a little frayed after everything that had happened.
"Hey," he said quietly, and approaching, evidently deciding to end his dithering.
She rolled her shoulders, working out a crick in her neck. "Hi, Rosier. What's up?"
He glanced shiftily around, but they were alone. He slid into the chair across from her. "What... happened on Friday?"
She put down her quill carefully. "I would have thought Riddle's kept you up to speed." she smirked at him. "Aren't you... friends?"
He fidgeted uncomfortably for a moment, and then chose to ignore her comment. "Riddle said his plan worked." he prodded, "But... Lestrange and Dolohov are acting weird, and you seem-" he frowned, trailing off.
"Perfectly intact?" offered Amalia calmly. She pretended to wipe away a fake tear as her voice dripped with poisonous sarcasm. "I'm just concealing the emotional trauma deep within."
He blinked, unamused at her flippancy. "Did you get my warning?"
She nodded. She hadn't forgotten about the note that had arrived via owl on Friday morning. "Mm. Thanks for that. Though it wasn't much of a warning, to be honest. Next time, specifics would be appreciated." she continued writing her essay, her quill scratching the parchment as she wrote in her messy scrawl. Since it was an essay about why duelling was unnecessary, she was determined to make it extra messy.
Rosier shifted nervously. "I... didn't know Yaxley was involved," he admitted sheepishly.
"Neither did I," Amalia said dryly, dotting an i so carelessly, she almost punched a hole through the parchment, "Which is the only reason why the ambush worked. Embarrassing, really."
"So you did actually get taken?" breathed Rosier, looking shocked. "Then, what happened?"
Amalia grimaced. "There was brief time that I was... incapacitated. There were ropes. It didn't end well." she absently rubbed at her wrists - the skin there was still pinkish, but had almost completely healed.
He drew himself up, looking grimly satisfied. "I hope now you realise how foolish it is to go up against Riddle-"
"It didn't end well for Riddle," she corrected absently, scratching out a misspelling with ugly slashes of ink. She looked critically at it and decided to smudge the ink, too, wiping the back of her hand deliberately across the page. "We duelled. I won. We went back to the castle."
"You won?" the disbelief in his voice was somewhat insulting.
She rolled her eyes. "Believe what you want. You're welcome to ask him for clarification."
Not going to happen, Rosier thought immediately. "But Lestrange and Dolohov said-"
She snorted. "I'm sure they had lots to say. They were face-down in the grass for the entire conflict. I suppose they neglected to mention that?"
Rosier's surprised expression told her everything she needed to know.
She snorted. "Typical."
He was silent for a long time after that, mulling it all over. Amalia finished up her essay and then pushed it across the table to Rosier, who blinked and looked up, startled out of his thoughts.
"Tell me what you think," Amalia said with an proud grin.
Rosier looked down at the essay and started scanning it with a slight frown.
"Your handwriting is horrible," he informed her before flipping over the page. She shrugged, fiddling with her quill as she waited.
He read to the end of the second page and sighed. "Gray," he said wearily, "You are going to get detention for this."
She burst into laughter. "Is it that bad?"
"It's... very..." he struggled to find a word to describe it, before settling on, "Sarcastic."
"It's a matter of principle," she explained, taking the essay back and stuffing it unceremoniously into her bag, crumpling the paper. "If I have to turn in an essay about why duelling is useless, then I'll at least make it entertaining to read. It's fiction, after all."
"What else are you busy with?" Rosier asked, changing the subject. He was looking at the stack of notes she'd made next to her copy of Hogwarts: A History and Maudlin's Mysteries.
She yawned. "I'm researching legends and secrets at Hogwarts. It's quite fun."
Rosier twisted his head to read the parchment on the top of the pile, and then his gaze flicked back to her. "Riddle's already found this - the Hidden Corridor."
She scowled, looking a little put-out. "Oh, really? He takes an interest in these mysteries too?"
Rosier shrugged. "Just... Hogwarts in general, I guess." He didn't tell the whole truth - that Riddle was obsessed with Hogwarts. It went beyond boredom or curiosity. He was possessive over its secrets, too... This may spell even more conflict between them, he fretted.
She frowned at the parchment in question, and then crumpled it up with a sigh. "Well - where does it lead? The corridor?"
Rosier shook his head. "Nowhere. It's enchanted to be an infinite loop - Riddle spent an entire night in our third year figuring out how to get back."
"That's... disappointing." She looked at the other pile of notes and bit her lip.
Rosier was following her train of thought. "He's probably looked into many of those, as well."
Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "There's got to be something in here he hasn't got to yet." she riffled through the pack and pulled out a sheet, turning it over. "Here - The Come-and-Go room. It was only briefly mentioned... But it seems pretty amazing. Did he find this one?"
"No." Rosier answered just a little too quickly.
She saw right through him. "Damn." she muttered. "And, judging by your expression, it's not a dead end."
Rosier felt unnerved by how easily she read him, and quailed at the thought of Riddle's reaction if he knew he'd just inadvertently given away his secret hideout. If she decided to follow and figure it out for herself, she would know where they had their secret meetings...
More to distract her than anything else, he quickly reached over and tugged the pile of scrawled notes closer, glancing through them quickly.
She watched him, one eyebrow raised.
"Here," he said at last, triumphantly pointing at a paragraph she'd jotted down in passing. "I know for a fact Riddle hasn't touched this."
His ploy at distracting her worked, and she eagerly scanned it with renewed interest. "The Moving Stones - in the Forbidden Forest. '...epic quest... treasure hidden by one of the Founders-' " She looked up. "It sounds interesting. Why hasn't Riddle looked into it?"
Rosier gave a small smile. "He doesn't like trekking through forests, I guess."
Amalia snorted disparagingly. "I suppose he does seem more like an indoor animal, doesn't he? Very well. This is where I will concentrate my efforts." she stood up and began packing away all her notes.
At least she's not focussing on the Come-and-Go Room, Rosier mused, relieved. The magical room was also known as the Room of Requirement... and it was definitely not a secret Riddle would be willing to share. This was a dangerous game he was involved in.
She shot him a friendly smile as she slung her bag over her shoulder. "It's time for dinner. Let's go?"
As Amalia's second week at Hogwarts slowly unfolded, things started to take on a kind of predictability that she'd never experienced before. It was reassuring to have classes every day, in the same time slots, to do mundane things like homework and have regular meals.
It made even Riddle's bullying bearable.
And he was bullying her, there was no other way of describing his pattern of behaviour. Of course, she never remained the victim for long.
To the external observer, Riddle's attitude towards her was, as usual, exemplary; he maintained their "friendly" image outside of class. He was being almost gentlemanly in fact, if Amalia hadn't known that the description was completely laughable. He showed his true self to her in other, nastier ways, when he was sure others weren't looking.
It started with a rough push in a crowded hallway, a stuck out foot to trip her up, an icy stare between her shoulder blades. She ignored him; such pettiness was beneath her.
When this failed to illicit a reaction, other things started happening, things she could never prove was him. The seam of her bag would come mysteriously undone, or her laces would be tied together just as she was about to step down the top of a staircase. On Tuesday, in Defence Against the Dark Arts, she somehow got a small burn on her leg, like a cigarette burn, that made her jump and yelp just as Professor Fairchilde was in full stream about the importance of proper classroom conduct. It earned her a glare and ten points from Slytherin, and she only had to glance at Riddle to note his satisfied smirk. This was amusing him.
With him starting to target her with magic, she could no longer ignore it. After the seam of her bag split for the third time in two hours, she made an excuse to her friends and ran off to the library, where she researched and cast a variety of spells to protect her belongings and clothes from external manipulation. Although a simple "impervious" would have sufficed, she didn't trust that he'd give up that easily, so she layered the spells into an intricate protective web. An unforeseen side-effect was that her ink became reluctant to sink into parchment, and she soon got distracted looking up charms and countercharms for hours. By supper that night she was a veritable encyclopedia of protective charms, and had great fun taking revenge in the Great Hall by making Riddle's utensils impervious to food. Unfortunately he caught on half-way through and managed to undo most of them, but she was mollified by his distinctinctly disgruntled expression when dessert replaced his full bowl of stew.
After that their silent war continued, each attempting to out-do the other without attracting attention. She came to dread Defence Against the Dark Arts, since he seemed hell-bent on getting her into detention by making her unintentionally disruptive. Dropped quills, slamming books and scraping chairs was the least of her worries, and she developed an irritated eye-twitch mirrored almost perfectly by Professor Fairchilde.
In Transfiguration the opposite was true; Amalia outshone all the other students in terms of knowledge and ability, and Riddle wasn't foolish enough to mess around with her under Dumbledore's sharp gaze. Able to relax and actually enjoy learning without looking over her shoulder meant that it was soon her favourite class. And Dumbledore took note of her ability and often recommended books for extra reading or higher-level variations of the spells they learnt. The only thing wrong about the situation was the niggling feeling of unfairness in Dumbledore's favouritism; Riddle, even if he didn't always show it, was just as capable as she was, if not more so, and yet he was always pointedly ignored.
In their other classes, Riddle and Amalia were often openly competitive, and it became a habit of Professor Merrythought to get them to demonstrate new spells and charms. They made each class more intense by attempting even new spells non-verbally, which Callidora informed her made them both look constipated.
Herbology was one class that Amalia was quite happy with flunking, though Professor Beery mostly pretended not to notice her low-key rebellion. She'd promised to show up for auditions for his play and he kept whipping out the script in class and getting her and the other students to act out scenes, sometimes using the greenhouse plants as props. Amalia found that acting was harder than she'd expected; especially when Riddle was enchanting Slimerot Moss to climb into her socks while she was supposed to recite a dramatic declaration of love.
In Ancient Runes she proved more knowledgeable than Riddle, to his displeasure. But at least it was difficult enough to give Amalia a break from his attention.
History was the class that most students slept through, and Professor Binns droned on without ever glancing up. This automatically became the most dangerous battleground of all. As a result, they both became the epitome of studiousness, taking notes very seriously while the rest of the class tried to stop nodding off, and keeping an eye on each other as well. They were very aware that the first one to lose focus would be on the receiving end of something nasty.
Potions was the only class where things were different. Whatever petty pranks they were pulling (or, in Amalia's case, attempting to avoid), it was left at the door. Inside the Potions classroom, Riddle was trying to keep up his current "outstanding" Potions grade, while Amalia tried to catch up on five years' worth of potion-making theory from working alongside him. She had plenty of opportunities to make things purposefully hard for Riddle, but for some reason she held herself back.
Although Amalia remained utterly clueless and generally a hindrance in Potions, Riddle found he still considered it his favourite class. If anything, he looked forward to it even more than before, wondering in what absurd way Amalia would unintentionally mess up next.
She had this habit of looking at him with big eyes, comically bewildered, and saying in an amusingly panicked tone, "Riddle? What's happening now? What did I do wrong?" And he'd give a long-suffering sigh - disguising his amusement with irritation - before swooping in to save the day with some clever alchemy.
Once Potions was over, of course he'd return back to plotting his next move against her, but in class, they abided by the unspoken truce.
Their antics didn't go unnoticed by the general population. Riddle had always been a source of fascination at Hogwarts; the girls were all in love with him and the other boys admired and envied him, so his new obsession with his classmate caused quite a stir. As for Amalia, some over-inflated rumours perpetuated by Olive Hornby and company were more than enough to convince half the school they were secretly dating, and their competitiveness and the oddly intense "friendliness" Riddle treated her with in public was some kind of elaborate foreplay.
Callidora remained convinced something romantic was going on, although Amalia's friends now saw the ugly side of Riddle he tried to hide. She still insisted it was because he liked her, and the newest theory was because he "didn't know how to show human feelings".
Amalia disagreed. She thought it was much simpler than that; he wanted to prove himself better than her, stronger... He wanted to break her. And she suspected he wouldn't be satisfied until he knew every scrap of her history, and she was kneeling before him in tears. Just like his first attack had tried to accomplish.
She had to remind herself that as fun as their little game was, it could turn cruel and deadly in an instant. The moment she let down her guard, it would be over.
On Friday they had Transfiguration before dinner, and Amalia enjoyed the (albeit brief) respite from Riddle's attention. So much so that she was whistling a cheerful tune at the end of class as she packed her bag.
"Amalia and Tom," came Dumbledore's quiet voice over the class's rummaging, "Would you stay behind for a moment?"
Amalia paused briefly before she slung her bag over her shoulder, her cheerful smile not faltering even as her mind raced through potential scenarios.
Sneaking a peek at Riddle, she noticed he'd frozen up completely, his expression mask-like.
She walked up to the front of the class and dawdled there, perched on the edge of a desk - Riddle seemed to take forever, packing his books away with more aggression than his stationery surely warranted. She watched him curiously - something about Dumbledore unnerved him, and it showed. Coming from such a perfect actor, the cracks in his mask were a rare sight.
Even if the bespectacled older wizard noticed his childish attitude, he didn't say anything, but simply waited patiently until both of them were before him in the empty classroom. Riddle stood stiffly beside her, like a soldier standing at attention, though he kept his gaze firmly fixed on a spot on the wall somewhere to the left of Dumbledore's shoulder. If he was trying to look bored and nonchalant, he was failing dismally.
"What did you want to speak to us about, Professor?" Amalia asked innocently, sensing that she'd better take the lead.
Funnily enough, Dumbledore ignored her in favour of gazing at Riddle with quiet intensity over his half-moon spectacles, his fingers steepled under his chin.
Riddle remained unable to meet his eyes, and shifted uncomfortably as the seconds trickled by.
Amalia felt a spike of annoyance. "Professor?" she prompted.
Dumbledore dragged his attention back to her. "... I'm sure you've heard," he started casually, glancing between them, "There seems to have been some sort of disturbance in the school grounds last Friday, near the edge of the Forbidden Forest."
Shit shit shit! Amalia kept her expression neutral, but she could hardly disavow all knowledge of it - the whole school had been talking about the craters and burnt grass that had appeared overnight. But perhaps it was best to plead ignorance for now. "A disturbance, sir?" she asked calmly.
Dumbledore's eyes slid back to Riddle and narrowed slightly. "Indeed. It seems some students were out of bounds and practicing magic - dangerous magic, if fact - the Headmaster has asked me to look into it. Would you two... happen to know anything about this incident?"
Amalia bit the inside of her lip. He must have picked up on the residual magic left behind by her use of the Level 6 Dark spell. It was a powerful working, and Dark magic in particular left traces. It was a curse that wouldn't even be mentioned anywhere in Hogwarts, even in the Restricted Section. But then why was he still looking at Riddle?
Riddle found his voice for the first time since the start of Transfiguration class. "Of course not, Professor." his tone was calm and smooth, but then he ruined the effect by shooting a suspicious glance at Amalia. If she'd ever wanted him to get expelled, all she'd need to do was speak now...
"I'm afraid I can't help you either, Professor." Amalia said blithely.
Dumbledore seemed somewhat disappointed by her denial, judging by the small crease which appeared on his forehead. "I see." he leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. "Then, would you mind telling me where you both were on that night? I saw that you, Miss Gray, missed dinner."
"I went back to the Common Room with Charlotte," Amalia said truthfully. Little bitch then cursed me. "She'd forgotten to hand in an essay."
He seemed momentarily stumped by this very normal excuse.
"And you, Tom, what were you up to after dinner?"
He suddenly seemed to have lost the ability to speak - but Amalia could hardly blame him. Dumbledore had fixed him with a stare so piercing, it could strip paint. And there was a coldness to it, that Amalia had never seen in the old man's (usually) kind demeanor. And she was equally unprepared for the rush of protectiveness she suddenly felt for her arch-foe.
"He was with me." she said abruptly, causing both of them to turn and look at her.
"Oh?" prompted Dumbledore, raising one eyebrow.
"Yes." she said stubbornly, "We met after dinner to... study together." She saw duelling as practice, anyway, so it wasn't such a stretch from the truth, (in her opinion).
"In the library," added Riddle, after a short silence.
Dumbledore wasn't convinced. "I'm not sure I believe you." he said drily.
"It's the truth," Amalia argued adamantly. She took advantage of the situation to casually link arms with Riddle, leaning her head on his shoulder with a relaxed smile. "We're friends, after all."
She was certain she'd regret her impulsive arm-linking soon; Riddle hated being touched. He didn't shove her off or show any outward sign of his discomfort in front of Dumbledore, but he was so tense it was like linking arms with a Riddle-shaped plank.
He also seemed to have lost the ability to speak again, so she discreetly trod on his toes.
"Ah- Er - That's right, sir." he hastily confirmed, pasting a vague smile on his face, too. He shot her a look of pure malevolence that lasted microseconds - he was probably already plotting revenge for her audacity.
But at least the ploy seemed to convince Dumbledore that he wasn't going to get anywhere with the interrogation. He looked between them, seemingly bemused by this united front, and sighed heavily in defeat.
"You may go." he said with a thin smile.
Amalia immediately marched out, towing Riddle with her. For some reason she felt the need to put some distance between them and those piercing blue eyes.
Outside in the corridor, Riddle shook her off with irritation, glaring.
"Don't look at me like that!" she snapped, folding her arms. "What was I supposed to do?"
"The next time you touch me without permission, I will curse you." he said coldly.
She glanced at him up-and-down, "Oh, so I can if I have permission, then?" She smirked. She couldn't deny the thought was appealing.
His lips curved up in answering smirk, but his eyes remained cold. "I assure you, that will never happen."
She rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Let's go - I'm starving."
The rest of the school was already in the Great Hall, leaving the halls deserted.
He walked in silence next to her down two flights of stairs. They had just entered the First Floor Corridor when he looked sidelong at her, thoughtful.
"What?" she prompted, the sly glance making her uneasy.
She suddenly noticed he was fingering his wand, though she hadn't noticed him take it out. "We're already late for dinner..."
She stiffened, but kept walking. "No. Absolutely not!"
His grin was vicious as he kept pace. "You said anytime-"
"We were just interrogated, Riddle!" she exclaimed. "Do you want to get expelled?"
"Stop being so dramatic. We don't have to be loud. And we can clean up any mess easily enough."
"I don't know about you," she said tartly, "But I'm not good at holding back."
"Correction. You don't want to hold back. Like that one move - where did you even learn that?"
She assume he was talking about the Dark magic, doubtless the reason behind Dumbledore's failed intervention. She grinned. "I have my sources."
Riddle remembered the horrible feeling of the golden substance flowing like oil over his skin towards his mouth and repressed a shudder. "I'd never heard even a description of it before."
She laughed. "Oh, you tried to do some research? Well, it's definitely not something they teach students - or decent people in general. It's a pity I stopped before the end - you didn't get to experience the full effect."
His eyes darkened at her mocking tone, turning to bottomless wells of icy obsidian.
"If we start now, I'll be finished with you before dessert arrives." he hissed.
"Wow, you're really that impatien-"
They rounded a corner and came face to face with a skinny-looking Ravenclaw second year, who squeaked and scrambled back from where she'd been pressed to the wall. She was blushing so hard Amalia half expected her enormous, round glasses to mist up.
Riddle and Amalia paused, exchanging a glance. Their voices must have echoed in the (supposedly) empty corridor.
"What are you doing here?" asked Amalia, frowning.
The girl squeaked again, and pointed down the corridor with a shaky hand.
Amalia realised they had just passed the girls' bathroom. "Oh, I see."
Riddle took a threatening step forward with a poisonous smile. "And what do you think you heard, Ms Warren?"
"N-Nothing!" stuttered the girl instantly, but she blushed even harder. "I mean, it's really no concern of mine if you two want to - if you're going to -"
Amalia noted her whiny voice was singularly annoying.
"She didn't hear anything important, Riddle," Amalia sighed.
Riddle frowned at her. "But-"
"Think about it."
His expression cleared as he recalled they hadn't actually mentioned duelling or Dark curses directly. Instead, what they'd been talking about could be misconstrued as something else entirely... Which explained the girl's half-scandalised, half-excited blush.
Instantly his demeanor changed. "It's Myrtle, isn't it?" he said in a voice of honeyed sweetness.
She was instantly doe-eyed. "Y-yes?"
"It's against the rules to miss the start of the Feast." he indicated his Prefect badge, and she flinched. "So what are you really doing here?"
"Olive Hornby was being mean to me..." the girl whined, pouting.
Amalia felt a muscle twitch in her face. No wonder this girl got bullied. She hadn't been in her presence for even a minute and she felt like bullying her.
But Riddle's tone remained polite. "I'll overlook it this time, Myrtle," he purred generously.
"Gee, thanks, Riddle!" she gave an annoying, high-pitched giggle, batting her eyelashes.
A hint of sternness entered his voice, "But I expect to see you back in the hall before the end of dinner. It's not a good idea to wander the corridors alone after dark. Even the girl's bathrooms. People might think you're... up to something."
"Of course! Um... I'll just be going now."
They watched her scurry off.
"Whoa," said Amalia suddenly, "I just got the weirdest sense of de ja vu."
"Fascinating." commented Riddle drily. He sighed. "Fine, no duelling tonight."
They continued walking down the steps to the Great Hall. The double doors were half ajar, and laughter, talking and the clink of utensils could be heard, along with an assault of delicious smells.
"To be honest," Amalia said with a grin in a low voice just before they entered, "I want a re-match too."
He raised an eyebrow at her. "Then, why-?"
She patted him on the shoulder, ignoring the way he stiffened and glared.
"Well, next time... just don't ask me to miss dinner for the 'honour' of beating you. Again."
He briefly fantasised about all the ways he could dismember her without leaving traces.
"Noted."
Author's note:
Don't read too much into the de ja vu thing. Just accept that Hogwarts, well... it's a magical place. I wrote it in to be funny, not as a plot device.
Also, re-read the section as Amalia and Tom talk about duelling, with the hindsight that Myrtle assumes they're talking about freaky sex. For the lols, hehe!