Chapter 9: Alone

One week later...

It was Friday morning again, and Amalia was enjoying a large mug of hot chocolate over her toast as she perused a newspaper. Next to her, Callidora was moodily poking at some porridge, barely awake, while Anne was (with a long-suffering look) trying to help Charlotte finish some last minute homework for Charms.

Since surviving the third week of attending Hogwarts, Amalia had developed almost a sixth sense due to his pranks and bullying. So she was well aware of Riddle's approach ahead of time, though she didn't bother raising her head.

"Good morning," he said, his words a sibilant, poisonous hiss.

She looked up cautiously. He seemed in a worse mood than usual this morning. Although the words were polite, the tone was bordering on a sneer, and attracted some attention from other students, who looked around in surprise. Muttering broke out after they spotted Riddle looming threateningly over Amalia with a tight-lipped expression.

Suddenly aware of their regard, he hastily forced a friendly smile.

"Good morning, Riddle." she replied quietly, still scrutinizing him. He had bags under his eyes, and seemed paler than usual. "Did you sleep well? You look tired." She was genuinely curious. As a prefect he was expected to patrol the halls for an hour or so after dinner. She recalled her first night in the castle, when she'd dozed in the Common Room and he'd come in way past curfew... Was he still going on illicit midnight patrols?

But he ignored her question, his eyes shifting past to rest on the papers in front of her.

"You're reading a muggle newspaper?" Tom couldn't help the disbelief and scorn from showing in his voice.

She turned back to them, disinterested in picking a fight, as he was so clearly trying to do. "There's no excuse for ignorance." She said mildly, turning a page.

He made a scornful noise, but couldn't think of an immediate reply. He hovered, unwilling to leave while she had the last word.

She looked up as he lingered. "Do you want to read one?" she asked pointedly, raising an eyebrow at him. There was a pile of different newspapers on the table before her.

"What? - No!"

She rolled her eyes. "It's 1941 - There's a really big war going on, you know," she said irritably, "Aren't you even curious who's winning?"

"It's a Muggle war." He sneered.

She slammed the paper down on the table, abandoning all pretense of politeness and scowling at him.

Callidora choked and looked up from her porridge at the abrupt sound.

"Don't be naïve! Of course it matters to the wizarding world!" She tutted. "Isn't it obvious?"

He just gave her a frozen stare, feeling resentful of her tone. But the teachers were too close for him to curse her…

And more and more students sitting nearby were becoming aware of their altercation.

"Muggleborns." She hissed impatiently, ignoring the onlookers. "Do you think they'll just let their relatives die in the war? And then the friends and family of muggleborns get involved… Of course there are wizards fighting in secret, across Europe and Asia. And what of those with their own agendas? Grindelwald's not the only one to take advantage of the chaos."

At the mention of the infamous wizard's name, whispers broke out among the students. They'd all heard stories of his murderous rampage across Europe, purifying the wizarding world "for the greater good".

"Don't exaggerate, 'Malia," Callidora broke in with a nervous laugh. "The ministry's kept him at bay this long. Who else do you think we have to fear?"

Amalia sighed, as if disappointed in her naivety. "The ministry is busy trying to keep the balance and prevent a full-on wizarding war. Of course others are taking advantage in the shadows."

At her serious words there was some anxious looks traded by the eavesdroppers, which now was about half of the Slytherin table and a good portion of neighbouring Ravenclaw.

Into the uncomfortable pause, Riddle let out a derisive laugh, folding his arms. "What nonsense." he said confidently, loudly enough for everyone to hear. "You certainly have an avid imagination for conspiracies, Ms Gray."

A couple of the other students parroted his laugh and went back to their conversations, reassured by his dismissiveness.

Amalia ground her teeth in annoyance.

Riddle edged closer and his smirk grew.

"You still believe people are... after you?" he taunted in a low voice, "Don't be ridiculous."

She sniffed. "Believe what you want."

She glanced at Callidora, who was still watching them. "My point is," she addressed her friend, "Whether the danger is real or not, it's important to be informed." She picked up the newspaper again and shook it out briskly.

"Even if all you're reading about is filthy muggles?" laughed Riddle scornfully, irritated that he'd lost her attention again.

Amalia shot him a nasty look. "I suppose you won't even care, then," she snapped, but kept her voice low so others didn't hear, "Until you go home to the orphanage and its run by Germans, not the English."

Tom felt heat rise in his face in anger at her mentioning the orphanage so casually in public, but then he realized that he hadn't even considered the implications of what she was talking about. He'd been at Hogwarts from the orphanage during the bombing of London early that year (the miserable building had escaped unscathed... unfortunately), and when he was there he tried his best to ignore his surroundings and pretend he was somewhere else. He remained stonily quiet until he had a firm grasp of his emotions.

He picked up a grape from a nearby fruit bowl and fidgeted for a short while. "So, who's winning, then?" he asked at last, grudgingly curious.

She looked up, surprised he was still there. "It's too soon to say." She said waspishly. "Hitler's army has just surrounded Kiev, in Ukraine. But hopefully the Americans will join the war, and we - sorry, I meant the muggles of Great Britain - will prevail."

At that point, Avery arrived at the table, and plonked himself down across from her. "Good morning, Amalia," he yawned. Riddle noted he hadn't greeted him. Usually, he didn't care, but for some reason it annoyed him this morning. "Gee, that's a lot of papers!" Avery peered at the one on the top of the pile. "Is this… french? You read french?"

"No," she said, her tone not quite patient still from addressing Riddle, "But I do know a translator's spell."

"Wow!" gushed Avery, gazing at her in adoration.

Tom really couldn't think of anything else to say, so he left before he incendio'd every damn paper on the table, and stalked away to sit a short way down the table between Rosier and Lestrange.

"Amalia, isn't that your owl?" Charlotte's quiet voice interrupted her reading, and she looked up.

She frowned, recognizing the aristocratic-looking owl that had just landed nearby. She didn't have any mail expected until Monday; she'd already received the week's newspapers…

The owl hooted officiously, and hopped closer, his impressive feathered eyebrows raised in impatience, and he stuck out his leg.

Amalia dropped the piece of toast she'd been eating from nerveless fingers.

"…Amalia? Are you alright?" Charlotte asked uncertainly, taking in her sudden pale expression.

From further along the table, Tom looked up, having heard Charlotte's high-pitched question.

Amalia didn't reply, but untied the blank cream envelope from her bird's leg with quick fingers.

She ignored her worried friends, and opened the envelope. There was a paper inside, and something hard and metal. She took out the paper and read the neat script - the words were written in a confident, broad-stroked hand. It was short and cryptic.

Dearest Amalia,

I do hope you enjoy your studies.

Enclosed is a present - I apologize for missing your birthday (it was last Sunday).

I'll be in touch again around Christmas!

That was all. To the casual observer it seemed an innocent message, perhaps from a relative. Except for the context, which made it just... wrong, on so many levels.

Firstly, she didn't have any relatives. The writer of this note was a stranger to her: if she'd ever met him or her, she couldn't remember it. And secondly, each line was carefully chosed to provide her with psychological trauma. She'd never known her birthday, and yet casually it was mentioned, mocking her about her damaged memories. "Enjoy your studies" - that was a jibe at her for trying to escape to Hogwarts. And the specific mention of Christmas, though it was months away? A threat, to let her know that they were still coming.

With a snap of her fingers, she burnt the paper to ash, compressing her lips into a thin line. Who? WHO is taunting me like this? She'd never been directly contacted by them before, whoever they were. She'd only had a nameless dread, a shadow stalking her through Knockturn Alley. They'd hunted her, small groups of witches and wizards dressed like civilians, and on a few occasions they'd come close enough to attack with Stunning Spells.

Then, just once, a hooded man (wearing a metal clasp with an emblem on it, which she later found out was the emblem of the Department of Mysteries) tracked her down and shot a Killing Curse in her direction, and it was mainly through luck that she'd escaped. It was what convinced her the Ministry couldn't be trusted. Shortly after that incident, she'd gotten hold of the Time-Turner, another stroke of amazing luck that had allowed her to always be one step ahead of them... And given her the time to learn how to fight. But she was still no closer to understanding why.

Hogwarts is safe, she reminded herself, trying to keep calm, They sent a letter because they can't get to me. Not yet. But... The school empties over Christmas, she thought numbly, her mind racing in a hundred directions, Where will I go? Will Dippet let me stay at the school? Will I be put into temporary care? I'll have the Trace on me, so I'll be helpless, and-

Moving robotically, she tipped the envelope and out fell the object onto her palm. It was a small, silver engraved locket on a thin chain, with the Gray family crest emblazoned on the front. She hated that crest so much.

For a moment she just stared at it.

It was familiar to her... but how? When had she seen it before...?

The light catching the locket as it dangled before her eyes, accompanied by the sharp acrid smell of burning and the sting of a needle, a child's cry of fear-

She gave a shuddering gasp at the unexpected memory, and thrust herself away from the table, her world tipping. She felt like she was going to be sick.

"Amalia?"

"- Amalia!"

She ignored the frightened exclamations from her friends and raced out of the hall, barely noticing that she'd knocked students aside as she passed. She staggered, holding the locket in one white-knuckled hand, and the other tightly clamped over her mouth as her stomach rebelled.

There was fire… it seeped under the door, crackling like a dangerous beast that hungered for her flesh… she couldn't breathe…

She kept moving until she'd left the noise of the students far behind, and then collapsed against a wall, panting for air. The corridor she was in was deserted, thankfully, and at least she no longer felt like she was about to throw up, though her stomach still churned mutinously.

The door splintered open - she threw her hands up to shield her face, her eyes streaming from the unfamiliar flickering orange light, after the complete darkness she'd been in for days. The heat assaulted her, dragging the moisture from her eyes and lungs…

Her gasps turned into dry sobs, and she slid with her back down the wall, her limbs trembling from her abrupt flight, and she tried to focus her mind.

"What have you done?" the man's voice was accusing. The edge of his cloak smoldered as he raised his wand, eyes wild. "You ruined-…!"

The memory slipped away as abruptly as it had come. She looked at the hateful locket, but no more tantalizing memories were called forth. The past remained as it always had been - a hazy place filled with just a few new snippets of horror. Until two years ago, when she'd stumbled blindly into Knockturn, with nothing from her past but her name.

The horrible despair from that time dragged at her in the aftermath of the memory. She buried her face in her arms, drawing her knees close, and took some calming breaths. But I got this far, she reminded herself shakily, I made my own way here, building up from nothing. I will not give in to fear.

She only got up when the clock-tower bell rang for the start of the classes.

The most awkward part of that day was fielding the concerned questions from her friends, and Riddle's less-than-subtle attempts to provoke her into speaking about what had happened. But after her little break-down, she'd regained her iron self-control, and calmly excused her actions away as best she could.

None of them believed her, and she was unable to give a reason for burning the letter in anger like she did, or dashing out of the hall. Her friends eventually gave up, leaving the subject alone. She was grateful, even though she knew they must have felt varying degrees of frustration at her secretiveness. She wondered how long they would put up with her secrets before they decided she was too much trouble.

Riddle did not give up, however.

With the tenacity of a bull-dog, he'd latched onto this mystery and refused to let go. What could possibly have happened to break Amalia's cool, charming exterior, and turn her into a quivering mess?

And so she found herself being stared at intensely in Potions.

"Will you stop that?" she snapped at last, temper fraying, as she felt a migraine starting up in her temples.

He was toying with her, violating the unofficial cease-fire which had reigned in Potions up until this point. This time his preferred method of attack was incomplete Legilimency. Since she was aware of it and he hadn't quite mastered the skill yet, she was able to block his attempts to see into her mind... But it was annoying as hell.

She irritably chopped up a Redfern root, not bothering to chop them evenly, and moved to dump them in the cauldron with a sour expression.

Tom gracefully leant over and intercepted her hands just in time, lingering for a moment with his long, pale fingers gripping her wrist almost gently. She shivered slightly; his hands were ice cold. Then he deftly confiscated the roots and expertly sliced them into even pieces. She sighed in relief at the brief reprieve as the roots occupied his attention for a moment.

"If you don't tell me, I'll just have to figure out another way of finding out." he said with a confident smirk.

Their moods had seen a complete reversal since this morning; now she was the one looking wan and exhausted, while he was relaxed and cheerful.

Bastard. "Why are you so interested?" she sighed, no real curiosity behind the question. One good thing about Potions was that the noise level inside made it easy to talk without being overheard, and since everyone was preoccupied with their own potions, their drama could go unnoticed.

"I told you before, didn't I?" he said lightly, adding the roots to their concoction, which through some miracle had once again reached the consistency it was supposed to according to the textbook. "I'm just bored."

"And I distract you?" she couldn't help feeling slightly flattered by that, despite herself. She'd recently acknowledged that she found him attractive. But it was only physical. Of course.

"For now." he hedged, with a shrug. He even managed to make such a non-committal movement look deliberate... deliberately sexy.

Her eyes narrowed slightly at him. Oh yes, Tom Riddle was very aware of of his own appeal. She'd seen him use his charm on others to get his way... Did he really think it would work on her?

"You consider yourself above them." she gestured vaguely at the rest of the class.

He didn't bother denying it. "Don't you?" he countered.

She enjoyed her friendship with Callidora and Anne. Even Charlotte, who was getting reluctantly better at blocking Stinging Hexes during their training sessions, was starting to grow on her. But she couldn't deny that they were different... there were certain things they couldn't understand about her. She didn't want to admit it, but he'd struck a nerve there.

"I suppose you've never considered anyone your friend, have you?" she drawled, defensiveness making her tone mocking.

But her taunt fell flat - his expression didn't falter at all.

Her breath was snatched away in sudden shock. Never... not even once? He'd never allowed anyone close? Never considered anyone his equal...? Rosier had told her he didn't have friends, and she'd believed him. But to never have any attachment at all... that went beyond a superiority complex. What about when he was kid? A toddler? Just what kind of upbringing did he have? Or was he born without the capacity-

Suddenly his blank mask changed, and he gave her a secretive, melt-your-insides kind of smile, sidling closer. "Why, aren't you my friend?" he murmured, making the idea sound simultaneously dangerous and attractive.

He waited for a scathing reply, but it never came.

Riddle doesn't have friends, Rosier had said. It took all the bite out of his question. ... Aren't you my friend?

"No," she muttered at last, looking at their textbook for the next line of instructions. "I'm guess I'm not."

And for some reason, she suddenly sounded a little melancholic.

Author's note:

I mentioned Gellert Grindelwald briefly in this chapter. I didn't originally intend for him to be a character in my story, but if you guys are interested in him let me know. Dumbledore is only supposed to defeat him in 1945 (4 years after the present time), so I'll have to mention him at some point again anyway. He's supposed to be the Voldemort-before-Voldemort in terms of bad-guy status anyway, so it would be weird to ignore him entirely. :)