Author's note:

Bah! I just spent ages writing about 1000 words and then the page refreshed and I lost it all... That's the type of moment that makes you want to slam your head repeatedly into the desk :P I had to painstakingly rewrite everything.

So you people should appreciate this chapter for all the emotional trauma it caused me!

Chapter 11: Bloodlines

By the time Amalia got back to the seventh floor, the spell that froze Riddle had just started wearing off. Unexpectedly, he'd regained consciousness and seemed to be trying to reach down to his leg, which was still bleeding. Gushing, actually.

She knelt beside him, heedless of the blood that soaked into her stockings and robe, and feverishly paged through the book. "Lacerations... Arterial wounds... Stop moving," she advised in between gulps of air from her mad dash to return, "You'll just get blood everywhere."

He cast a weak look at the sticky redness artfully splashed about the corridor and mumbled, "Too late for that."

He promptly passed out.

Amalia pinched the bridge of her nose and tried to calm down.

She spent the next hour alternating between heartfelt swearing and difficult healing spells. There was a reason why they weren't taught healing at school; the spells were fiendishly difficult and potentially dangerous to get wrong. A couple of mispronounced syllables and she could be at best trimming his toenails, at worst growing him an extra leg.

Riddle's eyes opened slowly and he drew in a shaky breath, feeling like a horse had kicked him in the chest. He also noticed a dull throbbing around the inside of his left knee, which was neatly bandaged, and the fact that he was freezing cold.

And for some reason Amalia had his head cradled in her lap, and was peering down at him with... genuine concern?

"Um... How are you feeling?" she asked tentatively, smoothing his hair back from his forehead with hesitant fingers.

He blinked several times until her face swam into view. He'd never seen her from this angle before. He noticed she had a faint freckle just on her jawline, a small mark on otherwise flawlessly pale skin.

"... Riddle?"

Then the reality of his situation dawned on him and he shoved her off with a snarl, recoiling back against the corridor wall and bracing himself there. Though his limbs felt like jelly, he forced himself to sit straight. And tried to ignore the sick sensation that he was on a bucking deck in a stormy ocean, not dry land.

She didn't look shocked or dismayed his reaction, but took it with equanimity, getting to her feet and shoving spare bandages into a satchel. "Do you think you can stand?"

Glancing around, Riddle noticed she'd cleaned up the blood. She'd cleaned up her mess. He'd put two and two together seeing her healing book. She didn't want to be held accountable for his death. There could be no other reason for her actions. He tensed as he noticed she was holding her wand loosely in one hand... but she didn't seem about to attack.

"My wand." he said coldly.

"Oh, yes. Sorry." she instantly retrieved his wand from her pocket and passed it to him with no trace of hesitation.

As soon as his hand close on the wood he filled his lungs with the air that would deliver a curse so powerful it would obliterate her where she stood...

And suddenly broke off coughing, feeling a wave of nausea wash over him as the room span.

"Don't overdo it," Amalia advised anxiously, "Your femoral artery was almost completely severed. I managed to repair most of the damage, but you've lost too much blood." She indicated the book. "It warns that you could go into shock, if you-"

He suddenly began shivering uncontrollably, seeing black spots dance across his vision.

"...Which is happening right now." she said quietly, dismayed. "Damn."

"Doesn't your book have any other advice?" he gritted out as another wave of nausea swept over him.

"You need a blood replacement potion... and several regenerative draughts too, I'd imagine," she said glumly. "Only, I don't have the ingredients... You need the hospital wing. We're just going to have to figure out some way of explaining this." she looked miserable. "Perhaps if I told Dumbledore-"

"Stop panicking." he commanded, closing his eyes briefly so that the world stopped spinning. He felt pretty awful, but his thoughts were clearer now. And the thought of Dumbledore finding out... Without a doubt, the sly old man would figure out some way of pinning all the blame on him. It would finally give the old geezer the excuse he needed to expel him once and for all. "There's a place I can go that's better than the hospital wing, and it's on this floor."

She seemed doubtful. "That's awfully... convenient."

Despite his condition, Tom smirked at her disbelief. "It's a rather convenient room."

"If you say so. Here, I'll help you up-" she approached and reached out to him, ignoring his instant glare.

As soon as her hand closed on his arm, he spat, "Relashio." purple sparks lanced between them.

Amalia yelped and staggered back, rubbing her wrist and scowling. "Jeez, Riddle! What the hell?!"

"I told you not to touch me," he hissed. "Be thankful I used a jinx, not a curse. I shan't be so merciful next time." As he spoke he braced himself more firmly against the wall, dragging himself up inch by agonizing inch. He felt heavy and his heartbeat, frail and unsteady, hammered at his temples.

"Oh, I should be thankful?" her voice rose in anger at his biting tone. "It's past midnight and I'm stuck out here with you, all because you couldn't even block a simple Severing Charm-"

"Don't try blaming me for this, Gray," he shot back, voice venomous. "You challenged me, remember? And when you thought you were going to lose, you tried to take me down with you." he gave a scornful laugh devoid of any humor. "I must say I'm impressed. I didn't think you had it in you."

Amalia's eyes widened at his words. "No, I didn't- It was a tactical decision!" but even as she said it, she couldn't help questioning her own motives. She'd had milliseconds to respond, once she realized his binding spell was inescapable. Had she really been thinking about tactics... Or had she instinctively just lashed out and tried to kill him...?

"Well, I'm still alive, also thanks to your efforts," he acknowledged reluctantly (reminding himself that the sooner he found a route to immortality, the better), "So consider it a moot point. You can run off and go to bed," he made a patronizing "shooing" motion with one long-fingered hand, "I can handle myself from here."

His dismissal seemed to rouse Amalia from her thoughts. "Regardless of who's ultimately to blame," she said with renewed firmness, "I have a responsibility to make sure you don't, uh..." she looked him up and down as he sagged, shivering, against the wall, "Collapse somewhere."

Riddle seemed like he was going to refuse her help again, but then logic reasserted itself and he gave a reluctant nod.

This time, Amalia didn't try to touch him, but merely kept pace as he slowly limped along the wall, leading them further down the corridor and around a few corners.

Then she watched with wide eyes as he paced back and forth in front of a plain stretch of wall. On the third time he paced, his steps faltered and he almost fell, but Amalia steadied him with one hand, keeping an eye on his wand which twitched in her direction. But this time he didn't jinx her, and she backed off once he'd steadied again. By the time the small drama was over, a plain white door had materialized.

Riddle opened it and stumbled inside.

Eyes wide, Amalia followed, looking around with interest.

The room was large and welcoming, scrubbed stone with white-washed walls and a cheerful, crackling fire in a wide hearth on one end. Along one wall were two single beds with crisp white covers. Along the opposite wall was floor to ceiling cabinets filled with all manner of bottles, jars and boxes of ingredients, as well as row after row of medicinal books and a gleaming, state-of-the-art potion-making set. The light came from yellow oil lamps hung along the walls.

"This is amazing," Amalia exclaimed, craning her head to look at the ceiling, which was hung with cream-coloured sheets like the roof of a tent, dimming the light to a warm glow and channelling warmth from the fire into the center of the room.

Riddle ignored her and collapsed onto the nearest bed, lying back with his arms folded behind his head. It was a pity he had to share this, one of his greatest secrets, with her of all people, but he reassured himself that if it became a problem he would just wipe her memory. Or kill her. Whichever seemed easier. And it wasn't as if she knew exactly what the room was-

"I can't believe you found the Room of Requirement," she gushed, inspecting the set of cauldrons and test-tubes on the table.

Riddle groaned internally, cursing her sharp mind. Of course she figured it out in less than three seconds. "Well, since you're here, make yourself useful." he deadpanned. "I feel like shit."

She grinned at him. "You know, that commanding tone might make your followers jump to obey... But I just find it cute." she stuck her tongue out at him when he scowled.

He decided to ignore her teasing. He was in no state to be teaching her manners at the present time.

"Just get on with it." he sighed.

"Yes Mr Riddle sir, right away sir." she hummed a cheerful tune as she fired up the bunsen burner and started pulling books and ingredients out of the cabinets.

He belatedly realized this would be the perfect opportunity for her to poison him. And with her potion-making skills, it might not even be on purpose. With this worrying thought in mind, he pulled himself upright against the fluffy cushions so he could keep an eye on her.

"Where do the ingredients and books and stuff come from?" she asked as she consulted between different healing journals, trying to find the best potion. "According to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration, it can't just appear out of thin air."

He shifted uncomfortably, feeling hot and cold at the same time. And he was still seeing black spots when he moved his head too fast. "The room's a part of the castle. I assume it uses whatever is in the castle to begin with, multiplies it and summons it here."

"Fascinating."

"Wait- did you peel that Pomporous Sprout before shredding it?"

"Umm..."

"Shit, Amalia, you can't even do that much-"

"Riddle." she said in shock, dropping the sprout and turning to him.

"What?" he snapped.

"You just used my name."

He fell silent.

"Like, my first name. That's the first time I've heard you say it."

"... So?" his headache was getting worse.

She grinned. "Does that mean I can call you Tom?"

"No."

"Thomas? Tommy? ... Tomcat?"

He rubbed his temples. "I am going to kill you... very soon..."

She just laughed.

He closed his eyes and lay back with a shiver.

She stopped laughing at once and approached, peering into his grey face with concern. "I'd better hurry." she murmured.

"Just focus on not poisoning me," he shot back, opening his eyes immediately. She backed off, holding her hands up to show that no, she hadn't been about to touch him again. "Take your time and concentrate."

She grabbed a blanket from the end of the bed and threw it over him, (but left the tucking-in to him; she didn't have a death wish) before trotting back to the cauldron. "I'll peel and re-shred the sprouts... Do you want to check my progress?"

"If you take it off the flame it'll be ruined. Just follow the instructions exactly as they're written," he ordered tiredly, "And describe it to me. Actually, you might as well give me the book, I'll tell you what to do."

She seemed almost relieved to hand the book over, though she pouted. "I'm offended you don't trust me, Riddle."

As they continued brewing the potion together, he mused that at least she wasn't stuck on calling him "Tomcat".

Thank Merlin for small miracles.

About an hour later, Amalia had finally brewed a passable Blood Replacement Draught under Riddle's strict tutelage, and he was finally feeling alive again. But both of them were completely exhausted. A bronze clock on the wall told them it was almost three in the morning.

"Riddle," Amalia yawned, crawling into the other single bed. "Please don't murder me in my sleep."

He placed the empty goblet of potion on the nightstand and felt his own eyes closing as if they were weighted. "Not tonight, Gray... Though I'm still pissed off at you."

Her eyes fluttered open at the admission. Riddle, for once, had stated his actual feelings. It must be all the blood loss talking.

"I'm sorry I almost killed you." she said sincerely, staring up at the ceiling and waiting for his response.

"I would have done the same." he said coldly, once again unusually honest.

She chuckled. "Mm. That silver spear thing almost got me." she closed her eyes. "It was a good duel, despite how it turned out..." Despite the fact that he had been using lethal spells against her, she didn't think he was using them with lethal intent. He didn't want to kill her, not really. She couldn't forget that his last spell had been Expelliarmus. When he actually had her at his mercy, he'd chosen a spell that was about as non-lethal as you could get, over every other nasty curse and jinx in his extensive repertoire. It wasn't very Riddle-ish at all. And he'd called her by her first name...

"Are you still going to try to get the locket back?" he asked, changing the subject abruptly.

She was silent so long Riddle began thinking she really was asleep.

But then at last she sighed, "No. You keep it. I guess you won this round."

He turned his head to look at her profile, disbelieving. "Really?"

"Really really. I don't care anymore." she said simply.

He considered her words for a while. "I tested it," he admitted.

And though she didn't respond, the way her breathing had gone quieter told him she was listening.

"There's no spell or enchantment." he continued, "And the inside frame is empty, except for a few grains of black ash."

"So it was in the fire, too." Amalia murmured, as if forgetting Riddle's presence. She hadn't bothered examining the horrid thing very closely.

When she said nothing more, lapsing into contemplative silence, he asked impatiently, "What fire?"

But it seemed she was no longer in a responsive frame of mind, and he just heard her roll over and mumble, "G'night, Riddle."

The next day was strangely normal after everything that had transpired the previous night.

Riddle woke up in the Room at about mid-morning, feeling pretty awful. But standing no longer caused spots in his vision, and after taking another dose of potion he felt much better. Amalia had disappeared, no doubt she'd woken up earlier. Unlike him, she was a morning person, it seemed. She'd left the bed she'd slept in completely messed up, and the aftermath of her potion-making was strewn haphazardly on just about every available surface.

The clutter made a muscle in his eye twitch.

Having missed breakfast, he went straight down to the kitchens and let the elves fuss over him. Seeing it was a Sunday, it wasn't as if he had anywhere pressing to be.

After eating, he returned to the Common Room and resolutely ignored the stares and whispers directed his way. He understood why: he and Amalia had left the library together very conspicuously (she'd even linked arms with him at one point), and then neither of them returned until the next morning. He hoped Amalia hadn't said anything to encourage them, not that it would have made much difference.

His followers were oddly subdued. Dolohov and Avery tried to hide it, but they kept shooting him jealous and half-betrayed-looking glances. He'd expressly denied liking her on several previous occasions, but now the 'evidence' made it seem like a lie. Nott was too cowardly to be outwardly jealous. Rosier and Lestrange, however... they seemed to guess there was more to the story than appearances would suggest.

He realized that sooner or later he'd have to address these rumours, and prove their validity or falseness... Before Amalia thought up some way to use it against him.

When Amalia snuck back into the girl's dormitory just before breakfast, she was immediately confronted by three demanding expressions.

Too tired to invent a convincing lie, Amalia shrugged as she changed her clothes. "We duelled. Again."

"What?!" yelped Anne. "You and Riddle? Are you insane?!"

"Cool!" Callidora exclaimed. "You're not bleeding this time."

"Who won?" Charlotte's narrowed eyes were caught between hostility and... concern?

I must be getting through to the little brat, Amalia mused.

"This time I guess it was his victory," she admitted, "But he was injured, so I had to come get this," she indicated the book and satchel she'd brought back with her.

"How did he win and get injured?" Callidora seemed sceptical.

"He used a spell I'd never seen before..." her tired eyes got a little brighter. "Which reminds me, I've got to look it up. What was the incantation? Obs- Ob-something... or was it-"

"Amalia, if he was hurt, why didn't you take him to the hospital wing?" Anne interrupted with a frown.

"Because we'd be expelled for duelling?"

"What were you doing the whole night, though?" asked Callidora, waggling her eyebrows suggestively. "You bandaged his bleeding torso, and then..." she trailed off hopefully.

Amalia chuckled. "Firstly, it wasn't his torso-"

Callidora squealed.

"-It wasn't that, either!" she facepalmed. "Merlin, Dora, get your mind out the gutter!"

She pouted.

"I just stayed to brew a potion so he wouldn't have to go to the hospital wing!"

"The whole night?" Callidora exclaimed.

Anne also seemed suspicious. "Riddle's more capable than you at potion-making."

"Not you, too!"

"Even I can see a pattern here," Anne admitted. "You two are weirdly obsessed with each other. I never thought I'd say it, but it's true."

Amalia opened her mouth to deny it, but then hesitated... He called me 'Amalia' last night...

"I knew it!" crowed Callidora. "There is something going on between you two!"

"There's nothing, really," Amalia protested, holding up her hands. "It's just..."

"Just what?"

She had their undivided attention.

"He's... interesting."

Callidora was waggling her eyebrows again. "Oho...'Interesting'..."

"Yes, he's attractive," Amalia rolled her eyes, "But I don't mean like that. He's the one obsessed with me, but not for the reason you think." She sighed. "He thinks I have secrets-"

"You do." they chorused in unison, trading meaningful looks.

"-And he wants to find out what they are. That's all." Suddenly she seemed somewhat wistful, and looked away from them. "We're... not even friends."

"Maybe it's for the best," Anne said sagely. Though she did think something more was going on between them

"I guess," sighed Callidora, then said matter-of-factly, "He is only half-blood."

Amalia looked up, only to watch in disbelief as they traded pitying nods.

What... the... hell...?

For some reason, the words they'd spoken stayed in her mind even through the next week of school, and it bothered her. She hated ignorance, and now that she was noticing it, she found it ridiculous just how obsessed Slytherins were with bloodlines. Even Callidora, who Amalia liked a great deal, was extremely prejudiced. She knew it wasn't with any particularly malicious intent; she'd just been brought up believing muggles and "impure" bloodlines were inferior. Not all Slytherins were purists at heart (or, for that matter, by blood), but the vast majority made it difficult for other opinions to be aired. When Amalia asked if there was anyone in Slytherin who felt differently, Callidora mentioned her young cousin, a first year by the name of Alphard Black, who she described as "a sweetie, but with some very strange ideas." Apparently, he was often bullied by his older sister, Walburga, for being friendly to muggleborn students in other houses.

As the week passed by, Amalia and Riddle settled back into their rhythm of competitive tension, though he'd toned down the pranks and stopped trying to provoke her into a duel. They both knew the next time they fought could go either way.

With open conflict off the table, it turned into a war of lies. The school seemed to assume they were "secretly" dating, and Riddle used this to his advantage, subtly turning the girls of his large fan-base against her. Amalia started having to look over her shoulder for jinxes even when Riddle was nowhere near. In response, she took simple revenge in taking ever opportunity to casually touch him, leaning on his arm, brushing her fingers down his arm. Subtle motions which pissed him off... and therefore amused her greatly.

On Thursday she went to audition for Professor Beery's school play, and won the role of the tragic heroine, which was heavily based off of Shakespeare's Desdemona, with minimal effort. The melodramatic Herbology professor faked a swoon at her first line, and then exclaimed she had the "perfect look" of a pure woman. She couldn't help an irritated twitch at the "pure" part, though he was probably referring to her innocent acting (which was far from reality, anyway).

Later that afternoon, Amalia was busy studying the script in the Common Room, seated in her favourite spot by the fire.

Callidora was holding court with Charlotte and Anne, bossily discussing relations and descendants (again). Tom, with Rosier, his ever-present shadow, was seated a distance away at a small table, completing essays for Professor Binns and studiously ignoring the girls. The only other person in the room was Walburga Black, stretched out lazily on the opposite couch to Amalia, using her wand to spin her beater's bat idly in the air above her. She listened with half an ear to their conversation, spending the other half of her time glaring at Amalia, who ignored her. For some reason the older girl had taken a strong disliking to her.

"So, Anne, how many Flints are left to carry on your family's name?" Callidora asked curiously.

Anne shrugged. "I have a couple of cousins to carry on the name. The family's actually quite big, but we keep marrying out, thank goodness. No offence, Callidora, but I get quite queasy when I consider marrying my cousins." She shuddered.

Callidora waved her words off and sniggered, "No problem, Anne, I understand. At least the Blacks are numerous, although I certainly don't intend marrying one of them, either."

Walburga Black's beater's bat stopped rotating, and the larger girl turned to scowl at Callidora. "Indeed? And what's wrong with Blacks furthering our line? It's marrying out that dilutes the bloodline even further, 'til you're almost extinct, like Flint."

Amalia had a strong urge to roll her eyes, but kept her attention on the script.

Anne bristled, " 'Dilutes the bloodline'? We're all purebloods here, Black!"

Charlotte, deciding to take on the role of peacemaker, jumped in before Walburga could reply, "You're engaged to Orion, aren't you? Your second cousin."

Amalia looked up at narrowed her eyes at Walburga. She suddenly felt extremely sorry for any offspring she might have.

Walburga's irritation gave way to suspicion. "How did you know that?"

Callidora shrugged. "Alphard told me."

Charlotte nodded. "I remember Orion. Didn't he graduate four years ago?"

Walburga gave a characteristically unladylike grunt of assent and her beater's bat resumed its rotation above her head. "That waste of space brother of mine should learn to keep his trap shut."

"Oookay…" Callidora turned back to the group. "So, Amalia, what about you? You're the last Gray, aren't you?"

Amalia glared. "So?" Good riddance.

"The Grays are one of the oldest pureblood families!" exclaimed Callidora dramatically, "Aren't you sad that it'll die out with you?"

"Maybe I'll kill my husband and give my last name to my five sons so that it survives." She said waspishly.

There was a beat of silence, broken only by Riddle giving an odd-sounding cough as he studiously bent over his essay.

Amalia looked down at her book again, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Then Callidora also laughed, and waved her hand as if to get rid of Amalia's odd comment. "Anyway, like I was saying, there's just so few purebloods left… it's hard to narrow your focus down, even just to Slytherins." She fidgeted with the hem of her robe.

Charlotte Yaxley, dim as ever, seemed confused. "What do you mean?"

Amalia glanced up from her book briefly. "Longbottom." She supplied, somewhat smugly.

Callidora went red, while Yaxley and Flint squealed in shock.

"Really, Dora?"

"A Gryffindor?"

"He is kinda cute…!"

Walburga gave a scornful snort. "Typical." She sneered, but everyone ignored her. Since he was a pureblood too, it seemed her crush was socially acceptable.

Callidora glanced at Amalia, annoyed that she'd stolen her thunder. "So what about you, Amalia?" she demanded, nettled.

Amalia looked up from her book. "What?"

"Is there anyone you like?" she was doing this on purpose because Riddle was sitting only meters away.

Amalia resisted the urge to glance over at his table. She wondered if he was still listening. As they were the only ones still up, it was likely.

She shrugged. "Not in particular."

Anne chuckled. "Avery would be crushed to here that."

"Have you dated before?" now it was Charlotte's quiet voice, her big blue eyes wide with inquisitiveness.

Amalia felt a prickle of irritation, as she always did when people asked her personal questions. But it was standard fare among girls - she could hardly refuse to reply. "No," she said curtly, returning her gaze to her book. Dating was so... ordinary, and her life up until this point had been anything but.

But Callidora grinned like a shark tasting blood in the water, and leaned over and snatched the book from her fingers.

"Hey!" huffed Amalia, scowling.

"You get it back when our curiosity is satisfied," Callidora said bossily, unperturbed.

Amalia folded her arms. "I'm not amused."

"So, you've never been kissed before?" she pressed.

"What's it to you?" snapped Amalia. Just when would she have an opportunity like that when she'd spent her life just surviving? Once again she was reminded painfully by how different she was to other people her age.

Callidora raised an eyebrow in shock. "Really? … Never? It's just… you seem so confident with the guys, I always assumed…"

"Well, you assumed wrong." She snapped. "Can I have my book back now?"

"Have you ever had a crush on a guy before?" demanded Callidora. She raised a hand to her mouth, "Or… a girl?"

Amalia gave her a withering glare. "Of course not." her evasions weren't getting her anywhere, so she tried to calm down. "I don't waste my time on foolishness."

"It's not foolish, 'Malia," said Anne earnestly, "It's normal. Even Walburga-"

"Leave me out of this!" cackled Walburga, prompting a sour glare from Amalia which she returned enthusiastically.

"Anne's right," Callidora said bracingly. She sat straighter and drew herself up. "Right, this group has a new mission. We're going to help Amalia have her first kiss!"

Anne laughed and nodded.

Amalia rolled her eyes, finally losing her patience, and flicked her wand, sending her book soaring from Callidora's fingers back to her hands. She opened and paged through it, trying to find her place. For some reason, this conversation was really pissing her off.

Callidora didn't seem to mind. She looked at Anne and Charlotte, who leaned in closer. "Right, where should we start?"

"Pureblood?" Supplied Anne immediately.

Callidora's eyes narrowed and she gave a conspiratorial smile. She glanced very deliberately over to where Riddle was sitting with Rosier, and the others nodded enthusiastically.

"So, just a Slytherin, then. We can't be… too picky." Surmised Callidora with a hefty wink at her co-conspirators.

Amalia's hands tightened on her book. She knew exactly who they meant. So you didn't really believe me when I said he was a ruthless git, she thought wryly. She snuck a peek over her book to his table, wondering if he was also following their conversation. He was looking down at his essay with a ferocious scowl. She fought back a wide grin. Either he was offended by seventh century goblin wars, or he found the topic of conversation equally unappealing.

"So, that leaves us with the guys in our year… Mulciber, Nott, Avery - I'm sure he'd be willing - Dolohov, Rosier-"

Rosier looked up at the sound of his name and Callidora winked at him. He flushed and looked down hurriedly.

"-Lestrange-"

"Not Lestrange." Charlotte put in quickly, a frown pinching her delicate features.

"Not Lestrange." Agreed Callidora magnanimously.

Anne bit her lip to hold back her laugh, "That just leaves…" she clamped a hand over her mouth to hold herself back.

Callidora affected an expression of mock confusion. "What? Who?"

Charlotte looked shocked at her audacity, and then in unison the three girls turned to look over at Riddle, who sat writing his essay calmly. Even Walburga looked up.

He stopped writing, and gave a small sigh. "Oh, dear. Could you possibly be talking about me?"

He smiled at them, his angelic mask in place. Callidora, Anne and Charlotte flushed slightly, while Walburga merely looked amused.

Amalia closed her book with a snap. Now that Riddle had joined the conversation, she could no longer afford to let it go. She stood up. "This is ridiculous." She said angrily, folding her arms. "I'll be in the dormitory until dinner, where I can hopefully get some peace."

Callidora seemed to realize she'd gone too far in her teasing, and had the grace to look ashamed.

Amalia had taken only two steps towards her dormitory, when Tom made his parting shot. "I didn't think you'd be so sensitive about this, Gray." In front of the others, his tone was lightly reproving. "A first kiss is nothing to be afraid of."

Amalia turned to look at him. He smiled at her innocently, but she could read the taunt in his gaze. Two can play at that game… "Oh, are you volunteering?" she said bluntly, matching his smirk. She may lack experience, but she never lacked in confidence. If it was something she wanted... she would get it.

Out the corner of her eye she saw Callidora, Anne, Charlotte and Walburga's mouths drop open.

His eyes flickered, but he recovered well, and smiled bashfully, "You're so popular, Amalia, you don't need anyone to volunteer. Certainly not me."

"That's right." She said, she smirk widening poisonously. She had to admit to feeling slightly disappointed. It wasn't as if she liked him, of course- quite the opposite, in fact - but he was very handsome, and she had no doubt he would be a good kisser. He was a good liar, after all.

Her eyes slid from Riddle to Rosier, who glanced nervously between them.

She suddenly had a really, really, amusing idea.

"Rosier." She said sweetly, making the slight boy jump.

The smile slid of Tom's face immediately and he looked suspicious.

"Y-yes?"

She stepped right up to him and gently brushed the side of his mouth with her thumb. "I've always liked you." Her brown eyes were large and warm, so different from Riddle's cold blackness. And yet... why did this subtly threatening atmosphere feel so familiar...? She motioned him to stand up, shooting him a reassuring smile that, instead, sent a shiver of trepidation down his spine.

He hesitated, glancing at Riddle, who ignored him in favor of glaring at Amalia. He didn't seem to notice that the quill in his right hand had snapped.

Amalia raised one eyebrow, expectant. Impatient. Rosier gulped and miserably stood up, his chair scraping loudly on the floor in the otherwise silent room.

"What is it?"

She smiled at him. "Kiss me."

"E-excuse me?"

She waited. She knew his secret, so he had no choice but to obey her. Of course, she would never tell Riddle his true feelings, (she wasn't a sadist), but he didn't know that.

He hesitated, then steeled himself and leant forward, placing a chaste kiss on her soft lips for a whole three seconds before pulling away. It was a perfectly satisfactory, polite, first kiss.

Amalia glanced back at her room-mates, savoring the look of shock on everyone's faces. She winked at Rosier, who scowled, annoyed at being manipulated.

"Thanks for helping me with this issue, Rosier. I knew I could count on you." With that last taunt she disappeared into the dormitories with a flounce of her robes.

Rosier winced and turned around to peek at Riddle's reaction.

His glare was blood-curdling in its intensity.

Author's note:

This chapter was long and a lot happens... consider it my Christmas present to you guys. Please review with your thoughts, I love hearing from you :)