Author's note:
Another chapter so soon?
Aren't I just the best :D
(say the title in Argus Filch's voice for the lolz)
Chapter 15: Oh no, we are in trouble...
Riddle was idly nibbling a slice of toast at his usual spot in the Great Hall. In front of him was the latest issue of The Daily Prophet - he was currently reading their short piece on how England was faring in the Muggle war. It had become a habit of his to check the news, after Amalia's impassioned argument about him being 'ignorant' for not caring. He had pride, and it had been hurt... he couldn't stand being called ignorant. Especially not by her.
Finished the short article, and reassured that London was not yet in the grip of Germans, he folded the paper up neatly, placing it next to his plate.
"Pass the coffee, Lestrange," he said, quite amiably.
The bigger boy frowned at him from under his thick brows. "You seem... cheerful." he said cautiously, passing the coffee pot.
"Is that unusual?" Riddle asked lightly. He poured his coffee and added some milk. Usually, he took it black and strong (he needed the kick to thoroughly wake him up most mornings) but... Today was a good day.
Lestrange grimaced, unsure of how to respond. Riddle in a good mood was rare... especially in the mornings. And after five years in his company, he knew that it usually meant someone was about to experience a world of pain. "Did... something good happen?" he guessed. Perhaps he's just in a regular, good mood, like a normal person...
Riddle smiled, spine-chillingly. "Oh no, the fun is just beginning."
So, not just an ordinary good mood, then, he thought dryly. Why am I not surprised? He turned uneasily back to his bacon, glad that it didn't have anything to do with him... Hopefully.
Riddle caught sight of two figures entering the Great Hall, and smirked into his coffee, drinking it quickly. By the livid expression on Amalia's face and the anxiety on Rosier's, he was pretty sure she was just about to cause a scene.
He watched as Rosier said something nervously, and Amalia turned and snapped a reply, turning away from him to scan the Hall. As soon as her eyes found him - he gave a pleasant nod 'good morning' across the room - she drew herself up, mouth a thin line, glaring daggers.
Her usual pleasant demeanor nowhere to be found, she caused a bit of a stir as she uncaringly brushed past any other student unfortunate enough to get in her way, striding purposefully towards him.
She looks about ready to commit murder, he mused to himself gleefully. He kept his own expression calm, yet slightly bemused, as if he had no clue what she was upset about. He snuck a glance at the other students around them. A good amount of the casual morning chatter had fallen silent, as they watched this latest development in what was fast becoming the hottest topic at the school; the mysterious relationship between Amalia Gray and Tom Riddle. Even the professors seemed to be taking note.
"Good morning." he greeted politely, putting down his cup.
He was not quite prepared for her to seize his upper arm in a vice-like grip and veritably yank him out of his seat to his feet. "Ms Gray," he said, the picture of dismayed shock, "What on earth are you-!"
"Amalia!" exclaimed Rosier, lingering nervously in the background, and he wasn't the only one. Surprised and shocked muttering had broken out among the student body.
"Cut the bullshit, Riddle," she snarled, not bothering to keep her voice down. "We're leaving, now... Unless you want to do this here." She already had her wand drawn in her other hand. "Don't think I won't." she threatened.
He saw the truth in her eyes - she'd really do it. It was the first time he'd ever seen her so angry. Pleasant adrenaline surged through him in response.
"Well, if you insis- ah..."
She didn't wait for him to finish his sentence, before dragging him after her, her left hand leaving crescent-shaped nail marks in his flesh. He just had time to grab his bag before she towed him out of the Hall, leaving a storm of controversy and rumour to erupt behind them.
Less than an hour later...
Riddle paused outside the door to Transfiguration, the first class of the day. He straightened his tie and double-checked that his appearance was perfect, smoothing down a few strands of hair that had fallen across his forehead. He reminded himself that was only a minute or two late - even Dumbledore couldn't justify punishing him for that. And there was no way the old man would suspect that anything had happened just from looking at him...
"Sorry I'm late, sir," he said politely, entering and making his way to his usual seat at the back of the room. He sat down and got his books out, ready for the lesson to start.
Dumbledore stopped writing the heading of the day's lesson on the board, and turned. "Ah, Riddle! I was wondering when you and-" he broke off and frowned, gaze becoming stern over his half-moon spectacles. "... And where is Ms Gray, if I may ask?"
The whole class swiveled in their chairs to stare at him, waiting for his answer. He saw particular suspicion in Black, Yaxley and Flint's eyes.
He raised his eyebrows. "Gray? I'm not sure."
"The whole school witnessed you two leave the Great Hall this morning," Dumbledore reminded him, a note of warning entering his voice. "She seemed... upset."
His eyes widened, "It was all a misunderstanding," he protested earnestly. "Once we'd cleared things up, I recommended she take some time to calm down - You all saw it," he nodded to the rest of the class, "She was quite hysterical this morning."
"What did you do to her?" demanded Callidora Black, flinching as he turned a dangerous smile her way.
"Why, nothing, of course." he lied smoothly.
"And you have no idea where she could be?" prodded Dumbledore, raising a skeptical eyebrow. His stare was so intense Tom was certain he was attempting some pseudo-legilimency across the classroom, but of course his own studies in the field ensured his thoughts were well guarded.
Careful, old man, Tom thought with vicious satisfaction, You're almost exposing your hatred for me - one of your precious, innocent students.
"The Common Room, perhaps?" Tom guessed with a shrug.
Unable to find anything else out, Dumbledore continued the lesson, uneasiness weighing on his heart.
In the front of the class, next to Amalia's empty seat, Rosier anxiously shredded his half-hearted notes, biting his lip.
Lestrange leaned over to Riddle. "So, where is she... really?"
Riddle shot him a secretive smirk.
"Nowhere near the Common Room, of course," he drawled smugly.
Amalia struggled uselessly against the bonds that restrained her, thick magical bands constricting her arms, legs and binding her mouth. Which was probably good, as she didn't think she was capable of doing anything other than swearing.
She'd taken a while to regain consciousness - he'd stunned her before leaving - but it didn't take a genius to figure out her situation was bad.
She was trussed up like a turkey, and dumped in none other than the blasted Room of Requirement, ironically curled up in the same dusty space the tapestry used to be.
He'd tricked her. Again.
The knowledge that he'd bested her so thoroughly rankled, and yet she found she couldn't hate him for it. In fact, she found herself admiring his skill at deception - truly, he was a fearsome enemy. Everything about her current predicament was her own fault, she acknowledged it. This was the result of underestimating his cunning.
First, she'd assumed he was completely in the dark about her little quest. But he'd observed her coming back from the Forest, heard from her own mouth that she wanted to speak to the Bloody Baron. Perhaps he'd even spotted her in the library reading Maudlin's Mysteries. He might have known from the start what she was after.
Then, she'd hit the snag with the potion for ghost-ifying a raven, and come up with the "brilliant" idea of using Rosier to lay bait, to trick Riddle into helping her. Of course, she hadn't expected he'd give it for free, but she'd assumed he would want a duel or ask some inane question about her ancestry in exchange. Instead, he'd asked for one of the most valuable and potentially dangerous things she owned - the Dark Arts book. It was filled with terrible secrets, black magic that had been banned for centuries. The book didn't even have a name - and she was pretty sure it was bound in flayed, human skin...
And she'd given that to him... for a vial of potion she didn't even need, since the tapestry was already gone by that point.
Ugh, so frustrating! she steamed.
Then, in her arrogance, she'd decided to confront him in the morning, confident she could get the tapestry out of him, by force if necessary.
And at first, it seemed like things were going her way. They'd found an empty room and commenced their third duel. Much like the first two times, they were quite evenly matched, but slowly she sensed she was getting the upper hand (in hindsight, she conceded he might have been faking some battle-fatigue). At last she saw her chance and cast the first Unforgivable she'd ever used: the Imperius Curse. The shock on his face was sincere, at least, just before it smoothed out into an expression of zen-like peacefulness (which looked completely alien on him).
Smugly, she commanded him to take her to where he'd hidden the tapestry, and after a moment of hesitation, when she thought he might fight her control, he turned and walked zombie-like through the castle. Leading her, eventually, to the very same room she lay in now. At the time she'd just assumed he must have hidden it somewhere else in the piles of junk.
Until he'd snapped out of his zen-mode and promptly cursed her in the back.
"Really, Gray," he'd sneered over her prone body, "Did you think I haven't trained to resist the Imperius Curse? Would you like to find out how far I've come with the other Unforgivables?" he smirked. "Unfortunately, I'm late for class. We'll have to continue this chat... later."
Now, she was unable to move, in a place no one knew about except her and Riddle. No doubt he'd made up an excuse for her absence in class. No one was coming to find her, except Riddle.
And I'm not waiting around for that.
He'd taken her wand... but she still had one more trick up her sleeve.
She'd teach him not to underestimate her, too.
Riddle spent most of Transfiguration fantasizing about what he was going to do to Amalia later. Firstly, there was Legilimency; he still had so many questions about her identity, her past...
Then, he supposed he should punish her for her rudeness that morning - grabbing his arm and so on. Dragging him out of the Hall in front of everyone. Daring to use an Unforgiveable on him... But he found he couldn't actually muster any real anger towards her.
Why is that?
He was stumped for a while, then brushed it off. It was probably because things had worked out so well in his favour, in the end. So, perhaps he didn't have to torture her. Just the fact that she'd been beaten so thoroughly should be enough of a lesson to make her more respectful in future.
Yes, he decided. If she's finally learnt her place - then torture isn't necessary. It's satisfying enough to have her tied up and dumped like a sack of potatoes, he thought with a little smirk, picturing the scene again.
His eyes fell on her empty seat in the front of the class, and then wandered to the fair-haired boy sitting next to it.
There was a loose end he hadn't tied up just yet. How could Rosier, who he'd always considered his most loyal follower, have betrayed him so easily? Clearly, he was a pawn in Amalia's schemes. Why?
Ever since "the kiss", he'd assumed it was because the boy had fallen in love with her... like most other male in Slytherin. Actually most male in any House would be falling for her soon, once they saw the get-up she was wearing in Professor Beery's Yule play (he'd "passed by" the Hall during a dress-rehearsal and gotten an eyeful himself... for research purposes)...
I'm getting off topic, he chided himself hurriedly.
So, it was logical for Rosier to fall in love with Amalia. And he was just the type of sappy little idiot to do it, too. Riddle had once caught him crying over a tragic fluff-piece in a tattered copy of Witch Weekly.
But why did it feel so odd to imagine Rosier in love... with Amalia? True, he followed her around a lot, but he'd always seemed pretty miserable. In fact, he spent a lot of time looking annoyed at her for...
Wait.
"Witch Weekly"?
What self-respecting young wizard reads that rag?
Unless...
His eyes widened as he felt the pieces fall into place. He finally understood.
"Oh." he said softly. "Well, that makes sense..."
Study break, that evening...
He was found searching the shelves in the library for a book for their Transfiguration homework, his serious grey eyes distracted. His lips moved soundlessly as he read the titles, brushing the tips of his fingers over the faded bindings.
"Rosier."
The soft yet commanding voice that he knew so well made him jump. He turned around quickly.
"Yes, Riddle?" he bit his lip and tried to control his heart, which always misbehaved in Riddle's presence.
"Come with me." he beckoned, and abruptly strolled away, heading for the exit of the library.
Rosier hastily acquiesced, grabbing his bag from a table and hurrying to catch up. And all the while his heart sank - Riddle obviously had something in did he want?
He didn't seem angry - in fact, he seemed smug, the way the corners of his mouth were turned up. His walk was unhurried, almost a prowl. Like a predator. Did that make him the prey? Since Amalia's disappearance, his mood had been positively buoyant... which wasn't good. For anyone involved. And it was almost nine o' clock already, yet no one had seen her.
"Um, where are we going?" he inquired timidly, fiddling with a strap on his bag.
Riddle shot him a cool, sideways look that made his knees weak, and a slow, secretive smile stole across his face.
Rosier's brain flat-lined for a few seconds in response.
"Well, I don't want us to be bothered." Riddle veritably purred, not quite answering the question.
Torture. he immediately thought. Oh god, It's definitely torture... he clasped his hands behind him to stop them from shaking.
"Did you say something?" Riddle asked, his smile widening maliciously as if he could read his mind.
Perhaps he could read his mind.
"Um... Nope." Torture would explain his good mood. It was almost certainly torture.
They were on the third floor.
"This'll do." Riddle said, and pushed open a large door at the end of the corridor. It was large, heavy oak, with intimidating iron latches and locks all over it.
As if to keep people out... or something in.
He gestured as if to say, after you, holding the door open.
Feeling like he was on the way to the gallows, Rosier forced an obedient smile and entered first.
As Riddle followed and closed the door behind him, he broke out in a cold sweat, but somehow forced himself to remain outwardly calm. He waited, reminding himself that whatever Riddle had planned, he would go along with it. Because whatever Riddle wanted, he would get. He wasn't strong, like Amalia.
Riddle flicked his wand and torches flickered into life along the walls. Rosier watched him nervously, then exhaled a silent sigh of relief. Riddle had stowed his wand back in his pocket. For now.
Relaxing slightly with that knowledge, he looked cautiously around. He'd never been in this room before. It was large, with a high ceiling, and a thick layer of dust over everything. In the center of the room was a heavy-looking trapdoor in the floor, closed and bolted.
"It leads to a network of abandoned corridors and rooms beneath the castle," Riddle explained, following his gaze. He leant back against the door, casually folding his arms. The picture of confidence and poise. "There's nothing of interest down there, though."
Rosier shifted nervously on the spot, feeling awkward under his gaze. Riddle sounded almost genial. Conversational. It was creeping him the hell out.
"When did you find it?" he asked timidly, more to keep the conversation going than out of any real curiosity.
Riddle shrugged. "First year."
His dark gaze was amused, assessing, curious.
"So, what did you want to talk about?" Rosier asked, more bluntly than he intended. But the tension was killing him.
"Maybe I just wanted to spend time with you." Riddle replied smoothly, and smiled slowly, one dimple forming from his slightly lop-sided, utterly devastating smirk. His dark eyes smoldered with sincerity.
Rosier gaped like a fish, gulping air as words utterly failed him at first. He was not prepared for this! That treacherous smile, those cold eyes that sent shivers down his spine...! He'd seen this dazzling smile being directed at girls when they had something Riddle wanted, and at the time, he'd pitied their naivety. But to be on the receiving end...
He knew Riddle was toying with him, but his body betrayed him. He blushed and stammered like a eight-year old girl.
"Wh-what?"
Riddle suddenly took on a more businesslike tone. "You and Amalia have been spending a lot of time together, recently." he observed, pushing off the wall and stalking forward.
Rosier held his ground with difficulty as he approached. He didn't seem able to look away from Riddle's dark eyes.
"I admit I don't like it..." Riddle reached out with his right hand and brushed his fingertips oh-so-gently along Rosier's jaw, almost like... a caress.
"Mmh..." Rosier couldn't help a small, choked sound from escaping him, feeling terrified and turned on, all at the same time.
"Shh," hushed Riddle, his smirk widening. He tilting his face upwards, fingers cold on Rosier's flushed skin. His thumb moved to exert a light pressure on the rapidly fluttering pulse in his neck. Being half a head taller than Rosier, and physically bigger, it was tacitly threatening... (and, if Rosier was honest, really hot). He moved closer, until their faces were only inches apart. "Tell me, Rosier," he purred, his fingers tightening fractionally, "Are you still mine... or are you hers, now?"
Rosier's mouth was dry, and he swallowed with difficulty under Riddle's grip. "Y-yours," he stammered, "I've always been- Of course I wouldn't-"
Riddle's smile melted away as if it had never been there, revealing what had been underneath all along. Implacable coldness."Liar." he hissed.
Rosier instinctively stumbled back with a gasp, but Riddle's hand tightened around his neck and he choked.
With barely any effort at all, Riddle held him in place, gazing down at him with merciless obsidian eyes. He pushed him back, slamming him into the hard, stone wall.
Rosier winced as he hit the stone surface, seeing stars for a moment.
Riddle's pressure on his throat lessened slightly, and he dragged air into his lungs. "I'm not lying!" he pleaded, as Riddle glared menacingly. "P-please, Riddle-"
"Let's examine the evidence, shall we?" Riddle said coolly, raising his finger, "You claim you've been getting close to her for my benefit. But, it's taken you this long to approach me with any information about her identity, her habits, her movements... And when you do come to me, it's to try and manipulate me into helping her. And this is all part of some plan you cooked up during one of your cozy little study sessions. Tell me, Rosier, are these the actions of a loyal follower?"
"She hasn't told me anything about herself," Rosier said desperately, "I swear it, Riddle. And I just wanted... I thought that-"
"What interests me about this betrayal," interrupted Riddle coldly, "Is why. Why choose her over me?"
Rosier flinched, cowering against the wall. How could he explain this without inviting his own death...?
"You're not in love with her," Riddle continued dismissively.
Rosier's eyes widened. "... Why do you think that?" he blurted out, surprised himself.
Riddle just looked at him sardonically, almost pityingly. "I just know." the subtext was etched in every line of his arrogant smirk. Because you're in love with me.
"Amalia's not stupid enough to like you that way," his lip curled at the thought, and he gave a snort of humorless laughter. "So you must be friends." the sarcasm dripped from his words as if "friendship" was a concept far too quaint to be taken seriously.
Rosier remained quiet - he was frozen in a state of shock. The cat was out of the bag - his death was probably imminent - and he could hardly deny that he was friends with Amalia. Riddle had a way of knowing when he was lied to.
Impatient with his silence, Riddle slammed a hand to the wall next to Rosier's face (eliciting an undignified squeak from the suddenness of the movement). "Speak." he commanded coldly, "Or this conversation might become... unpleasant."
Less pleasant than it already is? Thought Rosier somewhat hysterically, squirming. He decided to keep that opinion to himself.
"It wasn't like that in the beginning," he blurted out. Riddle was doing that creepy thing with his eyes again, like they were dragging him into an abyss; he couldn't tear his gaze away.
"No?" questioned Riddle impatiently, "And why is that?"
"I didn't like her," Rosier admitted. "I hated her, I think..."
Riddle raised an eyebrow, "So why were you always doing her work in Herbology, carrying her bag between classes..." he smirked at the fleeting panic in Rosier's eyes. "Did you think I hadn't noticed?"
"I didn't want- She said she would-" Rosier stammered, his words failing.
"I'm losing my patience." warned Riddle.
"She... she threatened me." Rosier blurted.
Riddle seemed... almost impressed. "Oh? With what?"
Now he couldn't help the dull colour rising in his face, and squirmed, looking away at last from Riddle's piercing gaze. "She said she would tell... I thought, if you found out..."
"Ah, I see." Riddle was thoughtful for a moment. He drew back slightly as if only now realizing he'd basically trapped Rosier against the wall. He moved his hand from the wall to turn Rosier's face back to his, his fingers lingering under his chin. "You should have just told me from the beginning, and we could have avoided all of this." the way he spoke now seemed so reasonable.
Rosier gaped at him. "Aren't you angry that I - that I'm a... well, I'm a guy, and yet..." he trailed off, confused.
"No." Riddle rolled his eyes. He released Rosier's chin and folded his arms, scowling. "Is there a reason why you shouldn't find me attractive?"
Only Riddle could make an extremely arrogant sentence like that sound completely logical.
Rosier blinked. He'd sounded a little like Amalia just then. "But I'm a -"
Riddle cut him off impatiently, "We're going in circles." he began pacing. "What does make me angry is when my followers lie to me, hide things from me, go behind my back," his voice got colder with every word, "And most insulting of all, assume that I won't find out."
"I'm sorry." said Rosier miserably.
Riddle smiled at him. "You've known me for a long time, Rosier." he said genially, "Surely you know by now that apologies just don't cut it with me."
"P-please, Riddle..."
"Fortunately for us," interrupted Riddle wicked, "I've recently obtained a book of rare magic that I'd like to practice. Perhaps you could help me..."
Three hours later (11pm)...
The door to the Third Floor chamber sprang open with a dramatic crash.
"Let him go," Amalia's voice rang out sternly in the room.
Riddle was shocked for a moment, before his usual smirk reasserted itself, and he straightened up. He released Rosier's collar, letting the boy slump to the ground, "So, you managed to escape. How?"
Amalia ignored him, staring at Rosier who was lying on the floor with a weirdly glazed-over expression. A small amount of blood was trickling out one ear. "What on earth have you done to him?!"
Riddle scowled, feeling the good mood he'd had all day become consumed with irritation. How did she escape? Who helped her?
He stalked forward, stepping uncaringly over Rosier's limp form. "Are you the white knight, come to save the damsel in distress?" his laugh was scornful. "I think this fairy tale is a little messed up."
"You really don't get it, do you?" she threw back, trying to get a better look at Rosier's face. He was lying very still, and hadn't blinked yet... "I admit I didn't expect you to be fooled for long, but... Why are you doing this? He idolizes you. You didn't have to go to all this trouble bullying him!"
His malicious smirk widened. "Oh, Rosier had already told me all I wanted to know earlier, when I asked him nicely."
Amalia scowled. "Then why-"
"Don't you get it, Gray? It's precisely because he idolizes me that I can get away with treating him like this," he explained, "Hell, anyone else would have hated me by now, but dear Rosier just keeps coming back for more." he affected a thoughtful expression, "Isn't there a psychiatric term for that kind of behaviour...?"
Amalia chuckled darkly. He really is despicable... "Gee, Riddle, don't let anyone else see that expression-" she said dryly.
"What expression?"
She pointed at his face. "The one you're making right now. Your depravity is showing quite clearly all over your face. Little children would literally run screaming."
He seemed weirdly flattered by the comment. Then he cocked an eyebrow, "And what about your depravity?"
"I beg your pardon?"
He stepped forward, eyes alight with savage eagerness. "You planned for me to figure this all out," he stated with relish, "So you must have known I'd react this way. He was just a... sacrifice, wasn't he? To keep me preoccupied? And poor Rosier actually thought you were friends."
Amalia clenched her jaw, biting back a retort.
Her conscience twinged again as she glanced back down at Rosier. Though it was true she'd used him - again - she did feel some fondness for the gullible little fool. "Hey," she said, acting nonchalant despite feeling a spike of alarm, "Are you sure he's still alive? I can't tell if he's breathing from here."
Riddle glanced back at Rosier's prone body as if just remembering he was there. "Huh." he said after a moment, "That's worrying." He didn't sound the least bit worried. After a moment's thought, he shrugged and delivered a sharp kick to his stomach.
When Rosier exhaled explosively in response, his body instinctively curling away from the blow, Riddle turned back to Amalia with a fake, dazzling smile. "Where were we?"
"You were about to give me my wand back." she deadpanned. Rosier's fine. He'll be fine... Right?
"Ah, yes, this," Riddle smiled, holding up the wand in his hand. She felt sickened that he'd actually used it to torture Rosier.
From his left pocket he took out his own pale wand and compared them. "A powerful wand, Gray," he commented, "Obviously, I still prefer mine, but... yours is quite satisfactory, all the same."
Amalia gritted her teeth. In her hand was a stubby hawthorne wand she'd found in the Room after her escape. It was adequate for basic defense, but she'd be winning no duels with it. She tensed. Perhaps, if I cast the darkness spell behind a shield, it'll give me just enough time to grab my wand and Rosier, and-
They both froze as the unmistakable sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor, drawing nearer with purposeful strides.
The heavy tread of a professor-
"Dumbledore," hissed Amalia.
"Did you-?" he started demanding, but was cut off by the violent shaking of her head.
"No! Of course not!"
"Shit..."
"Wand!" spat Amalia.
With a scowl of resentment, Riddle tossed over her wand. He had no other choice.
She caught it one-handed and put it in her pocket, and Riddle put his away, too. Amalia sidled closer, so that they weren't in such an obvious "we're about to duel to the death" position.
Riddle yanked Rosier into a more natural-looking, sitting pose against the wall, although his head still lolled to one side.
He remained kneeling next to him, appearing all the world like a concerned friend, as Dumbledore appeared in the doorway, with a face like a gathering storm.
No one said anything.
"Why hello, Ms Gray," he said at last, into the deafening silence. "And Tom, too. Well, well..."
He looked from Rosier's glazed-over expression to look between Amalia and Riddle, x-raying them over his half-moon spectacles.
"I'm very curious to hear how you two can explain this situation."
Those twinkling blue eyes suddenly seemed quite terrifying.
Author's note:
So, what did you think? This chapter may just be my favourite, simply because it's got so much Riddle Behaving Badly in it. Don't worry, Amalia's definitely cooking up some revenge schemes of her own. This weird power-play is kinda their thing, y'know.
Amalia just assumes Riddle would be a homophobe, since he's pretty brutal with other minorities. But the more I thought about it, the more I think he wouldn't care. I mean, this is the guy who has no problem flirting with an old hag like Hepzibah Smith to get what he wants. To him, everyone else is just a means to an end. Gender, age or appearance really doesn't matter to him (he's like ew, gross, don't touch me, whether it's a pretty girl or a hideous hag or even a dude). That's my interpretation anyway.
Also, I know a lot of you might have mixed feelings about Amalia basically setting Rosier up (she assumed Riddle would see through the deception eventually), but you should bear in mind that she's also become weirdly obsessed with Tom, and she's ruthless in her own way. That's not to say she doesn't feel some guilt, however. She may need to make it up to him big-time.
Also, how are Riddle and Amalia going to deal with Dumbledore finding them?
Is Rosier really okay?
How did Amalia escape?
All these questions and more will be answered in the next chapter. Review if you want a speedy update ;)