Author's note:

Thanks so much once again for all your reviews! I got 17 in the past 3 days, which is awesome. I read all of your reviews many times over, and they make me get all the warm and fuzzy feelings I need to keep writing.

A special shout-out to RiddleMeMalfoy, who made an awesome cover for this story! Check it out on her instagram account under the same name! :D

Chapter 17: Revenge

Riddle wiped the scowl off his face as he entered the ward, replacing it with a neutral mask, and slowed his stride in an effort to seem less threatening.

It didn't seem to work; Rosier still looked like he was about to have an aneurysm at the mere sight of him. The blood had drained from his face and he was having trouble breathing, shrinking down into the bed sheets as if he wanted to disappear completely. He was on the verge of tears - no, that wasn't right. He was so petrified he couldn't even cry. He couldn't even make a sound.

As satisfying as this was to witness, right now Riddle needed to do some serious damage control. Yes, he'd gone too far - not on purpose, actually, though it wasn't because he "lost control" like Amalia's little sale's pitch, either... It was much simpler. He'd been practicing new Dark magic on Rosier, and had underestimated the strength of the spells. It was a mess, certainly, and the presence of Dumbledore had made the stakes even higher. Things had nearly gone very wrong - for him and Rosier. Well, more for him. Rosier might have spent the rest of his life drooling cheerfully in St Mungos - but Riddle had come close to expulsion, or even imprisonment. A much worse fate, to be sure.

And yet, all was not lost. Reluctantly, he'd had to accept that Gray's strategy was the only viable option at this point. Dumbledore would know if Rosier came to harm again - if he had a Memory Charm or Imperius Curse used on him - or if he disappeared under mysterious circumstances. And threatening him while he was in this condition just wasn't smart. He was emotionally vulnerable; a confession of what happened could easily be drawn out of him, if people started asking the right questions. Of course, this emotional vulnerability was precisely what he was about to take advantage of, too...

"Rosier, relax." Riddle ordered. "Breathe, in and out."

He looked no less terrified, but tried to do as he was told, years of conditioning to obey that cool, commanding tone taking over.

Riddle sighed and took the chair Amalia had left, crossing his legs elegantly.

She'd left a pile of books there, as if she'd been sitting at his bedside diligently for hours. He restrained himself from rolling his eyes - it seemed like her role in the Yule play had turned her into quite the little actress.

"Look," he said, holding up his wand (Rosier blanched and made a sound like a small mouse being trodden on), "I'm putting it down." he laid it carefully on the bedside table and shifted the chair slightly so it was just out of arm's reach. "I'm just here to talk."

Rosier still made no reply, though he was no longer turning blue from hyperventilation, which Riddle took as a good sign.

He didn't bother putting on an "nice-guy" act; Rosier had known him for five years, after all. He wasn't that stupid.

He folded his arms. "Gray said you'd woken up - what was that bitch telling you?" he demanded. "I wanted to talk to you first, before she... started turning you against me."

Rosier blinked, seeming confused.

Riddle rubbed his forehead, as if he had a headache. "I know you two are close, and after what I did... I guess you don't care anymore - shit..." he tried his best to look full of regret, and jealousy.

"She didn't... she said that-" mumbled Rosier faintly, staring at Riddle. He trailed off at the up-and-down look Riddle suddenly gave him.

"Well?" he demanded bluntly, "... How are you feeling?"

Rosier closed his gaping mouth and replied hurriedly, "N-nurse said I'll make a f-full recovery..."

Riddle let a fleeting expression of relief flicker across his face, then made it seem like he was covering it up, neutral mask back in place.

He could tell Rosier was picking up on all these "subtle" body language clues that Riddle was dropping; it was almost too easy.

"That's... good," he said, sounding stilted. He drew out the silence until it was awkward. "How much... do you remember? Of that night."

Rosier suddenly found his voice again. "I won't tell anyone - I s-swear it, Riddle... I won't-"

Riddle gave a crooked smile. "While it's a relief to hear that, Rosier, I don't believe you." he forestalled Rosier's anxious protests with a raised hand. "I'm not angry... Not anymore. After what I did, I'd be very surprised if you could simply move on as if it never happened. But answer my question first. What do you remember?" his tone was softer than usual, almost... resigned, yet there was still a note of authority there that ensured Rosier's cooperation.

Rosier twisted the sheets in his hands, knuckles turning white. "You were practicing the spells on me-"

"After that," Riddle urged.

"Dumbledore... and Amalia were there. They - how did they find-?"

"Amalia went looking for you... It seems she really does consider you a friend, after all." he said, sounding annoyed. "Of course, by that time, I'd realized I'd gone too far. The spell I used was stronger than I thought... I was trying to revive you when she arrived."

"You were?" His wide eyes showed no suspicion, after all the lies Amalia had already fed him.

He nodded. "Of course. I was angry, Rosier... But I never intended to lose you. Who else can I rely on?" he snorted. "Avery? Dolohov? Childish sycophants, like all the others. Lestrange is a thug - none of them have the wit or loyalty that you've always shown me. Did you think I haven't noticed?" Rosier was the only one he could rely on to do his essays for him, when he was busy. Actually, in other matters he was quite useless - too soft, not ambitious enough. He was more intelligent than the others, and that alone made his presence more tolerable than any of the other Slytherin boys. That's why he'd kept him around.

Rosier was suddenly quiet, serious. He didn't seem as scared all of a sudden, and Riddle thought he might have actually detected a flash of anger in his eyes.

He raised an eyebrow. After everything, was the fool choosing to show some backbone now...?

"You've never cared about me." his voice was low, intense, emotional. "Not once." he met Riddle's dark gaze and went a little pale, but didn't look away this time.

Riddle smirked at the challenge in his voice. This side of Rosier was not one he'd seen before, and weirdly he felt more comfortable with it than he had with his previous, grovelling attitude. It was like seeing the real Rosier, beneath the infatuation. "Perhaps not in the way you wanted." he admitted coolly, "But that doesn't mean I don't want you by my side. I don't imagine many others would feel the same... if they knew."

An uncomfortable look flickered over Rosier's face - his secret was out. A few words from Riddle and he'd be a social outcast...

"However," continued Riddle pleasantly, "I'm not here to threaten you. I want to make a deal."

Whatever Rosier had been expecting, this was not it. "A deal?" he repeated, surprised.

Riddle nodded. "I want things to go on as they did before. I want to be able to trust you - I want you to trust me, too, not to hurt you again. If I lose my temper, I promise I won't have more than a sharp word for you. No more..." he glanced lazily towards his wand, "Drama."

He watched Rosier's throat bob as he swallowed.

"Of course, this special privilege only extends to you - you alone." Riddle continued. "What's more, you'll have my protection. If the others were to... find out... about you... I will not abandon you." He didn't bother laying it on too thick; Rosier had known him for a long time, and would see through a downright lie. In fact, he meant every word. Nothing would change, except Riddle would have to find another... outlet for his temper. Avery would do; the cretin had been annoying him for some time now.

Rosier was silent for a long moment. "And in exchange," he said slowly, "You want me to go along with whatever bullshit story you told Dumbledore?" there was definitely steel in his gaze now.

I'm getting more and more impressed. Did he always have such a sharp tongue? Riddle smirked, "Quite frankly, yes." he admitted easily. "But I'm aware it's a lot to ask. So, what do you want?"

"... What?"

"I owe you." he shrugged, hiding how hard this was for him to say, "So... what do you want?" This was the part he'd been dreading. It was ridiculously simple, but it went against every fibre of his being to actually make this kind of deal. It felt like he was writing Rosier a blank cheque and telling him to cash it. But Amalia's logic was sound; this was the only way he would be able to trust him again. For once, Riddle had to make him feel like he was in control.

Well, if his demand's too insulting I'll just use plan B: Memory Charm. Or plan C: Mysterious Disappearance...

"Anything...?" Rosier asked in disbelief.

"If it's within my power to give." From the tinge of pink in his cheeks, Rosier hadn't missed the subtly seductive edge to Riddle's last sentence. Riddle tried to keep his irritation off his face as Rosier gave him a wide-eyed, unashamed once-over. If this was what it took to save him from expulsion... he'd bear with it.

"Um..."

Riddle sighed as the seconds stretched on. "I actually do have class in fifteen minutes, so if you could make a decis-"

"Okay, I've got it." said Rosier abruptly.

Riddle raised his eyebrows. "Let's hear it."

"When we're alone," Rosier said, a blush staining his cheeks. But he sounded quietly determined. "I want to be able to call you... T-Tom."

Riddle stared at him blankly.

There was a long silence, as Rosier waited expectantly.

Why?

WHY?

Why does it have to be the name?!

He'd almost have preferred something lewd, which he'd expected, given Rosier's crush on him. I mean, he'd given the boy a free pass! Couldn't he had just asked for a quick fuck or something, like a normal person!?

It's just a name, he reminded himself, face still expressionless as he argued with himself. It's just a name. The fact that it belonged to his filthy muggle father, though... it disgusted him. He knew nothing about his father or that side of his family, besides that filthy name, and now he'd have to be reminded of it every day-

"...Only when we're alone?" he clarified stiffly.

Rosier nodded, a slightly wicked glint in his eye. "Yes."

"Fine." he agreed tersely. Perhaps it wasn't so bad...

"Then, I'll forgive you... Tom."

Riddle's eye twitched, but he nodded stiffly. This little shit... He knew how much it annoyed him. It was rule number 1 in his little group: don't call Riddle by his first name, unless you were looking for a swift and painful death.

Ugh. "I'm glad we could come to an arrangement." he said with forced calmness. In a way, he had to admire Rosier's creativity; this was the perfect test. If Riddle could restrain himself, then his wish for reconciliation had to be pretty sincere.

"So, Tom, when Dumbledore comes by, what should I tell him?" Rosier sounded quite businesslike.

Riddle gritted his teeth. "Slughorn should visit later today," he said in a clipped tone, "Dumbledore... might come around, I'm not sure. I have everything under control," he said dismissively, "All you need to do is stick to what you said on that night."

"Tom, I can't remember exactly what I said. Could you refresh my memory, Tom?"

He's doing this on purpose. "Just say a spell back-fired, you don't remember what spell you were practicing. You were alone." he growled.

"Tom, is that all?"

"Yes!" he snapped, resisting the urge to throttle him. "Just look uncomfortable and keep your mouth shut. It'll fit with the story I'm going to spin!"

"Okay, Tom."

He glared for a long moment at Rosier, who gazed serenely back, showing no fear whatsoever. Perhaps their plan had worked a little too well... He stood up abruptly. "Get better soon!" he basically snarled, and strode out of the Hospital Wing before he messed everything up and gave in to the urge to curse him. Again.

"Goodbye, Tom!" Rosier called cheerfully.

He resisted the childish urge to slam the door behind him.

After that he conveniently had Potions - convenient because he needed to speak to Slughorn.

Inconvenient, because Amalia was dying to hear about how the talk with Rosier had gone. He refused to tell her the details of the deal he'd made, which gave him some satisfaction as she spent the whole lesson trying to guess. Each suggestion became gradually more and more outrageous.

"Did he ask for... money?"

He stoically shredded the pickled snakeskin they needed for their Solidifying Solution (which could turn most substances to stone) and ignored her. She wasn't helping at all with the potion-making, preferring to stare and analyse his expression as she made her guesses.

"Umm... Free essays for the rest of his school career? No, he actually likes doing schoolwork... hm..."

He added the shredded snakeskin and stirred it with a neutral expression.

She grinned and glanced around at the busy class conspiratorially. "A... blowjob?"

A withering glare was his reply.

She shrugged. "Okay. Was it... cursing you back? Like, using the same spell-"

He rolled his eyes. Even Rosier was not foolish enough to suggest that.

"You know I'm just going to ask him after this, right?" Amalia said, raising her eyebrows.

He shrugged again.

"So?" she sounded frustrated. "Why don't you just tell me?"

"Your guesses are so amusing, though." he replied smoothly.

Why did he say that? He didn't find her amusing. Annoying. He found her annoying... that's what he'd meant to say.

She clicked her tongue. "Fine. Let's see... all the rarest Frog Cards?"

He adjusted the heat on their bunsen burner with a frown of concentration.

"He asked you to kill a man."

That wouldn't have been so bad, he sighed internally.

"You have to wear pink underwear from now on."

His mouth did not just twitch...

"The next time you have to speak in public, you've got to end every sentence with 'in my pants'!"

How would that work - in my pants. Oh. That was quite amusing.

"I don't friggin' know anymore." she finally gave up, throwing her hands in the air.

He smiled quietly to himself. But his mind was drawn back to business by her next matter-of-fact question.

"So, you're speaking to Slughorn after class. What's the story? We should be on the same page, just in case."

He nodded, and glanced around. But Slughorn was on the other side of the class helping a Hufflepuff girl whose hair had dipped in her potion and turned to stone... And the rest of the class was loud and preoccupied, as usual. "I'm going to tell him that Rosier was scared of being bullied because of his sexual orientation, and was therefore trying to practice some defensive duelling spells by himself. Obviously, he came across a dangerous spell and messed up."

She nodded, her large, brown eyes shrewd as she considered this plan. "Good thinking. He'll assume Rosier would be unwilling to talk about it. He's unlikely to ask him much about that night."

"Exactly," Riddle confirmed, pleased she'd caught on so quickly. "I'll reassure him that we, as his friends, will ensure he doesn't put himself in danger again. Perhaps we can even suggest starting a student-run duelling club, to prevent this kind of unfortunate mistake happening again."

Amalia grinned. "If you can pull that off, that pug-faced Fairchilde will have a stroke." she smirked at Riddle flirtatiously, "I wouldn't mind partnering up with you to run a duelling club." she sidled closer, "Just imagine all the bad things we could get up to, right under Dumbledore's nose." she breathed.

He scowled and turned his attention back to their potion, busying himself with (unnecessarily) checking the consistency and temperature for the umpteenth time. For some reason, he suddenly needed to put some distance between them. "You're being awfully friendly," he remarked in an attempt to sound nonchalant, "For someone who got thoroughly beaten in our last little spat. What happened to all that talk about revenge?" he snorted. "You don't even have the tapestry."

To his surprise, all his taunts did was stretch her smile a little wider, until he mentioned the tapestry, and she was virtually beaming at him.

Well, that didn't bode well.

"Who says I haven't already had my revenge?" she replied sweetly.

He held his breath for a moment, then narrowed his eyes. "Rosier? Sure, I backed off, but that's hardly because you-"

"I'm not talking about Rosier."

What... what did I miss? He wracked his brain for the answer. Everything had gone his way... even the disaster with Dumbledore was on the verge of being dealt with. He'd beaten her, he'd gotten to the Baron first by using his knowledge of the relationship with The Grey Lady. He was the one with the tapestry... Or was he? He hadn't seen it since he'd hidden it away in his special hiding place. Perhaps, somehow, she'd found it...? Since he'd left her in the Room of Requirement, she'd been out of sight for almost an entire day... It was possible.

They finished up the rest of the Potions class in tense silence, Riddle glancing over suspiciously at the smug little quirk of her lips.

After dealing with Slughorn - who'd absolutely gushed about what a 'good friend' Riddle was to be so understanding of Rosier's 'situation' - Riddle headed back to the Common Room with quick strides. He should have been in a good mood; Slughorn had swallowed everything, hook, line, and sinker, but Amalia's little taunt in Potions kept coming back to him.

When he arrived in the Slytherin Common Room his eyes swept the room, coldly ignoring the greetings and chatter of his classmates. He didn't see Amalia; she was probably in the Library, as she usually was at this time. They had two hours to kill between their last class and dinner. He strode straight to the fifth year's dormitory and threw the door open.

"Out."

Nott and Mulciber, who'd been chatting among an unhealthy amount of discarded sweet wrappers on their beds, scrambled to obey, seeing the thunder on their leader's face. Trying hard to avoid his eyes, they left immediately, closing the door behind them.

He locked it with a murmured spell and went to stand in the middle of the room.

With a tense wave of his wand the plush emerald carpet rolled back, revealing the wide flagstones on the floor.

He crouched down and tapped one of the tiles with his wand, muttering the password, a quiet hiss in Parseltongue. The flagstone shimmered and became transparent, revealing the assortment of his precious treasures beneath. He reached through the insubstantial square and pulled out the tapestry, a frown forming on his face. It seemed the same, just as he'd hidden it. Had Amalia been trying to mess with him...?

There was a small desk next to his bed, and he straightened, intending to take the tapestry over to it and inspect it more closely; perhaps she'd replaced it with a fake.

He took one step towards the desk and froze, the tapestry falling to the ground.

There was a black cat sitting neatly on his desk, soft, luxurious fur illuminated by the lamp so that it seemed to be sitting in a halo of golden light. Its tail was sleek and fluffy, waving lazily as it regarded him with shrewd, amber eyes. The colour was wrong, but those glowing eyes seemed familiar all the same... Riddle thought it was possibly the sassiest black cat he'd ever seen.

Those familiar eyes narrowed and suddenly the tip of the tail twitched - like it had just seen a mouse. Its muscles tensed, crouching.

All of this had happened in a few seconds, but Riddle knew exactly who this was... And it explained how she'd managed to escape from the Room. It explained a lot, actually.

His wand-arm twitched, but he had no time to react as the cat launched itself directly at him. He briefly felt a hint of feline claws prick his shoulder before she transformed in mid-air and the feather-light cat became the full weight of a healthy-sized, teenage girl on a mission. And moving with a decent amount of momentum, too.

His world span as he was pushed violently, the backs of his knees hitting the edge of his bed and buckling. He instinctively tried to roll away, but was stopped by a businesslike knee to the stomach. For such an elegant and refined-looking girl, she certainly had a rough side... Before he knew what had happened, she'd wrestled his wand out of his hand and had him on his back.

He shifted, then froze, as she pressed him into the mattress, her legs firmly straddling his hips. His own wand was pointed directly between his eyes.

She panted, a little out of breath herself, and let a wide, Cheshire-cat grin spread across her face. She was enjoying this. And he could tell by the coldness deep within her chocolate-brown gaze... She was also pissed off as hell. To his disbelief and mortification, he felt a chill of trepidation creep up his spine. He swallowed thickly, but remained silent.

"Tom," she crooned pleasantly, sliding her free hand down to play with his tie, "Let's have some fun, shall we?"

Author's note:

Mwahahahaha!

I thought it was just about time to have Riddle sweat a little. ;)

I intended to make this chapter longer, but it was just too tempting to resist ending it there. (Perhaps we all have a little Amalia/Riddle evilness within... Mm... Just me? Ok...)

Leave a comment with your thoughts!