Chapter 20: Christmas

Riddle felt cold fury thunder through him, his heart pounding loudly in his ears, as Amalia proceeded to half-undress Davies, while he stuttered through some half-hearted protests that were obviously scripted. But from the way he was looking up at her like he'd just had a religious experience, it was clear he didn't want it to end.

Incensed with her behaviour, he turned his back on the stage, unable to watch a moment longer. It was almost exactly what she'd done to him, and it made him feel odd... Like it cheapened his perspective on the whole ordeal. It was just a scene from the stupid play - she'd rehearsed it for weeks before her ambush. He felt weirdly betrayed.

He barely paid any attention as the scene continued when "Othello", another good-looking seventh-year, walking in on his "wife" and his enemy in such a compromising position, with half of Iago's shirt hanging open. Then, there was a brief duel in which Iago murdered Othello, while Desdemona looked on with a satisfied smirk. After Othello lay bleeding theatrically on the stage, Iago laughed over his corpse, proving that he had also become infected with the same darkness, a result of his adultery with Desdemona.

After a short monologue by a narrator tying off the other loose ends of the story, the sordid production finally came to an end.

He didn't bother to watch the cast bow or the curtains close, but slipped out of the Hall and waited around a corner, trembling with suppressed rage. He wasn't sure what he was going to say, but he couldn't just let this be.

After a short while, the cast and back-stage workers exited, back in their school robes now and chattering excitedly about the "extremely realistic" acting that Amalia had done. She strolled out in the back of the crowd, a satisfied smirk on her face as the Herbology professor gushed at her from one side, and Davies stared in slavish adoration from the other, a arm draped across her shoulders. Was it on purpose that she was walking so slowly, and was the last to exit the Hall?

Hardly aware of what he was doing, Riddle stepped out of his hiding place.

"Riddle." she greeted cheerfully, coming to a halt. She didn't seem surprised at all.

"What are you doing here?" demanded Davies, surprisingly hostile.

Riddle didn't deign to even look at him. His presence was insignificant. His eyes were fixed on her, expression utterly unreadable.

The taller boy scowled at him, and seemed to tighten his grip around Amalia's slim shoulders.

"It's fine." Amalia said, sounding amused. She extricated herself from Davies' arm. "You may go on ahead," she told him dismissively. Her intense brown eyes were fixed on Riddle.

"Come, Ben," said Professor Beery sympathetically, doubtless reading the atmosphere as a love triangle, "You should get some sleep. That goes for you, too, my dear," he called out to Amalia as he steered Davies towards the Grand Staircase, "Don't stay up too late, now!"

"Of course, Professor." she replied, without looking at him.

Davies sent one last resentful glance over his shoulder at Riddle and Amalia, but reluctantly let himself be led away, back stiff with tension.

There was silence after they'd gone, broken only by the flames of the enchanted torches guttering from their sconces, throwing dancing shadows across the stone walls.

"So, what did you think?" she asked him, clasping her hands behind her back and tilting her head coquettishly, "Hm?"

Riddle's eyes narrowed. "You're acting's terrible," he snapped. He was lying through his teeth. Her acting was brilliant.

She didn't seem bothered. "Oh? I think I can be quite... convincing."

He felt a muscle just above his eye twitch. "I hope his tutoring was worth acting like a whore." he spat out. He regretted his outburst. It sounded like he was jealous.

Am I? Am I jealous? he pondered, feeling uneasy. But perhaps it was simpler. Amalia was his enemy. His prey. Of course he'd feel angered by anyone who came between them.

He felt relieved to have that figured out.

Amalia's grin didn't diminish. "Thanks."

He frowned.

"You said I acted like a whore," she explained, "Not that I was one."

"Could've fooled me," he sneered, rallying, "You seemed quite comfortable being all over him."

Dammit, again?! I'm not jealous! I'm disgusted. I'm... frustrated. Frustrated...?

"It was awkward at first," she admitted easily, unaware of his inner turmoil, "When I first got the script." she snorted, "And the costume. But then..." she looked at him side-long, "Well, certain things happened, and now it's easier. I can imagine it's someone else, you see."

He didn't know quite how to turn that around, so he decided to hastily change the subject. "You didn't answer my question."

She sighed. "To tell you the truth," she admitted, a little more serious now, "He's not quite the expert he claimed to be. Barely any help at all. I'm beginning to think it's actually his parents who are the ones to ask... Though," she mused suddenly, "He did invite me over for winter break. To meet the folks, you know. I think he feels bad for being utterly useless." she gave a wry smile.

Riddle gritted his teeth, "Well, seems like you've got it all figured out." he snarled. "I'm sure you'll have a good Christmas."

There was an awkward pause, as she just looked at him with those big, intelligent brown eyes, and he had no clue what she was thinking.

"I didn't say I was going." Amalia said mildly, after a moment.

She looked as if she was waiting for a reaction from him, but he simply glared.

He was regretting once again that he'd allowed curiosity to get the better of him. Talking to this girl never made him feel any less confused. Now would be as good a time as ever to end it. He pushed past her roughly, heading to the Grand Staircase.

"Wait."

He froze.

Amalia's hand was on his arm, a light pressure stopping him from leaving.

He felt the familiar anger spike from within, felt the usual don't touch me teeter on the tip of his tongue...

But for some reason, he said nothing. Did nothing. Felt like he was holding his breath... But, for what?

Amalia was evidently surprised too, by the small pause in which she braced herself, expecting some kind of outburst. When it didn't come, some of the tenseness left her posture, and then very deliberately, she didn't remove her hand. In fact, she slid her fingers up, oh-so-slowly, to rest on his bicep. Her palm was warm, her grasp feather-light.

He was far too conscious of it.

Still, he remained silent.

"After Christmas..." she started hesitantly. She was standing closer now.

"What about it?" he prompted coldly. But he still didn't ask her to move away.

"We don't have to fight." He turned to look at her fully, in disbelief. She looked nervous, but determined. She shook her head, "No, rather, I mean... I don't want to fight you anymore." Her gaze was earnest, "Listen, Riddle-"

"Just because you're getting cold feet-" he started, sneering.

"It's not like that," she denied immediately, "I'm not afraid of you."

"Then, what?" It was frustrating; she seemed genuine, but that didn't make sense. It must be another trick, a lie. "What do you want?" he demanded coldly, frustrated by not knowing what her angle was.

"We should work together."

"This bullshit, again?" He gave a short, derisive laugh, which stopped abruptly as she scowled. "Wait. You're serious."

"Of course I'm serious." said Amalia, exasperated. "It's logical - c'mon, you must have thought about it, too!"

He swallowed, feeling cornered. Suddenly even more aware of her hand. Why, after everything, did she still dare to touch him?

"We could do great things together," she said persuasively, and her words felt like they had weight. Her eyes darkened with promise, her lips curling into a small smile, "Others might think badly of us. But we could do great things, you and I."

He stared into her eyes, which promised... what?

"... Riddle?" Amalia gazed into his face, searching for any sign that he was caving. "There's no one else who could understand what we-"

"Don't flatter yourself." he cut her off bluntly, finding his voice and his reason again.

She could already tell it had been a foolish hope. She'd come close to beating him too many times for his pride to allow it. She read only hatred in his glare as he said coldly, "You are nothing like me." with a jerk, he pulled his arm free and backed away from her, glaring.

The hurt she experienced was sharp and humiliating. He'd just rejected her... again. And this rejection felt important. It felt like he'd just chosen a path she couldn't follow him down. A fate she would have no part of. It felt wrong.

But there was nothing more to be done; he'd made up his mind, and she was out of time. "Fine." she snapped, pushing down her disappointment. "Don't regret it." she strode away angrily without another word.

He watched her leave with mixed feelings. For a moment there, he'd felt very uncomfortable with her suggestion.

Because he'd allowed himself to imagine it for a moment; them, working together instead of against each other. It was true, she was talented. He'd never met anyone else like her before, and he acknowledged that they were both equally good at getting what they wanted (albeit with different methods). Working together towards common goals was scarily logical... But 'teaming up' with someone else had never been a logical option before. He didn't need anyone. He didn't want anyone.

She was no exception...

Right?

Saturday afternoon...

The very next day was their last detention with Dumbledore, in the early afternoon, while everyone else was enjoying themselves in Hogsmeade. Riddle seemed to be in a worse mood than usual, but he was back to ignoring Amalia, and barely said a word as they settled down to mark the usual pile of essays from the lower years.

"So, Ms Gray, how are you feeling about the play on Monday?" Dumbledore asked pleasantly into the somewhat tense silence.

"More confident, I guess." she answered without looking up. She sounded oddly subdued. "What did you think of our rehearsal?"

"Well, the little I saw when I dropped by was certainly... interesting." he acknowledged. "Your acting was exemplary. But I do wonder what the less... ahem... progressive teachers will have to say about the plot."

That brought a small smirk to her face. Clearly, the prospect of scandalizing and potentially offending her teachers appealed greatly to her.

"Did you have time to drop by, Tom?" Dumbledore asked lightly, but there was nothing casual about his sudden x-ray vision.

Riddle looked up cautiously, sensing some deeper meaning to the question. But it was probably not wise to lie. "I did, Sir." he confirmed stiffly. "Very briefly."

Dumbledore nodded to himself, as if just confirming some suspicion. He looked back to Amalia.

"Ms Gray, there's no need to be alarmed, but I had some news from Madam Romalda today."

"The school nurse?" she looked confused.

"Yes. It's your co-star, Mr Davies. He was admitted to the Hospital Wing shortly before breakfast this morning."

Her eyes widened. "Merlin! Why? Is he alright? Do you know what happened?"

He waved a hand. "Calm yourself, Ms Gray. As I said, there's no need to be alarmed. It seems the extent of his injuries are only a few minor - if rather nasty - burns. He should make a full recovery well before the production on Monday."

She exhaled in relief. "Professor Beery must be freaking out." she mused. "Has he said anything? Who was responsible?"

"That's the interesting part." Dumbledore said, shooting a glance at Riddle, who was listening with an impassive expression. "He won't say anything about the incident. Nothing at all."

"Pity." Amalia sighed.

"... Indeed."

Riddle went back to marking his essays without comment, and the time crawled by, Dumbledore shooting suspicious glances his way every now and then.

When Dumbledore eventually told them they could leave, he held up a hand to stop Riddle's usual dash to freedom. "Tom. Remain behind a moment. I must talk with you."

Riddle froze, his face unreadable, then nodded, packing his bag slowly.

Amalia looked between them with a slight frown, feeling uneasy. But she had no excuse to stay. She packed up, slung her bag over her shoulder, and sauntered out with a polite "good afternoon". Once outside the door she immediately whispered an eavesdropping charm and shamelessly pressed her ear to the door.

"So, Tom?" asked Dumbledore, his usual serene voice cold and hard. "Do you want to confess?"

"I have nothing to confess, Sir." Riddle snapped coldly, clearly fighting to keep his tone civil.

"Really? The lack of evidence is starting to become a pattern with you."

"Are you saying the lack of evidence of my involvement... is now evidence of my involvement?" Riddle demanded incredulously.

"Watch your tongue, Tom."

After a stiff silence, Riddle gritted out a barely apologetic, "Sir."

"Don't think your actions won't have consequences." Dumbledore continued, "Did you think I wouldn't be able to do anything because you're heading back to the orphanage on Wednesday?"

"I haven't done anything wrong."

"No? Why do you persist with lies? It seems you can't control yourself. Magic is a gift, Tom, but with that gift comes responsibility. Maturity. Restraint. Qualities you are clearly deficient in."

"Is there a point to this conversation, Professor?" Riddle asked bluntly. Amalia thought he sounded very restrained, given the circumstances.

"Your wand, Tom." Dumbledore said grimly. "You'll be entrusting it to my care for the winter break. Since it's clear you can't control yourself, I'll be taking the instrument of your power. Perhaps when you get it back you'll appreciate the responsibility of having power over others."

"Sir, you can't-!" Riddle suddenly sounded anxious, and it made Amalia pause. She'd never heard him sound anxious before. "Please, Sir, I swear I didn't do anything. I won't- Just, not my wand-"

She could be knocked down with a feather. He was seriously upset. It didn't sound like an act.

But Dumbledore remained unmoved. "And just what do you want with a wand in Muggle London? You're not allowed to use magic outside of school. This should have no effect on your enjoyment of winter break, besides the removal of temptation."

"Fine." Riddle seemed to rally, his voice getting new hope, "Take my wand. But let me stay at Hogwarts - as you say, I won't be able to use magic, and-"

"Tom, we've been over this-" Dumbledore gave a displeased sigh.

"Yes, but I thought perhaps you'd reconsider, if-"

"If you are unhappy at the orphanage, put your complaint in writing and submit it to Headmaster Dippet." Dumbledore's voice was bordering on irritable. "I can have you moved if there's a legitimate reason for concern."

Amalia's eyes widened in surprise. He was unhappy at the orphanage...? Well, it was a muggle orphanage, of course he hated it. But this sounded like a conversation they'd had many times before.

"Every other student has the option to stay at Hogwarts during the holidays, sir," Riddle burst out. "I just want to know why-"

"You know very well why." came Dumbledore's low voice. "After what happened in your first year, with the other boys? I know it was you."

Riddle was silent for a long moment, and Amalia could easily picture his wooden expression. She wondered if they were talking about that incident Callidora and Anne had once mentioned. Riddle had been bullied by older students... and then suddenly they'd stopped. And there had been an investigation into the matter, because evidently they'd been found with some kind of magical injury...

After a long moment, Riddle made one last-ditch effort.

"What if I gave you my word, sir, that during the holidays I wouldn't-" he sounded quite desperate. This was the closest to begging Amalia had ever heard him.

"The answer's no." Dumbledore cut him off with a note of finality.

There was a long, angry silence, and Amalia suddenly realized they had finished the conversation. She just had time to duck behind a broad-shouldered suit of armour before Riddle stormed out, pure misery on his face as he stalked off down the corridor, unaware that the entire conversation had just been overheard.

"So," Rosier said in a no-nonsense tone as he slid onto the bench next to Amalia, making Charlotte squeak and move out of his way.

Amalia raised her eyebrow at him. "So?" she parroted back, sounding disinterested and moody as she poked at her pudding. It was Tuesday night. The night after the play - which had been a great success, except for Professor Fairchilde screeching in protest during the intervals. The next day the vast majority of the school were leaving for winter break. As a result, everyone seemed in high spirits... except her.

"Something's up with Riddle." Rosier stated bluntly, leaning closer. "This is the third meal he's missed in a row. It's got something to do with you, hasn't it?"

Everyone was in high spirits except her and Riddle, it seemed.

She stabbed at her treacle tart as if it had just given her a personal insult. "He's the one being an idiot." she snapped. "I was perfectly nice, and what do I get? He called me a whore and then rejected my very generous overtures of peace."

Rosier's eyes widened. "Really?"

"Yes, really. He needs to get over himself. I don't care anymore." she snapped, and abandoned her spoon, shoving her bowl away from her. "I've had enough." It was unclear whether she was talking about the tart or just life in general. She got up and stalked away, ignoring the stares of her friends.

Rosier was not so easily daunted, however, and she heard his determined feet trotting after her as she slipped out of the hall. He'd certainly found his confidence after the whole nearly-being-tortured-to-death incident. Which didn't make much sense, but there it was.

"Are you going to speak with him?" he pestered, following her onto the Grand Staircase. They paused as the heavy stone steps swung with a tired groan to the next landing.

"Why on earth would I want to do that?" snorted Amalia humourlessly. "I've given him every chance to see sense. I'm done with him. If you must know, I'm going to the Library. It'll be my last chance until after Christmas."

"You're leaving the castle?" Rosier exclaimed in surprise.

"Obviously."

"Oh. I thought... Where are you staying?"

She shot him a crooked smile. "Full of questions tonight, aren't you?"

"Is it a secret?" he asked, blinking at her. "I mean... You don't have to tell me if you don't want to..."

She almost laughed at his puppy-eyes. At least that asshole hadn't destroyed the trusting, eager-to-please side of him. Yet, anyway.

"If anyone asks, I'm staying with Dora's family for Christmas. That's what it says on my permission slip, anyway."

"But you'll actually be...?" he trailed off inquisitively.

"... Busy." she said cryptically.

"Oh. Um, okay."

Clearly, he wasn't going to get anything else out of her.

Wednesday afternoon, the Hogwarts Express...

Anne Flint watched with wide eyes as Amalia packed about half the food trolley into her small shoulder-bag, her whole arm up to her elbow disappearing each time she reached in.

"Is all of that really necessary?" Anne asked faintly.

Amalia shrugged, cheerfully stacking three pumpkin pasties and carefully placing them inside the enchanted bag. "I've got to eat."

"Where on earth are you planning to go?"

"Ah, well, you never know," she said breezily. "Best to be prepared."

Amalia was a little concerned about Christmas break. The message that had come with the locket had been a threat, the "Merry Christmas" a not-so-subtle hint. They were coming for her. And unlike Riddle, she had been given the opportunity to stay at Hogwarts in the holidays. It was logically the safest option. The castle was nigh impregnable. However, it was also true that it would be virtually empty in the holidays; the perfect opportunity for some kind of ambush. She would be alone except for a handful of students and a couple of professors. Dumbledore, Slughorn, the Headmaster... everyone was leaving. Anne, Callidora and Charlotte were also going home.

Ironically, it was them who gave her the answer to the dilemma, when Callidora cheerfully invited Amalia to stay with her. She'd just need Slughorn, as her Head of House, to sign the permission slip. But she had decided from the beginning not to risk putting her new friends in danger, however tempting a normal Christmas holiday in a family setting was.

Once she had signed permission to leave with Callidora, she had her ticket out into the world, where she was quite practiced at taking care of herself. She would hide no longer, but keep mobile and cautious. There was plenty she needed to do. First on the list was further research into the Moving Stones; she still needed to translate those runes. She was also determined to do some research into her own murky past. She needed to find out who sent the locket, and what they wanted. This meant she needed to lay a trap for her pursuers... which was dangerous.

"You can still change your mind," Callidora said hopefully, "Actually come over to my place for Christmas like everyone thinks you are? True, the Blacks are not the friendliest of people, but you'd be practically treated like royalty, since you're the last Gray and all." she frowned. "Come to think of it, my aunts and uncles may very well try to set you up with some of my cousins..."

"Is that your attempt to convince me to visit?" Amalia laughed, amused. "I have no interest in arranged marriages."

Anne and Callidora exchanged glances. "Well," said Anne with a small smile, "I suppose you'll always have Riddle, won't you?"

Instantly her mood soured. "Why would you say that?" she snapped. "I have nothing to do with that bastard!" finished with the pile of food, she closed the top of her bag and threw herself back against her seat, scowling at the snowflakes swirling outside the window.

Callidora raised her eyebrows. "Wow, bite our heads off, why don't you?"

Amalia sighed. "...Sorry. I just... I had a fight with him, again... and I've just had enough. Can we change the subject?" she pleaded.

"Nope." Callidora said firmly, a determined glint in her eye.

Anne shifted closer on the train seat. "Last week he was so openly jealous, though. So, was your fight over Davies?" she asked.

Amalia frowned. "Well - yes, but... I mean, no, actually-" she stopped. "I don't... think so?" They'd fought about Riddle refusing to accept her offer of peace, but it was true the only way she'd managed to get his attention at all was because of Davies. Did that make him the true reason for the fight? And, if so... What did that say about Riddle's true feelings? How indifferent was he, really?

Charlotte came into the conversation for the first time. "Was it because he put Davies in the Hospital Wing?"

Her round cheeks went pink under Amalia's contemptuous glare. "No, of course not."

"Then-" Anne started.

"... wasn't him anyway." Amalia muttered, barely audible.

There was a short silence.

"Then, who-?" Charlotte squeaked, confused, at the same time as Anne clapped a hand over her mouth and said, "Oh no... you didn't!"

Amalia straightened up in her seat. "I did." she confirmed, louder. "And so what?"

Predictably, Callidora seemed thrilled by the drama instead of scandalized. "Bwahahaha!" she cackled, "Seriously! He was so hot, too! Oh, did he come onto you? When was this?! Why on earth didn't you tell us?!"

To hell with discretion, Amalia thought tiredly. "Yes," she admitted stubbornly, sitting straighter, "That idiot came onto me. Friday night after rehearsals he was waiting for me outside of the Common Room. I told him to back off... and then I made him back off."

Charlotte nodded solemnly, knowing just what Amalia was capable of.

Anne frowned. "Are you sure it was necessary to send him to the Hospital Wing, though?"

Amalia rolled her eyes. "Well, no, but... I was in a bad mood, for... various reasons. I lost my temper."

"But everyone's saying Riddle did it!" Callidora exclaimed. "I really thought-"

"We all did." reassured Anne. "Because everyone thought you were dating, and that you broke up, and got publicly close with Davies, and then he ends up in the Hospital Wing... You can see why people make assumptions."

Amalia felt a hot surge of anger. "None of that actually happened!" she snarled.

"We know that now," Anne said in her infuriatingly calm and rational way, "But you didn't really deny any of those rumours at the time, did you?"

She was absolutely right. Now Amalia was feeling a real pang of guilt on top of everything else. It wasn't a feeling she was accustomed to. "I know." she said, oddly subdued. "Dumbledore confiscated his wand for the holidays because he thought Riddle was responsible for attacking Davies. Of course Ben was too embarrassed to admit he was assaulted by a girl."

"But Dumbledore had no proof against Riddle?" Anne seemed shocked.

Amalia grimaced. "Yeah well, Dumbledore's more than a little biased..."

Callidora looked unconcerned. "Serves the asshole right, doesn't it? Aren't you always going on about how he's such a horrible person?"

Amalia felt uneasy. She didn't mind being victorious in their little games, but now Dumbledore and the rest of the school were getting involved. She didn't feel comfortable with him taking the fall for her actions.

"Well..." she muttered uncomfortably, "What's done is done, I guess..."

Callidora yawned and stretched out, swinging her legs across Anne's lap, causing the other girl to roll her eyes, though she indulgently allowed her to stay like that. "What I don't get," Callidora drawled, "Is how Davies could pull off such a great performance on Monday, after spending the weekend with a broken heart and a melting face in the Hospital Wing?"

"His face wasn't melting," Amalia exclaimed, annoyed, "And we practiced that play for so many weeks, we could all do a perfect performance in our sleep." But that wasn't quite true.

She'd neglected to mention the fact that no, Benjamin Davies hadn't been okay at all... In fact, he'd downright refused to act opposite her after she'd rejected him so... violently. She'd had no choice but to put him under the Imperius Curse just to get through the play smoothly. Of course, she wasn't about to admit that to her friends. They were loyal and she trusted them... But Unforgivables were... Unforgivable. It was one of possibly the most illegal spells in the wizarding world, though she didn't really understand why. In her opinion, there were worse spells out there.

And it was tricky, even though it wasn't nearly her first time casting it (Belby had experienced it at the rehearsal too, so it wasn't even technically the first time she'd used it on stage). Even so, it had been incredibly stressful to be casting a spell that would get her thrown in prison for life... Right in front of basically the whole student body and staff. Dippet would have had an aneurysm had he known. Dumbledore... might actually have found a way to pin it on Riddle again. Since that seemed to be a habit of his.

Fortunately, the girls seemed to accept her reasoning without question.

"The play was awesome." Callidora said dreamily. It was about the fiftieth time she'd said so since Monday night. "The drama... the gore... the horror..."

"Isn't that just describing you getting up in the morning?" Amalia chuckled.

Callidora gestured rudely in her direction, but continued with a grin, "You know, they're calling you the Queen of Slytherin."

"What?" laughed Amalia, in disbelief. "No, they're not."

"They are!" piped up Charlotte shrilly, "You... you have a fan club!" she went pink again under Amalia's incredulous look.

"And just who is in this fan club?" she demanded, as Callidora sniggered at her expression.

Charlotte shrugged. "Um, I heard that a bunch of Ravenclaw girls started it."

She had a sudden suspicion who that was. Olive Hornby, and all her little idiot friends...

Anne smiled at the look of revulsion on Amalia's face. "You should feel flattered."

"I'm... disturbed, actually." she said drily. "And anyway, why is my fan club female?"

"Boys don't really form fan clubs," Charlotte said matter-of-factly. "That's not to say you aren't popular among them, of course." she added hastily, wilting under Amalia's narrowed eyes. "It's just... people have always considered Riddle the King of Slytherin, and now..."

"Oh? You seem to comprehend a great deal about this?" Amalia said menacingly. "You wouldn't happen to be in one of my fan clubs, would you?"

"Of course not!" Charlotte blustered immediately. She blanched, "That is to say, of c-course I'm your fan, I mean, I like you, I just never-"

This twit is so transparent. "Is it possible," drawled Amalia, fixing Charlotte with a bad-tempered stare, "That certain rumours may have been perpetuated among the student populace, by a certain individual who may have claimed to have an 'inside scoop', as it were...?"

Charlotte blinked dumbly.

Anne kindly decided to translate. "Did you tell people that Riddle and Amalia were a thing?"

"No!" she denied instantly, but her face turning the colour of a tomato told the opposite story.

Amalia grimaced. "Ugh. This is so dumb..." King and Queen of Slytherin, indeed... "I wonder what Riddle thinks of that." Probably just another reason to despise me.

"I still don't know why you care." Callidora shrugged.

"I just feel bad that Dumbledore's treating him so..." she struggled to find the words, "...Unfairly."

"He had to leave his wand at school. Big deal, right? What was he gonna use it for, anyway? We all have the Trace on us."

Amalia bit her lip. "It just... he seemed upset about it. Like, he really needed his wand for something..."

"Riddle, upset?" Callidora's face scrunched up like she was pain as she struggled to picture it. She stopped with a resigned exhale. "Nope, I can't imagine it. He has four modes," she counted them off on her fingers, "Polite, neutral, angry and evil. Of course, sexy goes without saying, it's added on with a hyphen to each mode, for example, polite-sexy. Evil-sexy. Neutral-sexy... and so on."

"What on earth are you saying?" Anne shook her head, looking amused.

Amalia seemed like she hadn't heard a word, staring out of the window and lost in her own thoughts. "He's going back to the orphanage, and it's only for two weeks. Why would he need his wand?" she muttered. Her breath misted on the cold glass.

Callidora and Anne exchanged a resigned look and changed the subject, chatting about their plans for Christmas.

Only Charlotte remained quiet, glancing curiously at Amalia, who was now frowning.

"No, I can't." Charlotte heard her mutter to herself. "Why should I?" she was chewing on her lip. "...Don't even know which orphanage he's in..."

"I do." Charlotte said suddenly, voice quiet. Callidora and Anne didn't hear her, continuing with their own conversation.

But Amalia turned in surprise; she hadn't even known the other girl was listening. "What?" she said sharply. Her eyes were suddenly very bright.

Charlotte shrugged, "Um. I know what the name is, anyway. Lestrange," she blushed and looked down. "Well, he... mentioned it by name once. He said, 'Riddle's always in a bad mood when he has to go back to Wool's Orphanage...' I think that's what he said." She was afraid Amalia was going to get revenge on her for spreading false rumours. "Is that, um..." she looked nervous, "Helpful?"

Amalia stared at her for a long moment, her mind ticking away at the speed of light.

Charlotte suppressed a shiver at her sudden smirk.

"No." Amalia said carelessly, turning back to the window, as if bored. "As if I care."

But the small smirk curving her lips didn't disappear.