Chapter 24: For better or worse

Even though it was snowing, as Riddle had complained, Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour was packed with noisy holidaymakers. Though Amalia could almost feel the annoyance rolling off Riddle at her side, she didn't regret her decision to bring him here. It was a testament to the quality of the product that it was so popular; he was about to get his mind blown.

She didn't let him lurk resentfully in the crowded entrance for long, but dragged him over to a cramped booth near the back with a firm grip on his wrist. For once he didn't shake her off immediately, perhaps distracted by the sensory overload of colorful, delicious-smelling ice creams arranged around the cafe. Once they were inside, he seemed to resign himself to the experience, and sat down in the leather-backed booth without complaining. The glass of the shop window next to them was misted, condensation running down in streams. Even though it was an ice cream shop, it was warm and toasty inside, a welcome respite from the chilled winter air. Whoever had sat at their table previously had left the shape of a heart on the misted glass, which lasted approximately two seconds before Riddle irritably swiped it away with his sleeve.

His mood seemed to improve slightly as he warmed up, peeling off his winter coat with only a slight wince at the movement. He still wasn't completely recovered from his injuries. It didn't have an effect on his appetite, though, as he imperiously waved over a harassed-looking waitress to order the biggest (and most expensive) single-serving sundae they had, with an impressively deadpan expression as he demanded extra fudge sauce. Amalia rolled her eyes and let him have his fun (literally at her expense). For herself, she felt daring and decided to try the lemon and pecan sorbet, as well as a pot of tea for them both.

A comfortable silence descended as they waited for their orders, Riddle's dark eyes watching the passers by through the smeared hole in the condensation, while Amalia idly watched him. He seemed deep in thought.

Something had happened, something had changed between them, and she knew he sensed it too. In the past twenty-four hours, they'd both made the choice to get involved in each others lives, when walking away had been the easiest option. Sure, at first the motivating factor may have been curiosity... but after curiosity had been satisfied, she had gone back for him, and more significantly, he had gone back for her.

And now, they both knew things about each other that no one else was privy to. It felt... weirdly intimate.

The waitress brought a pot of tea and two cups, and Amalia wordlessly took the initiative to pour for them both (they'd made great strides in their relationship over the last hour, but she didn't expect miracles). She sipped slowly at her own cup, thoughtful. Tom took his cup without even looking at her, arrogant enough to not have expected anything less than to be served.

Deciding to take advantage of the fragile bridge of trust that seemed to have sprung into existence between them, Amalia steeled herself for a difficult, yet necessary, conversation.

"Look, about earlier..." she began, with a sigh, her cup clinking back into its saucer.

Riddle instantly turned his dark gaze on her, looking momentarily confused before he remembered. Their latest fight had happened only hours ago, and it had been a bad one. Oh yeah, he reminded himself hurriedly, I'm completely pissed off at her. He tried to summon up the same blind rage he'd felt earlier, but it was strangely hard to do.

"I've been thinking about what you said," she began, delicately tracing the rim of her cup with a slim finger. She seemed completely serious, unflinching as she gazed at into his dark eyes. As usual, her lack of fear caused his pulse to speed up slightly, sharpening his senses. No one else dared to meet his eyes like her (except perhaps Dumbledore, but he didn't count). He tensed, steeling himself...

"I realized that I actually know very little about you." she said quietly. "About how you've lived up until now, outside of Hogwarts. I have no right to an opinion on your choices, so... For what it's worth... I'm sorry for what I said. I take it back."

He almost fell off his chair. He'd been bracing himself to commence shouting-match round two.

She took advantage of his surprise and pressed on before he could reply, "I didn't mean it when I called you weak." she added, wanting him to believe her. She cleared her throat, and seemed suddenly a little embarrassed, "You're... probably the strongest person I know." She took a hasty gulp of tea, wondering if she'd overdone it. But it was her sincere feelings.

Tom ripped his gaze away from her, face going blank as he tried to process this unexpected turn in the conversation. She was... complimenting him? His long fingers fiddled with his teaspoon, betraying his confusion more than his impassive expression. It took him a few moments to formulate an appropriately aloof response.

"Hmph," he scoffed at last, arching an eyebrow coldly, "It took you this long to figure that out?"

She grinned, relieved that at least he was talking to her again. But her grin faded soon after. "What did you mean, when you said what happened was 'better than the alternative'?" she asked quietly.

Riddle scowled, but for once it didn't seem directed at her. "Dumbledore's been waiting for a long time for any excuse to expel me, you know that."

"Is that all it is?" Amalia frowned.

He glared darkly at her. "Until I'm seventeen, that old fool has the power to take everything away from me," he said venomously, "I won't give him the satisfaction of an excuse."

"I still don't see why you can't talk to the Headmaster about the situation, or even better, Slughorn. They'd figure something out, if they knew that-"

"I don't want to discuss this. It has nothing to do with you."

So, pride is the problem, then, Amalia thought wryly. "So, if I hadn't come, you would have just... endured it?" she asked. The thought of him enduring such misery out of pride and spite was... oddly upsetting.

Riddle shifted in place uncomfortably, but his expression remained wooden.

"They left you there, tied up like an animal, with nothing... you could have died! You could have gotten pneumonia, or had an internal injury-"

"This conversation is over." he snapped, in a tone of finality.

She scowled right back. He'd risked his life so he could keep going to Hogwarts... This was Dumbledore's fault. It had become an issue of pride and fear - of course he'd never admit how bad things were to the wizard who was supposed to be in charge of his welfare and protection.

"This conversation is not over." she vowed stubbornly, folding her arms. "But... I'll let it go, for now."

They lapsed into silence again, but this time it was full of tension. Amalia almost sighed in relief when a few minutes later the waitress brought their ice creams. They ate quietly, the tenseness seeping slowly out of the air as the desserts proved a welcome distraction. Riddle dug into his with all the meticulous seriousness of an archaeologist unearthing Tutankhamen's crypt. It was kind of... cute. Amalia wondered if he'd ever treated himself like this, or if Hogwarts was the only place he ever ate well.

As she ate her own ice cream, her eyes flicked away from him occasionally to keep an eye on the busy doorway, over his shoulder. Already she felt the first stirrings of anxiety clawing at her insides after her near escape with the stalker... Months of safety at Hogwarts had made her complacent. She needed to be more observant. But she fought off the urge to hide, the extreme paranoia that had become her way of life before Hogwarts. Nothing and no one would prevent her from returning to the castle - she understood Riddle's desperation only too well. It was their home.

Interrupting her thoughts, Riddle looked up at last from his excavation, and put down his spoon. "So," he said stiffly, "I thought we were here to discuss you. Don't think I'll let you change your mind about telling me." he threatened darkly.

It took all of Amalia's prodigious acting skill to hold back her laughter; his sinister glare was ruined by the speck of ice cream lingering at the corner of his mouth.

"I haven't changed my mind," she said mildly, ignoring the adorable speck with difficulty. She coughed lightly, and composed herself. "What would you like to know?"

"Where is your family?" he demanded instantly, a stillness coming over him which told her he was listening intently.

She blinked in surprise. "That's your first question? Not 'why are strange men stalking you'?"

"I'll get around to that one, too." he said drily. "Talk."

He really is obsessed with bloodlines and ancestry, she mused internally. But she had promised to tell him everything... "Very well." she said, "My parents... I think I'm the only child of Medea and Alric Gray."

"You... think?"

Amalia shrugged carelessly. "The last record is dated twenty-five years ago, and it's a record of their marriage. There are no others."

"No record of your birth?"

"Nope." she said with a thin smile, "I don't exist, officially. I can't be one hundred percent certain that they were my parents, but makes sense, time-wise. I know I am a Gray; the vault in Gringotts opens for me, alone. That's my only solid proof, to be honest."

"Where are they?"

"I'm pretty sure my mother's dead," Amalia said calmly, sipping her tea, "And I certainly hope my father is."

"Why's that?" he asked, cocking his head. He was totally engrossed in what she was saying.

"Because I think I've met him," she said with a twisted grimace. "And, as far as my mother's concerned... Well..." she said hesitantly, and a brief expression of insecurity crossed her face, "What kind of mother would let her child go through what I did? It's unlikely she's just living somewhere, as if I never existed."

Riddle snorted bitterly and sneered, "You're naive. The woman who gave birth to you is not necessarily going to give a damn."

She scowled; she was many things, but naive wasn't one of them. "Are we talking about my mother now, or yours?" she threw back at him, eyes flashing in a challenge.

For an uncomfortably long moment, they had sustained eye contact, tense and it seemed like another argument was on the cards...

But then, Amalia's gaze flickered to his mouth, and her lips twitched, breaking the tension of the moment. "Uh... Here," she offered him a napkin from their table, holding back a laugh, "Just... use it..." she gestured at his mouth, smirking.

He snatched it out of her proffered hand and daintily wiped his mouth, daring her to comment with his resentful, obsidian eyes.

She decided to cut him some slack and bit back the teasing remark on the tip of her tongue. If she could hold back, they had a fighting chance at holding an honest conversation without it devolving into a bloody duel. If only for the sake of originality.

"So," he said stiffly, "What of your father?"

"I think he has something to do with what happened to me... the parts I don't remember. That time you used legilimency on me? You must have seen it."

Riddle thought back to the memories he'd tried to forcibly take from her months ago. He remembered the blank greyness in her mind - a glass-like surface upon which his own mind couldn't find any purchase. There had only been one memory, vague and fragile, that he'd had time to witness. A man, a room full of nurses, and then... pain.

"Then, that man in the memory..." Riddle asked, "Was he...?"

"I don't know." Amalia shrugged, following his train of thought easily, "Possibly. He had brown eyes, like mine... that's all I remember. I think I was five or six at the time, but... Everything is blurred, insubstantial as smoke. The rest of my memories are equally damaged." Bitterness seeped into her voice, "The result of too many Memory Charms to count."

"That's why you hate the spell so much."

"Wouldn't you?" she defended, "We are defined by our experiences, and yet, time and time again, my past was taken away from me, I was erased. No matter how horrible my life was, I have a right to know what was done to me."

He looked pensive. "Memory Charms are dangerous when layered... but you seem... lucid enough." Aside from the paranoia, he added privately. But perhaps she had a good reason for that, considering.

She snorted, "Most people would have become a vegetable by now." A hint of pride entered her voice, "I think I actually developed a resistance to the spells over time."

"Or, your skull is particularly thick." offered Riddle drily, but Amalia just laughed.

The waitress bustled over and took their empty bowls, the conversation lapsing briefly. Tom ordered more tea.

"Towards the end," continued Amalia after the woman had left, "I started remembering things. I could vaguely tell that time was passing... that something was wrong. It gave me the opportunity to escape."

"And the place? From your memory, it looked like a hospital."

"Perhaps. A facility housing muggle and magical children. They were conducting experiments... but I don't remember the details." her eyes darkened, "I don't know what they were doing to us, and I don't know why, but it certainly wasn't pleasant. One night about two years ago, it all got too much. I couldn't..." she abruptly bit her lip and looked out of the misted window, eyes scanning the street distractedly. Her jaw clenched, her eyes were suddenly haunted. But then, a moment later, she seemed to shake herself out of it, sitting up straighter as if to make up for her momentary lapse. "So, I escaped." she ended abruptly. "I burnt the whole place down and ran. I've been on my own ever since. That's the sad story of my mysterious life."

Riddle pondered everything she was saying... and not saying. He was under no illusion that there was more to this abbreviated version of events than she was letting on... But he would just keep her talking for now. The pieces of the puzzle would fall into place in time.

"What makes you suspect the Ministry has a hand in all of this?" he asked next.

Her expression instantly darkened. "That's because of an incident that happened just two weeks after I had myself set up in a nice apartment in Diagon Alley. Not too far from here, actually." she waved down the busy street, "It was ridiculously expensive, but I had cash to burn and no memories, so once I'd found my way to the magical world I was excited to be immersed in it all, you know? I only had a wand for two weeks, I couldn't do shit with it yet... and then some guy turns up on my doorstep and tries to kill me, without even a word of explanation. It was pure luck I escaped at all; I didn't know how to defend myself at the time. I ducked, he missed, and then I broke my leg jumping out of the window to get away. At least I'm alive."

"What spell did he use?"

She grimaced. "Juguolo."

He raised his eyebrows. "That's... extreme."

"I know, right?" she said, with a humourless snort. Juguolo was a nasty spell; it severed the spinal cord and throat in one slashing action to cause a painless, yet messy death. It wasn't considered illegal because of its common use in the slaughter of animals, despite being just as dangerous as any illegal, fatal curse.

"Anyway," she continued in a more relaxed way, "It was only later I realized he had been trying to kill me - when I looked up what the spell was. After that I moved to Knockturn, went into hiding properly."

"How did you come to the conclusion he was from the Ministry?"

She grinned mischievously. "I'll get to that part in a moment, it's quite a thrilling tale. So, I moved to Knockturn to hide from the Ministry guy, but I soon became aware that there was another group after me too."

"Wearing masks."

"Precisely. Generally they just followed me around - rather unsubtly too, as you saw today - but there was a couple of times when they tried to corner me. They're generally easy to evade; only using Stunning Spells and the like, but they are tenacious. I haven't figured out how they're finding me."

Curiouser and curiouser. "You haven't captured one of them yet?" his voice was an irritated drawl.

"Hey, look," she frowned defensively, "I haven't exactly been sticking around to ask questions. They often come in pairs and I didn't want to risk getting cursed in the back! They haven't attacked me for real yet, but who's to say their methods won't change?"

He tutted disapprovingly, and took the opportunity to pour himself tea. "Perhaps your methods should change."

She folded her arms. "Oh?"

To her surprise, he reached over and took her empty cup, pouring for her, too, with a faint smirk on his face. "Bait, and ambush." he said smoothly, adding milk and sugar in precisely the right quantities.

She watched his elegant movements appreciatively. She had to admit, when he put his mind to it, his manners were flawless. Like a demonic butler.

When did he take note how I drink my tea? And why? she suddenly wondered. It was either sweet that he'd been paying attention... Or very creepy. That sort of knowledge would make it easy for him to swap out her morning tea in the Great Hall for a poisoned cup.

She reminded herself to watch her drinks around him in future.

"All you need to do is play the bait," he continued, setting her cup back down in front of her, "I'll deal with the ambush side of things."

"Being bait sounds... safe." she said sarcastically.

He rolled his eyes. "I won't let them touch you." he told her matter-of-factly. "I have no interest in standing by while you get cursed, or worse."

She stared at him. "...Really?" That almost sounded like he cared...

"The right to curse you is exclusively mine." he declared possessively, utterly serious.

He stared right back at her, unblinking. A hint of warmth crept into her cheeks as she processed what he'd just said. Ugh - Am I blushing? Wh-why do I suddenly feel flustered?!

She took a sip of tea and ignored her heart, which was inexplicably fluttering like a stupid Ravenclaw fangirl. "I'm grateful you want to be involved," she said slowly, relieved he hadn't seemed to pick up on her mortifying reaction, "But I'd rather just do some research on the Moving Stones, and find somewhere safe to stay over Christmas. It's not long before we'll be back at school anyway, and-"

"Nonsense." he said firmly, sounding determined, "The best defence is offence."

She sipped her tea without responding, still taken aback by the direction the conversation had gone in.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "What? Do you think it wouldn't work?"

"It's not that..." she said hesitantly, then sighed. "I just don't think leaving a trail of bodies across London can really be called 'laying low'. Which is what you're supposed to be doing, remember?" she reminded him.

Some of the fire ebbed from his eyes at her words, and he sank back in his seat, frustrated. Annoyingly, she was right... But that didn't mean there wasn't something they could do... Already, several more discrete plans of action sprang to mind, but he decided to think a little more on the whole situation.

"So, you still haven't explained how you know your first stalker was from the Ministry." he pointed out, abruptly changing the subject.

She grinned, relieved at the change of pace. "Well, after the first time, I didn't see him again, not for a long time. But then, I spotted him completely by accident in London one day, and followed him to the Ministry. As you know I was in possession of a Time Turner." she started, "I used it... extensively, for about two months of real time, before I met you or Dumbledore. I stretched that time to about an extra year, mostly learning magic, becoming an animagus, keeping two steps ahead of Them..." she set her teacup down. "But I lied in the report I gave to Dumbledore. I omitted the fact that I actually used it to break into the Ministry, to follow my mysterious attacker... and find out exactly who he was."

Riddle snorted with genuine mirth, picturing Dumbledore's horror if he ever found out what his star student had done. "I'm impressed, Gray," he smirked, "Infiltrating the Ministry? Perhaps your methods are not so hopeless, after all."

"I didn't risk going into the depths of the Ministry exactly," she clarified, finding his approving smirk dangerously attractive, "I just followed the man who'd tried to kill me. I found out his name and the department he worked for. James Blishwick, pureblood... An Unspeakable from the Department of Mysteries." she shrugged, "With a few disguises and the Time Turner, the Ministry's security was ridiculously weak."

"An Unspeakable." Riddle's dark eyes gleamed in interest at this unexpected development.

"I broke into his office - even Unspeakables have paperwork to do. I didn't have time for a thorough search, but there was a file with my name on it, and inside was some redacted files on the facility, but everything relevant was blacked out. There was, however, a list of names in the file. The last name on the list was 'Alric Gray'. I just had time to copy the whole list before I snuck out... I'd just started investigating them when you and Dumbledore pitched up." she sighed. "I intend to continue tracking down the names on the list, but without the Time-Turner, things will definitely be harder..."

"But not impossible." Riddle said, a shrewd eagerness in his eyes. "I want to see this list."

Amalia was unsure why, but a pleasant warmth flooded her stomach at his instant reply. "You... you're sure you want to get involved, then...?" she asked.

He shot her an icy glare. "What? Do you think you can stop me?" he demanded aggressively.

It had been her burden, alone, for as long as she could recall. Despite her cavalier attitude, it hadn't been easy sharing all of this with him... this secret part of her life that no one else knew. Somehow, it was suddenly easier to breathe.

She smiled indulgently, eyes crinkling at him, "Aw. You're just the sweetest, Riddle."

He rolled his eyes and drained the rest of his tea.

Amalia braced her hands on the table and stood, stretching. They'd been talking for over an hour, probably the longest conversation they'd ever had. And for once, no one was bleeding.

"Come, let's get out of here. There's another shop I want to check out, and we still have to find a new place to stay for tonight."

He stood too, raising an eyebrow at her. "I assume you have an idea of where to go? Being an expert on hiding like a rat in the backstreets of Knockturn."

"I know a place," she nodded.

He froze, not trusting the amused, sidelong glance she threw at him. "What kind of place?" he asked suspiciously.

"Oh, a dingy little bar." she answered airly. "Run by a werewolf. He's very discreet."

"A werewolf?"

She sniggered. "Yup. Hairy little fellow, he called his pub 'The Humping Crupp'. It's a standing joke among the locals that the Ministry's so incompetent they still don't know his... uh, condition. Werewolves are required to register, you know."

"Fantastic." muttered Riddle sarcastically.

Their waitress hurried over with their bill, holding it out to Riddle expectantly.

He glanced down at the paper and smirked at the exorbitant price, shoving Amalia forward with a carelessly rude nudge of his shoulder. "I'll be outside, don't make me wait." he drawled, and sauntered out.

Their waitress gaped after him as he left. Amalia rolled her eyes and dug out some cash.

"Honey," the waitress advised, "He's nice to look at, but you could do better."

Amalia smiled fondly.

"Oh, no," she said cheerfully, "For better or worse, he's stuck with me."